Matilda's Wedding Read online

  She had reached the hall when the doctor let himself in.

  ‘Tea in a couple of minutes,’ said Matilda briskly. ‘I’m just going to take a look at Mrs Inch; there’s a tray ready in the kitchen. The waiting room’s full.’

  She whisked herself upstairs and found Mrs Inch still asleep and raced down again. The doctor was in the kitchen, eating the sandwiches, and she told him to sit down, made the tea, and while he was drinking it popped the chicken into the Aga. They didn’t talk, for she saw that he was tired and hungry and he still had the surgery to cope with…

  The doctor ate the last of the sandwiches and watched Matilda arranging saucepans on the Aga. She did it as though she had done it all her life and without any attempt to draw attention to herself. Strange to think that he hadn’t been too keen on employing her; she was turning out to be a treasure. He had a fleeting vision of Lucilla dealing with the Aga with such efficiency and dismissed the idea as ludicrous; Lucilla was born to be a beautiful ornament for everyone to admire, to be cherished, spoilt, shielded from unpleasantness…

  Matilda tucked a wisp of brown hair behind an ear. ‘I’ll check the waiting room,’ she said, and left him alone.

  The surgery ran well over its usual time but it had been a good idea; no one was seriously ill, and with good luck they would recover in their own homes provided they took care of themselves and took the antibiotics the doctor gave them.

  Matilda locked the surgery door, tidied the room and after a moment’s thought went into the surgery. The doctor was at his desk, coping with paperwork.

  ‘I’ll see to Mrs Inch,’ said Matilda, ‘and dish up your supper. Is anyone coming to help you in the morning?’

  ‘No, I’ll be quite all right, thank you, Miss Paige.’

  ‘I dare say you will but Mrs Inch won’t be. I’ll come over about nine o’clock and see to her. Make the bed and so on. She won’t want you to do it and she is not well enough to manage by herself.’

  He looked at her then. She was quite right, of course.

  ‘You must be needed at home. Your father is keeping well? Keeping away from the village?’

  ‘Yes, he is very well. If you don’t wish me to come in the morning then may I ask Mrs Simpkins to pop over? Mrs Inch would be upset…’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Stupid of me. If your mother and father can spare you please come yourself, Miss Paige. I can manage very well now; you must wish to go home?’

  ‘I’ll just go up to Mrs Inch. Goodnight, Doctor.’

  He was writing again. ‘Goodnight, Miss Paige, and thank you.’

  He didn’t look up.

  Mrs Inch was feeling more herself but she was glad of a little help, and to have her bed remade, more lemonade, and a bowl of soup after a refreshing wash. Matilda had put the potatoes in the oven with the chicken and the parsnips and carrots were almost ready by the time she got downstairs. She set the kitchen table, put everything ready in the warm oven and found pencil and paper.

  ‘Dinner ready to eat in the oven. Mrs Inch has had some soup and her pill. I hope you sleep well.’

  She didn’t sign it. Matilda was too familiar in the face of the doctor’s detached coolness, Miss Paige sounded Gothic, so she scribbled her initials.

  She would have to go out through the surgery; she knocked on the door and when there was no answer went in. He wasn’t there. She went out through the waiting-room door, locking up after her.

  Mrs Trickett had a hot meal ready for her, and then, since it was a dark and cold evening, the good soul boiled up several kettles of hot water and left Matilda to have a good wash at the sink. It wasn’t very satisfactory but she felt all the better for it, and presently, in her dressing gown, she went and sat in the kitchen with Mrs Trickett and dried her washed hair. It had been a long day and, pleasantly sleepy and further warmed by a cup of hot cocoa, Matilda went to bed. Before she slept she hoped that the doctor had eaten his supper and gone to bed too.

  He had eaten his supper; he had gone to his study when Matilda had gone up to see Mrs Inch, but before long his splendid nose had caught an appetising whiff of something from the kitchen. Sam had got up from his place under the desk and gone to the door, and so had the doctor…

  He had read Matilda’s note first and then gone to the Aga. He’d been carving the chicken when he’d put down the carving knife and addressed Sam.

  ‘I should have invited her to supper, driven her home at the very least; she must be asleep on her feet…’

  He went upstairs to his housekeeper’s room and found her awake.

