New Doctor at Northmoor (11 page)

He finished his examination and grinned briefly at her, as if his thoughts just wouldn
’
t let him be serious.
‘
You were born fighting, young lady,
’
he said, walking off.

They moved her bed within the next hour, and just afterwards the pair of field-glasses came up. No message came with them, and they were in an ancient leather case, and decently wrapped in brown paper. No one knew what it was until Gwenny, with trembling hands, opened the parcel. So he wasn
’
t so very angry with her after all, she told herself, and somehow that was important.

They were heavy, but with rests in between she had a lot of fun watching nurses and men in white coats, porters and consultants, tread that path between one block and the other. The path led to a notice marked X-rays, and twisted round another way to a notice that said Nurses
’
Home, and yet another way which had two signs on it: Residents
’
Car Park and Path. Lab. Gwenny felt she ought to see quite a lot of happenings on that path, and also on the bridge above.

The bridge was specially interesting. She discovered that the R.M.O. used it quite a lot, but always alone. She saw Matron go over the bridge with a portly bearded grey-haired man, but she didn
’
t know that was Sir Giles Faraday, the R.M.O.
’
s uncle. She saw the efficient but bespectacled dumpy junior making double quick time across with some wet plates, without stopping to look at a single thing. And she saw Catherine Allen go wiggling across, with an admiring medical student behind her, and before long Catherine found that her shoelace was undone, which gave the student a chance to catch up with her and stoop to pick up something she had dropped. Then they walked across together at snail
’
s pace, talking and laughing.

And she saw, from her bed, her own sister, walking with a young man. True, the young man wasn
’
t eating her with his eyes, as the medical student had
‘
eaten
’
Catherine Allen, but then Priscilla didn
’
t appear to be doing what Catherine had been doing—gobbling the student up.

It was nice having the glasses. Gwenny saw her father coming in, and he hadn
’
t got her mother with him.

It seemed a long time before he arrived at her door, and he said he could only stay a little while because he had a couple of patients to see.

‘
Do I know them?
’
Gwenny asked idly.

‘
I suppose you do,
’
he said, and seemed unwilling to say much about them.

He said instead,
‘
How are you feeling, my dear? What made them turn your bed round
?’

For no very good reason, Gwenny was reluctant to tell him why. All she could think of was that her father might not like to know that he was under observation from her window, while he was walking all the way from the main gate. So she said,
‘
I daresay it was because I complained about looking at blank walls. I complain a lot, you know.
’

‘
Not you,
’
he stoutly averred.
‘
I never heard you complain before, my girl. Now tell me, is there anything you want at all?
’

‘
What have you got
?’
she quipped, and grinned at him.

‘
Nothing much, I
’
m afraid. I
’
m a very inadequate visitor. On the way in, I noticed everyone else had brought flowers or fruit or something. Are you allowed sweets
?’

‘
Oh, no, nothing so interesting. I tell you what I would rather like, if you can remember to bring it next time. There
’
s a little book on nursing on one of your shelves in the surgery. I meant to ask you to lend it to me before. Would it be one that Priscilla had?
’

‘
I daresay. What do you want that for?
’

‘
I was interested. The medical dictionary will do, if you can
’
t find it.
’

He snorted with unwilling laughter.
‘
Now I
’
ve heard everything! You
’
ll be telling me you want to be a nurse next.
’

She didn
’
t fall for that one, but she did ask him, suddenly, hoping to take him off guard, who those two patients of his were.

Her sudden question did have the desired effect, but she wasn
’
t sure afterwards whether she was glad or not.
‘
They
’
re from Sansoms,
’
he said shortly.

‘
From Overberry Farm?
’
Now Gwenny was really surprised.
‘
Who?
’
It mattered to her very much. She was friends with Willy Murray, who was learning to milk, and who wasn
’
t quite as old as she was, and she was also friends with old Tom Lilley, who had been shepherd at Overberry since she was born. She couldn
’
t bear to think of anything happening to those two.

