Psychiatric Nurse

by Dan Ross

  "Perhaps not," she admitted reluctantly.

  "I know you hate to part with your theories," Ken teased her. "But when you decide on one, it should be the correct one."

  "So far it isn't hopeful."

  "I still think Steve Abrams is our man," he told her. "And I can't rule out the possibility that it might have been Frank."

  Jean stared glumly out the car window and saw that they were heading into the country again. "I don't want to think of it any more," she said. "This is to be a fun day. And it won't be if we spoil it by trying to play detective."

  "Wise girl!" Ken smiled at her.

  "Have you been to this slope before?" she asked.

  "A couple of times," he told her. "It's pretty fair. And the snow should be just about right this afternoon."

  She relaxed, and they soon arrived at the ski slope. They unloaded their skis and went to the platform to take the lift. A number of young people were gathered there waiting their turn. Soon the lift stopped in front of Ken and Jean, and they were towed up the steep mountainside to the top of the slope. From there they had a marvelous view of the countryside and the ocean beyond.

  His poles poised carefully, Ken smiled at Jean. "Ready?"

  "Just about," she said, checking the stance of her skis and trying to remember all the rules she had crammed into her short experience with the sport.

  "Not frightened?"

  "A little," she said with a nervous smile.

  "You won't be after you make the first trip down," Ken predicted. "All right, let's go!"

  He eased forward on his skis, and then, gathering speed, began to ski gracefully down the slope. With a tightening of her breath, Jean prepared to take off. A few moments later, she was gliding over the slippery snow. Somehow she managed to control her dizzy descent, and came to a gradual halt near a waiting Ken with a feeling of conquest.

  And Ken had been right. For the balance of the long, pleasant afternoon, she had no fear and no really troublesome spills. She ended the day with much more confidence in her skiing ability than when she had begun. At last it grew dark, so they packed their skis on the car and began the drive to the nearby Creighton's.

  At the wheel, Ken said, "I can't remember when I've had so much fun."

  "Wait until Bertha finds out," Jean warned him.

  "I'm retreating from that lovely young lady again," he said. "I only began seeing her this time to make her keep quiet about you and Frank."

  "After last night and today, she may decide to talk anyway," Jean pointed out.

  "That doesn't worry me as much as it did," the young doctor assured her.

  They reached the restaurant and stood in front of the blazing log fire for a while before being shown to a remote table in the romantically lighted dining room. The waitress saw that a lighted candle was on their table, and then took their order for charcoal-broiled steaks.

  Ken ordered some wine, and they relished every bite of the excellent food. Not until they had finished eating and were enjoying a second cup of coffee did they begin to talk seriously about themselves and the hospital.

  "I've been making some phone calls to Peggy's father and Frank's mother," Ken said. "By a strange coincidence, both of them are members of Dr. Werner's board of directors. They each own some shares in the hospital."

  "No wonder they believe in Werner," Jean said bitterly.

  "They've not had much actual contact with him," Ken explained. "I used my good name to advantage, and they listened to me more than they would to an ordinary medic. I've arranged for them both to meet me at a hotel in Portsmouth next week."

  "They're actually coming?"

  He nodded. "It took a lot of talking. And when they do arrive, it will take a lot more. But I hope I'll be able to convince them that keeping those young people at Tranquility Place is a very bad mistake. And I also think I'll be able to convince them that as the head of the hospital, Dr. Werner is none too honest about his responsibilities."

  "That's putting it too mildly," she remarked with asperity.

  He was smiling in the glow of the flickering candlelight. "I'll make it strong enough," he said. "If I'm able to convince them that Werner has been harming their own flesh and blood to insure a profit, that ought to do it."

  "We can only hope so."

  "I'd like you to come along for the interview," Ken said. "It's going to be mighty important for everyone. You have a solid background in psychiatric nursing, and they should value your views."

  "I'll go if you think it will help," she said eagerly.

