Chapter 4 #2
“He was weak and lethargic. It was a really nasty bout of pneumonia, and it left him unable to exert himself. He just doesn’t have any energy.”
“How miserable!”
“It is. He used to go for long walks across the hills. The Dales are quite different from Western America, but the countryside inspired him. Nowadays he doesn’t leave his room for days at a time, let alone striding up hill and down dale.
Sitting down and writing for hours at a time is too much for him.
But while I was finishing off Double Cross, he’d been thinking up a plot for the next book.
It took his mind off his woes and—” A knock on the door interrupted her. “Come in!”
The man who entered was big and fair. Fortyish, ruddy-faced, and dressed in comfortably worn tweeds, he could have been a farmer. He brought with him a breath of crisp, fresh air.
“I hope I’m not intruding, Sybil. I just want a quick word with you before I see Birtwhistle.”
“Yes, of course. Daisy, Dr. Knox. Roger, this is Mrs. Fletcher. We were at school together.”
How do you do’s were exchanged. Daisy tactfully offered to leave, though dying to stay.
Not by a word, a gesture, or an intimate smile did these two betray themselves, but something undefinable in their demeanour, something beyond the use of given names, suggested that they were more than a little fond of one another.
“No, stay, Daisy. I don’t suppose Roger intends to go into confidential details of Humphrey’s health, and you already know the history of his illness.”
Dr. Knox exploded. “If he’d only take it easy when he’s feeling better! Just let him have a spark of energy after breakfast and he’s up and wandering round the gardens—”
“That’s unfair. He takes it slowly and doesn’t go outside unless the weather is good. Ruby’s terrified that he might catch cold and develop pneumonia again.”
“As he well may.”
“Come off it, Roger, not just from going outdoors, well wrapped, on a fine day. Everyone stays away from him if they have the slightest sniffle.”
“I should hope so.”
“And you’re always telling me I should get more fresh air and exercise.”
“You’re young and healthy. He’s sixty and in ill health, though I’ll be bothered if I know what’s wrong with him.”
“It’s as if he’s gone into a decline, like a Victorian young lady when her hopes were disappointed.”
“Nonsense. He doesn’t appear to be getting worse, except insofar as inactivity is taking its toll.”
“There you are then,” said Sybil. “What he needs is more activity, not less.”
“I’d agree, if it weren’t that his little outings invariably bring on a relapse.
If he’d just be patient for a few days, build up his strength gradually, instead of rushing into things!
He has no sense of his own limitations, that’s what it amounts to, even though he knows perfectly well what the consequence will be.
How can I be expected to treat him when he refuses to follow directions? ”
“How many of your patients do, Dr. Knox?” Daisy asked, partly with interest, partly hoping to end the diatribe.
“All too few. Sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, you don’t want to hear about Birtwhistle’s intransigence.”
“Insofar as it affects Sybil, I’m interested. Just so long as you don’t start using incomprehensible medical Latin!”
“Certainly not.” He glanced at his watch. “I must go and check up on the old boy. How does he seem, Sybil?”
“Wishy-washy, but not as sleepy as usual. The new tonic you’ve started trying on him may actually be helping.”
“I hate to use nux vomica. It’s really a last-resort stimulant. It’s dangerous stuff, and not to be used on a long-term basis. I can only hope it will somehow break the cycle, though I’ve told him it’s best to skip a dose if he’s feeling more energetic than usual.”
“Well, for now, he’s well enough to plot though not quite ready yet to insist on going out.”
The doctor sighed. “It’ll be soon enough. A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ll see you shortly.” He went out through a door connecting to the room next door.
“Humphrey’s study and library,” Sybil explained. “He has a bedroom beyond that he used to use when he stayed up late writing, so as not to disturb Ruby. It comes in handy now when he’s ill.”
“Very convenient. Does he have a nurse?”
