Dr Finlay's Casebook (3 page)

The blood, pale and watery-looking, was drawn up into a hypodermic syringe then transferred to a test tube and within twenty minutes the tests were complete. Finlay gave an exclamation of
satisfaction and turned to the boy.

‘Now listen, lad, you have lost so much blood it would take you months of misery before you make it up. Fortunately you have the same blood group as myself, so I’m going to make you
a present of some which I can very well spare. Lie still and I’ll draw up my chair beside you.’

Within ten minutes this simple operation was completed. Finlay lay for a few moments beside his patient.

Then he said, ‘How do you feel, lad?’

‘Oh, sir, dear Dr Finlay. Instead of feeling like a wet empty sack, I want to run for miles, jump over walls. Oh, thank God, and thank
you
and bless you, doctor. I’m myself
again, better than new.’

‘Take it easy then. You must be quite still for half an hour. And I will rest too.’

‘Of course. Oh, Dr Finlay, do you feel bad?’

‘I’ll soon be right as rain and all the better for the blood letting. Now listen carefully, Bob. No one must know of this, it’s between you and me alone, for it would hurt Dr
Cameron’s pride really badly to think he had failed in diagnosing your trouble. And worse still that I, his assistant, had spotted your want of blood and cured it on the spot!’

‘Oh, I won’t tell anyone Dr Finlay. Although perhaps you would let me tell my mother when she comes up next week. But surely to goodness I don’t need to go on with that beastly
McKie’s mixture.’

‘You don’t need it, lad, and never did. So quietly, quietly mind you, dispose of it down the sink or, safer still, the lavatory.’

‘I will, doctor. I’ll do everything you tell me because I trust you and love you.’

‘Then get in the car with me and we’ll drive to your bike, parked outside my surgery. Then you can take off for your grandad’s. And remember, no gabbing, not a single
word.’ Back home Finlay felt the need of his tea and went to the kitchen to make it when Janet suddenly appeared, took off her coat and said reproachfully, ‘Could you not wait five
minutes till I got back from the town?’

‘I was thirsty, Janet. I’ve been up the burn fishing with young Bob Macfarlane.’

‘Ay, he just passed me on his bike goin’ like steam. Dr Cameron will be pleased with him.’

‘That’s the truth, Janet. He’s come on wonderfully since he took Dr Cameron’s medicine.’

‘I’m glad ye admit it,’ Janet said kindly. ‘Would you like a piece o’ shortbread tae your tea? I made some afore I went out.’

‘Thank you, Janet. I love your shortbread, it’s the best in Tannochbrae.’

‘Best in Scotland, ye mean, lad.’ And Janet gave him one of her rare smiles. ‘To find ye so polite and agreeable is just like the auld days when ye first came here. When the
doctor was heid o’ the family and me and you were his devoted children.’

‘We’re still devoted, Janet. You know I’d do anything in the world for the auld doctor.’

‘I’m sure ye would, lad. It’s just that sometimes ye seem to think that ye ken mair than him.’

‘God forbid, Janet.’

‘Well here’s your shortbread, and it’s a bigger bit that I meant to give you.’

Finlay departed with the shortbread and a respectful inclination of his head. Janet was sometimes difficult, but she could always be brought round by any appreciation of her worth, verbal or
otherwise. He had barely nibbled the shortbread and sipped at his first cup of tea before a firm step was heard in the lobby and the door was flung open, revealing Dr Cameron still in full outdoor
panoply – reefer coat slightly open, one of the many scarves knitted by Janet, and his hat cocked at a rakish angle.

‘Well, indeed!’ he exclaimed half jocularly. ‘Tea without me! Is that the way to treat the head o’ the house?’

Finlay stood up and said quietly, ‘As you’re very often not in for your tea, sir, preferring to take it at your club in the town, and as it had struck the half five without a sign of
you, Janet very kindly gave me a cup.’

‘Shortbread, too! Well I never. Ye fare well, my young sir, whenever my back is turned.’

Fortunately Janet scurried in with a tray, bearing more tea and an ample portion of shortbread, which she placed by the big armchair. Then receiving coat, scarf, gloves and hat from her master
she scurried out to hang them in the hall.

‘Well, lad! I ken ye were up the burn with my patient. What did you think o’ him?’

‘Wonderfully improved, sir, and a compliment to you!’

