by Betty Neels
Mr Morgan came back an hour later, looking much smaller and very white on the stretcher. It was while they were putting him very carefully back into his bed that Tabitha saw that he still had two legs. The one pinned and plated and ready to go up into extension, the second—the mangled one—was in a half plaster with a heavy dressing from knee to ankle, but unmistakably his five toes bore mute evidence of the fact that there had been no amputation.
She raised a questioning eyebrow at the staff nurse who had brought him back from theatre. ‘They saved the leg?’
The staff nurse nodded. ‘Yes, Sister—it was a wonderful job. It took nearly five hours.’ Her voice held the merest hint of reproach; she should have been off duty an hour ago, a fact Tabitha instantly recalled.
‘Poor Staff, I am sorry—do a three-hour stint tomorrow to make up for it. There’s coffee or tea in the kitchen, get the orderly to make you a sandwich, but before you go tell me exactly what he had done.’
‘Mr van Beek told me not to bother; he’s coming down himself to see you at the end of the list, Sister.’
Tabitha said quietly: ‘I see, Staff. Do go off duty and thank you for staying.’ She took her patient’s pulse and charted it, her own hammering almost as fast. So Marius was back and in theatre, and in a little while she would see him. She smiled on the thought and then dismissed him from her mind as she applied herself to the task of keeping Mr Morgan alive. The last case came back soon after and by then it was after four o’clock, and ten minutes later her quick ear heard the murmur of voices in the corridor and a moment later the ward door swung open and Marius and George Steele came in: they were still in their theatre gowns and boots and Marius looked tired. The sight of him and the fact that she hadn’t eaten a proper meal for some time made her feel quite lightheaded. She stayed where she was by Mr Morgan’s bed and the men came to a halt beside her. George gave her a sidelong glance and said nothing. Marius said pleasantly: ‘Hullo, Tabitha—how’s our patient?’
She stared up at him. ‘You saved his leg.’
‘I hope so.’ He smiled slightly and waited for her to speak.
‘Hullo,’ she said belatedly. ‘He’s fine’—she plunged into precise details and Marius nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good—George, get the electrolytes checked, will you? He’s had ten’—he raised an eyebrow at Tabitha who said: ‘Eleven’—‘pints of blood, let’s get him on to saline.’ He turned back to Tabitha and gave detailed instructions as to treatment and then said: ‘Leave his chart out, will you, Sister? I’ll write up the operation before I go. Now, what about the other men?’ He turned away and said cheerfully to George: ‘Quite a day,’ then looked at Tabitha, making her aware of untidy hair and a face which must by now be devoid of make-up. ‘You too, Sister—shouldn’t you be off duty?’
It was true, she should have gone off at half past four, but Rogers had more than enough to cope with and if she went home she would only sit and think about Chidlake—she mumbled: ‘Oh, well—not really,’ which vague remark caused Marius to raise an eyebrow although he said nothing as she led them down the ward. It was another half-hour before they were done and then Marius asked to see Mrs Morgan, waiting patiently in the office. He disappeared inside the little room, leaving Tabitha and George Steele standing in the ward.
It was a chance to find out what exactly Marius had done to save the leg; George explained at some length, ending: ‘A nice piece of surgery; no wonder he’s got such a reputation—and he deserves it. I’ve written up Morgan’s chart, but I’ll be down again this evening.’
‘I gave the penicillin at four,’ said Tabitha, and remembered she had already told him that. She blushed and said: ‘Sorry, George— I’ve said that already.’
‘What’s on your mind, Tabby?’ he asked kindly. ‘You’ve looked unhappy for weeks and now, today, you look desperate.’
She managed a smile. ‘Nothing to worry about, George,’ and as she spoke was struck by an idea so outrageous that she gasped. ‘Oh, George, you’ve given me an idea—at least, it came into my head…’
She got no further because Marius came out of the office with Mrs Morgan. She watched him accompany her to her husband’s bedside and settle her in a chair and when he returned she said very quickly before she could change her mind: ‘Could you spare me a minute, sir? There’s something I want to ask you.’
