He was actually engaging her in conversation, that was at least a relief, but determined not to meet him half-way, Felicity resolutely maintained a silence while, acting on his grudgingly given permission, she commenced to unpack the suit-case, placing everything in its appropriate place. It was not until the task was finished and the empty suitcase stowed away at the back of the built-in cupboard, that she brought over his pipe. "Here it is, can you manage or shall I help you fill it?"
"O'Brien used to do it for me, I doubt if you can."
"I expect I can manage as well as he, my father smoked a pipe, he lost three of his fingers in the war so I learned to do it for him." Felicity spoke without any show of emotion as, packing the tobacco into the bowl, she carefully pressed it down. "Here are the matches, you can deal with those, can't you?"
"Yes, thanks." He took the proffered pipe and drew at it slowly as he applied a lighted match. "Don't bother with me any more, don't you want to go to your own room? If there is anything you want, just ring, I expect there is some kind of housemaid, but get hold of Mackerley if there is anything you seriously need."
"Then I'll find Mackerley now and ask him about your dinner-tray." Felicity was by now indifferent to the storm which would probably burst over her head.
"As you like."
The reply was so unexpectedly docile that Felicity had difficulty in concealing her amazement; to cover her surprise, she spoke quickly, and with an instinctive feeling that, if she wanted to get her way, this was a propitious moment to press her point. "Then I suggest you get into bed now, I've put your pyjamas and dressing-gown ready."
"I'll change in a moment, but I'm very comfortable sitting here."
Felicity felt it might be unwise to argue, she'd achieved more than she'd dared hope and was content to let it rest at that. She placed his gown and slippers within easy reach, then turned to the door. "Have you any idea which room I'm in?"
"Next door-at least I noticed Mackerley taking your case in there, I suppose he felt the invalid might feel happier with his nurse close at hand."
There was a note of sarcasm in his voice which brought the ready flush to Felicity's cheek. He hadn't spoken in these tones for so long now, and these last two days he had shown a marked degree of cheerfulness since she had managed to instil into him some of the confidence she herself possessed. With unflagging effort she had continued surreptitiously to encourage him to use his fingers-more and more, until she knew that he too shared her optimism. Today everything had changed and she was right back where she had started, shut out and helpless, since, without his co-operation, how could she be of help?
The room allocated to Felicity was a smaller replica of the bedroom she had just left. Little seemed to have been done to Weir Court to bring it in line with the more modern type of country house and even the fitted basin looked incongruous, wedged between an antique tallboy and an enormous oak closet, which Felicity felt must surely date back to the Norman Conquest! The first impression was but short-lived, the strange room was quickly growing on her, its unfriendly air was already vanishing, and in its place she began to feel a sense of comfort as if the shining wood, mellowed with years of polish, held out its arms to her in understanding and welcome.
Felicity was glad to strip off her jacket and blouse and bathing her face and hands was certainly refreshing, but having completed the essential parts of her toilet, the vexed question arose as to what she was expected to wear! If only Diana had been there with her ready advice and reassuring manner. Alaine had said something about not dressing-goodness knows exactly what she'd meant by that. At home they had always changed at night, not into formal wear unless visitors had been expected, but certainly into some light garment which added to one's relaxation at the end of the day. Felicity carefully inspected the choice at her disposal, then discarding them all, donned one of her freshly starched uniform dresses. She smiled to herself as she tucked a wave of hair beneath her starched cap. Sister wouldn't be there to criticize so perhaps she need not be quite so discreet, she reminded herself as she pulled forward more hair behind each ear. Diana would be furious with her if she knew she was wearing uniform. Felicity imagined her friend's reactions when she confessed her weakness, then, with a smile still dimpling the corners of her lips, she left the room, dosing the door gently behind her.
She'd scarcely any idea of the layout of the house as yet, but Felicity felt sure there must be some staircase other than the one which led into the lounge. A peep over the balustrade of the balcony had told her that the Colonel was seated in the arm-chair from which he had risen to greet them; she couldn't see if he'd adopted formal dress, but a black velvet jacket had replaced the Harris tweed he had been wearing on their arrival. Alaine was there too, facing Felicity's direction. The smart brown two-piece she had traveled in was now replaced by a creation of wine-red silk which, almost reached her ankles, revealed a narrow instep and high-heeled satin slippers to match. The deep colour of her dress enhanced the creamy olive of her skin and the coiled knot of dark hair reflected the light of the glowing fire. She really was attractive, Felicity thought as, moving carefully so that the starched crackle of her uniform might not betray her, she set out to seek another stairway.
Her guess had been right and a moment later she stood outside a baize door which undoubtedly gave on to the kitchen quarters. A warm aroma of roasting assailed her nostrils as she ventured through the dividing door and as she entered the kitchen the savoury smell became even more pronounced.
"May I come in-just for a moment?"
Wiping her hands on her apron Mrs. Mackerley turned from the stove. Her opening remark was anything but encouraging. "And what were you wanting? I'm busy now, right in the middle of cooking the dinner, can't take my eyes off it neither, not with this old-fashioned oven, things either burn or go off the boil, daren't turn my back and that's the truth."
"Then please don't let me interrupt you-you just get on with what you are doing." Felicity paused, then added with truth, "What a wonderful kitchen and how beautifully you keep it ... how can you cook a meal and yet have everything so tidy?"
"That's method, Miss, that is." Mrs. Mackerley's plump face now creased into a smile at the praise, Felicity's opening remark could not have been better chosen. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Mr. Brenton's dinner-on a tray-he has had such a tiring journey I don't think he should dine downstairs tonight. I hate causing you extra trouble but it will only be for tonight."
"I reckon the journey was tiring." Mrs. Mackerley tossed her head. "I was just saying to Mackerley that Mr. Guy would have got better quicker without Miss Jason, she'll likely fill the house with them noisy friends of hers, fair racket it is, she don't give me a moment's peace, coming out here too with her 'Please Mrs. Mackerley this' and 'Please Mrs. Mackerley that'. Always wanting something for them flighty friends of hers-just a bit of savoury with the drinks-cups of coffee all hours of the day and night-I've only one pair of hands-meals!-" She threw her two hands despairingly above her head. "They just turn up when they're hungry, why can't they eat regular, like Christians?"
"I don't expect the young lady come down here to listen to all that!" Mackerley interrupted while he gave the silver dish he was handling an extra rub. "She come down for a tray for Mr. Guy, there isn't no call for you to go on like that."
"Miss Jason may be all right in her way but she and me don't see eye to eye and that's the truth," Mrs. Mackerley retorted, then turned again to Felicity. "I'll fix a tray now. Miss-how about a drop of soup, it's on the boil and I can snip off a bit of duck-he's very partial to duck-and the potatoes and peas is just on ready too."
"That's marvellous-but you must let me help," Felicity exclaimed, as following the older woman, she began to collect the cloth and cutlery.
By the time Felicity had left the kitchen, balancing the loaded tray-after a firm refusal to allow Mackerley to carry it for her-she was satisfied that as far as the Mackerleys were concerned, they'd give her any help she might need.
On re-entering Guy Brenton's room Felicity found him, true to his promise, clad in dressing-gown and slippers, ensconced in the arm-chair before the fire, but the smile with which he had recently been greeting her arrival in his room at hospital was still missing and he scarcely acknowledged her entry. While she pulled up a small table and set the tray at his side, he remained immersed in the paper he was reading, and it was only at her reminder that his meal would get cold that he folded up the paper and gave his attention to the tray.