‘Ay, thank ye, lad. As a matter of fact, Bob McKie hailed me in as I passed the shop to shake me by the hand. “Never,” says he to me, “have I seen such a wonderful
recovery. The dear boy was creeping about, white as a ghost. You prescribed for him, and after one bottle o’ your medicine – for it’s all gone – he is cured, looking better
than I have ever seen him since he was a bairn.” ’

‘Well, sir,’ Finlay exclaimed, ‘what a triumph for ye.’

Dr Cameron gave a self-conscious little laugh. ‘Bob told me the whole town would be talking about it. Says he to me, “Doctors may come and doctors may go, but there’s one
doctor who will ever be with us, loved and respected for his kindness and brilliance.” ’

‘He insisted in bringing down the boy, my patient. I’ll confess to you, Finlay, that I was amazed by the improvement in him; his pulse, his colour, his briskness. I saw that I had
just hit on the one correct medicine he needed. And it had done the trick for him, and, if I may say so, for me.’

‘Well, sir, I am happy for you. And for young Bob. He’s a thoroughly good, likeable lad. And as he was certainly seriously ill it’s a God’s blessing he is well
again.’

‘Thank you, Finlay. It’s to your credit that never, ay never, have ye shown the least jealousy towards me.’

The old doctor then quaffed his tea and poured himself a second cup before filling and lighting his first pipe of the day.

The weather continued fine and young Bob Macfarlane was up every day fishing the full stretch of the Gielstone Burn where, as work was light in the practice, Dr Finlay
regularly joined him. On several occasions they went further afield and Finlay took the boy over the high Darroch Moors where there was a chance of sea trout in the loch. Usually they came back
with a few sizable fish and once they – or to be exact, Finlay – landed a seven-pound grilse. As they stepped off the Moors to the Tannochbrae road, young Bob carrying the fish, they
observed a young woman stepping briskly towards them. And suddenly Bob let out a shout.

‘Good heavens, it’s my mother!’

Within five yards of them she stopped, looking them over, then in a tone of admiration and surprise she said ‘Bob! I can’t believe it’s you! And Finlay! You don’t look a
day older than my big son. And both of you so brown and healthy, stepping off the Moor as though you’d walked ten miles to catch that lovely fish.’

She took her son in her arms and gave him a big kiss, then, unable to resist the impulse, she turned to Finlay and pressed her lips against his glowing cheek murmuring, ‘Why didna ye, mon?
Why didna ye?’

There was a long moment of stillness, then, recovering herself, she addressed her son.

‘I came to Tannochbrae expecting to find you still pale as a sheet and here ye are, brown and healthy, better than I ever saw you.’ She turned to Finlay, ‘His grandad told me
it is all due to some wonderful medicine Dr Cameron gave him, that worked like magic. It’s the talk of the town.’

Bob, excited at seeing his mother, let out a wild exuberant laugh.

‘Mother, dear Mother, I have to tell you.’

‘Now, Bob, remember your promise.’

‘I should be allowed to tell my mother, Finlay. It won’t go further.’

Arm in arm the three had begun the long walk home. ‘Listen, dear Mother . . .’ Out came the whole story while his mother listened intently, half turning now and then to study
Finlay’s set face.

‘So you see, Mother, here I am walking for miles with Finlay’s good blood in me while that auld fraud gets all the credit for a bottle of medicine I never took but just poured down
the lavatory.’ He added, ‘But for his transfusion, I’d still be crawling about like a broken-down ghost.’

Bob’s mother did not reply but she looked at Finlay several times, then her grip on his arm tightened and in a quiet but determined voice, she said:

‘I never in all my life have heard of such a cheap and beastly swindle. Here is my dear Finlay who diagnosed my son’s condition and gave freely his own life’s blood to save
him, to put him back striding on the moors instead of crawling around like Hamlet’s ghost while that puffed-up old Cameron, who doesna ken a transfusion from a bull’s behind, has the
whole town bowin’ and scrapin’ to him.’

‘Hush, Gracie. Mind your language.’

‘If you had lived with a man like my husband you would have picked up a few choice bits and pieces. Oh, Finlay, why didna ye follow on after that last dance at the Reunion? I was fair
crazy for you and I could weel tell that you liked me.’

‘Ah, Gracie, my love,’ Finlay sighed, ‘that’s old history now. I was so young and inexperienced in my job, a miserable assistant. I spoke to Janet and she said there was
no place for a wife in the house. I hadna the courage to tell ye I loved ye.’

‘So you left me to Will Macfarlane, a worthy man according to his neighbours, but sae coarse and insensitive to a woman’s feelings, I was shocked and disgusted with him before the
honeymoon was over. Oh Finlay, how often have I missed you and longed to put the clock back. That night of the Reunion when you held me in your arms I could feel you loved me.’

