Nurse Hilary

by Peggy Gaddis

  Suddenly the quiet was shattered by a ragged scream from Mrs. Keenan, and, startled, the others stared at her, where she sat, with one hand clasped against her stomach, her face white beneath its careful make-up, her eyes enormous.

  “I’ve been poisoned!” she shrieked wildly. “It was that fish we had for lunch. I knew it wasn’t fresh the moment I tasted it—”

  Her screams had startled the others to their feet, and now there was a milling about her, a commotion that brought two P.N.s on the run, with Hilary hurrying behind them.

  Mrs. Keenan was screaming and struggling, and the word “poison” seemed to hang scarlet and terrifying in the air. It was Mrs. Barton who took action. She stepped forward, struck Mrs. Keenan smartly in the face, making her swallow a scream in choked incredulity, as she stared at the small, belligerent figure in front of her.

  “You ate too much lunch and you’ve got indigestion,” Mrs. Barton said sternly. “That second piece of strawberry cream pie that the waitress didn’t want to give you but you made such a fuss she had to—”

  “What’s all this?” demanded Hilary sharply.

  “I’ve been poisoned!” Mrs. Keenan had regained the voice lost when Mrs. Barton had slapped her. “And this—this miserable little nobody dared to strike me!”

  Mrs. Barton nodded at Hilary’s shocked look.

  “She was hysterical and making a fuss and I slapped her,” said Mrs. Barton pleasantly.

  “I’ve been poisoned! We’ve all been poisoned! That fish we had for lunch was tainted and everybody who ate it will be poisoned,” screamed Mrs. Keenan, and Hilary took charge of her.

  “Be quiet, Mrs. Keenan; you’ll upset the whole place,” Hilary ordered sharply. “Come on; let me get you to your room.”

  “I won’t go until everybody’s been warned. Maybe we can be saved if help comes in time...” Mrs. Keenan was still shrieking as Hilary and Mr. Hodding, moving capably forward, drew her out of the solarium; and all up and down the corridor, doors popped open, guests aroused from naps peering out at the screaming, struggling virago Hilary and Mr. Hooding were guiding to her room.

  One of the P.N.s, scared and wide-eyed, moved forward to help Hilary get the wildly hysterical woman to her bed, while Mr. Hodding slipped out of the room and the other P.N. hurried off to summon Dr. Marsden.

  The corridor now was filled with anxious guests in varying stages of disarray, and those from the solarium who had witnessed Mrs. Keenan’s outburst.

  “She said it was the fish,” someone babbled. “I ate the fish. Was it bad?”

  Voices rang along the corridor, anxious, worried, rapidly attaining the semblance of hysteria, as Dr. Marsden came swiftly along the corridor and disappeared into Mrs. Keenan’s room, from which wails still were heard.

  “Now listen to me, everybody.” Mrs. Barton’s voice was surprisingly loud. “Stop this nonsense! We all ate the fish and none of us is ill—”

  “Except Mrs. Keenan, who seems in very bad shape,” protested a man anxiously.

  “Mrs. Keenan not only ate the fish, as we all did, but she also ate two large pieces of the strawberry cream pie, and she knows she’s not supposed to eat that.” Mrs. Barton’s voice, authoritative, calm, sensible, rode down sternly against the rising tide of hysteria. “What Mrs. Keenan has is a very unpleasant attack of acute indigestion; but then she brought it on herself. Anybody who stuffs themselves with everything they can get their hands on, just to be sure they get value for every penny they pay out here, can have acute indigestion! But there was nothing wrong with the fish.”

  “Well, my stomach is a little upset,” some woman whined. Before Mrs. Barton could answer, the door behind them opened and Dr. Marsden came out, surveying them sternly.

  “Mrs. Keenan is suffering from acute indigestion,” he told them sharply. “I must ask you all to go to your rooms, or else the solarium or club room. I’d like it quiet here, please.”

  “Is she going to—pass away?” asked a fearful voice.

  Dr. Marsden sought for the speaker in the crowd, and managed not to grin.

