The Citadel Read online

  Andrew bit his lip, his eyes lowered, aware for the first time of this generous thing that Denny had done for him.

  ‘There is just one difficulty, Doctor Manson,’ Owen paused, diffidently moving the ruler on his table. ‘ While the committee is now unanimously disposed in your favour, this position with its – its responsibilities – is more or less one for a married man. You see, apart from the fact that the men prefer a married doctor when it comes to attendin’ their families, there’s a house, Vale View, and a good house too, that goes with the position. It wouldn’t – no, it wouldn’t be very suitable for a single man.’

  A tumultuous silence. Andrew drew a tense breath, his thoughts focused, a bright white light, upon the image of Christine. They were all, even Doctor Llewellyn, looking at him awaiting his answer. Without thinking, entirely independent of his own volition he spoke. He heard himself declaring calmly:

  ‘As a matter of fact, gentlemen, I’m engaged to someone in Drineffy. I’ve – I’ve just been waiting on a suitable appointment – such as this – to get married.’

  Owen slapped down the ruler in satisfaction. There was approval, signified by a tapping of heavy boots. And the irrepressible Kettles exclaimed:

  ‘Good enough, lad. Aberalaw’s a rare fine place for an ’oneymoon!’

  ‘I take it you’re agreed then, gentlemen,’ Owen’s voice rose above the noise. ‘Doctor Manson is unanimously appointed.’

  There was a vigorous murmur of assent. Andrew experienced a wild thrill of triumph.

  ‘When can you take up your duties, Doctor Manson? The earlier the better, so far as the committee is concerned.’

  ‘I could start the beginning of next week,’ Manson answered. Then he turned cold as he thought: ‘Suppose Christine won’t have me. Suppose I lose her, and this wonderful job as well.’

  ‘That’s settled then. Thank you, Doctor Manson. I’m sure the committee wishes you – and Mrs Manson that’s to be – every success in your new appointment.’

  Applause. They were all congratulating him now, the members, Llewellyn, and, with a very cordial clasp, Owen. Then he was out in the waiting-room, trying not to show his elation, trying to appear unconscious of Edwards’s incredulous, crestfallen face.

  But it was no use, no use at all. As he walked from the Square to the station his heart swelled with excited victory. His step was quick and springy. On his right as he strode down the hill was a small green public park with a fountain and a bandstand. Think of it! – a bandstand! – when the only elevation, the only feature of the landscape in Drineffy was a slag heap. Look at that cinema over there, too; those fine big shops: the hard good road – not a rock mountain track – under his feet! And hadn’t Owen said something about a hospital too, a nice little hospital? Ah! Thinking of what the hospital would mean to his work, Andrew drew a deep, excited breath. He hurled himself into an empty compartment in the train for Cardiff. And as it bore him thither he exulted wildly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Though the distance was not great across the mountains, the railway journey from Aberalaw to Drineffy was circuitous. The down train stopped at every station, the Penelly valley train into which he changed at Cardiff would not, simply would not go fast enough. Manson’s mood had altered now. Sunk in the corner seat, chafing, burning to be back, his thoughts tormented him.

  For the first time he saw how selfish he had been, these last few months, in considering only his side of the case. All his doubts about marriage, his hesitation in speaking to Christine, had centred on his own feelings and had preconceived the fact that she would take him. But suppose he had made a frightful mistake? Suppose she did not love him? He saw himself, rejected, dismally writing a letter to the Committee telling them that ‘owing to circumstances over which he had no control’ he could not accept the position. He saw her now, vividly before him. How well he knew her, that faint inquiring smile, the way in which she rested her hand against her chin, the steady candour in her dark brown eyes. A pang of longing shot through him. Dear Christine! If he had to forgo her he did not care what happened to him.

  At nine o’clock the train crawled into Drineffy. In a flash he was out on the platform and moving up Railway Road. Though he did not expect Christine until the morning there was just the chance that she might already have arrived. Into Chapel Street. Round the corner of the Institute. A light in the front room of her lodgings sent a pang of expectation through him. Telling himself that he must contain himself, that it was probably only her landlady preparing the room, he swept into the house, burst into the sitting-room.

  Yes! It was Christine. She was kneeling over some books in the corner, arranging them on the lower shelf. Finished, she had begun to tidy up the string and paper which lay beside her on the floor. Her suitcase with her jacket and hat upon it lay in a chair. He saw she had not long returned.

