
Nanny by Chance
Author
Betty Neels
Reads
18.2K
Chapters
9
CHAPTER ONE
ARAMINTA POMFREY, a basket of groceries over one arm, walked unhurriedly along the brick path to the back door, humming as she went. She was, after all, on holiday, and the morning was fine, the autumn haze slowly lifting to promise a pleasant September dayâthe first of the days ahead of doing nothing much until she took up her new job.
She paused at the door to scratch the head of the elderly, rather battered cat sitting there. An old warrior if ever there was one, with the inappropriate name of Cherub. He went in with her, following her down the short passage and into the kitchen, where she put her basket on the table, offered him milk and then, still humming, went across the narrow hall to the sitting room.
Her mother and father would be there, waiting for her to return from the village shop so that they might have coffee together. The only child of elderly parents, she had known from an early age that although they loved her dearly, her unexpected late arrival had upset their established way of life. They were clever, both authorities on ancient Celtic history, and had published books on the subjectâtriumphs of knowledge even if they didnât do much to boost their finances.
Not that either of them cared about that. Her father had a small private income, which allowed them to live precariously in the small house his father had left him, and they had sent Araminta to a good school, confident that she would follow in their footsteps and become a literary genius of some sort. She had done her best, but the handful of qualifications she had managed to get had been a disappointment to them, so that when she had told them that she would like to take up some form of nursing, they had agreed with relief.
There had been no question of her leaving home and training at some big hospital; her parents, their heads in Celtic clouds, had no time for household chores or cooking. The elderly woman who had coped while Araminta was at school had been given her notice and Araminta took over the housekeeping while going each day to a childrenâs convalescent home at the other end of the village. It hadnât been quite what she had hoped for, but it had been a start.
And now, five years later, fate had smiled kindly upon her. An elderly cousin, recently widowed, was coming to run the house for her mother and father and Araminta was free to start a proper training. And about time too, she had reflected, though probably she would be considered too old to start training at twenty-three. But her luck had held; in two weeksâ time she was to start as a student nurse at a London teaching hospital.
Someone was with her parents. She opened the door and took a look. Dr Jenkell, a family friend as well as their doctor for many years.
She bade him good morning and added, âIâll fetch the coffee.â She smiled at her mother and went back to the kitchen, to return presently with a tray laden with cups and saucers, the coffeepot and a plate of biscuits.
âDr Jenkell has some splendid news for you, Araminta,â said her mother. âNot too much milk, dear.â She took the cup Araminta offered her and sat back, looking pleased about something.
Araminta handed out coffee and biscuits. She said, âOh?â in a polite voice, drank some coffee and then, since the doctor was looking at her, added, âIs it something very exciting?â
Dr Jenkell wiped some coffee from his drooping moustache. âI have a job for you, my dear. A splendid opportunity. Two small boys who are to go and live for a short time with their uncle in Holland while their parents are abroad. You have had a good deal of experience dealing with the young and I hear glowing accounts of you at the childrenâs home. I was able to recommend you with complete sincerity.â
Araminta drew a steadying breath. âIâve been taken as a student nurse at St Julesâ. I start in two weeksâ time.â She added, âI told you and you gave me a reference.â
Dr Jenkell waved a dismissive hand. âThatâs easily arranged. All you need to do is to write and say that you are unable to start training for the time being. A month or so makes no difference.â
âIt does to me,â said Araminta. âIâm twenty-three, and if I donât start my training now Iâll be too old.â She refilled his coffee cup with a steady hand. âItâs very kind of you, and I do appreciate it, but it means a lot to meâtraining for something I really want to do.â
She glanced at her mother and father and the euphoria of the morning ebbed way; they so obviously sided with Dr Jenkell.
âOf course you must take this post Dr Jenkell has so kindly arranged for you,â said her mother. âIndeed, you cannot refuse, for I understand that he has already promised that you will do so. As for your training, a few months here or there will make no difference at all. You have all your life before you.â
âYou accepted this job for me without telling me?â asked Araminta of the doctor.
