Kitabı oku: «Stormy Springtime», sayfa 3

‘I wish you’d grow up, Meg! Of course I want to see him, but only to get to know him. He’s not married…’

Meg tried to imagine him as a future brother-in-law. ‘He’s quite old,’ she pointed out in her practical manner.

‘Rubbish—thirty-eight at the most. Quite brilliant at his work, too—he’ll end up with a knighthood.’

‘I thought you were keen on that registrar…’

‘Oh, him! Listen, darling, if you hear that he’s coming down to see his mother, give me a ring, will you?’

‘Why?’ asked Meg, being deliberately dim. She heard her sister’s exasperated sigh as she hung up.

As it happened she had no chance to do that, and she was glad, for it smacked of disloyalty to Mrs Culver and to him. After all, she was in Mrs Culver’s employ. The Professor walked in as they sat at lunch a day or two later. He had a dirty, half-starved dog under one arm which was cringing away from the sight of them, and Meg got up at once and said, ‘Oh, the poor beast, let me have him. Have you come to lunch? There’s plenty…’

It was a quiche Lorraine and she had just begun to cut it.

‘Take it back to keep warm, Meg,’ said Mrs Culver, ‘it won’t spoil for ten minutes or so. Bring a towel or something with you to put that dog on.’

The Professor stood, the animal still in his arms, waiting for Meg to come back. ‘Found him in the road—been knocked down and left. Not hurt, I fancy, and, by the look of him, lost or abandoned.’

His mother rose to the occasion. ‘Just what we could do with here—a guard dog. What is he?’

‘Difficult to say. Ah, there you are—if you will put the towel on that table I’ll take a look at him. A little warm milk perhaps?’ Meg went off to the kitchen again and came back with a bowl of milk, standing patiently while he examined the beast with gentle hands. ‘Nothing broken.’ He glanced at her and smiled. ‘Just worn out, hungry and frightened. He’ll be a splendid addition to the household.’

Meg proffered the milk; it disappeared with the speed of dust into a vacuum cleaner. ‘There’s a big box and some old blankets. I’ll fetch them.’

‘A nice child,’ observed Mrs Culver when she had gone, ‘and so sensible.’

‘And a good housekeeper, I hope?’

‘Excellent. I’ve been to visit Kate; she’s doing well, but it will be a month at least…’

‘No need to hurry her,’ said the Professor easily, ‘since Meg suits you so well. No problems?’

‘None, my dear. And she is so happy to be here. It must be dreadful for her having to give up her home to strangers.’

‘Do you see anything of her sisters?’ He glanced at his mother. ‘I met her younger sister—a very pretty girl; she’s at the Royal—staff nurse hoping to be made a Sister. She had no regrets leaving here, nor, I understand, had her elder sister.’

‘The married one—I believe she’s just as handsome. Are you on your way home, dear, or are you going back to town?’

‘Back to town. I’ve a dinner date. But may I have lunch?’

Meg came back with the box and blankets and the dog was laid gently down and promptly went to sleep. Which left her free to fetch the quiche back and lay another place. She put the plates before Mrs Culver and said in her calm way, ‘If you wanted to talk together I’ll go away…’

‘No need,’ said the Professor before his mother could speak. ‘Besides, we have to plan this animal’s future. I’ll phone the vet if I may, Mother, and if he’s not injured, presumably he may stay?’

‘Of course, my dear.’ Mrs Culver turned to Meg. ‘You know about dogs, Meg?’

‘Oh, yes, Mrs Culver.’ Nothing in her quiet voice betrayed the fact that she would have to get up earlier than ever to take him for a walk, that he would have to be groomed, fed and generally looked after. Not that she minded; she liked animals, and he would be company for Silky.

‘Then that settles the matter. If you’re not already engaged, Mother, I’ll come over after church on Sunday and take you back for lunch.’

