The Daughter of the Manor Read online

  He forgot about her then.

  However, Leonora, who should by rights have been eating her heart out for the treacherous Tony, found herself thinking about the doctor. She liked him; he would be a splendid friend and she enjoyed his company and his matter-of-fact way of accepting events without fuss. But there was this vexed question of this young lady for whom he had a strong affection and, worse than that, her mother was making no secret of the fact that she would like it if Leonora and Dr Galbraith were to see more of each other. She would have to avoid him.

  Luckily there would be a lot to do organising the fête, traditionally held in the park every year. Everyone had a hand in it, the practical making marmalade, cakes and sweets, embroidering small useless cushions and nightdress cases, knitting baby jackets, and the artistic painting local scenes.

  Leonora, who drew and painted rather nicely, decided to shut herself in one of the attics and set to work. When she wasn’t doing that she could go along to the Dowlings’ and help with the writing of price tickets.

  She took herself off to Maggie and Gordon’s little house at the end of the village on Saturday afternoon and presently waved them goodbye as they drove off.

  The house was charming, comfortably furnished and untidy. Leonora took her overnight bag up to the little guest room, had a chat with Sadie, the little nursery maid, and went about the business of making up feeds for three-month-old Tom. He was a placid baby, sleeping and feeding in a manner which would have delighted any writer of a childcare textbook.

  The afternoon went by quickly, with a brisk walk in his pram, and feeding and bathing while Sadie got their tea and supper. And since Tom took his feed like a lamb at ten o’clock Leonora and Sadie went to bed and slept peacefully until the early morning.

  It was a bright, chilly morning, and Leonora, sitting by the window in the little nursery, giving Tom his bottle, was content. It would be delightful to have a baby of her own, she reflected, small and cuddly like Tom—several babies in fact. If she had married Tony… She wondered then if he would have liked children. Certainly he wouldn’t have had much time for them.

  ‘I should like a husband,’ she told Tom, ‘who would get up in the night if the baby cried and who’d bring me a cup of tea without being asked and wouldn’t mind babies dribbling onto his shoulder. He’d play cricket with the little boys and comfort the little girls when they cried…’

  She tickled Tom under his chin to encourage him to finish his bottle. ‘You don’t have to listen to my nonsense,’ she assured him. ‘We’ll go for a walk and blow away the cobwebs.’

  She had enjoyed her day, she reflected as she walked home after Maggie and Gordon had returned. Sadie had had tea ready for them and she had sat listening to their account of their day, before bidding Tom a reluctant goodbye.

  ‘He was so good,’ she assured her friend. ‘I’ll babysit any time that you want me to.’

  Her mother and father were in the drawing room, he behind the Sunday papers and her mother sitting at a small table with a half-finished jigsaw puzzle.

  ‘Enjoyed yourself?’ asked her father, glancing up.

  She bent to kiss his cheek. ‘Yes, thank you, Father. Little Tom is a darling baby and so good.’

  Her mother turned away impatiently from the puzzle. ‘Darling, such a pity you couldn’t come with us yesterday. I must say Dr Galbraith has a lovely house; I quite envy him some of his furniture—handed down in the family, I should think. There is a bow-fronted cabinet in the drawing room… And that man of his— Cricket—the kind of servant one dreams of and never finds! Dinner was excellent and these friends of his very pleasant. Ackroyd is the name—and funnily enough Mr Ackroyd knew your father’s brother-in-law, Aunt Marion’s husband, you know—when he was alive. She was quite nice too—rather quiet, but friendly enough. A good deal older than Dr Galbraith but I believe their daughter and he are on good terms. He should marry, of course.’

  ‘I dare say he will, when he wants to,’ said Leonora. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the evening.’

  She wandered off to the kitchen and found Nanny cutting up vegetables for soup. Into her willing ears Leonora poured every small detail of little Tom’s day. ‘He’s such a darling baby, Nanny, and so good.’