  "I'm sure it will. About the only thing that could spoil our plan now would be for Peggy to have a really bad setback, or for Frank to be proved the attacker of Morton, and therefore a potentially dangerous case."

  Jean gave Ken a worried look. "Dr. Werner would be delighted to have either of those things happen if he could arrange it."

  "Everything is still in jeopardy," he said grimly.

  They left the restaurant around nine, and took their time in reaching the hospital grounds. Ken gave her a warm good-night kiss that indicated he no longer doubted her relationship with Frank Burns. It was good to have the misunderstanding between them cleared up, but Jean was concerned about what Bertha's reaction would be when she learned of their ski trip.

  That night Jean slept will. When she woke up in the morning, a light snow was falling. She quickly took a shower and dressed for breakfast. On her way to the entrance of the main building she saw Ken coming out. He walked across the snow-covered lawn toward her.

  "There was trouble again last night," he said gravely.

  She could tell by his face that the news was bad. Her knees went weak. "What sort of trouble?"

  "I was on my way to your place to tell you," he said, taking her by the arm as they headed toward the main building. "Bertha was attacked by someone last night."

  "No!"

  "I'm afraid so," he said in the same grave tone. "She was on duty when someone came up behind her. She was badly beaten. She isn't in as serious a condition as Morton was, but it was no minor thing."

  "Awful!" she gasped.

  They entered the hospital and stood in the hallway. Ken went on to tell her, "The circumstances are about the same as before. She didn't see who it was. And there doesn't seem to be any clue as to who did it."

  "What is Dr. Werner's reaction?"

  "Somewhat hysterical," Ken said dryly. "I don't know what will come out of this, but I'm worried."

  "About Frank?"

  "Yes."

  Jean took a deep breath and then sighed. "He did have a nasty quarrel with her in the assembly hall the other night."

  "That's what I'm thinking about."

  "He was very angry, and then he sort of made a joke about it."

  "Maybe he decided to bide his time."

  Her eyes were wide with fear. "Do you think it may have been Frank?"

  "It surely was someone, and everyone knows that Frank had that set-to with Bertha."

  "Then it really looks bad."

  "Dr. Werner is sure now that Frank is the guilty one."

  "What will he do?" she asked.

  Ken shrugged. "It's too soon to tell."

  "But he'll take some action."

  "No question of that," Ken said darkly. "We'll all be involved and there may be many questions. The main thing is to keep as cool as possible and try not to remember too much about his quarrel with Bertha the other night."

  She felt frightened. "I can't deny it, though."

  "Just don't bear down on it," he warned. "Treat it casually, and maybe they'll think it didn't amount to anything."

  "I'll try," she said. "I'm trembling."

  "Get some breakfast," he advised her.

  "I can't eat," she protested.

  "Try," he said. "At least get some orange juice, toast, and coffee down."

  She was convinced that the first bite of food would choke her. Even the orange juice seemed a hurdle. But she filled her tray with what he had suggeste
d and sat down. Somehow she drank the orange juice, managed most of the toast, and was sipping her coffee when a thoroughly upset Dr. Firth Breton came in and got himself some coffee. He was looking for a place to sit when he spotted her and came over to her table.

  "You don't mind my sitting here?" the florid-faced doctor asked.

  "No," she told him.

  He gave her a troubled glance. "You've heard about Nurse Fraser?"

  "Just now."

  "Dreadful business! Can't think what the hospital is coming to!"

  "It is terrible," she agreed.

  He scowled at her. "All this begins with breakdown in discipline, I promise you that."

  "More precautions should have been taken," she said.

  "Dr. Werner has been careful," the stout doctor said. "Of course, we know who is guilty. It's merely a matter of getting sufficient evidence on him."

  Her heart sank. "I didn't realize that," she faltered.

  His cold eyes fixed on her. "The culprit is Frank Burns. He's a true schizophrenic—very clever in pretending to be innocent. But we shall catch up with him eventually!"

