Along came Ann E-Book

Vivian Stuart

• Herausgeber: Jentas Ehf
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Historical Romance
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 290

Beschreibung

INTRIGUE. TENSION. LOVE AFFAIRS: In The Historical Romance series, a set of stand-alone novels, Vivian Stuart builds her compelling narratives around the dramatic lives of sea captains, nurses, surgeons, and members of the aristocracy. Stuart takes us back to the societies of the 20th century, drawing on her own experience of places across Australia, India, East Asia, and the Middle East.    Ann was unperturbed by old Doctor Aneas MacDiarmid's obvious disapproval. She prided herself on being sensible about such matters and would do her job despite any hostility she encountered. It was a shock to suddenly realize that her emotions were no longer under control – that she was falling in love with Doctor MacDiarmid's son!

Leseprobe

Along Came Ann

Along Came Ann

© Vivian Stuart, 1953

© eBook in English: Jentas ehf. 2022

ISBN: 978-9979-64-485-9

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

All contracts and agreements regarding the work, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas ehf.

____

TO MY MOTHER

CHAPTER ONE

DR. ANN DUDLEY caught her first breath-taking glimpse of the Island of Rhua as the little steamer rounded the point in a flurry of wind-tossed water.

Despite her English reserve, she could not quite suppress an exclamation of awed amazement as the great, mist-enshrouded peak of Beinn Ghorm came into view, the dying sun turning its steeply rising slopes from purple and green to red and gold.

Behind her a deep voice said: “It is rather startling, isn’t it?”

She turned, surprised, to meet the frank and friendly gaze of the tall dark man who, two hours before, had directed her to the jetty.

“It’s——” Still under the spell, Ann sought for a word to express her thoughts. “It’s frighteningly beautiful.”

It was more than that, of course. Rhua had a majestic, almost savage grandeur which made her heart quicken its beat, a hint of mystery in its magnificent ruggedness. Why had she said that it was frightening? Her chance acquaintance would think her odd and fanciful. But he evidently did not, for he replied gravely: “I know just how you are feeling. This will be your first visit to the Island, I imagine? Even to one who has lived all his life here, as I have, there is, each time one returns, a fresh thrill when one sees it again. And there is, too, always the underlying fear that—one loves it too much.”

She was grateful to him for his quick understanding and her warm, eager smile told him so.

“This is your first visit?” he asked.

“No, it isn’t. I came here years ago, as a child. But I don’t really remember it.”

He came to lean against the rail beside her, pointing out familiar landmarks with a slim, brown hand. Stealing a shy glance at him, Ann found herself admiring his dark, finely chiselled profile.

The sun sank below the horizon as they watched the rocky coastline slipping by and Ann shivered involuntarily. Her companion was immediately concerned.

“It is getting cold. Will you not come below? They serve tea in the saloon. I should be most honored if you would join me.”

The odd formality of his invitation amused and pleased her.

“I should like that,” she admitted truthfully.

As they walked towards the companion way he said: “By the way, I am Roderick MacLean of Baile-na-creag.”

“And I am Ann Dudley.”

He held out his hand. “I know. You are Dr. Ann Dudley.”

She exclaimed: “How on earth do you know that?”

Roderick MacLean’s somewhat austere face relaxed in a boyish grin.

“I read the labels on your luggage,” he replied.

Ann felt her cheeks flush and was glad of the opportunity to walk ahead of him as they reached the narrow companionway.

The saloon was crowded and brightly lit but she had recovered her composure when they reached it. He guided her to a table and ordered tea from the white-coated steward, who greeted him by name.

“You must not be offended by my curiosity,” MacLean said, when the steward had gone. “It was shared by half the passengers and most of the crew. They’ll all have read those labels by this time and will be aware that you are Dr. MacDiarmid’s new assistant.”

Ann stared at him, not sure if he were serious or joking.

“But—why should that interest anyone?” she asked, puzzled.

“Rhua is a very small island,” MacLean pointed out. “The inhabitants are naturally interested in a newcomer, especially in one who may be destined to play an important part in their lives. Dr. MacDiarmid is the Island’s only doctor and has been for the past forty years. There has been much speculation concerning his new assistant but—” He hesitated and then smiled. “No one imagined that you would be a woman. And certainly not that you would be a young and charming one. Aneas MacDiarmid has been very secretive about it.”

