The Daughter of the Manor Read online

‘Obliged to you for coming,’ said Sir William. ‘I’m sure there’ll be coffee downstairs for you. Busy, are you?’

  The doctor, who had been up all night with a premature baby, replied that no, he wasn’t unduly so.

  ‘Probably a good deal easier than a city practice,’ said Sir William, blithely unaware that the doctor’s practice extended for miles in every direction. Some of the outlying farms were well off the main roads, and the lanes leading to them were, as often as not, churned into muddy ruts.

  Downstairs Lady Crosby was waiting for them in the drawing room, looking anxious.

  ‘Fetch the coffee, Leonora; Nanny has it ready. Come and sit down, Doctor, and tell me if Sir William is ill or if it’s just a bad cold.’

  ‘Flu, Lady Crosby. He will need to keep to his bed for a few days and take the antibiotic I have prescribed. He should be perfectly all right within a week, provided he keeps warm and quiet; he isn’t as young as he was.’

  He smiled at her and she smiled back. ‘Sixty-one— I’m a good deal younger.’ Lady Crosby, who had been a very pretty girl, wasn’t averse to a little admiration and her smile invited it.

  She was disappointed and a little put out; she had been spoilt and pampered for most of her life, only during the last difficult years she had had to forgo the comforts and luxuries she had taken for granted. She loved her husband and daughter, but took their care and attention as her right. The expected compliment from the doctor wasn’t forthcoming. All he said was, ‘I’m going to Bath; perhaps your daughter might come with me and get the prescription I have written up for Sir William. I shall be returning within the hour and will give her a lift back.’

  Leonora, coming in with the coffee, heard the last part of this and said, in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Oh, there is no need for that. I can take the car—I might hold you up.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear,’ said her mother. ‘Why take the car when you can get a lift? Dr Galbraith is coming back to the village. You’ll probably have time to pop into that wool shop and see if you can match my embroidery silks…’

  She poured the coffee. ‘Have you taken a tray up to your father, dear? I dare say he would like a hot drink.’ She smiled charmingly at the doctor. ‘We shall take the greatest care of him, Doctor.’

  He glanced from mother to daughter; Leonora had inherited her mother’s good looks on a more generous scale; he fancied she had inherited her father’s forthright and strong-willed nature. It was no life for a girl such as she—living with elderly parents and, he suspected, bearing the burden of the household management in the down-at-heel, still beautiful house. Still, he remembered, she was engaged; presumably she would marry shortly. Not that he had liked the man.

  Leonora, wrapped up against the weather, got into the car presently. He was glad to see that she had found a decent hat and her gloves and handbag were beyond reproach. Not that he cared in the least about her appearance, but with her striking looks she deserved the right clothes.

  Glancing at her profile, he set himself out to be pleasant and had the satisfaction of seeing her relax. Gradually he led the conversation round to more personal matters, putting a quiet question here and there so casually that she answered freely, unaware that she was talking about things that she had kept tucked away at the back of her head because neither her mother nor her father would want to hear about them, and nor would Tony: small niggling doubts, little worries, plans she had little hope of putting into effect.

  They were on the outskirts of Bath when she said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry, I must be boring you. I expect you get enough moaning from your patients.’

  ‘No, no, talking never bores me, unless it is the kind of chat you encounter at parties. I’m going to park at the Royal National Hospital. There are several chemists in Milsom Street; fetch the prescription and come back to the car. There’s a quiet restaurant by the abbey—I hope you’ll take pity on me and have lunch.’ When she opened her mouth to refuse he said, ‘No, don’t say that you have to go home at once; you would be too late for lunch anyway, and I promise you I’ll get you home within the next hour or so.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I have an afternoon surgery…’

  ‘Well, that would be nice; thank you. I don’t like to be away from home for very long because of Father…’

  He had stopped the car by the hospital and got out to open her door. ‘I’ll be fifteen minutes. If I’m longer than that, go and wait in the entrance hall…’

  He watched her walk away. She was just as nice to look at from the back as from the front. He smiled a little as he went into the hospital.

