New Doctor at Northmoor

by Anne Durham

  ‘That was his whole beastly family, I think,’ Laurence said, blinking. ‘I did think it was him personally just at first, but he doesn’t seem such a bad chap now I’ve seen him at close quarters in this cosy neighbourhood. The whole point is, Gwenny love, I need your help!’

  ‘Mine? How, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘You see, it’s like this. They’re letting her out of here at the end of the week. I just heard it, as a matter of fact. She’s boiling mad and she’s going to discharge herself tomorrow, and if she does that, and she retires to that flipping farm, and what with her brother being in here so he can’t help me, I’ll never get the chance to have it out with her and explain, so you see, I want her to see me somewhere neutral, so to speak.’

  ‘But how can I help?’ Gwenny asked in dismay.

  ‘I was just wondering—they tell me she’s been coming in here every day this week, and if you two girls are so thick, you might commission her to go and buy you some knitting wool or something. Tatting—wasn’t that old girl at the cottage teaching you that? Well, don’t you have to have wool or something, shuttles, to do it with?’

  ‘What good would that do?’ Gwenny persisted.

  ‘What I thought was, if I could arrange for transport (supposed to come from your end) someone could pick Tilda up and drive her to this shop for you, and then drive her on to some destination where I would be waiting for her, and I could drive her back afterwards. Well, at least it would give me time to talk her into believing—’

  Gwenny eyed him steadily. ‘It wouldn’t be true, though, would it? You were being matey with the R.M.O.’s sister, weren’t you? I don’t know what she saw, but Tilda was livid. I think she’d been kidding herself up till then.’

  The well-remembered scowl came on Laurence’s face. ‘Listen, Gwenny, I take a good many lectures from one or another, but I’m blessed if I’m going to take one from my kid sister! Are you going to help me or aren’t you?’

  ‘Which one is it you really want, Laurence? If it is Tilda, then I believe I can do something. But if you’re just fooling around with her, I won’t lift a finger. It’s no good glaring at me like that! Tilda isn’t like the other girls you’ve had. She’s down-to-earth, a really good sort, whatever Mummy and Daddy think of her and her family. She doesn’t understand insincerity and flirting. You’re the big thing in her life, and that’s it!’

  ‘Cut it out, Gwenny! All right, so you’ll help me. Now, what are you going to plot up?’

  Gwenny thought. ‘I don’t need any materials for handwork. I’m not doing any these days. All I can think of is something I really want done, but I don’t know whether Tilda can be persuaded to do it. I was thinking ... Clem could take her in his van to wherever it is you want to meet her—’

  ‘Gwenny love, don’t be trying! Say what you want done. Tilda will do it for you, you know that,’ her brother said wearily.

  He changed his attitude, however, when she told him what it was she wanted. ‘I want someone to take a pet to one of the vets—the cheaper the better,’ she offered.

  ‘A pet? To what?’

  ‘A pet—a bird, actually. It belongs to one of my old friends. He sent a note to me. He’s not much good at writing letters, but it seems he’s very worried because the bird seems sick and he’s scared of vets because he has no money—and anyway, he can’t leave his cottage.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that Tilda shall go to one of those filthy holes in the village, and take some beastly bird—what sort of bird, anyway? A parrot, I suppose!’

  ‘No. I don’t know what it is. His sailor son brought it home. He thinks the world of it. Well, it’s all I can think of, Laurence. I suppose Clem could go in and get it, but of course Tilda would have to go to the vet and explain—Clem couldn’t do that.’

  ‘All right, on the grounds that your friend Clem goes into the filthy little hovel of your friend—what’s the name of this old man, anyway?’

  ‘I only know him as Jock, and I don’t even know the number of his cottage. I could write a note for Clem to take there, and if he shows anyone, they’ll know where the place is. Will it do, Laurence?’

