She prudently didn’t wait for Aunt Kate to disagree, but whisked herself back to her own room, got into a grey wool dress which did nothing for her at, all, tied her hair back with a ribbon to save time, and went back to Aunt Kate.
Aunt Kate was as firmly against being washed and put into a clean nightie as Phoebe was determined that this was to be done. Phoebe won. A stint on Women’s Medical Ward had taught her how to get round elderly ladies who wanted to do exactly the opposite of what was asked of them; calm, kindness and never-ending patience were three virtues she had acquired and she was by nature a kind girl. Aunt Kate, almost without realising it, found herself washed, clad in another of her old-fashioned nightgowns, her hair combed and pinned into a tidy knot, and then she was lifted into a bedside chair, where she sat watching clean sheets being put on her bed and wearily scolding at the extra washing which would have to be done. Phoebe popped her back into bed while she was still complaining. ‘There,’ she said, ‘isn’t that better? I’ll get your breakfast.’
Coddled egg, thin bread and butter and a cup of tea, nicely arranged on a tray—even Aunt Kate could find no fault with that. Phoebe went back to the kitchen and boiled an egg, made some toast and a pot of tea and sat down at the table to eat her own breakfast, while she made a list of the shopping which had to be done. She hadn’t finished when Susan arrived, accepted a cup of tea, and declared her intention of giving the kitchen a good going over. ‘But I’ll tidy up first, miss, only Miss Mason don’t much like me in her room.’
‘Then I’ll do it—you see to the rest of the house, Susan, just as you always do. Dr Pritchard doesn’t come until after surgery, does he? I’ll go out as soon as I’ve seen to my aunt and do the shopping.’
Aunt Kate had eaten most of her breakfast. ‘And what do you fancy for your lunch?’ enquired Phoebe. ‘I’m going to the shops presently. What about a morsel of chicken and potato with some mashed parsnips?’
‘Chicken costs a lot of money,’ observed Miss Mason.
‘Cheaper than meat, Aunt Kate. And I’ll get a marrow bone and make soup—that’s nice with toast for supper.’ She added carefully: ‘I’ll need some money.’
Aunt Kate put her hand under the bedclothes and withdrew a purse, she had sat with it in her hand while Phoebe had made the bed. ‘I’m a poor old woman,’ she said with mournful mendacity. ‘We’ll be starving at this rate.’
‘I’m a good manager,’ Phoebe assured her, ‘but there really is nothing in the larder, and you need good nourishing food. The milkman called just now and said you only had a pint every other day; I asked him to leave a pint each day. I can make milk puddings and custards which won’t cost much and will do you good.’ She added cunningly: ‘There’s masses of rice in the kitchen cupboard, and semolina too—no need to buy those for weeks.’
‘You’ll use up everything there is,’ demanded Aunt Kate, ‘and not waste my money!’
Phoebe was nipping round the room with a duster; she could have written her name on the old-fashioned mantlepiece. Obviously the nurse had either not bothered, or Aunt Kate had refused to let her keep the room clean, let alone tidy. The floor could do with a good Hoovering, only she doubted if Aunt Kate had such a thing in the house. Oblivious to her aunt’s complaining voice, she wiped down the ledges and the table tops, and collected newspapers, pacifying her aunt with the paper which had just arrived. Promising to be back to give her her elevenses, she got a jacket and let herself out of the house. It was only just after nine o’clock and the street was quiet, although there were several cars outside the doctor’s house, Phoebe walked the short distance to where the shops were—the butcher’s, the general store and Post Office, and tucked in between these, a bow-fronted window full of small antiques. She paused a moment to peer at these before opening the door of the stores. There was no one in the shop, but the old-fashioned bell at the door brought a small round woman from the door behind the counter.
‘Miss Mason’s niece,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Susan said you was come.’
Phoebe offered a hand over the counter. ‘Phoebe Creswell,’ she said politely.
‘Mrs Platt. Come to stock up a bit, ‘ave you? By all accounts there weren’t much in the house. Can’t say I blame that nurse—not that I liked her, mind you—a stuck-up piece if ever there was one.’
She studied Phoebe’s pleasant not quite pretty face and nodded. ‘Now what’s it to be?’
Phoebe studied her list. She had whittled it down as far as she dared, for Aunt Kate hadn’t been over-generous with the housekeeping. Luckily Mrs Platt was sympathetic; Phoebe made her purchases, bought some stamps for herself and went to the butcher next door. He obliged with a piece of chicken, a large bone and two lamb chops, made the observation that it was a pleasure to have her for a customer, and bade her a cheerful good morning. At least the people were friendly, she thought, and the morning was bright and the sky blue. Life could be far worse. Just for the moment she allowed her thoughts to dwell upon Basil, but only for a moment; he wasn’t worth wasting time over. She went back into the house, watched, if she did but know it, by Dr Pritchard, pausing between patients. Only when she had closed the door behind her did he press his buzzer and turn an impersonally friendly face to his next patient.
Phoebe put away her purchases, made a neat list of what she had spent, and took it upstairs with her aunt’s egg and milk. She listened to Aunt Kate’s tirade over the cost of everything without rancour, handed over the change and observed that she was going to find out from Susan where she could buy vegetables. She slipped away before her aunt could argue.
Susan was a mine of information. Her own dad had a tidy bit of garden, she could bring anything within reason any time she was asked, she said.
So Phoebe made another list, argued prices with Susan and went back upstairs to ask for the money. ‘Far cheaper than I could buy in a shop,’ she pointed out cheerfully, ‘and Susan will bring just as much as we need; there won’t be any waste.’ And this argument appealed to Aunt Kate, who produce the purse once more.
Susan had done her best with the kitchen. Phoebe shared the Nescafé with her, and, left alone, began on the lunch. She was peeling potatoes when Dr Pritchard came in. His ‘Hullo,’ was brisk and friendly. ‘I never knock,’ he advised her. ‘Susan’s always sweeping and dusting and I know my way around.’ He gave her a quick look. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Me? Oh yes, thank you. Aunt Kate had a good night, she’s got a very rapid pulse and a bit of a temperature; I’ve written them down upstairs. She ate most of her breakfast and took her pills.’
‘Then we’ll have a look at her, shall we?’
We waited while she washed her hands and then followed her upstairs.
Aunt Kate received him with a testy observation that she didn’t need him, that she was feeling better and that if she wanted him to visit she would send a message.
To all of which he merely nodded his handsome head, observed that it was nice to see her looking so much better and that he would take a look at her chest now that he was there.
He was kind and gentle, waiting patiently while she coughed and grumbled, struggling for breath. He put his stethoscope away presently and sat down by the bed to enquire in a leisurely fashion just how she felt.
The old lady cast him a waspish look. ‘None the better for seeing you, young man. I doubt you know anything about me—all I need is a bottle of tonic to get me on my feet and something to ease the cough.’
It was no good talking to Aunt Kate about antibiotics, Phoebe could see that, and Dr Pritchard didn’t really try, he remarked that it was early days for a tonic to be of much use but that he would send over a bottle of something to help the cough.
Phoebe’s eyes flew to the bottles already arranged tidily on the chest of drawers, some only half finished. She looked away and caught