The Country Doctor: Captivating tales from a young GP's case notes

by Jean McConnell

  Shortly afterwards matters came towards a head when the vicar called to see John Cooper, and Linda found herself summoned to the lounge, where both the doctors and the vicar were sitting with serious faces.

  ‘I’ve tried to get access to Miss Harriet three times this week. Each time I’ve been fobbed off by Flora. She’s always “resting” in her room ‒ or taking a bath or some such. Oh yes, she’s admitted Harriet is in the house. But she’s supposed to be poorly. Or in bed with a chill. Well, I saw her at the window one day with her face pressed against the glass!’

  ‘What are you doing about this, Linda?’ said John Cooper. ‘I thought you said you’d got it in hand.’

  ‘I’ve done what I could,’ said Linda, lamely. ‘It’s difficult when Miss Harriet has not given any indication that she needs medical help. As a matter of fact I did get into the house. And I did see Miss Harriet.’

  John Cooper turned to Linda in some surprise and she felt approval.

  ‘Then you don’t think there’s any serious problem there?’

  Linda hesitated.

  ‘Look,’ Peter interjected. ‘These old biddies have got to go on living in this village. If we stir up some sort of scandal when the whole thing is just a domestic squabble. Just because Harriet hasn’t been to church lately, doesn’t mean Flora has her tied to the bedpost.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not the vicar’s sole concern, Peter.’

  ‘My concern is that there is a gentle soul in that house who is suffering ‒’

  ‘I believe that too!’ said Linda. ‘And don’t worry, I’m going to tackle it.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be best if I ‒’ began John Cooper.

  ‘Please leave it to me,’ pleaded Linda. ‘It’s my case, and I should be able to find the right way to go about it. I appreciate everything you say. All of you.’

  She was glad to see that her words seemed to inspire trust in the three men. And in fact the outline of a plan had been forming in her mind even as they were all talking.

  As soon as surgery was over next morning, she set off on her calls. And the first one was at Simba.

  Flora Matlock opened the door. She was neat as ever, but there was a strange stiffness in her and she jerked back as Linda strode straight into the hall.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Matlock,’ she said and marched straight up the stairs. After a moment’s pause, Flora followed her up.

  ‘I trust you are well yourself. The sty better? Your sister sent for me. This is her room, I believe?’

  Linda turned the handle of the door that Polly had told her was occupied by Harriet.

  ‘Sent for you?’ said Flora Matlock.

  ‘Yes. Oh dear, this door seems to be stuck. Would you, please?’

  Flora gazed at her in mesmerised bewilderment. But her hand went into her pocket and she drew out a key. Linda took it, unlocked the door, entered and shut it behind her. The whole action had been a full-scale bluff. But it had worked. Harriet was sitting on her bed, listlessly, and she complied without a word as Linda examined her. Physically she seemed to have little wrong with her, but her mental condition was clearly cause for concern. To Linda’s questions, she answered in the vaguest terms. She had withdrawn into some world of her own.

  Linda patted her shoulder gently, and went downstairs to tackle Flora, who was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, now quite in control.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve given your sister a good check-up, and I confess I can find no disease ‒’

  ‘What a waste of your time then, Doctor. Typical of my sister.’

  ‘Ah, but I do feel she is suffering from severe nervous debility, and I recommend that she has a little spell in a Nursing Home. Maycroft might be suitable ‒’

  ‘It’s out of the question. There’s never been anything of that sort in the family.’

  ‘Miss Harriet is quite agreeable to the idea. It’s only a quiet Convalescent Home ‒’

  ‘She doesn’t understand. I’m quite able to care for her here. I was a nurse, you know.’

  ‘Then you should respect my recommendation, Miss Matlock. I’ll contact the Nursing Home and they’ll be in touch with you.’

  ‘Doctor Ford ‒’

  ‘Your sister will be in excellent hands. You need have no fears for her. Is it still raining outside?’ Linda opened the front door for herself. ‘Ah, no. Everything looks brighter already.’ And with a nod, she made off down the path. Her heart was beating a triumphant tattoo. But she had not liked the malevolent expression in Flora Matlock’s eyes.

