Miss Mary Martha Crawford (20 page)

shouted down the room, "I'll forget about the partnership then?"

Harry was facing him now as he said grimly, "You suggested at our first interview that after two years we would discuss that point."

"Oh aye, aye. Well, two years is a good way oS, isn't it?"

"Yes, as far off it would appear as my marriage."

When the door closed behind Harry, the old man sat back in his chair, pulled a long face, nodded first to one side of himself, then to the other, before picking up his spoon and wagging it as he had done his knife previously and saying to an imaginary listener, "There goes a man who thinks he knows his own mind. And who's to blame him for that?"

When a moment or so later he heard the front door close none too gently he rose from the table and, limping to the window, he knocked on it, then gesticulating to the figure crossing the yard towards the coach house he beckoned him.

Thrusting up the lower part of the window, he now bent forward and

said, "On your way out of the town you could look in on Mrs.

Armstrong. "

"Anyone else?" There was a note of sarcasm in Harry's voice and John Pippin, ignoring it, screwed up his face as if raking his brains to

find another patient to add to his assistant's list. He thought a

moment, then said, "No, I don't think there's anyone else today."

"I'm glad of that, otherwise I've little chance of getting beyond the town."

As Harry turned away the window was pulled down with a bang. What was he doing? Trying to nark him? He had six patients of his own to visit before he could make for the outskirts and Bailey's cottage, and he

didn't relish that visit. And he was relishing it less as he stood

over the girl with a distended stomach lying on a filthy bed in a

corner of the small room, and as he looked down into her grinning face and saw the head lice crawling on her hair he again wondered why it was that this type always seemed to breed like rats, whereas back there in the town there were three women on his list alone who had gone into

decline for the simple reason they hadn't borne children. They were

nice women, decent women, and had at one time, he supposed, been

sprightly, but two of them spent most of their time now lying on a

couch.

"I should imagine it will be another day or two before it arrives." He coughed now to get the fug out of his throat.

D'ya think so, docta? "

As her grin widened he felt sick. There was no pity in him for her.

Her face had never seen water for days, her hands were ingrained with dirt. The place stank. He looked about him. The mother would appear

to be ignoring his presence for she was sitting huddled over the fire stirring something in a kale pot, while four children, their ages

ranging from two to six, scrambled around the floor in pursuit of a

hen, which left its droppings for them to crawl through as it ran.

Oddly the fowl was not squawking as a hen usually would, but

S-MMC-H I^H

running silently and using all its faculties to dodge their clutching hands.

The whole place looked a shambles and smelt like a pigsty, yet

strangely this wasn't a house without money for Bailey himself was not only in work but had five sons and two daughters bringing in their

wages, one of the sons, that lout at The Habitation, and more strangely still he paid his debts. Doctor Pippin said he had never left the

house with out getting his two shilling fee, and should Bailey himself not be in at the time he would never forget what he owed.

He thought about this as he left the house and breathed deep of the

fresh air, that was when he had got past the middens. There were

strange quirks to human nature. Perhaps if the man had married a

normal woman, because it was definitely from the wife's side that the mental abnormalities sprang, he might have acted differently. But

would he? A man who would take his own daughters!

The next house he visited seemed to be at the other end of the social scale, although there was poverty here too, except in the wealth of

books to be seen in the house. Samuel Arm strong was a self-educated man and perhaps his lowly state was due as much to his buying of books as to his inability to obtain work connected with them.

Samuel Armstrong was sixty-two, but he appeared seventy-two until he spoke, then you forgot his age for his voice had a vital ring to it.

He had been unemployed for the past six months and they had lived, or barely subsisted, on what his wife earned from giving music lessons.

It was as well she could sit through her task and didn't need to talk much for at times she was greatly troubled with bronchial asthma. It was as Harry listened to the rumbling in her chest that an idea came to him, which he dwelt on for a moment or so while he returned the

instruments to his bag. He spoke a few professional words to Mrs.

