by Betty Neels
Preece, a woman who in her youth had been enchantingly pretty and now in middle age, by dint of dieting ruthlessly, going to the best hairdressers so that her once golden hair should show no hint of grey, using every aid to beauty which caught her eye in the glossy magazines she favoured and wearing the floating draperies which gave her the look of helpless femininity which hid a nature as cold and hard as steel, preserved the illusion of sweetness of character.
‘What is all this nonsense I hear from Miss Mogford?’ she wanted to know. ‘And why are you in bed? It’s barely nine o’clock? Really, Cressida, I hardly expect a healthy girl of four and twenty to loll around like this.’
Cressida, used to her stepmother’s manner towards her, sat up in bed. ‘I’m in bed because I can’t stand on my foot and it’s very painful. I dare say it will be all right by the morning.’
‘It had better be—I’ve the Worthingtons coming to dinner and I want the flowers done and the silver epergne properly polished.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’ve a splitting headache; I was forced to come away early from the party. I shall go to bed and can only hope that Miss Mogford will spare the time to bring me a hot drink and run my bath.’
She went away without saying goodnight and Cressida wriggled down into her bed again, wide awake now and aware that her ankle was hurting. It was too soon to take any more paracetamol. She tugged her pillows into comfort and allowed her thoughts to roam.
The man who had brought her home had been nice; not just nice, he had treated her...she sought for words—as though she mattered; and since she knew only too well that her looks were negligible she had appreciated that. He had been surprised when he’d seen her room, she had noticed that at once, but since she wasn’t going to see him again she didn’t think that mattered. She knew that the few friends she had in the village were at a loss to understand why she stayed at home when it was so obvious that she wasn’t welcome there now that her father was dead. She had never told anyone that she stayed there because of Moggy. Moggy had no home of her own; she had worked all her life for Cressida’s parents, never able to save because she had a married sister whose husband had become paralysed soon after they had married and had lived for many years, a helpless wreck, his life made bearable by the extras Moggy’s earnings had helped to buy. Now at fifty-eight years, she had two more years before she could draw her pension and receive the annuity Mr Preece had left her. Until then there was nothing else she could do but stay with Mrs Preece, since that lady had led her to understand that unless she remained in her employ until her sixtieth birthday her annuity would be cancelled. Since Miss Mogford, for all her severe appearance, was afraid that no one else would employ her in any case, and, over and above that, had set her heart on going to live with her now widowed sister where she would enjoy a snug retirement, she stayed on, managing the house with the help of girls from the village and Cressida. It was only because Cressida understood Moggy’s situation that she stayed. Two years, she told herself repeatedly, would soon pass, and once Moggy was safely ensconced with her sister she herself would feel free to go away. She had no idea what she would do, she hadn’t been trained for anything but she was handy about the house and even in this day and age there were old ladies who needed companions. A roof over her head and some money to spend was all she expected until she had found her feet.
It was a great pity that her father, that most trusting of men, had left everything to her stepmother, under the impression that she would give Cressida an allowance. Instead of that, Mrs Preece had lost no time in making it quite clear that that was out of the question. Cressida would have to help Miss Mogford and in return she would be clothed and fed and be given pocket money.
Cressida, after a number of indignant protests, had had every intention of leaving, only to be stymied by being told of Moggy’s situation. She had plenty of common sense, added to which she was a girl of spirit, but Moggy had been a faithful and loving employee and a pleasant retirement was almost within her grasp. Cressida stayed and those who knew her thought silently that she should have shown more spirit.
She confided in no one, even her closest friends, and since Mrs Preece was always charmingly maternal towards her when there was anyone around they began to think that Cressida liked the way she lived. She was always cheerful and showed no envy when friends became engaged or got themselves good jobs away from the village, and they weren’t to know of the long hours she spent planning her future. She didn’t brood, for she despised self-pity, but now and then she wished that she had even a modicum of good looks; a pretty face, she was sure, would be a great help in getting a job.
She dozed off, to wake in the night from the throbbing of her ankle.
Moggy came to see how she was in the morning, took one look at her white face and told her to stay where she was.
‘I can’t,’ said Cressida, ‘there are the flowers to arrange and some silver to polish.’ So saying she got out of bed, set her injured foot floor and did something she had never done before in her life. She fainted.
Moggy picked her up and put her on the bed and marched down to Mrs Preece’s bedroom. Regardless of the fact that it was still two hours short of her usual entry with a tray of tea, she roused her mistress briskly.
‘Miss Cressida’s fainted, on account of her trying to get up because you told her to,’ said Miss Mogford with a snap. ‘You’d best get the doctor to her.’
Mrs Preece sat up in bed. ‘For a sprained ankle? Probably she’s only wrenched it badly. Certainly not, but I suppose she’d better stay in bed for the time being. What a nuisance this is and now I shall have a headache being wakened so abruptly. Really, you might consider my nerves.’
She sank back on her pillows. ‘Go away and bring my tea at the usual time.’
