‘Is it a big house?’
‘No, not as big houses go. And the child’s their only maid besides old Dilly Thompson. The family’s hit hard times. The father died a couple of weeks back. You remember, I told you, a burst appendix.’
‘Oh, that case. Is the wife alive?’
‘No, the house is run by the eldest daughter, has been for years. There are two other young lasses and a son. He’s away at school; better if he stays there, too, I should think.’
‘Why?’ Harry was still eating.
‘Oh, I don’t rightly know, a weakling I would say. The eldest girl, Martha Mary, she should have been in his place, I mean as regards character. Well now, are you finished?’ He watched Harry wiping his mouth, then said, ‘Don’t try any newfangled ideas on the wee lass, stick to the old ones. If the burns are very bad knock her out with a whiff and leave her plenty of laudanum.’
The younger man didn’t comment on this advice but said, ‘How’s the road out there?’
‘Oh, not too bad to within a mile of the house, then it’s just a lane, a cart track. That’ll be the hardest part to get through should it snow. But anyway, should it come you’ll be back before it lies. And see that Bessie is well housed time you’re there; the mist from the river would kill more than a horse left out in it.’
Harry reached the door before he turned and looked back up the room to where John Pippin, lost in the big leather chair, appeared like a shrivelled brown nut, and he said, ‘If there’s any calls leave them until the morning, unless they’re all that important.’
‘You go about your business and I’ll see to mine.’
They stared at each other over the distance, then Harry went out, closing the door none too gently behind him.
Going into the dispensary, he now collected a small quantity of powder from a deep stoppered glass jar bearing the word, opium, then opening his black leather bag he checked its contents.
A minute later he went into the kitchen, where the cook and the two housemaids were seated round the fire, and addressing the older woman, he asked, ‘Have you fed him, Sarah?’ and on this the cook turned her head towards him, saying, ‘Aye, doctor; he’s so stuffed up he can’t hardly move. Look at him.’ She pointed to her feet where the large nondescript dog was stretched out on the mat in front of the fire.
The two girls were standing now and they laughed, and Annie the housemaid said, ‘By! Doctor, he doesn’t half scoff it, he eats more than a horse.’
‘Well, so he should; he works as hard as a horse.’ He now gave a low whistle and the dog got instantly to its feet and came towards him as he added, ‘It’s hard work protecting me.’
As the girls laughed the cook said, ‘You off again, doctor?’
‘Yes, on a long trek. Peter’ll have to come with me. He won’t like that, will he?’ He made a face at her and she answered, ‘No, begod! He won’t. He’s due for home in an hour.’
‘Well, he’s got a surprise coming to him, hasn’t he?’ He now poked his face at the girls and they laughed and kept their eyes on him until he went out of the back door with the dog at his heels; then Daisy, the younger of the two girls, shook her head, her mouth still wide with laughter, as she said, ‘Eeh! As I’m always sayin’, he’s not a bit like a doctor, is he? Not gentlemanly like I mean.’
‘Gentlemen’s are as gentlemen’s does,’ said the cook bouncing her head at the young girl. ‘You remember that, miss. There’s too many gentlemen in this town with too much style. An’ that goes for the women an’ all; all words and wind with the men, an’ flounce an’ delicate fart with the women. As I said, gentlemen’s is as gentlemen’s does.’
‘Aye, cook, aye,’ said Daisy in a very subdued tone now, and both girls settled round the fire again, until the bell should ring for them to clear the table, which was the pattern they followed most nights in their very comfortable position in Doctor Pippin’s house.
Peter Watson had grumbled all the way from Hexham and now when it actually started to snow as he turned carefully off the main road into the rutted lane he muttered a few curses.
Harry did not reprimand him in any way for he felt he knew exactly how the fellow was feeling. He knew he himself would have reacted in the same way had he been in his position. Two nights a week the man was allowed off early and this was one of them, and old Pippin wouldn’t make his time up by giving him another evening.
