Dr Finlay's Casebook

by A. J. Cronin

  Excitedly she moved into the adjoining waiting-room, sat down and read the item again and again, as if attempting to memorise it. Then, sitting back, she said aloud, ‘Cameron mustna’ see this. I’ll pass it to Finlay in the gairden.’

  Quickly she opened the front door, closed it quickly behind her, then stealthily made her way round the front of the house into the garden. Here, she buttonholed Finlay and led him into the summer-house.

  ‘Finlay,’ she whispered impressively, ‘I’ve a rare bit o’ news for ye. It fair puts my back up. After all ye have done for her, she’s gone, escaped!’

  With this she handed the paper to Finlay, pointing to the article:

  ESCAPEE FROM BON SECOURS

  Friends and admirers of The Good Mother Superior at the convent of Bon Secours will learn with regret of an unfortunate event, the first in the annals of this most worthy institution, which took place yesterday near midnight. One of the inmates, a postulant sister, made her escape by climbing down a long rope from a top-floor bathroom window. The rope had been previously secured from the garden and secreted under the escapee’s bed. Once she was at ground level this dauntless young woman divested herself of her robe, which she hung at full stretch on the hedge bordering the lawn, thus revealing herself to the moon in the smart tweed suit which she had worn when entering the convent.

  For so young and dauntless an adventuress it was an easy matter to climb the high-barred entrance gate and land on the open highway. Once here, did our nimble young Diana start out on the long hard walk to civilisation and security? Not so! Not, as she herself might say, on your ruddy life, pal! With noteworthy and, in other circumstances, commendable prudence, she had timed the passage of the last bus from the hamlet of Whinberry to Tannochbrae. Lest her signals might not be observed, she stopped the lumbering vehicle by the single expedience of standing in the middle of the narrow road. Once the bus was stationary she climbed up cosily beside the driver, who will verify her remark: ‘Sorry to stop you, but I just had word my poor old mother is dying. If you drop me off at the Tannochbrae post office there’s a ten bob note in your pocket.’

  Spurred by the double incentive of a human action and this tangible reward, driver Boscop did not hesitate. In his own words, ‘I stood on the gas. And let me tell you mo’ she didna say a word. She was the cosiest bit o’ goods that ever squeezed up there beside me on the dickey!’

  Dropped off at the post office our young lady paid the offered fare and set off in search of a hotel. This morning a discreet survey of the various hotels reveals the fact that our charming and courageous escapee is bedded down and sleeping peacefully in the Princess Suite of the Royal Hotel. What can one say of this midnight adventure? While the few Holy Romans in our little town might look down their noses and shake their heads in sorrow, we others, while sympathising with the Good Mother Superior, would regard her brave and daring midnight adventure with admiration and respect.

  While Finlay was reading the account of her adventures, Alice Lane awakened from a delicious sleep to find herself the heroine of Tannochbrae. Idly she rang for breakfast, which appeared immediately, a very different meal from the plain fare she had unwillingly endured in the Convent of Bon Secours. To say that she enjoyed it, while at the same time reading that portion of the Herald dedicated to herself, would be an absurd understatement. She revelled in it, stretching her beautiful long legs against the fine linen sheets as she drank the finest mocha and crunched on the excellent toast with her strong white teeth.

  When the breakfast tray was removed by none other than the head waiter himself, she turned to the telephone and rang the local Scottish Provincial Bank, where she was immediately assured that her balance of £2000 remained intact. She replaced the receiver with a self-satisfied smile. How wise she had been to secure this from her beastly husband in the early days at the Caledonian Hotel. Indeed, her next call was to that same hotel, where the manager not only promised to send on her brass-bound trunk from storage, immediately, but suggested a change of air to his own Guest Suite.

  If these attentions had not sufficiently convinced our little escapee of her news value she was certainly assured and reassured by the proliferation of attentions and invitations now showered upon her over the telephone and by the masses of letters brought into her on a tray by the first postal delivery. With these her natural discretion and savoir faire came into play. Requests that she should address the Philatelic Society, the Young Women’s Club, the Anti-Popery League and the Boys’ Brigade went instantly into the waste-paper basket. There were others, however, demanding further attention. And on reflection she committed herself to a Press Luncheon and, above all, to a dinner party, given for her at his private house by Mr Albert Caddens, a gentleman of high standing and considerable substance (in more ways than one).