  ‘Mrs Inch, did Miss Paige say that she was going home? She left the house while I was in my study.’

  ‘Not home, sir. She’s lodging with Mrs Trickett just across the street, so’s to be on hand. Didn’t want to take this nasty old flu home and Mrs Trickett’s had it. Been there a couple of days. Don’t say much about it—she’s not one to do that—but Mrs Simpkins told me she’s quite happy there. Mrs Trickett feeds her well and she nips across to the Lovell Arms for a bath.’ She stopped to cough. ‘Don’t you worry about her, sir. A very capable young lady and everyone who knows her would help her.’

  ‘Save myself, Mrs Inch,’ said the doctor heavily.

  ‘Lor’ bless you, sir, you’ve enough on your plate keeping the rest of us on our feet. You go down and eat your supper and let’s hope you’ll get a good night’s sleep.’

  The chicken and everything that went with it was delicious; he tidied the kitchen and took Sam for an evening walk. He passed Mrs Trickett’s house, suppressing an urge to knock on its door and ask to see Matilda. She was probably in bed and wouldn’t thank him for a visit. Presently he went back home, and, tired though he was, dealt with the paperwork and the conditions of his ill patients. Then he went to bed and a kindly Providence allowed him to sleep all night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS a wet and cold Sunday morning. The pub wouldn’t open until midday so there was no chance of going over for a bath. Matilda shared breakfast with Mrs Trickett, helped with the washing-up and then, well wrapped in her elderly mac, went across to the doctor’s house.

  She let herself in through the surgery waiting room and entered the hall, to be met by Sam and, a moment later, the doctor, coming out of the kitchen. She was happy to see that he looked rested and somehow much younger in cords and a thick sweater.

  She wished him good morning and added, ‘I’ve come to see to Mrs Inch if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Mind? My dear girl, I am beginning to think that I would be lost without you. Mrs Inch has told me that you have moved in with Mrs Trickett. You should have told me… And you cooked my supper.’

  ‘No trouble,’ said Matilda matter-of-factly. ‘Everything was ready to put into the oven, and I’m very comfortable with Mrs Trickett. I didn’t want to take the flu germs home and she’s so handy, just across the street.’

  ‘I’m grateful, Miss Paige. When you have seen Mrs Inch perhaps you will have coffee with me?’

  ‘That’ll be nice,’ said Matilda, and nipped up the staircase.

  Mrs Inch was no worse, but neither was she feeling much better. Matilda helped her to the bathroom leading from her bed-sitting room, put her into a clean nightie, brushed her hair and tucked her into the freshly made bed. ‘A nice hot drink and some more lemonade, then perhaps you can have a nap. Shall I pop over this evening?’

  ‘Would you? Just to freshen me up… Kitty will be here in the morning. She’s a good girl and quite a good cook, and Mrs Squires will be in to do the rough.’

  Matilda nipped downstairs, fetched the cup of tea Mrs Inch craved and carried it back with the lemonade, resisted the urge to tidy herself up before joining the doctor—a waste of time anyway, she told herself, for he wouldn’t notice—and went back to the kitchen. He was there and the coffee smelled delicious. He put their mugs on the table, offered her a biscuit, gave one to Sam and sat down opposite her.

  ‘I am hopeful that we are over the worst,’ he observed, ‘wi
th no new cases yesterday evening.’

  ‘Oh, good; you must be very thankful. You won’t mind if I come this evening and see to Mrs Inch? She’s better, isn’t she? But she doesn’t feel up to doing much.’

  ‘I have not the least objection, Miss Paige. Perhaps you will come in the late afternoon and share my tea?’

  ‘All right,’ said Matilda. ‘If you want me to. Can you manage to get your own lunch?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’ He sounded so frosty that she didn’t ask about his supper. He had friends for that, she was sure. They could be coming to get his supper for him, and eat it with him too, no doubt. She finished her coffee, put their mugs in the sink, bade him a civil goodbye and started for the front door.

  She reached the door, but he’d got there first.

