by Betty Neels
She was going silently around the room, getting clean clothes for the boys, when the doctor came in.
She wished him a quiet good morning and saw how tired he was, despite his immaculate appearance. Despite his annoyance the previous evening, she said in her sensible way, ‘I hope you’ll have the good sense to have a good night’s sleep tonight. What would we do if you were to be ill?’
‘My dear Miss Pomfrey, stop fussing. I am never ill. If you’re worried during the day, tell Bas; he knows where to find me.’
And he had gone again, with a casual nod, hardly looking at her.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE day was every bit as bad as Araminta had expected it to be. Paul woke up peevish, hot and sorry for himself, and it took a good deal of coaxing to get him washed and into clean pyjamas, his temperature taken and a cold drink swallowed. Bas had produced some coloured straws, which eased the drinking problem, but the mumps had taken hold for the moment and her heart ached for the small swollen face.
Nevertheless, she got through the day, reading to the invalid until she was hoarse, playing games with Peter and then taking him for a walk with Humphrey while Nel sat with Paul. They returned, much refreshed, armed with drawing books, crayons, a jigsaw puzzle and a couple of comics, had their tea with Humphrey in the sitting room and then went to spend the rest of the afternoon with Paul. He still felt ill, but his headache was better, he said, although it still hurt him to swallow.
‘You’ll feel better tomorrow,’ Araminta assured him. ‘Not quite well, but better, and when your uncle comes home I expect he’ll know what to do to take away the pain in your throat.’
The doctor came home just after six o’clock, coming into the boys’ room quietly, his civil good evening to Araminta drowned in the boisterous greeting from Peter and the hoarse voice of Paul. Humphrey, who had been lying on his bed, lumbered up to add his welcome and the doctor stooped to pat him.
Before the doctor could voice any disapproval of dogs on beds, Araminta said firmly, ‘I said that Humphrey could get on the bed. He’s company for Paul and comforting, too, so if you want to scold anyone, please scold me.’
He looked at her with raised eyebrows and a little smile which held no warmth. ‘I was not aware that I had given my opinion on the matter, Miss Pomfrey. I see no reason to scold anyone, either you or Humphrey.’
And, having disposed of the matter, he proceeded to ask her how the day had gone. He sat on the bed while she told him, examining Paul’s face and neck, taking his temperature, listening to his small bony chest, looking down his throat.
‘You’re better,’ he declared cheerfully. ‘You’re going to feel horrible for a few days, and you’ll have to stay in bed for a while, but I’ve no doubt that Miss Pomfrey will keep you amused.’
‘Does Miss Pomfrey—well, you mean Mintie, of course—amuse you too, Uncle?’ This from Peter.
The doctor glanced across at Araminta. ‘Oh, decidedly,’ he said, and smiled at her, a warm smile this time, inviting her to share the joke.
It was impossible to resist that smile. She agreed cheerfully and listened to Peter, like all small boys, enlarging upon the idea with gruff chuckles from his twin.
The doctor got up presently. ‘Ice cream and yoghurt for supper,’ he suggested. ‘Miss Pomfrey, if you would come down to my study, I will give you something to ease that sore throat. Peter, I leave you in charge for a few minutes.’
In the study, with Humphrey standing between them, he said, ‘You have had a long day. I’m afraid the next few days will be equally long. Paul is picking up nicely, and the swelling should go down in another five or six days. He must stay in bed for another day or so, then he could be allowed to get up, wrapped up warmly and kept in the room. Peter seems all right…’
‘Yes, and so good with his brother.’
‘I shall be at home this evening. I’ll keep an eye on the boys while you have dinner, and then if you would be with them for half an hour or so, I’ll take over. You could do with an early night…’
She said, before she could stop her tongue, ‘Do I look so awful?’
He surveyed her coolly. ‘Let us say you do not look at your best, Miss Pomfrey.’
