The Daughter of the Manor

by Betty Neels

  He gave her a brisk nod and closed the door behind him, so that she had no chance to say a word.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Leonora, feeling deflated. ‘Perhaps he’s late on his rounds.’ She made herself a cup of coffee and then phoned Mrs Crisp.

  Mrs Crisp wasn’t home. She had gone to Bath, her husband said, and probably wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. Was there anything he could do?

  Leonora said no, thank you and not to bother Mrs Crisp when she got back, and sat down to think what she should do. Obviously Dr Galbraith expected someone to be handy to take any calls or messages and he wasn’t to know that Mrs Crisp, who had volunteered to come in in the afternoons, wasn’t available.

  ‘I can’t leave here,’ said Leonora, addressing the doctor’s empty chair, and she picked up the phone again. Nanny answered it, which was a good thing for she only needed the barest explanation. ‘I’ll tell your ma. You’ve nothing to eat there?’

  ‘No, but there’s plenty of tea and coffee and a little milk.’

  ‘Phone over to Mrs Pike and get her to make you a sandwich; the boy will bring it over for you.’

  When Leonora said there was no need, Nanny replied, ‘You do as I say, Miss Leonora. Otherwise you’ll be flat on your back with hunger with the waiting room full of patients this evening.’

  As usual, Nanny was right; as lunchtime approached Leonora’s insides rumbled a reminder. She phoned Mrs Pike and ten minutes later sank her splendid teeth into the sandwiches that young Pike had brought over for her. She devoured the lot, made a pot of tea and planned her afternoon. If she had to sit there for several hours yet she might as well improve her mind and she had seen the books on the shelf in the surgery.

  There had been several phone calls, none of them urgent, from patients wanting to make appointments, and it struck her suddenly that if the doctor was wanted urgently she had no idea where to find him.

  ‘He should have told me,’ said Leonora, talking to herself since there was no one else to talk to, and she went to see if there was a phone number she could ring. There was, tucked into the blotter on his desk, where, she supposed, if she had been trained for the job, she would have looked the moment he went out of the door. She was studying it when the phone rang.

  Shirley Bates—Leonora recognised the voice at once. A cheerfully sluttish young woman living in one of the houses behind the main street. She had a brood of small children, a careless, easygoing husband and was known for her laziness.

  ‘It’s Miss Leonora, isn’t it? My Cecil’s that poorly. Nasty cough and ’e’s covered in pimples. Measles or the like. The others ’ave ’ad it, but ’e didn’t. ’E’s very ’ot, won’t eat or drink.’

  ‘The doctor’s out,’ said Leonora, ‘but I’ll ask him to call and see Cecil as soon as he can. Could you put him to bed and give him plenty to drink and keep him warm?’

  ‘’E’s in the kitchen watching telly, but I’ll get ’im up to bed as soon as I’ve seen to the baby.’ She sounded quite cheerful. ‘Bye.’

  Leonora wrote it all down and wondered if Cecil was someone the doctor would think urgent enough to be told about. Mrs Bates’ children were a remarkably healthy brood despite their diet of potato crisps and fish and chips; on the other hand, Cecil, if she remembered rightly, was only five years old and measles could turn nasty if neglected.

  She was weighing the pros and cons when the door opened and an old lady came in. Leonora knew her too. Old Mrs Squires, seventy-odd, widowed, and what her neighbours charitably called ‘difficult’. She was comfortably off and lived alone in a small house in the main street and, having nothing better to do with her days, imagined herself to be suffering from various illnesses. She was also the local purveyor of gossip and Leonora greeted her warily.

  ‘Mrs Squires—I’m afraid the doctor isn’t here. Surgery is at five o’clock.’

  ‘Well, of course I know that.’ Mrs Squires seated herself in the waiting room. ‘But I am feeling ill; he must be fetched here to see me. It’s his duty.’

  ‘He is out on a case,’ said Leonora. ‘I should go home and rest and come back at five o’clock.’

  Mrs Squires shot her a cross look. ‘I shall complain about your treatment, Miss Crosby—the Patient’s Charter, you know.’