Funny old fellow, Pippin. Most of the time he liked him, felt quite fond of him in fact, but there were other times when he saw him as a narrow bigot, a stick-in-the-mud, who would not give an inch towards progress. That the old man himself wouldn’t adopt a new idea didn’t really upset him, but that he was against anyone else doing so exasperated him to the point of explosion.
He had lived in the North all his life, but mostly in the towns, Gateshead, Sunderland, Newcastle. City life was different. In the country towns, like Hexham, or the smaller places like Allendale Town, or Corbridge, here it was you found the diehards and all that went with diehards, pigheadedness, superstitions, and the deeper you went into the country roundabout the stronger the superstitions. Yesterday he had watched a woman walk backwards up the stairs, which she said would prevent her husband’s coffin from being brought down this time.
As the trap lurched he gripped the rail and exclaimed, ‘Another one like that and we’ll be over!’
‘There’s worse to come,’ Peter Watson growled; ‘It’s a bloody death trap this lane, he never did nowt to it for years, Mr Crawford, nor none of his property. They’ve got that lazy young bugger Nick Bailey there now; he could have had this flattened out time and time again. If I was over him I’d see he did it.’
‘How far is it to the house?’
‘Another five minutes or so, if as you say we don’t land in the ditch.’
It was ten minutes later when Peter Watson drew the trap to a standstill in the yard and the kitchen door opened and two women came out. One was an old woman huddled in a shawl, the other a young sad-faced girl carrying a lantern. As she came towards him she said, ‘Oh, Doctor Pippin, I’m so glad you’ve come.’ Then the lantern moving higher, she looked puzzled for a moment until Harry said, ‘I’m Doctor Fuller. Doctor Pippin’s assistant.’
‘Oh! Oh!’ She turned about now, saying hastily, ‘Through here, doctor.’
He was about to follow her, but stopped and turning towards Peter Watson said, ‘You’ll see to them both, won’t you? and get inside yourself. I don’t know how long I’ll be.’ Then he stood aside to allow the old woman to go before him into the house.
When he entered the kitchen he saw lying on the floor on a mattress set between a table and the fireplace, a small girl, and from the look of her it appeared to him at first glance that he had indeed arrived too late.
There were two other women in the room. One was kneeling by the side of the mattress, her face deadly pale. He glanced at her through the dim light of the lamp and his impression was that he had seen her somewhere before, but where, at the moment, he couldn’t recall.
Hastily now he pulled off his overcoat and after someone had taken it from him he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves before kneeling down and gently drawing the blankets from over the contorted limbs.
What he saw brought his teeth clamping tightly together. The hands and arms right up to the elbows were two complete blisters, and already the skin was broken in parts and oozing. The top of her breast too was blistered. Lower down her clothing had saved most of her body but as sometimes happened with maids they tucked the front of their skirts up to give their feet freer access in running to and fro, and this child’s skirt must have been well tucked up.
As he stared down on the scalded limbs the girl who was kneeling opposite to him said, ‘We…we managed to get her boots off, and most of her stockings, but…but some of the wool stuck. I…I thought I’d better leave it…’
Martha had lifted her head and was looking at him and she, too, realised that she had seen this man so
mewhere before, but she didn’t have to ask herself where.
The shock caused her to flop back on her heels and grab the nearest thing to her, which was the bottom rail of the rocking chair. The room seemed to swim about her, she saw him rising upwards to the ceiling; then she heard his voice saying sharply, ‘See to her. Put her head down. Get her a drink.’
For a moment he looked at the young woman who was obviously on the point of fainting before again turning his attention to the unconscious child on the mattress. He examined her pulse. It was feeble and rapid.
He straightened up and cast a glance towards the young woman sitting in the rocking chair. She hadn’t fainted. It would have been better if she had, for she, too, looked like death. He addressed the young girl who had met him at the trap, saying, ‘We must get her onto a bed.’ He nodded down at Peg. ‘Is there a room on the ground floor?’
Nancy now turned and looked towards Martha, and Martha, pulling herself to her feet, said thickly, ‘The study.’
‘Could you get a bed in there?’
