The Fifth Day of Christmas

She shivered, and was glad when he put an arm around her shoulders.

‘My patient’s a diabetic—an unstabilised one. She had appendicectomy followed by peritonitis two weeks ago. She made a good recovery although she isn’t very co-operative and has had several slight comas. She wanted—insisted on coming home and it was arranged that she should travel from St Clare’s in London by ambulance. We had a job getting here, but on the whole she had a comfortable journey and her usual diet and insulin. Her TPR was normal last night. She’s loaded with sugar and acetone now and her temp’s a hundred and three.’

He got off the bed, taking her with him. ‘Well, you pop back to the patient and make soothing sounds while I put on some clothes and fetch my case—it’s locked in the car just outside the door.’ He gave her a gentle push. ‘Go along now, there’s a good girl.’

Mary was restless when Julia got back to her. She said as soon as she caught sight of her, ‘I’m going to die, and there isn’t a doctor.’

Julia gave her another drink of water and then went to build up the fire. ‘Yes, there is.’ She explained about his arrival during the night in a few brief words because Mary was too feverish to concentrate on anything. ‘He’ll be here in a moment,’ went on Julia soothingly, ‘he’ll take a look at you and then prescribe something which will have you feeling better in no time.’

She went and got the case history notes and the charts and diets she had prepared so carefully for the nurse who was to have taken over from her, laid them neatly on a table and then hastily plaited her hair. She had just finished doing that when the doctor knocked on the door and came in.

Not only had he donned his clothes, but a faultless professional manner with them, which somehow made the whole situation seem normal and not in the least worrying. He knew what he was about, for he dealt with his patient gently and with a calm air of assurance which convinced her that she was already getting better, and then went to bend over Julia’s papers, lying ready for them. When he had finished reading them he looked up and asked,

‘Is there a doctor’s letter?’

‘Yes,’ said Julia, ‘it’s in my room.’ She didn’t offer to fetch it. ‘I think I should see it—I’ll take full responsibility for opening it, Nurse. Would you fetch it?’

She did so without a word, not sure as to the ethics of the case, and stood quietly by while he read it. Which he did, refolding it into its envelope when he had finished and adding some writing of his own before handing it back to her.

‘Penicillin, I think, Nurse. Shall we give her a shot now and repeat it six-hourly? And the insulin—she’s been on Semilente, I see. We’d better increase it this morning and test every two hours until this evening. Now, diet…’

He went away when he had given Mary her penicillin and told her cheerfully that she would be out of bed in a couple of days, leaving Julia to reiterate all he had said before she went to dress. Once more in uniform and intent on perching her cap on her neatly arranged hair, she turned in surprise when there was a tap on her door.

‘Tea,’ said the stranger, ‘and if you’ll tell me where the ambulance men are I’ll wake them for you.’

Julia took the proffered cup. ‘How kind,’ she said with surprise, and felt suddenly downcast when he answered carelessly,

‘Oh, I’m handy about the house,’ for it made him sound as though he were married. She said hastily because she wanted to change the trend of her thoughts, ‘Is the weather better?’

He sat down on the end of the bed and started to drink the ambulance men’s tea. ‘No—the snow’s in drifts—the car’s almost covered and so is the ambulance. There’s no snow at present, but there’s more to come as far as I can see in this light. The fog has lifted, but the ground’s like glass.’

She sipped her tea. It looked as though they would be there for another day at least and she was surprised to find that she didn’t mind in the least. When he asked, ‘What’s your name?’ she answered without hesitation. ‘Pennyfeather, Julia Pennyfeather.’

‘Miss Pennyfeather—it is Miss?’

She nodded. ‘You’re drinking Willy’s and Bert’s teas,’ she pointed out.

‘I’m thirsty. Don’t you want to know my name?’

She nodded again.

‘Van den Werff—Ivo. Very nearly thirty years old and until now, a confirmed bachelor.’

She ignored her sudden delight. ‘Dutch?’ she hazarded. ‘Do you work in England—no, Scotland?’

‘I’ve been on a course at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh. I’m on my way back to Holland, but I intend to spend a day or so in London before I cross.’

