Promise the Doctor

by Marjorie Norrell

  When she went on duty the following morning there was a much more cheerful atmosphere in the air at St Lucy’s. Doctor Brindley Parsons, the Medical Officer of Health for the area, was certain now that an epidemic was no longer even a remote possibility, and although they were all tired, and although the authorities were determined not to relax their precautions and vigilance as yet and were urging all visitors to take the ‘sugar-lump vaccine’ if they had not already done so, there was the general feeling that this time, as so often before since so much had been done to help, the bogey had been defeated.

  She was just returning from the second dinner break when she saw Sister Leigh in the corridor. Angela Leigh was a pleasant woman, and she had twice visited Fernbank with typing her sister required done for her. She stopped now, looking into Joy’s face with a strangely troubled expression.

  ‘I ... I’m sorry to be the one to break this news, Sister Benyon,’ she said hesitantly, ‘but I think you would rather be told. They’ve just brought your mother into Lucy’s. Apparently she felt ill in the night, but didn’t want to disturb anyone. We only know this because Lana heard her about upstairs, long after everyone else was asleep. She wouldn’t let anyone tell you this morning.’

  ‘She called out as I tapped on her door,’ Joy remembered. f She said not to come in for a moment, that she was late ... and so was I. I didn’t go back.’

  ‘She collapsed after you’d gone. It seems she was forcing herself along by sheer effort of will power to make certain she didn’t upset any of you.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Mrs. Wrenshaw telephoned Doctor Quentin. It’s he who has sent her in.’

  Joy thanked her, hurried along to her own ward and saw that everything was under control, then she telephoned Matron. As she had anticipated, Matron was most helpful, and Joy was shortly on her way to Aileen’s bedside.

  Aileen lay on her bed, her chart showing an alarming rise in temperature, her prostration indicating the severity of the toxaemia of the attack. She was flushed, and although she had been given drugs to combat the severity of the pain in her limbs and back, it was obvious she was far from pain-free. Joy felt her heart contract, but as she bent over her mother, she knew, as the nurse beside the bed told her a swab was already on its way for testing, that everything possible was being done, and that it only remained to hope and pray that, bad though this might be, it was nothing more deadly than the influenza which could be combated far more easily than the infection Joy feared she might have caught from one or other of her many contacts from all walks of life.

  CHAPTER XV

  Aileen’s illness lasted a good two weeks before Quentin told them to prepare for her return to Fernbank, but in that time a great deal had happened, a great deal which might have upset her mother had she known about it at the time, Joy reflected.

  To begin with, Aileen had not the dreaded illness they had all feared, but she had apparently been worrying herself silently and feverishly about the disagreement between her daughter and the man she had made a friend. Joy had known little of this, although she had guessed quite a lot, but once the fever of her illness had her in its grip, Aileen became delirious, and as Joy had begged permission to take part in the specialling of her mother, she heard much which Aileen would never have permitted to leave her lips had she been well and aware of what she was saying.

  ‘It isn’t fair...’ Joy had to stoop to catch the whispered words from Aileen’s parched throat. ‘Joy gave her word. Sam oughtn’t to ask her to break it ... not my Joy ... she’s a good child. I can’t marry you, Sam, not and have you do this to my Joy ... that’s what she’s always been, my Joy...’

  There was much more. The chief worry in Aileen’s mind was, as Joy had suspected, connected with Sam Bainbridge and his insistence on demanding possession of Fernbank. But it had been something of a shock to learn he must already have proposed to Aileen ... proposed and been refused! It was an even greater shock when, a little later, Joy heard her mother say: ‘I do love you, Sam ... I think I do ... but I’ve loved Joy a lot longer. She’s still my baby.’

  Tears were on her cheeks as she looked up to see Quentin’s father beside her. He had taken Aileen’s wrist in his hand and was taking her pulse again.

