DR. JOHN SINCLAIR.
That same afternoon Honor puts on her hat and walks into the village
in search of a girl to take Jane's place, if such an individual can
be found, which she privately doubts. She first goes to old Mrs.
Evans, the charwoman, and makes a few inquiries about the girls in
the village. This lady, however, probably with an eye to "No. 1,"
discourages the idea of "keepin' a gal permanent." With regard to
herself she is "willin' to oblige, and don't mind how often she goes
up to the 'ouse, pervided she gets one day in the week to do her own
bit o' washin'." This not being at all Honor's idea, and the old
woman appearing to have no other by which she may benefit, she takes
her departure.
She next goes to the little grocer's shop and makes inquiries there,
learning that they believe they know of a likely young woman. She
has been living at the butcher's over the way, partly as nurse, they
think, and having left about a week ago is likely to be looking out
for a new place. Flora Smart is the name by which this young person
is known. So Honor thinks she may as well go "over the way" as
anywhere else to pursue her inquiries.
Mrs. Masters, the butcher's wife, is a brisk and chatty little woman,
who enters into the discussion of possible and impossible girls with
a keen and lively interest. She thinks Mrs. Phips possesses a
granddaughter who, though not calculated to set the Thames on fire
with her cleverness, is a good girl enough as far as honesty,
truthfulness, and cleanliness go. She is greatly desirous of
"bettering herself," whatever that may be; and Mrs. Masters thinks
that if Miss Merivale don't mind the trouble of training her, she may
turn out a handy kind of girl.
"I have just been recommended a girl called Flora Smart," remarks
Honor presently. "I believe she was with you for a time, Mrs.
Masters."
"Yes, miss; for a very short time though, I'm thankful to say. I had
her to help with the children, and to give a hand when it was needed
to my own servant that I've had with me for years. She was an idle
hussy though, and didn't care to do anything but take the children
out. Ah, and they nearly met their death, or might have done, with
her wicked carelessness!" she adds with an involuntary shudder.
"How was that?" asks Honor, impressed with Mrs. Masters' manner.
"Well, miss, she had taken the two youngest out in the perambulator;
and from what I heard after I suppose that, when she got half-way
down Meadow Lane, there she saw some acquaintance of hers--a young
man it was; and as she thought the perambulator might be seen if she
took it with her, she just left it in the middle of the lane and ran
back round the corner, quite out of sight of the children. Well,
miss, it was market-day; and presently there came along the usual
drove of cattle, the drovers far behind. Fortunately the doctor was
coming along that way too, and recognizing them and seeing their
danger at once, he just took and wheeled them home to me, saying as
he brought them up to the door, 'I think your little ones will be
safer with you, Mrs. Masters, than in the middle of Meadow Lane by
themselves on market-day.' Dear! it did give me such a turn, to be
sure, miss; for he told me after that he quite thinks the
perambulator would have been overturned, some of the cattle were so
wild and unruly. Ah, a kind-hearted gentleman is Dr. Sinclair! He
would do anyone a good turn, from the highest to the lowest."
"Dr. Sinclair!" repeats Honor. "Is that the name of the doctor here,
Mrs. Masters? I really didn't know there was a doctor here at all;
though I suppose there always is, even in a little village like this."
"Dear me, now, Miss Merivale, to think that you don't know him even
by sight, and he often rides up your way too!"
"I am generally too busy to notice many passers-by," says Honor
smiling; "but now I think of it, I believe I have heard the Mr.
Talboys mention him."
"Ah, to be sure you would, miss; if 'twas only on his father's
account; though I'm not sure if the old gentlemen don't like the son
just as well, if not better. But you see, miss, it was the old
doctor that attended Mr. Benjamin with his broken ankle; I think they
were all boys at school together--so I've heard my husband say. Yes,
it was quite a blow to the old gentlemen when the old doctor died.
There! talk of the angel--why, that's the young doctor himself coming
up the road yonder. Now you can see him for yourself, miss.
Honor lifts her eyes as a rider comes slowly up the remainder of the
steep hill which leads into the village. She sees a well-made,
broad-shouldered man, who cannot be much under six feet in height,
bestriding a handsome glossy chestnut, which in the matter of
muscular strength and powerfulness of build is as noticeable as his
master.
Dr. John Sinclair appears to be deep in thought, for his eyes are
raised no higher than his horse's head as he sits flicking its ears
softly with the end of his riding-whip, a performance which the
creature apparently rather enjoys than otherwise, judging by the
tossing of its head, accompanied by little whinnyings of approval.
As he rides past the butcher's shop, though, the doctor raises his
head, and catching sight of Mrs. Masters smiles brightly and
courteously. As he lifts his hat, his eyes rest upon Honor with a
little inquiring expression.
"Aye, that's just like him," says the woman with a gratified look as
she acknowledges the young man's salutation with a pleased little
bow, "he would lift his hat to a poor beggar woman just as quickly as
to a duchess; and that's what makes every one about here worship him
so. There's no thoughts of class or the like with Dr. John Sinclair,
miss; and one to him is as good as another, where there's help and
kindness needed. But there now, I am wasting your time, Miss
Merivale, as well as my own. My husband always tells me mine is a
terrible tongue to go, especially when any talk of the young doctor
comes up, for then I always feel as if I could never say enough for
him. Besides everything else he has done, he pulled my youngest boy
through with croup, when every one else had given him up; and I have
never forgotten that--no, nor ever shall. Well, miss, I think you
will do well to go to Mrs. Phips. I know her grand-daughter is a
decent sort of girl, though she ain't very bright. But I do think it
would be worth trying her, perhaps. Oh, no thanks needed, I'm sure,
miss," as Honor expresses gratitude for the information. "Good-day
to you, miss; and I hope the girl may suit."