‘Animals never did me no harm.’ Mr Churchill was winding himself around Bobby’s legs and purring so loudly he was clearly audible. The cat had attached himself to this new person. ‘Have my own place.’
Isobel held her breath expecting his next words to say, ‘To be going back to’.
‘Don’t like killing animals.’
‘You won’t need to kill these animals just look after them for Mrs Lewis.’
He came back to the armchair, the cat at his heels.
‘There won’t be any drink,’ she said in a firm tone of voice.
‘No drink.’
‘No.’
‘Take the cat,’ he said, as Mr Churchill jumped up onto his knee and made himself at home.
‘Oh, I’m sure they have lots of cats at the farm.’ Startled Isobel had a sudden vision of her darling pet mixing with the feral cats at Pine Tree.
‘Take the cat,’ Bobby repeated, ‘he likes me.’
Let him take him, she thought, he’ll come back home.
The next afternoon she and Bobby set off for Pine Tree Farm with Churchill sitting happily in the basket on the front of the bicycle. When they arrived Mrs Lewis made them welcome with tea and bran cake. Then she took them over to the barn to show them where Bobby could stay. In a corner piled with hay she had placed a sleeping bag.
‘The pump and toilet are in the yard,’ she said, ‘and you’re welcome to eat in the kitchen with me.’
Isobel could see trouble ahead if she tried to alter Bobby’s hygiene habits. Churchill had followed them into the barn and at the sound of Mrs Lewis’s voice a couple of feral cats appeared from behind some stacked equipment and made to cross the floor towards them. Churchill immediately went into defence mode and growled deep in his throat.
Bobby turned to Isobel and said, ‘Need my things.’
Isobel nodded. ‘You stay here, I’ll get them for you.’
‘No, I’ll get them, my things.’
‘Yes I know, but if you are seen in the village they will send you back to the workhouse.’
‘No.’ He shouted angrily. ‘No workhouse.’
Mrs Lewis was becoming alarmed. ‘What’s all this about the workhouse? I thought you said he was a tramp.’
Cursing silently Isobel tried to calm the woman. ‘He was until some people burnt down his shelter and left him homeless. He was taken to hospital but walked out as he didn’t like being in an enclosed place, so they sent him to the workhouse, but again he left preferring to live rough until he came to my house for help with an axe wound. I just want to see him safe until his wound heals.’
Bobby had quietened now and was making shushing noises at the farm cats. Mrs Lewis was watching him.
‘All right,’ she said quietly, ‘I’ll ask Tom, my neighbour’s boy, to take him and the horse and cart and fetch his things over tomorrow.’
* * *
Isobel watched for Mr Churchill’s return every day, but as time passed it became obvious that he had changed his alliance. At surgery one evening Doctor Turnbull told her that there had been news of Duncan Lewis.
‘He’s recovered consciousness and they’re hopeful that he will be fine.’
‘Has his wife been informed?’
‘One would hope so, Nurse. If that fool, Burns, delivered the message this morning.’
Isobel raised her eyebrows. Constable Burns was a very conscientious policeman. Most particular in upholding the law and a good friend to most of the villagers.
‘Why wouldn’t he, Doctor?’
‘Silly fellow got himself blown up yesterday.’
A cry left Isobel’s lips.
‘Oh, don’t make a fuss, girl he’s quite all right, unlike the other poor fellow. It’s the blast you see, three of them are walking along the street when a bomb goes off higher up the road. Took the prisoner clean out from between them. Left Burns with just the empty handcuffs dangling from his wrist. He was shaken up, told him to take two aspirin and take the day off, but not half-an-hour later he’s out on the street again chasing those Cooper boys.’
Isobel decided there and then that she would call in to Pine Tree Farm the following day during her rounds. It was another day of sun, showers and blustery winds when Isobel arrived at the farm gate and called for Joyce Lewis.
The geese were in a bad temper and there was no way she was going through that gate unescorted. But it wasn’t Joyce who came to her aid, but Bobby. With surprise she could see he’d had a hair cut and his clothes were clean. He didn’t need the broom, simply shooed them away with a wave of his hand.
