To Please the Doctor

by Marjorie Moore

  “What does Dr. Sharland say?” Jill asked.

  “Talked about gastric ‘flu, but he didn’t seem all that certain. Bit baffled himself if you ask me; said if it was measles the rash might not show for a day or so—as if I didn’t know that,” she ended on a note of indignation.

  “You can only wait and see, keep him warm and in bed for the time being. Some of those children’s infections are difficult to diagnose at first.” She paused in listening attitude. “Wasn’t that Terry moving? Shall we go along and have a peep, I’m just longing to see him.”

  Jill had sadly missed Terry’s welcome on her arrival—his sturdy little figure hastening to meet her, the leap into her arms and the tugging clasp at her neck. His greeting now was different but no less moving, and as she leaned over his cot his ecstatic murmurs of joy and his warm encircling hold almost brought tears to her eyes.

  “You’ve comed ... my own Jill! I’m so glad you’ve comed. I said in my prayers for God to send you. I say it every night, I do really. I never forget. I puts it in with the bit about blessing Mummy and Daddy so I can’t forget, can I?” He pressed his flushed cheek against Jill’s and drew her down closer.

  Jill sank to her knees beside the cot and gently disentangling the encircling clasp of the boy’s chubby arms, gazed down into the wide blue eyes so filled with undisguised adoration. “I always come and see you when I can, you know that, don’t you, sweetheart? I’ve much further to come now, so I can’t be with you as often as before, but you’ve got Mummy, land Daddy and Nana, so you aren’t ever really lonely, are you?”

  “No, but I want you too.” He pressed his head into the circle of Jill’s arms and cuddled close against her. “Are you lonely or have you got somebody what cuddles you when you stay away all those long?”

  Jill smiled, but aware that the heavy lids were gradually dropping over the child’s eyes, made no effort to respond. Looking up, she addressed Nana in lowered tones. “He is very drowsy—hot, too—how about a sponge down? Did the doctor suggest it?”

  “Yes, it seems to make him more comfortable, but all the same the doing of it seems to worry him.” She frowned. “Irritable and touchy he is, grizzles every time I try to sit him up or move him.”

  “Why should he?” Jill questioned, although the words were obviously not particularly addressed to anyone and only echoed her thoughts. As she rose to her feet Terry turned restlessly, a troubled sigh escaping his lips. “Let’s see what we can do about it. I’ll give you a hand.” Jill was already rolling back her sleeves as she spoke and tying round her waist a rubber apron which she had taken from a chair.

  “I’ll get some hot water,” Nana agreed readily, obviously glad to have Jill’s expert aid. “Perhaps I don’t handle him right; maybe he’ll be better with you.” As she bustled around collecting water and warm towels, she went on speaking. “Doctor ought to be here soon, he usually comes around mid-day, we’ll just have time to get Terry comfortable and settled down again.” She gave a ponderous sigh. “I do hope he finds him better this morning.”

  The task was only just completed when Dr. Sharland arrived. An elderly man, who had tended Jill in all her childish ailments, he greeted her with a hearty handshake. “Well now, isn’t it nice to see you, looking so bonny too, and I hear you are holding a fine post these days.”

  Jill nodded, then forced a smile. She didn’t feel one bit like idle chatter, and she knew only too well how garrulous the old doctor could be, she longed for him to turn his attention to Terry, to allay her, anxiety, an anxiety which she found difficult to explain. “I expect you want to have a look at Terry, so I won’t keep you now.” Jill moved towards the door. She knew she should have stayed, but some underlying instinct urged her to escape. She must get away, she told herself, away from this well-meaning old man. She must find Philip, share her concern with him, let him laugh away these ridiculous fears. “I—I’ll see you again presently, of course. You must join us downstairs and have a sherry before you leave.” She hoped her tone was natural. “Mother will want to hear your opinion of Terry.”

