by Betty Neels
He was, in fact, delivering premature twins in an isolated cottage and then driving to Taunton behind the ambulance he had called. He stayed to make sure that the mother and babies were in good shape and then took the father back home before going to his own bed in the small hours.
Matilda heard of this when she arrived at the surgery in the morning—not that the doctor had mentioned it to anyone, but a neighbour had told another neighbour and they had told the boy who brought the milk down to the village. The surgery finished, Matilda wondered if she should mention the news to the doctor and decided against it; he looked as well turned out as usual, his manner as calm as always, but she could see that he was tired.
Only after the evening surgery—a particularly heavy one—as she bade him goodnight, did she say in her sensible way, ‘I hope you will be able to get a good night’s sleep, Doctor. You must be tired.’
He gave her a look from cold eyes. ‘Thank you, Miss Paige, but you have no need to concern yourself about me.’
‘Oh, I’m not concerned about you; I’m sure you’re well able to look after yourself,’ said Matilda kindly. She went on chattily, ‘Of course, being a clergyman’s daughter, I’m in the habit of concerning myself about people. Some people call it being a Nosy Parker.’
She made for the door. ‘Goodnight, Doctor. You’ll feel more yourself after a good night’s sleep.’
The doctor stared at the closed door for a few moments. Then he laughed. There had been something different about Matilda although he had no idea what it might be.
Matilda, hanging the grey dress in the wardrobe ready for the morning, would have been pleased to know that; he might not have noticed the new dress but at least he had been aware that there was something unusual…
Her mother hadn’t thought much of it. ‘Though I suppose it’s suitable for your work. I mean, no one would notice it, would they?’ She had added crossly, ‘I hope you don’t intend to spend all your money on clothes for yourself, Matilda?’
Which was such an unfair remark that Matilda hadn’t answered it.
It was fortunate that Mrs Paige was beginning to be invited out to coffee or tea by the various ladies of Mrs Milton’s acquaintance, so beyond complaining that she had nothing fit to wear she began to find that life in a small village wasn’t so bad after all. She left the shopping to Matilda, of course, and a good deal of the housework. As she pointed out, Mr Paige was now so much better, he could be left for a few hours. After all, he spent so much time in his study, he was seldom aware of anyone else being in the house.
Matilda was uneasy about this, for frequently she left home to go to the surgery in the late afternoon and her mother had not returned. But her father was happy, working away at his book, taking the short walks Dr Lovell had suggested, and glad to see that his wife was becoming content with their new way of life. He was happily oblivious of the mundane problems which Matilda dealt with.
She had no reason to be dissatisfied with life, reflected Matilda. They were managing nicely now; there was even enough money over for her mother to have her trips to Taunton, although Matilda could see that they might have to be curtailed once the winter set in properly and the gas and coal bills mounted…
She enjoyed her job; by now she knew everyone in the village, and although she doubted if the doctor had anything other than a detached acceptance of her presence at least they were on speaking terms.
And that was all she could ever expect of him, she supposed.
She was wrong.
It was a casual traveller, having lost his way and stopping to enquire at Mrs Simpkins’ shop, who brought the flu to Much Winterlow. The shop was full at the time, since it was Friday afternoon and housewives, armed with a weekly pay packet, were intent on stocking up for the weekend. The man lingered while several voices told him which road to take, and since he was coughing a good deal Mrs Simpkins sold him some lozenges and several ladies offered advice as to the best way to treat a bad cold such as he had…
It was the following week when the first victims came to the surgery. Matilda, viewing the steadily increasing ranks of miserable, coughing patients, decided to keep the surgery doors open for a little longer each day. She didn’t think the doctor would notice; in any case he would never go away before he had seen the last patient.
But he did notice, of course. After a morning surgery which had overshot its length by half an hour he observed that since the surgery seemed to have lengthened its hours it might be as well if the morning surgery was kept open for half an hour longer. ‘And an hour longer in the evening. If this flu gets worse, we shall have to tackle it as best we can. We can’t expect much outside help; the hospitals in Taunton and Yeovil are already full. Ideally patients should stay at home and be nursed there. I’ve asked for nursing help but there is a shortage there too.’
