Young Mrs. Savage, page 25
“There now!” exclaimed Miss Douglas, bustling forward. “I was just saying to Aggie this very morning I wondered if you’d be coming—and here you are! It’s a pleasure to see you—and you looking so fresh and well. We’ll not say how many years it is since you and Dan were coming in with your pennies and rouking round the shop. Such nice wee things, you were! And now you’ve bairns of your own! Annie Anderson was here with them the other day—three of them and as nice as could be, and the wee boy the dead image of the doctor! I was sorry I’d no decent toys for them—nothing but rubbish and that’s the truth. Sometimes I’m fair ashamed of selling the things,” declared Miss Douglas looking round her shop in disgust.
“You seem to have quite a lot of nice toys,” objected Dinah, peering round in the gloom. “What about that little cart and horse?”
“It’s rubbish,” declared Miss Douglas. “It’s not worth the money—just glued together. If you left it out in a wee shower of rain it would fall to pieces, and where would you be then? As for yon doll,” she continued, as Dinah lifted a doll from the shelf, “I just wouldn’t sell it to you. It’s put together with a hot needle and a burnt thread. The wig is crooked, see that? You’d have thought they could have taken the trouble to put it on straight, wouldn’t you? And did you ever see such an ugly face as it’s got—enough to give a wee child the nightmare.”
“Have you anything that would be nice for a small child?” asked Dinah, hiding an involuntary smile.
“Not a thing.” replied Miss Douglas emphatically. “Everything I’ve got is shoddy and expensive. Dear knows why people buy them. But the fact is it’s the same with the people that come to Seatown now—shoddy and expensive is what they are—not like the old days. They may look right enough but they come to pieces in your hand.”
Dinah had intended to buy something from Miss Douglas but she saw it was going to be difficult if not impossible, so they had a chat instead. Miss Douglas reminded Dinah of the day she and Dan had come in to buy something for the doctor’s birthday and had chosen a glass ball with a little house inside. When you shook the ball it created a very realistic snowstorm which raged about the little house for minutes on end. Dinah remembered it distinctly, she and Dan had been fascinated with the toy and their father had liked it too, it had stood on his desk in the surgery for years and had amused some of his younger patients.
“I suppose you haven’t another?” Dinah inquired in the unhopeful accents which post-war austerity has engendered.
“Well now, I wonder,” said Miss Douglas thoughtfully. “I’ve got a sort of feeling I saw one of those wee balls. Just you wait a wee minute and I’ll see . . .”
Miss Douglas vanished behind the counter and after rummaging about for some time she reappeared in triumph with the ball in her hand. “There,” she said, as she dusted it carefully. “There it is and I’m real glad I haven’t sold it.”
Dinah was delighted. She inquired how much it was but Miss Douglas waved her away. “You’ll just take it, Mrs. Savage,” said Miss Douglas. “It’s a wee present to keep you in mind of old times.”
“But, Miss Douglas, really—”
“It’s pre-war and good,” declared Miss Douglas. “I’d not give you anything that wasn’t good. I’m real glad I had it to give you.”
Dinah emerged from the shop and stood for a moment blinking in the sunlight, but there was no time to lose—she had spent far too long havering with dear old Miss Douglas—so she crossed the street and diving into the fishmonger’s began to buy whitings and herrings in accordance with Nannie’s list. There was a young girl serving in the shop, but before they had got very far Mrs. Dunlop suddenly appeared (clad, as Dinah remembered her, in a butcher’s apron and a man’s tweed cap) and swept the girl aside.
“Weel noo, Miss Dinah—Mistress Savage I should say—it’s reel nice tae see ye. Is it ten years? Aye, I wouldna’ wonder. You’re luikin’ a wee bit the worrse o’ the wear but that’s tae be expeckit—we’re all gettin’ on. Maybe Seatown’ll set you up. Annie Anderson’s a reel nice cook, they say. Umphm, that’s fine. And you’ve three bairns? Four? That’s fine. Och, you’ll not be wantin’ those whitings, they’re yesterday’s. I’ll gie ye haddocks. Away an’ get the haddocks cleaned, Maggie. Eh, I mind yer feyther weel—a man fine, he was! It was crab he liked. I mind him sayin’ ‘I tell ma patients no tae eat crab but I dinna tak’ ma ain advice, Mistress Dunlop.’ He was aye ready for a joke, was the doctor—an’ sae serious aboot it. Whiles it was difficult tae ken whether he was joking or no.”
