The Shipbuilder’s Daughter

by Emma Fraser

  ‘Dr Bannatyne,’ he said, ‘I’ve been hoping to meet you.’ He didn’t look very pleased. He held out his hand. ‘Dr Forrest.’

  She shook his hand. ‘How do you do? I’ve been wondering when I’d meet one of the doctors.’

  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

  ‘I’m a little busy. Is there someone you wish to discuss with me?’

  ‘Very well. We’ll talk here. I gather you’ve been treating patients in this area. Yet you don’t have a practice here.’

  ‘I’ve only recently qualified. I’m about to start work at Redlands as a House Officer. In the meantime I’ve been coming whenever I can.’ She waved her hand vaguely. ‘There is so much disease, no wonder you and the other doctors are snowed under.’

  ‘We see as many as we can.’

  ‘But not everyone?’

  ‘It’s impossible. Each of us have thousands of patients on our lists.’

  ‘Then I’m glad I’ve been able to help, even in a small way.’

  ‘That’s just it. You are not helping. You are seeing patients who are on our lists and giving them contrary advice. This is most irregular and we want you to stop.’

  Margaret stiffened. ‘I’m sorry if I have seen anyone who is your patient. But most of the people I see, as far as I’m aware, are not on anyone’s list. They are either unemployed or the wives and children of the unemployed, and don’t have either insurance or the money to see a doctor.’

  ‘They find the money when they need it. But if you see them for free then there is no reason for them to save.’

  ‘Save? Save what? You must know how they live. Most of them have to sell their furniture, their blankets, even in the winter, just to eat. For them it’s a choice between staying fed or seeing a doctor. If I can help in a small way, I shall.’

  ‘If you really wanted to help you’d have a practice here with the rest of us, instead of floating down from your ivory tower whenever it suits you.’

  ‘It costs money to set up a practice.’

  ‘Money we have had to find and need to recuperate to feed ourselves. We don’t have the luxury of seeing patients for free. We have to make a living – if we didn’t, we’d have to give up our practices here. You’re a Bannatyne – I can’t imagine you know what it is like to have to make a living.’

  ‘Dr Forrest, I can see that I might have trodden on your toes and I am sorry. Perhaps I should have come to see you and introduced myself, but I had no idea that I would end up seeing patients.’

  ‘Now that you know, I take it that you’ll stop.’

  ‘Stop? No. I intend to carry on as long as I am able.’

  ‘And when you’ve had enough of ministering to the poor, when you get bored, what then?’

  She held out her hand. ‘Thank you for your advice, Dr Forrest. I shall think about what you have said. In the meantime I have patients to see.’

  As always, Alasdair was waiting for her that afternoon. ‘You’re unusually quiet,’ he said, when, it being less foggy and wet than usual, they were walking from Dumbarton Road towards Margaret’s home. ‘Did something happen?’

  She told him about Dr Forrest and what he’d said. ‘He has a point,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘People needed seeing and you saw them.’

  If only it was that simple. She’d been thinking about what Dr Forrest had said all afternoon. ‘But he is right. I start my hospital job next week and I won’t be able to visit Govan any more. They’ve come to depend on me.’ She looked at him. ‘You were right too. That first day, you said I shouldn’t offer people hope, not if I couldn’t follow through on my promises.’

  ‘You’ve done more than anyone could expect and they love you for it.’ The look in his eyes made her pulse race.

  ‘And I like caring for them. I wish I could start a practice here.’

  ‘But you can’t?’

  ‘No. Even the simplest practice needs at least three rooms – one for patients to wait in, one for me to see them in and another for a dispensary. And it’s not just that. If I did have a practice in Govan, I would have to live close by. I couldn’t travel from the West End in the middle of the night if I were needed. Babies have a habit of coming at the most inconvenient times.’ She paused. ‘Unless, of course, Robert agrees to finance a practice. Although I can’t for the life of me see him living in Govan.’ The image made her smile.

  ‘You’re not still planning to marry him?’

  The sudden harshness of his tone took her aback. ‘He’s my fiancé.’

  ‘I know what he is, Margaret! That’s not what I asked you.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a doorway. ‘You must know how I feel about you. And I think you feel the same.’

  Her heart stood still. Before she could speak, Alasdair had taken her face between his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

  The world disappeared as she pressed into him, returning his kisses with a depth of need that almost frightened her. This was how it should be between two people who loved each other. This was how it should be between her and Robert – but wasn’t.

  She placed her hands against Alasdair’s chest and pushed him away. When he released her she stumbled backwards. ‘You shouldn’t… we shouldn’t… it’s wrong —’

  ‘It’s not wrong.’ Alasdair was breathing hard. He gripped her arms. ‘It’s very, very right. Tell me, Margaret, has he ever kissed you like that? Have you ever kissed him back the way you kissed me?’

  ‘You mustn’t ask me that. I’ve promised Robert I’ll marry him. He deserves better than this.’

  ‘Then break it off.’

  ‘I can’t. I won’t.’