  ‘Just a moment, Miss Paige. Mrs Inch told me that you go to the Lovell Arms for a bath. Not a very satisfactory arrangement. There are three bathrooms in this house and an abundance of hot water. May I suggest you take advantage of that and have a bath here?’

  Matilda eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not? I shall be working in my study, Mrs Inch appears to be comfortable and there is no one to hurry you. If you go upstairs you will find a bathroom on the right, the second door. Take as long as you like. No need to tell me when you are ready to leave; the front door is unlocked, so let yourself out.’

  His offer had been made in a detached manner and with the air of a man doing his duty, and Matilda, who had been doubtful, allowed common sense to rule the day.

  ‘Thank you. That would be nice. I won’t disturb anyone, Doctor.’

  He watched her go, wondering why on earth he had suggested it. He went to his study, telling himself it was an offer he would have made to anyone in similar circumstances.

  The bathroom was large, warm and well equipped. Matilda lay in a steaming hot bath, lavishly scented with something heavenly out of a bottle, and thought about the doctor. She came to the conclusion that she would never know what he was really like. She suspected that behind his austere manner there was quite a different man lurking.

  She washed her hair and then, swathed in a huge soft bath towel, sat drying it. It was pleasant to sit there in the lap of luxury, thinking about the doctor, and she could have spent the rest of the morning doing just that, but that, she felt sure, would be outstaying her welcome. She dressed and went quietly downstairs and let herself out into the quiet street.

  She phoned her mother from the telephone box outside Mrs Simpkins’ shop, assured her that she was well and hoped that she would be coming home as soon as the flu subsided. As she left the box Mrs Simpkins stuck her head out of an upstairs window.

  ‘Bin over to the doctor’s, love?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Simpkins, just to see to Mrs Inch. She’s feeling a little better but doesn’t feel like doing much; in fact, she’s still in her bed. I’m going over again this afternoon, just to settle her. She said that someone called Kitty would be back tomorrow to look after her.’

  ‘That’ll be Kitty Tapper—housemaid, you might say. Going back to Mrs Trickett for your dinner?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Simpkins, and a nice quiet afternoon!’

  Mrs Simpkins, thought Matilda, was a dear soul but did like to know everyone’s business.

  She ate her dinner with Mrs Trickett and then sat with her by the old-fashioned kitchen stove, reading the newspaper her companion shared with her. She had never read this particular tabloid before and its contents were startling enough to keep her engrossed.

  She judged that half past four was the right time to go back to see to Mrs Inch, and the doctor opened the door to her, looking, for a moment, surprised to see her. He had his reading glasses on and held a sheaf of papers and she guessed that he had forgotten all about her.

  ‘Shall I go and see how Mrs Inch is?’ she suggested, sounding businesslike. ‘And give her her tea before I see to her comfort?’

  ‘Yes, yes, please do; you know where everything is.’ He was already on his way back to his study.

  Mrs Inch was awake, rather cross and longing for a cup of tea.

  ‘I’ll get it straight away,’ Matilda promised, ‘and then I’ll make you comfortable. Do you feel a little better?’

  ‘I suppose so. Dr Lovell has been in and out during the day. He says I’m on the mend. Very kind and thoughtful, he’s been, and I know he’s busy and men don’t think about a cup of tea and suchlike, do they?’

  ‘Well no,’ agreed Matilda. ‘I’ll bring up a big pot and perhaps I can find a Thermos jug and leave it filled for you if you fancy a drink later on.’

  ‘You’re a very thoughtful young lady,’ said Mrs Inch, ‘and I believe I could manage a morsel of bread and butter cut thin.’

  There was no sign of the doctor as she made tea and some wafer-thin slices of bread and butter, arranged everything neatly on a tray and took it back upstairs.

  Mrs Inch, propped up on pillows, sipped her tea. ‘That’s a treat,’ she observed. ‘Now just you go down and have your tea with the doctor.’

  A bit of a problem, decided Matilda, going down to a quiet house. Had he forgotten that he had asked her to tea? Or was she expected to get it for them both?

  She found a tray and tea things, boiled the kettle and poked around the cupboards looking for cake or biscuits. There was a cake, or half of one. She put it on a plate and cut more bread and butter and went into the hall and looked doubtfully at the closed doors. Finally she tapped on the study door and went in.

