by Jim Piecuch
Soon Crompton launched into a lengthy review of his business affairs. Tim listened, not particularly interested in commercial matters, but finding Crompton’s anecdotes highly amusing. He took some pastries from the various trays that the servers constantly thrust in front of him, and to his surprise, he realized he was actually enjoying himself. The conversation was a pleasant diversion from his constant focus on his own work. After twenty minutes, Crompton spied a newly arrived business associate and excused himself. Before the merchant vanished into the crowd, Tim carefully returned to the issue of health to inquire about Jane, whom he still had not seen.
“Your daughter doesn’t seem to be as healthy as you, sir,” Tim observed. “She looked quite exhausted yesterday. Is she well today?”
“Hah, hah,” Crompton boomed. “Enough of the old man, now, where’s the daughter?” He winked. “Well, I was of the same mind at your age, Doctor. Unfortunately, my good business sense didn’t extend to matters of the heart! No, sir, or I’d have looked for a wife among the dainty flowers instead of on the bottom of the pickle barrel! Hah! Jane’s in her room, down the hall past the stairs, last door on the left. Not feeling well, but perhaps a doctor’s visit is just what she needs to fix her up, eh?” Crompton clapped Tim a hearty blow to the back that nearly propelled him into a nearby knot of conversing guests.
Recovering his balance, Tim slipped out of the drawing room and into the hall. He had barely closed the door when he heard a loud cough behind him. It was the butler, frowning at him.
“I am sorry to say that guests are not allowed in the family quarters,” he said.
“You may check with Mr. Crompton,” Tim replied, holding his temper in check. For a servant hired for one night’s work, the butler emanated arrogance from every pore. “He told me that I might check on his daughter, who is ill. I’m a doctor.”
The butler hesitated, torn between allowing this flagrant breach of etiquette to pass or risking Archibald Crompton’s displeasure if Tim was telling the truth. He quickly settled on what he considered the safest course. “Have you another card, sir?” he asked.
Tim withdrew a card from his jacket, and the butler studied it carefully. “I see,” he murmured at last. “Follow me, sir.” He led Tim to the corridor, then paused because he had no idea where Jane’s room was. He was saved by the tap of the knocker on the front door. “I must answer that, sir. I trust you can find your way,” he said, then thrust out his hand for a gratuity. The man was insufferable, Tim thought, but decided it was well worth a shilling to be rid of him, and dropped a coin in the man’s palm. Pulling his head back stiffly, the butler turned and descended the stairs without a word of thanks.
Tim walked slowly down the dimly lit passage, looking at the doors on his left. When he reached the last, he knocked softly, not wishing to disturb Jane in case she was getting some much-needed sleep. A moment later he heard a plaintive voice.
“Yes, Mother, I’ll be right there.”
Slowly the door swung back, revealing a young woman who looked even worse than she had the day before. Her eyes were downcast, and her expression conveyed a mixture of frustration and resignation. She halted when she saw a man’s boots, and lifted her face. When she recognized Tim, her frown vanished, replaced by a smile that seemed to wash away the anger and despair from her features.
“Why, Dr. Cratchit!” she exclaimed. “This is quite a surprise.”
Tim responded with the line he had rehearsed. “I wanted to thank you for inviting me to the party, Miss Crompton. And please, call me Tim.”
Jane knew that it was improper for a young woman of her station to invite a man into her room, but she had no wish to go into the drawing room with Tim and risk being spotted by her mother, who would undoubtedly find a dozen new tasks for her. She quickly compromised by leading Tim downstairs to the dining room. They passed the butler, who was escorting an elderly couple up to the drawing room and gave them a tight-lipped smile.
