House Calls

Why, oh why, did I ever let Tristan talk me into things?

“James, I need a bit of a favor from you.” Tristan was lounging in his favorite chair, Woodbine dangling carelessly from his hand. “I've got a date with an absolutely ravishing little nurse, but as usual, she feels the need to bring her friend along. Why is it that women always seem to want to do everything in pairs?”

“In your case, probably so there's a witness in the event of catastrophe. Your love life hasn't exactly run smoothly, you know. I'm not sure I have the stamina to keep up with you this evening, Tris.” I'd had a long day, and Tristan pursued his social life with a great deal of enthusiasm.

“So it's a nice quiet evening, dozing by the fire. James, you're getting to be quite the stick in the mud. Well, have it your way. Just remember, Siegfried's on call tonight, and bound to try and shift any sort of nasty business onto you. But I'm sure you'll stand up to him. And don't worry about me, James. Nancy will probably cancel out, and you'll have spoiled my one opportunity for happiness in life, but I'm sure I'll get through it.” He sighed, a heavy, dramatic, sigh.

The thought of spending the evening dodging the two brothers was less than appealing; still, I was a happily married man, and the idea of going out with Tristan and two flighty young women had a bad ring to it. Perhaps that was my ticket out.

“You know, Tris, I am a happily married man.”

“All the better. You'll be just the steadying influence we need. Besides, Helen's taking care of her Aunt Lucy for a few days. I'm sure she wouldn't want you moping about Skeldale every evening.”

I was equally sure that she wouldn't want me traipsing about the town with Tristan and his entourage. But he did have a point. What was the harm in a pint or two?

“Alright, Tris, but none of your all nighters. Just a couple of pints and a bite to eat.”

“Excellent, James, you won't regret it.” He really was one of the most pleasant and charming people I'd ever met, and his single minded devotion to the pleasures of life was very endearing. It was hard not to enjoy yourself when he was in form, and even harder to hold it against him when things went wrong, which was quite often. Of course, I often had myself to blame as well. When had I ever known Tristan to confine himself to a pint or two?

And so, I found myself, several hours later, leaning against a wall, with a somewhat disheveled girl clinging to me in an equally bad state. A few pints and a bite to eat had somehow turned into a bacchanal. After several performances of “the Mad Conductor” and one encore of “Man In A Twitching Fit” (which was loosely based on Siegfried's state after consuming some Universal Cattle Medicine on one memorable occasion), we'd headed off to crash a wedding reception. Tristan always seemed to know anytime there was alcohol and dancing afoot, and was welcomed everywhere with open arms and a glass. Friendly, smiling people had been pushing drinks and delicious food into my hands for hours, and I'd been enjoying myself until a few minutes ago. I'd become aware of a vague feeling of unease somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. My tongue felt like it was twice it's normal size, and to my astonishment, it seemed that I'd lost my ability to form a coherent sentence. Tristan was swimming in and out of my vision, looking somewhat flushed and unsteady, but happy. I noticed his date seemed rather peaked, and I focused all of my attention on raising my now heavy arm to get his attention. It was a rather limp effort, so I turned to my date, Flo, for assistance. Unfortunately, she was seated in a chair and looking somewhat green around the mouth. Tristan was gliding in my direction again, so I fixed a wide smile on my face and took another stab at waving him over.

Tristan stood over me, swaying gently and studying me thoughtfully. Apparently my smile was not very convincing.

“Wonderful, James. That's just the expression on Tricki Woo's face when he's gone flopbot. You never told me you could do imitations.” He hiccuped quietly. “I say, Flo doesn't look to well. Perhaps we should be getting on.” He looked around carefully, as though he'd misplaced his jacket rather than his girl. We spotted her at the same time, draped over another young man in a corner.

“Oh, that's just like a woman. Leave her for a minute, and she's off with someone else.”

“Bad luck,” I managed to slur out. Tristan flung his arm over my shoulders.

“I can always count on you, Jim. Siegfried,” he said, staring off into the distance, “is not.....the joyful sort.”

I tried to picture Siegfried as the “joyful” sort, and came up empty. But then, I didn't feel particularly joyful at the moment, either. In fact, I was feeling more wretched by the moment, and the mention of Siegfried's name had a magically sobering effect as well. I peered at my watch, which suddenly had several faces where one should be.

Eight o'clock. That didn't seem right. I closed one eye, which reduced the number of hands considerably.

“Good God, Tris, it's going on midnight!”

Tristan looked at me in consternation. “That can't be right, Jim. Have another look.”

With a supreme effort, I focused again. “It's a quarter to.”

Tristan looked at me, wide-eyed. “But the girls had to be back at ten! The doors are locked!”

My heart sank. A fine mess. Well, there was nothing for it but to take them back, ring the bell, and try to make the best of it. But first, there was another item of business to attend to.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” I managed to say, before staggering my way towards the door. Flo, who'd managed to regain her feet at some point, must have assumed I was making a break for it, because she'd attached herself to me on my way out. Which is how I ended up outside, leaning against a wall, with the inert form of a young woman somehow clinging to me.

