Nurse in India

by Juliet Armstrong

  Stella hesitated and after a moment Chawand Rao got up.

  “I will see to the matter this very day,” he said, “and now if you will excuse us, my little son and I must leave you. This is a holy day for devout Hindus, and there is a temple here in Ghasirabad where we must worship and perform certain religious ceremonies.” And then he looked across at Armand. “We shall be starting back for Bhindi about four o’clock, Mr. Verle. No doubt you will find plenty to do in Ghasirabad till then.”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.” It was the first time that Armand had spoken since coming into the room. “I will be waiting for you at the northern gate just before the hour.” The next moment Chawand Rao and his little son, murmuring polite farewells, were taking their departure; and when they had gone, Armand let out a great sigh of relief.

  “Thank goodness for that. I’ve been longing to talk to you, Stella. You must be having a rotten time.”

  “I certainly am,” Stella admitted wearily. “Still, if His Highness can get this doctor to come along, it will be a weight off my mind.”

  Armand smiled. “I don’t mind telling you, in confidence, that the whole thing is fixed up already. Chawand Rao dispatched a Rolls-Royce this morning to fetch Dr. Erickson.”

  “Oh, Armand, it’s awfully generous of him.”

  The Frenchman’s smile deepened. “You’d certainly say so if you knew the fee he was paying—which goes to the mission, of course!” And then getting up and fidgeting around the room he asked suddenly, “May I plant myself on you for lunch, Stella? And afterward, will you come and have a round of golf with me? You used to say, when you were at Bhindi, that fresh air and exercise were a nurse’s first necessity.”

  “But I have no clubs,” she objected “and if I had, I couldn’t use them. I haven’t played more than half a dozen times in my life.”

  “All the better.” His face was eager. “I’ll give you a lesson. You can easily borrow some of my clubs.” And then seeing her lips shape to form a refusal he went on impetuously, “Don’t say you can’t leave Miss Jellings. Puts Muhammad Ali on guard outside her door while she’s having her afternoon nap. In an emergency he could always send someone to fetch you from the course.”

  She hesitated; then knowing that there was little she could do for her patient in her present state—for Jelly spent most of her time dozing—and tempted, too, by her healthy longing to be out of doors and moving, she accepted the invitation.

  “I shall have to ask Miss Jellings’s permission,” she added; but needless to say when she went in to the old lady and broached the subject to her, she was warmly encouraged to go. Indeed this project met with considerably more enthusiasm than the plan of bringing Dr. Erickson along to see her. She didn’t want to be bothered with doctors, Jelly declared. All she wished was to be allowed to go on resting for a week or two. She would have to see the wretched man, she supposed, since the raja had been good enough to send for him, but she wasn’t going to promise to carry out any of his instructions.

  To make things a little livelier for her patient, Stella had lunch for the three of them carried into Miss Jellings’s mom, and under the stimulus of Armand’s witty remarks md mildly naughty stories, the old woman roused herself a little from her lethargy and responded with tales of “the good old days” when a Russian grand duke had drunk champagne from one of her dancing shoes—“getting his whiskers and mustache into a horrible mess, my dears”—and when a portly German princeling, too persistent in his highly dishonorable advances, had been met at her bedroom door by a shower of flour and treacle—the result of a carefully planned booby trap.

  “I believe you’ve done her good,” Stella told Armand as, an hour later, they were strolling down to the golf course. And then she sighed. “If only you could rouse her sufficiently to make her want to continue our journey.”

  He gave her a quick glance, “Or if only I could make you wish to stay, my dear.”

  She bit her lip “Armand, if you’re going to be silly—”

  “All right, Stella, I’ll be as sensible as—as an owl,” he declared hastily. And then he added in a different tone, “It’s not sheer selfishness that made me ask you to come out with me this afternoon. You looked tired and strained, and I thought a little change might do you good.”

  “So it will, Armand.” She flashed a smile at him, unable as always to be irritated with him for very long. “You always make me laugh—and I badly want to be amused just now,”

  “Very well, my dear. It’s better to be the queen’s jester than to be banished from her presence altogether.” And humming a gay little tune, he walked along beside her in apparent unconcern.

  His mood of flippant gaiety became more and more pronounced as the afternoon went on and Stella, realising that he was making a determined attempt to bring her out of herself, was duly grateful, forcing herself to laugh at his jokes and to join in his sallies of wit, until finally her amusement became quite spontaneous and natural.

  Presently, however, she had cause to wish that his efforts had been less successful. She was chuckling over a mock-serious question of his—whether she would rather be the sort of woman who was looked around at or looked up to—when, turning a corner, they ran slap into Roger Fendish and Allegra, both carrying golf clubs.

  All four were embarrassed, but Armand recovered himself. “A la bonne chance!” he exclaimed. “I am giving Miss Hantley a golf lesson.”

  “Which she seems to be enjoying,” returned Roger, a shade too urbanely.

  Allegra observed casually, “How very odd. Roger’s doing the same for me.”

  “Why don’t we make up a foursome?” It was Roger who made the suggestion, in a tone that was anything but gracious.

  “I’m afraid it’s out of the question, Fendish,” was Armand’s instantaneous reply. “I’ve promised faithfully to deposit Miss Hantley at the rest house by a quarter to four, and it’s half-past three now. That’s true, isn’t it, Stella?” Feeling thoroughly miserable, Stella nodded. It was altogether unreasonable to worry over Roger’s getting a wrong impression of her friendship with Armand; but she longed, however childish and illogical it might be, to find some way of demonstrating to him, that there was no significance in her téte-a-téte with the young Frenchman.

