Thrush Green (22 page)

Mr. Piggott, slightly glazed, looked a little more mollified.

"Can't stop you, I suppose. People gets married day in and day out—no reason why you and Molly shouldn't."

His gaze wandered to the whisky bottle and his eyes widened pleasurably.

"What say we puts a dash o' this in along o' the beer?" he suggested enthusiastically to Ben. Molly shook her head violently at the young man.

"Oh, I wouldn't broach it now," said Ben with studied carelessness. "It's a little present for yourself. You open it sometime when I'm not here."

Mr. Piggott considered this suggestion earnestly, the mug at his lips and his eyes still caressing the whisky bottle.

"Ah, you got something there, boy," he said at last, with the hint of a hiccup. "I'll have more on me own. Have the lot, eh? Do me good, won't it?"

"Hope so," said Ben briefly.

"Dad," said Molly, leaning across the table and putting one hand upon her father's. "D'you know what we've said? We wants to get married and I hopes you'll say you're pleased."

"Oh, I'm pleased all right—I'm pleased!" gabbled Mr. Piggott in a perfunctory manner. "You get married any time you like—summer or something you said, didn't you? Suits me. I'll get the church spruced up. Don't make no odds to me. All part of the day's work getting the place ready for weddings. Funerals, too, come to think of it." He turned a speculative eye upon the young pair.

"Wedding'd be more in your line, I reckons," he conceded. "If I was you I'd wait a bit for the funeral."

With a sudden sigh he put his arms around his mug and the beloved whisky bottle, and, pillowing his head upon the empty greasy plate, fell instantly asleep.

Ten minutes later Molly and Ben, with the washing up done and the dishes stacked away, stood at the open door.

Ben looked back at the snoring figure at the table.

"I suppose you might say we've got your father's consent," he said to Molly.

And putting his arm around her waist he jumped her lightly from her doorstep and led her back to the joyful brightness of the fair.

16. Dr. Bailey Asks for Help

D
R.
L
OVELL
returned from Ella's to Dr. Bailey's house.

His eyes wandered over the crowd that now thronged Curdle's fair, but Ruth and Paul were hidden somewhere among the mass.

It was a perfect evening, he told himself, and it had been a perfect day. The air was still warm, and scented with myriad blossoms of spring; and in the bright light shed by the strong electric bulbs of the fairground the small young leaves fluttered like yellow mimosa against the dark-blue sky.

It was heady sort of weather, young Dr. Lovell thought. Heady enough to make anyone think of love. Half-defiant, half-amused, and wholly happy he surveyed his present plight and found it good.

He was hurrying back to see Dr. Bailey in response to a note left on the surgery desk. It had said:

"Spare me a few minutes during the evening, will you? Any time after surgery to suit you.

D. B."

It was probably about a new case, thought the young doctor, or a message from the hospital delivered in his absence. He enjoyed these little encounters with the older man and never tired of hearing his salty and wise comments on the Lulling characters he was beginning to know almost as well as Dr. Bailey himself.

He walked into the hall, and tapped lightly on the sitting-room door.

He found Dr. Bailey sitting on the sofa, his thin legs covered with a dashing tartan rug and
The Times
crossword, almost completed, on his lap.

Mrs. Bailey put aside her needlework and rose to greet him.

"Come and keep Donald company," she said, indicating her chair.

"No, no," protested the young man, "I'll sit over here."

"I'm just going to do some telephoning and sort out magazines for the hospital," said Mrs. Bailey. "You couldn't have come at a better moment."

She smiled conspiratorially at young Dr. Lovell as he held the door for her and she went about her affairs.

"Come and get us both a drink," said Dr. Bailey, removing his spectacles and flinging
The Times
to the floor.

The young man carefully poured two glasses of sherry at the tray standing ready on the side table and brought them to the sofa.

"To Mrs. Curdle and her fair!" said Dr. Bailey, nodding his head toward the window before sipping his wine.

"Mrs. Curdle!" echoed young Dr. Lovell solemnly, sipping too. He put his glass carefully on the hearth and looked expectantly at the old man.

"How are you enjoying it all here?" asked Dr. Bailey.

"Love it," answered Dr. Lovell emphatically.

"That makes it easier for me then. I've at last made up my mind. It's taken me weeks of shilly-shallying, but now it's done I feel a good deal happier."

He looked shrewdly across his glass to the young man.

"You know what I'm talking about?"

"I think so," said Dr. Lovell soberly. His thin dark face was grave, for his heart was filled with pity and admiration for the older man. One day, he thought, I shall be facing this.

Dr. Bailey watched the young man closely and liked what he saw. There was no thought of self in that serious face, but an appreciation of a job to be bravely done. He spoke more freely.

"It's like this. I realize I shall never be able to do much again. If I can take four or five surgeries a week and attend a few of the real old folk who prefer to have me—well, that's about all I can hope to do. The point is—would you be willing to come in with me and bear the larger part of the practice on your shoulders?"

"There's nothing I'd like more, sir," answered the young man earnestly. Dr. Bailey gave a gusty sigh of relief.

"Thank God for that! I'll tell you frankly, there's no one I'd like better to have with me and no one hereabouts better liked by the people. You'll fit in ideally."

A thought seemed to strike him and he leaned forward, peering intently at his companion.

"But look here, boy, I don't want you to make your mind up too hurriedly. Think it over. It's a big step to take, you know. Winnie always says: 'Sleep on it,' and she's usually right. Let me know in the morning."

Dr. Lovell smiled for the first time in the interview. It was a slow warm smile that illumined his long dark face and made it suddenly youthful.

"It's the finest offer I've ever had in my life. I was beginning to wonder if I could ever bear to leave Lulling—and now, this! It's perfect."

Dr. Bailey raised his glass.