  ‘You have to.’

  ‘Why, Alasdair?’ She was almost crying. ‘So I can marry you? We both know that’s not possible.’

  ‘Why not? Because you’re a Bannatyne? I thought you had more courage than that.’

  ‘I’m not as strong as you think.’ She whirled away, knowing his eyes were on her until she disappeared out of sight.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning Margaret took the train to Helensburgh, telephoning in advance so the chauffeur would meet her. She prayed her mother would be in one of her better frames of mind – she badly needed her advice.

  Only two weeks ago, her life had been happy – or at least content – but now everything felt wrong. If either Martha or Lillian had still been in Glasgow, she might have confided in them. She’d seen them both briefly before they’d left, but she’d not said anything about her trips to Govan – or about Alasdair, and they’d been too excited about their own plans to quiz her. But how she wished they were still here. She could telephone Lily in London, but this wasn’t something that could be discussed on the phone.

  Even if she never saw Alasdair again, it wasn’t right to marry Robert when she didn’t love him – and she now knew, with absolute certainty, she didn’t. At least not in the way a woman should love the man she was to spend the rest of her life with. Yet they could have a life together. They were similar, they liked the same things. When they were married she would have access to her fortune and would have enough to set up a practice in Govan or endow a hospital there. She might not be blissfully happy with him but she could be content. Somehow, it didn’t seem enough any more.

  As soon as she stepped off the platform at Helensburgh station and into the bracing sea air she felt a little better. She’d always been happy here. Bannatyne Lodge was at the top of the hill with large gardens and a spectacular view of the sea as well as the harbour where her father still kept his yacht, although as far as she knew he hadn’t sailed since her brothers’ deaths. Her heart tightened as she felt a sudden pang of pity for her father. Everyone expected her and her mother to grieve, but had anyone thought how much the loss of his only sons had affected him? Within a matter of months he’d lost his two boys and their companionship and also, she now realised, his hopes for the future.

  Kate, the housekeeper and the wife of Jim, the chauffe
ur who had met her at the station, was waiting for her in the hall.

  ‘Oh, it’s good to see you, Miss Margaret,’ Kate exclaimed. ‘We’ve missed you these last weeks. I’m not chiding you, mind – I know you’ve been busy with your exams and all. How did they go, anyway?’

  ‘They went well, thank you.’

  ‘You’re looking awful skinny and tired, pet. Come away in and I’ll get you something to eat.’

  To her dismay, Margaret felt tears prick behind her eyelids.

  After her brothers had been killed, and she and her mother had returned to live in Helensburgh, Margaret had sought out the company of the servants in the kitchen. Kate had gently, but firmly, removed her, telling her that her father wouldn’t approve. Nevertheless, Margaret knew that Kate, and Jim, loved her. She blinked rapidly and swallowed hard. ‘That would be lovely, but first I must see Mother. Is she dressed?’

  ‘Aye. As it happens today is one of her better days.’ Kate gave her a gentle shove. ‘Up you go while I heat up some soup.’

  Margaret ran up the flight of stairs pausing for a moment on the first turn to look out of the window. This was where she remembered her darling brothers best: their rapid footsteps on the stairs, the way they took three at a time, especially Sebastian, always so impatient to get where he was going. Here was where she still heard the sound of their laughter, their cheerful voices teasing her and the servants. Here was where she sailed with them and walked with them on the estate, they with their guns, her following after them like a puppy. Here was where they played cricket and kept their horses. Here was where their ghosts, although she knew there was no such thing, would have returned. She wondered if her mother felt the same way, which might explain why she so rarely came to Glasgow.

  Composing herself, Margaret knocked on her mother’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ a tremulous voice answered. Her mother was sitting in her armchair, facing out to sea. As always when she did manage to get dressed, her mother was all in black in a style of gown that had been fashionable during the war. Margaret crossed over to her and dropped a kiss on her mother’s parchment-dry cheek. ‘Mother! It’s so lovely to see you up.’

  A brief smile crossed her mother’s face. ‘Margaret. It’s good of you to visit, child. Is your father with you?’

  ‘I understand the yards are keeping him busy, otherwise I’m sure he would have come.’

  ‘There’s no need to lie to me, Margaret. Your father no longer has any patience with me.’

  ‘You mustn’t say things like that, Mother,’ Margaret said, even though she knew it was true. Her father rarely made the time to come to Helensburgh. ‘Why don’t you come up to Glasgow sometime? We – I – miss you.’

  ‘I will. One day. When I’m feeling better.’ She raised a fluttering hand to her brow.

  It’s what she always said. Her mother had seen countless doctors. They’d listened to her chest, felt her pulse, taken every sort of specimen they could and tested it, but the results always came back the same: negative. Whatever was wrong with her mother didn’t have a physical cause.

  ‘Why don’t we try a little walk in the gardens. It’s a beautiful day,’ Margaret suggested.

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’

  Margaret sat down. ‘I’ve passed my exams, Mother. I am now Dr Bannatyne. What do you think of that?’