Armstrong, drew on his gloves, picked up his hat, then followed Samuel Armstrong to the door; and there he looked down on the small man and said, "Has anything come up, any prospects ?"

Samuel Armstrong shook his head slowly.

"No, no, nothing, doctor; I travelled the streets of the town most of last week. Even if I could do manual work I'd find it hard to come by; as for the shop assistants, in the tailor's, the haberdasher's, the

hatter's, they're all clinging tight to their posts. And who's to

blame them?"

"How would you like to work with books?"

"Are you teasing, doctor?"

"No, no, I'm not teasing, and I'm not promising anything positive either, only I think there's a position in the town coming vacant and it's to do with books."

"But I was everywhere last week, doctor, in every shop in the town."

"Well, the position wasn't vacant last week. Anyway, I don't know as yet if it's been filled, or if the owner has anyone in mind, but I'll be seeing her tomorrow and if you wish I'll put a word in for you."

"If I wish it, doctor?"

There was a thick moisture in the eyes looking back into his, and when he felt his hand gripped, he became embarrassed by the emotion the

older man was showing, and he took his departure hastily now, saying,

"Well mind, there's nothing sure, but I'll do my best," and Samuel Armstrong's voice, followed him to the trap, calling, "Thank you.

Thank you a thousand times, doctor, whichever way it goes. Thank you.

"

And the next afternoon it did go well for Samuel Armstrong, that was after Harry had used a little diplomacy, lied a little, and made an

effort to curb his temper . but only just when he found Peg dressed

and in the kitchen.

He had gone in by the back door and his entry had startled them;

perhaps because of the high wind that was blowing and the empty pail that had been bowling across the courtyard as he drove in they hadn't heard his arrival.

Martha was at the table. She was wearing a large apron over her faded calico dress; her sleeves were rolled up past the elbows, and like any ordinary housewife she was kneading bread. The occupation was one in which he had never

imagined to see her engaged, and so it was she took his attention for a moment until he became aware that the other occupant of the kitchen was Peg, fully dressed and in the process of arraying loaf tins along the fender. She was doing this by the simple process of keeping her

fingers straight and lifting the tins with the palms of her hands.

"What's this?" He turned his gaze on to Martha where she stood with her fists in the dough leaning slightly forward looking at him.

"I

gave instructions that she was not to work or get her hands wet. " But it wasn't Martha who answered him, for Peg coming swiftly forward and smiling up at him, said brightly, " Eeh! doctor, I know, but it's me.

Don't blame Miss Martha Mary, it's me. Eeh! I'd have gone clean barmy if I'd had to sit much longer. I'm not used to it, doctor, an' I'm

glad to be back in the kitchen. I like the kitchen an' I'm fine, I am, I'm real fine. "

"It's too early days for you to work. You have only to get some dirt in one of those cracks and you'll have something worse than burns."

"Oh, I'm careful, doctor, and I don't do no dirty work, ashes or nothin'. Miss Martha Mary won't let me." She glanced smilingly at Martha.

Miss Martha Mary wouldn't let her indeed! Miss Martha Mary had only to say, "You're not to go into the kitchen, Peg," and the girl would have remained where she was in a clean atmosphere and having her due, a

well-earned rest. If Miss Martha Mary wanted help. what were her

other two sisters doing? He remembered the aunt. Yes, he supposed

somebody must keep an eye on her. He also supposed that Miss Martha

Mary had her work cut out all round, but God above! she annoyed him

when she stared at him as she was doing now, not uttering a word, and that superior look on her face. He doubted if her expression would

change if she were cleaning a midden.

He was still looking, at her when, still without saying a word, she

began turning the dough again. Giving it one last flop, she picked up the heavy brown earthenware dish, carried it to the fender, then

pulling a piece of sheeting from the brass rod that ran underneath the mantelpiece she placed it over the dish, dusted her hands one against the other, turned her sleeves down, then spoke.

