by Betty Neels
‘Ah, yes. It slipped my memory. There is indeed a vacancy; one of the students has left owing to illness. If you can start within a few days and are prepared to work hard in order to catch up with the other students you will be accepted.’
She should have been elated. He had made everything easy for her; she could embark on her plans for a nursing career. And it had been so unimportant to him that he had forgotten to tell her.
‘That is what you wanted?’ He had spoken so sharply that she hurried to say that, yes, there was nothing she wished for more.
‘I’m very grateful,’ she added. ‘Is there anything that I should do about it?’
‘No, no. You will receive a letter within the next day or two. And you have no need to be grateful. You have been of great help while the boys have been with me. They will miss you.’
The doctor spoke with an austere civility which chilled her, but he was aware as he said it that he would miss her too: her small cheerful person around the house, her quiet voice which could on occasion become quite sharp with annoyance. He had a sudden memory of her weeping into his shoulder and found himself thinking of it with tenderness…
He chided himself silently for being a sentimental fool. Miss Pomfrey had fulfilled a much needed want for a few weeks, and he was grateful for that, but once she had gone he would forget her.
Mr and Mrs Ingram duly arrived, late in the afternoon. It was a chilly October day, with a drizzling rain, and Araminta had been hard pushed to keep the boys happy indoors. But at last they shouted to Araminta from their perch by the front windows that their uncle’s car had just arrived with their mother and father.
‘Then off you go downstairs, my dears. Go carefully.’
She went to the window when they had gone, in time to see Mr and Mrs Ingram enter the house, followed at a more leisurely pace by the doctor. They would all have tea, she supposed, and sat down quietly to wait until Briskett brought her own tea tray. She had sought him out that morning and he had agreed with her that it might be a good idea if she were to have her tea in her room.
‘The boys will be so excited, and they will all have so much to talk about that I won’t be needed,’ she had pointed out.
He came presently with the news that there was a fine lot of talk going on downstairs and she hadn’t been missed.
‘They’ll send for you presently, miss, when they’re over the first excitement,’ he assured her. ‘The boss’ll want you there to give a report, as it were.’ He gave her a friendly nod. ‘Sets great store on you, he does.’
She drank her tea and nibbled at a cake, her usually splendid appetite quite gone. She would start packing this evening, once the boys were in bed, so that when she had done all she could do to help Mrs Ingram, she would be able to leave at once.
She was pouring another cup of tea when the door opened and the doctor came in.
‘I didn’t hear you knock,’ said Araminta in her best Miss Pomfrey voice.
‘My apologies. Why did you not come downstairs to tea?’
‘It’s a family occasion.’
He leaned forward and took a cake and ate it—one of Briskett’s light-as-air fairy cakes—and the simple act turned him from a large, self-assured man into a small boy.
Araminta swallowed the surge of love which engulfed her. However would she be able to live without him?
The doctor finished his cake without haste. ‘You have finished your tea? Then shall we go downstairs?’
She shot him a look and encountered a bland stare. There was nothing for it but to do as he asked. How is it possible, she thought, to love someone who is so bent on having his own way? She accompanied him downstairs to the drawing room, to be warmly greeted by the boys’ parents. Presently Mrs Ingram drew her on one side.
‘They were good?’ she wanted to know anxiously. ‘Peter and Paul can be perfect little horrors…’ She said it with love.
‘Well, they weren’t; they have been really splendid—very obedient and helpful and never bored.’
‘Oh, good. I expect you’re longing to go home. Could you stay over tomorrow and help me pack their things?’
‘Yes, of course. You must be glad to be going home again. I know the boys will be, although they enjoyed living in Utrecht. It seemed like a second home to them.’
‘Well, they love Marcus, of course, and since they’ve both spoken Dutch and English ever since they could utter words they don’t feel strange. I’m sure they will have a lot to tell us. You were happy in Holland?’
‘Oh, yes. I enjoyed it very much…’
‘Marcus tells me that you’re to start nursing training very shortly. That’s something you want to do?’ Mrs Ingram smiled. ‘No boyfriend?’
