Mrs Gregg told him unnecessarily. She was smoothing the rumpled bed and shaking out Henrietta’s nightgown—a sensible garment chosen for its warmth rather than its glamour.
He took a quick look round the room, laid Henrietta on the bed, and said, ‘I’ll be outside on the landing. I’ll take another look at Miss Cowper when you’ve put her to bed.’
He paused as he went to the door. Sitting in his cardboard box, Dickens was glaring at him, the kitten huddled against him. ‘Well, well,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt, and went downstairs to find the van driver.
‘Will there be a shop open?’ he wanted to know. ‘Miss Cowper will need milk and eggs, some kind of cold drink, and there are two cats which will need to be fed.’
‘Two now, is it? Me shop’s shut, but I’ll bring what you want for her—I’m in the next street.’
Mr Ross-Pitt produced money. ‘That’s good of you. I take it Miss Cowper is on her own?’
‘Yes-‘as been ever since she came ’ere. And as nice a young lady as you could find in a month of Sundays. Never says nothing about ‘erself, though. Proper lady she is, too. I’ll be off. Bring it upstairs, shall I?’
‘Please.’ Mr Ross-Pitt went back upstairs, knocked on the door and was admitted. Henrietta was in her bed. Her appearance reminded him of a wet hen, and he studied her with no more than a professional eye. She was flushed and hot, and her hair, of which there seemed to be a great quantity, covered the pillow.
He took her wrist and frowned over her rapid pulse. If he had known that she lived in an attic with, as far as he could see, few comforts, he would have driven her to St Alkelda’s and had her admitted. She opened her eyes and he said kindly, ‘You’re back in your bed. Stay there for a couple of days and take the pills I’m going to leave with you.’
‘Dickens,’ she whispered from a sore throat, ‘and Ollie. Don’t let them out.’
‘No, no, they are sitting in a box. I’ll feed them before I go; that’s what you want, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘Please.’ She turned her head and saw Mrs Gregg on the other side of the bed. ‘Sorry to be such a nuisance...’ She added anxiously, ‘Don’t let them out...’
Mr Ross-Pitt took her hand. ‘I promise you your cats will be taken care of until you feel better. Mrs Gregg is going to keep an eye on you and them, and someone will be along to see how you feel tomorrow.’
There was a knock on the door and the milk and groceries were handed in. Mr Ross-Pitt took them, refusing to accept the change with exactly the right casual air. ‘Certainly not, my dear chap; we’re beholden to you.’
‘Oh, I’ll nip off ’ome then; the missus will be wondering where I’ve got to. So long, guv.’
‘So long.’ Mr Ross-Pitt went back into the room and stowed everything away tidily, fed the animals and then thoughtfully put them on the end of the bed. Henrietta didn’t open her eyes but he saw her little smile.
‘Will you leave a small light on, Mrs Gregg? Perhaps we might have a word downstairs.’
The word, accompanied by the handing-over of suitable financial support, didn’t take long. ‘Miss Cowper should be in hospital, but I am sure that you will take good care of her. Someone will visit her tomorrow to make sure that she is quite comfortable, but I know I can depend on you, Mrs Gregg.’
Mrs Gregg fingered the notes in her pocket and assured him that she would look after Henrietta like a mother.
Which she did. She wasn’t one to bother about her various tenants—as long as they paid their rent and kept quite quiet she felt no concern for them—but Henrietta was a good tenant, paid her rent on the dot and was as quiet as a mouse. No gentlemen-friends, either. Mrs Gregg would have done her best for her even without being paid for it.
As it was, she rose to the occasion, going upstairs several times during the night and following morning, warming milk, offering cold drinks, feeding the cat and kitten. She washed Henrietta’s face and hands and straightened the bed while Henrietta tottered, wrapped in her dressing gown, down to the floor below to the loo, where she was quietly sick, to return, very wobbly on her feet, and climb thankfully back into bed.
The doctor with whom she had registered came to see her later that day. He was a busy man with a large practice but, asked courteously by Mr Ross-Pitt to visit Henrietta, he had consented to do so. He had agreed, too, to let him know if she showed signs of improvement.
He had been taken aback at the sight of the attic; she had been to his surgery once or twice and he had formed the vague opinion that she was a cut above his usual patient, probably living in one of the new blocks of flats springing up on the bulldozed sites of abandoned terraced houses.
He examined her carefully, wondering why Mr Ross-Pitt, whom he had met once or twice at the hospital, should take an interest in her. He had said something about her working at St Alkelda’s, which would account for it, he supposed.
He phoned the hospital later and, since Mr Ross-Pitt wasn’t available, he left a message. Miss Cowper was suffering from flu and not feeling too good, but she seemed a sensible young woman, taking her antibiotics and staying in bed, and her landlady appeared to be a good sort.
His message was received with a grunt as Mr Ross-Pitt bent over the operating table; the girl was in good hands now, so he forgot about her, absorbed in a tricky bit of surgery which demanded his powerful concentration.
At the end of the day Mr Ross-Pitt remembered Henrietta again, though. It would do no harm to make sure that Mrs Gregg was looking after her. He stopped the car outside a small flower shop near the hospital gates, picked a bunch of daffodils and narcissi at random and drove to Mrs Gregg’s house.
Waiting for her to open the door, he felt impatient; he had had a long day and he would have to spend the night at his flat It was imperative that he visited his patient later that night and if necessary in the early morning; the quiet evening that he had been looking forward to would have to be curtailed.
The door opened at last and Mrs Gregg stood aside and allowed him to enter.
‘Upstairs I was, sir; came as quick as I could. Do you want to see Henrietta?’
‘Please. I understand her doctor has been?’
‘S’ right. In a bit of an ‘urry, but took a look at ’er. Told ‘er ter take them pills regular and come and see ’im if she wasn’t well in a few days.’
They had been climbing the stairs as she spoke; now she opened the attic door and stood aside to let him into the room. ‘Ere’s yer doctor, love.’ She went on, ‘And while yer ’ere I’ll see to them cats.’
Henrietta sat up in bed, aware that she wasn’t looking her best. Her hair felt like damp seaweed, she was hot and sticky, and she was wearing a grey cardigan over her nightie. She said, ‘Hello,’ in a gruff voice and eyed him with peevishness. ‘I’m much better...’
‘I am glad to hear that. I was passing and hoped you wouldn’t mind me calling to enquire.’ He laid the flowers on the bed and she put out a gentle finger to touch them.
‘For me? How very kind. They’re beautiful. Thank you, and thank you for calling. I really am feeling
