by Betty Neels
The Baroness liked to dress for the evening. Becky, helping her into a black chiffon gown and laying a lacy shawl over her knees, wished just for a moment that they had been going to the party, it seemed such a waste…
It wasn’t a waste. Instead of the sherry which the steward brought to the stateroom, he carried a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and following hard on his heels was the Captain himself, accompanied by several of his officers, and they were followed by more stewards bearing trays of delicious bits and pieces, presumably to help the champagne down. Becky, with a young officer on either side of her, intent on keeping her glass filled and carrying on the kind of conversation she had almost forgotten existed, found life, for the first time in two years, was fun.
When the gentlemen had gone the Baroness sat back in her chair and eyed Becky. ‘You must buy yourself some pretty clothes,’ she observed. ‘You won’t always be on duty, you know—I know there was no time in Newcastle to do more than get the few essentials, but once we are in Trondheim you shall go shopping. Tiele gave you enough money, I hope?’
Becky thought with still amazed astonishment of the notes in her purse. ‘More than enough,’ she explained. ‘A week’s salary in advance and money to buy my uniforms and—and things.’
‘A week’s salary? What is that? Let me see, sixty pounds, did we not say? What is sixty pounds?’ It was lucky that she didn’t expect an answer, for Becky was quite prepared to tell her that for her, at least, it was a small fortune. ‘When we get to Trondheim you will have your second week’s wages—not very much, but I daresay you will be able to find something to wear.’
Becky thought privately that she would have no difficulty at all, although she had no intention of spending all that money. It was of course tempting to do so, but she had the future to think of; she supposed her present job would last a month or a little longer and even though she managed to get another job at once, there would be rent to pay if she were lucky enough to find somewhere to live, and food for herself and the animals until she drew her pay. All the same she allowed herself the luxury of planning a modest outfit or two. They would arrive at Trondheim the next day and a little thrill of excitement ran through her, just for the moment she forgot the future and the unpleasant past; Norway, as yet invisible over the horizon, was before her and after that Holland. Perhaps later she would be homesick for England, but now she felt secure and content, with almost the width of the North Sea between her and her stepmother and Basil.
She fell to planning the little home she would make for herself and Bertie and Pooch and was only disturbed in this pleasant occupation by the Baroness, who had been reading and now put down her book and suggested a game of dominoes before the leisurely process of getting ready for bed.
The next day was fine and warm, the sea was calm and very blue and the shores of Norway, towering on either side of the Trondheimsfjord, looked magnificent. Becky, released from the patient’s company for an hour, hung over the rail, not missing a thing; the tiny villages in the narrow valleys, the farms perched impossibly on narrow ledges half way up the mountains with apparently no way of reaching them, the camping sites on the edge of the water and the cosy wooden houses. It was only when Trondheim came into sight, still some way off on a bend of the fjord, that she went reluctantly back to the Baroness. She had packed earlier, there was little left to do other than eat their lunch and collect the last few odds and ends, but there would be ample time for that; the Baroness had elected to wait until the passengers who were going on the shore excursions had left the ship; they would have to go ashore by tender, and Becky knew enough of her patient by now to guess that that lady avoided curious glances as much as possible.
The passengers were taken ashore with despatch and wouldn’t return until five o’clock. Becky, sent on deck to take a breath of air while her patient enjoyed a last-minute chat with the ship’s doctor, the purser and the first officer, watched the last tender returning from the shore. Trondheim looked well worth a visit and she longed to get a closer look. It was nice to think that she would have two or three weeks in which to explore it thoroughly. There was a lot to see; the cathedral, the old warehouses, the royal palace, the Folk Museum…she pitied the passengers who had just gone ashore and who would have to view all these delights in the space of a few hours. One of the young officers who had come to the Baroness’s cabin joined her at the rail. ‘You get off here, don’t you?’ he asked in a friendly voice. He glanced at her trim uniform. ‘Will you get time to look around Trondheim?—it’s a lovely old place.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I shall—I don’t have to work hard, you know. The Baroness is kindness itself and I get free time each day just like anyone else.’ She smiled at him. ‘I loved being on board this ship.’
