Victoria and the Nightingale Read Free Page B

impatient at this questioning, and Mrs. Grainge recollected what was expected of her. She withdrew to supervise the preparation of a bedroom for Victoria, and Dr. Brown took his leave after once more feeling the victim’s pulse and explaining that he had left a sedative for her to take, and that he would look in and see her early the following morning. He then made his way upstairs to have a look at Johnny.
    Victoria was once more alone when Sir Peter came back into the library and stood regarding her with a good deal of quite unconcealed concern in his eyes.
    They were very pleasant—even exceptionally attractive—gray eyes, and for a man his eyelashes were unusually long and thick and dark. He was a slenderly built man a little above average height, and he had light brown hair and well-cut features, and a slight air of diffidence seemed to cling to him, although under normal circumstances his lips could curve humorously and there was often a humorous twinkle in his eyes. It was quite obvious that he had an excellent tailor, for his evening clothes were beautifully cut and fitted him to perfection, and the impeccable quality of his linen threw into prominence the rather dark cast of his countenance.
    Either he had lived abroad a good deal, and acquired a healthy tan, or his light brown hair should have been dark as a raven’s wing to suit the bronze of his skin and the strange blackness of his lashes.
    When he smiled at Victoria she felt strangely warmed and comforted by his smile. She certainly didn’t feel that he regarded her as a nuisance, even if his recently acquired
    fiancee thought of her as such.
    “How are you feeling?” he asked, as she lay somewhat limply in the chair and he stood beside it and looked down at her. “I’m afraid you’ve had rather a nasty time. Was that needle of old Brown’s very painful when he gave you the injection?”
    She shook her head, and for a moment she felt too vague to answer him. Then she managed a rather husky whisper.
    “It didn’t hurt at all. But I’m feeling a bit confused. It all happened so suddenly,” she said in a more throaty whisper.
    “I understand.” He moved nearer to her, and for one moment she thought he was going to rest his hand on her shoulder as his housekeeper had done. “I’ve been up to look at the child, but I don’t think you have to worry about him too much. Children have a way of surviving these things better than adults.”
    She agreed with him that this was miraculously so.
    “I understand his father is—in pretty poor shape.”
    She nodded and agreed with him, this time soundlessly.
    “I telephoned the hospital. The report is not good. But of course it may be better tomorrow.”
    She made a faint movement with her lips. For the first time she realized that he was studying her hand—her left hand, which was completely ringless.
    “The child is not yours?” he stated rather than asked.
    Her drugged blue eyes—and they were as deep and dark as harebells—expressed surprise.
    “No.”
    “But he is some sort of a relative?”
    “No.”
    Sir Peter Wycherley moved awkwardly. Perhaps he realized that this was no time for questioning.
    “My—my fiancee was a little upset just now,” he murmured. “You mustn’t think she objects to your presence in the house. As a matter of fact, she’s intensely sympathetic, and would like to provide you with everything you need during your stay here. Fortunately she, too, is staying here, and she has plenty of things with her.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Sleeping things and so on. She’s put everything you’ll require in your room.”
    “That—that’s extraordinarily kind of her,” Victoria murmured back, and then struggled to her feet because she thought that if she didn’t reach her room soon she might disgrace herself by being sick, or fainting, or something of the sort. She stood literally swaying on her feet and added: “In fact, you’re both very kind. You’re