Nancy seemed to be the only one of us whose thought processes were still intact. She'd dragged Tristan outside, put him in the car, and driven round to the side of the house, where Flo and I were doing our slow dance of semi-consciousness. She got out and peeled her friend off of me, at which point I took advantage of the situation and heaved up the contents of my roiling stomach. I felt a little better afterward.

Nancy came back and helped me to the car. “We'll just wake up one of the other girls at the dormitory, and she can come down and let us in.”

Tristan had climbed out of the car, presumably to lend a hand with me.

“You reek of beer. It won't do to go about smelling like Gobber Newhouse on payday.” Tristan held up one finger. “I know just the thing.”

He disappeared into the blackness, then a minute or two later reappeared with a stick. “Just stand still, Jim.”

I honestly thought he might hit me with it, perhaps hoping the pain would sober me up. Instead, brought it down gently on first one shoulder, than the other.

“I dub thee Sir Shitsalot.”

The stench of cow dung hit me immediately. He delicately applied a dab to his own jacket. “There, now, we simply smell of our profession. Certainly no one can think badly of that.”

The girls begged to differ, and protested against riding in the car with us in that state, but we pointed out that we were their best chance of getting out of a bad situation. We piled into the car, the women plastering themselves against the doors and heads hanging out the windows. Tristan drove rather well, all things considered, and after only one small detour through a field, arrived at the nurse's dormitory. Tristan had shut the lights and engine off and coasted to a stop a behind an old shed on the grounds.

“You've done this before,” said Nancy accusingly.

“I'm simply very good at problem solving, and making use of what's at hand,” replied Tristan. “Now, I suggest we locate some helpful girl's window, and wake her up with a pebble or two thrown at the window. A time-honored method I picked up in my literature courses.”

No one could say that Tristan didn't make good use of his studies, although often in the most unorthodox manner.

We crept over to the side of the building. Nancy studied it closely. “There, second row, third across.”

Tristan bent and, picking up a pebble, threw it with great aim and far too much force at a window. It hit with a sharp crack, and I waited for the inevitable sound of breaking glass, but fortunately he'd thrown it with less velocity than required to smash the window. Nancy however, grabbed him by the arm furiously.

“That's the wrong window, you idiot! I said third window across,” she hissed.

“But you didn't say third from left or right.” My little offering was met with a glare from Nancy, and a companionable smile from Tristan.

“Yes, that's right. One must try to be accurate in one's directions.” He scratched around on the ground and came up with a few more bits of gravel, then hurled them at the correct window. The curtains moved, and a face briefly appeared at the window, then disappeared.

“ 'Round to the back, she'll let us in at the kitchen door, and we can go up the back stairs.” Flo had suddenly taken an interest in the proceedings, the scent of my jacket having no doubt had an invigorating effect.

A red haired girl was waiting to let us in. “Whew!” was all she said, as she stepped back to let us in.

We made our way up the stairs, pulling the girls along behind us. I was all for leaving them downstairs to manage on their own and getting off the premises, but Tristan insisted that we were responsible for their state, and obligated to see them safely in their rooms. I had never been so terrified in all my life, but Tristan seemed to have regained his usual bonhomie and was trying to steal a kiss from Nancy, who was having none of it.

“You'll get one across the chops if you don't let me be”, she said, finally giving him a shove. Tristan lost his balance and fell heavily against the wall. In the complete silence, it sounded like a muffled gunshot. Tristan made a great show of rubbing his arm, and I saw a look of horror cross Flo's face.

“Don't worry, it's nothing,” said Tristan, mistaking her look for one of concern for his bruise.

I felt, rather than saw, a hulking presence behind me.

“What, may I ask, is going on here?”

I turned around. Looming over me was a veritable colossus of a woman, hair pulled back so severely that her face seemed stretched taut, and with a countenance that could easily turn anyone to stone. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly a desert. The girls were both white as sheets, but Tristan....ah, Tristan. I could see that agile mind had summed up the situation and was already miles ahead of everyone in the room.

“Good evening, Mrs....Lockhart, I believe?” His smile was incandescent. “I'm afraid we've had a little incident this evening that bears looking into. My colleague and I,” he indicated me with a nod of his head, “discovered these two girls trying to walk home. Apparently, they were taken ill quite suddenly while shopping in town. They were so weak, that they fell asleep under a tree and missed the bus. It was the greatest of fortune that we happened along.”

“Yes, I can see they're obviously not in the pink.” Her tone was rather surly. “It is absolutely against the rules for gentlemen to be in here after hours. And,” she added, flicking her eyes over me in distaste and sniffing loudly, “I hesitate to use the term gentlemen at all.”

Obviously a change in tactics was called for. Tristan, who up until now had been rather charming, now assumed the icy demeanor of the insulted blue-blood.

“I am afraid I'm forced to bring this up, Mrs. Lockhart. There must be a reason for the girls' illness. My thoughts trend toward their food intake. Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me what was served for dinner this evening, and show me the preparation area.”

“I certainly don't see...,” she blustered.