  She ate a carrot and went out into the garden, having called Wilkins, and then beyond into the park, feeling restless. She had, she supposed, got used to the idea of marrying Tony in the not too distant future—a future she had taken for granted. Now the future stretched ahead of her empty, and just for the moment there seemed little purpose in it. She had been happily filling in time, helping to organise various village functions, accompanying her parents to friends’ houses for dinner, summer picnics and winter bridge afternoons, but now these seemed a waste of time.

  What else could she do? For a few years after she had left school she had travelled a little, visited friends, spent a week or two with Aunt Marion going to theatres, dancing, shopping. Since her father had lost his money, though, none of these things had been possible and she’d found herself more and more involved in coping with the running of the house since Nanny was the only other person to do that.

  She couldn’t blame her mother, who had never done the household chores and had very little idea of what they involved anyway. It looked as though she was destined to stay at home, getting longer and longer in the tooth, making do with too little money, doing the odd repairs, and painting in an amateurish way.

  She jumped across the little stream which ran along the boundary of the park and wandered into the woods beyond while Wilkins padded to and fro. When he stood still and began to bark she paused too.

  ‘What’s up, Wilkins? Rabbits?’

  It was very quiet under the trees but presently she heard footsteps—unhurried and deliberate—and Wilkins raced back the way they had come to meet them. Leonora stayed where she was; it was someone the dog knew and liked and for a moment she wondered if it was Tony but then dismissed the thought; Wilkins and Tony had never been more than guarded in their approach to each other.

  Perhaps it was Dr Galbraith…

  It was. He came towards her, still unhurried, Wilkins jumping up on his elderly legs and running in circles around him. His, ‘Hello, Leonora,’ was casual and friendly. ‘I should have brought Tod with me…

  ‘Nanny told me that you might be here.’ He had reached her by now and strolled along beside her. ‘There is something about which I wish to talk.’

  ‘What?’ asked Leonora baldly.

  ‘Mrs Crisp has broken her arm. Would you consider taking over from her from the time being, a few weeks? Morning surgery is half past eight until eleven o’clock or thereabouts. Evening surgery five o’clock until seven—sometimes later. No surgery on Saturday evenings or Sunday.’

  Leonora had listened with her mouth open. ‘I can’t type,’ she managed. ‘I don’t know anything…’

  ‘You know everyone in the village and for miles around. You know where people live, the jobs they have. You can answer the phone intelligently and not fly into hysterics if something crops up. It’s an easy job for you. If I have to get someone from an agency they won’t know their way around or where the patients live.’

  Leonora closed her mouth at last. ‘But I can’t. I mean, I do most of the housekeeping at home and the shopping—and odd jobs around the place.’

  ‘You would be paid like anyone else who works for a living. Surely there is someone in the village who could go to the house each day and give Nanny a hand?’

  When she hesitated he added, ‘You would be working—let me see—between twenty and thirty hours a week. There’s a standard rate of pay.’ He mentioned a sum which caused her mouth to drop open again.

  ‘All that?’ asked Leonora. She paused just long enough to do some most satisfying mental arithmetic. ‘If you think I’ll do I’ll come and work for you.’

  ‘Good. Now that’s settled, how about coming back with me and I’ll explain just what you have to do?’

 
; ‘Well, yes, all right. I’d better take Wilkins back home first and tell Mother.’

  He walked back with her, saying little, not mentioning the job again until they were in the house once more. As they went in through the garden door he asked, ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  She considered this. ‘Well, it might be a good idea.’ She glanced at him. ‘If you see what I mean?’

  He nodded gravely. That the daughter of the house should have a job was something Lady Crosby wouldn’t allow, but as a favour to the local doctor, an emergency, as it were—that would be a different matter.

  So it proved to be. Leonora could not help but admire the way in which the doctor convinced her mother that working for him at the surgery wasn’t so much a job as a vital service to the community and that Leonora, being known in the village, was exactly the right person to undertake it.

  ‘Well, I do see that as a member of the family Leonora has a certain duty. I mean, we have lived here for very many years, as you must know. I am sure it is a worthwhile undertaking since Mrs Crisp is unable to work for you.’