So he can’t live far away, thought Meg, collecting plates and piling them tidily on a tray and carrying it out to the kitchen, where she loaded it up again with light-as-air castle puddings and hot jam sauce.

‘Your cook is excellent,’ observed the Professor, accepting a second helping.

‘Oh, but Meg made these, didn’t you, dear?’

His look of polite astonishment annoyed Meg; he could have no opinion of her at all! She said, ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,’ in a tart voice and went to fetch the coffee.

‘Don’t you like her, dear?’ asked his mother.

The look on his face gave her food for thought. ‘I hardly know her,’ he said at length. ‘I dare say she might grow on one—missed when she’s no longer there…’

‘Such a waste,’ said Mrs Culver vaguely, watching him. ‘And so easily overlooked, especially when her sisters are with her.’

As Meg came back in with the tray the Professor got up to close the door behind her and watched her pour the coffee. She was wearing the severe grey dress and she had pinned up her pale brown hair into a tidy bun, under the impression that it made her look like a housekeeper. She was really nothing to look at; he was at a loss to understand why the thought of her crossed his mind from time to time. She handed him his cup and looked at him with her lovely grey eyes. They were cool and clear, like a child’s. She said, ‘It was kind of you to rescue the dog. I’ll take great care of him.’

‘Yes, I know. That’s why I brought him here.’ He smiled, and his severe expression melted into a charm which took her by surprise. She didn’t like him, but just for a moment she glimpsed another man entirely.

She slipped away presently, pleading some household duty which kept her occupied until she heard the Rolls sigh its way down the drive. By then she had helped Betsy with the washing up, rubbed up the silver and got the tea tray ready. It was Betsy’s hour or so of peace and quiet, and Mrs Culver would doubtless be dozing. Meg went to look at the dog and found him awake, cringing in his box. She fed him, bathed some of the dirt and dust from him, tended his pathetically cracked paws and went to let the vet in.

They knew each other vaguely; years ago when her father had been alive there had been dogs and cats and ponies. He was a grouchy old man but a splendid vet. He examined the dog carefully, pronounced him half starved, in need of rest and bruised from his accident. ‘But he’ll live,’ he said. ‘God alone knows what breed he is, but he’s a nice enough beast. You’re looking after him?’ He looked at her enquiringly. ‘Professor Culver said that he would be here with you… He would have taken him to his home but he’s only there at the weekends; a London flat is no place for dogs.’

Meg longed to ask where the Professor lived, but she didn’t. At least she had learned something; that he had a flat in London. She listened carefully to the vet’s instructions, offered him tea, which he refused, and saw him out to his car. By the time she had settled the dog again it was tea time.

A busy day, she reflected, getting ready for bed at the end of the day. It struck her that she earned every penny of the money Mrs Culver paid her, for she had little time to call her own. She set her alarm clock half an hour earlier than usual because she would have to take the dog out and feed him before starting on the morning’s chores, and she found herself wondering what the Professor was doing. Lolling in an easy chair in a comfortable sitting-room, waited on hand and foot, she decided. Despite his kindness over the dog, her opinion of him was low.

He arrived on Sunday, expressed satisfaction at the dog’s appearance, refused refreshment and ushered his mother out to the car. He settled her in the front seat and then turned back to speak to Meg, who was standing sedately by the front door. ‘What will you call him?’ he asked.

‘Well, nothing at the moment. I thought that Mrs Culver or you…’

‘We leave it to you.’ He smiled his charming smile once more. ‘Enjoy your afternoon, Meg.’

Meg, indeed! she thought indignantly, though of course she was employed by his mother and he had every right to address her in such a fashion. Perhaps he thought it might keep her in her place. She went indoors and made up the fire in the sitting-room, gave the dog a meal, took him for a short run in the garden, and went along to the kitchen. She and Betsy had their afternoon planned; lunch on a tray for Meg and a peaceful hour or so for Betsy in her chair by the Aga. They would have an early tea too, and there might even be time to potter in the garden. It was a miserably grey day, but Meg never let the weather bother her.

