by A. J. Cronin
The two women sat talking together a long time in the small, untidy room. Anne felt a strong liking and respect for the militant little secretary. And she sensed that an equal friendship was being offered to her in return. When at last she came to say good-night, she had thrown in her lot unreservedly with Susan Gladstone.
Back at the Trafalgar, she felt no need for supper, went directly to her room. Subconsciously, she found herself linking up the news Miss Melville had given her that morning with the decision she had made this evening. She thought of Prescott: “He is working in his way, and I in mine.” That night she slept soundly.
Next morning when she went on duty in her ward, she was told by her probationer that the new nurse had arrived.
CHAPTER 39
Anne did not proceed immediately to interview the newcomer. She had several matters to attend to in the ward. Perhaps half an hour elapsed before she stepped into the anteroom where the new nurse awaited her. Then, as she seated herself at the table and picked up her pen, the smile of welcome died oddly upon her face. Instead there came a look of recognition and dismay. She saw that the woman before her was Nurse Gregg, from the County Hospital at Shereford.
Nurse Gregg knew Anne instantly. She started in sheer surprise, quickly recovered herself, and an odd gleam came into her light-colored eyes.
“Good morning, Sister,” she said, brightly, taking the initiative.
“Good morning.” Anne’s answer was much less gay. She had not seen a great deal of Nurse Gregg at the County, and she had cared still less for the pale, straw-haired, slightly shrewish girl. It was, to say the least, a painful reminder to be confronted by this figure from the past.
“You know me, of course, don’t you, Nurse?” Eliza Gregg went on. “Oh! I’m sure I beg your pardon, I forgot you were a sister now. But really, Sister, it does seem strange seeing you here after the County. I’ve just come from there. I’ve been there ever since—” a sly look sharpened Nurse Gregg’s anemic features—“ever since you left, Sister.”
Anne’s pen traveled over the paper. When the record was done, she straightened herself in her chair and faced the other woman.
“You start work this morning, Nurse. I hope you will like it here. And I feel sure you will do your best to give every satisfaction.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Was there a tinge of mockery in the obsequious reply? Anne could not tell. She looked into Nurse Gregg’s pale eyes.
“And I hope the fact that we were nurses together—for that matter, I hope that nothing that took place at the County—will prevent you from realizing that I am in charge of this ward and that any order I give must be carried out efficiently.”
“Oh, no, Sister.” Nurse Gregg was effusiveness itself. “I think you can trust me to be efficient.”
“Very well, Nurse, that will be all.”
The door closed noiselessly. Anne’s figure, still seated at the desk, had a stony immobility. Yet behind her quiet brow her thoughts raced desperately. She saw with a terrible distinctness the danger of her position. No matter that she had been innocent at Shereford—she had accepted guilt. And now, in her own ward, was a nurse over whom she must exercise authority, a nurse who knew the apparent facts of her dismissal from the County, and might not scruple to use them. All her courage could not prevent the shiver of foreboding that passed over her as she got up from her desk and walked back slowly to her ward.
The weather turned very severe; damp frosts and yellow fogs choked the city air. And the Bolingbroke Ward was filled by the season’s harsh inclemency.
Anne had her hands full with a rush of broncho-pneumonias. These cases were critical, demanded the most specialized attention, and could recuperate only in a ward functioning with smooth efficiency. Normally Anne would have reveled in this demand for high, sustained endeavor. But now she worried and lost weight in a great and growing anxiety.
Her ward was not working as it should. Small things were going wrong, charts were not accurately marked, sputum flasks not sterilized. And more than once she came upon a major deficiency. Dr. Verney, her chief, was especially keen about the serum treatment of pneumonia. He used the Rockefeller serum, the success of which depended largely upon the accurate timing of its administration. Upon three successive occasions Anne found that the serum had not been given at the hour prescribed.
