Brackenbeck

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Anthony waved his hand distractedly.

  ‘Forget it now, anyway,’ said Jim. ‘You’ve more important things to talk about.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t have been practising medicine,’ persisted Anthony. ‘Just a small way in which she could have been some use.’

  ‘Since you insist on discussing it, she’s plenty of use here,’ bellowed Jim, his face dark and angry.

  ‘Please, please,’ Katharine begged. ‘ Don’t have an unnecessary argument now.’

  ‘No, you’re right Katharine. We must think what we can do,’ Jim said, his quick temper calming rapidly.

  ‘How many are there in the family, who may be in danger of contracting it?’ Katharine asked.

  ‘There’s Jake and his wife, of course, three children besides William, who has it, a baby of six months or so and – Louise Banroyd.’

  ‘Louise? Is she still with the Fords?’ Katharine asked.

  The two men exchanged a look.

  ‘After you left Brackenbeck we decided the best thing to do would be to let Louise stay with the Fords,’ Jim said.

  ‘But how can Mrs. Ford keep her? They’re poor enough without another mouth to feed.’

  Jim moved restlessly about the room.

  ‘I give her some money for the child,’ he muttered.

  ‘Ay, and more than enough for one. He just about keeps the whole family,’ put in Anthony.

  ‘Then why should they appear so poor?’ she asked.

  ‘Drink,’ said Anthony briefly, and Jim paced the floor.

  ‘Who, Jake?’

  ‘Mostly, though I believe Annie Ford’s not averse to it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t Louise have been better with someone else?’

  ‘Yes, we did try. But the child threw a fit every time we took her somewhere else. After all, Grannie Banroyd was just as poor, the child was brought up to it.’

  ‘You should have taken her away, she would have settled down in time. Children have short memories,’ Katharine said.

  ‘Can you isolate the family, or is the whole valley in danger?’ Jim asked Anthony.

  The young doctor sighed.

  ‘I really don’t know. I can, of course, give strict instructions for them to remain in their house, but whether they’ll obey is another matter. Of course, when word gets round, the other villagers will keep their distance, no doubt.’

  ‘But are you quite sure it is typhoid?’ Katharine asked.

  ‘No, I told you, I can’t be absolutely sure yet, not for another day or so, but I must take the precautions just in case …’

  ‘If I had done as you asked Anthony,’ Katharine said slowly, ‘do you think this could have been avoided?’

  There was a pause. The silence hung heavy in the room between the three of them. Katharine looked at Anthony’s face, usually so good-humoured, now solemn and lined with worry.

  ‘Who can say. Maybe, maybe not,’ was his non-committal reply.

  Even Jim remained silent and she felt that, despite his earlier words, he now realised that she could have done something useful amongst his people and had she done so, perhaps this tragedy could have been avoided.

  ‘I must go,’ Anthony said heavily and rose slowly as if he feared to face the task awaiting him. Jim accompanied him to the front door and when he came back his face wore the worried frown Katharine knew so well.

  ‘I wish he had not come here, Katharine,’ he said. ‘Just because he is a doctor he is not immune to infection, and after all, besides ourselves, we have Jonathan to consider.’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ Katharine cried as realisation hit her. ‘If he were to catch it …’

  ‘We shall have to take care, great care. We must not come into contact with him. Nanny must be isolated in the nursery with him. But meanwhile, I must find out what I can do for the Ford family.’

  ‘Don’t go to the house, don’t go anywhere near them, or you’ll bring Jonathan into worse danger,’ she felt the panic rise within her.

  Jim’s dark gaze was on her face.

  ‘What is this, Katharine? From you, a doctor – putting your own family first before the patient?’

  His sarcasm was not lost on her. She buried her head in her hands, her emotions so confused she did not know herself what she felt. When she looked up again, Jim had left the room.

  In the quietness of the room whilst Jim was out, Katharine had time for thought. She began to question herself in a way which she had never done before.

  Vividly the pictures of her life and various attitudes towards life came before her. Life as a girl in her father’s surgery: fascinated by the bottles and potions he mixed, drawn by tender solicitude for the feelings of others to want to heal people and eliminate suffering as her father did so ably and so nobly. Again she could hear her father’s voice bemoaning the fact that he had no son to follow him. Was it then that the seeds of medicine were sown in her mind? Was it merely an overwhelming desire to please her father, as Jim had once suggested? Or had she really wanted to become a doctor in her own right?

  Her years at medical school: the fight for equality, or as near equal rights as she was ever likely to get, became a challenge in itself, quite apart from the task of qualifying. She could see now that independence had become second nature to her, feeling, as she had at that time, that she would never marry, that she must make a career for herself, and find the fulfilment in that career which most women seek in family life.

  And then her coming to Brackenbeck: her meeting with the powerful personality of Jim Kendrick and her decision to leave him in favour of medicine. Had it been the right decision? It could never be proved. And whilst no one would say that she had not done useful work before she became paralysed, she had not made a great name for herself, nor even done much to make things easier in the future for her own sex, in the battle for the emancipation of women.

  Instead, here she was married to Jim Kendrick, with a small son, confined to a bathchair. Never, in her wildest moment had she anticipated such a life for herself.