Ann said, a trifle stiffly: “Because I am a woman does not mean that I can’t be an efficient doctor as well.”

“I am sure you are.” He said it gravely but there was a glint in the dark eyes. “Please do not misunderstand me, doctor. I meant no slight on your sex. On the contrary, for myself, I am delighted at MacDiarmid’s choice.”

His tone, even more than his words, brought the hot color rushing to her cheeks. He was a little—overwhelming, this man. Strikingly good looking and possessed of a magnificent physique, he had great charm of manner. He would be about thirty-two or -three, Ann decided, stealing a swift, shy glance at him. The thick black hair, worn a little long, was very slightly flecked with grey at the temples and there was a faint, barely perceptible network of lines about his eyes and mouth, as if he had spent a long time in strong sun.

He answered her unspoken query disconcertingly: “I’m not quite as old as I look.”

She said, confused; “I didn’t say——”

He laughed. “You didn’t have to. You have a most expressive face.”

“Oh dear!” She laughed with him. “That’s very unfortunate in my profession. I hadn’t realized it.”

The steward came with their tea and for a few moments further conversation was impossible. When she had poured out, Ann asked: “Tell me something about Rhua and the people I shall meet. Dr. MacDiarmid, for instance.”

Roderick MacLean regarded her thoughtfully.

“You will either like Dr. MacDiarmid or hate him,” he said at last. “He is a man who inspires strong emotions, for he is a strong character and a man of strict principles. If you will forgive my being frank, I must tell you that I am very much surprised that he should have chosen a woman as his assistant. He holds decided views on the woman’s place in the world. I have heard him argue often and very dogmatically that women are going against nature when they insist on trying to make careers for themselves in what should properly be a man’s sphere.”

“Oh!” Ann’s fingers tore nervously at the scone she was about to butter. “He has been ill, I understand, and had to get someone to relieve him in rather a hurry. He applied for an assistant through the Medical Association and—I was given the appointment. I don’t think that anyone else wanted it.”

“I see.” His gaze was intent, searching. “Is it possible that Dr. MacDiarmid does not know you are a woman?”

“Well—yes, I suppose it is,” Ann admitted unhappily. “Of course, he will have been told my name but it is quite possible, in view of the haste with which arrangements were made, that it wasn’t specifically pointed out to him. It never entered my head that he would have any prejudices. I’ve been working in London, you see, where the prejudice against women doctors has long ago died a natural death.”

“What a superb situation!” MacLean said softly. The comers of his mouth twitched.

“I don’t find it particularly amusing,” Ann returned with some spirit.

“Nor do I,” he hurriedly assured her.

She was sure, however, that for some reason he did and sat in reproachful silence for several minutes, sipping her tea and not looking at her companion.

He said gently: “I did not mean to offend you Dr. Dudley. It is only that—for a man like MacDiarmid to have as his assistant one of the sex he so despises, outside the kitchen or the nursery, struck me as—well, almost, poetically just.”

“You don’t like him, do you?” Ann suggested.

His glance was startled. “Oh! What makes you think I don’t, doctor?”

She smiled. “You have a most expressive—voice, Mr. MacLean.”

At that he laughed aloud. “I see! I am hoist by my own petard. Very well, Dr. Dudley, for—purely personal reasons—I don’t. Though I respect him immeasurably.”

He held out his cup, evidently wishing to change the subject, for it was still half full.

Ann poured out his tea and went on, as if there had been no interruption: “Do you think I shall share your views?”

“I must leave you to form your own opinion,” MacLean returned, very grave again now. “And, in fact, I should prefer it if you did. But you may be certain of one thing —Dr. MacDiarmid is a fine doctor.”

Ann did not pursue the topic. For the next half-hour Roderick MacLean spoke with great eloquence of the Island and its traditions, history and customs and she listened to him with absorbed interest. It was with some surprise that she heard him say suddenly: “Well, we are in. Are you wishful to go ashore?”

She jumped up at once in confusion.

“Oh, yes! I hadn’t realized—the time has passed so quickly. I must see to my luggage. I——”

He rose too, smiling.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Dudley, your luggage will be taken care of. Er—are you being met?”

