Matilda's Wedding

by Betty Neels

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Father. Mother will be pleased—you must tell her.’ She looked at her father; he looked tired and pale. ‘You feel all right?’

  ‘Splendid, my dear. I shall talk to your mother presently. I’ve no doubt that she will lose no time in writing to one of our friends.’

  Mrs Paige was mollified by the prospect of a visit with old friends. She grumbled too; she would need money to spend while she was there, she pointed out, and there were bound to be small expenses…

  Matilda handed over almost all of her pay packet at the end of the week and hoped it would be enough, although she doubted that. But the visit was to be a short one—five or six days—and if her mother was careful…

  So Mrs Paige packed the elegant clothes she had had little opportunity of wearing at Much Winterlow and was put on the bus to Taunton on Saturday afternoon. She would have liked a taxi but, as Matilda explained, there really wasn’t enough money for that and since her mother was to be met at Taunton by her friend the journey would be an easy one for her.

  Mrs Milton came to drive her father to church on Sunday and Matilda went too, in the new hat and coat, and of course she was thankful that she was wearing them when she saw Lucilla sitting beside the doctor. They were sitting on the other side of the aisle to Mrs Milton and she was careful not to look across to their pew.

  After the service she would have slipped out of the church but her father wouldn’t be hurried. Even though he didn’t go to the village he had friends there—older men who came to see him from time to time—and what better time to exchange a few words than after morning church? Mrs Milton was never in a hurry; they dawdled towards the church door and found the Reverend Mr Milton talking to the doctor. Lucilla was there too, looking bored, and Matilda said quickly to Mrs Milton, ‘I’ll walk home and have lunch ready for Father. You don’t mind? He does so enjoy his weekly chat.’

  Which meant that she needed only to bid a general good morning as she passed them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lucilla’s nasty little smile.

  She was up early on Monday morning. It was too soon for her father to get up but she took him a cup of tea and left his breakfast ready for him. ‘I’ll be back soon after ten o’clock,’ she assured him. ‘If it’s not too cold we could go for a short walk before lunch. You won’t be too lonely?’

  He was looking tired again, she thought, although he assured her that he had had a good night’s sleep.

  It was a fine morning, still dark and frosty, and once in the waiting room, not yet warmed by the radiators, she thought longingly of Aunt Kate’s cosy cottage. ‘Which won’t do at all,’ said Matilda, addressing the empty room. ‘You’re back here now, Miss Paige.’

  The waiting room filled up rapidly—mostly mothers with small snuffling children who were peevish with colds and coughs. Mrs Trim was there with what she described as a nasty chest and old Mr Trimble was short-tempered by reason of his persistent cough. There was a good deal of talk; Christmas was the main topic: the carol singers and Mrs Simpkins’ splendid display of Christmas goods, the play the amateur theatrical society would be putting on, the schoolchildren’s concert.

  They fell silent when the doctor put his head round the door with a general good morning and the first patient went into the surgery. The hubbub started up again immediately until he returned, often enough to give a highly coloured version of what was wrong with him and give a good deal of good-natured advice to the following patient.

  Matilda, sitting in her corner, in her sober dress, sometimes felt like a schoolteacher with an unruly class. But it was all so good-natured and she quite understood that for people living some distance from the village it was a splendid chance to have a good gossip.

  The last patient seen, the doctor opened the surgery door.

  ‘Have your coffee before you go, Miss Paige,’ he said and went back to sit at his desk, spectacles perched on his handsome nose, a pile of forms before him. He didn’t look up as she sat down on the other side of the desk and poured the coffee. He nodded his thanks when she put his cup down at his elbow, and without looking up said, ‘Just let me finish these…’

  Just as though I was making a nuisance of myself, thought Matilda indignantly, but then he looked up and smiled.

  ‘Would you come with me to Duckett’s Farm? I’ve bad news for Mr Duckett and his wife. There’s a small child; I thought that you might come in handy—playing with him and so on so that I can talk to them quietly. Tell me if it’s not possible; perhaps you had already arranged to go home. You might like to phone your mother…’

  ‘Mother is staying with friends, Father’s alone. If I could let him know that I might be a little late for lunch, of course I’ll come. Now?’

