Vintage Love (204 page)

That April Dr. John Hastings made one of his regular calls on the dying Rachel. The doomed girl lay deep in a coma.

John Hastings was upset. He asked Joy, “Does your husband realize what is happening?”

“He doesn’t seem to care,” she said frankly.

The young doctor frowned. “When you last visited my office you came of your own accord. Now I’m asking you to visit me again. Come in the late afternoon, so my regular patients will be gone. I must have a serious talk with you.”

“When?” she asked.

“Today at five,” he said.

At five she sat in the shabby waiting room as John Hastings saw his last patient. She wondered what he wanted to say to her. She was certain it had to do with her husband.

The door of the inner office opened, and the stern, young Scot in his white medical jacket invited her inside. She sat as he paced back and forth.

“I had to do a deal of thinking before asking you here,” he said.

“Has it to do with Rachel?”

“More than that,” he said, staring at her grimly. “Rachel is at the brink of death. I have an idea your marriage is close to the same state.”

She glanced down and said quietly, “I’m afraid that’s true.”

“Why do you remain with him?”

“I will not leave while Rachel is alive.”

“That will not be for long, I warn you,” the doctor said. “You should be making plans.”

“When she dies I will leave him,” she said bitterly. “I tried to help him and as a consequence my own life is in ruins.”

“You must rebuild your life,” he said. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice.

“How long has it been since you’ve had sexual relations with Sir George?”

The blunt question shocked her. She stared up at his stern thin face. “Why do you ask?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Oh?”

“Word has come to me from a fellow doctor of something I think you should know.”

“What?”

“I’m breaking my medical vows in telling you, but I think your safety is more important than anything else.”

She realized how deadly serious he was, so she answered the question he’d put to her by saying, “My husband and I have not been man and wife for months!”

“That is the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Has he even kissed you on the mouth? My questions may seem strange but they have a point.”

“We are estranged, barely speaking.”

“You are a most fortunate young woman,” he said.

She stared at him, amazed. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I happen to know your husband is suffering from a loathsome social disease which he must have contacted from some woman of the streets. He is being treated for the condition at this very moment.”

She felt both revulsion and fear. “How long has he been ill?”

“I cannot say with certainty. A month or two at any rate.”

“And you feel there is serious danger for me?”

“A kiss from him could bring ruin to you. I dislike your being under the same roof with him.”

She said, “We have nothing to do with each other. I intended to tell you later. He avoids me.”

John Hastings shook his head. “With his drunkenness it is a risk. Suppose he came home and forcibly took you in his arms?”

“No,” she said. And haltingly she went on to tell him of her husband’s frequent impotency, and his urging her to whip him and engage in other perversities for stimulation.

Sympathy showed on the doctor’s lean face. “I did not guess you’d been forced to endure anything like that!”

“Almost from the day of our marriage.”

“It is no proper marriage,” he said. “You must make up your mind to leave him.”

“I will as soon as Rachel goes.”

He sighed. “Would you resent it if I asked permission to call you by your given name, and ask you to call me John?”

“Why not? You are my best friend.”

John Hastings studied her for a long moment of silence. Then he said, “I know this is the wrong place and time, but I must tell you something. I have fallen in love with you.”

“John!” she exclaimed softly. Rising, she went to him, and in a moment of flooding emotion which followed she knew that she also loved him. He had been her mainstay from the first. If she hadn’t been seeing him regularly she could not have survived the nightmare of living with George.

Holding her in his arms, he said, “I’m in love with the wife of another man.”

She protested, “George has never been any kind of husband to me!”

“I’m a poor man and a plain man. Not worthy of the likes of you.”

There were tears in her eyes. “I find you handsome, and you are rich in ability and wisdom. What else could a woman ask?”

“Joy!” he said her name reverently as their lips met again.

After a moment, she asked, “What will we do?”

“When Rachel dies I’ll take you away. Sir George may oppose any divorce. I’ll take you to the Highlands with me!”

“What about your practice here?”

“I’ve had enough of London. I want to go home!”

