The Scold's Bridle Read Online Free PDF

his scrotum and you'd have had the fun of probing for it and he'd have had the thrills while you did it."
    Her eyes danced. "And it's completely free, don't forget. Relief massage comes expensive."
    "That's revolting. You're not telling me he's tried it on before."
    She chuckled. "No, of course not. He only comes in for a chat. I expect he felt he had to show you something. Poor old soul. I bet you sent him away with a flea in his ear."
    "I did. You're far too amenable."
    "But they're so lonely, some of them. We live in a terrible world, Robin. No one has time to listen any more." She toyed with her pen. "I went to Mathilda Gillespie's funeral today and her granddaughter asked me why she killed herself. I said I didn't know, and I've been thinking about that ever since. I
should
know. She was one of my patients. If I'd taken a little more trouble with her, I
would
know." She flicked him a sideways glance. "Wouldn't I?"
    He shook his head. "Don't start down that route, Sarah. It's a dead end. Look, you were one person among many whom she knew and talked to, me included. The responsibility for that old woman wasn't yours alone. I'd argue that it wasn't yours at all, except in a strict medical sense, and nothing you prescribed for her contributed to her death. She died of blood loss."
    "But where do you draw the line between profession and friendship? We laughed a lot. I think I was one of the few people who appreciated her sense of humour, probably because it was so like Jack's. Bitchy, often cruel, but witty. She was a latterday Dorothy Parker."
    "You're being ridiculously sentimental. Mathilda Gillespie was a bitch of the first water, and don't imagine she viewed you as an equal. For years, until she sold off Wing Cottage to raise money, doctors, lawyers and accountants were required to enter by the tradesman's entrance. It used to drive Hugh Hendry mad. He said she was the rudest woman he'd ever met. He couldn't stand her."
    Sarah gave a snort of laughter. "Probably because she called him Doctor Dolittle. To his face, too. I asked her once if it was by way of a job description and she said: Not entirely. He had a closer affinity with animals than he had with people. He was an ass."
    Robin grinned. "Hugh was the laziest and the least able doctor I've ever met. I suggested once that we check his medical qualifications because I didn't think he had any, but it's a bit difficult when the bloke in question is the senior partner. We just had to bite the bullet and hang on for his retirement." He cocked his head on one side. "So what did she call you, if she called him Dr. Dolittle?"
    She held the pen to her lips for a moment and stared past him. There was a haunting disquiet in her dark eyes. "She was obsessed with that wretched scold's bridle. It was rather unhealthy really, thinking about it. She wanted me to try it on once to see what it felt like."
    "And did you?"
    "No." She fell silent for a moment, then seemed to make up her mind to something. "She called her arthritis her 'Resident Scold' because it caused her so much nagging pain"-she tapped the pen against her teeth-"and in order to take her mind off it, she used to don the bridle as a sort of counter-irritant. That's what I mean about her unhealthy obsession with it. She wore it as a sort of penance, like a hair shirt. Anyway, when I took her off that rubbish Hendry had been prescribing and got the pain under some sort of manageable control, she took to calling me her little scold's bridle by way of a joke." She saw his incomprehension. "Because I'd succeeded in harnessing the Resident Scold," she explained.
    "So what are you saying?"
    "I think she was trying to tell me something."
    Robin shook his head. "Why? Because she was wearing it when she died? It was a symbol, that's all."
    "Of what?"
    "Life's illusion. We're all prisoners. Perhaps it was her final joke. My tongue is curbed forever, something like that." He shrugged. "Have you told the police?"
    "No. I was so