The Night of the Absentee Agent
Chapter 9
The Road to Recovery
On their return to the house, for lunch, Mayberry and Marsh were met by one of the servants.
"Sir, Mr Gordon has had an accident," he began.
Marsh grabbed the servant by the shoulders. "Artie! Is he hurt? My God, he isn't dead is he?" The colour drained from his face.
"Mr North, let the poor man go!" Mayberry said, softly.
Marsh released his grip and stood, watching and listening intently.
"Now, Simpson, tell us what has happened!" Mayberry ordered.
"Yes Sir, Mr Gordon went out riding this morning and fell from his horse. He was knocked unconscious and they carried him to Stonehurst House, it being closer than here."
"Thank you, Simpson. Please tell cook that Mr North and I won't be here for luncheon. I'm sure Mr Oakley will provide something for us at Stonehurst, if necessary. I'll send word if we're not going to be back in time for dinner."
"Certainly, Sir," Simpson said.
"Come on, Marshall. We'd better see what Artemus has been getting up to."
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Artie hadn't had a chance to get up to anything, even if he'd wanted to. He was still unconscious and totally unaware of what had happened since he'd fallen from his horse. He had been stripped and placed in a comfortable bed in one of the guest rooms, to await the doctor, who had been summoned. Great care had been taken because of the injury to his leg and the wound to his head.
The first thing the doctor did was to examine Artie's leg. He had fallen on it clumsily and managed not only to badly sprain his ankle but also cause a hairline crack in his left fibula. Apart from that he was scratched and bruised in various locations.
By the time Marsh and Mayberry arrived, Artie was dressed in a pair of striped pyjamas, of which one leg had been torn, to allow the application of a splint to his leg and a tight bandage to his ankle. His dishevelled hair, hung over the bandage, in striking contrast to its pristine whiteness, which was just a little paler than the colour of his face. He looked younger and strangely vulnerable, lying there.
They heard the doctor giving instructions, to the housekeeper, for the administration of laudanum once the patient awoke, knowing he would be in a lot of pain.
"I think Mr Gordon can make that decision, when he comes round," Mayberry interrupted, entering the room.
Marsh headed straight for the bed and sat down next to Artie, holding his left hand, assuring himself that his friend was still alive. "What a fright you gave me, old man," he said to the unconscious form in the bed. "I can't leave you alone for a moment." In his mind Artie had taken the place of Sam and he couldn't seem to separate them. Maybe it was because he could look out for Artie, whereas he felt useless, where Sam was concerned. They weren't even on the same continent. These thoughts didn't enter his consciousness, though. His devotion to the secret agent's welfare was unquestionable.
Marsh was only half-listening to the conversation between Mayberry and the doctor. He did hear that the housekeeper was going to arrange for various members of staff to stay in the stricken man's bedroom, and leapt up to interrupt.
"I'll look after him," he said. "I'm sure he'd prefer to have someone he knows. One of the staff can relieve me at night, so that I can get some sleep."
"It's all the same to me," the doctor, said. "I'll leave the laudanum here and I'll be back to see Mr Gordon tomorrow morning. Good day, gentlemen."
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Mr Oakley, the owner of Stonehurst, was waiting downstairs to talk to Mayberry. First he offered him a glass of sherry.
"I'm sorry about all this," Oakley said. "My ground keeper, McNiell, had no idea your friend was in the wood. He was out shooting magpies and it looks like the sound of the shotgun scared your friend's horse. Needless to say, he's more than welcome to stay here, until he has recovered."
"That's good of you, Oakley. I hope you don't mind if his friend Mr North stays here to look after him."
"He will be welcome as my guest. I understand they're both Americans."
"Yes, I met them on the ship on the way back to England. As a matter of fact, I've employed Mr North to help me run the stables while my manager's out of action."
"You must think quite well of these men then."
"They're quite trustworthy, if that's what you're getting at," Mayberry said, coldly.
"Calm down, Mayberry, I would never insult any guests of yours. It was just an innocent remark. Now let's see about lunch and I'll also ask cook to send something up for Mr North."
"Thank you, Oakley."
"Don't mention it."
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By the late evening, Marsh had spent the rest of the day with Artie and was quite exhausted with a mixture of inactivity and anxiety. He had spent half the time willing him to wake up and the other half worrying about the pain he would be in when he did finally surface. Artie finally came to his senses to find someone kneeling next to his bed, with their head resting on the covers. That must be very uncomfortable, was his first thought. "Jim?" he asked, still a little confused as to where he was and what had happened. The noise woke up his companion, who lifted his head and smiled at Artie.
