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She opened the door into a large, airy room full of children and several younger women. ‘Of course, you won’t be reading to them all,’ she explained, ‘but I’ve picked out those who will understand you, more or less. They love the sound of a voice, you know…’
They were in the centre of the room now with children all around them. ‘We have children with special needs—three who are blind, several who had brain damage at birth and quite a few physically disabled…’
The doctor was watching Bertha’s face. It showed surprise, compassion and a serene acceptance. Perhaps it had been unkind of him not to have told her, but he had wanted to see how she would react and she had reacted just as he had felt sure she would—with kindness, concern and not a trace of repugnance.
She looked at him and smiled. ‘I’m going to like coming here,’ she told him. ‘Thank you for getting me the job.’ She turned to the matron. ‘I do hope I’ll do…’
‘Of course you will, my dear. Come along and take your jacket off and we’ll get you settled.’
Bertha put out a hand to the doctor. ‘I dare say I shan’t see you again—well, perhaps when you come to see Clare, but you know what I mean. I can’t thank you enough for your kindness.’
The doctor shook her hand in his large, firm one. ‘Probably we shall see each other here occasionally. I come quite often to see the children.’
He went away then, and Bertha was led away by the matron, introduced to the other helpers and presently began to read to the circle of children assembled round her chair. It was an out-of-date book—an old fairy tale collection—and she started with the first story.
It wasn’t going to be straightforward reading; she was interrupted frequently by eager little voices wanting her to read certain parts again, and some of them needed to have parts of the story explained to them, but after a time she got the hang of it and by half past twelve she and the children understood each other very well. She would do better tomorrow, she promised herself, going home to a solitary lunch, since her stepmother and Clare were out.
Within a few days Bertha had found her feet. It was a challenging job but she found it rewarding; the children were surprisingly happy, though sometimes difficult and frequently frustrated. They were lovable, though, and Bertha, lacking love in her own home, had plenty of that to offer.
At the end of two weeks she realised that she was happy, despite the dull life she led at home. Her stepmother still expected her to run errands, walk the dog and fetch and carry for her, so that she had little time to call her own. She was glad of that, really, as it gave her less time to think about Dr Hay-Smythe, for she had quickly discovered that she missed him.
She supposed that if Clare were to marry him—and, from what her stepsister said occasionally, Bertha thought that it was very likely—she would see him from time to time. He had been to the house once or twice, and Clare would recount their evenings together at great length, making no attempt to hide the fact that she had made up her mind to marry him.
When Bertha had asked her if she loved him, Clare had laughed. ‘Of course not, but he’s exactly what I want. Plenty of money, a handsome husband, and a chance to get away from home. Oh, I like him well enough…’
Bertha worried a lot about that; it spoilt her happiness. Dr Hay-Smythe wasn’t the right husband for Clare. On the other hand, being in love with someone wasn’t something one could arrange to suit oneself, and if he loved Clare perhaps it wouldn’t matter.
It was towards the middle of the third week of her visits to the nursery school that Clare unexpectedly asked her to go shopping with her in the afternoon. ‘I’ve some things I simply must buy and Mother wants the car, and I hate taxis on my own. You’ll have to come.’
They set out after lunch, and since it had been raining, and was threatening to do so again, Crook hailed a taxi. Clare was in good spirits and disposed to be friendly.
‘It’s time you had something decent to wear,’ she said surprisingly. ‘There’s that jersey two-piece of mine—I never liked it; it’s a ghastly colour—you can have that.’
‘I don’t think I want it if it’s a ghastly colour, Clare. Thank you all the same.’
‘Oh, the colour is ghastly on me. I dare say you’ll look all right in it.’ She glanced at Bertha. ‘You’d better take it. Mother won’t buy you anything until Father gets home, and he’s been delayed so you’ll have to wait for it.’
Bertha supposed that the jersey two-piece wouldn’t be any worse than the lime-green outfits and there was no one to see her in it anyway. She wondered silently if there would ever be a chance for her to earn some money. She was a voluntary worker, but if she worked longer hours perhaps she could ask to be paid? She wouldn’t want much.
The idea cheered her up, so that she was able to stand about patiently while Clare tried on dresses and then finally bought a pair of Italian shoes—white kid with high heels and very intricate straps. Bertha, watching them being fitted, was green with envy; she had pretty feet and ankles, and Clare’s were by no means perfect. The shoes were on the wrong feet, she reflected in a rare fit of ill-humour.
The afternoon had cleared. Clare gave Bertha the shoes to carry and said airily that they would walk home. ‘We can always pick up a taxi if we get tired,’ she declared. ‘We’ll cut through here.’
