by A. J. Cronin
Following his interview with the Town Clerk, Finlay had made an appearance before the entire council and had honestly and frankly defined his position, from the very first meeting with Grace at the Reunion Dance. He stated, under oath, that he had not had the slightest pre-knowledge of the lawyer’s desire to put the purchase of the house in his name. His quiet manner and the unquestionable veracity of his answers to all the searching questions put by the committee were so convincing that its decision was emphatic and unanimous. After consultation with the committee, the Town Clerk addressed Finlay in these words:
‘Dr Finlay, I am empowered to advise you that the decision of the Committee is immediate, emphatic and unanimous. They have no doubt whatsoever that the house was deeded to you without your knowledge or consent. Although such deeding was solely intended as a legal device to trick the council into selling the house at a figure commensurate with the esteem in which all members of the committee – and indeed everyone in Tannochbrae – hold you, it is nevertheless valid and binding. You have not only the opportunity to buy the house for your own occupation at a favourable figure, but also – note this – the positive legal right to deter any other person from so purchasing the property.’
Finlay’s face was such a study of astounded innocence that the members of the council rewarded him with a sustained round of applause. As the meeting finally broke up, the Town Clerk put his arm round Finlay’s shoulders and drew him into a little side room.
‘My dear Finlay, you are so universally beloved in our community that I would wish you to know that all of us are delighted that this positively criminal use of your name without your knowledge or consent should not only rebound against the perpetrators, but result legally and positively, in your favour. The historic house adjacent to where you reside at present may be purchased by you complete with all repairs, alterations and improvements for a sum which takes into account the sympathy extended to you by the Town Council for the manner in which you have been abused. This privilege will be extended to you for a period of three years, and the price at which you may purchase the entirely renovated house is that price fixed for the old, unrenovated property.’
Before Finlay could speak or recover from the shock of this magnificent, unexpected and unsolicited gift, the Secretary continued, concluding, ‘The committee make this gesture with all their good will and gratitude for the splendid service you have rendered to the community from your earliest days as a qualified medical practitioner.’ Then in a quiet voice, intimate and friendly, ‘Come away down to my office lad, and we’ll celebrate your good future wi’ a wee dram o’ Glenloch.’
Naturally, Finlay was delighted with his acquisition and often, when unobserved, would slip down quietly to enter the house and examine all the fine furnishings which also had so unexpectedly become his own. And slowly the question formed in his mind: what should he do with this treasure? If only he were married, his dilemma would be solved. And what a marvelous and appropriate gift for the woman he loved. Alas, there was no such woman. Unkind fate had so arranged his life that he seemed fated to be, and to remain, a bachelor.
What then must he do with his house? The good Dr Cameron, somewhat slighted by the preferential treatment shown to his assistant, did not fail to drop a little acidity into the situation.
‘And when will ye be moving into your grand new house, Finlay?’ or, ‘Don’t ye think ye should advertise in the local Tribune: “Gentleman, handsome and distinguished, with large furnished house, desires wife. Apply with photograph and testimonials”.’ While Finlay took this in good part it crystallised his purpose to stop treating his house as a beautiful toy, but instead to put it to good and useful purpose. He sat down and wrote a long letter to his friend, the matron of a children’s hospital, explaining his purpose and asking her to call and see him – and his house.
The matron came immediately and, to Finlay’s surprise and discomfiture, was not at all the motherly figure he knew so well. No, she was not grey-haired, stiff in the knee joints and visibly corseted. As she advanced unsmiling, with hand outstretched in greeting, he saw that she was young, tall and supple, with neat feet and lovely legs. As if that were not enough to disarm him she was, absolutely and without question, a very beautiful young woman.
‘Although we have never met, I assume that you are Dr Finlay. I am Miss Lane, the new matron at the children’s hospital and I gratefully accept the offer of your house and garden as a convalescent home for our children, subject of course, to the completion of certain necessary arrangements.’
‘Such as?’ inquired Finlay.
She smiled, a calm superior smile. ‘You cannot convert a beautiful private house to a home for young children without certain adjustments. May I therefore have the privilege of inspecting your house now?’
Finlay immediately got up and, without a word, led the way through the lovely garden to his house, and flung open the door.
She entered gracefully, as one accustomed to luxurious surroundings and, followed by the silent Finlay, closely examined the house and its furnishings. Examining minutely the carpets of the large dining-room she said mildly, ‘You know of course what you have here, doctor?’
‘Of course,’ Finlay said shortly, ‘Orientals.’
She shuddered visibly. ‘For God’s sake, don’t use that atrocious word which encompasses all the rubbish sold at Shepherd Market. This, for example,’ (she indicated an elegant rug with a beautiful floral design), ‘is a perfectly lovely Kirman Lavar, a Persian Flower Carpet of the ninth century with thousands of stitches in a single six-inch square. Why, a peasant woman may have given her entire lifetime to the creation of this noble work of art. Now this rug, and your others, which are equally fine, must be removed and in their place the floor must be covered with a coconut fibre carpet.’
‘Is this really necessary, matron?’
‘It is in your best interests, Dr Finlay, otherwise heaven knows what will happen to your priceless carpets with messy and often incontinent young children in the house!’
