The Duncans Are Coming

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The Duncans Are Coming - book excerpt

Chapter One - Fear Nothing

‘What a ridiculous sight I must look!’ Lady Edith plucked fretfully at the webbing holding her down securely on the hospital bed. ‘I don't know why I allowed myself to be talked into posing on this tractor equipment… or whatever it is they call it. What will all my friends think when they see me in the papers – specially that awful Muriel Fox-Cuddles? I shall be a laughing stock.’

‘Traction, I believe is the term, my dear,’ corrected her husband, his head buried in the Farmers and Landowners Gazette. ‘Supposed to relieve tension, so they tell me.’

‘Well, it's not relieving my tension.’ Lady Edith tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, without much success.

Draped over a more accommodating visitor's chair, her husband, Lord Beddington, was sunk in his own gloomy thoughts. ‘Nor mine. I see land prices are going down again.’

‘Land prices, that's all you ever think about, Henry. Oh, do stop reading that wretched paper, when you can see I'm suffering so. I feel like a turkey trussed up for Christmas.’

She sighed plaintively. ‘It isn't as if I've got anything wrong with me. How can I possibly find the time to organise a full-blown charity festival at the Hall in less than three weeks to support St Mary's, if I've got to be stuck in this awful contraption half the afternoon – just for a publicity stunt. I've got enough to put up with already, getting all the committee members to agree on a programme, without all this. There'll be the rector wanting money for the church roof and that wretched Len Bartlett with his everlasting marina development scheme – I don’t know how they ever let him loose on the Council – and what with Muriel bleating about fees for her Lavinia doing the PR, I doubt if we'll have any money left for the hospital. Why didn't you volunteer?’

Henry looked up, his expression mild. ‘They tell me I don't project the right image, whatever that means, my dear. And as I seem to remember, you agreed to do it in the first place. Besides, who wants to see my ugly face in the local rag. Much rather have a good-looking gel, eh?’ He went back to his paper again, searching hopefully for an answer to his problems. ‘In any case, if I don't manage to sell some more of our land soon at the right price you won't be able to hold any more charity events at the Hall, because we'll be living in a crofter's hut in the Isle of Man, I shouldn’t wonder. You’ve no idea what the estate’s costing me – I blame the Government. All they care about are getting votes. No wonder people like ourselves are up the creek without a paddle.’

Lady Edith gave him a suspicious look and tried to smooth her hair. ‘I'm sure it can't be as bad as you make out.’ She returned to her personal grievance. ‘It all seemed a good idea at the time as a way to launch the fund, seeing as they practically begged me to do it. But I didn't expect it to involve this kind of torture. You know, I'm sure Lavinia put this harness on the wrong way around. I should have had my head examined for letting her do it.’

To take her mind off his unfortunate remark, he looked around the cosy little ward, seeking inspiration. Carefully averting his eyes from successive efforts to disguise the unmistakable architecture of a former Victorian workhouse, he argued loyally, ‘After all, St Mary's is the only cottage hospital in this part for miles around. Where else will the people go if the blasted Ministry has its way and closes it down? It's got all the facilities you need, and some of the finest equipment available. Look at this traction bed, for example. Hrm, well perhaps not just now,’ he added hastily. ‘Anyway, it won't take long. Your PR girl, Lavinia ‘what's- her- name’, will be here any minute now with the photographer, before you can touch your toes.’

Seeing the look on her face, he hastily backtracked and tried to calm her down. ‘Steady on, m'dear. All they want are one or two photos – just to show how marvellous the place is – and a few words from you to say what we all stand to lose if they pull it down.’

‘I hope you're right,’ snapped his wife. ‘The sooner I get out of here the better, so I can get on with the things that matter. At least we were spared the horror of Roderick giving a hand.’

Lord Beddington coughed diplomatically. ‘Funny you should mention that. I still remember the last time that, ahem, brother of yours was down here, organising that yachting race at West Creek.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ fumed his wife. ‘The idiot ended up sending them all aground at Wen Bank to crown it all, practically on our doorstep. and we had to pay to get them hauled off again. And he's supposed to be a General – just as well they didn't make him an Admiral. Good thing they posted him up to Scotland afterwards. No wonder they have such rotten weather up there – wouldn't mind betting he has something to do with that, as well.’

‘Steady on, love. Anyone would think he was some sort of modern-day Genghis Khan. Not all the Duncans are like that, surely?’

But Lady Edith remained unconvinced. ‘You didn't have to share the same nursery as I did, stuck up in that ghastly old family castle of ours in Scotland all those years – he was an absolute menace. Dumped all my favourite toys in the moat one Christmas just because he didn’t get the toy tank he was after.’ She quivered at the memory. ‘And he was no better when he grew up. Swanked round the place as if he owned it and treated all the servants like serfs – thought they were all fellow travellers.’

‘He’s not still like that, surely?’

