Gay Cavalier Page 4

  "That was Colonel Carmichael," Deirdre answered, "and he said he wouldn't stop." She took off her cap, ran her hands through her dark, limp curls. Her fingers still trembled a little and the tight-fitting velvet cap had left a thin red mark across her forehead. She felt unutterably wretched and her head was throbbing. "He drove me back," she added, in explanation, "and he was awfully kind. Bridget, you—you've heard, haven't you, about Daddy?"

  "Indeed I have," Bridget answered grimly. "First there was the doctor 'phoning, from the hospital: then there was Miss Penelope, asking for Mr. Sean, and about beside herself when I told her he'd not come back. Then Mr. Sean himself came in, in a terrible state, for he'd met Terence with the horsebox and Terence had heard that the Captain was killed. Praise be to heaven that he was not! Mr. Sean's on the 'phone now, speaking to Dr. Chalmers, I think." Deirdre made to rise but Bridget forestalled her. "Now, now, Miss Deirdre dear, it's worn out you are and as white as a ghost. Sit quietly where you are until you've a cup of tea inside you, at least. If there's any fresh news, you may be sure that Mr. Sean will be in to tell me about it, for he's not one to keep such things to himself, so he's not."

  Deirdre flashed her a weary, grateful smile. Dear, kind, warm-hearted Bridget, to whom she and Sean were still, at such moments as these, the babies she had mothered, the toddlers whose first stumbling footsteps she had guided so patiently. It was good to sit here, letting old Bridget scold and fuss over her, feeling the fire's warmth creep up into her numbed limbs, sipping the tea, which was strong and stewed and sweet, as only Bridget could make it She hadn't realized, despite Colonel Carmichael's concern, what toll her father's accident had taken of her, for shock had dulled her perceptions, the presence of a stranger forced her to keep her feelings in check.

  But now, with Bridget's arms about her and her head on the old woman's comforting breast, tears began to prick at her eyes as she poured out her story of the accident, reliving the tense little scene which had followed it.

  Sean came into the kitchen before she had finished her account. He looked pale and more than a little shaken, but he was smiling.

  "Tears, Deirdre?" he chided her gently. "Ach, sure it's going to take more than a toss off a horse to put paid to himself! Everything's going to be all right, I promise you —I've just been having a word with Frank Chalmers, who's with him at the hospital now. He says they're waiting to get the X-ray report and then they'll whisk him into the theatre and have him patched up in less time than it takes to tell. Frank says if we go round after supper—about eight or half-past—we'll be able to see him. So"—he seated himself on the edge of the table and raised Deirdre's tear-stained face to his own, a hand under her chin—"there's really nothing to cry about, is there?"

  "No. But"—she clung to his hand—"Sean, you'll stay, won't you? I mean—"

  "I can stay till tomorrow evening, anyway," Sean promised. "And after that it's only a couple of hours' run in the car, if you're needing me, isn't it?" He gestured to his empty cup. "Tea, Bridget, for the love of heaven. Me throat's as dry as a limekiln, with all the talking I've done this past half-hour!"

  Bridget filled his cup. She said severely: "And for why must you be rushing off back to London again, Master Sean? Sure, you've only just got here! It's not right to leave Miss Deirdre with everything on her shoulders — and his honour in hospital and all. Is it now?"

  A spasm of pain flickered across Sean's thin, fine-boned face. "I've a job to do in London. Quite apart from that, what use would I be here, Bridget, the crock that I am? Deirdre's perfectly capable of running things—aren't you, Deirdre?"

  "Yes," Deirdre began, "I think so, but—"

  Bridget cut her short. " 'Tis a man we're needing about the place, Master Sean. But if you'll not stay, you'll not." Her tone was reproachful and Sean flushed.

  "I'd stay if I could, Bridget. But it happens that I've a great deal on at the moment. I can get down at the weekend—or any evening, if Deirdre tells me she wants me. Is that not enough?" He spoke impatiently, for he paid great heed to Bridget, whose favourite he was, and he hated her to reproach him.

  Deirdre, anxious to spare him, put in thoughtlessly:

  "Colonel Carmichael has offered to help. He—"

  "Who?" demanded Sean, He set down his cup with a little click. "Who?"