"I wonder if you would be kind enough to have a look at Dilly's leg, doctor?"

"Dilly? Oh yes, Dilly."

So that was why she was doing the baking. Well, it would initiate her into what real work was. Up till now he supposed her idea of it had

been to give orders. God above! what was wrong with him? Why

couldn't he give her credit for what she was doing? Why was he so set against her in his mind? Well, hadn't he cause? If she had been

mistress of a manor or a mansion her attitude towards him couldn't have been more high-handed, now could it?

He noted as he followed her up the stairs that although her dress was full pleated at the back, and there was little doubt but that she had the usual four or five petticoats under it, her buttocks did not give a sway to the whole; she was likely as flat there as she was at the

front, and she didn't seem to do anything about it by way of

camouflage, as most young women of her age did.

They traversed the length of the landing, mounted a narrow flight of stairs, much steeper these, then entered the attic room where Dilly was sitting propped up in bed.

Whatever was wrong with Dilly hadn't affected her voice for she

immediately cried, 'now I told you, Miss Martha Mary, I didn't want the doctor; I'll be up out of this the morrow. "

"Hello, Dilly. Now, what's the trouble?"

' Tis nothin', doctor; me leg's swelled a bit. "

"They're both swollen."

Dilly now turned and looked up at Martha and she nodded at her as she said, "All right, they're both swelled, but they've both swelled afore, they've been swelled for years."

"Let me have a look."

He looked. He looked from the distorted legs, up the bloated body

covered with a thick unbleached calico nightdress, to the deeply lined face, and he thought sadly of the

number of women he had seen die thus. And Dilly wasn't far from her

end, and the old girl knew it; perhaps a week or two, perhaps a month or two.

He pulled the feather-filled coverlet up over her; then wagging his

finger at her, he said, "Miss Martha Mary' that was a mouthful of a name, and it didn't suit her, it was too homely, too friendly " Miss Martha Mary was quite right to make you stay in bed, but I think it

would be better all round' he now turned his gaze on Martha 'if she

could be brought down to the ground floor, the study again. " He didn't smile but his face seemed to relax as he made the last

statement.

"Could you manage that?"

"Yes, yes, I'll see to it."

"Now, no, Miss Martha Mary, this's been me room since I first entered this house a wee lass and it'll be me room, I hope, till the end."

"Now' he was bending over her' we having no non sense from you, Dilly.

Your mistress says you are to come downstairs and come downstairs you will, understand?"

Dilly returned his look for a moment, then jerked her head to the side, saying, "Lot of nonsense."

"Well, it's all how you look at it. You've got to remain in bed for a little while and so you want everybody run off their legs up these two flights of stairs attending to you. Is that what you want?"

"I want nobody runnin' off their legs attendin' me, doctor. They never have and ..."

"But now they will," he ended for her.

"And I want to hear no more from you. Do as you're told, do you hear?"

His face now did move into a smile and he doubled his fist and gently tapped her jaw with it, ending, "Or else."

He left the room, Martha following him, and they didn't speak until

they reached the hall. There, he turned to her and said, "I'm afraid she's in a bad way. She may last a few weeks, a few months at most."

Her round eyes were stretching wide, and when he watched the stricken look cover her face he said, with an unusual feeling of sympathy,

"She's old, she's had her day.

It's going to be very hard for you, she'll require nursing. " She was shaking her head now, and there was a break in her voice as she

replied, " That doesn't matter, but . but Dilly, she's . she's been so good to us, all of us, and more, more like a friend to me. "

When the tears rolled down her cheeks, she bowed her head, turned from him, saying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He was frankly amazed at her show of emotion. He gazed at her for a

full minute before, taking her arm, he turned her about and led her

into the drawing-room, and when she was seated he said, "What is there to be sorry about in showing grief for a friend?"

He was surprised at himself now for the sudden feeling of sympathy he was experiencing towards her and he looked at her closely and without animosity for the first time. She had a pair of fine eyes. Up till