It Happened At Christmas (Anthology)

by Penny Jordan

  Tilly looked down the passage at the careworn faces of the men, women and children of the Isle of Dogs. Many of these poor souls would not see the winter through. The old and infirm, the young and weak. Coughs, colds, sneezes and flu were rife. The children were restless whilst the adults tried to keep order. Already a baby was screaming—she had little Noah’s name down for the first to be seen as he was bawling at the top of his lungs and only caused everyone else to shout above him.

  By the time the doctor appeared it was chaos. But as Dr Harry Fleet stepped forward to meet his patients the noise ceased.

  ‘’Oo’s he?’

  ‘Lost yer way, sonny boy?’

  ‘Where’s Dr Tapper?’

  ‘Blimey, this toff’s orf ’is mark, ain’t he?’

  Tilly listened to the comments, then made her announcement. ‘This is Dr Fleet, who is standing in for Dr Tapper. Unfortunately Dr Tapper is indisposed.’

  ‘What’s that in plain English?’

  ‘We don’t want no quacks in ’ere!’

  ‘We ain’t got no money, if that’s what yer after!’

  Tilly grabbed the sheet of paper and hurried up to Dr Fleet. ‘Good morning,’ she said in a professional manner, standing straight in her white apron. But the doctor wasn’t listening. His jaw had dropped in surprise at the crowded waiting area. ‘Mondays and Tuesday are the busiest,’ she added quickly, hoping to soften the blow.

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ He smiled bravely at the narrowed eyes all staring curiously in his direction.

  Tilly followed him in to his room. He sat down in the chair and straightened his tie. ‘How is Dr Tapper this morning?’ she asked anxiously.

  Clearing his throat, he nodded. ‘I’m pleased to be able to tell you he’s feeling quite rested. I’ve urged him to consult a colleague of mine—a specialist in these matters.’ He shifted his position under her scrutiny. ‘And I’m sure he’ll see the sense in it—eventually.’

  Which meant, Tilly decided, that Dr Tapper was as stubborn as ever and refusing to do something he didn’t want to do. ‘Yes, I’m sure he will,’ she agreed, a little hesitantly.

  ‘And—er—one thing more, Mrs Dainty. I…er…would like to express my appreciation for all you’ve done for my uncle. He tells me how well you’ve looked after him, and with your…er…young people to care for too. I know he is most appreciative.’ He looked into her eyes and Tilly felt their darkness lighten, and the smile that edged his lips gave her again that strange feeling inside: a little shiver of expectancy, a shudder of awareness that was almost like excitement as he held her gaze.

  ‘Now,’ the young doctor continued as he dragged his eyes slowly back to the desk, ‘I think we’d better begin, don’t you?’

  With slightly trembling hands Tilly gave him her list. She snatched her fingers back quickly, so that he wouldn’t see. ‘I’ve written a few notes on some of the patients,’ she explained rapidly, afraid her voice would reveal her feelings. ‘Not all, as there are just too many to get down at once.’ She indicated the passage. ‘But there’s a small baby outside, Noah Symes. He’s six months old and cries a great deal—’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I can hear,’ the doctor agreed, frowning at the wails but giving a little smile again.

  ‘Dr Tapper usually prescribes gripe water. Noah has a lot of wind.’ She pointed to a tall, thin bottle standing on the shelf.

  ‘You mean one of those?’ All mirth left the doctor’s handsome face. He stood up and cleared his throat once more. ‘Mrs Dainty—’

  ‘Everyone calls me Tilly,’ she interrupted quietly, straightening her back, relieved that they seemed to have returned to a professional basis.

  ‘Well—er—Tilly, I’m sure I shall come to an assessment of my own, once I have examined the infant.’

  Tilly nodded, thinking but not saying that all he would discover, whilst wasting a great deal of time, was an extremely healthy child who fed too greedily.

  ‘Please bring Noah and his mother in.’

  ‘Sadly, Noah’s mother died when she gave birth,’ she explained before she turned to go. ‘The grandmother now looks after him—although, like the rest of the community, she struggles to make ends meet.’

  ‘What of the father?’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘I’m afraid no one knows where he is. Or even who he is.’

