Waiting for Deborah

‘I’ll be back by half-past three,’ promised Deborah, and added, ‘thank you, Florrie.’

‘Meeting your boyfriend?’ asked Florrie.

‘With my plain face?’ Deborah spoke matter-of-factly. ‘I haven’t got one—never had, not had the time nor the chance.’

‘Well, I never, miss, and you’re not all that plain, if you’d do your hair different like for a start—it’s a lovely colour and I bet it curls a bit if only you’d give it a chance.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ promised Deborah. She took a last look at the old lady and hurried off to get on her outdoor things; she had wasted time talking to Florrie.

It was the end of March and the month was going out like a lamb, true to the old adage. It was pleasant walking along the narrow country road but she didn’t loiter; she wanted to be at least halfway to the village, well away from the house. If she remembered rightly there was a layby there; it would do nicely. All she had to do was to get him to stop.

She reached the spot and found it highly satisfactory for the road stretched on either side of it in a more or less straight line so that she would see him coming. It was merely a question of waiting.

She didn’t have to wait long. The grey Bentley came rushing towards her in dignified silence and she stepped into the middle of the road and held up an arm. The great car stopped smoothly and Sir James opened the door.

‘Do get in,’ he said pleasantly. ‘We can talk more easily.’

He waited while she got in and sat down and then leaned across her and closed the door.

‘Did you know I’d be here?’

‘I rather expected to see you …’

‘Why?’

‘You have an expressive face, Miss Everett.’ He turned to look at her. ‘What is worrying you?’

She studied his face before she replied; he wasn’t only a very handsome man, he looked—she sought for a word—safe; besides, he was a doctor and one could say things to doctors and they listened and never told anyone …

‘I haven’t much time and I don’t suppose you have either. I’ve only been here four days and I don’t know anything about old Mrs Vernon. I was told that she was on a fluid diet and that she just needed to be kept comfortable but she had been having endless milk and water and—and she wasn’t very clean. And somehow I couldn’t get Dr Benson alone to ask him. I’ve started giving her some orange juice and Bovril and weak tea and she likes that—I know because she winks once if she thinks something is all right and twice if something is wrong. I turn her in bed as often as possible but couldn’t I massage her arms and legs? You see, I’d like to help her to get better and not just lie there, but perhaps I shouldn’t be doing any of these things. So would you tell me what to do and could you ask Dr Benson to write out a diet for her?’ She heaved a gusty sigh. ‘I sound like a prig, don’t I? But I don’t mean to be.’

He smiled very kindly. ‘Not in the least like a prig, but why didn’t you ask Dr Benson all this? He’s a very kind man; it is hardly …’

‘Oh, dear—it’s something called medical ethics, isn’t it? Silly of me not to think of that, but thank you for listening and I’ll try to get him alone.’ She put a hand on the door and he leaned across and took it off again and put it back in her lap.

‘Not so fast. Leave it to me, will you? And in the meantime there is no reason why Mrs Vernon should not have variety in her fluid diet. No coffee, of course … you are familiar with the rudiments of nursing?’

‘I nursed my mother for a year before she died and then my stepfather for more than two years.’

His voice was casual. ‘You have no family?’

‘Not really—a stepbrother and a stepsister.’

He nodded. ‘There is no reason why Mrs Vernon should not improve considerably. By all means massage her legs and arms, and talk to her—you do already, do you not? Her hearing as far as I could judge is good.’

She heard the note of finality in his voice and put her hand on the door once more but before she could open it he had got out and come round the car to open it for her. She hadn’t expected that and, much to her annoyance, blushed.

Sir James’s firm mouth twitched but all he said was, ‘Now do exactly as Dr Benson says, won’t you? Goodbye, Miss Everett.’

She watched the car until it was out of sight before turning round and going back to the house. She was unlikely to see him again, she reflected, but she couldn’t forget him; it wasn’t just the magnificent size of him or his good looks—he had listened to her, something Walter hadn’t done for years. Nor, for the matter, had her stepfather.

‘A very nice man,’ said Deborah, talking to herself since there was no one else to talk to. ‘I should very much like to meet him again but of course I shan’t.’

Florrie was deep in her magazine when Deborah got home. ‘She’s been as good as gold,’ she told Deborah, ‘sleeping like a baby.’

But when she went over to the bed the old lady’s eyes were open. ‘Good, have you been awake for a long time?’

An eye winked. ‘Then we’ll have tea early, shall we? I’ll tell you about my walk …’

She described the primroses and violets she had found, the lambs she had seen in the fields bordering the road, the hedges and the catkins and a squirrel she had seen up a tree, but she didn’t say a word about Sir James.