  “Not from anything she ate at lunch, I can assure you, and not for a good many years, I feel sure,” he told the entire group. “Please go to your own rooms. I’ll be glad to check you all as soon as I’ve done what I can for Mrs. Keenan. She’s very uncomfortable and must have quiet. Thank you.”

  He disappeared once more into Mrs. Keenan’s room, and the door, opened and closed so briefly, gave them the sound of Mrs. Keenan’s groans.

  The group dispersed, those who had been taking naps back to their own rooms pausing at their doors to whisper, and then to close the doors behind them.

  Mr. Hodding looked down at Mrs. Barton with such warm admiration that she blushed like a young girl.

  “Miss Lily-Mae,” he said quietly, “you’re wonderful.”

  Mrs. Barton dismissed the compliment with a little wave of her hand.

  “You mean because I slapped her? She was hysterical, and as far as I know, it’s still the best method of quelling hysteria,” she told him. She was thoughtful as they walked back to the solarium, to the disarranged bridge table. “There’s something that worries me a little, though.”

  “Is there?” He was gentle, amused, interested.

  She met his eyes and then glanced away.

  “It’s that—well, I slapped her because she was hysterical and I wanted to quiet her,” she admitted. “But there’s something else that makes me feel ashamed.”

  “I can’t think what that could be.”

  “It’s that I enjoyed slapping her,” she confessed.

  Mr. Hodding chuckled, a warm twinkle in his eyes.

  “I, too, have a confession to make,” he told her. “I envied you.”

  Wide-eyed, she gasped, “You did?”

  “I certainly did,” he admitted. “I think practically everybody in the Club, guests and attendants alike, envied you the excellent opportunity of socking the lady.”

  Mrs. Barton gave a small chuckle, almost a giggle.

  “Aren’t we wicked?” she murmured, abashed and yet inescapably amused.

  “I suppose so,” Mr. Hodding agreed reluctantly. “But it’s fun, isn’t it?”

  And they beamed at each other like two naughty children. Inevitably, news of Mrs. Keenan’s illness ran through the place. When it reached the kitchen, Raoul, the chef whom Drew had hired away from Atlanta’s finest hotel and who had brought three of his most valued assistants, roared like a maddened bull. That anyone should complain of being poisoned by food from Raoul’s kitchen was unthinkable, unforgivable, an insult not to be borne.

  He tore off his tall chef’s cap, flung it into a corner, followed it with his immaculate white coat and apron, and stormed into Drew’s office to offer his “resignation for himself and his assistants. The sound of his anger was a rumble even through the thickness of Drew’s door, and the guests clustered uneasily in the hall. Raoul stormed out of the office, pausing in the doorway to hurl a parting shot that was quite audible the length of the corridor.

  “So maybe I stay,” he roared. “But only if that beeg peeg that stuff herself like crazy for fear she won’t get her money’s worth makes me the public apology. She have insulted me publicly; she shall apologize to me publicly, or I queet!” The guests scattered out of his way as he strode majestically back to the kitchen wing, quivering with rage in every inch of his six-feet-two, and in every ounce of his two hundred and forty pounds.

  Drew saw the huddled guests and came out into the corridor, smiling, urbane.

  “Mr. Ramsey, was Mrs. Keenan poisoned?” asked a worried little woman bravely.

  “My dear Mrs. Jennings, of course not!” Drew made light of the question. “Everybody here ate the fish, and only Mrs. Keenan was made ill. Perhaps she’s allergic to fish.”

  Smoothly, he managed to get them to disperse to their own rooms, or to the club room or solarium. But as they moved away, he knew with a savage anger that the Club had suffered a severe b
low and prompt action must be taken to offset it.

  He picked up the phone on his desk and asked for Dr. Marsden’s office. And when Dr. Marsden spoke, Drew said curtly, “Come in here, Marsden, immediately.”

  “Sorry, Drew, but I’ve several more clinic patients before I’m through here.”

  “Stuart, this is important—”

  “So are my clinic patients—”

  “Was there any evidence of poisoning?” Drew broke in.

  “There was an attack of acute indigestion, due to the fact that lady refuses to obey a diet and always stuffs herself,” answered Dr. Marsden wearily, having answered the question, he felt, at least a hundred times that day. “A couple of days of bed rest and she’ll be right as rain, until the next time she eats too much strawberry cream pie.”

