Stormy Springtime

Meg nipped off to the kitchen, thinking that sometimes her employer talked to her as though she were her daughter. She put on the duffle coat again and encountered Betsy’s surprised look. ‘You’ve just been out with the beast,’ she pointed out, ‘’ad yer forgotten, Miss Meg?’

Meg opened the kitchen door and started off down the stone passage leading to the garden. Lucky, anxious to please, even if reluctant, trotted beside her.

‘No—it’s all right, Betsy, it’s only until the Professor’s gone.’

The remark puzzled Betsy; it puzzled Meg too. Just because one didn’t like a person it didn’t mean to say that one had to run away from them, and wasn’t she being a bit silly, trudging round the garden on such a beastly evening just because Professor Culver was ill-mannered enough to stare so?

CHAPTER THREE

TWO OR THREE DAYS passed. The weather was what was to be expected for the time of year: rain and a flurry of snow, and then a lovely day with a blue sky and an icy wind; Mrs Culver kept to the house for the first two days and then decided to accept a lunch invitation with friends in Ware. Meg phoned Noakes, the chauffeur, who now lived in the village with his wife, and watched her employer borne away before calling to Lucky and taking him for a brisk walk. It had certainly turned cold; she settled him with Silky before the kitchen fire, had bread and cheese and a great pot of tea with Betsy sitting at the kitchen table, and then went away to make up the fires and get the tea tray ready; Mrs Culver would probably be cold and tired when she got back, and a few scones might be a good idea. She returned to the kitchen and made a batch while Betsy sat by the Aga, having what she called a bit of a shut-eye.

Mrs Culver arrived back rather sooner than Meg had expected, and she didn’t look very well.

‘I’m cold,’ she complained. ‘I mean cold inside; I’d like a cup of tea…’

‘It’s quite ready, Mrs Culver,’ said Meg soothingly, ‘and there’s a lovely fire in the drawing-room. I’ll bring the tray in there.’ She drew a chair to the fire. ‘I made some scones—you’ll enjoy those.’

Only Mrs Culver didn’t; she drank several cups of tea, her nice face becoming more and more flushed, and when Meg suggested that she might like to go to her bed, she agreed without a fuss.

‘Well, you stay there for a few minutes; I’ll see to the electric blanket and warm your nightie. I won’t be long.’

She was barely ten minutes, and when she got back it was to find Mrs Culver shivering and reluctant to leave her chair. It took a good deal of coaxing to get her up the stairs and into her room, and once there Meg helped her undress and tucked her up in bed, and then proceeded to sponge off Mrs Culver’s carefully applied make-up and comb her hair.

‘I feel awful,’ said Mrs Culver.

Meg refrained from telling her that she looked awful and worse every minute. ‘A chill,’ she said bracingly. ‘I’m going to get you a warm drink and phone Doctor Woods. He’ll give you something to make you feel better.’

She had known Doctor Woods all her life, and he had been in and out of the house for weeks before her mother died. She liked his forthright, gruff manner, and he for his part knew that she wasn’t a girl to panic.

By the time he arrived, some twenty minutes later, Mrs Culver was looking decidedly worse.

‘’Flu,’ said Doctor Woods. ‘There’s a lot of it about. Got anyone to fetch a prescription?’

‘No. Willy has gone and there’s only Betsy. I’ll have to phone Noakes; he’s the chauffeur and lives in the village. He’ll have to come here and get the car…’

‘Tell you what, I’ll leave enough of these to last until tomorrow; let the chauffeur get the rest in the morning. I’ll be in again tomorrow some time; you’re sensible enough to let me know if you get worried.’

He closed his bag and started getting into his coat. ‘Any family?’

‘A son—Professor Culver…’

‘You don’t say? Brilliant man in his field. You’d better let him know. No danger as far as I can see, but all the same…’

‘I’ll go and do it right away,’ promised Meg.

‘You look a bit peaked yourself, Meg. Working too hard, are you? You could do with a holiday. Where are those sisters of yours?’

‘Well, Cora has her own home and family, as you know, and Doreen’s at the hospital still.’

He grunted, which could have meant anything, patted her on the shoulder and went out to his car, muttering.

Mrs Culver was dozing; she looked ill, but no worse. Meg went downstairs and went to the study and picked up the telephone. The Professor’s number was written neatly on a card beside it, and she dialled it. A London number—and a rather severe voice told her that it was Professor Culver’s residence. ‘Is the Professor there?’ Meg asked. ‘And if he is, will you tell him it’s his mother’s housekeeper?’