The Daughter of the Manor

by Betty Neels

  The next twenty minutes were like a very unpleasant dream. The tractor had reared up and toppled backwards and although Ben, the driver, had been flung free his foot had been trapped by the superstructure.

  The doctor got down beside him and opened his bag. ‘Pain bad?’ he asked, and when Ben nodded he filled a syringe and plunged its contents into the arm he had bared. Presently, as the dope took effect, he examined his patient and then bent over his foot, trapped by a heavy iron crossbar.

  ‘Open that bag,’ He nodded towards the zippered bag he had been carrying. ‘Hand me the things from it as I ask for them.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘And you, boy, fetch me a spade, two spades, anything to dig with.’

  He busied himself cleaning and covering the crushed foot, and Leonora, very much on her mettle, handed things from the bag when he asked for them. Most of them she had never seen before—forceps and probes and some nasty-looking scissors. Most of the time she managed not to look too closely…

  All the while he worked, the doctor talked to Ben—a soothing flow of words uttered in a quiet, reassuring voice. ‘We’re going to dig the earth from under your foot to relieve the pressure on it,’ he explained. ‘I’m going to phone for an ambulance and help now; you’ll soon be comfortable.’

  Leonora listened to him talking into his phone; it seemed hours since they had arrived but when she glanced at her watch she saw that it was barely fifteen minutes.

  The boy came back then with the spades. Dr Galbraith took one, handed him the other and told him what they were going to do, then he said to Leonora, ‘Come here and kneel by Ben’s foot. Don’t touch it yet, but be ready to steady it.’

  She knelt gingerly. The tractor loomed huge above her and she tried not to think what would happen should it shift. The foot was swathed in a protective covering, bloodstained but not frighteningly so. She crept nearer and held her hands ready.

  They dug cautiously, inch by inch, so that presently there was a bit of space between Ben’s foot and the crossbar. It would need far more room than that to free the foot, she thought; the tractor would have to be righted.

  The digging stopped then and the doctor took her place, his arm sheltering the foot as far as possible. If the tractor moves…thought Leonora, and didn’t dare think further.

  ‘Take Mrs Willer to the house and help her pack a bag for Ben,’ said the doctor. ‘Everything he’ll need at the hospital. And then come back here.’

  She led a shocked Mrs Willer back to the house, found a bag and together they packed it. They had done that when they heard the high-pitched wail of the ambulance and the louder, deeper note of the fire engine, and by the time they had got back to the tractor there were men everywhere.

  It took time to right the tractor and more time to inspect Ben’s foot thoroughly. Finally he was on a stretcher, being carried to the ambulance.

  In answer to his, ‘Come along, Leonora,’ she followed the doctor to the car and got in. Wilkins, snoozing on the back seat, opened an eye in greeting and went back to sleep and she sat watching the doctor as he spoke to Mrs Willer.

  Getting in beside her, he said, ‘You have been a great help; thank you, Leonora. Ben is going to the Royal National at Bath; I must go there and speak to the casualty officer.’ He picked up the phone. ‘I’ll explain to Nanny…’ Which he did before handing the phone to her.

  Nanny sounded anxious. ‘Miss Leonora, are you all right? Am I to tell your ma and pa?’

  ‘I’m fine, Nanny, really I am. I shan’t be home for a little while. If you tell them that without any details…’

  ‘Anyway, you’re safe enough with Dr Galbraith and you’ve got the phone.’

  At the hospital she got out with Wilkins and walked round with him while the doctor went inside. She was hungry and untidy and her skirt was covered with dried earth from the ploughed field but she felt happy; she had made herself useful even in a humble capacity and Dr Galbraith’s brisk thanks had warmed her. Presently she saw him leave the hospital and went back to the car, into which Wilkins scrambled with evident relief. He had walked enough.

  ‘Ben—that foot?’ said Leonora, getting into the car. ‘Will he be all right?’

  ‘He’s in Theatre now. If anyone can save it, it’s the man who’s operating.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ She added fiercely, ‘He needs his feet—it’s his livelihood…’

  When he didn’t answer, she said, ‘What about your other patients? You had just started your round, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Mrs Crisp has sorted them out for me; there’s nothing really urgent. I’ve a surgery this evening and I can do a round this afternoon. We’ll go back now and clean up and have a meal.’