The afternoon was all that she had hoped for; accompanied by the now devoted animal, she repaired to the potting shed and, tied in her sacking apron, pricked out seedlings and transplanted wallflowers. Then she went to her tea, sitting at the kitchen table with Betsy opposite her and Silky and the dog sitting in a guarded friendship on the rug before the Aga. Betsy had made a cake that morning; the mixture had been too much for the cake tin, she explained guilelessly, so that there was a plate of little cakes as well as hot buttered toast and Meg’s strawberry jam and strong tea in the brown earthenware pot which Betsy favoured.

They cleared away together; Meg fed the animals and then got into her old duffle coat and took the dog for a gentle walk. ‘You’ll have to have a name,’ she told him, suiting her pace to his still painful paws. ‘How about Lucky? Because that’s what you are, you know!’

Then she stopped to rub the rough fur on the top of his head, and he gave her a devoted look. He was beginning to look happy and he had stopped cringing. Back in the house, she settled him in the kitchen with a bone and went to tidy herself. It was time to be the housekeeper again.

The sitting-room looked charming as she went into it; she had made a good fire, there were flowers and pot plants scattered around the tables, and shaded lamps. She began to draw the curtains and saw the lights of the Rolls-Royce sweep up the drive, and she went into the hall and opened the door.

‘Oh, how nice it all looks!’ declared Mrs Culver. ‘Meg, you have no idea how happy I am to be living here—to have found such a delightful home, and you with it, too!’

She slid off her fur coat and Meg took it from her, thinking that she had done just that so many times for her mother when she had been alive and well. She glanced up and found Professor Culver’s dark eyes on her, his thoughtful look disturbing. She turned away and suggested coffee, and, ‘There’s a fire in the sitting-room,’ she pointed out.

‘No coffee, Meg—we’ll have a drink. You’ll stay a few minutes, Ralph?’

He had taken off his car coat and thrown it on to the oak settle against a wall. ‘Yes, of course.’ His eyes were still on Meg. He asked, ‘Have you named the dog?’

‘Yes, I’d like to call him Lucky. It was lucky for him when you met him…’

‘An appropriate name. I’ve never believed in luck, but I think that perhaps I have been mistaken about that. You’ve had a pleasant afternoon?’

She looked surprised. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She sought feverishly for an excuse to get away from his stare. ‘I must take Lucky out… Unless you need me for anything, Mrs Culver?’

‘No, my dear, off you go. Wrap up warmly; it’s a chilly evening.’

Meg nipped off to the kitchen, thinking that sometimes her employer talked to her as though she were her daughter. She put on the duffle coat again and encountered Betsy’s surprised look. ‘You’ve just been out with the beast,’ she pointed out, ‘’ad yer forgotten, Miss Meg?’

Meg opened the kitchen door and started off down the stone passage leading to the garden. Lucky, anxious to please, even if reluctant, trotted beside her.

‘No—it’s all right, Betsy, it’s only until the Professor’s gone.’

The remark puzzled Betsy; it puzzled Meg too. Just because one didn’t like a person it didn’t mean to say that one had to run away from them, and wasn’t she being a bit silly, trudging round the garden on such a beastly evening just because Professor Culver was ill-mannered enough to stare so?

CHAPTER THREE

TWO OR THREE DAYS passed. The weather was what was to be expected for the time of year: rain and a flurry of snow, and then a lovely day with a blue sky and an icy wind; Mrs Culver kept to the house for the first two days and then decided to accept a lunch invitation with friends in Ware. Meg phoned Noakes, the chauffeur, who now lived in the village with his wife, and watched her employer borne away before calling to Lucky and taking him for a brisk walk. It had certainly turned cold; she settled him with Silky before the kitchen fire, had bread and cheese and a great pot of tea with Betsy sitting at the kitchen table, and then went away to make up the fires and get the tea tray ready; Mrs Culver would probably be cold and tired when she got back, and a few scones might be a good idea. She returned to the kitchen and made a batch while Betsy sat by the Aga, having what she called a bit of a shut-eye.