The dining room was large and lavishly furnished. A mahogany table that Tim estimated was at least twenty feet in length occupied the center atop a multihued Persian carpet. Six chairs stood on each side, and one at each end. Set off from the dining area by a folding screen, two armchairs upholstered in blue velvet occupied the space at the end of the room in front of the large bay window; heavy drapes of matching fabric with gold trim were closed to keep the room dark. A small, square cherrywood table stood between the armchairs. Atop it were an oil lamp and a leatherbound book. Jane pointed Tim toward that corner of the room, lit a gas lamp mounted on the wall alongside the door, and sat. A massive fireplace carved from pink marble occupied most of the wall opposite the door. A three-foot by four-foot oil painting of Mrs. Crompton stared at them from above the mantel. The artist had used all his skills to flatter his subject, but his brush could not conceal all of the harshness in the woman’s features.
Despite the small fire that still burned, the room was chilly. Before sitting down, Tim took the coal shovel and added fuel from the scuttle.
“I’m so glad you came to the party, Doctor,” Jane declared with sincerity. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself.”
Tim had also rehearsed his part of the anticipated conversation, but in Jane’s presence, he could not recall his practiced lines. In the soft light of the gas lamp, even with her pale skin, dark circles under her eyes, and drab black frock, she looked beautiful. His eyes locked upon her face, noting the firm chin, small mouth, and elegant cheekbones. Then, realizing that Jane was waiting for his reply, he remarked that it was a very nice party, and picked up the book on the table as if that were what had distracted him.
“Hard Times,” he said, reading the title, noting that it was written by the novelist Charles Dickens. “Have you read it?”
“No,” Jane replied. “It’s Mother’s. I love to read, but I don’t have much time for it lately. And it seems that every time I start to read at night, I fall asleep before I finish a single page. Mother did tell me it was quite a funny book.”
“I read it many years ago, when it was first published,” Tim said. “But as I recall, it wasn’t meant to be funny.”
Jane nodded, saying nothing. Tim hurried to fill the silence by asking why he hadn’t seen any of Mrs. Crompton’s cats.
“Now, that’s funny,” Jane said with merriment in her voice. Tim was glad to see her smile at last. It made her look even prettier. “All yesterday morning while we were shopping, she was complaining that she didn’t know what you were talking about, and that she had wasted her money on the appointment. Then we got back here, and she started sneezing again. So she decided your advice might be worth a try, told me to put the cats outside and open the windows to air the house. In an hour she was fine, no sneezing or runny nose. Father accidentally let the cats in when he got home, and she was horrified when she saw them. She grabbed a broom and chased them right back outside!”
Tim laughed. “That helps to explain why she was so gracious to me tonight. But what about your health, Miss Crompton? If it’s not impolite to say so, you didn’t look well yesterday, and I can’t say I notice any improvement in your condition tonight. I wanted to ask you yesterday, but your mother spirited you away too quickly.”
Jane lowered her eyes. “I’m sure it’s just that I’ve been working too much, Tim. You needn’t worry about it. A little rest and I’ll be fine.”
“My professional judgment tells me that there’s more to it, Miss Crompton. I want to help, and hope I can, but I won’t be able to if you don’t confide in me.” As he spoke, Tim realized that his worries arose as much from personal concern for the young lady as from professional interest. The conviction of his words reflected this, although he feared that he might have implied more than he had intended.
Jane gazed into Tim’s blue eyes and saw only sympathy.
“Mother has become much more demanding over the past few years,” she said softly.
“She always had her own maidservant, and a cook and a housekeeper, and even though she complained about everything they did, she at least tolerated them. But then she began to get more and more critical. She started following them around, nitpicking at everything they did or didn’t do. Some of them got angry and quit, and others were dismissed, and their replacements rarely last more than a month or two. Every time Mother dismisses them, I have to do the work of one or the other, and sometimes all three, until she hires new people.”
“That’s quite a burden on you,” Tim observed.
Jane nodded. “It is, but it’s my responsibility to help my mother. What I find most frustrating is that I no longer have any time to do the things that I want.”
“And what’s that, if I may ask?”
