by Betty Neels
‘I heard someone say that we sit where we like,’ remarked Rosie. ‘Rather nice, for we can get to know everyone.’
Her grandmother gave her a steely look. ‘I shall ask for a table for two to be reserved for us. And now come along, Rosie, we have wasted enough time sitting here idly.’
Rosie, who hadn’t sat down once, said nothing, merely led the way back to the observation car where a good many of the passengers had forgathered. She sat the old lady down in a small armchair so placed that if she didn’t wish to talk to anyone there would be no need, accepted the sherry they were offered, and sat down to drink it. It was good sherry but she didn’t waste time drinking it. With a muttered excuse she skipped away back to her cabin, where she unpacked and tidied everything away, did her face and hair and, armed with the itinerary, went back, just in time to join her grandmother for lunch.
The old lady had had her way, of course; they were to sit at a table for two for the entire journey. Rosie, listening to her grandmother’s annoyed remarks concerning the lack of companionship which it was evident she would be called upon to endure, wished she could have joined in the cheerful talk at the larger tables. She spoke soothingly, promised constant attendance in the future and, being a sensible girl, enjoyed the excellent meal while making suitable conversation.
‘I shall rest,’ declared Mrs Macdonald as they finished their coffee. ‘There is a visit this afternoon, I believe. We stop at Spean Bridge in order to drive there, but I shall not go—I know the house and I should have enjoyed meeting old friends again, but I have to think of my health. You will stay with me, Rosie—I like to be read to while I rest.’
Rosie swallowed disappointment, and said, ‘Yes, Granny,’ in a voice carefully devoid of expression. The train had turned north at Craigendoran Junction, the country was dramatically beautiful, with mountains still snow-capped ringing the horizon, and soon they would be crossing Rannoch Moor. Years ago she had walked part of its lonely road with her father, and she wanted to see it all again.
‘You don’t wish to see the moor? We are almost at Bridge of Orchy—’ She glanced out of the window. ‘There are several people on the walkway…’
‘My health is more important than sentimental remembrances at the moment. Tomorrow I shall have recovered sufficiently to look around me.’
So they made their way back to Mrs Macdonald’s cabin, where Rosie finally settled her on her bed and obediently opened the book she was to read. It was a dull book, full of long words, and she read badly because she was listening to the cheerful departure of everyone else. She ventured a peep out of the window, and saw them climbing aboard the special coach which was to carry them to the various places to be visited. There was a lot of laughing and chatter, and she longed to be there too. She reminded herself sternly that she had come to look after Granny, and went back to the book.
Ten minutes after the coach had left Mrs Macdonald went to sleep, and presently Rosie closed the book, opened the cabin door quietly, and went to stand in the corridor to take stock of her surroundings. The train would leave for Fort William soon, and wait there for the coach, and after making sure that her grandmother was sleeping soundly she went to the observation car and through its doors to the platform beyond. It was a fresh day, threatening rain, and she stayed there until the train started on its way to Fort William where it would pick up its passengers. But before that she was summoned back to her grandmother’s cabin, to find that lady wishing to be tidied after her nap and to take tea.
They had just finished when the rest of the party got on to the train again, full of their pleasant afternoon. They gathered round Mrs Macdonald and Rosie, not noting the former’s icy lack of interest, but Rosie listened happily, glad to talk to them, and rather taken aback when a cheerful matron from Chicago remarked that it was a shame that her granny was sick, and wouldn’t they like to sit with them at dinner?
Rosie listened to her grandmother explaining in well-modulated tones that conversation gave her a headache, and it was essential that she should take her meals without distraction. The Americans were nice; they offered sympathy with a friendliness which Rosie would have liked to have reciprocated.
So they dined presently, she and her grandmother, sitting in a near silence, Mrs Macdonald in black crêpe and pearls, and Rosie in silk jersey, the old lady apparently oblivious of the convivial atmosphere around them. Rosie was quite glad when the old lady said that she would go to bed shortly after dinner. Of course, an hour passed before she was in her bed, and another half-hour before Rosie was told that she might go to her own cabin.
‘A pleasant day,’ commented Mrs Macdonald. ‘I hope you’ll make sure that I am called with China tea at half-past seven, Rosie?’
Rosie simply said, ‘Yes, Granny’ to both remarks, and sped back to the observation car to spend the next hour or so exchanging light-hearted views and opinions with everyone there.
The next day the train took them to Mallaig, and although Mrs Macdonald refused to get out of the train Rosie was dispatched into the village to get postcards and stamps—an excuse to walk briskly down to the harbour and watch the ferry from Skye come in, where she was swept into a friendly group of passengers. The pleasant little interlude cheered her before going back to her grandmother, to sit with her, watching the familiar countryside and listening to the old lady’s reminiscences. They were going back over Rannoch Moor again to stay for the night at Bridge of Orchy, and the scene was familiar. Rosie’s old home wasn’t far away—a nice old house tucked away at the foot of the mountains behind Oban. She longed to see it again, but her grandmother, who had never approved of her father allowing it to pass into the hands of his cousin, had stated categorically that she had no wish to see it. It was a pointless remark, for the train didn’t go within a dozen miles of it.
