The Newcomer Read online

  THE NEWCOMER by HILDA PRESSLEY

  When Doctor Sara Martindale moved from Yorkshire to Norfolk to assist her Uncle John in his country practice, she was beset with more than her share of problems while settling down to her new life. Doctor Jim Crombie in particular had seemed to dislike her on sight — but why?

  Printed in Canada

  Original hard cover edition published in 1966 by Mills & Boon Limited, 17-19 Foley Street, London W 1A 1DR, England.

  © Hilda Pressley 1966

  Harlequin edition published, July. 1972

  ISBN 373-016014

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  CHAPTER I

  Sara threaded her way through the ancient Suffolk town, thankful to be on the last lap of her long journey. She had been driving since eight o'clock this morning, apart from a break for lunch, and it was now almost four. The rugged crags of Yorkshire and the uncompromising houses of grey stone had long since been left behind. Now the terrain was softer, more green, and the houses either half-timbered or of brick and flint with, here and there, a sprinkling of whitewashed cottages with dormer windows and thatched roofs.

  How glad she had been to leave Yorkshire behind. Not because of the people. These she had loved and understood, being a Northerner herself. Warm hearted and friendly, but outspoken in a way people from the South could never understand, she had been at home with them. What kind of people would she find in Norfolk and Suffolk ? Would they be like the Southerners, reserved, never saying what they were really thinking ?

  Unwillingly, Celia came into her mind. Sara had had no idea of the jealousy and dislike Dr Gregory's fiancée had been nurturing against her until David himself had told her. Never again would she enter into partnership with a doctor who was engaged or married. With Uncle John she would be safe from that sort of thing. Uncle John, her father's old friend, was middle-aged to elderly and a widower. Recently, his health had been failing, and because of the London overspill, his patients had been increasing. When he had written to say he was considering having an assistant, she had been only too glad to offer her services, and he had been delighted to accept her offer.

  She turned her car into the man-made forest she remembered on a visit when her father was alive. The

  gold, bronze and red tints of autumn were already showing. Sara loved the country. She felt she could be happy here. Uncle John's practice—she had called him uncle ever since she could remember; it would seem odd calling him anything else—spread over quite a wide area and served several villages. Many of the patients would be farm workers, naturally. Farm workers, forestry workers, and of course workers from the new factories she had seen just before entering the town. Many of the latter would be Londoners, of course, some almost as new as herself. How were they fitting in..? she wondered. How would she herself fit in ? Would there be village activities in which she could join ? Drama perhaps ? Her lips curved into an amused smile. There was always the Women's Institute. She believed there was one in every village. She had no first-hand experience of the W.I. movement, but she had read various news items about it in the press from time to time. She had been told it was the thing for country women.

  On this side of the town the road ran through some ten miles or so of the forest, or Chase, as it was called. Sara caught a glimpse here and there of long-tailed pheasants, their beautiful, silky bronze feathers gleaming in the pale sunshine. There were probably deer in the forest, too. But of course they would be too timid to show themselves in the daylight hours.

  She slowed down at a junction and followed the signpost to East Norton where John Henderson had his house and surgery. Now there were two rows of houses where there had once been a country lane, modern houses with their car ports and wide picture windows. They looked quite nice, Sara thought, but for herself she would prefer one of the older type houses, or one of the thatched cottages, some of which had obviously been recently restored. For the time being, however, she was to live with Uncle John in the big square house just past the old Market Square, now no longer a market place but

  an unofficial car park. Progress, she decided, was not always for the best, by any means.

  With a small thrill of excitement, she turned into the drive of Uncle John's house. She had arrived. Her new life was about to begin. She stepped out of the car and geared herself to meet her new colleague. Dear old Uncle John I Tall, with hair just beginning to turn grey, making him look more handsome than ever, twinkling blue eyes. Uncle John was fond of a joke.

  The front door opened before she reached it, but instead of Uncle John as she expected, it was his housekeeper who stood there. She gave a welcoming smile and held out her hand.

  ' Good afternoon, Dr Martindale. I'm so glad you've come. Did you have a good journey down ? '

  Sara took the proffered hand. ' Yes, thank you, Mrs Benson. How are you ? '

  Very well, thank you, miss—I'm sorry, I mean Doctor.'

  Sara smiled. ` That's all right, Mrs Benson. We won't worry about those sort of trifles. Is Dr Henderson home ? ' she asked, stepping into the hall.

  Yes, miss, but he's resting.'

  Resting ? '

  She knew he had been ill, but this wasn't like him at all. Now there appeared even more significance in the phrase, I'm so glad you've come. She was about to make an enquiry as to the state of his health when his voice sounded from the top of the stairs.

  Is that you, Sara ? I shall be down in a moment, my dear.'

  Sara went to the bottom of the stairs. ' Are you all right, Uncle John ? I can come up, if you like.'

  Good heavens, no, my dear. Make yourself comfortable in the sitting-room, and Mrs Benson will make some tea.'

