by Anne Durham
For a moment her face lit up and her lips trembled eagerly. Then the light died. ‘Mummy wouldn’t like it,’ she said flatly. And added, ‘Anyway, what am I thinking of? I can’t go visiting and having fun, when poor old Mrs. Yeedon is ill in here and not knowing where she’s to go or what’s going to happen. Oh, I wish, I wish—’
‘Gwenny!’ he said sharply, so sharply that she was shocked into being silent and still. ‘Gwenny, shall I see if I can do anything to straighten that out? We don’t know yet just what’s in the balance. Well, would you like me to see what I can do? Will you promise to be calm and quiet until you hear what I’ve been able to do?’
She nodded to all that. ‘But why should you do anything for her or for the Kinglake family?’
‘Who said I am doing anything for them?’ he retorted softly, and put his hand on her head again.
She savoured all those sensations, just as when he had touched her head before, and she almost missed what he was saying. ‘Perhaps I’m just doing what I can for a very interesting patient, no more, no less,’ and he went quietly out.
She didn’t see him any more that day. Cosgrove said he’d gone off duty. Cosgrove had a lot to say about everyone.
‘Old Mrs. Yeedon isn’t doing so well,’ she remarked. ‘Is it true that that old party knows you? She keeps talking about you.’
‘What does she say about me?’ Gwenny asked her.
‘Things like “remember what I said that last day at my little house”, and “that one’s worth all the rest of them, mark my words”, only I don’t think the poor old thing knows what she’s talking about.’
‘Oh, yes, she does,’ said Gwenny, with a catch in her voice. ‘It just so happens that she’s wrong. It’s only her opinion, not mine.’
‘Oh! Well, is it a secret?’ asked Cosgrove, twitching Gwenny’s sheets in tightly, though she was well aware that Gwenny would wriggle and wriggle until they were loose again the minute she had gone.
‘Yes, it is rather,’ Gwenny said gently. ‘She’s a very old friend of mine, and we used to have little secret natters—nothing very important, but just between the two of us. Would you do something for me?’
‘Anything, provided it isn’t something that will get me a rocket from Sister,’ Cosgrove said.
‘Well, I thought it might be nice if I made a little nosegay from that lot of flowers,’ said Gwenny, nodding to the daily offering from someone—who, she hadn’t yet discovered.
‘What, from the flowers the secret beau sent you?’ Cosgrove was shocked. ‘That’s not right, is it?’
‘Don’t be silly, and it’s not a secret beau,’ Gwenny said impatiently. ‘That rose on top and the bud under it, and that rather luscious quite beastly flower underneath. What is it?’
‘I don’t know, but I bet it cost the earth,’ Cosgrove said feelingly. ‘What are you hiding from me? I thought we were pals. Well, everyone’s talking about your rich man who is years older than you are! Why don’t you have him visit you?’
Gwenny couldn’t be bothered to explain that it was just a story to stop Catherine Allen from asking impertinent questions. She was busy winding a bit of string round the blooms Cosgrove had pulled off. ‘Here’s a bit of silver paper from my chocolate. I’ll put it round the stems like so, which is how I used to when I took a little nosegay to her from the hedges. She’s funny that way—she likes a tiny spray, and the thought that goes with it. Tell her—oh, let me see. Tell her Gwenny sent them and to get well quickly.’
Cosgrove nodded and took the little knot of buds, and came back to report that the old woman had had tears in her eyes and couldn’t speak, but did manage to gasp out something like ‘Tell her not to let him go.’
‘I suppose she’s one of the favoured ones who knows about the bloke who sends these?’ asked Cosgrove.
‘I don’t know who sends them,’ Gwenny said, and didn’t care, either, but of course, Cosgrove wouldn’t believe that.
Later that day there was a flap on. Gwenny, now accustomed to the various sounds, knew that a very sick patient was being brought in. She was put in the side ward facing Gwenny, and once when someone came in Gwenny’s room and her door was open at the same time as the other private room’s door, Gwenny got a glimpse of the paraphernalia of barrier nursing: the cap, the gown, the mask, and the special nurse by the patient’s side.