She watched his face as she spoke, but there was no expression on it other than polite interest and he answered readily enough. ‘Yes, of course. George, give me a ring this evening, will you? Let me know if you should want me, but everything looks pretty straightforward, given a little luck.’
The two men said goodbye and Marius followed her into her office and waited for her to sit down, but she stayed on her feet; what she had to say had to be said standing. She took a deep breath, and not mincing matters, asked: ‘Will you lend me some money?’
Marius was leaning against the door. If he was surprised his face didn’t show it. ‘How much?’ He sounded friendly and she took heart.
‘About three hundred thousand pounds.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Have I as much money as that?’ he queried mildly.
‘Well, I don’t know.’ She raised anxious eyes to his calm grey ones. ‘It’s all right if you haven’t, only I don’t know anyone else to ask.’
‘Do you need the money so badly, Tabby?’
‘Yes—my stepmother told me…’ She stopped because her throat ached with sudden tears and it would never do to cry now. She turned her back on him and went on in a resolutely controlled voice: ‘She’s going to sell Chidlake,’ and because her back was still turned to him she didn’t see the expression on his face. ‘She never liked it, you know—Lilith doesn’t either, but I expect you know that. I thought if I could get someone to lend me the money I could buy it…’
Marius hadn’t moved. He asked: ‘Security?’
‘The deeds—wouldn’t that do? I telephoned an agent in Lyme Regis and he told me Chidlake would fetch about three hundred thousand pounds. I’ve an annuity from my mother—I could use that to pay it off and add the same amount from my salary. I’ll sell the car and get a job at Lyme hospital and use a bike. Meg and I could manage.’ Her voice, despite her efforts, rose a little and shook with excitement. ‘We’ve got our own fruit and vegetables there, you know, and in the summer we could do bed and breakfast—Meg wouldn’t mind, and I could help when I come off duty…’
His voice broke into her escalating thoughts. He sounded cool and businesslike. ‘It would take you forty years to repay your debt, and you’ve forgotten the interest.’
‘Then I shall pay for more than forty years.’
He let that pass. ‘And if you marry?’
Tabitha turned to face him again. She said steadily: ‘I’m twenty-five, no one has ever asked me to marry them, and I think it fairly certain that no one ever will.’ She swallowed back the cold lump of misery which was threatening to choke her. ‘Chidlake’s been my home all my life—it’s belonged to my family ever since it was built. It’s important to me that no—no strangers live there, not while there’s still a Crawley…’
She wanted to go on talking, to try and explain how she felt and make him understand, but he interrupted her gently: ‘Tabby, I’m sorry—it’s no good.’
She said quickly, not looking at him: ‘No, of course not—I must have been crazy. I beg your pardon…’
‘Chidlake is already sold.’
She stared at him for a long minute. There was a mistake, of course, someone had misinformed him—and how could he know anyway? She said painfully: ‘I don’t believe it. My stepmother said after Christmas—at least—I’m not sure. It’s only a few days ago that I saw her.’
‘The house is sold.’
Rising temper and alarm sent her voice soaring. ‘Then why wasn’t I told—and who to? Do you know?’ She felt a small thrust of hope. ‘Perhaps I could buy it back.’
Marius said with a calm reasonableness she found infuriating: ‘I d
oubt it—I happen to know that it has been sold to someone who expects to marry—he’s not likely to sell, is he?’
She ignored this. ‘You know who it is.’ She darted a look of fury at him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How contemptible of you! You must have known how much I…’
He cut her short deliberately. ‘My dear girl, I’m only just back from Holland. For all I knew you had come to some arrangement with Mrs Crawley.’
Tabitha said in a bitter little voice: ‘You had no reason to tell me. I’m sorry I bothered you with all this—only I—I thought of it suddenly while I was talking to George just now and it seemed such a good idea.’ She backed away to her desk and picked up a handful of papers regardless of whether they required her attention or not, but at least he would see that she didn’t want to say any more about the whole miserable business. She ventured jerkily: ‘Good night. I hope I haven’t kept you.’ Her voice was cold.
