Vintage Love (202 page)

Joy went to her and said, “I’m Joy Canby. George told me I might call on you.”

The sick girl brightened and in a weak voice, she said, “Of course! Do sit down! Take off your coat! You mustn’t get a chill when you go out again.”

Joy sat by the girl’s bedside, and glancing at a framed photograph of two young people, saw that it was George and Rachel. She said, “What a lovely study of you and your brother.”

“The tintype,” Rachel said with a wan smile. “We were so happy then. No sickness, our parents alive, no worry about bills and angry tradesmen! Do you know we have been short of coal, and it was only today the coal merchant grudgingly sent us a scant supply.”

Joy said, “This room should be warmer.”

The girl in bed coughed, and held a cloth to her mouth. After the spell she glanced sadly at Joy, and said, “The doctor said my room mustn’t be too warm.”

“Nor too cold either.”

“Did Aunt Sada offer you hot tea?” the sick girl worried.

“I don’t want any,” she said. “I can only stay for a little.” She passed the box of fudge to the girl. “Here is a small gift for you.”

Rachel was like a child. She opened the fudge and sampled it and insisted that Joy share it with her. She said, “My brother and James are close friends, aren’t they?” And before Joy could reply she coughed again. She covered her mouth with the cloth, and when she removed it Joy was shocked by the sight of blood on it. The sick girl was coughing blood! She had heard of these dread cases of consumption, but never been so close to one before.

Rachel gasped and said, “Close the door a moment.”

“Of course,” she said.

When she returned to Rachel’s bedside, the girl said, “You are more beautiful than George told me. You know he wants to marry you.”

“I haven’t taken it seriously.”

The sick girl spoke earnestly. “You can believe me when I say he truly loves you! Marry him, Joy. I’m sure he can be saved, and you can do it.”

Joy said, “I’m too young for someone of his experience.”

“You are his last chance,” Rachel told her urgently. “He loves you. There is good in him!”

Joy was embarrassed. She said, “No doubt George and I will discuss this later.”

“I cannot live much longer,” the girl went on. “I’m afraid for George. That he’ll end in the gutter!”

“I’m sure he won’t,” she protested.

Rachel said, “He has a chance to save himself. The new owners of the newspaper company have offered him a job. Father ran the paper successfully, and they feel George’s name on the masthead will be an asset. They also think he has writing ability. But unless he marries and settles down, they’ll not risk hiring him.”

“He should take the position,” Joy agreed.

Rachel said huskily, “I would kiss you but I dare not. You know the dangers of my illness. The doctor has warned me.”

“Yes, I know.”

She remained with the girl a few minutes longer, then said goodbye. As she reached the reception hall at the foot of the stairway, she found herself face to face with a young man in a skimpy, brown coat carrying a black bag. She at once guessed he was the doctor, come to call on the sick girl.

She said, “You are Rachel’s doctor?”

“Yes, he said. “I have been looking after her since Dr. Duff’s sudden death.” He had a pronounced Scottish accent, and his stern, pleasant face was decorated with heavy, sandy sideburns.

“I have just come from her. The room is very cold.”

He frowned. “I told her brother there should be a small fire in the grate at all times.”

“There was none just now.”

The young doctor shook his head. “The aunt is not well and forgets easily. But the brother knows better. It seems I shall have to seek him out in some gaming room and discuss this with him!”

She was impressed by the young doctor’s annoyance. “I hope you can do something. If I see him I’ll talk to him myself. My name is Joy Canby. This is my first visit here. Rachel is so ill!”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “My name is John Hastings. I fear the girl’s time may be short.”

“I’m glad she has you to look after her,” Joy found herself saying.

“Thank you,” he said. “You may be certain I’ll do my best.”

She left the old mansion, and braved the wind and cold again. Walking swiftly, she wondered if Sir George paid the young doctor as he should. It would not surprise her to learn he avoided paying the poor, young doctor’s fees. Obviously, Dr. John Hastings was not wealthy.