  ‘Christine!’

  She swung round, still kneeling, a strand of hair fallen over her brow, then with a little cry of surprise and pleasure she rose.

  ‘Andrew! How nice of you to come round.’

  Advancing towards him, her face alight, she held out her hand. But he took both her hands in his and held them tightly. He gazed down at her. He loved her especially in that skirt and blouse which she was wearing. It somehow increased her slightness, the tender sweetness of her youthfulness. Again his heart was throbbing.

  ‘Chris! I’ve got to tell you something.’

  Concern swept into her eyes. She studied his pale and travel grimed face with real anxiety. She said quickly:

  ‘What has happened? Is it more trouble with Miss Page? Are you going away?’

  He shook his head, enslaving her small hands more tightly in his. And then, all at once, he broke out:

  ‘Christine! I’ve got a job, the most wonderful job. At Aberalaw. I was up seeing the committee today. Five hundred a year and a house. A house, Christine! Oh, darling – Christine – could you – would you marry me?’

  She went very pale. Her eyes were lustrous in her pale face. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. She said faintly:

  ‘And I thought – I thought it was bad news you were going to tell me.’

  ‘No, no,’ impulsively. ‘It’s the most marvellous news, darling. Oh! If you’d just seen the place. All open and clean with green fields and decent shops and roads and a park and – oh! Christine, actually a hospital. If only you’ll marry me, darling, we can start there straight away.’

  Her lips were soft, trembling. But her eyes smiled, smiled with that strange and shining lustre towards him.

  ‘Is this because of Aberalaw or because of me?’

  ‘It’s you, Chris. Oh, you know I love you, but then – perhaps you don’t love me.’

  She gave a little sound in her throat, came towards him so that her head was buried in his breast. As his arms went round her she said brokenly:

  ‘Oh, darling, darling. I’ve loved you ever since’ – smiling through her happy tears – ‘oh, ever since I saw you walk into that stupid classroom.’

  Part Two

  Chapter One

  Gwilliam John Lossin’s decrepit motor van banged and boiled its way up the mountain road. Behind, an old tarpaulin drooped over the ruined tailboard, the rusted number-plate, the oil lamp that was never lit, dragging a smooth pattern in the dust. At the sides the loose wings flapped and clattered to the rhythm of the ancient engine. And in front, jammed gaily in the driving seat with Gwilliam John were Doctor Manson and his wife.

  They had been married that morning. This was their bridal carriage. Underneath the tarpaulin were Christine’s few pieces of furniture, a kitchen table bought second-hand in Drineffy for twenty shillings, several new pots and pans, and their suitcases. Since they were without pride they had decided that the best, the cheapest way to bring this grand summation of their worldly goods and themselves to Aberalaw was in Gwilliam John’s pantechnicon.

  The day was bright, with a fresh breeze blowing, burnishing the blue
sky. They had laughed and cracked jokes with Gwilliam John, who obliged occasionally with his special rendering of Handel’s Largo upon the motor horn. They had stopped at the solitary inn high on the mountain at Ruthin Pass, to make Gwilliam John toast them in Rhymney beer. Gwilliam John, a scatter-brained little man with a squint, toasted them several times and then had a drop o’ gin on his own account. Thereafter their career down Ruthin – with its two hairpin bends edging a sheer precipice of five hundred feet – had been demonic.

  At last they crested the final rise and coasted down into Aberalaw. It was a moment tinged with ecstasy. The town lay before them with its long and undulating lines of roofs reaching up and down the valley, its shops, churches and offices clustered at the upper end and, at the lower, its mines and oreworks, the chimneys smoking steadily, the squat condenser belching clouds of steam – and all, all spangled by the midday sun.

  ‘Look! Chris, look!’ Andrew whispered, pressing her arm tightly. He had all the eagerness of the cicerone. ‘It’s a fine place, isn’t it? There’s the Square! We’ve come in the back way. And look! No more oil lamps, darling. There’s the gasworks. I wonder where our house is.’

  They stopped a passing miner and were soon directed to Vale View which lay, he told them, in this very road, right on the fringe of the town. Another minute and they were there.

  ‘Well!’ said Christine. ‘It’s – it’s nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, darling. It looks – it looks a lovely house.’

  ‘By Cor!’ Gwilliam John said, shoving his cap to the back of his head. ‘That’s a rum lookin’ shop.’