He smiled back at her; he was a nice young man with a pretty girl at home waiting to marry him and he felt vague pity for this small plain creature, who didn’t look plain at all when she smiled. He said now: ‘Well, I hope you enjoy your stay in Norway. Do you go back to Holland with the Baroness?’
‘Yes, just for a little while, then I’ll get a job there.’
He looked at her curiously. ‘Don’t you want to go back to England?’
She was saved from answering him by the stewardess coming in search of her to tell her that the Baroness was ready to go ashore now. Getting that lady into the tender was a delicate operation involving careful lifting while Becky hovered over the plastered leg, in a panic that the tender would give a lurch and it would receive a thump which would undo all the good it had been doing. But nothing happened, the Baroness was seated at last, the leg carefully propped up before her and Becky beside her, their luggage was stowed on board, and they made the short trip to the shore. Here the same procedure had to be carried out, although it wasn’t quite as bad because there were no stairs to negotiate. Becky nipped on to the wooden pier and had the wheelchair ready by the time the Baroness was borne ashore. Escorted by a petty officer, they made their way off the pier to the land proper.
There were a lot of people about and a couple of officials who made short work of examining their papers before waving them on to where a Saab Turbo was waiting. The lady sitting in the car got out when she saw them coming, not waiting for her companion, and ran to meet them. She was a small woman, a little older than the Baroness and very like her in looks. The two ladies embraced, both talking at once, and only broke off when the elderly gentleman who had been in the car reached them. The Baroness embraced him too and embarked on another conversation to stop in the middle of a sentence and say in English: ‘I am so excited, you must forgive me, I had forgotten my dear Becky. She has looked after me so very well and she is going to stay with me until I return home.’ She turned to Becky standing quietly a few paces away. ‘Becky, come and meet my sister and brother-in-law. Mijnheer and Mevrouw van Denne—he is Consul here and will know exactly the right places for you to see while you are here. And now if I could be put in the car…?’
An oldish man joined them and was introduced as Jaap the chauffeur, between them Becky and he lifted the Baroness into the back seat where she was joined by the Consul and his wife while Becky, having seen the chair and the luggage safely stowed in the boot, got in beside Jaap.
She tried to see everything as they went through the city, of course, but she would have needed eyes all round her head. But she glimpsed two department stores and a street of pleasant shops with other streets leading from it and she had the palace pointed out to her, an imposing building built entirely of wood, then they were in a wide street with the cathedral at its far end. But they didn’t get as far as that; half way down Jaap turned into a tree-lined avenue with large houses, before one of which he slowed to turn again into a short drive and stop before its solid front door. They had arrived. Becky drew a deep breath to calm herself. It would never do to get too excited; she was a nurse and must preserve a calm front, but her eyes shone with delight and her pale face held a nice colour for once. The Baroness, wat
ching her with some amusement, decided that she wasn’t only a nice girl, she was—just now and again—quite a pretty one, too.
CHAPTER THREE
THE HOUSE WAS surprisingly light inside and furnished with large, comfortable furniture. The whole party crossed the hall and went into a lofty sitting room with a splendid view of the cathedral in the distance, and the Baroness, still talking, was transferred from her wheelchair to a high-backed winged chair while coffee and little cakes were served by a cheerful young woman whom the Baroness’s sister introduced as Luce. She added, smiling at Becky, ‘And you do not mind if we call you Becky?’ Her English was as good as her sister’s.
‘Please do,’ said Becky, and was interrupted by her patient with: ‘And tomorrow morning, my dear, you shall go to the shops as soon as you have helped me, and buy yourself some pretty clothes. It is a good idea to wear uniform, I know, but now you will get some free time each day and then you will want to go out and enjoy yourself.’
