District Nurse on Call

by Donna Douglas

  Hannah was right, Ruth Chadwick was a born worrier.

  ‘I’ll make us a nice pot of tea, shall I?’ Hannah offered.

  ‘I’ll make it.’

  ‘No, you sit thysen down. Take the weight off your feet a minute.’ Hannah was up and at the stove before Ruth could reply.

  Ruth sat on the wooden settle at the table and watched as Hannah busied herself in her kitchen. She didn’t like it but there was never any point in arguing with her.

  They had known each other for years, had started at the village school on the same day. The other children had quickly made friends with each other, but no one seemed to want to pal up with shy, nervous little Ruth or the sullen, red-haired girl with the staring black eyes, who stood a head taller than everyone else and whose mother was supposed to be a witch. So they had somehow latched on to each other. Or rather, Hannah had latched on to her, and Ruth went along with it because she was terrified that Hannah might cast a spell on her if she didn’t.

  Even now, after thirty years of friendship, she still lived with that uneasy feeling.

  Hannah poured water from the kettle into an ancient teapot, clattered it around with a spoon, then carried it over to where Ruth sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘You look worn out, love,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘I am,’ Ruth said. ‘I hardly had a wink of sleep last night, after what happened at the pit.’

  ‘You’ll have slept better than Harry Kettle’s mother and widow, I’m sure.’

  ‘Aye,’ Ruth sighed. ‘Poor Harry.’

  ‘He was in a terrible state when I saw him,’ Hannah said matter-of-factly as she poured out the tea. ‘I barely recognised the lad.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Ruth suppressed a shudder. ‘I can’t think about it.’

  ‘I stayed with his wife all night, after I finished laying him out. She were beside herself.’ Hannah shook her head in sorrow.

  ‘I’m sure.’ Ruth picked up the cup, feeling its warmth through her chilly fingers. She felt for young Ellen Kettle and for Harry’s mother. But at the same time she was deeply grateful it was not her own husband or sons who had come home on that cart.

  They finished their tea as Jinny came in, ushering the children in front of her. All three of the little ones stopped in their tracks when they saw Hannah, like galloping horses shying at a fence.

  ‘And who’s this?’ Hannah put down her cup and turned to face them. ‘Freddie and Jane and little Maggie? Not so little any more, eh? You’ve shot up like weeds. Come and say hello to your auntie Hannah.’

  She reached out her long arms. The children backed away, but her grasping fingers caught Freddie’s shirt and she dragged him into her rough embrace. Ruth saw her son flinch and prayed he would have the good sense not to pull away.

  ‘He’s shy,’ she said quickly. She turned to Jinny, who was hanging up her coat. ‘Mrs Bannister didn’t catch you with the bairns, did she?’

  ‘No, but Miss Sheridan came home. She was all right about it, though.’

  ‘Miss Sheridan?’ Hannah loosened her grip on Freddie, who darted away to safety under the table with his sisters. ‘You’ve met the new nurse, then?’

  ‘Aye.’ Jinny put her hand to the teapot on the table, testing its warmth, then went and fetched herself a cup from the dresser.

  ‘What’s she like?’ The question was carefully casual, but Ruth saw the sharp look on Hannah’s face.

  ‘She seems nice enough,’ Ruth answered for her daughter, without thinking. It was only when Hannah turned her black gaze on her that she realised she should have kept her mouth shut.

  ‘You’ve met her too? You never said.’

  Ruth felt herself blushing. ‘She was at the pit gates last night. We didn’t have much of a conversation, though. I were too worried about Tom and the boys.’

  ‘Was she indeed?’ Hannah looked thoughtful. ‘And what was she doing there, I wonder?’

  ‘She came to help,’ Jinny said, pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘But no one needed her.’

  Hannah gave a little smile. ‘I should think not,’ she muttered.

  ‘She was asking about you,’ Jinny said.

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘She keeps hearing your name around the village. I think she’s a bit put out that people are wanting your help and not hers.’

  Hannah’s smile widened. ‘That’s how it’s always been, in’t it? She’ll soon find out she in’t welcome here. Then with any luck she’ll go back where she came from.’

  ‘Aye,’ Ruth said. But all she could think about was the previous night, and how that slip of a girl had stood at the pit gates, arguing with the overman to be let in so she could help.