Julia drank her tea, conscious of a sense of loss because presently he would be gone and she would never see him again. He got up off the bed and picked up the tray with the two empty cups and went off.

Julia went downstairs herself a few minutes later and found the old man sitting by the gas stove, drinking tea. She said good morning pleasantly and was told there was nothing good about it, so she busied herself getting her patient’s diet and went back upstairs with it. It was another ten minutes by the time she had given the insulin and arranged Mary more comfortably to have her tea and bread and butter, and when she got back to the kitchen the old man had gone. She set about laying the table and got out the frying pan once more; lucky that there were plenty of eggs and a quantity of bacon, she thought, peering into the old-fashioned, roomy larder. She was making the tea when the three men came in, Willy and Bert very apologetic at having slept through the night’s calamities. They looked well rested though, and volunteered cheerfully to do any chores she might choose to set them.

Bert looked at Julia an asked worriedly, ‘And what’s to be done about you, Nurse? We’ll ‘ave to go the minute we can—will you be able to come with us? You can’t stay here alone.’

‘She won’t be alone.’ The doctor’s quiet voice sounded quite certain about that. ‘I’ll stay until the patient’s own doctor can take over and the nurse can get here.’

‘That’s quite unnecessary,’ said Julia quickly, ‘I’m perfectly able to manage…’ she remembered how she had awakened him that morning and went faintly pink, and before she could finish what she was going to say, Bert observed with obvious relief, ‘Ah, well, if the doc’s going to be ‘ere, that’s OK, ain’t it, Willy? Can’t do better than that.’

‘Then that’s settled,’ said Dr van den Werff, ignoring the light of battle in Julia’s fine eyes. ‘In any case, we can do nothing today except get this mausoleum warm. If the snow holds off we might reconnoitre later on…in the meantime shall we share out the chores?’

Something which he did with a pleasant authority which neither Willy nor Bert disputed, and which Julia, even if she had wished to do so, was unable to argue against because she had to go back to her patient, leaving him to explain to the old retainer, who had appeared from nowhere to join them at breakfast, just why they were forced to remain at Drumlochie House for at least another day.

CHAPTER TWO

JULIA HAD PLENTY to do, for not only did she have to see Mary comfortably settled and work out her diet for the day; there were meals to cook for the five of them as well. Fortunately she was a good cook; at one o’clock she was able to call them into a solid meal of soup, followed by bacon omelettes with jacket potatoes done in the Aga, and a baked rice pudding to follow, and when she would have apologised for the plainness of the fare they looked at her with astonishment, declaring that it was one of the best meals they had eaten for a very long time.

It was after this warming meal that Julia found herself with the doctor while he went over Mary’s tests and wrote up the insulin. Mary had responded very well to the penicillin; her chest condition had already improved, although she was sorry enough for herself, but she was too listless to complain about her diet, and for once there seemed no danger of her going into another coma. Julia had given her another penicillin injection at noon and rather to her surprise, her patient had made very little fuss about it and had even laughed a little at the doctor’s jokes when he came to see her. Julia stood by him while he wrote up the insulin chart for the rest of the day and as he was putting his pen away, said,

‘I—we are very grateful to you, doctor. Mary’s better, isn’t she?’

‘Yes.’ He gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘Are you in a hurry to be gone?’

‘If you mean do I have a job to go to, no. I left St Clare’s three days ago—I came here with Mary to oblige her parents—they’re abroad, and Matron…’

‘You’re going on holiday?’ He put the question so gently that she answered him without hesitation.

‘No, I’m going home to my brother’s—his wife—that is, he thinks it would be nice if I stayed with them for a bit and…’ She stopped, for she really had no intention of telling him anything about herself. ‘Oh, well,’ she finished airily, ‘it’s all arranged,’ and if she had expected him to press for more of an answer than that she was disappointed, for all he said was, ‘We’ve dug out the car and ambulance. If it doesn’t snow any more today Bert and Willy might get away in the morning.’

Julia was examining what he had written with unnecessary interest.

‘Did you mean what you said?’ she asked, not looking at him, ‘I mean about staying? Don’t you have to get home?’

