Only by Chance

‘S’ right. In a bit of an ‘urry, but took a look at ’er. Told ‘er ter take them pills regular and come and see ’im if she wasn’t well in a few days.’

They had been climbing the stairs as she spoke; now she opened the attic door and stood aside to let him into the room. ‘Ere’s yer doctor, love.’ She went on, ‘And while yer ’ere I’ll see to them cats.’

Henrietta sat up in bed, aware that she wasn’t looking her best. Her hair felt like damp seaweed, she was hot and sticky, and she was wearing a grey cardigan over her nightie. She said, ‘Hello,’ in a gruff voice and eyed him with peevishness. ‘I’m much better...’

‘I am glad to hear that. I was passing and hoped you wouldn’t mind me calling to enquire.’ He laid the flowers on the bed and she put out a gentle finger to touch them.

‘For me? How very kind. They’re beautiful. Thank you, and thank you for calling. I really am feeling better. I shall get up tomorrow.’

‘You will stay in bed tomorrow,’ he told her quietly, ‘and on the following day, if you feel well enough, you may get up. You will take things easily for the rest of the week. Presumably your doctor will sign you off as fit for work when he thinks it right.’

‘Well, yes, I’m sure he will. I must write to Mrs Carter...’

‘I’ll leave a message with Reception.’

‘Oh, will you? How kind.’ She smiled at him from a white face, and he thought uneasily that she should be in more comfortable surroundings.

‘Have you lived here long?’ he asked.

‘A few years.’ She didn’t enlarge on that, and he didn’t ask any more questions for he guessed that she wasn’t going to tell him anything. Presently he wished her goodnight and went away, escorted by Mrs Gregg.

‘I’ll look after ’er,’ she assured him. ‘Independent, that’s what she is. Never a word about where she came from nor nothing about ‘er family. Always ready to give an ’and—elps that greengrocer on ’is stall of a Saturday afternoon. Well, every little ‘elps, don’t it?’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt, putting a hand into his pocket.

Two days later Henrietta got up, assuring Mrs Gregg that she felt fine and that there was no need for that lady to toil up and down the stairs any longer. ‘There’s plenty for me to eat in the cupboard. I must owe you a lot of money...’

‘That doctor wot brought you ’ere, he asked Mr Biggs where ‘e could get milk and such and, Biggs being a greengrocer, ’e fetched what was wanted.’

‘So I owe Mr Biggs?’

‘Well, that doctor paid for everything.’

‘Oh, dear, I’ll have to write him a note and ask him how much I owe him. Mrs Gregg, I don’t suppose there was a message from the offices?’

‘Yes, there was. One of the girls wot brought you ’ere sent a note ter say yer job’s still waiting for yer.’ Mrs Gregg eyed her anxiously. ‘But you’ll not be going back until the doctor says so.’

‘Of course not,’ said Henrietta, not meaning a word of it. ‘Thank you for looking after Dickens and Ollie.’

Monday was only two days away. Over the weekend Henrietta swallowed her pills, ate the contents of her cupboard, shutting her mind to what they had cost and how she was ever going to pay for them, washed her hair and made her plans.

She didn’t think she had better go back to the hospital on Monday. She hadn’t been to the doctor, and she supposed that she would have to wait for him to tell her that she might go back to work. No one knew about the offices, though—only Mrs Gregg, and she didn’t get up very early. Henrietta reckoned that she would be back in her room by the time her landlady was up and about.

She had to admit to herself that she didn’t feel as well as she had hoped as she caught the early bus on Monday morning. Probably the weather, she told herself; bitter cold and an icy wind. ‘Going to snow,’ said the conductor, taking her fare.

The other cleaning ladies were glad to see her back. ‘Cor, we was afraid you’d get the sack,’ she was told. ‘Lucky you came this morning; there’s plenty wanting to step into yer shoes. OK, are yer?’

Henrietta agreed that she was perfectly OK, donned her apron and got to work. It was the prospect of losing her job which kept her on her feet. The vacuum cleaner was like lead, the bucket of soapy water she needed to clean the paintwork weighed ten times as much as it usually did, and when she polished the desks they danced drunkenly under her eyes.

She managed to finish on time, however, put away her cleaning equipment, assured everyone that she felt fine, and, wrapped in her elderly coat, left the building to catch the bus.

Mr Ross-Pitt, driving himself home after an urgent summons to the clinic to do what was possible for Mr Wilkins, who had been found moribund in the street by one of the volunteer helpers, saw Henrietta walking with exaggerated care along the icy pavement. He stopped the car and got out and faced her, and since her head was bent against the wind she didn’t see him.

