"Her heart." Gruffstone's hands moved with deft quickness, quite unlike his usual clumsy motions. "Fortunately I brought my bag with me. Annabelle! On the table by the window – step lively -"
So admonished, Annabelle moved quickly, and after a few moments the doctor looked up. His face was shining wet in the lamplight, whether with perspiration or tears or a blend of both Marianne could not tell.
"She lives," he said. "We must get her to her room now. Call the servants. Victor, how does the boy?"
"As usual," the tutor replied.
Marianne did not know which way to turn. She continued to wriggle and protest, and finally Carlton broke through his paralysis and untied her.
"At any rate," he remarked, with a ghastly attempt at jauntiness, "I can testify that you did not free yourself. These are my knots, no question about it. I'm sorry to have left you so long, but a string of horrors like this is really a bit much, even for me."
"The night is not over," the doctor said. "Annabelle, ring again; where in heaven's name are those worthless servants? One of the footmen can carry the boy, but I want a thin mattress or cot for Her Grace; she must be transported as gently as possible."
It was done as he directed. Before long Marianne found herself alone with Carlton. The Duke had recovered from his fit and seemed better although he was sobbing softly – possibly with embarrassment, for a damp stain on the Persian rug indicated that he had suffered an accident more explicable in a much younger child.
"Will she be all right?" Marianne asked.
Carlton shook his head. "If anyone can save her, Gruffstone can. I knew her heart was weak, but… I suppose seeing the boy was the final straw. She has seen it before, but it seems to grow worse each time, and after the emotional strain of this evening…"
"What is wrong with Henry?"
"He is an epileptic, of course." Carlton gave her a derisive look, though he was still pale and his disheveled hair had tumbled over his brow. "Did you think him a victim of demonic possession?"
"You could hardly blame me if I did, after all the other things that happened."
Carlton flung out his arms in a gesture of despair that was nonetheless genuine for looking so theatrical.
"For heaven's sake, let us not even think of that! My brain is reeling; I cannot think sensibly. You look as if you could do with a restorative. A glass of wine, perhaps?"
"I have had too much wine," Marianne said faintly. "I don't seem to be accustomed to it."
"You only had two glasses," Carlton said. "I wonder… Never mind that now. Let me help you upstairs."
Marianne was glad to take his arm. "I could not possibly sleep," she insisted.
"Nor I. Perhaps we could both do with that universal nursery panacea, a cup of good strong tea. There is a little sitting room upstairs, not far from your bedchamber; the Duchess meant – means – to have it refurbished for you, but it is habitable. We will wait there for news."
The Duchess's illness had roused the household. The servants seemed genuinely devoted and concerned; they hovered anxiously about the stairs and jumped to obey Carlton's orders. A fire was lighted in the sitting room he had mentioned, and the housekeeper herself brought tea and biscuits. The poor old creature's eyes were suffused with tears when she asked about her mistress, and Carlton patted her hand as he tried to find some answer that would combine truth and comfort.
"We know everything is being done, Mrs. Kenney. Dr. Gruffstone is a first-rate physician."
"He won't let her die," the old woman quavered; and Marianne realized, from her upturned glance and clasped hands, that she was not referring to the doctor. "What will become of us if she goes? Oh, sire, I don't want to sound selfish -"
"I know, I know. I'll tell you what, Mrs. Kenney; this may be a long night and we are all tired; why don't you put together some food in case the doctor requires refreshment? A good mutton roast, or salmon, or one of your magnificent trifles."
Despite the absurd selection he had found the way to distract the housekeeper. Her face brightened.
"And some soup," she exclaimed. "Her Grace might fancy some nice strengthening broth when she feels a little better. There is nothing like it, I always say. I'll do it right away, Mr. Carlton."
She hobbled out.
"What will become of them?" Carlton muttered, staring after her. "All the misfits, the unemployables, whom she has taken in? Who else would find a place for them?"
"I am sure she has made provisions for them," Marianne said absently. "A woman so kind would not neglect old servants. Mr. Carlton, can we not tiptoe down the hall and look in? I am so anxious."
"Gruffstone said he would send for us if… if we could be useful," was the reply, made in an abstracted voice, as if the lawyer had something else on his mind.
"Whatever possessed you to order that ridiculous amount of food? It would be impossible to eat anything."
But when, sometime later, trays of sandwiches and salad were brought up, she found that she was ravenous. The food and the strong tea removed the last traces of her dizziness; she felt keyed up and alert and too restless to sit or be silent. Talking seemed to relieve her mind. Unfortunately Carlton did not share this weakness, if weakness it was. He sat hunched in his chair staring into space and responded to her irritable comments in monosyllables, if at all.
It was almost dawn before the doctor came to them. "She will do now," he said. "It was not as serious as I feared, but I stayed with her till she slept."
"You look very tired," Marianne said. "Can you take some food before you retire, or a cup of tea? I have kept the water hot."
"I have no appetite." But he began to nibble on a sandwich and Marianne poured him some tea. "You realize," he continued, with a severe look at the girl, "that she must have quiet and rest. The least excitement -"
"And how do you propose to accomplish that?" Carlton demanded. Now that his anxieties were relieved he had reverted to his old snappish manner. "The Duchess creates her own excitement. After that purported message tonight she will be on pins and needles till she hears the great revelation."
"We have a little time to prepare," the doctor replied heavily. "If, as I suppose, the reference was to the anniversary of that scoundrel's death, it is almost a fortnight away – the thirteenth of November, to be precise. Perhaps by then I can persuade her…"
"To do what?" Carlton seemed determined to be objectionable. "Give up hope of contacting that scoundrel, as you call him? Never believe it. Or have you some other scheme in mind? I warn you, Gruffstone, that any frustration of her hopes will prove as severe a shock as the message itself."
"Don't try to teach me my own profession! I know that as well as you do. I have an idea…" This time Carlton did not interrupt him, and after a moment of hesitation and a sidelong glance at Marianne, the doctor continued, "I can at least hope to strengthen her, to prepare her for the inevitable disappointment."
"Why should you suppose she will be disappointed? The agency that produced those obscene demonstrations tonight is quite capable of doing it again, unless we can discover how it was done and prevent it. Ah – your face is too open, Doctor; it gives you away. That is what you plan, is it not? What do you have in mind?"
The doctor did not reply.
Marianne said quietly, "Dr. Gruffstone prefers not to speak in front of me. I will go."
"No, no, it doesn't matter." The doctor waved his arm and gave a great yawn. "Only you will have to let me express my ideas without regard for your feelings, Miss Ransom, and not take offense. At the present time I have no plan, I have only theories – too many of them."