  But when he entered the sitting-room a few minutes

  later, Sara was shocked at the change in him. His hair was now completely grey. His figure, once so upright, was bowed and frail and his clothes hung on him loosely. Dark rings were under his eyes, the once firm cheeks were slack, and the flesh under his chin hung in folds. She stifled an exclamation. But as he came towards her, she saw that though his blue eyes were a little faded, there still remained that gentle, humorous twinkle.

  Sara, my dear, I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you ! ' Taking both her hands in his, he looked at her with appraisal. You're more beautiful even than I remember you. Welcome to Ashton House.'

  He kissed her on both cheeks, and it was with an effort that she kept the tears from her eyes.

  ' It's lovely to see you, Uncle John—and you're every bit as wicked as I remember you. It's lovely to be here, too. But what on earth have you been doing to yourself ? '

  But he shook his head and put up his hand as if to silence her. Growing older, my dear, that's all. Come and sit down. Having you here has begun to take years off my age already.'

  But it was more than years which had altered his appearance. No wonder the practice was becoming too much for him.

  You've been working too hard,' she told him, as Mrs Benson brought in the tea and set out plates of cakes, scones and wafer-thin bread and butter. At least he was being well taken care of, she thought.

  Well, I shan't have to work quite so hard now you're here, shall I ? ' he said with. a smile. And I'm sure Dr Crombie will be pleased, too.'

  Dr Crombie ? '

  John Henderson nodded. He has a practice over at Wickham—Wickham St Joh
n. He's a good chap. Don't know what I'd have done without him. He takes my calls sometimes and I take his when he's out. All our

  villages are getting more highly populated. A lot of these people who are coming down from London—or should I say, up from London—prefer to live out here rather than in Ketford. I suppose you saw all the factories and the new houses as you came through ? '

  Sara poured out the tea and handed him something to eat. She hadn't realized there was another doctor so near. But as she would not be working with him, there was little to worry about. She answered John Henderson's query, then enquired about his family and their children. His wife had died ten years ago, and as he talked, Sara wondered if his decline in health dated from that time. His eldest son, Jeffery, was a practising solicitor in the Midlands.

  ' He and Molly and the two children came down for a couple of weeks during the summer,' Uncle John told her. The boy's the image of his father. But I doubt if he'll follow in his father's footsteps. He seemed more interested in Dr Finlay than Perry Mason. And he was in the surgery at every opportunity, trying on my stethoscope and giving me a check-up, the young rascal. Sue, of course, is like her mother, posing for Jeff's camera in her mother's clothes to the manner born.'

  He chuckled, and already, Sara thought, he looked better, less tired and strained. She was glad, more than ever, that she had come. She would be able to take all the late calls, and night calls, and those which came in the worst of the weather.

  Now he was talking about his second son, a schoolmaster in the local grammar school, whose wife Alys was teaching, too.

  Both their children are at boarding school. You'd better watch out for Alys. She's knee-deep in all the local societies, and she'll have you roped in for the Girl Guides and Brownies or something before you know where you are.'

  Sara smiled. She remembered Alys, a charming,

  intelligent woman with a deep love of the country and a very active mind.

  I don't know about Guides and Brownies,' she answered, ' but I certainly hope, in time, to join in some of the activities of the village.'

  ' You will, if Alys has anything to do with it,' he promised again. ' You'll end up as President of the W.I., I shouldn't wonder.'

  Sara was about to answer him when the telephone rang. Both listened, as out in the hall, Mrs Benson answered it. A moment later she came into the room.

  ' What is it, Jessie ? ' asked Dr Henderson. ' It' s Dr Crombie's receptionist '

  Sara thought she detected a faint scorn in the way the housekeeper said the word receptionist. She supposed it was unusual for a country doctor to have one. This role was more often than not filled by his wife, or, if he had no wife, by his housekeeper.

  what's wrong ? ' prompted John Henderson.

  The doctor is out on a case, and there's an urgent call from old Mrs Lovell's daughter. Her mother has fallen down the stairs and won't come round

  All right, Jessie. Tell Miss Bridges I'll go right away.' But, Doctor, you haven't finished your tea '

  ' Never mind, Jessie. Do as I tell you.'

  Jessie went out, muttering to herself. John Henderson rose from his chair quickly. ' Jessie's getting bossy in her old age. Ever since my illness, she's been like that. Means well, I suppose.'

  ' Uncle John, let me go,' Sara said earnestly. Momentary relief showed in his face, but he shook his head swiftly.

  No, no, my dear, I wouldn't dream of it. Tomorrow will be soon enough. No, you stay here and get settled in. I '

  He broke off suddenly and stood frozen, his face drained of colour.

  Uncle John, what is it ? ' she asked in alarm.

  ' It's—nothing,' he gasped out, after a second or two. ' It'll—pass.'

  She waited until some of his colour returned, then led him back to his chair.

  ' Sit down, Uncle John, and I'll go into the surgery and get you something.'

  Sara, don't fuss. I tell you it's nothing. I'm all right now.'

  ' Very well, I'll leave you to rest for a little while,' she told him.

  He looked up at her. Sara—I'm sorry.'

  She smiled. ' Nothing to be sorry about. Finish your tea. I'll just go and have a word with Jessie.' Sara found her, just about to sit down to her own tea. ' Jessie, Dr Henderson isn't well,' she began.