‘There’s a couch.’ She didn’t look at him as she spoke.
‘Let me see the room.’ His manner was curt, almost like that of a master speaking to a servant.
When Martha went to pick up the lantern from the delf rack Nancy took it from her and led the way out of the kitchen and across the hall, down the corridor and into the study.
Harry stood looking about him for a moment, noting the broad leather couch and the fire that had burned low, and now nodding, he said, ‘This will do for the time being. Get the fire made up, keep the room warm.’ Then turning about abruptly he said, ‘I’ll need the help of all three of you.’
In the kitchen once more he looked at Martha and said, ‘Kneel at the other side opposite to me, grip my hands underneath the mattress, and you two’—he nodded towards Mildred and Nancy—‘do the same at the bottom end.’
When Martha didn’t move from where she was standing at the head of the narrow mattress, he, already on his knees, looked up at her and, his voice low but rasping, demanded, ‘What’s the matter? What are you waiting for?’ Then his amazement showed in his face when she pushed Mildred into the position opposite to him and herself knelt down at the foot of the mattress before thrusting her hands under it and joining them with those of Nancy.
For some seconds he stared at her. What was wrong with the creature? He now looked at Mildred; then gently putting his hands underneath the straw-filled tick, he gripped those of the young girl opposite, before saying, ‘Now, as easy as you can get to your feet.’
Dilly was standing at the kitchen door, the lantern held high over her head. This added to the meagre light given out by the single oil lamp in the hall, and like the rest of them, she walked crab-wise across the stone flags and down the passage into the study.
After laying the mattress gently on top of the couch they all straightened their backs, and now Harry turned and looked full at this strange young woman, who was evidently the eldest of the family and, as old Pippin had inferred, the mainstay. Well, she didn’t look much like the mainstay at this present moment. She looked as if she needed some kind of attention herself. But for what, he couldn’t quite make out, unless it was exhaustion.
He addressed her pointedly now as he said, ‘I need help and from someone who isn’t going to faint. I’ve got to get these stockings off her legs and her arms cleaned up. If she regains consciousness she’s likely to go mad with the pain, and so I’ll have to administer chloroform. Who is it to be?’ He now flashed his glance around the three of them. He had not included the old woman, but it was she who said, ‘I’ll attend you, doctor,’ and as she did so he fancied he heard a sigh of relief from the two younger girls. But the older one stood rigid; she had said neither yes nor nay, and so now he said, ‘Well, let’s get started…’
Peg remained unconscious, which was just as well for it took him over two hours to do what he had to do, and even his strong stomach was weakened by the thought of what the child would endure when she should eventually come to, and he doubted whether her small constitution would be able to stand up to it.
It was close on midnight when he was about to take his leave. He had left strict instructions with regard to the amount of laudanum that Peg must have once she regained consciousness, and also that she must not be touched until he saw her again.
He was now standing in the kitchen donning his outer clothes. Before him stood the old woman who had been of immeasurable help to him despite her age, and much more so than ever the girl would have been.
He looked towards Martha now as she entered the kitchen carrying the last of the bowls, and it was to her he said, ‘How did this happen, anyway?’
He waited for an answer as she went towards the sink, but she did not reply. What was the matter with the girl? She hadn’t opened her mouth all the time he had been in that room. Back and forth she had gone between there and the kitchen doing his bidding; even when he had asked her if she could find something to form a cage-like structure over the child’s legs so that the covers would not touch the wounds there was never a word out of her by way of reply.
He turned to the old woman as she spoke saying, ‘’Twas the kettle, doctor.’ She pointed to the enormous black kettle standing on the hob, and he went towards it and lifted it, then putting it slowly down again he looked at them and said tensely, ‘That child had to lift a kettle of that weight, full of boiling water! Isn’t there anyone else in the house that you could have delegated that task to?’
‘Only meself, doctor; I blame meself.’