‘
Dick Sansom,
’
her father said curtly.
‘
Your brother Laurence
’
s fine friend.
’

‘
Dick? What happened to him?
’
she gasped.

‘
The new hunter kicked him,
’
her father said, still, she noticed, in that curt, angry voice.

‘
And who was the other person
?’
she persisted.

‘
His sister.
’

‘
Tilda? What on earth happened to her?
’

‘
She happened to be on the hunter at the time and it threw her.
’

‘
Oh. Oh, dear,
’
said Gwenny.
‘
Are they badly hurt? Silly question—I suppose they are.
’

‘
In point of fact, they aren
’
t. They were both damned lucky. Broken arm and broken leg respectively, but I
’
ve got
‘
em in under observation, in case of internal injuries. Well, you never know, and I
’
m not going to have it laid at my door for not being careful in their case.
’

He went soon after, without having explained why he should be so angry about those two, or why he should have said that.

Gwenny sighed, and took up her diary to record her father
’
s visit. The sight of the diary reminded her of another man
’
s anger—the R.M.O.
’
s. Really, men were the end, the way they got wild without any explanation, she thought disgustedly. She didn
’
t want the R.M.O. to get angry over small things like this, that she didn
’
t understand. She felt she could bear it if it was something big and important, that she could expect him to be angry about. At seventeen, her mind was still uncomplicated enough to be impatient with the strange little things that magnified themselves in the minds of older people.

She opened the diary and felt for the pencil on its long cord, and again that folded slip of paper fell out.

This time she rescued it and spread it open to read
it.

Tears spilled over her lids, and her throat constricted, as the full meaning of the R.M.O.
’
s anger became quite clear. The note was from him: not for Gwenny herself, since he hadn
’
t known she was going to be the recipient of the diary, but to the person he had sent it to—and that, so far as Gwenny could see, was her sister, Priscilla.

CHAPTER VI

All good things come to an end,
the note read,
but they very often leave memories to treasure. In the hope that this token will help keep those memories
...
and it was signed
‘
Mark
‘
.

She read it and re-read it, her face wet with tears. Why couldn
’
t Priscilla have said that there was something between them? Why let the family believe that he had merely snubbed her and that there was nothing beyond that?

He came in before Gwenny had time to mop her face. He stood looking at her and at her hand, sliding over the edge of the bed to drop the screwed up ball of paper on the floor. Someone would clear it away, and that was all it deserved, she told herself fiercely.

In doing so, her arm caught the diary and that toppled over and fell to the ground. He bent to pick it up.

‘
Leave it, please,
’
she said, between her teeth.
‘
It
’
s of no importance. I don
’
t want it.
’

He bent and picked it up, all the same, and placed it in its open standing position, as he had seen it before.

‘
It
’
s a useful record of the nice things that happen from time to time,
’
he observed mildly.
‘
I suppose it
’
s no use asking how you came by it?
’

‘
Yes, I
’
ll tell you,
’
she said fiercely.
‘
It was given to me, and there was a note in it, and if I
’
d known about that note, I would never have accepted it, never—never!
’

‘
How emphatic
!’
he said, with his half smile.
‘
I suppose you threw the note away.
’

‘
Yes, I did. It wasn
’
t for me, and I didn
’
t intend to read it. I wish I hadn
’
t.
’

‘
Would this be it?
’
he asked, bending to retrieve the ball of paper, which he was well aware she had been reading when he came in.

She closed her eyes. That heavy black square handwriting was Mark Bayfield
’
s. She had seen it on his notes as he stood with them in one hand, pinned to a board, and talked to Sister or Sir Giles. She wanted badly to have a note from him in that thick strong handwriting, a note as intimate as that one seemed to be which had been in the diary, and she was hating her sister with every scrap of her being.

Mark Bayfield smoothed out the screwed-up ball and read it aloud, slowly and thoughtfully, and somehow in his reading of it the intimacy she thought she had seen in it fled. It was just a polite note, giving some small gift to terminate something.

