“You are my dear son.”
She held his hand, gently caressing it, gazing at him with tears in her eyes, which he pretended not to see. Thousands of mothers throughout the land were indulging in these furtive caresses, saying little because they feared to say too much. Thousands of sons respected such pathetic silences.
Before Grimshaw’s brief visit to Wilverley Court, an incident took place, trivial in itself, but fraught with far-reaching consequences. The faithful Mrs. Rockram fell ill, taking to her bed with a neglected cold likely to develop into pleurisy and pneumonia. Grimshaw, however, came to the rescue and—as Mrs. Rockram affirms to this day—saved her life. For twenty-four hours grave issues impended above a high temperature and severe pain. Cicely was in and out of the cottage half a dozen times, bringing what was required from the Manor kitchen, and ministering eagerly to an old friend. Lady Selina, wisely or otherwisely, made no protest. She must have known that two highly-strung young people would be thrown together. But, at the moment, every young woman in the kingdom had become a potential nurse. And also, as luck would have it, no professional nurse could take Cicely’s place. And Mrs. Rockram had served the Chandos family for five-and-twenty years . . .!
Man and maid, therefore, beheld each other with clear vision under the happiest conditions of a temporary and unconventional intimacy. They glided into comradeship, not recking where it might carry them. The current bore them out of a prosaic present into a land of dreams, the shadowy future where we fondly believe that we shall be more abundantly blessed. Both were unaware of the interest and curiosity that each kindled in the other, because, with all sincerity, they were engrossed in a common task which exacted unceasing vigilance. Even Grimshaw, with his habit of introspection and analysis, would have ridiculed the suggestion of sentimental attraction between himself and Cicely. He knew better than his amateur nurse how acute was the condition of his patient, a stout, lymphatic woman, with but slight powers of resistance to disease. And Cicely, for her part, could have sworn truthfully that the mere sight of Grimshaw’s tense face, the mere sound of his incisive voice, had frightened her out of her wits, constraining her to uncompromising obedience and attention. For the first time she saw a man fighting desperately to save the life of another. The only thing that seemed to matter was to help him to the best of her ability.
Had she contented herself with that, no consequences would have ensued. But she divined instantly that Grimshaw, unsparing of himself, needed her special attention. Dr. Pawley’s cook was taking a holiday like her master. The food at The Chandos Arms was primitive. And it did not occur to Lady Selina to ask Grimshaw to stay at the Manor. Brian had rejoined his regiment. Cicely rose triumphantly to a small emergency. Grimshaw found cold ham on his sideboard, some delicious sandwiches and hot soup. He gobbled these up without hazarding any conjecture as to whence they came. Tom Rockram, however, enlightened him. The honest fellow had some of the ham for his own dinner.
“You can thank my young lady,” he told him.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Grimshaw, “I haven’t.”
His thanks, perhaps, were heartier because belated.
The crisis passed swiftly; and Grimshaw had other patients. But Cicely stuck to her post till Mrs. Rockram was pronounced well able to fend for herself. By that time Cupid had sped his shafts. The victims, as yet, felt no smart, but each magnified the other, disdaining measurements. Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa, twin peaks, soaring into the blue!
The intimacy ended as suddenly as it had begun. Grimshaw took leave of his comrade with unaffected regret and slightly awkward apologies.