  ‘Anyway it’s all arranged,’ Linda was telling Peter, not without some pride. ‘Unfortunately, Maycroft can’t take Harriet in till next week, but then we’ll have her comfortably under our eye and can decide what to do next.’

  ‘I think you took quite a chance there,’ he said. ‘But it seems to have paid off.’

  ‘Now then, don’t begrudge me my little victory over that dreadful Flora.’

  ‘Not at all. I salute you! Now you salute me ‒ they’ve taken a look at the Damerels’ cottage and it’s as I suspected, riddled with dry rot, wet rot and an assortment of woodworm, beetles and other wildlife. Farmer Watters has got a shock coming.’

  ‘Do you know him, Peter?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mm.’

  Relaxing together that evening, Peter brought the subject up again, clearly expecting some commendation from his father. Instead the older man received the news thoughtfully.

  ‘I only hope Watters doesn’t decide he’d be better off pulling down the cottage and dispensing with Damerel’s services,’ he said. ‘From what I hear, they’re inclined to be dispensable.’

  Something of this sort had crossed Linda’s mind, but she was sorry to see Peter suddenly crestfallen.

  ‘Did you have a word with Watters first?’ asked John Cooper.

  ‘No,’ admitted Peter, ‘I haven’t seen him at all.’

  As Peter walked Linda back to the stable flat later that night, she could see his jubilant mood had quite evaporated.

  ‘Funny how different things look sometimes, when you’ve had a talk with the old man.’

  ‘He’s usually right.’

  ‘Don’t tell me! I guess I’d better go and have a talk with Watters. It would be about the one farmer I don’t know around here!’

  ‘He only bought the farm a year ago.’

  ‘That figures.’

  ‘Would you like me to speak to him?’

  ‘You?’

  ‘I met him at a dance. And we got on rather well.’

  Peter looked at her and she could sense a confused pattern of thoughts flitting through his mind.

  ‘There was nothing to it! But I liked him and I think I’d have no trouble putting it to him about the cottage. After all it’s the Damerels we’re bothered about, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Peter. ‘So, go and work your womanly wiles on Watters. Sorry, that’s not fair.’

  ‘Listen, Peter, we’ll go and see Watters together. Between us we’ll manage.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ said Peter, and kissed her goodnight.

  He must accept that I’m right sometimes! thought Linda. She had been feeling quite smooth since the Matlock affair. In a few days Harriet would be safely in Maycroft and she’d dealt with it all without causing a local upheaval.

  Then the Matron telephoned her from Maycroft. She sounded frosty.

  ‘You probably don’t appreciate, Doctor Ford, that this is in no way a mental home.’

  ‘I know that, but ‒’

  ‘From what I hear, Miss Harriet is not at all suitable for this place.’

  ‘What do you hear, Matron?’

  ‘I had a long talk with her sister ‒ Flora. She’s an ex-nurse, you know.’

  ‘Ah! I think you should be wary of anything she may have said. She may have tried to put you off.’

  ‘Oh, not at all, Doctor. She said how Harriet was looking forward to coming and how m
uch good she thought it would do her. It only came out in little ways about Harriet’s mental condition. We really couldn’t have anyone who throws their meals about, or cuts up the upholstery.’

  ‘And Flora said Harriet did those things?’

  ‘Not in so many words. It just came out. If anything, she was trying to play down her sister’s problems.’

  Linda could appreciate very well how the cunning Flora had dropped a hint here, a word there, all the time seeming to be sweetness itself, while giving the impression that Harriet’s mind was disordered.

  ‘Matron, I should have explained things more carefully to you in the first instance. Now let me tell you all about Flora and Harriet.’

  Very carefully Linda told the Matron the sequence of events and when she had done the woman was as concerned and sympathetic as Linda would have wished.

  ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared things up, Doctor. Don’t worry, we’ll have Harriet installed here in less than a fortnight.’

  ‘Two weeks! But I thought she would be with you within a few days.’