He said as much.
‘
I remember writing the note, but not giving the diary, and I
’
m just wondering whether it was the diary that I gave at all,
’
he said coolly.
‘
Anyway, it
’
s come to your hands, and no one else appears to want it, so why not keep it?
’

‘
I don
’
t want it,
’
she said thickly.

‘
Pity. Useful thing to have, a dia
r
y. Especially one like this, with sayings in it. Here
’
s a cheer-up thought for tomorrow
!’
and he read aloud:
‘
And the night shall be filled with music, and the cares that infest the day shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and as silently steal away
!
He looked down at her, but she obstinately kept her eyes closed.
‘
I always did rather like old Longfellow,
’
he murmured.

‘
I don
’
t,
’
she muttered.

‘
And why not, pray? I should have thought that sort of quotation might be a little help and comfort.
’

‘
Oh yes,
’
she jeered softly,
‘
like that other one he wrote which goes something like:
Trust no future, however pleasant
!’

‘
That
’
s hardly fair. You
’
ve taken it out of context,
’
he said, but he looked at her with new respect.
‘
You like poetry?
’

‘
Yes. Not the poetry that
’
s in some diary you once gave to my sister Priscilla, though. You did give that diary to someone, didn
’
t you?
’

Because she still kept her eyes shut, so that she shouldn
’
t watch his face, she missed his start and look of blank surprise. But she heard the nettled tone in his voice as he said,
‘
In point of fact, yes, but it was not to your sister Priscilla that I gave it. Nor the note.
’

‘
I don
’
t believe that,
Dr.
Bayfield.
’

‘
I can
’
t help that. Any use asking how it got from her to you
?’

‘
I don
’
t mind telling you,
’
she stuttered.
‘
She came to visit me. She
’
s in this hospital, working. She brought me some presents. It isn
’
t like her, and I was thrilled. There were—oh, well, you won
’
t want a list of them, but that thing was among them. She just pushed the package at me and went.
’

‘
I see. Well, my dear Gwenny, I did not give her that diary, and if I told you who I did give it to, I
’
m quite sure you wouldn
’
t believe me, but do read the note again. It really does mean what it says—that, and only that. And it wouldn
’
t be to a young woman, I assure you, because I
’
m too old a campaigner to put anything into writing. In the world of hospital, notes do tend to drift into the wrong direction and end up in the wrong hands,
’
and he got up and went, but the momentary pressure of his hand on her arm remained with her, sending tingles all up her arm and all over her body, making her angrily call herself names for caring one way or the other.

What did he mean about being too old a campaigner? That suggested he was always giving presents to girls. Well, hadn
’
t she come to the conclusion already that he was every girl
’
s pin-up boy in this hospital, and he hadn
’
t been here five minutes? You had only to listen in to the conversation of passing nurses to learn that much, Gwenny reminded herself sourly. And if it was like it here in such a short time, what could it have been like at the other hospital?

She couldn
’
t stop thinking about it, and when Priscilla looked in later that day, Gwenny asked her outright:

‘
W
h
ere did you get that diary you gave me?
’

‘
You ill-bred brat,
’
Priscilla observed, without rancour.
‘
You
’
ll be asking next what it cost.
’

‘
Oh, no, I won
’
t, because that doesn
’
t concern you since you didn
’
t buy it,
’
Gwenny flashed.
‘
And there was a note in it, from the person to whoever it was he was giving it to.
’

That really did shake Priscilla.
‘
You
’
re making it up,
’
she said hotly.
‘
Where
is
this note, if it
’
s true?
’

‘
I threw it away,
’
Gwenny said,
‘
because I thought he
’
d written it to you with the diary, but he told me it hadn
’
t been given to you. So where did you get it?
’

‘
Who
are you talking about?
’
Priscilla asked softly, her eyes very bright and eager.