‘You should have heard what happened when he dumped himself on our sister Vera last year, with his blasted lurcher widdling and what-notting all over the place. Never thought my sister knew that kind of language.’ She snorted. ‘It's bad enough having to have young William, that son of his, foisted on us instead. It was the only alternative I could think of when Roderick rang up the other week, offering to stick his oar in. Said he had a spot of leave coming up, and what about it? Wouldn't catch me giving him a second chance – he's an absolute menace, even if he is my brother. And I expect William's no better. Look what a mess he's made of his exams. It’s probably some young woman he's running around with. That reminds me.’ She stirred uneasily, as if expecting to see her nephew materialise from under the bed with a girl in tow. ‘He is safe, isn’t he? What have you done with him?’

‘Don't worry.’ Lord Beddington did his best to soothe her. ‘Lavinia's looking after him; she's used to handling his sort. I expect he'll come in handy. We could do with some extra help, heaven knows. Anyway, I promised Roderick I'd teach him something about estate management while he's with us.’ He pondered. ‘Don't know how, mind you. I gather William's always babbling on about computer software and his latest conquests. That's what university does for you these days, I suppose. Trouble is, I don't know a thing about software, and I'm too old to remember what the other kind of software was like.’

‘Well I do wish she'd hurry – just like her mother, never on time when you want her.’

As if on cue, the swing doors at the end were flung back and a procession erupted into the ward, led by a distinctly ruffled Matron, waving her arms in agitation.

‘Really, this is most irregular. We don't normally allow this sort of thing…’

Her protests were swept aside by a supremely confident young woman behind her who ushered in a slightly embarrassed photographer, helped by a fresh-faced young man who was ogling the girl so much he kept tripping over the suitcase of photographic equipment he was carrying.

‘Ah, there you are, Lady Edith!’ She rushed up to the bed, ignoring Lord Beddington. ‘So good of you to volunteer.’ Speaking loudly and clearly as if the patient was slipping away fast, she confided, ‘I was just explaining to Matron all about the PR jollies we're planning. I'm Lavinia,’ she explained to the ward at large, just in case anyone may have forgotten. ‘I expect Mumsie's told you all about me. Splendid,’ she carried on, not waiting for a reply. ‘This is David, my photographer, and William – er… well anyway, he's sort of helping out.’

She threw them both a dazzling smile, and the sizzling impact made William gape wordlessly and drop the suitcase on the photographer's foot, turning the latter’s greeting into a strangled grunt of agony.

‘Good, that's got all that over.’ Lavinia fixed them all with a confident air, like a hockey captain giving her team their last-minute instructions before going into battle. ‘Mumsie's briefed me on the operation, and this is what we're going to do.’ She caught sight of Lord Beddington. ‘Excellent, I see we have a visitor. Now, what can we have you doing? I know, we'll pretend you're some sort of relative.’

‘That's my husband!’ Lady Edith found her voice at last. ‘And how much longer am I supposed to be stuck on this wretched machine?’

Unabashed, Lavinia closed her eyes in creative meditation. ‘Got it. We'll have you holding your wife's hand – you know, the dedicated bit. You can handle that? Splendid. Now then.’ She eyed the patient, as if she'd have to do her best with the material she had been given. ‘Lady Edith, what we want is a big look of tenderness for hubby who's been waiting all these weeks for you to get well and come home…’

‘It's beginning to feel like that…’ muttered Lord Beddington.

But Lavinia was already moving around to the other side of the bed, followed by the photographer who was developing a nervous twitch. She held up her hands to frame a picture and peered through, seeking inspiration.

‘Great. This is it,’ she enthused. ‘We'll go for that big, big close-up of suffering. You've got to show those readers out there what wonderful things they are doing for you. It's only pretend, you understand, Lady Edith, you don’t have to jump up and down like that until we start shooting,’ she added in a jolly tone of voice.

‘But I am suffering,’ wailed Lady Edith. ‘These straps are killing me.’

‘Really, I must insist that Miss Serge, our physiotherapist, checks the equipment thoroughly before you start,’ insisted Matron, appearing at her side, outraged at what was going on. ‘Ah, here she is.’ She signalled a masculine looking attendant hovering in the background who rushed forward in agitation.

‘No-no, you must not use it – I left a notice. I am waiting for it to be repaired…’

‘No time for that,’ breezed Lavinia, kicking the notice under the bed. ‘Now, quick as you can, David. This is how I see it. We do a quick shot from the end of this bed thing,’ she whacked the cushion, causing Lady Edith to leap in anguish like a salmon at spawning time, ‘then, another one from here…’ She pushed William vigorously to one side to get a better view.

About to pass a tripod to the photographer, the unfortunate young man was catapulted towards the helpless patient, doing an excellent imitation of a rampaging Zulu warrior with an avenging spear as he did so. Even as he was hurtling towards her, he found himself making a rapid reassessment of his feelings for Lavinia, whose every move up to now he had been following devotedly. In desperation, William grabbed at the nearest support to hand – a ropelike cord hanging at the side of the bed.

‘Do not press the button, I implore you!’ shouted Miss Serge in a panic. ‘I have not set the programme yet…’ But the warning came too late.

