The Vicar's Daughter

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It was Peggy, her head, thank heaven, on the bank, but most of her small person in the water. She was unconscious and Margo soon saw why: there was a big bruise on her forehead. She had fallen awkwardly and Margo had a few anxious moments hauling her out of the stream and up the bank. This done, there was the necessity to cross the stream again, for behind her was nothing but wooded country going nowhere.

It’s amazing what you can do when you have to, reflected Margo, slipping and sliding across to the other bank with Peggy hoisted awkwardly over a shoulder. Once there, there was the urgent need to get to the house, for as far as she could see there was no other help nearby.

Hoisting the little girl more securely, Margo started off across the field to where, in the distance, she could see the lights of the house.

It was raining in earnest now, hard cold rain which soaked them even more than they already were. Margo squelched along in her one shoe and thought that she would never reach the outer edge of the landscaped park around the house. She paused for a moment to hitch Peggy onto her other shoulder and trudged on. Surely by now they would have missed the child and there would be a search party? It would be a waste of precious breath to shout, she decided, worried now that perhaps she should have tried to revive the child before setting out for the house. Supposing the moppet died? She had felt a faint pulse when she had reached Peggy, but she hadn’t tried to do anything else.

She was near the house now, close to its grand entrance. She climbed the broad steps and gave the iron bell-pull by the door a terrific tug. Just to make sure, she tugged again. And again...

The door opened slowly under the indignant hand of Bush, the butler, who was affronted by the misuse of the bell-pull and the excessive noise. He had his mouth open to voice his displeasure, but Margo gave him no chance to utter a word.

‘Get a doctor quickly, and get Lady Trueman or her daughter—anyone. Only hurry!’

She pushed past him and made for the stairs, dripping across the hall, short of breath, waterlogged and terrified. There was no time to give way to terror. She drew a breath.

‘Will someone come quickly? I’ve got Peggy...’

She saw the butler hurry to the phone as a door opened and Lady Trueman, followed by her daughter, came into the hall.

‘What is all this noise...?’ She goggled at Margo. ‘Peggy—she’s ill? What has happened? It’s Margo Pearson...’

Margo didn’t waste time explaining. ‘Get her clothes off. She’s been in the stream; she’s unconscious. She must be rubbed dry and put to bed. I told the butler to get a doctor. Only will someone please hurry...?’

‘My baby!’ wailed Helen. ‘Where’s the nurse...?’

We shall be here all day, thought Margo, asking silly questions. She started up the stairs, intent on getting to the nursery, calling over her shoulder, ‘Is the doctor coming? It’s urgent. And for heaven’s sake will someone give me a hand?’

This time her appeal was heard. The housekeeper, made aware of the commotion, had come into the hall and now hurried up the staircase to Margo.

‘The nursery’s on the next floor. Can you manage? I’ll go ahead and turn down the bedclothes and get the place warmed.’

By the time Margo had reached the nursery she was standing ready with towels, the fire poked up and the lights on.

‘Let me have her on my lap. Get your wet things off, miss. You’ll catch your death. In the stream? You found her and carried her here? Bless you for that, miss. Where’s that nurse of hers, I’d like to know—?’

She broke off to speak to Lady Trueman, who had just tottered in.

‘Now, my lady, keep calm. Peggy will be all right, thanks to this brave young lady. Get your maid to give you a glass of brandy and give one to Miss Helen—and send Bessy up here, please.’

Helen had joined her mother. ‘Peggy—out in all that rain—where’s the nurse?’

The housekeeper said briskly, ‘That’s the doorbell, Miss Helen. Go and fetch the doctor up, will you? No time to waste.’

Margo, dragging off her wet shoe, her jacket a sodden heap on the floor, reflected that this housekeeper and her aunt Flo would make a splendid pair in any emergency.

Bessy came, and then was sent away to fetch a glass of brandy for Margo.

‘I never drink it,’ said Margo.

‘Just this once you will, miss.’ The housekeeper was firm. ‘It’s either that or pneumonia.’

So Margo tossed back the brandy, caught her breath at its fiery strength and felt a pleasant warmth from it. Perhaps she could take off the rest of her clothes... No, not yet. The doctor, ushered in by a weeping Helen, was bending over Peggy, who was now wrapped in a warm blanket on the housekeeper’s lap.

She was still unconscious, and there was a large bump under the bruise.

‘Will someone tell me what has happened?’ The doctor was youngish and cheerful. ‘It would help if just one of you could tell me.’

‘Ask the young lady here,’ said the housekeeper, and waved towards the shivering Margo. ‘She found her and carried her here. A proper heroine.’

Margo, a trifle muzzy with the brandy, nonetheless managed a sensible account of what had happened, and then lapsed into silence.

