Rose caught the doctor as he left the station. Just as he put his hand on the door handle of the car he felt her hand on his sleeve.
'Miss Anderson.' he smiled, he liked Rose, she was a tenacious as he was, 'can I help you?'
'It's Uncle Matthew,' she said, concern in her eyes, 'he's so low. He isn't doing any of the exercises you gave him.'
'Hmm...' Lucien looked thoughtful, 'I didn't think he was as mobile as he should be when I saw him last. He should be able to go on short walks now, using his stick.'
'He just about potters round the house, and then only when he has to.' Rose looked almost tearful. Matthew was her only family.
'I'll pop round, socially.' Lucien offered. 'Maybe a couple of whiskies and a chat will help.'
'Thank you.' Rose smiled, relief on her face, 'he needs his friends.'
When he got home he told Jean what had gone on between him and Rose, and how concerned she was for her uncle.
'Well, I agree,' she smiled, 'it might be nice if you go over, but if you're taking whisky, you're not driving.'
While Jean said it quietly he knew that arguing over that point was useless, she was not averse to criticising his drinking and driving.
'I'll drive you over,' Jean offered, 'there's plenty of stew so I can take some for him and Rose. I doubt they eat properly.'
'Right ho!' Lucien kissed her cheek. 'Smart woman he was married to.' he thought.
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Jean pulled onto Matthew's drive. She noticed the garden was not as tidy as it used to be, Matthew had always taken such pride in his garden, his relief from the rigours of police work. She and Lucien got out of the car, and took their goods to the house.
It was some minutes before their knock on the door was answered. Matthew looked pale and tired, leaning heavily on crutches.
'Oh, it's you.' He stood aside to let them in.
'I made too much stew, Matthew,' Jean lifted the dish, 'thought you might like some for your dinner. It will reheat tomorrow, if you've already eaten.' She smiled in that winning, ice-melting way she had, the one that not even a grumpy Matthew Lawson could resist.
He did smile, not as broad as he used to, but a smile non-the-less. 'Thank you Jean,' he said, quietly, 'you know I never could resist your cooking.'
'I'll put it in the kitchen then, shall I?' She headed off in that direction before he could answer.
Lucien guided Matthew into the living room waving his bottle of whisky, 'Got a case I could do with your insight on.' He said, 'thought this might help us sort it out.' Before they got into a deep discussion on the current case, Jean poked her head round the door,
'I'll be off and leave you two to it.' She looked pointedly at Lucien, a look that said 'not too much whisky', 'ring me if you want me to collect you, dear.'
'Think I'll probably walk, darling,' Lucien replied, 'it could be rather late when we've worked this one out.' He didn't plan on getting so drunk he couldn't walk home and was not going to make Jean wait up for him.
Jean left them to it. Lucien was much less of a drinker than he had been, and was more than likely going to be able to make his way home without incident, she hoped.
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Lucien poured two measures of whisky, making sure Matthew didn't notice the different sizes, Lucien had decided he definitely wasn't going to be found the next morning in a ditch.
Matthew was glad of the distraction, he missed working on cases with the doctor, annoying as he had been. He was bored, he admitted that, and that boredom got him down. The garden did not give him as much pleasure as it had done when he was working, then it had been a release, now it was just a chore. He needed to be useful, occupied.
Towards the end of the evening, with the case dealt with Lucien made a bargain with his friend; he would ask for his insight on cases, large or small, if he would accept the advice of his doctor and start to do the exercises and walk a little.
Matthew sighed and agreed, and, to make sure he carried out his end of the bargain, Lucien took away his crutches.
'Stick only, Matthew.' Lucien ordered.
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Jean stirred as the bed moved. Opening one eye she saw that it was just gone midnight and her husband was home. Warm arms enveloped her and she turned to accept the love that was his to give.
'Alright?' She muttered.
'Alright.' He agreed and kissed her.
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A week later:
'How goes the walking, Matthew?' Lucien entered the house carrying his usual offering, although he wasn't staying too long tonight.
'It lacks purpose,' Matthew admitted. Walking for the sake of it was not that interesting, he needed to have a purpose to his walk and he didn't.
'But you are walking?' Lucien raised his eyebrows.
'Yes, doctor, I'm walking.' Matthew sighed. He'd had the same grumble when Rose had nagged him to walk. She had offered to walk with him but he had said she needed to concentrate on her job, there was not need to give Edward Tyneman and excuse to fire her.
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Rose had done a piece on dog breeding. Initially a little human interest piece, she had found out that it was a breeding for money operation, and the puppies were not in the best of health. She had talked to her uncle about it, wondering what she should do about it. He'd told her to go to Charlie Davies, he would be more objective than, say, Bill Hobart.
