by Penny Jordan
She looked up at the young doctor. His handsome chiselled features and dark eyes were so different from her husband’s. But the picture of James in her mind was becoming vague. Now all she seemed to see these days was the dark and intense stare now studying her.
‘No, it was a chill, that’s all.’
‘I think I’d better walk you back now.’
‘One last stop,’ she said, aware of the doctor’s dejected expression. ‘It’s only a few minutes away. From Island Gardens we can look across to the South Bank. It’s such a beautiful sight I should hate you to miss it.’
He smiled and offered her his arm. ‘Please lean on me, then, and we’ll continue our journey.’
Tilly accepted his offer. She didn’t feel it was quite right to be so close to him. He didn’t feel at all like James. Harry Fleet was tall, lean, and his arm was strong, his step steady, instinctively slowing when they stepped into the road, his hand lightly sliding round her waist to guide her across.
A distinctive smell came from the river as they approached Island Gardens. The tar and the oils from the ships, the scent of timbers packed like sardines on the barges and a ripple of sweetness from the pickle factory. In the distance, the hooters and bells from the water traffic, the whine of the machinery in the warehouses. The cries of the children playing shoeless on the riverbed where the tide was out and they searched in the mud for treasures. Who wouldn’t admire the view from Island Gardens, where the small green patch of parkland gave way to the banks of the slippery grey river dividing the heart of the city?
‘How extremely mysterious,’ was the whispered comment at her side as they stopped to gaze across the water. ‘So compelling that one doesn’t want to take away one’s gaze.’ His dark eyes were fixed on the South Bank, just beginning to vanish under the evening mist. A single glint from the roof of the Observatory sparked like a daytime star. Then in the mists of evening the vision was gone and all of Greenwich vanished under the cloak of grey.
Tilly sighed contentedly. ‘This view lifts the heart, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, without a doubt.’ He looked down at her. ‘You often come here?’
‘Not lately,’ she admitted regretfully. ‘But when I lived at the orphanage I used to bring the children. The Sisters liked them to take the salt air as they believed it was a cure in itself.’
‘Very wise women,’ the doctor agreed. ‘Salt is important in the diet. Not too much, not too little—a happy balance. And,’ he added, turning to gaze at her, ‘you yourself are evidence of that, Tilly.’ He was studying her very carefully. ‘Tilly, perhaps this is the moment I should share something with you—news that I have been reluctant to impart. It’s about my uncle.’
She let go of his arm. ‘What is it?’
‘Dr Wolf has discovered that he has suffered a series of small strokes.’ He paused, frowning slightly. ‘I suspected this on the night we found him, guessing that, as an experienced physician, he already knew this himself.’
‘But why hadn’t he ever told me?’ Tilly felt distraught.
‘Both you and I know he is a man of great independence. I find it quite understandable that he kept the knowledge to himself.’
Tilly felt a cold hand grab her heart. ‘Is he very ill?’
‘Let us say his health is fragile and he must rest.’
‘Will he—? Can he—?’
‘Ever work again?’ He shrugged. ‘In a small capacity, yes. But certainly not to the degree that he was. I’m afraid the pressures of the practice are much too rigorous.’
Tilly turned her face away. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You care for him deeply, don’t you?’
‘He’s been like a father to me.’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘To think that I didn’t give you my last letter to him.’
His brow creased. ‘I was expecting it.’
Tilly recalled her reluctance to meet Miss Darraway last night. But she couldn’t tell the doctor that. ‘Does Dr Tapper know you’re telling me all this?’ she asked.
‘Indeed. But neither he nor I wish you to distress yourself.’ He reached out and turned her gently towards him. ‘God willing, with a period of recuperation, he will recover.’
She tried not to let her dismay overwhelm her. She couldn’t bear to think of Dr Tapper unwell. He had done so much to help the people for so long. Why hadn’t she noticed he was ill? Perhaps she could have averted this somehow?
‘I only want him to get well.’