  ‘But I haven’t treated you, Mrs Squires. I really should go home if I were you. I’ll see that you are first in at five o’clock.’

  ‘Very well.’ But the old lady didn’t budge. ‘You’re not wearing your ring. I did hear…well, never mind that. Broken it off, have you? Such a charming man too. Let’s hope you get another chance.’

  ‘Oh, I expect I shall,’ said Leonora cheerfully, hiding her doubts and unhappiness. ‘Now if you don’t mind I must ask you to go. I have to turn out this room before the evening surgery.’

  Mrs Squires tittered. ‘Fancy you dusting and sweeping. The young lady from the house. I wonder what that Mr Beamish of yours would say to that?’

  Leonora held her tongue and ignored a desire to shake Mrs Squires until her false teeth rattled in her head. Instead, she held the door open and smiled.

  Mrs Squires, despite her rudeness a little in awe of the Crosby family, left, tottering dramatically on the step and hoping sotto voce that Leonora wouldn’t regret her unkindness when she, a poor widow, was found dead in her bed.

  Leonora shut the door and locked it and the phone rang.

  It was Mrs Bates again. ‘My Cecil, ’e’s been sick all over the carpet; ’e’s real poorly and ’e don’t talk much. Gone all pale and limp.’

  ‘I’ll try and get the doctor at once, Shirley. Is Cecil in his bed?’

  ‘’E didn’t want ter go. ’E’s still in the kitchen.’

  ‘Keep him warm and get him to drink a little. I’m sure the doctor won’t be long. I’ll phone him now.’

  Leonora dialled the number on the desk and when someone answered she said with relief, ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Willis. Is Dr Galbraith there? May I speak to him? It’s urgent.’

  ‘I’ll fetch him, Miss Leonora. He’s on the point of leaving.’

  ‘Well?’ said the doctor in her ear.

  ‘I’m glad I caught you,’ said Leonora, relief making her voice sharp. ‘Mrs Bates—the council houses—you know? Her Cecil’s ill.’

  She recited his symptoms in a voice which she strove to keep level. ‘Will you go there? Thank heavens you aren’t miles away…’

  ‘Phone Mrs Bates and tell her I’m on my way. Why are you still at the surgery?’

  ‘Because Mrs Crisp is in Bath, isn’t she? Gone to see her mother.’

  All she had in reply was a grunt before he hung up.

  ‘Miserable man,’ said Leonora, and put the kettle on and rang Mrs Bates once more. She would have a cup of tea; heaven knew, she deserved it after such a trying day. In an hour it would be surgery again and by the time she had tidied the place she would be just in time for dinner at home.

  All the same, she reflected, putting a teabag in the pot, the day had gone quickly and she had had no time to think. A week or two like this, she thought ruefully, and Tony would seem like a dream—rather a bad one. But, good or bad, she had to get over it, hadn’t she? And make a future for herself. While she’d been engaged to Tony, her head had been largely filled with plans for the future, the wedding, new clothes—she had expected to be happy ever after!

  It was almost five o’clock and the waiting room was half-full when the doctor came in. Leonora had laid the case notes on his desk and, the moment he rang, ushered in Mrs Squires.

  She was ushered out again within five minutes and Leonora wondered what he had told her to make her look so pleased with herself. Leonora sent in the next patient and wondered what the doctor had been doing all day. He hadn’t said a word to her, had barely glanced at her as he’d gone to his surgery. He had told her that it was an easy job. Well, she thought rebelliously, let him find another slave to do his work. She had agreed to help out purely from kindness of heart; she didn’t nee
d the money…

  A small voice reminded her that the money was going to be very useful. Provided she could persuade her father to accept it, it would allow the more urgent roof repairs to be made.

  The last patient went away and she began tidying up magazines and setting chairs back in their places. She was on her knees collecting up the toys kept in one corner of the room for the benefit of the smaller patients when Dr Galbraith opened his door.

  ‘Tell me what happened today…’

  She recited the day’s events in a rather cross voice. ‘If you had taken the time to tell me what I was supposed to do,’ she observed, ‘or where you were going, or how long you would be away…’

  She got up from the floor. ‘Cecil? Is he very ill? Shirley Bates was so worried but I wasn’t sure if you would consider him urgent.’

