A Match for Sister Maggy

by Betty Neels

  ‘Good morning—I saw you at the window. Have you breakfasted?’ He scanned the table. ‘I hadn’t expected you up so early.’

  She stood very straight, her voice as crisp and severe as her uniform.

  ‘Your mother likes her breakfast about this time. It’s easier if I have mine first. I’m used to early rising, Dr Doelsma.’

  He surveyed her coolly. ‘I hope you were not too badly frightened last night, Maggy?’

  The unfairness of this remark brought a vexed flush to her cheeks, but she answered in a level voice ‘If I had been badly frightened, sir, I should not have left my bedroom.’

  He raised his eyebrows and grinned at her and seemed about to say something further, but turned instead to the window where Stien had appeared. Maggy wished her a quick good morning and made her escape. As she went up the stairs she wondered, as she had wondered many times in the night, just who Stien was.

  Mevrouw Doelsma didn’t need much done for her, but she loved company. She talked happily about Paul, and spoke of Stien as though she had known her intimately for a long time. Maggy wanted very much to ask if they were engaged, but could not quite bring herself to do so.

  The morning passed with only a brief visit from the doctor, who, as he entered the room, suggested that she might like to take advantage of his visit to have her coffee or go for a turn in the gardens, so that when she returned shortly, their conversation was limited to questions and answers of a purely professional nature.

  Maggy had a solitary lunch, waited upon by Pratt, and then returned upstairs to settle her patient for her afternoon nap. That lady, thoroughly rested from her journey, and delighted at the prospect of getting up and going downstairs on the following day, was disposed to talk, and it was almost two o’clock before Maggy left her, changed into a kilt and sweater and went downstairs. As she passed through the hall, she heard voices and laughter from the dining room, and supposed Dr Doelsma and Stien were having a late lunch. Perhaps they hadn’t cared to lunch with the nurse. Maggy wondered if she should have asked to have her meals in her room. She had done no private nursing, and that aspect of it had not struck her. She should have found out more about it before leaving the hospital. However, it was too late now, so she smiled at Pratt who had appeared to open the door for her, and walked briskly down the drive towards the road. The doctor was home; she felt that she could safely go further afield for an hour or so.

  The village was small—a cluster of houses, a few small shops and a large church, which she found to be locked. She bought some stamps, posted letters, and purchased some local views. There were some of Oudehof, so Maggy sent one to the nurses on her ward, and one to Mrs Salt. The people she met were pleasant and friendly, and though they spoke no English, were very helpful when it came to paying for her purchases. She walked back feeling much happier and less lonely.

  She changed back into uniform and went to see how Mevrouw Doelsma was feeling; she found her awake and reading letters, which she put down as Maggy went in.

  ‘Did you have a good walk? Paul and Stien have just gone—some play or other Stien wanted to see in Amsterdam. They asked me to say goodbye to you. Paul says that I may go for a check-up next week. He suggests that we stay for a day or two in Leiden—he has a house there—so that you can have a look round. You’ll want to see Amsterdam, and Leiden and Delft, and perhaps the Hague.’

  She chattered on, while Maggy helped her to the chair by the small open fire.

  ‘Shall we have tea, and discuss what we can do tomorrow? Paul thought that if it is fine, I might go out for an hour in the car. Do you drive, Maggy?’

  Maggy nodded, ‘Aye, I do.’

  Her patient’s eyes sparkled. ‘Would you be all right here, do you think?’

  Maggy considered. ‘Aye, I think so.’ She had driven her father’s old Landrover over some shocking bad roads in Scotland in snow and ice and fog. It should be easy in Holland, with never a hill to see. The signs might present a problem, but she thought that they were international to a large extent, and driving on the other side of the road, although strange, should present no difficulties.

  ‘I’d like fine to drive,’ she said.

  ‘And so you shall, my dear, but perhaps we had better let Pratt drive tomorrow, and then you can take the wheel for a time. He’s rather fussy, I’m afraid—he prefers horses.’

  Maggy poured second cups. ‘That was a fine beast the doctor was riding this morning.’

  ‘Cobber? Yes, though he takes a bit of riding, Paul tells me. Do you ride, Maggy?’

  ‘Since I was a wee girl; but there’s not much chance in London, so when I’m home, I often spend the day riding in the hills.’