Mrs Culver arrived back rather sooner than Meg had expected, and she didn’t look very well.

‘I’m cold,’ she complained. ‘I mean cold inside; I’d like a cup of tea…’

‘It’s quite ready, Mrs Culver,’ said Meg soothingly, ‘and there’s a lovely fire in the drawing-room. I’ll bring the tray in there.’ She drew a chair to the fire. ‘I made some scones—you’ll enjoy those.’

Only Mrs Culver didn’t; she drank several cups of tea, her nice face becoming more and more flushed, and when Meg suggested that she might like to go to her bed, she agreed without a fuss.

‘Well, you stay there for a few minutes; I’ll see to the electric blanket and warm your nightie. I won’t be long.’

She was barely ten minutes, and when she got back it was to find Mrs Culver shivering and reluctant to leave her chair. It took a good deal of coaxing to get her up the stairs and into her room, and once there Meg helped her undress and tucked her up in bed, and then proceeded to sponge off Mrs Culver’s carefully applied make-up and comb her hair.

‘I feel awful,’ said Mrs Culver.

Meg refrained from telling her that she looked awful and worse every minute. ‘A chill,’ she said bracingly. ‘I’m going to get you a warm drink and phone Doctor Woods. He’ll give you something to make you feel better.’

She had known Doctor Woods all her life, and he had been in and out of the house for weeks before her mother died. She liked his forthright, gruff manner, and he for his part knew that she wasn’t a girl to panic.

By the time he arrived, some twenty minutes later, Mrs Culver was looking decidedly worse.

‘’Flu,’ said Doctor Woods. ‘There’s a lot of it about. Got anyone to fetch a prescription?’

‘No. Willy has gone and there’s only Betsy. I’ll have to phone Noakes; he’s the chauffeur and lives in the village. He’ll have to come here and get the car…’

‘Tell you what, I’ll leave enough of these to last until tomorrow; let the chauffeur get the rest in the morning. I’ll be in again tomorrow some time; you’re sensible enough to let me know if you get worried.’

He closed his bag and started getting into his coat. ‘Any family?’

‘A son—Professor Culver…’

‘You don’t say? Brilliant man in his field. You’d better let him know. No danger as far as I can see, but all the same…’

‘I’ll go and do it right away,’ promised Meg.

‘You look a bit peaked yourself, Meg. Working too hard, are you? You could do with a holiday. Where are those sisters of yours?’

‘Well, Cora has her own home and family, as you know, and Doreen’s at the hospital still.’

He grunted, which could have meant anything, patted her on the shoulder and went out to his car, muttering.

Mrs Culver was dozing; she looked ill, but no worse. Meg went downstairs and went to the study and picked up the telephone. The Professor’s number was written neatly on a card beside it, and she dialled it. A London number—and a rather severe voice told her that it was Professor Culver’s residence. ‘Is the Professor there?’ Meg asked. ‘And if he is, will you tell him it’s his mother’s housekeeper?’

‘Be good enough to wait,’ said the voice, and she glanced at the clock. It was getting on for seven o’clock; he might be changing for the evening, in the shower, tossing down a sherry with some blonde beauty before going out to dine…

‘Yes?’ said the Professor’s voice in her ear. Very calm and unhurried.

Terse, thought Meg. Well, two could be that. ‘Mrs Culver came back from a visit this afternoon not feeling well. I’ve put her to bed and Doctor Woods has been to see her. He says she has ‘flu. He thought that you should be told. She’s on an antibiotic, and at present she’s dozing.’

His voice was still calm and unhurried. ‘I’ll be with you within the hour. Give me Doctor Woods’ telephone number, will you?’

Unfeeling monster, thought Meg, and gave it before hanging up with a speed which gave him no chance to say anything else.