  Laurence didn’t like it. He paced the floor, but soon he realized they would be invaded by the usual parade of washings and thermometer rounds and bedpans and tea, so he made up his mind quickly. ‘All right, fix it up, will you? Make it quite clear to Clem (if you can!) that he’s the one to go in and get the bird, and he’d better carry it to the vet of Tilda’s choice, when they arrive. She’d known one, come to think of it, perhaps better than anyone. And I tell you what, young Gwenny. I’ll pay the vet’s fees. For services rendered, you might say,’ he finished with a grin. ‘But you must make it clear to your daft friend Clem that he’s to drive Tilda straight to ... let me see. Wilkinson’s Restaurant in Upper Uxmarket, I think.’

  ‘Golly, you’re going to town with Tilda, aren’t you?’ said Gwenny, with respect. ‘You’ll be broke for weeks!’

  ‘You mind your own business, young Gwenny. Anyway, it just shows you how important this meeting is to me. Now, will you do all that?’

  ‘Yes, but suppose I can’t persuade Tilda to go with Clem to old Jock’s cottage, anyway?’

  ‘You do that, Gwenny! You can, if you try. You can be a thoroughly persuasive little beast, and I’m counting on you! Get me?’

  She nodded. She felt rather sorry for him. Laurence wasn’t one to get steamed up to this extent over any girl. He must, really care for Tilda. Gwenny hoped there wouldn’t be trouble with her family over this, if Laurence went the whole hog and decided to marry Tilda. She hoped, too, that Mr. Sansom wouldn’t be too cross, because he was a hard man and while he didn’t mind his son Dick being friends with the profligate Laurence Kinglake, it was unlikely that he would care about his only daughter marrying such a young man, with no money and few prospects.

  Gwenny did her best with her note to Tilda, and enclosed a note for Tilda to give Clem, then she forgot all about it, because of something else that cropped up.

  It was strange how there was always something happening in the hospital world. The young houseman who was so nice to Gwenny, looked in to take her blood pressure. He was a nice young man, rather shy and gentle. Gwenny liked him but of course, no man measured up really well beside the R.M.O.

  His name was Peter White, and each time he came into Gwenny’s room he told her a bit more about his gentle existence, which was straddled between his life at the hospital, his studies and his dreams of a brilliant future which even he didn’t believe in really, and his gentle family and all the pets.

  Sometimes he made Gwenny feel sad because her own background was so turbulent, so without warmth and love, yet his was cosy for all its ordinariness. ‘Nothing ever happens at my home,’ he told Gwenny that day.

  ‘Don’t you mind that,’ she told him sincerely. ‘It isn’t always the nicest homes where things are happening all the time.’

  ‘No, but I like to tell you bits of news when I come in here,’ he protested, ‘and I’ve come to the end of the things at home. You know it all. Would you like some hospital news?’

  Gwenny chuckled. She wondered if he knew all the things she had heard of since she had been in here, such as Catherine Allen and her beau coming in up the fire stairs in the small hours, and the plot her brother was hatching by way of taking Jock’s bird to the vet to get his girl-friend to himself for five minutes, and the way the R.M.O. had lifted Fairmead from under her mother’s nose, and robbed her brother Laurence of the very job of R.M.O. in this hospital. Gwenny had no doubt that everyone else here knew about those things, but she doubted if young Peter White did. And she hadn’t the heart to tell him so.

  ‘All right, some hospital news,’ she agreed.

  ‘Well, there’s one really good bit which I think I shall leave till last, because it’s the biggest shot in my bow, or whatever the saying is. The little bits of news are that the Almoner was jammed in the lift for three hours this morning, until they could get
her out, and if she had gone back when her assistant called her, she wouldn’t have been there at all. Sir Giles Faraday would have been the one to get stuck and that wouldn’t have done at all.’

  ‘Why would he?’ Gwenny argued.

  ‘Well, you see, he was hurrying for the lift, but she nipped in first and pretended she didn’t see him. Highly irregular, of course, and there are some folks who are unkind enough to say serve her right. Well, another bit of news is that a whole batch of rubber gloves have been mysteriously cooked in the sterilizer for the third day running—’

  Gwenny couldn’t resist that one. ‘What’s mysterious about it? That’ll be Catherine Allen again. I heard the nurses talking about it the first time she did it. She’s just plain scatterbrained!’