  ‘But, Maggy, you must ride here—there are three or four horses in the stables. Ride every morning before breakfast. Pratt shall tell the groom.’

  So it was settled, and early next morning Maggy spent a magic hour exploring the country. Her mount was not quite to her liking, however. Biddy was a well-mannered roan with a middle-aged disposition, and a dislike of any exercise harder than a canter. There was a wide sweep of parkland behind the house. Maggy longed to gallop over it, and Cobber, she felt sure, would share her views.

  The drive to Sneek after lunch was a great success. The lakes sparkled in the autumn sunshine; they drove slowly through the little town, and then turned into the direction of Heerenveen. Pratt turned the car just below the town into Oranjewoud, where the roads were quiet, and changed places with Maggy. The car was a Daimler Sovereign, and she drove it through the wooded lanes before turning and going back the way they had come. Pratt sat silently beside her, but when she drew up before the door at Oudehof, gave his opinion that her driving was as good as his own, and he for his part felt quite happy about her taking the car whenever she wanted it. This was indeed high praise and she thanked him gratefully. While he was having his tea later, he informed his wife that Sister MacFergus was a well set up, sensible young lady, and pretty too, if you liked your women big.

  The next few days passed happily enough. Maggy rode every morning and drove her patient, with Pratt in attendance, round the countryside each afternoon. There was no sign of Dr Doelsma; if his mother had heard from him, she said nothing. Friends began to call, and Maggy, with time on her hands, spent some time in the stables, making friends with Cobber. He rolled a wicked eye at her, but took her sugar lumps and listened while she talked to him. She had every intention of riding him when she had the opportunity. It came sooner than she had expected, a couple of mornings later when she slipped out of the side door. There was a grey sky with a hint of rain and more than a hint of wind, and no one about in the stables. Without hesitation she went to Cobber’s stall, saddled him and led him out into the back drive.

  Half an hour later, horse and rider turned for home, girl and beast both happy and satisfied. Some way from the house, Maggy turned off the track they had been following, and once on the grass gave Cobber his head. He needed no urging, but broke into a gallop across the parkland. With easy skill Maggy pulled him back into a canter as they neared the house, and turned the corner of the house at a gentle walk.

  Dr Doelsma was standing on the side door steps. He was dressed for riding and white with well-controlled rage. Maggy stopped Cobber in front of him, leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck, and said in a small voice. ‘Good morning, Dr Doelsma.’ She had gone rather white too, but met his furious gaze bravely. He stood at his ease, looking her up and down. It had been raining for some time, and her hair hung in a damp pony-tail, and small mist-spangled curls framed her face. She was only too aware of the bedraggled appearance of her sweater and slacks, and her lack of make-up. She sat quite still, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘How dare you take my horse?’ His voice was very soft. ‘No one rides Cobber but myself.’

  ‘Aye, I know, Doctor. But he was in need of a good gallop, and I’ve done him no harm.’ She lapsed into broad Scots: ‘Dinna’ fash yersel’, sir, I ken well hoo to ride, and have
done since I was a wee bairn.’

  ‘So I am able to see for myself, but that is no excuse, I think.’ His eyes were grey steel. ‘I should like to shake you!’ he added furiously. Maggy dismounted, and threw the bridle over one arm, and prepared to lead Cobber back to the stables.

  ‘I’m sorry ye’re disappointed at not getting your ride, Doctor, but it’s as well. I’m thinking, for ye’re in an awful rage. A good walk, now, is fine for the bad temper. I was not to know that ye’d be wanting Cobber, and please don’t blame Pratt. I was earlier than usual this morning, and he knew nothing of this.’

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but led Cobber away without a backward glance.

  She didn’t see him again until after lunch—she had been taking her meals with Mevrouw Doelsma, but suggested that today it would be a good idea if she had hers in her room. Her patient agreed that she had a great deal to talk about with her son, mostly business, which could perhaps be better discussed if they were alone.

  Accordingly, mother and son sat down to luncheon without Maggy. It wasn’t until Paul looked up from his soup and enquired carelessly as to Maggy’s whereabouts that Mevrouw Doelsma asked the question she had been pondering for most of the morning.

  ‘What have you said to Maggy, Paul?’