‘I can’t very well leave my patient, can I?’ he wanted to know with an air of reasonableness which she found infuriating. ‘I can’t deny it’s most inconvenient, but then we’re all being inconvenienced, aren’t we?’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘Would you like to go for a walk?’

Julia gave him a surprised look and then said sensibly, ‘Yes, but I can’t—I haven’t any boots and I can’t leave Mary.’

‘We’ll get the old retainer to fit you out, and Bert and Willy can mount guard over Mary for an hour. You’ve got to get some fresh air some time.’

She was given no more chance to protest but caught firmly by the arm and walked back to the kitchen, where Bert and Willy immediately agreed to look after their patient and the old man, winkled out of some cosy haunt of his own, produced rubber boots which more or less fitted and a great hooded cape which reached her ankles and had obviously been cut to fit someone of majestic proportions. The doctor fastened the hood under her chin with a large safety pin Bert obligingly produced, got into his own outdoor clothes and opened the back door.

They made their way through the snow and, presently, out of the gate at the back of the garden. It led on to moorland, which, in the right kind of weather, must have contained magnificent views. Now only the nearest of the foot-hills could be seen. The Cheviots, she knew, were close but shrouded in the still lingering mist into which the trees ahead of them marched, to disappear into its gloom. ‘Do we know where we’re going?’ Julia asked with interest.

‘Vaguely. We’re quite safe as long as it doesn’t snow, and I don’t think it will.’ He took her arm to help her along and at the touch of his hand she felt a little glow of warmth deep inside her.

‘It’s only three weeks to Christmas,’ she observed, trying to ignore the glow. She would be with her brother and his family and his friend James would come over for Christmas dinner. She frowned at the thought and the doctor said, ‘And you’re not looking forward to it.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Well, no, not very. I’ve spent my last few Christmases in hospital and it was rather fun…’

‘But that’s not the reason.’

He was far too perceptive. Julia stood still and looked around her. ‘How quiet it is,’ she almost whispered. She looked up at the lowering sky too and her hood fell back. The doctor undid the safety pin and pulled it back over her black hair, then fastened the pin again and before she could turn her head away, bent down and kissed her.

‘Only a seasonal greeting,’ he explained gravely, and Julia striving to behave as she felt a sophisticated young woman should, said a little breathlessly, ‘Yes—well, should we be going back?’

He took no notice of this remark but tucked her hand in his and continued walking through the snow, while she, hampered by the boots which were a little on the large side, plodded beside him.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ he invited, and for a moment she was tempted to do just that—to tell him how she disliked the idea of going back to Stoke-cum-Muchelney, because she was afraid that she would never get away again, only if she married James. She looked sideways at the man beside her, comparing him with James, who came off very second best. James was already getting thin on top, while her companion had plenty of hair on his handsome head, of a pleasing fairness and elegantly cut; James hadn’t a square chin and his mouth was small and a little thick in the lip. The doctor had a firm, well-shaped mouth and his voice was pleasant too, deep and unhurried, and he didn’t say H’m each time he spoke. The thought that Doctor van den Werff would make the splendid husband of her vague dreams crossed her mind, to be dismissed immediately. He was a complete stranger—well, almost complete; she knew nothing about him, and, she told herself firmly, she didn’t intend to. In a couple of days’ time, when the nurse arrived and he could contact the doctor, he would go, and so would she, both to their respective worlds.

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she replied with a cool politeness which wasn’t lost on him, for he said instantly, ‘Ah, yes—not my business, eh?’

He let go of her arm and stopped to scoop some snow into his gloved hand, looking at her and laughing as he did so, and she, guessing that the snowball was meant for her, made haste to dodge it, a difficult task with the boots hampering her every step. It would have been silly not to have defended herself, which she did with some success, for he was a large target and although quick on his feet, not quick enough. She tossed the snow at him with all the pleasure of a small child, laughing and shouting and momentarily forgetful of her prosaic future. Presently, still laughing and panting from their exercise, they turned back to the house.

The rest of the day seemed a little dull after that. Julia, her hair tidied once more and crowned with its nurse’s cap, returned to her patient, her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes belying the extreme neatness of her person, a fact which Bert and Willy duly remarked upon when she saw them. They had been discussing her, she sensed, as she entered the room, and they made no attempt to hide the fact from her, for Bert said at once,

‘We were wondering, Willy and me, if we ought ter go—it don’t seem right, leaving you alone. Yer don’t mind staying—just with the doc, I mean?’

