Juggernaut. Alice Campbell
another cigarette into her holder and lit it.
"I think the doctor is right, that we are all making far too much fuss over Charles's illness," she said abruptly. "After all, there has been nothing so far to cause us any alarm."
"Yes, you are quite right," agreed Miss Clifford simply. "And I am glad to hear you say so, my dear. You know you have really been more nervous than I have."
"Ah, that is the way I take things. I cannot help my nature!" sighed the Frenchwoman amicably enough. "I always fear the worst. I suppose now we had better ask the doctor if we can tell Charles about Roger's coming?"
"Is the doctor with him?"
"I will see."
She crossed to the door at the far side of the room and opening it spoke softly to someone inside. A second later the nurse stuck her head through the opening. She was a smiling, angular woman of forty, with fluffy, mouse-coloured hair, and a frosty tip to her nose.
"Do you wish to see the doctor, Lady Clifford?"
She spoke ingratiatingly, with a hiss of badly fitting false teeth.
"Yes, is he there?"
The nurse disappeared and was presently replaced by Dr. Sartorius, who came inside and closed the door behind him. Acknowledging Esther's presence by the merest flicker of the eye, he bent his head and listened attentively to what the Frenchwoman told him. As she spoke her eyes searched his face eagerly, but his heavy features remained impassive.
"Ah, it won't hurt him to hear good news," he replied indifferently.
"Go in now, if you care to, he's wide awake."
To Esther's surprise, the Frenchwoman put out her hand to her sister-in-law with a gracious gesture.
"You tell him, Dido, dear," she said gently, "I know you would like to."
"Thank you, Thérèse."
With a grateful smile the old lady disappeared into the bedroom, followed by the doctor, and Esther was left alone with her employer. Lady Clifford did not glance in her direction, but put up her hand with a restless, irritable movement and swept the big wavy lock of hair off her forehead.
"Qu'il fait chaud!" she exclaimed, going to the nearest window and flinging it open with a jerk. "Stifling! There, that is better."
She stood for several seconds breathing in the fresh air, her body tense as if on steel wires, her head thrown back. Then, relaxing somewhat, she turned and spoke to Esther, as if suddenly recalling her presence.
"You come from New York, I hear," she said, with another keen glance; "do you like it, New York?"
Esther replied that she did, but Lady Clifford closed her eyes, not listening.
"Ah, New York, that is a place I have never visited. It must be marvellous. Some day I shall go there, some day when I am … "
She did not finish, for at that moment the butler came in to announce lunch. She had stretched out her arms with a sort of abandon, but now she let them fall abruptly, gave a sigh, and without looking in Esther's direction walked into her own bedroom on the right, perhaps to give a touch to her hair, or another brush of powder to her flawless nose.
The breeze, with wet freshness, cleansed the over-perfumed room, fluttering the papers on the writing-table. The top sheet sailed through the air and settled on the hearthrug. Mechanically Esther picked it up to replace it, the habit of order being strong upon her. Unavoidably she saw that it was covered with figures in angular French writing, money sums by the look of them, with frequent signs of the pound and the franc. She anchored the paper upon the blotter with a little carving of amethyst crystal, then, turning away, perceived Lady Clifford, motionless in the doorway, regarding her with eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Your papers were blowing about," explained Esther. Inwardly she was asking herself: "What is the matter with me? I always seem to be imagining things with this woman!"
With one of her swift movements the beautiful Thérèse snatched up the rescued sheet and tore it to bits.
"It is of no consequence, this," she remarked indifferently, dropping the pieces into the waste-basket.
Again Esther noticed those stumpy, abbreviated fingers, so oddly at variance with the rest of their owner.
"Bien," said Lady Clifford, flashing a charming smile upon her. "Let us have our _déjeuner."
She led the way downstairs.
CHAPTER IX
At the gare next morning, Miss Clifford, having selected a likely train, leaned forward in her brother's car and eagerly scanned each arrival as he issued from the exit. What if Roger did not arrive after all? These trains were so booked up at this season, he might not have been able to secure a wagon-lit. Still, he usually managed things. …
"Roger! Roger!" she shouted suddenly, so that at least half a dozen travellers turned in her direction.
The young Englishman in the Harris tweed coat wheeled at the sound of her voice, and reached the car in a dozen quick strides. He was nearing thirty, tall, but less tall than Sir Charles, with features similar but not so pronounced, and eyes intensely blue. He had his father's humorous mouth modified and softened, and to the old man's look of stubborn strength he added something which suggested more imagination and sensitiveness. He appeared in excellent condition, wiry and vigorous, his skin tanned from five days of sea and wind.
"Roger, darling!"
"Dido, my dear old girl!"
His bear-like embrace brought comfort to her heart. She held him off at last and gazed on him with deep affection.
"This is good of you, auntie, to come and meet me. I didn't expect it."
"As if I wouldn't!"
She kissed him again warmly, and the nature of this second embrace conveyed to him the knowledge that something was amiss.
"What's wrong, Dido? Anything happened?"
"It's your father, Roger—he's ill."
"Ill! Why didn't you cable?"
"I did, to your Chicago address, three days ago."
"It should have been Marconied to the boat. What's the matter with him?"
"Typhoid fever, my dear. We've been rather distressed."
His face grew serious.
"Good God, that's bad!"
"Don't be too alarmed, he seems to have a mild case, thank heaven, and naturally we are doing all that can be done for him. We've got two splendid nurses, and a doctor who is giving us his entire time."
"What doctor is it?"
The chauffeur, having strapped the luggage to the back of the car, was looking to them for instructions.
"What would you like to do, dear? Stop anywhere, or go straight home?"
"Oh, home. I want to see the old man."
In a twinkling they had left the gare and were heading for the heights."
"What luck to be here!" exclaimed the young man with a luxurious sigh. "I had hoped to get a fortnight later on, but as things have turned out I finished up much sooner than I thought I should. I found I could get a passage on the Berengaria, and I can tell you I didn't waste much time saying good-bye. Out where I've been, in the West, it's ten below zero, with the wind cutting like a knife. People can abuse the Riviera all they like, but after that sort of thing it seems like Heaven."
He glanced out at the town appreciatively, throwing back his coat.