An Ordinary Girl

‘You poor boy,’ said Mrs Selby. ‘You shall have a hot meal and go straight to bed.’

Professor Forsyth said quietly, ‘After a good rub down and dry clothes. You said that there will be no chance of a hot bath? He does need to get warm …’

The vicar spoke. ‘If everyone here will agree, we will use the hot water for a bath for this lad. There will still be just enough for a wash for the rest of us.’

There was a murmur of agreement and he led the young man away.

‘But I wanted a bath,’ said Sybil furiously.

‘But you’re warm and dry and unlikely to get pneumonia,’ said James, in what she considered to be an unfeeling voice.

The electricity went out then.

He told everyone to stay where they were, flicked on the lighter he had produced from a pocket and asked Mrs Selby where she kept the candles.

‘In the cupboard by the sink,’ said Philly. ‘I’ll get them.’

There were oil lamps, too, in the boot room beyond the kitchen. He fetched them, lighted them, and carried one upstairs to the vicar and his charge. The people in the kitchen were surprised to hear bellows of laughter coming from the bathroom.

Philly had filled a hot water bottle, and when the Professor reappeared thrust it at him. ‘He’ll have to sleep in your bed,’ she told him, and when he nodded she went on, ‘I’ll bring blankets down here and when everyone has gone to bed you can have the sofa. You won’t mind?’

‘Not in the least. Shall I take some food up? Clive—his name’s Clive Parsons—is ready for bed.’

‘Mother has warmed some soup. Katie can bring it up—she’s the youngest. She’s been doing her homework; she’s very clever and nothing disturbs her until it’s finished. But she should be here in a minute.’

‘Homework in the dark?’ he asked.

‘She’ll be reciting Latin verbs or something. I told you she was clever.’

The professor, beginning to enjoy himself enormously, laughed, received the hot water bottle and, presently back in the kitchen, devoted himself to improving Sybil’s temper.

This was no easy task, for she had taken refuge in a cold silence, which was rather wasted as everyone else was busy relating their experiences in the snow and speculating as to what it would be like in the morning.

Presently the vicar came to join them. Katie had taken a bowl of soup with a dumpling in it up to Clive and had left him to enjoy it while they all gathered round the table.

The beef, stretched to its limits, was eked out by great mounds of mashed potatoes and more dumplings and was pronounced the best meal eaten for years. There was more tea then, and everyone helped to clear the table and wash up. Sybil’s wistful excuses that she would like to help but she had to take care of her hands went unheeded. The professor, in his shirtsleeves, washed the dishes while Mr Downe dried them and Mrs Downe and Mrs Selby found more candles and candlesticks.

Philly had her head in the kitchen cupboard and the girls were laying the table for breakfast.

‘Porridge?’ queried Philly to the room at large. ‘For breakfast,’ she added.

There was a general murmur of agreement but Sybil said, ‘I thought porridge was what poor people in Scotland ate. I’ve never eaten it.’

The doctor said briskly, ‘Well, now will be your chance. It’s the best breakfast one can have on a cold winter’s morning.’

She glared at him. ‘If no one minds, I’ll go to bed.’

Philly gave her a hot water bottle and a candle. ‘I hope you feel better in the morning,’ she said kindly. ‘Remember about the hot water, won’t you?’

The doctor abandoned the sink for a moment and went to the door with Sybil.

He gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning,’ he told her bracingly. ‘We are very lucky to have found such generous kindness.’

He smiled down kindly into her cross face, aware that the feeling he had for her at that moment wasn’t love but pity.

Sybil shook off his hand and turned to Katie, waiting to show her the way, and followed her without a word.

There had been a cheerful chorus of ‘goodnight,’ as she went, now followed by an awkward silence. The professor went back to the sink. ‘Sybil has found everything rather upsetting,’ he observed. ‘She will be fine after a good night’s sleep.’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Philly. ‘Clive’s in your bed. I’ll get some blankets and a pillow for the big sofa in the sitting room. You’re too big for it, but if you curl up you should manage.’