Just out of sheer cussedness, and also to test how much her sister knew about the whole thing, Gwenny said,
‘
One of the housemen. It doesn
’
t matter which one, and anyway, I
’
m not sure I
’
ve got his name right.
’

Gwenny had never seen Priscilla so put out.
‘
If I could only be sure you weren
’
t having me on,
’
she muttered.
‘
What did the note say?
’

‘
Just something soppy about the diary having been intended to preserve precious memories.
’

‘
How was it I never saw this note
?’
Priscilla fumed.

‘
I suppose it was because it was folded lengthwise to make a sort of bookmark,
’
Gwenny offered, watching her sister.

Priscilla swallowed, and decided to make a clean breast of it.
‘
Well, if you must know, that diary went the rounds. One of the nurses in my set had it and she didn
’
t want it and was going to throw it away and it hadn
’
t been used, so I told her she
’
d better give it to me—I might find a use for it. As I didn
’
t, it occurred to me that you might like to scribble in it, lying here with time on your hands.
’

‘
Who gave it to your nurse friend
?’
Gwenny persisted.

‘
Blessed if I know, but if you ask me, there
’
s something fishy about it if one of the housemen in this hospital wrote a note about a diary given to someone in my old hospital.
’

‘
Wait a bit,
’
Gwenny said, thinking.
‘
It didn
’
t mention the diary—it just said
“
this token
”
. It could be anything, I suppose. It might have been picked up off the floor, dropped by someone else, I suppose, while I was asleep, and someone might just have put it in my diary thinking I
’
d dropped it.
’

Priscilla was relieved.
‘
That
’
s more like it,
’
she said.
‘
Still, I wish you
’
d kept that note. I would have liked to see it.
’

She went soon after that. Gwenny was very much relieved when her sister did go. She wanted to think.

Now where did she stand, about that note? Mark
Bayfield
had finally behaved as though it
had
been sent with the diary, and that meant it had been sent to someone in his old hospital, but not to Priscilla. Gwenny was so ridiculously glad about that, she could have wept. Still, he had said pretty definitely, hadn
’
t he, that it hadn
’
t been to her sister? She wondered who it had been sent to. She had hated telling those half-lies to Priscilla, but it had been necessary. If she admitted that the R.M.O.
’
s handwriting had been on that note, Priscilla would have been most difficult to live with.

Now the gift of the diary settled into its proper perspective, and Gwenny, with sister-like affection and tolerance, felt she understood the gift better. Things which no one else wanted, but which would do to amuse Gwenny—well, that she could understand, but if Priscilla had started to buy new things to give to Gwenny, the time would come when Gwenny would begin to be suspicious. At the very least, she could only think that in such circumstances, her prognosis was very shaky indeed.

She retrieved the diary and stood it up. It had been sent to a Miss X whom Gwenny didn
’
t know, and Miss X hadn
’
t wanted the gift from the R.M.O. and it had wandered through several hands until it had come into Gwenny
’
s own. Well, that was all right. Now she could settle back into her old pretending games, and make believe that he had sent it to her. How would she feel about receiving that note from him?

Much to her surprise she found herself thinking that it wouldn
’
t do, such a note. It was really too impersonal. She would want him to write something
li
ke, Darling Gwenny, and then she would want him to say that the diary was just a little thing he had picked up and he would come with something quite gorgeous for her at a later date. She lay shaking with excitement and anticipation. Perhaps such a note would threaten, ever so gently, of course, that he would come to collect payment for such a gift. Five kisses for a little diary, a dozen kisses for a larger gift, two dozen kisses (the best) for a super gift. She fell asleep on that pleasant note and dreamed about him, but in the dream Miss X, with a frozen hand and a face as blank and unfeatured as the back of a spoon,, was fighting with Priscilla for Mark Bayfield
’
s favours, but he was giving all his attention to sticking his wretched hypo needle in someone, and that someone was Gwenny. He was saying he didn
’
t want to be bothered by silly women while he had a super ill patient with a mystery disease to claim his attention.