‘No, I expect I’m meant to be a career girl!’
If Mrs Ingram had any opinion about that she remained silent, and presently Araminta took the boys off to bed and supper, before slipping away to her room while their parents came to say goodnight. This was a lengthy business, with a great deal of giggling and talk until they consented to lie down and go to sleep. Excitement had tired them out; they slept in the instant manner of children and she was free to go to her room and change her dress.
She excused herself as soon as she decently could after dinner; it had been a pleasant meal, and she had borne her part in the conversation when called upon to do so, but although the talk had been general, she had no doubt that her company hindered the other three from any intimate talk.
She was bidden a friendly goodnight and the doctor got up to open the door for her. She went past him without a look and went off to her room and started to pack her things. Tomorrow she knew that she would be kept busy getting the boys’ clothes packed. She felt lonely; Humphrey’s company would have been welcome, but of course he was miles away in Utrecht. So she was forced to talk to herself.
‘I’m perfectly happy,’ she assured herself. ‘My future is settled, I have money, I shall make friends with the other nurses, and in a year or two I shall be able to pick and choose where I mean to work.’ Not London. The chance of meeting the doctor was remote but, all the same, not to be risked.
There was no one at breakfast when she went down with the boys: the doctor had already left and Mr and Mrs Ingram weren’t yet down. They had almost finished when they joined them. Araminta left the boys with them and at Mrs Ingram’s suggestion began the task of packing up for the boys. They were to leave that evening but first they were to go shopping with their father and mother. So Araminta had a solitary lunch and spent the afternoon collecting up the boys’ toys and tidying them away into various boxes. They were to be driven home by the doctor directly after tea, and she had been asked to have everything ready by then.
Briskett, going round the house retrieving odds and ends for her to pack, was of the opinion that the house would be very dull once they had gone. ‘And you’ll be leaving, miss—we shall miss you, too. Very quiet, it’ll be.’
‘I expect the doctor will be quite glad to have the house to himself,’ said Araminta.
‘Well, now, as to that, I’d venture to disagree, miss. The boss is fond of children and you’ve fitted in like a glove on a hand.’
She thanked him gravely. He was a kind little man, despite his ratty looks, and he was devoted to the doctor. ‘Maybe you’ll be back, miss,’ said Briskett, to her surprise.
‘Me? Oh, I don’t think so, Briskett. You mean as a governess when the doctor marries and has children? By then I’ll be a trained nurse and probably miles away.’
It took some time for the doctor to get his party settled with their possessions in the car and still longer for them to make their goodbyes. The boys hugged and kissed Araminta and rather silently handed her a parcel, painstakingly wrapped in fancy paper. Seeing the look on their small faces, she begged to be allowed to open it there and then.
‘They chose it themselves,’ said their mother rather apologetically.
It was a coffret of face cream, powder and lipstick, and a l
ittle bottle of scent. When Araminta exclaimed over it, Peter said, ‘We know you’re not pretty, but these things will make you beautiful. The lady behind the counter said so.’
‘It’s just exactly what I’ve always wanted,’ declared Araminta, ‘and thank you both very much for thinking of such a lovely present. I’ll use it every day and I’m sure I’ll be beautiful in no time at all.’
She hugged them both, told them to be good boys and then watched with Briskett as they all got into the car, parcels and packages squashed into the back seat with the boys and their mother. They all waved and smiled, but not the doctor, of course; he raised a casual hand as he drove away but he didn’t turn his head.
Araminta finished her packing, ate a solitary dinner and decided to go to bed. There was no sign of the doctor; probably he would stay the night at his sister’s house. She was halfway up the stairs when he came in and Briskett appeared in the hall to offer supper.
‘No, no, I’ve had a meal, thanks, Briskett, but will you see to the car? I’ll be in my study.’
He glanced at Araminta, poised on the stairs. ‘Miss Pomfrey, if you would spare me a few minutes…?’
