Shoddy Prince

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Noel was still holding his thermometer; as was his habit when in thought, he pressed it into the cleft of his chin where it nestled quite snugly. ‘Perhaps I should go…’ He looked to Miss Bytheway for permission.

  ‘If you wish to reduce your fee for neglecting your own patient.’

  He rose from the bedside, none too pleased. ‘I had finished my examination, Miss Bytheway, but if you wish I can return after I’ve checked Miss Maguire’s health.’

  ‘Huh! There’s nothing wrong with her other than being mentally unstable.’ Having gained both child and doctor’s attention, the wispy-haired invalid went on. ‘You were unaware of it? Oh yes, she has always been subject to these bouts of hysteria. She was quite unable to look after Oriel when she was born, in fact she was so ill-equipped that she tried to do away with herself and they put her in the madhouse. That is when I came to the rescue.’ Miss Bytheway donned a look of self-satisfaction. ‘Not that I expect any gratitude. I did it for Oriel’s sake, so that she would not be deprived of a proper upbringing.’

  Noel was more annoyed than ever at such disclosures in front of the young girl, but he was curious too. ‘I think I should go and see how she is.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps you should,’ agreed the old woman. ‘She may need putting away.’

  ‘I hardly think that will be necessary.’ Noel left the room. Oriel preceded him, racing down the stairs.

  Somehow, Bright had managed to regain composure in her daughter’s absence. Still trembling, she had moved into the kitchen and forced herself to pick up the kettle, warm the pot, brew the tea, grasping at anything in order to regain normality.

  Oriel dashed in. ‘Mother, are you all right?’

  Frowning, Bright struggled for speech. ‘Yes, I’m quite all right. Why wouldn’t I be?’ And slowly she was all right. When the doctor poked his face around the sitting room door there was little hint of the terrible shock she had received. Oriel was to inflict another. ‘Miss Bytheway says you’re mad. She says you tried to kill yourself.’

  ‘What?’ Nudged by panic, Bright’s lips fell open.

  Noel hurried to explain. ‘It was very wrong of her to disclose such private matters. That woman! I wish someone would patent a medicine for cantankerousitis.’ He studied Bright, who looked none too well, though she hardly presented the image of a madwoman that the old woman had painted. ‘Sit down and let me take a look at you.’

  ‘Oh no, please don’t trouble yourself.’ She filled her lungs with air, then began to pour the tea.

  ‘Please, I insist.’ Noel encroached further.

  ‘No, no really!’ She would not allow it, afraid of being forced to sit still, for then she would start thinking. ‘Here, doctor, have a cup of tea.’

  Noel accepted both the cup of tea and defeat. ‘Oh well, tea’s as good a remedy as anything. Thank you.’ He tried to watch her without it appearing obvious.

  ‘Mother,’ Oriel chewed her lip, ‘are you really mad?’

  ‘I must be to work for herself.’ Bright issued a nervous laugh and perched on the edge of her chair, taking erratic sips from her cup. Oh how dreadful for her secret to be revealed!

  Noel looked disgusted. ‘I don’t know how you put up with the old witch.’ Oriel giggled.

  ‘I’ve no choice. No one else will employ me.’ Bright urged her fingers to stop trembling. How long had Nat been back in York and why had he not contacted her?

  ‘So she thinks she can do what she likes to you.’ Noel sipped his tea.

  ‘Oh well, I’d rather be the tortured than the torturer,’ came Bright’s ambiguous reply.

  A bell rang. From instinct Bright was about to rise but Oriel put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll go and see what she wants.’ It was then that Noel decided he liked her. She was not so much of a brat after all and the smile that she reserved for her mother was quite enchanting. It was obvious they adored each other.

  ‘Oh will ye? Good lass.’ Bright sat down again and tried not to think of Nat, though her whole being still quivered.

  ‘And inform Miss Bytheway that your mother is quite all right!’ Noel called after her, then turned back to the girl’s mother. ‘A martyr in the making.’

  ‘Pardon? Oh yes! She has far more patience with Miss B than I have. Tis all good practice, isn’t it? For nursing, I mean. I must say she really surprised me with her ambition. She’s utterly determined.’ Ra-bo! Ra-bo! Nat was gone but his echo remained to haunt her.