‘I’ve got my first aid certificate,’ said Matilda. ‘I’ll help.’
He looked up from his desk. ‘An offer which I accept but which I hope you won’t come to regret, Miss Paige.’
Towards the end of the week it became obvious that the flu was getting a firm grip on the village. It was difficult to keep it in check, for people still had to go about their business, shopping had to be done, and workers taking the bus to the small furniture factory some miles away coughed and sneezed and spread their germs. That they would have preferred to stay at home in bed was a foregone conclusion, but most of them were on piece work and needed the money.
Matilda, explaining to her mother and father, met with instant opposition from Mrs Paige.
‘You mean to say you offered to work longer hours? You’re bound to catch this flu, and what if you give it to us? How very selfish of you, Matilda.’
Her father said, ‘You do what you think is right, my dear. Your mother and I will be perfectly all right…’
Matilda gave him a grateful smile. ‘Well, I thought it might be a good idea if I got a room in the village, just while this epidemic lasts. I’ll be working longer hours and going to and fro might get difficult. I’ll come home whenever I can and bring whatever you need, but I won’t see you. Luckily you’re on the outskirts of the village.’
‘Where will you get a room? And who is to pay for it?’ asked her mother.
‘Mrs Simpkins knows several people who let rooms in the summer. And I’m to be paid for the extra hours.’
‘I should hope so. When will you go?’
‘I’ll see Mrs Simpkins in the morning and ask her to help.’
The morning surgery was packed and afterwards Dr Lovell went away at once to visit his more seriously ill patients in their homes. Matilda tidied up, drank the coffee Mrs Inch brought her, locked up and went across the street to the shop.
There were several customers, buying what they needed briskly, not stopping for the comfortable gossip which was their habit, and when the shop was empty Matilda asked, ‘I wonder if you would help me, Mrs Simpkins?’
Mrs Simpkins, deprived of her cosy chats, was all eagerness.
‘’Course I will, love. What d’yer want?’
‘A room,’ said Matilda, ‘and meals, just till this flu is over. I’m working longer hours and I need to be near the surgery and I don’t want to give the flu to my mother and father.’
‘Quite right, my dear. And I know just the person—Mrs Trickett, three doors down. She’s ’ad it, so she won’t be afraid of you giving it to her. She’ll be glad of the money. You go along and see her; say I sent you.’ She eyed Matilda. ‘’Aving to work ’ard, I’ll be bound. And the doctor out all hours. Can’t get ’elp, I’m told. ’Ospitals all full to bursting. ’E ’ad to drive old Mrs Crouch to Bridgewater to get ’er into a bed. Pneumonia and very poorly. You’re not scared at getting it?’
Matilda said that, no, she wasn’t. Indeed she hadn’t thought much about it; all she could really think about was seeing more of Dr Lovell and being able to help him.
Mrs Trickett lived in a very small thatched cottage. Its front door opened
onto the street and inside it was crammed with furniture and an enormous number of china ornaments and knick-knacks. But the little bedroom she was shown was spotlessly clean. There was no bathroom. She could go across to the Lovell Arms, said Mrs Trickett, and have a bath there.
‘There’s a lovely bathroom. There’s a jug and basin in the room for a wash and I’ll give you your meals.’ She looked uncertain. ‘It’s not much…’
‘It’s fine,’ said Matilda. ‘Just what I want. I can nip to and from the surgery. I have to be there well before eight o’clock in the morning and perhaps I may get held up and not get back on time. Would you mind?’
‘Lor’ bess you, miss, no. You’ll come?’
‘Please. Shall I pay you each week? I don’t suppose it will be for long, and I’ll pay in advance. And I’ll go and see the landlord at the pub about a bath.’
He was a large, jolly man, although a little downcast for the time being, since only the foolhardy and those who had had the flu and felt safe spent their evenings in the bar. ‘But things will get better, miss; bound to. You come across whenever you want. I’ll show you where to go. Bring your own towel and soap, will you?’
