‘But, Maggie, we mustn’t be too—I mean we mustn’t put too much faith in Mr. MacTavish. He isn’t a magician, you know.’
‘He is—almost,’ declared Maggie. ‘They think the world of him at the Royal. Mrs. Inglis was telling me. Her sister-in-law’s nephew that’s a doctor in the out-patients is never done talking about MacTavish. They’re all just crazy about the man. Mrs. Inglis was saying that MacTavish is wanting an assistant to help him with his operations and they’re all wondering who it will be. Bill Grainger would like it himself, and maybe he’ll get it, for he’s a clever one is Bill and he’s had a lot of experience . . . and what’s more he’s helped MacTavish with some of his operations.’
‘Who is Bill Grainger?’
‘I’ve told you, Miss Julia. He’s Mrs. Inglis’s sister-in-law’s nephew.’ Thump, thump, thump. ‘I hope he’ll get it,’ continued Maggie. ‘It would be a fine feather in his cap; but there’s several others better qualified than him, so there’s no telling.’
‘Why do they all want the job?’
‘It’s because he’s a grand surgeon, that’s why, Miss Julia. There’s nobody like him. There was a wee boy came over from America—his father was a millionaire—and MacTavish cut his hairt open and sewed it up again. Bill Grainger was there and saw it with his own eyes. What do you think of that, Miss Julia? Did you ever hear the like? And the wee boy got better and was up from his bed, running about as cheery as you please. Mrs. Inglis was saying that MacTavish got two thousand dollars for the job . . . but, mind you, it may be wrong. I’m not believing everything I hear.’
‘It sounds a lot of money.’
Thump, thump. ‘Dollars,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s not pounds. I’m not very sure how much it would be in pounds.’
Julia was not very sure either, so she did not venture an opinion, and for a few minutes there was silence.
‘Maggie,’ said Julia very seriously. ‘I’m sure Mr. MacTavish is very clever, but all the same he can’t work miracles. We must remember that. I think we must be prepared . . .’
Maggie put her iron on the trivet and stood up very straight. ‘I know what you’re meaning, Miss Julia,’ she said in a queer strained voice. ‘There’s no need for you to be warning me. D’you think I’m so blind that I canna see what’s before my eyes? He’s that thin and frail you’d think a wee breath of wind would blow him away—there’s nobody kens that better nor me—but there’s something being done about it at last. There’s something being done. All these months he’s been taking turns . . . and every one worse than before. All these weary months he’s been getting frailer and frailer. A year ago he could still walk to the town and enjoy a crack with folks . . . and then he could do nae mair than walk to the road-end to post his letters . . . and then it came that he would just take a wee dander round the gairden . . . and then,’ said Maggie in a shaky voice, ‘and then he was not on for that, even. I would put out a chair beneath the tree and he would sit and watch the burrds and maybe scatter a han’ful of crumbs for them to peck. He’s just been dying,’ said Maggie, dashing the tears from her eyes and groping for the handle of her iron. ‘He’s just been dying . . . and nothing being done.’
Julia could not speak. Even if she could have spoken she would not have known what to say; somehow she knew quite definitely that Maggie would dislike any demonstration of sympathy.
‘This iron is too hot for his semmit,’ said Maggie. ‘I’ll need to leave it and finish his shirts.’
‘What a long time it takes to iron a shirt!’
‘It does, if you do it right. I like to do them nice for him—as nice as I can.’
(Yes, of course she did, thought Julia.)
Thump, thump, thump. ‘Not that he cares,’ added Maggie. ‘He’d put them on, rough-dried, and never notice. He’s not the one to notice things like that.’
‘If he has to go to a nursing home for—for treatment or anything, we might have his bedroom done up.’
‘Well, there now! I never thought on that.’
‘It’s so dreary, isn’t it? And it would be a nice surprise for him when he comes home.’
‘So it would. Maybe we could get the walls papered, Miss Julia. Would it cost a lot of money?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You could get Alec Fleming to do it. He’s a real good painter and he wouldna charge as much as the Edinburgh shops.’