She shook her head. “Dr. MacDiarmid had no one to send. He told me in his wire to take a taxi. I imagine I shall find one on the jetty?”

“My car is also on the jetty,” he pointed out. “Please let me drive you out to Creag Mhor. It is on my way,” he added, as she hesitated.

“Then thank you very much,” Ann said. “It is very good of you.”

“Not at all,” he assured her quietly. “The pleasure will be entirely mine.”

They went on deck together.

CHAPTER TWO

“HERE WE ARE, doctor,” Roderick MacLean announced, as he swung the car through a pair of moss-covered stone gateposts. “This is Creag Mhor.”

At first sight, it was a forbidding house, grey and weather-beaten, like the rock-strewn hillside to whose slopes it clung. It was all sharp, jutting angles, there was no softness or charm about its lines, such as Ann was used to seeing in the south of England, no warmth. Even the square, symmetrically set windows, severely curtained in dark plush or velvet—she could not make out which— lacked grace and seemed oddly unfriendly.

Her companion, following her gaze, said slowly: “This has been the home of six generations of MacDiarmids. It was originally a croft, and, as you see, at various times, an odd wing or room has been added, without much regard for style or symmetry.”

The drive, roughly gravelled and covered with weeds, wound a torturous way upwards to the side of the house.

MacLean pulled up and got out to open the door of the car for his passenger.

He smiled at her. “Courage, doctor!”

Ann’s answering smile was a trifle shaky but she got out and followed him up the stone steps leading to the front door. He seized the chain attached to an old-fashioned bell and there was a resounding clangor as he pulled it.

A bent old woman, in a shapeless black alpaca dress and wearing a stiffly starched white apron, answered the summons. She peered at them with dim blue eyes and greeted them softly in Gaelic. Ann, somewhat at a loss, said “Good evening,” politely in English and, behind her, MacLean announced: “This is Kirsty Macfarlane, the doctor’s housekeeper. Kirsty, Dr. Dudley, Dr. Ann Dudley, your master’s new assistant. She is English and she has not the Gaelic.”

The old woman’s eyes widened in incredulous amazement. For a long moment she hesitated, then, with a pleading glance in MacLean’s direction, she stood aside.

“Please to come in, mistress.” Her English was slow and careful and obviously she spoke it as a foreign tongue. “My master is expecting you but——” there was embarrassment in her tone—”he is abed. And whilst he was telling me that I should bring you to him as soon as you arrived I do not know—I did not imagine-” She stopped and turned to MacLean, her tongue loosened then in a spate of Gaelic.

MacLean’s eyes, with their amused twinkle, betrayed him, despite the correct gravity of his tone. Ann could not understand a word of his reply and stood looking helplessly from one to the other of them, acutely conscious of the fact that they were discussing her.

Finally Roderick MacLean turned to her and said in English: “Dr. Dudley, our worst forebodings have become, reality. Kirsty tells me that Dr. MacDiarmid has no idea that you are a woman. He is in bed, suffering, it seems, from a severe attack of influenza and has left a long list of patients you are to see. My advice to you, for what it is worth, is that you should let me drive you out to pay those calls now. There will be time enough to see the doctor himself when you get back. That is, of course, if you are not too tired after your journey.”

Ann regarded him hesitantly. “I cannot impose on you, Mr. MacLean. You have already been more than kind. I will do the calls as you suggest, but surely Dr. MacDiarmid has a car that I can use?”

“He has a car, certainly.” MacLean smiled. “But as to whether you can use it—that is quite another matter.It is a vintage Austin and I doubt if anyone but Dr. MacDiarmid fully understands its idiosyncracies. Besides, it is dark and you don’t know the Island. It would take you all night searching for the houses at which you have to call. I cannot allow that. And as for imposing on me— I have already told you that to do anything for you is a pleasure and not an imposition. I am unreservedly at your service.”

Ann felt the tell-tale color leap to her cheeks but she had, really, no choice but to accept his offer. She did so, gratefully, but with an instinctive coolness, which appeared to amuse rather than affront him. He took command of the situation at once.

“Fine, then that is settled. I shall bring your luggage, whilst Kirsty shows you to your room. We will avoid disturbing Dr. MacDiarmid for the time being.”