“No, Ruby and Lorna cope between them. He doesn’t need, or want, someone constantly in attendance.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s doing better at present. I want to meet him. Dr. Knox—Roger— What’s going on there?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come off it, Sybil. I wasn’t born yesterday. He may not be as overtly nutty about you as Walter is about Myra, but you can’t tell me he’s not keen on you. And vice versa.”
“I like him.” Sybil’s face was a becoming pink. “But I have Monica to think about. And my career.”
Letting Roger Knox and Monica fall by the wayside for the present, Daisy pursued her enquiries into the career. “You were saying, while you finished writing Double Cross at the something-or-other, which I take it is the name of a ranch, Humphrey was plotting a new story.”
“Halfbreed Hero. He really is very good at thinking up plots. In fact, they’ve improved—more coherent and more intricate—since he’s had plenty of time to lie thinking about them.
And time to read, as well. Some of his best are based on Shakespeare’s plays.
Halfbreed Hero is based on Othello, for instance, though good has to triumph, of course. ”
“But…?”
“What do you mean, but?”
“There was definitely a but in your voice,” Daisy said firmly. “He’s good at plots, but…”
“Promise you won’t repeat this.”
“I promise.”
“His characters were wooden, partly because he wrote dialogue really badly. And though his descriptions of the landscape were wonderful—after all, he’s seen it for himself—they went on much too long. I always suspected the errand boys just skipped them.”
Daisy pounced. “Were. Wrote. Went on. Past tense. He’s not writing them any longer.”
“No, actually,” Sybil admitted. “I was just getting to that.”
“You write them.”
“It just sort of happened. He had a wonderful story and felt well enough to tackle it. Then, after a couple of days at his desk, he had a relapse. Roger absolutely forbade him to try again for a month.”
“Meanwhile, you had your editor waiting impatiently.”
“Yes, though it became more complicated than that. I don’t want to sound immodest, but Double Cross started selling considerably better than Eli Hawke’s earlier sixpenny volumes. They brought out a new edition, and then an American publisher decided to serialise it.”
“Even though the author was English?”
“They put ‘Eli Hawke’ in quotation marks and underneath identified him as ‘an English gentleman widely traveled in the American West.’” Sybil giggled. “And they paid jolly well.”
“Gosh, how awkward!”
“It was,” she agreed soberly. “I wondered if you’d understand.”
“There’s Humphrey, writing the things for aeons, then you do the writing and suddenly they start making a lot of money. Was he furious?”
“He wasn’t happy. How could he be? Ruby sympathised with him, but she was too glad to get the extra money not to be pleased.
The unspeakable Simon had just decided the literary life was for him, so she could see he’d have to be supported indefinitely.
Not that she’s blind to his faults, but she’s a mother with a single chick. ”
“A rooster, all crow and fine plumage, and no production.”
Sybil laughed. “That just about sums him up. And Myra, too. Instead of marrying and settling down to have babies, off the Birtwhistles’ hands, she spends all her money on clothes and gadding about, flirting with a multitude of admirers.
Then she comes back here to be supported by her uncle till her next quarter’s income is due.
Not to mention her guests who have to be entertained.
The household can really use the extra money. ”
“I can see that. But after the splendid reception of your first solo work, didn’t you consider setting up for yourself?”
“Naturally I considered it. Double Cross wasn’t really a solo achievement, though.
The plot was entirely Humphrey’s. And, more important, so was the name on the cover—his accepted pen-name, at least. I couldn’t take that with me.
‘My’ success was built on his foundation.
There was Monica to think of, too. It wasn’t as if the Birtwhistles withheld the proceeds. They raised my salary commensurately.”
“I’m surprised Humphrey wasn’t too resentful to want to continue to employ you.”
“Oh, he soon rationalised—with the help of Ruby’s persuasive powers—that by typing out so many of his works, I’d learnt to imitate his style faithfully.
I continued writing Halfbreed Hero. Then we started to get feelers from Hodder and Stoughton.
