by A. J. Cronin
Shocked by this terrible news Finlay was silent. Then he said, ‘Surely your mother got some compensation!’
‘The big London company offered her £500. She would have accepted it but fortunately Charles Dean, a young lawyer my mother knows, stepped in and said “No!” He told mother he would not stand by and see her swindled. He returned the cheque and started a suit against the company for culpable negligence, responsibility for the death of one of their employees and damages thereon. Apparently my father should have been provided with a belted sling support from the overhead crane. The company tried to buy him off, but they didn’t know Charlie Dean. He wouldn’t have it. He fought tooth and nail for my dear mother and, in the very end, when the London newspapers got word of the case and were preparing to make a big story out of it, the company finally gave in. Mr Dean was able to present my dear mother with a cheque for £20,000. And what’s more, he wisely invested it in gilt-edged stocks so that we have a sure and steady tax-free income of over £500 a year.’
For a moment Finlay was silent. Then, in an odd voice, and pointing to a wayside bench, he said. ‘Let’s sit here, Bob.’ Presently, having apparently collected himself, Finlay said:
‘What a blessing for your dear mother that this brave young lawyer was there to help her.’
‘Oh yes, Finlay, he really stood up for her. We had known Mr Dean even before the accident to my dear dad. In fact, he and my mother were intimate friends, very intimate. To be quite honest Finlay, he was deeply and truly in love with her, well before the accident.’
‘And she was with him, of course.’ Finlay managed to bring out the words.
‘Dear Finlay, with Mother it is hard to tell. There’s no doubt but that, for a long, long time she was terribly in love with you. But, as you never said the word, it’s possible she felt free to look elsewhere.’
‘And if she did, Bob, who is to blame her. I have loved your mother ever since I first saw her. My love has so grown that I have never looked at, never laid a finger on another woman. But circumstances prevented me from speaking. So now, who would blame that dear, lovely lass, if she were to take to her bosom this young lawyer who has fought and won a fortune for her, and who would expect her to remember the man who has loved her, will love her a’ his life, in steeled, suffering silence? Let her forget him, as if he, too, were dead. Let her wed, and be happy with this lawyer who has really proved how much he loves her.’
Here Finlay broke off with heaving breast and Bob saw that this fine man whom he loved and admired was weeping, anguished tears falling in scalding drops on the wooden bench.
A long silence prevailed. Then Finlay, again master of himself, said quietly: ‘So here you are, Bob, at the Academy to brush up your Latin, before ye go to the university.’
‘Yes, Finlay, and also to see you, my blood father!’
‘Then let’s meet often, Bob, and go fishing for burn trout in the high moorland streams.’ He paused. ‘Your mother will be holidaying with her lawyer friend?’
‘No, Finlay. She has gone alone to the Baths at Harrogate Spa. She says she wants to wash herself clean of her past life before she comes back to Tannochbrae to meet you.’
A long silence. Then, as they paused before approaching Tannochbrae Finlay said firmly: ‘Not a word of my weakness to your mother!’
‘I reserve the right to open my heart to my dear mother whenever I wish, and I am writing her a long letter this very night!’
The Flame is Extinguished
One fine morning, almost a month later, Finlay finished his leisurely breakfast and, assuring himself that Dr Cameron was dealing with the surgery, went out to stroll up and down in front of the house, enjoying the cool morning air. Long days of striding across the moors with Bob had left their rugged mark on him. He was at his best, tanned, erect, his shoulders square, his movements supple and easy. Momentarily his attention was caught by signs of activity in the house next door, a fine old Georgian building that had long been empty. Often Finlay had gone through it, admiring the lovely rooms, beautiful antique furniture, the rich carving of the woodwork, and from the upper floor the magnificent view of the surrounding countryside and the distant Lammermuir Hills.
Now the signs of activity increased and indeed the big old FOR SALE sign was being taken down and removed.
Finlay, who knew everyone in Tannochbrae and was well liked by all, shouted across the big garden.
‘What’s up, Davie? Don’t tell me the house is sellt.’
