The Blue Sapphire

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘Mr. MacTavish, Miss Harburn,’ said Neil proudly.

  They shook hands.

  ‘Mr. MacTavish thinks——’ began Neil.

  ‘Now then, Logan, I’m quite capable of telling Miss Harburn what I think. Sit down quietly and try to hold your tongue. I know it’s difficult for you.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Neil humbly—yes, humbly.

  They all sat down.

  ‘Well, Miss Harburn, I dare say you think I’ve been a long time with your uncle, but these things can’t be hurried, you see. It’s my way to go into things thoroughly—or not at all. I’ve examined Mr. Harburn and had a long talk with him—a very interesting talk. Of course you’ll understand that it’s impossible for me to give a definite opinion until I’ve had him under observation and made the usual tests, but it looks as if the gall-bladder is the source of the trouble. I say it looks like that.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve said all along!’ cried Neil excitedly.

  ‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it,’ said Mr. MacTavish firmly, but quite kindly.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘I say it looks like that,’ repeated the great man (and he must be a very great man, thought Julia). ‘In fact I’ll go so far as to say I shall be surprised if we find the condition diagnosed by Dr. Cairn. . . . That’s between ourselves. You’ll not mention that, Logan.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Not a word about the gall-bladder.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You can tell Dr. Cairn I was sorry to miss him, but I’ve seen his patient and I would like to have him in a nursing home for a few days and put him under observation. There’s no need to say more.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be writing to him myself.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Now, Miss Harburn,’ said the great man. ‘I’m sorry about it, but I’m afraid we’ve got to face the fact that your uncle’s condition is very serious indeed.’

  ‘Oh, I know!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘Maggie said . . .’

  ‘What did Maggie say?’

  Julia looked at him in surprise, but his face was perfectly serious.

  ‘What did Maggie say?’ he repeated. ‘I’ve known at least half a dozen Maggies and I’ve always found their opinions well worth listening to.’

  Julia tried to tell him what Maggie had said about Uncle Ran; how he had become ‘frailer and frailer,’ less able to do things, less interested in what went on. She found it difficult, for her voice began to tremble, but Mr. MacTavish was listening so intently that she was obliged to go on to the very end. ‘Maggie said, “He’s just been dying,”’ whispered Julia.

  Mr. MacTavish nodded. ‘Maggie was right . . . but we’ll not let him die if we can help it. The first thing is to make certain what the trouble is and then we must go ahead. Now Miss Harburn, I want to explain to you in simple words that the removal of the gall-bladder is a serious operation, but as a rule not dangerous. It’s done every day with excellent results. In this case, however, the condition has been neglected and has gone on too long. Much too long,’ declared the surgeon with sudden heat. ‘Much—too—long!’ He banged on the table with his fist. ‘It’s deplorable! It’s little short of culpable homicide in my opinion.’

  ‘I did my best—’ began Neil and stopped.

  ‘Well now,’ said Mr. MacTavish more quietly. ‘Well, that’s between ourselves, you understand. I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t got worked up about it . . . but it’s no good getting worked up about it. We’ve got to keep calm and do the best we can in the circumstances. The fact is that in consequence of the delay Mr. Harburn is in very poor condition to stand an operation of any sort whatever. I’m not in favour of operating——’

  ‘But you must!’ cried Neil. ‘It’s the only hope——’

  Mr. MacTavish quelled him with a look. ‘I’m not in favour of operating upon a patient in very poor condition if there’s any alternative. What I would like to do is to put Mr. Harburn on a diet for some weeks and build him up, but in view of the severe attacks which are occurring more and more frequently the risk of delay would be very great.’ He looked at Julia and waited.

  ‘You must do what you think best, Mr. MacTavish.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s all I want; a clear field of action to do as I think best. I’ll see if there’s a room in the Westchester Home; I’ll speak to Matron. There’s a quiet room at the back that I like for my serious cases, and a special nurse. If I can fix up everything satisfactorily we’ll have him in at once.’

  He turned to Neil. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as possible. You’re on the telephone, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’ll bring Mr. Harburn to Edinburgh yourself.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘But you’ll not bring him in that rattletrap of yours.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Nor in an ambulance either. Mr. Harburn would dislike an ambulance and there’s no need to upset him.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Can you beg, borrow or steal a reasonably comfortable motor car for the occasion?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Logan?’ demanded Mr. MacTavish. ‘Have you lost your wits? I’m tired of this “yes, sir” and “no, sir”! You can usually find something reasonable to say.’

  ‘But you told me—’ began Neil in astonishment.

