It must have been ten minutes later when he sat down by the head of the couch and looked to where Martha still stood as if transfixed. She had the same look on her face that he had seen on weak-stomach-students who had just witnessed a gory operation. But suddenly he found himself looking at her differently, as if at a new patient. Her face had no vestige of colour in it; even her eyes appeared colourless. He couldn’t make out if they were green, grey, or hazel, only that they were lying too far back in her head for health. Her lips too looked bloodless. They were full lips; she had a large mouth. The only colour about her was her hair. It was brown, a deep brown like the back of a new chestnut shell, but without its shine. There was a lack of health in her and this was emphasised by her thinness; she was almost without shape. But there was one thing he knew for sure she didn’t lack, and that was temper, and it was evident at this moment, for she was staring back at him as if she loathed him. Likely she loathed all men; when women weren’t married before they were twenty their emotions took one of two roads: along one all males were put into a single category and were evaded. And it was his opinion that this was one of the main reasons the nunneries got an influx of applicants from women approaching thirty. The other, which was more usual from his experience, was to barefacedly set out to trap men. There seemed to be no happy medium with them; but then women had no power of reasoning, it was all extremes.
He spoke now, saying lightly, ‘It costs the same to sit.’ He even gave her a faint smile.
Whether she would have replied, he didn’t know, for the door opened and Dilly came bustling in as quickly as her bulk allowed. She did not speak to him but went straight to Martha’s side and said softly, ‘She’s goin’ at it hammer and tongs. You’d better come.’
Now it was as if neither of them recognised his presence for Martha, looking at Dilly, said slowly, ‘I will presently…in a minute.’
‘Well, have it your way.’ The old woman turned and went out of the room as she had come in, and Harry asked himself while dunking his bread in the soup, what all that was about. He also told himself that if this child here wasn’t so ill he’d let out a bawl that would blow that stupid girl from the end of the couch to which she appeared glued.
His attention was now drawn to Peg. The chloroform was wearing off and she was beginning to moan. When she opened her eyes he stroked her brow and said, ‘There now. There now.’
She blinked up at him, then closed her eyes again, screwing them up tight.
He reached out and, taking a glass from the table in which there was some liquid, he put it to her lips, saying, ‘Drink this; drink it all up and go to sleep; you’ll be all right.’
As Peg gulped at the liquid she looked up at him again through dazed pain-filled eyes, and he said, ‘There now. There now, off you go; go to sleep, my dear, go to sleep.’ When he straightened his back, Martha had gone from the foot of the couch and was now standing by the fireplace, her back to him and her shoulders hunched as if she were crying, or in pain herself. Such was her attitude that he was forced to ask, ‘Are you all right?’
She turned slowly towards him and, each word distinct and weighed down with some form of emotion, which at the moment he couldn’t place except in one way, and then it would be ridiculous to think she was spewing hate at him, she said, ‘Yes, I-am-quite-all-right-doctor-thank you.’
Perhaps it was her manner, the hard aggressiveness and his desire to probe why it should be turned so forcibly against himself that made him take a step towards her and say, ‘I would like to talk to you, but…but not here, about the treatment.’ He motioned his head towards the couch. ‘It is so important if she is to live that my directions be followed to the letter. Is there anywhere we could talk?’
‘Yes, there are fourteen other rooms in the house but I don’t see why anything you have to say can’t be said now, and here!’
She had spoken in a hissing whisper and he literally gaped at her. By God! She was going too far this one, and no matter for what reason she was doing it if it weren’t for disturbing the slumber of that little thing behind him he’d give her the length of his tongue this minute and so loudly that it would deafen her.
He had to make an effort to collect himself before he could say, ‘Very well then, I’ll have my say here and now. And listen carefully. You will not disturb anything in the room such as taking the ashes out; you will raise no dust whatever, pick up no rugs. You understand me?’
‘I understand you perfectly.’
‘Then with regard to what she eats. Her strength must be kept up, so feed her broth, chicken broth or beef broth, in small quantities every hour or so. Administer the medicine as I will direct for the next two days. I am telling you this in case the snow lies and the roads are blocked. Moreover, if she dirties the bed, which she is likely to do, don’t attempt to clean her up until she has had her medicine.’
He noticed now that with these last instructions she veiled her eyes. Dear, dear, how sensitive we were; like all her breed she refused to recognise the unpleasantries of nature. How was it, he thought, that refinement and a little education tended to blinker such as this one, while those who were denied these social blessings accepted nature naturally.
He turned abruptly from her, not to resume his seat beside the couch but to stand looking down at Peg for a moment. There was little more he could do for the poor creature; it all depended now on the strength of her constitution. If she had come from a sturdy stock, even taking into account her smallness, she might stand a chance. He went to the table and closed his bag with a snap.
He did not give her any farewell but marched out of the room and into the hall. As he pulled on his coat the younger sister came from a dim corner and, hurrying forward, opened the front door for him.
