"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help, Mrs Hall?" Siegfried Farnon asked as he hobbled into the kitchen, gripping his ribs. "I am bored to death upstairs and, if I lay in bed any longer, I shall forget how to walk."
Mrs Hall shot a brief irritated glance at her employer. She still didn't really know him. The man had been felled by a crazed pig on the morning of her first day of employment at Skeldale House. Since then, he'd been her seriously injured patient and she'd done triple duty as housekeeper, substitute veterinarian - unpaid to avoid legal complications - and nurse. Her few quiet moments involved doing dishes after breakfast and dinner. Now that Mr Farnon could stand, he was interrupting her precious few moments of peace.
Her irritated glance was not missed by Siegfried. "Ah," he said. "I can see you're perfectly capable. I'll just ..."
His disappointment was so clear, she interrupted his retreat. "You can dry, if you're up to it."
"I shall manage," he said making his way across to the drain board, but he winced as he reached for the towel.
"No you don't," Mrs Hall declared. "Sit right down, please, before you tip over."
Siegfried Farnon paused and stared at the woman he barely knew. He could remember certain moments with perfect clarity: the night she'd appeared in the shadows as an apparition of Evelyn wearing his dead wife's apron; how he'd thoughtlessly placed her in grave danger and nearly put himself in his grave when she had helped him care for Ashburton's pig at his request.
The rest was a fevered blur of impressions. Had she been there when the horse fell? Impossible. Had he seen her bare back and shoulders while she scrubbed at the surgery sink? Laughable. Was that her cool hand in the night against his brow? Perhaps. Her presence felt natural and familiar, but it was all a fever dream.
That is, until two weeks ago when he'd realised she intended to unbutton his pyjama top. That had been a strange and startling kind of intimacy. He'd allowed it. Her touch had been absolutely real. No one had touched him since Evelyn died. He hadn't wanted human contact. He had never expected it again, not since Evelyn.
Except Mrs Hall touched him and he had allowed it. Her touch was self-assured, gentle, comforting, and it had revived something he thought had died in him.
As a nurse, Mrs Hall impressed him as a professional. She was gentle and thorough, but brooked no nonsense. She'd had the good grace to delegate private matters to the Vicar or, when necessary, to Tristan, leaving him with a shred of male dignity. Now, however, he was back on his feet and not entirely sure whether he was dealing with his nurse or with his housekeeper. While a nurse might overrule a patient's wishes, he was still master in his own house.
Mrs Hall's eyebrows raised sharply and her blue eyes - or were they green - bore into him. Siegfried decided to sit.
"If you're bored," she said amiably, "perhaps you would talley the bills with me. I've been run off my feet and I still don't feel I've got a grip on your system, Mr Farnon."
Siegfried scowled. Dealing with bills, finances, and accounting was worse than torture. There was no system, aside from emptying his pockets into a pewter tankard on the mantel. He'd be better off upstairs counting the cracks in his ceiling plaster. Then he caught a glimmer of a smile flit across the woman's face. She was trying to get rid of him.
Rising to the challenge, he said, "Capital idea, Mrs Hall. Shall we work here in the kitchen. There's more room for the two of us, if you sit beside me."
Mrs Hall finished the washing up and, without rolling down her sleeves, fetched a shoe box of bills and a ledger for the business record-keeping, and settled beside Mr Farnon at the table.
As she set down the shoe box Mr Farnon noticed her hands. They were strong. The skin was red from the hot water and her nails were cut short, but her fingers were long and fine. Then, his heart stopped. Each wrist had a thin white scar across its inner side. The scars were jagged.
"Mr Farnon," Mrs Hall said, "you've gone white as a sheet. Are you in pain?"
"Yes, actually, Mrs Hall," he whispered in a voice husky with emotion. "I think the books must wait. Maybe I'll lie down on the couch."
"Let me set you up by the fireplace. We can put your feet up there and I can bring you a nice cup of tea," she suggested.
Siegfried didn't debate. His mind was awhirl. Mrs Hall had, at some point, been driven to attempt suicide.