  And now it appeared she had failed in her allegiance to the medical profession. She had taken years to train, time and money. And when she was needed, here in Brackenbeck, even if only in a small way, but still needed, she had turned away, her bitterness and withdrawal from life clouding her mind and blinding her reason. Katharine felt more ashamed than ever of her behaviour over the past few months and, indeed, years. And in her shame, the picture of Jim’s face came into her mind. What a one-sided affair their marriage had been. How much love and care he had lavished upon her only to be met with disinterest and a cold heart on her part.

  Katharine gave a sob and the tears, which she had held so long, in check, flowed freely. And it was as if her tears washed away all the bitterness and misunderstanding from her heart and when her weeping ceased, she found she could for the first time since she had become confined to her chair, face the situation with calmness and detachment.

  Jim’s last bitter remark before he left the room haunted her. She had failed not only in medicine, but as a wife and mother too. But her common sense, which had deserted her for so long, now began to re-assert itself.

  The old Katharine was coming back to life. And the old Katharine was not one to admit defeat. There was still time to make amends even though her past behaviour would leave its mark on Jim as it would upon herself.

  And slowly, too, the realisation came to her that she returned Jim’s love in full measure now. It was not a sudden, overwhelming revelation, but a gradual recognition that through his care and tenderness he had won her love in return. But still she could not tell him, could not put her feelings into words.

  The news of the Ford household drove all other considerations from the minds of Jim and Katharine. He, preoccupied for most of the time with easing the burden of the Fords, was away from home a great deal. Katharine, left alone, worried incessantly about the fear of an epidemic and always there was the nagging thought that she could have preven
ted it.

  ‘What news?’ she asked Jim each time he returned in the evening. And on the third evening after Anthony’s visit, Jim sat down heavily in his armchair and leant back, his face lined with tiredness.

  ‘Louise has caught it.’

  ‘Oh no,’ whispered Katharine.

  ‘No one else – at the moment,’ he added, though his words were but small consolation.

  Anthony did not come to Kendrick House again, but Katharine knew that he and Jim met each day in the valley. It was as if a shadow hung over Brackenbeck, whilst each family waited in fear to see if their children contracted the disease. But for the moment the illness remained confined to the Ford household.

  ‘Anthony’s puzzled,’ said Jim one evening, when he returned home. ‘He feels that if it is typhoid, then other children would be bound to get it. Will Ford’s a gregarious young ruffian.’

  ‘There’s hardly been time for anyone else to have contracted it from contact with William, but one would think other children would have contracted it from the same source,’ Katharine mused. ‘I suppose it is typhoid?’

  ‘That’s what Anthony’s beginning to wonder now. But the children have all the symptoms he says – you know, headache, fever, vomiting and the rest.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Katharine said thoughtfully. ‘ I wish I could see them for myself.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Jim replied sharply, the angry frown deepening on his forehead. ‘If you can’t think of yourself, for heaven’s sake think of Jonathan.’

  Katharine smiled.

  ‘I wasn’t serious. You know I wouldn’t do anything to endanger Jonathan.’

  Although he did not reply, Jim looked none too sure about that. He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair.

  ‘I can think of nothing more I can do to help them. Can you?’

  ‘No, I can’t I’m afraid. Anthony will be doing everything medically.’

  Distantly they heard the front doorbell.

  ‘I wonder who it can be,’ Jim murmured.

  A few moments elapsed before Mrs. Johnson showed Anthony into the room. He held up his hand as he saw Jim about to speak.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking – that I’m bringing infection here perhaps. But I have news that I think you want to know.’

  ‘Good news,’ asked Katharine anxiously, ‘ or bad?’

  ‘Both,’ replied Anthony. ‘ Firstly, the good news – it’s not typhoid.’

  ‘Thank God,’ breathed Jim.

  Katharine passed her hand over her forehead in a gesture of thankfulness but said nothing.

  ‘It’s severe food poisoning.’

  ‘Well, there’s no wonder you thought it was typhoid – or could be,’ exclaimed Katharine. ‘The first symptoms of both food poisoning of certain types and typhoid are often similar.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Anthony slapping his thigh.

  ‘That certainly is good news,’ said Jim. ‘ Even though the children are obviously suffering, at least there’s no danger.’

  Anthony’s face sobered swiftly.

  ‘Ah, now that, I’m afraid, is where you’re wrong.’

  ‘What?’ Katharine and Jim spoke simultaneously.

  ‘Louise is very sick indeed. I fear she may not recover. She’s such an undernourished little soul that she’s no stamina to fight the infection.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You should see her – such a pathetic sight. Poor child.’

  ‘Anthony, you must try not to get involved,’ Katharine said softly.

  ‘There are times when even a hard-hearted doctor becomes involved. This is one of those times for me, Kate. I feel helplessly inadequate.’

  She sighed.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She remembered vividly her own feelings as she had watched Grannie Banroyd slip away from life. And now Grannie Banroyd’s grand-daughter was dying too. It was ironic, Katharine thought bitterly, that she had failed to save the old lady and had been blamed by the villagers and now, perhaps because she had refused to give instruction to those same villagers, Louise had been given some infected food and her life was in danger.

