The Hamiltons of Ballydown (9 page)

‘Yes. My father and younger brother are with her,’ she replied, with a gentle smile as she shook his hand. ‘We persuaded Elizabeth to lie down,’ she went on, addressing Hugh. ‘She sat up all night with Ma,’ she explained, turning back to Richard Stewart.

‘And so did you, young lady,’ Hugh reminded her. ‘Is Sarah still asleep?’

‘No. She’s gone up to Rathdrum to see Mrs Lappin and tell her where you and Elizabeth both disappeared to.’

‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I quite forgot poor Mrs Lappin. How remiss of me,’ said Hugh ruefully.

‘I rather gather you’ve all had a great deal to think about during the night. May I go up?’

Hannah led the way and brought him into the fresh and tidy room where Rose lay propped on her pile of pillows. Her face was pale but the harsh note in her breathing had quite gone, leaving only a roughness, a catching of air on inflamed passages that sometimes made her cough.

Richard Stewart looked at her for a brief
moment, then shook hands with John and with Sam, who blushed and slipped away to leave his father alone with the doctor.

‘We nearly lost her, sir. If it hadn’t been for Miss Sinton,’ said John, releasing Rose’s hand and moving himself and his chair into a corner of the room where he’d be properly out of the way.

‘So I’ve heard,’ said Stewart quietly, taking his place by the bed. ‘I doubt if I could have done as much for you last night as she did. But I’ll see what I can do now,’ he said, turning to lay his bag on the dressing-table behind him. His back to the door, he opened it and took out his stethoscope.

He turned when he heard a slight rustle of skirts. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, her clothes creased and crumpled, her hair newly brushed, her face fresh and alert.

‘My dear Miss Sinton,’ he said, bowing to her. ‘I’m not sure you need me at all, but your brother asked me to come and I did so most willingly. I would appreciate your help with my examination.’

He sat down beside the bed, took Rose’s hand in his and touched the pulse lightly. She didn’t stir, her eyes closed, her face quite peaceful. He nodded reassuringly to John, then turned to Elizabeth.

‘I want to examine her chest, but I don’t want to startle her. Can you tell her what I’m going to do. Were she to wake it would be helpful, but I am reluctant to disturb her.’

She nodded and moved to Sam’s empty chair.

‘Rose dear, Doctor Stewart is here. Can you wake up for a little,’ she said, leaning close to her and stroking her cheek.

She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily.

‘Good. Good,’ he said quickly, as he stood rubbing the trumpet end of his stethoscope against his hand to warm it.

‘Now, Mrs Hamilton, can you take a deep breath? Good. Was that painful? Yes, I thought so. Unpleasant, I fear, but not a danger. Could you manage to take some more for me? Very tiresome when you are so tired, but we’ll soon be done.’

Elizabeth observed with interest. He treated Rose as gently as a child, his ease of manner at odds with the powerful concentration she observed in his eyes and on his brow.

‘Does it hurt when I press here? And here? And here?’

Rose responded with the slightest of gestures, sometimes no more than a glance towards him.

‘There now, go back to sleep, Mrs Hamilton,’ he said, stepping back to allow Elizabeth to adjust the bed clothes.

‘If I send that charming girl of yours up to her mother, we could have a word downstairs so as not to disturb her,’ he suggested, looking from John to Elizabeth.

They nodded and exchanged glances as he closed
up his bag and waited for Elizabeth to go ahead on to the landing. Once downstairs, he stood comfortably in front of the fire beside Hugh until Hannah had taken John’s place and he’d come down and seated himself.

‘There is still some fluid in the lungs,’ he said easily, without preamble, ‘but it is not a threat to her. I would hope it will clear within the week. I think you are quite right to have someone sit with her, day and night, for a day or two, certainly while she is very weak, but after that, provided there are no setbacks, she can be left to sleep. She will need many days of rest before she can walk again, but she must get up for a few minutes every day, beginning on Tuesday.

‘I congratulate you Miss Sinton. The infection was fierce, it has caused much inflammation and might well have been fatal, but some combination of your skill and treatment and, no doubt, your prayers, have brought her through. For such a slightly built woman, she has shown amazing strength, but then, as I observe, she is fortunate in both her family and her friends.