The street was a quiet one, empty of traffic and people. At least, it was until they were halfway down it. The elderly lady on the opposite pavement was walking slowly, carrying a plastic bag and an umbrella, with her handbag dangling from one arm, so she had no hands free to defend herself when, apparently from nowhere, two youths leapt at her from a narrow alleyway. They pushed her to the ground and one of them hit her as she tried to keep a hand on her bag.
Clare stopped suddenly. ‘Quick, we must run for it. They’ll be after us if they see us. Hurry, can’t you?’
Bertha took no notice. She pushed away Clare’s hands clinging to her arm, ran across the street and swiped at one of the youths with the plastic bag containing Clare’s new shoes. It caught him on the shins and he staggered and fell. She swung the bag again, intent on hitting the other youth. The bag split this time and the shoes flew into the gutter.
Confronted by a virago intent on hurting them, the pair scrambled to their feet and fled, dropping the lady’s handbag as they went. Short of breath and shaking with fright, Bertha knelt down by the old lady.
‘My purse—my pension…’ The elderly face was white with fear and worry. It was bruised, too.
‘It’s all right,’ said Bertha. ‘They dropped your handbag. I’ll get it for you. But, first of all, are you hurt?’
Before the old lady could answer, Clare hissed into Bertha’s ear, ‘My shoes—my lovely new shoes. You’ve ruined them. I’ll never forgive you!’
‘Oh, bother your shoes,’ said Bertha. ‘Go and bang on someone’s door and get an ambulance.’
Just for once, Clare, speechless at Bertha’s brisk orders, did as she was told.
She was back presently, and there were people with her. Bertha, doing her best to make the old lady as comfortable as possible, listened with half an ear to her stepsister’s voice.
‘Two huge men,’ said Clare, in what Bertha always thought of as her little-girl voice. ‘They ran at this poor lady and knocked her down. I simply rushed across the street and hit them with a shopping bag—one of them fell over and they ran away then.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life…’
‘Very plucky, if I might say so,’ said a voice.
Another voice asked, ‘You’re not hurt, young lady? It was a brave thing to do.’
‘Well, one doesn’t think of oneself,’ murmured Clare. ‘And luckily my sister came to help me once the men had gone.’
The old lady stared up at Bertha’s placid face. ‘That’s a pack of lies,’ she whispered. ‘It was you; I saw you…’ She closed her eyes tiredly. ‘I shall tell someone…’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Bertha. ‘All that matters is that you’re safe. Here is your handbag, and the purse is still inside.’
She got to her feet as the ambulance drew up and the few people who had gathered to see what was amiss gave her sidelong glances with no sign of friendliness; she could read their thoughts—leaving her pretty sister to cope with those violent men… Luckily there were still brave girls left in this modern day and age of violence…
Bertha told herself that it didn’t matter; they were strangers and never likely to see her again. She wondered what Clare would do next—beg a lift from someone, most likely.
There was no need for that, however.
By good fortune—or was it bad fortune?—Dr Hay-Smythe, on his way from somewhere or other, had seen the little group as he drove past. He stopped, reversed neatly and got out of his car. Clare, with a wistful little cry, exactly right for the occasion, ran to meet him.
CHAPTER THREE
‘OLIVER!’ cried Clare, in what could only be described as a brave little voice. ‘Thank heaven you’re here.’ She waved an arm towards the ambulancemen loading the old lady onto a stretcher. ‘This poor old woman—there were two enormous men attacking her. She’s been hurt—she might have been killed—but I ran as fast as I could and threw my bag at them and they ran away.’
The onlookers, gathering close, murmured admiringly. ‘Proper brave young lady,’ said one.
‘Oh, no,’ Clare said softly. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’ She had laid a hand on the doctor’s arm and now looked up into his face.
He wasn’t looking at her. He was watching the stretcher being lifted into the ambulance. The old lady was saying something to Bertha, who had whipped a bit of paper and pencil from her bag and was writing something down.
He removed Clare’s hand quite gently. ‘I should just take a look,’ he observed.
He spoke to the ambulance driver and then bent over the old lady, giving Bertha a quick smile as he did so. ‘Can I help in any way? I’m told there’s nothing broken, but you had better have a check-up at the hospital.’
The shrewd old eyes studied his face. ‘You’re a doctor? Don’t you listen to that girl’s tale. Not a word of truth in it. Seen it with my own eyes—tried to run away, she did. It was this child who tackled those thugs—twice her size too.’ She gave a weak snort of indignation. ‘Mad as fire because her shoes had been spoilt. Huh!’
‘Thank you for telling me. Do we have your name? Is there anyone who should be told?’
‘This young lady’s seen to that for me, bless her. Gets things done while others talk.’
‘Indeed she does.’ He took her hand. ‘You’ll be all right now.’
