The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Forty-Eight



MILLIE LEFT HER grandmother sitting by her father’s bedside and went back to the house to rest and change her clothes. She was still feeling shaken by their argument but didn’t blame her grandmother for her outburst; Lady Rettingham was just as tired and worn out with worry as Millie was.

As they crested the hill above the house, Millie ordered Felix to stop the car so she could get some fresh air. Cooped up inside the hospital, she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed the warmth of the sun on her face, or the scent of air untainted by disinfectant.

She gazed down at the house below her. Billinghurst looked beautiful, its honey-coloured walls burnished gold by the July sunshine. It nestled like a bright jewel on a cushion of rich green velvet, surrounded by fields of crops and orchards heavy with early fruit. Her grandmother was right; Billinghurst needed someone to manage it. She knew her father’s estate manager, Jackson, was an experienced man who could be trusted with the day-to-day decisions. But he acted on the instructions of her father when it came to the overall running of the estate. She certainly couldn’t imagine him taking orders from her, a twenty-year-old girl with little authority or experience.

And what if her father died? As much as her mind shrank from the prospect, it was one they all had to face. As every day passed, his chances of recovery lessened. If he died, the estate would pass to the legal heir, a distant cousin from Northumberland whom none of them had ever met.

She understood her grandmother’s worry and frustration. Once the new Earl of Rettingham took over, there would be no place for either her or Millie. She didn’t expect Cousin Robert would see them penniless on the streets, but their circumstances would be very different. For one thing, Millie would no longer bring with her the Billinghurst estate or the possibility of an earldom for her son. She finally realised why her grandmother had tried so hard to instil in her a sense of urgency about finding a husband. Like it or not, she had a duty to provide the estate with a suitable heir to inherit her father’s title. The stability of so many lives depended on her.

The problem was she had thought her father was immortal. He had always seemed so strong, so indestructible. He was the foundation stone on which she had built her life, the reason she could go off and pursue her selfish dreams. She’d known that one day she would have to come home and settle down, but had somehow imagined that her time was infinite.

Now, too late, she understood how limited it really was.

‘Oh, my lady!’ Polly greeted her in dismay when she arrived home.

‘I know. I look awful, don’t I?’ Millie said ruefully. ‘I feel awful, too. I need a bath and a change of clothes.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ The way Polly looked her up and down, it was clear she felt it would take more than a new dress to put her right. ‘Will you be requiring luncheon?’

‘Just bring me a tray to my room, will you?’ Millie couldn’t face the prospect of sitting alone at the vast dining-room table. She would feel her father’s absence even more acutely if there was no one to talk to or laugh with.

It was bliss to sink into the deep tub. Millie submerged herself luxuriously, feeling her muscles relax in the warm, scented water. How different from the bathrooms at the nurses’ home, where hot water was as rationed as everything else, and pros had to make do with a few tepid inches after the seniors had used it all up.

After her bath Polly helped her dress, and the kitchen maid brought up a silver tray laden with slices of cold ham and chicken, and delicate slivers of bread and butter. Millie thanked her, but even as she looked at the food she knew she couldn’t eat it.

‘That will be all, Polly,’ Millie dismissed her maid.

‘Are you sure, my lady? I could finish curling your hair for you?’

‘I can manage, thank you.’ Millie couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. She desperately wanted to be alone, and Polly’s insistent fussing was beginning to tear at her already shredded nerves. She knew it wasn’t the girl’s fault, she was only trying to do her job, but what did it really matter if Millie’s hair was perfectly curled or hanging in rats’ tails? Her father was dying. Nothing mattered any more.

‘We must maintain normality for the sake of the servants, if nothing else.’ As grandmother’s stern admonishment came into her head, Millie felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising up inside her.

Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror and realised why poor Polly had been so anxious to attend to her. She looked perfectly dreadful. Her face was drawn and grey-tinged, eyes threaded with spidery red veins and ringed with dark circles like bruises.

She started to laugh, a harsh, spiky sound that echoed around her empty bedroom and made her feel as if she was going quite mad. She tugged a brush carelessly through her curls. Behind her in the mirror, she caught sight of her bed. The pale pink silk coverlet and big feather pillows looked so soft and inviting, she felt herself drawn towards it. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to sink into its warm, enveloping depths just for five minutes . . .?

She hadn’t meant to close her eyes, let alone fall asleep. But the next thing she knew Polly was shaking her awake.

‘Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but you have a visitor.’

Millie sat up, groggy with sleep. ‘What – what time is it?’

‘Just after four o’clock, my lady.’

‘What? Why didn’t anyone wake me sooner?’ She threw back the covers and leapt out of bed so quickly her legs buckled under her. ‘I have to get back to the hospital – where are my shoes?’ She began searching around desperately.

‘But what about your visitor, my lady?’

Millie turned to look at her, uncomprehending. ‘What visitor?’

‘Lord Sebastian is here, Lady Amelia.’

‘Seb’s here?’ Her brain, still fuzzy with sleep, tried to make sense of it. Why was Seb here? The last she’d heard from him, he was on a shooting party in Scotland with Georgina Farsley’s family.

‘He is very anxious to see you, my lady.’

Ignoring Polly’s protests that she couldn’t possibly meet her visitor with her clothes all crumpled and her hair a tangled mess, Millie hurried out of the room.

Looking over the galleried landing, she could see Seb pacing in the hall. He was still dressed in his shooting tweeds, his cap clenched in his hands.

She stopped at the top of the staircase to compose herself. She might look a complete fright, but she didn’t want Seb to think she had fallen to pieces entirely.