Julia smiled very nicely at him. ‘No,’ she said gently, ‘I don’t mind, Bert. In fact I shall feel quite safe.’

“E seems a nice sort of fellow,’ said Willy, ‘even though ‘e is a foreigner.’ He got up and went to the door. ‘If yer’re quite happy about it, Nurse?’

She answered him seriously. ‘If I weren’t, Willy, I should have asked you both to stay. What time do you expect to leave in the morning?’ She frowned. ‘I must write to Sister…’

‘Eight o’clock or thereabouts. We’ll go back the way we came, though the Carlisle road isn’t all that far, but it wouldn’t be easy to reach. The doc says he’ll come a bit of the way with us, just in case we get stuck. We’re going to ring Miss Mary’s doctor for him too, so’s ‘e can come over just as soon as the road’s clear. Doc’s written it all down for us. I’m to tell ‘im you’re ‘ere as well.’

Julia said uncertainly, ‘Oh, are you? I never thought of that.’ Nor had she. It seemed Doctor van den Werff had taken the welfare of his fellows very much to heart; she felt pretty certain that when the time came, he would arrange for her departure, buy her ticket and see that she had enough money for necessities on the journey back. Which reminded her, she had a little money with her, but not nearly enough to take her back to London. She would have to borrow, and from the doctor, for it was unthinkable to ask her patient for it and the old retainer was equally impossible. The family doctor might be of help, but she disliked asking for a loan from a stranger. That Doctor van den Werff was a stranger too had for the moment escaped her.

Mary woke up and Julia, who had been standing idly by the window, went to draw up the penicillin before getting her patient’s tea and then, when the doctor obligingly said the he would sit with Mary, went down to the vast kitchen to get supper for the rest of them.

She was up early the next morning making sandwiches for the two ambulance men and filling the thermos and then cooking as generous a breakfast as she dared for them. The food was getting a bit low by now, although she would be able to go on making bread for some time, and there were plenty of potatoes, but there was Mary to think of, for as soon as she had recovered from her broncho-pneumonia she would want to eat again. Julia had set aside as much as possible for her, which meant that she and the doctor and Hamish would have to make do with a restricted though ample enough diet.

The morning was a mere glimmer at the end of the long night when she went to the door to see the men off. They wrung her hand, took the letter she had written and trudged through the frozen snow towards the stable. The doctor followed them. He had hardly spoken during breakfast, but now he paused at the door. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but don’t worry if I don’t turn up until later in the day—we might get held up with the drifts and have to dig ourselves out. If I can get as far as the main road I’ll try and find out what’s happening about the telephone, or get a message into Hawick. The men will telephone there from Newcastle anyway, but I don’t think we should leave any stones unturned, do you?’

Julia asked, ‘Will you be able to telephone your family in Holland? Won’t they be worrying?’ and went faintly pink when he said coolly, ‘Time enough for that, Miss Pennyfeather—we have to get you settled first, don’t we?’

He grinned suddenly, turned on his heel and set out into the icy morning.

The house was very quiet when they had gone. She had listened to them starting up the ambulance and then the car and, minutes later, their horns blaring a goodbye to her as the noise of the engines became fainter and fainter and then ceased altogether, leaving her lonely.

But there wasn’t much time for loneliness; there was Mary to see to and the rooms to tidy and the food cupboard to be frowned over once more. Hamish had brought in some more eggs, but everything else was getting on the low side, though there was plenty if someone arrived that evening and brought food with them, but Julia had looked out of the window as soon as it was light and had been disquieted by the grey sky with its ominous yellow tinges streaking the horizon, and the wind was getting up again as well. She went back to Mary’s room and built up a magnificent fire as though by so doing she could ward off the bad weather she guessed was coming.

The wind began to whine in real earnest about three o’clock and the first snowflakes whirled down, slowly and daintily at first and then in real earnest. It didn’t look as though the nurse would arrive that day, nor the cook and the maid, nor, for that matter, thought Julia gloomily, Doctor van den Werff. He was probably stuck in some drift miles from anywhere; she was thankful that she had made him take some sandwiches and a thermos too.