  When she got back he was there, waiting for her. ‘We’ll leave the car here; it’s only a few minutes’ walk. You know Bath well?’

  The restaurant was small, quiet, and the food was excellent. Leonora, savouring a perfectly grilled sole, thought she must remember to tell Tony about it; it was a long time since they had been out together for a meal—he was happy to stay at home with her, he always told her, and she spent hours in the kitchen conjuring up a meal he would like from as little of the housekeeping money as possible.

  She wished that he were sitting opposite her now instead of Dr Galbraith and despised herself for the mean thought. After all, he had no reason to give her lunch and she had to admit he was a pleasant companion. All the same, she had the sneaking feeling that behind that bland face there was a man she wouldn’t care to cross swords with.

  They talked as they ate, exchanging views on Bath, Pont Magna and its inhabitants, and the various houses in it.

  ‘I used to go to Buntings when I was a little girl,’ Leonora told him. ‘It’s a lovely old house. Are you happy there?’

  ‘Yes. It is the kind of place where you feel instantly at home. I expect you feel that about your own home?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s badly in need of repairs, though. Some rich American wanted to buy it last year, but Father wouldn’t hear of it. His family have lived in it for a very long time. It would break his heart to leave.’

  ‘I can understand that. It is a delightful house. Rather large to look after, though.’

  ‘Yes, but quite a few rooms are shut and Nanny and I can manage the rest.’

  She frowned and he said smoothly, ‘Nannies are marvellous, aren’t they? Shall we go? I must get you back before someone wonders where you are.’

  Less than an hour later he stopped the car at her home, got out to open her door and waited until she had gone inside. He had beautiful manners, she thought, and hoped that she had thanked him with sufficient warmth.

  Her mother was in the drawing room. ‘There you are, dear. Have you got those pills for your father? He’s rather peevish so I came down here to have a little rest—I find looking after someone ill so very tiring. We’ll have tea soon, shall we? Perhaps Nanny could make a few scones.’

  Leonora said, ‘Yes, Mother,’ and went to look for Nanny.

  In the kitchen Nanny asked, ‘Have you had some lunch, Miss Leonora? There’s plenty of that corned beef—’

  ‘Dr Galbraith gave me lunch, Nanny—a rather splendid one too. Mother wants tea a bit earlier—and scones? I’ll come and make them, but first I must go and see about Father.’

  Sir William, back in his bed, was glad to see her.

  ‘I’ve got your pills and you can start them straight away,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘And how about a cup of tea and some of that thin bread and butter Nanny cuts so beautifully?’

  She sat down on the side of the bed. ‘I don’t suppose you feel like sausages for supper. How about scrambled eggs and creamed potato and jelly for pudding?’

  ‘That sounds good.’ Her father smiled at her. ‘We shall be lost without you when you marry, my dear.’ He paused to cough. ‘You are quite sure, aren’t you? Tony is a successful young man—he’ll want to live in London.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not all the time—he was talking about coming down here whenever we could. He loves this house, you know.’

  Her father said drily, ‘It is a gold
-mine for anyone with enough money to put it in order. As it is, it’s mouldering away. At least it will be yours one day, Leonora.’

  ‘Not for years, Father.’ She got up and fetched a glass of water and watched him while he swallowed his pill. ‘Every four hours,’ she warned him. ‘Now I’m going to get your tea.’

  She dropped a kiss on his head and went down to the kitchen, where, since Nanny was making the scones, she got her father’s tea-tray ready and presently bore it upstairs.

  Back in the drawing room with her mother, she drew a chair closer to the fire. ‘I must say that Dr Galbraith seems to be a very pleasant man. Charming manners, too. We must invite him to dinner one evening, Leonora—remind me to make a list of guests. We must think of something delicious to give them.’

  Leonora said, ‘Yes, Mother,’ and bit into a scone. ‘I dare say Father will enjoy that once he’s feeling better.’

  Her mother said vaguely, ‘Oh, yes, of course, dear. What did you have for lunch? So kind of the doctor to give you a meal.’

