1
There was a carriage at the door. West-end people, after late nights, managing to keep nine o’clock appointments—in a north wind. Miriam pressed the bell urgently. The scrubbed chalky mosaic and the busy bright brass plate reproached her for her lateness during the long moment before the door was opened.... It must be someone for Mr. Orly; an appointment made since last night; that was the worst of his living in the house. He was in his surgery now, with the patient. The nine-fifteen patient would come almost at once. He would discover that his charts were not out before there was any chance of getting at his appointment book.... As the great door swung open she saw Mr. Hancock turn the corner of the street walking very rapidly before the north wind.... Mr. Orly’s voice was sounding impatiently from the back of the hall.... “Where’s Miss Hends.... Oh—here y’are Miss Hends, I say call up Chalk for me will ya, get him to come at once, I’ve got the patient waiting.” His huge frock-coated form swung round into his surgery without waiting for an answer. Miriam scurried through the hall past Mr. Leyton’s open surgery door and into her room. Mr. Leyton plunged out of his room as she was flinging down her things and came in briskly. “Morning, Pater got a gas case?”
“Mm”; said Miriam. “I’ve got to call up Chalk and I haven’t a second to do it.”
“Why Chalk?”
“Oh I don’t know. He said Chalk” said Miriam angrily, seizing the directory.
“I’ll call him up if you like.”
“You are a saint. Tell him to come at once—sooner,” said Miriam dabbing at her hair as she ran back through the hall and upstairs. As she passed the turn of the staircase Mr. Hancock was let in at the front door. She found his kettle furiously boiling on its wrought-iron stand near the chair. The stained glass window just behind it was dim with steam. She lowered the gas, put a tumbler in the socket of the spittoon, lit the gas burner on the bracket table and swiftly pulled open its drawers one by one. The instruments were all right ... the bottles—no chloroform, the carbolic bottle nearly empty and its label soaked and defaced. Gathering the two bottles in her hand she turned to the instrument cabinet, no serviettes, no rubber dam, clamps not up from the workshop. The top of the cabinet still to be dusted. Dust and scraps of amalgam were visible about the surfaces of the paper lining the instrument drawers. No saliva tubes in the basin. She swung round to the bureau and hurriedly read through the names of the morning’s patients. Mr. Hancock came quietly in as she was dusting the top of the instrument cabinet by pushing the boxes and bottles of materials that littered its surface to the backmost edge. They were all lightly coated with dust. It was everlasting and the long tubes and metal body of the little furnace were dull again. “Good morning,” they said simultaneously, in even tones. There were sounds of letters being opened and the turning of the pages of the appointment book. The chain of Mr. Hancock’s gold pencil case rattled softly as he made notes on the corners of the letters.
“Did you have a pleasant week-end?”
“Very” said Miriam emphatically.
There was a squeak at the side of the cabinet. “Yes” said Miriam down the speaking tube.... “Thank you. Will you please bring up some tubes and serviettes.”
“Mr. Wontner.”
“Thank you.” ... “Mrs. Hermann is ‘frightfully shocked’ at the amount of her account. What did we send it in for?”
“Seventy guineas. It’s a reduction, and it’s two years’ work for the whole family.” The bell sounded again.... “Lady Cazalet has bad toothache and can you see her at once.”
“Confound.... Will you go down and talk to her and see if you can get one of the others to see her.”
“She won’t.”
“Well then she must wait. I’ll have Mr. Wontner up.” Miriam rang. Mr. Hancock began busily washing his hands. The patient came in. He greeted him over his shoulder. Miriam gathered up the sheaf of annotated letters and the appointment book and ran down-stairs. “Has Mr. Leyton a patient Emma?” “Miss Jones just gone in, Miss.” “Oh, Emma, will you ask the workshop for Mr. Hancock’s rubber and clamps?” She rang through to Mr. Leyton’s room. “There’s a patient of Mr. Hancock’s in pain, can you see them if I can persuade them?” she murmured. “Right, in ten minutes” came the answering murmur. Mr. Hancock’s bell sounded from her room. She went to his tube in the hall. “Can I have my charts?” Running into her room she hunted out the first chart from a case full and ran upstairs with it. Mr. Hancock’s patient was sitting forward in the chair urging the adoption of the decimal system. Running down again she went into the waiting room. The dark Turkey carpeted oak furnished length seemed full of seated forms. Miriam peered and Lady Cazalet, with her hat already off rose from the deep arm-chair at her side. “Can he see me?” she said in a clear trembling undertone, her dark eyes wide upon Miriam’s. Miriam gazed deep into the limpid fear. What a privilege. How often Captain Cazalet must be beside himself with unworthiness. “Yes, if you can wait a little” she said dropping her eyes and standing with arms restrained. “I think it won’t be very long” she added lingering a moment as the little form relapsed into the chair.
“Lady Cazalet will wait until you can see her” she tubed up to Mr. Hancock.
“Can’t you make her see one of the others?”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible; I’ll tell you later.”
“Well I’ll see her as soon as I can. I’m afraid she’ll have to wait.”
Miriam went back to her room to sort out the remaining charts. On her table lay a broken denture in a faded morocco case; a strip of paper directed “five-thirty sharp” in Mr. Orly’s handwriting. Mr. Leyton’s door burst open. He came with flying coat-tails.
“Vi got to see that patient of Mr. Hancock’s” he asked breathlessly.
“No” said Miriam “she won’t.”
“Right” he said swinging back. “I’ll keep Miss Jones on.”
Mr. Hancock’s bell sounded again. Miriam flew to the tube.
“My clamps please.”
“Oh yes” she answered shocked, and hurried back to her room.
Gathering up the broken denture she ran down the stone steps leading to the basement. Her cheap unyielding shoes clattered on the unyielding stones. The gas was on in the lunch room, Mrs. Willis scrubbing the floor. The voices of the servants came from the kitchens in the unknown background. She passed the lunch room and the cellar and clamped on across the stone hall to the open door of the workshop.