  Hearing the anger in Dr. Breton's voice, Jean had no doubt about his hatred of Frank. And she knew that her and Ken's hopes of getting the young millionaire out of the hospital could easily be dashed if Dr. Werner openly charged Frank with the two crimes.

  "At first, everyone seemed to think it was Steve Abrams," she said.

  "Steve isn't wily enough to conceal such criminal action. He would be capable of the attacks, but not clever enough to pretend to be innocent. The brain damage he's suffered has made him rather stupid."

  "I see," she said bleakly.

  A few minutes later, she excused herself and went to her office. Head Nurse Moore was already at her desk. The older woman glanced at her. "Another dreadful day ahead," she said with a deep sigh.

  "I know," Jean agreed.

  "There's a message for you on your desk," Head Nurse Moore told her.

  "Thank you."

  Jean picked up the note, which was on official hospital stationery. It read simply: "Miss Chase wishes you to call on her in her room." She put the note down and told the older nurse, "I have an errand to take care of. I'll be back in a few minutes."

  She left her office and went to the cottage where the majority of the female patients lived. She vaguely recalled the location of Peggy's room, and decided to ask the nurse on duty there. It turned out that the room of the epileptic girl was just beyond that of Victoria Wales's. Jean found the door open and saw that Peggy was in bed.

  Hearing Jean enter, Peggy opened her eyes and whispered feebly, "Miss Shannon!"

  Jean looked at her in alarm. "Peggy! Have you had another seizure?"

  "Early this morning," Peggy managed to say in a weak voice. "I'm sure Dr. Werner did something to the drugs again."

  "Don't worry about that now!"

  Peggy looked up at her, her eyes filled with fear. "And he's fixed it so Frank is going to be blamed for attacking Bertha!"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jean studied the drawn face of the petite, dark-haired girl. "Someone told you," she said.

  "Yes—just before I had my seizure."

  "Perhaps that helped to upset you."

  "No. I knew then that it was coming on."

  "You mustn't think about it," Jean told her. "Concentrate on getting better."

  "I'm so terrified of what Dr. Werner will do to Frank," Peggy wailed.

  "It will be all right," Jean said soothingly. "Dr. Hastings is here to help you both. You mustn't forget that."

  "It may be too late."

  "Try to rest and forget about all this. Depend on the doctor and me to see that you're protected." Jean knew it was mostly false assurance on her part, but she had to comfort the unfortunate girl.

  Peggy gazed up at her with trusting eyes. "I know that you and Dr. Hastings are our friends."

  "So you shouldn't upset yourself—especially when you're recovering from your illness."

  "If I'm careful, I may be able to get around later in the day," Peggy said.

  "Remember that," Jean said firmly. "You can be more helpful to Frank when you're up and around than when you're ill in bed."

  "Let me know if anything else happens," Peggy pleaded.

  "I promise," Jean said.

  "If you see Frank, let him know I'm worried about him. I know he didn't do it." Peggy sighed and closed her eyes.

  Jean quietly left the room and went back to her office. The day had gotten off to the worst possible start. But more headaches were in store for her. By late morning, no charts had been sent up from the infirmary. She knew she would have to see Dr. Breton again and would probably have an argument with him.

  Head Nurse Catherine Moore glanced across her desk at Jean. "I think the storm is getting worse," she remarked.

  "We haven't had much snow lately," Jean replied, and looking out the window, saw that the snow was coming down more heavily now.

  "We're bound to get a certain amount before the winter ends," the head nurse said with solid Yankee fatalism.

  Jean sat there for a little while staring at the falling snow. So much had happened since the day she had arrived at Tranquility Place. How many of her illusions had been shattered? How much had she added to her experience of nursing and to learning about the problems of a mental hospital? More than she had ever expected.

  And her meeting with Ken Hastings had been a changing point in her life. She felt closer to him than to any man she had ever known. With things so confused, she hardly dared to believe that they might share a future together. But she knew that the handsome young specialist would make a fine companion for life if the fates allowed it.