‘Yes. Of course. But for the near future I will continue in surgery, until he has recovered enough to decide what is going to happen to the practice. In the meantime, please be assured that he has your welfare and his patients at heart.’
Tilly nodded. ‘I know that.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I think we’d better walk back now.’
She took his arm again and they set off for home. She had walked this way many times, once before with a heavy heart, after James had died and she had come down to the river for comfort. The familiar landmark of the big round globe, entrance to the foot tunnel, brought back memories of their life together. They had often walked through it to Greenwich on Sunday afternoons. In summer they would take a picnic and catch a bus to Blackheath and the beautiful green common beyond. The trees and hedgerows would be filled with birds and wildlife, a little haven of peace away from the noisy, grimy streets of the island. Yet as they had strolled back to their quarters at Hailing House the island had always seemed welcoming. It had been their home, and Tilly loved it as much as she had loved James. Now her life was set to change again, and she must accept the fact that her time with Dr Tapper was over.
When they reached Tap House it was dark. The doctor escorted her down the airey steps and waited as she opened the door. Three scrubbed and shiny faces gazed back at them.
‘Molly’s cooked a big tea,’ Cessie burst out. ‘And Frank’s made up the fire.’
Molly nodded. ‘I cooked another pie, Miss Tilly. And it ain’t burned this time.’
‘I brought home some chestnuts,’ added Frank as he pushed his sisters back and opened the door wide. ‘And Mrs Shiner on the fruit and veg gave me a bottle o’stout for the doctor.’
‘You are coming in, ain’t you, Dr Fleet?’ Cessie looked up at the tall, dark-eyed young man hesitantly waiting on the doorstep.
‘I’m sure the doctor has other more important things to do,’ Tilly said, looking reprovingly at Cessie.
‘Why, none at all,’ the doctor said delightedly. ‘A pie sounds wonderful, Cessie.’ He gave them all one of his rare and perfectly dazzling smiles.
The next day Georgie Parker was having his ankle inspected when Rosalind Darraway arrived.
‘Tell the doctor I’d like to see him as soon as possible, Tilly. It’s very urgent.’
With that Rosalind hurried upstairs, leaving the scent of an expensive perfume behind her.
‘Cor blimey, it’s enough to put out an ’erd of elephants,’ one woman said to another as Rosalind disappeared.
‘P’raps it’s a new disinfectant.’ The other nodded.
‘Better than carbolic,’ agreed her neighbour.
‘Wants to watch the wasps with that,’ observed a man, holding his arm wrapped in a filthy sling. ‘She’ll have ’em swarming all round her.’
‘Well, it’s better than my old man’s breath,’ laughed another.
The joke was still going round when Georgie reappeared.
‘What’s the verdict?’ asked Mrs Parker, catching her son by the scruff off his neck as he made to run out.
‘He’s quite recovered.’ The doctor smiled. ‘No damage at all done to his ankle.’
Mrs Parker frowned. ‘You don’t have to tell me that! Tilly’s stuff worked the very next day. It was his spots I come about. You said to report anything new!’
‘His spots?’ Dr Fleet looked at the scowling child. ‘I can’t say that I noticed any.’
‘You didn’t look in the right place, did yer? They’re all over his bac
kside.’
There were smiles from everyone as the doctor urged Georgie back for another examination. A few minutes later the boy was released with a pronouncement of nettle rash.
When Tilly gave the doctor Rosalind’s message he looked slightly irked, but went upstairs. On his return he told Tilly that he would be out to lunch the following day with Sir Joshua.
Other than this small delay, the morning progressed. It was mid-afternoon when the trouble started. Mrs Tanner came running in, her three small children close behind her. ‘It’s my Emily,’ she cried, wringing her hands as she tried to catch her breath. ‘The doctor’s got to come! He’s got to come now!’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Tilly asked, trying to calm the woman.
‘She’s come over all faint like. I thought it was just her putting on an act, like she does sometimes to get out of school. But then I heard a thump and there she was! Laid out on the floor upstairs like she was dead, not a breath coming from her!’
