New Doctor at Northmoor

by Anne Durham

  ‘Oh, do give over,’ Gwenny begged, holding on tight to the newel post. ‘You’re always saying you haven’t time to tidy up, so I thought I’d try, as I had nothing to do. Has anyone looked to see what the rooms up here look like?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Mrs. Kinglake said crossly. ‘But the rooms down here don’t look up to much—’

  ‘I didn’t get round to them, but I did tidy the top ones. You might look at them, to see how they seem,’ Gwenny said, shocked to find that she was near tears. She went back into her bedroom and stood looking out of the window, then heard her father’s voice, as he came in at the front door. He hated to find a row going on, the minute he set foot in the house.

  Now there were three voices going at it. How on earth could she go and tell him she felt very peculiar and ask him to help her, when he had been greeted like this?

  She dragged herself downstairs again. They stopped talking and looked at her. Somehow, though she didn’t know they were thinking it, she had become older in an intangible way. She was still wearing the same shirt and pinafore dress that was much too short for her—not, as it happened, from the dictates of fashion but because she had grown out of it—but no one had said anything about her having a new dress and she knew better than to ask. She still wore no stockings and childish sandals which she had almost worn out, but as her feet had stopped growing, there had seemed no need to ask for a new pair. Her hair hung untidily as usual about her face, but this, too, happened to coincide with the dictates of fashion.

  It was a puzzled trio of adults who found themselves thinking that, without anything having been done to alter Gwenny’s exterior, somehow she looked different. Her eyes had an adult anger in them and her face seemed to have fallen in, and lost its eager-child look. She wasn’t young Gwenny any longer.

  Mrs. Otts was moved to say, ‘Well, perhaps I shouldn’t have shouted at you, Miss Gwenny. You tried to help, I suppose.’

  And Mrs. Kinglake said, ‘You could do with a nice cup of tea, I should think. I know I could. It’s been a most tiring day!’ But she trailed off doubtfully, and that wasn’t like her. Her usual manner was a forthright one, and devil take the hindmost.

  Dr. Kinglake opened his mouth to say, rather awkwardly, that Gwenny didn’t look too good and she’d better go into the surgery with him. But it never got said.

  A car drew up noisily at the gate and Laurence leapt out, slamming the door after him.

  ‘Laurence! What the devil are you doing at home at this hour?’ Dr. Kinglake asked, and went out to the gate to meet him. No one would have realized that his apparent preference for his son, which always made him go out to the gate to meet him, was not inspired by love, but by fear. He was always afraid to hear that Laurence had been kicked out of his hospital, or that something else had gone wrong, and he always felt he wanted to be first to be on the spot, to hear it, private and personal.

  ‘You haven’t?’ he began, but Laurence cut him short.

  He seemed bigger, more beefy, Gwenny thought faintly. Well, different, somehow, from last time. Not different for the better, either. A little more belligerent, perhaps? She couldn’t put a name to it.

  She heard Laurence say shortly to her father, ‘Just a couple of days off—swapped with Tennant. Wanted to come home and talk something over with you.’

  The two men came in. Gwenny faded backwards into the breakfast-room and thought about it. It was disquieting to find that Laurence even wanted to come home for a talk with his father. What had gone wrong?

  Mrs. Kinglake was talking about her meeting that day. ‘The most awful thing’s happened,’ she began.

  Gwenny waited for it, and it came.

  ‘That wretched estate agent knew perfectly well that we wanted Fairmead and why, but he’s let it go! Over our heads!’

  There was a chorus of angry protest. Dr. Kinglake felt as strongly as his wife about the need for an old people’s home in the district, and if he didn’t like her methods of going about getting it, he said nothing. He himself had made application through the usual channels and knew it would have to be a private affair at the moment as the authorities weren’t willing to stump up for a home under their auspices. Whether it was through lack of money or unwillingness to part with what they had, he didn’t know, but they had said loud and clear that they didn’t consider there was sufficient need for one. Those local council meetings had been noisy and revealing, but he knew when they were final. And Ancaster wasn’t getting any younger.