This plan was carried out, on Kirsty’s part, at any rate, with considerable trepidation. She led the way on tip-toe across a dimly lit, stone-flagged hall and up a steep flight of stairs. Inside the house was warm and smelt pleasantly of beeswax, peat smoke and—faintly, almost reminiscently —of disinfectant. It was scrubbed and polished and startlingly clean—so was the small, simply furnished bedroom into which the old woman apologetically ushered her.

“You will understand, mistress, that I had thought we were to receive a gentleman. I am fearing that this room is but simple and plain for you.”

Ann assured her that it was perfectly all right. Years of students’ hostels and residents’ quarters had accustomed her to a ready adapatability.

Kirsty was preparing to make her exit when a loud, hoarse masculine voice called her name. The old woman started guiltily.

“Lord save us, it is himself! What am I to say, mistress? He will be wanting a word with you——”

“Then,” said Ann with the courage of desperation, “I had better go to him, hadn’t I?”

“Indeed, I do not know.” Kirsty wrung her hands, her thin, gaunt old face the picture of ludicrous dismay. “Captain MacLean was saying that you should not but what am I to tell my master? He will have heard the voices—he will be aware that you are here——”

Dr. MacDiarmid repeated his summons, impatiently now, adding something in Gaelic, the meaning of which Ann could only guess. It sounded fierce and peremptory.

“You had better take me to him,” she decided. Kirsty, with a helpless shrug, obeyed her.

Dr. Aneas MacDiarmid lay in an enormous, old-fashioned four-poster bed, the quilt drawn up to his chin, so that all Ann could see of him was a wildly dishevelled wisp of lank white hair and a pair of vivid blue eyes which regarded her with a mixture of astonishment and admiration.

He said at last, gruffly: “They did not tell me that Dr. Dudley was married. Will you have the goodness to send your husband to me, Mistress Dudley? There are folk in urgent need of a physician and, as you see, I am lying here, unable to stand on my feet.”

Ann’s heart missed a beat. She began: “Dr. MacDiarmid, I am Dr. Dudley.”

She was annoyed with herself because her voice shook.

The blue eyes were baleful.

“Do I hear you aright? You are Dr. Dudley? For the Lord’s sake, madam, tell me that I misunderstood you?”

His voice was harsh with barely controlled rage.

Ann clung to the remnants of her courage.

“I am afraid that you did not misunderstand me, doctor.” She spoke coldly and with such dignity as she could muster. “I have been sent here to act as your assistant and I can assure you that I am fully competent to act in that capacity. I have just taken my M.R.C.O.G. and I hold a post-graduate qualification in surgery. I——”

His reply was a wail.

“Oh Lord, what have I done to merit this? If I were not chained to my bed, as weak as a kitten, this terrible thing would never have happened. You must go back, lassie. They will need to send me a man, fools that they are to imagine they could do aught else!”

“I’m afraid that there is no one else available,” Ann said, with no little satisfaction.

“They’ll need to find someone then,” the old man roared. “Ye may have a string of letters after your name as long as my arm but you’ll not do here. I——”

A paroxysm of coughing tore at him. Ann, after a moment’s hesitation, went to his bedside and assisted him into a sitting position, alarmed, when she touched him, to feel how hot and fevered he was.

“You are ill, doctor,” she said gently.

“Of course I am!” he whispered fiercely, when he had got his breath at last. “Why else would I be lying here, do ye suppose, when there are sick folk in need of me?”

“Dr. MacDiarmid, won’t you at least let me deal with the outstanding calls, now that I am here?” Ann suggested reasonably. “Kirsty Macfarlane has a list of them, I believe. I promise you, I will do no harm to your patients——”

The doctor hunched his narrow shoulders, drawing the heavy quilt about him.

“And if I do say that you may, how do you think you’ll find your way?” he demanded. “There are few signposts here, nothing that you’d consider a road. You’ll be climbing up cart tracks and sheep paths for the most part, in the darkness. ‘Tis no job for a woman—least of all a slip of a lassie like yourself, in yon high-heeled shoes.”

“Captain Roderick MacLean, whom I met on the steamer and who brought me out here, has very kindly offered to drive me,” Ann explained. She added: “And I can change my shoes.”

The doctor snorted. “So Roderick MacLean is for dancing attendance on you, is he? ‘Tis fine insolence he has, that young man.”