He named a modest sum and Matilda, pleased with her arrangements, went home to pack a bag and promise to go home whenever she could. ‘But I’ll phone you each evening,’ she assured her parents.
She decided to say nothing to the doctor; he had enough to worry about without bothering about her plans. And indeed she was right; he scarcely gave her a thought; his days were long and his nights short and frequently disturbed. True, he showed no signs of tiredness, he ate the meals put before him and his manner never varied from his usual calm. When he had occasion to speak to her it was in his usual polite, detached manner.
Matilda, aware that she was, as it were, invisible to him, didn’t mind; just going there, helping him, was enough to go on with…
Mrs Trickett’s cottage was lacking in mod cons but it was warm and Mrs Trickett herself was just as warm in her manner. Matilda, installed there by lunchtime, took stock of her small bedroom and decided that she had been lucky. True, the room was very small but there was a thick old-fashioned quilt on the bed and, after all, she was only going to sleep there. She ate her midday dinner with Mrs Trickett in the kitchen, a nice piping hot stew and a pot of strong tea, and then went to the shop to buy groceries to take home with her on the following day. While Mrs Simpkins sliced bacon and weighed out the cheese, Matilda impressed upon her the need not to tell anyone that she was lodging with Mrs Trickett.
‘You see, the doctor has so much to worry about at the moment, it would only bother him that I wasn’t going home each day, but it’s much easier for me to be close to the surgery now that it’s so busy.’
Mrs Simpkins agreed. ‘I’ll not tell, miss. Reckon you’re right not to bother the doctor more than he’s bothered now.’
The flu was at its height; the very ill and elderly were taken to hospital whenever there was a bed but everyone else depended on Dr Lovell for antibiotics as well as resorting to old-fashioned remedies their grannies had used—the syrup from a Swede turnip sprinkled with sugar, camphorated oil, an old sock wrapped round the throat…!
It hadn’t entered Matilda’s head that she might get the flu too. In any case she was far too busy to think about it. A week went by and she went home twice with groceries, but not to stop. Her father she didn’t see, judging it prudent in case she harboured germs, merely handing over what she had brought to her mother and going back to the village again. It was a blessing that they were on the phone and could keep in touch.
It was on Friday evening, after surgery, that Dr Lovell asked her if she would open the surgery on Saturday evening. It would give those who worked on the more distant farms a chance to come to the surgery, he explained, and he scarcely waited for her to agree. And really, she reflected, she might just as well be there as sitting in Mrs Trickett’s kitchen.
Saturday morning was as busy as usual for there were still the cut fingers, sprained ankles and aches and pains as well as the flu patients. Matilda closed the waiting-room door thankfully and, told to go into the surgery and have her coffee, went and sat down on the opposite side of the desk and lifted her mug of the fragrant brew. She put it down again as the door to the house was flung open.
Lucilla Armstrong stood there for a moment to allow any onlookers the chance to admire her. And indeed she was worth admiration; she was wearing a leather jacket, a very short skirt, suede boots to die for, and her fair hair was hanging in fashionable untidiness around her subtly made up face…
She said in a thrilling voice, ‘Henry, darling, I knew you would be longing to see me so I drove straight from Heathrow.’
The doctor had got to his feet, and if he was surprised he didn’t show it.
‘Lucilla, this is unexpected…’
She came into the room, ignoring Matilda. ‘I meant it to be. I didn’t stop for anything, just got into the car and came here. I’ve had such a wonderful time.’
The doctor said quietly, ‘Did you know that there’s a flu epidemic in most of the country?’
‘Flu? I haven’t bothered with newspapers or the radio. Oh, Henry, it was delightful lying around in the sun all day…’ She frowned. ‘But there’s no flu here?’
‘Half the village is down with it. You should go home, Lucilla, and stay there until the epidemic is over.’
She was suddenly furious. ‘Why didn’t someone tell me? I suppose this place is full of germs; I might even catch it just talking to you.’