Her three companions turned to look at her kindly, but she could also see doubt in their elderly faces. If she had been pretty, she thought wryly, she would probably have a simply super time, as it was she would have to content herself with a round of museums and places of interest. She gave herself a mental shake, appalled at her self-pity; good fortune was smiling on her at last, and she had no need to be sorry for herself. She agreed with enthusiasm tempered with a reminder that exercises for the day hadn’t yet been done and since the family doctor was going to call that evening, it might be as well if they were done and over before he arrived—a remark which was the signal to convey the Baroness to her room on the ground floor. It was a charming apartment and extremely comfortable with a bathroom leading from it and on the other side of that, a smaller but just as comfortable room for Becky. The exercises over, she settled her patient back into a chair by the window and prepared to unpack, a task which was frequently interrupted by her companion who was watching the traffic in the distance and declared that she could see the coachloads of passengers off the ship on their way to the cathedral. ‘You must go there,’ she declared. ‘It is quite beautiful— I should like to see it again myself.’
‘Then we’ll go together,’ said Becky instantly. ‘It’s no distance. I’ll push the chair—the exercise will do me good.’
The Baroness was doubtful. ‘Tiele said that you weren’t to do too much heavy lifting—he seems to think you’re not very strong.’
Becky gave a snort. ‘Then he’s mistaken—I’m as strong as a horse! When I was at home I used to do almost all the housework; it was quite a big house, too, with miles of flagstoned floors and stairs to polish and heavy furniture to shift about.’
‘Disgraceful!’ the Baroness sounded indignant. Your stepmother should be brought to justice for treating you in such a way.’ She considered a moment. ‘Of course, the maids at home have a good deal of housework to do, but they are well paid and none of them is overworked.’ She turned away from the window and watched Becky hanging a black velvet dress in the wardrobe. ‘What clothes will you buy?’
‘Well, I thought a couple of cotton dresses because it’s warm, isn’t it? I thought it would be much cooler…’
‘It can be cool, but a cotton dress or two could be useful—get a jacket or something to wear with them—what else?’
‘Slacks? Some thin tops, perhaps a sweater, some light shoes or sandals…’
‘A pretty dress for the evening, of course. Two.’
Becky, who hadn’t had a new dress for so long, heaved a sigh of great content.
The Baroness was unusually docile the following morning; she allowed Becky to assist her to dress, did her exercises with exemplary perfection, the while discussing Doctor Iversen’s visit. He had come just before dinner on the previous evening and he knew so much about the Baroness’s injuries that Becky felt sure that the Baron had taken care to give him every last detail. He applauded her progress, agreed that the exercises should be stepped up and went away again, promising to call in two days’ time bringing with him some gutter crutches so that the Baroness might start to walk again. ‘The quicker you are on your feet the better,’ he had pointed out. ‘You are here for two—three weeks? Then by the time you leave us, Baroness, I believe you will be able to manage very well.’ He had given Becky one or two instructions in his excellent English, and smiled at her very kindly.
Becky walked to the shops. The city was spread widely and easy to find one’s way about. There were two department stores, Mevrouw van Denne had told her—Sundt & Co in Kongens Gate and Steen & Strom, Olav Tryggvasonsgate, fairly close to each other. She prowled happily round them in turn and finally returned to the Consul’s house, laden with parcels, all of which she had to undo and display their contents to the Baroness, who had been stationed strategically in the hall, waiting for her. Two cotton dresses and a cardigan to go with them, blue slacks and a couple of cotton tops, sensible flat sandals and a pair of pretty slippers, a flowered cotton skirt and a lace-trimmed blouse to go with it, and a pale green jersey dress, very simple but, as the Baroness remarked approvingly: ‘In excellent taste.’ She added: ‘Is that all, Becky?’
Becky had spent just about all the money she had, but she didn’t say so. When she had her next pay she would buy another dress perhaps, but from now on she was determined to save as much as she could. Her job here in Norway was more like a holiday; once she got to Holland and got work in a hospital there she would need all the money she could spare—there would be food for herself and the animals, lodgings and light and heating and all the other mundane things which cost money; besides, the clothes she had bought had been rather expensive. ‘I’ll look around,’ she told the Baroness placidly, ‘and when I see something nice I’ll buy it,’ a statement with which the Baroness was in complete agreement since that was something she had always been able to do herself.