The next morning, Joy spoke to her brother. “George is neglecting his ill sister. I think you should lecture him about it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” James said, refusing to promise too much. “George is not easy to reason with. And he’s especially difficult when he’s been drinking!”

Joy said, “Have him come by. I want to talk to him.”

James sighed. “I’ll tell him. But I’d rather you didn’t see him too often.”

Sir George called several nights later. He remained for dinner, and was his usual, charming, dapper self. She waited until dinner was finished, and took him aside for a talk.

“I saw Rachel,” she said in a low voice. “I’m shocked at your neglect of her.”

“I deny that I have done any such thing!”

“You have! You are lax in paying your bills, and the coal merchant cut off fuel. The doctor was angry that there was no fire in the fireplace in her room.”

His eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know! I can’t depend on Aunt Sada. I think she is a little mad as a result of the stroke. I told her there must always be a fire in the grate.”

“Will you promise to look after this?”

“I promise,” he said. “Rachel was so pleased with your gift. She was delighted by your call.”

“I’m going to visit her again and that room had better be comfortable,” she warned.

“Don’t worry about it,” George said, a sincere look on his weakly handsome face.

“What about the newspaper position you’ve been offered?”

“Why should I work there as a flunkey? The paper should be mine!”

“That is poor thinking. Take the job and show these people your ability.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “All right. I will if you keep your bargain with me.”

“I made no bargain with you,” she protested.

“You agreed to be my betrothed.”

She said, “That is not so. But I might consider it if you showed me you meant to change your way of life. That could make a great difference with me.”

“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll go to the newspaper tomorrow.”

“I shall be interested to hear what happens,” she said with a smile.

Then she moved back to join the others. Her mother was playing the pianoforte. Hilda stood near her. She saw that the dark-haired girl was concerned by this private talk with Sir George. Like James, her companion feared she was becoming too friendly with the reckless, young man.

Joy continued to visit the ailing Rachel. She realized the world was full of suffering people, and not many were interested in their plight. There were some good results of her visits. Coals were always glowing in the grate of the sick girl’s room. And Sir George had been accepted by the newspaper owners, and began work in his new post.

On one of her visits Rachel told her, “Your coming has made all the difference. You have helped George and you have helped me. We need you so!”

Dr. John Hastings came by several times while Joy was with Rachel. The young Scotsman showed pleasure at her being there. He mentioned that conditions in the house had improved.

He told Rachel, “You’ll not slip away from us if the room is properly warm and you take your medicine.”

Rachel smiled, “I really want to live now!”

“And so you shall,” he promised.

One day, as Joy was seeing the doctor out, she paused in the hall to ask him in a low voice, “May I visit you at your office, Dr. Hastings?”

He stared at her. “If you like. I’m there in the afternoons.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” she said.

“Very well, Lady Canby, I’ll be expecting you,” the stern, young man said, and went down the stairs — his brown derby in one hand, and his bag in the other.

She watched him vanish, and told herself she was going to see him only on Rachel’s behalf. Yet in the depth of her heart she knew better. She also wanted to learn more about him.

Joy found John Hastings’s office on a narrow street, in a working class district. The sign on his door was plain, black lettering on a white board. She entered, and found herself in the small waiting room. Three patients also waited for the doctor. There was a stout woman with a bandage around her head; an old man obviously suffering from palsy; and a thin, young woman with a bruised, cut face. They glanced at her curiously, no doubt because of her fine clothes, as she sat down in an empty chair.

It was almost an hour before the young doctor admitted her to his inner office. The Scotsman looked less dour in his own office. He wore a gray, woolen suit, which was ill-fitting, and his office was shabby. In one corner a skeleton dangled on a frame. His diploma was on the wall above his desk, and a number of medical books were on the opposite wall. He sat at the rolltop desk, and regarded her with interest.

“What is the reason for your visit, Lady Canby?”

She was embarrassed, but she said, “I’d like to know Rachel’s chances of life?”

“She has little chance. I don’t know what keeps her alive. An indomitable spirit, perhaps. But you have done her good with your visits.”