  ‘I’ve sent him to Bristol. He has meningitis.’

  She gulped in horror. ‘Oh, heavens, should I have phoned you earlier? Or got an ambulance or something?’

  ‘You acted exactly as you should have done.’ His calm voice reassured her, ‘I think that he has a very good chance of recovery. I am sorry that you have had such a hard time of it. You must be famished…’

  ‘Well, yes, I am, but Mrs Pike sent over some sandwiches for me at lunchtime. Did you get something to eat?’

  He looked faintly surprised. ‘Er—Cricket will have something for me when I get home.’

  ‘Is Mrs Willis ill? She’s not been well since her daughter left home.’

  The doctor sat astride a chair and leaned on its back. ‘Her daughter is home. She had twins this morning.’ He smiled. ‘That is why I was in a hurry. I got there just in time.’

  Leonora said slowly, ‘Her parents love her very much… Is she all right? And the babies?’

  ‘All very fit. Tell me, was Mrs Squires very trying?’

  ‘Yes. She came in and sat down and said she was ill. I do hope she’s not…’ She gave him an anxious look. ‘You see, I’ve known her for years and years and she has been ill with almost everything under the sun and no one believes her any more.’ She frowned. ‘I expect she’s lonely but she’s a gossip.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with Mrs Squires. And she is a gossip—a malicious one, I rather think. She told me that your callous treatment of her was on account of you being broken-hearted at the ending of your engagement.’

  ‘She said that? The whole village will have heard it in twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I think not. I appealed to her good nature.’

  She said coldly, ‘There was no need for you to do that.’

  ‘To interfere? Have you heard from Beamish, Leonora?’

  ‘No, of course not. And I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Naturally not,’ he agreed blandly. ‘I hope that when you do you will address him in the icy tones you are using on me.’

  He got up, ignoring her indignant breath. ‘I’ll take you home. Do you think you can face another day after this one?’

  ‘Of course I can. I’ve enjoyed myself,’ said Leonora, still frosty. ‘Mrs Crisp will be away for a few days; I’ll bring sandwiches with me tomorrow.’

  ‘No need. I’ll come for you when I’ve done the morning round and we can have lunch at Buntings. I’ll have the phone with me and take any calls.’

  ‘There is no need,’ began Leonora. ‘I don’t mind in the least.’ She added ingenuously, ‘The day has gone so quickly there was no time to think.’

  ‘Good. You are beginning to recover your pride and courage. Only I do beg of you that when you see Beamish you remember to hang onto both at all costs.’

  ‘I have no intention of seeing Tony again.’

  ‘One never knows what is around the corner,’ said the doctor placidly. ‘Now let me drive you home before they send a search party for you.’

  He got out of the car to open her door when they reached the house.

  ‘Thank you for holding the fort so sensibly, Leonora. Don’t let your soft heart overrule your good sense when you see Beamish.’

  ‘I’m not going to see him.’

  He didn’t answer her. Of course she would see him; he would even now be planning his visit, sure of its success. The doctor was very certain of that.

  He was quite right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LEONORA’S second day at the surgery went smoothly. True, she wasn’t very quick at finding the patients’ notes in the filing cabinets but she was unfussed by the telephone and the appointments book.

  The morning flashed by; she was surprised when the last patient went away and Dr Galbraith put his head round the door. ‘How about coffee while I give you a list of where I’ll be? If you need me and can’t reach me from that, use the number on the desk—my own phone. When is Mrs Crisp coming home?’

  ‘Mr Crisp thought at the end of the week.’

  ‘Good. She’ll take over here for the afternoons.’

  He drank his coffee and drove away and she set about getting the notes out ready for the evening surgery. ‘A man of few words,’ she said, as usual talking to herself, and then wondered what he was really like when he wasn’t being a doctor. She had had glimpses of that, but very briefly, and, for all she knew, his kindness and sympathy were all part of his being a doctor. Was he always calm and rather reserved? she wondered. Did he have a temper, get angry?

