Read A Match for Sister Maggy for Free Online Page A

see.’
    This truthful but unflattering description of herself did nothing to improve Maggy’s mood, and the more so because she could think of nothing to say in reply. Nurse Sibley’s return saved her from this difficulty, however. She handed over to her, and left the room with great dignity, feeling twelve feet tall, and very conscious of the largeness of her person.
    The visitors, laden with flowers and fruit and unsuitablefood, began to straggle in, and Maggy was kept busy answering questions and making out certificates. Madame Riveau’s husband and son hadn’t arrived; she would have to see them that evening. She sat down at her desk and began the off-duty rota for the following week. It was an absorbing and irritating task, trying to fit in lectures, study days, and special requests for days off. She became immersed in it, then looked up to find the doctor standing by her. She stopped, pen poised.
    â€˜Did you want me, sir?’
    He didn’t answer her question, but said shortly, ‘My mother’s asleep.’ He stretched out an arm and took the off duty book from her and studied it carefully. Maggy asked in an annoyed voice,
    â€˜Is there something you wish to know, Dr Doelsma?’
    â€˜Yes, there was,’ he answered cheerfully, ‘but I’ve seen all I want, thank you.’ He gave the book back into a hand rendered nerveless with vexation, but made no effort to go.
    Maggy filled in another name and then asked, ‘Would you like tea, sir? It’s early, I know, but perhaps in Holland you drink tea at a different time from us.’
    â€˜Probably. But I must point out to you that I am a Friesman, and not a Hollander, and proud of the fact—just as you, I imagine, are proud of being a Scotswoman. The Friesians and the Scots have mutual ancestors, you know.’
    Maggy didn’t know, and said so, adding, ‘How interesting’ in a cold voice which he ignored.
    â€˜How’s Mrs Salt?’ he enquired.
    Maggy put down her pen in a deliberate manner. He seemed bent on engaging her in conversation, however unwilling on her part, so she said civilly, ‘The path lab results came back yesterday—and the X-rays show an infiltration into the oesophagus—a blueprint of your lecture.’
    â€˜May I see her notes?’ He was serious and rather remote now. She got the notes and X-rays and answered his questions sensibly. At length he handed them back to her, saying, ‘A blueprint indeed, Sister, which bears out your question, does it not?’
    She nodded. ‘It’s strange that a condition as rare as this one should coincide with your lecture.’
    They discussed technicalities for a few minutes, and she surprised him with her sharp brain and knowledge used with so much intelligence.
    â€˜Could you spare time to come and see Mrs Salt?’ he suggested. ‘Not to examine her, just a social visit.’
    They walked down the ward to the old lady’s bed. She had no visitors—she had been a patient for so long that the novelty of coming to see her had worn off—and she hailed Dr Doelsma with delight.
    â€˜Cor, if it ain’t Dr Dutch ‘isself!’ She extended a hand, which he observed had become more transparent, and if possible thinner than it had been a week ago. Her lively black eyes snapped at him, however.
    â€˜Don’t feed me a lot of codswallop about getting better, doctor. I ain’t a fool, no more I’m a cry-baby, though I’ll be fair mad if I don’t ’ave me birthday.’ She turned her penetrating gaze on to Maggy. ‘Goin’ to ’ave a cake, ain’t I, love?’
    Sister MacFergus, replying to this endearing form of address, smiled and said, ‘Yes, Mrs Salt, a cake with candles, so you’d better be good and do as you’re asked so that you’ll be able to blow them out. There’ll be presents too.’ she added.
    The old lady