  ‘Does that mean you and Robert will be getting married soon? I do hope so. I would so love grandchildren.’

  ‘I need to talk to you about that. Lately…’ she trailed off. Her mother wasn’t listening. She was gazing out the window and on to the garden.

  ‘My boys should be out there. Sometimes I like to imagine they still are.’

  Margaret shuddered, remembering the day the telegram came about Sebastian. It had been bad enough when news of Fletcher’s death had reached them, but only three months later her father had come into the drawing room, holding a telegram, his face grey and his eyes moist. When he’d told them Sebastian was dead her mother had screamed – the sound bouncing through the house. Unnoticed, Margaret had pressed herself into a corner, horrified when her mother had launched herself at her father and pounded at his chest with her small fists.

  Nothing had been the same after that. Her father had spent more and more time at the shipyard, barely coming home before bedtime, whilst her mother withdrew to her bedroom refusing to come out even for meals. Eventually the doctor was called out and decreed that what her mother required was fresh country air and rest.

  Taking Margaret with her, her mother had gone to live in their house in Helensburgh but had continued to spend most of her time in her room, except for increasingly rare trips to their home in Glasgow at the weekend. Those weekends, empty days and cold silent dinners, apart from the clink of cutlery on china, were unbearable. Shortly after her sixteenth birthday Margaret had been sent to live with her father in Glasgow during the week as well as the weekends. She hadn’t wanted to leave her mother, but she’d been given no choice in the matter. She kept hoping that one day soon the mother she’d known before her brothers’ deaths would resurface. So far that hadn’t happened.

  ‘I miss them too.’

  ‘No one can miss a child the way a mother does. No one.’ Her mother reached over and clutched Margaret’s wrist with her bony, blue-veined hand. ‘You’ll discover that when you have children.’

  And there was the nub. She could no longer imagine having Robert’s children. Even the thought made her queasy.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Mother. I don’t think I can marry Robert.’

  ‘Why not? Hasn’t that all been decided?’

  ‘I know we’re engaged but people break off their engagements all the time.’

  ‘Not you. Your father will never allow it. Don’t go against him, Margaret. Your father can be ruthless. Nothing must stand in the way of him getting what he wants. And, if he can’t get a title for himself, he needs you to get one for him. Apart from a son to inherit his businesses, he has everything else he wants – certainly more money than he can spend in several lifetimes.’

  ‘But Father loves me! He wants me to be happy.’ She had to believe that.

  ‘He wants you to be happy, but only if it makes him happy too. He needs an heir, Margaret, and you must provide it.’ She laughed harshly. ‘Why do you think he took you back to Glasgow when you were sixteen? Because he couldn’t bear to be apart from you? No, he took you away from me, knowing you were my only comfort, to punish me for being ill, but more importantly because he wanted to make sure that you would meet only the right sort of men.’

  Margaret recoiled. ‘No! That can’t be true!’

  ‘If your brothers had lived it might have been different,’ her mother continued, as if Margaret hadn’t spoken. ‘Your father should never have let them go to war.’

  ‘They would have gone whatever Father had said.’

  ‘Fletcher wouldn’t have.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Margaret whispered.

  ‘Fletcher didn’t believe in the war. He was on the side of the anti-war protestors. He would have joined the Socialist Party if your father hadn’t hated them so much.’

  ‘I had no idea Fletcher felt that way. He joined up, after all.’

  ‘He only enlisted because your father made him.’

  ‘Father made him?’ Margaret repeated, feeling sick.

  ‘Fletcher could have been excused! Shipbuilding was protected, but your father wouldn’t have it. He thought that some time in the army would toughen Fletcher up. Make him more fitting to take over the shipyards. Those damn yards. They cost me my son and your father is to blame!’

  The venom in her mother’s eyes stunned her anew. ‘Mother! You mustn’t say things like that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the truth.’ Her mother pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘I’m tired now, Margaret. I don’t wish to think about things that upset me any more. You and your father must do the best you can. I can’t help you. I’m sorry. You must manage on your own.�
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  Chapter 8

  That Monday, Margaret started her first official job as a doctor. Redlands hospital was a large red-brick building, set back from Great Western Road and not far from Margaret’s home in Great Western Terrace. As the House Officer she was required to live in, and one of the servants had delivered her trunk to her rooms there earlier that day.

  Everything about Redlands spoke of money and wealth. Originally the home of a successful Glasgow merchant, it had been bequeathed to the women of Glasgow by his heirs. Over the years, the house had been added to by the purchase of two townhouses on either side. Along with an operating theatre it had fifteen beds and a new, separate maternity annexe. While most women still delivered at home, some chose to follow the new fashion for having their babies in hospital, and the professional well-to-do women the hospital catered for would never agree to be admitted to Rotten Row alongside their poorer sisters. All the specialists, except for one or two of the visiting doctors, were women – Dr Gilchrist, the ophthalmic surgeon, being one of the first women to graduate in medicine from Glasgow.