  That was his greatest worry. Ancaster was a patient of his and he alone knew how much longer they could hope for the owner of old Mrs. Yeedon’s cottage to hang out. Old Mrs. Yeedon, and others like her, would be put out to .an estate, to manage by themselves in unfamiliar surroundings when Ancaster’s life came to an end, because too many people had already had greedy eyes on his land. It would be developed, and Mrs. Yeedon and old women like her would have to go. It was a real anxiety.

  ‘And it isn’t going to be an old people’s home!’ Mrs. Kinglake announced, coming to the best bit last. She was so angry and frustrated that she could hardly get it out. ‘I don’t know how it could have happened. I wouldn’t have thought anyone would have the money to run it as a private home.’

  ‘It’ll need masses of money to put it right,’ Laurence commented. ‘You must have got it wrong, Mother. It’s some ghastly person wanting to pull the place down and develop it!’ and Gwenny heard them troop into the dining-room.

  ‘Much more likely,’ the doctor commented.

  They were sitting down round the table in the dining room to what was called ‘late Wednesday supper ‘, when there was no surgery and the doctor could, with luck, enjoy a meal in peace with his family. It rarely worked out without interruption, but there was always hope.

  Gwenny, having no excuse to stay out of their way any longer, slid into the room, and quietly took her place. ‘Who the devil can it be, buying it?’ her father fumed. ‘I have a good mind to ring up the estate agent—now!’

  ‘He’ll be closed,’ said Mrs. Kinglake, serving watery boiled potatoes from the old-fashioned vegetable dish.

  ‘At his home,’ the doctor said shortly.

  Gwenny was moved to protest. If he got on to the telephone, the meal would be delayed and there would be more trouble. She felt she couldn’t stand it. Without thinking, she said, ‘It’s true. Being bought for a house, to live in—by a doctor, a young doctor.’

  They looked at her as if she had gone mad, so she went on quickly, ‘I was there, at Fairmead, this afternoon. I saw him, I talked to him. I know it’s true.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘Why? You’re not supposed to go over there! The place is in a frightful state! Besides, that awful old woman ‘

  ‘Mrs. Walker has gone to live with people who will take care of her—relatives, I think he said. He said it was almost settled. He was almost ready to move in.’

  They all talked at once. Mrs. Otts came in to hear what was going on. She didn’t come in to stand and listen, but she did discover that she had left stale mustard in the cruet and that it was imperative to bring in the small breakfast cruet with fresh mustard in to replace it, and she could take long enough over that to hear a good deal of what was being discussed.

  ‘What’s his name?’ they all wanted to know.

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t tell me that!’

  ‘Then how did you know he was a doctor?’

  Now came the crucial moment, and if Mrs. Otts hadn’t been in the room Gwenny would have said, quite naturally, that she had fainted and he had carried her into the sitting-room and put her on the couch and talked about her health. Her father could hardly be too furious with her brother there too, because although Laurence held no brief for his younger sister as a rule, he always ranged himself on her side if his father got angry with Gwenny.

  But Mrs. Otts was listening avidly, her eyes on Gwenny as if she could almost read her secret, so Gwenny said,

  ‘He told
me rather irritably that he was a doctor and he seemed to think that wouldn’t make him an unacceptable member of local society.’

  ‘You mean he’s going to practise there?’ her father roared.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Gwenny said doubtfully. ‘He did mention the hospital at Northmoor and I got a hazy impression that he’s something to do with that. Is that possible?’

  The consternation quelled their indignant voices for a brief patch of time and they all looked at each other as if the same awful thought had occurred to them all.

  In the silence, the station cab pulled up outside. You couldn’t mistake its rather special noise, as if the engine was going to die very painfully, yet somehow it just never did. They could hear Fred’s voice. Fred owned the cab and was quite unjustifiably proud of his possession. They could also hear Priscilla’s voice, and she didn’t sound very pleased.

  ‘Oh, Priscilla’s back,’ Mrs. Kinglake said rather unnecessarily, and her eyes sought Mrs. Otts’, begging her not to make a fuss about two extra people descended on the household suddenly without warning.

