Marrying Miss Hemingford. Mary Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ her to the kitchen. There’s a couch in there, but if her mother does not come for her in an hour, or two at the most, I shall have to send her to the infirmary. If my patients learn that I am making a hospital of my home, they’ll expect the same service and I have to draw the line somewhere.’

      He sounded so weary Anne immediately forgot her annoyance and smiled. ‘I’ll have the mother back before that; if I cannot find her, then I will take the child myself.’

      ‘You?’ The contempt in his voice made her hackles rise.

      ‘Why not? I found her and brought her here. I feel responsible.’

      ‘How can that be? You did not run her down, did you?’

      ‘Indeed I did not! And if I ever find the man who was driving that curricle, I shall tell him exactly what I think of him. He could have killed her.’

      ‘But he did not. And thanks to you, she will be none the worse in a week or two.’ He was beginning to revise his opinion of her; she truly cared and she might be good for a generous donation; that fetching bonnet must have cost a pretty penny. Better not antagonise her. ‘My name is Tremayne, by the way.’

      ‘Yes, I noticed it on the plate by the door,’ she said, wondering what the initial stood for. ‘I am Anne Hemingford.’

      ‘How d’ you do, Lady…?’ His pause was a question.

      She smiled, offering her hand. ‘Miss Hemingford.’ She could have said the Honourable Miss Anne Hemingford, but decided against it. He already thought she was too big for her neat kid boots.

      He shook her hand and watched her as she strode purposefully from the room, wondering if he would ever see her again. Women of quality, as she so obviously was, often sympathised with his aims, professed themselves interested in his work and even came to look round, but when they saw the patients he attracted—the poor, the lame, those misshapen by hard work and an inadequate diet, filthy because sanitation in their tenements was unheard of—they soon lost interest. He didn’t care; he was grateful if they made a donation that might allow him to pay the rent for a week or two longer and buy a few more medicines, before they disappeared off the scene. Was Miss Hemingford any different?

      Her look of tender concern had been genuine enough, but it had been mixed with a steely determination that made him smile. Perhaps that was the clue to why she had not married; she was too dictatorial. But did she have any idea of what she was at? If she came back herself instead of simply sending Tildy’s mother, then he would know she was sincere. For the first time he became aware of his stained shirt and untidy hair. He never seemed to have time to visit the barber and though he changed his shirt every day, it was soon grubby again. He promised himself to make time to have his hair cut.

      Anne hurried through the waiting room, more crowded than ever, and out into the narrow lane, breathing deeply. It was not only the strange smells: a mixture of blood, sweat, putrefaction and harsh soap, which had been overpowering, but the whole atmosphere of the place and the demeanour of the man who ran it. He had had a powerful effect on her. Not since she was a seventeen-year-old had any man made her shake like she was shaking now, with embarrassment that he might have detected it, with anger that he could be so cool towards her and with the feeling that she was being pitched into something over which she had no control. And that had not happened in a very long time. She had always been in control of herself, her life, even of her grandfather and he was an earl, so why should a tiny little girl and a strange man take that away?

      If she had met him in someone’s upper-class drawing room, dressed in pantaloons and morning coat with pristine starched cravat and his hair carefully coiffured, she would have taken him for a gentleman. He was educated and self-assured, but at the same time he seemed oblivious of his good looks and certainly unconcerned about his clothes. His cravat was unstarched and was nothing but a simple knot and his shirt was spotted with blood. It was evident his work was the most important thing in his life. Was he married, she wondered, and how could a wife compete with such dedication?

      Back on the sea front, it took only a few minutes to find some steps down to the beach, where she picked her way over the shingle to where the bathing huts were lined up. Many of the contraptions were already in the water, but Anne approached the first one on the sands. ‘I am looking for Mrs Smith,’ she told the attendant.

      ‘We take it in turns, ma’am,’ she was told. ‘’Tis fairer that way. If you want to take a dip…’

      ‘No, you misunderstand. I am looking for Mrs Smith, the mother of little Tildy. Her daughter has been involved in an accident…’

      ‘Oh, tha’s different.’ She looked over the water to one where one of the women stood waiting to help her customer back into the hut. ‘Martha, this ’ere lady says your Tildy’s met with an accident.’ Her voice easily carried and the woman hurried out, holding her arms above the surf as she waded back to dry land.

      ‘What’s ’appened to ’er, what’s ’appened to my Tildy?’ she demanded breathlessly. ‘Where is she?’

      Almost before Anne had finished explaining what had happened, Mrs Smith had asked her colleague to see to her customer and was off up the beach to the promenade with Anne at her heels. She burst breathlessly into the waiting room where Mrs Armistead was conducting the next patient into the surgery. ‘Where’s my little girl? Where’s Tildy?’

      Mrs Armistead pointed along the corridor and the distraught woman rushed off to the back region of the house, still followed by Anne.

      Tildy was lying on the couch playing with a rag doll. A little colour had returned, but the white bandage made her head look enormous. Mrs Smith rushed over and fell to her knees beside her. ‘Tildy, Tildy, what ’ave you bin up to now?’ She leaned back to look at the little girl. ‘I’ll whip that Tom within an inch of ’is life, so I will.’

      ‘Weren’t ’is fault, Ma. Pa fetched ’im.’

      ‘Why? Your pa knows Tom ’as to mind you. And even if he left you, you should ’ave stayed at ’ome.’

      ‘I know, but ’e said they’d caught a monster and I wanted to see it.’ Catching sight of Anne, she smiled. ‘’Allo, lady. Ma, tha’s the lady what picked me up.’

      Mrs Smith turned to Anne, who realised she had misjudged the woman; she evidently cared very deeply about her child. She was, Anne realised, young, younger than Anne herself, and thin as a reed. Once she had been beautiful, but the hard life she led, out on the beach, prey to wind and salt spray, had darkened and coarsened her complexion. But her eyes were a brilliant blue. ‘I thank you, ma’am, with all me ’eart.’

      ‘Think nothing of it. Do you think you can manage? I mean, you do not think Tildy should go to hospital?’

      ‘No, I don’t. People who go in there, come out with more trouble than they went in with, if they come out at all. I’ll look after her.’

      ‘But don’t you have to go to work?’

      ‘Tildy is more important. We shall just ’ave to ’ope her pa finds the shoals until she’s well enough.’

      ‘He’s a fisherman?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Anne fished in her reticule and found a guinea and some small change. ‘Will this help?’

      ‘Only if you want to buy fish СКАЧАТЬ