‘You little fool,’ he observed, in a voice so cold that her head shot up to meet his eyes, which were as cold as his voice. ‘Have you no sense? Are you doing your best to get pneumonia?’

He took her arm and bundled her into the car. ‘You will go back to your room and go back to bed and try for a little common sense.’

He started the car and drove in silence, and Henrietta sat without saying a word; she felt peculiar for one thing, and for another she really couldn’t be bothered to think of anything suitable to say. Besides, Mr Ross-Pitt was angry—coldly and quietly furious with her. She closed her eyes and dozed off.

He turned to look at her as he stopped before the house. She was asleep, long lashes curling onto her pale cheeks, her mouth slightly open. In no way was it possible to consider her pretty, even passably good-looking, and yet he found himself smiling a little, wishing that she would open her eyes. Certainly she couldn’t go back to that attic room.

He got out of the car and knocked on the house door. Mrs Gregg, dressed but with her hair still in curlers and a pink net, opened it.

‘Well would yer believe it? What’s up, Doctor?’

‘I have brought Miss Cowper back to her room. I cannot think why she should be out in the streets at this hour.’

‘Lor’ bless yer, sir. Coming ‘ome from her cleaning job. Goes every morning, though she didn’t say nothing ter me about going terday.’ She peered past him to the car. ‘In the car, is she? Well, she won’t be going to the ’ospital this morning, that’s a cert.’

‘Indeed not. Would you be so good as to pack a few necessities for her? She should be in hospital for a day or so until she is quite recovered. Obviously she isn’t capable of looking after herself.’

Something in his voice warned Mrs Gregg to keep quiet about that. ‘I’ll pop upstairs and bring a bag out to the car,’ she promised. ‘Wot about them cats?’

Mr Ross-Pitt sighed. ‘The cats... I’ll return within the hour and collect them; my housekeeper will look after them until Miss Cowper returns here.’

‘Suits me. I got enough ter do without being bothered with cats.’

He went back to the car and found Henrietta still asleep. She was a nasty colour, and every now and then she gave a little rasping cough. He picked up the car phone and dialled the hospital. He had had an almost sleepless night and a heavy day’s work ahead of him; now he had saddled himself with this foolish girl and her cats. He glanced at his watch and asked to speak to the medical officer on duty.

Mrs Gregg came presently and handed over a cheap cardboard case. ‘You’ll be back?’ She sounded anxious. ‘I’ll ’ave ter know if she’s going ter be away long—‘er rent’s due—and then there’s the cats.’

He put the case in the boot. ‘I’ll be back, Mrs Gregg, and we can settle things then. Expect me in an hour.’

He drove to the casualty entrance of St Alkelda’s and watched as Henrietta was wheeled away, awake now but not at all sure of where she was. Indeed, she felt too ill to bother.

‘I suspect pneumonia,’ observed Mr Ross-Pitt to the young medical houseman on duty. ‘Good of you to admit her. Entirely her own fault; she had flu and went back to work at some unearthly hour this morning. I’ll speak to Dr Taylor presently.’

He got back into his car, leaving the houseman agog with curiosity. Mr Ross-Pitt was liked and respected; he expected his students to work hard and his standards were high, but he had never been known to rebuke any of them before anyone else and he was fair. He was always ready to listen to the young surgeons in his team and he was a splendid lecturer. On the other hand no one knew anything about him.

The houseman, making his way to the women’s medical wards, decided that he would say nothing. Probably some employee—a domestic working for him, wherever he lived.

He wasn’t so sure about that when he examined Henrietta. She was awake now, feverish and fretful, but she answered his questions in a small, husky voice and thanked him politely when he had finished. A pretty voice, he decided, despite the huskiness, and an educated one.

He wrote up his notes ready for Dr Taylor, went to see the ward sister and took himself off to breakfast, uneasy at Henrietta’s anxious enquiry as to Dickens and Ollie, whoever they were. He had told her easily that they would be taken care of, but the memory of her anxiety stayed with him.

Mr Ross-Pitt, back at Mrs Gregg’s house, wasted no time. He suggested once more, in a voice which compelled her to agree, that he should take the cats with him. ‘My housekeeper will look after them until Miss Cowper is well again,’ he repeated. ‘Is there any rent owing?’

That was more like it. She said at once that there would be two weeks to pay on Wednesday. He was aware that this wasn’t true, for she didn’t look at him as she said so, but she probably needed the money. He paid her and fetched the cats, with Dickens indignant at having a cloth tied over his box while the kitten cowered beside him.