  Hannah looked at her sharply. ‘You don’t sound so sure about that?’ she accused. ‘Happen you want her to stay? Happen you think it’s about time Bowden had a proper nurse?’

  Ruth scratched at her arms. ‘I’m sure I’m not thinking any such thing,’ she muttered.

  Hannah stared at her for a moment longer, and Ruth squirmed under her searching gaze. Then Hannah put down her cup and stood up. ‘Well, I’d best be on my way,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a few more people to see.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Ruth fetched her purse from the dresser and rummaged in it for a couple of coins. ‘Here, this is for you. For our Ernest.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t have to …’ Hannah started to protest, but Ruth pressed the money into her palm. Hannah’s hand was icy cold, her palm rough and callused.

  ‘Nay, you’ve got to take summat for your trouble,’ she said. ‘I don’t like owing.’ Especially not you, she thought.

  ‘I don’t like taking money from friends, either,’ Hannah said, but she dropped the coins in the pocket of her apron all the same. ‘I’ll come round with those herbs later on. Remember what I told you. Keep them on a string round his neck.’

  ‘Thank you, Hannah. I’m much obliged.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ Hannah picked up the battered old carpet bag she had left by the door, then turned to Jinny. ‘And you tell that new nurse that if she wants to know owt about me then she can come and ask me hersen. Happen she could come up to the farm for tea with Mother and me.’

  She was smiling when she said it, but there was a glitter in her dark eyes that made Ruth afraid for Agnes Sheridan.

  She only hoped the girl had the good sense to stay out of Hannah Arkwright’s way.

  Chapter Seven

  On a damp Sunday afternoon, exactly a week after she arrived in Bowden, Agnes was invited – or rather, summoned – for tea with the Haverstocks.

  ‘It’s a great honour for you,’ Dr Rutherford informed her as he drove them up to Haverstock Hall in his Austin 7. ‘Sir Edward is not known for being sociable. Apart from with close friends such as myself, of course,’ he added. ‘But otherwise he tends to keep himself to himself. I daresay it was Miss Eleanor who invited you. She takes such an interest in the welfare of the village.’

  ‘Then I look forward to meeting her,’ Agnes said, staring out of the car window as they climbed the steep lane. ‘I daresay we will have a lot to talk about.’

  Dr Rutherford shot her a wary sideways look. ‘I do hope you’re not going to cause any trouble, Miss Sheridan,’ he said.

  ‘Trouble? What on earth do you mean, Doctor?’

  ‘We have been invited for a pleasant afternoon tea. Sir Edward and Miss Eleanor won’t want to be bothered with trivial matters that don’t concern them.’

  ‘But I thought you said Miss Haverstock was interested in the welfare of the village?’

  ‘You know what I mean!’ Dr Rutherford’s face coloured.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t, Doctor.’ Agnes blinked at him, feigning innocence.

  Dr Rutherford’s mouth tightened. ‘That business with Jack Farnley. You’re still fretting over it, I can tell.’

  Agnes was silent. The truth was, she was still smarting over Dr Rutherford’s refusal to sign Jack Farnley off work for another week. Agnes had reason
ed and argued and even pleaded with him, but the doctor had ignored all her objections. Two days after she had visited him, Jack Farnley had returned to the pit, still nursing his badly injured hand.

  Of course, Dr Rutherford had taken it as a sign that he had made the right decision. ‘You see?’ he’d told Agnes triumphantly. ‘If he wasn’t fit he wouldn’t have turned up for work, would he?’

  He might if he was worried about his family going hungry, Agnes thought. She had tried not to think the worst of Dr Rutherford, but Mrs Farnley’s comment still stayed with her.

  I’ve known that fool Rutherford send men back down that pit on their last legs, just to save the Haverstocks a few bob in sick pay.

  ‘As I said, this is supposed to be a pleasant social occasion,’ Dr Rutherford said. ‘It would be considered very ill mannered to bring up such matters. Sir Edward wouldn’t like it at all.’ He shot her another sideways glance. ‘I’m only thinking of you, Miss Sheridan. I would hate you to embarrass yourself.’