Marius apparently didn’t hear the coldness; he said thoughtfully:
‘It is just possible that I may be able to help you—at least it’s worth a try. I have a slight acquaintance with the buyer of Chidlake. I don’t think for one moment that he would consider selling it—or even letting it. I believe that I can find out his solicitors, they might agree to forward a letter. I’ll let you have the address.’
Tabitha was staring at him, her eyes very bright. She had missed a great deal of this speech, for her attention had been caught and fired by one word. ‘Letting?’ she exclaimed. ‘I never thought of that—if I could see whoever it is and make him understand. Marius, did you really mean that?’
She became aware of his steady regard. ‘Do you think I’m being silly? But I have to try. I’m sorry I asked you for that money…’
A peculiar expression was fleetingly visible on Marius’s impassive face. ‘What made you suppose that I had such a sum at my disposal?’
Tabitha gave him a quick look. He had behaved indifferently to her—he must surely have known how much she loved her home and he had let Mrs Crawley sell it without saying a word, but at least he was trying to help her now. She explained quickly. ‘It was something Knotty said one day—oh, ages ago.’ She sighed without knowing it, remembering that happy time. ‘He said you were a man of substance and I thought that perhaps a man of substance might have that much money. You see,’ she went on, wanting to explain, ‘you’re not married like Mr Raynard with a wife and children to support. I thought…’ Her voice tailed away; she wasn’t making much of a success of it. ‘I expect you find us very vulgar talking about money, but we weren’t discussing you,’ she added anxiously.
He ignored that. ‘Is this what you really want?’ he wanted to know. ‘Would you be happy living at Chidlake for the rest of your life? It wouldn’t be easy, you know. You won’t have Meg for ever and as you yourself said, you are twenty-five.’
She cast him a waspish look; it was one thing for her to remark upon her age, but there was no need for him to do so too. ‘Yes,’ she said a shade too loudly. ‘Yes, of course it is.’
She suddenly couldn’t bear it any longer, for there was nothing she wanted to do other than be with Marius for the rest of her life—an idea which unhappily enough hadn’t occurred to him. She rustled the papers still in her hands and he said at once: ‘I’m holding you up, I’ll say good night. I’ll see that you get that address!’
He turned away and strode up the corridor without another word or look.
Tabitha stayed awake most of the night wondering if he would remember, and when she saw his scrawled directions on her notepad in the morning, she could have cried with relief and shame too for ever having doubted him. She tucked the paper away in a pocket and got on with her work until her coffee break, when, using hospital stationery with a reckless disregard for the rules, she wrote a brief, businesslike letter, enclosed it in a neatly addressed envelope and took it to the front hall letter box and posted it, having borrowed a stamp from the head porter, Mr Biggs.
She then went back to the ward and applied herself to her work once more, resolutely dismissing the matter from her mind. She did not have the same success with Marius, however; she thought about him constantly and every time the door opened she jumped nervously, longing to see him while at the same time having not the least idea what she would say to him. It was only on her way home that she remembered that he had said he wouldn’t be in until the late evening.
There was, of course, no letter the next day. It dragged through its interminable length, made longer by George telling her that Mr van Beek found it impossible to come in until after five o’clock and she was off duty at that hour. Although she was sick of her day she hung around until almost half past, and then, beaten by Staff’s hurt look at not being left alone to get on with things, Tabitha went. Ten minutes later she crossed the forecourt to the Fiat and passed the Bentley on the way. It was empty and it hadn’t been there when she had gone off duty—perhaps Marius didn’t want to see her. Now that she thought about it, she realized she had put him in a very awkward position; she could imagine how her stepmother would feel if she discovered that her stepdaughter was trying to get Chidlake back. He must be very sure of Lilith to risk their displeasure. Tabitha clashed the gears, hating Lilith, who was so very pretty and clever enough to get her own way as well as determined.