Everyone went thankfully to bed, leaving the professor, with one of the reverend’s woolly sweaters over his shirt, to make himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa. As he was six foot four inches in his socks, and largely built, this wasn’t easy, but he was tired; he rolled himself in the blankets and slept at once.

He opened his eyes the next morning to see Philly, wrapped in an unbecoming dressing gown, proffering tea in a mug.

Her good morning was brisk. ‘You can use the bathroom at the end of the passage facing the stairs; Father’s left a razor for you. The water isn’t very hot yet, so I’ve put a jug of boiling water on the kitchen table for you.’

He took the mug, wished her good morning, and observed, ‘You’re up early.’

‘Not just me. Rose has gone to wake the Downes, but we thought we’d better leave Clive until you’ve seen him—in case he’s not well.’

‘Very well. Give me ten minutes.’

In a minute or two he made his way through the quiet cold house. Someone had drawn the curtains back and the white world outside was revealed. At least it had stopped snowing …

He found the bathroom, shaved with the vicar’s cut-throat razor, washed in tepid water, donned the sweater again and went to take a look at Clive.

He had recovered, except for the beginnings of a nasty head cold, and professed himself anxious to go to breakfast.

‘No reason why you shouldn’t. If you’re still anxious to get to London as soon as the road’s clear I’ll give you a lift. We can tie your bike on the roof.’

With the prospect of the weather clearing, breakfast was a cheerful meal. The porridge was eaten with enthusiasm—although Sybil nibbled toast, declaring that she hadn’t slept a wink and had no appetite. But her complaining voice was lost in the hubbub of conversation, heard only by the doctor sitting next to her.

‘If the snowplough gets through we will be able to leave later today,’ he told her, and then, hearing Philly saying in a worried voice that the hens would be snowed in, he volunteered to shovel a path to their shed.

So, in the vicar’s wellies and with an old leather waistcoat over the sweater, he swung the shovel for a couple of hours. When he had cleared a path Philly came, completely extinguished in a cape, carrying food and water to collect the eggs. ‘Enough for lunch,’ she told him triumphantly.

The worst was over; the sun pushed its way through the clouds, the snowplough trundled through the village and they lunched off bacon and egg pie with a thick potato crust to conceal the fact that six eggs had been made to look like twelve.

The Downes were the first to go, driving away carefully, hopeful of reaching Basingstoke before dark. Half an hour later the doctor left, with a transformed Sybil, wrapped in her coat and skilfully made up, bestowing her gratitude on everyone.

The doctor shook hands all round and held Philly’s hand for perhaps a moment longer than he should have, then ushered Sybil into the car, followed by Clive. They had roped the bike onto the roof and Clive, despite his cold, was full of gratitude to everyone. Well, not Sybil. He had taken her measure the moment he had set eyes on her, and why a decent gent like the doctor could be bothered with her he had no idea. He blew his nose loudly and watched her shudder.

The Bentley held the road nicely, but travelling at a safe speed they wouldn’t reach London before dark. The doctor settled behind the wheel and wished that they had been forced to spend a second night at the vicarage, although he wasn’t sure why.

CHAPTER TWO

SYBIL forgot her sulks as they neared London, and she ignored Clive’s cheerful loud voice, too. She said softly, ‘I’m sorry, darling. I did behave badly, didn’t I? But, really, I did feel ill, and it was all so noisy. No one had any time for poor little me—not even you …’

She gave him a sidelong glance and saw with disquiet that he wasn’t smiling. He was going to be tiresome; she had discovered that he could be. He assumed a remoteness at times which was a bit worrying. She was used to being admired and spoiled and she was uneasily aware that he did neither. Which was her reason for captivating him and—eventually—marrying him. She didn’t love him, but then she didn’t love anyone but herself. She was ambitious, and he had money and enjoyed a growing reputation in his profession, and above all she wanted his unquestioning devotion.

The doctor didn’t take his eyes off the road. He said evenly, ‘Yes, you did behave badly.’

Clive thrust a friendly face between them. ‘Can’t blame you, really,’ he said. ‘Not like the rest of us are you? I bet you’ve never done a day’s work in your life. Comes hard, doesn’t it?’