  The doctor was at his desk, writing, Sam at his feet. He looked up as she went in, staring at her over his spectacles.

  ‘Yes?’ He sounded testy.

  ‘Mrs Inch is quite comfortable until suppertime,’ said Matilda baldly. ‘Your tea is waiting for you in the kitchen.’

  He frowned. ‘Presently, presently. I have a good deal of writing to do.’

  ‘I dare say you have. Go and have your tea now while it’s still hot.’

  She closed the door quietly after her and got into her coat and let herself out of the house. She was suddenly tired and dispirited. And, at the same time, cross. ‘I hope he goes hungry to bed,’ she muttered as she crossed the road to Mrs Trickett’s cottage.

  Even if the doctor didn’t want his tea, Sam wanted his. He got up and wandered back and forth in doggy impatience until his master put down his pen and got up.

  ‘All right, old fellow; we’ll have tea and go for a walk. And I’d better look in on Mrs Inch.’

  He ate all the bread and butter and most of the cake and drained the teapot while Sam ate a biscuit, then they both went up to Mrs Inch.

  Mrs Inch assured him that she was feeling better. ‘That Miss Paige made a lovely pot of tea and bread and butter; I couldn’t have cut it thinner myself. Had your tea, have you, sir?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Inch. Miss Paige left it ready for me.’ He stopped. ‘Oh, God…’

  Mrs Inch said severely, ‘It’s not like you to call upon the Lord, sir.’

  ‘Mrs Inch, I asked Miss Paige to have tea with me when she came over this afternoon and I forgot. That’s no excuse—I was working but I should have remembered. She got the tea and told me it was ready and left the house. Why didn’t she remind me?’

  Mrs Inch gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘She’d rather go without her tea; she’s not the pushy sort,’ she said dryly.

  ‘Mrs Inch, will you be all right if I go across and see her? Sam can have a quick run at the same time.’

  ‘You do that, Doctor; I’m fine.’

  It was drizzling as he let himself out of the house with Sam. It was Mrs Trickett who answered his knock.

  ‘Doctor? Is something wrong? Do you want Miss Paige? Come in—and Sam…’

  ‘Nothing is wrong, Mrs Trickett. If I might have a word with Miss Paige? You’re keeping well? Quite recovered from the flu?’

  Mrs Trickett led the way into the kitchen. ‘Yes, thank you, Doctor. You don’t mind the kitchen? It’s warmer, and wit
h just the two of us…’

  ‘I think that the kitchen is sometimes the most cosy place in the house,’ said the doctor. He paused in the doorway to look at Matilda, standing at the small sink, clasping a cabbage to her bosom like a shield.

  She didn’t put it down. She didn’t say anything either, only looked at him unsmiling.

  ‘Miss Paige, I’ve come to apologise. I invited you to have tea with me and forgot about you. Please forgive me?’

  ‘Well, of course I do. I dare say you were too busy to think about it. Besides, I am the sort of person people forget.’

  She spoke in a matter-of-fact voice with no trace of self-pity. It was merely a statement of a fact she had been aware of for years, first pointed out to her by her mother. She had accepted it as gospel truth without rancour but with regret.

  Mrs Trickett had slipped away and the doctor came further into the small room, his head inches from the ceiling, his large person making it even smaller than it was.

  ‘That’s not true; take my word for it. Don’t hide your light under a bushel, Miss Paige; I have come to regard you as indispensable.’

  ‘I’ve done my best to follow in Miss Brimble’s footsteps,’ said Matilda.

  He stared at her. She looked small and rather pale in the dim light of the single bulb, but not in the least sorry for herself. Indeed, she said tartly, ‘There was no need for you to have come out…’

  ‘Sam needed a run,’ said the doctor meekly. ‘I’ll bid you goodnight and see you in the morning at the surgery.’

  She went with him into the tiny hall and opened the door for him. It was a tight squeeze—him, her and Sam. At the door he turned to say, ‘Please use my place for a bath; I’ll tell Kitty you may be over during the day.’

  ‘Thank you. Goodnight, Doctor.’ She had a nice voice, he reflected, but still tart. There was more to Miss Matilda Paige than one would suppose.