He took no notice of her glare but went to his case. ‘Crush one of these and stir it into Paul’s ice cream. Get him to drink as much as possible.’ He added, ‘You will, of course, be experienced in the treatment of childish ailments?’
‘Yes,’ said Araminta. The horrible man. What did he expect when she’d been kept busy the whole day with the boys? Not look her best, indeed!
She went to the door and he opened it for her and then made matters worse by observing, ‘Never mind, Miss Pomfrey, as soon as the mumps have been routed, you shall have all the time you want for beauty treatment and shopping.’
She spun round to face him, looking up into his bland face. ‘Why bother? And how dare you mock me? You are an exceedingly tiresome man, but I don’t suppose anyone has dared to tell you so!’
He stared down at her, not speaking.
‘Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that,’ said Araminta. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings, although I don’t see why I should be, for you have no regard for mine. Anyway,’ she added defiantly, ‘it’s a free world and I can say what I like.’
‘Indeed you can, Miss Pomfrey. Feel free to express your feelings whenever you have the need.’
He held the door wide and she flounced through. Back with the boys once more, she wondered if he would give her the sack. He was entitled to do so; she had been more than a little outspoken. On the other hand, he would have to get someone to replace her pretty smartly, someone willing to cope with two small boys and the mumps…
Apparently he had no such intention. Paul was soon readied for the night and Peter was prancing round in his pyjamas, demanding that he should have his supper with his brother.
‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ said Araminta. ‘Put on your dressing gown, there’s a good boy, and I’ll see what Bas says…’
‘And what should Bas say?’ asked the doctor, coming in in his usual quiet fashion.
‘That he won’t mind helping me bring supper up here for Peter as well as Paul.’
‘By all means. Ask him to do so, Miss Pomfrey, and then have your dinner—a little early, but I dare say you will enjoy a long evening to yourself.’
There was nothing to say to that, so she went in search of Bas.
Peter said. ‘You must say Mintie, Uncle. Why do you always call her Miss Pomfrey?’
‘I have a shocking memory. How about a game of Spillikins after supper?’
Araminta still felt annoyed, and apprehensive as well, but that didn’t prevent her from enjoying her meal. Jet sent in garlic mushrooms, chicken à la king with braised celery, and then a chocolate mousse. It would be a pity to miss these delights, reflected Araminta, relishing the last of the mousse. She must keep a curb on her tongue in future.
She went back to sit with the boys and the doctor went away to eat his dinner, urged to be quick so that there would be time for one more game of Spillikins before their bedtime.
‘It’s already past your bedtime,’ said Araminta.
‘Just for once shall we bend the rules?’ said the doctor as he went out of the room.
He was back within half an hour, and another half an hour saw the end of their game. He got up from Paul’s bed.
‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he told them, ‘and you’ll both be asleep.’
When he came back he said, ‘Thank you, Miss Pomfrey, goodnight.’
She had already tucked the boys in, so she wished him a quiet goodnight and left him there.
A faint grizzling sound wakened her around midnight. Peter had woken up with a headache and a sore throat…
She went down to breakfast in the morning feeling rather the worse for wear. The doctor glanced up briefly from his post, wished her good morning and resumed his reading. Araminta sat down, poured her coffee, and, s
ince he had nothing further to say, observed, ‘Peter has the mumps.’
The doctor took off his spectacles, the better to look at her.
‘To be expected. I’ll go and have a look at him. He had a bad night?’
‘Yes,’ said Araminta, and stopped herself just in time from adding, And so did I.
‘And so did you,’ said the doctor, reading her peevish face like an open book. He passed her the basket of rolls and offered butter. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had your breakfast.’
Araminta buttered a roll savagely. She might have known better than to have expected any sympathy. She thought of several nasty remarks to make, but he was watching her from his end of the table and for once she decided that prudence might be the best thing.
She bit into her roll with her splendid teeth, choked on a crumb and had to be thumped on the back while she whooped and spluttered. Rather red in the face, she resumed her breakfast and the doctor his seat.
