The Daughter of the Manor Page 16

  She watched him drive away and then walked round the house to the garden door with Wilkins beside her. ‘It’s no good, Wilkins,’ she observed. ‘Everything’s gone wrong, hasn’t it? He’s just the family doctor!’

  He lived up to that for the next two days—always kind and friendly and at the same time aloof.

  On Sunday she got into the car, delighted to be with James even if he was keeping her at a distance. But she need not have worried; he kept up a steady flow of cheerful talk and at the hospital went with her to the ward to fetch Nanny, who was dressed and ready and pale with the excitement of going back home again.

  Leonora sat in the back of the car with her, exchanging places with Tod, who sat motionless beside his master, and listened to Nanny’s observations about the nurses and doctors, the food and the treatments. ‘They were all very kind,’ said Nanny, ‘but, of course, it’s not like home, is it?’

  The doctor carried her indoors and up the staircase to her room, taking no notice of her protests. ‘I shall come to see you in a day or two; mind and do exactly what Leonora says—a week doing nothing much, Nanny. After that you can resume your reign in the kitchen.’

  He spent a short time with Sir William and Lady Crosby while Leonora got Nanny back into her bed for a rest. ‘Nurse will come morning and evening for the next week,’ he told them. ‘Leonora will need some help until Nanny is on her feet again; she has been quite ill and must do nothing much for a while.’

  ‘Of course not,’ agreed Lady Crosby. ‘You may be sure we’ll take good care of her. You’ll stay for coffee? I’m sure Leonora will make some.’

  ‘Thank you, I won’t stop, but if I may I’ll take a look at Nanny before I go.’

  Nanny was sitting up in bed telling Leonora where to put her clothes. She turned a shrewd eye on him as he went in. ‘This child will be worn out looking after me and this blessed great place; it’s time I was on my feet.’

  He sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Just stay quiet for a little longer, Nanny. I won’t allow Leonora to get worn out. Nurse is coming to help you each day and you may get up and sit here and walk about the room, but no more.’

  He glanced about him. It was a cosy room and quite well furnished; someone had put flowers in a vase on the little table near the bed and the place was warm. He supposed that there was some kind of central heating, although keeping a house this size even comfortably warm must be a problem. Fortunately the weather was mild. He bade her goodbye, told Leonora not to see him out, and went away.

  ‘Now that’s the man for you,’ said Nanny, twitching her elderly nose. She hadn’t been blind, watching the pair of them behaving as though they’d only just met. She closed her eyes, ready for a nap. She need not worry; the doctor was a man to sort out his own problems, Leonora’s with them too, of course.

  The week went slowly by; Leonora went to and from the surgery, presenting a smiling face when anyone looked at her. After only four days she was tired already, but things would get easier, she told herself, and the nurse was a great help. Besides, Nanny was getting better each day; the doctor had been to see her that morning and pronounced himself more than satisfied. As he’d left he had asked Leonora if she was managing.

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you,’ she had told him brightly, her eyes daring him to ask any more questions.

  The next evening, dining at Colonel Howes’ house, he was surprised to see Sir William and Lady Crosby among the guests. He went to speak to them as soon as he could. ‘Is Leonora not with you?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Well, Nanny can’t be left and Leonora said she was tired anyway; a nice quiet evening will do her good,’ Lady Crosby told him.

  Dinner was barely finished when he told his host that he had a night call to make. ‘I’ll slip away quietly,’ he said. ‘Otherwise it might break up the evening.’

  He went to his home first and found Cricket in the kitchen.

  ‘Food, Cricket,’ said the doctor. ‘Something nice and quick to eat. I’ll get a bottle from the cellar. What have we got?’

  ‘Cold chicken, Parma ham, some of my pâté if you can make the toast. Egg custard. A salad, if I can have five minutes.’

  Ten minutes later the doctor, with Tod beside him, was driving through the village. Turning into the gates, he saw that most of the downstairs lights were on and, bidding Tod be quiet, he got out of his car and walked round the house to the garden door. It wasn’t locked and he went in, restraining Tod as Wilkins began to bark. The old dog came running down the passage but stopped barking when he saw who it was and the three of them went on to the kitchen.

