over her wardrobe. It was early autumn. Too late in the year for a summer outfit and too warm still for her good jacket and skirt. It would have to be the jersey two-piece with the corn silk tee shirt.
Her mother, an old-fashioned woman in many respects, considered it ladylike, which it was. It also did nothing for Araminta, who was a girl with no looks worth glancing at twice. She had mousy hair, long and fine, worn in an untidy pile on top of her head, an unremarkable face—except for large, thickly fringed hazel eyes—and a nicely rounded person, largely unnoticed since her clothes had always been chosen with an eye to their suitability.
They were always in sensible colours, in fabrics not easily spoilt by small sticky fingers which would go to the cleaners or the washing machine time and time again. She studied her reflection in the looking glass and sighed over her small sharp nose and wide mouth. She had a lovely smile, but since she had no reason to smile at her own face she was unaware of that.
Not that that mattered; this uncle would probably be a prosey old bachelor, and, since he was a friend of Dr Jenkell, of a similar age.
She was up early the following morning to take tea to her parents, give Cherub his breakfast and tidy the house, put lunch ready and then catch the bus to Henley.
A little over two hours later she was walking along a narrow street close to Cavendish Square. It was very quiet, with tall Regency houses on either side of it, their paintwork pristine, brass doorknockers gleaming. Whoever uncle was, reflected Araminta, he had done well for himself.
The house she was looking for was at the end of the terrace, with an alley beside it leading to mews behind the houses. Delightful, reflected Araminta, and she banged the knocker.
The man who answered the door was short and thin with sandy hair, small dark eyes and a very sharp nose. Just like a rat, thought Araminta, and added, a nice rat, for he had a friendly smile and the little eyes twinkled.
It was only then that she perceived that she should have made an appointment; uncle was probably out on his rounds—did doctors who lived in grand houses have rounds? She didn’t allow herself to be discouraged by the thought.
‘I would like to see Dr van der Breugh. I should have made an appointment but it’s really rather urgent. It concerns his two nephews…’
‘Ah, yes, miss. If you would wait while I see if the doctor is free.’
He led the way down a narrow hall and opened a door. His smile was friendly. ‘I won’t be two ticks,’ he assured her. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
The moment he had closed the door behind him, she got up from her chair and began a tour of the room. It was at the back of the house and the windows, tall and narrow, overlooked a small walled garden with the mews beyond. It was furnished with a pleasant mixture of antique cabinets, tables and two magnificent sofas on either side of an Adam fireplace. There were easy chairs, too, and a vast mirror over the fireplace. A comfortable room, even if rather grand, and obviously used, for there was a dog basket by one of the windows and a newspaper thrown down on one of the tables.
She studied her person in the mirror, something which brought her no satisfaction. The jersey two-piece, in a sensible brown, did nothing for her, and her hair had become a little ruffled. She poked at it impatiently and then looked round guiltily as the door opened.
‘If you will come this way, miss,’ said the rat-faced man. ‘The boss has got ten minutes to spare.’
Was he the butler? she wondered, following him out of the room. If so, he wasn’t very respectful. Perhaps modern butlers had freedom of speech…
They went back down the hall and he opened a door on the other side of it.
‘Miss Pomfrey,’ he announced, and gave her a friendly shove before shutting the door on her.
It was a fair-sized room, lined with bookshelves, one corner of it taken up by a large desk. The man sitting at it got to his feet as Araminta hesitated, staring at him. This surely couldn’t be uncle. He was a giant of a man with fair hair touched with silver, a handsome man with a high-bridged nose, a thin, firm mouth and a determined chin. He took off the glasses he was wearing and smiled as he came to her and shook hands.
‘Miss Pomfrey? Dr Jenkell told me that you might come and see me. No doubt you would like some details—’
‘Look,’ said Araminta urgently, ‘before you say any more, I’ve come to tell you that I can’t look after your nephews. I’m starting as a student nurse in two weeks’ time. I didn’t know about this job until Dr Jenkell told me. I’m sure he meant it kindly, and my parents thought it was a splendid idea, but they arranged it all while I wasn’t there.’
The doctor pulled up a chair. ‘Do sit down and tell me about it,’ he invited. He had a quiet, rather slow way of speaking, and she felt soothed by it, as was intended.
‘Briskett is bringing us coffee…’
Araminta forgot for the moment why she was there. She felt surprisingly comfortable with the doctor, as though she had known him for years. She said now, ‘Briskett? The little man who answered the door? Is he your butler? He called you “the boss”—I mean, he doesn’t talk like a butler…’
‘He runs the house for me, most efficiently. His rather unusual way of talking is, I fancy, due to his addiction to American films; they represent democracy to him. Every man is an equal. Nevertheless, he is a most trustworthy and hard-working man; I’ve had him for years. He didn’t upset you?’
‘Heavens, no. I liked him. He looks like a friendly rat,’ she explained. ‘Beady eyes, you know, and a sharp nose. He has a lovely smile.’
Briskett came in then, with the coffee tray, which he set down on a small table near Araminta’s chair. ‘You be mother,’ he said, and added, ‘Don’t you forget you’ve to be at the hospital, sir.’
‘Thank you, Briskett, I’ll be leaving very shortly.’
Asked to do so, Araminta poured their coffee. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being inconvenient,’ she said. ‘You see, I thought if you didn’t expect me it would be easier for me to explain and you wouldn’t have time to argue.’
The doctor managed not to smile. He agreed gravely. ‘I quite see that the whole thing is a misunderstanding and I’m sorry you have been vexed.’ He added smoothly, with just a touch of regret allowed to show, ‘You would have done splendidly, I feel sure. They are six years old, the boys, twins and a handful. I must find someone young and patient to cope with them. Their parents—their mother is my sister—are archaeologists and are going to the Middle East for a month or so. It seemed a good idea if the children were to make their home with me while they are away. I leave for Holland in a week’s time, and if I can’t find someone suitable, I’m afraid their mother will have to stay here in England. A pity, but it can’t be helped.’
‘If they went to Holland with you, would they live with you? I mean, don’t you have a wife?’
‘My dear Miss Pomfrey, I am a very busy man. I’ve no time to look for a wife and certainly no time to marry. I have a housekeeper and her husband, both too elderly to cope with small boys. I intend sending them to morning school and shall spend as much time with them as I can, but they will need someone to look after them.’
He put down his coffee cup. ‘I’m sorry you had to come and see me, but I quite