Her father spoke then. âYou were not here when the offer was made. Your mother and I agreed that it was a splendid opportunity for you to see something of the world and agreed on your behalf. We acted in your best interests, my dear.â
Iâm a grown woman, thought Araminta wildly, and Iâm being treated like a child, a mid-Victorian child at that, meekly accepting what her elders and betters have decided was best for her. Well, I wonât, she reflected, looking at the three elderly faces in turn.
âI think that, if you donât mind, Dr Jenkell, Iâll go and see this uncle.â
Dr Jenkell beamed at her. âThatâs right, my dearâget some idea of what is expected of you. Youâll find him very sympathetic to any adjustments you may have in mind.â
Araminta thought this unlikely, but she wasnât going to say so. She loved her parents and they loved her, although she suspected that they had never quite got over the surprise of her arrival in their early middle age. She wasnât going to upset them now; she would see this man, explain why she couldnât accept the job and then think of some way of telling her parents which wouldnât worry them. Dr Jenkell might be annoyed; she would think about that later.
Presently the doctor left and she collected the coffee cups and went along to the kitchen to unpack her shopping and prepare the lunch, leaving her mother and father deep in a discussion of the book of Celtic history they were writing together. They hadnât exactly forgotten her. The small matter of her future having been comfortably settled, they felt free to return to their abiding interestâŠ
As she prepared the lunch, Araminta laid her plans. Dr Jenkell had given her the uncleâs address, and unless heâd seen fit to tell the man that she intended visiting him she would take him by surprise, explain that she wasnât free to take the job and that would be that. There was nothing like striking while the iron was hot. It would be an easy enough journey; Hambledon was barely three miles from Henley-on-Thames and she could be in London in no time at all. She would go the very next dayâŠ
Her mother, apprised of her intention, made no objection. Indeed, she was approving. âAs long as you leave something ready for our lunch, Araminta. You know how impatient your father is if he has to wait for a meal, and if Iâm occupiedâŠâ
Araminta promised cold meat and a salad and went to her room to brood over her wardrobe. It was early autumn. Too late in the year for a summer outfit and too warm still for her good jacket and skirt. It would have to be the jersey two-piece with the corn silk tee shirt.
Her mother, an old-fashioned woman in many respects, considered it ladylike, which it was. It also did nothing for Araminta, who was a girl with no looks worth glancing at twice. She had mousy hair, long and fine, worn in an untidy pile on top of her head, an unremarkable faceâexcept for large, thickly fringed hazel eyesâand a nicely rounded person, largely unnoticed since her clothes had always been chosen with an eye to their suitability.
They were always in sensible colours, in fabrics not easily spoilt by small sticky fingers which would go to the cleaners or the washing machine time and time again. She studied her reflection in the looking glass and sighed over her small sharp nose and wide mouth. She had a lovely smile, but since she had no reason to smile at her own face she was unaware of that.
Not that that mattered; this uncle would probably be a prosey old bachelor, and, since he was a friend of Dr Jenkell, of a similar age.
She was up early the following morning to take tea to her parents, give Cherub his breakfast and tidy the house, put lunch ready and then catch the bus to Henley.
A little over two hours later she was walking along a narrow street close to Cavendish Square. It was very quiet, with tall Regency houses on either side of it, their paintwork pristine, brass doorknockers gleaming. Whoever uncle was, reflected Araminta, he had done well for himself.
The house she was looking for was at the end of the terrace, with an alley beside it leading to mews behind the houses. Delightful, reflected Araminta, and she banged the knocker.
The man who answered the door was short and thin with sandy hair, small dark eyes and a very sharp nose. Just like a rat, thought Araminta, and added, a nice rat, for he had a friendly smile and the little eyes twinkled.
It was only then that she perceived that she should have made an appointment; uncle was probably out on his roundsâdid doctors who lived in grand houses have rounds? She didnât allow herself to be discouraged by the thought.