  He looked faintly annoyed. ‘Nothing of consequence, Mama.’

  ‘She’s displeased you?’

  ‘If you mean am I displeased with the nursing treatment she gives you, Mother—on the contrary, she is a splendid nurse. I am all admiration for her skill.’

  His mother caught his eye. ‘Please don’t blame her, Paul. It was I who suggested she should drive in the first place, and Pratt says she handles the car to the manner born.’

  Paul choked on his soup. ‘The Daimler?’ he enquired.

  She nodded, then frowned. ‘Wasn’t that it?’ She sounded worried. ‘Is there something else?’

  He said in an interested voice, ‘I wasn’t aware that Sister MacFergus had been driving the car. We can discuss that later. She was out riding this morning…’ His mother interrupted eagerly.

  ‘Yes, dear. She goes out every morning; she rides well, I believe. Did you join her?’

  Her son smiled reluctantly. ‘I had no opportunity, Mama, to do so. Maggy was riding Cobber.’

  Mevrouw Doelsma gasped, ‘Good heavens, Paul! Cobber’s far too strong for her. Was she all right?’

  The doctor inspected the roast partridge on his plate before replying.

  ‘You are alarmed for Sister MacFergus, my dear mother, whereas I was alarmed for Cobber.’

  His mother looked indignant.

  ‘Paul, sometimes I have no patience with you! I hope that one day, when you do fall in love, it will be with a woman who refuses to be ignored for a horse!’

  This remark made her son laugh and restored his good humour, so that the rest of the meal was spent cheerfully enough making plans for her forthcoming trip to Leiden.

  After their coffee, Mevrouw Doelsma declared her intention of going to the kitchen and having a word with Mrs Pratt. Paul lighted his pipe and strolled across to his study. Maggy was coming down the stairs with her tray as he crossed the hall. She reddened when she saw him, but said nothing when he took the tray from her and said quite gently,

  ‘You have no need to carry trays, Maggy.’ He put it down, and went on, ‘Will you come into the study for a moment?’

  He opened the door for her, and she went in, still saying nothing. She had not been in the room before. It was lofty, with large windows overlooking the garden at the side of the house. The walls were panelled, and besides the enormous desk it was furnished with a selection of comfortable leather armchairs, piled untidily with books and papers which the shelves around the walls could no longer accommodate.

  ‘Sit down, Sister,’ he said quietly.

  Maggy sat, her large capable hands folded in her white starched lap, her serene manner hiding her chaotic thoughts.

  He came and stood in front of her, his hands in his pockets, and she studied his shoes—nice hand-made ones, not too new. She had no doubt that he was looking at her, and very crossly too, she was certain. She had no intention of meeting his gaze.

  When he spoke, his voice was still quiet, but it sounded friendly.

  ‘Maggy, I must beg your pardon.’

  Her intention not to look at him was forgotten in her astonishment. Her head jerked back so that her eyes could verify what her ears had heard. Her mouth hung very slightly open.

  ‘I had no right to speak to you as I did this morning; it was most uncivil of me—’ he paused. She smiled warmly at him, but he chose to ignore this, looking severely over her head. ‘Nevertheless, I must ask you not to ride Cobber unless I give my permission.’

  Maggy stiffened slightly. ‘I should not have ridden him; I have said I was sorry, sir…but I can manage him.’ She encountered his furious glance, and stopped.

  ‘Are you suggesting that you should ride Cobber whenever you wish? Indeed, Sister MacFergus, I hope that I am not an unreasonable man, but you must at least allow me my own horse!’ He sounded as angry as he looked. ‘My mother tells me that you have been driving the Daimler. You have your driving licence with you. I hope? I must take Pratt’s word for it that you are competent, I suppose.’ He spoke with an icy politeness; he had quite forgotten that only a few minutes before he had been begging her pardon.

  Maggy rose to her feet, brows a rigid line above blazing eyes. It was obvious that she had inherited the temper of the more belligerent of her Highland forebears.

  ‘Ye’re an angry wee man, Doctor, and not worth the answering, and I’m none so mild mesel’ at the present.’

  He watched while she crossed to the door and went out, closing it very quietly behind her, and presently began to laugh.