‘You’re looking very well, Bobby,’ she said, as she entered the kitchen. Joyce Lewis was lifting a steaming pie from the oven and she turned and placed it carefully on the already laden table.
‘My goodness you’ve had a busy day, Mrs Lewis, by the look of it.’
‘I have that, Nurse, but my Duncan is coming home and he will need feeding up and this chap can put some food away as well,’ she said, smiling to where Bobby was sifting himself down at the table.
‘I heard the good news about Duncan. You will be going in to see him soon I expect, give him my regards won’t you.’
‘I will that, Nurse, and I’m to get a lift tomorrow with the milk lorry.’
‘How’s your arm, Bobby?’ Isobel asked.
‘Better,’ he replied, eyeing up the pie.
‘Have you been helping Mrs Lewis?’
‘Oh aye, Nurse, he’s a grand help. I don’t know how I managed without him. Will you have a seat and take a cup of tea.’
As Isobel pulled out a chair she surprised a bad tempered scowl from Churchill who was curled up and had obviously been sleeping until his rude awakening. Out of force of habit she refrained from disturbing him, but simply pulled out another chair. He had made no effort to welcome her or show any affection toward her at all and she was rather hurt by his disdain.
‘He likes it here,’ Bobby mumbled, watching Mrs Lewis pour out the tea and cut into a large caraway cake. ‘Cats don’t like village people, like I don’t.’
‘Well you won’t be able to stay here when Mr Lewis comes home so we will have to find somewhere else for you, Bobby.’
‘Want to stay here,’ he said, spraying crumbs.
Isobel shook her head as she accepted the cup of tea but refused the cake.
‘Oh he’s no bother, Nurse. I’m sure Duncan won’t mind him staying.’
‘Told you,’ he said, before gulping down tea from the largest blue and white striped pot Isobel had ever seen.
‘Well let me know how your visit goes, won’t you, Mrs Lewis. I don’t suppose you have heard anything of Jack lately.’
‘Not since he went down south, no.’
Isobel’s attention was pricked and she stared at the woman across the table. ‘Down south? He’s left the hospital?’
‘Oh yes, they sent for him, you see.’
‘Who sent for him?’
The woman frowned with concentration. ‘Some important person in London said they had a job for him. The doctor at the hospital is a friend of his and he recommended him.’
Isobel could hardly believe her own ears.
‘He said not to worry, he was feeling much better and he would be home soon.’
‘Well I’m very pleased for you, Mrs Lewis. So much good news at once. Now I must be on my way.’ She waved to Bobby as she cycled back down the track.
With the wind at her back she fair flew the distance to the main road and it took all her time to keep the bike steady. Once pedalling back to the village, however, her mind began to sift through what the farmer’s wife had told her.
Was it really possible that Jack Lewis had made a seemingly remarkable turnabout, or was there more to it than he was telling, she wondered. What was this so-called job he’d been offered? By the time she reached the cottage she had convinced herself once more that it was none of her business.
* * *
Macky and some of his friends were standing ou
tside The Cat and Dog, when Isobel passed them on the edge of the village. Macky stepped out in front of the bike and grabbed the handlebars. ‘A word, Nurse,’ he said.
‘Let go of my bike this minute, Joseph Mackenzie.’
‘Just asking about Bobby Dunn, Nurse,’ he said, dropping his hand from the bike.
‘What about him?’ She was tired and in no mood for Macky and pals.
‘We hear you have him tucked in up at Pine Tree. Mrs Lewis is all on her own up there, Nurse. Anything could happen to her.’
‘It had better not, Macky. Bobby has been a great help to Mrs Lewis, cleaned himself up and doesn’t drink any more, so you leave well alone. Anyway, Duncan is on the road to recovery and it won’t be long until he is home.’
‘Glad to hear that, Nurse.’ A chorus of ayes came from his group of friends. ‘Good sort is Duncan Lewis, shame about that lad of his though.’ The men’s talk followed her down the main street.
It always riled her to hear them picking away at people, some of whom had never done or said a word against anyone in their lives. They were just like a group of schoolyard bullies.