  Vale View was, indeed, an extraordinary edifice, at first sight something between a Swiss chalet and a Highland shooting box, with a great profusion of little gables, the whole roughcast and standing in half an acre of desolate garden choked with weeds and nettles through which a stream tumbled over a variety of tin cans to be surmounted midway in its course by a mouldering rustic bridge. Though they were not then aware of it, Vale View was their first introduction to the diverse power, the variegated omniscience of the committee, who in the boom year of 1919, when contributions were rolling in, had said largely that they would build a house, a fine house that would do the committee credit, something stylish, a reg’lar smarter. Every member of that committee had had his own positive idea as to what a reg’lar smarter should be. There were thirty members. Vale View was the result.

  Whatever their impression of the outside, however, they were speedily comforted within. The house was sound, well-floored and cleanly papered. But the number of rooms was alarming. They both perceived instantly, though neither of them mentioned it, that Christine’s few pieces would barely furnish two of these apartments.

  ‘Let’s see, darling,’ Chris said counting practically on her fingers as they stood in the hall after their first breathless tour. ‘I make it a dining-room, drawing-room, and library, oh, or morning-room – whatever we like to call it, downstairs, and five bedrooms upstairs.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Andrew smiled. ‘No wonder they wanted a married man.’ His smile faded to compunction. ‘Honestly, Chris, I feel rotten about this – me, without a bean using your nice furniture, it’s as if I was sponging on you, taking everything for granted, dragging you over here at a minute’s notice – hardly giving them time to get your deputy into the school. I’m a selfish ass. I ought to have come over first and got the place decently ready for you.’

  ‘Andrew Manson! If you’d dared to leave me behind.’

  ‘Anyhow I’m going to do something about it,’ he frowned at her doggedly. ‘Now listen, Chris –’

  She interrupted with a smile.

  ‘I think, darling, I’m going to make you an omelette according to Madame Poulard. At least, the cookery book’s idea of it.’

  Cut off at the outset of his declamation, his mouth opened, he stared at her. Then gradually his frown vanished. Smiling again he followed her into the kitchen. He could not bear her out of his sight. Their footsteps made the empty house sound like a cathedral.

  The omelette – Gwilliam John had been sent for the eggs before he took his departure – came out of the pan, hot, savoury and a delicate yellow. They ate it sitting together on the edge of the kitchen table. He exclaimed vigorously:

  ‘By God! – Sorry, darling, forgot I was a reformed character – by Jove! You can cook! That calendar they’ve left doesn’t look bad on the wall. Fills it up nicely. And I like the picture on it – these roses. Is there a little more omelette? Who was Poulard? Sounds like a hen. Thanks, darling. Gosh! You don’t know how keen I am to get started. There ought to be opportunities here. Big opportunities!’ He broke off suddenly, his eyes resting on a varnished wooden case which stood beside their baggage in the corner. ‘ I say, Chris! What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, that!’ She made her voice sound casual. ‘That’s a wedding present – from Denny!’

  ‘Denny!’ His face changed. Philip had been stiff and off-hand when he had charged down upon him to thank him for his help in getting the new job and to tell him he was marrying Christine. This morning he had not even come to see them off. It had hurt Andrew, made him feel that Denny was too complex, too incomprehensible to remain his friend. He advanced slowly, rather suspiciously to the case, thinking, probably an old boot inside – that was Denny’s idea of humour. He opened the case. Then he gave a gasp of sheer delight. Inside was Denny’s microscope, the exquisite Zeiss, and a note: ‘I don’t really need this, I told you I was a sawbones. Good luck.’

  There was nothing to be said. Thoughtful, almost subdued, Andrew finished his omelette, his eyes fixed all the time upon the microscope. Then, reverently, he took it up and, accompanied by Christine, went into the room behind the dining-room. He placed the microscope solemnly in the middle of the bare floor.

  ‘This isn’t the library, Chris – or the morning-room or the study or anything like that. Thanks to our good friend Philip Denny, I hereby christen it the Lab.’

  He had just kissed her, to make the ceremony really effective, when the phone rang – a persistent shrilling which coming from the empty hall was singularly startling. They gazed at each other questioningly, excitedly.

  ‘Perhaps it’s a call, Chris! Think of it! My first Aberalaw case.’ He dashed into the hall.