  Maggy tucked her patient up for her afternoon nap, and went to her room to write letters; she thought that the less she saw of the doctor, for a time at least, the better. She was feeling ashamed of herself. She had behaved badly, and now she would have to apologise; he might even ask her to return to England. She stopped writing, aghast at the idea, until common sense told her that he was unlikely to take such a step. He had only to tell Pratt and the groom that he didn’t wish her to drive the car or ride. Maggy fancied that he was a man who expected and got his wishes obeyed. She would have to walk. She looked out of the window at the pleasant, placid scenery, stretching away flatly to the horizon, and suddenly wanted hills and heather; she struggled with a strong desire to burst into tears, and presently sat down and wrote several long and slightly mendacious letters.

  She had tea with Mevrouw Doelsma and then helped her downstairs to the front door, where Pratt was waiting to take them for a drive. Maggy settled her patient in the back seat and got in beside her, saying: ‘I’d like to sit beside you today, I can’t enjoy the scenery if I’m driving.’

  Mevrouw Doelsma agreed that this was a good idea, and the first part of the journey was passed pleasantly discussing the various landmarks they passed. Presently Maggy brought the conversation round to the proposed trip to Leiden, which interesting topic kept them engrossed until their return to Oudehof.

  When they went down to dinner, the doctor was waiting for them in the drawing room. He greeted them pleasantly, and enquired after his mother’s day. During dinner he included Maggy meticulously in the conversation, treating her with a frosty politeness which chilled her to the bone. When she had settled Mevrouw Doelsma by the fire once more, she excused herself on the pretext of writing letters, and escaped to her room. When she returned an hour later, she found them playing bézique and laughing a great deal; it was impossible not to notice how different the doctor looked when he laughed. Maggy thought wistfully that it would be fun to laugh with him; the possibility seemed unlikely.

  Mevrouw Doelsma took a long time to put to bed—pills and blood pressure, TPR and checking carefully that her ankles hadn’t swollen. At last she was lying comfortably against her pillows, w
ith the bedside lamp adjusted, and book, glasses and bell all within reach. They wished each other a friendly goodnight, and Maggy went to her own room and to bed. She didn’t think Dr Doelsma was expecting her downstairs again.

  The bell woke her at once; she was out of bed, scuffing her feet into her slippers and putting on her dressing gown as she went. Mevrouw Doelsma looked small and white in the big bed, and there were beads of sweat on her forehead; her eyes implored Maggy, who took one all-embracing, understanding look and fetched a basin. She lifted Mevrouw Doelsma with one strong young arm and held her comfortably in its circle.

  ‘That delicious lobster ye had for dinner,’ she said practically. ‘Ye’ll feel better in a wee moment, and when ye are, I’ll fetch the doctor…’

  ‘I’m here.’ His voice came from behind her.

  She didn’t turn round, but said in a sensible voice,

  ‘If you’ll go to the other side of the bed and hold Mevrouw Doelsma while I change the bowl…?’

  He complied, and she heard him talking low-voiced to his mother. When she returned to the bedside, he had his mother’s wrist in his fingers. Maggy fetched the BP box and wound the cuff on to Mevrouw Doelsma’s arm, saying comfortably,

  ‘You don’t need to worry; the doctor’ll tell you it’s bilious ye’ve been.’

  She handed the stethoscope across the bed to him, and tossed her hair, hanging loose around her shoulders and down her back; she was completely unself-conscious, intent only on her patient.

  Dr Doelsma examined his mother, then handed the stethoscope back to Maggy without looking at her.

  ‘Maggy’s right, Mama. You’ve no need to worry; it’s not a heart attack, it’s lobster! You feel better already, don’t you?’

  His mother nodded. ‘How silly of me! I’m so sorry to have got you both out of bed for nothing.’

  ‘I’m not minding,’ said Maggy calmly, ‘and I doubt the doctor’s minding either.’ She looked across the bed. ‘Will you be kind enough to support your mother, sir, while I shake up the pillows?’ She pushed up her dressing gown sleeves the better to work. The cord of her dressing gown had worked loose too, she undid it and wrapped the garment closely around her, pulling the cord tightly around her neat waist. The simple action, guilelessly done, made her seem very young and childlike despite her size. She shook the pillows with a vigorous grace, and having rearranged them to her satisfaction waited while the doctor laid his mother back amongst them.