  ‘You’ll be glad to know,’ he told the anxious girl, ‘that the swab was clear. This is a case of nervous influenza agitated by extreme nervous exhaustion. She’s been worrying about her private problems too long and without confiding in anyone! A great mistake.’ He shook out two small white tablets and passed them to Joy. ‘Give her these,’ he said, ‘and I think she’ll rest. Once the fever’s broken she’ll be all right, but I think she ought to stay here a week or so.’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Joy said in heartfelt tones. ‘And when she does come home I shall take care there isn’t any more of this bottling up of her emotions to spare the feelings of the rest of us! It’s only since we came to Fernbank to live,’ she burst forth impulsively. ‘She’s never thought of keeping worries and so on to herself before. We’ve always shared problems, ever since I was old enough to understand why she was sometimes so worried and upset.’

  ‘But this time’—Lionel Moyser’s tone was gentle and tender as he looked gravely at the overwrought girl beside him—‘she had a problem which she felt would only occasion you extra distress. I don’t know quite what advice I ought to give you, Joy. Would you care for me to have a word with Sam Bainbridge for you?’ he invited.

  ‘No. No, thank you, Mr. Moyser.’ Joy made up her mind on the instant. ‘This is something I must tackle for myself. I shall go and see him when I go off duty and tell him I refuse to have Mother worried and upset in this way. He must see that she would be as distressed as I would be myself, if I broke the trust Miss Barnes placed in me. She wanted me to have Fernbank, because, I think, she suspected something like this might happen, and that someone to whom the money was of greater value than the house and its associations, the view and the seclusion of that part of the bay which she loved so much, might be constrained upon to sell out to him, to the Trust or whatever it is.’

  ‘Miss Barnes did know.’ Lionel surprised her by the statement. ‘Everyone who reads the local news knows. There just wasn’t anyone of her own family left except one second cousin or something of her late father’s, and he’s way off in Australia, and by all accounts doing well enough for himself and likely to stay there. He won’t have any memories of this country, anyhow, and Fernbank will mean nothing more to him than just a name. That was why, I should imagine, she left the place and her beliefs and hopes in your hands, Sister. I think she had implicit faith you would follow her wishes.’

  ‘And I will.’ Joy’s resolve strengthened as she thought of Miss Barnes. Surely even Samuel Bainbridge would see she couldn’t go back on her promise to the little old lady who had placed such faith and trust in her?

  Lionel looked at the woman on the bed and back to the girl by his side. Celia had told him how their son felt about Sister Benyon, and with all his heart Lionel approved of Quentin’s choice. There appeared to be only one problem so far as he could see things, and that was how Joy herself felt, and she was not giving her emotions away, not in the very least! There were times, he reflected, when stern discipline and iron self-control were things to envy, and also times when it might be better to ‘let down one’s guard’. But there was no point in pursuing that line of thought at the moment! He touched Joy gently on the arm.

  ‘That’s the bell,’ he reminded her. ‘Officially you are off duty. I give you my word your mother is going to be all right, and I’ll leave word with the nurse on duty here for the night to give both myself and you a phone call should she not sleep now.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He was reminding her, Joy knew, that she must not overstep her privilege, and with a last glance at her mother she turned to leave the small side ward as Nurse Brooke came to take over for the night.

  She telephoned Sam’s home before she left the hospital grounds. Cara answered, and befo
re she heard why Joy was telephoning she had to give her own news. That morning she had received a letter from Matron saying she would be accepted at St Lucy’s for training starting the first day of the month, and Cara was full of bubbling enthusiasm. When Joy had congratulated her and explained that her reason for calling now was because she wanted a private interview with Sam, Cara’s infectious laughter bubbled forth once more.