There was another visit to a local country estate that evening, but Mrs Macdonald declared herself too tired to go. She and Rosie dined alone to the great inconvenience of the train staff, Rosie thought, although they presented smiling faces when her grandmother requested dinner to be served at the usual time. Everyone else had gone off in the coach and would have a buffet supper at the house they were to visit.
Rosie settled her grandparent for the night, went back to the observation car, and was presently overwhelmed by the returning passengers, eager to tell her about the house they had seen, and the buffet super. They were kind, and concerned that she was having such a dull time of it.
‘But tomorrow we’re all going to the wildlife park,’ one woman remarked. ‘Your grandmother could come in the coach and be put down at the hotel in Aviemore, Rosie. That would be nice and quiet for her, and you could come with us…’
It sounded a splendid idea, Rosie agreed. ‘But I’ll have to see how Granny feels about it,’ she reminded them.
She had been too hopeful. In the morning Mrs Macdonald declared that she intended to visit the hotel by the station where she had stayed years ago. ‘With your grandfather, dear—a sentimental visit I have long looked forward to.’ When Rosie said hopefully that she might like to be on her own there, she was told at once that probably the emotion stirred up by fond memories might upset her grandmother; it was essential that she had Rosie beside her.
Rosie watched the coach drive away once more and, presently warned by Jamie, the guide, as he got into the coach, that the train would leave in an hour’s time for Perth and Stirling, the pair of them walked the very short distance from the train to the hotel.
&n
bsp; It had of course, changed hands. Which didn’t stop her grandmother insisting upon seeing round the hotel, pausing from time to time to make some blistering remark about the changes in the rooms. The owner was patient and courteous, but even his politeness wore thin when Mrs Macdonald criticised the colour scheme in the dining-room in no uncertain terms.
Time I did something, decided Rosie, and asked if they might have coffee.
They drank it in the pleasant lounge on the other side of the foyer and after a short time she said, ‘We should be going back, Granny, the train’s due to leave in ten minutes…’
‘I cannot be hurried, my dear. I intend to take a quick look at the gardens at the back of the hotel—five minutes only I promise you—and I wish to be alone. Wait here.’
Rosie paid the bill, and went to the hotel entrance. She could see the train clearly enough, five minutes would suffice to get her grandmother back on board. She knew that the schedule was strict, for the train had to fit in exactly with the normal timetable, and they had been warned in the nicest possible way by Jamie that if anyone missed it they would have to find their way to the next stopping-place. She glanced at her watch—her grandmother had been gone for five minutes and there was no sign of her.
The gardens behind the hotel were neatly laid out with a variety of shrubs and beds of flowers, petering out into rough grass hedged with gorse and broom, ferns and, later in the year, heather. She found her grandmother there huddled on the ground, one leg bent awkwardly. Mrs Macdonald’s face was paper-white, but she had lost very little of her brisk manner.
‘My leg,’ she explained ‘I tripped. The ankle…’
‘I’ll get help,’ said Rosie, who when necessary could be just as brisk as her granny, and sped back to the hotel, where she sent the owner and one of the waiters to carry her grandmother in, and then turned and ran back to the station.
Will, one of the stewards, was on the platform.
‘We’re off in just under five minutes, Miss Macdonald,’ he began.
Rosie told him what had happened, and before she had finished the train manager had joined them.
‘We shall have to stay behind,’ she told him. ‘We’ll never be able to get my grandmother on to the train, and she needs a doctor quickly. I know that you have to leave on the dot. Could someone pack our things and send them back here on one of the local trains? I can’t think of anything else to do…’
‘I’ll come to the hotel.’ The manager glanced at his watch, and began marching her back. ‘I’m so very sorry, but you do see that the journey can’t be delayed or altered…?’
‘Yes, of course. We shall be quite all right here, but I think that if it’s a sprain or a break we shall have to stay for a while until something can be arranged.’
They had reached the hotel, and found Mrs Macdonald laid out on a big sofa. She had lost her shoe when she fell, and the ankle was badly swollen. She opened her eyes as they reached her, and said peevishly, ‘I intend to remain here until a doctor has examined me. Rosie will make the necessary arrangements. Good of you to come.’
The manager was a nice youngish man; he said all that was proper and, with his eye on the time, wished her a speedy recovery, and promised that she would hear from him.
‘I’ll phone you from Stirling,’ he promised, ‘and I’ll see about your luggage. Has someone phoned for a doctor? There should be one at Crianlarich and several in Oban.’
‘Don’t worry, the hotel owner will know.’ Rosie added urgently, ‘Don’t, for heaven’s sake, miss the train.’
‘I hate to leave you both—’ he shook her hand ‘—but there’s nothing else for it.’
The train gave an impatient toot, and he turned and ran.
There were several people fussing around her grandmother, not quite sure what to do first.