She went with him to his study and sat down in the chair he offered her.
‘You’ve had the letter from the hospital?’ And when she said yes, he went on, ‘Briskett will drive you to your home in the morning. I expect you are anxious to get back. Is there anything you want to know about your appointment as a student nurse? I presume you have been given instructions?’
‘Yes, thank you. There is no need for Briskett to drive me…’
He said in a level voice, ‘If you will just tell him when you are ready to leave, Miss Pomfrey. I shall see you in the morning before you go. I won’t keep you now; you must be tired.’
She got up quickly. ‘Yes, yes, I am. Goodnight, Doctor.’
His goodnight was very quiet.
She went down to breakfast after a wakeful night to find that the doctor had been called away very early in the morning. ‘Not knowing when he’ll be back, he said not to wait for him, miss. I’ll have the car round as soon as you’ve had breakfast.’
Araminta crumbled toast onto her plate and drank several cups of coffee. Now she would never say goodbye to the doctor. Possibly he had left the house early, so that he might avoid a last meeting. She had no idea what she had expected from it, but at least she had hoped that they would part in a friendly fashion. She went suddenly hot and cold at the idea that he might have guessed that she had fallen in love with him. Now her one thought was to leave his house as quickly as possible…her one regret that Hambledon wasn’t thousands of miles away.
It was almost noon when Briskett drew up before her home, took her case from the boot and followed her up the path to the front door.
‘Looks empty,’ he observed. ‘Expecting you, are they?’
‘My mother and father are in Wales on a lecture tour. A cousin is staying here, though—housekeeping now that I’m not at home.’
Briskett took the key from her and opened the door. There were letters on the doormat and an open note on the hall table. His sharp eyes had read it before Araminta had seen it. ‘Gone with Maud—’ Maud was a friend of Millicent, the cousin ‘—for a couple of days. Good luck with your new job.’
He was bending over her case as she saw it and read it.
‘Where will I put this, miss? I’ll take it upstairs for you.’
‘Thank you, Briskett. It’s the room on the left on the landing. Will you stay while I make a cup of tea? I’d offer you lunch, but I’m not quite sure…’
‘A cuppa would be fine, miss.’
Briskett hefted the case and went upstairs. Nice little house, he decided, and some nice furniture—good old-fashioned stuff, no modern rubbish. But the whole place looked unlived-in, as though no one much bothered about it. He didn’t like leaving Miss Pomfrey alone, but she hadn’t said anything about the note so he couldn’t do much about that.
He went down to the kitchen, again old-fashioned but well equipped, and found her making the tea.
‘I’ve found some biscuits,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘Will you get back in time to make lunch for yourself?’
‘Easy, miss, there won’t be all that much traffic.’ He eyed Cherub, who had come in though the kitchen window she had opened and was making much of Araminta.
‘Nice cat. Yours, is he?’
‘Yes, I found him. Have another biscuit. I shall miss Humphrey in Utrecht…’
Briskett’s long thin nose quivered. ‘I’m sure he’ll miss you. Pity the boss wasn’t home. Beats me, it does, him at the top of the tree, so to speak, and still working all the hours God made.’
When he had gone Araminta unpacked. Presently she would sort out her clothes and repack, ready to leave the next day, but for now she went to inspect the fridge. Even those with broken hearts needed to be fed.
As the doctor let himself into his house that evening Briskett came into the hall.
‘A bit on the late side, aren’t you?’ he observed. ‘Had a busy day, I’ll be bound. I’ve a nice little dinner ready for you.’
‘Thanks, Briskett. You took Miss Pomfrey back to her home?’
Briskett nodded. ‘There’s a nice young lady for you. I didn’t fancy leaving her in that empty house.’ He met the doctor’s sudden blue stare and went on, ‘Her ma and pa are in Wales. There’s a cousin or some such looking after the house, but she’d gone off for a few days. Only living thing to greet us was a tatty old cat.’