He said mildly, ‘You don’t appear to be your usual calm self, Miss Pomfrey. Perhaps I should get extra help while the boys are sick.’
‘Quite unnecessary,’ said Araminta. ‘With both of them in bed there will be very little to do.’
She was aware that she was being optimistic; there would be a great deal to do. By the end of the day she would probably be at her wits’ end, cross-eyed and sore-throated from reading aloud, headachey from jigsaw puzzles and worn out by coaxing two small fractious boys to swallow food and drink which they didn’t want…
‘Just as you wish,’ observed the doctor, and gathered up his letters. ‘I’ll go and have a look at Peter. Did Paul sleep?’
‘For most of the night.’
He nodded and left her to finish her breakfast, and presently, when he had seen Paul, he returned to tell her that Peter was likely to be peevish and out of sorts. ‘I’ll give you something before I leave to relieve his sore throat. Paul is getting on nicely. Bas will know how to get hold of me if you are worried. Don’t hesitate if you are. I’ll be home around six.’
The day seemed endless, but away from the doctor’s inimical eye Araminta was her practical, unflappable self, full of sympathy for the two small boys. Naturally they were cross, given to bursts of crying, and unwilling to swallow drinks and the ice cream she offered. Still, towards teatime she could see that Paul was feeling better, and although Peter’s temperature was still too high, he was less peevish.
She hardly left them; Nel relieved her when she had a meal, and offered to sit with them while she went out for a while, but Araminta, with Bas translating, assured her that she was fine and that when the doctor came home she would have an hour or two off.
She was reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when he walked into the room. He sat down on Paul’s bed and didn’t speak for a moment.
‘I see Paul’s feeling better; what about Peter?’
He could at least have wished her good evening or even said hello.
‘He’s feeling off colour, and he’s been very good—they both have—and they’ve taken their drinks like Trojans. Jet is making them jelly for supper.’
‘Splendid. Go and have a stroll round the garden, Miss Pomfrey, and then have dinner.’
‘I’m perfectly…’ she began.
‘Yes, I know you are, but kindly do as I say.’ He said something in Dutch to the boys, and they managed to giggle despite the mumps.
Araminta went. First to her room to get a cardigan, and to take a dispirited look at her reflection. There seemed no point in doing more than brushing her hair into tidiness and powdering her nose; she went downstairs and passed Humphrey on his way up to join his master. She would have liked his company as she wandered to and fro in the garden.
It was growing chilly and she was glad of the cardigan and even more glad when Bas came to tell her that dinner would be ready in five minutes.
It was a delicious meal, but she didn’t linger over it. The doctor would need his dinner, too, and probably he had plans for his evening. It was Bas who insisted that she went to the drawing room to have her coffee.
Sitting by the cheerful fire presently, with the tray on a table beside her, she felt at peace with everyone…
She was pouring her second cup when she heard Bas admit someone. A minute later the door was thrust open and Christina Lutyns pushed past him and came into the room.
Araminta put the coffeepot down carefully. Her polite ‘Good evening, Mevrouw,’ went unanswered, though.
‘Why are you sitting here in the drawing room? Where is Dr van der Breugh? Why aren’t you looking after the children?’
Araminta didn’t need to answer, for the doctor had come into the room. His ‘Dag, Christina,’ was uttered quietly, and he smiled a little. ‘Miss Pomfrey is taking a well-earned hour or so from her duties. The reason she is not with the children is because she has been with them almost constantly since the early hours of today. They both have the mumps.’
Christina gave a small shriek. She lapsed into Dutch. ‘Don’t come near me; I might get them too. And that girl sitting there, she shouldn’t be here; she should stay with the boys. I shall go away at once.’ She contrived to look tearful. ‘And I was looking forward to our evening together. How long will they be ill?’
‘Oh, quite a while yet,’ said the doctor cheerfully. ‘But both Miss Pomfrey and I have had mumps as children, so we aren’t likely to get them again.’