By the evening, Emily Tanner had been admitted to hospital. The next day there were two more cases reported of suspected diphtheria. The doctor cancelled his plans for luncheon. Tilly noted that Miss Darraway seemed very put out as she followed him into his room and banged the door.
‘It’s really too bad, Harry,’ Tilly and all the patients overheard her complain. Tilly didn’t want to listen, but the door had opened slightly with the force of the bang. ‘Father had arranged the meeting especially. You know how taken with the house he is. It would be the perfect place for a country practice, and with all the right sort of people. ‘
‘I’m sorry, Rosalind. But I can’t leave just now. There is an epidemic looming.’
‘I’m sure you’re making a great deal of it, Harry. There is our future to consider, you know. We must set a date for our engagement, amongst other things.’
Tilly moved to the door then, and closed it. She looked round at the row of silent faces. Their expressions were enough to tell her that nothing had been missed, and soon the intimate conversation would be public knowledge.
Tilly herself was unsettled by what she had heard. It was clear that Dr Fleet and Miss Rosalind were to marry. After which they would move to a practice in the country more suited to their social level. But the most worrying comment of the doctor’s was that an epidemic was looming. So far he had given a tactful warning and tried not to cause distress. But his decision to cancel the meeting with Sir Joshua and what he had told Rosalind could mean only one thing. He was preparing for the worst.
For the next few days the doctor was besieged. But Tilly never knew him to refuse anyone. Sometimes he was already at his desk in the morning, having had no sleep the previous night. By the following week, the newspapers reported that four more victims had been sent to the isolation hospital.
One November morning, when the river mists were at their worst, Tilly felt very strange as she went to work. There was a heaviness on her chest and a she had a cough.
‘Go home and rest,’ Dr Fleet told her as she blew her nose and sneezed. ‘Rosalind’s here. We’ll manage.’
Tilly felt too poorly to argue.
‘I’ll come and see you later,’ he told her as he ushered her out of the door.
‘There won’t be any need for that. It’s just a cold,’ Tilly said stubbornly.
‘We’ll see.’ He smiled. ‘Now, straight to bed.’
Tilly went in to a quiet house. The girls were at school. Just as she had fallen asleep on the chair by the fire, Frank burst in.
‘Are you all right, Miss Tilly?’ He looked worried, pulling off his cap and scarf and falling on his knees beside her.
‘It’s just a cold, Frank.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am.’ She smiled. ‘What are you doing home?’
‘The other kid came back to the barra.’
‘Don’t they want you any more?’
‘Not till Christmas. Look—I got me pay. We can get somefink nice to eat now.’ He tipped the coins into her lap.
Tilly reached out for his hand and squeezed it. ‘You’re a good boy, Frank.’ She was, however, very worried. What was going to happen to them all if Dr Tapper didn’t come home and Dr Fleet went away? She herself could always get work somewhere, but the children were homeless.
‘Let me ’elp you to bed,’ Frank said in a grown-up fashion, and she smiled, taking hold of his arm. ‘Then I’ll go and make you a nice cup of tea.’
Tilly almost didn’t hear him. She was too weary. As she lay on the bed she slipped into sleep. A sleep that she couldn’t fight against, no matter how hard she tried.
CHAPTER FIVE
FOR more than a week Tilly was confined to bed. In between bouts of heavy coughing and nausea she couldn’t keep anything down; it just came straight up again.
The girls stayed home from school and looked after her. Sometimes Tilly felt as though she was living in another world. It was a dark one, with voices, though she couldn’t make out people’s faces. One minute she was so hot she couldn’t bear the bedclothes to touch her, the next she was shivering and freezing. She remembered waking up to the doctor standing over her and making her drink a very unpleasant liquid. Before she fell into the dark again, she knew it hadn’t got halfway to her stomach before it came up.