‘Possibly,’ said Dr Lovell.
‘And what is she doing here?’ Lucilla nodded at Matilda.
Matilda answered before the doctor had a chance. ‘She works here.’
She picked up her mug, went back into the waiting room and sat down at her desk, finishing her coffee. She took a look at the appointments book; the evening surgery would be full to overflowing. She hoped that the doctor would be back from his visits in time to open it promptly. It was likely to be a busy evening. She would go across to the pub and have a bath after her dinner and have tea with Mrs Trickett before coming back to work.
It was quiet and cold in the waiting room and although she couldn’t hear voices she didn’t like to go back into the surgery. When the doctor opened the door she looked up enquiringly.
‘I’m off on my rounds. Mrs Inch doesn’t feel well, so I’ve sent her to bed. Will you stay and take any messages? I’ve left my mobile phone number on my desk and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
He had gone before she could reply.
How like a man, thought Matilda, to walk out of his house and presently return to expect a cooked meal on the table, his slippers warmed by the fire, Sam taken for a walk and fed. She had to admit that wasn’t quite fair; of course, he couldn’t be expected to do otherwise and he had never spared himself. He must be tired, she thought lovingly, and went in search of Mrs Inch, who was lying on her bed and feeling very under the weather. She was fretting about who would get the doctor’s meals and what about Sam and who was to answer the phone.
‘Well, I will,’ Matilda said cheerfully. ‘You get into bed and I’ll bring you a hot drink and you can tell me what must be done. Dr Lovell has asked me to stay until he gets back.’
‘There’s soup on the Aga,’ said Mrs Inch as Matilda popped her nightgown over her head, ‘and a chicken ready to go into the oven and an apple pie. Sam’s food is in the cupboard by the door leading to the larder.’
She got gratefully into her bed. ‘Doctor gave me some pills; I’ll be on my feet in no time.’
‘I’ll bring you a drink and perhaps you’ll be able to sleep. I won’t bother you unless I must.’
Matilda sped downstairs and found the kitchen where Sam snoozed in his basket and a tabby cat was curled up on a chair by the Aga. Presently, when she had time, she would take a look round but now she was intent on finding milk and lemons and a small tray and glasses. That wasn’t too difficul
t; it was the kind of kitchen where everything had a place and was in it.
Mrs Inch drank the hot milk, watched Matilda put the jug of lemonade within reach and closed her eyes thankfully, declaring again that she would be up and about in no time.
Matilda went back downstairs, let Sam into the garden, lunched hurriedly on soup and bread and butter and phoned Mrs Simpkins to ask her if she could let Mrs Trickett know that she wouldn’t be back until the evening and then possibly late. ‘Mrs Inch isn’t well and I’m staying here to answer the phone until Dr Lovell gets back for evening surgery,’ she explained.
There were several calls from those too ill to come to the surgery; she took names and addresses and hoped that the doctor wouldn’t be too long away. Mrs Inch was asleep but she didn’t look well, so Matilda went back downstairs and made a pot of tea and sat at the table drinking it. It was too early to put the chicken in the oven but she laid a tray with tea things, buttered some scones she found in the fridge, found bread and butter and a pot of Marmite and put them out ready to make sandwiches.
Both Sam and the cat were looking at her expectantly so she fed them. If they were going to be busy later they might be forgotten…
She glanced at the clock; there was still half an hour or so before evening surgery. She left the kitchen and went to explore the drawing room; she hadn’t liked to stare too much when she had had her tea there, but now she could look her fill. She sat for a moment in a chair by the dying fire, allowing her thoughts to dissolve into daydreams. But not for long. She saw to the fire, put the fire guard back and went to the kitchen where she made the sandwiches, warmed the teapot and made sure that the kettle would boil in a moment. And by then it was time to open the surgery doors…
They were going to have a specially busy evening, she realised, explaining to the patients who came hurrying in that the doctor wasn’t back. She got out their cards, wrote up her book and begged them to have patience before going back to the house to take a quick peep at Mrs Inch.