  Tilly saw his features soften as he nodded slowly. ‘You’re right, Tilly, a very sad story indeed. Let’s see in what way we can help, shall we?’

  It was clear the young doctor intended many changes, Tilly reflected as she went to find Noah, but thank goodness he also appeared to have his patients’ welfare at heart. And she certainly couldn’t discount the generous thanks that he had expressed to her when talking of his uncle.

  By five o’clock that evening Dr Fleet had acquainted himself with cases like Bert Singer and his wheezy chest, young Emily Tanner and her four brothers, all at various stages of the measles, and an eleven-year-old girl called Grace Mount with what her mother called ‘a bout of the vapours.’ Stanley Horn, like many veterans of the war, was an amputee. He had lost a leg and was in constant pain. Attending the surgery on his crutches was a feat in itself. Tilly had noted that the doctor had talked at length with this man and offered to return him home by car. But Mr Horn had proudly refused, though he’d confided to Tilly that he been prescribed a new medicine.

  It wasn’t until half past six that she closed the door and, returning to the surgery, found the doctor absorbed in paperwork.

  ‘I must compliment you on your filing system,’ he told her as she stood by the desk. ‘The information’s been very useful throughout the day.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, blushing slightly at the unexpected compliment.

  ‘However…some of the treatments are…’ He hesitated, handing her the dog-eared papers to view. ‘A little unorthodox.’

  Before her were the details of Charlie Atkins’ medical history. As usual at this time of year, he had complained bitterly of the return of his ‘agues’.

  ‘These complaints,’ mused the doctor, ‘are very widespread—from the head downward, covering most regions of the body. On your notes I see that “tincture of camomile, top right shelf” is prescribed to treat them, or, “liquorice pills, third drawer down”.’

  Tilly nodded. ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’ The doctor frowned. ‘Mr Atkins was extremely put out when I asked to examine him fully. In fact he flatly refused and disappeared out of the door.’

  ‘Your uncle usually prescribes the same remedy,’ Tilly explained patiently. ‘Mr Atkins always comes to surgery before Christmas, and he was probably expecting the camomile and liquorice to be given to him immediately.’

  ‘Camomile and liquorice!’ he muttered in a puzzled voice. ‘What on earth does he want those things for?’

  Tilly’s heart sank a little, but she tried to explain. ‘The two combined seem to ease the pain of his lumbago and arthritis. His “agues”, as he calls them, are caused by his damp cottage—no more than a hut, really—always prone to flooding when the river bursts its banks.’

  ‘But why is he not removed and given somewhere decent to live? The poor man is virtually crippled by these diseases!’ the doctor protested.

  ‘Who would give it to him?’ Tilly asked simply. ‘Where can he go? The other houses on the island aren’t much better.’ She frowned at him. ‘Haven’t you seen for yourself?’

  He shook his head. ‘You forget, Tilly, I’m a stranger here. I haven’t stepped foot outside of this place.’

  ‘Then you must certainly go and see for yourself,’ she advised.

  ‘Indeed I will.’

  She was about to leave when he stopped her. ‘Just one thing more.’ He paused, appearing to choose his words carefully. ‘Some of the patients today informed me that you yourself dispense some of these “remedies”?’

  ‘Yes, quite often,’ she agreed. ‘If the doctor’s busy or the p
rescription is a repeated one.’

  ‘But isn’t that rather a big responsibility to undertake?’ he asked doubtfully.

  She felt upset at his question. ‘I may not have written qualifications, Dr Fleet, but I learnt how to nurse in the orphanage where I was brought up by the Sisters of Mercy. And when I left there I went into service at Hailing House, a charitable institution on the island. I’ve spent my whole life nursing the sick and destitute.’

  ‘I don’t doubt your skills for one moment, Tilly,’ he replied quietly, ‘but I wonder about these so-called “remedies”. How safe are they? Even though my uncle might have the confidence to dispense them, what if a traditional medication was needed, yet not given?’

  ‘I’m quite sure they haven’t killed anyone yet! Now, if there’s nothing more to be done, I’ll go and see Dr Tapper before I leave,’ she said, holding her head high.