âI would like to see Dr van der Breugh. I should have made an appointment but itâs really rather urgent. It concerns his two nephewsâŠâ
âAh, yes, miss. If you would wait while I see if the doctor is free.â
He led the way down a narrow hall and opened a door. His smile was friendly. âI wonât be two ticks,â he assured her. âMake yourself comfortable.â
The moment he had closed the door behind him, she got up from her chair and began a tour of the room. It was at the back of the house and the windows, tall and narrow, overlooked a small walled garden with the mews beyond. It was furnished with a pleasant mixture of antique cabinets, tables and two magnificent sofas on either side of an Adam fireplace. There were easy chairs, too, and a vast mirror over the fireplace. A comfortable room, even if rather grand, and obviously used, for there was a dog basket by one of the windows and a newspaper thrown down on one of the tables.
She studied her person in the mirror, something which brought her no satisfaction. The jersey two-piece, in a sensible brown, did nothing for her, and her hair had become a little ruffled. She poked at it impatiently and then looked round guiltily as the door opened.
âIf you will come this way, miss,â said the rat-faced man. âThe boss has got ten minutes to spare.â
Was he the butler? she wondered, following him out of the room. If so, he wasnât very respectful. Perhaps modern butlers had freedom of speechâŠ
They went back down the hall and he opened a door on the other side of it.
âMiss Pomfrey,â he announced, and gave her a friendly shove before shutting the door on her.
It was a fair-sized room, lined with bookshelves, one corner of it taken up by a large desk. The man sitting at it got to his feet as Araminta hesitated, staring at him. This surely couldnât be uncle. He was a giant of a man with fair hair touched with silver, a handsome man with a high-bridged nose, a thin, firm mouth and a determined chin. He took off the glasses he was wearing and smiled as he came to her and shook hands.
âMiss Pomfrey? Dr Jenkell told me that you might come and see me. No doubt you would like some detailsââ
âLook,â said Araminta urgently, âbefore you say any more, Iâve come to tell you that I canât look after your nephews. Iâm starting as a student nurse in two weeksâ time. I didnât know about this job until Dr Jenkell told me. Iâm sure he meant it kindly, and my parents thought it was a splendid idea, but they arranged it all while I wasnât there.â
The doctor pulled up a chair. âDo sit down and tell me about it,â he invited. He had a quiet, rather slow way of speaking, and she felt soothed by it, as was intended.
âBriskett is bringing us coffeeâŠâ
Araminta forgot for the moment why she was there. She felt surprisingly comfortable with the doctor, as though she had known him for years. She said now, âBriskett? The little man who answered the door? Is he your butler? He called you âthe bossââI mean, he doesnât talk like a butlerâŠâ
âHe runs the house for me, most efficiently. His rather unusual way of talking is, I fancy, due to his addiction to American films; they represent democracy to him. Every man is an equal. Nevertheless, he is a most trustworthy and hard-working man; Iâve had him for years. He didnât upset you?â
âHeavens, no. I liked him. He looks like a friendly rat,â she explained. âBeady eyes, you know, and a sharp nose. He has a lovely smile.â
Briskett came in then, with the coffee tray, which he set down on a small table near Aramintaâs chair. âYou be mother,â he said, and added, âDonât you forget youâve to be at the hospital, sir.â
âThank you, Briskett, Iâll be leaving very shortly.â
Asked to do so, Araminta poured their coffee. âIâm sorry if Iâm being inconvenient,â she said. âYou see, I thought if you didnât expect me it would be easier for me to explain and you wouldnât have time to argue.â
The doctor managed not to smile. He agreed gravely. âI quite see that the whole thing is a misunderstanding and Iâm sorry you have been vexed.â He added smoothly, with just a touch of regret allowed to show, âYou would have done splendidly, I feel sure. They are six years old, the boys, twins and a handful. I must find someone young and patient to cope with them. Their parentsâtheir mother is my sisterâare archaeologists and are going to the Middle East for a month or so. It seemed a good idea if the children were to make their home with me while they are away. I leave for Holland in a weekâs time, and if I canât find someone suitable, Iâm afraid their mother will have to stay here in England. A pity, but it canât be helped.â