CHAPTER 40
There was no evading it: the cause and origin of the trouble was Nurse Gregg. It was not that Eliza Gregg was responsible for every mistake. She made many, for she was not a good nurse and lately she had become noticeably careless and slipshod. But in some insidious manner she began to affect the efficiency of the other two nurses on Anne’s staff. Nurse Scott, a sedate and unobtrusive character, was perhaps not so much affected; but Probationer Leslie, a bright little person and hitherto Anne’s devoted slave, caught this contaminating slackness badly. Anne heard her laughing loudly in the kitchen at a time when two patients were screened, dangerously ill. She developed an impertinent tilt to her pretty nose. And one afternoon she approached Anne, her forehead puckered in an affectation of perplexity.
“Sister,” she exclaimed, in a pert tone, “Nurse Gregg just said a most extraordinary thing. She said I was to ask you about it.”
Anne experienced a cold shock of apprehension. But she gazed serenely at Leslie. “What did Nurse Gregg say?”
“She said that you didn’t like diphtheria cases.”
“I like all cases,” Anne answered immediately. “And you must like them, too, if you want to please me. Now take Number 15’s temperature. And stop being a silly child.”
“Yes, Sister,” murmured the probationer, abashed. And she returned to her work.
But Anne’s anxiety was intensified by the incident. She spoke severely to Nurse Gregg. As before, Nurse Gregg answered her with that same obsequious yet meaning glance. Anne sensed that the climax was approaching. True enough, at the beginning of March it came upon her. And Anne, though sick at heart, almost welcomed it, so exhausted was she by Nurse Gregg’s spiritual blackmail.
One morning she entered the test room, a small laboratory used for carrying out certain tests. She saw to her annoyance that the room had not been cleaned—a duty specially delegated to Nurse Gregg. Dirty test tubes stood in the rack, the reagents had not been replenished in the bottles, a pipette lay on the soiled bench, stained with Fehling’s Solution. It was an unpardonable mess.
For Anne it was the last straw. Flushed with anger, she took a resolute breath and sent for Nurse Gregg.
Nurse Gregg was not in any great haste to answer Anne’s summons. And when she did appear, her manner was more casual than it had ever been before. “Yes, Sister,” she remarked blandly. “Anything wrong?”
“This room is wrong.” Anne could scarcely speak for indignation.
Nurse Gregg darted a look at Anne. She felt sure of her ground. She had been working up to this for a long time. She said coolly, “Then why don’t you clean it up?”
Anne paled at the insolence of the reply. Then a hot tide of color rushed again into her cheeks. “How dare you speak to me like that! I am in charge of this ward. It is your duty to carry out my instructions.”
“Is that so?”
“You know it is so. You are the nurse here, and I am the sister.”
“A fine kind of sister.”
Anne clenched her hands tightly, striving for restraint, for the calm light of reason. She made one final effort to save the situation.
“What exactly is your grudge against me, Nurse Gregg? I have been very patient with you since you came here. You haven’t been doing your job well. You know you haven’t. And it’s important that you should do it well. We’ve got serious cases to deal with here, cases hanging in the balance between life and death.”
“You didn’t think so much of this life-and-death business when you were at the County. At least, not if we’re to judge by the way you were kicked out.”
Nurse Gregg’s cards were on
the table at last, and she showed them with a vindictive sneer. Yet if she expected them to bring her victory, she was sadly disillusioned.
A harder light burned in Anne’s eyes. “We won’t take this discussion any further. I ask you again to tidy up this room. If it is not done when I come on duty tomorrow morning, I shall report you for disobedience to the matron.”
Nurse Gregg’s face took on a yellowish tinge. Disconcerted that Anne had thus dared to force her hand, she flung all her stored-up malice into her reply. “I’ll come with you to the matron. I’ve got something to tell her as well as you. If you want a showdown, you can have it. We’ll see who comes out best.”
CHAPTER 41
Anne gave no heed to the remark. With a cold, hard face she walked past the nurse and out the door. As it was time for her to go off duty, she left the ward and went immediately to her room.
