She drew her hands from his now and rose from the couch. But he did not move. He watched her walk towards the fireplace and stretch her hand out and grip the mantelpiece and he strained to hear her whisper, ‘You are quite right: there are more things. It was so real, I . . . I turned round expecting to see him or his ghost, or something that would actually tell me that he had been there. There was nothing; but from that moment I was filled with the urge to return.’ And now she turned towards him, and she added, ‘So here I am. And, you know, it’s so good to be back, to see you again, and Daisy. You’re the only two friends I have, real friends, that is. I can be myself when I’m with you or Daisy, but with no-one else; not even with Rosie. No, I can’t be myself with Rosie. I . . . I couldn’t have told Rosie what I’ve just told you. I love Rosie because she is my sister, and although she is married now I still look on her as someone very young. Yet, in a way, she too has been through the mill.’
‘Yes’ – and he nodded – ‘Oh, yes, she went through the mill all right, and she is no longer the young girl, but the young matron, and I don’t think it will be long before her figure will announce she is going to be a young mother.’
‘Really! Really! Oh! that’s wonderful.’
‘Yes, and she thinks so, too. And, of course, he . . . well, there is no other young married woman, to his knowledge, who has ever carried a child: his wife is the first who is experiencing this process.’
She smiled now, saying, ‘Oh, I must go and see her.’
‘She would like that. Yes, she would. You just want to pop in. I know you have written to her once or twice but, like me, this time yesterday I thought you were in Timbuktu, or Borneo, or the Congo or some such place.’
She now said quietly, ‘Would you like some tea?’
‘I would. Yes, I would.’
She pulled on the bell rope and when Johnson opened the door, she said, ‘We’ll have tea, Johnson, please.’
To John, the man’s manner was forbidding, and after the door had closed behind him, he said, ‘I must confess, Helen, I can’t stand that fellow.’
At this, Helen laughed, saying, ‘Yes, he is a bit pompous, isn’t he? But he was very attentive to Leonard. And, of course, he had been in Frederick’s service for some time. But not all that long, now I come to think of it, because he took the place of Beecham, who was a lovely old butler. Now he had worked for the family since he was a boy. Anyway, I have had to rely on him, being away so long, and he’s looked after everything very well. And the accounts are all in order. He practically insisted that I go through them this morning—’ her voice dropped now as she said, ‘He wanted me to see that he had saved on the housekeeping, which I’m sure hasn’t pleased Cook, for Mrs Dolly Jones likes her food, as they all do. And because they work for it and I feel they should have it, I had to tell him, very politely, of course, that there was no need to skimp and to let Cook do her own ordering as she has always done. It’s been rather a trying morning. And I suppose it is because of him I was welcomed with open arms by the staff, inside and out.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one who apparently can’t stand him.’
Johnson did not deign to push in the tea trolley, but Hannah Worth did, smiling, and when she said, ‘Good day, Doctor,’ he answered her, ‘Good day, Hannah. How’s life?’
‘Fine. Fine, now that we have’ – she glanced towards Helen – ‘the mistress back. Oh by! yes, fine.’
Johnson’s back became straighter, if that was possible, and he spoke now to the maid, saying, ‘Leave it. I will see to the pouring.’
‘There’s no need, Johnson, thank you.’ It was Helen speaking.
The man seemed to sigh before he turned and with measured tread left the room.
As Helen poured out the tea she said, ‘Would you like to bring your mother over some evening, John? She used to manage the journey in the carriage all right.’
‘Oh, she would like that. Yes, you tell us the time and we’ll be here.’
‘Oh, make your own time – I don’t intend to go visiting. And the only other one I want near me is Daisy. So whatever time you’re free from surgery, just send word and Henry will be over with the’ – she laughed – ‘conveyance.’
He could hardly believe he was actually sitting here drinking tea and munching delicate sandwiches with her. Daisy had said it would be a long road before Helen came alive, but her present demeanour suggested to him that she had already started along it, only for him naturally to ask himself in what way her coming back to life would affect his life, because Beatrice still loomed large; and beyond her, the law.
Seven
The last of his patients had gone. He drew together the papers on his desk and put them into a folder before standing up and breathing deeply, as much as to say, ‘That’s that!’ Then he went into the dispensary, washed his hands, and stood for a moment staring into the small mirror above the sink as he straightened his tie and stroked back his hair.
Of late, he had lost flesh: his face looked drawn. Was he really only thirty-two? If he were to meet himself in the street he would guess his age as forty.
When he heard the outer door open and his partner’s voice calling, ‘Are you there, John?’ he hesitated a moment before answering, ‘Yes. Yes, Doctor; in here.’
Old Cornwallis had called him John, which was rare. Perhaps only twice before could he remember him using his Christian name: once had been when thanking him for having seen to the practice single-handed for three weeks while he was in hospital having his leg attended to. But that was shortly after he had first arrived, within the first year, in fact. Another occasion was when he had commiserated with him over his estranged marriage. This was after he had been called to the house to see to Beatrice.
When he strode back into his surgery, it was to see the doctor seated in the patients’ chair.