  ‘Let’s hope she succeeds.’ Noel looked approving. ‘I’m sure that with her personality she will. Though heaven knows why she wants to do it. I can’t stand sick people.’

  Bright tried to cover a reproachful titter.

  ‘Oh dear, now you think I’m awful.’ Grinning, Noel toyed with the fob on his watch chain.

  ‘No, I think you’re funny!’ sniggered Bright, forgetting all about her trauma for merciful seconds.

  Noel was captivated by her laughter. ‘Yes, I suppose people don’t expect such things from a doctor. It’s true I’m afraid. I’d never have gone into the profession of my own volition.’ My God, why am I telling her all this, marvelled Noel, but could not prevent further divulgence. ‘It was to please my father. He always wanted me to be a doctor, I couldn’t bear to let him down. But sometimes… sometimes I hate it.’ There was vehemence in his eye, then it was gone and he laughed again. ‘I’m sure this can’t instil much confidence in my medicinal skills.’

  ‘You’re a very good doctor,’ soothed Bright.

  ‘You’re very kind. I suppose I’m not too bad at it,’ admitted Noel. ‘At least at treating ailments. Whether I’m any good with the owners of those ailments is another question. Still, what does it matter whether they like me or not if I cure them.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they must like you.’

  ‘I can think of one who doesn’t.’ Noel cocked his eye at the ceiling.

  ‘Miss B doesn’t like anyone,’ revealed Bright. ‘At least she doesn’t like men.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve never dared to ask.’

  ‘Perhaps she was jilted,’ ventured Noel.

  Bright shivered. Ra-bo! Ra-bo! This was getting too close for comfort. ‘I’m more interested in why ye don’t like sick people, and you a doctor. I think ye must be pulling my leg.’

  ‘What’s so odd about it? Can you honestly say you like sick people, Bright?’

  She flushed at the use of her Christian name. ‘Well, I’d never really thought… I mean, I’m not a doctor.’

  ‘They limp and hobble and shuffle into my surgery day after day, beffing and spitting and vomiting on me – oh, excuse me, that was uncouth!’ Just because she was a servant didn’t mean he could forget his manners. ‘My mother’s always taking me to task over it.’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ Bright gestured for him to proceed. ‘I’ve had enough o’ that meself from Miss B.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll bet you have. She’s like hundreds of others. They come in and visit all these obscene practices upon your person then expect you to feel sorry for them. Well, I don’t. Sometimes, I just wish they’d all disappear up their own… well, you know. Look, Bright, I’m being awfully familiar. I hope you don’t take insult but I just feel that we’ve been friends for ages.’

  Bright frowned in agreement. ‘I know what you mean! I don’t quite understand it but I feel – well, I can talk to you.’ Yet she blushed.

  Noel found the display charming and was pleased that he had apparently taken her mind off whatever had upset her. ‘Do you mind me rambling on like this?’

  ‘Does it help to make ye feel better?’ asked Bright, and when he made affirmation she added, ‘Well then, complain all ye like. Sure, I’m used to it with her upstairs.’

  Noel groaned. ‘Oh, I don’t want you to think I’m as bad as her.’

  ‘Never! I still think you’re odd though. Oh dear, now I’m the familiar one!’ Bright touched her lips. ‘Fancy saying a thing like that to a doctor.’

  ‘A docto
r, not God,’ said Noel. ‘Though some of my profession think they are akin to the Almighty.’ His eyes quizzed the brown ones of his companion, wondering whether to dare ask the identity of Oriel’s father. No, it was far too intimate a question for people who had met on only a couple of occasions, even if he did feel as if she was an old friend. He must curb this curiosity. She would tell him herself in time. ‘Well!’ He gave a final sigh. ‘It’s back to the grindstone for me. Oh, I almost forgot! I’m leaving the district.’

  Bright was in the act of rising and now paused halfway. ‘Does that mean you won’t be Miss B’s doctor any more?’

  Noel detected a hint of concern in her eye. ‘Of course not, who else would treat the old gorgon? No, I’m putting up my plate in town.’

  ‘When will ye be moving?’

  ‘In the next month or so. I’ve got my eye on a place in Low Ousegate. Once things are legalized I’ll make sure you have the address.’ He misread the look on her face. ‘I know it’s a lot further away and I’ll understand if you don’t want to traipse all that way to fetch me.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Bright had been thinking of Nat again and she shook him from her mind. ‘It’s not that much further – besides the tram probably goes right past the door.’