  She washed the coffee-mugs and watered the potted plants on the waiting-room window-sill and after that there was a succession of phone calls—people wanting appointments, repeat prescriptions, a visit from the doctor—but there was nothing urgent and just before one o’clock he returned, popped her into the car and drove to Buntings.

  Cricket was waiting for them, so was Tod, and they went briefly into the garden, going down to the end of it, throwing sticks for the dog and discussing bedding plants. It was a pretty garden, carefully tended but contriving to look as though everything growing in it had been there for ever and ever. Leonora stifled her envy. The garden at her house was twice as large and, despite her efforts, neglected.

  Indoors again, they sat down to a cheese soufflé, salad, and a custard tart. They had their coffee at the table and Leonora, mindful of her duties, didn’t linger over the meal.

  ‘I must be getting back,’ she said. ‘Shall I ring you from the surgery so that you’ll know I’ve taken the phone over again?’

  ‘No—I’ll drive you down. I want to see how Mrs Bates is coping. Cecil is going to be all right; she might like to visit him…’

  ‘There isn’t a bus until tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m driving up to Bristol to see him. I’ll take her with me.’

  He’s a kind man, reflected Leonora presently, watching him drive away from the surgery.

  Another two days slipped by and Leonora now felt quite at home with the job. Indeed, she was vaguely regretful that Mrs Crisp would be home again tomorrow and would relieve her each afternoon, but despite the help Nanny had from Mrs Phelps from the village there was plenty to do when she was home, and her mother complained gently that while she was working the surgery took up so much time that it was impossible to have people to dinner; even an afternoon’s bridge was difficult without Leonora being there to help with tea and make a fourth if needed.

  ‘The bazaar, darling,’ Lady Crosby had said with gentle reproach. ‘Poor Lydia Dowling hasn’t nearly enough helpers and you know what a great deal there is to do.’

  Leonora had murmured a reply. Somehow, making pincushions and tray-cloths and sorting cast-off clothes for the jumble stall didn’t seem important.

  It was as the doctor was driving himself back from his morning rounds on Friday that he was passed on the road by a Porsche going too fast. Tony Beamish.

  He glanced at his watch. Leonora would be back home by now; Mrs Crisp was always punctual and she had agreed to half past twelve as the time to take over for the afternoon. Any moment now Leonora would probably have to listen to Beamish’s carefully planned explanations. Well, it was no
ne of his business; she wasn’t a child.

  Later, as Cricket set his lunch before him, he gave a small, dry cough.

  ‘Yes, Cricket?’ Dr Galbraith was helping himself to ham but paused to look up.

  ‘A message from Mrs Crisp, sir. She is unable to take over from Miss Crosby today. A migraine has laid her low.’

  The doctor frowned. ‘Miss Crosby is still at the surgery?’

  ‘I presume so, sir. And Mrs Pike had occasion to telephone me a short time ago concerning your Bath Oliver biscuits which have arrived. Mr Pike was having a drink when Mr Beamish went to the pub. Very chirpy, she tells me, offered drinks all round and said he was on his way to see Miss Crosby. Unfortunately he was told that she was at the surgery.’ Cricket paused to observe severely, ‘It is regrettable how everyone knows everyone else’s business in this village.’ Then he resumed. ‘Mr Beamish drank his whisky, asked if he could leave his car at the pub and was seen walking to the surgery.’

  The doctor was about to sample the ham, but he put down his knife and fork, got to his feet and whistled to Tod.

  ‘I’ll be back presently, Cricket. You had better set another place.’ He smiled at Cricket. ‘I’ll just take a look.’

  Mrs Crisp’s phone call, just as Leonora was getting ready to hand over to her, was tiresome but since there was nothing to be done about it she would have to stay at the surgery. Dr Galbraith should be home about one o’clock; she would ring him and ask what she was to do.

  She made a pot of tea, sat down at her table in the waiting room and began to sort out the patients’ notes for the evening surgery, and at the same time allowed her thoughts to dwell on the pay packet she expected the next day. She was to be paid by the hour and she had worked quite a few hours extra during the week. Even after paying for Mrs Phelps there would be a useful sum. Perhaps she could get her father to have Mr Sims, the local builder, round to take a look at the roof.