Soon after bringing his tea, Mrs Hall was called out for a foal that had torn its fetlock on fence. Tristan came in from exercising the resident Welsh pony and greeted him briefly. "Good morning. Good to see you out of your bedroom."
"Yes," Siegfried replied distractedly.
"Are you alright? " Tristan asked, studying him closely.
"Everyone asks me that!" Siegfried snapped. "It's become quite tedious."
Tristan grinned and clapped his brother's right shoulder. "That's the Siegfried that I remember," he laughed. "Good to see you in your old form. Mrs Hall and I are off to the Burton's to deal with a foal. Shall I ask the Vicar to stop over?"
It had been a joke. The Vicar drove Siegfried crazy with his prayers and psalms, particularly since Siegfried had lost faith with Evelyn's untimely death. He only returned to church as part of the deal to hire Mrs Hall.
Rather than rebuff the suggestion, Siegfried said, "Yes. I'd like to talk with him."
Tristan leaned closer, scrutinising his brother's face. Siegfried wasn't joking and he didn't appear feverish.
"You're sure you're alright?" he repeated.
"Perfectly," Siegfried snapped. "Go. You have an injured animal waiting."
A half hour later, the Vicar let himself in the front door after a brief ring of the bell.
Siegfried raised a hand before the man could ask 'how he felt' and said, "I am fine. Just bored out of my mind. Do you fancy a game of gin rummy?"
The Vicar agreed and the two played cards for nearly an hour without conversing. As he played, Siegfried considered how to best broach the matter of his housekeeper's past.
"Have you known Mrs Hall long?" he asked casually, as if he hadn't been scared out of his wits for her 90 minutes ago.
"Not long," the Vicar replied, discarding an Ace of Hearts. "Only since she arrived here. She seems a lovely person."
"Yes," Siegfried said, discarding a Jack of Diamonds, a card that would have ended the game. "She cooks well."
"My colleague in Scarborough speaks very well of her." The Vicar claimed the discarded Jack.
'Ah,' Siegfried thought, 'now we're getting somewhere.'
"Was her family part of his congregation?" he asked after a sip of cold tea dregs.
"No, he mentioned once that she mother was a fervent Catholic, as I recall. Mrs Hall came to him for help. I don't know why. He wouldn't have told me, of course. We're careful to keep such confidences strictly confidential."
"She certainly enjoys your sermons, twice a week!" Siegfried said doing his best not to snarl, since his company at those services was obligatory, her one condition of accepting employment at Skeldale House. "Does Mrs Hall seem ... well, is she happy, do you think?"
"You don't have to worry. She is quite content with your arrangement."
Siegfried sighed. He would get no useful answers from the local Vicar. It would mean a trip to Scarborough and now he faced the delightful prospect of several hours of prayers and psalms, unless he could manage to keep losing at cards.
Siegfried woke at the sound of Mrs Hall and Tristan at the back door. They were laughing and chatting about the foal and the trouble Mr Burton had cornering the frolicking colt. Apparently, the Vicar had slipped away when he fell asleep.
He listened to the happy, lighthearted chatter coming from the kitchen and felt like a spy, eavesdropping on Mrs Hall, evaluating her state of mind, wondering what had driven an obviously strong character to attempt self destruction. It was none of his business. She was his employee, but she deserved her privacy. Those scars were long-healed. Whatever had happened was long ago. Still, his mind couldn't stop picking at the question.
Time passed and appetizing odors of frying potatoes and meat wafted from the kitchen. Soon, he heard the click of her shoes.
She stood beside him, flushed and smiling from her busy day."Feel like eating at table?"
"Yes, thank you, Mrs Hall," Siegfried replied as he rose stiffly from the chair. She put a hand behind his right shoulder to steady him. She smelled of cooking and faintly of horse and the freshness of the Dales.
Emotion welled up in his chest that such a fine person should have ever known such distress. He fought his wave of sympathy back. Her face was close to his and he blinked hard. A single tear escaped.
"The pain is still so bad," she observed. "There's morphine if you need it, you know."
Siegfried shook his head, unwillling to trust his voice.
"Right" she agreed. "It can be wicked hard to quit, once you get dependent on it. You're a brave one to tough it out. Just know it's here if you need it and so am I."