  "Colonel Carmichael, Sean. He brought me home in his car. He — I must say, he was awfully kind."

  "I thought," Sean said dangerously, "that your instructions were to sell him a horse. Not"—his lip curled— "encourage him to be kind to you?"

  "I"—colour leapt to Deirdre's cheeks—"I didn't encourage him, there wasn't any need to, he just was kind. What have you got against him, anyway?"

  "I?" Sean's blue eyes were cold. "What should I have against him, for mercy's sake? I've not the pleasure of his acquaintance."

  "Haven't you? He told me he knew you." All Deirdre's earlier uneasiness had returned. Her momentary flash of anger faded and she asked pleadingly: "Sean what is all this mystery? Why do you pretend you don't know him? You recognized him at the Camp this morning—I know you did, I was watching you."

  Sean stiffened. He said angrily: "Ach, sure, I recognized him. That's not to say I know the man to speak to, or that he knows me. You forget the difference in our ranks—he was a battalion commander, I was a corporal."

  "But he told me he'd met you in Korea," Deirdre persisted.

  "Then he was mistaken," Sean retorted obstinately, "for he did not. Corporals were two a penny, divil take it — he'll have mistaken me for someone else." He shrugged. "Korea is over and done with, Deirdre—it's something I prefer to forget. Or at least not talk about. Sell the Colonel a horse, if you must, and let it end at that For my sake, don't invite him here."

  "I think you're being rather unreasonable," Deirdre argued. "After all, he was extremely helpful and nice to me. And to Daddy! If you really don't know him, then I can't see why you should expect me to repay his kindness with discourtesy. I mean, if you can give me a reason for your attitude—"

  "Well, I can't then," Sean flared, "not one you'd understand at all events." He turned and made to leave the kitchen but Bridget called after him reproachfully: "Master Sean, you've not drunk your tea. You—"

  "I don't want it," Sean said with finality. He added over his shoulder: "Hop into a bath, Deirdre. And let's have a meal early—we'll have to leave here about half-past seven, if we're to be at the hospital by eight."

  He flung out of the room and Deirdre exchanged an anxious, puzzled glance with Bridget.

  "If I were you, Miss Deirdre," the old woman advised, "I'd not say another word to him, so I would not. Men are strange creatures, even the best of them. You be off and have your bath."

  "All right," Deirdre agreed. She felt suddenly very tired. And Paddy would be back with the horses soon… she would have to go out and look at Marigold. And extract Moonbeam's pedigree from the Stud book, for his new owner —normally her father's task.

  Responsibility for the Sheridan Stud rested now on her shoulders, as Bridget had reminded her. It felt, at that moment, rather a heavy burden…

  She wished, as she climbed the stairs to her own room, that her brother would remain to share it with her. But it was no use asking him. Sean had his own life to live: he had never liked being tied down, never found responsibility anything but irksome. And, fond as she was of him, Deirdre knew that she could not rely on him. Since his return from Korea, Sean had changed almost beyond recognition: the ties which, before, had bound him so closely to his home and family, seemed at times to be in danger of snapping… if, indeed, they still existed.

  He came home, but at longer and longer intervals, each visit of shorter duration than the one preceding it. And, when he did come, he wasn't close to them, he didn't join in the life of the house or take more than a cursory interest in the Stud and the horses he had once loved with a deep, absorbing passion. His moods were completely unforeseeable, ranging from a defiant, even aggressive cheerfulness to
swift outbursts of unprovoked anger for which, an instant afterwards, he was always sorry. And, invariably, humbly and embarrassingly apologetic.

  Consequently, Deirdre did not take his attitude to Colonel Carmichael—strange though it was—as seriously as she might otherwise have done. But she wondered, as she ran scalding water into her bath and began slowly to undress, what could have happened to Sean in Korea and whether whatever it was had, in some way, been connected with Alan Carmichael. Because that seemed to be the only explanation. Obviously Sean had experienced something so terrible that it had altered his whole character, made him retreat into some secret hell of his own making, where neither she nor Bridget nor even her father could reach him, and the sight of the man who perhaps, had shared the experience with him, must have revived bitter memories of events he had believed forgotten. Or which he had been trying to erase from his mind.