He watched the doctor’s face; he really looked quite ferocious but he didn’t speak. Briskett reckoned he was pretty angry…
‘Nice house,’ he went on. ‘Small, some nice stuff though, good and solid, a bit old-fashioned. Nice bits of silver and china too.’ He paused to think. ‘But it weren’t a home.’
And, when the doctor still remained silent, ‘We had a cuppa together—very concerned, she was, about me not having my dinner.’
‘Did Miss Pomfrey tell you that this cousin was away?’
‘Not a word. I happened to see the note on the table.’
‘She seemed quite happy?’
‘Now, as to that, Boss, I wouldn’t like to venture an opinion.’
He hesitated, cautious of the doctor’s set face. ‘I’d have brought her back, but that wouldn’t have done, would it?’
‘No, Briskett, it wouldn’t have done at all. You did right. Miss Pomfrey will be going to St Jules’ tomorrow, and I dare say this cousin will have returned by then.’
The doctor went into his study and sat down at his desk, staring at the papers on it, not seeing them. I miss her, he thought. I can’t think why. She has no looks, she wears drab clothes, she has at times a sharp tongue and yet her voice is delightful and she is kind and patient and sensible. And she has beautiful eyes.
He drew the papers towards him and picked up his pen. This feeling of loss is only temporary, he mused. She has been a member of the household for some weeks; one gets used to a person. I shall forget her completely in a few weeks.
He went to his solitary dinner then, agreeing with Briskett that it was pleasant to have a quiet house once more. Now he would be able to prepare the notes on the learned treatise he was writing without the constant interference of small boys’ voices—and Mintie’s voice telling them to hush.
He went to his desk after dinner but he didn’t write a word, his mind occupied with thoughts of Araminta, alone at her home with only a cat for company. There was no use trying to work, so he took himself for a brisk walk and went to bed—but he didn’t sleep.
Araminta had had a boiled egg and some rather stale bread for a late lunch, fed Cherub, put on the washing machine and started packing again. She was to report to the hospital at two o’clock the next day and, since there was no indication as to when her cousin would return, she went down the lane to Mrs Thomas’s little cottage and asked her to feed Cherub.
‘I’ll leave the food out for you in the shed.
If you wouldn’t mind feeding him twice a day? I’ve no idea when my cousin will be back…’
Mrs Thomas listened sympathetically. ‘Don’t you worry, dear, I’ll look after him. He’s got the cat flap so’s he can get into the house, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes. I hate leaving him, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Well, she only went yesterday morning, I saw the car…and your mother and father will be back soon, I dare say?’
‘I’m not sure when.’
It wasn’t very satisfactory, as she explained to Cherub later, but surely someone would come home soon. Besides, she would have days off. She cheered up at the thought.
Her mother phoned in the evening. ‘I thought you might be home,’ she said vaguely. ‘I expect you’re happy to be starting at St Jules’. You see that we were right, my dear. This little job you have had hasn’t made any difference at all, just a few weeks’ delay. I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty in catching up with the other students. Your father and I will be coming home very shortly. I can’t say exactly when. The tour is such a success we may extend it. Is your cousin there?’
Araminta started to say that she wasn’t, but her mother had already begun to tell her about some remarkable Celtic documents they had been examining. It took a long time to explain them and when she had finished Mrs Pomfrey said a hurried goodbye. ‘I have so much to think of,’ she explained. ‘I’ll send a card when we are coming home.’
St Jules’ Hospital was old, although it had been added to, patched up and refurbished from time to time. It was a gloomy place, looming over the narrow streets surrounding it, but the entrance hall was handsome enough, with portraits of dead and gone medical men on its panelled walls and the handsome staircase sweeping up one side of it. A staircase which no one except the most senior staff were allowed to tread.
Araminta was bidden to take herself and her case to the nurses’ home, reached by a rather dark tunnel at the back of the hall. There was a door at the other end and when she opened it cautiously she found herself in a small hallway with stairs ahead of her and a door marked ‘Office’ at one side.