  ‘Oh, you knew it all the time!’ He was so disappointed. ‘Oh, well, I’ve got nothing else for you except about the kitten that keeps somehow getting into Matron’s bedroom and going to sleep all cuddled up by the teddy bear rumour has it she keeps in her room. Matron can’t abide cats, and she hasn’t got the heart to do something drastic about this one because it’s so wee.’

  ‘But I like that story!’ Gwenny exclaimed, her eyes shining. ‘Why does she keep a teddy bear in her bedroom?’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s not so extraordinary, really. One of the children gave it to her as a goodbye present—one of the miracle cures. She keeps it for sentiment.’

  ‘That’s a lovely story, honestly it is. Have you got any more?’

  ‘No, only my big piece of news, and I’m pretty sure you’ll know that already. You’ve heard the radio news, of course?’

  ‘No! No, honestly I haven’t!’

  ‘Well, I expect you know very well why your father has been popping in and out of the hospital all day?’ he persevered, unable to believe she didn’t know.

  A cold hand clutched at Gwenny’s heart. Her father, popping in and out of the hospital all day?

  ‘Tell me, what is it?’ she whispered.

  He was busy packing up his sphyg. in its long black box and not really looking at Gwenny at all, so he didn’t see how white and quiet she had gone.

  ‘Well, it so happens that there’s a person who owns a lot of old property in the district, and it also happens that there are at least two big development companies at each other’s throats for it, and the minute the old boy dies, the fun will start. My father, who is a solicitor, and will be indirectly connected with what happens, is biting his nails to the quick, and they do say people are taking bets on which company will get in, so to speak. Mind you, that’s only hearsay. It’s common knowledge locally, really, that these two lots of people have been trying to buy the land, in the old boy’s lifetime, and I would have said myself that he was good for another ten years, but you never know. He’s over-fond of the bottle and good food, and it doesn’t do, you know. I’m a vegetarian, so I know what I’m talking about.’

  At any other time Gwenny would have laughed at his last remark, and openly disbelieved it. But now all she could say, with dread in her heart, was: ‘Who is the man who is dying?’

  ‘Oh, I say, don’t get worked up about it, or I shall get a rocket for telling you! It doesn’t concern you, really it doesn’t. But it’s one of your father’s patients and ‘

  ‘Is his name Ancaster?’ Gwenny whispered.

  ‘Why, yes! Oh, there you are, you see! You knew it all the time! How you girls get the news beats me! I thought I had something fresh to tell you, really I did! Oh, well, better luck next time,’ he said, over his shoulder, as he went out. ‘Be seeing you!’

  Gwenny lay there, staring at the door. He had no idea what he had done. Well, why should he? It was an important thing to him, because his father was a solicitor, one of those who would likely be concerned. But to Gwenny it was the end of the world. Ancaster was the landlord of her old friend, Mrs. Yeedon, and when he died, she would have no roof over her head, because everyone knew that her cottage was bang in the middle of the land over which everyone was snapping like dogs over a bone. Mrs. Yeedon would have no place to go to, and here was Gwenny, imprisoned in a hospital bed, unable to help her.

  Who could she turn to for help? What could she do? She grew hotter and hotter as she thought round the subject. There was no one, just no one. The only person who would be pleased would be her mother, for now she would have a real live destitute old person, whose home was being snatched away from her, and badly needing to go into the home Mrs. Kinglake was aching to provide. Mrs. Kinglake would move heaven and earth to stir things up now!

  But Ancaster hadn’t died, had he? Gwenny comforted herself. She only had young Peter White’s word for it that rich old Mr. Ancaster ate and drank too much, and she had only Peter White’s word for it that he was in the hospital anyway. She herself had heard nothing of it, though, come to think of it, she had been listening in to her headphones most of the day.