  ‘You’ll have to persuade her to install a telephone. I’m considering it myself.’

  ‘Oh, I’d be far too nervous of using such a new-fangled thing!’

  Noel laughed. ‘Until the next time, then.’ He retrieved his bag from the hall and took the hat which Bright held out to him.

  ‘Goodbye, doctor.’

  He turned. ‘Call me Noel – after all, we’ve been through so much together.’ In saying this he cocked his head in the direction of the old lady’s room.

  Bright grinned. ‘To be sure. Goodbye, Dr Noel.’

  Once the door was closed, it came back. Ra-bo! Ra-bo!

  Nat, why didn’t you come to find me? It can’t have been that hard, surely? So why didn’t you ask him when he was right there in front of you, her conscience asked. Why did you run away like a scalded cat? Because you’re afraid of the truth. Nat doesn’t want to know you either, just like all the rest. But he does, he does! I know he still loves me, he’s just scared. Just scared.

  19

  Wealthy as Nat had become after ten years of running his business, he had as yet no wish to leave his rag-collecting entirely to an employee for, apart from not trusting anyone, he quite enjoyed rumbling around the city on his cart as well as the little bonuses it provided. It was surprising the things some people left in the pockets of their cast-offs; on a good day it could be as good as Christmas. Funnily enough, it wasn’t the people from big houses who wouldn’t miss a bob or two if they overlooked it, for their servants had had their pickings first. No, it was the folk who one would expect to be more careful with their hard-earned money. Nat always shook the garments as soon as he collected them, listening for that tell-tale jingle.

  Today, though, under this drizzly grey sky, pickings had been lean. It was usually this way in the winter months; people waited until spring before having a clear-out. The few rags on his cart barely warranted the trip out of doors, especially as he was feeling so rotten, but a day of idleness was something he could not afford. He coughed, hunching into his overcoat with the discomfort in his chest. Ever since his return to York he had suffered bronchitis in the winter and this year was no exception. He was attempting to do as much business as possible before the inevitable occurred and he became too sick to carry on.

  Sharing Miss Bytheway’s aversion to doctors, he had so far borne this year’s affliction with stoicism, relying on preparatory medicines and goose grease. Brow glistening, he rode through the streets on his cart stopping here and there to undergo a bout of coughing. Micklegate came to an end. He steered the horse across the junction and towards Ouse bridge. Traffic hemmed him in from all sides. Unable to move at his own pace he began to read signs and advertisements to pass the time: Reckitt’s Blue for brilliant whites, Bovril… with agonizing slowness his cart moved over the bridge where the traffic came to a standstill. Nat saw the reason. A dray horse had bolted and charged straight through a plate glass window. The resulting carnage was a magnet for ghouls, and their vehicles were blocking the road. Nat coughed and expectorated as discreetly as possible into his handkerchief – he had always found spitting rather repulsive. Impatience rose. His eyes fell upon some gold lettering on a pane of glass – Dr N. Scaum – and he frowned. Could that be Noel? The image that sprang to mind was one of a fifteen-year-old boy, but after a quick calculation he realized that Noel must be almost thirty now, as he was himself. Well, well…

  The traffic had begun to move again, but at a snail’s pace. Out of curiosity more than anything Nat reached a quick decision and steered his horse into the gutter whence he got down from his cart, incurring the wrath of those who had to fight to get around the obstacle. Uncaring, he tethered his horse to a lamp-post and put on its nosebag before heading towards the building on whose window he had seen the gold lettering. Here it was again on a brass plaque: Dr Noel Scaum. Well, I never! He entered the dingy waiting room. Here were people like himself, coughing, wheezing, sneezing, grey-faced women and puking babes. He sat down near an inner door, shook the drizzle from his top hat and balanced it on his knee. There were a few dog-eared magazines on a table. Nat merely picked the skin from around his thumbnail.

  When a patient emerged from Noel’s consulting room another made to enter, but Nat was quicker and the look on his face forbade any argument.

  Noel was scribbling on a card and didn’t raise his eyes at once. ‘Good day, what can I do for you, Mr…?’ He looked up, then frowned in half recognition.

  ‘Hello, Noel. I thought it must be you.’ Nat placed his top hat on the desk.