  Just now she was concerned for Frank Burns and his pretty girl friend, Peggy Chase. She was fearful of what might be in store for them. Dr. Werner could be vindictive, and he was clever in an evil way. He saw an opportunity to keep control of the young millionaire and at the same time to explain the attacks by blaming them on him. He would undoubtedly try to prove Frank guilty without looking for the true criminal.

  Or was Frank the true criminal? It was a tormenting question. So far, Jean had come up with no answer. With a sigh, she rose from her desk and started for the infirmary. If she had to prod Dr. Breton for the daily charts, she might as well begin at once.

  She made her way through the infirmary to Dr. Breton's private office. The door was open and he was on the phone. Without trying to listen, she was able to hear clearly what he was saying. He was snarling into the phone about a bet that some bookie had wrongly placed for him.

  "I'll not pay you a red-hot penny," he was telling the party at the other end of the line.

  Jean stood there feeling disgusted. It wasn't hard to know why the stout man was such a failure as a doctor. Every ounce of his energy was spent on his gambling. All his thoughts during a given day or night were concentrated on his bets and his winnings or his losses. She had tried to get along with him, but found it increasingly difficult.

  "You needn't call me back, either," Dr. Breton snapped, then slammed down the phone. He stared angrily ahead of him, and then, seeing her, asked, "What do you want?"

  "You're late with the charts again," she said quietly as she stepped inside his office.

  "I'll send them to you when I've had a look at them," he informed her shortly.

  "I need them to make up our daily statements."

  "It's not convenient for me to give them to you now," the florid-faced man told her angrily.

  She met his gaze calmly. "I suppose you've been so bothered by your gambling troubles, you've neglected to prepare the charts," she told him.

  He jumped up from his desk. "That is an unfair accusation which I will refer to Dr. Werner," he warned. "I'll not be bothered by a junior like you meddling in my department."

  "By all means bring Dr. Werner into it," she said. "I'll enjoy making a formal complaint against you!"

  The stout man gasped. "Is tha
t a threat?"

  "No more so than the one you just made to me," she replied.

  "Very well," Dr. Breton said. "I've had enough. We can settle this later in Dr. Werner's office."

  "Delighted," she said. And she meant it. She left the stout man's office with the feeling that she had done the right thing. It was time for this slackness on his part to be settled. And if Dr. Werner chose to shield his puppet and place the blame on her, that would be all right, too. In that way, Dr. Werner would reveal his bias.

  During the rest of the morning she tried to catch a glimpse of Frank Burns and perhaps have a chance to speak with him. But there wasn't a sign of the young man. As time passed, she began to suspect that Frank had been placed in solitary confinement somewhere. The thought worried her.

  At lunch, she met Ken and they sat together.

  "Did you see Bertha when you were in the infirmary?" he asked.

  "No. There was a screen around her bed. She was sleeping."

  "She's managing a nice recovery," the young doctor said. "But it will be a while before she returns to her nursing duties."

  "And she doesn't remember anything about the attack?"

  "She knows approximately when it happened and where. But she did not see who it was."

  "Did she mention Frank at all?"

  "In a vague way, but she didn't actually make a charge against him."

  "At least we have time on our side," she pointed out.

  He looked worried. "Don't be too certain of that."

  She left him feeling more depressed than ever. And as the afternoon wore on, she began to wonder if Dr. Breton had reported her and what action Dr. Werner might be taking.

  Her summons to the head doctor's office came at three. Her mind made up not to spare Dr. Breton, she marched to the mahogany-paneled office. But when she went in, she was rather surprised to find that the irate Breton was not there. Dr. Werner was alone.

  "Ah, yes, Miss Shannon," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about your difficulty with Dr. Breton this morning."

  "It's an old story," she said defiantly. "Dr. Breton never has the charts ready for me."

  "I've heard his side of things and discussed it with him," Dr. Werner said, sitting back in his chair comfortably. "He has protested your impatience, and also your insolence."