  ‘So I did! So I did! I told you to hold your tongue—I’d clean forgotten! I’m losing my memory, Logan. That’s the only explanation. I’m going downhill fast. What I need is a young assistant to keep me up to the mark and I’ve got my eye on the very one. He’s not taken his finals yet so I’ll need to wait for him, but that can’t be helped. I expect you know the man; Neil Logan, he’s called.’

  Neil stood and gaped. His mouth opened and shut but not a sound came out of it. His face went crimson to the roots of his hair. Julia saw that his eyes were swimming with tears.

  Perhaps Mr. MacTavish saw it too, for he waved his hand and said, ‘Away with you, lad! Go and have a look at the patient; he may need something done for him.’

  Neil turned and blundered out of the room.

  ‘Oh, Mr. MacTavish, you’ve made Neil terribly happy!’ exclaimed Julia. She was surprised to discover that her eyes, too, were swimming with tears.

  ‘I’m lucky to get him,’ replied Mr. MacTavish seriously. ‘I’ve had my eye on the lad for some time; he’s the right stuff. There’s a brilliant future before Neil Logan. It would be easy enough to get an experienced man, but I prefer to catch him young and train him in the way he should go.

  ‘Well, now, Miss Harburn, I take it you’re Mr. Harburn’s nearest relative?’

  ‘There’s my father,’ said Julia doubtfully. ‘But he’s abroad at the moment and anyhow I don’t think——’

  ‘You’ll have to do,’ Mr. MacTavish told her. ‘There’s no time to waste chasing your father all over the Continent. If you approve of the arrangements I suggested we’ll just go ahead.’

  ‘Yes, of course I approve. The only thing is . . .’ She hesitated.

  ‘Money, I suppose? Well, I dare say we could get a private ward at the Royal, but—’

  ‘How much would it cost?’ asked Julia, in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper. ‘You see I’ve got—I’ve got nearly seven hundred pounds in the bank. Perhaps I could borrow—I mean the bank let me borrow a little before, but—but it’s different now. I mean I don’t quite know—’

  He took her hand and smiled, ‘There’s no need to worry. It’ll not cost the half of seven hundred pounds.’

  ‘But Mrs. Walker said . . . and Neil said . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what anybody says—except what I say. Keep that in mind.’

  She raised her eyes to his. ‘Oh, of course I know that!’ cried Julia.

  Mr. MacTavish gave her hand a little squeeze. ‘Lassie, I love you,’ he declared, and away he went. She heard him go out
of the front door and down the path with long strides. She heard the purr of the engine as he drove away . . . it was a very different sound from poor Neil’s rattletrap.

  But he couldn’t have said that, thought Julia. He couldn’t possibly; it must have been something else.

  *

  3

  Julia was still standing in the middle of the room, wondering what it was that Mr. MacTavish had said—if he had not said what she thought he had said—when Neil came back.

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Neil. ‘Good lord, he hasn’t gone, has he?’

  ‘He seemed to be in rather a hurry.’

  ‘But—but I never told him! I never thanked him! I never even said I’d do it! Oh, what a fool I am! What a fool!’ cried Neil and he wrung his hands—a gesture which Julia had never before seen actually performed in real life.

  ‘Oh, Julia!’ cried Neil. ‘The prize of a lifetime offered to me on a plate . . . and I stood there gawping like a ninny!’

  ‘Calm yourself, Neil.’

  ‘Calm myself? How can I? Don’t you realise what it would mean to be assistant to a man like that—to watch him at work—to be allowed to help him? I’d give anything—anything on earth—for the job.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got it, haven’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean? I made a complete fool of myself. Even if he wanted me before, he doesn’t want me now! I stood there opening and shutting my mouth like—like a cod-fish!’

  ‘You were surprised, that’s all.’

  ‘Surprised?’ cried Neil, throwing himself into a chair. ‘Surprised? I was astonished, amazed, flabbergasted, utterly taken aback, dumbfounded. I could scarcely believe my ears. I couldn’t have spoken a word to save my life.’

  ‘Anyone could see that.’

  ‘Do you think he realised it, Julia?’

  ‘He understood perfectly.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I told him.’

  ‘You told him? What did you say?’

  ‘I said, “You’ve made Neil terribly happy.”’

  ‘Oh, Julia!’ cried Neil, ‘how marvellous of you! You couldn’t have said anything better. If you’d thought for a hundred years you couldn’t have found anything more perfect. I said you were an angel straight from heaven—and you are! Oh, Julia, I could kiss you!’

  She laughed.

  ‘What did he say?’ demanded Neil. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said, “I’m lucky to get him.”’

  ‘He said that! Really and truthfully? Oh, heavens! Lucky to get me! Lucky—to—get—me! He could get anybody he liked—anybody! Oh, Julia!’ cried Neil, in sudden alarm. ‘Supposing I’m not a success? Supposing I can’t do what he expects? Supposing I put my foot in it and do something silly?’