âIf they went to Holland with you, would they live with you? I mean, donât you have a wife?â
âMy dear Miss Pomfrey, I am a very busy man. Iâve no time to look for a wife and certainly no time to marry. I have a housekeeper and her husband, both too elderly to cope with small boys. I intend sending them to morning school and shall spend as much time with them as I can, but they will need someone to look after them.â
He put down his coffee cup. âIâm sorry you had to come and see me, but I quite understand that you are committed. Though I feel that we should all have got on splendidly together.â
She was being dismissed very nicely. She got up. âYes, I think we would too. Iâm sorry. Iâll goâor youâll be late at the hospital.â
She held out a hand and had it taken in his large, firm clasp. To her utter surprise she heard herself say, âIf I cancelled my place at the hospital, do you suppose theyâd let me apply again? Itâs St JulesââŠâ
âI have a clinic there. I have no doubt that they would allow that. There is always a shortage of student nurses.â
âAnd how long would I be in Holland?â
âOh, a month, six weeksâperhaps a little longer. But you mustnât think of altering your plans just to oblige me, Miss Pomfrey.â
âIâm not obliging you,â said Araminta, not beating about the bush. âI would like to look after the boys, if you think Iâd do.â She studied his face; he looked grave but friendly. âIâve no idea why Iâve changed my mind,â she told him, âbut Iâve waited so long to start my training as a nurse, another month or two really wonât matter.â She added anxiously, âI wonât be too old, will I? To start trainingâŠ?â
âI should imagine not. How old are you?â
âTwenty-three.â
âYou arenât too old,â he assured her in a kind voice, âand if it will help you at all, Iâll see if I can get you on to the next take-in once you are back in England.â
âNow that would be kind of you. Will you let me know when you want me and how Iâm to get to Holland? Iâm going now; youâll be late and Briskett will hate me.â
He laughed then. âSomehow I think not. Iâll be in touch.â
He went into the hall with her and Briskett was there, too.
âCutting it fine,â he observed severely. He opened the door for Araminta. âGo carefully,â he begged her.
Â
Araminta got on a bus for Oxford Street, found a café and over a cup of coffee sorted out her thoughts. That she was doing something exactly opposite to her intentions was a fact which she bypassed for the moment. She had, with a few impulsive words, rearranged her future. A future about which she knew almost nothing, too.
Where exactly was she to go? How much would she be paid? What about free time? The language question? The doctor had mentioned none of these. Moreover, he had accepted her decision without surprise and in a casual manner which, when she thought about it, annoyed her. He should be suitably grateful that she had delayed her plans to accommodate his. She had another cup of coffee and a bun and thought about clothes.
She had a little money of her own. In theory she kept the small salary she had been getting at the convalescent home to spend as she wished, but in practice she used it to bolster up the housekeeping money her father gave her each month.
Neither he nor her mother were interested in how it was spent. The mundane things of lifeâgas bills, the plumber, the most economical cuts of meatâmeant nothing to them; they lived in their own world of the Celts, who, to them at least, were far more important and interesting.
Now she must spend some of her savings on clothes. She wouldnât need much: a jacket, which would stand up to rain, a skirt and one or two woollies, and shoesâthe sensible pair she wore to the convalescent home were shabby. No need for a new dress; she wasnât likely to go anywhere.
And her parents; someone would have to keep an eye on them if she were to go to Holland in a weekâs time and if Aunt Millicent, the elderly cousin, was unable to come earlier than they had arranged. Mrs Snow in the village might oblige for a few days, with basic cooking and cleaning. Really, she thought vexedly, she could make no plans until she heard from Dr van der Breugh.