It was ten minutes or more before Dinah could tear herself away—she had a crab in her basket in addition to the haddocks and the herrings—and time was marching on. She drew a deep breath and made for the grocer’s.
Mr. Dobbie’s business had expanded considerably and he had moved with the times. His was a large shop with plate-glass windows; it was full of people wrestling with ration books; there was an air of bustle here. Mr. Dobbie espied Dinah from afar and bore down upon her with a beaming smile, he looked much the same as ever—a little balder, a little stouter, a little less active on his feet. Dinah shook hands with him cordially.
“So you’re back!” he exclaimed. “Everybody comes back to Seatown sooner or later . . . but it’s changed days, Mrs. Savage.”
“You’ve enlarged your shop, Mr. Dobbie.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could get the stuff to fill it,” said Mr. Dobbie sadly.
Dinah thought the shop looked well-stocked compared with the grocer’s at Nettleham. “I suppose you haven’t any bull’s eyes?” she inquired.
“Not the old sort of bull’s eyes,” said Mr. Dobbie shaking his head. “Not the lovely, big, striped bull’s eyes that you and Mr. Dan used to come and buy. They’re not made nowadays—or if they’re made they don’t come my way. Maybe they’re exported. We’ve a few little peppermint balls if they’re any use.”
“Calves eyes, perhaps,” suggested Dinah as she handed over her card of personal points.
Having completed this purchase and given in Nannie’s order and accepted with due gratitude Mr. Dobbie’s offer of slab cake, chocolate biscuits and various other delicacies which were in short supply, Dinah was conducted upstairs and saw Mrs. Dobbie who was engaged in making a batch of jam tarts. She talked to Mrs. Dobbie for some time and admired the photographs of the three young Dobbies and learned their histories. The eldest had gone to America. He had been offered a job by a young American officer who had been billeted on the Dobbies during the war, and seemed to have settled down happily in his new surroundings.
Dinah’s visit to old Mrs. Weir at the fruiter’s was entirely different. Mrs. Weir did not remember Dinah and it took a little explaining.
“Eh, you’re the doctor’s lassie!” cried old Mrs. Weir, when at last it dawned. “Noo, why did ye no say so at the start? My, you’ve grown! It was only last year you came in here wi’ pigtails doon yer back.”
“I’m afraid it wasn’t last year,” said Dinah.
“Och, weel, it wasna’ verra lang syne. I’m getting auld an’ ma memory’s no what it was. I’m eighty-siven, ye ken.”
“Not really!”
“Aye, it’s the truth . . . and I’m fine except for my legs. Ma legs is a wee bit stiff, ye ken. Yon new doctor’s nae guid at a’. He’s no like Doctor Bell. He canna gie me onything tae cure ma legs. If Doctor Bell was here he’d gie me a bottle and I’d be fine in a few weeks. Na, na, he’s nae guid at a’, the new doctor. There’s naebody like Doctor Bell. ‘Here’s a bottle,’ he’d say. ‘Ye can drink it or pour it doon the sink, it’ll dae ye a’ the guid in the wurrld eether way.’”
Dinah laughed but Mrs. Weir remained as grave as a judge. “Aye, he was daft,” she declared. “But his daftness did ye guid. Just tae see the doctor did ye guid. Gin ye were feeling a wee bit blue he was as guid as a bottle, himsel’.”
They chatted for a few minutes about the old days which were much clearer to old Mrs. Weir than the events of yesterday. She gave Dinah a peach and insisted that Dinah should eat it then and there.