He sounded annoyed but Ann said firmly: “Then I’ll be on my way, Dr. MacDiarmid. Under Captain MacLean’s guidance I shall find the calls and I will do the best I can for your patients.”

Again the harsh coughing racked him. He submitted, with obvious resentment, to Ann’s ministrations. When he was once more settled back comfortably amongst his pillows he said resignedly: “Then I doubt I’ll have to let ye go. Get the list from Kirsty and I’ll go through it with you.”

Kirsty was hovering anxiously in the passage and produced the list of calls from the pocket of her apron.

Ann listened in silence to her employer’s precise and detailed instructions. When he had done she said gently: “I’ll do everything as you suggest, doctor. It sounds as if we might have an epidemic of influenza on our hands, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “It could come to that, lassie. If it does we’ll need to get a man. You could not tackle it.”

She made no attempt to argue, seeing that it would be futile in the face of the old man’s obstinacy, eager now to go and make a start, for the number of calls suggested an epidemic.

Dr. MacDiarmid looked up at her with shrewd, searching eyes. “Then away you go,” he bade her.

Roderick MacLean was waiting for her in his car. He studied the list of calls and slipped his lever into gear.

“This will keep us busy,” he said. “You’re warmly dressed, I trust?”

Ann nodded. They swung out through the great stone gateposts and almost immediately started to climb steeply up a rough boulder-strewn track.

Ann Dudley had, afterwards, a rather hazy recollection of that evening. She was exhausted almost to the point of collapse when, three hours later, Roderick MacLean announced: “We’ve only one call left, Dr. Dudley.”

She could not quite suppress a sigh of relief.

“You’re tired?” he suggested, his tone warm and sympathetic.

“A little,” Ann admitted ruefully.

“It is rather different from making calls in a suburban district of London, is it not? You’ve been wonderful to have kept going the way you have.”

“I could never have managed it without your help,” Ann told him. “I had no idea that these cottages would be so hard to find. But there is, somehow, so much more satisfaction in helping people like these. They are so grateful for what little one does for them, unlike the average Londoner, who takes it very much for granted that the doctor is on call at all hours! I do not think that I have entered one house this evening where I have not been thanked with great courtesy for coming out. And some of them are very ill and have waited two days for attention, because of Dr. MacDiarmid’s illness.”

“Tell me,” he said, not looking at her. “What has been the reaction to the fact that you are a woman?”

Ann smiled. “Polite surprise, for the most part,” she replied. “In some cases, very tactfully hidden. In only one or two was there any active resentment.”

MacLean concentrated for a moment on his driving as he negotiated a torturous bend. Then he said quietly: “You will meet it now.”

Ann was too tired to take in, at first, the purport of his words. She said: “I expect that once the initial surprise has worn off it will be all right. It has been so far.”

“Perhaps. For, as you say—most of the people you have seen have been ill. In this case—there is no serious illness.”

“Oh?” Ann could not disguise her bewilderment. “Then why has the doctor been sent for?”

“I could not tell you.”

Ann tried to decipher the last name on the long list of calls. By the faint light from the dashboard she could just make out the name as MacLean.

“Katriona MacLean,” her companion supplied. “Of Taigh-na-Sith. Which, ironically enough, means House of Peace.”

Ann said nothing and he went on, after a slight pause.

“Katriona is my cousin.” His tone was flat and Ann sensed that it disguised deep feeling, though whether of approval or resentment she could not decide. “Her father was Laird of Rhua, owning nearly three-quarters of the Island. In this part of the world, the female right of succession is acknowledged, so that, on his death, my cousin Katriona succeeded to the title and estate. She is the head of my family.”

Ann did not quite know how to reply to his remarks She asked uncertainly: “Do you suppose that your cousin is the patient?”

“I imagine so,” MacLean returned. “She sprained her wrist a few days ago. Or so I heard on the boat.”

Ann opened her mouth to ask why, in such a case Katriona MacLean should require the doctor to call on her, and closed it again, reflecting that probably to expect the owner of Rhua to come to the surgery would be some sort of lèse-majesté.

As he had done on the steamer, MacLean disconcertingly answered her unspoken thoughts.

“My cousin Katriona is a power in the land. People go to her, not she to them.”