‘Fever?’ Gwenny murmured.
Cosgrove averted her eyes.
‘I thought you said Dr. Bayfield was off duty?’ Gwenny asked suddenly. ‘I just heard his voice! I know I did!’
‘He was fetched back,’ Cosgrove said shortly, and went out.
Gwenny felt shaken. Without quite knowing how or why, she was convinced that that new patient concerned herself. She lay with her eyes closed and thought about her own family, but it wouldn’t be one of them. It couldn’t be Mrs. Yeedon because she was in here already. It couldn’t be Clem or Jock or any of her friends except Mrs. Taylor, because this was the female section of the medical wing. Could it be Mrs. Taylor?
She was determined to ask the very next person who came in. They couldn’t refuse to say either yes or no, could they?
But the next person was the R.M.O., divested of his protective clothing and looking about as put out as she had ever seen him.
And yet he was quite gentle with her when he spoke.
‘Gwenny, do you know someone called Miss Sansom. Miss Tilda Sansom?’
Tilda. That was it! Gwenny told herself she knew it was someone connected with her. Tilda, who might one day be her own sister-in-law!
‘Is she the one who has just been brought in?’ Gwenny whispered.
He hesitated, then nodded. ‘My dear, I hate to say this, but I believe she came and visited you recently.’
Gwenny nodded, and then the awful truth flashed home to her. ‘You mean you think I’m contagious? Is that it?’ she whispered, horrified.
‘I don’t know, but it does look rather like it,’ he said worriedly. ‘She’s been in this hospital for surgical treatment, and she came in here and sat with you, and now I’m very much afraid she has the same bug that you have.’
CHAPTER X
Cosgrove was full of the story. ‘There’s going to be an awful flap on now,’ she said, with gusto, from behind her mask. ‘It isn’t like this hospital to slip over a little matter of contagion. Still, who was to know?’
From Cosgrove, Gwenny learned that everyone who had been near Gwenny herself had had to have tests taken, but not one of them had any sign of Gwenny’s mysterious ‘bug ‘, and it was learned, too, that Sir Giles was blue with rage and still insisting that it was nothing but hysteria.
Mark did his share of questioning Gwenny, too. ‘Think, Gwenny, where you’ve been, to have picked up the bug in the first place! I’m sure, in my heart, that your friend caught it from you, and I shall never forgive myself for discontinuing your isolation, but it seems to have petered out. There ought to be some sign of at least one other person catching it, because she was one of the most recent visitors!’
Gwenny couldn’t think, and she wasn’t going to try. In her heart she felt he was ‘gunning ‘for those old cottages in Church Terrace to be condemned, because they were dirty and old and the elderly folk in them couldn’t keep them very clean. Since he had last spoken about them, Gwenny had heard that the people who were interested in the late Mr. Ancaster’s holdings were also interested in Church Terrace, acquiring it in fact to put a supermarket up.
Cosgrove never stayed on one subject for long, however. ‘That girl—Miss Sansom—she’s in a rare tizz,’ she offered. ‘She keeps on about going to a vet for someone. Oh, I’ve just thought. She’s also in a dickens of a state about your brother—that’s if it is your brother: the handsome young brute who looks as if he hasn’t a clue! Would that be the “Laurence” she keeps on about?’
That just about described Laurence, Gwenny thought sourly. ‘You seem to think so! What did she say about him? Can she talk much?’
‘Well, it upsets her to, just like you when you first came in. Funny, having two of you like it. It seems she was going against the wishes of her family, to secretly meet him, though I got the impression that she didn’t know about meeting him at first. Someone fixed it up for her. Anyway, they had a scene—a dickens of a row, I think—because of this visit to the vet first. I can’t quite see where that fits in, actually!’
Gwenny didn’t see, either, and she couldn’t be bothered to put Cosgrove in the picture. But she did want to know badly herself what had happened.
‘I say, would you be nice and try to get a message to her for me?’ Gwenny coaxed.
‘If I can,’ Cosgrove said unwillingly.
‘Ask her if it’s all right between her and my brother. And ask her if the visit to the vet was all right. Just those two questions. Either it’s yes or no.’