  “I’ll tell Raoul to see to it that it doesn’t appear on the menu again,” Drew promised grimly.

  “Might be a good idea at that; a little too much for the elderly stomachs of our guests, anyway,” said Dr. Marsden, and the telephone clicked down.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Apparently the fear of being poisoned had yielded to hunger by dinner time, and the guests were in their usual places, the waitresses moving about, serving them, when Reid appeared at the entrance, his eyes scanning the well-filled room. He spoke to a waitress, who pointed out the table where Mrs. Barton and Mr. Hodding were cozily dining together. Reid walked across the room, and paused at the table.

  “Mrs. Barton?” he asked unhappily.

  Startled, Mrs. Barton looked up at him.

  “Why, yes I’m Mrs. Barton,” she answered, and smiled. “And you’re Mrs. Keenan’s nephew. This is Mr. Hodding.” Mr. Hodding had risen, and now he shook hands with Reid and said pleasantly, “Won’t you join us?”

  A waitress brought a chair, and Reid dropped into it and looked up at the hovering waitress, shaking his head as she proffered a menu.

  “Just coffee, please,” he ordered. And then, as he looked swiftly about him, his color rose. “That is, I’ll have dinner, of course, but I’m afraid I’ll be crowding you, sir, and Mrs. Barton?”

  “Nonsense, my boy. We’re happy to have you,” said Mr. Hodding.

  “Of course we are.” Mrs. Barton smiled.

  Reid scowled unhappily.

  “I’m afraid you won’t be when I tell you why I’m here,” he admitted.

  “Something unpleasant? I do hope your aunt’s going to be all right?”

  “Oh, she’s going to be fine,” Reid answered. “Physically, that is; mentally, she’s—well, she’s mad as a hornet.”

  “Well, she was badly frightened—” Mr. Hodding offered the attempt at comfort, while still eyeing Reid anxiously.

  “Mrs. Barton, she demands that I apply for a warrant for your arrest!” Reid blurted miserably.

  Mrs. Barton’s eyes opened wide in shock, and Mr. Hodding said belligerently, “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “She wants to charge Mrs. Barton with felonious assault or something,” Reid answered, and went on, as though relieved to have gone past the point of explaining his presence, “she claims you beat her up.”

  Mrs. Barton gave a little, surprised chuckle, her eyes dancing.

  “Oh, of course, I have only to look at you, and think of Aunt Kate, to realize that’s utterly ridiculous,” Reid added hastily. “You wouldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

  “One hundred and ten, my boy, quite dry,” she said gently.

  “And Aunt Kate stands five feet seven and weighs a hundred and sixty,” Reid rushed on. “So that beating-up is just plain silly. But did you sock her?”

  “I did,” said Mrs. Barton with obvious satisfaction.

  “Your aunt was hysterical, screaming, making a scene, and Mrs. Barton took the historic, well-known and generally accepted course to check the hysteria; she slapped Mrs. Keenan,” Mr. Hodding explained curtly.

  Reid eyed Mrs. Barton with warm and lively respect. “Cripes, I wish I’d been here,” he admitted frankly.

  “I wish you had, my boy,” Mr. Hodding said simply. “It might have given you some idea of how best to deal with a woman like your aunt.”

  Reid’s color was dark with shame, and he avoided their eyes. “I know, you’ve all watched her dress me down and you’ve wondered why I’ve let her get away with it, why I haven’t given her as good as she sent and stormed out in wrath,” he admitted unhappily. “But Aunt Kate is all the family I’ve ever had. She brought me up from the time I was five; she was good and kind. I know it’s hard to believe, because she’s turned into a—well, I hate to say it, but I can’t think of any other word—a sort of Termagant. But I’m the only person who can’t just walk out on her. I think, in her own peculiar way, she is fond of me. She has one terrible fear that is really a sort of obsession. It’s the fear of dying.”

  He looked up at them, a tired-eyed, harassed young man so terribly in earnest about what he was saying that they were caught in the web of his fumbling thoughts.