‘Ay, deed an’ it is, Dr Finlay, sir.’
‘Who’s bocht it, Davie?’
‘Dinna ken, sir. It’s our ain lawyers in the town that have managed the sale. And forbye, they’re managing a’ the cleaning, painting, doing over and everything else. I believe the garden is a’ to be done over as weel, a’ the lawns reseeded, and the broken stonework built up.’
‘Good enough. Maybe we’ll have the duke back as our neighbour.’
‘Seriously, sir, that’s the talk in the town. For him or the duchess for, as ye ken weel, at one time it was their hoose.’
As Finlay moved away, Janet, who had been listening to the conversation called out: ‘Sir! Did he say when the duchess would move in?’
‘Not until you’ve had news of it, Janet.’
Having delivered this long-delayed compliment, Finlay looked in at the surgery to assure himself that Dr Cameron was dealing with a manageable number of patients and then walked casually along the Gielston Road to see if the burn was running full enough to be fishable. Never had he felt so well, so much master of himself and, in plain truth, the practice, as if he had become the head doctor and not Dr Cameron, with his bogus appendix stuck on the mantelpiece.
As the days passed, the old house next door, so long neglected, began to re-emerge, recreated as the beautiful residence it once had been. Not pretentiously large but perfect in structure and design. So, too, with the garden which began to bloom in company with the house with green lawns, replanted flower beds and a paved walk down the side of the house, which would give access to both the side door and the sunken garage, also with a paved courtyard.
Steadily the house advanced towards completion and still Janet had failed to pierce the mystery of the new owner. The lawn was now a mass of primroses, daffodils and crocuses.
‘Dr Finlay, sir,’ said Janet one morning. ‘I’ve had the great privilege of seeing inside the hoose. Early this morning one of the workmen, Jock Blair, let me in to look round, and I can tell you, from what I have seen with my own eyes, that it’s absolutely lovely. All the fine antique furniture has been polished, and the wonderful carpets spread out – Jock tellt me they was frae Persia and Turkey, and worth a pretty price. Mind ye, sir, when ye’re inside it dinna seem big, it’s as snug as can be. I’m sure it’s the duchess who has bought it. I’ll keep my eye skinned to see when she arrives.’
Spring had now come and with the onset of the warm weather the restored house and resplendent garden did indeed become a delight to the eye. All the workmen had left, and it stood alone in its beauty. As the practice was light Finlay would stroll up and down after breakfast enjoying the perfect scene, often joined by Janet who, with a lively interest, awaited the arrival of the duchess.
One morning a car appeared quite suddenly, rounding the far corner. It was a big, shining, continental car, and one of the highest quality. The lady at the wheel drew up at the kerb and stepped nimbly out, enabling the onlookers to observe that she was quite lovely and fashionably attired in a smart grey dress, scarlet silk scarf and a fetching black toque. After having scanned the house intently, she turned, ran up to Finlay and flung herself into his arms. Showering him with passionate kisses, she murmured, ‘My dearest darling! At last, at last! And forever!’
Janet, shocked out of her wits, uttered a mild shriek. ‘Oh God! The duchess is kissing our Finlay! Kissing and kissing him.’ And with a final strangled cry she ran like mad into her kitchen.
Meanwhile the lovers continued to cling to e
ach other in a close embrace.
‘Oh, Grace, my darling. I felt this would never come true. For years I have wept for you, longed for you . . .’
‘And now I am yours, my dearest, most faithful love. Our son has told me how you wept for me.’
‘Ever since our first tender kisses, I have loved, loved only you, and no other woman.’
‘Well, now, my darling Finlay, your fidelity will be rewarded. Come and look through the lovely home I have bought for us.’
Encircling his waist with her arm she led him to the house, took the key from her pocket and snapped open the door. Then, still leading her beloved, she took him round the house and showed him all its treasures.
‘Is this all yours, my angel?’ he faltered.
‘Ours, dearest one.’
‘But the cost, beloved! How on earth could you?’
