Adam winced.
The gathered women exchanged puzzled looks and more than a few angry faces.
“Forgive me, ladies.” Du Montfort smiled indulgently. “I’m an old man and when I was your age, political correctness meant not voting for the Communist party. Racism was acceptable, and the only thing I was brought up not to discuss in front of people was money and sex.
“These days money and sex are much more popular than hard work.”
Adam was seriously thinking about moving to stand between the old man and some of the women.
Du Montfort waved a hand at the rack of fabrics. “But you proved me wrong. It’s a real pleasure to watch this pioneering group of women work very hard indeed and make extraordinary things. Most of you arrived with nothing, in many cases escaping war and poverty, and you’ve proven yourselves hard working, responsible and as good as anyone.” He paused to scan the group of women, and the ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “A man like me does not really appreciate curtain patterns, but I can see quality. You showed this old-fashioned man” — He pointed at himself — “that he was wrong. And your fine work will ensure no one will ever look at you with prejudice. You will be a shining example of how women can work part-time and make cloth fit for the Queen.”
The man had charm. Despite a few of the workers glaring at him, most were eager to show him samples of their work. They talked about damask and jacquard, and showed him cushion covers and curtains that Du Montford couldn’t possibly care about. Yet he listened, asked intelligent question and was generous with compliments. By the time dusk began to fall, he’d managed to talk to everyone, knew their names and what they did.
“He needs to get home,” Nurse Ann whispered to Adam. “He’ll tire himself out and God help us then.”
“Does he have any pain medication?” Adam couldn’t see any sign of it on Du Montfort but he had to have sustained some bruises.
“Lots,” Nurse Ann said. “But it’s not going to touch the sides if he doesn’t get into bed soon.” She looked at her watch and sighed.
“Maybe ask his doctor to see him tonight. Advise him to—”
“Advise?” she scoffed. “The last time the doctor tried to advise him about anything, he was told to” — Nurse Ann mimed quotation marks — “bugger off, you doom merchant, unless you’d rather sit on a sharp poker in my garden and lift your ugly face up to the sky to scare away the pigeons.” She sighed. “That was nearly three years ago. I just call the doctor for repeat prescriptions but he won’t come.”
Adam turned to look fully at her. “You mean, the same prescription for three years?”
She nodded.
This was criminal. The man was old and he might develop serious complications. His condition should have been reviewed every six months. “Is he ever in pain?”
“Almost all the time. But no one dare argue with him because he has a vicious temper.”
Adam shoved a hand through his hair. And tried to remain calm. This was none of his business. Besides, he was leaving medicine behind and starting a different life. He’d only just met these people and, if he sailed away in a week as planned, would probably never see them again. He turned back to watch the old man examine a large piece of blue fabric. Something about the angle of his shoulder said he was forcing himself to keep a straight back. Adam’s grandfather had been the same. Pride. Never letting anyone see the truth.
“Has it occurred to you that,” he asked, keeping his voice low so only Ann could hear. “His temper is viciousbecausehe’s in pain?”
She turned to face him. Although she spoke just as quietly, her eyes had darkened. “Yes, it has occurred to me, I’m not cruel no matter what he calls me. But I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want. He’ll just fire me. Before me he had a nurse that used to over-dose him just to keep him quiet and make her life easy. And before her, he had a string of nurses that huffed and argued with him and made his condition worse before they too left. I choose to stay and do the little I can, to keep him safe.”
He felt himself flush with embarrassment. And yes, clearly he was still a bad judge of character and had completely underestimated the nurse. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Never mind about ‘sorry.’ I don’t need an apology. But you” — She held his gaze — “are the first person he has allowed to touch him. He seems to have taken a shine to you, so why don’t you advise him to get a check-up. Maybe to go to a hospital on the mainland. He might listen to you.”
Adam said nothing. His desire to help warred with his determination to not interfere. To not get involved. And if he were to say anything it would have to be a very polite suggestion, carefully worded so as not to make the old man feel manipulated, like they’d been whispering about him behind his back for the last ten minutes.
“Please. He won’t listen to me,” Ann said, checking her phone. “And maybe you’d better go and rescue him from all the pretty ladies. The cart’s been outside for a while and it’ll be dark soon.”
Adam walked over and the women gathered around Du Montfort made room for him.
Du Montford was talking to a woman named Assia, probably East European or Balkan, who was showing him how to make fringing on curtains. She spoke English in that careful, correct way foreigners had. A few other women stood around, each with a cloth sample to show. They stepped aside as Adam came closer.
“Ah.” Du Montford looked up. “It seems, this handsome young man is here to take me away from you. I’m afraid I have to let him. He is a doctor.”
The younger women laughed as Adam helped push the wheelchair out where indeed a horse-cart was waiting. What did they call these things, a barouche? It had a leather seat wide enough for two people with a folding hood to provide some cover. Another bench seat was set opposite, just behind the driver’s box. A brown horse stood patiently waiting.
The driver, Evans, removed the seat under the folding hood to create room. He then jumped down and, between him and Adam, they lifted the wheelchair and secured it in place with leather straps. Du Montfort, who’d been lively and charming five minutes ago, was now limp as if he’d used up every drop of strength he had. His face was grey with fatigue. Long ago, Adam’s grandfather, too proud to admit weakness, had pushed himself too hard, caught an infection and never recovered.
Du Montford’s sharp blue eyes had gone dull.
“Maybe now is not the time,” Adam told Ann softly as he jumped down to the ground.