‘Don’t do that, old woman.’ He jerked his head at her. ‘There’s no blame on you, you don’t run the household.’ And now the look he turned on Martha was as hard as her own, and perhaps because he’d had enough of her surliness he almost growled at her, ‘See to it in future that you have a lighter-weight utensil, or engage a blacksmith to heave that one up.’ Then directing his last remark to Dilly, he nodded at her and, his tone slightly mollified now, he said, ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’ And on that he went out.
For a good minute after the door had closed behind him Dilly and Martha looked at each other; then Dilly said, ‘Well, he did a good job, different, but I would say good. She might have a chance…What is it, lass? What was it about him you didn’t like? You didn’t take to him, did you?’
Martha swallowed deeply; then as if her legs were about to give way beneath her she once again reached out, but grabbed this time at the top rail of the rocking chair, then lowered herself down into it.
‘You’re all done up, lass. You’re all done up.’
What Martha should have said now was, ‘No more than you, Dilly’; but she was finding she couldn’t speak. Her emotions were so confused that she felt they were choking her; words, protests, recriminations, accusations, were all tumbling about in her mind. Of all the people in the world to come into this house it had to be that man, the one who had undoubtedly shared the favours of that woman with her father.
‘Go to bed, lass. I’ll take a turn with Peg.’
Perhaps it was that it would be nothing short of imposition to allow Dilly to remain any longer on her feet that brought the protest, ‘No, no,’ from her. Putting out her hand she caught Dilly’s arm, saying, ‘You go to bed, I’m…I’m all right. Nancy will stay up with me in case I may need you. I’ll…I’ll send Mildred to bed too, if not we’ll all be worn out, and—and we must face tomorrow.’
‘Aye, lass, we must face the morrow. But it’s that already.’ She looked at the clock: ‘I’ll away then. Call me if you need me.’
‘Yes, Dilly. Yes, I’ll call you.’
They nodded at each other and Dilly went out of the kitchen, but Martha sat for a moment longer, repeating to herself, ‘And we must face tomorrow.’ Face the agony little Peg would awake to, and face that man, speak to him, be civil to him. How could she do it? She couldn’t. She couldn’t.
Peter Watson told Sarah, Annie and Daisy what had befallen young Peg
Thornycroft and they were all shocked, especially Sarah, and she said so in front of the doctor, and boldly, that it was a crying shame them only having one maid, and her a wee thing like Peg Thornycroft, and in a rambling house like The Habitation. She knew The Habitation, and she also knew Peg’s grandmother. And what was the old woman going to do now without Peg’s support. Not just that shilling a week but the bits Peg took home on a Sunday had helped to keep her out of the workhouse. But by all accounts these last two years the pickings from the Crawford table had been so poor that a chicken would have turned its neb up at them.
Harry listened with interest to Sarah’s talk. The more he learned about the family in that habitation the better, for then perhaps he’d be able to understand the attitude of its young mistress. He buttoned up his coat and drew on his gloves as he remarked, ‘A poor table then. Wouldn’t suit you, would it, Sarah?’
‘No, it wouldn’t, doctor. Mind, it wasn’t always like that; when Mrs Crawford was alive, it was a well run house. I remember as a girl going past it many’s the time when I used to go and see Nell Thornycroft; that was when her man was alive. He was a drover, frozen to death he was in a snowdrift. The do we had in ’75 was nothing compared to it. Nobody could move in or out of the town for weeks. Aye—’ she nodded at him—‘the gardens were well kept in those days and they had about half a dozen animals in the stables. The mistress used to ride a lot, and the children an’ all. I’ve seen them altogether, nice sight it was. But that’s some years back. Now from all accounts they’re one step away from the workhouse. It’ll be standing in the soup queue they’ll be next, and you’ll be a lucky one, doctor, if you get your money.’
‘You think so?’ He raised his eyebrows and poked his blunt face towards her in his characteristic way, and she answered briefly, ‘Past thinkin’, sure of it.’
‘Ah well.’ He flicked Fred’s ear with his finger and thumb, saying now, ‘I’ll take it out of their hides if I don’t. Come on.’
Miss Martha Mary Crawford Page 11