  It seemed her failures were synonymous with the Banroyd family.

  ‘Is she really as bad as that?’ she asked, willing Anthony to reply negatively. But he was unable to do so.

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

  ‘What about hospital?’

  ‘It would do no good, Kate.’

  ‘You’re to spare no expense, Anthony,’ Jim put in. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Anthony left some little time later, and behind him he left a shadow over Kendrick House. Katharine blamed herself for her own part, or rather lack of it, in this. And Jim seemed strangely silent.

  Perhaps, she thought, now that he knew it really has something to do with unhygienic ways, he does blame me, knowing that I could have done something to improve conditions.

  The following days were agony for Katharine. Whilst her small son giggled and laughed in his cradle, restored once more to the family circle now that the identity of the illness was known, she was unable to respond to his cherubic appeal.

  Her mind and heart were in the small cottage in the valley with Louise, though physically she remained confined to her invalid chair at Kendrick House. She and Jim did not go out on their usual drives, nor indeed did he spend as much time with her.

  At first she had thought it was because he was involved in doing what he could to help the Fords, but gradually she realised that this could not be taking up so much of his time, for there was little he could actually do but wait for news from Anthony. She hesitated to ask him outright how he was spending his time, but she became more aware of his change of attitude towards her. Perhaps, she told herself, it was preoccupation, which could naturally be attributed to anxiety for Louise, as indeed was Katharine so concerned.

  Four days after Anthony had told them of Louise’s serious illness, Jim returned home during the morning.

  Katharine knew immediately he entered the room that he had grave news.

  ‘Is it Louise?’ she asked softly.

  He nodded and said quietly,

  ‘She died this morning.’

  There was a silence in the room. Jim went to stand before the window looking out over the valley.

  ‘You blame me?’ Katharine said, her voice strangely shrill unlike her normal low tones.

  ‘No – no, of course not,’ Jim replied irritably, still not looking at her. But there had been a visible change in his attitude towards her since the children’s illness, which was even more pronounced now that the illness had proved fatal.

  She said no more but she did not believe his denial.

  Kendrick House was subdued over the next few days and weeks. Only Jonathan, burbling happily or bawling lustily in his cradle, remained unperturbed by the events. The village once again turned out in their dozens to attend Louise’s funeral. Only Katharine was a noticeable absentee.

  It was a hot day, still and silent. The quarry machinery was stilled, even the farmers left their fields. Katharine, high on the hillside in the garden of Kendrick House, watched the distant procession winding through the valley towards the church. They looked to her like a colony of ants, but the measured pace of the mournful procession was far removed from the scurrying creatures to which she likened it.

  Again, as at Grannie Banroyd’s funeral, she was an outsider. And again, she felt herself blamed.

  Anthony had asked her to help him and she had failed to respond to his request and the villagers’ need.

  ‘I will not fail again,’ she murmured to herself as the procession reached the church. And there, sitting in the bright sunlight, alone on the hillside overlooking Brackenbeck, Katharine found herself again. Her melancholy of the past few years was over. Replaced by the natural grief and remorse for Louise’s death, she had rid herself of the destructive self-pity and introspection which had clouded her reason and dulled her natural spirit for so long. Ther
e remained only her original personality. And with the return of her natural tenacity came the overwhelming desire to walk again, stronger than ever before: to lead a full life once more. Not, she knew now, to carve a career for herself in medicine, for her life was now bound up with her husband and son, both of whom filled her heart with love.

  But perhaps, still, there was work for her in the valley. Anthony would not find her wanting the next time he asked for her help.

  She was anxious to tell Jim of the change which had taken place, of her new-found strength, of her realisation of the truth, but his attitude towards her had changed and she found communication with him impossible.

  Outwardly, there were few signs and an outsider would have seen no indication, but Katharine knew that although he was as attentive as ever for her welfare, there was a change. For a time she was cast down with despair again and her previous misery threatened to engulf her once more. She had left matters too late. Her own stupidity had lost her his love. But she had recovered sufficiently and found enough strength of purpose to realise that perhaps she could by her own efforts, recapture Jim’s love.

  And Katharine became firmly convinced that the only way she could do this was to walk again. She was sure that he was now tired of a crippled wife, that he regretted his sacrifice in marrying an invalid. In secret she began to exercise her useless limbs. With her medical knowledge she knew what was likely to be of the greatest aid to recovery, though she too could not understand the cause of her paralysis any more than her doctors. She exercised to strengthen the lifeless muscles, each day progressing a little farther. It took time and although she was impatient for results her common sense, coupled with her knowledge, told her that she must be patient.

  She told Jim nothing of this and whilst each day he left Kendrick House on his own business, often now taking little Kate, Mary’s child, with him again, and even occasionally his small son in a wicker cradle perched on the seat of his motor at his side, not once did he take his wife out.

  Alone Katharine persevered. She did not wish even Anthony to know, nor indeed anyone. This she must do alone.

  The days passed into autumn and the bleak Yorkshire winter was upon them again. The children’s outings with Jim grew fewer, but still he was out in all weathers and most of the time Katharine knew not where.