  ‘Nat!’ After the merest flash of shock, the young doctor beamed and flung himself back in his chair. ‘What a pleasure to see you. How are you?’

  ‘I’m perfectly well, that’s why I came to see you.’

  ‘Oh, very droll.’ Noel flexed his legs and swivelled the chair from side to side, eyeing his visitor intently. The dark hair fell the same way, but the snub-nosed innocence was gone. In maturity the lips were harder, the blue eyes cynical with just a hint of menace – until he smiled, then the hard edges melted away. The smile still held the air of inherent niceness that had attracted Noel to him in the first place. He portrayed genuine pleasure at seeing his old friend. ‘Where did you spring from? I heard you were in Canada.’

  ‘I was, ten years ago.’ The visitor cleared his throat and smoothed his dark wave away from his brow.

  Unconsciously, Noel mirrored the other’s actions, then fingered his moustache. ‘Didn’t you take to it?’

  ‘Oh aye, it just didn’t take to me. They threw me out,’ he added at the blond man’s questioning look.

  ‘Oh dear. I won’t ask what for. So, what have you been doing with yourself since coming back here?’

  ‘Breathing – just.’ Once again he emitted a series of barks, grimacing with the effort.

  ‘Yes, I must say you look ghastly.’ Noel stood and leaned over to jab a thermometer into the other’s mouth, then put his stethoscope to his ears. ‘Open your shirt and let me have a listen. Good God!’ After a moment he withdrew the instrument from Nat’s chest. ‘Sounds like a pack of wolves killing a pig, all that growling and squeaking. What do you take for it?’

  ‘I thought you were the doctor.’ Nat’s reply was distorted by the thermometer.

  ‘Bloody funny.’ Noel removed the thermometer and studied it. ‘I mean, are you taking anything at present?’

  ‘Just some brown stuff.’ He buttoned his shirt.

  ‘Brown stuff? That description covers anything from sauce to shit.’

  ‘It might as well be shit for all the good it does.’ Nat fastened his overcoat.

  Noel donned a more business-like air and wrote on a piece of paper. ‘I’ll give you something more efficacious. In the me
antime,’ he threw down his pen and took up a cigarette case, ‘have one of these, it’ll help you to cough up some of that rubbish off your chest.’ He lit up himself.

  Nat inhaled and immediately set to coughing.

  ‘Oh bladdy hell.’ Noel still retained his elegant delivery of an expletive. ‘I don’t think I can bear to listen to this.’ He snatched Noel’s cigarette and ground it out, but continued to smoke his own. ‘Have a drink instead.’ He poured Nat a small whisky from a hip flask, denying himself the same pleasure. ‘If I start now I won’t stop.’ When Nat had finished coughing the doctor asked, ‘So what have you really been doing since we last met?’

  Nat downed the whisky, soothed by its warmth. It reminded him of his mother: Drink this, it’ll warm your cockles, she used to say. He drove the memory from his mind and replied to the doctor’s question. ‘Sure you’ve got time to listen? There’s a dozen patients out there.’

  Noel was dismissive. ‘If they’re sick enough they’ll wait.’ He listened with obvious interest as his friend told him all about the business he had built up. Though heedful of the other’s words his eyes strayed, noting the incongruity of the rag and bone merchant’s smart outfit and his clean nails, neatly filed.

  ‘I’ve left the horse and cart outside your door,’ finished Nat. ‘Hope it’s not too much of an embarrassment for you.’ He did not sound as if he cared.

  ‘Not at all.’ Noel retained his thoughtful air, rubbing a digit up and down the cleft in his chin. Whatever the object, be it thermometer, pencil or finger, all things of this shape found their way to this groove. ‘I’m glad to hear you’re doing so well. Things could have turned out very differently.’

  Nat tolerated the other man’s scrutiny for a moment before grinning. ‘I can hear your mind working, Noel. You’re wondering why a rag and bone man dresses like this.’

  Noel started and uttered an awkward laugh at being caught in such intimate examination. ‘Oh no, I was just thinking if there’s so much money in scrap why am I wasting my time being a doctor.’ He gave another more relaxed laugh and tapped his cigarette at the floor to remove ash. ‘What puzzles me is, if you’ve made all this money why do you still do the collecting yourself? It’s a bit eccentric, isn’t it?’