Waiting for Deborah. Betty Neels

upon her, had conjured up a splendid meal: soup, chicken pie with a winter salad, and a steamed pudding, as light as a feather with jam sauce and cream. Deborah enjoyed every morsel, aware that young Mrs Vernon would have been highly indignant at the idea of her aunt’s attendant sitting at the same table as Sir James and eating such an excellent meal.

      Over the chicken pie she judged it the time to ask a few questions. ‘Is Mrs Vernon going to get quite better again? And will it take a long time?’

      ‘Not quite better, I’m afraid, but possibly able to walk with a Zimmer frame, sit in a chair, get around in a wheelchair and have the use of her hands. Probably the left hand will be weaker than the right. As to her speech, it may be indistinct and slow. I see no reason why she should not enjoy life once more, though. When is Mrs Vernon returning?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘And Dr Benson?’

      ‘I wasn’t told precisely.’ She took a breath, ‘I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing phoning you, Sir James, but I didn’t know what to do.’

      He accepted a second helping of pie. ‘You did the right thing, Miss Everett. I shall contact Dr Benson at the earliest opportunity and suggest further treatment. How long are you to remain here?’

      ‘I’ve no idea. Someone I know is young Mrs Vernon’s aunt, and Mrs Vernon was finding it hard work coping with her aunt—there was only the district nurse coming in each day.’ She hesitated, ‘I needed work and so I came here.’

      ‘You have no plans at the moment? No intention of marrying?’

      ‘No, none at all.’ She gave him a questioning look.

      ‘I do not ask out of idle curiosity,’ he told her with a smile. ‘I was anticipating Mrs Vernon’s partial recovery and her need for a companion.’

      ‘Oh, I see. But I think that if she got better Mrs Vernon might want to look after her again.’

      ‘Perhaps. We shall see. You have no need to say anything to Mrs Vernon or Dr Benson. I will find the means of communicating with them at the first opportunity.’

      They ate their pudding while he talked casually about this and that, interposing a gentle question here and there so that Deborah, off her guard and relaxed, told him a great deal more than she would have wished.

      He left presently after another brief visit to the old lady and Deborah, her hand in his large reassuring grasp, wished that they could meet again.

      ‘You must be daft, my girl,’ she told herself, watching the car disappear down the drive. ‘He’ll not even remember my name in a month’s time.’

      Three days went by in which Mrs Vernon’s twitchings and movements became most satisfactorily more frequent. Deborah, eager to tell someone about it, was delighted to see Dr Benson’s car coming up the drive on the fourth morning. He entered the room with a jovial good morning and said, ‘What’s all this I hear from Sir James? He has asked me to go up to London and discuss things with him. Very surprising, I must say, and most gratifying.’

      Who for? wondered Deborah under her breath and, at his request, gave a succinct account of Mrs Vernon’s improvement.

      ‘How delighted your niece will be.’ He addressed himself to his patient, who stared back at him. ‘It is most unfortunate that I do not know exactly where she is staying but Sir James has undertaken to find her. I only trust that she is sufficiently improved in health to come home and resume her special responsibilities.’

      Neither of his companions had anything to say to this, Mrs Vernon because she wasn’t capable of doing so, Deborah because she could think of no suitable reply. Instead she asked if she should rearrange the bedclothes so that he might examine his patient.

      ‘Most satisfactory,’ he remarked when he had finished. ‘Of course we shall know more in a week or so and in the meantime I will go and see Sir James. He finds it a most interesting case.’ He glanced at Deborah. ‘And this is due largely to your care and sharp eyes, Deborah. Mrs Vernon will be delighted when she hears the news.’

      She didn’t contradict him but escorted him down to the drawing-room and gave him coffee while she wondered just how Sir James was going to find young Mrs Vernon; perhaps they moved in the same social circle, whatever that meant. She conjured up a picture of Sir James, magnificent in black tie and escorting some elegant beauty to dine at the Savoy or the Ritz and seeing Mrs Vernon, presumably with her husband, seated close by. What would be easier than passing on the good news? She was forced to abandon this colourful fantasy in order to give her full attention to Dr Benson who was reiterating what she must and must not do.

      It was three days before young Mrs Vernon, accompanied by her husband, returned home. Deborah had just finished making Mrs Vernon comfortable for the morning when Mrs Dodd came to fetch her. ‘I’m to stay,’ she said breathlessly because she had hurried up the stairs. ‘Mrs Vernon wants to see you. Got here not ten minutes ago. Cook’s in a fine temper, I can tell you, not having been told and nothing much in the house.

      She went over to the elderly lady and looked at her. ‘Morning, Mrs Vernon, love. Getting better, are you?’

      ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ said Deborah and hurried down the back stairs and into the hall.

      The drawing-room door was open and young Mrs Vernon was standing in the centre of the room. She turned round as Deborah went in, exclaiming peevishly, ‘What’s all this I hear? I saw Sir James in London; he tells me that my aunt is recovering from her stroke. I must say this is quite unexpected …’

      ‘Mrs Vernon is moving quite a lot—she is unable to talk but she makes sounds and seems to enjoy her diet. She really is getting better.’

      ‘What’s this I hear about you telephoning Sir James? The very idea—you appear to have overreached yourself.’

      ‘Dr Benson was away and his deputy couldn’t be reached; I thought it urgent enough to telephone Sir James who had seen Mrs Vernon and would tell me what to do.’

      ‘There was absolutely no need for that. My aunt’s improvement is probably a flash in the pan—all this excitement is so bad for me and just as I was beginning to relax. I shall have to speak to my husband. He agrees with me that this is all very upsetting for my aunt …’ She turned sharply as Florrie opened the door. ‘Sir James Marlow, ma’am,’ and stood aside to let him pass.

      He glanced from Mrs Vernon’s angry face to Deborah’s pallor. ‘Mrs Vernon, I am on my way to Bristol and have taken the opportunity of calling to see you. I believe that Dr Benson is on his way here? We might perhaps take another look at your aunt together and discuss her future, for, most happily, I believe her to have one.’

      He had shaken hands as he spoke and then turned to Deborah. ‘Miss Everett behaved with great good sense in calling me; she is to be commended …’

      He smiled at Deborah and added suavely, ‘Your husband is here? We might have a talk presently.’

      Mrs Vernon had pulled herself together. ‘How very good of you to call, Sir James. We should be most grateful if you would take a look at my aunt.’ She smiled at Deborah, her eyes like flint. ‘And of course we are indebted to Deborah for her splendid care.’

      Mr Vernon and Dr Benson came in together and Mrs Vernon said, ‘You may go, Deborah. Send Mrs Dodd downstairs at once and tell her to bring the coffee.’

      Deborah went without saying anything, her quiet face showing nothing of her feelings, only her eyes were quite startlingly blue; Sir James, opening the door for her, noticed that.

      Later they all came upstairs and young Mrs Vernon fluttered around the bed, tugging the bedclothes and twitching the pillow under her aunt’s head until Sir James asked her quietly if she would allow him to examine her aunt. Mr Vernon went away then and his wife stayed only long enough to watch the return of mobility in her aunt. One side, Sir James pointed out, had much stronger reflexes than the other but that was to be expected;