Finlay was silent. This was an aspect of his philanthropy he had failed completely to discern. Meanwhile the matron continued. ‘I also strongly advise you to remove all breakable objects. These fine K’ang Hsi plates on the sideboard must be stored, so also that beautiful Ch’ien Lung vase and the Ming bowl. These enticingly coloured objects would immediately attract the children, who would either climb up to pull them down or throw stones at them.’
Finlay was silent; then, sarcastically, he said, ‘Ye ken a lot about antiques, madam. Ye must have served your time in one o’them second-hand junk shops.’
‘Unfortunately no, Dr Finlay. The little knowledge I possess was acquired from my dear father, Regius Professor of Oriental Studies at Oxford University, whom I frequently accompanied on his visits to the East.’
‘He should have left you there, madam. One of them sheiks would have given you what you rightly deserve – a damn good shaking and whatever would follow it.’
‘No man yet born will ever shake me.’
‘Indeed, madam?’ said Finlay putting his hands on her shoulder and giving her a gentle shake.
Immediately he found himself sprawling on the floor.
‘I should have told you, doctor, that when I was at Girton I took a special course in self-defence which gives me the ability to deal with any attacker as I have dealt with you.’
While still in his ignominious position, Finlay laughed heartily as though at an excellent joke until, without warning, a sudden spring put him back on his feet with his hands firmly gripping her waist. Then she was lifted from her feet and laid tenderly on her back on the Kirman rug, with her skirt over her head and her white knickers exposed, paying tribute to the skill of her laundress and the slender beauty of her legs. To ensure her immobility Finlay seated himself upon her stomach, murmuring, ‘No man, madam? What about Girton now?’
At that precise moment there came a knock on the door and Janet entered with a tray.
; ‘I thought ye’d be wantin’ coffee, sir, for yourself and your lady guest.’
‘Thank you Janet. Serve it now.’
‘No sugar for me please, Janet.’ The request came from somewhere about Finlay’s nether regions. And at this evidence of hardihood Finlay stood up and taking hold of both hands of his victim, lifted her to her feet and placed her tenderly in a Louis XVI armchair.
‘Don’t talk about this, Janet,’ said Finlay as he received his cup. ‘Miss Lane was just showing me some exercises she learned at her college.’
‘It seems to me, sir,’ said Janet as she departed, ‘that the lady was showing ye more than her exercises.’
‘Well, now that we are seated and in our right minds, dear matron, may I enquire if the coffee is to your taste?’
‘Delicious, you great brute. I’ll take another cup if you have it.’
‘Certainly, Miss Lane,’ Finlay responded. approaching with the coffee pot. ‘I believe you are Alice Lane, if I am ever permitted to address you by your first name?’
‘You may do so now, Dr Finlay. To be absolutely truthful I came here so fed up by all the praiseworthy things said of you in the paper and elsewhere that I thought I would teach you a lesson. Instead it is you who have so taught me.’
‘Oh, nonsense, Alice! I would not dream of behaving rudely to a lady so charming as you and one in so useful and important a position as that to which you have been appointed. I can now tell you, emphatically, that you may do as you think fit here for your little ones. Your arrangements are accepted before they are made. For why in the name of heaven should I act as the proud proprietor of a house that only fell into my hands by a series of accidents, sanctioned by the kindness and goodwill of the Town Council?’
She seemed about to speak but instead smiled and pressed his hand.
‘So now,’ Finlay went on, ‘may I regard you as a dear friend?’
Her smile deepened and, as she had not relinquished his hand she pressed it again.
‘How can I say “no” to a gentleman who has seen me in my drawers?’
The alliance between Finlay and the new matron prospered rapidly. All the rugs and precious china were stored and locked in the little side room once intended for Finlay’s consultations. Coconut matting was laid on the beautiful polished-oak floors and half a dozen hospital beds were set up in the big drawing-room for those children not yet able to walk.
‘Does that suit you, matron?’ asked Finlay as they finished a tour of inspection together. To which she replied, ‘Could not be better, doctor.’
Then on a lovely sunny day the ambulance started to run between Barton Hills and the new convalescent home. At the same time a flood of photographers descended upon the house and would not be denied. Shots were taken of everything and everyone, inside and outside the converted house. Finlay was photographed in his shirt-sleeves carrying the children from the ambulance. One absolutely marvellous shot portrayed him with a little crippled girl of five in his arms while the child, leg irons dangling, raised her head to kiss him on the cheek.
This photograph was a ‘natural’ for the Press. It appeared in all the Scottish papers, then in the London dailies and finally found its way into the pictorial magazines – the Sphere and the Sketch. Accompanying the photograph was a heart-warming account of the young Scottish doctor who had sacrificed his fine house for that most worthy of all charities, the treatment and care of crippled children. Finally the climax was reached when a well-known journalist, noted for his acid ability to denigrate the rich and the famous, strolled unannounced into the home where Finlay, stripped to the waist, was giving the children, two by two, their weekly bath in an atmosphere of steam, splashing, soap suds and general merriment. What he saw caused him to stay, not only for all of that day, but for the entire week. He then returned to London and wrote, from the heart, an article entitled ‘My Selection for the Man of the Year’.