‘Finlay!’ She looked him straight in the eyes. ‘The place has been mouldering away for years. You’d be surprised how eager the Town Council were to find someone who would do it all over, from top to bottom. And do you know what the clincher was, lad?’ She paused. ‘The fact that you would be the owner! I got it practically for the price of the renovation!’
‘But Grace, dear, I am not the owner and never will be the possessor of this lovely house. In effect you lied to the Town Council.’
This demanded another long embrace. But Finlay ventured a sly remark, ‘How did ye ken, for sure, that I would have ye, lass?’
‘Because I know you, dear love. Even without Bob’s letters I knew that you were true to me. And before the God o’ Heaven, so also was I to you. That good wee lawyer that fought and won my case . . . he was dying to have me. Not a chance! I was yours and here I am with a lovely home, ready to wed you.’
‘You’ve been mine, my sweet, ever since we kissed after the Reunion Dance. But tell me, how in all the world do you still expect me to carry on my medical practice?’
‘Darling, your days as an ordinary country GP are over. You are far, far too good for that. You may tell Doctor Cameron that you wish to continue the private practice, here in the special apartments, with a side entrance which I have already shown you. And I assure you that more private patients will come to you here. And I am convinced that you will soon have an appointment, with your own wards, at the new Tannochbrae Hospital. Now isn’t that better than having Janet waken you at two in the morning with “There’s a call from the Anderston Buildings”, with your beloved Cameron too lazy to get up? Your talents and your fine personality deserve much, much better. We’ll go over together to Cameron and make an amicable arrangement. Then, my love, we’ll have a quiet wedding at the altar of St Thomas’s, with all of Tannochbrae present, open carriages to bring us home and a champagne party that will go on forever and ever.’
During this recital and the remarks that preceded it Finlay’s expression had gradually changed and he said firmly: ‘Grace dear, I’m sorry to put an end to your rosy dream but there are several points I wish to take up with you.’ Finlay took a long breath. ‘First, it was downright dishonest to say I would be the owner of the house, and it could get us both in jail. Second, how the devil do you expect me to practise medicine in that wee bit of a cupboard you call my consulting room, where there’s barely enough space for a couch to lie on?’
‘Not all your patients need to lie down,’ Grace said pertly.
‘So that’s it! A young woman comes in and she’s hardly past the door before I say, “Do you want it standing up or lying down?” ’
‘How vulgar you can be, Finlay. You’ve changed frightfully.’
‘It’s no’ me that’s changed. It’s you wi’ your face a’ powdered and your lips made up, and you stinking with perfume. Now I see ye in a good light the first thing I’d want tae do is wash your pretty wee face. When you was takin’ the waters why didna ye plunge your heid in?’
‘How dare you, Finlay!’
‘You don’t even kiss the way you used to. Instead o’ a good face to face cuddle ye put your jaw to my lips.’
‘Since you do not relish my kisses, I shall in future refrain from embracing you.’
‘And the worst thing of a’ – never mind your faked up kisses and the smell o’ perfume that would make all the cats in the town follow ye in a line – the worst thing of a’ is this. Ye expect me to ditch my dear auld Cameron, who has worked side by side wi’ me summer and winter for many and many a year. Now, especially when he’s bye his best and needs me mair, I’m to stroll over and say casual like, “By the by, auld fellow, I’m leavin’ you! A young wumman has bocht me a cupboard in her big new house where I’m to work up a high-class practice, nae trash, just high-class gentry that can be gi’en a private prescription without even takin’ their shirts off.” As for auld Janet, how in the world will she ever get up in time to gie the boss his breakfast, if I’m no’ there to pull the quilt off her bed at 7 a.m.? Aye, and gie her a clout on the backside if she’ll no’ move quick enough?
‘It’s true enough that I loved a Gracie years ago and the memory o’ her has lingered. But you’re a different woman now, hard as nails, and your heid swollen wi’ the fortune you got when your old man jumped off the girder to his death. The young jerk o’ a lawyer who got you the cash can come up to you here in your house. Since you’ve missed out on me, take him to your bosom. But you can let me tell you this. If he says one word to me that’s in any way objectionable I’ll smash his face with a single punch.’