  ‘Supposing you try not to talk so much?’ suggested Julia, who was getting a little tired of Neil’s hysterics. She did not wait for Neil’s reaction but went out and shut the door.

  *

  4

  Having dealt with Neil it was now necessary for Julia to pay a visit to Uncle Randal. She found him lying on his back gazing at the ceiling, but when Julia went over to the bed he looked up at her and smiled.

  ‘I’m a bit tired,’ he told her. ‘That man put me through the hoop. He explored me, Julia. There’s no other word for it. He explored every inch of my body. He can see with his hands.’

  ‘I think I know what you mean,’ said Julia thoughtfully.

  ‘I said to him, “You can see right through me, can’t you?” and he said, “There’s not much of you to see through. What have they been giving you to eat?”’

  ‘So you told him?’

  Uncle Ran chuckled. ‘There’s to be no more steamed fish. He gave me a list of what I’m to eat and what I’m not to eat—it’s there on the table—and I’m to get up and move about. I’m to get up to supper to-night and if it’s fine and sunny to-morrow I’m to go out and sit in the garden for half an hour . . . and he wants those laurel bushes cut down—the ones at the window. He said if he’d the time to spare he’d cut them down himself and make a bonfire. Oh, he’s a great man is Mr. MacTavish.’

  Julia agreed wholeheartedly. He was great but he was not too great to concern himself with details . . . or perhaps it was part of his greatness that no detail escaped his eagle eye. The laurel bushes were already doomed, of course (Julia had sentenced them to extinction). Mr. MacTavish had merely hastened their end.

  ‘Maybe you could get a man to cut down the laurel bushes,’ said Uncle Randal anxiously. ‘Mr. MacTavish was very keen on it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Julia teasingly. ‘Maybe I could get a man to cut them down or maybe I could hire an elephant to tear them up by the roots or maybe I could borrow a saw and have a go at them myself.’

  ‘Oh, Julia, you’re an awful lassie for a joke!’ exclaimed Uncle Randal, laughing heartily. ‘I believe the elephant would be the best. I’ve seen them in Burma tearing up trees by the roots so if you could just hire one for half an hour he’d make short work of the laurels.’

  ‘I’ll ring up the Zoo,’ said Julia, joining in the laughter; she took the diet-sheet and hurried away to consult Maggie about food, to tell her all the arrangements that had been made and to ask her to borrow a small saw from Mrs. Inglis’s husband, who, being ‘in the forestry,’ was sure to have one handy. Julia was aware that it would be exceedingly difficult to get a man to cut down the laurel bushes and equally difficult to hire an elephant to tear them up, and she was determined that the laurel bushes should be removed that very night.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mr. MacTavish was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet. Everybody knew this, so nobody was surprised when all the arrangements he had suggested were completed in two days and Neil was informed of the fact. Neil was able to borrow a reasonably comfortable motor car from his friend the chemist in Leddiesford, and called at The Square House the following morning.

  It had been decided that Maggie was to go with Uncle Randal to get him comfortably settled, so Julia saw the little party off at the gate and remained at home.

  As Julia went in at the door she realised that there was a queer feeling in The Square House; it was empty. Of course she had known the house was empty, but she had never expected to feel this quite palpable and extremely eerie feeling. Several times, when Maggie had been out, Julia had been left alone in the house with Uncle Ran—Uncle Ran in bed and fast asleep—and the house had not felt empty. Julia decided that even if she had not known that Uncle Ran was not there in bed she would know for certain he was not there.

  The clock was ticking much more loudly than usual; tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. She stood and looked at it. She must remember to wind it on Sunday; Uncle Ran had shown her how to do it. It would be dreadful if she forgot—absolutely frightful. When Julia was a small child Ellen used to sing her an old old song, ‘The clock stopped, never to go again, when . . .’

  Julia decided not to think about that. No, it was a silly old song—nothing in it at all. She would just make a point of remembering to wind the clock on Sunday.

  Fortunately there was plenty for Julia to do. She had decided to get the local painters to decorate Uncle Randal’s bedroom; she had consulted Mr. Fleming and had found him extremely co-operative. He was coming himself and bringing a man with him, so they would soon get the old paper stripped off and the new paper hung. Julia had chosen a pale-grey paper with a faint white pattern which, with white paint and bright chintz curtains, would transform the dismal apartment into a very pleasant bedroom. They were coming in the afternoon, so Julia set to work to move the furniture into the middle of the room and cover it with dust-sheets.

  The task was almost completed when the postman called.