  ‘Please. The phone’s in the hall if you would like to use it.’ He looked at her over his specs and smiled again and her heart turned over.

  Duckett’s Farm was three miles from the village, rather isolated, with ploughed fields surrounding it and a muddy track leading to the farmyard from a narrow country lane. The house was a fair size but, on this winter day, bleak, huddled in a circle of farm buildings. Matilda wondered if anyone living there could be happy and, as the doctor pushed open the door and she went past him into a warm, low-ceilinged hall, saw that they could. Another door gave her a glimpse of a large room, a roaring fire in the hearth, bright curtains at the small windows. Whoever lived here, she reflected, had made a home.

  A voice answered the doctor’s hello. ‘In the kitchen; I’m just coming.’

  A young woman pushed open another door and came towards them, smiling. A small boy toddled beside her and went straight to the doctor, who picked him up and tucked him under an arm.

  ‘Is Rob around, Mrs Duckett?’

  She said quickly, ‘You’ve got the results of those tests, Doctor?’ When he nodded she said, ‘He’s in the barn; I’ll give him a shout—or do you want to see him alone?’

  ‘I think we must have a talk, Mrs Duckett.’ His voice was very kind. ‘I’ve brought my receptionist with me—Matilda Paige; I thought that she might keep an eye on Tom while we go somewhere quiet.’

  Mrs Duckett nodded, not trusting herself to speak. But she smiled at Matilda as she went to the door and shouted for her husband. The doctor handed over small Tom to Matilda and he went willingly enough, pleased to see a new face. She hoisted him up and carried him over to a chair by the fire and sat down, talking in her quiet voice, a gentle trickle of sound which took his attention so that he hardly noticed when the doctor told her that they would be back presently and the three of them left the room.

  He had told her something of Rob Duckett, a young man still, ignoring a cough and malaise, putting off seeing the doctor until he could no longer ignore the fact that something was wrong. He had been sent for tests and X-rays and the results were what the doctor had expected. And he had the task of telling Rob, knowing that although an operation might be successful Rob might refuse, for who could run the farm while he was away?

  Matilda, reciting nursery rhymes, hoped that there would be a solution. The look on Mrs Duckett’s face had wrung her heart. She began on ‘A Frog he would a-wooing go’ and reminded herself that if there was a solution the doctor would find it.

  Little Tom liked hearing about the frog, so she recited it again and then again. They came back into the room then but she stayed where she was and since the little boy was quiet on her lap she began on the frog rhyme once more.

  Presently Mrs Duckett came across the room to her. She had been crying but her voice was quite steady.

  ‘It’s kind of you, miss; he’s quite taken to you.’

  ‘He’s a darling, isn’t he? And do please call me Matilda. Would you like me to do anything for you? Make some tea?’

  ‘I’ve put the kettle on if you’d like to come into the kitchen?’

  Matilda, still cuddling Tom, went with her into the nice old-fashioned kitchen with its scrubbed table and elderly Aga. There was a cat with kittens
in a basket and a sheepdog snoozing.

  ‘Do you know,’ asked Mrs Duckett, ‘about my Rob?’

  ‘Dr Lovell told me a little. I’m so sorry, Mrs Duckett, but Dr Lovell will know what’s best to be done and Mr Duckett is young and strong.’

  Mrs Duckett put tea in a vast pot. ‘He wants Rob to have an operation; says it’s got a good chance of being successful. But Rob isn’t wanting that. He’s worried about the farm.’

  ‘You want him to have the operation?’

  ‘Me? Yes, of course. But finding someone to come here and help on the farm, just before Christmas, too…’

  ‘But if your husband has the operation soon he might be home by Christmas. He couldn’t do anything much, but he’d be here to see to everything, wouldn’t he?’

  Mrs Duckett was pouring tea into four mugs. ‘He’s a good man, our doctor.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Matilda, ‘and I think you could trust him to the ends of the earth.’ Something in her voice made her companion look at her sharply.