Siegfried was nearly unmanned by her kindness. He raised a hand and turned away from her embrace to rest his head against the mantel. She left him to regain his composure, clearly mistaking his reaction for pain, rather than something far more complicated that Siegfried could not himself define.
After some moments, he dried his eyes on the back of his hand and joined them at the table. He was hungry. Mrs Hall was an excellent cook, even when rushed about between house chores and veterinary calls. Siegfried ate and listened to Tristan's theories about the Welsh pony's origins. The animal had grown huge and would foal any day or night. If her owners didn't claim her before the foal weaned, there'd be yet another mouth to feed on their limited means.
While Tristan talked, Siegfried stole glances at Mrs Hall. Her sleeves were down and buttoned. She wore a simple cardigan over her white blouse. It was buttoned, as well. He tried to recall if she had ever worn any other type of outfit.
'No,' he realized. Her sleeves were always long, her collar buttoned at the curve of her graceful neck. She showed very little of herself. He'd unconsciously attributed her attire to her religiosity, like a nun might dress if they didn't wear habits, or a parson's wife. His glimpse behind her carefully arranged and unvarying attire put it in an entirely different light, a disturbing light.
Over the next few days, Siegfried continued to regain strength and to wonder and, yes, to worry about the woman who had saved his life and held his practice and his home together almost single-handedly. There were moments when he attempted to initiate conversation about her origins. Her reaction was so carefully formal and uninformative that he knew he'd caused discomfort. He stopped asking questions that only reminded her of unhappier days. But, perhaps because of boredom, he kept turning the questions over in his restless mind.
Finally, he decided it was long past time to return to work. The household was broke, after three months with no money earned, despite Tristan and Mrs Hall working hard every day. She argued against it. Clearly he was still in pain. This was true, but the pain no longer improved with rest and patience. He would have to live with it. So, for two more months, Siegfried Farnon dragged himself from one call to the next. His strength improved with activity, but the pain was always there.
Nights were hellish battles. He couldn't sleep. He wouldn't turn to morphine. He'd been addicted once, in France, after being crushed under a wounded horse. After he no longer yearned for its oblivion, he had vowed to never again rely on that drug. Siegfried began to understand how even a strong man, or woman, might choose death when faced with endless, grinding pain and worn down by the exhaustion, its evil twin.
Throughout his ordeal, Mrs Hall was there for him. Empathetic but without pity. Offering her support, honoring his refusal of drugs, but watching him numb himself with whiskey when the pain and exhaustion overwhelmed him. Throughout his ordeal, the scars he'd glimpsed took on new significance.
Mrs Hall had made a choice. It was a choice he might make, as well.
Drinking at night had been accepted without comment by Mrs Hall. Tristan, however, conveyed his disapproval- not with words, but with long, disapproving glares, with worried glances, and god-damn his interference, by hiding the whiskey bottle. This went on until, one evening, Siegfried exploded at his impudent brother.
"Who do you think you are?"he roared. "If I choose to drink myself senseless, what business is it of yours!?"
"I am your brother and I care, you ass!" Tristan shouted back. "This is all wrong. You're letting yourself go. Yes, you're in pain. So, see a doctor. No, you won't use morphine, but you'll drain a liquor bottle in three days. How is that better?"
Mrs Hall had been in the kitchen, washing up after their evening meal. She listened to the brothers, until she could no longer stand it. She walked into the living room, where Siegfried stood, bracing himself against the mantel. Tristan stood across the room, glaring through the window curtains into the empty street.
"I believe the time has come, Mr Farnon, for you to see a surgeon in Scarborough. Your condition is unacceptable," she said.
Siegfried spun on her and said, "You, too?"
Mrs Hall continued as if she hadn't heard. "When I accepted this position, you were a strong, able man with a thriving veterinary practice. I saw a future here. I appreciate that you've come to this because of me. If I'd listened to you and stayed behind, you'd still be that man. You saved me. You sacrificed yourself. So, I will ask you to please go to Scarborough and get real medical care. If you won't, I shall tender my resignation. I just can't bear the guilt. I can't watch you destroy yourself. It is just too hard."
[Continues with Chapter 8, Beginning- 1933]