He trumpeted into his handkerchief and Sybil shrank back into her seat.

‘Go away, go away!’ she screeched. ‘I’ll catch your cold.’

‘Sorry, I’m sure. Where I come from a cold’s all in a day’s work.’

‘Do something, James.’ She sounded desperate.

‘My dear, I don’t care to stop the car. What do you wish me to do?’

‘Get him out of the car, of course. If I catch a cold I’ll never forgive you.’

‘That’s a risk I shall have to take, Sybil, for I don’t intend to stop until we get to your place.’ He added gently, ‘You will feel better once you have had a night’s rest. Can you not look upon it as an adventure?’

She didn’t reply, and very soon he was threading his way through London streets to stop finally before the terrace of grand houses where Sybil’s parents lived.

He got out, warned Clive to stay where he was and went with her up the steps. He rang the bell and when a manservant opened the door bade her goodnight.

‘Don’t expect to be asked in,’ said Sybil spitefully.

‘Well, no,’ said the Professor cheerfully. ‘In any case I must get Clive to his friends.’

‘I shall expect you to phone tonight,’ said Sybil, and swept past him.

Back in the car, the Professor invited Clive to sit beside him. ‘For I’m not quite sure where you want to go.’

‘Drop me off at a bus stop,’ said Clive, ‘so’s you can get off home.’

‘No question of that. Which end of Hackney do you want? The Bethnal Green end or the Marshes?’

‘Cor, you know your London. Bethnal Green end—Meadow Road. End house on the left.’ He added gruffly, ‘Me and my girl, we’ve got engaged, see? We’re having a bit of a party …’

The doctor drove across the city’s empty Sunday streets and stopped before the end house in a narrow road lined by small brick houses.

They got the bike down off the roof and Clive said, ‘You will come in for a mo? Not quite your style, but a cuppa might be welcome?’

The doctor agreed that it would and spent fifteen minutes or so drinking a strong, dark brown drink which he supposed was tea while he made the acquaintance of Clive’s girl and his family.

It was a pleasant end to a long day, he thought, driving himself home at last.

Home was a ground-floor flat behind the Embankment overlooking the Thames. The doctor parked the car, and before he could put his key in the house door it was opened by a short sturdy man with grizzled hair and a long, mournful face. Jolly—inaptly named, it had to be admitted—was the manservant whom the doctor had inherited with the flat, along with a charming stone cottage in Berkshire and a croft in the Western Highlands.

With the respectful familiarity of an old servant Jolly greeted the doctor with some severity. ‘Got caught in all that snow, did you? Car’s not damaged?’

‘No, no, Jolly, and nor am I. I’m hungry.’

‘I guessed you would be. It’ll be on the table in fifteen minutes.’ He took the doctor’s coat and case from him. ‘Found shelter, did you?’

‘Indeed we did. At a place called Nether Ditchling—at the vicarage. Charming people. There were others caught in the snow as well—a houseful.’ He clapped Jolly on the shoulder. ‘I enjoyed every minute of it.’

‘Not quite Miss West’s cup of tea. She’s not one for the country.’

‘I’m afraid she disliked it, although we were treated with the greatest kindness.’

He picked up his letters and messages from the tray on the console table. ‘Did you ring the cottage?’

‘Yes. Plenty of snow, Mrs Willett says, but she’s snug enough—hopes you’ll be down to see her soon, says George misses you.’

The Professor was going down the hall to this study. ‘I’ll try and go next weekend. George could do with a good walk and so could I.’

Presently he ate the splendid meal Jolly had ready, then went back to his study to consider his week’s work ahead. He had fully intended to phone Sybil, but by the time he remembered to do so it was too late. He would find time in the morning.

It was gone midnight before he went to his bed and he didn’t sleep at once. He had enjoyed his weekend and he had enjoyed meeting Philomena. He smiled at the memory of her small figure bundled in that old hooded cape—and there had been a feeling when they had met—as though they had known each other for a long time …

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