He went back to the driver and presently, when the ambulance had been driven away, he joined Bertha. ‘Let me have her name and address, will you? I’ll check on her later today. Now I’ll drive you both home.’
Clare had joined them. ‘What was all that about? You don’t need to bother any more; she’ll be looked after at the hospital. I feel awfully odd—it was a shock…’
‘I’ll drive you both back home. I dare say you may like to go straight to bed, Clare.’
Clare jumped into the car. ‘No, no—I’m not such a weakling as all that, Oliver. I dare say Bertha would like to lie down for a bit, though—she was so frightened.’ She turned her head to look at Bertha on the back seat, who looked out of the window and didn’t answer.
The doctor didn’t say anything either, so Clare went on uncertainly, ‘Well, of course, it was enough to scare the wits out of anyone, wasn’t it?’
No one answered that either. Presently she said pettishly, ‘I had a pair of new shoes—wildly expensive—they’ve been ruined.’ Quite forgetting her role of brave girl, she turned on Bertha. ‘You’ll have to pay for them, Bertha. Throwing them around like that—’ She stopped, aware that she had let the cat out of the bag. ‘What was the good of flinging the bag at those men when they had already run away?’
‘I’m sure you can buy more shoes,’ said the doctor blandly. ‘And what is a pair of shoes compared with saving an old lady from harm?’
He glanced in his mirror, caught Bertha’s eye and smiled at her, and lowered an eyelid in an unmistakable wink.
It gave her a warm glow. Never mind that there would be some hard words when she got home; she had long since learned to ignore them. He had believed the old lady and she had the wit to see that he wouldn’t mention it—it would make it so much worse for her and would probably mean the end of her job at the nursery school. If any special attention from him were to come to Clare’s or her stepmother’s notice, they would find a way to make sure that she never saw him again…
The doctor stopped the car before their door, and Clare said coaxingly, ‘Take me out to dinner this evening, Oliver? I do need cheering up after all I’ve just gone through. Somewhere quiet where we can talk?’
He had got out to open her door and now turned to do the same for Bertha. ‘Impossible, I’m afraid. I’ve a meeting at seven o’clock which will last for hours—perhaps at the weekend…’
He closed the car door. ‘I suggest that you both have an early night. If there is any news of the old lady I’ll let you have it. I shall be seeing her later this evening. Bertha, if you will give me her address, I’ll see that her family are told.’
She handed it over with a murmured thank-you, bade him goodbye and started up the steps to the door, leaving Clare to make a more protracted leave-taking—something which he nipped in the bud with apparent reluctance.
Clare’s charm turned to cold fury as they entered the house. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ she stormed. ‘Those shoes cost the earth. Now I’ve nothing to wear with that new dress…’
Bertha said matter-of-factly, ‘Well, I can’t pay for them, can I? I haven’t any money. And you’ve dozens of shoes.’ She looked at Clare’s furious face. ‘Are they really more important than helping someone in a fix?’ She wanted to know. ‘And what a lot of fibs you’ve told everyone. I must say you looked the part.’
She stopped then, surprised at herself, but not nearly as surprised as Clare. ‘How dare you?’ Clare snapped. ‘How dare you talk to me like that?’
‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?’ asked Bertha placidly. ‘But, don’t worry, I shan’t give you away.’
‘No one would believe you…’
‘Probably not.’ Bertha went up to her room, leaving Clare fuming.
The full weight of her stepmother’s displeasure fell upon her when she went downstairs presently. She was most ungrateful, careless and unnaturally mean towards her stepsister, who had behaved with the courage only to be expected of her. Bertha should be bitterly ashamed of herself. ‘I had intended to take you to a charity coffee morning at Lady Forde’s, but I shall certainly not do so now,’ she finished.
Bertha, allowing the harsh voice to wash over her head, heaved a sigh of relief; the last time she had been taken there she had ended up making herself useful, helping Lady Forde’s meek companion hand round the coffee and cakes. She looked down at her lap and didn’t say a word. What would be the use?
She would have been immensely cheered if she had known of the doctor’s efforts on her behalf. There had to be a way, he reflected, sitting in his sitting room with Freddie at his feet, in which he could give Bertha a treat. It seemed to him that she had no fun at all—indeed, was leading an unhappy life.
‘She deserves better,’ he told Freddie, who yawned. ‘Properly dressed and turned out, she might stand a chance of attracting some young man. She has beautiful eyes, and I don’t know another girl who would have held her tongue as she did this afternoon.’
It was much later, after Cully had gone to his bed and the house was quiet, that he knew what he would do. Well satisfied, he settled Freddie in his basket in the kitchen and went to bed himself.