  What a difficult young man he was, she thought as she made her way upstairs. She was still feeling annoyed when she reached the drawing room door. It took her several deep breaths to calm down before going in. Why was it that he disturbed her so?

  Dr Tapper was sitting by the fire. ‘Ah, Tilly, come and sit beside me. How was your day?’

  ‘Very good, Dr Tapper, thank you.’

  ‘How did my nephew fare?’

  She didn’t want to upset the elderly man. She thought too much of him to express her true feeling on the subject, which would perhaps send him into a relapse!

  ‘He’s patient—and thorough—and I’m sure he’ll soon accustom himself to this type of work,’ she managed to answer.

  Dr Tapper looked thoughtful. ‘You must make allowances for him, Tilly,’ he advised her in a gentle tone. ‘The East End is very different to his normal environment, working in the colonies.’ He patted her hand. ‘We’re very lucky that he thought to pay us a visit.’

  Tilly wasn’t convinced that luck was entirely on their side. Although it had to be said very few would have taken on the workload that was Dr Tapper’s. However, it remained to be seen whether the young doctor would maintain his interest after a few more gruelling days in surgery.

  She quickly busied herself by drawing the blanket over Dr Tapper’s legs and tucking in the sides to keep out the draughts. As she did so she noticed that the fire had been well stoked. A small array of medicine bottles was on a table at his side. There was a jug of water and fruit to hand, and all the little comforts—a newspaper and book, his slippers on his feet, and his pipe had been provided too. Harry Fleet did have a few redeeming features, then, she decided reluctantly.

  ‘You’re very kind, Tilly, but you must go home now. The children will be waiting for you.’

  She nodded, waiting for the next question which she knew must come.

  ‘Have you decided what to do with them?’

  ‘I’m thinking hard, Dr Tapper.’

  ‘An institution, you know, is a far better prospect than living on the streets.’ He smiled tiredly. ‘Don’t leave it too long. You’ve had enough heartbreak in your young life, my dear. And with every day the bond will grow stronger.’

  She looked into his dear face, with his bushy grey eyebrows over kind eyes that made him look like a guardian angel. She knew he was only thinking of her welfare. But how could she tell him that the bond between her and the children was already glue-tight?

  He stifled a yawn. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I seem to be very tired of late.’

  Tilly propped the cushions behind him and dropped more coal on the fire. When she had kindled the flames, she turned to ask him if there was anything more she could do.

  His head had dropped forward. He was fast asleep.

  Quietly, Tilly closed the door and went downstairs. She was disappointed to find Dr Fleet waiting for her. Standing very tall in his dark suit, he looked tired, but he offered a small smile. Tilly thought that if he tried just a little harder there could possibly be a dazzle to it. However, that was not to be.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Tilly.’

  ‘Can I bring up a meal for the doctor and yourself?’

  ‘No, thank you. I have it all in hand.’

  As she went to walk out he opened the door for her. His arm fleetingly brushed against hers as they reached for the lock at the same time. She jumped a little. The collision seemed to have the same effect on him as he looked, somewhat startled, into her eyes. Tilly felt that same excitement flash inside her—a sensation that disturbed her so much her cheeks were quick to redden and her heart started to beat very fast. Why did she feel intrigued and attracted by his presence as his dark gaze bore down on her? Why did it take all her self-control to try to act as normal?

  Forcing her eyes away from his powerful gaze, she turned. ‘Goodnight, Dr Fleet.’

  ‘Goodnight, Tilly.’

  Holding herself erect, she walked into the night. Before she entered the airey she stood still and recovered her breath. Her body seemed to be suffering from a severe case of anxiety. Dr Harry Fleet was a most unsettling and disturbing man!

  Because of the wet weather, the patients’ complaints were plentiful over the next few days. The young doctor worked long hours, often well into the evening, and Tilly was at his side, although she was still annoyed at his questioning. However, her anger had cooled slightly and she felt much relieved that Dr Tapper had agreed to rest. But on Friday evening Dr Fleet summoned her.