  Leonora had her back to them. ‘What’s up, Wilkins?’ she asked, and turned round. The look on her face when she saw James brought a gleam to his eyes although he remained unsmiling.

  His expression showed nothing of his thoughts. That she offered no beautiful picture bothered him not at all. She was lovely—the most beautiful girl in the world—even dressed as she was in a worthy dressing gown and a pinny tied around her waist. Her hair hung in an untidy plait and her make-up had long ago passed its best. She was mopping the kitchen floor and the mop dripped unheeded as she stood looking at him.

  He said in a soothing voice, ‘Hello—I hope I didn’t scare you. I thought we might have supper together.’

  ‘Supper?’ She stared at him and then smiled. ‘Mother and Father have gone out to dinner…’

  ‘Yes, I know; I was there.’

  ‘You’ve had dinner—’

  ‘I wasn’t hungry but I am now.’ He put his basket down on the kitchen table, took the mop from her, swabbed up the puddle it had made, and took it and the bucket over to the sink.

  Leonora looked down at her person. ‘I got ready for bed but it was a chance to get the housework done. I’ll go and dress.’

  ‘No need. Take off that pinny and wash your hands. I’m going to lock the garden door.’

  When he came back he unpacked the basket, took the champagne from its cooler and poured two glasses.

  ‘Champagne,’ said Leonora faintly, and took a reviving sip. Somehow everything was all right; she looked a fright but James didn’t seem to mind. They were friends again; if only they could stay like that. Only she would have to be careful not to betray her feelings. He found knives and forks and plates, and set out the food, refilling her glass.

  Champagne on a very empty stomach did wonders for her ego; with a sigh of delight she demolished the delicacies Cricket had provided and had another glass of champagne.

  ‘Stay there; I’ll make coffee if you tell me which cupboard to get it from.’

  They had their coffee, and she, in a delightful haze, had no idea what they talked about; all she knew was that she was happy.

  James was happy too but to propose to his Leonora when she was so delightfully bemused with champagne wouldn’t do at all. He cleared the supper things away, washed the dishes and put everything away tidily, and Leonora, watching him, said on a slightly boozy giggle, ‘You’ll make a good husband, James.’

  He had his back to her. ‘I value your opinion, Leonora,’ he told her. Then in a quite different voice he added, ‘I’m going to see Nanny; then when I am gone you are to go straight to bed—I want your promise about that.’

  She gave the tiniest of hiccups and he smiled a little. ‘I promise.’

  He went away, going quietly through the house, and presently returned.

  ‘Nanny is awake and perfectly all right. Come with me to the door and lock it after me.’

  At the door she stooped to caress Tod. ‘Thank you for a lovely supper, and please thank Cricket too.’ She smiled up at him and he bent his head and kissed her—a hard, quick kiss which took her breath—and then walked swiftly away.

  She locked the door then and went back to the kitchen to settle Wilkins and put out the lights, all the while in a glow of happiness.

  Upstairs she wandered into Nanny’s room to say goodnight.

  Nanny gave her a thoughtful stare. ‘Didn’t I say
that’s the man for you?’ she wanted to know. ‘Go to bed, and sweet dreams, my pet.’

  So Leonora did just that.

  She went to work still in a glow of happiness the next morning, and the doctor gave a sigh of relief at the sight of her face as she wished him a good morning. His Leonora had at last allowed her feelings to show…

  There were a lot of patients but none of them were seriously ill; they finished a little early and Leonora went to put the kettle on, turning to smile at James as he came into the waiting room.

  ‘An easy morning,’ he observed. ‘Nanny is going on well?’

  ‘Yes. She is longing to get into the kitchen; I do wonder what she is doing when I am not there.’

  She had spoken jokingly but he answered seriously, ‘Well, that’s soon remedied. I have a receptionist coming on Monday so you will not need to come to the surgery any more.’

  Leonora went pale. ‘Not come? You mean you are giving me the sack?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t want me here any more?’