“It’s local,” she said, watching Dinah and enjoying Dinah’s enjoyment. “There’s nae peaches sae guid as the peaches frae Whittington Hoose that’s grown on the sooth wa’. I’ll ha’e no truck wi’ foreign peaches—”
There was just young Small to do now—and Miss Macready at the sweetie-shop. Dinah dealt with them faithfully and they with her. She smiled and talked and listened; she answered questions about her children; she sympathised with their difficulties and joined with them in hoping for better times ahead. At last she was “through” (as Nannie would have put it) and feeling more than a little jaded with her morning’s work she sought out a small cafe and sat down to rest.
Shopping was quite different here, thought Dinah, as she ordered a cup of coffee and a buttered scone. It was less of a business and more of a social occasion . . . and it wasn’t only because she was Dr. Bell’s daughter and they all remembered him, it was the people themselves. The people here had time to talk, they loved talking, and how interesting they were! Each one of them was an individual, a real personality with a peculiar and quite unmistakable flavour (like spices, thought Dinah, as she sipped her coffee and thought about her Seatown friends, like peppermint and almond and nutmeg, like clove and ginger and cinnamon) tickling up the palate with their pungency.
33
It was peaceful in the café for the morning rush was over. Dinah needed peace. Her head was buzzing with talk (she had enjoyed it immensely but it had been a strain) so she was not pleased when she saw Edith Grover open the door of the café and walk in. She was even less pleased when she saw Edith Grover coming towards her between the little tables.
Miss Grover greeted her casually and sat down beside her. It was quite unnecessary because the café was empty. Miss Grover had the choice of half a dozen tables so why choose this one?
“I wanted to speak to you,” said Miss Grover, answering her thought.
Dinah did not want to speak to Miss Grover. She did not want to speak to any one and Miss Grover least of all.
“I’ve been chasing you about all morning,” Miss Grover complained.
Dinah said nothing. She had nothing polite to say. She had disliked Miss Grover from the beginning and further acquaintance with the lady had served to augment her dislike.
“I’ve left my purse at home so you’ll have to pay for my coffee,” remarked Miss Grover.
The request was quite a natural one but the manner in which it was made annoyed Dinah considerably. “Certainly,” said Dinah without cordiality. “Would you like a scone as well?”
Miss Grover accepted the offer. “I wanted to speak to you,” she repeated. “That’s why I’ve been chasing you about. It’s wasted my whole morning.”
“What a pity,” commented Dinah.
There was a short silence. Miss Grover was looking out of the window so Dinah could study her unobserved. She looked better to-day, Dinah decided. She looked younger. She was in grey tweeds to-day with a crimson beret set jauntily on her dark hair, and the colour in her cheeks was becoming. If it had not been for the supercilious expression, which seemed habitual, one would have said she was a handsome girl.
“I had to see you to-day,” said Miss Grover, turning her head and looking at Dinah. “We’re going to Edinburgh on Monday. Abbot’s End is to be shut.”
“Is Malcolm going too? I thought—”
“Of course. He couldn’t possibly stay here alone. It will be very much easier for him in Edinburgh; the long drive every day is far too tiring.”
So they had persuaded him to go, thought Dinah. He hadn’t been able to cut himself free after all!
“He was a little reluctant at first,” continued Miss Grover. “He’s very much attached to Abbot’s End, but when he saw that we were really going he began to consider it, and of course he saw the advantages of the plan—not only the advantages for my aunt but also for himself and me. We shall all be much happier and more comfortable in the Edinburgh flat. Theatres, concerts, friends.” said Miss Grover, ticking off the advantages on her fingers. “And doctors, of course.”
“Is Malcolm ill?” asked Dinah in sudden anxiety.
“Dear me, no. Why should he be ill? Oh, I suppose you thought that was the reason he didn’t turn up last night?”
Dinah said nothing.
“It wasn’t that at all,” added Miss Grover after a little pause.
“I’m glad of that,” said Dinah.
“Awful coffee, isn’t it?” Miss Grover remarked. “These people have no idea how to make coffee and the scone is stale. We should have had tea and biscuits.”
“If one could have been sure that the tea was made with boiling water and the biscuits fresh,” nodded Dinah.