  Jessie drew in her breath sharply. 'Oh, miss, not another of his attacks ? '

  ' I see, having them regularly, is he ? Well, listen, Jessie—Mrs Benson

  Oh, call me Jessie, miss. It's much easier.'

  ' Yes, well, the doctor's resting for a minute. I've no doubt he's got some remedy handy in his pocket. Will you tell me how to get to this Mrs Lovell ? I'll go and visit her. I'm not saying anything to him, I'm just going. You can tell him when I've gone.'

  ' Oh, thank you, miss—I mean, Doctor.' She gave Sara some instructions. It's quite easy, and if you do take a wrong turning, anyone will direct you.'

  Sara had her own bag already in the car, one she always carried with her everywhere. She started up the car and drove out of the wide gateway, repeating Jessie's instructions over to herself. Turn right outside the gate, follow the signpost to West Norton for about a mile and a half, then take the second turn on the left. She would have to get a large scale map of the area. Uncle John was more ill than she had realized. A great deal of the

  work was going to fall on her shoulders. With more rest, he might improve, of course. Indeed, she hoped so.

  She located the thatched cottage she was looking for without any great difficulty, and found the old lady now

  - conscious, but very badly shaken. Her skin was cold and clammy and her pulse barely perceptible, but she had no bones broken. Her daughter had very wisely left her where she had fallen, put a pillow under her head and covered her with a coat.

  ' I'll help you to carry her upstairs and get her into bed,' Sara told the daughter, herself a middle-aged woman. ' I'll tell you what we'll do. Bring a chair, and well sit her on it, then one of us will pick up the front legs, the other the back of the chair, and we'll carry her up like that.'

  The old lady was not a heavy woman, but would be more than either her daughter or Sara could safely manage alone, and carrying her between them would be very tricky up the narrow stairs.

  Poor Mrs Lovell, you did come a cropper, didn't you ? ' she said, in sympathetic tones. ' Come along, let's have you on this chair. Gently does it, now.'

  Together, Sara and the old lady's daughter lifted her on to the chair and carried her up the stairs.

  ' Thank you, Doctor,' Mrs Lovell said when she was comfortably in bed. You're very kind.'

  Not at all,' Sara assured her, smiling.

  The old lady, it seemed, lived alone. In the way it often was with old people, she stubbornly refused to live with her daughter or any of her sons. Sara gave Mrs Allwood, her daughter, instructions that her mother was not to be left for tonight, at any rate, but kept quiet and watched carefully.

  You see, Mrs Allwood,' she explained, ' although there are no outward signs of injury, your mother may have concussion. So if she becomes very restless or she doesn't respond when you speak to her, you must send

  I

  for the doctor immediately. Is there anyone you can send to the phone ? Someone next door ? '

  Oh, they're on the phone next door, Doctor.' Really ? '

  It was a thatched cottage, similar in design to that of Mrs Lovell, but Sara thought maybe the country would be full of these kind of surprises.

  ' Yes, they're from London,' Mrs Allwood said, as if that explained everything. Then added, for good measure: They're artists. He draws cartoons for the papers, and she illustrates children's books.'

  Very interesting. And they'll let you use the phone or ring for you ? '

  ' Any time, they say. They're nice people, once you get to know them.'

  Sara smiled. That was probably true of half the population of the world, and most of the population of the village. What strange mortals we were that it took so long to reach
each other, she reflected.

  ' Well, that's all right, then. By the way, she'll no doubt be a mass of bruises by tomorrow, if not before. She's extremely lucky to have no bones broken. The bones of the elderly are usually very brittle. But old people are also very resilient. I expect she'll be up and about in a day or so as sprightly as ever.'

  When will you come again, then, Doctor ? ' Mrs Allwood asked, as she followed Sara down the stairs.

  ' Oh, I expect Dr Crombie will come either later this evening or in the morning. I'll tell him what's happened and that I've been to see your mother.'

  But as they reached the bottom of the stairs the old. lady called her daughter's name.

  Doris, bring me a clean hanky ! '

  You go,' Sara told her. ' I'll let myself out.'

  Through the window she caught the glimpse of a red sports car just pulling up outside the cottage next door. Curious to see the artist Mrs Allwood had spoken of,

  Sara lingered to watch him from behind the curtains as he opened the car door and stepped out. He was quite young, but not too young, tall, dark brown hair, wearing a tweed jacket and trousers which were rather baggy at the knees. But she wouldn't have thought his face was that of an artist. One harboured preconceived ideas, of course, but this man's face had a stern look about it, a— She drew back swiftly, as he glanced towards - the window. Few people like to be caught staring, and Sara was no exception. She hoped he had not seen her.

  She waited a second until she thought he would have reached his own front door, then opened Airs Lovell's door to leave, her first mission successfully accomplished. Her debut, in the village, as it were. But she stopped short, finding herself looking straight into the face of the man she had just been sizing up. He stared at her, then flicked a glance to the medical bag in her hand.

  Who the blazes are you ? ' he demanded.

  She drew herself up, her eyes widening. I might ask you the same question. lut for your information I'm Dr Martindale, Dr Henderson's new— ' But that was as far as she got.