‘I think I detected both lavender and rosemary when I came into the house. I doubt if I could recommend anything better for ease and refreshment, but I’ll prescribe a tonic which will encourage her to eat as soon as she’s feeling less exhausted. I think aspirin might ease the pain in the chest when it becomes tedious, but I fear it will remain for a
long time. I hope none of you will feel discouraged when I say that it may be some months before Mrs Hamilton is able to resume her normal activities. All being well, she will recover completely. A long holiday would be of great benefit to her if it could be arranged.’

He looked from John to Elizabeth, Elizabeth to Hugh, and smiled broadly at them all.

‘Oh dear. How pompous we doctors always sound when we pronounce,’ he said, laughing. ‘We study so long to know so little, I suppose we have to convince ourselves we’re not totally ignorant. All we can do is our best. I would be very happy to come and see Mrs Hamilton again and perhaps discuss with Miss Sinton some breathing exercises to help recover the lungs. But for now I rest my case,’ he said with a small flourish of his hand.

‘I’m most grateful to you, sir, most grateful,’ said John emphatically. ‘We’ll mark what you said and Elizabeth here will keep us right.’

‘I have no doubt of that,’ said Richard Stewart, turning towards her and holding her gaze for a few seconds.

‘Well, I must be on my way,’ he said, with a hint of reluctance. ‘I have no surgery on a Saturday, but I do visit the more urgent cases in the afternoon. I shall look forward to coming again,’ he said, as he moved towards the door. ‘Call on me at any time if you have need,’ he insisted, as he shook hands
with Elizabeth and John and turned away to follow Hugh down the damp path to where Bess waited patiently in the sunshine.

They were almost halfway to the station when Richard Stewart finally decided to say what had been on his mind since Hugh had appeared in his waiting room some three hours previously. As one of the biggest mill owners in the district, Sinton of Rathdrum was well-known, but the doctor also knew something of his personal history.

‘Sinton, am I right in thinking that you Quakers put a value upon plain speaking?’ he said easily, as they moved along at an easy trot.

Hugh smiled at him, full of a warmth and gratitude he felt it difficult to express.

‘Quite correct. Am I to hope you’re going to apply for instruction?’

‘No, I think not. I’m far too set in my ways. Though I admit I admire much about your Society of Friends. We must make leisure to speak of such things. I fear I grow tedious for want of conversation.’

‘I had not observed that,’ Hugh replied, his eyes twinkling.

‘Well then,’ said the older man, gathering himself visibly and then relaxing with a smile. ‘I am going to indulge in some of your plain speaking. You may say the Spirit has moved me.’

‘The Spirit moving is not the prerogative of the Society of Friends.’

‘I heard of your accident many years ago. I knew too that your sister had nursed you,’ he began slowly. ‘But I had never laid eyes on you till this morning. There is something I must say to you. I am sure you had the best possible nursing, I can think of no one better than your dear sister, but there have been remarkable advances in the area of orthopaedics in the last ten years, particularly in Manchester, where I practised for some time before coming back to my native county. I keep in touch with some of my colleagues there and some of my fellow students from Edinburgh days. There is one I would highly recommend who could almost certainly improve your mobility and most likely reduce the pain you suffer,’ he said firmly. ‘There now, I have done what I was called on to do and I am almost certain to catch the next train,’ he said as they drove past the Crozier Monument and turned towards the station.

‘Thank you,’ said Hugh, looking at him squarely. ‘I’d never thought of any betterment. I’ve tried to give thanks for the life I was given back, but I will now give some thought to what you’ve said,’ he said soberly.

‘Good,’ said Richard Stewart with a beaming smile, as he climbed down from the brougham. ‘Keep me informed about Mrs Hamilton. When the weather improves, I hope I might tempt you to come
and dine with me. I think we would not be lost for conversation.’

‘I should enjoy that very much,’ Hugh replied, as he shook the reins. ‘Good day to you, Stewart. We’ll meet again soon.’

Jamie was unlucky. Had he not paused to refresh his memory about the Sunday Service trains for his return to Belfast next day, he would have come out of the station and seen the brougham manoeuvring away from the setting down point. But Hugh was in good spirits and in no mood to dawdle. A few moments after Richard Stewart walked into the station, he was already spinning merrily out of the town on his way home.