  ‘I can assure you, Doctor, I do know how to behave,’ Agnes replied tightly.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Dr Rutherford smiled, his shoulders relaxing against the leather seat. ‘I’m sure you’ll like Sir Edward. He can be a bit of an old curmudgeon at times, but he’s very good company if you can get on his right side. And Miss Eleanor is quite charming.’

  Agnes said nothing as she watched the scenery go by. Unlike Dr Rutherford, she had no interest in trying to get on Sir Edward’s good side. One way or another, she’d already heard about as much as she needed to about the Haverstocks.

  From the doctor, she had learned that Sir Edward’s two sons had both been killed in the Great War and his wife had died shortly afterwards. Only his daughter Eleanor, twenty-eight years old and unmarried, remained with him. According to Dr Rutherford, Sir Edward was a man of great energy and enterprise, whose grandfather had built Bowden and several other local pit villages down the length of the valley.

  But the people of Bowden had a very different story to tell, of a greedy, heartless man who worked his miners to their last breath and begrudged every penny he paid them.

  ‘Well, here we are – Haverstock Hall.’

  Dr Rutherford slowed the car as he drove in through the tall wrought-iron gates, clearly waiting for Agnes to be impressed.

  Haverstock Hall had obviously been built to dominate its surroundings. It perched on a ridge above the village, large enough to be seen all over Bowden.

  But on closer inspection, the featureless, red-brick building was gauche and ugly. It squatted at the end of a long, tree-lined drive, which spliced the ornamental gardens in front of the house. The gardens were beautifully kept, but too regimented for Agnes’ liking, with their hard, angular flowerbeds and rigidly trimmed topiary hedges.

  But she kept her opinion to herself, since Dr Rutherford seemed enraptured by it all.

  Inside the house was just as imposing, with its grand sweeping staircase, marble floors and plaster cherubs on the ceilings. But to Agnes, it all seemed more like a vulgar display of wealth than of good taste and breeding

  The butler showed them into the drawing room, where the Haverstocks were waiting for them.

  Eleanor Haverstock rose to greet them.

  ‘Oh, Dr Rutherford, how good of you to come. And on such a dismal day, too. And this must be Miss Sheridan?’ She turned to smile at Agnes. She was an insipid-looking young woman, tall and thin in a faded silk dress. Her straight brown hair was cut short, which did nothing to flatter her long, pale face.

  ‘Do come and meet my father, Sir Edward.’ She turned to the old man who sat by the fire, still staring into the flames. ‘Father, this is our new district nurse, Miss Sheridan.’

  ‘Good evening, Sir Edward,’ Agnes greeted him politely. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

  ‘I didn’t invite anyone. This is all Eleanor’s doing,’ Sir Edward grunted, not looking at her.

  Agnes caught Dr Rutherford’s eye. What did I tell you? his look said.

  Eleanor seemed quite unfazed by her father’s rudeness. ‘Pay no attention to him, Miss Sheridan,’ she said. ‘If it were left to Father we would live here in splendid isolation, like a pair of hermits.’ Even though she was smiling, the downcast droop of her grey eyes gave the impression of sadness.

  ‘How are you, Sir Edward?’ Dr Rutherford greeted him jovially.

  ‘Famished.’ Sir Edward turned to face them at last. He had a thin, hawk-like face, with hooded eyes and a prominent blade of a nose. His sparse grey hair was brushed back from a high, domed forehead. He reminded Agnes of a spider, with his long, thin limbs.

  ‘Can we have tea now?’ He addressed his daughter, his cold gaze skimming over Agnes without interest.

  ‘Not yet, Father. We must wait for James.’

  ‘We’ve been waiting long enough! Comes to something when a man can’t eat in his own house,’ Sir Edward grumbled.

  Eleanor ignored him, turning back to face Agnes. ‘Do come and sit down, Miss Sheridan. You must tell me all about yourself.’

  Agnes felt herself flushing. ‘There’s really nothing to tell …’

  ‘But Dr Rutherford tells us you come from London? How thrilling. I did the Season there, and it was all most exciting.’ Eleanor smiled, but once again her grey eyes told a different story. ‘I suppose you must find Bowden rather dull by comparison?’

  ‘Actually, I—’

  ‘I don’t think Miss Sheridan has had quite the warm welcome she was hoping for in the village,’ Dr Rutherford put in before she could answer. Agnes glared at him.