‘I’ll tell ye one thing, Grace dear, I have never looked at or touched a woman since that wonderful night and that is many a year past.’

‘That’s proof ye loved me dearest Finlay. Surely I can see you mair often than I do now?’

‘You’ll be up occasionally visiting your big son.’

‘My big son! He’s as much yours now as mine. Well, darling, my train leaves in an hour’s time. Would you walk up to the station with me?’

‘I will, indeed, Gracie. Just bide here a few minutes, I have a patient waiting for me in the surgery.’ When Finlay had gone Grace did not sit down but stood staring moodily out of
the window.

Suddenly a voice made her turn round.

‘So, you are off home tonight to your own dear husband. I thought I would look in to bid ye a pleasant goodbye.’

Grace swung round. She knew the voice. Her face hardened. ‘Don’t you wish me anything pleasant you two-faced, keyhole-listening, auld bitch. You’re the one that botched up
Finlay’s chance to wed me. Ye thought it would be inconvenient for the lord and master that ye worship with all the dried-up blood in your veins. You were feared I might cook better, run up
and down stairs quicker than you on your auld withered legs. So you frightened my lover awa’ frae me. All for the great god o’ the household. Well let me tell you this. It was
not
him
, with his bottle of rotten physic, that cured my boy. It was Finlay, who diagnosed the case correctly, took him to the hospital and transfused his own blood into my poor bloodless boy. The
change was instantaneous. And now that Bob is totally cured, walking miles over the moors with Finlay’s good blood inside him, who gets the credit? Your Lord and Master, whose medicine went
down the mickey and who is now struttin’ about the town as though he was God Almighty. And who keeps the secret? The Finlay ye took away frae me. He’s warned my son and me not to say a
word, to save your auld hero from being the laughing stock of Tannochbrae!’

As she spoke Janet’s face altered dramatically. The prim self-satisfied expression simply fell apart. Speechless and aghast she gazed at Grace. And in that one dumb look, Grace felt that
she had levelled the score with the selfish old woman who had destroyed for ever her one chance of happiness.

There was the sound of someone moving in the lobby, too slowly for Finlay. A few moments later Finlay stepped briskly into the room. Ignoring Janet he said, ‘Have I kept you waiting too
long, Gracie? I had two patients not one.’

Taking her arm he led her from the room. As they walked to the station arm in arm, she said, ‘Your extra patient gave me the chance to say a few words to Janet that I’ve been saving
up for many a day. I think they’ll do her good.’

Dinner that evening was a silent meal. Dr Cameron seemed preoccupied, Finlay was still mulling over Grace’s visit, and Janet never let a word escape from her compressed lips. When the meal
was over and they were drinking their coffee, Dr Cameron took a deep breath and turned to Finlay.

‘My dear, most distinguished colleague, I have asked Janet to bring your morning tea to your bedroom, just as she does for me.’

‘Oh really, sir, that is most kind of you. It’s a bore having to get up, wash, shave, dress and come downstairs before that first delicious sip. I hope Janet won’t
mind?’

‘Janet will do as she is told,’ Cameron said concisely. Then, after a pause, he seemed to nerve himself to speak and in a loud voice he said, ‘Coming in tonight, when I was in
the lobby, I chanced to hear what I was not intended to hear, and what I most certainly did not wish to hear. And from Grace, who was angrily addressing Janet. I heard all, and I mean all, that you
have done to completely cure Grace’s boy. I heard also a very just criticism of my absurd assumption that I had cured the boy, when it was you by your correct diagnosis and splendid
self-sacrificing transfusion who had immediately restored him to health.’ He paused. ‘I heard also of your most loyal silence, sparing me a most painful humiliation before the whole
town. Dear Finlay, I have always respected you and loved you like a son, and now in gratitude and admiration I will henceforth regard you as a possible partner to myself. Look ahead to that day, my
dear lad, when I will place my hand upon your shoulder and declare: “Finlay! You are no longer my assistant. Today, in the sight of heaven, I create you my partner.” ’

Suddenly, from the doorway, there came a wild skirl of laughter. And Janet, who had been listening, suddenly shouted: ‘That will be a day I want to see. And never will. So long as ye dae
a’ the hard and difficult work, Finlay, he’ll keep ye slavin’ awa’ under him. That’s the way he’s treated me. Years ago when I was young and bonny he made me
hope for something better, but I’m still slavin’ awa’, workin’ mysel’ to daith just to fill his belly and mak’ him comfortable.’