  It was unfortunate, for Sean's sake, that Colonel Carmichael had chosen to buy a farm in this part of the country. Or… was it, after all, so unfortunate? Wasn't it possible that she might find out from him exactly what had happened to Sean? They had been hampered, all of them, by Sean's obstinate refusal to talk of his experiences. But if she knew what had happened, surely the knowledge would enable her to help her brother or, at least, come nearer to understanding him?

  Cheered by the possibilities this train of thought suggested, Deirdre's spirits lifted.

  She finished her bath and, changing hurriedly into a soft woollen dress, went in search of Sean, finding him, as he usually was in the evenings, by the fire in the study, his sketches spread out in front of him and a glass of whisky in his hand.

  He greeted her a trifle morosely and was silent and uncommunicative during their meal. But on the way over to the hospital he made a great effort to appear cheerful — an effort which for the invalid's benefit, he sustained throughout their brief visit.

  Dennis, in a small ward by himself, looked much better than Deirdre had expected him to look. He was still hazy from the anaesthetic but there was colour in his cheeks and the numb agony had gone from his eyes, the pinched tightness from about his mouth. He lay, relaxed, on his pillows, smilingly assuring them that he was comfortable and receiving the best of care.

  "Sure they can't do enough for me, so they can't. I feel like a millionaire, lying here with half a dozen nurses constantly at me beck and call. You've not the least reason to worry about me, either of you — I'll be home before you've had time to realize I'm not there, Deirdre. And poking me nose in, here and there, to make sure you've been taking good care of me horses…"

  He talked on, lightly and with his usual good humour, insisting that he was in no pain, but when, after ten minutes, the Sister came to speed his visitors on their way, he made no protest, and as they crept from the ward Deirdre saw that his eyes were closed.

  Her own were suddenly misty. Sean took her hand and continued to hold it during the short drive back. He spoke little, giving all his attention to his driving, but she found his warm handclasp strangely comforting, his silence seeming, for some inexplicable reason, to bring him closer to her than any words could have done.

  But, when they reached the Stud, he said abruptly:

  "Look, Deirdre, I'm not coming in yet, do you mind? I —there's someone I want to see. I won't be late but don't wait up for me, there's a good child. And don't worry about Father—he's going to be all right, I promise you." He kissed Deirdre's cold cheek and was gone, almost before she had ascended the steps leading up to the front door.

  She watched him go, conscious of an odd sadness. He was her brother and she loved him but, at that moment, he might have been a stranger whom she had met that evening for the first time.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sean left the following afternoon, having driven over with Deirdre to pay their father a second visit. His depression of the night before seemed, mercifully, to have given place to a mood of expansive optimism, but there were moments when, caught off his guard, his eyes belied the easy cheerfulness of voice and words. He did his best, whilst in his father's presence, to keep up the pretence, but took his leave a good ten minutes before the allotted half-hour was up, making a joke of the urgency surrounding his departure.

  And Dennis was not deceived. When Sean had gone, he turned, moving awkwardly for the plaster that encased him, and fixed Deirdre with a long and penetrating stare.

  "What ails the boy, Deirdre — do you know?"

  He was still weak and a good deal shocked, so Deirdre, afraid of upsetting him, answered evasively: "I don't think anything does, Daddy. Why should it?"

  "I wouldn't be knowing." Her father sighed. "He's not himself though, not himself at all. And he's in a powerful hurry to get back to his work. From what he's told me about it, I'd not imagined he had anything so important on hand that he couldn't have put it off for a day or so — at least until you'd got into the way of running things. I don't like his rushing off and leaving you like this, so I don't. I don't like it at all."

  "But I can manage, Daddy — honestly," Deirdre assured him. She forced a confident note into her voice. "Everyone has been wonderful. Especially Paddy. There wasn't any need for Sean to stay. And Marigold is none the worse —I walked her out this morning, because I was a bit worried about her after Paddy brought her back. But she's sound and Paddy says it's done her very little harm. He wants to give her some schooling over the practice fences next week, because he thinks her jumping could be improved and…" She talked on about the horses, aware that her father was listening to her with less than his usual interest but determined, nevertheless, to avoid any more dangerous topic.