Jamie had no objection whatever to walking. For most of his life walking was the only means of going anywhere and he’d always been a good walker, but today the road was thick with mud and he was wearing his best town boots. He could already imagine what a job he’d have to get them dry even before they could be brushed and polished.

The sun was now high in a clear sky, some real warmth touching him as he strode out, but the fresh greenness of fields and hedgerows newly emerged from their covering of snow did little for his depressed spirits. Whatever he might find wrong at home, he had troubles of his own. Money to begin with. No young man could possibly manage
on the pittance paid to apprentices. The weekly sum barely covered his tram fares and laundry bills and although his father paid his board and lodging, he made him no allowance.

He enquired if he was all right for money each time he came home, but his visits were now infrequent. Back in his first year, when he had spent so much time studying, he’d told his father he could manage perfectly well. Now he had friends, he saw the mistake he’d made in not being open about his changed situation. Only last week, he’d made up his mind to tell his mother his troubles this very weekend. Now it looked as if that might not be possible.

He couldn’t really understand it. His mother was never ill. She got her share of coughs and colds in winter, as they all did, but he’d never known her lie in bed. So what could have brought Sam to his door last night? And in a cab. Cabs cost a fortune. But then, Sam was never short of money. He paid for his keep at home, but he had a proper wage out of which to pay it. Often enough on his overnight visits, he’d seen Sam take notes from his pay envelope and put them in the wallet he kept in his best jacket, dropping only the handful of coins into his trouser pocket.

By next year it would be different. His apprenticeship would be over and he would get a manager’s job. He was quite determined that he
should and the new friends he’d made recently would almost certainly be a help to him. But another nine months was a long time to go on feeling the pinch.

He tramped on, looked idly into MacMurray’s yard to see if any of them were about and turned up the hill. A few minutes later, he walked through the front door, standing open in the midday sun. The big kitchen was quiet and full of sunlight. At the table, Sarah was making bread.

‘Hullo, Sarah, what are you up to then?’ he said brightly.

She glanced up at him, irritated and preoccupied.

‘Were there no trains from Belfast?’ she asked, as she looked him up and down, registered his town clothes and his dirty boots, which he’d forgotten to wipe outside.

‘I didn’t get Sam’s message till this morning,’ he said, shaking his head at her. ‘Sarah, what’s wrong? Is Ma ill?’

‘Ma nearly died,’ said Sarah coldly.

‘Oh now, surely not,’ he said soothingly, looking round the tidy kitchen as if its order told him his little sister was exaggerating, as usual.

Sarah scowled and gave her full attention to the contents of her baking bowl.

‘Where is everybody then?’

‘Sam is sitting with Ma. Hannah and Elizabeth are lying down,’ she began patiently, rather as if she were speaking to a small child. ‘Da’s gone up
to Rathdrum to fetch things Elizabeth needs. She’s staying here till Tuesday,’ she ended, looking him full in the face.

‘So what’s wrong with Ma?’ he asked, wary now, warned by her tone that something serious really had happened.

Sarah seemed to have grown taller since his last visit home. But perhaps it was just the apron or the calm way she was making bread. It wasn’t like her at all. She was usually in such a hurry to get on. Some things she did turned out well, others were just a mess. You could never tell with Sarah. But he could tell she was upset. Oh well, she’d get over it. There was nothing he could do about it.

‘I’ll go up and see Ma,’ he said abruptly.

She glared at his dirty boots, but said nothing. He went up stairs, his steps loud and firm, fragments of drying mud dropped gently on each wooden stair as he went.

Sam had been brushing his mother’s hair, but hearing Jamie arrive below, he put the brush quickly back and took up her hand instead.

‘Hullo, Sam.’

‘Hullo, Jamie.’

In the strained silence that followed, Rose gasped and coughed. Jamie stared at her, his face a pale mask, his mouth falling open as he studied her closed eyes and heaving chest.

‘She does that every so often,’ Sam said,
matter-of-factly. ‘Her chest hurts, so she doesn’t breath properly, then she gasps a bit to catch up.’

‘Sarah said she nearly died,’ Jamie said awkwardly, embarrassed now that he hadn’t believed her.

‘Aye,’ said Sam, nodding. ‘The doctor from Banbridge said to send for you. So I went up to Belfast. But you were out.’