I said I really must go and I thanked them for their hospitality.
Dickon said he would stay awhile. He wanted to talk about the chest and have a closer look at the bronze statue.
I left the house and rode slowly back to Eversleigh.
At supper that evening Dickon was rather more quiet than usual. At dusk I was taken once more to Uncle Carl’s room. It was the same ritual; the brief visit, the hovering Jessie and the doctor, the brief pressure of the hand, the murmuring of my name, and then all too soon the request to leave the room.
I wondered if I was ever going to speak to my uncle.
I retired early but not to sleep. I sat in the window for a long time looking out and thinking about the events of the day—the marriage of Evalina to Andrew Mather and Dickon’s discovery of the valuable statue which had belonged to my uncle and which Evalina had said he had given to her mother.
Had he? I wondered. How easy it would be for Jessie to help herself to valuable objects and hide them away somewhere!
Of course it was perfectly plausible that he had given them to her, and she might have been denied them if Uncle Carl died. What would happen then? I suppose Rosen, Stead and Rosen had some instructions. Would they come in and assess his possessions? Would they know if anything was missing? How could they? He was perfectly entitled to give his valuables away if he so wished. But it would be difficult for someone like a housekeeper to say some valuable object had been given to her if it were still in the house. He might very well have given her the statue—and other things besides—and she felt she had to get them out of the house while she had a chance.
It was an unusual situation and very difficult to assess. Something should be done, I was sure, but I did not know what. Perhaps I should go and see Rosen, Stead and Rosen. I wished there was someone whose advice I could ask.
I could only think of the Forsters. But I hardly knew them well enough and could scarcely put such a private matter before them when I had met them only twice.
My mother always said: “When in difficulties always wait. Sleep on a big decision. It’s often wisest.” My father would have been different. He would have been more impulsive.
My sleep was once more fitful. I could never settle to regular sleep in this house. I suppose it was because my mind was so uneasy.
I was awakened from a light doze because I thought I had heard a noise below. I sat up in bed. It was two o’clock. I was sure someone was out on the lawn.
I got out of bed and went to the window and was just in time to see a figure go into the house.
Two o’clock! Who could it be? I immediately thought of Amos Carew coming to visit Jessie. Old Jethro had said that he came some nights. On the other hand it might have been Dickon. I imagined that he could have been paying a late-night call on Evalina. It was the sort of situation which would amuse him. I could imagine his making love with Evalina in a room close by that in which her husband lay. It was a Boccaccio situation and one I was sure which Dickon—and perhaps Evalina—would find highly diverting. But she had not been very pleased with him when he had brought out the bronze figure, I was sure; and he knew it and metaphorically he snapped his fingers at her. The incident could have brought about a coolness between them.
There was so much that needed explaining. I went to my door and listened. Stealthy footsteps were coming up the stairs.
I waited pressed against the door. If it were Dickon and he were returning to his room, those steps would go on past my room, for he was at the end of this corridor.
I waited. There was silence. I heard the sound of a door opening and being quietly shut.
It seemed as though it was not Dickon.
I locked my door and returned to bed. It must have been Amos Carew visiting Jessie.
The next morning Jessie was hovering in the hall when I came down dressed for my morning walk.
“Hello,” she said. “Off out?”
“Yes.” I hesitated. “I wonder what good I’m doing here,” I went on. “Lord Eversleigh doesn’t know I’m here, I’m sure.”
“He knows it, all right. It’s just that he’s lost the power to say so. But I know what you mean. … We’re all so frustrated.”
“It goes on,” I said. “I suppose it has been like that for weeks.”
She nodded.
“I was wondering,” I said, “if there is anything that could be done.”
“We’re doing all we can.”
“Yes, I know, but there have been so many new ideas in the medical profession recently. Some of them have worked wonders.”
“That’s why I’m so glad we’ve got Dr. Cabel living here.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. He’s retired and he was an old friend and I am sure Uncle Carl likes to have him here … but since his day there may have been advances in medicine. I was wondering whether we could call in a new opinion.”
She was silent. She had turned slightly away from me. It seemed a long time before she spoke and when she did her voice was trembling a little.
“I’m sure I’ve thought of everything,” she said. “You can imagine what he means to me. Oh no, you can’t … nobody could. I know you think he is a meal ticket to me. He is, of course, but that’s not all. I’ve loved the old fellow … I still do. I can’t bear to think of him gone. … Oh, I know you’ll say … yes, where will you be, Jess Stirling, without him. Out on your ear, that’s where. Well, it’s not quite like that. I’ve looked after the future.”
Yes, I thought. Italian Renaissance statues tucked away for a rainy day!
“I’m fond of him. I’ve said to him: ‘Ought we to get another doctor?’ He doesn’t like it. He said, ‘Old Cabel is the best I’ve ever known.” Wouldn’t trust himself with any of these modern quacks. That was what he said … quacks.”
“When did he say this?” I asked quickly.
“Oh, it was before the seizure. When he was working up for it, you might say. I said then that we should get another doctor and he wouldn’t hear of it. Got quite worked up at the thought.”
“I see,” I said. “But he would hardly be aware, would he now? He doesn’t really know me. If we called in Dr. Forster …”
“Dr. Forster! You mean … the doctor here!”
“I was thinking of him. I met him at Enderby. They’re very nice people. I don’t see why we shouldn’t call him in. Two opinions are better than one.”
“I believe Dr. Cabel would go if we did. Doctors don’t like that. They like you to trust them.”
“I suppose it might be unethical.”
“Well … I don’t know. Don’t do anything yet, though. Perhaps I could sound them … both Lordy and Dr. Cabel.”
“You mean you would ask Lord Eversleigh? He would never understand.”
“Oh, I think he might. You’re worried, aren’t you? You think he shouldn’t go on like this. Dr. Cabel thinks it a bit of a miracle that he does.”
I said: “I wish I could see him more often. Those brief visits by candlelight …”
“I know.”
“At night,” I said, “when he is probably tired.”
“It was his wish that he sees people after dusk. He’s changed such a lot. It’s done something to his face. … It’s draws his mouth down one side. It’s made his hair come out. He’ll never take off that nightcap and he wears it so as to hide half his face. He was a very vain man … very fond of his own appearance. … He can’t bear the change in himself. I keep the mirror well out of his way.”
“All the same I should like to see him in the light of day.”
“You’d hardly recognize him. He’s a pitiful sight.”