She went to have another look at Mrs Culver, who was still asleep. and then went to the kitchen to tell Betsy. ‘So there’ll be no need to have dinner in the dining-room,’ she concluded, ‘we’ll have it here when Professor Culver has gone.’

‘Such a nice fish soufflé we’ve planned, too. I’ve got it all ready to cook.’

‘Well, we’ll still have it later on. The soup won’t spoil, will it, and I made that upside-down pudding—is it already in the oven?’

‘Yes, Miss Meg, but it’ll come to no ‘arm.’

‘I’ll make a jug of lemonade for Mrs Culver and beat up an egg in milk and put a pinch of nutmeg with it…’ Her eye lighted on Lucky, watching her from his bed by the Aga. ‘I’d better take Lucky out now.’

Lucky had no taste for a cold evening; perhaps he had too many of them. Ten minutes was enough for him, and Meg saw to his and Silky’s suppers and made the lemonade, adding ice and taking it upstairs.

Mrs Culver was awake and inclined to be peevish, but she allowed Meg to turn her pillows and sit her up with a gossamer wool shawl around her, and she obediently drank her lemonade. ‘And presently I’ll bring you egg and milk. I make it rather nicely; Mother loved it… Here’s the bell, Mrs Culver; ring if you want me. I’ll be in the kitchen, but I’ll leave the doors open so that I’ll be able to hear.’

Mrs Culver nodded and murmured and closed her eyes again; she really looked poorly and it would be a little while before the antibiotics did their work. Meg sped downstairs again, rearranging the running of the house to fit in with nursing the invalid. No difficult task for her, for she had had experience enough with her mother. She was crossing the hall when she saw the lights of a car coming up the drive. Professor Culver had made good time. she opened the door and he got out and gave her a civil good evening.

He threw off his coat, took her arm and walked her into the sitting-room. ‘I’ve telephoned Doctor Woods. Before I see my mother I should like to know what you think, Meg.’ He added brusquely, ‘You’ve had experience of elderly ladies. Are you worried?’

She said coldly, ‘Don’t imagine, Professor, that because I nursed my mother for several months I’m an expert on such matters. My mother died of congestive heart failure; as far as I can remember, she never had ‘flu.’

She was quite unprepared for his contrition. He turned her round to face him, still holding her arm. ‘I’m sorry—that was unpardonable of me. I think what I meant to say was that you must have an understanding of elderly ladies and can perhaps set my mind at rest. My mother is a volatile little lady; I’m never quite sure…’

She said at once, ‘I don’t think you have need to worry, Professor. Mrs Culver is in good hands, I assure you. Doctor Woods is a splendid man; he’s coming again in the morning. I’ll take good care of her, but if you would like to have a nurse for her…’

‘The idea hadn’t entered my head. You’re a most capable young woman, and very sensible. I’m going up to see her now.’

He left her standing there, fuming. To be taken so for granted; she was to run the house as usual, presumably, as well as look after his mother, and, unless she was very much mistaken, she wouldn’t get much sleep for the next night or two. She went along to the kitchen, her colour so high that Betsy wanted to know if she had the ‘flu as well.

She was beating egg and milk when the Professor came in. He stood for a moment, watching her. ‘That’s for my mother. Good. Something smells delicious.’

And when Betsy looked round he smiled with such charm at her that she said, ‘Leek soup—me own make, an’ fish soufflé an’ as nice an upside-down pudding as ever Miss Meg made. Dab ‘and at it, she is.’

‘May I stay to supper?’

Meg didn’t trust that humble voice one little bit, but before she could say anything, Betsy observed, ‘Plenty for three!’

Meg went to the door with the egg and milk. ‘I’ll stay for a while with Mrs Culver…’

The little tray was whisked from her. ‘No, I’ll see that she drinks this while you dish up.’

He was gone before she could frame an answer.

He was back in ten minutes. ‘She’s dozed off again; she drank it all—it looked revolting.’ He smiled suddenly at Meg. ‘Would you like me to stay overnight?’