‘Brilliant!’ Cosgrove mocked. ‘I couldn’t have thought that one out myself. Either yes or no, eh? Or does that mean it isn’t my business anyway?’
‘Don’t be horrid,’ Gwenny begged. ‘All I meant was that I didn’t want her to talk too much. I know how awful I felt at first when people kept asking me questions.’ Cosgrove said she’d go in the next half-hour, so Gwenny waited impatiently to hear the outcome.
Her father was allowed to visit her for a while. He looked rather tired about the eyes, she thought, and wondered whether that was entirely the effect of them peering above that awful little mask.
‘Hello, Daddy, I’m contagious again. What about that?’ she grinned.
‘Is it a fact that that Sansom girl came in to see you?’ her father asked her.
‘Don’t you really like Tilda, Daddy? She only came for a little while, two or three afternoons, and I think she only wanted to talk about Laurence. She really cares for him, you know!’
‘I hope you haven’t been encouraging that, Gwenny,’ said Dr. Kinglake. ‘In all my years as a doctor I’ve found that the very worst service I can give my patients is to try and fix their lives for them. Sansom himself doesn’t want an alliance with us, so why push things?’
‘I don’t understand, Daddy,’ Gwenny murmured. She was getting hot again, and her pains were coming back. It was so imperative that her father should see things as they really were, and not as black marks to be chalked up against Mark Bayfield. She told herself fretfully that she didn’t care who blamed Mark Bayfield for anything, but she did care very much that her family shouldn’t be unreasonably prejudiced against one man.
She tried again. ‘Daddy, you’re just going to say it’s indirectly Mark Bayfield’s fault, aren’t you, and I really don’t see why you should all be so against him. He tries to help, really he does!’
‘I wasn’t going to say he had anything to do with this latest business—this plot to bring Tilda Sansom and your brother together—but since you mention it, it might well be. It seems the fellow can’t resist implanting his personality where it will hurt the Kinglakes most.’
‘Oh, Daddy, really!’
‘Well, don’t tell me you’re going to approve of my income being cut in half by the appearance of a new young G.P. in Queen’s Heath, young lady? My patients are flocking to him because he’s young and full of new ideas, but is it really coincidence that he’s a friend of Mark Bayfield?’
Gwenny shifted her head from side to side. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said over and over again.
‘And another thing—your mother is very put out indeed because someone has bought Ancaster’s cottage so that Mrs. Yeedon can stay there for ever. Now who would do that, I should like to know—’
‘Now, Daddy, you’re not saying our R.M.O. would do that, now surely?’
‘Well, who else would do it? The Bayfields are in one of those two property companies after the land, and I have no doubt that when Mrs. Yeedon no longer wants the cottage, it will be sucked into the main estate. Meantime, by her remaining there, it weakens your mother’s arguments in favour of a private home for old people, a thing very dear to her heart.’
‘But you never liked her trying to buy Fairmead in the first place,’ Gwenny protested.
‘No, but I’ve come round to the idea that her way is best. I certainly got nowhere by applying through the usual channels. And there’s Willow House—I suppose you didn’t know about that? Your mother found that was being put on the market, and before she could even get anyone else interested, the Bayfields snapped it up. They don’t need it at the moment: it’s being bought, if you please, in case that sister of your R.M.O. wants it when she gets married.’
‘No!’ Gwenny whispered. ‘No, Mark Bayfield can’t be at the bottom of all this!’
‘Who else do we know with the money and the means to just quietly buy things up or remove jobs that we want?’ her father asked wearily. The opening of a rival practice—it amounted to that, since the new young man had stepped into the shoes of the retiring Dr. Eving, who had been losing patients to Dr. Kinglake for years—had seriously rattled him.
‘It must be the rich man who sends me those flowers,’ Gwenny said on inspiration. ‘I don’t know who it is, but someone sends me a gorgeous floral offering every day, and if he can afford to fling his money around like that, then it follows he could be a nuisance with his money in other ways. Well, it does! It sounds more reasonable to me than that it’s our R.M.O. bothering to be a nuisance to you all with his purse-strings!’