The doctor waited another two days before calling at Mrs Soames’s house. He had satisfied himself that Bertha was still going to the nursery. Matron had been enthusiastic about her and assured him that there had been no question of her leaving, so he was able to dispel the nagging thought that her stepmother might have shown her anger by forbidding her to go.
He chose a time when he was reasonably sure that they would all be at home and gave as his excuse his concern as to whether the two girls had got over their unfortunate experience. All three ladies were in the drawing room—something which pleased him, for if Bertha wasn’t there, there was always the chance that she would hear nothing of his plans.
Mrs Soames rose to meet him. ‘My dear Oliver, most kind of you to call—as you see, we are sitting quietly at home. Dear Clare is somewhat shocked still.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ said the doctor, shaking Clare’s hand and giving Bertha a smiling nod. ‘Perhaps I can offer a remedy—both for her and for Bertha, who must also be just as upset.’
Mrs Soames looked surprised. ‘Bertha? I hardly think so. She isn’t in the least sensitive.’
The doctor looked grave and learned. He said weightily, ‘Nevertheless, I think that both young ladies would benefit from my plan.’
His bedside manner, reflected Bertha, and very impressive and effective too, for her stepmother nodded and said, ‘Of course. I bow to your wisdom, Oliver.’
‘Most fortunately I am free tomorrow. I should be delighted if I might drive them into the country for the day, away from London. To slow down one’s lifestyle once in a while is necessary, especially when one has had a shock such as Clare had.’ He looked at Bertha. ‘And I am sure that Bertha must have been upset. I haven’t had the opportunity to ask her—’
‘There’s no need,’ Clare interrupted him hastily. ‘I’m sure she needs a break just as I do. We’d love to come with you, Oliver. Where shall we go?’
‘How about a surprise? Is ten o’clock too early for you?’
‘No, no. Not a minute too early.’ Clare was at her most charming, and then, as he got up to go, she said suddenly, ‘But of course Bertha won’t be able to go with us—she reads to old ladies or something every morning.’
‘Tomorrow is Saturday,’ the doctor reminded her gently. ‘I doubt if she does that at the weekends.’ He glanced at Bertha. ‘Is that not so, Bertha?’
Bertha murmured an agreement and saw the flash of annoyance on Clare’s face. All of a sudden she was doubtful as to whether a day spent in the company of Clare and the doctor would be as pleasant as it sounded.
After he had gone, Clare said with satisfaction, ‘You haven’t anything to wear, Bertha. I hope Oliver won’t feel embarrassed. It’s a great pity that you have to come with us. You could have refused.’
‘I shall enjoy a day out,’ said Bertha calmly, ‘and I shall wear the jersey two-piece you handed down to me. I’ll have to take it in…’
Clare jumped up. ‘You ungrateful girl. That outfit cost a lot of money.’
‘It’s a ghastly colour,’ said Bertha equably, and went away to try it on. It was indeed a garment which Clare should never have bought—acid-yellow, and it needed taking in a good deal.
‘Who cares?’ said Bertha defiantly to the kitchen cat, who had followed her upstairs, and began to sew—a tricky business since her eyes were full of tears. To be with the doctor again would be, she had to admit, the height of happiness, but she very much doubted if he would feel the same. He was far too well-mannered to comment upon the two-piece—probably he would be speechless when he saw it—but it would be nice to spend a day with him wearing an outfit which was the right colour and which fitted.
‘I suppose I am too thin,’ she observed to the cat, pinning darts and cobbling them up. The sleeves were a bit too long—she would have to keep pushing them up—and the neck was too low. Clare liked low necks so that she could display her plump bosom, but Bertha, who had a pretty bosom of her own, stitched it up to a decent level and hoped that no one would notice.
Dr Hay-Smythe noticed it at once, even though half-blinded by the acid-yellow. An appalling outfit, he reflected, obviously hastily altered, for it didn’t fit anywhere it should and the colour did nothing for Bertha’s ordinary features and light brown hair. He found that he was full of rage at her treatment, although he allowed nothing of that to show. He wished her good morning and talked pleasantly to Mrs Soames while they waited for Clare.
She came at last, with little cries of regret at keeping him waiting. ‘I wanted to look as nice as possible for you, Oliver,’ she said with a little laugh. And indeed she did look nice—in blue and white wool, simply cut and just right for a day in the country. She had a navy shoulder-bag and matching shoes with high heels. The contrast between the two girls was cruel.
The doctor said breezily, ‘Ah, here you are at last. I was beginning to think that you had changed your mind!’ He smiled a little. ‘Found someone younger and more exciting with whom to spend the day.’
This delighted Clare. ‘There isn’t anyone more exciting than you, Oliver,’ she cooed, and Bertha looked away, feeling sick and wishing that the day was over before it had begun.