  Mrs. Otts was far too much interested in the tension and what was trying to be kept hidden from her. She said, ‘I wonder what’s the matter with her? Got kicked out of her hospital, I wonder?’

  Mrs. Otts would have liked that. Mrs. Kinglake and the doctor said at once, ‘Certainly not!’

  Priscilla came storming in, leaving Fred in the hall for someone else to settle the bill. She said, ‘Oh, the most awful thing’s happened!’

  ‘Yes, well, why don’t you pay for the cab, dear, and let Fred go?’ said Mrs. Kinglake, and she prayed for a good reason to occur to her to get Mrs. Otts back to the kitchen without offending her.

  ‘What a daft question—she won’t have enough money,’ the doctor grumbled, and got to his feet to go and pay off the cab driver.

  ‘I’ll get her soup,’ Mrs. Otts said, ‘but leave the door open so’s I can hear. I wouldn’t miss this for worlds!’ And that rather settled that, Gwenny thought dismally.

  Priscilla went in, without waiting for her father’s return, ‘There’s a rumour going round the hospital that that man is buying a house in our district! Which house? It can’t be true, can it?’

  The doctor returned and looked thoughtfully at the faces of his family, and at Mrs. Otts who was hurrying back so fast with Priscilla’s soup that she was slopping it over the side as she came.

  ‘It might just be,’ Laurence said grimly. ‘Gwenny’s seen him. What’s he look like, Gwenny?’

  She was shaking. She heard herself say, ‘Very tall and strong and he puts my back up. Very dark, and he’s so right in everything he says and does...’

  ‘That’s him!’ Priscilla said indignantly. ‘That’s Mark Bayfield all right! Oh, no, why doesn’t someone stop him?’

  ‘I gather it’s too late,’ the doctor remarked. ‘I hear he told Gwenny he’s on the verge of moving in.’

  CHAPTER III

  The thing that struck Gwenny most was that they were all in accord, for once. A tight little family circle, and Mrs. Otts ranged herself on the side of the family.

  ‘Why should he do this to us?’ Mrs. Kinglake wailed. ‘After all the work I’ve put in on those committees ‘

  ‘To say nothing of the wear and tear on our nerves,’ Dr. Kinglake muttered. ‘Besides, we were here first. We needed that place.’

  ‘There’s something behind it,’ Priscilla said darkly. ‘I don’t trust him. How could he have known about Fairmead? And how did he know that child?’ and she turned accusingly towards Gwenny.

  ‘Does it matter about him taking over Fairmead?’ Gwenny asked faintly. ‘I mean, supposing Mummy could find another place for the old people’s home, would we mind about him being there?’

  ‘You don’t know what he’s like,’ Priscilla stormed. ‘He’s mean. He’s a bully. He’s the most awful man I’ve ever come across!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know that I’d go so far as that,’ Laurence put in, looking rather worried.

  ‘He stopped you getting that job at Northmoor, didn’t he?’ Priscilla asked coldly.

  Laurence reddened. ‘Well, we don’t know for sure, but as he’s got it himself, I suppose it’s a fair bet. It seems so darned mean because I needed a job near home—at least, I wanted a job near home—and he doesn’t need to be in this district at all.’

  ‘Is that what he’s done?’ Gwenny asked, in a small voice. ‘Nipped in and got a job that you wanted, Laurence?’

  Laurence hesitated. ‘I think (and this isn’t for repeating, half-pint, mind!) I think he put a spoke in my wheel somehow. I just wish I knew how, that’s all, considering all appointments go up before the Board. I just wish I knew what influence that Mark Bayfield has got.’

  ‘I still haven’t heard,’ Priscilla insisted, ‘how that child came to know him.’

  They all looked at Gwenny. Dr. Kinglake said suddenly, ‘You’re not a good colour, my girl. Let me feel your forehead.’

  ‘Oh, don’t fuss, Daddy,’ she said, stumbling to her feet. ‘I’ve eaten too much chocolate. It always makes me feel sick, but I can’t resist it.’

