It was an unused servant’s bedroom. For a moment Roberta thought Lady Wutherwood was not there but the light from the torches found her. She sat on the floor at the head of the stretcher bed. She turned her head and looked blindly into the light and though her retracted lips at first suggested a snarl it was evident by the noise she made that she was laughing. Her hair hung about her eyes; the white discs at the corners of the mouth glistened; she turned her head gently from side to side. Her throat was bare and in its pale thickness a pulse beat rapidly. She wore a dark gown over her nightdress and her hands moved among its folds.
“Now, my lady,” said Campbell, “nobody’s going to hurt you. Here’s Nurse come to take you back to bed.”
The nurse in a most unnatural voice said: “Come along, dear. We can’t stay in a nasty cold room can we? Come along.” Lady Wutherwood shrank back against the wall. The nurse said; “We’ll just help you up, shall we?” and moved forward.
Lady Wutherwood was on her feet with a swiftness that suggested some violent wrench of pain. She pressed herself against the wall. Her hands were in the pockets of her gown, holding them together, crushed tight against herself.
“That’s better,“ said the nurse. Campbell moved closer to Lady Wutherwood and in answer to this signal Henry followed him.
“Now you come along with Nurse, my lady,” said Campbell. “We’ll just take your arms. Look out!”
Henry’s candle rolled on the floor and went out. The nurse and Roberta pointed their torches at the three struggling figures. Lady Wutherwood struck twice at Campbell with her right hand before he caught her arm. Henry had her left arm. The left hand was still rammed down in the pocket of her dressing-gown but she fought with the violence of an animal. Suddenly the room was flooded by a hard white light. Roberta threw her torch on the bed. “Collar her low, Robin,” said Henry’s voice. Roberta was on the floor. Her arms embraced a pair of soft legs, struggling inside the folds of robe and nightgown. “Disgusting, disgusting,” said her thoughts but she held on. ‘That’s better,“ Campbell said, and abruptly they were all quiet, blinking in the glare. The nurse still pointed the torch at them. She was talking. “It’s a case for a mental attendant. I should never have been asked to take the case,” gabbled the nurse, carefully pointing her torch. “It’s not a case for ordinary duty.” Lady Wutherwood’s left hand doubled inside her pocket, touched the top of Roberta’s head. The hand and arm were rigid, yet they moved with their owner’s violent breathing. A new voice, harsh and broken, sounded and was silent.
“What’s she say?” Campbell demanded. “She said something. What was it?”
“German, I think,” said Henry.
“What’s she got in her pocket? Here, Nurse! Get rid of that torch.” The nurse looked at her hand. “Oh. Silly of me,” she said, and put the torch down.