  He picked up the phone again. ‘Cricket? I’m bringing Miss Crosby back with me for lunch. We’ll need to clean up first—say half an hour? Something quick.’

  ‘Who’s Cricket?’ asked Leonora. ‘And you don’t have to ask me to lunch. Drop me off at the gate as you go past.’

  ‘Cricket is my manservant; he runs my home. I should be totally lost without him. And will you lunch with me, Leonora? It is the least I can do to make amends for spoiling your quiet day.’ He glanced at her. ‘Besides, you’re badly in need of a wash and brush-up.’

  It was hardly a flattering reason for being asked to lunch. She had half a mind to refuse but curiosity to see his house and find out something about him got the better of her resentment, and then common sense came to the rescue and she laughed. He was offering practical help and she was hungry and, as he had pointed out, badly in need of a good wash.

  ‘Thank you; that would be nice,’ she told him sedately.

  It was as he drew up before his door that Leonora spoke again.

  ‘What about Wilkins? Do you have a dog?’

  He came round the car to open her door. ‘He’s welcome to come in. I have a dog. My sister has borrowed him for a week or two while her husband is away. He’ll be back next week. Cricket has two cats. I hardly think they will be in any danger from Wilkins; a remarkably mild animal, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s a darling,’ said Leonora warmly, ‘and he’s partial to cats.’

  Cricket opened the door, shook the hand she offered and instantly approved of her. Even with a smudge on her cheek and dirty hands she was a very pretty girl. Plenty of her, too; he liked a woman to look like a woman and here was one who, he decided, lived up to his strict ideals of what a young lady should be.

  He ushered her indoors, tut-tutted gently at the state of her skirt and led her to the downstairs cloakroom. Halfway across the hall the doctor called after them.

  ‘Get Miss Crosby a dressing gown, Cricket, and see if you can get some of that mud off her skirt, will you?’

  ‘Certainly, sir. Is ten minutes too soon for lunch?’

  ‘Just right. If I’m not down show Miss Crosby into the sitting room, will you? Thanks!’

  Then he went up upstairs two at a time and Cricket ushered Leonora into the cloakroom, begged a moment’s grace and came back within a minute with a bathrobe. ‘If you would let me have your skirt, Miss Crosby, I’ll have it as good as new before you leave.’ He smiled at her. ‘I will keep an eye on your dog, miss.’

  She thanked him and, left alone, began on the task of getting clean again. Her skirt was horribly stained and it smelled, naturally enough, of the farm.

  Presently, with a nicely washed face and her hair neatly pinned up, she got into the robe, opened the door cautiously and peered round it. Cricket had said that he would show her where to go…

  Dr Galbraith was in the hall, lounging against the wall, Wilkins panting happily beside him.

  ‘Come on out,’ he invited. ‘Cricket has lunch ready and I have to be at the surgery in less than an hour.’

  He sounded, reflected Leonora, like someone’s brother, and she did as she was told, following him, a little hampered by the robe, across the hall and into the sitting room overlooking the garden. Their lunch had been laid on a round table near the open fire
and something smelled delicious. She pushed the over-long sleeves up her arms and sat down without further ado to sample Cricket’s artichoke soup.

  The doctor had made no comment about her appearance but he smiled a little at the sensible way she had tucked up the sleeves and wrapped the yards of extra material around her person, and he liked her lack of self-consciousness.

  The soup was followed by a cheese pudding and a salad and they drank tonic water before Cricket brought in the coffee-tray. Since there wasn’t much time and it was obvious to her that this wasn’t a social occasion, Leonora made no attempt to make conversation.

  The moment they had drunk their coffee she said, ‘I’ll go and put my own clothes on again. You’ll want to be going.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for lunch; it was delicious.’

  He got up with her. ‘I’ll be in the garden with Wilkins,’ he told her, and watched her gather up the trailing robe as she crossed the hall. A sensible girl, he thought; no nonsense about her. Beamish was a lucky man. He frowned. She was too good for the fellow.