  "Deirdre—" He interrupted her in mid-sentence and there was a harsh, strained edge to his voice.

  Deirdre stared at him in surprise. "Yes, Daddy?"

  "You"—he hesitated and a tinge of colour crept up beneath the sickroom pallor of his cheeks—"you did sell Moonbeam, didn't you — to Carmichael?"

  She nodded, glad that on this point at all events she could set his mind at rest. "I haven't got the cheque yet but Colonel Carmichael 'phoned at lunch-time. He said he would call round with it this evening. He—"

  "Sell him the horse," her father ordered abruptly, "even if you have to come down a little on his price. And you might see if you can interest him in Snowgoose too. I'd let her go for two hundred and fifty guineas, if he's a mind to take her. And"—he seemed about to say more but checked himself—"you'll manage," he told her, smiling again. "Thanks be to God that I've a daughter like you, Deirdre! One I can depend on — unlike my son. Sean's his mother all over again, more's the pity—charming and unreliable and utterly incapable of growing roots or accepting responsibility for anything. And yet one loves them."

  There was in his blue eyes the hurt, bewildered look that was always there when he spoke of the mother she could hardly remember, and Deirdre, as always, was moved by it. She felt for and found his hand.

  "Sean's not unreliable, Daddy. Not really."

  "Is he not?" Dennis's fingers closed about hers. "Well, if you say so, child. It's to be hoped you're right and he'll settle down one of these days. He's in need of a woman's influence, perhaps—though you and Bridget do your best, 'tis maybe a wife the boy needs."

  "I shouldn't think he could afford one," Deirdre said thoughtlessly and was sorry she had said it an instant later, for her father's face clouded and he returned bitterly: "He'll have to find himself a rich one then, for I can't finance him."

  "He won't expect you to, Daddy. Sean's quite capable of standing on his own feet. You mustn't worry about him."

  At that, he grinned at her. "I'm not, child, I'm not. 'Tis yourself I'm worrying about!"

  "Then don't, darling," Deirdre begged him, "because there's absolutely no need, I promise there isn't." A nurse came to the door of his room then and Dennis was himself again in an instant. "Ach, now, here is this dragon to turn you out!" He smiled at the nurse and waved to Deirdre as she left the ward, the old, gay, laughing Dennis she kn
ew so well. Only his eyes were tired and there was a bitter twist to his smile that she had never noticed before.

  Or perhaps, Deirdre reflected, descending the hospital steps, perhaps she was seeing him, for the first time, not as her father but as a man. As a man who was fallible as other men were…

  She had planned to catch the 'bus back on leaving the hospital but, to her surprise, she saw Penelope Hollis's little red M.G. parked at the foot of the steps and, recognizing her, the older girl leaned across to open the door on the passenger's side.

  "I'll give you a lift if you like, Deirdre," she invited, a trifle off-handedly. When Deirdre started to demur, Penelope cut her short. "Don't be absurd—Sean told me you were here and that he was going back to London. So I waited. Do get in."

  Obedient but puzzled, Deirdre did so. Penelope Hollis so seldom appeared to be aware of her existence that her offer of a lift was surprising enough in itself. That she had waited for a quarter of an hour in order to make it was so completely out of character as to leave Deirdre almost speechless. But she managed to reply composedly to the other girl's enquiries for her father, as they drove at reckless speed through the streets of the small market town.

  Discussion of the accident and the Pony Club Camp occupied them until they were less than a mile from King's Martin. Then, after a little silence, Penelope asked, her tone quite casual: "You'll be coming to the Hunt Ball, I suppose?"

  The South Kinsdale Hunt Ball was an annual event, held traditionally at King's Martin Manor, with Sir Henry Hollis as host. Deirdre had always gone to it, with her father, ever since she had been considered old enough to attend grown-up functions, but, until Penelope mentioned it, she hadn't given this year's Ball a thought. Now she said uncertainly:

  "Well, I don't know. We've got tickets, of course, but if my father's laid up, I don't suppose I shall. I've always gone with him."

  "Couldn't Sean come down for it?" Penelope suggested innocently.