Charlie had acted on her information and within days the operation was rounded up and shut down. The dogs were treated, those too ill to have a life were put to sleep, the others were found homes or sent to the RSPCA to be re-homed when suitable owners came up. There was one little mongrel, sad, pathetic, dirty, shivering in the corner of a cage. When Rose took a photograph of it the deep chocolate brown eyes that looked up at her, melted her heart, which wasn't difficult, Rose, contrary to assumptions, was a complete softy when it came to puppies. She'd have filled the house with no problem, given half the chance. She approached the animal which retreated until it could get no further into the cage.
'Ok.' She whispered holding out her hand. 'I won't hurt you.' She squatted down and looked at it. She thought hard, how could she win its confidence? 'Hmm, Oh yes,' she said, still whispering, she had some biscuits in her pocket, Rose was an inveterate nibbler and her job meant there were times she didn't get a lunch break so she carried biscuits. She broke off a piece and offered it to the dog. It sniffed and licked the offering, then it was gone in the blink of an eye.
'Hungry, eh?' Rose offered another piece which was scoffed easily as quickly if not quicker! Piece by piece she won the dog's trust until she was able to stroke it and pick it up; this would give Uncle Matthew's walks some purpose!
'God, you stink!' she said as she walked out of the barn, carrying the dog.
'Another one, Miss Anderson?' asked the vet.
'This one has a home and a use.' She said and walked past him to her car. Placing Biscuit, for that was what she named him, on the passenger seat she drove into Ballarat to get some dog shampoo, a collar and a lead. Her only thought was to give him a bath and ensure he could be kept safe.
She snuck into the house while Matthew was out for a walk. Carrying the dog up the stairs she quickly drew a shallow bath and gently placed Biscuit in it. Pouring jugs full of the warm water over him she gently lathered the shampoo, teasing out the knots in his fur. She wondered how an obvious misfit could have been kept in a place used exclusively for breeding pure breeds had managed to survive. She rinsed the shampoo off him and it revealed a cute little dog, predominately white, with a black tipped ears and tail, a black splodge, like an inkblot decorated his back.
'That's better, much more fragrant.' She wrapped him in a towel and rubbed his fur as dry as she could.
Taking him downstairs she realised she'd not thought beyond cleaning Biscuit up and hadn't considered what she would feed him. In the kitchen she stood staring into the fridge. There was some chicken left over from the night before and some vegetables and potatoes. She put some in a dish and chopped it up, setting it down on the floor with a bowl of water next to it she waited to see what the animal would do. Biscuit had sat watching her, his head cocked to one side. He went over to the bowl and sniffed and then licked the food, much as he had done with the treat she had given him at the farm then set to, to demolish the food and drink most of the water. When he had finished he trotted over to Rose, sat down and gave a good scratch behind his ears. When Rose had bathed him she had been pleasantly surprised to see he had no fleas, probably couldn't get through the muck, she thought. Rose picked him up and put his collar on, complete with name tag, stating he was 'Biscuit' and his master was 'Matthew Lawson'. Just at that moment Matthew came through the front door, Biscuit barked. Not a loud bark but with some depth, not a yap; Rose was pleased to hear.
'What the...!' Matthew limped into the kitchen, 'Rose!'
'Hello, Uncle Matthew,' Rose grinned, 'meet Biscuit, he should make your walks more interesting!'
'And where the heck did he come from?' Matthew sat down, scratching the back of his head.
'Um, I found him at the back of one of the cages at the farm. I've given him a bath, got him a licence, and he's had something to eat.' She sat stroking the dog, who seemed completely at home on her knee.
'Don't suppose he's house trained?' Matthew inquired.
'Doubt it, that'll give you something to do!' She put Biscuit down and stood up, 'must get back to work. See you later. Be good, Biscuit.' She left Mathew with his mouth hanging open and Biscuit sitting waiting for something to happen. For a minute or two they just sat there staring at each other, Biscuit's head bobbed from side to side, then he got up and went over to this strange being sitting in front of him. He nudged Matthew's hand with his nose, and licked his fingers., then looked towards the back door.
'Uh!' Matthew came back to the here and now, 's'pose you want to go out, boy.' He pushed himself up and opened the door and Biscuit obligingly went out to do what he had to do. 'Good dog.' Matthew told him, absently. He'd desperately wanted a dog when he was a boy, and when Dr Thomas Blake had had to let Rosie go he'd begged his mum to take her in. That way his friend Lucien could still see the dog that he was so fond of. He nagged her so much he'd worn her down, BUT, he had to look after her, walk her and feed her, and he did, until Rosie had died of old age. Both boys had been sad, but being boys they had gone on to other distractions, such as, in Lucien's case, girls. It hadn't affected Lucien as much as Matthew, as he had been sent away to school after the death of his mother and only saw Rosie at weekends, but Matthew had really mourned her. Biscuit seemed to know that Matthew needed him as much as he needed Matthew and he watched and followed Matthew about as he made his lunch, then went to sit in the living room with a cup of tea. Biscuit followed him and lay down at his feet, for a well earned nap; it had been an eventful morning for a small dog.
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I'm wondering if I can make a few more chapters from this. Up to you, dear readers.