Her dreams were wild and frightening. She was running down Westferry Road, calling out for the children. She saw them sailing off in one of the fever ships used for the sick many years before. They were calling to her, and she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She wanted to dive into the murky grey water and swim after them. Her arms automatically lifted as she threw herself into the cold, grey river and sank beneath the surface…
‘Tilly! Tilly!’ Someone was calling her name. She opened her eyes slowly. They felt as though they had lead weights on them. ‘You’re quite safe. You’re not drowning.’
‘They’re taking the children away,’ she mumbled.
‘No, they’re not,’ the doctor assured her as she blinked her eyes. ‘Here, take a small sip. Not too much at first.’
The cold water tasted like a mountain stream. Or what she imagined a mountain stream might taste like. ‘How…how long have I been here in bed?’
‘A little while. You’ve been quite ill.’
‘What with?’
‘The flu. It was a very bad attack.’ He bathed her head with a damp cloth.
‘You should be at the surgery.’
He grinned as he sat down beside her. ‘Would you have me working at midnight too?’
‘Midnight!’ she croaked, trying to sit up. But he pressed her gently back.
‘Lie still, now.’ He wrung out the cloth in a china bowl full of cold water and smoothed it again on her forehead. ‘You’ve had a fever—a very high one. But it’s broken tonight, and I think I can safely say you’re on the mend.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Tilly said weakly.
He smiled. ‘What’s the “oh, dear” for?’
‘I’ve caused you a lot of trouble.’
‘No, but I’ll admit to being worried.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything—which might be a little difficult for you, but do try. Just until you’re on your feet.’
This brought a smile to her lips. She felt very tired again, but in a pleasant way.
‘Rest now,’ he told her. ‘Sleep is the healer.’
Tilly’s eyes closed. This time she didn’t fall into a deep dark chasm. Instead she was resting on a soft white cloud, blown along by the breeze.
Harry glanced at the darkened surgery and once again missed Tilly’s presence. Despondently he ascended the stairs and entered his rooms, took off his coat and lowered himself into the big fireside chair. Resting back his head, he inhaled the scent of the ashes in the grate, the fire long-ago burned out. Every moment he had to spare he spent with Tilly and the children. He had come to know them well whilst Tilly had been ill, and there was no finer young man, in his o
pinion, than Frank. He would make a grand, upright young fellow one day, and Harry knew all three were devoted to Tilly.
Harry’s eyes opened slowly. He heaved a breath as he loosened his tie and the studs of his collar. His long, lean body was exhausted, but his mind was alert still, despite the long hours at Tilly’s bedside. He had discovered in the time she had been sick that his feelings had deepened for her in every respect. He admired her so much—her strong spirit and delightful nature. Her beauty was unquestionable, and as she had slept uneasily, tossing and turning, struggling to fight the infection, he had wanted to draw her into his arms, to comfort her and whisper that he would always be there for her. But instead he had watched at her bedside, tried to keep her fever low and acted out his professional role in front of the children. It had only been when they had gone to bed that he’d been able to take her hand and whisper his thoughts. Thoughts that had only just crystallised in his mind as the fear of losing her persistently haunted him.
Harry leaned forward, shaking his head, as if trying to shake off a pain. Angrily, he thumped his knee with his fist. His knuckles showed white as he frowned. What would he do if he ever lost her? He couldn’t bear the thought! She was so tiny, so fragile—like a porcelain doll. And yet so strong within. She had every chance of regaining her health; she was over the crisis, he was sure. And yet he still tortured himself. Having found something so precious, was he to lose it again?
Tilly soothed him, made him forget the past and remember the future. She had given purpose to his life, reminded him of his true calling. For the first time in years he was at peace with himself. But what would happen if this was taken away?
Harry stood up and went to the window. He looked down on the street, and the moonlight streaming ladders to the earth, and pressed his forehead against the glass.
‘Get well, Tilly, dearest girl,’ he whispered, and his breath gently dappled the window, coiling up in a cloud like a little prayer to heaven.
Tilly woke with a start. Cessie’s nose was an inch away from her face. ‘I fawt you was dead.’