It was several days before Dr Benson came again and this time he wished her good morning. ‘I have received a letter from Sir James,’ he told her. ‘I have already told Mrs Vernon of its contents but since you are looking after my patient it is necessary that I tell you too. He is of the opinion that the diet may be increased—broth, Bovril, weak tea, fruit juices—and he suggests that she might tolerate a nourishing milky food: Complan. You know of it?’

Deborah said that yes, she did, reflecting on the countless times she had prepared it for her stepfather.

‘He also agrees with me that gentle massage would be of great benefit. Five minutes or so each day on the limbs.’

Young Mrs Vernon spoke, ‘Of course none of this is going to cure her—but it might make her more comfortable, I suppose.’ She peered down at her aunt, who lay with her eyes shut. ‘She must be very weak by now.’ She added quickly, ‘Poor dear old thing.’ Then gave Dr Benson a sad smile.

‘You have done all—more than enough for her,’ he told her. ‘You are quite worn out—you need a few weeks’ rest.’ He glanced at Deborah. ‘I should suppose that this young lady—Deborah?—is capable of taking over your duties as well as her own for a short period?’

Deborah, assuming her most capable expression, pondered the fact that Dr Benson, who was probably a nice man, clever enough and kind to his patients, should have been taken in so completely by Mrs Vernon. Probably Sir James felt the same way; she was by no means beautiful but she was skilfully made up and wore beautiful clothes; besides, she had mastered the art of being charming …

Dr Benson rambled on. ‘You husband is still away? In London? What could be better? Allow yourself to relax, Mrs Vernon, enjoy yourself, go and join him, go out and about; you will return refreshed.’

Any woman, thought Deborah, listening to this, would be refreshed by a few theatres, dinners out and the kind of shopping Mrs Vernon would do. She wondered about Mr Vernon, apparently away on business. His wife spoke of him in capital letters so presumably he was her loving slave …

She caught the tail-end of what Mrs Vernon was saying. ‘To leave my dear aunt with servants … I should never forgive myself if anything should happen while I was away.’

‘My dear lady, your aunt may linger for some time; on the other hand she may die very shortly—she is very weak as you can see. Even with this diet which Sir James has suggested and massage … they are merely a means of bringing your aunt more comfort.’

‘You think so?’ Mrs Vernon sounded eager. ‘Then perhaps I will go away for a week or so. But supposing she should die while I am away …?’

‘My dear Mrs Vernon, no one is going to question your absolute devotion to your aunt and, in any case, she is unaware of anyone or anything.’

Deborah was standing where she could see her patient’s face. She winked at it and had an answering wink. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Dr Benson that his patient was listening to every word. She had her mouth open to utter when she received two winks and such a glare from the elderly eyes that she could only close her mouth again.

Dr Benson and Mrs Vernon went away presently and Deborah perched on the side of the bed so that the old lady could see her clearly.

‘Nothing could be better,’ she observed in her practical way. ‘We shall have a week or more … I’ll massage you and feed you up with chicken broth and beef tea and anything else that will go down. And don’t take any notice of what they say. I know you are going to get better.’ She added to clinch the matter, ‘Sir James told me so.’

Mrs Vernon didn’t go at once; she came every morning now to enquire as to her aunt’s condition and Deborah told her each time that her patient had had a quiet night and was taking her feeds. What she didn’t tell was that she had seen old Mrs Vernon’s toes twitch when she had been washing her in bed. It was exciting and she was bursting to tell someone, preferably Sir James, but that wouldn’t be possible; it would have to be Dr Benson and then only after she had made sure that she hadn’t fancied it or given way to wishful thinking.

Young Mrs Vernon went at last, driven away in a taxi loaded with enough luggage for a month although she had told Deborah that she would return in a week, or ten days at the latest. She had also told Deborah not to force her aunt to take her feeds. ‘We must allow the dear old thing to die peacefully,’ she told Deborah. ‘You are to let me know if you think that she is failing. Dr Benson will be away for a week or so, by the way, but really it is not necessary for the doctor to call. In an emergency you may telephone Dr Ferguson at Lechlade who understands the situation.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘You will be paid at the end of the month with the servants.’

A remark which Deborah found it unnecessary to reply to—just as well for rage at such rudeness was choking her.

For the first few days Mrs Vernon telephoned each evening. Then, since Deborah’s report was always the same, she decided to telephone less often. ‘Dr Benson will contact me immediately should I be needed,’ she said and Deborah forbore from reminding her that Dr Benson was away …