She ladled soup. ‘Heavens, no. If you’re quite happy about your mother there’s no need for you to stay. I guarantee I can get Doctor Woods if I’m worried.’

‘I’m a doctor too,’ he pointed out.

‘Oh, are you? Doreen said you were a radiologist.’ She blushed, because it must seem to him that they had been discussing him.

He watched the blush with interest. ‘I am, but I was a doctor first, if you see what I mean.’

He sat down at the table and Lucky went to sit beside him, resting his woolly head on his knee. The Professor stroked it gently. ‘Have you found a flat yet?’ he asked idly.

Meg gave him an exasperated look. ‘I haven’t been up to London to look for one.’

‘From choice, or has my mother overlooked the fact that you should have a day to yourself each week?’

‘The question hasn’t arisen,’ she told him coldly. ‘I’m very happy as matters stand.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘But you do realise that once Kate returns you are to leave?’

They were sitting opposite to each other at the scrubbed table with Betsy at its head, half-way through their soup.

‘Naturally I know that. Mrs Culver told me that Kate will be coming here in three weeks or so. I’m sure that Doreen will find me something—somewhere to live until I can buy a flat.’

‘They’re not very thick on the ground in London, nor are they cheap. What are you going to do?’

Meg collected up the soup plates. ‘I can’t see that that is any concern of yours, Professor Culver,’ she said frostily.

‘Which means that you have no idea.’ He accepted the fish soufflé from Betsy, and when they had eaten it, collected the plates and took them over to the sink.

‘Now there ‘ain’t no call fer yer to do that,’ cried Betsy. ‘Just you sit down while I dish that pudding, sir.’ She trotted over to the Aga, tutting indignantly and secretly delighted with his help. She gave him the lion’s share of the pudding, and when they had eaten it offered a cup of tea.

He accepted with alacrity, complimented them on the delicious meal, sat back comfortably in his chair and, to Meg’s utter surprise, when they had drunk it, declared his intention of washing up.

‘You won’t know ‘ow, sir!’ said Betsy.

‘Then you can sit there by the stove and instruct me while Meg does whatever needs doing for my mother.’

Meg wished most fervently that she was a statuesque beauty, so that she could have swept out of the kitchen with style. Instead she took her small person out of the room with something of a flounce, unaware of the amusement in the Professor’s eyes.

‘The nerve!’ she muttered, going upstairs. ‘Coming here and eating our supper and telling me what to do! He’s insufferable!’

But the face which she presented to Mrs Culver was kind and smiling. She spent some time making her comfortable, took her temperature, sponged her face and hands, gave her a drink, assured her that she was getting better already and straightened the bed.

Surely the Professor would be gone by now, she thought as she went downstairs, but he wasn’t. He was at the sink, making heavy weather of the cleaning of the saucepans and enjoying a chat with Betsy.

‘If you want to see Mrs Culver…’ Meg began severely.

‘I must go now,’ he finished with a meekness she didn’t believe. He wiped out the last saucepan, washing his hands and then putting on his jacket. When he had left the kitchen Betsy said comfortably, ‘Now there’s a nice gent for yer, Miss Meg. Never washed dishes in his life before, I dare swear, and did them well enough too.’

‘Any fool can wash up,’ said Meg loftily. ‘I hope he goes soon; we’ve got to plan…’ She stopped, because Betsy was looking uncomfortable.

The Professor was standing just behind her, his hands in his pockets, listening with interest.

‘Mother is asleep already. I’m going now.’ He spoke pleasantly. ‘If it doesn’t disturb your plans, I should like to visit her tomorrow morning.’

He bade Betsy an affable goodnight and walked out of the kitchen, and Meg went after him. In the hall she said, ‘I’m sorry I was rude, Professor Culver. You must come whenever you want.’

‘Of course. Be good enough to ring me if you’re worried—and thank you for my supper. Not quite the evening I had intended, but none the less a good deal more interesting. And I leave my mother in good hands.’