He swung around as she descended the stairs. ‘Millie!’ He rushed over to her, holding out his arms, then remembered himself and dropped them to his sides.

‘Seb,’ she greeted him. ‘This is a surprise. I thought you were in Scotland?’

‘I was. I drove straight down as soon as I heard.’ His eyes searched her face anxiously. ‘How is he?’

‘My father has not yet regained consciousness.’ Millie forced herself to sound calm.

‘But he will recover?’

‘I – I don’t know.’ Her voice faltered. ‘The doctors say he has a chance. But with every passing day that he remains unconscious . . .’ She stopped herself, pushing away the thought. She could feel her fears start to overcome her, and struggled to keep them at bay.

What would her grandmother do in this situation? she asked herself. She would be calm and gracious at all times, whatever she might be feeling inside.

‘You came all the way down from Scotland, you say? You must be very tired.’ She forced a smile. ‘Please come into the drawing room and rest.’ She led the way. ‘Would you like something to eat? Yes, of course you would. I’ll get Mrs Saunders to send something up . . .’ She reached for the bell to summon the butler, but Seb stopped her.

‘For God’s sake, Millie, what’s wrong with you? I didn’t come all this way for a social visit. I came because I was worried about you.’ He put his hands on her arms, steadying her. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t have to make polite conversation, as if we’re at a wretched tennis party.’ He ducked his head to look into her eyes. ‘It’s me, Seb. Your friend, remember?’

Millie lifted her gaze to meet his. His grey eyes were so full of kindness and understanding, she felt herself begin to crumble.

‘Please don’t be nice to me, Seb. I don’t think I can bear it,’ she said, her chin quivering.

‘Oh, Millie.’ He opened his arms and she fell into them.

He held her for a long time as she sobbed against his chest, her tears soaking the rough tweed of his jacket. It was such a relief to hold someone, to be close to them. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart calmed her. She no longer felt as if she was alone, stuck in the middle of a terrifying nightmare with no escape.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, her face still buried against him. ‘This is not very ladylike behaviour. I don’t know what my grandmother would say.’

‘I couldn’t care less what your grandmother thinks.’ He guided her gently to the couch and sat down beside her.

‘Even so, you should let me arrange something for you to eat.’

‘Perhaps later.’ He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully dried her tears. ‘Oh, Millie, I’ve been so worried about you. All the way down here, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wondering how you were . . .’

‘It was very kind of you to come. I’m sorry if I ruined your shooting.’

‘Do you really think I could have stamped around the highlands, pretending to shoot deer, knowing what you were going through?’ He laughed harshly. ‘I’m sure those poor stags will be most grateful there’s one less gun to worry about. Besides, Georgina seemed to be shooting enough for everyone. She has a rather bloodthirsty nature, it turns out.’

Millie smiled in spite of herself. She could just imagine the extremely determined Miss Farsley tracking down her quarry through the heather.

‘She always did enjoy the hunt.’

Seb rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t I know it! I understand exactly how those wretched deer feel.’ He touched Millie’s chin with one finger, turning her face towards his. ‘That’s better. I like to see you smile.’

‘I must look a complete fright.’ Millie touched her stringy curls.

‘You look adorable, as always.’ Seb’s face was close to her, only inches away. Then he seemed to remember himself, and stood up. ‘Do you think it would be possible for me to see your father? Is he allowed visitors other than family?’

‘I’m sure that would be all right. Anyway, you are Daddy’s godson, which makes you practically family.’

Seb nodded. ‘I must say, your father has always been very good to me. Far more of a parent than my own dear papa anyway.’ He smiled wryly.

Millie thought about the dissolute duke, bed hopping his way through most of high society, and once again it struck her how lucky she was in her own father. But for how long? She swallowed hard, determined not to allow herself to cry again. ‘Let me arrange something for you to eat, and then we’ll go back to the hospital,’ she said.

Her grandmother expressed no surprise when Millie walked into her father’s room with Seb in tow.

Millie went straight to her father’s bedside. ‘How is he?’

‘Still no change, I’m afraid.’ The Dowager Countess squeezed her son’s hand. ‘The nurses come in and out, but there’s nothing anyone can do for him. I know we haven’t lost him,’ she said with feeling. ‘He’s in there somewhere. If only there was some way we could rouse him.’

‘That’s why we have to talk to him,’ Millie said firmly. ‘If he hears our voices, he can find his way to us.’

She saw the look that passed between Seb and her grandmother. ‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘He will come back to us, I know he will.’

‘Of course he will,’ the Dowager Countess said soothingly. ‘In the meantime, we must keep our vigil and pray.’ She looked up at Seb. ‘But perhaps now you’re here, Sebastian, you can persuade my granddaughter to rest occasionally?’

‘I’ll do my best, Lady Rettingham.’

‘Good. In that case I will take my leave of you both. You will be staying with us I hope, Sebastian?’

‘I would very much like that.’

Millie looked from one to the other, her eyes narrowing. Unexpected visitors always put her grandmother out of sorts, so why was she so calm about Seb’s arrival? Unless . . .

‘Did Granny send for you?’ she demanded, as soon as they were alone.

‘Yes and no,’ he admitted.

‘What does that mean?’

‘She sent word informing me of your father’s illness. I am his godson, after all. She didn’t summon me, but I’m sure she knew I would hardly stay away.’

‘I do wish she wouldn’t meddle.’

‘Grandmothers are made to meddle. Mine is the most atrocious meddler, as I’m sure you know.’ He sent her a sidelong look. ‘Why? Would you rather I weren’t here?’

She turned her head to look at him. ‘No,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Seb.’