With that final word Finlay turned and walked out of the house, almost colliding with Dr Cameron, who in a thick overcoat and muffled to the eyes was starting out on the morning round.
‘Sir! Where are ye bound for? What’s that paper in your hand?’
‘Dear Finlay, it’s my calls in the Anderston Buildings.’
‘Hand it to me, sir! Don’t you know I always do the Anderston district?’
‘But, dear Finlay. I, we, all of us thought you were detained by the lady next door.’
‘Not on your life sir. Not now, not ever. In fact never.’ He snatched the paper from Cameron’s gloved hand.
This was too much for the old doctor. He put an arm round Finlay’s shoulders and drew him close.
‘Dear lad, when I thought I had lost you, my heart was like to break. But now it’s alive again and overflowing with joy. God bless you, lad. I look upon you as my own dear son.’
He stood watching Finlay step briskly along to the lower road, then he turned back into the house, where Janet at the window had seen all.
‘Janet,’ he said, ‘rejoice with me. Finlay is back to us. And see ye keep the porridge hot on the stove.’
‘I’ve kept it on, sir. I felt sure our Finlay wouldna have lipped my breakfast. That woman we a’ thocht was the duchess wad never have thocht o’ such a thing, for she’s nae mair nor poor Will MacFarlane’s widow who they say treated puir Will sae bad, he jumped off that building wi’ a broken heart.’
‘Oh, come now, Janet. It wasna like that!’
‘Weel, whether or no, sir, she’ll never get a civil word out o’ me. The very idea that she wad have the impudence to try and take our Finlay awa’ frae us is enough to finish her, even without the stink o’ that fancy scent o’ hers. Mark ma words, sir, she’ll no be long our neebour, ye may trust me to see to that, if it’s the last thing I was to dae for ye.’
Finlay was late in coming back for his long-delayed breakfast but he seemed well satisfied with his morning’s work.
‘What kept you, Finlay?’ Dr Cameron inquired.
‘As I had some time to spare, chief, I took a walk up to the Town Clerk’s office. You see, I wanted to correct the impression that I had any interest at all in the house next door. Somehow they were misled into believing that I would be the responsible proprietor of the restored mansion. It was because of this assumption, entirely false, that the house had been so perfectly restored and furnished at an exceptionally reasonable price.’
‘So you withdrew yourself completely fro
m the transaction?’ said Dr Cameron.
‘No sir, not completely. I reserved the right to purchase the house within a period of three years, in the meantime allowing public admission for a restricted period twice a month.’
Dr Cameron thought for a moment, digesting this information, then he gave out a cry that held both triumph and exultation.
‘She named ye the owner of the house to get better terms for herself, and now, having paid for it in your name, she has publicly deeded it to you . . . at least she has given ye the whip hand in any transactions she may wish to make.’
At this point Janet brought a steaming bowl of porridge and another of fresh sweet milk. Poising himself with an outsize spoon Finlay delivered the final dictum.
‘She named me the proprietor because she was so sure she had me completely under her thumb. Weel, now that I’m free of her, we’ll just sit back quietly and wait and see what she’ll be up to next.’
Suffer the Little Children
Now that Finlay was definitely back in harness all went smoothly and easily in the practice. The onset of good weather lightened the burden of the Anderston Buildings, where the blessing of warm sunshine cleared up a variety of coughs and colds that had kept Finlay busy during the winter months. Now he was able to cast an eye on the uplands where the sodden moors were losing their sheen of mist and gradually drying out under the persistent sun.
The neighbouring house was silent in all its beauty, its only habitant the housekeeper who could occasionally be seen by Janet as a shadow moving silently behind the curtained windows. The smart black car was not on view, from which Janet deduced that its owner had departed for some destination, as yet unrevealed. Grace was not mentioned in conversation between Dr Finlay and Dr Cameron, the subject was apparently dropped. And while Finlay kept an alert eye out for Bob on the Gielston Road, the boy had long since disappeared, probably to sit his first examination for Glasgow University.