Sons and Daughters by Margaret Dickinson Page A

working. Now that doesn’t seem fair to me.’
    Philip shrugged as if the folk affected by such an action were of no consequence. Miles frowned, disappointed by his eldest son’s lack of thought for others. It was not how he and his beloved Louisa had brought up their boys. But, as he glanced across at their host, he could see that Osbert delighted in Philip’s reply and said as much.
    ‘Well said, my boy. Well said.’ He even patted Philip’s shoulder.
    At that moment, Georgie returned and sat beside his father. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright and he was strangely subdued.
    Miles rose. ‘I think it’s high time this young man was in his bed. Thank you for a most enjoyable evening,’ he said evenly. ‘And for your hospitality. You – and your daughter – must dine with us some time.’
    In the motor car on the way home, Georgie sat in the front seat beside his father who was driving.
    ‘Papa – ’ Georgie was the only one to still call their father by that name. The older boy’s now addressed him as ‘Father’.
    ‘Yes, Georgie,’ Miles shouted above the noisy engine.
    ‘You know when I went to the kitchen . . . ?’
    Miles tried to hide his amused smile. He knew he should reprimand the boy for having gone there without their host’s permission. But he felt a perverse devilment and said nothing.
    ‘And you know he told us that Miss Charlotte had a headache . . . ?’
    ‘Ye-es,’ Miles said slowly, wondering what was coming.
    ‘Well, she was in the kitchen. Dressed like a maid and doing the washing-up. Now, why do you think that was, Papa?’
    ‘I don’t know, Georgie,’ Miles said thoughtfully. ‘I really don’t know.’
    As he drew the car to a halt in front of the manor, the two boys in the back seat got out. Just before he shut the door with a slam, Philip answered his little brother’s question. ‘Because she’s drab, uninteresting and no better than a maid. No wonder he didn’t want her “gracing” his dinner table.’
    Miles and his youngest son stayed where they were, gazing out of the windscreen into the darkness, a thoughtful silence between them.
    ‘Joe, ya dad’s taken a turn for the worse. Ya’d best fetch the doctor.’
    Joe stared at Peggy, his eyes widening. Over Easter his father had seemed much better. He’d even struggled downstairs to join the rest of the family for their Easter Sunday dinner. During the week since then, the old man had stayed in his bedroom. That was nothing unusual so Joe had thought nothing of it. But now, for Peggy to ask for the doctor to be called, it had to be serious.
    ‘I’ll send our Jackson. He’ll ride like the wind on his bike. D’ya think . . . ?’ His voice trailed away but they continued to stare at each other with serious faces.
    Slowly, Peggy nodded and said huskily, ‘’Fraid so, love. He’s got steadily worse this last week.’
    The doctor confirmed their fears. ‘His heart’s giving out.’ He put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, lad.’
    Dr Markham had been in Ravensfleet since arriving as a newly qualified young doctor. He’d served the small town and the nearby villages, to say nothing of the outlying farms and cottages, for over thirty years. Sprightly and energetic in his mid-fifties, he showed no sign of wanting to retire. A widower for the past five years and his family grown and flown, his patients were his life.
    ‘What would I do with myself?’ he’d say, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness to the unanswerable question of impending retirement.
    He knew all the families around here, had delivered their babies, watched them grow, and seen them leave the world, too. And now one of his oldest friends was about to depart.
    ‘Something seems to be bothering him.’ Dr Markham eyed both Joe and Peggy quizzically. ‘Do you know what it could be? He’s asking for the vicar.’
    Joe and Peggy glanced at each other. ‘I’d guess,’ Joe said slowly, ‘it’s about where he’s to