The Fascinating Doctor, page 16
‘What did you take?’
‘Veganin. It is quite harmless, so the chemist tells me. How do you feel about it?’
‘Quite harmless,’ she agreed, but knew, of course, that it had not been Veganin. Did this man drug as well? For he could. She had suspected the butler’s version. Servants who have lived for a long time with the family harbour strange ideas about them, they become one of the family in an extraordinary way. Yet never quite this.
He said, ‘I always hate taking drugs of any kind, for they do interfere with my writing. One cannot take drugs and write books.’ He began to sip the sherry. Instinctively, she knew that this was not the drink that he would have chosen had he had the opportunity, but for some reason of his own took it, possibly to impress her. She was now on her guard. She should have been from the first moment that she had read the book which he had given to her. She should have realized that there is nothing quite as sound as the training which is given to the ordinary G.P. Nothing which has such backbone, and which should and does stand him or her in good stead.
‘Got a headache still?’ she asked.
‘I always have, just a bit,’ and he laughed. ‘My life is spent with headaches. I have given up all hope of a cure for them.’
‘You worry too much.’
He turned to her, and putting out a hand gripped her wrist. It was as though he were a drowning man clinging for aid. There was something about it which she did not understand, about which she was not sure.
He said, ‘Yes, of course. Writing takes it out of a chap, you would not understand how much, but it does.’
‘I would understand. You need a long holiday.’
‘I’m in the middle of a book.’
‘When will you finish it?’
‘Possibly another three months. It all takes time, and then something or other goes wrong. The part which you thought was going to be easy is not easy after all. I can’t tell. Then, there are other things.’
‘I believe that a good long holiday now would quicken up the output later on,’ and she said it with conviction. ‘I am sure it would help you, and then suddenly an idea shot through her and spurred her on, ‘Are you quite sure that this is the sort of book that you should write? I don’t know how much you have studied black magic, but to some extent, I imagine …’
He interrupted. ‘Quite a lot.’
‘Well, it must take it out of you.’
‘It interests me.’
‘It is a very dangerous interest that could run away with you. Didn’t you know?’
‘I knew all right.’ He poured himself out some more sherry. At this moment his face was far more vigorous than it had been when she had arrived. ‘I have to know things. I run this place, I keep a demanding publisher satisfied, and I am a good squire. It is a busy life.’
She heard someone coming, and quickly she said, ‘Do remember that if ever you are in doubt, or distressed, or have anything which is difficult, I am here to help you. I may look young and silly, but they don’t turn out doctors quite along those lines.’
He said, ‘Thank you,’ and the sound of his voice startled her. It was as if he had grown suddenly hoarse, as if he had aged many many years, and she was talking to a much older man. He would be about forty, she imagined, very little more, but somehow the man who spoke to her like that was twenty years older.
His aunt came into the room.
‘Am I late? How dreadful of me!’ she said. ‘At the last moment something went wrong in the kitchen and I had to attend to it.’
‘I’m sure you put it right!’
She laughed. ‘The truth is that my cook overestimates her powers. This is for ever happening, and it is never her fault, you understand. Then I have to go in and make the best of a bad job, and fix a soufflé.’
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ said Lesley. ‘I am so unused to soufflés that I don’t even know good from bad, and to have one at all will be a joy.’
They talked for a while, waiting for a fourth, she gathered, and half wondered who this would be. It was Dr. Bruce who arrived. When he came into the room, she got the impression that they did not really care for him. For some reason, she did not understand, they had asked him to make the fourth. What can it be? she thought. Curiously enough, whilst Dr. Bruce was talking to Jason’s aunt, Jason saw what Lesley felt.
‘We had to get another man,’ he said. ‘Bruce has been very kind to me, and is a good fellow. He will never set the Thames on fire, of course. The only person he is ever likely to set on fire is perhaps himself, but there you are. He won’t be pleased when he finds the soufflé a flop!’
She smiled. ‘Soufflés are not the sort of food which most of us eat,’ she said gently, ‘so don’t be surprised if he is only too glad to have one at all, and doesn’t bother.’
‘But you like them?’
‘I love them, but they were not the sort of food I had at home.’ She paused. Her own upbringing had been far apart from this man’s, something that he would never understand. ‘I was brought up very plainly, in a back street place, cold mutton and pickles, rice pudding, or the stolid sit-heavy-on-the-tum pudding.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ he said.
The conversation flagged a little. It was of the place. The summer garden party at the rectory, where last year they had taken a hundred pounds, and this year hoped for more, but did not think that they could get it. The old doctor and his cruise. What on earth would he find to do with himself? the men wondered.
It was trifle late when they went into the dining-room to eat.
It was the usual perfect meal, and beyond the window the view of that exquisite garden, with the green lawns, already a little faded, for there had been a fortnight of almost unbroken sunshine, and at this time of year the sun was hot.
The bowl of flowers in the centre of the table was perfect, the silver highly polished. Here in this peaceful room one seemed to be cut off from the rest of the world, cut off from wars and rumours of wars, and all that entanglement in which, in Lesley’s eyes, the whole world seemed to be wrapped.