“I’ll try to be useful,” she promised.

“You’ll be scandalized for running off and becoming a poor doctor’s mistress,” he warned her.

“I’m sure George will eventually give me my freedom. My father will stand by me.”

“I can offer you naught but my love.”

“I ask no more,” she said tenderly.

It was a turning point for her. She lived under a new tension. She was afraid George would force himself on her; and she felt she must confide in someone. She sought her father out in his office in the House. They sat together in the oak panelled room with its stained glass windows, and she told her story.

Her father nervously stroked his white mustache. “I’m not surprised George has failed miserably as a husband.”

“I know you warned me.”

“His diseased state is a constant threat to you.”

“I must suffer the risk until Rachel’s death.”

Her father sighed. “Then you plan to run off with this young Scots doctor. You realize that may make your divorce from Sir George complicated. Your husband is capable of holding me up for a settlement to give you your freedom. He is a villain!”

“I’m in love with a fine man in John Hastings,” she said.

“So you must follow your heart again?”

“Yes. I believe John will teach me to be a strong human being.”

Her father said, “Your motive is praiseworthy but London will term you a woman of loose morals.”

She smiled wanly. “According to you Canby women have always been wilfull.”

“In the end you will not disappoint me. Nor will James. Hilda has been a good influence on him. I want the family to carry on our traditions. I have only a few years left.”

“You will live and enjoy many grandchildren,” she predicted.

“Where will they come from?” her father wondered. “You have no children, nor has James.”

“We both have time,” she reminded him.

“Your mother is younger, she will live long after I’m gone,” her father said. “I do not worry about you. I think you will find a way out of all this morass.”

She hugged him. “You’re the best of fathers!”

“You will never be short of money,” Sir Richard said. “I will, within the week, send a deposit to the Stewart Bank in Edinburgh. Do not hesitate to draw on it as freely as you need to.”

The following day, she went to visit Hilda in the new mansion James had bought for her. Hilda was delighted to see her and showed her through the large house. Then they sat down to tea.

She told Hilda her story ending with, “I’m only staying with George until Rachel’s death.”

Hilda was shocked. “The man is a drunken beast. If James hears all this I don’t dare guess what he may do!”

“Don’t tell him.”

“You must leave that house!”

“I know.”

Hilda stared at her. “Have you truly made your mind up to run off with this Scots doctor?”

“Yes.”

“You must keep in touch. Write me regularly.”

Finally she had to leave. They kissed goodbye, and she made her way back home. London had come alive in the pleasant spring weather. Flowers bloomed and trees were in full leaf. Carriages, wagons, and two-decker buses drawn by teams of horses filled the streets. Traffic came to a dead halt often, and she was late arriving at Number Twelve.

An angry George awaited her. He demanded, “Why did you not inform me how ill Rachel has been?”

Pulling off her gloves, she said, “I’ve tried to. You wouldn’t listen.”

“She is dead,” he said. “A few minutes ago. I’ve sent for that Scots doctor to make the pronouncement of her death.”

Tears filled Joy’s eyes. “There was never any hope for her.”

George had been drinking, his face was terribly red. He snarled, “So she is beyond the hands of that ninny of a Scotsman!”

Joy fled weeping to her own room, and locked herself in. She remained there until a knock on the door and a familiar male voice roused her, “Lady Nason!”

She recognized the voice of Dr. John Hastings and at once unlocked the door. “John!” she exclaimed.

He held her close for a moment. “You’re all right?”

“Yes.”

“Sir George is drinking heavily. He tried to pick a quarrel with me.”

“I can guess!”

“I dread your remaining here!”

“I’ll have to remain for the funeral.”

“Why?” he asked. “You may as well be branded heartless along with unfaithful. And I may as well share the disgrace. Pack your most important things and leave while I’m still here!”

“He’ll try to stop me!”

“Say you’re going to your father’s house,” John said.

“Very well,” she said, hope rising within her.

“Then have the carriage take you to my place. I’ll pack my things tonight and we’ll take the first stagecoach north in the morning.”