  Jill closed the door behind her, then leaned her back against it, glad of the support. What was the matter with her? She, an experienced nurse, behaving like a hysterical schoolgirl. Taking a grip on herself she walked down the wide stairway, her hand sliding listlessly on the oak balustrade. Just a few more minutes, then surely Dr. Sharland—and Philip too—would laugh at her fears, yet she found herself going over again every detail of those moments spent at Terry’s bedside. Nana was at times inclined to be over-anxious, but this indisposition might so well prove to be more serious than a chill—more serious than measles, too. Jill caught her breath and stood for a moment irresolute at the foot of the imposing stairway. Again, a nameless fear held her in grip, an apprehension she could not dismiss. Was it due to her years of experience of children’s diseases which was compelling her to view what was probably nothing more than a feverish cold with something approaching panic? Involuntarily she found herself closing her eyes, visualizing again his drooping head, hearing the child s whimpers of distress ... It couldn’t be, she told herself firmly. Her love for Terry was making her unreasonable, and filling her with senseless apprehension—surely no way for a nurse to behave? With measured steps she crossed the parquet floor of the hall and threw open the door leading to the lounge. Forcing a smile to her lips she joined the small group gathered before the wide, open fireplace.

  “Hello, darling, how did you find Terry?” Without awaiting a reply Lady Hallard went on: “Sit down and have a sherry, you look tired. I expect you’ve been overworking. I shall never understand why you persist in keeping on with that ridiculous job of yours,” she ended plaintively.

  “No—thanks, I’ll not have a sherry.” Jill was glad that her voice was steady, although it sounded far off, as if someone else were speaking. “Dr. Sharland is here, but I don’t expect he’ll be long. I thought that if Philip came up now he might just get a peep at Terry before lunch.”

  Philip must have recognised her appealing glance in his direction which denied her apparently casual words. He rose with alacrity in an effort to forestall any protest from Sir Trevor or Lady Hallard, and placing his glass on a side table, joined Jill.

  “Why not wait, it’s nearly lunch-time. You can go up to the nursery after,” Sir Trevor protested. “Come along, Philip, have another drink?”

  “We won’t be a moment.” Jill almost pulled Philip from the room, then, allowing him no time for argument, hurried him up the stairway out of earshot of the library. At the first landing she paused and, turning to confront her companion, addressed him in breathless tones. “Listen, Philip, I’m worried. I can’t wait until after lunch, the very sight of food would choke me. It’s Terry, it’s not like me to panic, but I believe this is more than a chill.” Her voice broke and for a moment she was unable to continue, then, choking back her emotions, she went on more calmly. “You must see him yourself and tell me what you think. Dr. Sharland is with him now, but I haven’t much faith in him. The child’s posture worries me, his persistent headache, too, every symptom appears’ to be consistent with meningitis. I may be terribly wrong, over-concerned because I love him. Perhaps you’ll laugh me out of my fears ... I hope you will! Go in to Terry now. Dr. Sharland won’t mind; he’ll probably remember you. Anyway, he knows that you are just a friend of the family. Oh, Philip, I’m so scared, for goodness sake hurry up and put me out of my misery.”

  “Of course I’ll see him if you want me to, and if Dr. Sharland doesn’t mind.” Philip slipped a reassuring arm through hers. “Come along, lead the way and stop worrying. I’m not particularly experienced in these cases, but I’ve seen a few of them, so no doubt I can give some sort of opinion. I’m pretty sure you’re jumping to conclusions, an over-anxiety complex or something.” He pressed her arm more closely to his side. “Snap out of it, Jill, I expect young Terry will be up and about in no time and kicking a football around by the end of the week, and you’ll be kickin
g yourself around for getting worked up about nothing!”

  Ten minutes later when Dr. Sharland, followed by Philip, emerged from the night nursery, it was all too obvious to Jill that they shared her own doubts.

  “Your young friend here has been very helpful.” Dr. Sharland began pulling uneasily at his white moustache. “I am not too happy about Terry this morning, and Dr. Traven agrees that another opinion might be advisable. I’m glad you are home, Jill, this is going to upset your mother quite a lot. I suppose I’d better go down and have a word with her about it.”