  ‘I’m sorry but the misunderstanding has delayed things. We took another guest into the room prepared for Harriet Matlock. But it’ll only be ten days at the most ‒’

  Linda had to be satisfied with that. And be grateful that Flora had not managed to scotch the arrangement altogether. Ten days. It wasn’t so long.

  Considering that there came a particularly cold snap, there was a quiet time in the surgery. John Cooper suggested that the frost had killed off all the germs. However, it did mean that Linda and Peter had a little more time to enjoy each other’s company. They took some walks in the woods and spent cosy moments curled up in one another’s arms by the log fire in Linda’s grate. They were thus engaged one afternoon, when a call came through on Linda’s telephone from Mrs. Perry.

  ‘Doctor Ford? Is Doctor Peter there by any chance?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Linda, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Thank goodness! May I speak to him. It’s an emergency, I think. I’ve got Polly Damerel over here.’

  Peter was already at the telephone, a sixth sense alert.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Perry? Oh God.’ Peter’s face contorted as he listened. ‘I’ll go right away.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Linda.

  ‘The Damerel child ‒ one of them ‒ What the hell did I leave that bleach with them for!’

  ‘Oh Peter! I’m coming with you.’

  Linda got the car out while Peter ran for his bag and gathered up Polly, then she drove them off at as high speed as she dared. Peter sat all the while grim-faced. She longed to speak some word of comfort to him, but until they knew for sure what had happened ... Polly meantime sat huddled in the back, giving an occasional sob.

  At the Damerel cottage they were greeted by Mrs Damerel.

  ‘Thank goodness you’ve come, Doctor! It’s Bobby! He’s poisoned, I’m sure of it!’

  The two doctors rushed into the cottage where the place was in chaos. Harry Damerel was nursing Bobby on his knee while all the other children were gathered round him either crying or shouting advice. Bobby himself was scarlet in the face, screaming his head off and foaming at the mouth.

  Foaming at the mouth! Almost at once, the tension in Linda’s stomach eased. This was not a child in the throes of agony. This was something altogether different and if everyone would stop shouting ‒

  ‘Quiet! Be quiet!’ commanded Peter. The room fell silent, except for Bobby who continued to bawl loudly ‒ bubbles foaming out of his lips.

  ‘What do you think he’s drunk,’ asked Peter, beginning to examine the child. At once a chorus of contradictory information was offered to him.

  ‘Where is the bleach I left with you?’

  ‘It’s here, Doctor,’ said Mrs Damerel, producing the two bottles from under the sink. Linda took them.

  ‘Untouched,’ said Linda wryly. Peter glanced at her. He was visibly relieved.

  ‘Has he eaten anything that might have caused this?’ asked Linda. Again the room was full of helpful suggestions.

  ‘All right,’ said Peter, ‘I think we may have the answer. Calm down everybody.’

  He was prizing open Bobby’s little hand as he was speaking and as he did so a piece of squashed soap dropped to the floor. ‘I think our little friend has been making a meal of the Palmolive.’

  ‘Bobby!’ Harry Damerel shook the small boy and the bubbles flew into the air. ‘Is that what you’ve been doin’, you little monkey!’

  Bobby was promptly sick. Polly and Mrs Damerel flew to his aid.

  As they drove home, Linda noticed that Peter had the two bottles of bleach on the seat beside him.

  ‘I know it wasn’t that,’ he said. ‘But it could have been. It could easily have been. And it would have been all my fault. I’ve made pretty free with my advice to you, Linda. Well, maybe I’m not so smart as I thought.’

  ‘It’s not for want of caring, that’s all that matters,’ Linda said.

  ‘I’ll admit it, I got a bit of a shock there for a moment. I think I could use a brandy. You wouldn’t happen to have ‒’

  ‘Of course. Purely for medicinal purposes, of course. Come back to the fireside, my darling.’

  But they had hardly stepped out of the car before John Cooper came hurrying out into the yard.

  ‘The police have been called to the Matlocks’ house,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll go, Doctor Cooper,’ said Linda, and swung back into her car.

  She drove towards Simba full of misgivings.

  At the house she found the constable and the vicar. They closed the front door behind her and then she could see what lay at the foot of the stairs. It was Flora, spreadeagled, and lying in a pool of blood. Harriet was standing nearby. The vicar was holding one of her hands in his own, in the other she held a floormop.