  This invitation she accepted immediately in a witty little personal note, not exactly provocative but as near to that as an escaped nun might go. But, alas, there was no letter, no phone call, not one word from the person with whom she longed wholeheartedly to re-establish the tender relations that had once, to the delight of her heart and soul, existed between them.

  But then, she reflected consolingly, dear Finlay was always a shy boy, although she had created many opportunities for him to fall into her arms he had always retreated from the edge of rapture. Yet, now, surely, in the light of her brilliant return to him, he must yield. Already she felt him in her arms. This induced her to dress in the light summer frock she had worn at their first meeting.

  Precisely when she was ready and a satisfying flush had been coaxed, with some assistance to nature, into her perfect complexion, the telephone rang. It was the hotel desk.

  ‘The car is waiting for you, madam. Compliments of Mr Albert Caddens.’

  ‘I shall be down presently.’ As Alice gave this reply she smiled to herself in the mirror. No need to jump at the cherry. Dear old Albert seemed hers for the picking.

  After a cigarette, puffed languidly, she appeared downstairs, where a succession of bows ushered her to the waiting car. Not a Rolls, as she had hoped, but a big, roomy, shining Daimler. However, the chauffeur was quite perfect, young, slender, dark-eyed, handsome, smartly uniformed. His hand lightly touched hers as he showed her to her seat.

  ‘I first wish to go to the house of Dr Finlay.’

  ‘Of course, madam.’

  Her voice had quivered slightly as she breathed out that magic name. Yes, she was returning to him. And in style. A woman famous for her exploits, her courage, resolution and unyielding loyalty to the man she loved. As she approached his home her heart beat faster. Yes, he was there, in the garden, suntanned, splendidly muscled in shorts and white singlet, surrounded by the children. All were watching the big shining car as the chauffeur flung open the door, permitting her to descend in state.

  Fortunately she had brought her parasol and, flicking it open, she strolled across the lawn under its shade. What a picture of charm, and easy, smiling nonchalance.

  ‘It’s our lady, Finlay!’ cried the children as she advanced towards the group.

  ‘Yes, darlings, of course it is. Back to play with you as she did last year.’

  ‘Aren’t you a nun, madam?’ asked one little boy, as another said ‘Is your Italian gentleman gone?’

  Ignoring these rather personal questions she held out her hand to Finlay. ‘I am back, darling Finlay, free of all my encumbrances, drawn to you as a needle to the Pole.’

  ‘I don’t feel at all magnetic this morning, madam.’

  Finlay did not accept the proffered hand but, looking her in the eye, he said firmly, ‘I cannot possibly receive you now. Your conduct and recent statements thereon have done a great injury to a lady I revere and love, and also to her splendid institution, which has done great service to me and to other doctors. Why, you yourself must realise what Bon Secours has done for you. You went there desperately ill, your body a wreck. How do you repay her? Although you could have walked out of the front door unhin
dered at any moment of the day, you chose to stage an absurd midnight escapade which made you appear a heroine, daring and astutely avoiding the crushing, unwanted oppression of a Catholic nunnery. And this, madam, to a respected institution and a woman, my dear Mother Superior, who with her own hands tended and healed your wounds. She made you once again a healthy, desirable woman. How do you reward her? By holding her up to the public gaze as the wardress of a prison in which, but for your own courage and adroitness, you would have been condemned to serve a life sentence!’

  Alice had turned pale. As she did not speak he continued, ‘All this, naturally, is like manna to our little Scottish town where we poor Catholics are held in contempt, disliked, despised, even hated.’ Again a silence till he concluded, ‘Naturally, madam, you are the heroine of the hour. You will be congratulated, admired, fêted.’ He paused. ‘I advise you to take full advantage of your triumph in this town. You will not find it here.’

  With that final word, Finlay rose and walked back towards the children. Alone she sat, perfectly still and pale as death. But gradually the colour returned to her cheeks. She compressed her lips, rose, and seething with rage and disappointment walked directly to the car. Once in the safety of the big saloon she said, ‘Home, to your master. Drive slowly.’