Miss Grover looked at her with suspicion, but Dinah remained perfectly grave.
“About Malcolm,” said Miss Grover. “It’s always better to be frank and above board, isn’t it? I just wondered if Malcolm had told you we’re engaged.”
Dinah said nothing.
“No,” said Miss Grover in a low voice. “I thought perhaps he hadn’t told you. The reason is that just lately we’ve had a little—a little misunderstanding, you see; but everything is all right again now. I thought it better to tell you the whole thing.” She took off her gloves as she spoke and displayed a ring on her engagement finger; it was an opal set in platinum. “Malcolm wanted to give me diamonds,” she added, “but I love opals and they’re lucky for me because my birthday is in October.”
“It’s a beautiful stone,” said Dinah quietly.
“Yes,” agreed Miss Grover, looking at it with pleasure. “It has all the colours of the rainbow in it. Malcolm chose the stone and had it set for me, he took a lot of trouble over it. Of course we’ve been engaged for years—since the beginning of the war—but the wedding had to be put off when Malcolm was wounded. We’ve decided to put it off no longer and we’re going to be married in October—on my birthday.”
“How nice!” said Dinah.
“There isn’t anything to wait for, really. Malcolm’s leg still bothers him now and then but the doctors can’t do much about it.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Dinah in a low voice. “It’s terribly sad for him not to be able to do things like other men—and he’s so good about it.”
“Not always,” said Miss Grover quickly. “Sometimes he’s very difficult, but I understand him and can make allowances. I intend to dedicate my life to making him happy.”
It sounded a noble aim but somehow Dinah was not impressed. She felt she would hate any one to dedicate their life to making her happy—and especially Edith Grover.
“He’s very touchy,” continued Miss Grover confidentially. “You may not have noticed it of course but he takes offence very easily.”
Dinah had not noticed it.
“Oh yes,” continued Miss Grover after a short pause. “You said something that annoyed him. That’s the reason he let you down last night. I suggested he should ring you up and tell you he wasn’t going. I hope he did that?”
Dinah did not reply.
Miss Grover laughed. “Malcolm really is a most extraordinary creature!” she declared.
“I would rather not discuss Malcolm,” said Dinah finding her voice with difficulty.
“Just as you like,” nodded Miss Grover, as she pulled on her gloves. “I thought it was kinder to tell you about it, that’s all. It seemed a pity for you to waste your time pursuing Malcolm up hill and down dale.” She rose and departed without another word.
Dinah was speechless. For a few moments she remained sitting in her chair frozen with rage and dismay . . . at last she got up and taking her heavy basket she started to walk home. It was horrible, thought Dinah, hurrying along the street with only a vague idea of where she was going. It was awful. She shouldn’t have gone with Malcolm (Nannie had been right, why hadn’t she taken notice of Nannie’s disapproval?) she should have found some excuse, any excuse would have done. She had known all the time it was a silly thing to do—to go with Malcolm every time he asked her. (“Yes. thank you, Malcolm. Yes, Friday will suit me best.”) Why on earth had she been such a fool? She had made herself so cheap that at last Malcolm had got sick of her and failed to turn up at the appointed time . . . but no, thought Dinah. No, honestly, that wasn’t true. There was no need for him to ask her. and not only ask her but persuade her to name an evening—any evening that suited her! And another thing, thought Dinah as she hastened along. Why hadn’t Malcolm told her he was engaged? It would have been natural to tell her. He had talked so much about his private affairs and talked so openly that it almost looked as if he had deceived her on purpose . . . not that it mattered, thought Dinah, not that it mattered a pin one way or the other. If Malcolm was that sort of person he wasn’t much good as a friend. It was disappointing to find he was that sort of person, so of course she was disappointed . . . but it didn’t matter, really. How lucky it was that Dan was coming this afternoon! How lucky that you could always depend on Dan!
34
Last week Dan had been delighted with Dinah, and had congratulated himself on the success of this holiday, but today he was not so pleased with her. She looked tired and she showed signs of the feverish gaiety which he had noticed when he saw her at Nettleham.