  Jill, aware of the comforting grip of Philips hand on her arm, braced herself to speak. “Yes, you’d better tell them, they are in the library.” Her tone was even and quite devoid of expression. “Who would you care to have down in consultation? I—I would like someone immediately.” Her voice broke, but pulling herself together she continued with almost unnatural calm, “Can you arrange that?”

  Dr. Sharland glanced enquiringly at Philip. “We’ll have to get someone down from town, of course. I don’t know what Dr. Traven thinks—” He broke off and turned again to Jill. “Perhaps one of you would care to make a suggestion? There is Mayne from St. Cedric’s, he is a good man; or Humphrey, he is of course attached to Baldwins —but there, you two make up your minds while I go down and have a word with Sir Trevor and Lady Hallard.”

  Jill watched the Doctor’s portly figure disappearing down the stairway, then, without conscious volition, allowed Philip to lead her into the day nursery. Her knees felt unsteady and she was glad to sink down to the window-seat. For a moment, she remained speechless, staring out across the lawn now thinly covered with a white carpet of snow. Soft flakes fell against the window, then, turning to moisture, trickled down the pane.

  “Jill, my dear.” Philip’s tone was gentle. “You mustn’t let go of yourself, you are just jumping to conclusions; things may not be nearly as serious as you think.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, Jill returned the pressure of Philip’s fingers which clasped hers, but her eyes still stared across the garden at the bare branches of the trees now flecked with white, and the sunken pond, now frozen but from which in the summer a fountain gushed, sparkling in the sunlight...

  “Jill, who would you like to see Terry? Humphrey will remember you, he’d come down all right. Shall I see if I can catch him? He’s probably in Harley Street at lunch time.”

  “Would Duncan McRey come?” Jill was scarcely conscious of speaking. The name had come unbidden to her lips, but even as she asked the question she knew that, despite her brief acquaintance with Dr. McRey, with him alone would she feel safe and confident. A new hope was already filling her heart. And as she lifted her face to Philip it was mirrored in her eyes. “Phone him, Philip; phone him now.” She twined her fingers together until her knuckles whitened and there was a note of urgency in her voice as she added: “Make him understand. Oh, Philip, please make him come!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lunch at Brent Towers that day had been a strained and awkward meal, and Jill certainly had reason to be grateful to Philip for helping to relieve the tension with his naturally cheerful an optimistic disposition. It was only his reassuring manner which had, kept Lady Hallard calm; prone to indulge in hysterics at the slightest provocation, his presence, and no doubt her own innate sense of duty as his hostess, had encouraged her to maintain some measure of control. Sir Trevor, who had at first appeared bewildered by the seriousness of Dr. Sharland’s disclosure, also seemed to turn instinctively to the younger man for confidence.

  Returning to the library after watching at Terry’s bedside, Jill viewed the small group gathered round the log fire. Despite the familiarity of the room and its occupants, she was aware of an atmosphere of unreality, a sense of detachment, as if she looked on some stage tableau. Three faces turned instinctively towards her as she entered, white masks in the semi-darkness of the room.

  “How is he?” Lady Hallard asked with ill-concealed anxiety.

  “He’s sleeping.” Jill sank into an armchair, then addressed Philip. “Did Dr. McRey give you any idea what time he’d get over here?”

  “He said he’d have to do an afternoon round, then Harriet would take over. I imagine he’ll be down somewhere around five or six.”

  “You are sure he is the very best man you could get?” Lady Hallard queried plaintively. It was not the first time she had asked that question, perhaps needing the consolation of frequent reassurance.

  “No one better,” Philip responded easily. “McRey’s no social asset, and I doubt if you’ll like him, but he is the best man for the job, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t care in the least what the man is like—so long as he gets my baby better, nothing else matters.” Lady Hallard wiped her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Why this should have happened to Terry of all people, I can’t understand—I just can’t!” she murmured tearfully.