Tristan whipped out a card from his jacket, and flashed it in front of her face. “Tristan Farnon, Ministry of Agriculture. MRCVS as well, if you must know. My colleague is James Herriot, also a vet. We practice with Mr. Siegfried Farnon in Darrowby.” He wagged his finger at her. “I know kitchen inspections don't normally fall under the jurisdiction of the Min of Ag, unless it's a case of tainted meat, in which case we would want to trace the source.”

A phone call or two would have sunk us, but as usual, Tristan was going to brazen it out. Mrs. Lockhart seemed to be rather nonplussed by the whole situation. “I suppose you might have a point,” she mumbled, more herself than to us. Tristan immediately pressed home his advantage.

“Yes, I could have a look around, save making inquiries in the morning. You know, some of those Ministry people can be very stuffy. And you do have the welfare of your girls at heart, do you not?”

He certainly was good at shifting blame around; for sheer consistency, I had to admire that Farnon quality above all others.

I could have sworn I saw a sparkle suddenly appear in the matron's slightly bulging eyes.

“Did I hear you mention Siegfried Farnon?”

Normally that sort of thing drove Tristan crazy. It was a tedious business, knowing his brother's shortcomings in the personality department, then hearing him spoken of in glowing and somewhat breathless terms by swarms of women. This time, though, he seemed happy about it.

“Yes, my brother, and esteemed senior partner of the firm. You know, I believe he may have treated a cat of yours at one time.”

“He did!” She was positively simpering. “I'm surprised you knew that.”

“Oh, he spoke quite highly of you. And frequently. In fact, he couldn't stop talking about you.”

That was true, but rather out of context. Siegfried had referred to her variously as 'that Amazon' and 'the Gorgon', and her ill-tempered, obese cat as 'that hairy tub of lard'.

Tristan bent toward her conspiratorially. “You know, he's really rather shy around women. Likes to be chased, though.” He winked. “Perhaps said feline might need a vaccination or check-up? I happen to know that he'll have day surgery tomorrow and Wednesday.”

I felt hysterical laughter bubbling up to my lips, and I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. The thought of this woman dedicatedly pursuing Siegfried was just too much. I desperately wanted to go home and go to bed.

“The girls seem to have been spirited away,” I remarked, looking around.

“I'm sure they've gone to bed like sensible girls. I think plenty of rest, and they'll recover nicely. Of course, they are under the care of the most qualified nurse in Yorkshire,” said Tristan, oiling the machinery nicely. “We could all use some rest as well. So, a quick look around the kitchen, I think, and then we'll be off.” He took her elbow and led her away, while I sank down on the steps and put my head between my knees.

I remember Tristan shaking me awake and somehow getting me to the car, and then from the car up the steps and into Skeldale House. Siegfried, in his dressing gown, was just coming down the passage with a mug in his hand. He looked us over suspiciously.

“You look done in.” He wrinkled his nose. “Well, at least you've been hard at work for once. Normally you come dragging in like a cat that's been half-drowned in a beer vat.” Directed at Tristan, of course. He eyed me carefully. “I do wish you'd be a little more sparing of yourself, James. Helen will have my hide if she comes back and finds you in this sort of state.”

The next morning, I gritted my teeth and managed to show up at the breakfast table. Tristan came creeping in soon after, and helped himself to some coffee.

“Perhaps you'd like to use a gastric tube? Or I could just inject you with it. Works much faster that way,” said Siegfried, getting up from the table. “All that smoking and drinking and lying about, that's what does it. Look at me, I was up half the night with a calving, managed an early morning gallop and a proper English breakfast. You'd be lucky to have half of my vitality.”

“He'll need it,” Tristan mouthed to me.

The front doorbell jangled. “I'll get it, I'm already up,” called Siegfried, heading down the hall. “Good mo....” His boisterous greeting trailed off. I heard the unmistakable tones of Mrs. Lockhart. “Mr. Farnon! How nice to see you again!”

I shot a glance at Tristan, who sat reading the paper unperturbed.

“Tris! Do you hear that? My God, we're in it deep, if she tells Siegfried about our little escapade last night. And Helen will skin me alive!”

“James, James,” sighed Tristan, his face smooth and untroubled. He shook out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled with obvious bliss. “She won't say a word. I told her any mention of my credentials as a Min. of Ag. specialist was bound to make him feel a bit shabby. And she doesn't want to upset him. He's such a shy, sensitive man, my brother. I'll bet she can't wait to crush him in those massive, matronly arms of hers.” He practically wriggled with delight.

“You're a devil, Tris. An absolute devil.”

“You know, I really think I might pursue the study of psychology. The field's just beginning to open up, fresh discoveries every day, new horizons to explore.” He thought for a minute. “But that would be exchanging one madhouse for another, wouldn't it. And, I'd need to study, and take exams. So maybe not.” He settled back in his chair. “Besides, whatever would you do without me to liven things up?”

“Live to a ripe old age?” I responded, but I couldn't help smiling. He was right, I couldn't imagine life without his constant sense of fun.

I heard a rumbling in the hallway. “God spare me from...” I couldn't make out the rest of Siegfried's soliloquy, nor did I want to.

I couldn't imagine life without him, either.