  Cricket had worked wonders with the stains on her skirt. Really, they had almost gone; he had pressed it too. How wonderful to have someone like that to look after you, Leonora mused. No wonder the doctor wasn’t married; he must be very comfortable as he was. She hurried into her clothes, thanked Cricket for his help and got into the car once more.

  ‘Drop us off in the village,’ she told the doctor. ‘Anywhere along the main street will do.’

  ‘I shall drive you home.’ His voice dared her to argue about it and she sat silent for a moment, trying to think of something to say. At length she said, ‘You told me you had a dog; what do you call him?’

  ‘Tod.’

  ‘Unusual—is it a foreign name?’

  She saw his slow smile. ‘No, no. It isn’t a name of my choosing but a young lady for whom I have an affection named him and Tod it is.’

  Ha, thought Leonora, the girlfriend—there was bound to be someone. Her fertile imagination was already at work. Small and fragile and blue-eyed. Fair hair beautifully dressed, and wearing the very latest in fashion. She would have one of those sickening voices that made one squirm. Leonora, disliking this figment of her imagination, reflected that she would be the kind of girl to call a dog by such a silly name.

  She said inadequately, ‘How nice,’ and waved to Mrs Pike standing outside her shop.

  When he stopped before her home she said frostily, still influenced by her fancies, ‘Thank you so much, Doctor. I do hope you won’t be too busy for the rest of the day. And I hope that poor man will get better.’

  He got out to open her door and stood beside her, looking at her thoughtfully. ‘I’ll let you know, and it is I who thank you for your help.’

  He waited while she opened the door, and Wilkins rushed past her, intent on getting to the warmth of the kitchen. ‘Well, goodbye,’ said Leonora awkwardly, and went indoors.

  Her mother and father were in the drawing room.

  ‘Darling, where have you been? So awkward—I mean, Nanny had to leave everything and go down to the village. Why ever should Dr Galbraith want you? An accident at Willer’s Farm, Nanny says. Surely they could have managed without you?’

  Leonora opened her mouth to explain but her mother went on, ‘Your Tony phoned. He was quite annoyed because you weren’t here. Perhaps you had better give him a ring presently and explain.’

  ‘Did he say why he had phoned?’

  ‘No, dear. We were chatting for a while and I quite forgot to ask.’

  Leonora went to the kitchen and found Nanny preparing oxtail for supper.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nanny, but Dr Galbraith didn’t give me a chance to refuse…’

  ‘Quite right too. Bad accident, was it? He wouldn’t have asked for your help if he hadn’t needed it. Tell me about it. It’s too early for tea but you could get the tray ready while I finish this and get it into the oven.’

  So Leonora recited her morning’s activities, not leaving anything out, detailing her lunch and the perfections of the doctor’s house.

  ‘Sounds nice,’ said Nanny. ‘And that man of his—was he nice?’

  ‘Yes, very. He took my skirt and cleaned it. You’ve no idea how filthy it was—he pressed it too.’

  ‘I’m sorry about Ben, but the doctor will see him right and the Willers will keep an eye on him—give him light work if he can’t manage his usual jobs.’

  Leonora ate a scone from the plate Nanny had just put on the table.

  ‘You’ll get fat,’ said Nanny. ‘Your young man rang up. Put out, he was.’ She shot a quick glance at Leonora. ‘Won’t do no harm just for once…’

  ‘What do you mean, Nanny?’

  ‘Well, love, the men like to do a bit of chasing. It’s not a bad idea to be difficult to get at times.’

  ‘Nanny, you naughty old thing, where did you learn to play fast and loose with the gentlemen?’ Leonora was laughing.

  ‘Never you mind! It’s sound common sense. No need to say you’re sorry you weren’t waiting here by the phone in the hopes he’d ring up.’

  She picked up the plate of scones. ‘They’re for tea, Miss Leonora, and I’m not making another batch. You’d best go and tidy yourself. What the doctor thought of you I’ll never know.’

  The doctor was a man to keep his thoughts to himself so Nanny was never likely to find out. All the same she would have been pleased if she had found out; she had never taken a fancy to Tony Beamish—not good enough for her Miss Leonora, but clever enough to make her think she was in love with him.

  ‘No good’ll come of it!’ said Nanny, buttering scones.