‘It’s peaceful here,’ she said.
They were eating roast duck and new peas, than which there is no vegetable more exquisite. Lesley found the conversation going quiet, and for a moment looked up and out of the window. There was the long expanse of lawn, then the rose garden, a blur of pink and cream, vigorous dark red, and that glorious yellow that only roses can achieve. Then she saw something else. It was a police uniform. Somehow it was the last thing that she would have expected to find here, and she could not believe that she was not cheating herself. The policeman was in the far corner, and when she looked again she thought that she saw a second one.
Before she could stop herself she said to Jason, ‘What are those policemen doing in the rose garden?’
She must have caught him off his guard, for the blood drained from his face. In a single instant he seemed to be years older than before. He had aged on that moment. The eyes, usually bright, almost with an artificial gleam, faded.
‘Policemen?’ he said.
‘Surely they have no right to come into the garden like that? They are at the top of the lawn, two of them.’
He had recovered. He was a man who changed on the instant with startling speed. ‘Nonsense, I’ll get the butler to go out and ask what they are doing,’ and he pressed the bell which was just under the table leaf. When the man came Jason beckoned to him. ‘What are those police officers doing in the garden?’ he asked.
‘They came ten minutes back, sir. They have a warrant.’
‘A warrant? In my garden? What do they mean?’
‘That was what they said, sir.’ The old man was perspiring almost violently. Lesley knew that he was troubled, and there was nothing that she could do. ‘They showed me the warrant and I could not stop them, sir. I hardly liked to ask you when … when you had a party, sir.’
He said, ‘I’ll go and have a word with them.’
He rose, excusing himself. He said something about trespassing, and he would not have it. He would not be long, and he went through the french windows, across the terrace. Lesley saw him walking up the lawn. In that moment she had a sick sensation of horror within herself, and she looked across at Dr. Bruce. He was the older man, the one who would understand, and somehow she knew that he had further news about this than she had. There was a look of sympathy in his tender dark eyes.
‘Something to do with the garden fête, I bet,’ was what he said. ‘This is the time of year when the whole countryside gets in a muddle, with garden fêtes, flower shows, and such.’
Aunt Hetty was sure it was the rummage sale and fête. She hated it. It meant spending far more than she liked, for not only did she have to make a generous contribution, but she had to buy all sorts of things that she didn’t want; courtesy came into the question and forced her hand, and she got sick of it. The village expected the richer residents to pay for its mistakes, and supply the money that their rather shoddy entertainments did not make. She had lived in the village for most of her life, and in consequence had a great loyalty to it and everything which was part of it. But she had to admit that times did not get easier, and a tremendous portion of the village losses came on to their shoulders to bear.
‘It gets a bit much,’ she said, ‘and when one has for generations given generously, they take it as being the accepted thing that we should go on doing it. Nobody ever seems to realize that perhaps one has done one’s whack and now would like to hold back for a bit.’
‘And you would never do that!’
She smiled. She had the most charming eyes, and somehow or other she managed to convey the impression that at heart she still loved the village where she had spent most of her life.
They sat there talking together.
It was extremely pleasant in this most beautiful room, with the priceless ornaments, the lovely furniture, and the soft hangings, and beyond the window the view of the garden. And at this time of year any garden in the world looked adorable. The pergola was all pink and white with roses, and here and there a sweet-scented clematis climbed in a burst of ravishing blossom.
‘Nothing is as wonderful as a garden in June,’ Lesley said gently, ‘and do you know, I have never had this proved to me until now. Now I know.’
‘And it has to be a garden like ours, which generations before have planted.’ She paused, and then in a voice which seemed to be inspired, she said, ‘You see the tall yew hedge at the far end, with its glorious straight line? That was planted by my grandfather, and I believe his son laid those steps. One of the daughters of the house went in for sculpture, and she designed the angel standing at the side of the column. It may not be the most beautiful angel in the world, but we would not change it for anybody or anything. We love it.’
‘I envy you,’ Lesley said.
For a moment she thought of the generations standing behind this family, and what it must feel like.
‘And now we are as hard up as is everybody else in the country.’ The lady of the house smiled. ‘Only we have always done so much for the village and they go on expecting it. Maybe they have something there, for we feel we owe them much. At the same time we are rapidly approaching the hour when it has to stop.’
Lesley said, ‘But surely Jason’s books pay?’
‘Oh yes, they do. He is very good about them, and generous and kind too. But I hardly like to tell him that I want more.’
‘Won’t the hour come when he has to be told?’
‘How deliciously practical you are, and how much I admire it!’
‘Thank you,’ and the voice was sweet, very kind, but reserved.
All the time they could see Jason at the far end of the garden.
‘Isn’t he being rather a long time?’ his aunt asked.
‘It is possibly some worry about the car. Or something of that kind. I shouldn’t worry if I were you. He’ll be back soon.’
Now he and the two police officers were walking towards the house.
A moment later the butler came into the room and asked Lesley if she could come a moment.
‘Mr. Jason wanted a word with you, Doctor,’ he said.