‘Can you spare a minute?’ Cornwallis said.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, you’d better sit down,’ his partner said, and indicated his chair across the desk.
John sat down and waited.
‘D’you know if anyone has it in for you, besides your wife?’
It was an odd question. John turned his head one way and then the other as if thinking before he replied, ‘Likely there are a few, but they haven’t come to the surface. Why are you asking?’
‘Because of this.’ The doctor pulled from his pocket a letter and handed it across the desk.
John saw that the envelope was addressed to Doctor Cornwallis, and he paused before extracting the sheet of paper from it. Then his eyes widened as he read:
Dear Sir,
I think it should be brought to your notice that your assistant, Doctor John Falconer, is bringing disgrace on your practice and is losing you patients. He has for some time been causing comment in the town by his over-frequent visits to a widowed lady. As is well known, he is a married man. But to make matters worse and to make the situation worse in the eyes of decent people, this lady is sister to his wife. It is known in some quarters that the lady has tried to repulse him, and that his insistence is causing her distress. Moreover, as I said in the beginning, sir, your practice is going to suffer, for women especially will be deterred from being attended to by an immoral man.
Signed, A well-wisher.
John peered over the top of the letter at his partner as Doctor Cornwallis said, ‘That doesn’t sound like Beatrice.’
‘No! No! This is not from Beatrice.’
‘Have you any idea of who could be in the know as regards your personal life, such as that indicates?’ He nodded towards the letter that John had laid on the desk, and it was a full minute before he was given an answer. And then John said, ‘I have a strong suspicion. But still, you can’t pin this kind of thing on anyone unless you have proof. I do, however, agree
with you that this isn’t Beatrice’s style at all: she would have it out face to face, probably in public.’
‘Yes, that’s how it struck me.’ Doctor Cornwallis pulled himself to his feet now, leant over, picked up the letter from under John’s hand, saying, ‘One can’t do much about this, except talk it over with the lady in question. Has she any personal friends in whom she might have confided?’
‘Only one, and you know her: Mrs Daisy Wheatland.’
‘Oh yes. I know Mrs Wheatland, and you can rule her out straight away. And anyway, to my mind, this is a man’s hand. Too clinical, so to speak, to come from a woman.’
‘A man’s hand. Yes.’ John was nodding to himself: he felt certain he knew to whom the hand belonged. And he was made to ask himself what that man could hope to achieve more than he had done already.
‘Well, now you know where you stand I’d be on your guard. How is Lady Helen, by the way?’ And Dr Cornwallis gave a short laugh now as he said, ‘I’m asking the road I know because I was talking to Peters last week, and he seems to think she’s under a great strain. Apparently, she’s never given way since she lost her husband, and he thinks that’s bad, and I do, too. Tears are a saving grace to both body and mind. Bottle them up and you’re asking for trouble. I’m always happier when I find women crying their eyes out.’ He grinned now, saying, ‘There’s a paradox for you. Medically speaking, tears are good medicine, but you shouldn’t take such medicine for too long. It can become a habit.’
He walked towards the door now, saying, ‘I’m being very philosophical this morning, you’ll notice, Doctor.’
When John did not reply, the older man turned sharply towards where he was standing gazing down at the table, and he said, ‘Did you hear what I said? I’m being very philosophical this morning.’
‘Yes. Yes, Doctor, I heard what you said, and I endorse your philosophy.’
‘Good! Good! Well, I must away; but don’t take this business too much to heart. If you want my advice, don’t change the pattern of your life. Now, that’s strange, isn’t it? I think that the person who wrote that letter has got an axe to grind, and if you bide your time he’ll come to light with the axe in his hand . . . Oh, I’d better go, else I can hear myself saying I saw him fell the tree. And what would that indicate? My! My!’ He went out, pulling the door noisily behind him.
John remained standing near the desk, telling himself that he wouldn’t have to bide his time to find out who had thought up that screed. Oh, no! Then he looked towards the door. The old fellow was being very decent. He was a kindly, thoughtful man at bottom, although that was covered with a thick layer of selfishness up nearer the surface. But one could overlook that. He had again called him John. That showed he was concerned for him, and for that he was grateful. Yes, he felt very grateful towards him. He shrugged his shoulders. It was a nervous action but it did not represent the feeling inside him, which was one of anger.
At one time he could open the front door and walk in, but of late he’d been obliged to ring the bell. This had annoyed him, but he hadn’t commented on it.
Today, when the door was opened, he saw that Johnson was very surprised to see him. And when he passed by him without a word and made for the drawing room, throwing his hat on the hall chair as he did so, Johnson’s voice said, ‘Her ladyship is not expecting . . .’
He almost bounced round on the man, saying, ‘I know whom her ladyship is expecting and whom she isn’t.’
He was about to open the drawing room door when Helen came out of the study at the end of the corridor. He stood aside and waited until she had entered the drawing room. She gave him no greeting but he could see that she was upset. After closing the door none too gently, he hurried towards where she was sitting on the couch and, taking a seat beside her, he asked, ‘What is it, Helen? What is it, my dear?’