‘I shall go,’ said Christina. ‘When there is no more infection you will tell me and we will enjoy ourselves together.’
She went then, ignoring Araminta, escorted to the door by the doctor who showed her out, taking care, at her urgent request, not to get too near to her.
When he went back into the drawing room Araminta had drunk her coffee and was on her feet. She said politely, ‘I enjoyed my dinner, thank you. I’ll see to the boys now.’
He nodded in an absent-minded manner. ‘Yes, yes, by all means. I’ll be back later on.’
‘There is no need—’ began Araminta, then she caught his eye and ended lamely, ‘Very well, doctor,’ and went meekly upstairs.
She had the boys ready for bed when he came back upstairs, bade her a civil goodnight, waited while she tucked the boys up and hugged them and then held the door open for her. As she went past him, he told her that he would be away from home for the next two days.
‘Unavoidable, I’m afraid, but I have asked a colleague of mine to call in each day. The boys have met him on previous visits and they like him. Don’t hesitate to call upon him if you need advice.’
Getting ready for bed, Araminta supposed that she should be glad that the doctor would be away from home. They didn’t get on and he was indifferent to her, although she had to admit that he was thoughtful for her comfort, while at the same time indifferent to her as a person.
‘Not that I mind,’ said Araminta, talking to herself, lying half-sleep in the bath. She said it again to convince herself.
Paul was much better in the morning and Peter, although still sorry for himself, was amenable to swallowing his breakfast. The doctor had left very early, Bas told her, but Dr van Vleet would be calling at about ten o’clock to see the boys.
They were sitting up in their beds, well enough now to talk while Araminta tidied the room, when the doctor came.
He was young, thickset and of middle height with a rugged face which just missed being handsome, but he had bright blue eyes and a wide smile. He shook hands with her, said something to the boys which made them laugh and added in English, ‘Van Vleet—I expect Marcus told you that I would look in.’
‘Yes, he did. They’re both much better. Peter’s still got a slight temperature, but the swellings have gone down since yesterday.’
‘I’ll take a look…’
Which he did, sitting on their beds while he examined them in turn, talking all the time, making them laugh.
‘They’re fine. I should think they might get up tomorrow. Though they must stay in a warm room…�
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‘There’s a nursery close by. They could spend the day there.’
‘Don’t let them get tired.’ He smiled nicely at her. ‘Marcus told me that you were very experienced with small children, so I don’t have to bother you with a great many instructions.’
He closed his bag just as Bas came in. ‘Coffee is in the drawing room, Miss Pomfrey, Doctor…Nel will come and stay with the boys while you drink it.’
And when Araminta hesitated, he added, ‘Dr van der Breugh instructed me.’
So they went downstairs together and spent a short time over their coffee. Too short, thought Araminta, bidding him goodbye. She liked Dr van Vleet and he seemed to like her. It had been delightful to talk to someone who didn’t treat her with indifference, who actually appeared to like talking to her. She was glad that he would be coming again in the morning.
The boys were so much better the next day that there was really no need for Dr van Vleet to call, but he came, looked down their throats, peered into their ears, examined the receding mumps and pronounced himself satisfied.
‘Marcus will be back tonight,’ he told her. ‘I’ll phone him in the morning, but will you tell him that the boys are both fine.’
They had coffee together again, and when he got up he asked, ‘Do you get time off? I’d like to show you something of Utrecht while you’re here.’
Araminta beamed at him. ‘I’d like that. I get time off, of course, but it has to fit in with Dr van der Breugh.’
He took out his pocket book and wrote in it. ‘Here’s my phone number. When you are free, will you phone me? Perhaps we could arrange something.’
‘Thank you, I’ll let you know.’
She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of a day out with someone with whom she felt so completely at ease.
The pleasant feeling that she had met someone who liked her—enough to ask her out for a whole day—made the day suddenly become perfect, her chores no trouble at all, the boys little angels…