Here, seated on her bed, she pressed her hand against her throbbing brow. Despite her pretense of calm, her heart was beating painfully. Worn out by the culmination of weeks of worry, she felt like giving way to a flood of despairing tears. But in a few moments she had mastered her emotion. Whatever happened, she was resolved to fight to the bitter end. Rapidly she reviewed the possibilities open to her. If she waited until Nurse Gregg horrified Matron with the story of her dismissal from Shereford, she would certainly be lost. However sympathetic Miss Melville had been to her, this would mean that she must once again pack up and go. And what of Dr. Prescott’s testimonial? How would he regard this retrospective light on her career?
At the thought of Prescott her mind took a firmer turn. Here was the one person whom she could truly trust. With a sudden wave of intuition she felt that she must go to him and, at whatever cost to her pride, seek his advice. She need not incriminate Lucy. She could explain the abstract facts. And however much he might freeze her, she was certain to be believed.
A final effort and Anne conquered her pride. It was surely no time for foolish hesitation. She changed hurriedly from her uniform, and left the hospital by the side gate. She set out rapidly in the direction of Wimpole Street.
Robert Prescott was standing, rather absently gazing through the window, in his consulting room. He had been fortunate in his appointment to St. Martin’s, and already his consulting practice gave signs of growing to a troublesome extent. His paper at the Lister Society had been received with acclamation. He had friends in London, too—important, influential friends, chief among whom was John Lowe, an intimate of his Cambridge days.
It was Lowe who had put Prescott up for his own club, the Arlington. And the same bright spirit who had hinted that, with certain parliamentary moves impending in the direction of national health, a clinic such as Prescott proposed might, if judiciously sponsored, form a main plank in the government’s election platform.
Ostensibly, Prescott had every cause to congratulate himself. Yet his expression, as he stood watching some sparrows hop about the courtyard, was neither happy nor contented. Rather was it the expression of a man confronted by a long period of unconscious self-deception. Though he had fought against it all these past months, he now realized, beyond a shadow of doubt, why life and the promise of success had lost their accustomed savor.
CHAPTER 42
He turned from the window with a sigh and began, idly, to gather together the papers on his desk. As he did so there came a tap on the door, and his receptionist, now dressed for the street, entered the room.
“Someone has just called, sir. A nurse. She has no appointment; but when I told her it was too late, she said you knew her and might see her. Her name is Lee.”
Prescott’s expression did not change. For an appreciable time he remained in the same attitude, motionless, as though conscious of a destiny that had given expression to his wish. Then he said, in a strange voice, “Ask her to come in.”
The next moment Anne entered abruptly, her manner nervous, her face paler than usual. But if she had dreaded a hostile reception, her fears were quickly set at rest. He came forward and shook hands with her quietly. When she was seated, he studied her from the chair behind his desk.
“I felt we should meet again,” he said at last, in a reassuring tone. “In fact, I had begun to feel that our meeting was overdue.”
She colored and looked down. Under his quiet gaze a dreadful feeling of weakness assailed her. But she conquered it, forced herself to go forward. She raised her head and met his eyes firmly.
“It’s very difficult for me, Dr. Prescott. I hope I am not imposing on you. The truth is—I’ve come to ask your help.”
Well,” he smiled encouragingly. “Suppose you go right ahead.”
It’s such a long story. I don’t want to try your patience. But I’m afraid I’ll have to tell you it from the start.”
Nerving herself, she began to tell him, as concisely as she could, the whole story of the incident at Shereford, mentioning no names, merely indicating how she had assumed the blame and how, at this moment, that action was likely to bring her to disaster.
He heard her in silence, his eyes never once leaving her face. And when she had finished he said gently, “You must have been very fond of that nurse to shield her as you did. Who was she? Come, now! This isn’t the time for misguided self-sacrifice. Was she your sister?”
“Yes,” Anne had to answer. She could not deceive him. Indeed, his penetration had anticipated her reply.