  ‘Really? In what way?’ Eleanor asked.

  Once again, Dr Rutherford answered for her. ‘Oh, you know what they’re like in Bowden.’ He smirked. ‘They’re a suspicious lot. Don’t like outsiders.’

  Agnes forced a smile, but inside she was fuming. She wished she hadn’t confided in Dr Rutherford about how difficult her first week in Bowden had been.

  ‘I’m sure they just need time to get used to me,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. They’re an ungrateful bunch of swine,’ Sir Edward muttered. He turned to look at Agnes at last, and she knew immediately that the people of Bowden had not been wrong about him. There was not a shred of kindness in his narrow, cunning face. His eyes were as cold and unblinking as a reptile’s. Agnes felt a prickle of revulsion, and it was all she could do to remind herself that she was a guest in his house.

  ‘Father!’ Eleanor protested mildly.

  ‘Well, they are. The more you do for ’em, the less they appreciate it.’ He looked around, very impatient. ‘Where is Shepherd? It’s not like him to keep us waiting. He’s usually a stickler for time-keeping.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be here in a minute, Father.’ Agnes saw the flicker of anxiety on Eleanor’s face.

  ‘I daresay it’s that wife of his to blame,’ Sir Edward grumbled.

  ‘Father!’

  ‘I’m only speaking the truth, Eleanor. He did himself no favours when he married her.’

  ‘Mr Shepherd is the pit manager at Bowden Main,’ Dr Rutherford explained in an undertone to Agnes. ‘Very clever young man.’

  ‘Not clever enough to escape being caught by a common pit girl,’ Sir Edward said.

  Before Agnes could ask any more, the door opened and the butler announced that Mr and Mrs Shepherd had arrived.

  ‘Show them in, please,’ Eleanor said, then turned to Sir Edward. ‘Father, do try to be civil,’ she pleaded.

  Chapter Eight

  James Shepherd was not what Agnes had expected. She had imagined the pit manager would be a much older man, but he was in his mid-twenties, of medium height with a wiry build and neatly cut light brown hair with a hint of a curl over his ears.

  Mrs Shepherd, by contrast, was extraordinarily pretty, with glossy black hair, a heart-shaped face and a pert nose. She was even younger than her husband, barely more than a girl. But there was a hint of defiance in her blue eyes as she gazed around her. She
looked to Agnes as if she was readying herself for battle, not a pleasant afternoon tea.

  Eleanor jumped to her feet to greet them.

  ‘Oh, James, there you are. We were worried about you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Eleanor … Sir Edward.’ James Shepherd nodded in the old man’s direction. Sir Edward turned to look into the fire again, deliberately ignoring them. Sulking, Agnes thought.

  ‘We were beginning to think you weren’t coming,’ Eleanor said.

  James glanced sideways at his wife. ‘We were delayed. Carrie didn’t feel well.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Sir Edward muttered under his breath.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Eleanor said quickly. ‘I hope you’re feeling better now?’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you.’ Agnes caught the narrow-eyed look Carrie Shepherd shot back at her husband. Her broad Yorkshire accent was a complete contrast to James Shepherd’s quiet, cultured tones.

  ‘Well, if you do take a turn for the worse you’re in the right place, with the medical profession in attendance!’ Eleanor’s laughter sounded forced. ‘Have you met Miss Sheridan, our new district nurse?’

  James reached out to shake Agnes’ hand. His thin face was all angles, a sharp chin and high cheekbones under deep-set, intelligent brown eyes. He looked as if he would be far more at home with his nose in a book than running a coal mine. ‘Welcome to Bowden, Miss Sheridan. May I introduce my wife Carrie?’

  ‘How do you do?’ The young woman nodded a stilted greeting.

  ‘Now everyone’s here, perhaps we can have our tea at last?’ Sir Edward said with exaggerated patience.

  ‘Of course, Father.’ Eleanor rang the bell to summon the butler as Sir Edward beckoned James to his side. Once again he ignored Carrie, and Agnes felt for the poor girl, left on her own.

  ‘I thought I told them not to discuss pit business!’ Eleanor sighed, as she returned to the women. ‘Here, come and sit by me, Mrs Shepherd.’ She patted the couch beside her. ‘Tell me, how is your baby?’

  ‘He’s very well, thank you.’