Her parents received her news with mild interest. Her mother nodded her head in a knowledgeable way and observed that both she and Aramintaâs father knew what was best for her and she was bound to enjoy herself, as well as learn something of a foreign land, even if it was only a very small one like Holland. She added that she was sure that Araminta would arrange everything satisfactorily before she went. âYouâll like looking after the dear little boys.â
Araminta said that, yes, she expected she would. Probably they were as tiresome and grubby as all small boys, but she was fond of children and had no qualms about the job. She would have even less when she knew more about it.
A state of affairs which was put right the next morning, when she received a letter from Dr van der Breugh. It was a long letter, typed, and couched in businesslike language. She would be called for at her home on the following Sunday at eleven oâclock and would spend a few hours with her charges before travelling to Holland on the night ferry from Harwich. She would be good enough to carry a valid passport and anything she might require overnight. It was hoped that her luggage might be confined to no more than two suitcases.
She would have a day off each week, and every evening after eight oâclock, and such free time during the day as could be arranged. Her salary would be paid to her weekly in Dutch guldens⊠She paused here to do some arithmeticâshe considered it a princely sum, which certainly sweetened the somewhat arbitrary tone of the letter. Although there was no reason why it should have been couched in friendlier terms; she scarcely knew the doctor and didnât expect to see much of him while she was in Holland.
She told her mother that the arrangements for her new job seemed quite satisfactory, persuaded Mrs Snow to undertake the housekeeping until Aunt Millicent could come, and then sifted through her wardrobe. The jersey two-piece and the corn silk blouse, an equally sober skirt and an assortment of tops and a warmer woolly or two, a short wool jacket to go over everything and a perfectly plain dress in a soft blue crĂȘpe; an adequate choice of clothes, she considered, adding a raincoat, plain slippers and undies.
She had good shoes and a leather handbag; gloves and stockings and a headscarf or two would fill the odd corners in the one case she intended taking. Her overnight bag would take the rest. She liked clothes, but working in the childrenâs convalescent home had called for sensible skirts and tops in sensible colours, and she had seldom had much of a social life. She was uneasily aware that her clothes were dull, but there was no time to change that, and anyway, she hadnât much money. Perhaps she would get a new outfit in HollandâŠ
The week went quickly. She cleaned and polished, washed and ironed, laid in a stock of food and got a room ready for Aunt Millicent. And she went into Henley and bought new shoes, low-heeled brown leather and expensive, and when she saw a pink angora sweater in a shop window she bought that too. She was in two minds about buying a new jacket, but caution took over then. She had already spent more money than sheâd intended. Though caution wasnât quite strong enough to prevent her buying a pretty silk blouse which would render the sober skirt less sober.
On Sunday morning she was ready and waiting by eleven oâclockâwaiting with her parents who, despite their wish to get back to researching the Ancient Celts, had come into the hall to see her off. Cherub was there too, looking morose, and she stooped to give him a final hug; they would miss each other.
Exactly on the hour a car drew up outside and Briskett got out, wished them all good morning, stowed her case in the boot and held the rear car door open for her.
âOh, Iâd rather sit in front with you,â said Araminta, and she gave her parents a final kiss before getting into the car, waved them a cheerful goodbye and sat back beside Briskett. It was a comfortable car, a Jaguar, and she could see from the moment Briskett took the wheel that despite his unlikely looks they hid the soul of a born driver.
There wasnât much traffic until they reached Henley and here Briskett took the road to Oxford.
âArenât I to go to the London address?â asked Araminta.