“Mother thinks it should be marriage. Pursuing a proper husband, and nothing more. She says that the right marriage will allow me to enjoy a life of leisure like she does, but I think that too much leisure is the cause of her bad temper. If she had something worthwhile to occupy her, she wouldn’t have time to wander about finding fault with others.”
“You’ve told me what your mother wants for you, but you haven’t said what you want,” Tim pressed gently.
“I’m not quite sure,” Jane replied after a moment’s thought. “There aren’t many options for a woman of my station. In that sense Mother is right—a good marriage is the only goal I’m expected to aspire to. And I wouldn’t mind being married and having a family. But I also want to do something useful beyond being a wife and mother. Is that wrong?”
“I don’t think so,” Tim said. “One of my sisters works as a baker with her husband, and another is an accomplished seamstress.”
Jane found this information a bit surprising; she had not expected that the sisters of a successful doctor would work. Yet it seemed to conform to her opinion of Tim’s character. He had none of the natural sense of privilege, even arrogance, of many of the wealthy people she knew. Encouraged by Tim’s statement, Jane admitted that she occasionally helped her father with his work and enjoyed it.
“I’d actually like to learn more about Father’s business,” she said, “perhaps even oversee it someday, since he has no male heir. Of course, I’d have to hire a manager, but at least I’d understand what was going on and have some say in affairs. Father seems willing to teach me, but Mother says it will ruin my marriage prospects.” Jane paused. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t trouble you with this.”
“It isn’t any trouble,” Tim said. He rose, stepped toward her, and almost placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Then, recognizing the impropriety of such a gesture, he settled for standing beside her chair. “I think that you would feel better with some rest, and it would give you some time to think, too. I can tell your mother that in my professional opinion, you need several days—”
“That won’t work,” Jane blurted. “Mother will agree with you, probably even say that she was thinking the same thing, and then ignore your advice as soon as you’ve left.”
“Could you at least get out of the house once in a while? That would keep you out of your mother’s clutches, and the change of scene might be good for you. Are there friends you could visit?”
“Mother does encourage me to go out occasionally with the daughters of her friends, girls my own age or younger, but I don’t enjoy it. They’re all so shallow, wanting only to flaunt their fine clothes and spend their fathers’ money so everybody will know how rich they are.”
“Then may I make another suggestion, Miss Crompton?” Tim inquired.
“Certainly, and please, call me Jane.”
“You need some time out of this house, Jane. Let me repay your invitation to the party tonight by asking you to attend my own party next week. Not just as a guest, but as my hostess. I usually force my mother or one of my sisters to handle that chore, but I would be honored if you would do it for me this year. There isn’t the least bit of work involved, I assure you, other than being polite to the guests.”
Jane was flattered by the offer. She promptly accepted, then paused. “I don’t think Mother would allow it, unless she’s there to keep an eye on me.”
“I’ll talk to your father before I leave,” said Tim. “I think he’ll agree, and I’ll invite your parents, too. The formal invitation will be delivered here tomorrow or Monday by post.”
“Thank you so much, Tim,” Jane said. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“It means a good deal to me, too,” he declared, although he had not thought about inviting Jane to his party until an instant before the words tumbled from his lips.
Worried that he had again been too fervent in his expression, as though his heart were beginning to push him in a direction where his mind was not yet ready to go, Tim excused himself. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, earning a reproachful grimace from the butler. Ignoring the man, he entered the drawing room just in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Crompton and a half dozen other couples beginning a waltz. Mrs. Crompton, who had all the grace of a rhinoceros in a tar pit, was moving her feet wildly, as if the floor were on fire. One such convulsion struck her husband squarely on the shin. He yelped in pain, inciting a scattering of giggles among the spectators. Mrs. Crompton promptly stormed over to the musicians and began to berate them, accusing them of misplaying the piece as an excuse for her inability to dance. Archie Crompton threw his head back, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, and headed toward the liquor. Tim caught his eye and beckoned him over.