Julia nodded. ‘Yes, a local man would be best. We must get a new carpet, Maggie.’
‘And curtains,’ said Maggie eagerly. ‘If we got some nice bright chintz I could borrow Mrs. Inglis’s sewing-machine and run them up in no time.’
They continued to discuss plans for the project—it was to be a secret of course—and Julia was glad she had suggested it, not only for Uncle Randal’s sake but also Maggie Walker’s. The task of doing up Uncle Randal’s bedroom would give her something to think about, something to keep her busy while her master was away.
Julia had finished darning the socks by this time, so she rose to go.
‘Miss Julia,’ said Maggie, continuing to iron his shirt industriously. ‘Miss Julia, I’m not very good at “thank-you,” but that’s not to say I dinna feel it in my hairt. You’ve done mair nor anybody for him.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if I’ve done the right thing,’ said Julia with a little tremble in her voice. ‘I mean supposing . . .’
‘We’ll not suppose anything,’ said Maggie firmly. ‘We’ll just hope and pray and keep our fingers crossed. That’s what we’ll do, Miss Julia.’
‘Yes,’ said Julia. For some reason or other this curious mixture of Christian faith and pagan superstition comforted her considerably.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was a lovely morning, warm and bright; the sunshine was streaming in through the open windows of the study. Julia was sitting at the table darning some pillow-cases; Neil was sitting in a big leather chair trying to read the morning paper and obviously failing in the attempt. They were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Mr. MacTavish.
‘Isn’t he wonderful!’ exclaimed Neil. ‘Isn’t he simply splendid! Fancy his coming all this way to see Uncle Ran! I never asked him to come, of course; I never thought of it. I just gave him Dr. Cairn’s letter and told him what I could and explained that Uncle Ran was still in bed after that frightful attack on Friday night and it might be a week before he was able to come to Edinburgh . . . and do you know what he said? He said, “Well, in that case, the mountain will have to go to Mahomet.” Wasn’t it splendid of him, Julia? I told you he was wonderful, didn’t I?’
‘At least twenty times,’ said Julia, nodding.
‘I expect he’ll be here soon,’ said Neil, throwing the paper onto the floor in an untidy heap. ‘He’s always punctual unless something unforeseen happens. If something unforeseen happens he can’t help it. People come hundreds of miles to see him. That’s why it’s so wonderful of him to come all this way to see Uncle Ran.’
‘It’s only fifteen miles and he has got a Bentley, so it isn’t——’
‘How do you know he has got a Bentley?’
‘Because it has just stopped at the gate.’
Neil rushed out of the room to greet his hero but Julia remained where she was, sewing industriously, as if her very life depended upon the work. She heard the sound of voices in the hall, she heard Uncle Randal’s door opening and shutting; she was still sewing industriously when Neil returned.
‘He wants to see Uncle Ran alone,’ explained Neil. ‘I thought he might want me to be there, but he doesn’t. We’ll just have to wait.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Julia, taking up her little gilt scissors to snip off a thread. ‘We’ll just have to wait.’
For a few moments Neil stood and looked out of the window and then he began to prowl up and down the room like a caged tiger.
‘He has come!’ exclaimed Neil. ‘When I opened the door and saw him coming up the path I could scarcely believe my eyes!’
‘He said he was comi
ng, didn’t he?’
‘Oh, I know, but all the same . . . I mean he’s so famous and so frightfully busy. I don’t know how he gets through all his work.’
‘He won’t be so busy when he gets an assistant.’
‘How do you know he’s looking for an assistant?’ asked Neil in astonishment.
‘Maggie told me.’
‘Maggie told you! How on earth did Maggie know?’
‘Mrs. Inglis’s sister-in-law’s nephew said so.’
‘Who the heck is he?’
‘His name is Bill Grainger,’ replied Julia. She was talking for talking’s sake, hoping to interest Neil so that he would stop prowling up and down the room. Her nerves were at stretching point, ready to snap at any moment . . . and then I shall be really cross with him, she thought. She did not want to be cross with Neil, for she knew what he was suffering. She herself was suffering agonies of impatience and apprehension and of course it was worse for Neil. She herself loved Uncle Ran dearly—it was incredible that she had known him for little more than a week—but Neil had known him and loved him for years and years and years; he was part of Neil’s life.