  During the leisurely progress through the town with the near window open Alice was agreeably conscious of being looked at. Then the car drew up before the substantial villa of Mr Albert Caddens, in the secluded quiet of College Road.

  ‘Shall I wait for you here, madam, or garage the car?’

  ‘Garage it, please. And see you get a good lunch for yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, madam, for your kind thought.’

  As Miss Lane went up the stone steps and into the house she did not fail to observe, as she entered the big dining-room, that the table was sumptuously set for two with superb china plates and sparkling silver cutlery, while at the big sideboard her host, immaculate in fine white shirt and a blue suit, was expertly sharpening the carver on a steel.

  He turned for an instant to bow and smile, saying, ‘Oh, my dear Miss Lane, I am so glad to find you so punctual. I have a superb piece of beef here, cooked to perfection and I find it positively heartbreaking if it is not served and eaten au point. Do, please, be seated.’

  A manservant, in a yellow striped waistcoat and green tails, seated her with extreme courtesy, and a moment later placed before her a delicious plateful of pink, wafer-thin roast beef, two floury potatoes simply bursting their sides and a crusty wedge of the best-looking Yorkshire pudding she had ever set eyes upon.

  ‘Dear Mr Caddens,’ she exclaimed, ‘what a delicious sight for a very hungry young woman.’

  He chuckled, watching approvingly as she set to voraciously. ‘That’s the spirit I like to see. I have nae time at all for women who shrink frae the finest roast beef and cry out for pastry and tea.’

  ‘That’s not my style, dear Mr Caddens. But do tell me where to get this superb beef, for it’s surely the best I ever tasted.’

  ‘It’s frae my own stock farm, lass,’ he gloated. ‘I kill my ain beasts. Nae butcher’s trash for me, I like the finest.’ And with a side glance at her he added, slyly, ‘That’s why I like you!’

  As the butler was now pouring beer into his master’s tankard she thought it wise, at this early stage, to ignore the remark. With the same tact, when the butler approached her with the beer, although she hated the stuff, she permitted him to half fill her glass.

  ‘And did you have a nice drive this morning, in my Daimler?’

  ‘I just took a quiet little turn round the town, Mr Caddens, but enough to appreciate the magnificence of your wonderful car. But I’m surprised, sir, that a man of your position and, forgive me, wealth, should not have his own, more personal car, such as a sports model, preferably a Bentley, a Jaguar, or a Ferrari.’

  He laughed heartily, slapping his thigh with one hand. ‘That would be more to your taste, eh, ma dearie?’

  ‘Well, I tell you truthfully, Albert, oh, forgive me Mr Caddens . . .!’

  ‘Naething to forgive lass. I like ye to be on first-name terms wi’ me, and in return I’ll ca’ you Alice!’

  She smiled, bewitchingly. ‘Thank you, dear Albert. Well, reverting to cars, my dear father promised me just such a car. But, alas, he was taken from me, almost a year ago.’

  ‘So, beside the loss o’ your dear father, ye lost your lovely sports car.’

  She inclined her head silently and for a moment touched her handkerchief against the corner of one eye.

  ‘Oh, my poor dear lass,’ and he pressed her little soft hand, which lay conveniently near.

  ‘How would it do, ma dearie, if on your next birthday, you looked out of the window and there, drawn up outside, a’ shinin’ and sparklin’, was the car o’ your heart’s desire?’

  Now, indeed, real tears flowed as she exclaimed, ‘Oh, Albert darling, you couldn’t be so wonderful. And my birthday is so soon, next month in fact.’

  Now she had surrendered her hand completely and he was caressing it as he said, ‘Let’s have the date o’ your birthday, dearie, and the name o’ the car ye fancy.’

  ‘It’s the 25th July, and I would adore a twin-exhaust two-seater Ferrari. But I’ll write it down for you later. Oh what wonderfully soft hands you have, Albert. From a great strong man like yourself a woman would naturally expect roughness and heaviness.’

  ‘No, lass, no’ frae me. When my wife was alive she wad often say to me: “Albert, big and heavy as ye are, ye are the gentlest creature in all the world.” Ye see, lass, even in the pleasures of the bed everything was accomplished in the tenderest way.’ Quickly he added: ‘I tell ye this, lass, no frae indecency, but so ye may ken the true me. Strong in will and body, gentle in touch and caress.’