Although this remained unread by Finlay and his matron, its general effect was profound. The Caledonian Hotel began to fill up with visitors whose main purpose was to see or at least catch a glimpse of this young Highland doctor, a Scottish paragon who had given up his fine house to the treatment and care of crippled and disabled children whom he personally fed, bathed, carried about, massaged and exercised, with the help of a young and supremely beautiful matron.
Taking advantage of this influx, Finlay fixed a big collection box on the gate with three simple words emblazoned on it: FOR THE CHILDREN.
‘What a good turn that journalist chap has done us,’ Finlay remarked to his matron as they took tea in the kitchen, one of the few moments of the day they were alone together. ‘You know I was beginning to run out of money.’
‘Your own money?’
‘Certainly, and why not? This is my show! Sorry, Alice dear, our show.’
She thought for a moment. ‘I wonder how much we’ve been given by those kind people. Twenty pounds perhaps?’
‘You’re joking, child! These most generous visitors gave, all in all, over five hundred pounds!’
‘Now you are joking, surely?’
‘Come on down with me to the bank and see for yourself then.’
Together, arm in arm, they set off for the town, leaving Janet to keep an eye on the children. Firmly clasped in his right hand Finlay carried his historic black bag, now emptied of instruments but even heavier than before. As they walked down Church Street every eye was directed towards them – the good burghers of Tannochbrae simply stopped and stared.
‘I say, Finlay, isn’t this a bit too much! Let’s go a quieter road.’
‘Most certainly not. Next time I’ll bring our collection box with us.’
At the bank Finlay asked politely if they might see the manager and almost immediately they were shown to his sanctum, being greeted with the utmost cordiality by Mr Ferguson himself.
‘Come in, come in, the pair o’ ye, and sit down. I ken the both o’ ye, but if I didna I’d have only to look at the Herald. It’s full o’ ye both, with photographs and all.’
‘Thank you, sir, for your kind reception. And possibly you may know the reason of our visit. Collections have been coming in so fast for our Children’s Home I would like to bank what we have in hand, and place it in a new account specially for our Home and of course the children.’
‘Well, then, let’s see first what ye have.’ Accepting the bag from Finlay, he emptied the contents on to his desk.
Rapidly he counted the notes and the silver. Then, with a smile, he looked at Finlay. ‘Young man, ye are a lot richer nor I thought. What do ye want done with this considerable sum?’
‘Banked in the name of the Home, sir, for the sole benefit of the children therein.’
‘What, lad! You have over £500 here. And not a penny for yourself who does all the work, or your lady here who assists you?’
Finlay exchanged a glance with Alice. ‘We wish it all to go for the benefit, care and comfort of the children.’
‘And for all the good food they eat,’ added Alice.
Mr Ferguson leant back in his chair and studied them both. ‘Surely in reason, in common fairness, you are entitled, each of you, to a reasonable salary? And you, Finlay, a rent for the premises?’
‘Miss Lane and I have decided to give our services free for this most worthy cause. For the same reason I want not a penny of rental for my house.’
Again the manager was silent. Finally he said: ‘If we, the bank, were to give a special donation of £100 how would you use it?’
Without hesitation Finlay said: ‘Sir, I would buy a special apparatus to cure a little girl who cannot walk, who is now wearing leg irons that she will never be free of. Just think of it sir, paralysed for life. I am now giving her special massage and electrical treatment. If I had this apparatus definitely available I believe it might encourage her to do what she has never done – to try, herself, to walk.’
There was a brief silence, then the manager said, ‘Finlay, I will see that £100 is p
aid into your own account today. And perhaps, later on, you will permit me to visit you to see this apparatus in action.’
‘Come, sir, by all means,’ replied Finlay at once. ‘Just give me a few weeks to get the treatment started.’
Wisely, the manager waited three months before making this promised visit, and what he saw gladdened his heart. While the other children were playing noisily in another part of the garden, a little girl was trying to walk. Supporting herself by leaning on the aluminium handle-bars of a contrivance with little rubber-tyred wheels, she was slowly pushing forward her little machine, encouraged by Finlay.
‘Good, good, lass! Bend the right knee, again, again! Well done, lass. Now take a rest on the saddle.’
The child slid herself back on the seat of the machine and turned towards Finlay with a little smile that was good to see.
‘Now dearie,’ said Finlay, ‘you’ll be pleased to know that you went twenty yards under your own power. And now you are coming for your wee walk with me. And after that, you’ll have your lovely hot bath and fifteen minutes of massage for your good new muscles.’
Standing back unnoticed in the shadows, the manager saw Finlay lift the little girl from her saddle and set her down carefully on her feet. Then, holding her hand and arm tightly, he walked with her for another twenty yards, momentarily releasing his grasp of her hand so that she actually, for a brief moment, walked alone. Then with a triumphant cheer Finlay carried her indoors.
The manager did not reveal himself. What he had seen had touched him, and his tears were flowing freely, almost blinding him, as he turned and made his way back to the world of commerce and the bank.