  Driving back presently, Matilda asked, ‘What has Mr Duckett decided? It’s a terrible thing to happen and he’s a young man.’

  ‘He’s agreed to an operation and since he is a young man he has an excellent chance of recovery.’

  ‘Good. But he was worried about the farm.’

  ‘I think that can be sorted out.’

  Not exactly a snub but she had the strong feeling that he thought she was being nosy. But even if he did he was going to make use of her.

  ‘I shall drive him to hospital the day after tomorrow. Mrs Duckett will go with us. I would be glad if you would stay at the farm with Tom. I shall be bringing back her mother who will look after the place while he is away.’

  ‘Alone? Me, I mean, with Tom.’

  ‘John who helps with the milking will be there. You’re not a nervous girl, are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Matilda in a voice positive enough to convince herself as well as him.

  ‘Good. I’ll drive you home.’

  She hadn’t expected him to get out of the car when they reached the cottage, but he did, following her into the hall just as though she had invited him.

  She said pointedly, ‘Do come in, Doctor.’

  ‘Well, I am in, aren’t I? I’d like to take a look at your father.’

  The reasonable remark made her feel a fool. She offered coffee and when he accepted flounced off to the kitchen, her face red.

  She took the coffee to her father’s study when it was ready and the doctor took the tray from her with the air of a man who expected her to go away again at once.

  It was high time to prepare their lunch. She had laid the table, and the soup was on the stove and eggs beaten for an omelette when he came into the kitchen. He had the coffee tray with him and set it tidily by the sink.

  ‘When will your mother be back?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, she was coming back on Thursday but she phoned yesterday evening to say that she might stay a day or two longer. Is Father all right? Should she come back? I mean, he has to spend a good part of the day alone.’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about at the moment and there is no reason why he shouldn’t be alone for a few hours at a time. But if you will allow me to do so I’ll get Kitty or Mrs Inch to come here on Wednesday while you are at Duckett’s Farm. Your father has no objection and they can see to lunch and give him tea before they go. I should be back by five o’clock at the latest. I’m sorry I didn’t think of this earlier but little Tom likes you and they live in too isolated a place for anyone to be prepared to go there at short notice.’ And at her look he added, ‘I regard you as a sensible young woman able to cope.’

  Should she tell him that she was terrified of meeting a bull, or a large herd of cows, for that matter, and that the idea of spending the day miles from anywhere with a small boy and an unknown farmhand really didn’t appeal?

  She looked up at his calm face and decided to say nothing. With her loving him so much it was a foregone conclusion that she would, if necessary, go through fire and water for him, so why boggle at a bull or two?

  She said sedately, ‘You have arranged things very well, Doctor. It will be nice for Father to have company.’ She remembered something then. ‘You said that there was nothing to worry about for the moment. Will you explain that?’

  ‘Your father is well; I examined him thoroughly. I have no wish to alarm you but you should know that someone with his heart condition could be taken ill at any time, probably without warning. You are sensible enough to realise that there is no point in anticipating something which may never happen. All the same you should know, and I think your mother should understand that too.’

  He studied her quiet face, smiled and went to the door. She went with him and he paused as he reached it and bent and kissed her. A gentle kiss and somehow reassuring.

  She watched him get into the car and drive away and then went back into the kitchen and got out the frying pan, wondering about the kiss. He would have no idea what it had done to her, of course; probably he had bestowed it with the same kindly intent with which he would have stroked a kitten or indeed comforted a crying child. But it mustn’t happen again.

  He was his usual remote self at the evening surgery; beyond wishing her goodnight when it was finished, he had nothing to say.

  She got her father’s breakfast ready before she left on Wednesday morning, reassured by his obvious pleasure at the prospect of company for lunch. He told her to go and enjoy herself. She hoped she would but she was doubtful about it.

  There was a mercifully short surgery; they drank their coffee in silence while the doctor wrote then went out to the car. It was a cold, blustery day and she shivered as they got out of the car at the farm.