  A short silence followed in which she was permitted to comprehend and digest this most relevant information. Then, as her hand continued to be stroked, she murmured, ‘It was noble of you, Albert, to tell me this – since, if I may be as frank as your dear self, it was the one thing that held me back.’

  ‘Then, ye’ll no’ be all by yoursel’ much longer darlin’.’

  Thus begun, the subjugation of the good Mr Caddens proceeded apace during the ensuing weeks. The worthy stock farmer, who could face an angry bull without turning a hair, was soft as butter in the hands of this experienced enchantress, upon whom he showered gifts of astounding munificence to the eyes of Tannochbrae. On a quick visit to Edinburgh the shops in Princes Street were raided and, on the following Sunday, Mr Caddens was accompanied to the kirk by a beautiful young lady so smart in a cashmere blue suit, snappy mink coat and capôte of the same fur that every eye in that hallowed edifice was fixed, fascinated, upon her. The gentleman himself was equally smart, indeed rejuvenated, in a frock-coat of Bond Street cut and the very latest trim white spats on his new patent leather shoes. As they emerged after the service into the gathering outside, a voice was heard, ‘When is the announcement, Mr Caddens?’

  ‘If you are interested,’ came the reply, ‘I advise ye to look in tomorrow’s local paper!’

  Then the handsome couple stepped into the Daimler and were borne out of sight.

  ‘Oh, Albert, darling, wasn’t it simply wonderful?’

  ‘Aye, lass,’ agreed the bold Albert. ‘Naebody ever looked at the meenester. Every eye was on us.’

  ‘And yon were lookin’ so smart, my dearest. Were you not pleased I had togged ye up so well?’

  ‘Aye, lass, I felt I was gettin’ my share o’ attention, thanks to you.’

  This exchange of compliments continued until the Daimler reached the house in College Road, where Albert immediately composed the announcement of their engagement, which he himself posted in an adjoining pillar-box. Then followed the stupendous Sunday lunch, whereat their success at the kirk was dwelt upon and more thoroughly enjoyed.

  ‘With all this going on, dearest Albert, I hope ye havena forgot about my wee car.’
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br />   ‘Not on your life, dearie. Last Thursday I was up to Hughie Ferguson at his big garage and showroom. He’s right against the Ferrari, he says it’s all noise and glitter. But he’s all for the new Jaguar. Fast, yet fit for a lady to handle and silent as a cloud. In his showroom he has one just arrived frae the works, Oxford blue, just your colour. It’s a real beauty.’

  ‘Oh, dearest Albert, my sweetest, kindest darling . . . May I go up to town to look at it?’

  ‘No need, my wee pettie. It’ll be at your front door at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh, you darlingest Albert in all the world.’ In her excitement the future Mrs Caddens could barely keep still, bouncing up and down in her chair.

  ‘Another interesting thing for tomorrow, dear, is that the star reporter of the local paper wants to interview you tomorrow, to get your story. Since it would mean a tidy fee for you I said he could come. Eleven o’clock tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, good! How much do you think that would be, Albert?’

  ‘I’ve fixed it for you, darling. If you can deliver the goods – five hundred pounds down, into your own dear wee hand.’

  ‘Oh, Albert! Between love of you, the new Jaguar, and five hundred in cash, I’ll be the happiest young woman in all the world.’

  Next morning, everything fell out according to plan. The Jaguar was inspected, delightfully approved, and a trial run arranged for the following Saturday. Then, at eleven o’clock, Alice was ready in her new blue dress to receive Mr Donald Douglass, the star reporter from the Herald.

  After coffee had been served the reporter laid a cheque on the table before the interview began.

  ‘I imagine, Miss Lane, that you were not very happy in the convent?’

  ‘Happy, sir! For a good Protestant lass like masel’, it was hell.’

  ‘You found your incarceration unbearable?’

  ‘It was like being shut up in a cupboard.’

  ‘Or perhaps a cell?’ kindly suggested Mr Douglass.

  ‘You’ve hit the word sir.’ She had spotted the figure ‘500’ on the cheque. ‘And a’ the time they were ding-dangin’ away at me wi’ those hymns and prayers and masses, far into the night.’