“I’m glad. I’ve worried that I might not be helping her.”

“Rest assured that you are.”

Gaining confidence, she said, “May I ask you something which is none of my business?”

The doctor showed surprise. “You may. I won’t promise to answer.”

“Is Sir George paying you for your calls?”

John Hastings stared at her. “A strange question, Lady Canby. He was behind. But since he’s been employed at the newspaper, he has paid me, at least part of the amount.”

“May I pay the balance due?”

“No.”

“Why?”

The thin Scotsman said, “There is no need. I will not desert a patient. And Sir George will probably pay me. Many of my patients owe me for a long while or don’t pay at all. Mine is mostly a practice among working people. But I’m a single man. My needs are small. I manage very well.”

“You are a good man!” she said emotionally.

“No more so than many,” he said, studying her with his keen, gray eyes. “I feel you have a personal problem. May I venture to ask what it is?”

She hesitated and looked down at her folded hands. “I’m faced with a decision. The choice of how I will spend my life. I find it difficult to face.”

John Hastings said, “I’m a poor person to help you. I can’t decide my own life. If I followed my conscience, I would return to the small town in the North of Scotland where I grew up. The people need me. I chose to come here with the hopes I might pick up a fashionable and well paying practice.”

“Is that still your ambition?”

“No. Like you, I realize I have many choices for my life. This practice, though mostly for the poor, does not satisfy me. And at any time I might be picked up by some wealthy clients and become a successful fad! That would be the end of me!”

“I never dreamt that you might be unhappy in your work.”

“It is hard to judge until you know someone well,” he said.

She said, “I fear I must seem young to you. But I’m in my seventeenth year. I’m old enough to marry.”

“You have more wisdom than many girls your age. I have an idea you will be able to cope with your problem.”

“You think so?”

“Do not ever act hastily,” he said. “And do continue to see Rachel Nason.”

“I will,” she said. “What is your fee?”

He stood up with a smile. “Your promise to return.”

She blushed. “I will surely think of you as a friend,” she said, as he showed her out.

Less than a week later Sir George approached Joy’s father about marrying her. Sir Richard was not enthusiastic. Sir George pointed out he had already won an advancement at the newspaper, and his future prospects were excellent. Sir Richard at last told him to take his marriage offer directly to Joy. If she accepted him, the marriage could take place.

Sir George lost no time in telling Joy. He said, “Your father has agreed to our marriage if it is your wish. What do you say?”

She faced him solemnly. “You have done well lately,” she said. “My answer is yes.”

Sir George jubilantly lifted her up and swung her about. Later, with the celebration of his good fortune as an excuse, he drank too much, and had to be carried to his carriage and driven home.

The reaction of the others at Berkeley Square was varied. James took Joy aside and warned her, “You’ve made a dangerous decision!”

Her father took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. “I agree to this match with reluctance,” he told her. “Though Sir George does seem to have reformed.”

Lady Susan worried, “Of course, the great expense of the wedding will be ours! He is giving you his late mother’s wedding and engagement rings, so he will have no expense there! And he contends because of his duties at the paper he cannot take time for a honeymoon. I should say he is getting married on the cheap!”

Perhaps Hilda was the most worried. “You are like my sister,” she told Joy. “I cannot believe that Sir George has truly changed all that much.”

“I must give him a chance to prove himself,” Joy said, undaunted.

A week later, she encountered Dr. John Hastings. She was visiting Rachel. The news of her approaching marriage to Sir George had cheered the invalid up. She and Rachel were having tea in the sickroom when John Hastings arrived.

He bowed to Joy, “We meet again, Lady Canby.”

Rachel smiled from her pillow. “You’ve heard about her going to marry my brother?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, then turned to Joy, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said blushing.

He studied her keenly. “I’m sure you’ve not rushed into this. Marriage is a serious step.”

“I gave it much thought,” Joy told him.

“I see,” he said. “Sir George is a lucky man.”

Rachel spoke up, “He has changed, doctor. I’m sure of that.”