âNo, miss. The doctor thought it wise if you were to make the acquaintance of the boys at their home. They live with their parents at Oxford. The doctor will come for you and them later today and drive to Harwich for the night ferry.â
âOh, well, I expect thatâs a good idea. Are you coming to Holland too?â
âNo, miss. Iâll stay to keep an eye on things here; the boss has adequate help in Holland. Heâs for ever to-ing and fro-ingâhaving two homes, as it were.â
âThen why canât the two boys stay here in England?â
âHeâll be in Holland for a few weeks, popping over here when he is needed. Much in demand, he is.â
âWe wonât be expected to pop over, too? Very unsettling for the little boysâŠâ
âOh, no, miss. Thatâs why youâve been engaged; he can come and go without being hampered, as you might say.â
The house he stopped before in Oxford was in a terrace of similar comfortably large houses, standing well back from the road. Araminta got out and stood beside Briskett in the massive porch waiting for someone to answer the bell. She was a self-contained girl, not given to sudden bursts of excitement, but she was feeling nervous now.
Supposing the boys disliked her on sight? It was possible. Or their parents might not like the look of her. After all, they knew nothing about her, and now that she came to think about it, nor did Dr van der Breugh. But she didnât allow these uncertain feelings to show; the door was opened by a girl in a pinafore, looking harassed, and she and Briskett went into the hall.
âMiss Pomfrey,â said Briskett. âSheâs expected.â
The girl nodded and led them across the hall and into a large room overlooking a garden at the back of the house. It was comfortably furnished, extremely untidy, and there were four people in it. The man and woman sitting in easy chairs with the Sunday papers strewn around them got up.
The woman was young and pretty, tall and slim, and well dressed in casual clothes. She came to meet Araminta as she hesitated by the door.
âMiss Pomfrey, how nice of you to come all this way. Weâre so grateful. Iâm Lucy Ingram, Marcusâs sisterâbut of course you know thatâand this is my husband, Jack.â
Araminta shook hands with her and then with Mr Ingram, a rather short stout man with a pleasant rugged face, while his wife spoke to Briskett, who left the room with a cheerful, âSo long, miss, Iâll see you later.â
âSuch a reliable man, and so devoted to Marcus,â said his sister. âCome and meet the boys.â
They were at the other end of the room, sitting at a small table doing a jigsaw puzzle, unnaturally and suspiciously quiet. They were identical twins which, reflected Araminta, wasnât going to make things any easier, and they looked too good to be true.
âPeter and Paul,â said their mother. âIf you look carefully youâll see that Peter has a small scar over his right eye. He fell out of a tree years agoâit makes it easy to tell them apart.â
She beckoned them over and they came at once, two seemingly angelic children. Araminta wondered what kind of a bribe they had been offered to behave so beautifully. She shook their small hands in turn and smiled.
âHello,â she said. âYouâll have to help me to tell you apart, and you mustnât mind if I muddle you up at first.â
âIâm Peter. Whatâs your nameânot Miss Pomfrey, your real name?â
âAraminta.â
The boys looked at each other. âThatâs a long name.â
They cast their mother a quick look. âWeâll call you Mintie.â
âThatâs not very polite,â began Mrs Ingram.
âIf youâve no objection, I think itâs a nice idea. I donât feel a bit like Miss PomfreyâŠâ
âWell, if you donât mindâgo and have your milk, boys, while we have our coffee and then you can show MissâŠMintie your room and get to know each other a bit.â
They went away obediently, eyeing her as they went, and Araminta was led to a sofa and given coffee while she listened to Mrs Ingramâs friendly chatter. From time to time her husband spoke, asking her quietly about her work at the childrenâs home and if she had ever been to Holland before.
âThe boys,â he told her forthrightly, âcan be little demons, but I dare say you are quite used to that. On the whole theyâre decent kids, and they dote on their uncle.â
Araminta, considering this remark, thought that probably it would be quite easy to dote on him, although, considering the terseness of his letter to her, not very rewarding. She would have liked to get to know him, but common sense told her that that was unlikely. Besides, once she was back in England again, he would be consigned to an easily forgotten past and she would have embarked on her nursing careerâŠ
She dismissed her thoughts and listened carefully to Mrs Ingramâs instructions about the boysâ clothing and meals.