“I see. But it is very late—nearly eleven o’clock. Will she expect me to come at this hour?”

“Undoubtedly. She will have heard that you are here. Hence the summons.”

He braked sharply and swung the car round on to a concrete road, narrow but with a fine, even surface.

A hundred yards along this road he turned in past a lodge and passed between imposing wrought-iron gates into a tree-lined avenue. Lights gleamed fitfully through the trees and they finally emerged into a clear space from whence Ann could see the outlines of a huge, square, stone-built mansion.

They were admitted by an elderly manservant, who greeted Roderick with eager pleasure and turned a pair of dark, inquiring eyes on Ann.

“This is Dr. Dudley, Hamish,” MacLean explained.

The old man gave her a stiff parody of a bow and, as he did so, Ann noticed that he was hunchbacked.

“My mistress is expecting you, doctor,” he said in English. “If you will please to step this way.”

She followed him across a vast, stone-flagged hall, their footsteps echoing eerily.

From the panelled walls hung countless trophies of the chase in shadowy, indistinct silhouette—stags’ heads, with enormous branching antlers, and others which Ann could not then identify.

They mounted a wide, curving staircase, carpeted in worn reddish-brown haircord, and found themselves on a portrait-lined landing, from which opened several doors of some unfamiliar dark wood.

The old servant tapped softly on one of these, opened it and stood aside for Ann to pass him. It was only then that she realized she was alone. Roderick MacLean had evidently preferred to wait downstairs.

A strikingly handsome girl of about Ann’s age was seated in a brocaded wing-chair in front of the fire. Beside her a magnificent deerhound growled menacingly as he stood, hackle raised, his wary yellow eyes on Ann. The girl’s hand gripped his collar and he subsided with a faint whine, to lie, tense and watchful, at her feet.

“Come in, Dr. Dudley,” ‘Katriona MacLean invited. “Don’t be afraid of Peter. He won’t hurt you.”

Ann advanced with some trepidation into the room and again the dog growled, the sound a muffled rumble in his throat. Then he got up and came, stiff legged, to sniff at her skirt, his mistress making no further attempt to restrain him.

Ann said briskly, hoping that her nervousness of the big dog was not apparent: “I’m Dr. MacDiarmid’s assistant. I believe you sent for me?”

She put down her medical bag on the table, snapping open the clasp.

Katriona MacLean studied her with unconcealed interest, her dark, intelligent eyes taking in every detail, from Ann’s mud-stained brogues to her wind-tossed fair curls.

“So you are Dr. MacDiarmid’s new assistant,” she said, a note of amused derision in her voice. “I must say, it is a judgment on the obstinate old man! I should scarcely have expected the Medical Association to have played so obvious a joke on him. But perhaps it was never intended as such?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss MacLean,” Ann returned stiffly.

“Don’t you?” The girl laughed. “Then you have evidently not yet seen Dr. MacDiarmid.”

“Oh, but I have——” Ann began and Katriona interrupted, smiling: “Then don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Dr. MacDiarmid is a woman hater. He regards our sex as barely capable of reading and writing, much less of being fit to practise medicine. He— but you must have heard his views at first hand, surely? Do tell me what he said when you first announced yourself as his new assistant?”

Ann bit back an angry retort. She replied quite mildly: “He was really too ill to say much. He has a bad attack of flu, as you probably know.” She paused and then asked pointedly: “In what way can I be of service to you?”

A faint flush darkened Katriona’s cheeks for a moment but finally she held out her right arm, which was bandaged at the wrist.

“Have a look at this, will you? I’ve sprained it.”

Ann removed the bandage and probed with skilful fingers. The joint was a little swollen but did not appear to be unduly painful.

“What have you been doing for it?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing much really—just cold compresses. There isn’t much else one can do, is there?”

“No,” Ann agreed shortly. She replaced the bandage, moistening the cotton wool padding with methylated spirit from her bag. “That and rest it as much as possible. In a day or so you could wear an elastic strapping instead of a bandage.”

She returned the methylated bottle to her bag and clicked it shut.

“If that’s all,” she said, “I’d better go back to the surgery, in case there are any more calls.”

Katriona, however, seemed in no hurry for her to leave.

