Clifford was yellow at the gills with anger,and at evening the whites of his eyes were a little yellow too.He ran to liver.But Hilda was consistently modest and maidenly.
'You must have a nurse or somebody,to look after you personally.You should really have a manservant,'said Hilda as they sat,with apparent calmness,at coffee after dinner.She spoke in her soft,seemingly gentle way,but Clifford felt she was hitting him on the head with a bludgeon.
'You think so?'he said coldly.
'I'm sure!It's necessary.Either that,or Father and I must take Connie away for some months.This can't go on.'
'What can't go on?'
'Haven't you looked at the child!'asked Hilda,gazing at him full stare.
He looked rather like a huge,boiled crayfish at the moment;or so she thought.
'Connie and I will discuss it,'he said.
'I've already discussed it with her,'said Hilda.
Clifford had been long enough in the hands of nurses;he hated them,because they left him no real privacy.And a manservant!...he couldn't stand a man hanging round him.Almost better any woman.But why not Connie?
The two sisters drove off in the morning,Connie looking rather like an Easter lamb,rather small beside Hilda,who held the wheel.Sir Malcolm was away,but the Kensington house was open.
The doctor examined Connie carefully,and asked her all about her life.
'I see your photograph,and Sir Clifford's,in the illustrated papers sometimes.
Almost notorieties,aren't you?That's how the quiet little girls grow up,though you're only a quiet little girl even now,in spite of the illustrated papers.No,no!There's nothing organically wrong,but it won't do!It won't do!Tell Sir Clifford he's got to bring you to town,or take you abroad,and amuse you.You've got to be amused,got to!Your vitality is much too low;no reserves,no reserves.The nerves of the heart a bit queer already:oh,yes!Nothing but nerves;I'd put you right in a month at Cannes or Biarritz.But it mustn't go on,mustn't ,I tell you,or I won't be answerable for consequences.You're spending your life without renewing it.You've got to be amused,properly,healthily amused.You're spending your vitality without making any.Can't go on,you know.Depression!Avoid depression!'
Hilda set her jaw,and that meant something.
Michaelis heard they were in town,and came running with roses.'Why,whatever's wrong?'he cried.'You're a shadow of yourself.Why,I never saw such a change!Why ever didn't you let me know?Come to Nice with me!
Come down to Sicily!Go on,come to Sicily with me.It's lovely there just now.You want sun!You want life!Why,you're wasting away!Come away with me!Come to Africa!Oh,hang Sir Clifford!Chuck him,and come along with me.I'll marry you the minute he divorces you.Come along and try a life!
God's love!That place Wragby would kill anybody.Beastly place!Foul place!
Kill anybody!Come away with me into the sun!It's the sun you want,of course,and a bit of normal life.'
But Connie's heart simply stood still at the thought of abandoning Clifford there and then.She couldn't do it.No...no!She just couldn't.She had to go back to Wragby.
Michaelis was disgusted.Hilda didn't like Michaelis,but she almost preferred him to Clifford.Back went the sisters to the Midlands.
Hilda talked to Clifford,who still had yellow eyeballs when they got back.He,too,in his way,was overwrought;but he had to listen to all Hilda said,to all the doctor had said,not what Michaelis had said,of course,and he sat mum through the ultimatum.
'Here is the address of a good manservant,who was with an invalid patient of the doctor's till he died last month.He is really a good man,and fairly sure to come.'
'But I'm not an invalid,and I will not have a manservant,'
said Clifford,poor devil.
'And here are the addresses of two women;I saw one of them,she would do very well;a woman of about fifty,quiet,strong,kind,and in her way cultured...'
Clifford only sulked,and would not answer.
'Very well,Clifford.If we don't settle something by to-morrow,I shall telegraph to Father,and we shall take Connie away.'
'Will Connie go?'asked Clifford.
'She doesn't want to,but she knows she must.Mother died of cancer,brought on by fretting.We're not running any risks.'
So next day Clifford suggested Mrs Bolton,Tevershall parish nurse.
Apparently Mrs Betts had thought of her.Mrs Bolton was just retiring from her parish duties to take up private nursing jobs.Clifford had a queer dread of delivering himself into the hands of a stranger,but this Mrs Bolton had once nursed him through scarlet fever,and he knew her.
The two sisters at once called on Mrs Bolton,in a newish house in a row,quite select for Tevershall.They found a rather good-looking woman of forty-odd,in a nurse's uniform,with a white collar and apron,just making herself tea in a small crowded sitting-room.
Mrs Bolton was most attentive and polite,seemed quite nice,spoke with a bit of a broad slur,but in heavily correct English,and from having bossed the sick colliers for a good many years,had a very good opinion of herself,and a fair amount of assurance.In short,in her tiny way,one of the governing class in the village,very much respected.
'Yes,Lady Chatterley's not looking at all well!Why,she used to be that bonny,didn't she now?But she's been failing all winter!Oh,it's hard,it is.Poor Sir Clifford!Eh,that war,it's a lot to answer for.'
And Mrs Bolton would come to Wragby at once,if Dr Shardlow would let her off.She had another fortnight's parish nursing to do,by rights,but they might get a substitute,you know.
Hilda posted off to Dr Shardlow,and on the following Sunday Mrs Bolton drove up in Leiver's cab to Wragby with two trunks.Hilda had talks with her;Mrs Bolton was ready at any moment to talk.And she seemed so young!
The way the passion would flush in her rather pale cheek.She was forty-seven.