“I must say,” Prescott reflected after a pause, “it was a very brave, a very noble thing for you to do. And yet I can’t help thinking it was mistaken. If your sister had taken her punishment, it might have proved a most salutary lesson, changed her from a careless nurse into something better. As it is—tell me, is she still at Shereford?”
“No, she’s in London.”
“Where?”
Anne could scarcely bring herself to answer. At last she said, “Nursing in a private home—the Rolgrave.”
“The Rolgrave!” Prescott almost jumped from his chair. “That’s an abominable place. We must get her out of there.”
Again there was silence. Prescott, settling back again in his chair, considered her slight figure and pale, sweet face with an extraordinary sympathy. He realized, almost with a pang, what happiness it gave him to see her again. He rejoiced in this chance to help her.
CHAPTER 43
Women had never greatly entered into his life. The bare idea that he might fall in love with a nurse would, a few months ago, have caused him an infinite derision. His early attitude toward Anne had been, indeed, a mere inversion of this complex. He had stressed their professional relationship, maintained their contacts on professional ground, simply because, subconsciously, he distrusted and feared for himself. Now that stupid mechanism of defense was gone.
Breaking the long pause, he permitted himself to voice something of his thoughts. “I can’t say how pleased I am that you came to me,” he said. “And I think I can help you. In fact, I am sure I can. Miss Melville is one of my oldest friends. I shall make a point of seeing her tonight. We will discuss the strange sacrificial tendencies of her new ward sister. Meanwhile, sit tight and do nothing. Miss Melville and I will clear the whole thing up.”
Overcome by his kindness, she attempted to falter out an expression of gratitude. But he stopped her.
“Don’t thank me, please. I’m glad to do this by way of atonement for the atrocious way I treated you when we last met. I was bothered and upset. Our friend Bowley had let me down rather badly, too. I didn’t see things clearly. But now I do. Yes, now I do.”
His repetition of the phrase gave her a queer sense of confusion. She got up, feeling that she had taken too much of his time.
He also rose, and as he accompanied her to the front door, he said, “Just one thing more. I wonder if you would do something for me?”
“Why, gladly,” she breathed instantly.
“Do you remember that little picnic lunch I gave you after the coach disaster? If everything goes as we expect, will you rewa
rd me, tomorrow evening, by allowing me to take you out for dinner?”
So unexpected was his invitation that Anne’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she flushed. Embarrassed though she was, she could not refuse. She murmured awkwardly, “You are putting me further in your debt. I—I should like very much to come.”
“That is settled, then. I’ll drop you a note to the hospital.”
The next minute he had said good-bye. As she walked down the street, she still felt the pressure of his fingers upon hers.
The next morning, Anne was early on duty in the Bolingbroke. As she entered the ward, she was conscious, despite Prescott’s reassurance of the previous evening, of a tremor of uncertainty. Nothing had apparently happened in the interval. She had not seen Matron, nor had she received any message.
But early though Anne was, Nurse Gregg’s appearance had been earlier still. Pale and subdued, yet dressed with more trimness than she had ever before displayed, Nurse Gregg was waiting, standing at attention at the test-room door.
“Good-morning, Sister,” she breathed tremulously. “I’ve done the room out, all the test tubes and apparatus. I do hope it’s all right for you now, Sister.” And with a nervous hand she held open the door so that Anne might make her inspection.
The room was, indeed, in perfect order; the very flooring shone. Plainly Nurse Gregg had done her best. Nurse Gregg had, in fact, received that morning, at the hands of the matron, a wholly unexpected shock, which had altered her misconception painfully.
“And I hope you won’t hold against me anything I said yesterday, Sister,” she mumbled contritely. “I know now I was wrong. I’m terribly sorry.”
Anne gazed at the abject figure of the nurse. Power was in her hands, the power to retaliate, to make the other woman’s life a hell. But the thought did not even cross her mind. Instead, she felt a strange pity for the other woman.
She said quietly, “We all make mistakes, Nurse. I know you’ll work better now. And if you do, come and see me next month. You shall have an extra Sunday off if we can manage it.”