‘Oh, John! Oh, John!’
Her eyelids were blinking rapidly and her words were hesitant as she said, ‘Someone is maligning us. At least, you through me, and . . . and I can’t bear it.’
‘How d’you know this?’
‘The letter.’
‘What letter?’
‘It’s in the study, on . . . on the desk.’
He wasn’t surprised to see Johnson standing only a few feet away from the door and, his voice like thunder, he barked at him, ‘Don’t you dare go in there, man! D’you hear me? Don’t you dare go in that room! I’ll deal with you in a minute.’
In the study, he saw the letter lying open on the writing desk and immediately he saw that it was written by the same hand as the one to Doctor Cornwallis.
Johnson was standing where he had left him. His face was deadly white, the mouth set in a tight line; and this time John passed by him without a word, but again banged the door behind him.
Now he was sitting with his arm around Helen’s shoulders while he held the letter in his hand and read:
Madam,
It should be brought to your notice that you are ruining the career of a certain doctor in this town. His constant visits to you are causing a scandal and his partner is greatly troubled by the effect on the practice of this man’s behaviour. It would be well for all concerned, madam, if you broke off the association with this person, for your name is being bandied about like that of a light woman. I speak only through concern for your welfare.
Signed, A well-wisher.
‘My God!’
‘Who would do this, John? We have done nothing wrong, yet I feel so guilty. All the time I feel guilty. I talk to Leonard, and he tells me everything’s all right, as it should be. But I can’t believe it. Oh, John, I’m so lost, and I seem to have gone all to pieces since I came back. But your career and . . .’
‘Damn my career! And this letter means nothing; Doctor Cornwallis received a similar one this morning, obviously from the same man.’
‘You . . . you know who?’
‘Yes, I know who; and it’s going to end,’ a statement which obviously affected Helen further, and her hands went to her throat as she pleaded, ‘It won’t stop you coming, John, will it?’
‘Why ask such a thing! Nothing or no-one will ever stop me being near you.’
‘We’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. Leonard told me what I must do, before he died. But I wouldn’t listen, I couldn’t listen . . . John! John!’ His name was erupting from her mouth like an actual wail: it was high, penetrating, as if wrenched through agony. And her face was awash, the tears spurting from her eyes and down her nose, the saliva running from her mouth. He put his arms tightly about her and held her closely, saying, ‘Cry! That’s it, cry, my dear. Cry, my love.’
He had been unaware of the door opening, but he was aware of the voice saying, ‘How dare you, sir! You’ve upset madam.’
He was almost choking himself as he turned and screamed at the man, ‘Get out! before I’ – he almost said, ‘kill you’. And the man backed away, pushing past the two maids now standing at the open door; and John yelled at them: ‘Hannah! Bring your mistress’s smelling salts; and Betty, fetch me my bag from the trap.’
A few minutes later, after he had wafted the smelling salts under Helen’s nose and had made her swallow a pill, he again turned to Betty, saying quietly, ‘Make some coffee, Betty, please. And tell Henry to go for Doctor Peters and ask him if he would be kind enough to call on her ladyship as soon as possible.’
With the room to themselves, he again put his arms about Helen as she muttered, ‘Who . . . who would do such a thing . . . write those letters?’
‘You haven’t far to look, my dear, and I think you must know it was Johnson.’
She drew in a sharp breath before she repeated the name, ‘Johnson? No, I hadn’t suspected him. But now I come to think of it, he’s been acting strangely lately. I didn’t tell you . . .’
‘You have no
need to, my dear; and don’t talk.’
She took a handkerchief from her cuff and wiped her eyes, muttering, ‘His . . . his wages are due.’
‘How do you pay him, half-yearly?’
‘No, by the month.’
‘How much?’
‘A pound a week.’
‘A pound a week, indeed! and all found. He’s been in clover. But the fact that he’s paid monthly eases matters. Pay him his month’s salary and an added month in lieu of notice.’
‘I . . . I can’t bear to see him now.’
‘Well, you have no need; I’ll see to him. Have you any loose money lying around?’
‘There’s some in the bureau drawer in the study. The key—’ she gulped and had to bring herself forward on the couch before she could finish, ‘It’s in my handbag.’
‘Now lie back and don’t distress yourself. Where is your handbag?’
‘In the bedroom.’
‘I’ll get Betty to fetch it after she’s brought in the coffee.’
It was when, later, he had taken the key from Helen’s handbag that John noticed Johnson still standing in the hall. He passed by the man without a glance and made for the study.
But he had no sooner disappeared than Johnson rushed into the drawing room and to Helen who, on sight of him, pressed herself tightly back into the corner of the couch. Bending over her, he said, ‘Madam, you must listen to me. The master . . . the master left you in my keeping. Yes, yes, he did: he told me what I had to do, and to look after you and . . .’
As if being imbued with sudden strength, Helen thrust out her hands and pushed him back from her. And now she cried at him, ‘He . . . he did nothing of the kind. You . . . you forget yourself. You were the servant to him and . . . and you have been to me, nothing more. Please! Please get out! Get out!’
The Obsession Page 25