  She struggled to reach them. She must keep them on all the time, in case she heard something that would be of importance to her. But she couldn’t reach them. Her arm seemed to have lost every ounce of strength in it. It flopped back lifeless on to the bed. She tried the other arm, and to her dismay couldn’t even lift it. Then the end of her bed began to twist and writhe in a truly alarming way, and the ceiling seemed to be melting and coming down like a huge opaque raindrop to meet the bedrail. She must ring for someone, the R.M.O.—she wanted him. She wanted him most of all people in the world. The one really big strong man who could put things right in a jiffy!

  She cried his name aloud, but only got half-way: ‘Mark! Ma-ark...’

  Her voice died, and her head slumped to one side, as he arrived at the door, but that thin cry rang in his ears for a long time as he fought to bring her back to consciousness.

  CHAPTER IX

  Gwenny was ill for two days, and Mark Bayfield was furious. He questioned everyone to find out who had upset her, but he couldn’t get any information at all. Peter White had gone off duty, for a few days’ leave, almost at once. He didn’t even know Gwenny had collapsed.

  ‘I think I shall have to put her on the main ward,’ Mark said shortly to the ward sister. ‘I didn’t want to, but at least she’ll be in everyone’s sight.’

  Sister didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He knew perfectly well what she was thinking. Gwenny would certainly be in the open view of everyone, but she would also be prone to the many noises and upsets, the constant restless feeling on an open ward, and the sight—distressing to Gwenny, in all probability—of other very ill patients, and at that time there were quite a few.

  He shrugged irritably, and decided to leave Gwenny where she was, and to have her specialled. But here again he was baulked, because there were so few nurses to spare for such a task. Only Catherine Allen could be spared, and Mark vetoed that idea at once. He wondered sometimes why Matron allowed Catherine to stay on. She would never make a nurse. In his heart he prayed that some unsuspecting male would marry Catherine and remove her from the hospital that way. For all the good she was, they would be, he considered, better without her.

  Even so, it was Catherine, indirectly though it was, who upset Gwenny yet again, although even Catherine had no idea what she was doing.

  She came in with Gwenny’s jug of water and her fruit juice, and she looked at Gwenny with that bright, wide-eyed smile and said, ‘I say! You are a one for hogging the limelight, little one! You had the R.M.O. crawling up the wall! Feeling better now?’

  Gwenny agreed that she was. She felt weak as a kitten, but there were no more pains and for the moment she had forgotten what had happened.

  Beyond Catherine the sun shone harshly into the dressing-table mirror. Catherine glanced that way to see what made Gwenny wince, and obligingly hung a towel over the mirror. ‘That better?’

  Gwenny nodded.

  ‘Pity! Now you won’t get the reflection from your secret beau’s new flowers. Aren’t they lovely? The others went off, but I like these best. Funny he doesn’t enclose a card with
a special message!’

  Gwenny blinked and tried to remember who Catherine could be talking about. She couldn’t think of a single person who would be likely to send her such blooms, unless it was her brother Laurence, unexpectedly grateful for services rendered.

  Services rendered ... what had made her think that? she asked herself. And then she remembered all about Tilda and the arrangement about taking Jock’s bird to the vet. How had that gone off? she wondered.

  ‘What day is it?’ she asked Catherine, who told her.

  ‘You mean to say I’ve been sedated for two days?’ Gwenny gasped, unbelieving.

  ‘Not sedated, little one—just out for the count! Such a time we’ve had with you!’

  ‘Who came to see me? My brother Laurence?’ Gwenny asked carefully. Laurence would surely try to get news to her about what had happened that day he had met Tilda? But of course, if he hadn’t managed to make it up with Tilda, he would probably be too cross to come near Gwenny.

  ‘Not your brother Laurence, honey,’ said Catherine, with a funny look. ‘Everyone else in your family, though—Mamma, Papa, sister Priscilla, but no brother Laurence—only the R.M.O. You really are a one for setting everyone by the ears, aren’t you?’

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ Gwenny said defensively, and suddenly wished Catherine Allen would go away.

  ‘That’s funny, that’s what our new patient keeps saying,’ Catherine said lightly, as she busied herself round the room, with the intention, Gwenny thought sourly, of tidying, but merely moving everything to where Gwenny didn’t want it.