  ‘Rather you than me, Joy,’ she announced dramatically. ‘He’s been beside himself with worry, ever since he rang up today and someone told him your mother was ill in hospital. I’m glad she’s going to be all right,’ she added quickly, hoping Joy would not think her uncaring of the effect Aileen’s illness would have had on the family at Fernbank, ‘but I’ll have to warn you! I think Dad’s going to ask your mother to marry him. I don’t know if she will. I suppose he has a lot of good points if you know how to handle him, and she certainly seems to bring out the best in him, whatever magic she uses, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make. If he wants your mother to go on with this typing bureau thing—and he seems to think it’s one of the best ideas there’s been in the town for a long time—then he’ll either have to get another housekeeper or bring Ella Wilkinson back to cope! He’ll have to learn he can’t have his cake and eat it! He’s going to be in all evening, anyhow.’ She seemed to have suddenly recalled why Joy had telephoned in the first instance. ‘He wanted to go and see your mother, but whoever answered the telephone wouldn’t allow him. Told him the visiting days and times and that was all, so he contented himself by sending masses of flowers.’

  ‘I see.’ The flowers, Joy realized, would not be put out for Aileen until morning. Time enough then to see whether or not Sam had included a card with them.

  ‘I’m coming off duty now,’ she went on. ‘I’ll just go home and change, maybe have a cup of tea or something, and come straight round. O.K.?’

  ‘If you feel like bearding the lion in his den!’ Cara laughed. ‘I’m going round to Fernbank. Lana asked me. I take it that’s all right?’

  ‘Now we know we aren’t in a state of isolation, yes, we’ll be delighted to have you,’ Joy assured her. ‘See you soon, then,’ and she hurried away before Nigel Webster, who was running her home that week, left without her.

  The house seemed strange and unhomely without Aileen’s presence. It was true they had not seen much of her since coming to Vanmouth, but the fact that she was always somewhere not far away was usually enough. Now their happiness in the house, in Lana’s slowly returning strength, in each other was dimmed and it was an unusually quiet household that Joy left about an hour later to walk briskly along the promenade to Valley Road where most of the larger and more imposing modern houses were situated.

  The Mount proved to be the largest and most imposing of all the houses in the vicinity. As she walked up the wide, sweeping drive and saw the numerous rooms, the velvet lawns, the tennis court and small but attractive private swimming pool, Joy’s admiration for Cara increased. What a great deal of responsibility to lay on the shoulders of a girl of nineteen, to supervise the care and cleaning of this mansion and the cook and one maid, with the help of the twice-weekly visits of the woman who, as Cara put it, came to ‘do the rough’. Small wonder that Ella, whatever she was like, had told Cara more than once she preferred life in the small cottage to which Sam had retired her!

  Joy pressed the imposing bell and after a few minutes it was answered by the girl she took to be the Italian maid Cara had said Sam had imported a year or so previously. She listened as Joy stated she wished to see Mr. Bainbridge privately, and then, with a slow smile which seemed to hold something of a nameless warning, the girl opened the door and showed Joy into a wide, beautiful hall.

  ‘You will be so good as to wait one moment, please,’ she said in careful English, then she went out, leaving Joy alone for a moment or so. She was back before the girl had time to look about her, but even a casual glance showed there were objects—sculptures, paintings, china figures and so forth, which she did not believe to be Sam’s unaided choice.

  ‘Either his late wife or his children have had a hand in this,’ she decided as she followed the girl, ‘or else he’s paid a fantastic sum to some famous interior decorator to have the place made what he considers worthy of his standing and prestige!’

  There was no time for any further speculation on the matter. The girl tapped on another door and opened it for her, closing it swiftly and silently behind her as soon as she had announced the name Joy had given her, the name which had caused her employer to stare as though he could not believe his ears.

  ‘Cook’ll know who she is and why she’s here,’ the girl told herself, and hurried away to tell Cook the news and to speculate on what had brought such a charming girl to see this fierce Englishman who was her employer, at this hour of the night.

  In the booklined room, behind the imposing desk he worked on when at home, Sam Bainbridge smiled to himself. He was certain the nurse had come to capitulate, and even though he thought her mother the most wonderful woman he had met since the death of his wife so many years ago now, he could not help the feeling of triumph which swept over him as he saw Joy standing there. He’d let her down lightly, he decided. After all, she was Aileen’s daughter. He would also see to it the family lost nothing by allowing him his own way!

  ‘Sit down, Sister,’ he invited, pointing to a chair before his desk. ‘Cigarette?’

