A Betty Neels Christmas: A Christmas ProposalWinter Wedding

by Betty Neels

  ‘A model patient; she’s next to Mrs Jenkins—a thrombosis after surgery—and she’s delighted to have such a tolerant listener.’ She glanced at the doctor. ‘She was delighted with your flowers, doctor.’

  ‘Good. May I see Miss Arkwright for a moment? She wasn’t too good yesterday.’

  Miss Arkwright was at the other end of the ward from Bertha, but she could see Dr Hay-Smythe clearly as he went to his patient’s bedside. She was feeling sleepy, but she kept her eye open; he would be sure to come and say goodnight presently. Only he didn’t. After a few minutes he went away again without so much as a glance in her direction.

  Bertha discovered that it was just as easy to cry with one eye as two.

  The next few days were pleasant enough—the nurses were friendly, those patients who were allowed up came to sit by her, bringing their newspapers and reading out the more lurid bits, since her eye, now all the colours of the rainbow and beginning to open again, was still painful. Cook came too, this time with a bag of oranges.

  Everything was much as usual, she told Bertha comfortably, omitting to mention that Mrs Soames’s temper had been worse than usual and that Clare was having sulking fits.

  ‘That nice doctor what she’s keen on—always asking ’im ter take ’er out, she is, and ’im with no time to spare. ’E’s taking ’er out to dinner this evening, though.’

  Bertha stayed awake for a long time that night, listening to the snores and mutterings around her, the occasional urgent cry for a bedpan, the equally urgent whispers for tea. She closed her eyes each time the night nurse or night sister did her round and she heard the night sister say quietly, ‘She’ll have to go home in a couple of days; she’s only here as a favour to Dr Hay-Smythe.’

  Bertha lay and thought about going home. She had no choice but to do so for she had no money. It would mean seeing Clare and Oliver together, and she wasn’t sure if she could bear that.

  I suppose, she reflected, with the clarity of mind which comes to everybody at three o’clock in the morning, that I’ve been in love with him since he came over to me and asked me if it was my birthday. I’ll have to go away… Once Father’s back home, perhaps he’ll agree to my training for something so that I can be independent. I’ll have my own flat and earn enough money to be able to dress well and to go to the hairdresser and have lots of friends… She fell into an uneasy doze.

  She was allowed out of bed now, and later the next day Staff Nurse took out alternate stitches.

  ‘I’ll have the rest tomorrow,’ she said briskly. ‘Don’t run around too much; it’s not quite healed yet. I expect you’ll be going home in a day or two now.’

  Bertha told Crook that when he came that afternoon. ‘Please don’t tell anyone, will you? I wouldn’t want to upset any plans…’

  They both knew Mrs Soames wasn’t likely to change any plans she had made just because Bertha was coming home.

  Dr Hay-Smythe came to see her that evening. ‘You’re to go home the day after tomorrow. I’ll take you directly after lunch. You feel quite well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I’m fine. Some of the stitches are out and it’s a very nice scar—a bit red…’

  ‘You won’t see it in a few months. Will you be able to rest at home?’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Bertha airily. ‘I can sit in the drawing room. But I don’t need to rest, do I? I’m perfectly well. I know my eye’s still not quite right, but it looks more dramatic than it is.’

  He sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Bertha, my mother would like you to go and stay with her for a week or two, perhaps until Christmas. How would you like that?’

  Her eyes shone. ‘Oh, how kind of her. I’d have to ask my stepmother first…’

  He found himself smiling at her eager face. The few days in hospital had done her good; she had a pretty colour and she looked happy. He took her hand in his, conscious of a deep contentment. He had cautioned himself to have patience, to give her time to get to know him, but he had fallen in love with her when he had first seen her and his love had grown over the weeks. She was the girl he had been waiting for, and somehow or other he had managed to keep close to her, despite the dreadful stepmother and the tiresome Clare. He wouldn’t hurry her, but after a few days he would go home and tell her that he loved her in the peace and quiet of the country.

  He said now, ‘We have to talk, Bertha. But not here.’

