Waiting for Deborah. Betty Neels

Vernon’s mouth made tiny movements although there was no sound.

      Deborah pulled up a chair and took a hand in hers. ‘Look, I don’t know much about it, but I’m quite sure that you will be able to move and speak again, but you have to wait for your head to get better. I’ll do all that I can to help you; we’ll think up a routine for you and really work at it.’

      She was heartened by the emphatic wink she had in answer.

      She unpacked presently while the old lady dozed and then went down to the kitchen for the tray. She went down the way she had come up and as she reached the last tread of the staircase Mrs Vernon came out of the drawing-room with another woman, laughing and talking. She stopped when she saw Deborah and said sharply, ‘You can use the back stairs, Deborah, but, since you’re here, go through the baize door.’ She nodded towards the back of the hall and went into the drawing-room with her companion.

      The kitchen was large and comfortably warm and the cheerful soul who had admitted them said at once, ‘You’ve come for your tray, love? I’ve got it ready, there’s a feeder for Mrs Vernon and a jug of warm milk and a nice pot of tea for you and some sandwiches and cake. And if there is anything you need you just ask me or Cook. We’re that glad you’ve come for we’ve been fair run off our feet since the old lady was took bad. We said to young Mrs Vernon, “You get someone to look after Mrs Vernon or we’ll give in our notice”.’ She added sympathetically, ‘You’ll have your hands full, miss. Me and Cook’ll take over for an hour in the afternoons so’s you can get a breath of air.’

      ‘You’re very kind. I didn’t know that you had had to look after Mrs Vernon; I thought young Mrs Vernon had been doing that.’

      ‘Lor’ love you, dearie, she never goes near the poor old thing, only when the doctor comes. She’d have been better off in an hospital but they want to keep her here so’s if she gets to move a hand a bit she can sign her name so’s they can take care of her money.’

      She made the tea and put the teapot on the tray. ‘Not that I should be gossiping with you, and you only just here but it’s only right you should know which way the cat’s jumping.’

      ‘It’s kind of you to tell me,’ said Deborah. ‘I’ll take good care of the old lady.’

      She bore the tray upstairs, gave Mrs Vernon the milk, a slow business but successfully achieved, and then sat down near the bed and had her own tea. Mrs Vernon was dozing again and she was able to consider what Mrs Dodd had told her—it was a quite different picture from that which Mrs Dexter had painted although she was sure that that lady had no idea of the true state of things. That her own position in the household wasn’t quite as Mrs Dexter had pictured it didn’t worry her; she was fired with the ambition to get the old lady better although she had very little idea of how to set about it. All she knew was that people recovered from strokes sooner or later and to a greater or lesser degree, provided that the stroke hadn’t been a massive one. The local nurse had been coming in to see her and she might be a useful source of information … Deborah drained the teapot, ate everything on the tea tray and carried it back to the kitchen.

      When she finally got into her bed that night she was tired. Mrs Vernon was hard work and she found that she was expected to manage by herself. It meant rolling the patient to and fro while she saw to the bed and washed her, heaved her up on to her pillows, fed her the milky drink which, it seemed, was all that she was allowed, and then sat quietly by the bed until she slept. The job, she reflected, wasn’t quite what she had expected, but never mind that, it was a job and she was free …

      She got up early and since the old lady was still asleep she bathed and dressed and crept down the back stairs. Mrs Dodd was in the kitchen and greeted her in a friendly fashion and offered a cup of tea.

      ‘If you come down in half an hour your breakfast would be ready. You don’t mind eating it here? The mistress has hers in bed and Mr Vernon likes to be on his own …’

      Deborah didn’t mind and said so and Mrs Dodd went on, ‘You’ll need to have the old lady spick and span by ten o’clock: the doctor comes twice a week—today and on Friday—just takes a look at her and has a chat with the mistress.’

      Old Mrs Vernon was awake when Deborah went back upstairs and there was time to bathe her face and smooth her hair and make her comfortable. Deborah talked while she worked, heaved the old lady up the bed and turned her pillows and then offered her a drink. She drank thirstily and Deborah, offering more water, resolved to ask for something more interesting. Surely if Mrs Vernon could manage to swallow water she could do the same with orange juice or barley water or even Bovril and chicken broth?

      Eating the breakfast the cook put before her presently, she broached the subject. ‘Well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t help yourself to anything you would think she might fancy. Fluids, the doctor said, and they’re all fluids, aren’t they?’ She pointed to the big dresser which took up all one wall. ‘You’ll find everything that you want in there and no need to ask.’

      So Deborah went back to the old lady’s room with a jug of orange juice and a small tea tray. She hoped she was doing the right thing but she couldn’t see any reason for not doing it and besides the doctor would come presently and she could ask him and find out too just how much movement the patient could tolerate.

      The tea was taken with obvious pleasure, judging by the flurry of winks from the mask-like face. Deborah bore the tray back to the kitchen, put the orange juice in the bathroom to keep cool, and set about readying her patient for the day. Mrs Vernon, although helpless, was small and very thin, which was a good thing, for Deborah had a good deal of heaving and turning to do before she was satisfied with her efforts and knew that her patient was comfortable. It seemed that she was, for, when asked, she winked several times.

      Dr Benson was a disappointment; he came into the room accompanied by young Mrs Vernon, accorded Deborah a nod and went to look at his patient.

      ‘Looks comfortable enough,’ he observed jovially. ‘Let us hope that this young woman will look after her as well as you have done, my dear. I only hope that you have not overtaxed your strength; you must take things easy.’

      Deborah, standing by the bed, saw the pent-up rage in the old eyes staring up at him. There was something wrong and she wasn’t sure what it was but of one thing she was sure: it wouldn’t be of any use asking Dr Benson’s advice. He hadn’t spoken to her at all, addressing all his remarks to Mrs Vernon, but she took heart when she heard him telling her that since she was so anxious about her aunt he had arranged for a specialist to come and see the old lady. ‘I’ll bring him with me on Friday,’ he promised. ‘He’s one of the best men in the medical world.’

      ‘You’re doing very nicely.’ He bent over his patient and spoke rather loudly. ‘We must be patient.’ He patted her hand, nodded to Deborah and went away with Mrs Vernon.

      Deborah skipped to the bathroom and filled a feeder with some orange juice. Rest was all very well but some extra nourishment might do no harm. Her gentle heart was shaken to see tears oozing from under the old lady’s eyelids. She put an arm round the elderly head and lifted it gently. ‘You’re going to get better,’ she said, ‘I’m quite sure of that. You’re going to have nourishing drinks and I’m going to rub your legs and arms so that when you can move again you won’t feel weak. I’m not a nurse but if you’ll trust me I’ll do my very best to get you better. Just don’t lose heart, because it will take the two of us.’

      Florrie came presently so that Deborah might go down to her lunch. It surprised her very much to discover that she was having it with young Mrs Vernon, but only for that day it seemed, so that that lady could make her wishes known to Deborah.

      ‘Normally you may have your lunch in the morning-room at the back of the house and your supper too of course. Tea you can have upstairs and someone will sit with my aunt each afternoon for an hour or so. The village has a shop if you should need anything and when it can be arranged you may take a half-day—there’s a bus once or twice a week into Lechlade.’ She glanced at Deborah. ‘It’s an easy post—there’s really nothing to do but keep my aunt