âIâm telling you all these silly little details,â explained Mrs Ingram, âbecause Marcus wonât want to be bothered with them.â She looked anxious. âI hope you wonât find it too muchâŠâ
Araminta made haste to assure her that that was unlikely. âAt the childrenâs home we had about forty children, and Iâm used to themâtwo little boys will be delightful. They donât mind going to Holland?â
âNo. I expect theyâll miss us for a few days, but theyâve been to their uncleâs home before, so they wonât feel strange.â
Mrs Ingram began to ask carefully polite questions about Araminta and she answered them readily. If she had been Mrs Ingram she would have done the same, however well recommended she might be. Dr van der Breugh had engaged her on Dr Jenkellâs advice, which was very trusting of him. Certainly he hadnât bothered with delving into her personal background.
They had lunch presently and she was pleased to see that the boys behaved nicely at the table and werenât finicky about their food. All the same, she wondered if these angelic manners would last. If they were normal little boys they wouldnâtâŠ
The rest of the day she spent with them, being shown their toys and taken into the garden to look at the goldfish in the small pond there, and their behaviour was almost too good to be true. There would be a reason for it, she felt sure; time enough to discover that during the new few weeks.
They answered her questions politely but she took care not to ask too many. To them she was a stranger, and she would have to earn their trust and friendship.
They went indoors presently and found Dr van der Breugh in the drawing room with their father and mother. There was no doubt that they were fond of him and that he returned the affection. Emerging from their boisterous greeting, he looked across at Araminta and bade her good afternoon.
âWe shall be leaving directly after tea, Miss Pomfrey. My sister wonât mind if you wish to phone your mother.â
âThank you, I should like to do thatâŠâ
âSheâs not Miss Pomfrey,â said Peter. âSheâs Mintie.â
âIndeed?â He looked amused. âYou have rechristened her?â
âWell, of course we have, Uncle. Miss Pomfrey isnât her, is it? Miss Pomfrey would be tall and thin, with a sharp nose and a wart and tell us not to get dirty. Mintieâs nice; sheâs not pretty, but she smilesâŠâ
Araminta had gone a bright pink and his mother said hastily, âHush, dear. Miss Pomfrey, come with me and Iâll show you where you can phone.â
Leading Araminta across the hall, she said apologetically, âI do apologise. Peter didnât mean to be rudeâindeed, I believe he was paying you a compliment.â
Araminta laughed. âWell, Iâm glad they think of me as Mintie, and not some tiresome woman with a wart. I hope weâre going to like each other.â
The boys had been taken upstairs to have their hands washed and the two men were alone.
âGood of you to have the boys,â said Mr Ingram. âLucy was getting in a bit of a fret. And this treasure youâve found for them seems just like an answer to a prayer. Quiet little thing and, as Peter observed, not pretty, but a nice calm voice. I fancy sheâll do. Know much about her?â
âAlmost nothing. Old Jenkell told me of her; heâs known her almost all her life. He told me that she was entirely trustworthy, patient and kind. They loved her at the childrenâs home. She didnât want to comeâshe was to start her training as a nurse in a week or soâbut she changed her mind after refusing the job. I donât know why. Iâve said Iâll help her to get into the next batch of students when we get back.â
The doctor wandered over to the windows. âYouâll miss your garden.â He glanced over his shoulder. âIâll keep an eye on the boys, Jack. As you say, I think we have found a treasure in Miss Pomfrey. A nice, unassuming girl who wonât intrude. Which suits me very well.â
Tea was a proper meal, taken at the table since the boys ate with them, but no time was wasted on it. Farewells were said, the boys were settled by their uncle in the back seat of his Bentley, and Araminta got into the front of the car, composed and very neat. The doctor, turning to ask her if she was comfortable, allowed himself a feeling of satisfaction. She was indeed unassuming, both in manner and appearance.














