The Baron telephoned again that evening and this time Becky was called to speak to him. She faithfully relayed Doctor Iversen’s remarks, assured him that his mother was doing very nicely and was surprised, when she had finished, to be asked if she was enjoying herself and having enough time in which to see the city for herself.
She told him she had plenty of free time and enquired about Bertie and Pooch. ‘They’re in excellent condition and perfectly happy. Have you had a free day yet, Becky?’
‘Me? No—what would I do with it?’ she asked him in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘I’m very happy, and the Baroness is a perfect patient.’
Which wasn’t quite true; her patient liked her own way and was used to getting it and she could be imperious at times, but Becky liked her. The work wasn’t arduous; she considered that she was over-paid and the question of a day off hadn’t entered her mind.
‘You will probably meet someone of your own age,’ persisted the Baron, ‘and wish to spend a day with them—there are some interesting trips you can make…’
‘I don’t think I’ll meet anyone—in any case,’ she reminded him severely, ‘I’m not on holiday, you know.’
But during the next week or so it seemed as though she was. True, the Baroness took up the major portion of her day; the crutches had to be mastered and since her patient had taken exception to them on the grounds that they were clumsy and ugly, it took a good deal of coaxing to get her to use them. But after the first few days she began to make progress, although her confidence was so small that she refused to go anywhere, even across the room, without Becky beside her, but as there was a constant stream of visitors to the house, Becky was able to get an hour here and an hour there. She met people too. The Consul lived fairly quietly, but there was a good deal of coming and going between the Consulates, small dinner parties, coffee in the morning, people dropping in for tea in the afternoons, and since the Baroness couldn’t go out to any great extent, the visits were more frequent. The Baroness was meticulous in introducing Becky to anyone and everyone who called, and despite her protests, she attended all the dinner parties and was treated
more like a daughter of the house than a nurse. And she was liked by everyone too, although she didn’t realise that herself. As the Baroness said to her sister: ‘Becky may be a plain girl, but she has charm and a restful manner and the sweetest smile. She is also a splendid nurse. I must tell Tiele to see that she gets a really good job when we get back. The child deserves it after these last few wretched years.’
The two ladies, quite carried away, discussed the matter at some length.
Becky, true to her promise, took the Baroness to the cathedral. It was a bright sunny day and not too warm and the journey there wasn’t too arduous. The Nidras Cathedral loomed before them, its dark granite exterior almost forbidding. It was dark inside, too, but its beautiful windows softened the darkness to a dim peace which Becky found soothing as well as awe-inspiring. And once inside they joined one of the groups of visitors being led round by students, picturesque in their long red gowns, addressing their audiences with apparently no difficulty at all in whatever language was needed. Becky, on the fringe of their group because of the awkwardness of the wheelchair, missed a good deal of what was said and made up her mind to go again, on her own, and this she was able to do the very next day when several ladies came for coffee and she was dismissed kindly by the Baroness and told to go and enjoy herself until lunch time. And this time she kept well to the fore in the group following the guide so that she missed nothing at all, inspecting the Gothic interior to her heart’s content, treading the dark passages behind the altar to see the spring in the walls and then going all round the outside to admire the great building. It gave her a taste for sightseeing and after that she visited the wooden houses along the waterfront and the veits, the narrow medieval lanes between the main streets, as well as paying a visit to Stiftsgaarden, the large wooden palace in the middle of the city. There was only one place she hadn’t managed to visit; the Folk Museum on the outskirts of Trondheim. It was too far to walk in the brief periods of freedom she had and even if she treated herself to a taxi she would be worrying all the time that she would be late back; the Baroness was a dear, but she liked everyone to be punctual, although it wasn’t one of her own virtues.