"To our practice, then." They drank together, and Dr. Bailey replaced his glass with fresh energy.

"Now, the position is this. This particular practice is really just about big enough for a man and a half. That's fine at the moment. You have to be the man, and probably a bit more, and I'm your half a man." He smiled wryly, but cheerfully.

"As you know, the other four chaps in partnership in the town cover most of the southern area, but although our district is sparsely populated I believe you'll find that you'll have enough for two men here in time. There's a new estate going up at Nidden and a batch of council houses along the main road to the north. So that if you decide to settle here you should find a growing practice and could take a partner in with you."

"That's a long way ahead, I hope," said young Dr. Lovell.

"I shan't last forever," said old Dr. Bailey, "but I know this. I'll last a dam' sight longer with you to carry most of the load for me."

"Then we're both satisfied," said the young man. And sitting back he basked in the glow born of his good wine and his good fortune.

Twenty minutes later, having bidden the older man good-night, young Dr. Lovell sat alone in the surgery. He had called in to collect some papers, but enjoyed the opportunity of complete privacy to savor to the full the wonderful news which he had received.

Earlier in the day he had realized how much Thrush Green and his work there had really meant to him. Now, in a few minutes, he had been offered his life's happiness—work which he knew he could do well, in a place and among people dear to him.

Outside the fair throbbed and spun merrily, and its cheerful raucous music found an echo in the singing in his own heart. May the first—a day of enchantment. He would never forget it! he told himself. He remembered the doctor's first toast to Mrs. Curdle and her fair. Long may she reign, thought happy young Dr. Lovell, and bring as much joy each first of May as she had done today!

He took a cigarette from his case and was surprised to see that his fingers shook. He crossed to the window and looked out upon the gay scene spread beneath the dark curve of the night sky.

Over in the Bassetts' house an upstairs light was burning. It was the landing light, young Dr. Lovell observed, which meant that his first patient of the day was now safely in bed after all his excitements and his aunt would be free downstairs.

Suddenly young Dr. Lovell felt that he must tell someone of the good news which fermented and bubbled within him. He had meant to follow Mrs. Bailey's habitual advice and "sleep on" his secret before he made it known, but now, young, lonely, and bursting with excitement, he knew that he must go to Ruth and let her share his happiness.

Who knows, thought the young man as he crossed the grass with the clamor of the fair ringing in his ears, this very day may prove to be the start of a new life for us both at Thrush Green.

The gate clanged noisily behind him, and for a moment he leaned with his back against it, watching the lighted hall through the glass door, suddenly half-fearful of approaching the girl.

As he stood there, his heart throbbing as madly as the fair behind him, Ruth opened the door with a wide welcoming gesture.

"How lovely to see you," she cried. "Come in, come in!"

And Dr. Lovell knew that his happiness was complete.

Upstairs Paul had been in bed for an hour, but found it impossible to sleep. So much had happened in the day. He had been pronounced cured of his illness, which meant that he could go back to school on Monday and would be free to play all day tomorrow, which was Saturday, and to watch the departure of Mrs. Curdle's fair if he was awake in time.

He had seen Molly united with her Ben and knew that her worries were ended. But, best of all his sleepy memories, were those of the glittering, noisy, spinning fairground, home of that near deity, Mrs. Curdle, and Ben, who now shone as a hero in Paul's eyes, for he had overheard two gossipers discussing the fight and had noticed the scars borne by both men.

Tomorrow, or Sunday, he knew that his father and mother would be home again and his heart leaped at the thought. He turned over and felt the cool pillow against his flushed cheek. Across the mirror on his wardrobe the lights of the fair twinkled, signaling across the darkness their message of gaiety and shared excitement, both tonight and in the future.

From the landing came an equally comforting light through the half-open door. If the flickering lights in the mirror spoke of dizzy excitement the one from the landing spoke of loving care and security. Between the two Paul felt himself swinging gently toward sleep, the lilt of the music from the fair in his ears and the motion of the swing boat, rocking beneath the stars, still stirring in his veins.

The clanging of the gate caught him back to consciousness again, and he heard Aunt Ruth open the front door.

"Come in, come in!" he heard her cry, so happily, so warmly that he knew his young aunt's troubles had vanished as swiftly and suddenly as Molly's had done.

Everything would be right now, Paul thought dreamily, eyelids drooping again, and his last clear thought was—what more would you expect of May the first? Everything was bound to turn out right on such a magical day.

Within two minutes he was asleep, and for him the splendid day was ended.

17. Dr. Bailey Gives Some Help

T
HROUGH
the little window of her caravan Mrs. Curdle saw the light in the surgery suddenly vanish, and, a minute later, she observed Dr. Lovell's tall figure crossing the grass toward the Bassetts' house. She took a deep breath, and tried to calm the fluttering of her heart. She must muster all the courage she could and make the dreaded visit, which the young doctor's comings and goings during the past hour or so had delayed for her.

Not that Mrs. Curdle had been idle while she had waited with one eye cocked on the tall gray house of her old friends. When she had returned from her routine inspection of the fair she had settled herself on the red plush stool which stood by the stove and had set about her usual Friday evening business of putting out the wages for her workers. This she would do, she told herself, before making herself clean and tidy for her annual visit to the doctor. Who knows what shape she might be in on her return? What news of fearful illness might she bear back with her? More frightening still, supposing that the doctor took her straight to that dreaded hospital of terrible memories?

Mrs. Curdle, old and in pain, felt her fears thronging around her like a flock of dark evil bats, misshapen, mocking—the arbiters of doom. But, old and frail as she was, her grim courage remained, a tiny impregnable fortress standing sturdily against the onslaughts of myriads of doubts and fears. She thrust them resolutely away from her, and fetching the old card table which had once held her crystal, she set it up as she had done every Friday night for over thirty years.