“John,” she whispered. Freedom seemed so close.

“Make haste,” he implored her and then went back downstairs.

She packed quickly and put on a black cape and bonnet. When she went downstairs, the undertaker in his hat draped with black crepe was in consultaton with Sir George.

George scowled at the bag in her hand. “What are you up to?”

“I’m going to Berkeley Square for the night. I wish to tell them the news and collect my upset feelings.”

“You dare not leave here!” George raged at her.

At the same moment Dr. John Hastings appeared and said, “The carriage is waiting, Lady Nason. I’ll be happy to give you a lift to your father’s place.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning away from her husband. And she left with the young doctor.

Dr. John Hastings lived in rooms at the rear of his office. He lit the lamp in the small living room, and she saw his quarters were much like the man. They were plain and furnished comfortably, but no more. He took off her coat, smiled, and gave her a kiss.

“You’ll be wanting some warm tea,” he said.

“That sounds nice,” she agreed.

He made the tea in his best bachelor tradition, while she stood and watched in wonder. When the teapot was ready he placed it on the table with a comforter over it.

“A present from my sister,” he said. “She lives in Dundee now. I have some of her shortcakes.”

From a tin he produced the rich, crisp shortcakes. They did well with hot tea. He eyed her fondly, saying, “I worry about your enduring the long journey ahead.”

“Let us just get away from London quickly,” she begged him.

“A carriage will come for us at dawn,” he said. “We’ll have breakfast before that. We’ll go to the nearest stagehouse and pick up a stage for the North.”

“How long will it take?”

“Some days. We’ll stop in Edinburgh along the way before going to the Highlands.”

She was trembling. “It has all happened so suddenly. I can’t believe I’m escaping George and we are together.”

His stern face was sympathetic. “Just so long as you get a good night’s rest.”

“What about you?”

“Packing my medical things neatly will take most of the night.”

“But you also need rest!”

“I can sleep in the stage,” he said. “I have much to do. I have made plans to turn my practice over to another Scotch doctor. His present quarters are nearby. A letter has to be written to him with a list of my patients, and some details about treating them. Also there will be letters to the landlord and a few others. Finally, I must pack my medical books and drugs.”

She suggested, “Let me help.”

“It is a task no one can do but I. I’ll give you a powder so you may sleep.”

He showed her into the bedroom with its narrow, iron bed. After kissing her goodnight he went off to begin the work he’d told her about. She undressed and slipped between the cool sheets of the Spartan bed. She studied the flickering flame of the candle on her bedside table as the potion began to work.

She was sure her father would forgive her. She did not care about George. Rachel would not have blamed her had she known. The idle tongues of London would flay her! But she did not care. The candle flame blurred as her eyes closed in sleep.

“Joy!” John Hastings was calling out her name and gently shaking her awake.

She opened her eyes and saw he was standing by her bedside, fully dressed, with a cup of hot tea for her. “This will help you wake,” he said. “We must hurry.”

“Thank you,” she said sleepily, and drinking some tea.

He looked dreadfully weary. “It was a long night.”

“You had no sleep at all.”

He smiled. “A doctor gets used to such nights. I’ll sleep as soon as I sit in the coach. I can nap anywhere.”

They had breakfast, and a rosy dawn showed at the windows. Shortly after, the carriage arrived. Several trunks and bags were loaded onto it. Then John locked the door of his office and placed a cardboard sign on it, directing his patients to the neighboring doctor.

He stared at the door with its sign in the dawn, and sadly said, “Then it’s goodbye to all this!”

She worried. “I have spoiled it all for you.”

He smiled at her. “I’ve been wanting to leave for a year. But I could not go without you!” And he took her arm and led her to the waiting carriage.

In ten minutes they were at the Bull and Horse, a famous coaching inn located in Aldersgate Street. The yard was filled with coaches being loaded. John took charge of transferring their things to a coach — one of gleaming brass, and painted black and brown. Four gray horses were harnessed to it, and a stable boy held the bridle of one.