‘You undoubtedly saved Peggy’s life.’ said the doctor. ‘She’s concussed, but she’s warm and her pulse is good. She must be X-rayed, of course, but not for the moment. Just bed and warmth and someone to be with her in case she comes round. How come she was so far from home?’

‘I don’t know where her nurse has got to. She should have been in the nursery, or playing in the garden with her. I—we—Mother and I were in the drawing room...’ said Helen feebly.

‘I want a second opinion,’ said Lady Trueman. ‘Will you get the very best consultant to come as soon as possible?’

The doctor got up. ‘Yes, certainly, Lady Trueman. If I might use your phone, I know just the man.’ He paused at the doorway. ‘I think it might be a good idea if someone were to see to this young lady. A warm bath and a hot drink, and get those wet clothes off—a warm blanket or something.’ He looked grim. ‘But for her, you might have lost Peggy.’

He went over to Margo and picked up her wrist. ‘Dr Wilcox,’ he told her. ‘I’m in the village—haven’t I seen you in church?’

‘Yes, Mrs Pearson’s my aunt.’

He gave her back her hand. ‘Well, your pulse is all right. Get as warm as you can, quickly.’

‘Will Peggy be all right?’

‘I think so—we’ll know for sure when she’s been seen by a specialist.’

He went away and Lady Trueman said, ‘My dear, you must forgive us—it was such a shock. Bessy shall help you—a hot bath and then a quiet rest by the fire while your clothes dry. I’ll phone your aunt.’ She added worriedly, ‘I do hope this specialist will come soon...’

Bessy came then, and led Margo away to help her out of her wet clothes and to run a hot bath, fragrant with bath essence. Margo sank into it thankfully.

She would have fallen asleep if Bessy hadn’t come to rouse her.

‘Your clothes are being dried, miss. If you’ll get out I’ll give you a good rub down and there’s a warm blanket to wrap you in.’

‘The specialist isn’t here yet?’

‘Like as not he’ll come from London—take him best part of an hour or more, even if he started off the moment he got Dr Wilcox’s message. He’s here still, waiting for him.’

Swathed in a soft blanket, Margo was led back to the nursery and seated by the fire, and presently Bessy brought her a glass of milk.

‘There’s a drop of brandy in it, miss, to ward off the chill. Why don’t you close your eyes for a few minutes? Lady Trueman’s phoned your aunt and you’ll be taken home as soon as your clothes are dry. There’s only one shoe...’

‘I lost the other in the stream. It doesn’t matter.’ Margo took the glass. ‘Thank you for the milk, Bessy, and all your help.’

There must have been more than a drop of brandy, for Margo, nicely warm again, dozed off. She didn’t hear the arrival of the specialist, who examined Peggy at some length, conferred with Dr Wilcox and then prepared to take his leave. He was standing having a last word with him when Dr Wilcox said, ‘The young lady who found the child and carried her in is still here. She had a soaking and a tiring walk carrying Peggy. I took a quick look at her but...’

‘You would like me to cast an eye over her?’

‘I believe Lady Trueman would like that—just in case there is further damage.’

‘Just so.’

The two men trod into the nursery and Margo opened a sleepy eye.

Professor van Kessel eyed her with a faint smile. ‘It seems that we are destined only to meet in emergencies, Margo.’

CHAPTER THREE

MARGO blinked, her delight at the sight of him. doused by the knowledge that she looked even worse than usual, cocooned in a blanket with her hair still damp. And probably, she thought miserably, the brandy had given her a red nose.

Indeed it had—contrasting strongly with her still pale face. The professor, looking at her, found himself wondering why he was pleased to see her again. He had thought about her from time to time, this plain, rather bossy girl. A typical vicar’s daughter, but one, he had to admit to himself, who would keep her head in an emergency and use the common sense she had so obviously been endowed with. Not, he had thought, the kind of girl he would want to spend an evening with. Now he wasn’t so sure. There was more to Margo than met the eye...

‘Is Peggy going to be all right?’ She had wriggled upright in her chair, nothing visible but her face and a great deal of untidy hair.

‘I think so; she is regaining consciousness. We’ll have her X-rayed in the morning. What about you, Margo?’

‘Me? I’m fine; I just got a bit wet.’

He turned easily to Dr Wilcox. ‘Margo and I have met before on occasion. I certainly didn’t expect to see her here.’

‘She’s not staying with Lady Trueman; she’s visiting her aunt, Mrs Pearson, who lives in the village.’ Dr Wilcox smiled at Margo. ‘I’ll pop in tomorrow and see that you are none the worse for your soaking—’

He broke off as Bessy came in. ‘Didn’t know anyone was here,’ she excused herself. ‘I’ve brought Miss Pearson’s clothes. Lady Trueman says as soon as she’s ready she’ll be driven back to her aunt’s place.’