“Mama!” Tossie said, starting up. Terence peered round his paper and then dropped it in a rattling heap.
Mrs. Mering had fallen slantwise across the door, with her head fortunately on the plush seat and her arms flung out to either side.
Terence and I scooped her up and deposited her more or less on the seat, with Tossie fluttering around us.
“O, Mama!” she said, leaning over Mrs. Mering’s inert form. “Wake up!”
She took off her mother’s hat, which didn’t seem particularly to the point, and began patting her cheek. “O, do wake up, Mama!”
There was no response.
“Speak to me, Mama!” Tossie said, gently patting her cheek. Terence picked up the newspaper he’d dropped and began fanning her with it.
Still no response.
“You’d better go and get Baine,” I said to Terence.
“Yes. Baine,” Tossie said. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Right,” Terence said, handed Tossie the newspaper, and hurried off down the corridor.
“Mama!” Tossie said, picking up fanning where Terence had left off. “Speak to me!”
Mrs. Mering’s eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?” she said faintly.
“Between Upper Elmscott and Oldham Junction,” Tossie said.
“On the train from Coventry,” I translated. “Are you all right?”
“O, Mama, you gave us such a fright!” Tossie said. “What happened?”
“Happened?” Mrs. Mering repeated, pushing herself to sitting. She felt at her hair. “Where’s my hat?”
“It’s here, Mama,” Tossie said, handing me the newspaper and picking up the hat. “You fainted. Did you have another premonition?”
“Premonition?” Mrs. Mering said vaguely, trying to pin her hat back on. “I don't…”
“You were looking at Terence, and you stopped speaking, as though you’d seen a spirit, and then you fell to the floor in a faint. Was it Lady Godiva?”
“Lady Godiva?” Mrs. Mering said, sounding more like her old self. “Why on earth would Lady—” She stopped.
“Mama?” Tossie said anxiously.
“I remember,” Mrs. Mering said. “We asked the spirits for news of Princess Arjumand, and the doors opened…” she said, her voice rising, “…it must have been just at that moment… I asked if she had been drowned…”
And went out like a light again. Her head fell sideways onto the plush armrest, and her hat flopped forward over her nose.
“Mama!” Tossie shrieked.
“Do you have any smelling salts?” I asked, propping Mrs. Mering up.
“Jane has,” she said. “I’ll go and fetch them.” She scampered off down the corridor.
“Mrs. Mering,” I said, fanning her with one hand and holding her erect with the other. She had a tendency to flop over to one side. “Mrs. Mering!” I wondered if I should loosen her stays, or at the least her collar, but decided I’d better wait for Tossie. Or Verity. And where were they?
The door banged open and Terence galloped in, panting. “I couldn’t find Baine anywhere. ‘He has vanished from the sight of mortal men.’ Perhaps he’s been apported.” He peered interestedly at Mrs. Mering. “She’s still out?”
“Again,” I said, fanning. “Any idea what brought this on?”
“Not a clue,” he said, sitting down on the seat opposite. “I was reading the newspaper, and she suddenly looked at me as though I were Banquo’s ghost. ‘Is that a dagger that I see before me, its handle towards my hand?’ only in this case it was the Oxford Chronicle, and went out like a light. Was it my choice of reading material, do you think?”
I shook my head. “She said something about Princess Arjumand, and about the spirits.”
Verity came in, carrying the fan. “What—” she said blankly.
“She’s fainted,” I said. “Tossie’s gone for the smelling salts.”
Tossie hurried in, followed by Baine.
“Where’s Jane?” I said, glancing briefly at her. “Did you bring the smelling salts?”
“I brought Baine,” she said, her cheeks very pink from her haste.
Baine immediately took charge, kneeling in front of Mrs. Mering and taking off her hat. He unbuttoned her collar. “Mr. St. Trewes, open the window. Mr. Henry, if you could give me some room, please.”
“Careful,” I said, letting go of Mrs. Mering’s arm. “She has a tendency to list to starboard,” but he already had hold of both her shoulders. I stepped back next to Verity, still holding the folded newspaper.
“Now then,” he said, and pushed her head down between her knees.
“Baine!” Tossie said.
“Oh,” Mrs. Mering said, and tried to sit up.
“Take deep breaths,” Baine said, keeping his hand firmly on the back of her neck. “That’s it. Deep breaths. Good,” he said, and let her sit up.
“What—” she said, bewilderedly.
Baine produced a flask of brandy from his coat pocket and a china teacup. “Drink this,” he commanded, placing her gloved hands around it. “That’s it. Good.”
“Are you feeling better, Mama?” Tossie said. “What made you faint?”
Mrs. Mering took another sip of the brandy. “I don’t remember—” she said. “Whatever it was, I feel much better now.” She handed the teacup to Baine. “How much farther to Muchings End?”
Verity, standing next to me, whispered, “What happened?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea. Terence was reading the newspaper,” I said, holding it up for illustration, “and she suddenly—” I stopped, staring, just like Macbeth.
It was the second story down, just under an article about boating congestion on the Thames.
“BALLIOL PROFESSOR DROWNED,” it read, and under it, in smaller caps, but still quite readable (this being the Oxford Chronicle and not the Times):
“HISTORY PROFESSOR MATTHEW PEDDICK KILLED IN RIVER ACCIDENT”
“ ‘The curse has come upon me,’ cried the Lady of Shalott.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The remainder of the trip consisted of explanations and recriminations. “I thought you said he sent his sister a telegram,” Terence said.
“I thought he had,” I said. “I asked him, ‘Did you send your telegrams?’ and he said, ‘Yes,’ and waved the yellow receipt slips at me.”
“Well, he must have forgotten to pay for them or something. The funeral’s tomorrow at ten.”
“Madame Iritosky tried to warn me,” Mrs. Mering said, lying back against three cushions and a folded blanket Baine had been dispatched to fetch for her. “ ‘Beware the sea,’ she said. ‘Beware the sea!’ She was trying to tell me Professor Peddick had drowned!”
“But he didn’t drown,” I said. “It’s all a misunderstanding. He fell in the river, and Terence and I fished him out. Professor Overforce must have thought he drowned when he couldn’t find him.”
“Fell in the river?” Mrs. Mering said. “I thought your boat capsized.”
“It did,” Terence said, “but that was the next day. We heard this splash, and I thought it was Darwin, because there were a number of trees along the bank just there, but it wasn’t. It was Professor Peddick, and it was a lucky thing we came along just at the right moment to save him or he would have been done for. Fate. ‘Ah, happy fate, that grasped the skirts of happy chance!’ Because he was going down for the third time, and we had the very devil of a time—”
“Mr. St. Trewes!” Mrs. Mering, obviously recovering, said. “There are ladies present!”
Terence looked chagrined. “Oh, I do beg your pardon. In the excitement of telling the story, I—”