  The ward was very quite and dim. He bent and kissed her gently and went away. Mrs Jenkins, feigning sleep and listening to every word, whispered, ‘Now go to sleep, ducks. Nothing like a kiss to give you sweet dreams.’

  The next day Oliver realized that he would have to see Mrs Soames before taking Bertha home. There was bound to be unpleasantness and he wanted that dealt with before she arrived. Not that he intended to tell her that he was in love with Bertha and was going to marry her, only that his mother had invited her to stay for a short time.

  Mrs Soames gushed over him and then listened to his plans, a smile pinned onto her face. He was surprised at her readiness to agree with him that a week or so’s rest was necessary for Bertha, but, thinking about it later, he concluded that it might suit her and Clare to have Bertha out of the way—she would be of no use to them around the house until her leg was quite healed. All the same, he had a feeling of unease.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OLIVER’S feeling of unease was justified. Mrs Soames, left to herself, paced up and down her drawing room, fuming. Bertha had gone behind her back and was doing her best to put a spoke in Clare’s wheel. The wretched girl! Something would have to be done.

  Mrs Soames, by now in a rage, spent some time thinking of the things she would like to do to Bertha before pulling herself together. Anger wasn’t going to help. She must keep a cool head and think of ways and means. She heard Clare’s voice in the hall and went to the door and called for her to come to the drawing room.

  ‘Presently,’ said Clare, who was halfway up the stairs. ‘I’ve broken a fingernail and I must see to it at once…’

  Something in her mother’s voice brought her downstairs again.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Oliver has been here. Bertha is to come home tomorrow and his mother has invited her to stay with her for a couple of weeks.’ Mrs Soames almost choked with fury as she spoke. ‘The ungrateful girl—going behind our backs. She’s cunning enough—she’ll have him all to herself if she goes to his home.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder—Clare, get me the telephone directory.’

  His receptionist was still at his rooms, and, in answer to Mrs Soames’s polite enquiry, said that she was afraid that Dr Hay-Smythe wouldn’t be seeing new patients during the coming week. ‘And he will be going on holiday the following week. But I could book you for an appointment in three weeks’ time.’

  Mrs Soames put down the phone without bothering to answer.

  ‘He’s going on holiday in a week’s time—he’ll go home, of course, and they’ll have a whole week together. We have this week to think of something, Clare.’

  Clare poured them each a drink and sat down. ‘She’ll have to go away—miles away. Now, who do we know…?’

  ‘She’ll have to go immediately—supposing he calls to see her?’

  ‘We can say she’s spending the weekend with friends.’ Clare sat up suddenly. ‘Aunt Agatha,’ she said triumphantly. ‘That awful old crow—Father’s elder sister, the one who doesn’t like us. We haven’t seen her for years. She lives somewhere in the wilds of Cornwall, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Perfect—but will she have Bertha to stay? Supposing she refuses?’

  ‘She doesn’t need to know. You can send Bertha there—tell her that Aunt Agatha isn’t well and has asked if she would go and stay with her.’

  ‘What are we to say? Bertha may want to see the letter…’

  ‘No letter. A phone call.’ Clare crowed with laughter. ‘I’d love to see her face when Bertha gets there.’ She paused to think. ‘We’ll have to wait until Oli
ver has brought her home and then pack her off smartly. Do you suppose that he’s interested in her? It’s ridiculous even to think it. Why, Bertha’s plain and dull—it’s not possible. Besides, he’s taken me out several times…’

  ‘He will again, darling,’ said Mrs Soames. She smiled fondly at her daughter; she could rest assured that Clare would get her way.

  Bertha was ready and waiting when the doctor came for her. Her leg was still bandaged and her cheek under the black eye was grazed, but all he saw was the radiance of her smile when she saw him. He held down with an iron will a strong desire to gather her into his arms and kiss her, and said merely, ‘Quite ready? The leg is comfortable? I can see that the eye is better.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ declared Bertha—a prosaic statement, which concealed her true feelings. ‘It’s very kind of you to take me home.’