  Leonora, feeling guilty but bearing Nanny’s advice in mind, made no attempt to phone Tony, although once or twice during the rest of the afternoon and evening she very nearly did. She was on the point of going to bed when he rang up.

  He was still annoyed. ‘Where were you?’ he wanted to know. ‘What’s all this about going to an accident and why didn’t you phone me as soon as you got home?’

  ‘Well, I am never quite sure where you are. It was a bad accident—one of the men on Willer’s Farm—the tractor overturned—’

  ‘Spare me the details,’ begged Tony impatiently. ‘And why you had to have anything to do with it I can’t imagine.’

  She told him, leaving out quite a bit because he was getting impatient again.

  ‘Utterly ridiculous,’ said Tony. ‘That doctor must be thoroughly incompetent.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ Leonora heard his indrawn breath. She had never called him silly before.

  ‘I’m busy,’ snapped Tony, ‘and obviously you’re overwrought. I hope you will have the good sense to keep out of the man’s way in future.’ He rang off without saying goodbye, confident that he would get a letter from her in the morning begging forgiveness for being such a bad-tempered girl.

  Leonora, however, had no intention of putting pen to paper. Love was blind but not as blind as all that; Tony hadn’t sounded like Tony at all. Was there a side to him which she hadn’t yet discovered? It wasn’t as though she particularly liked Dr Galbraith. For that matter, he didn’t particularly like her, ordering her around and telling her what to do and that she needed a wash.

  Despite the horror of the accident, she had enjoyed herself. Being useful—really useful—had made her feel quite different. She would drive to Bath and visit Ben. Perhaps there was something that her father could do for him—not financial help, of course, that wasn’t possible, but influence with authority, perhaps.

  She drove over to Bath two days later with a box of fruit and some flowers and found her way to the ward where Ben was lying.

  He was in bed, propped up by pillows, his leg under a cradle, his weather-beaten face pale and lined, although he greeted her cheerfully.

  She sat down beside his bed, offered the fruit and flowers and asked how he was getting on.

  ‘’Ad me foot put together again,’ he told her. ‘Take a bit of time, it will, but
I’ll be able to walk, so they tell me. Mustn’t grumble.’

  ‘How long will you be here?’

  ‘A while yet. Got to learn to walk again, ’a’n’t I?’

  ‘Yes, of course. You’ll go back to Willer’s?’

  ‘Mr Willer, ’e’ll see me right…’

  ‘I think you can claim compensation, Ben.’

  ‘So ’tis said. Mr Willer, ’e’ll attend to that.’ He said awkwardly, ‘I’m downright thankful for your help, Miss Crosby. Dr Galbraith told me as ’ow you gived a hand. ’E’s been a trump too. Comes to see me regular; knows the surgeon who done me foot.’

  ‘That’s nice. Ben, is there anything that you want? Money? Books? Clothes?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, miss. Proper good treatment I’m getting too. Pretty nurses and all.’

  She stayed for an hour, dredging up bits of local gossip to interest him, but when the tea-trolley arrived she bade him goodbye. ‘I’ll be back,’ she told him. ‘The Willers are coming to see you in a day or two— I’ll come again next week.’

  She left the ward and was walking along the long corridor which led to the main staircase when she saw Dr Galbraith coming towards her. He wasn’t alone; there were a couple of younger men in white jackets and a white-coated man with him, and although he wasn’t wearing a white coat Leonora had the feeling that he was as remote as his companion, the possessor of knowledge she knew nothing of and therefore someone difficult to get to know, to be friends with.

  Face to face, she wished him a good afternoon and made to walk on, but he put out an arm and caught her gently by the wrist.

  ‘Leonora? You have been to see Ben? This is Mr Kirby who operated on his foot.’

  He looked at his companion. ‘This is Miss Crosby, who very kindly came to my aid at the farm.’

  She shook hands and murmured that she mustn’t keep them.

  ‘How did you come? I’ll give you a lift back…’

  ‘I drove over, but thank you all the same.’ She included everyone in her goodbye, aware that she wasn’t behaving in her usual calm and collected manner. The look of amusement on Dr Galbraith’s face sent the colour into her cheeks, which made things even worse.