He gave her a very queer look and got up. ‘I mustn’t bother you any more, child, but do keep out of Laurence’s hair, will you? It’s a great pity that that girl ever came in here and picked up your bug. A great pity.’
Only after he had gone did Gwenny realize the full import of what he had said. Someone—some kind, kind person!—had bought Mrs. Yeedon’s cottage for her! Dear old Mrs. Yeedon need not worry any more! She was safe from being turned out, for ever! Gwenny’s face flamed with pleasure and she turned over on her hot pillow to think more about it. Who could have done it? Who could send those flowers to her? Who, who!
She began to go through all the local people she knew who had a lot of money, but she couldn’t remember a single one of them who hadn’t got a wife already. She tackled Cosgrove about it when she came back.
Cosgrove was plainly astonished. ‘Phew, someone’s got more money than sense! Well, I’d better pass the word on to the old dear! She’ll probably take a turn for the better when she hears about it. It’s nothing but that cottage of hers, and the herb garden, when she isn’t talking about you!’
‘I suppose you wouldn’t know,’ Gwenny said delicately, ‘who the R.M.O.’s sister is going to marry, to cause them to buy Willow House for her to settle down in?’
Cosgrove’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s Catherine Allen!’ she stormed. ‘She’s been passing that story around until we’re sick of it!’ she said. ‘She fancies herself as its mistress!’
Gwenny lay very still. So it wasn’t for the R.M.O.’s sister but the R.M.O. himself. Catherine had called the R.M.O. ‘darling’, hadn’t she? He had brought her home from the dance via the fire stairs, hadn’t he? They looked pretty well on the way to intimacy, she thought, with a queer little thrill. What sort of ass was she, Gwenny Kinglake, to let herself get all excited and worked up over a man who was alleged to have loads of girl-friends, and who had let her own sister down, and now was flirting with one of the nurses here under Gwenny’s own nose, and everyone knew about it? She hated the thought of Catherine Allen married to Mark Bayfield. Hated it with every ounce of strength in her. Yet it seemed it might be so.
Yet why should he buy another house when he had Fairmead? Or didn’t Catherine fancy that one?
Catherine Allen came in later with Gwenny’s tray, when Cosgrove went off duty. Gwenny drove herself to ask about Willow House.
‘What’s it like?’
Catherine dimpled and flushed. ‘Oh, it was meant to be a secret. Has it got around already? Mark won’t be pleased—er, I mean the R.M.O., of course!’
‘Don’t you think F
airmead is a nice house?’ Gwenny asked fiercely.
‘What do you know about Fairmead?’ Catherine asked blankly.
‘I know it like the back of my hand,’ Gwenny told her bitterly. ‘I knew it when the Walkers lived there. I used to sit in the long gallery and in the mauve drawing room—’ She broke off and bit her lip. ‘Well, he seemed pretty keen on it at first, but I suppose you don’t like it!’
‘If you want to know,’ Catherine said spiritedly, ‘I think one might as well live in a museum and have done with it, but that’s only my opinion! Don’t quote me!’
So there it was. But Gwenny couldn’t leave it alone.
‘Is he going to sell Fairmead, then?’ she asked tautly.
‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so,’ Catherine said. ‘A man can have more than one house, I suppose, can’t he?’
Gwenny watched her flounce out, and joined the ranks of her family in hating the Bayfields, whose money seemed to be like the contents of the bottomless well in the story. She had no fear of Catherine putting around that conversation of theirs. To Gwenny it was just asking for a bit of information about a house that her own mother wanted to buy.
But to Catherine, it was a personal affront. Willow House was small and easy to renovate, when compared with Fairmead, but it had none of the decayed grandeur of Fairmead. It had smarted, to be told by Mark that Willow House was being bought for her, regardless of whether she had wanted it or not. She would have liked Mark to make her a present of Fairmead, the more important house, in spite of the fact that she didn’t personally like it.
Really, that Kinglake brat ought to be taught a lesson, she told herself. And Mark ought to be put in his place, too. He had been too uppish with her for words, just lately. And no one, no one in the world was going to tell her that Mark was merely impersonally interested in that Kinglake girl.