He pulled his coat collar high up around his ears and stood for a moment looking at her. She was a real pretty girl. How old was she? Sixteen perhaps. How old was that other one in there? By the sound of her she could be forty, but he guessed she was in her early twenties, perhaps twenty-three, twenty-four. He was a little surprised now when this young one spoke to him. The look of fear had gone from her face, her expression now was soft, even pleading, as she said, ‘Martha Mary’s very troubled. She…she didn’t mean to be rude, she…she never is, but you see our…father died recently and…and she’s had to see to everything. She is really very worried, and very tired; she’s never off her feet.’
He pressed his lips tightly together, then allowed himself to smile, and bending forward until their faces were not more than a few inches from each other, he whispered, ‘Because she has such a good advocate I’ll forgive her.’
Now she was smiling back at him, her face slowly stretching until her mouth was wide as she said, ‘Thank you.’
‘How old are you?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Seventeen.’
‘Seventeen.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s a great age.’ Again they were smiling at each other.
Nancy now turned sharply from him towards the head of the steps, saying, ‘I’ll go and tell Nick to bring your trap…It’s a nice horse you’ve got. I…I love horses.’ She was looking at him over her shoulder and before he could protest about her going out into the bitter wind without a coat she was gone, and he watched her running over the drive towards the courtyard, her wide skirt held up at the front with both hands, her hair flying out behind her. And as he looked at her he thought, That’s youth, that’s how it should be, alive, winging, its feet scarcely touching the ground, its heart soaring upwards in search of life.
He stood for a moment at the top of the steps until she disappeared from his view, then as he was about to descend them he was startled by a loud cry that swung him around.
He looked back into the hall, and there racing down the stairs was the other sister and she was yelling, ‘Martha Mary! Martha Mary! Come!…Come!’
He saw the girl hesitate at the bottom of the steps, look towards him, then turn her gaze from one side to the other, and as she did
so Dilly emerged from the kitchen, her movement swift now for all her bulk and swollen legs, saying, ‘Stop your bawlin’ this minute! What is it?’
There was a muttered conversation between them at the bottom of the stairs, then the girl turned about and ran up them again while the old woman followed more slowly.
It was a queer household this, a very queer household. He’d had entry into all kinds of homes already in his career but with the exception of one other this was the oddest he had come across in that there seemed to be a deep undercurrent immersing them all. He saw the girl Nancy coming towards him now leading the horse and trap with Fred at her side. Immediately he noted something different about Fred; he wasn’t his bouncing self, he was walking with his tail between his legs.
‘What do they call her?’ Nancy was stroking the horse’s neck and he said, ‘Bessie,’ while at the same time bending down to Fred and asking, ‘What is it?’ The dog looked up at him, gave a small whine, then jumped up into the trap, but when he went to sit down he yelped. It was only a slight sound but it made Harry lift him to his feet and run his hand around his hind quarters. When the dog flinched he separated the hair and said, ‘Oh, this is the trouble, is it? You’ve caught yourself on a wire or something. That was a silly thing to do, wasn’t it? Sit yourself down there for a minute.’ He now went to his bag which he had put on the seat of the trap and, opening it, took out a bottle and a swab and when he applied the lotion to the puncture in the dog’s hindquarters it jerked its head round, and Harry said, ‘Yes, it smarts. Well, you shouldn’t do such silly things.’ He looked at Nancy now who was standing at the back of the trap and said, ‘He’s caught himself on something.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘He won’t die.’ He smiled at her and once again she smiled back at him, saying now, ‘One of our horses is called Belle, sounds almost the same as Bessie, doesn’t it?’ Then looking upwards she exclaimed loudly, ‘I was about to say I hope you get back before it snows but you won’t, look, it’s starting.’
‘Ah yes, it is.’ He looked up at the first thinly spaced flakes and added briskly, ‘And so must I. Well, goodbye. I may see you tomorrow, but by the look of it I may not.’ Then bending down to her from the seat, he said, ‘Help with the little one, won’t you? She’ll need a lot of attention for a long time.’
‘Yes, yes, I will.’ Her face was bright as she gazed up at him, and when he raised his whip to her in salute she lifted her hand in return, then stood watching him as he drove at a brisk place along the drive.
He wasn’t terrible, not really. There was something nice about him, well not exactly nice, but something different, although, of course, he had upset Martha Mary. And, of course, she had to admit he had frightened herself almost to death, because she had never met anyone like him before. He wasn’t a bit like a doctor. Doctors to her mind were smooth, elegant gentlemen, who always spoke softly as they held your wrist. At least, that’s what she had read, and that’s how Doctor Pippin acted. But this doctor, he looked like…well, what did he look like? like a working man, although he didn’t sound like one. Well, not quite. And he had strange ideas. Well, they seemed strange to them, but he wasn’t a bit like a doctor.
As she made for the steps again she looked up into the sky. She didn’t care if it snowed for a week, two weeks, three weeks, because William had gone yesterday. He had gone to France for further studies and he wouldn’t be back until the end of the term. Oh, William, William. Her heart beat out his name with every step she took. Then she brought her ecstatic thinking to a pause, and told herself she mustn’t wish it to snow for days because then the doctor wouldn’t be able to get through. Poor Peg, and poor Martha Mary too.