  ‘Mr. Harburn will be away to Edinburgh,’ he said as he handed Julia the letters. ‘Is it to-morrow that he’s to have his operation?’

  By this time Julia was quite used to everybody in Leddiesford knowing everything—and knowing
it all slightly wrong—so she explained that Mr. Harburn had gone to Edinburgh ‘for observation’ and she was not yet certain whether an operation would be necessary.

  ‘MacTavish will do it,’ declared the postman with conviction. ‘He’s a great man for the knife. D’you know this, Miss Harburn, he cut out my cousin’s wife’s stomach and she was fine after it—just fine.’

  He swung his bag onto his shoulder and went off cheerfully.

  *

  2

  Three letters had come by the post; one for Uncle Randal and two for Julia herself. Hers were from May Martineau and Stephen. There was still no letter from her father; she had written to him twice and told him about Uncle Randal’s illness but had had no reply. He was angry with her, that was evident. Well, she had known he would be angry, and anyhow she was very glad she had come.

  Having made up her mind to this Julia went into the study and sat down to read her letters. She put Stephen’s aside and opened May Martineau’s first. May had covered six sheets of paper with her large sprawling writing, and as she had written without regard for punctuation—except for an occasional dash or a full stop—her letter was a little difficult to read. There was no date and no heading; the letter began at the very top of the first page.

  Dear darling Julia,

  Thank you so much for your letter. I was very interested to hear all your news. I have not got much time and I have a lot to tell you so I am writing this very quickly. I hope you will be able to read it all right. I am so sorry to hear about your uncle. Well of course you can’t leave him and come home when he is so dreadfully ill—it would not be like you to do a thing like that so you will just have to stay till he is better but I hope that will be soon. About your room darling. I wish I could say I will just keep it empty but I can’t unless you pay a little—what about half? I don’t suppose you are paying your uncle so perhaps you could manage that. If not just say and I will let it temporarily and you can have it when you come home. You said you were writing to Jeanne but I thought there was no harm in me popping in to have a chat so that is what I did last night after supper and there she was in her workroom making a nonsense of a hat with a little bit of veiling and black velvet ribbon. It will cost her about 15s. and she will sell it to someone for goodness knows what. She really is clever isn’t she darling—and she must be making a pot of money. Well she had just got your letter and was quite upset—said she missed you talking French and everything and she had been looking forward to Tuesday but you must do your duty as a Christian. She is an R.C. of course and they think a lot about being kind to people who are ill. Perhaps it would be a good thing if some of us thought more about it and went to see people and took them flowers and grapes. She said she would get someone temporarily and wait for you to come back when he is better. Well she couldn’t say more could she? I could see she was keen for you to come back. Well I don’t wonder Jeanne is fond of you. I am sorry you are away just now because Peta is here. She arrived quite suddenly on Monday night without letting me know. I said surely you could have sent a P.C. but she said not to fuss. She brought a young man—or at least he brought her in his car all the way from Newcastle so I had to give him supper and a bed. Peta wanted him to have your room but I wouldn’t let him because all your nice things are there and I had never seen him before. Peta said he was all right but she is apt to be a bit impulsive about people—either likes people straight off or can’t bear the sight of them—Norman was like that too and got taken in more than once. Besides between you and me and the bedpost he seemed rather gone on Peta—I could tell by the sloppy way he looked at her when he thought I was not looking—so I would not have been happy with him upstairs on the top landing if you see what I mean. Of course Peta thinks she can look after herself like they all do nowadays but human nature is still human nature in spite of girls going about in trousers. She said I was a square so I said well darling I may be a square or a round or an oblong but if the little back room on the ground floor isn’t good enough he better go and get a room at the Ritz. We had a little tiff but it soon blew over—all the sooner because she wanted to borrow a fiver. I miss you very much darling and the house seems very quiet—I don’t mean you were noisy but it was nice having you to chat to at breakfast and supper. I have not had the parlour fire since you left except on Sunday when Miss Winkler came to tea. I told you about Miss Winkler and the dog-fight didn’t I? Well there have been two dog-fights since you went away—such a barking and howling and snarling just outside the window as you never heard in your life. It is because the gentleman next door has a lady dog so they all come and sit outside the area gate when she is interesting. I always say you should send them to the vet especially in town. Perhaps I will just mention it to him in case he has not noticed. I sent on a letter to you two or three days ago. It was from Devonshire so I expect it was that nice young chap who took you out to dinner. I never can remember names but the one I said was like the Duke unless you know someone else in Devonshire of course. It was a very fat letter so I hope it was nice darling. I must stop now because Peta wants me to go out and help her choose a little frock. She is resting you see—if you can call it resting when she is on the go from morning to night but Peta never was one for a quiet life.