Miss Mogford went away, muttering darkly to herself once the door was shut. Things couldn’t go on like this; something would have to be done, although she had no idea what it was. She went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and bore it upstairs to Cressida’s room and shared it with her. It was hot and strong, and, lulled by the paracetamol, Cressida felt better.
‘I could get up,’ she suggested, ‘if I had a stick...’
‘Nonsense, you’ll do no such thing. That nice doctor who brought you home would be very annoyed if he knew.’
‘He doesn’t know,’ said Cressida, and felt a pang of regret because of that. She was a sensible girl, concealing a romantic nature beneath her ordinary appearance; no good would come of wanting something she couldn’t have. She contrived to wash with Moggy’s aid, brushed her hair, which was long and mousy, and plaited it and set about persuading Moggy to bring the silver epergne upstairs. ‘With an old newspaper,’ she urged, ‘and the polish and cloths. I can do it easily and it will keep me occupied.’
‘All right,’ Moggy was grudging, ‘but only when you’ve had your breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry...’
‘You’ll eat what I bring you,’ said Moggy.
* * *
DR VAN DER Linus was up early, to walk in the garden with the dogs and enjoy the crisp sunshine of the morning. He had slept soundly but he was aware of uneasiness; although he could barely remember what the girl he had helped on the previous evening looked like, he was unable to shake off the feeling that he ought to do something about her. He hadn’t liked the vague air of disquiet which she and the woman who admitted them had had and he had been puzzled at the bare little room which was surely unsuitable for a daughter of the house. The housekeeper had been anxious for him to leave, too.
He went indoors to his breakfast. It might be a good idea to get the name of the local doctor and give him a ring; on the other hand, that smacked of officiousness. He sighed and poured himself some more coffee. It would be better if he were to call and enquire. He was to lunch with friends at Castle Cary and need not go much out of his way.
He went ups
tairs to his grandmother’s room presently. She was sitting up in bed, her breakfast on a tray before her.
‘Come in and finish this toast,’ she begged him. ‘Mrs Wiffin has this passion for feeding me up! Aren’t you going over to Castle Cary to the Colliers’? Is Jenny at home?’
He smiled slowly. ‘Matchmaking, Grandmother? I don’t know if she’s at home. In any case...’ He paused. ‘It is time I married, but not Jenny.’
‘You’ve found the girl?’ asked Lady Merrill eagerly.
‘I’m not sure. She’s very suitable. Her name is Nicola van Germert—you’ve met her. The daughter of one of the professors at Leiden University. We know all the same people and share a similar lifestyle.’
Lady Merrill bit into her toast. ‘Not good reasons for marriage, my dear, but you’re old enough and wise enough to know what you want. Most men want love as well,’ she added drily.
He got up. ‘Well, I suppose we aren’t all lucky enough to find it. Will you be at home at teatime? We can sit in the garden, if it’s warm enough, and gossip.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Staying here with you is something I always look forward to.’
‘So do I, my dear. But you would be lost without your work. Don’t you miss the hospitals and clinics and patients?’
‘Oh, yes, very much. They are the most important things in my life, Grandmother.’
‘Part of your life, Aldrik. Now run along and enjoy yourself.’
At the door he turned. ‘I thought I’d call in on my way and see how that girl is getting on. I must find out about the dog too and let her know.’
‘That would be kind.’ Lady Merrill watched his vast back disappear through her door. She looked thoughtful. Considering the girl was so uninteresting that he couldn’t remember what she looked like Aldrik was being very kind. But, of course, he was a kind man.
He drove away in the Bentley presently. Minton Cracknell wasn’t all that distance away but there was no direct road to it. He needed to go considerably out of his way to reach it but since it was less than ten miles to Castle Cary from there and for most of the way a main road he would have time to make his call.
The house looked pleasant enough as he got out of the car but the housekeeper’s face bore a look of gloomy indignation. The doctor was used to dealing with every kind of person; his ‘good morning’ was briskly friendly with strong overtones of authority.
‘I’ve called to enquire after Miss Preece. I’m on my way to friends and had to pass the door.’
‘She’s in bed but that ankle’s that swollen, I don’t like the look of it...’
‘The doctor is calling?’
She shook her head, speaking softly. ‘Mrs Preece says it’s not necessary.’
‘Perhaps I might have a word with her? I know it isn’t my business but perhaps I might persuade her.’
Miss Mogford’s stern visage crumpled. ‘Oh, sir, if you would. I don’t know what to do...’
She stood aside to allow him to enter and left him in the hall while she went to find Mrs Preece.
She came back presently. ‘If you’d come this way, sir...’
Mrs Preece was sitting by a briskly burning fire, a tray of coffee beside her, and she didn’t get out of her chair.
‘You must forgive me for not getting up,’ she said in a small plaintive voice. ‘I’m not very strong. I understand that you were so kind as to bring Cressida home yesterday. Do sit down—it is most kind of you to call too.’ She said sharply to Miss Mogford hovering at the door, ‘Bring some more coffee, will you? This is cold...’