  When Leonora had told her she added, ‘Ah, yes, I know the restaurant you mention. The food there is good but expensive. I dare say that, being a single man, he can afford such places. I’m surprised that he isn’t married, but I expect he is merely waiting until he is settled in at Buntings. A doctor, especially one with a country practice, needs a wife.’

  Leonora murmured an agreement, and wondered why he should need one more than a GP with a town practice.

  ‘He would have done very well for you,’ went on Lady Crosby, ‘but of course you’ve already got a fiancé in Tony. Most suitable and such a charming man.’

  Leonora thought about Tony. He was charming and fun to be with. He teased her a good deal, told her that she was old-fashioned and strait-laced. ‘I’ll forgive you that,’ he had told her, laughing. ‘You’ll change once I get you up to town.’

  She had pointed out that she didn’t want to change. ‘I wouldn’t be me,’ she’d told him, aware that she had irritated him. The next moment, however, he had been laughing again; perhaps she had mistaken the look on his face. They would be happy together, she felt sure; she looked at the diamond on her finger and told herself how happy she was at that very moment just thinking about him.

  That night she dreamt of Dr Galbraith, and the dream persisted in staying in her head all next day. She did her best to dispel it by writing a long letter to Tony.

  Her father was feeling a little better, although he was still coughing a good deal and looked tired. She wondered uneasily what would be done if the antibiotic didn’t do its good work; Dr Galbraith hadn’t said that he would call again…

  He came the next morning and, since she was upstairs with the Hoover, it was her mother who opened the door to him.

  ‘Dr Galbraith—how kind of you to call again. Just in time for coffee. I’ll get Leonora or Nanny to bring it to the drawing room.’ She smiled her charming smile. ‘I do hate having it by myself…’

  Any opinion the doctor might have had about this remark he kept to himself.

  ‘I called to see Sir William and, much though I would enjoy a cup of coffee, I can’t spare the time— I have quite a few visits to make this morning.’ He smiled in his turn. ‘If I might go up?’

  ‘Oh, dear, we could have had a nice little chat. Do you want me to come up with you? Leonora is hoovering the bedrooms; I’m sure she’ll see to anything you may want.’

  The Hoover was making a good deal of noise; he had time to study Leonora’s back view before she turned round. She was wearing a sensible pinny and had tied her hair in a bright scarf; the Hoover, being past its prime, tended to raise almost as much dust as it sucked up.

  She switched it off when she saw him, wished him a good morning and said, ‘You want to see Father? He had quite a good night but he’s chesty…’

  She whipped off the pinny and also the scarf and led him into her father’s room.

  The doctor pronounced himself satisfied with his patient but added that he would need to remain in bed for several days yet. ‘Get up for an hour or so, if you wish,’ he said, ‘but stay in this room. I’ll come and see you again in a couple of days or so.’

  Going downstairs with Leonora, he observed, ‘Your father is by no means out of the woods. He has escaped pneumonia by a whisker and anything other than rest and a warm room, plenty to drink and plenty of sleep is liable to trigger off a more serious condition. He’ll do well if he stays where he is—don’t let him get out of bed for much more than an hour or so.’

  He sounded just like the family doctor, thought Leonora waspishly, but then that was exactly what he was. Did he need to be quite so impersonal, though? After all, they had had lunch together…

  Her mother came into the hall as they reached it and he bade her a pleasant goodbye, added a few reassuring words about Sir William’s condition, smiled briefly at Leonora and drove away, leaving her feeling vaguely unsettled.

  Tony came at the weekend, breezing into the house, explaining that he had torn himself away from his work to take them by surprise.

  ‘You look as though you need a bit of cheering up,’ he told Leonora, who certainly didn’t look her best after four days of coping with her irascible parent. ‘How is Sir William? Not too bad, I hope?’

  ‘He is better, but he has a bad chest; he’s getting up today for a few hours but he mustn’t go outside until his cough has cleared up.’

  ‘Where is that delightful mother of yours?’