  It was not a case, however, but Doctor Llewellyn, telephoning his welcome from his home at the other end of the town. His voice came over the wire, distinct and urbane, so that Chris, on her toes at Andrew’s shoulder, could hear the conversation perfectly.

  ‘Hel-lo, Manson. How are you? Don’t fret, now, it isn’t work this time. I only wanted to be the first to welcome you and your missus to Aberalaw.’

  ‘Thanks, thanks, Doctor Llewellyn. It’s awfully good of you. I don’t mind if it is work though!’

  ‘Tut! Tut! Wouldn’t dream of it till you get straight.’ Llewellyn gushed. ‘And look here, if you’re not doing anything tonight come over and have dinner with us, you and your missus, no formality, half past seven, we’ll be delighted to see you both. Then you and I can have a chat. That’s settled then. Good-bye, in the meantime.’

  Andrew put down the receiver, his expression deeply gratified.

  ‘Wasn’t that decent of him, Chris? Asking us over bang off like that! The head doctor, mind you! He’s a well-qualified man, too. I can tell you. I looked him up. London hospital – MD, FRCS, and the DPH. Think of it – all these star degrees! And he sounded so friendly. Believe me, Mrs Manson, we’re going to make a big hit here.’ Slipping his arm round her waist he began jubilantly to waltz her round the hall.

  Chapter Two

  That night, at seven o’clock, they set out through the brisk and busy streets for Doctor Llewellyn’s house, Glynmawr. It was a stimulating walk. Andrew viewed his new fellow townsmen with enthusiasm.

  ‘See that man coming, Christine! Quick! That fellow coughing over there.’

  ‘Yes, dear – but why –?’

  ‘Oh, nothing!’ Nonchalantl
y. ‘Only, he’s probably going to be my patient.’

  They had no difficulty in finding Glynmawr, a solid villa with well-tended grounds, for Doctor Llewellyn’s beautiful car stood outside and Doctor Llewellyn’s beautifully polished plate, his qualifications displayed in small chaste letters, was bolted to the wrought-iron gate. Suddenly nervous, in the face of such distinction, they rang the bell and were shown in.

  Doctor Llewellyn came out of the drawing-room to meet them, more dapper than ever in frock-coat and stiff gold-linked cuffs, his expression beamingly cordial.

  ‘Well! well! This is splendid. Delighted to meet you, Mrs Manson. Hope you’ll like Aberalaw. It’s not a bad little place, I can tell you. Come along in here. Mrs Llewellyn’ll be down in a minute.’

  Mrs Llewellyn arrived immediately, as beaming as her husband. She was a reddish-haired woman of about forty-five, with a palish freckled face and, having greeted Manson, she turned towards Christine with an affectionate gasp.

  ‘Oh, my de-ar, you lovely little thing! I declare I’ve lost my heart to you already. I must kiss you. I must. You don’t mind, my dear, do you?’

  Without pausing, she embraced Christine, then held her at arm’s length, still viewing her glowingly. At the end of the passage a gong sounded. They went in to dinner.

  It was an excellent meal – tomato soup, two roast fowls with stuffing and sausages, sultana pudding. Doctor and Mrs Llewellyn talked smilingly to their guests.

  ‘You’ll soon get the hang of things, Manson,’ Llewellyn was saying. ‘Yes, indeed. I’ll help you all I can. By the way, I’m glad that feller Edwards didn’t get himself appointed. I couldn’t have stuck him at any price, though I did half promise I’d put a word in for him. What was I sayin’. Oh, yes! Well, you’ll be at the West Surgery – that’s your end – with old Doctor Urquhart – he’s a card, I can tell you – and Gadge the dispenser. Up here at the East Surgery we’ve got Doctor Medley and Doctor Oxborrow. Oh! They’re all good chaps. You’ll like them. Do you play golf? We might run out sometimes to the Fernley Course – that’s only nine miles down the valley. Of course, I have a lot to do here. Yes, yes, indeed. Myself I don’t bother about the surgeries. I have the hospital on my hands, I do the compensation cases for the Company, I’m medical officer for the town, I have the gasworks appointment, I’m surgeon to the workhouse and public vaccinator as well. I do all the approved society examinations with a good deal of county court work. Oh! and I’m coroner, too. And besides’ – a gleam escaped his guileless eye – ‘I do a goodish bit of private practice odd times.’