“Will you have grape-fruit?” said Stella, from the sidetable.
“All I want is a cup of tea, and some toast,” said Miss Matthews. “I am not feeling at all well this morning, which is not surprising when one thinks of what I have been through. And Guy home for lunch every day, too! Not that I grudge it, but it all makes more work. And why your Aunt Gertrude should elect to come here to dinner simply to make a lot of unkind remarks about my catering —”
“It's probably that sardine which is making you feel queasy now,” said Guy.
Miss Matthews was so incensed by this malicious suggestion that she could only glare at him; and by way of demonstrating that the sardine had in no way upset her digestion she got up, and in awful silence helped herself to a slice of bacon, and resolutely ate it.
This apparently was ill judged, for when Stella went upstairs half-an-hour later she found her mother, swathed in a lilac-coloured wrapper, coming out of Miss Matthews' room with an empty medicine-glass in her hand, and an expression on her face of pious resignation.
“Hullo!” said Stella. “Aunt Harriet worse?”
Mrs Matthews, who regarded the right to be ill as her sole prerogative, said: “I don't know what you mean by worse, darling. There's nothing whatever the matter with her beyond a slight bilious attack.”
“She said she felt seedy at breakfast. Guy suggested that the sardine she ate last night might be disagreeing. Not well-received. Have you given her some dope?”
“Some of that wonderful medicine Dr Martin prescribed for me,” said Mrs Matthews. “Not that I think it necessary. But poor Harriet was always one to make a fuss over the slightest ailment. I sometimes wonder what she would do if she had as much ill-health to bear as I have. I've put her to bed with a hot-water bottle, but I could wish that she had chosen some other day to be ill on. The strain of this past week has been too much for my nerves, and I'm feeling far from well myself. I'm afraid, darling, that you will have to do the shopping. I really don't feel up to it.”
“All right,” said Stella obligingly. “Shall I go and talk to Mrs Beecher?”
“Yes, dearest, do. And, Stella! Tell her to cook a very light lunch. Soles, perhaps, with a soufflé to follow.”
Stella grinned. “I bet Aunt Harriet was going to condemn us to cold mutton.”
“Yes, dear, but if she is feeling seedy it is much wiser for her to keep off meat,” said Mrs Matthews, with an air of the purest altruism.
“Of course,” agreed Stella solemnly. “Shall I take that glass down with me?”
“No, this is my own glass, and I always prefer to wash it myself. Tell Mrs Beecher that your aunt is lying down, and is not to be disturbed, and ask her to order a chicken for dinner. Something really digestible.”
“I should think Aunt Harriet'll pass out when she sees it,” commented Stella.
Mrs Beecher received her in the kitchen with an indulgent smile, tut-tutted when she heard of her mistress's indisposition, and said that she was not surprised. “That joint we had last night was downright wicked,” she said. “And as for the fish, well, I was ashamed to send it to table! Enough to make the Master turn in his grave, was what I said to Beecher. And so you're going to do the ordering today, are you, miss? Well, it'll be good practice against the time when you have your own house, won't it?”
Stella, who recognised in this sally an attempt to find out whether she was going to marry Dr Fielding or not, merely smiled and agreed, and firmly turned the conversation on to Poultry. She sallied forth presently in her car to do the marketing, and returned shortly before noon to find her mother just coming downstairs from her room. “How's the invalid?” Stella inquired.
“Asleep,” Mrs Matthews replied. “I peeped in a moment ago, but she was sound, so I didn't disturb her.”
Miss Matthews did not come down to luncheon, so Mrs Matthews, who with the passing of every hour her sister-in-law had spent in bed had become more martyrlike, sighed, and told Stella to run up and ask her aunt if she was going to get up, or if she would like a tray sent to her room. “I must say, I do think it's just a little inconsiderate of Harriet to elect to be ill at a moment when she must know that it's all I can do to keep going without having all her work thrust on to my shoulders,” she said.
Stella, who knew the processes of her mother's mind too well to waste her breath in pointing out that it was she, and not Mrs Matthews, who had performed Harriet's duties that morning, merely winked at Guy, and went off to visit her aunt.
There was no answer to her gentle tap on the door, so after waiting for a moment Stella softly turned the handle, and went in.
The curtains had been drawn across the windows to shut out the light, and the room was dim. Miss Matthews was lying on her side with her eyes closed, and did not stir. Stella went to the bedside, wondering whether to wake her or not. It struck her all at once that Miss Matthews looked very ill; she bent over her, laying her hand cautiously on the slack one that rested on the sheet.
It was not hot with fever, but on the contrary oddly chilly. Stella recoiled with a sobbing gasp of fright and shock. With her eyes fixed on her aunt's motionless form she backed to the door, her knees shaking under her, and pulled it open, and called: “Mother! Guy! Oh, come here, quickly! Quickly!”
Terror vibrated in her voice; it brought Guy up the stairs two at a time. “What's up?” he demanded. “Good God, what's the matter?”
“Aunt Harriet!” Stella managed to say. “Aunt Harriet… !”
He stared at her white face for an instant, and then thrust past her into Miss Matthews' room.
Stella tried to pull herself together, but she could not bring herself to go farther into the room than the doorway, where she stayed, leaning against the wall, her handkerchief pressed to her mouth. She saw Guy put his hand on Miss Matthews' shoulder, and shake it, and heard him say in a voice sharp with alarm: “Aunt Harriet, wake up! Aunt Harriet!”
“Oh don't!” Stella whispered. “Can't you see?”
He strode to the window, and wrenched the curtains back, with a clatter of rings along the brass rod. Across the room his eyes met Stella's. “Stella…' he said. “Stella… What are we going to do?”
She looked back at him, her own eyes widening as she read the thought in his. Then, before either of them could speak, Mrs Matthews came into the room. “Well, Harriet, how are you feeling?” she said. “My dear child, what in the world is the matter?”
Stella said baldly: “Mother, Aunt Harriet is dead.”
“Dead?” repeated Mrs Matthews. “Nonsense! You don't know what you're talking about! Let me pass at once! Really, your love of the dramatic—” She broke off, feeling Miss Matthews' hand as Stella had done. Her make-up was too perfect to allow of her changing colour, but her children saw her stiffen. One swift glance she shot at them, then she said in a carefully controlled voice: “Your aunt must have had a stroke. We must send for a doctor. Guy, go at once and ring up Dr Fielding. Now please don't stand there in that silly way, Stella dear! Of course it's only a stroke!”
“She's dead,” Stella repeated. “Like uncle. You know she's dead.”
Mrs Matthews went to her, and took her hand. “Darling, you've had a shock, and you're a little overwrought. You mustn't say things like that. Now, the best thing you can do is to go to your own room, and lie down for a bit. You can't do anything for your aunt till Dr —”
“No one can. Oh, why didn't you send for Deryk when she said she felt ill? Why didn't you, mother?”
“My dear little Stella, there was no question of sending for a doctor. You must try and pull yourself together, my pet. No one could have foreseen this. It was nothing but a slight stomach-upset; in fact, your aunt said herself that all she wanted was to lie down and keep quiet for a while. Now I am going to give you a little sal volatile to pull you round, and then you shall go to your own room till you are more yourself.”