  “These things can’t be explained, my dear.” Sir Trevor laid a consoling hand over hers. “Now don’t start worrying. We’ll soon have the specialist here and, as Philip says, it’s probably not nearly as serious as we think.” He instilled a note of encouragement into his voice. “Now, dear, how about ringing for some tea? I expect we can all do with a cup.”

  It was Jill who poured the tea from the heavy silver teapot, she knew its design so well. As a child she could recall tracing its intricate pattern of grape leaves with her fingers ... milk? ... sugar? ... hot toast from the silver dish? Even while she served the others and drank her own tea, Jill knew her ears were straining for the sound of a car on the drive, a crunch of gravel ... Duncan McRey would be here soon, he couldn’t be long now. The conversation round the table was desultory, mostly led by Philip, who alone seemed fully aware of her detachment.

  “This layer of snow on the roads may slow down driving quite a bit,” Philip announced.

  Jill looked up quickly, so he had even been conscious of her thoughts. “Yes, I had realized that.” She rose from her seat. “Excuse me, please, I think I’ll run up to the nursery again in case Terry needs me.”

  “Rest a few minutes longer, Jill,” Philip suggested. “Nana will be with him, and seems an exceptionally sensible woman.”

  “She is,” Jill agreed warmly, then went on, turning to Sir Trevor. “Will you ask Hawkins to meet the London train, there is a Nurse coming down from Baldwin’s.” She paused, then added. “Mother, I’ve asked to have the chintz room prepared for her, it’s near the nurseries—is that all right?”

  “Of course, darling, do everything you think best—thank goodness you were here, and Philip, too. I just don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

  Jill had one foot on the bottom stair when she heard the sound of wheels on the drive. She felt at that moment she must have been listening for that sound for hours. Now it had come, it was like music in her ears. Without pausing for the bell she swung round and, hastening to the door, flung it wide.,

  “Oh, you’ve come, thank goodness!” she gasped, as Duncan McRey mounted the steps. “These hours of waiting have seemed interminable. I was so afraid bad roads or something might hold you up.” She felt breathless, as if she had been running, and as she closed the heavy door behind him, hung on to the handle, glad of its support.

  “The roads are quite all right.” With slow determination Duncan McRey pulled off his gloves and overcoat and flung them carelessly across an oak chest m the hall, but his gaze remained on Jill as she leaned against the door, his eyebrows raised quizzically, an enigmatical expression in his blue eyes.

  Jill released her grip and stepped forward, seeking to escape that searching glance. The moment of breathlessness had passed. She felt steadier and more ready to speak. “It was good of you to come...” She broke off, hoping that some interruption from Duncan McRey would save her further words, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue. “I—I hope the journey wasn’t too bad ... it you’ll come up to the nursery I wil
l phone for Dr. Sharland to meet you, it only takes him five minutes to get here.”

  “Then don’t ring him yet, I want a chance to thaw out. I can’t examine a child with frozen fingers.

  “I’m sorry—of course, I forgot,” Jill faltered, then went on: “Come into the library and have some tea ... My people are there, they are most anxious to meet you.”

  “Just a moment.” He laid a restraining hand on Jill’s arm as she turned away. “What is the matter with you? You seem all to pieces.”

  Jill was again uncomfortably aware of that searching stare. “I’m all right—naturally worried about my stepbrother, that’s all.” She could not help a note of resentment creeping into her tone. The censure in his voice hadn’t escaped her. Did he expect to find her cool and dispassionate about a case when that case happened to be a child so dear to her heart? She wasn’t in hospital now. Her personal feelings were her own affair, her attitude no business of his. “It’s been a long wait since Dr. Sharland saw Terry this morning. Now the child is complaining so much of his head and naturally I am anxious to have your opinion.”

  “Hence the exuberance of your welcome, and I imagined it might be because you hadn’t seen me since yesterday!” There was no mistaking his irony, and Jill found herself flushing. He really was a hateful person; only her love for Terry, her longing to do the best for him, would have made her send for him, and since nothing could shake her faith in his ability, then anything was worth putting up with for Terry’s sake. Not venturing a reply, Jill threw open the door leading to the library and ushered the visitor in.