He cleared his throat. "May I come in?"
"Oh. Yes." I stood aside to let him pass. Pulling off the cap and apron, I rolled my sleeves down. Where should I take him? The parlour was all at sixes and sevens; it would have to be Papa's study. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.
I hardly ever went into this room now. I couldn't bear to see it—the empty shelves, the absences.
The same thought must have been in Dr. Kneale's mind as he looked about, shaking his head. "Your poor father. A sorry business, indeed."
He shifted from one foot to the other. "I have heard from your elder brother, Miss Cosgrove. He asked me to call."
Tom? Why would he write to the doctor? Unless it was about Mamma. But he'd said nothing about Dr. Kneale in his letter. Perhaps he didn't want Mamma to know.
"I'm afraid my mother isn't expecting you. She's resting at the moment."
The doctor looked surprised. "Your mother requires my services?"
I was disconcerted. "Yes ... that is..."
"But it was you your brother asked me to visit."
Me? The doctor must have misread Tom's writing. "Are you not mistaken, Doctor Kneale? Didn't my brother say Mrs. Cosgrove?"
The doctor smiled indulgently. "Now, my dear young lady, if you'll allow me..." He put out his hand.
I was puzzled, but followed suit. Why did he want to shake my hand?
He held it tightly and drew out his watch. He was taking my pulse. Silly old fool, couldn't he see that he'd made a mistake?
I tried to pull back but his grip was firm.
"Mmm, a little high," he commented.
I found my voice. "Doctor Kneale, I'm not ill."
Again that smile. Humouring a child. "Let me be the judge of that." He opened his bag and taking out a thermometer, he put it in my mouth. Affronted, I pulled it out. It dropped to the floor but didn't break.
Dr. Kneale stepped back. "Miss Cosgrove! There's no need for that! Calm yourself."
"How can I be calm, when you won't listen to me? I tell you, I'm not ill!"
The doctor didn't respond. Instead he retrieved the thermometer and slipped it into his bag. Then he studied me, a faint frown between his eyebrows. "Tell me, Miss Cosgrove. You look thinner. Are you eating well?"
"Yes." That wasn't quite true—since Papa had gone I'd lost interest in food. And I'd hardly eaten since the visit to Carr Head.
"And are you sleeping well?"
"Not very well," I admitted.
"It's understandable, given your sad loss and the greater responsibilities you've had to take on."
At the mention of Papa, my eyes filled with tears; I couldn't help it. I dabbed at my eyes with the apron I discovered I'd been holding all this time. What would the doctor say if he knew all the troubling thoughts that kept me awake ... Tom's gambling, what Grace thought of me now...
The doctor pursed his lips as if considering. "You say your mother is indisposed?"
"She's—" How could I put it? "Since my father's death, she's not been herself. She experiences great anxiety, even about small things."
"I will look in on her next time I call—"
Next time?
"—in about a week. Good day, Miss Cosgrove." Picking up his bag, he left the study and I heard the front door open and close.
I flung the bundled apron and cap on the floor. How dare he! How dare he come in patronising me and insinuating that I was ill! Tom would be annoyed when he found out that Dr. Kneale hadn't seen Mamma.
***
Tom and his friend arrived in time for dinner. To my amazement, Mr. Woodville, a dark young man with intense brown eyes, proceeded to charm Mamma. He even persuaded her to take a thimbleful of wine. After one sip her cheeks flushed pink and she responded to Mr. Woodville's stories with a girlish giggle I'd never heard before.
I could see he was enjoying his success. But even while he was engaging Mamma's attention, from time to time he looked at me with such interest I went hot and had to look away.
I studied Tom covertly across the table. He was looking sprucer than when I'd seen him last, and in better humour, but his conviviality seemed forced; he was less talkative than usual and seemed rather weary. I noticed he was drinking a great deal.
Catching my eye, he said, "You'll be interested in this, Lou. Woodville's a doctor. Qualified this summer." He smirked at his friend as if sharing a private joke.
I wasn't smiling. How could Tom be so spiteful?
Woodville wasn't amused either. He gave Tom a look I couldn't interpret and then his dark eyes turned to me.
A response seemed called for. "Congratulations, Dr. Woodville. What are your plans?"
Despite my chilly politeness, his manner was friendly. "I'm off to Vienna soon to further my studies—"
"Vienna!" I couldn't help my envious interjection.
He smiled. "—and when I return I will take up a position as a house physician at Guy's."