  There were lights on in the downstairs rooms and Mr and Mrs Duckett were waiting in the kitchen. There was a youngish man there too—John, who grinned and ducked his head at them.

  ‘There’s been no time,’ began Mrs Duckett rather wildly. ‘There’s soup ready and a milk pudding in the oven. You’ll manage?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Duckett, we’ll be fine. And good luck, Mr Duckett.’ And, because Mrs Duckett looked so forlorn, Matilda kissed her cheek and picked up little Tom so that he could say goodbye.

  They didn’t waste time. ‘See you around five o’clock,’ said the doctor, and drove his passengers away without a backward glance.

  Beyond a faint whimper, Tom didn’t cry. Matilda sat him in his high chair, offered him a rusk and turned to John.

  ‘You won’t be far away?’ she asked.

  ‘Got to turn the cows out into the lower field, then I muck out the barn, come in for a mug of tea and then see to the feed. I’ll be around if you need me, miss. I’ll be off now—a bit behind already.’

  By five o’clock Matilda was tired. She’d been busy finding her way around the house, peering into cupboards, hunting for the tea, sugar, salt—all the day-to-day things which were never where she expected them to be, as well as feeding Tom and John, the dog and a family of cats. She’d played with Tom, and while he had a nap after their midday meal she’d ironed the pile of washing which she was sure Mrs Duckett wouldn’t feel like doing.

  John had been a great help, but he had his work to do: the milking and the feeding, the small flock of sheep to check, coming indoors from time to time for a mug of tea.

  ‘Good thing the missus ’as got ’er ma coming back with ’er—lives at ’Atch Beauchamp. She’ll stay a while until things are sorted.’

  ‘And you’ll be here to run the farm, John?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be going home about now?’

  ‘Yup—but I’ll stay till the doctor comes. ’E said five o’clock and ’e’s a man of ’is word.’

  Matilda, sitting at the kitchen table and coaxing a sleepy Tom to eat his supper, hoped that he was right.

  And he was. She saw the car’s headlights as it entered the yard and a moment later Mrs Duckett and an old
er woman came in, followed by the doctor.

  He nodded at Matilda, greeted John and said cheerfully, ‘Sorry we are a bit late. Everything all right?’

  John said, ‘Yup,’ and Matilda nodded. Mrs Duckett had gone at once to Tom and her mother was taking off her coat and hat.

  ‘The kettle is boiling,’ said Matilda. ‘Shall I make tea?’

  ‘You’ll want to go on home, miss,’ said Mrs Duckett. ‘I’m grateful. Has Tom been good?’

  ‘As gold. We’ve had a lovely day together and John’s been a marvellous help.’

  She wanted to ask about Mr Duckett but hesitated. Supposing it was bad news? But Mrs Duckett forestalled her. ‘Rob’s having his operation in the morning. Doctor’s fixed someone to take me to the hospital in the afternoon and I can stay if I need to now Mother’s here.’

  She managed a smile. ‘He says everything will be all right…’

  ‘And it will be,’ said Matilda, ‘if he said so.’

  The doctor, talking to John, heard that and allowed himself a little smile.

  He drove her home then, stopping briefly at his own home on the way. And at the cottage he went in with her, spent a few moments with her father, thanked her briefly and went away again, and this time he didn’t kiss her.

  Her father had had a pleasant day. Mrs Inch had come at lunchtime and cooked a delicious meal and stayed for an early cup of tea.

  ‘And she told me to tell you that she had left our supper on the stove.’

  And when Matilda went to look there was a casserole only needing to be heated up. It looked delicious and her mouth watered.

  The week resumed its normal sober pattern. The waiting room filled and emptied, the doctor bade her good morning and good evening, took himself off to Taunton and his far-flung patients, and although he invited her to share his coffee in the mornings she found some excuse not to accept. He showed no sign of minding this but he did keep her informed about Rob Duckett. The operation had been successful; he was still in Intensive Care and would be in hospital for some time yet, but there was a good chance that he would be home for Christmas.