George Fenn - The Man with a Shadow

“If you mean indignant,” she retorted, “I am. My very soul seems to revolt against the wretched system of espionage you two have established against me.”

“No, no, Leo, dear!” said Mary. “How can you say such things of Hartley, whose every thought is for your good?”

“Good – good – good!” cried Leo; “I’m sick of the very word! Be good! Be a good girl! Oh! it’s sickening!”

Salis made a sign to Mary to be silent, but Leo detected it.

“There!” she cried, with her eyes flashing. “What did I say? You two are always plotting against me. Ah!”

She shivered as from a sudden chill, and drew her chair closer to the fire.

“Do you feel unwell, dear?” said Salis anxiously.

“No, no , no! I have told you both a dozen times over that I am quite well. It is a cold morning, and I shivered a little. Is there anything extraordinary in that?”

“I only felt anxious about you, dear.”

“Then, pray don’t feel anxious, but let me be in peace.”

She caught up a book, and tried to read; while, to avoid irritating her, Salis and Mary resumed their tasks – the one writing, the other busy over her needle; and to both it seemed as if they were performing penance, so intense was the desire to keep on glancing at Leo, while they felt the necessity for avoiding all appearance of noticing her.

She held her book before her, and appeared to be reading, but she did not follow a line; for the letters were blurred, and a curious, dull, aching sensation racked her from head to foot, rising, as it were, in waves which swept through her brain, and made it throb.

This, with its accompanying giddiness, passed off, and with obstinate determination she kept her place, and the pretence of reading was carried on till towards evening.

They had dined – a weary, comfortless meal – at which Leo had taken her place, and made an attempt to eat; but it was evident to the others that the food disgusted her, and almost everything was sent untasted away.

The irritability seemed to have died out, but every attempt to draw her into conversation failed; and after a time the meal progressed in silence, till they drew round the fire at the end to resume their tasks, almost without a word.

Salis was busy over a formal report of the state of the parish for the rector. Mary was hard at work stitching, to help a poor widow who gained a precarious living by needlework, and Leo still had her book before her eyes.

Mary’s were aching, and she was about to ring for the lamp, for the short December afternoon was closing in, and Salis was in the act of wiping his pen, when Leo suddenly let fall her book, to sit up rigidly, staring wildly at them.

“Leo, my child!”

“Well, what is it?” she said; and her voice sounded harsh and strange. “Why did you say that? You knew I should say yes.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my dear; but I did not speak.”

“You did. You said I lied unto you, quite aloud, and” – with a return of her irritable way – “are we never going to have dinner?”

Salis rose from the table where he had been writing, and laid his hand upon his sister’s arm.

“Leo, dear,” he said anxiously; and he gazed in her wild eyes, which softened and looked lovingly in his.

“No,” she said, as she nestled to him and laid her cheek upon his arm; “a bit of a wrench. My shoulder aches, but it will soon be well, dear.”

“Lie back in your chair,” said Salis, as he laid his hand upon her throbbing brow.

“Yes, that’s nice,” she said, smiling as she obeyed. “So cool and refreshing – so cool.”

“Do you feel drowsy? Would you like to have a nap?”

“Yes, if you wish it,” she said. “I am sleepy. Don’t tell them at home, dear.”

Salis started, and his face grew convulsed, as he exchanged glances with Mary, who read his wish, wrote a few lines in pencil, and softly rang the bell.

“Take that at once,” she whispered to Dally Watlock, who entered, round-eyed and staring.

“To Mr Tom Candlish, miss?”

“No, no, girl; to Mr North.”

Mary drew her breath hard as the door closed behind the girl, for she read in her words a tale of deceit and also who had been the messenger, perhaps, in many a love missive sent on either side.

She tried to rise, feeling that this was a time of urgent need; but her eyes became suffused with tears as she sank back helpless in her seat.

“Take my arm, Leo, dear,” said Salis. “You would be better if you went up to your room and lay down.”

“Yes, dear; if you wish it,” she said softly; and she started up, but caught at her brother, and clung to him as if she had been seized by a sudden vertigo, and then stared wildly round.

Salis gave Mary a nod, and then, drawing Leo’s arm through his, led her up to the door of her room, which she entered while he ran quickly down.

“Quite delirious,” he said quickly. “I hope North will not be long. I thought he would have been here this morning.”

He was busy as he spoke preparing for a task which he had performed twice daily since Mary’s convalescence. For, taking her in his arms as easily as if she had been a child, he bore her out of the room and up to Leo’s door.

As Mary, trembling with anxiety, pressed it open, Leo uttered an angry cry, dashed forward, and thrust the door back in her face.

“No, no!” she said hoarsely; “not you. Let me be. Let me rest in peace.”

“But Leo, dear, you are ill.”

“I am not ill,” she cried fiercely. “Go away!”

“Don’t irritate her,” whispered Salis gently. “Leo, dear, Mary will be in her own room. Lie down now.”

The phase of gentleness had passed, and Leo turned upon him almost savagely, in her furious contempt.

“Lie down! Lie down! as if I were a dog! Oh! there must be an end to this. There must be an end to this.”

She had partly opened the door so as to speak to her brother, but now she closed it loudly, and they heard her walking excitedly to and fro.

“I feared it,” said North, as he returned from the bedroom, where he had left Leo with the servants, who stood staring helplessly at her, and listening to her ravings about the mare, the plunge into the cold river, and the injured shoulder. “Violent fever and delirium. Poor girl! what could we expect? Heated with her ride, the fall, the sudden plunge into the water, and then a long, slow ride in the drenched garments.”

“Do you think she is very ill?” said Mary anxiously.

“Very; but not dangerously, I hope. There, trust to me, and I will do everything I can. You must have a good nurse at once. Those women are worse than useless. I’ll send on my housekeeper.”

“But you are not going?” cried Salis, with the look of alarm so commonly directed at a doctor.

“My dear boy – only to fetch medicine. I’ll not be long; and mind this: she must not leave her room now. She must be kept there at any cost.”

“And I am so helpless, Hartley,” whispered Mary piteously. “It is so hard to bear.”

The curate bent down and kissed her, and then, taking his place by the bedroom door, he remained to carry out the instructions he had received.

They were necessary, for he had not been there five minutes before the delirious girl rose from her couch, and there was an angry outcry on the part of the women. She insisted upon going to the stable to see to her mare. It was being neglected; and it was only by the exercise of force that she was kept in the room.

Before half-an-hour had passed, the doctor was back, and quiet, firm Mrs Milt, who put off her crotchety ways in the face of this trouble, took her place by the bedside, and with good effect; for, partly soothed by the old woman’s firm management, and partly by the strong opiate the doctor had administered, Leo sank into a restless sleep, in which she kept on muttering incoherently, the only portions of her speech at all connected being those dealing with her accident, which seemed to her to be repeated again and again.