He was white and shaky. She knew by the look on his face that something horrible had happened. She said, ‘What is it?’
Still loyal to the family for whom he would have given his life, he said, ‘They’ve got it wrong, Miss, ever so wrong.’
‘I’ll come and see if I can help.’
She went into the small room beside the front door. Once it had been part of the great hall, which had had to be curtailed for the work it demanded, and the difficulties which surrounded the exchequer through being over-housed. In the room Jason was standing. He was very still. His eyes seemed to have gone dead, his face had lost its colour. The two policemen were country folk, one knew this instinctively by the awkwardness of their mien, the way they looked, and what they did. The country policeman when inside a building always gives the impression of being somehow out of place, and not at ease.
She glanced from each to the others.
‘You wanted me?’ she said to Jason.
‘They have made a ridiculous mistake about something, and I have to go along to the station with them to put it right. No, it’s no good, it is not something that I can do here. I have to go with them. Tell my aunt that I shall be back later. Get on with your dinner, because I can’t help being called away.’
‘Is it about …?’
‘Absurdly it is about this poor girl who got herself murdered. They think that I can help them, and naturally if I can be the slightest possible help, I shall go along and do what I can.’
‘Of course.’ Instantly she knew that he was acting a part. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Explain to my aunt, and say I ought to be back by half past nine. It can’t take too long, because, anyway it is all quite absurd. Quite impossible. A bit out of this world. But if you would see things through here, I’d be grateful.’
She turned to the policemen. Surely they would convey some hint of what was happening? Yet even as she looked at them she thought of the books on black magic that Jason wrote so successfully, and of the fact that he had laughed about them, almost as if they were good fun. Surely it could not be that he was connected? And as the idea came forcefully through her, almost striking her, she knew that she was veering round to another phase of thought. A new vista. Had Jason tried to live one of the books which he wrote with almost a startling flow? Was he the man connected with the death of the poor girl whom she herself had examined?
Her face revealed nothing. Her training had been too good.
She said, ‘I’ll see that something is kept hot for you, and you may be back sooner than you think,’ and she smiled.
He said, ‘Yes, of course,’ but she knew that somehow the words lacked enthusiasm.
She went back to where the others were waiting, and she knew that the aunt was really concerned. She had eagerly glanced to see if Jason had come back with her, and instantly looked even more worried.
‘Why doesn’t Jason come back? He is holding up the dinner quite disgracefully. It will be spoilt.’ Aunt Hetty was now getting more than a little irritated.
‘There has been some confusion.’ Lesley spoke with complete calm, for whatever happened she must appear casual. ‘He is going back to the station with them, for they want to go into a thing or two.’
‘Jason is going to the station? But why? He’s done nothing, and whatever they want, it can’t be anything to do with him.’
‘I know, it is merely one of those silly things that happen in life. He asked me to tell you that he wanted us to get on with the dinner, and he would be back in time for coffee.’
‘But …?’
‘That was what he said,’ and she spoke quite sternly to the aunt.
She hesitated. ‘But he ought to come back now. It is most unfair to his guests. He ought to be back here with us.’
It was Dr. Bruce who spoke then, almost as if he thought little of it being more than an ordinary incident in the living of life. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much if I were you. I doubt if there is anything really wrong. I realize how country police can muddle things. It is just that they wanted his services at one of those awkward moments when you need them, also. He sent word by Lesley that he wanted you to carry on, and that is exactly what we must do.’
It was the first time that she had noticed him using her Christian name, and somehow in this hour when she was really anxious, she was glad to hear him say it. He was the friend in need, he was the older man, and she could trust him.
‘I always worry when that uniform comes round here,’ Aunt Hetty was definite. ‘One of our aunts turned childish, and used to drive into the town, and although of course she had no idea what she was doing, there she indulged in the occasional shoplifting. She brought back the most idiotic little things, tooth brushes, needle books, small things she had picked up in the shops. It was frustrating. She had no idea that she was doing it, but it was all distasteful, and very worrying for the family.’
‘But you lived through it,’ Lesley suggested.
‘Yes, I lived through it, but I have a strong dislike of the uniform, which surely you can understand? I can’t like it.’
‘Who could?’ and Alan Bruce laughed his merry laugh.
Aunt Hetty decided that whatever happened they would have to do what Jason had said. She rang the bell for the soufflé. Five minutes later the butler brought it in and they settled down to it.
‘He’ll come back in the middle of it,’ said his aunt, ‘and then have a job to catch up. I hope we shall not have eaten all the best of it before he gets here.’
‘It’ll be all right.’ Lesley was still quite calm, but inside her she was going stone cold. She looked across at Dr. Bruce, who gave no sign of any suspicions or doubt.
They had come to the end of the most awkward meal that she had ever eaten.
It had taken over an hour owing to the interruption, and then they adjourned to the library again. The butler had lit the corner light, and the one over the picture of Admiral Sir Jonathan Herne, a man with piercing eyes which saw right through one, and a stern mouth. By now, Jason’s aunt was getting really restive.
