§ 1
UNFORTUNATELY her illness, whilst not serious in itself, left her with neuritis in her right arm. Until she should be rid of this, any restarting of concert work was out of the question. To play even a hymn tune with her right hand fatigued her, and all scale and arpeggio work was physically impossible. When she was quite recovered from all save the neuritis, she spent most of her time either reading or practising the left-hand parts of various concert pieces. This latter exercise, whilst not very entertaining to her in the musical sense, consoled her with the thought that her time was not being entirely wasted, and that when her right hand should come into use again her playing would be all the better for this intensive development of her left. Every day she visited a masseuse in the West-end and received an electric treatment for her arm which Dr. McPherson recommended.
Money began to be somewhat of a difficulty with her. Thinking always that her future was rosy with prospects and that her salary would be sure to keep constantly increasing, she had never troubled to save much, and had, indeed, been living slightly above her income ever since she came to “Elm Cottage.” She paid twenty-five shillings a week rent, seven and sixpence a week to Florrie, besides a weekly half-crown to a visiting gardener and a charwoman. She had heaps of incidental expenses—periodic tuning of the piano—her season ticket to town—heavy bills for music, dresses and furniture (which she was constantly buying)—her quarterly payment to the press-cutting agency—books, magazines, expensive laundrying, a fastidious taste in food and restaurants, all added to make her expenditure a few shillings—sometimes a few pounds—per month in excess of her income. During her illness, her income had been nil and her expenses enormous. The nurse wanted two guineas a week, Dr. McPherson’s bills were notoriously high, and in the case of a person like Catherine he would probably charge more than usual. Five shillings a visit was his fee, and for a fortnight he had come twice a day, and for the last three weeks once. The West-end masseuse was even more exorbitant: her fees were half a guinea for each electric treatment lasting about half an hour. Household expenses were becoming terrific. The nurse seemed to think that Catherine was a person of infinite financial resources: she ordered from the grocer, the butcher, the poulterer and the fruiterer whatever she had a fancy to, in or out of season, regardless of expense. She and Catherine took their meals together, and Catherine’s appetite was never more than half that of the nurse. So the weeks passed and the bills of the tradesmen went piling up and Catherine’s cheque account at the bank came tumbling down.
One morning the bill from Parker’s, provision merchant, High Street, Bockley, arrived by post. Catherine had expected a heavy sum to pay, but the account presented to her was absolutely staggering. It was for nineteen pounds five and fourpence. As Catherine looked at it she went quite white with panic. She dared not examine carefully every item—she was afraid to see her own extravagance written down. But as her eye swept curiously down the bill it caught sight of such things as: Port wane, half dozen, forty-two shillings; pair of cooked chickens, eight and six; two pounds of black grapes (out of season), fifteen shillings.... The bill took away all Catherine’s appetite for breakfast. From the writing-bureau she took out her bank pass-book: it showed that she had fifty-three pounds four and nine on her cheque account, and nothing on her deposit side. The situation became ominous. Out of that fifty-three pounds would have to be paid the grocer’s bill of nineteen pounds odd, the bills not yet forthcoming of the fruiterer, fishmonger, poulterer, butcher, confectioner, and dairyman (cream had been a heavy item in her diet). Plus this, small bills from the bookseller, newsagent, tobacconist and laundryman. Plus this, whatever Dr. McPherson had in store for her. Plus this, Madame Varegny, masseuse—her bill of costs. In March, too, would come the bill from the press-cutting agency, the piano-tuner, and the renewal of her season ticket.... All out of fifty-three pounds! Was it possible? ... And, of course, rent and wages to Florrie.... Things were evidently fast approaching a financial crisis.
One thing was absolutely clear: she must economize drastically and immediately. And one of the first steps in that direction was to get rid of the nurse and the doctor. Except for the neuritis in her arm she was really quite well now, and both nurse and doctor were completely unnecessary. But it required a tremendous effort to tell them their services were no longer required. Her illness seemed to have sapped her will power. The truth was (though she would never have admitted it) she was afraid of both the doctor and the nurse. Only her greater fear of the avalanche of the bills that was threatening her gave her a sort of nervous determination.
When Dr. McPherson came in his car at ten o’clock that morning her heart was beating wildly. She wondered even then if her courage would be equal to the task.
“Good morning,” he announced genially, walking briskly into the breakfast-room, “and how are we this morning? Getting along famously, eh?”
“About the same,” she replied dully.
“Like the massage?”
“Fairly. I can’t feel it doing me any good, though.”
“Oh, you haven’t been having it long enough yet. We’ll soon set you up again, you wait.... After all, you’re young. You’ve the best part of life before you. An old lady of seventy I visited yesterday said if she were only——”
“Doctor!” Her voice was trying to be firm.
“Yes?”
“I want you to stop visiting me.” (The thing was done!)
“But—my dear young lady—why ever——?”
“Because I am getting very short of money, and I shall have to economize. I really can’t afford to keep having you visiting me every day.”
“Well—of course—h’m—if you wish—I suppose. But you aren’t well yet. I shall, at any rate, with your permission call occasionally not as a doctor, but as a visitor. I am very deeply interested in your recovery.”
“It is very kind of you.... And one other thing: I want you to tell the nurse to go also. I really don’t need her any longer. Perhaps, since you brought her here, you wouldn’t mind——”
“Certainly, if you desire it. I’ll tell her when she comes to the surgery for the medicine this afternoon.”
“Thank you ever so much.”
“You’ll continue with massage treatment?”
“Yes—for the present, at any rate.”
“Good ... you’ll begin to feel the effects of it in a day or two.... The weather is enough to keep anybody with neuritis. Simply rain, rain, rain from morning till night. Shocking for colds and influenza. I have over thirty cases of influenza. Twenty of them are round about High Wood. It must be the Forest, I think, everything so damp and sodden....”