"You're awake!" Marsh said, obviously relieved.
"Yeah," Artie yawned and winced as he became aware of the throbbing in both his left limb and his head. "What the hell happened to me?" he asked.
"You fell off your horse and you're lucky to have got off so lightly," Marsh scolded him. "When they first told me the news, I thought you were dead," Marsh said, with a slight wobble to his voice.
"Hey, it's alright," Artie told him. "I'm sorry I scared you like that. It wasn't my intention, I can assure you," he added dryly.
"How are you feeling?" Marsh asked, worriedly. "You must be in terrible pain."
"It feels like I broke my leg," Artie said, "and took a blow to the old noggin."
"You sprained your ankle," Marsh informed him, "and you cracked the bone in your leg, but it didn't break completely, so it should heal perfectly straight. Your riding hat prevented your head from cracking open but you knocked yourself out and hit your forehead on a branch. The doc patched you up and he's coming back tomorrow to see how you're doing. I shouldn't really be talking to you, you need to rest," he added guiltily.
"I won't tell on you," Artie said, weakly. He was obviously fagged to death with the pain and discomfort.
"The doc left some laudanum if you want it."
"Just a few drops," Artie said, guessing he wouldn't be able to sleep without it.
Marsh did as he asked and then watched until Artie fell into a deep sleep.
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The following morning, the doctor returned and smiled at Artie, when he found him awake and quite lucid.
"I'm afraid you suffered a concussion but, as you're going to be tied to that bed for the next few days, that will give you time to recover. After that it should be possible to move you to Mr Mayberry's house, until your other injuries heal. I wouldn't advise you to attempt the voyage to America for at least two months, though."
Artie groaned, he'd been absent for almost a month already. "How soon before I can travel to London?" he asked, thinking of his need to visit the embassy.
"Not for at least a month, I would estimate. We need to keep that leg stable. You've avoided a fever so far but, if that bone in your leg breaks and pushes through the skin, it could lead to infection."
"I hear you, doctor," Artie said, "and I'm not willing to take the risk of infection, so I'll do as you say. I only hope I won't outstay my welcome here."
"I'm sure everything will be alright. I'll have a word with Mr Mayberry myself. He's bound to understand."
So saying, he left, and the door opened to reveal Marsh with a tray in his hands.
"I thought you might want a cup of coffee after all that," he said, plonking the tray down on the bedside table. "Oakley's cook also gave me some digestive biscuits to go with the coffee."
Artie reached for a biscuit and crunched on it between sips of coffee. "Mmm, not bad," he said.
"What did the doctor say?"
"There's a problem," Artie replied.
"Your condition's not worse than we thought?" Marsh demanded, nearly spilling his coffee.
"No, I'm fine," Artie reassured him. "The problem is that I have to stay in England for another two months."
"That's great," Marsh said, thinking of it from his own point of view.
"Well, I'm glad it's made someone happy."
"Sorry, old man, of course it's bad news for you but it means that you'll still be here when Kate and Clara arrive, with the money."
"And how has this been arranged?" Artie asked.
"You're not the only correspondent around here. I left two letters with Captain Pritchard, when we disembarked from the S.S. Ludlow. He's going to post them in New York, for me, when the ship returns there. I estimate that the girls will be here in about a month." He was smiling but his face suddenly became serious when he added, "I hope Sam can make it too." Then he brightened again; nothing seemed to keep Marsh down for long. "I'd love to see you two together. You're so alike but, now I've come to know you, I can see differences. Sam if more relaxed. You worry more."
"If you mean my twin is totally irresponsible, then I agree."
Marsh laughed. "You see, Sam would never have said anything like that."
Artie practically snorted at what he considered an insult. Marsh made him sound like a complete stick-in-the mud. He and Jim had had many light-hearted moments during their missions. One instance came to mind and he couldn't help chuckling to himself.
"What's so funny?" Marsh asked.
"I was just remembering an assignment we had where it was necessary to search a monkey," Artie replied.
Marsh demanded the full story be told at once and they spent a companionable couple of hours talking about Count Manzeppi and his incredible schemes.
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As it happened, Marsh had no reason to worry about Sam. He had a plan of escape and was at that moment putting it into action.
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