The Normandy nurse, Franoise, exercised a firmer control over her than any other maid she had ever employed; hence, Franoise"s services were retained long after other servants had left their mistress in disgust or fright. This distressing form of lunacy seemed also to account for the roving life led by Mrs. Saumarez. She was proud, with the inbred arrogance of the Junker cla.s.s from which she sprang. She would not endure the scorn, or, mayhap, the sympathy of her friends or dependants.
Whenever she succ.u.mbed to her malady she usually left that place on the first day she was able to travel.
But the Elmsdale attack, thanks to a limited supply of brandy and Eau de Cologne, was of brief duration. Franoise knew exactly what to do. Every drop of alcoholic liquor--even the methylated spirit used for heating curling-irons--must be kept out of her mistress"s way during the ensuing twenty-four hours, and a deaf ear turned to frantic pleadings for the smallest quant.i.ty of any intoxicant. Threats, tears, pitiable requests, physical violence at times, must be disregarded callously; then would come reaction, followed by extreme exhaustion. Franoise, despising her German mistress, nevertheless had the avaricious soul of a French peasant, and was ama.s.sing a small fortune by attending to her.
The Misses Walker were so eager to retain their wealthy guest that they pretended absolute ignorance of her condition. They succeeded so well--their own dyspeptic symptoms were described with such ingenuous zeal--that the lady believed her secret was unknown to the household at The Elms.
Oddly enough, certain faculties remained clear during these attacks. She took care that the chauffeur should not see her, and remembered also that young Martin Bolland had conversed with her while she was in the worst paroxysm of drink-craving. He was a quick boy, observant beyond his age. What did he know? What wondrous tale had he spread through the village? A visit to his mother, a meeting with the gossip-loving women sure to be gathered beneath the farmer"s hospitable roof, would tell her all. She nerved herself for the ordeal, and approached slowly, fearfully, but outwardly dignified as ever.
Mrs. Bolland"s hearty greeting was rea.s.suring.
"Eh, my lady, but ye do look poorly, te be sure. I"ve bin worritin" te think ye"ve mebbe bin upset by all this racket i" t" place, when ye kem here for rest an" quiet."
Mrs. Saumarez smiled.
"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Bolland," she said. "I cannot blame Elmsdale, except, perhaps, that your wonderful air braced up my appet.i.te too greatly, and I had to pay the penalty for so many good things to eat."
"Ay, I said so," chimed in Mrs. Summersgill, in the accents of deep conviction. "Ower much grub an" nowt te do is bad for man or beast."
Mrs. Saumarez laughed frankly at that.
"In which category do you place me, Mrs. Summersgill?" she inquired.
Meanwhile, her eyes wandered to where Martin stood. She was asking herself why the boy should gaze so fixedly at Angle.
The stout party did not know what a category was. She thought it was some species of malady.
"Well, ma"am," she cried, "if I was you, I"d try rabbit meat for a few days. Eat plenty o" green stuff an" shun t" teapot. It"s slow p"ison."
She stretched out a huge arm and poured out a cup of tea. There was a general laugh at this forgetfulness. Mrs. Summersgill waved aside criticism.
"Ay, ay!" she went on, "it"s easier te preach than te practice, as t"
man said when he fell off a haystack efther another man shooted tiv him te ho"d fast."
Mrs. Saumarez took a seat. Thus far, matters had gone well. But why did Martin avoid her?
"Martin, my little friend," she said, "why did you not come in and see me yesterday when you called at The Elms?"
"Miss Walker did not wish it," was the candid answer. "I suppose she thought I might be in the way when you were so ill."
"There nivver was sike a bairn," protested Martha Bolland. "He"s close as wax sometimes. Not a wud did he say, whether ye were ill or well, Mrs. Saumarez."
The lady"s glance rested more graciously on the boy. She noticed his bandaged arms and hands.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "Have you been scalding yourself?"
Martin reddened. It was Angle who answered quickly:
"You were too indisposed last night to hear the story, chre maman. It was all over the village. Il y a tout le monde qui sait. Martin saved Elsie Herbert from a wildcat. It almost tore him into little pieces."
And so the conversation glided safely away from the delicate topic of Mrs. Saumarez"s sudden ailment. She praised Martin"s bravery in her polished way. She expressed proper horror when the wildcat"s skin was brought in for her edification, and became so lively, so animated, that she actually asked Mrs. Bolland for some tea, notwithstanding Mrs.
Summersgill"s earnest warnings.
She made a hearty meal. Franoise, too, joined in the feast, her homely Norman face perceptibly relaxing its grim vigilance. Her mistress was safe now, for a month, two months, perchance six. The desire for food was the ultimate sign of complete recovery--for the time. Had Mrs.
Saumarez dared ask for a gla.s.s of beer from the majestic cask in the corner, Franoise would have prevented her from taking it, using force if necessary. The st.u.r.dy peasant from Tinchebrai was of stronger moral fiber than the born aristocrat, and her mistress knew it.
Martin stood somewhat shyly near the broad ingle. Angle approached. She caressed his lint-wrapped arms, saying sweetly:
"Do they pain you a great deal?"
"Of course not. They"re just a bit sore to the touch--that"s all."
His manner was politely repellant. He wished she would not pat him with her nervous fingers. She pawed him like a playful cat. To-day she wore the beautiful muslin frock he had admired so greatly on the first day of the fair. The deep brim of her hat concealed her eyes from all but his.
"I am quite jealous of Elsie," she murmured. "It must be simply lovely to be rescued in that way. Poor little me! At home nursing mamma, while you were fighting for another girl!"
"The thing was not worth so much talk. I did nothing that any other boy would not have done."
"My wud," cried Mrs. Summersgill suddenly, "it"d do your little la.s.s a power o" good te git some o" that fat becan intiv her, Mrs. Saumarez."
From the smoke-blackened rafters over the s.p.a.cious fireplace were hanging a dozen sides of home-cured bacon, huge toothsome slabs suggesting mounds of luscious rashers. The st.u.r.dy boy beneath gave proof that there was good nutriment in such ample store, but the girl was so fragile, so fairy-like in her gossamer wings, that she might have been reared on the scent of flowers.
The attention thus drawn to the two caused Martin to flush again, but Angle wheeled round.
"Do all pigs grow fat when they are old?" she asked.
"Nay, la.s.s, that they don"t. We feed "em te mak" "em fat while they"re young, but some pigs are skinny "uns always."
Mrs. Saumarez smiled indulgently at this pa.s.sage between two such sharp-tongued combatants. Angle"s eyes blazed. Franoise, eating steadily, wondered what had been said to make the women laugh, the child angry.
Angle caught the astonished expression on the nurse"s face. Quickly her mood changed. Franoise sat near. She bent over and whispered:
"Tiens, nanna! Voici une vieille truie qui parle comme nous autres!"
Franoise nearly choked under a combination of protest and bread crumbs.
Before she could recover her breath at hearing Mrs. Summersgill described "an old sow who talks like one of us!" Angle cried airily to Martin:
"Take me to the stables. I haven"t seen the pony and the dogs for days and days."
He was glad to escape. He dreaded Mrs. Summersgill"s mordant humor if a war of wits broke out between her and the girl.
"All right," he said. "I"ll whistle for Curly and Jim at the back and join you at the gate."
But Angle skipped lightly toward her hostess.
"Please, Mrs. Bolland," she said coaxingly, "may I not go through the back kitchen, too?"
"Sure-ly, honey," cried Martha. "One way"s as good as another. Martin, tak t" young leddy anywheres she wants te go, an" dinnat be so gawky.
She won"t bite ye."
The two pa.s.sed into the farmyard.