  ‘I called and could get no answer,’ said the vicar. ‘But I could hear ‒ noises. I brought the constable and we found Flora lying here and Harriet trying to clean up the blood.’

  Even as he spoke, Harriet broke away from him and, crouching down, began swabbing the floor.

  ‘Don’t worry, Flora,’ she mumbled, ‘I’ll get it spick and span for you. I won’t let them find you all dirty like this. Not respectable. I’ll clean up, Flora.’

  ‘She’s dead, Doctor,’ murmured the constable, although Linda could see the woman must have been dead some hours.

  ‘There’s a shawl at the top of the stairs. She probably tripped.’

  Harriet looked up, bright eyed. ‘She broke the umbrella stand,’ she said. ‘But I’ve cleared up the pieces. All neat and tidy. All cleared away, Flora,’ she said, addressing the dead woman.

  Linda, examining the body, found her groin had been pierced by a shaft of the china umbrella stand. She had bled to death from the main artery. If Harriet had gone for help instead of setting herself to clean the place, Flora’s life might have been saved. But Flora had trained her sister too well.

  ‘May I take Miss Harriet home with me for now, Doctor?’ asked the vicar. ‘My wife and I will be very gentle with her.’

  Harriet went with him willingly, and Linda turned her attention to the grim task before her.

  I should have foreseen something like this, thought Linda. I have to accept some blame for not preventing this tragedy.

  ‘All right, you wish you’d acted differently,’ said Peter, later. ‘I believe disaster was inevitable. You weren’t able to stop it happening. But ‒ as you said to me ‒ it wasn’t for want of caring.’

  John Cooper said as much to her some days later, and she took heart from it. ‘By the way,’ the older doctor added, ‘I’d particularly like you to have Sunday lunch with us this weekend.’ Something in his voice alerted her. There was an odd twinkle in his eye.

  ‘I’d love to, of course,’ she said.

  The twinkle rang a little warning bell, and she dressed herself with particular care. Why did she feel red was in order? Something to make her feel st
rong and chic and ‒ Best get over to the big house and solve the mystery!

  As Linda entered the sitting room, three figures turned towards her.

  ‘Hello, Linda!’ said Peter.

  ‘Ah, Linda!’ said John Cooper. ‘Let me introduce Susan. Susan Sanders.’

  I might have guessed, thought Linda.

  ‘Susan’s an old friend. Medical student. Should qualify this year. With luck, eh, Susan?’

  John Cooper continued the introductions and Peter contributed pleasantries as the two young women regarded each other with polite smiles.

  Susan had a fresh, outdoors air. Her skin was lightly tanned and her fair hair full of sunlight. Her body was slim, but looked powerful.

  Diana ‒ the hunter, thought Linda.

  At lunch they were seated opposite each other, with the men at either end of the table. And Linda was sharply aware of Peter’s head, turning first to one woman then the other. And it seemed to her that he turned more often towards Susan. That he laughed at her jokes too much. That this whole meal was intended to convey a message to Linda. What was it? That while she herself and Peter had one sort of relationship, here was a girl who fitted more correctly into his life. The girl who he would marry. Naturally.

  Linda kept up her end of the conversation with spirit ‒ particularly considering that her heart was becoming more leaden by the minute. With the unerring instinct that women have in these circumstances, she knew without a doubt that Susan loved Peter and wanted him for her own.

  Linda concentrated hard on not letting the pace of the light-hearted chat flag; on contributing to the good-humour of the occasion with some witticisms of her own. She wondered whether this duel of angels had been John Cooper’s idea. She looked towards him occasionally but his expression was enigmatic. A charming smile, directed towards one woman then the other, revealed nothing.

  Linda was acting her part so hard, in fact, that it came as a shock to her when a sudden silence dropped into the conversation. They were already at the coffee stage. The end of the meal. The end of everything perhaps.

  But what had just been said? It was Susan who had spoken. She repeated her words.

  ‘Peter!’ she said, with a tiny edge to her voice. ‘I’m asking you a question!’