The American sale piqued their interest, and they wanted Eli Hawke’s next work for their two-shilling clothbound Westerns. ”
“You certainly took the Wild West by storm! But what happened when Humphrey recovered his health?” Daisy waved at the bookshelves. “Evidently Hodder went on publishing Eli Hawke. He didn’t want to go back to writing?”
“I think he’s afraid to try, after my success. Daisy, it’s awful. I feel so guilty.”
“You mean he doesn’t really believe your writing is not better than his? That the editors would take one look and say Double Cross must have been a fluke?”
“Something like that. Roger says he may not consciously doubt his own ability. It’s just that every time he gets well enough to start work again, he has a relapse.
Roger’s at his wits’ end, really. He’s not sure whether it’s actually overexertion that’s the trouble, and if so whether he’s doing it on purpose.
Or he could be deliberately dosing himself with some sedative, only we can’t see how he could get hold of anything.
Or it just might be his subconscious mind causing the symptoms, which are real enough—psychosomatic illness, they call it. ”
“I realise your Roger—”
“Not mine!”
“Sorry. Would-be-your Roger—deny it if you can—isn’t a psychologist, but can’t he get Humphrey to talk about what’s going on in his head?”
“He can’t force him to talk. All Humphrey will say is that he refuses to go through life lying in bed when he has the energy to get up and walk.”
“I can’t say I blame him!”
“It’s awfully difficult. No one else, not even Roger, can know whether or when Humphrey’s really well enough to be up and about.”
“It does sound a bit as if Humphrey may be subconsciously determined not to recover fully,” Daisy pondered. “I don’t see why you should feel guilty. You saved his bacon when he was first ill.”
“I could have tried harder to mimic his style.”
“Then you wouldn’t have done so well and made more money for everyone.”
“No. But…”
“But?”
“I have an awful feeling … It was something Roger said. I can’t remember what, exactly. But it made me wonder if perhaps … No, it can’t possibly be true!”
“What can’t be true?” Daisy asked with all the patience she could muster.
“I think Roger may suspect that Simon or Myra is putting something in Humphrey’s food.”
“Good gracious, why? Oh, more money as long as you’re doing the writing, of course. Is that why you wanted me to come? To try to find out if it’s true?”
“I thought you could just poke about a bit,” Sybil said defensively.
“I’m not a detective, you know. By sheer chance I’ve been on the spot a few times when things have happened. The only reason I’ve been able to help Alec once or twice is that I’ve already known the people involved.”
“That’s all I’m asking you to do, Daisy. Get to know them. See if you think either of them is capable of doing such a horrible thing!”
“Why don’t you talk to Roger about it? Find out what made him suspect them.”
“I couldn’t! He didn’t actually tell me he suspects them. He didn’t even hint at it deliberately. I wish I could remember what he said that put the idea into my head. But you know how it is, once it’s there, it won’t go away.”
“It’s very likely all in your imagination. Roger might well say he never meant anything of the sort.”
“Don’t you see, then I’d have put the horrible idea into his head. He couldn’t help but wonder what they’d done to make me suspicious. Or he might think I’m being spiteful because I envy them for living carefree on my work.”
“You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t envy them.”
“A bit, yes, though I enjoy my work and I’m happy to be able to support Monica decently. You could give up your writing, couldn’t you, if you wanted to? But you haven’t.”
“No, and I shan’t.” Daisy sighed. “All right, so you won’t discuss your suspicions with Roger. I’ll talk to your suspects and give you my opinion of them, but honestly, Sybil, you mustn’t expect any definitive conclusion from me.”
“At least you can be objective about it. I can’t. Heavens, look at the time! We’d better go and change for dinner.”
“Aren’t you going to wait and see what he has to say about Humphrey’s health?”
“No, he’ll go and talk to Ruby. But he’s staying to dinner. He always puts Eyrie Farm last on his list.” Sybil blushed. “Just because we’re so out of the way, of course.”
“Of course,” said Daisy.