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“Greenhill Hall does not disappoint,” Gillian Turner said, as she rubbernecked her way through the foyer. “Though tell me, is your loo gilded?”
“Sadly, we lack a gilded loo,” Gregory said with obvious amusement.
“Pity. My mother’s always said this place looked so fancy, it must have gold toilets. I always wanted to see how ridiculous that would look.” Gillian grinned.
Hanna laughed. She enjoyed the doctor’s company, and the woman’s sunny humor served as an antidote to the poor guests from last night. “Tell you what. If we remodel, we’ll put in a gold toilet just for you.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” She set down the large leather case she carted about. “So, I’ve pinched the journals, as promised. The fern is looking good, by the way.”
“I’d hate to think your father’s fern was doing poorly. We found the boxes of records, too.” Hanna gestured towards the sitting room. “Why don’t we have some second-hand fancy food and take a look?”
“I have been looking forward to second-hand fancy food since Friday. As long as it isn’tusedfancy food. That’s a whole other matter.” Gillian hefted the case again. “Lead on to your banquet of high-end leftovers. I am here to help clear out your refrigerator and solve mysteries. Mostly the refrigerator bit.”
Laughing, they adjourned to the sitting room nearest the garden, where the window looked out over the manor’s beautiful rose gardens. The house staff had kindly set out a spread of food from the night before, of which plenty remained. By Hanna’s estimation, they could have hosted a second, smaller fete from what had gone uneaten in the drama.
Gregory noticed, too. “It’s a good thing we had you over, Gillian. Not many people ate after my mother’s antics last night.”
“Is this where I pretend I’m not dying of polite curiosity about your mother’s antics?” Gillian said as she set her case down next to her chair, then settled herself onto the cushions. “Because the word ‘antics’ all but invites curiosity, but I’ve seen enough lunatic families to know sensitivity is sometimes required.”
“No need to pretend.” Gregory sat down next to Hanna on one of the divans. “My mother decided my business guests were the perfect audience for her ‘I’m having a heart attack’ routine. Fell over, and I guess she has a tough pulse to find sometimes, because two people couldn’t feel it. Hanna did CPR for five compressions until my mother started shrieking about Hanna attacking her.”
Gillian canted her head. “Five compressions, then she was howling about being attacked? That’s bloody unlikely. You don’t just hop up and start tossing accusations about if you’ve had a heart attack. I’m not her medical professional, but I can tell you from experience, it takes more than five good pushes to start a heart again. And CPR often doesn’t work at all. You’re mum’s a big old liar.”
“That’s the idea we’re starting to get. The doctors who have handled her case agree with you, by the way. I talked to them this morning. At worst, they believe she had some odd arrhythmia, but no signs of serious health risk or lasting damage. Given that this wasn’t the first time she’d faked heart issues for attention…” He shook his head with obvious disappointment. “They’re discharging her today. We’ll be having a serious conversation about how we go forward.”
“I can only imagine. You’ll let me know if you need any help I can offer, won’t you? Even just recommendations for local specialists.” Gillian leaned forward to load a plate with some cocktail shrimp.
“I will. Thank you.”
“Excellent. That’s what friends are for. Now. Let me tell you about a patient I had last week. He’s given me permission to share his story as a warning to anyone who thinks it a good idea to relive their teenaged skateboarding glory days – at fifty.” The doctor gestured with a shrimp. “A spoiler for you? It’s a terrible idea.”
The story she launched into had them all laughing by the time it wrapped up, and cleared any tension from the previous line of discussion. None of them could linger in thoughts of Darlene or awkward future conversations when hearing about the exploits of a middle-aged man’s misguided attempts to recapture his youth and ride a skateboard over a handrail. From there, they eased into easy chatter as they stuffed themselves on good, catered food.
After the last delicious dessert was consumed and everyone wondered if they should unbutton their trousers, Gillian opened the leather case she’d brought. “I’ve had a chance to read through only the start of this, and skimmed bits of the rest. My grandfather’s earlier journals all read like I would expect. Saw a patient, my cat threw up in my shoe, there’s a threat of bombings. The most interesting bits crop up several years into his career. Namely, when one Missus Marion Pritchard enters the scene in 1926.”
“1926?” Hanna stood up to fetch one of the records boxes from where they had stacked them in the corner of the room. “I haven’t had much chance to look through the records, but I did notice they’re sorted by dates. This box has the earliest ones. 1926 through 1935.”
“Fantastic. We can compare.” Gillian flashed an excited grin as she pulled out one of the old, leather-bound books and flipped to a marked page. “My grandfather first met Missus Pritchard some months after she’d given birth to her first child. He writes that Missus Pritchard told him her previous doctor had moved out of the area, so she needed a new one and had heard of my grandfather through word of mouth. His journal says both mother and the baby girl were healthy, and goes out of the way to say how beautiful both were.”
Hanna dug through the box until she found what she wanted. “That’s this visit. Marion and Patricia Pritchard.”
“May I?” Gillian held out a hand.
Hanna handed the file over. “Does it match what the journal says?”
Gillian scanned the page. “It does. My grandfather enjoyed keeping personal observations of his patients, which is a practice my father has continued. I wonder if he did so because of what he read in his father’s journals. God, reading this writing takes me back. So. Mother and baby healthy, robust, and thriving.”
“That’s interesting, for a child who ‘sickened and died’.”
“It can happen, but…” Gillian picked up the journal again. “This goes on to talk about subsequent visits. The tone changes in his writing. Instead of ‘Missus Pritchard’ she is ‘Marion’. Her husband is often away or seems distant. Marion seems lonely. Little Patricia is sweet. He looks forward to their visits. He is invited to Patricia’s first birthday celebration.”
Hanna raised an eyebrow. “Was that common for doctors then, do you know?”
“Doctors then did know their patients better than many do today. My grandfather, however, was not the class of people you would expect to see in Greenhill Hall. I would say it was unusual. Especially with this. My grandfather writes, with heavy guilt, about an illicit kiss he shared with Marion during an examination.”
Oh, hello.“Really?”
Gillian’s lips pursed. “Really. It says the examination had finished, he told her she was free to dress again, leaned near to fetch his stethoscope, and she planted one on him. He gently pushed her away and told her it was inappropriate during a professional visit, she apologized and didn’t know what came over her, he went home, and spends another two weeks writing about how he can’t stop thinking about it.”