‘Did you say Mrs. Inglis is related to Bill Grainger?’ asked Neil, pausing in his walk and gazing at Julia incredulously.
‘If you call it “related,”’ she replied. ‘I mean if a sister-in-law’s nephew is a relation——’
‘What an extraordinary thing!’
‘Why so extraordinary?’
‘Because she’s a horrible old woman—I can’t stand the sight of her—and Bill is a frightfully decent chap.’
‘It isn’t unknown for a frightfully decent chap to have unpleasant relations. Besides, she isn’t a relation, she’s only his aunt’s sister-in-law.’
Neil took no notice of this remark, he had resumed his walk. He said, ‘I’ve always liked Bill—everybody likes him. He’s clever and very capable and he’s had a great deal of experience. Perhaps MacTavish will offer Bill the job—nobody could possibly be better qualified—but as a matter of fact I don’t believe Bill would take it; he has a very good job already.’
‘He would take it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Mrs. Inglis told Maggie.’
‘Mrs. Inglis told Maggie!’ echoed Neil with a mirthless laugh. ‘Well, all I can say is MacTavish will be a fool if he doesn’t take Bill Grainger.’
‘You had better tell him so,’ suggested Julia sweetly.
‘Really, Julia, you are the limit! I don’t know what’s the matter with you to-day!’
‘You’re the matter with me,’ she retorted. ‘It’s driving me mad to see you prowling up and down like that.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Neil. ‘Yes, I suppose it is rather annoying.’ He sat down beside Julia at the table and took up one of the pillow-cases.
‘It’s beautiful linen, isn’t it?’ said Julia. ‘Terribly old, of course. You can’t get linen like this nowadays.’
‘How neatly you’ve mended it! The stitches are so tiny that the darn is scarcely visible.’
‘That’s the whole idea.’
‘Oh, I know, but isn’t it rather a waste of time? You could be making something useful, couldn’t you?’
‘Or I could be prowling up and down the room and wearing out the carpet.’
‘Touché!’ exclaimed Neil with his sudden grin.
They were silent for a few moments, listening.
‘I thought I heard something,’ said Neil.
‘It’s Maggie, in the kitchen,’ said Julia. ‘The door of the cupboard makes a squeak like that.’
‘Anyway it’s too soon; he won’t have finished yet. It’ll take him a long time to examine Uncle Ran and have a chat and everything. He’s frightfully careful and thorough, so we’d better make up our minds to wait patiently.’
‘Yes, let’s do that.’
Julia was about to resume her task when Neil seized one of her hands and looked at it critically.
‘You’ve got nice hands,’ he said.
Julia was so thankful that he had found something to amuse him that she made no objection but allowed him to do as he liked with her hand.
‘Well made,’ said Neil, stretching it out and folding it up and flexing the fingers. ‘A woman’s hand is beautiful when it’s well-made like yours; so delicate and yet so strong, so exquisitely designed for its purpose. I remember one of the first things I was given to dissect was a woman’s hand.’
‘Neil!’ cried Julia, pulling it away from him in horror.
‘What’s the matter? You’ve got to have bodies to dissect when you’re doing anatomy. Surely you know that much! All right, we won’t talk about it if it revolts you . . . but I can’t see why it should. You’ve been wearing a ring on your engagement finger, Julia.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I could feel the ridge. I suppose you’ve broken it off.’
‘Really, Neil, I don’t think that’s your business!’
‘Everything is my business,’ he told her. ‘I’m terribly interested in people. “The proper study of mankind is man.” I study their bodies and I study their minds; all terribly interesting. I’m not sure that their minds aren’t more interesting than their bodies . . . to watch what they do and find out why they do it. Why did you chuck him, Julia?’
‘I didn’t!’ exclaimed Julia, taken by surprise.
‘He broke it off?’ asked Neil, raising his eyebrows. ‘How very strange! I can scarcely believe it. Why did he do that, I wonder. Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of your coming to Leddiesford; was that the reason?’