The doctor sat, accepted the coffee when it came, listened with apparent sympathy to his hostess’s light voice describing various aspects of her ill health, put down his cup and said in a gentle voice, ‘I should like to see your stepdaughter’s ankle; just to check on the strapping. She will be going for an X-ray some time today, I expect?’
Mrs Preece gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Good heavens, no, Doctor, it’s only a sprain. She should be up and about in no time. So vexing that she should have to stay in bed but she has never fainted before, the silly girl. And I have guests for dinner this evening too.’
‘But you have no objection to my seeing her?’ asked the doctor, and something in his voice made her shrug her shoulders and give a reluctant consent.
‘Do encourage her to get up—she will be much better on her feet, will she not?’ Mrs Preece gave him a charming smile, her head a little on one side. Really, she thought, he was so good-looking and charming that one would agree to anything that he might say.
‘No, she would be much worse,’ said Dr van der Linus. He spoke with such calm charm that she didn’t realise that he had contradicted her flatly.
‘Well, Miss Mogford shall take you to her room,’ said Mrs Preece, ‘I find the stairs trying—I have to be careful.’
She sounded wistful and long-suffering and if she expected the doctor to enquire sympathetically as to the reason she was to be disappointed.
Miss Mogford, summoned, led him up the stairs in silence. Only at Cressida’s door she paused to look at him. She still said nothing, though she tapped on the door and opened it for him to go into the room.
Cressida was sitting up in bed, her small person surrounded by sheets of newspaper upon which rested the silver epergne which she was polishing. There was nothing beautiful about her; her hair hung in its long plait over one shoulder, her face, un-made-up, shone with her exertions, and she had a smear on one cheek and both hands were grimed with silver polish. The doctor, a kind man, eyed her with much the same feelings which he would have displayed if he had encountered a kitten or a puppy in need of help.
His, ‘Good morning, Miss Preece,’ was uttered with impersonal courtesy, and, since she was staring at him, open-mouthed, he said, ‘I happened to be passing and felt that the least I could do was to enquire about your ankle.’
Cressida shut her mouth with a snap. She said politely, ‘How kind of you. I’m fine, thank you.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Isn’t it a lovely morning?’
‘Splendid. May I look at your ankle? It is of course, none of my business, but I feel that it should be X-rayed.’
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ began Cressida, to be told by Moggy to hush.
‘The doctor knows best,’ said that lady sternly. ‘Just you lie still, Miss Cressida, and let him take a look.’
The doctor bent his great height and examined the ankle. When he had looked his fill he straightened up again. ‘I’m not your doctor so I can do very little to help you, but I will do my best to advise your stepmother to allow the doctor to see you. It is a nasty sprain. It will get better quickly enough, though, provided it receives the right treatment.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’ asked Cressida in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘You will hobble around for a long time—a painful time too.’
‘Well, thank you. It was very kind of you to come. I suppose you don’t know what happened to that poor dog?’
‘He needs only good food and rest and good care.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I shall take him back with me when I go to Holland.’
Her ordinary face was transformed by delight. ‘Oh, how absolutely super! I’m sure he’ll be a very handsome beast when he’s fully grown.’
The doctor concealed his doubts admirably. ‘I have no doubt of that.’
He put out a hand and engulfed hers in its firm grasp.
‘You’ll have to wash your hand,’ said Cressida in her sensible way, ‘it’s covered in polish.’ And then she added, ‘I hope you have a good journey home.’
After he had gone she sat in her bed, the epergne forgotten, feeling lonely and somehow bereft.
Beyond registering his opinion that Cressida should have her ankle X-rayed, the doctor didn’t waste time with Mrs Preece. He pleaded an urgent engageme
nt and drove away.
In the village he stopped, enquired as to where the doctor lived and presented himself at the surgery door. Dr Braddock was on the point of leaving on his rounds.
‘Van der Linus...’ he said. ‘I know that name. You wrote an article in the Lancet last month about neutropenia—a most interesting theory. Come in, come in, I’m delighted to meet you.’
‘I’ve been poaching on your preserves,’ said Dr van der Linus. ‘If I might explain...’
Dr Braddock heard him out. ‘I’ll go this morning. I know—we all know—that things aren’t right at the Old Rectory. Little Cressida is a dear child but one cannot interfere—though I will do my best to get her into hospital for a few days for she will never be able to get the proper rest she needs if she is at home...’
‘It puts me in mind of Cinderella and her stepmother,’ observed Dr van der Linus.
Dr Braddock nodded. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it, in this day and age? There is obviously some reason which is keeping Cressida at home but she isn’t going to tell anyone what it is.’
Dr van der Linus went on his way presently; he was going to be late for lunch at the Colliers’. As indeed he was, but he was an old friend and readily forgiven and moreover Jenny was an amusing companion. He told himself that he had done all that he could for Cressida Preece; she was a grown woman and should be capable of arranging her own life.
On his way back to his grandmother’s house he reflected that she had seemed quite content with her lot. Probably things would improve. He frowned, aware that he was finding it difficult to forget her. ‘Which is absurd,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t even remember what she looks like.’