Tabitha edged the car into the street outside and drove home very badly. She spent the evening mooning around the flat, eating nothing of the tasty supper Meg had prepared and displaying an ill-humour quite at variance with her usual calm disposition. She wasn’t on duty until one o’clock the next day so that impatience made her so irritable that even Meg’s placid good nature was shaken. When Tabitha had contradicted her for the fourth or fifth time in as many minutes, Meg said in her firm nanny’s voice: ‘Now, Miss Tabitha, I know you’re upset and it’s a nasty old patch we’re going through, but nothing lasts. It’s always darkest just before the dawn.’
Tabitha had to laugh. ‘Darling Meg—I promise you I’ll cheer up.’
‘That’s a love,’ said Meg comfortably. ‘Do you remember how you told me once that Mr van Beek called you Cinderella—well, even she got her glass slipper in the end, didn’t she?’
Tabitha, washing smalls at the sink, bent her head over her work. She had been trying not to think about Marius, and now here was Meg talking about him again. She said lightly: ‘What a pity life isn’t a fairy story. But since it’s not, if—if I can’t persuade the new owner of Chidlake to rent it to me, would you mind very much if we moved right away from here—it would mean you wouldn’t be near your sister.’
Meg glanced at the clock. ‘Sit down and eat that bit of lunch I’ve got for you,’ she commanded. ‘That’s a good idea, love, to move away—right away, as you said. As for my sister, there’s still the railway, isn’t there, and buses. That’s no problem, but don’t you worry about that until you need to. Never cross your bridges…’
There was a letter, but because of the sudden spate of work Tabitha was unable to open it at once. It was brief and stated merely that Messrs Stubbs, Cripp and Mann begged to inform her that their client would be at Chidlake on the following evening after seven o’clock and was willing to see her. They were glad to be of service and were hers faithfully. She read it through several times, trying to draw hope and encouragement from the dry words. At least she was being given the chance to put her proposition and it seemed like a good omen that she was free the following evening. She would have to plan what she would say, but not until later. Now there was her work. The ward was a heavy one, and for the last week or so it had been getting heavier, culminating in the arrival of Mr Morgan, who, although improving steadily, needed constant care and attention. He had shown great courage and patience and a cheerfulness which defied anyone to pity him, only begging that he should be told should anything go wrong. Marius had gone out of his way to explain exactly what had been done in the theatre, not mentioning that any surgeon might have been justified in amputating, whereas
he, by his skill, had saved the leg. It was George Steele, doing a round on his own, who enlightened Mr Morgan as to the extent of the operation. Tabitha, masked and gowned, listened to George’s quiet voice and then her patient singing Marius’s praise in no uncertain fashion, while she took out a drainage tube and put on another dressing to cover Marius’s meticulous stitching.
‘There’s a man for you,’ observed Mr Morgan, ‘sewing me leg back on—like new ’e’ll be. Going around tidying up arms and legs like ’e does. Daresay ’e’s a nice chap too—got a straight eye for all ’e’s not English.’
Tabitha, while agreeing with this sincere praise, said nothing, but enquired if her patient was doing his breathing exercises.
‘Yes, love, I’m doing ’em, though it’s me legs is ’urt; can’t see no reason for it meself, but I’ll do ’em if you says so, Sister. Proper angel you are, you and the nurses.’
Tabitha fixed the last piece of strapping. ‘Why, thank you, Mr Morgan,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Your wife’ll be here in a minute—just in time to have a cup of tea while you have yours.’
She was in the dressing room clearing the trolley when Nurse Betts came in. ‘Sister, Mr van Beek’s in the ward. Shall I finish the trolley for you?’
Tabitha started to roll down her sleeves. ‘Please,’ she spoke with her usual unhurried calm while her heart raced. She would be able to tell him about the letter. She hastened into the ward, giving Mrs Jeffs a speaking glance as she did so, which that lady rightly interpreted as a request for her cuffs to be brought immediately. Ward sisters always wore their cuffs when they did a round with the consultant staff, in the same way as men took their hats off in lifts and everyone curtsied to royalty. It was a kind of tradition that was unquestioned. Marius waited now while Tabitha put hers on, and only when she had donned them did he speak.