“Have you had a lot of calls?” she asked curiously. “How wretched for you, when you’ve only just arrived! And how on earth did you manage to find your way about? You’ve never been here before, have you?”

Without thinking, Ann replied frankly: “Captain MacLean—your cousin, I believe—has very kindly driven me in his car. I don’t suppose I should ever have found my way without his help. I——”

There was no mistaking the coldness of the other girl’s tone as she said sharply: “You mean that Roderick is with you? But how did you get to know Roderick?”

“We met on the boat, coming across from Oban,” Ann explained readily. “He gave me a lift to Dr. MacDiarmid’s house and then, when he heard that I had calls to do, he offered to act as guide. For which, I may say, I was most grateful. And my gratitude has been increasing ever since, for in addition to acting as chauffeur, he has helped me out of the language difficulty too. I hadn’t realized what I was up against when I agreed to take this appointment, because, of course, I haven’t a word of Gaelic.”

Katriona ignored that.

“Is Roderick still with you?” she demanded abruptly.

“Yes. That is, he brought me here. I sincerely hope that he has waited for me, since I’ve no idea how to get back if he hasn’t.”

Ann tried to make a joke of it, but Katriona, all too obviously, was not amused.

“When you go downstairs,” she said icily, “tell my cousin to come and see me, will you?”

That, it appeared, was Ann’s dismissal. The big dog followed her as far as the door and then, with a sniff as disdainful as his mistress’s parting words had been, he left her and returned to the fire.

CHAPTER THREE

RODERICK RECEIVED the message in enigmatical silence but, before going back into the house, he settled Ann with a rug about her knees and offered her a cigarette.

“I shall not be long,” he promised.

It was, however, nearly twenty minutes before he rejoined her in the car. His dark face was set, inscrutable in the dim light, his lips narrowed to a thin, hard line. It might have been imagination, Ann told herself, but she thought that he was blazing with fury under his calm, controlled exterior.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, starting the car. “You must be very weary. I’ll take you straight back to Creag Mhor now.”

Ann could scarcely keep her eyes open during the last part of their drive and he gave her a swift, pitying glance and increased his speed.

“Soon have you there,” he assured her.

“You’ve been most awfully kind. I don’t know how to thank you, Captain MacLean.”

“Then don’t try. If you want to reward me, let me call tomorrow—or rather today—and take you on your rounds in daylight. Once I have been able to point out a few of the local landmarks you’ll be less likely to get yourself lost. No, please——” He silenced her protests. “I assure you, I’d enjoy your company.”

“You’ve done enough for me already,” Ann persisted. “I have no right to take up your time in this way. I am surely taking you away from your work. That is——” She paused, embarrassed, and he laughed good humoredly.

“Oh, I do work, when the spirit moves me, Dr. Dudley!

I’m a farmer of sorts. But it’s a slack time, just at present, so I shan’t be missed if I take a day off to show you round.”

“You may be wasting your time,” Ann pointed out. “From what I gathered from Dr. MacDiarmid, if he can persuade the B.M.A. to find a male colleague to replace me, I shall be on my way back to London in a few days.”

“That,” Roderick MacLean told her gravely, “would be a great pity. We shall have to see that you stay here.”

He pulled up with a scrunch of gravel outside the darkened house.

“Here we are at last,” he said, coming round to assist her to alight. She was stiff and stumbled on the running board of file car, so that he only just caught her in time. For a brief instant, she was in his arms, his dark eyes, full of concern, looking down into hers.

Then he released her with a quick apology.

Behind them, the door opened and a stream of lamplight from the hall illuminated the tall figure of a man standing there, regarding them with frank curiosity.

Roderick turned with a sharp exclamation, as the man called to him.

“Callum! Man, you are back then!”

In half a dozen long strides, he was beside the stranger, wringing his hand, plying him with eager questions.

Ann stood watching them in considerable bewilderment. Then Roderick recalled her presence and said, smiling: “Please forgive me, Dr. Dudley. This is Callum MacDiarmid. Callum—your father’s new assistant, Dr. Ann Dudley.”

Callum MacDiarmid held out his hand and Ann, taking it, was surprised to feel a hard, calloused palm against her own.

She met a pair of cynical blue eyes, looked into a pale, oddly lined young face and heard him say softly: “Well!”