“Of course, Doctor,” Crompton consented with another wink after Tim had asked if Jane could serve as hostess for his party. “I’ll send her over early in my coach. My coachman is the only servant we have left, and that’s only because he sleeps in the carriage house and takes care of the grounds, and therefore can keep his distance from my wife. He’s a shrewd fellow, smart enough never to come into the house.”
“Archibald?” Mrs. Crompton shrieked as the chastened musicians struck up a new tune. Crompton seized a wine glass from the tray of a passing server, downed the contents in a single swallow, and with a shake of his head turned to rejoin his wife. Tim thought he displayed all the enthusiasm of a convict marching toward the gallows. Tim followed to thank him for his hospitality and bid him good night.
Returning downstairs, Tim told Jane that her father had consented to her acting as hostess, news she greeted with a smile. He thanked her for the invitation to her family’s party, said good night, and bowed in farewell.
Jane climbed the stairs in a sprightlier manner than usual, ignored the dour butler lurking on the top landing, and entered her room. She closed the door, sat in her chair, and in her mind replayed her conversation with Tim. She was happy that he had invited her to his party—even asked her to be his hostess. It would give her a chance to see him again, which, she admitted, she had been hoping for. Since the first time she had seen him, at one of her mother’s medical appointments with him, Jane had sensed an underlying compassion in the serious young Dr. Cratchit. She saw it in his soft blue eyes when he inquired about her health at his office, and again just a little while ago.
The doctor, of course, was not the kind of man her mother would consider suitable for Jane. He was focused on his work, and on helping people, rather than on gaining fame or wealth. Her mother’s idea of the perfect husband for Jane was someone like the rakish young fellow who a few months ago had become engaged to Jane’s friend Anne. A stock trader in the City, the dark-haired, mustachioed Ambrose Pearson was never without his top hat and silver-headed walking stick, which he twirled in a jaunty manner. Pearson was always bragging about how he was going to become head of his firm someday and make a fortune along the way. He had done well so far, and Jane, while disliking his arrogant manner, had been forced to admit that he had a head for business. When Anne became engaged to Pearson, Mrs. Crompton constantly held him up as an example of the kind of man Jane should marry, but
probably never would.
Later Anne confided to Jane and her other friends that Pearson told her the secret of his success. “He said he does not go in for drudgery, and does not have the patience for all the bothersome work tracking profits and losses and assets and the like,” Anne had said. “He has impressed his superiors by always being the last to leave the office at night, but that is because he waits till the drudges are gone and then goes through their papers to get their information and uses it himself.” Anne seemed proud of her fiancé’s methods, although Jane considered them despicable. Eventually, tired of her mother’s nagging that she should find a man like Pearson, Jane told Mrs. Crompton the story Anne had related. Her mother, as she should have expected, was not put off; instead, she praised Pearson’s cleverness.
Tim, fortunately, was nothing like Pearson. And was the doctor as lonely as he seemed to be? In that, he seemed to her a kindred spirit. Jane wanted to know more about him, to discover what was behind his deeply compassionate nature and single-minded dedication to his work. She wondered if he was thinking about her now. She smiled at the possibility.
Tim had taken a hansom to the party, rather than having Henry drive him and wait outside in the cold. Emerging from the Crompton mansion, he saw no cabs on the street, even though it was just ten. Energized by his conversation with Jane and the knowledge that she would be hostess for his dinner party, Tim decided to walk toward town in hopes of finding a cab once he got closer to the city center. He strode swiftly, thoughts totally consumed with his own upcoming Christmas celebration. He imagined Jane at his side greeting the guests, sharing dinner with him, sitting close beside him in his coach on the ride home afterward. During his time in school and his early years of practice among London’s poor, he had always envisioned himself getting married one day and raising a family. However, that picture of his future had dimmed over the last half decade, as the demands of his career overcame one aspect after another of his personal life. Now the idea of marriage began to glimmer again in his mind.