  He only smiled, waiting while she said goodbye to Sister and the nurses; she had already visited each bed to shake hands with its occupant.

  He carried on a gentle, rambling conversation as he drove her home and as he drew up before the door he said, ‘I’m coming in with you, Bertha.’ Mrs Soames had seemed pleasant enough, but he still had an uneasy feeling about her.

  Mrs Soames and Clare were both there, waiting for them. Clare spoke first.

  ‘Bertha, are you quite better? Ought you to rest?’ She gave a small, apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you—you know how I hate illness and dreary hospitals. But I’ll make it up to you.’

  Bertha, recognising this as a deliberate act to put her stepsister in a good light, murmured back and replied suitably to her stepmother’s enquiries, which gave Clare the opportunity to take the doctor aside on the pretext of enquiring as to Bertha’s fitness.

  ‘Is she all right to walk about? Not too much, of course. We’ll take good care of her.’ She smiled up into his face. ‘It is so kind of your mother to have her to stay. Will you be going to your home too?’

  He looked down at her, his face bland. ‘I shall do my best.’ He got up from the sofa where they were sitting. ‘I must go. I have several patients to see this afternoon.’ He crossed the room to where Bertha was in uneasy conversation with her stepmother. ‘I will come for you in three days’ time, Bertha. Mrs Soames, I’m sure you’ll take good care of her until then.’ He shook hands then turned to Bertha. ‘I hope to get away at half past twelve—will you be ready for me then?’

  ‘Yes—yes, thank you.’

  ‘Don’t try and do too much for a few days.’

  No one could fault the way in which he spoke to her—a detached kindness, just sufficiently friendly. Only his eyes gleamed under their lids.

  Bertha’s stepmother, once the doctor had gone, was so anxious to make sure that Bertha had everything she wanted, wasn’t tired, wasn’t hungry, or didn’t wish to lie down on her bed that Bertha was at pains to discover what had brought about this change of heart.

  She wasn’t the only one. Crook, going back to the kitchen after he had served dinner, put down his tray and said darkly, ‘Depend upon it, this won’t last—there’s madam begging Miss Bertha to have another morsel and is she comfortable in that chair and would she like to go to bed and someone would bring her a warm drink. Poppycock—I wonder what’s behind it?’

  Apparently nothing; by the end of the second day Bertha’s surprise at this cosseting had given way to pleased relief, and Crook had to admit that Mrs Soames seemed to have had a change of heart. ‘And not before time,’ he observed.

  Bertha went to bed early. She had packed her bag with the miserable best of her wardrobe, washed her hair and telephoned the nursery school to tell the matron that she would be coming back after Christmas if they still wanted her. Since her stepmother was showing such a sympathetic face, Bertha had told her that she was no longer reading to an old lady but to a group of children.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ Mrs Soames strove to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

  ‘I didn’t think that it was important or that you would be interested.’

  Mrs Soames bit her tongue and summoned up a smile. ‘Well, it really doesn’t matter, Bertha. I’m sure it is very worthwhile work. Oliver arranged it for you, I expect?’

  Bertha said that yes, he had, and didn’t see the angry look from her stepmother.

  Clare, when told of this, burst into tears. ‘You see, Mother, how she has been hoodwinking us all this time. Probably seeing him every day. Well, she’ll be gone when he comes. Is it all arranged?’

  It was still early morning when Bertha was roused by her stepmother. ‘Bertha, I’ve just had a phone call from your aunt Agatha. She’s not well and asks for you. I don’t think she’s desperately ill, just needs someone there other than the servants. She has always been fond of you, hasn’t she? She begged me to ask you to go as soon as possible, and I couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘I’m going to Mrs Hay-Smythe today, though…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. But perhaps you could go to your aunt just for a day or two.’

  ‘Why must I go? Why should she ask for me?’

  ‘She’s elderly—and she’s always been eccentric.’ Mrs Soames, sensing that she was losing the battle, said with sudden inspiration, ‘Suppose you go today? I’ll phone her doctor and see if he can arrange for someone to stay with your aunt, then you can come straight back. A day’s delay at the most. Your father would want you to go.’