  Lady Crosby frowned suddenly. ‘There is one draw-back—Leonora has undertaken the running of this house. I am rather delicate myself, Dr Galbraith; my poor health does not allow me to exert myself.’

  She sighed. ‘Such a pity, but I do not see how we are to manage if Leonora is away for most of the day.’

  ‘Perhaps that is a problem which can be solved. Leonora will, of course, receive a salary. There must be someone in the village who would come here and work with Nanny while Leonora is away.’

  Lady Crosby brightened. ‘Well, yes. You say she will receive a salary?’ She turned to look at the silent Leonora. ‘That will be nice, my dear. I’m sure if you can find someone suitable to replace you for the time being neither your father nor I will have any objection to you helping the doctor.’

  She smiled at him. ‘You will stay to dinner? We dine late on Sundays.’

  He refused with easy good manners and added, ‘Perhaps I might take Leonora with me for an hour or so? I can give her some idea of her duties and we might share supper at the same time. The sooner she is able to start work, the better for me and my patients.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I can quite see that the matter is an urgent one. Leonora, will you go to your father—he is in his study—and tell him what we have arranged?’ She turned back to the doctor. ‘Perhaps while she is doing that you will advise me about this nasty little pain I get in my chest… My heart, you know…’

  ‘I can hardly advise without a full examination; I suggest that you come down to the surgery one afternoon. I’m usually free then and you can tell me what is troubling you.’ He added with brisk reassurance, ‘You look extremely well.’

  ‘Ah, but my looks have never pitied me,’ said Lady Crosby in a resigned voice, ‘and I don’t complain.’

  Leonora came back then, promised to be back in an hour or two and went out to the car with the doctor.

  The drive to the surgery was so short that there was no need to talk and once they were there he set about explaining her work to her in a businesslike way which precluded any light-hearted chit-chat. She listened cheerfully, poked her nose into cupboards and drawers and asked intelligent questions.

  ‘Like to start in the morning?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Tomorrow? Well, why not? But you won’t get too annoyed if I do everything wrong?’

  ‘No, no.’ He was laughing at her. ‘I’m quite sure you will be able to cope well enough, and Mrs Crisp has promised that she will pop in just in case you need to know more about things. Half past eight, then?’

  ‘All right. I’ll ask Nanny if she knows of anyone who will come up to the house and help her. I could ask Mrs Pike too…’

  ‘Good, that’s settled. Now let us go and have our supper.’

  Leonora said thoughtfully, ‘There’s no need, you know. I mean, you’ve explained everything to me here…’

  He swept her out to the car. ‘There’s bound to be something I’ve forgotten,’ he told her. ‘I’ll probably think of it during supper. There will be no time in the morning.’

  A sensible observation to which she agreed. With pleasure and relief. She was hungry.

  Cricket, accompanied by a boisterous Tod, admitted them, allowing his usual gloomy expression to be lightened with a smile at the sight of Leonora.

  ‘Miss Crosby is having supper with me, Cricket,’ said Dr Galbraith, and he took Leonora’s jacket and ushered her across the hall and into the drawing room.

  ‘Fifteen minutes, sir,’ said Cricket, and melted away to the kitchen, where he set about adding one or two extra items to the supper menu. He approved of Miss Crosby; it was a pity he hadn’t been given more notice, for she was worthy of his culinary skill. He had already made baked pears, standing ready in their dish with the flavoured syrup poured over them, but he decided now to save them for tomorrow and prepare something else… There was also time to prepare a dish of anchoïades. With commendable speed he assembled anchovies, garlic, olive oil and lemon juice, sliced bread and black pepper. Cricket fetched his pestle and mortar and set to work.

  In the drawing room the doctor invited Leonora to sit down, opened the door to allow Tod to join them from the garden and offered her a drink. Then he began a rambling conversation about nothing much. Apparently her job wasn’t to be discussed for the moment. Leonora sipped dry sherry and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. Since she was hungry, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on supper.

