"JILL DOESN'T COUNT"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 December 1940, Page 12

"JILL DOESN'T COUNT"

COPYRIGHT. ' PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

Phyllis Hambledon.

(Author of “Youth Takes the Helm.”)

CHAPTER VI. <Continuea>. Sally, Miss Croft’s maid, was bringing her’ suitcase down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, her mistress Landed 1 her a week’s wages. “I’m sorry to let you go, Sarah,” she said. “But there’s not enough work in this house to keep a maid. Ive been growing lazy lately. Exercise will be good for me, and I hope you’ll like the new place. I think you will. Write and tell me how you are getting on sime time.”

“I will, M'm,” said Sally. “I hope you manage all right, too, Mum!” Poor old geyser, she reflected, as she walked towards the bus on the corner, there wasn’t anybody less lazy than she. I suppose she thinks girls haven’t eyes in their heads these’days. Getting too lazy, indeed! Getting too hungry, that’s what’s the matter, though she never stinted me —I’ll say that for her. Lumme, I never thought I’d be sorry to leave her, but I am, and that s a fact, though there never was such a woman , for looking into corners and spotting, a speck of dust on the picture frames! Miss Croft, left to herself, felt a little frightened. The house, which had been bequeathed to her by her father, was big. It was filled too with endless and useless knick-knacks. To have parted with one of them would have given her sentimental sorrow. She had always been tired lately, too. Of course, she hadn't been eating much. Growing girls like Sarah needed their four meals a day. The truth was, one of her little investments had failed, and in addition to this, she had badly missed the little kindnesses of the other inhabitants of Charnford. They had never forgiven her for her independence in the summer. She had called them names to their faces, and it had been a horrifying experience. It had been charitable to decide that she was a little mental. Still, the invitations to tea had ceased, and no cast-off dresses, nor gifts of fruit had come her way this summer and autumn. And although she was always made very welcome at the Vereker’s, she did not like to go too often. Young married people should be left to themselves, thought Miss Croft. What would they want with an old maid, like I am?’ But now Christmas was coming, and she had no Sarah, and the house seemed very cold ans tall. She wouldn’t get any money until the New Year, and the errand boys and the postman wanted their Christmas boxes, and of course they would have to have them. I can just manage, though Miss Croft. Cousin Martha always sends me a nice pork pie at Christmas time. It’s good keeping weither. That pie will last till the New Year, with luck. But, when Cousin Martha, who had been to a good many bazaars lately, sent her an elaborately embroidered tea-cosy, instead of a pork pie that year, Miss Croft's heart nearly failed her. It was going to be an even bleaker Christmas that she had expected. I’ll go to bed for- the day, she thought. I’ll probably sleep most of the time. I’ll save coal that way, and you’re never really hungry in bed. And after Christmas, well, things are cheaper again. I might just tell the grocer I'd forgotten my purse, when I give my order. He’d trust me, surely. We Crofts never owed a penny to anybody. She held up her head very high the days before Christmas, but her face had a queer ethereal look. As it happened Oliver and Jill did not see her. It was a time of hurry and work. A baby elected to be born, just when its mother should have been enjoying her Christmas dinner. Oliver’s and Jill’s was spoint in consequence. And on Boxing Day, Jill surveying a well-filied larder, had an inspiration. “Oliver, there’s still Half the chicken t eat, and Viva’s hamper hasn’t been opened. We can’t just gorge alone. Go and fetch little Miss Croft. She hasn’t a maid, she told me. She’ll probably be glad to save the trouble of cooking something. And she was so nice about my At Home day in the summer.” “I’ll go and ask her now,” said Oliver. “Make it one-thirty, Jill. I’ve a very big round this morning.” He departed. As he stepped into the car one of his patients passed. Oliver waved a cheery hand to him. The man scowled, and went on without greeting. Funny, thought Oliver. He wondered what he’d done to offend him. Come to think of that, one or two of the people who had seemed to like him had been a bit queer lately. Why? He had not neglected his patients; he had looked after them faithfully and well. He did not connect this coldness with his friendship with Viva. She lived, after all, fifteen miles away. He had not seen her for a week, for she had flown to Paris for Christmas, He was not to know that Gerald Greer had returned from his Hollywood trip. And in that week, something had happened to him. Christmas had indeed been a hectic affair, but there had been something sweet and homelike about it. Christmas, this year had meant Jill. Jill in a scarlet jumer, coming back from the woods with the scarlet berried holly. Jill's soft lips meeting his under the mistletoe, the scarf Jill had knitted him, beside his plate at breakfast time Jill, finding time for church, coming back from it, a carol still upon her lips. Jill putting an overall over her prettiest frock, helping hirn sterilise his instruments.