‘Scissors, please,’ said Rosie, ‘a bowl of cold water and a napkin. How long will it take the doctor to get here?’
She took her grandmother’s hand and gave it a heartening squeeze. ‘I’m so sorry, Granny, we’ll have you comfortable in a little while.’ She was carefully cutting the black stocking, and easing it off the swollen foot.
‘I don’t know much about it, but I don’t think it’s broken. I’m going to lay a cold cloth over it. There…and if someone will help me we’ll put some cushions behind you; you’ll feel easier sitting up a little.’
One of the waitresses came in with a cup of tea, and the hotel owner came back to say that most fortunately Dr Finlay at Crianlarich had just returned from early-morning fishing, and was driving over. They were to make the patient comfortable, but were not to move her.
Rosie studied her grandmother’s pale face anxiously. ‘How far away is Crianlarich?’ she asked,
‘Twelve miles, but it’s a good road. He’ll be a wee while yet; ye’d best have a cup of tea while waiting.’
She drank her tea gratefully, applied more cold cloths, and made quiet, heartening small talk—to be interrupted suddenly by Mrs Macdonald.
‘We are so near home…’
‘Would you like me to telephone Uncle Donald, Granny? Perhaps we could…?’
‘Certainly not. When your father saw fit to let Donald have his family home I washed my hands of the whole affair.’
Rosie murmured a nothing. She knew that her grandmother had blamed her father for leaving Scotland, and that he had never told her how he had come to lose most of his capital and been forced to make the heart-rending decision to hand over the house to his prosperous cousin. Privately Rosie had never understood why her uncle couldn’t have lent her father the money to come about, but he was a hard man, made harder by the wealth he had acquired by marrying an heiress. She had never liked him anyway; years ago when she had been on a visit to his house she had come upon him beating one of his dogs. She had caught his arm and hung on to it and kicked his shins, calling him a brute, and then screaming at the top of her voice until several people came running to see what was the matter. He had never forgiven her for that.
Her grandmother was looking alarmingly pale. Rosie renewed the cold compress, persuaded her grandmother to take a sip of brandy, and prayed silently that the doctor would come soon.
Her prayers were answered; the slight commotion in the hotel entrance heralded the doctor’s arrival.
He came in unhurriedly, an immensely tall, broad-shouldered man, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a long straight nose and a firm mouth. He wasted no time.
‘Doctor Cameron,’ he stated. ‘Doctor Finlay was called to a birth, and he asked me to take over. What is the trouble?’
He gave Rosie a nod and a quick questioning glance; she could have been yesterday’s newspaper, she reflected with a touch of peevishness.
‘My grandmother fell. Her ankle is swollen and very painful…’
He took Mrs Macdonald’s hand. ‘A nasty shock for you, Mrs…?’
‘Macdonald,’ said Rosie. ‘My grandmother is eighty years old.’
He gave her a look which put her in her place. ‘Let’s look at it.’
He was very gentle, keeping up a steady flow of quiet questions as he examined the swollen joint. ‘A sprain—a nasty one, but I think nothing is broken. It will be best if you stay here in bed for a few days with your ankle bandaged, and when you are more yourself you must go to Oban and have an X-ray. You live in Scotland?’
‘Edinburgh. My granddaughter and I were taking the train tour of the Highlands.’ Mrs Macdonald opened her ey
es and studied his face. ‘And where are you from, may I ask?’
He didn’t answer directly. ‘I’m staying with Doctor Finlay for some fishing.’ He smiled at her suddenly and with great charm. ‘Now I want you to rest quietly while that ankle settles down. I shall write you up for something to relieve the pain, and within a couple of days or so you should be well enough to go for an X-ray. If it is, as I think, a sprain, then there is no reason why you shouldn’t go home and rest there. Now I am going to strap it firmly, and later, when you may get up, a viscopaste stocking must be applied.’
Mrs Macdonald might be a crotchety, selfish old lady but she had courage; she uttered no sound as he attended to the ankle, and when Rosie said urgently, ‘Oh, Granny’s fainted!’ the doctor said calmly, ‘Good, pass me that crêpe bandage and let us get finished before she comes round.’ He gave her a quick look. ‘You have arranged to stay here?’
‘Not yet.’ She spoke sharply, ‘I’ve had no time.’
‘Well, see about it now, will you? Get a room, and I’ll carry Mrs Macdonald up, then you get her undressed and in bed, and I’ll take another look at her before I go.’
There were two rooms on the first floor, she was told, with a communicating door and, providing she was prepared to pay for it, fortunately room service was available.
‘Good, we’ll have them. Could someone get the bed ready for my grandmother? The doctor will carry her up…’
There were plenty of willing helpers; Mrs Macdonald was carried up to her room and laid on the bed, and a chambermaid stayed to help get her into bed, offering a nightie and extra pillows, and helping Rosie to arrange a chair at the foot of the bed so that the bedclothes might be draped over it.
The doctor nodded approvingly when he came to see his patient again.
‘Your grandmother will do very well,’ he observed. ‘I can see that you’re a sensible lass. From these parts?’