She took Mary’s tea up presently, to find her awake and more cheerful, and she was still with her when she heard the car return. It was dark outside and the fast falling snow almost obliterated its headlights as it went past the house in the direction of the stables. Julia left Mary to finish her tea and went downstairs, her cape held close against the draughts, and reached the kitchen as the doctor came in from outside, bringing a rush of cold air in with him.

Julia went to the stove and opened one of the plates so that the singing kettle could boil. ‘I thought you’d never get here,’ she said, trying to make her voice light.

The doctor took off his coat and shook a quantity of snow from it on to the floor, then hung it on the back of a chair where it began to steam. Only then did he speak, and the extreme placidity of his voice annoyed her.

‘My dear Miss Pennyfeather,’ he remarked, ‘I told you that I should come,’ which calm and brief speech caused her to burst out, ‘Well, I know you did, but sitting here waiting for you isn’t the same…’

‘Waiting for me, were you? I’m flattered—at least I should have been in any other circumstances. Unfortunately the telephone wires are still down—I wasted a great deal of time. Still, the snow ploughs have been out on the main road.’ He sat down at the table and she realised that this meagre information was all she was going to get about his day. She poured him some tea from the pot she had just made and offered him bread and jam.

‘Is the weather very bad?’ she wanted to know.

‘Quite nasty, but I don’t fancy it’s going to last. Has everything been all right here?’ He glanced at Hamish, who nodded before Julia could answer. ‘Aye, the fires are lit, and there’s plenty of wood. I’ll kill a chicken tomorrow.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Good idea—otherwise I’ll have to go out with a gun.’

‘What,’ said Julia indignantly, ‘and shoot any small creature, half-starved and frozen?’

He didn’t laugh at her. ‘I shouldn’t enjoy it,’ he said gently, ‘but we have to eat. But don’t worry, if Hamish here lets us have a chicken we’ll do very well for a couple of days—Mary can have it too.’

Julia agreed, wondering the while what Mary’s mother would say when she arrived home and found no food in the cupboards and several beds in use. But of course they would all be gone by then and she herself would never know, she would be in Somerset and this strange adventure would be a dream—so would the doctor. She sighed and got up to refill the teapot.

She had tucked Mary up for the night and had gone to her room to sit by the fire before beginning the chilly business of undressing when there was a knock on the door and the doctor came in.

‘Mary?’ asked Julia as she started to her feet.

‘No—she’s asleep, I’ve just been to look. I want to talk to you and your room is warmer than mine—do you mind if I come in?’

Julia felt surprise, pleasure and finally a faint excitement which she firmly suppressed. She sat down again. ‘There’s a chair in that corner, it’s larger than the others,’ she said sensibly.

His lips twitched, but he went obediently and fetched it, sat down opposite her and began without preamble.

‘The reason I was going to London before returning to Holland was in order that I might engage a nurse to take back with me. There is a young lady staying with my family—an English girl who contracted polio just before I came over to Edinburgh. She went to hospital, of course, but now she is back with us, but I hear that she is very bored with only my sister to talk to, for she doesn’t care to learn Dutch. She’s convalescent and has made a splendid recovery which I feel could be hastened even more by having someone with her to whom she could talk freely.’

He paused and looked across at Julia, his eyebrows lifted in an unspoken question.

‘Me?’ asked Julia, and felt a pleasant tingle of excitement.

‘Yes—it would save me hunting around in London, and I think that you may suit admirably. You are very much of an age and capable with it. If you could see your way to coming for a few weeks? I know it is sudden, but I fancy you wouldn’t mind overmuch if you didn’t go to your brother’s. Am I right?’

‘Yes—I don’t want to go in the least,’ she said bluntly, ‘but I really should.’

‘Forgive me, but is your brother not able to afford a nurse for his wife, or help of some sort?’

She flushed. ‘Yes, of course he can, only I expect he feels it’s a waste of money to pay someone when there’s me.’

‘So you would have no feeling of—er—guilt if you were not to go?’