  He had a worried look on his face. ‘Tilly, I’ve persuaded Uncle William to do as I recommend and seek further advice on his condition. I’m going to drive him up to town on Monday for a consultation with my colleague Dr Wolf at St Mary’s hospital.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear that he’s agreed,’ Tilly said, truly relieved that Dr Tapper had at last listened to reason.

  ‘Uncle is, of course, reluctant to be away from Tap House for any length of time, but I’ve assured him that we’ll be back by midday if we start out early. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave it to you to ask those who come on Monday to wait for my return.’

  ‘Everyone will understand, I’m sure,’ Tilly assured him.

  He smiled, a rare but charming warmth lighting up his face, making him look so different. ‘That’s all settled, then,’ he added with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘As you’ll have a long day ahead of you, would you like me to cook breakfast before you go?’ Tilly tried again, encouraged by this little happening. ‘Dr Tapper will need building up before the strenuous journey to the hospital, even though you have your very comfortable car to take him in.’

  ‘On this occasion that might be a good idea,’ he agreed, with another accommodating smile that made Tilly’s heart twist a little. But then he paused, crooking one dark eyebrow. ‘However, I wouldn’t want you to leave the children unsupervised—what are their ages, Tilly?’

  She was a little wary at his question, but his face held genuine interest. ‘Frank is fourteen, Molly thirteen and Cessie just seven,’ she told him evenly.

  ‘Quite a handful.’ He nodded. ‘May I ask how they come to be—?’ He was stopped by a sudden knock on the door.

  ‘Oh, dear! Am I at the right place?’ a young lady enquired when Tilly opened it. She was very well dressed, in a smart wrapover coat with a fur collar, and a cloche hat over her neat short hair. Her very large brown eyes looked startled as she gazed into the shabby interior of Tap House.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’

  ‘It’s all right, Tilly,’ Harry Fleet interrupted. ‘This young lady is Rosalind Darraway—a friend of mine.’

  The girl entered and embraced him, a cloud of sweet perfume flowing over Tilly as she did so. They seemed to know each other well, falling at once into animated conversation.

  Tilly went to find her coat. By the time she returned they were ascending the stairs and didn’t notice her leaving. They made a very handsome couple, she thought, he so tall and dark and she so elegant.

  Was she the doctor’s young lady? Tilly wondered as she hurried downstairs.

  For
some reason, instead of feeling grateful that she had been relieved of his interrogation about the children, she felt quite put out again.

  On Saturday afternoon Tilly took the girls to the market. Frank gave them a free pennyworth of chestnuts to eat by the brazier. It was a special treat to browse through the stalls, and though every penny was accounted for now that she had a family to feed, Tilly always found a few coppers for sweets on the way home.

  On Monday Tilly rose bright and early. She left Frank to look after the girls whilst she went up to the house to cook breakfast for the two men whilst they prepared for their journey to town.

  Complaining heartily that it was all a lot of fuss and bother for no real reason, Dr Tapper finally allowed himself to be driven off in the big car.

  Soon after eight o’clock, the patients poured through the door. Tilly explained that there was no one to see them, and they would all have to wait until midday, but Ted Barnes, a burly docker, held out his arm.

  ‘I’ll have bleeded to def by twelve o’clock,’ he objected, unwrapping a bloody cloth and displaying the injury.

  Tilly saw that the cut had just missed an artery. It needed to be cleansed and stitched immediately.

  This was well within her capabilities, and Tilly saw no reason why she should watch a grown man faint away on the passage floor!

  Once she had attended to Ted Barnes, another casualty followed. Arnold Wise was the landlord of the Two Fighting Cocks, and had suffered a gash to his hand from a broken bottle. Tilly felt obliged to do as she had done for Ted Barnes, and made swift work of attending to the problem.

  By one o’clock there were many complaints at the young doctor’s absence. After waiting all morning, the women with families had to get back to their children, and the men to work, if there was any to be had, waiting on ‘the stones’ as they called it, for casual labour in the docks. At two o’clock, a queue stretched to the pavement. Objections abounded.

  Elderly Mrs Stopps had waited all day for attention. ‘You always do me ears for me, Tilly gel. Why can’t you do ’em again?’