In her far distant childhood, Lady Edith remembered in dazed recollection, she had been taken to the cinema by her nanny to watch a particularly bloodthirsty epic on the silent screen where the villain, laughing fiendishly, pulled a lever, leaving the victim at his mercy, about to be torn apart limb by limb, on a mediaeval contraption not unlike the one she was on. She knew instinctively what it must have felt like. But on this occasion she had no ice cream on hand from the usherette to comfort her. She only had the family motto of ‘Fear nothing, hold fast’ to sustain her. But it never really explained what one had to hold fast to, she thought inconsequently – which wasn't much good in her present situation. It was also of no help to her in what was to follow.

In a matter of seconds the harness at each end began to tighten, and the leather cushions she was lying on started to move apart, stretching her out like an elastic band – something the instruction manual had failed to mention.

Unaware of what was happening, the photographer was happily clicking away with his camera, lost in admiration at the acting performance put on by the patient.

Indeed, Lady Edith was screaming with such unrestrained abandon by this time that a group of patients in the other ward decided that they suddenly felt much better after all, and without enquiring further left there and then, some without bothering to dress.

‘I say, it's not on,’ Lord Beddington was complaining with growing conviction.

‘Oh, don't bother,’ Lady Edith managed feebly, getting up unsteadily and throwing off the straps. ‘Just take me home while I’m still in one piece; get me out of here.’

But Lavinia was not finished. ‘You were brilliant, quite brilliant. Now, I tell you what.’ She pointed at his Lordship. ‘Hubby's so overjoyed you've recovered, he reaches out in admiration – lots of macho here – and you fall in his arms. Fade out. Get the picture?’

She moved forward encouragingly, but Lady Edith was not convinced.

‘Keep her away from me, Henry.’ The terrified victim backed away so hastily that she half fell over a hospital trolly laden with bowls of soup and set it in motion. Lady Edith hung on as the trolly gained speed and shot past the traction bed, leaving a trail of destruction behind it, and crashed into a nurse polishing the floor. Demonstrating a beautiful arabesque movement, Lady Edith skidded the length of the ward and bounced back off the swing doors into the plump form of the anxious Matron and her muscular assistant.

When she came to, she reached up and touched a face. ‘Oh, Henry, you've grown a moustache,’ she said and came face to face with a furious Miss Serge. ‘Ouch, my leg,’ cried Lady Edith, and fell back.

But Miss Serge's pride and joy, her magnificent traction bed, was no longer in a fit state to be able to provide any more treatment. After a thorough examination of Lady Edith, the Matron announced, half fearful at the retribution that might fall on her as a result of the accident, and half excited at the prospect of treating such an eminent patient, ‘I'm afraid you will be staying with us a little longer after all, your Ladyship. It looks as if you have broken an arm and a leg as well. Quite an interesting looking fracture too,’ she added brightly.

‘I say, what a splendid boost for our campaign,’ burbled Lavinia. ‘We'll get tremendous coverage now – I can just see the headlines.’

‘You do realise what this means, Henry, don't you?’ Lady Edith hissed, glaring at Lavinia. ‘I shall not be able to organise the event – you will have to go in my place.’

‘But I don't know the first thing about it…’ began her husband, horrified.

‘Don't worry.’ The imperial spirit of Lady Edith was beginning to reassert itself once more. ‘Come back this afternoon and I'll tell you what to do,’ she hissed as she noticed Lavinia's ears beginning to flap. ‘I'm not having a certain someone hijack this event. I'd like to see her try.’

Henry sighed. He knew that when his wife adopted that tone of voice, he had no option but to follow instructions, in the same dutiful way he took his medicine. ‘I'll do my best, my dear.’

‘Can I be of any help?’ trilled Lavinia, rushing up, eager not to miss anything.

Lady Edith closed her eyes and counted silently to herself. ‘No, thank you, Lavinia dear. I think you've done just about everything you possibly could at the moment. I was just telling Henry,’ she thought rapidly for an excuse, ‘how nice it would be to have some… of those gorgeous greengages that Jarvis grows so splendidly for us. We must make the most of them while they last. Would you do that, darling?’

Nonplussed, Henry blinked at his wife. ‘Oh, ah, right. I'll see what I can do.’ He got up hastily, recognising the royal inflection. It always seemed that Edith must have got that bit about ‘honour and obey' mixed up somehow when they were married, because he was always the one who seemed to do all the jumping up and obeying bit.

‘I'll come and give you a hand, Uncle,’ said William quickly, sensing that Lavinia was about to ask him to stay and clear up. He didn't feel like getting involved with her in any further mayhem on the wards.

‘You will?’ said Henry, surprised at the unexpected offer. ‘Oh, right-ho.’ Then to escape from the inevitable question forming on Lavinia's lips, he excused himself hurriedly. ‘Sorry I can't offer you a lift, my dear. Full up with equipment.’

‘Bingo,’ Lady Edith whispered with a wintry smile, as he bent to kiss his wife good-bye.