  That was an infallible remedy for making him stop wanting to take her temperature and get out his stethoscope. He had a bee in his bonnet about chocolate, and as a child, Gwenny’s first recollections had included his shouting that he would like to ban the manufacture of chocolate and that all children should eat boiled sweets. Gwenny escaped to her room.

  Priscilla had three days off. The main thing about Priscilla’s return home was the noise. Priscilla couldn’t open or close a drawer without making a determined clonk, and there never was a door in the house that wasn’t continually banging. Mrs. Otts was in a bad temper all the time, the bathroom was always in a mess and smelling overpoweringly of Priscilla’s perfume and bath salts, and constant friction occurred because Priscilla was always on the telephone.

  ‘Heavens above, girl, don’t you know better than to do this, the minute you get home?’ the doctor exploded, the next morning.

  ‘Leave her alone, dear,’ Mrs. Kinglake broke in. ‘She’s at that wretched hospital all the time. Can’t she feel free to do as she likes in her own home?’

  Laurence grinned across at his sister. ‘You really are a clot, you know,’ he commented. ‘If you drive the old man’s patients away there won’t be a home to come back to. No use relying on me.’

  ‘I don’t, dear,’ Priscilla said loftily, and went out into the garden.

  It was another warm day—uncomfortably warm for the time of year. Gwenny was leaning on the top of the gate, gloomily wondering whether other people found that hedge and front garden as awful as she did. Priscilla strolled over to her.

  ‘Whenever I come home you’re always lazing around, kid. Don’t you ever feel the urge to try and do something lucrative?’

  ‘Such as?’ Gwenny asked mechanically. This was an old bone of contention between them.

  ‘Well, I know you’re not old enough to sign up to be a nurse, but you could get a job of some sort, couldn’t you? Type or something? Make enough to get yourself some new clothes once in a while. Don’t you care how you look?’

  ‘Not really,’ Gwenny said in a spent voice.

  ‘Why not? I say, you’re not sickening for something contagious, are you?’

  ‘Probably,’ Gwenny retorted by habit. Then, prompted by sheer curiosity, she asked her sister:

  ‘Would you know if I was? I mean, is there some way you can tell if a person’s got something wrong and they don’t know themselves, could a doctor or a nurse spot it?’

  ‘Usually. Why?’ Priscilla asked, narrowly observing Gwenny. ‘You don’t look very fit, come to think of it. Don’t you feel well?’

  ‘Your questions come too quickly. The first one first—I’m asking you because I’m getting a bit interested in diseases, actually, and if Mummy and Daddy would let me, I might just have a shot at being a student nurse, though I don’t suppose I’d be
much good at it.’

  ‘Good grief, fancy you coming to that conclusion. Well, if it’s just curiosity, I don’t see why I should waste my time, but if you’re under par, that’s different.’

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Gwenny, preparing to go indoors.

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ Priscilla said hastily. ‘About this Dr. Bayfield, what did he say to you—apart from what you told the family, I mean?’

  ‘What makes you think he said any more than what I told you all?’ Gwenny protested.

  ‘Because you looked so peculiar. So cagey. Did he mention me, for instance?’

  Gwenny was swamped with relief. ‘No, he didn’t mention any of us. He didn’t seem to know us. Why, do you know him?’

  ‘Of course I do. He was at my hospital, wasn’t he, until he got the job at Northmoor that Laurence wanted. Tell me again everything that happened. First, how long have you known him?’

  ‘Since about three o’clock yesterday, and the acquaintance lasted almost five minutes,’ Gwenny said sourly.

  ‘Is that all, or are you being funny?’ Priscilla demanded.

  ‘Now look, I’ve told everyone all I know,’ Gwenny said heatedly, ‘and that was honestly all that happened. In point of fact, I suppose he thought I was trespassing until I told him I was used to going over there to see old Mrs. Walker, so he cooled down and told me where she’d been taken. Then he said he was almost on the point of moving in and that he was going to live there. I suppose it was in the nature of a warning—he doesn’t want me visiting him, for sure.’

  ‘I should think not. And you’re not to make a nuisance of yourself, Gwenny,’ Priscilla said.