Page 19 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

The slight question mark at the end of the statement made Kitty say quickly, ‘From what I hear he was tremendously brave and probably saved several lives.’

Before she could say anything else, Miss Eddowes closed the deal with a quick ‘That is excellent. Thank you, Lady Stainton. Your influence will be invaluable. And now we can turn our minds to poor Weaver.’

They had arrived at the cottage hospital, which, like so many Victorian edifices built for charitable purposes, had a vaguely ecclesiastical look, with tall narrow windows, tall narrow gables, and elaborate pinnacles and finials suggestive of a mediaeval church. They were met in the entrance hall by the matron, who all but curtsied at the unexpected honour of Lady Stainton’s arrival. She told them that Weaver was very poorly, but would no doubt be cheered by their visit. ‘As well as being very much dragged down by his injury, he’s also worried about his future,’ she said. ‘Naturally, a one-legged man, even with the best artificial limb, cannot climb about on a roof.’

As she conducted them to Weaver’s bed, she talked about the huge influx of injured people from the crash. ‘We quickly ran out of beds and had to put people on palliasses in the corridors,’ she said. ‘I even had three in my sitting-room. Numbers are considerably down now, but we still have double the usual number of patients. A cottage hospital simply isn’t set up for such catastrophes.’

Kitty wondered if this was a covert plea for more money, but Miss Eddowes answered briskly, ‘By its very nature, a catastrophe is a rare occurrence for which one cannot be prepared. I think the village responded very well, to the best of its ability.’

Kitty was shocked that Weaver still looked so poorly, and thought unhappily that there might soon be another free bed to ease the congestion. He was desperately pale and haggard, propped up feebly against the pillows, the lines in his face telling of continuing pain. He didn’t exactly ‘cheer up’ at the sight of his visitors, but he struggled to sit upright, his hand going automatically to his head as if to doff the cap he wasn’t wearing.

The matron told him to lie still, and brought a chair for Kitty. Miss Eddowes remained standing.

‘I went to visit you at your house,’ Kitty said, ‘but they told me you were still in here. I had no idea.’

‘It’s good of you to trouble about me, my lady,’ Weaver said, his voice faint as though worn transparent. Pain and suffering had sapped the colour from his skin. ‘I never would have expected it.’

‘Not at all,’ Kitty said. ‘I brought you some calf’s foot jelly,’ she added, thinking how inadequate an offering it was. ‘It’s very nourishing. You need to get your strength back.’

But he seemed pleased, took the jar and held it for a moment, before Kitty divined his problem and gently took it back to put it on the bedside locker. ‘How did you come to be on that train?’ she asked. She knew from visiting other villagers who had suffered less extreme accidents that they liked to tell what had happened. She would have thought it best forgotten, but she had learned that it relieved them to describe the circumstances.

Feebly, but without reluctance, Weaver told his story. He had taken the train to visit a widowed aunt in Great Ashenden, his late father’s sister, who had looked after him when his mother died, but was now all alone. He went to see her about once a month. ‘But lately she’s been struggling, my lady, so Myrt and me – the wife, my lady – decided we’d ask her to come and live with us. We’ve got the small attic room she could have, and we thought if she threw in her little bit that she lives on – if we pooled our resources, like – well, it’d make all three of us more comfortable. Myrt and me get by all right, but three can eat as cheap as two, if you know what you’re doing, and Auntie’s mite’d give us a bit of slack. But I’d only just sat down and the train just started off, and there was a terrible noise like the end of the world, and next thing I was lying under a heap of something and trapped by the leg, no idea what’d happened or how I’d got there. And now,’ he said, weak tears filling his eyes, ‘God only knows how we’ll get by, Myrt and me, let alone bringing Auntie into it, because I’ll never work again, not with no leg. I couldn’t even get up on a hayrick to thatch it, let alone a roof. It’ll be the work’us for us at the end, and they’ll separate us, and Myrt and me’ve never been apart since we was first wed. The work’us, when we’ve always kept ourselves decent and paid our way, even when it was hard. The shame of it—’ His voice failed and he swallowed tears and fumbled out a handkerchief with a shaking hand to wipe his face and nose.

Kitty had no idea what to say in the face of such disaster, but Miss Eddowes spoke from her position at the end of the bed in her usual unemotional manner, not unkind at all, but forbidding self-pity. ‘Now you’re not to give in to despair, Weaver, for I’ve an idea that will help you. When you’re out of bed and can go home, I can arrange work for you.’

‘Work, miss?’ he said, bewildered, and made a helpless gesture towards the hump under the bedclothes where a wicker cage kept them off his stump.

‘You still have the use of your hands, I suppose? I know you’ve always made those wonderful ridge decorations and figures. You use split ash or withies to reinforce the birds and animals, don’t you?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘So you’re used to working with those materials.’

‘Yes, miss.’ Weaver sounded bewildered.

‘Well, my man, it’s a small step from that to making baskets. You’ll learn the knack of it in a day, and I can put you in the way of acquiring the materials, and selling the finished articles. There’s a ready market for baskets of all shapes and sizes, and if you’re quick about it, as I’m sure you will be, you can earn enough to keep yourself and your wife.’

‘It’s very good of you to think of me, miss,’ he said, evidently still doubtful.

‘Not at all. You must concentrate on getting well, so that we can get you out of here and started on your new career.’ Kitty saw that the word ‘we’ had had an effect on him. He was no longer alone in his terrifying slide into destitution. Someone had taken his hand to help him to his feet. ‘So chin up, and no more talk about the workhouse, d’you hear me?’

They left him soon afterwards, still pale and feeble, but with a thoughtful expression. How much better Miss Eddowes was at this business, Kitty thought, with her practical help, not just sympathy and calf’s foot jelly.

When they were outside again in the cold, blowy sunshine, she said, ‘You made such a difference to that poor man. Can you really help him become a basket-maker?’

Miss Eddowes looked unexpectedly grim. ‘Oh, that part of it was all right. I have a number of people engaged in the work, and there is a ready market for the finished items. But I’m afraid poor Weaver won’t be one of them.’

‘Whyever not?’ Kitty asked.

‘His chance of recovery is small. I know the look – I’ve seen it before. Dr Welkes says he lost so much blood, and the shock to his body was so great, that he has only a small chance of surviving. When the subject is as weak as he is, infection often sets in, or they succumb to pneumonia. It’s a great pity. He was an excellent thatcher – almost an artist.’

Kitty felt her eyes growing moist, and wondered how Miss Eddowes could remain so cool in the face of such human tragedy. Miss Eddowes looked at her as if she read her thoughts. ‘The thing is to concentrate on what one can do,’ she said. ‘Lady Stainton, now we have met in this fortuitous way, may I hope I can interest you in some of my schemes? I sense that you have a desire to be useful to your fellow man – am I right?’

Kitty had an idea that this woman could swallow her up if she once let her in. She pulled herself together. ‘Don’t we all want that? I shall be glad to give you as much help as I have time for. Naturally, running the house takes up a great deal of my day—’

Miss Eddowes gave her an understanding look that was half a smile. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ she said. ‘I shall consider how your valuable time can be put to the best possible use. I shall be in touch, Lady Stainton – and may I count on your help in the matter of Axe Brandom?’

Kitty was glad she could at least assent to that.