A Christmas Proposal. Betty Neels
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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.