She felt like banging their heads together. She was still in a mood when she tripped over something on the doorstep of the cottage. Banging her bag down on the bench top she went to retrieve the shovel to sweep up whatever had been deposited on the step. Swinging the shovel downward it stopped mere inches from the bedraggled cat.
‘What on . . .’ flinging the shovel to one side she dropped to her knees beside Churchill. That she even recognised him was a miracle, for he was a tatty mess of blood so crumpled she was afraid to lift him.
Swiftly she stepped back into the kitchen and prepared a temporary bed of an old box she kept kindling in, stuffed with newspaper and covered with a tea towel.
With afternoon calls to make she was torn between the cat and her patients. Work won and placing the box in a cosy corner by the fire she left on her rounds. All afternoon she worried about him and when at last she returned to the cottage expecting to find he had died, she was greeted by an empty box.
Calling softly to him she searched in the kitchen, around cupboards, under table and sink, but there was no response so she moved on into the living room. With her eyes at floor level she nearly missed him, sitting curled up in his favourite chair. He had made a fantastic recovery and looked none the worse for his adventure until he stood up to stretch when Isobel quickly reached into her bag for her scissors and with a snip cut the last thread holding his tail to his body.
He stayed until evening, ate a large supper then disappeared into the night.
* * *
Isobel attended morning surgery before her rounds and shared evening surgery with the nurse from the next village. This morning when she arrived at the surgery she found the door locked and a queue of people waiting patiently outside. Thinking the doctor had slept in or had a sudden call-out and gone without her, she banged on the door.
Normally if he had been called away there would be a message on the door, but this morning there was nothing. She looked in the window and rattled on the glass.
The queue was getting restless. ‘We’ve tried that, Nurse,’ a woman standing with a little boy beside her said.
‘Can’t raise the housekeeper either,’ said a tall, thin man with a hacking cough.
‘Timmy,’ she said, pulling a schoolboy, always looking for a reason not to attend school, away from his nervous mother. ‘Run round to Constable Burns and ask him to come to the doctor’s house, be quick,’ she said, giving him a gentle push in the right direction. The boy ran off.
A few minutes later the boy arrived back with the policeman in tow. He stopped in front of Isobel and glanced along the queue of waiting people. ‘What can I do for you, Nurse?’
‘We can’t get in, Constable. Neither the doctor nor Mrs Holland are answering the door.’
‘Well obviously they are both out,’ he said, stepping forward to bang on the door.
‘I don’t think so, not during surgery hours.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, rubbing a hand across his chin. He stepped back and looked up at the windows. ‘Hmm,’ he said again. ‘I think we had better get Mackenzie up here with his ladder. Off you go, lad,’ he said turning to Timmy.
The boy ran off once more and one or two of the people waiting decided to come back later and wandered away.
‘Rum business,’ the constable said to Isobel. ‘What do you think has happened, Nurse?’
Isobel shook her head. She had no idea, but she was afraid that something awful must have happened to keep the doctor away from his patients. Then there was the missing housekeeper. A middle-aged woman with no family, who had been taking care of the doctor since before Isobel had come to the village. Where would she have gone? No, Isobel was convinced they were both still in the house.
Macky arrived, sauntering up the hill with his ladder on his shoulder. Timmy was walking along side him chattering nineteen to the dozen.
‘Get a move on, man,’ Constable Burns shouted. ‘We have an emergency here.’
‘All right, all right.’ Macky came forward and propped his ladder against the wall. ‘Where’s the fire?’
‘No fire, but the doctor and Mrs Holland aren’t answering the door and may be in trouble.’
‘Why didn’t you break a window? I was in the middle of my breakfast.’
‘Never mind that now, get up that ladder and tell us what you can see.’
Grumbling Macky ascended the ladder and a second later shouted that he could see nothing. ‘There’s no-one there.’
‘Right then, come back and go to the next one.’
There was a lot of shuffling around as the queue dispersed and some of the men helped Macky while others rested against the garden wall.