  She was not to be disappointed. Presently, sated at the elegantly laid table, she enjoyed the anchovies followed by quiche Lorraine, embellished by a potato salad, green peas and mushrooms tossed in garlic and cream. She ate everything, rather surprised by the lavishness of what she had supposed would be a simple meal.

  Dr Galbraith was surprised too, amused that Cricket had found the time to add to what would have been a well-cooked meal but without fancy trimmings. He wondered what they would be invited to eat for pudding and hid a smile when Cricket served them with ice cream, tastefully decorated with burnt almonds, glacé cherries and chocolate shavings, the whole topped with whipped cream—a dessert Cricket was well aware that the doctor would have spurned. As it was, he ate his portion with evident enjoyment, offered Leonora a second glass of wine and suggested that they should return to the drawing room.

  ‘I should really go home,’ said Leonora, not wishing to go.

  ‘I’ll drive you back presently, but you must have some coffee first. Cricket makes very good coffee.’

  ‘There must be something else I should know,’ suggested Leonora. Supper had been delicious and so had the wine. The lovely room was restful and Dr Galbraith was a soothing companion.

  The doctor, sitting in his chair on the other side of the fireplace, with Tod pressed against his knee, replied easily, ‘Oh, I’m sure you have got a good grasp of what has to be done. You know most of the patients, I would suppose, which should make things easy for you.’

  He drove her home soon after and bade her a cheerful goodnight, refusing her offer to come in to see her parents, getting back into his car with a friendly wave and driving away.

  Her mother and father were in the drawing room and Leonora couldn’t help but contrast its shabbiness with the well cared for comfort of Buntings. Perhaps, she reflected, she could find another job when she was no longer needed at the surgery and save enough money to have something done to the house. That it needed thousands of pounds spent on it she chose to ignore; just to do the urgent repairs and paint over the worst bits would at least stave off the ravages of time.

  As she went in her mother said, ‘Ah, there you are, dear. Everything is settled, I hope? Your father agrees with me that you did quite rightly to offer to help Dr Galbraith; it behoves us all to give help when it is asked for.’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ said Leonora, and caught her father’s eye. Lady Crosby was quite sincere but they both knew that she was the last person a
nyone would ask for help. Indeed, she was more than likely the one who needed it.

  She arrived in good time at the surgery in the morning after a quick breakfast in the kitchen with Nanny, to find the doctor’s car outside and, when she went in, the waiting room almost full.

  There was no sign of the doctor, though. She wished everyone a good morning, took off her jacket and set to work getting out patients’ notes. She hadn’t quite finished when the surgery bell pinged and she put her head round the door to answer it.

  ‘I’m nearly ready,’ she assured him. ‘Shall I give you those I have?’

  He said placidly, ‘Good morning, Leonora. Yes, please do. Let me have the others later. There is no hurry. I spend about seven minutes with each patient, sometimes more.’

  He held out his hand for the notes. ‘Who is first? Mrs Dodge? Send her in, will you?’

  Leonora withdrew her head and then poked it back again. ‘I forgot to say good morning,’ she said, and closed the door.

  Once she got over her initial uncertainty, she began to enjoy herself. She knew everyone there, which made things easy, for they were eager to point out everything she didn’t do correctly.

  Mrs Crisp always put the patients’ notes on the little shelf by the desk when they had been seen by the doctor, old Mr Trubshaw told her, and when a small girl became restless several voices advised her that the WC was down the passage, and as the last patient went in she paused to tell her to put the kettle on. ‘For the doctor’s coffee,’ she pointed out kindly.

  With the waiting room empty, Leonora found mugs and coffee and while the kettle boiled began to tidy the place.

  She felt pleased with herself; she hadn’t done so badly. True, there had been one or two hitches but she hoped that the doctor hadn’t noticed them. As the surgery door opened she turned off the gas and looked round at him, hopefully expecting a few words of praise.

  She was to be disappointed. He walked to the door with barely a glance in her direction. ‘I may be delayed. Could you ring Mrs Crisp and ask her if she’ll come here and take any calls? I’ll do my best to get back by evening surgery.’