And gradually, under the spirit of Christmas, Oliver had seen what Jill meant to him; he saw what he was doing to her. Oh, but Viva was an evil enchantment! This “friend” business was a farce; he had no right to see her again, no right to play at being an affectionate brother-in-law. I’ve been a cad, thought Oliver. Tomorrow, when she's back from Paris, I’ll go 1 and tell her so. I’ll tell her I’m through. Thank heaven. Jill had never suspected, he thought. And on Christmas night, when he

came back fagged from the maternity case, he was very tender and considerate to her. They sat on the big sofa m the sitting room in the fireligh.t. Jill’s head was on his shoulder; sometimes he kissed her cheek. I've never been so really nearly happy, she thought. So, in consequence, the next day she was full of human kindliness. She wanted somebody to share their happiness. She wanted Miss Croft who had been their first friends in Charnford.

Oliver went along to the prim little house at the other end ofj the town. He rang the bell. Nobody answered it. Perhaps he thought, Miss Croft was shopping. Then he remembered that the shops were closed so that wasn’t right. Perhaps she had gone away for Christmas. No, he had seen her on Christms Eve. She had not been looking well, he remembered. He rang again, and went on ringing. Miss Croft heard the bell from her bedroom. She had half dozen through a day and a night. By this time she wasn’t hungry any more. But the mere effort of getting out of bed seemed too much for her. She was cold, too. She had not had the energy to fill a kettle for her hot-water bottle. Let them ring, she thought hazily, and drew the covers farther up to her face. But the ringing went on so violentlj 7 and urgently and then somebody began hammering at the door. She realised that she would have to go down and answer. She got out of bed and was surprised to find how shaky she was She put on her coat and bedroom slippers. Oliver, frightened by this time, heard her coming downstairs very siowly. The chain was unloosed, the key turned, the door opened an inch or two. “Oh, doctor ” began Miss Croft. Then she coughed, as the cold air met her face. The spasm was too much for her. She tottered, put a hand to her heart. Oliver caught her. Without saying a word he lifted her up bodily. He took her upstairs to the fireless bedroom, Miss Croft was horrified, scandalised, terribly embarrassed, relieved all in a minute. She knew she could never have got up those stairs again, unaided. She tried to explain.,

“I didn’t feel so well this morning—didn’t get up ” “Wait a second!” said Oliver. “I’ll warm your hot-water bottle again for you.” It lay on the floor. He picked it up and carried it downstairs.

Oh, dear, thought Miss Croft helplessly, oh dear! I hope he doesn’t go mto the larder. Why should he? I feel s oill. It’s dreadful to think of him waiting on me in this way. She lay there, blushing for shame, she a sea captain’s daughter, and a man, even if ne were a doctor, fiilling her hot-water bottle for her! Here he was, coming up again. He had the bottle under his arm. and, on a tray, a steaming cup of something that smelt beefy and fragrant.

A sample of meat extract I had in my pocket,” he explained cheerfully. “I often carry a few about with me. Good things to eat, if you happen to be delayed for meals. I can diagnose what’s wrong with you in a jiffy, Miss Croft. You’re life the rest of my patients. You’ve been enjoying Christmas too well, haven’t you? Now drink that, and then I’ll tell you what I’ve come to ask you.” “What is it, Doctor?” said Miss Croft sipping the beef extract eagerly. How clever of him to have made it neither too hot nor too cold.

“Jill’s lonely now,” said Oliver. “She’s been a bit homesick over Christmas. It’s a big house for her, when I’m out so much. She wants to know if you’ll come and stay a few days with her. I know it’s asking a lot of you. Everybody likes their own home at Christmas time. But,‘if you would, it would be a real help. I'll take you along in the car as soon as you're dressed, yau lozy old woman! I never expected you’d be in bed, at this hour of day!”. “Of course, if Jill wants me •” said Miss Croft.

“You don’t suppose we’d ask you if we didn’t?” said Oliver. “Not a fire anywhere,” he told Jill afterwards, “not a bite in the house. I remember she told me before that her money came in at the New Year. You'll keep her till then, won’t you, dear? I’m glad we’ve got thia chicken. But don’t try and give her much of it, or much of anything come to that. She’s been starving herself consistently for weeks.” And: It’s funny, thought Miss Croft innocently, the mistakes even good doctors make in a diagnosis. “It isn’t true,” said Miss Croft. “I tell you, it isn’t true!” It was the new year, and her money had come, and she was back in her own house.' She wad looking more like her old self. For one thing, the quarterly cheque had been just a bit bigger than she had expected, and Oliver had found such a respectable girl called Gladys, just left school, to come in and ao for her for five shillings a week and her meals, which were certainly rather big ones. But. since Galdy’s meals were big, Miss Croft found herself, too, eating a little more, and good food certainly kept the cold out. And now rhe was having tea with Mrs. Grahame She had been in two minds to accept the invitation, remembering Mrs. Grahame’s unkind remark in the summer. But after all. in a little place like Charnford, you can’t keep up a quarrel f orever. It was as well to be on good terms with your neighbours. Not that she would ever like Mrs. Grahame, but there was no need to be unfriendly with her. Now she was wishing, however, that she had never come. For, after her hostesses had given her a very substantial tea, which she had partaken of only sparingly, for people mustn't think she needed food, like a pauper, the doctor’s wife had come out with what could only be described as a shocking and wicked piece of scandal. (To be Continued!.