  ‘She went to Colonel Howes’ for coffee.’ Leonora hesitated. ‘Tony, would you mind awfully if I left you for a bit? I’ll get some coffee for you and there are the morning papers in the drawing room. I haven’t quite finished the bedrooms and I must make a bed for you. You are staying?’

  ‘Well, of course, if it’s too much bother…’ He contrived to look hurt and she said quickly, ‘No, no, of course it’s not, and I shan’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll go and have a chat with your father,’ suggested Tony, getting out of the chair into which he had flung himself.

  ‘No— Oh, dear, I keep saying no, don’t I? He is shaving and getting dressed. We’ll both be down presently. I’ll just fetch the coffee. Did you have a good trip here?’

  He said sulkily, ‘Not bad. It’s the deuce of a long way from town, though.’

  I ought to be so pleased to see him, reflected Leonora, putting china on a tray and listening to Nanny’s opinion of those who came for the weekend uninvited, but he might have phoned first. ‘I’ll have to go to the butcher’s and get some chops.’ She interrupted Nanny’s indignant flow. ‘Have we plenty of eggs?’ she asked.

  ‘No. We have not. Mr Beamish will have bacon for his breakfast and one or two of those mushrooms Mrs Fleming sent over. The cake’s almost finished too.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll make another one, Nanny—there’ll be time before lunch…’

  ‘There’s the doorbell,’ said Nanny in a voice which suggested that she was much too busy to answer it. So Leonora opened the door, to find Dr Galbraith towering over her. She stared up into his calm face and felt a ridiculous urge to burst into tears. She didn’t say anything and presently he said placidly, ‘I’ve come to see your father.’

  ‘Yes, but—yes, of course. Do come in…’

  ‘You were doing something urgent. If I’m interrupting do go and finish.’ He looked her over slowly. ‘You look put upon. What’s the matter?’

  As Tony came into the hall, the doctor said, ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ in a very quiet voice, and added a much louder, ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Ah, the local GP. Good morning to you. Come to check on the invalid, have you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Dr Galbraith turned towards Leonora. ‘Shall we go up?’

  ‘I’ll come along too—the old chap’s always glad to see me.’

  The doctor was saved the necessity of answering as Nanny came into the hall with the coffee-tray.

  ‘I’m putting your coffee in the drawing room, Mr Beamish; you’ll need to
drink it while it’s hot.’

  Tony, although he didn’t like her, did as he was told, mentally promising himself that once he was married to Leonora one of the first of his acts would be to get rid of Nanny.

  Going up the staircase, the doctor noted that Leonora looked less than her best; her hair was tied back and hung in something of a tangle down her back, and she was without make-up, not that that mattered for she had clear skin and a mouth which didn’t need lipstick; moreover, she was wearing an elderly skirt and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up. But none of this really detracted from her undoubted good looks.

  ‘Is Lady Crosby at home?’ he asked casually.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, but she’s having coffee with the Howeses—you’ve met the Colonel and his daughter…’

  He had dined with them on the previous evening but he didn’t say so.

  ‘Don’t you care for visiting?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Me? Oh, yes, it’s nice meeting people. But today—well, the weekend, you know, and then I didn’t know Tony was coming so there’s a bit more to do.’

  They had reached her father’s door and the doctor didn’t answer.

  Her father was sitting in his dressing gown, looking out of the window. He turned as they went in, saying, ‘Leonora? Is that my coffee? It’s past ten o’clock.’

  He saw the doctor then. ‘Good morning. You see how much better I am. I shall get dressed presently and go downstairs for lunch.’

  ‘Why not?’ The doctor sat down beside him. ‘Such a delightful view from this window even at this time of the year. How is the cough?’

  ‘Better—much better—and I’ve taken those pills you left for me. Leonora sees to that, don’t you, my dear?’

  Leonora said, ‘Yes, Father,’ and admired the back of the doctor’s head.

  ‘A splendid nurse,’ her father went on. ‘We are indeed lucky to have a daughter who takes such good care of us both.’

  ‘You will miss her when she marries,’ observed the doctor, taking his patient’s pulse.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, although Tony has a great liking for this house; I’m sure they will visit us as often as possible.’