  ‘Oliver expects me to be ready—’

  ‘Write him a note and I’ll explain. Believe me, Bertha, if Clare could go in your place she would, but you know how your aunt dislikes her.’

  Bertha threw back the bed clothes. ‘Very well, but I’m coming back, whatever arrangements are made.’

  ‘Well, of course you are. Get dressed quickly and I’ll find out about trains.’

  Mrs Soames went away to tell Clare that their plan was working so far. ‘I told her that I was finding out about the next train.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘I’ve just time to dress and drive her to Paddington. She can have breakfast on the train.’ She turned at the door. ‘Bertha’s writing a note for Oliver. Get rid of it before he comes—and not a word to the servants. I’ll see them when I get back. I don’t mean to tell them where she has gone.’

  An hour later, sitting in the train, eating a breakfast she didn’t want, Bertha tried to sort out the morning’s happenings. It didn’t occur to her that she had been tricked; she knew that her stepmother didn’t like her, but that she would descend to such trickery never crossed her mind. She had written to Oliver—a careful little note, full of apologies, hoping that he wouldn’t be inconvenienced and hoping to see his mother as soon as she could return.

  Clare had read it before she’d torn it into little pieces.

  The train journey was a lengthy one. Bertha, eating another meal she didn’t want, thought about Oliver. He would have been to her home by now, of course, and been told about her sudden departure. She wished she could have written a longer letter, but there hadn’t been time. She could think of nothing else, her head full of the whys and wherefores of something she couldn’t understand. It was a relief when Truro was reached at last and she got out to change to a local train, which stopped at every station until it stopped, at last, at her destination.

  The village was small and she remembered it well from visits when she was a child. Miss Soames lived a mile or two away from the narrow main street, and Bertha was relieved to see a taxi in the station yard. She had been given money for her expenses—just sufficient to get her to her aunt’s house—and since her stepmother had pointed out that there was no point in getting a return ticket as she herself would drive down and fetch Bertha she had accepted the situation willingly enough. Her head full of Oliver, nothing else mattered.

  Her aunt’s house looked exactly the same as she remembered it—solid and rather bleak, with a splendid garden. Bertha toiled up the path with her suitcase and knocked at the door.

  After a moment it was flung
open and Miss Agatha Soames, majestic in a battered felt hat and old and expensive tweeds, stood surveying Bertha.

  ‘Well, upon my word. Why are you here, gel?’

  Bertha, not particularly put out by this welcome, for her aunt was notoriously tart, said composedly that her stepmother had sent her. ‘She told me that you were ill and needed a companion and had asked for me urgently.’

  Miss Soames breathed deeply. ‘It seems to me from the look of you that it is you who needs a companion. Your stepmother is a vulgar, scheming woman who would be glad to see me dead. I am in the best of health and need no one other than Betsy and Tom. You may return home.’ She bent a beady eye on Bertha. ‘Why have you a black eye? She actually sent you here to me?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Agatha.’ Awful doubts were crowding into Bertha’s tired head.

  Miss Soames snorted. ‘Then she’s up to something. Wants you out of the way in a hurry. Been upsetting the applecart, have you? Poaching on that Clare’s preserves, are you?’

  When Bertha’s cheeks grew pink, she said, ‘Took a fancy to you instead of her, did he? Well, if he’s got any sense he will come after you.’

  Bertha shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. He doesn’t know where I am—I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘They won’t tell him either. But if he’s worth his salt he’ll find you. Love him?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Agatha. But he doesn’t think of me like that, though he’s a kind man.’

  ‘We will see.’ Miss Soames thrust the door wide open and said belatedly, ‘Well, come in. Now you’re here you’d better stay. Where’s your father?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure, but he’s coming home soon.’

  Aunt Agatha said, ‘Pah!’ and raised her voice. ‘Betsy, come here and listen to this.’ Betsy came so quickly that Bertha wondered if she had been standing behind the door.