He stood towering over her, staring down at her upturned face. Probably a very nice man, she thought illogically, if one happened to like him. The last thing she expected was his sudden swoop and his kiss on her cheek. ‘Thank you, little Meg,’ he said softly, and let himself out of the house.

An action which left her with a head full of mixed emotions.

Mrs Culver, already feverish, became more so as the evening wore on, and Meg saw that it would make more sense if she were to get ready for bed and then curl up on one of the easy chairs in Mrs Culver’s room. At least she was able to doze off each time her patient did; all the same, she was glad enough when morning came and Mrs Culver, refreshed with a cool drink, her bed smoothed and her pillows turned, dropped off into real sleep at last. Too late for Meg to go to her own bed; she had a shower and dressed, yawning her head off as she did so, and then went down to join Betsy in a cup of tea before putting on the duffle coat and taking Lucky for his walk. Mrs Culver was still sleeping peacefully when she got back, so she obediently ate the breakfast Betsy had ready and then, leaving the dear soul to clear the kitchen and start preparations for the day’s meals, went along to set the fires going.

There was no point in lighting the drawing-room fire, but there had better be one in the sitting-room, she thought. She was arranging coals on the wood and paper when Professor Culver came quietly into the room to startle her with his ‘Good morning, Meg.’

She was kneeling before the grate, and turned an unmade-up face to him. It was a tired, pale face too, framed by a rather untidy head of hair, and there was a smear of coal dust on one cheek. ‘My goodness, don’t you get up early?’ she exclaimed.

He said softly, ‘At least I went to bed. From the look of you, you didn’t. How is my mother?’

‘Sleeping. She had a restless night, just dozing now and then, but she dropped off soundly after I’d tidied her up and she’s had a drink. She’s still asleep.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’d like to go up…?’

He didn’t answer her, but got his lighter from a pocket and bent down to light the fire. When he was sure that it was well and truly alight, he said, ‘Yes, I should.’ To her surprise he added, ‘Will you be able to catch up on your sleep during the day?’

Meg lied briskly, ‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ and watched him go up the stairs before telephoning to Noakes, who arrived with commendable swiftness to take the prescription for Mrs Culver’s pills and who accepted the shopping list Meg had made out without demur. ‘Can you manage, Miss?’ he asked kindly. ‘Anything I can do to help out?’

He was a kindly man as well as being an excellent chauffeur. ‘Well, no, thank you, Noakes,’ said Meg. ‘Mrs Griffiths comes today, so we can manage very well, but I dare say I might have to ask you to do some more shopping until Mrs Culver is well again.’

She took him along to the kitchen and Betsy made him a cup of tea while Meg went back to the sitting-room to see how the fire was doing. She found the Professor there, putting on coals.

‘Mother is decidedly better,’ he informed her. ‘She’ll have to stay in bed for a few days, though. Can you manage? Do you need help of any sort?’

She was surprised for the second time. ‘Mrs Griffiths is coming today—she comes three times a week to do the rough,’ and at his puzzled look, ‘floors and scrubbing and windows,’ she explained. ‘Betsy and I can manage the rest easily enough.’

He eyed her small person thoughtfully. ‘You’re rather small,’ he observed. ‘Quality not quantity, no doubt. Couldn’t one of your sisters come over to help out for a day or so?’

She turned a look of amazement on him. ‘They couldn’t spare the time; besides, I think you’re making a fuss about nothing, Professor Culver; I ran this house and nursed my mother for almost a year…’

‘I stand corrected.’ He was laughing at her, and she felt annoyed.

When he added that he would have to go, she offered him coffee in such a stiff voice that he refused at once. ‘Will you ask Doctor Woods to give me a ring? He knows my number. I’ll telephone you this evening. In the meantime, if you’re worried, don’t hesitate to ring my home—you have the number. Good morning, Meg—I’ll see myself out.’