‘Neil, I’ve told you it isn’t your business.’
‘But it is,’ declared Neil seriously. ‘It is my business. It would half kill Uncle Ran if he knew. It upset him frightfully to think he had been the cause of a breach between you and your father; this would be worse.’
Julia’s eyes flashed. She exclaimed, ‘He won’t know—ever—unless you tell him, of course!’
‘All right, don’t bite me.’
Neil was silent for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Why did you come?’
‘Why did I come?’
‘Yes, why did you? It seems—it seems out of character, somehow. You’re a gentle sort of person. I can’t imagine you quarrelling with everybody belonging to you and dashing off at a moment’s notice.’
‘Can’t you?’
‘Did you think it was your duty or something?’
‘He wrote and said he was ill and wanted to see me.’
‘Yes, I know, but why did you come?’
Neil’s eyes were fixed on her inquiringly; he really wanted to know . . . so perhaps she ought to tell him. She did not want to tell him because it was such a very private thing but it would be cowardly to evade the question.
‘Why did you come?’ repeated Neil.
‘I came—’ said Julia slowly—‘I came because if I had refused to come I couldn’t have gone on calling myself a Christian.’
Neil was silent with astonishment for at least fifteen seconds; it was quite a long time for Neil to be silent.
‘Gosh!’ he exclaimed at last. ‘Then you really believe in—in all that!’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, of course. I mean—vaguely. I mean if you’d asked me if I were a Christian I would have said I was. I’m not an atheist or anything. I rather like going to church if there’s anything special on; for instance St. Giles on Armistice Sunday when it’s packed with people and they put on a really good show. The music is good, too. I like good music; I like a good rousing psalm . . . but all that doesn’t seem to have much to do with real life.’
‘I think it has everything to do with real life.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ he said, looking at her as if he had never seen her before.
There was silence. They both listened intently but there was not a sound to be heard.
‘What a long time he’s taking!’ exclaimed Neil, getting up and beginning to prowl up a
nd down again.
‘You said he would take a long time,’ Julia pointed out.
‘I know . . . but it’s ages. Look here, Julia, we had better decide what we’re going to do.’
‘It depends on what he says, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, but if he wants to operate; that’s the point. Uncle Ran hasn’t much money—neither have I, worse luck—so I suppose he had better go to a hospital. You get very good treatment, of course, but it would be a bit noisy and he’s used to peace and quiet. It would be frightfully bad for him if he couldn’t sleep . . . but a nursing home would cost the earth. Then there’s MacTavish. Of course MacTavish gets a huge fee for private patients. It’s a problem, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve got money.’
‘Really!’ cried Neil, pausing in his walk. ‘You mean you’ve got money of your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Julia, how marvellous! You’re an angel in disguise! You’ve been sent straight from heaven! Gosh, what a load off my mind! I’ve been thinking about it and worrying about it and wondering if there was anything I could sell. I had to sell the Raeburn to pay for repairs to the roof—Dunraggit runs away with a lot of money in upkeep—and you see it just might make all the difference if we could possibly get a quiet room for him in—’
‘Hush!’ exclaimed Julia, holding up her hand. ‘Yes, there he is. I can hear him coming out of—’
Neil turned and rushed into the hall.
*
2
Several minutes passed before Neil returned to the study with his hero. Julia had been waiting in a fever of anxiety; she was so distraught that she could not sit still. She had risen and was standing looking out of the window when the door opened and they came in.
Neil’s hero was quite different from Julia’s expectations (why had she expected him to be tall and dark and good-looking?); he was thick-set with very broad shoulders. In fact her first impression was that Mr. MacTavish was a dwarf. He was not really a dwarf, for he was as tall as Neil, but the tremendously broad shoulders and unusually long arms looked as though they ought to belong to a giant. His face was square with a straight-lipped mouth and a firm chin, his brown hair sprang from his broad forehead as if every separate hair were alive. His whole personality was so full of vital force that even if you were blind (thought Julia) you would know he had come into the room.
The Blue Sapphire Page 22