  ‘No. Oh, you have been entirely satisfactory—I’m not sure what I would have done without your help—but you did know that it was a temporary arrangement.’ He smiled and her unhappy heart did a somersault. He went on, ‘I hadn’t meant to say anything—not here—but perhaps you’ll come to Buntings and have lunch with me—there will be time to talk.’

  ‘What about?’ she asked, and before he could answer she said, ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t; I have to go home. Besides, there is nothing to talk about.’ She went on rather wildly, ‘And even if there was I wouldn’t want to hear it.’

  He turned off the gas under the kettle. ‘Then you will have to hear it now…’ He took the phone up as it rang and stood listening.

  ‘Lacock’s Farm? I’ll be with you as quickly as possible. Get an ambulance and the fire brigade.’

  He put the phone down. ‘Where is Lacock’s Farm exactly? Somewhere close to Norrington Common? How far?’

  ‘Four miles. Off the road; there’s a cart track to the farm.’

  He was in the surgery, putting things into his bag. ‘A barn roof has collapsed; there were a number of children inside. They’ve got three out, injured; there are several more inside.’

  He came back into the waiting room, sweeping her along with him. ‘You’ll have to show me the way.’

  He locked the surgery door, urged her into the car and drove off.

  ‘Take the first turn on the left about half a mile away,’ said Leonora, and moments later she added, ‘Here, the road narrows. The track’s about a mile on the right.’

  The Rolls ate up the mile at a speed which boded ill for anything coming the other way; she let out a breath as James turned into the track. The pace was slower now. ‘The farm is only a few hundred yards ahead,’ she told him. ‘You can’t see it for the trees. It’s on the left.’

  The farmyard was large, with the farmhouse on its farther side and outbuildings on two sides, and beyond the house was the barn, its collapsed roof in a vast, sprawling pile, thatch and bricks and cob-walls still crumbling slowly.

  The doctor drove up to the house, got out and opened Leonora’s door, picked up his bag and strode to the barn. There were several people there: a woman standing in tears with a little girl in her arms, two men and a young boy climbing over the rubble searching.

  The woman saw them first. ‘Miss Crosby—Doctor. Tracey’s hurt—her arm—and little Tim and Jilly are over there; there’s no one to look after them.’

  ‘See what you can do,’ said the doctor to Leonora, and went over to the men.

  ‘Into the house, I think,’ said Leonora, hoping she would remember at least some of her first-aid lessons. ‘I’ll get the other two.’

  She went to where they sat huddled on the ground, thanking heaven to find that they were more frightened than hurt. They had bumps and scratches but once in the house, where she could see them properly, she could find no bad injury. She sat them side by side on the old-fashioned sofa in the living room and turned her attention to Tracey.

  The little girl was weeping copiously, which Leonora hoped was a good sign, but one small arm hung awkwardly, swollen and already showing bruises. Leonora opened drawers and cupboards, found a dinner napkin and made a sling. A warm drink, she remembered—sweet tea.

  She sat a shocked Mrs Lacock beside the two children, settled Tracey on her lap and went in search of the teapot. She was in luck; the pot stood keeping warm beside the stove and if the tea was stewed she didn’t think it would matter. She found mugs, milk and sugar and hurried back to the living room.

  ‘Can you help the children to drink this and have some yourself? I’m going to see if I can do anything…’

  The yard was slippery; they had been muck-spreading and she had to scramble carefully to where the men were clearing away rubble from the far end of the barn. As she reached them she saw the doctor stoop, draw a child out of the ruins and bend over her for a moment. She fetched up beside him and he handed the child to her. ‘Take her indoors, lie her flat and cover her—a broken leg and concussion, I think; I’ll come as soon as I can.’

  The child was unconscious; Leonora laid her on a rug at Mrs Lacock’s feet. ‘Keep an eye on her,’ she begged, and made her way back to the barn.

  They were carefully edging a boy out of the medley of beams and thatch and stone and this time the doctor carried him back to the house and laid him down carefully beside the girl. ‘Stay with him,’ he told Leonora. ‘There’s still another child.’

