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In the next few days, Noelle spent hours at her great-aunt's bedside,
attending to her needs and anxiously waiting for the return of recognition in
the faded eyes. When it did return Noelle was present, but she could not
rejoice as she might have done, for without speech the eyes became
anguished, unable to impart their message.
'There's something she wants to say, I know it,' she told Fergus in a
tremulous whisper. 'It must be awful, so frustrating.' She was close to tears
and he looked at her consideringly.
'You really do care, but you're looking pale yourself. You've been spending
too much time cooped up in here. You need some recreation time. I'm going
to ask Dr Cadogan to send in a nurse.'
'Oh no, that's not necessary. I'd rather stay here. Siobhan and I can manage
between us.'
'You can't! If it were just for a short period of time I might agree, but we've
no idea how long it will be till she recovers if ever,' he added as he steered
Noelle through the doorway. His own anxiety harshened his voice.
'Siobhan's getting on in years herself, and you'll be no use to Aunt Bridie or
to anyone else if you crack up too. You look dreadful, Noelle.' He sounded
angry. 'Go out this minute, now, into the grounds and get some fresh air, and
don't argue!'
Worry and lack of sleep had played havoc with her appearance, Noelle
knew, and not only her looks had suffered, but her nerves. Fergus's
comments on her wan appearance, his brusque command, was the last straw,
and in her over-tired, irrational state it sounded hard and unfeeling. He was
concerned, not for her, but because if she were to become ill he would have
another invalid on his hands. Averting her face so he could not see the weak,
silly tears that trickled down her pale cheeks, she hurried from the room.
Outside even the weather reflected her mood, as a soft rain fell, obscuring
the mountain tops and the waters of the lough. It was hardly walking
weather, but Fergus had ordered her to walk and she would walk. She set off
with no particular destination in mind. But, lost as she was in her thoughts
and worries, her feet automatically trod a path they had followed many
times before, until she found herself in the vicinity of Patrick's cottage.
She would have passed by, she was in no mood for socialising, but he had
seen her from his window and called to her to come in and take shelter.
'What on earth? You'll be taking a chill, walking in this weather and with no
coat on.'
Absently, Noelle looked down at herself. It was true. In her haste she had
gone out just as she was, in a skirt and blouse, the soft material of which now
clung damply to her body.Patrick fetched a towel and his own dressing
gown, suggesting that she remove her wet things, turning his back while she
did so.
Clad in Patrick's robe, she sat and towelled her hair, while on the back of a
chair her clothes steamed before the peat fire which Patrick kept continually
burning.
i haven't seen you for days,' he complained. 'Is it true what they say, that
Miss O'Rourke is dying?'
'No!' Noelle began fiercely. 'She is not! She's going to get better. She has to
. . .' Her voice broke and in an instant Patrick was at her side, taking her in
his arms. 'There now, alannah, don't upset yourself.'
Too proud to lower her defences before Fergus, Noelle laid her head on
Patrick's shoulder and cried.
It occurred to Fergus, after Noelle had left their great-aunt's bedroom so
precipitately, that he hadn't expressed himself very tactfully. Noelle might
well be forgiven for thinking that he didn't care a jot about her health so long
as no one else was inconvenienced. He pushed one of the old- fashioned
bells with which the Hall abounded and waited impatiently until Siobhan,
short of breath, answered its summons.
'Would you stay with my aunt for a while, until I get back?'
A visit to Noelle's room assured him she wasn't there. She must have taken
his advice, issued more like a command, he ruefully acknowledged, and
gone outside. A swift search of the immediate environs of house and
outbuildings also proved fruitless, and he paused for thought. Where would
she be most likely to go, and in this miserable weather, a soft day,
native-born Irishmen would call it, while he could think of less flattering
descriptions.
He had a guilty suspicion that Noelle had been more than a little upset when
she had left, even though she had averted her face. To whom would she be
likely to turn for comfort? Beneath his beard his jaw set grimly as the
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