‘The doc’s still asleep,’ yelled Macky from the top of the ladder at the second window. He rattled on the glass. Then in a worried voice, ‘He’s not moving, Burns.’
‘Can you get the window open?’ The constable shouted, but he was too late as a crash and a shower of glass had him duck out of the way.
Macky was through the window and coughing and spluttering when he poked his head out of the now opened window and shouted. ‘It’s a gas leak.’
‘Get the door,’ the constable shouted back.
Macky’s head nodded and withdrew.
‘Nurse, with me,’ the constable called as Macky could be heard unlocking the front door. With handkerchiefs over their noses they dashed into the hall and up the stairs where they ran from room to room opening windows. Others had followed them up the stairs and were together carrying the doctor and Mrs Holland outside.
Isobel was doing the best she could for them while someone else had run to ring for the ambulance. Doctor Turnbull was the first to show signs of recovery and soon Isobel had to fight to get him to lie still. He coughed and choked his way back to consciousness, his voice faint and raspy, yet the words were as strong as ever.
‘Where the devil am I? Get me up you stupid woman.’
Leaving him to the constable, Isobel returned her attention to the housekeeper. The woman was still unconscious and Isobel worked furiously to breathe some life into her. She was gratefully relieved when the ambulance turned up and Mrs Holland was lifted inside. Doctor Turnbull flatly refused to go and said he would take morning surgery in the Nurse’s House. So Isobel took him home and persuaded him to sit in the armchair while she made him a cup of tea. Five minutes later he was fast asleep.
JACK RETURNS TO THE VILLAGE
On a warm June afternoon Isobel was cycling up the valley when a black Austin car passed her and came to a halt at the bottom of the track leading up to Pine Tree Farm.
Curious she slowed down and dropped her foot to the road to steady the bike. She was on her way to the farm to check up on Duncan, who had been home for a fortnight. So who is this, she wondered, screwing up her eyes against the sun. One man had got out and the car pulled away and continued on up the road.
The man in a dark suit and trilby hat pulled low down on his forehead walked off up the track. He held a stick in his hand and walked with a limp.
‘Jack,’ she said to herself. Kicking the pedal round she took off at a rare rate and wasn’t far behind him as she approached the farm gate. Jack was on the point of entering the kitchen when she called out to him.
Dropping the bike against the wall she went to open the gate as the geese came, running back from hissing at Jack ready to attack their next victim. Two visitors at one time seemed to have worked them into a frenzy and Isobel froze as they rushed towards her with their necks stretched and their beaks open.
Jack had turned back with his hand still on the door sneck. When he saw her predicament his mouth tweaked in a lopsided smile. He walked back across the yard scattering the geese as he went.
Gratefully, Isobel squeezed through the gate and walked back with him. ‘Thank you. Are they expecting you?’
‘No, I had the offer of a lift and took it.’ His flat frame had filled out more and the dark blue eyes flickered with life. Gone was the death mask. Someone or something had healed him. He would in all probability never lose his ghosts, but at least he was alive now and anything was possible. Isobel felt a warm glow inside her for whatever or whoever had brought about the change.
When they walked into the kitchen it was empty and Isobel could have laughed at the anti-climax to their arrival.
‘Duncan knows I’m coming so he can’t be far away.’ There was a lovely smell of food and a plate of scones and a bran cake stood on the table set for three.
Jack raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Are you staying for tea?’
Isobel felt the blood rush to her face. ‘No. They have a helper on the farm. He came when your mother was on her own and your father kept him on. Are you home to stay?’
‘Yes, but who . . .’
Isobel opened her mouth to tell him about Bobby, then, changed her mind. His gaze wandered around the room then came back to her face and his dark eyes studied her grey ones as the door opened and Joyce Lewis came in.
‘Jack,’ she stood open mouthed in the doorway. Then she remembered herself and addressed the nurse. ‘Sorry, Nurse, but it’s such a surprise, Duncan will be back in a minute, he’s taken to walking around the farm each day. I don’t think he trusts old Ned, to take care of it. Bobby’s with him. Eh Jack, he’ll be so glad you’re back. Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?’
A Caring Heart Page 5