  She did what she could, thankful in a way that the two children were unconscious, keeping them covered warmly, wiping their small, dirty faces, gently cleaning the cuts she could reach without moving them. The sound of the ambulances, followed by the deeper note of the fire engine, didn’t come a moment too soon, for the children needed expert care and despite her first aid there was little she could do.

  There was activity now, men coming and going, taking over from the men and boy and James, who came into the house and began to examine the children. The paramedics came with him and Leonora, sitting with one of the children on her lap, watched him. For the moment she had forgotten that he had no interest in her, had made it clear that they were no more than acquaintances, living in the same village; he was the man she loved and always would love, unflappable in disaster, knowing what to do, never raising his voice, kind…

  She watched for what seemed a very long time while he worked on the unconscious little boy and girl, who were taken away in the ambulance just as a shout heralded the rescue of the last child. Another boy. In a still worse state, she guessed, covered in dust and bits of thatch and blood. It was a long time before James was satisfied that he was well enough to be taken to the hospital. She could only guess at the emergency treatment he had been given.

  It was the turn of the three children with Mrs Lacock, who between them were suffering from shock, a small broken arm and bruises and who after careful examination were got into the third ambulance and sent after the others.

  The police were there now and James went away to talk to them, and a policewoman came into the house, asked Leonora if she was all right and went to make tea for everyone. Presently James came back, rolling down his shirtsleeves and putting on his jacket.

  ‘You’re all right?’ he wanted to know. He spoke very gently. She looked like a scarecrow, covered in dust and earth and blood, her hair with half the pins missing. He thought she had never looked so beautiful.

  ‘We’ll go home,’ he told her, ‘and get clean and have a meal.’

  Leonora got to her feet and followed him out to the car and sat quietly while he phoned Cricket. ‘Let Lady Crosby know that Leonora is coming back with me, will you? We need to clean up and eat.’

  ‘No,’ said Leonora. ‘I wish to go home.’ Everything came rushing back then. ‘And I do not wish to go to the surgery or to your house ever again!’ She added as an afterthought, ‘Thank you.’

  James started the
car. ‘Ah, yes, I was interrupted, wasn’t I? You will at least hear me out before you blight our lives for ever. Don’t expect me to say any more at the moment; this infernal track takes all my patience.’

  As he swept into the village she said once more, ‘I want to go home.’

  For answer he turned into his own gates. ‘This is your home—or will be very shortly.’

  She sat very still, not looking at him. ‘You sacked me this morning…’

  ‘Well, of course I did, you silly goose.’

  He got out and ushered her into the house and Cricket came to meet them, tut-tutting at the sight of them.

  ‘Show Miss Crosby to a room and a bathroom, Cricket, will you? And see if you can find a dressing gown or something similar while someone fetches some fresh clothes for her from the house.’

  She was led away up the stairs to a pretty room with an adjoining bathroom. ‘Just you have a nice hot bath, miss,’ said Cricket, sounding very like Nanny. ‘I’ll arrange for someone to fetch your things and put a gown in the bedroom for you. And there’s a tasty lunch ready when you are.’

  Leonora stood in the middle of the room and looked at him. If only he knew how delightful it was to be taken care of. She blinked away tears and smiled. ‘Thank you, Cricket; I won’t be long.’

  There were bath salts, bottles of fragrant oil, the very best of soaps, vast sponges and a shelf of lotions. There wasn’t time to wash her dusty hair but she gave it a good brushing and got into a towelling bathrobe. It trailed on the ground and she had to roll up the sleeves and it shrouded her from neck to ankles. She went downstairs and found the doctor, very correctly dressed, in dark grey worsted and a dignified tie.

  ‘We will eat first, then we will talk,’ he said, resisting a strong desire to take her in his arms there and then; she was still wary of him and still cross…

  Tod pranced to meet her and she bent to pat him before sitting down in the chair James was holding for her, surprised to find that she was hungry. Certainly the lunch Cricket served them would have tempted her even if she had had no appetite at all, and despite her unease the doctor’s calm voice, rambling on in a soothing manner about nothing much, did a great deal to restore her usual good sense.