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ Joy seldom smoked, but just now she felt the need of the feel of the cigarette in her fingers, ‘I’ll have one of my own. I’m more used to them.’

  He made no comment, but leaned across the desk and held his lighter to the cigarette for her, lighting one for himself from the box before him.

  ‘Well,’ he invited as Joy sought for the right words with which to open the conversation, ‘have you decided on a figure, Sister Benyon? I hope it won’t be too high for me!’ He laughed slightly as though the mere idea were preposterous. ‘Come on, now,’ he urged as she still sat silent. ‘That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’ The one word seemed to stun him into silence, and before she lost this small advantage Joy pressed home her point. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Bainbridge,’ she said formally, ‘but I’ve told you already that I shall never be prepared to sell Fernbank to you or to anyone else. I told you that property was left to me to look after and to preserve, along with a few other obligations. I told you that I had given my promise to Miss Barnes.’

  ‘And I’ll tell you again what I told you at the time,’ Sam was shouting, but he wasn’t aware of it. ‘Poppycock! That’s what it is. All poppycock. You gave a promise to a dying old woman whose wish was to stand in the way of progress, of modern living conditions...’

  ‘Not in the way of progress, Mr. Bainbridge,’ Joy corrected him, gently but firmly. ‘Miss Barnes and her sisters had already set up a fund to help various causes of research, various societies which aim to control some of the so-called advantages of modern living, but that’s beside the point.’

  ‘If you didn’t come here to tell me you were willing to sell, then what the blazes did you come for?’ he thundered at her. ‘You didn’t come to tell me your mother was ill. I found that out for myself this morning.’

  ‘I came because what I have to say has some connection with Mother’s illness.’ Joy forced the words out bravely. ‘When I was with her, earlier today, she was in a state of delirium. Mr. Moyser, Doctor Quentin’s father, says she has caught this influenza virus when she was already in a state of nervous exhaustion. During her delirium, Mr. Bainbridge, I learned a great deal I ought to have guessed long ago. I learned that you’ve asked her to marry you, and that she loves you.’ It had been even more difficult to say those last few words than she had ever imagined it could be to say anything, but they were out at last, and the man before her looked as though suddenly he had been given a glimpse of heaven. For a moment Joy felt she could almost see the man Aileen must see behind his ev
eryday exterior, but it was only for a moment.

  ‘It was as much a surprise to me as it evidently is to you,’ she said quietly, ‘but that isn’t the point. She has been worrying about this business of the house. She doesn’t want me to break my word.’

  ‘If she loves me there’s no point in worrying any more about the house, is there?’ Sam demanded. ‘She’ll be mistress here the very day she says the word. The offer to the rest of you still stands, but I can’t see that she has any need to worry about that.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to,’ Joy said simply. ‘You’re just not made that way. We are, all of us. A promise given is a promise to be kept, and that’s all there is to it. You could have built your precious holiday village down by the pier.’

  ‘I happen to want it where we’re building now,’ Sam interrupted. ‘I have my reasons, young woman, and I don’t see that they’re any concern of yours!’

  ‘What you fail to understand,’ Joy’s tone was still quiet and even, but Sam was growing more and more agitated every moment, and Joy, knowing the state of his heart, was a little afraid. Because of this she chose her words carefully, speaking slowly and quietly, hoping to calm him down. ‘What you fail to understand,’ she repeated, ‘is that Mother has apparently refused your proposal. Can’t you possibly think why, when she let the truth slip out without knowing it, and she admitted she loves you? Why, Mr. Bainbridge? Can’t you guess?’

  ‘Because you’re the one telling her to refuse me,’ Sam blustered, but Joy took him up at once.

  ‘I didn’t,’ she refuted quietly, ‘because she hasn’t told me—or, more correctly, she isn’t aware that she’s told me, that you’ve proposed at all ... but now that I know,’ she emphasized, ‘I shall certainly do all I can to prevent it, even though I think you would both be happy, because she would never rest if she knew you had driven me into breaking a promise we both hold sacred.’