  “She—well, she wakes up in the night sometimes, and feels she is smothering. She panics in the darkness; she realizes how alone she is, except for me. But in the morning she despises her night-time fears and, somehow, it seems to relieve her pressure if she can rail out at me,” he went awkwardly on after a moment. “I suppose she realizes in the darkness that she is dependent on me, as the only member of her family left; and in the morning she so furiously hates being dependent for human affection on any living creature—”

  He broke off, scarlet and ashamed and, looking from one to the other, managed a completely unconvincing smile.

  “I suppose I sound like a fool, and I’m not making any sort of sense,” he blurted.

  “On the contrary, my boy, you’re making very good sense indeed,” said Mr. Hodding gently. “You’re giving us some faint inkling of your aunt’s problems, and we may be able to understand her better.”

  “And you, too, Reid,” said Mrs. Barton quietly. “It’s much easier to understand now why you put up with her shocking behavior. I admit I felt you were—well, a rather weak somebody. But now that I understand, I can see you’re not weak at all. It takes very real strength of character to—endure and understand and not hate.”

  “Well, thanks, that’s pretty swell of both of you,” said Reid, and his handsome young face was alight with relief and appreciation. “Only it makes me feel even worse at having to prove you really didn’t beat Aunt Kate up.”

  Mrs. Barton laughed softly, bright-eyed.

  “Oh, am I still Public Enemy Number 1 in your book?” she teased him. “If they put my picture up in the post office I do hope they’ll wait until I have some new ones made. I haven’t had a photograph made in twenty years!”

  “I bet it’s a beauty, too, if it resembles you at all,” said Reid handsomely, and grinned warmly. “I only have to get statements from those who witnessed that scene this afternoon, that you merely slapped her for her own good. But I wanted you to know what it was all about before I started prying and asking questions.”

  Mrs. Barton and Mr. Hodding gave him the names of the people who had been in the solarium when the scene occurred and as Reid took down the names he absent-mindedly attacked the food the waitress had placed before him.

  “Hi,” he said suddenly, realizing what he was doing, and eyeing his plate with renewed interest, “that’s good!”

  “Well, of course, the food here is really superlative,” Mr. Hodding said genially, and lowered his voice, a twinkle in his eyes. “The others in the room have been watching to see if you ate here; I think now that you have you’ve restored their confidence in Raoul!”

  Reid looked swiftly about the room, but the guests who had been anxiously watching him jerked their eyes away quickly and began on their own dinners.

  “Boy, Aunt Kate really stirred up a ruckus, didn’t she?” said Reid grimly. “But then she usually does, come to think of it.”

  When dinner was over, Mrs. Barton and
Mr. Hodding escorted him to the club room where bridge tables were being set up, and introduced him to the witnesses of the afternoon’s scene. And Reid, his face dark and ashamed, asked the necessary questions and made notes, then took himself back to the lobby.

  As he was shrugging into his topcoat, Mr. Hodding followed him.

  “I believe you’re with a well-known firm of lawyers in town?” he asked.

  Reid nodded. “They have been handling Aunt Kate’s affairs, and when I finished law school she pressured them into taking me into the firm, as the fourteenth assistant to the fifteenth vice-president,” he answered grimly.

  “You didn’t want to set up shop for yourself?” probed Mr. Hodding.

  “Want to?” Reid’s handsome face twisted convulsively. “Doesn’t every young lawyer? But Aunt Kate made it plain she had no intention of financing me and of course I couldn’t expect her to.”

  Mr. Hodding nodded in complete understanding. “I think I might be able to make you a rather attractive offer, Reid,” he said quietly. “My attorney was Sanders Ridley. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”

  “Oh, golly, yes. Why, he was one of the best! I sure hated it when he passed away a couple of months ago,” Reid answered.

  “So did I. He was not only one of the finest attorneys around, but my good and close friend. He and I just about grew up together; I’ve never known a more honest, straightforward man, one whom I trusted more,” said Mr. Hodding quietly. “I haven’t been too well pleased with what’s going on in the firm since Sanders’ death. I’ve been thinking I’d like to have an upcoming young man in whom I had complete confidence take over my entire affairs, and somehow I have an idea you and I might make a deal. How about meeting me for lunch in town tomorrow?”