“Emma!” ejaculated Ann distastefully.
“She didn’t understand the half of what she had heard, but you know what a good memory she has, and she kept recounting bits of it to Guy. I thought I’d better not stop her talking or she might begin to think it was important.”
Ann said slowly, “And Mrs. Woods?”
“She packed and went off when Beverley left. She has gone to London too.”
Ann stared ahead of her in bewildered silence. It seemed incredible that so much had happened in so short a time. Mrs. Woods and Beverley and Mr. Leedon had already gone, and very soon the children would be going too. Burrows and Averil had left Fountains. And Iain...
“I suppose you know that Mr. Sherrarde is leaving the Institute?” Averil went on, looking at Ann with unconcealed curiosity.
“Leaving the Institute!” Ann gasped. “Really leaving, you mean?”
“Yes, he’s going to America for an indefinite period,” the girl replied, and then with would be carelessness, “I gather from Emma’s account of that row that he was taking it badly that he’d ... sort of misjudged you.”
Ann’s face became frozen, and Averil looked at her rather timidly.
“Oh, please don’t mind my saying this, but I couldn’t help guessing that you ... thought quite a lot of him ... and I noticed the way he looked at you ... But from what Emma said she’d overheard, I gather he taxed Mrs. Woods and her daughter about their doing all they could to make him have a bad opinion of you. He said you’d never forgive him and he’d never forgive himself...”
Ann would have turned away, but by now the children had seen her and they came racing up, clinging to her and demanding to know whether she was better.
“Was it Uncle Iain who made you ill?” Emma demanded.
Ann shook her head. “No, of course not.”
“Then why did he tell Nana and Mummy that he’d treated you very badly and you would never forgive him? Why did he say you had received nothing but unkindness from everybody at Fountains and that you must hate us all? You don’t hate us, do you, Auntie Anne?”
As she bent down to them, Guy was covering her face with kisses. “You don’t hate us, do you, Nurse Auntie Anne?”
“Of course not, darlings.” Tears were not very far from Ann’s eyes. “But, Emma darling, you shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversation and you certainly shouldn’t repeat what you hear.”
“I couldn’t help listening. I was hiding from Guy in the cupboard and they all came in. Uncle Iain said how dared they keep you short of money. He’d been paying you to look after us and you hadn’t had a penny of it. But he’d seen that you had the dress you wanted for the dance, though...”
Ann’s face burned. She refused to look at Averil Pollard. “Emma, were you building castles or fortresses down on the beach?” she questioned rather desperately. But she might have known that Emma was not to be deflected.
“Uncle Iain said he’d never be able to speak to you again. Nurse Auntie Anne, why can’t he speak to you again? Don’t you like him any more?”
As she raised her angelic blue eyes to examine Ann’s face, something cold and frozen seemed to melt in Ann’s heart. She said softly, “Yes, Emma, I like him very much.”
She was hurrying ... almost running, in point of fact, up the road to the Institute. If she didn’t hurry and feel breathless, she would lose all her courage and turn back.
It was Frank Whitely whom Ann saw first. He was just coming down the steps from the main door.
“The Director?” he queried, his face lighting up. “He’s in his room, still packing up. Ann, if you’ve any influence at all with him, try to make him change his mind about leaving. The Institute won’t be the same without him. It can’t be. There’s his room ... along that corridor.”
A moment or two later Ann stood in the doorway. A glance round the big room revealed packing cases into which books and specimens were being stowed.
Iain was standing by his desk, a sheaf of papers in his hands. His face, when he looked up, had a kind of icy self-control.
Ann said nervously, “I heard you were leaving, and as I’m going to London tomorrow, I came to say goodbye.”
He moved forward, took some books from a chair and invited her to sit down. “It’s good of you to bother,” he said. “I hope you’ve completely recovered now. You’re going back to Queen Frida’s, I suppose?” His voice was cool and remote, full of indifference.
“Yes, to do my fourth year of training and get my Queen Frida’s certificate.”
“Don’t work too hard, then,” he advised remotely. “It’s a strenuous life, training in hospital.”
“No, I won’t, and you mustn’t either.” They were addressing each other almost like strangers, Ann thought wretchedly. I must get away. I made the most awful mistake in coming.
She stood up and turned to the door. “Ann.” His voice made her pause, though she did not turn back. “Ann, you know that I hope you’ll be very happy.”
“Thank you...” Her voice was muffled. She must get away before she broke down in complete humiliation.
“You—you’re not marrying immediately, then?” There was desperation in his voice, desperation to keep her just a little longer.
“Marrying?” Ann swung round, her eyes wide. “I don’t understand.”
“But you were engaged — are engaged, I should say, to that house pathologist ... He was there, at Matron’s Ball...”
Ann’s chin was tilted. “My engagement to Michael Lenforth was broken off before I came to Sunbury. I had returned his ring before I ever met you ... Iain.”
It was the use of his name which broke the spell. His face changed as he strode forward. “Ann, my darling, does that mean...?”
But all questions and explanations seemed futile as their lips met, and they recaptured the happiness which had been theirs for a few hours on the night of the ball.
THE END
Nurse Ann Wood Page 20