«Rachel, are you hurt? I've got a doctor here-She began awkwardly to get up, again pushing away my assisting hand. I got a whiff of alcohol from her panting breath. She knelt upon her dress and I heard it tear. Then she half ran half fell across the room to the disordered bed, where she flopped on her back, tugging at the bedclothes, ineffectually because she was half lying on them, then covering her face with both hands and crying in an appalling wailing manner, lying with her feet wide apart in a graceless self-absorption of grief.
«Rachel, please control yourself. Drink some water.» The sound of that abandoned weeping was scarcely bearable, and something far too intense to be called embarrassment, yet of that quality, made me both reluctant and anxious to look at her. A woman's crying can sicken one with fright and guilt, and this was terrible crying.
Arnold outside shouted, «Please let me in, please, please-«Stop it, Rachel,» I said. «I can't bear this. Stop it. I'm going to open the door.»
«No, no,» she whispered, a sort of voiceless whine. «Not Arnold, not-« Was she still afraid of him?
«I'm going to let the doctor in,» I said.
«No, no.»
I opened the door and placed my hand on Arnold's chest. «Go in and look at her,» I said to Francis. «There's some blood.»
Arnold began to call out, «Let me see you, please, darling, don't be angry, oh please-I pushed him back towards the head of the stairs. Francis went inside and locked the door again, whether out of delicacy or professional caution.
Arnold sat down on the stairs and began to moan. «Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear-« My awkward appalled embarrassment mingled now with a horrible fascinated interest. Arnold, beyond caring about what impression he made, was running his hands again and again through his hair. «Oh I am a bloody fool, I am a bloody fool-I said, «Steady on. What happened exactly?»
«Where are the scissors?» shouted Francis from within.
«Top drawer dressing table,» Arnold shouted back. «Christ, what does he want scissors for? Is he going to operate or something?»
«What happened? Look, better move down a bit.»
I pushed Arnold and he hobbled stooping, holding the banisters, past the turn of the stair, and sat on the lowest step, holding his head in his hands and staring at the zigzag design of the hall carpet. The hall was always a bit dim because of the stained glass in the door. I went down past him and sat on a chair, feeling very odd, upset, excited.
«Oh Christ, oh Christ. Do you think she'll forgive me?»
«Of course. What-?»
«Thank God,» said Arnold. «Do you know, I think she may have been shamming all the time. Anyway, thank God. What should-?»
«There's nothing seriously wrong. She's got a very nasty lump on her head and she's a bit in shock. Could be a touch of concussion. Keep her in bed and keep the room dark. Aspirins, any of her usual sedatives, hot-water bottles, hot drinks, I mean tea and that. Better let her see her own doctor. She'll soon be herself again.»
«Oh thank you so much, Doctor,» said Arnold. «So she's all right, thank heaven.»
«She wants to see you,» said Francis to me. We had all moved back up to the landing.
Arnold began again calling, «My darling, please-«I'll deal,» I said. I half opened the bedroom door, which was unlocked.
«Only Bradley. Only Bradley.» The voice, still almost inaudible, was firmer.
