Wings Above the Diamantina. Arthur W. Upfield
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the door she had quietly closed, and there she continued to stand.
She saw and heard her father speaking into the telephone. She saw Cox crouching forward across the large writing-table. And then she saw the white, upturned face of Dr Knowles. He was staring at the lamp-shade, and the light fell directly on his face. It was devoid of expression, a cold white mask beneath the glaring electric light. The little silky black moustache and the fine black hair but emphasized the whiteness of the skin, an unnatural whiteness, considering that the man spent hours in the air every week.
He was a clever doctor, she knew. She knew, too, that his medical studies had been interrupted by fifteen months in the Royal Air Force during the war. For a period of that time—how long she did not know—he and the owner of Tintanoo had been pilots in the same squadron. But, while John Kane often spoke of those days, Dr Knowles always avoided the subject of army flying.
Her father having called good night, and the telephone receiver having been replaced on its hooks, she stepped forward and suggested supper. Not till then was Knowles aware of her presence, when he flung himself to his feet so precipitately as to indicate annoyance.
“I am ready to eat—anything,” he said, smiling to conceal his confusion.
“And the flight has sharpened my appetite instead of blunting it,” added Cox.
“Then come along. I have to go on night duty at ten o’clock,” Elizabeth told them.
She led them to a cold supper set out in the dining-room. Her father carved from a great round of beef, the quality of which is never found on offer in a butcher’s shop. Everything was in keeping with the furniture, solid and homely, easy and comfortably luxurious.
Beneath the conversation was an undercurrent of excitement, of expectancy. They could discuss nothing save the helpless young woman lying on Elizabeth’s bed, although the sergeant did make several attempts. Through the open windows came the subdued and methodical reports of the petrol engine running the station dynamo. From farther afield drifted the notes of an accordion. The night was silent and peaceful and warm. They each sensed rather than knew positively that drama had come to Coolibah.
Chapter Five
The Vigil
Elizabeth relieved the housekeeper at ten o’clock leaving the men to depart for Nettlefold’s study.
“I think she is sleeping, Miss Elizabeth,” Hetty reported. “I closed her eyes and turned her on her side half an hour ago. You will find the spirit lamp and the supper things in your dressing-room. Now, what time will I relieve you? Remember, you have not slept since last night.”
They stood just outside the bedroom, the door almost shut. The corridor was lit by one electric bulb midway along it. The electric power had to be conserved, so that it had been decided to light an oil lamp, placed on a small table opposite Elizabeth’s bedroom door after all had gone to bed.
“Mr Nettlefold and Sergeant Cox will be leaving for Emu Lake at six in the morning, Hetty,” Elizabeth said. “If you will, please get up in time to see that they have a proper breakfast and take good lunches with them. After they have gone you can relieve me. I have explained everything to Dr Knowles, and he tells me he will be staying until to-morrow afternoon.”
“What does he think? Oh, Miss Elizabeth, will the poor girl get better?”
“We hope so, Hetty.”
“And Sergeant Cox!” Hetty’s hands began to flutter like a bird’s wings. “Has he found out who she is?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“No. He hasn’t found out yet. No one seems ever to have seen her before. Now, be off to bed, Hetty. You must be tired.”
“Very well! Good night, Miss Elizabeth!”
Again within her room, Elizabeth passed across to the bed to make sure that her patient was lying comfortably. That was more difficult than it sounds, because the girl was unable to voice a complaint or even subconsciously to move her body. For a while Elizabeth listened to her regular breathing, to become convinced that she was sleeping.
The room was large and oblong in shape, the corridor wall taking one side and two pairs of french windows occupying spaces in the opposite side. The bed had its head to one of the shorter walls, while in the opposite one was the door leading to the dressing-room. As well as the small table beside the bed there was a larger one set against the corridor wall to the right of the door. On this table Elizabeth set the shaded electric lamp, and beside it she placed her chair so that she was able to face both the corridor door and the patient’s bed, the dressing-room door then being partly at her back and the two windows on her left.
Before settling in her chair to await the doctor’s promised visit, she crossed to the windows to close one pair and to draw the light curtains before both. Here, in western Queensland, there was absolutely no necessity to lock and bar windows and doors, and from one year’s end to the other neither windows nor doors were ever locked at Coolibah.
Shortly after eleven, Dr Knowles came in without a sound. He waved her back into her chair before closing the door, and, stepping across to the table, seated himself on the edge of it and scrutinized her closely.
About him there was a faint aroma of alcohol. His face was flushed, and before he sat down she noticed that he staggered ever so slightly. Yet when he spoke his voice was steady, clear, and low.
“You will have to guard against bed sores. Do you know how?” he asked.
“If by constantly moving the patient …”
“Exactly. During the night she must be moved from side to side, say every two hours. Most of us cannot sleep when lying on the left side, so you should be careful not to put your patient too far over that way. Throughout the day she may be allowed to lie on her back, but she must be constantly eased and half-turned to right or left, and maintained in those positions with pillows. Bed sores are the very devil to get rid of once they come, and our patient’s absolute helplessness will be productive of them unless every care is taken. You are still determined to nurse her?”
“Yes! Oh yes!” was her quick reply. “Why?”
The interrogative was snapped at her. For a second she was confused. Then:
“Perhaps the answer to this question will be my answer to yours,” she suggested hesitantly. “Why do you fly about the country so recklessly?”
The dark brows drew closer together, and the white lids narrowed before the dark eyes. He was instantly on his guard, and Elizabeth knew it.
“I never fly recklessly,” was his evasive answer.
“Answer my question, please, if you want yours answered,” she persisted.
He smiled faintly.
“I believe I can correctly guess the answer you think I would make. No, I do not fly everywhere, and take what may be thought risks, because I am bored with life. In fact, if I had not found life most interesting, I should have departed from it years ago. How is it that life bores you?”
“I am not bored … now, Doctor. I was … terribly. Dad is always happy to live here in the bush. So was my mother. I should be, too, but I am not. I have never been truly happy here after I gave up my studies to come home and look after Dad. You see, I don’t do anything. Managing Hetty who manages the house is not doing anything, really. I cannot be bothered with the garden, and horses and car driving no longer interest me. If my mother was living or I had sisters …”
Knowles was staring at her—not rudely—merely as though he saw her clearly for, the first time.
“After a while you will find nursing boring, too,” he warned her.
“Oh no, I won’t!” she hastened to assure him. “It will give me something to do—something to think about. Do you know that for the last three years I have done nothing but read novels? I keep all the men