After closing the front door she stood with her back to it and looked across the darkening hall towards the study. So many things were worrying Martha Mary and not least was the matter of money. She had cut down on the oil lamps—in the usual way there would have been one lit in the hall now—and on the fires too; and she had told Dilly they could have pastry only once a week, and that for Saturday supper. Mildred said it was mean and there couldn’t possibly be the need to take such steps; but Martha Mary wasn’t mean else she wouldn’t have sent word to Peg’s grannie who herself was bedridden that she would still pay Peg’s wages whilst she was ill. No, Martha Mary wasn’t mean, only very worried.
The house was very quiet at the moment. She stood quite still listening, and in the silence she heard the stairboards creak. They creaked when you walked on them and when you didn’t walk on them, it was part of the character of the house. She’d miss the house when she left…If she left it? Of course, she would leave it, because at their last meeting when William had kissed her and held her so close he had whispered words to her that had made her weak, even faint with their implication and she knew it would be only a matter of time, fourteen months’ time before they would be married, for when he came of age he could do what he liked, marry whom he liked. And he liked her, he loved her. And oh…oh, she worshipped him. She always had, she couldn’t remember an hour since the day they had first met when she was but twelve years old that he hadn’t been in her thoughts.
There were times she felt guilty about her secret, their secret, for he, too, had admitted he felt guilty, but had made her solemnly promise that she would never mention their association to anyone until he gave her leave because, as he said, his mother would understand, but his father would need persuading.
She knew that everyone in the house would be surprised when she eventually told them that she was affianced to William, but there was someone who would be angry, and that someone was Mildred because she knew that Mildred had the idea in the back of her mind that she had only to be invited to a ball at the Hall and there she would meet William or someone like him, and he would fall in love with her and carry her away from this house, for Mildred, strangely, didn’t love the house. She didn’t blame Mildred for her dreams, she only felt sorry that Mildred’s dream could not come true like her own.
She had told William about Mildred’s disappointment in not being, in previous years, asked to the ball, and he had laughed, he had laughed so heartily that the tears had run down his cheeks. Somehow she hadn’t liked that.
A loud cry from above broke her reverie and as she bounded towards the stairs she exclaimed, ‘Oh! Aunt Sophie,’ but on the way up she told herself that in future she must act with more decorum, run less and walk more, and she must practise the piano, and do her embroidery, because as William’s wife she must become accomplished. However, she did not at this moment take her own advice, but kept on running, because that scream from Aunt Sophie meant she was having one of her turns, and a bad one at that.
Two
The snow lay for eight days blocking the roads and hampering the trains; extra men were engaged to clear the streets within the town, but work as they might they couldn’t keep them clear for long. Then a thaw came and the river rose and the town was alerted against flooding.
So it was fifteen days later when Harry again set out for The Habitation. His greatcoat collar was turned up over his ears; he was wearing leather gaiters round his trousers, and gloves on his hands, and it was as he went to pick up his bag from the dispensary table that John Pippin turned from replacing a stone jar on a shelf and said flatly, ‘Go kindly with young Martha Mary.’
‘Go kindly you say!’—he raised his eyebrows and stretched his face at the old man—‘after what I told you the other night?’
‘Yes, and also because of what I told you the other night. That girl is carrying more than her share, and has done for years. Besides being buried alive in that place, she’s been made to stretch everything to its limit in order that her dear papa could pay, and apparently through the teeth, for his sporting. Alfred Paine didn’t mention any names, I don’t think he knew himself who it was, but, as I said, Crawford’s apparent visits to the uncle, who had been dead for years, was a cover up for some woman he was keeping. That girl’s had one or two shocks of
late, so no matter what her attitude, hold the reins tight on that temper of yours.’
‘Temper!’
‘Aye. That’s what I said.’ John Pippin looked at Harry over the top of a pair of crooked rimless glasses.
‘Temper! You’ve never seen me in a temper.’
‘No; but I’ve seen you having the devil of a job to control it.’
He was at the door before retorting, ‘I’m making no promises, and I’m afraid it’ll take more than what you’ve told me to stir my sympathy for Miss Martha Mary Crawford should she get on her high horse again.’ And he bobbed his head twice towards the old man who was looking at him with slanted gaze, not unmixed with amusement, then went out. But he had hardly reached the front door before the voice of his superior hit him, crying, ‘If the little maid is dead you won’t forget to admit it was one of your newfangled ideas with regards treatment for burns, scalds, and the rest, that aided her departure, will you?’
He didn’t bang the door but closed it quietly, almost softly, meaning it to convey that he was in no way upset by the remark.
Yet as his journey continued along the slush-strewn road and the wind lashed his face and caused Fred to curl close up to him, he wondered, and not a little without apprehension, what he would find when he entered that quaint dwelling …
What he did find almost delighted him. If it were possible he would have taken Peg Thornycroft in his arms and run with her back to Hexham, up Beaumont Street and into Oakdean House and cried, ‘There! How’s that for newfangled modern treatment?’
‘Well! well!’ He bent down and looked into Peg’s face. ‘This is splendid, eh? How are you feeling?’
Miss Martha Mary Crawford Page 13