  While she sought for something to say, however, Allegra, blessed with a nimbler tongue, cried gaily, “In that case we mustn’t hold you up! Cheerio folks!” And moved resolutely on, leaving Roger no alternative but to say goodbye to Stella and Armand and follow her.

  “Blessings on her head!” Armand exclaimed. “Fendish looked more in the mood to hit me good and hard with his niblick than to try outdistancing me with his driver.” And, then as Stella made no reply, he shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in truly Gallic fashion. “If you and Fendish love each other, why not say so and have done with it? If, on the other hand, you don’t—then, equally, why not say so and give someone else a chance?”

  Her nerves thoroughly on edge, Stella turned on him then. “If you say any more about love, I’ll never come out with you again,” she told him furiously, her anger by no means lessened by the knowledge that her eyes were swimming with tears.

  He shook his head reproachfully. “If you weren’t so utterly beautiful,, my dear, the word wouldn’t figure nearly so frequently in my vocabulary. But if you will have hair like spun gold and eyes like gentians, what can you expect?”

  And then he gave his gay, infectious smile. “However, the queen shall be obeyed. Down with love! Up with the merry mashie! En avant, mam‘selle!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The incident he incident made Stella more restless than ever and more feverishly anxious to be away from Ghasirabad. It was sheer torture, she felt, to meet Roger under these unhappy conditions; for both their sakes, the sooner she moved on the better.

  Most earnestly did she hope that this Dr. Erickson would insist on Miss Jellings’s being taken immediately to Delhi, the nearest large town. Ghasirabad was, afte
r all, on; the railway, and though no fast trains ordinarily stopped there, it might be possible to make some special arrangement. At the worst it would only mean some thirteen hours in the train, and at this time of year, traveling first-class in India presented no hardships.

  But when, two days later, the middle-aged Swedish doctor arrived at the rest house and made his examination of the patient, the only point on which he seemed really definite was the necessity of her avoiding all exertion and staying where she was.

  “She must rest—rest—rest!” he reiterated. “If not—well, I cannot answer for the consequences.”

  Stella, who had taken him to her own room to learn the verdict, for fear of Jelly’s overhearing it, looked at him; with something like despair in her eyes.

  “But surely if she’s as ill as you imply she ought to be where she can get regular medical attention,” she exclaimed.

  He shook his grizzled head. “The advantages of that would be far outweighed by the dangers of moving her. If she stays here quietly for a few weeks there is every chance that she may be well enough to go on to Delhi, provided she has a special coach for both sections of the journey. But I would like to see her again before that time.”

  Stella groaned. “It’s such a responsibility, doctor. Surely if we went to the length of hiring a plane—”

  Again he shook his head. “Useless to think of that at the moment—though it might be a good idea a little later on. As for the responsibility—well, nurse, if the worst were to happen, you could only feel that you had done your duty.” And then he gave her a kindly smile. “Not that I think seriously that we need fear any tragedies, but with a heart in that state—well, one can’t be absolutely sure of anything.”

  For a moment Stella was too stunned to speak. Then she said mechanically, “We’d better go back to her room. She may worry if we are too long talking about her.”

  “Very wise.” He walked with her toward the door. “But I have told her already that I was going to chat with you about your nursing career.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Are you really interested?”

  “I certainly am. Miss Jellings mentioned to me that you were trained at St. Wulstan’s Hospital, in London, and as it happens I had the privilege of studying there for a year after completing my training in Stockholm.”

  Stella’s face lighted up. “You don’t know how it thrills me to hear that. Not that I can pretend to remember you—”

  He laughed then. “I should say not, considering it was nearly twenty-five years ago. Fulsted, the chap under whom I was studying tropical diseases, was an old man even in those days. However, some of the younger people I knew may still be there.”

  He mentioned a few names that meant nothing to Stella, and then came to one or two that she recognized at once as belonging to senior members of the staff. As they chatted away, Stella’s depression lightened a little; and before they passed on into Miss Jellings’s room, he said something that gave her substantial comfort.

  “I’ve heard from my friend, Chawand Rao,” he said, “that you tended his child with the utmost skill and devotion, and I feel sure that Miss Jellings could not be in better hands than yours. There is not much to be done for her in the way of nursing, but I realize that the responsibility is very heavy for a girl of your age. So I’ll make this promise—as an ex-fellow student of St. Wulstan’s: if you should feel so anxious as to send for me, I’ll do my level best to come.”

  He would not stay for lunch; he was anxious, he said, to take the opportunity of looking up his old friend Blonson. And as soon as he was gone Miss Jellings was loud in praise of his common sense. “He didn’t try to foist a lot of worthless medicines on me,” she said, her tired old face beaming with satisfaction. “He just confirmed my own opinion that all I need is to be left here in peace for a bit, enjoying a thorough good rest.”

  The knowledge that there was no question now of an immediate journey seemed to act on her like a tonic. She made Stella give her some books to read and her treasured crochet basket, and though she made little use of these things, the very fact that she wanted them was encouraging.

  As for Stella herself, there was clearly nothing for it but, to settle down for a few weeks longer in Ghasirabad—striving, during this time, to avoid further encounters with Roger.

  For several days she saw nothing of him; but there came an afternoon when she ran into him at the post office, where she had gone, all in a hurry, to mail a letter that Jelly had written to a sister of hers in England, telling her of the delay in her tour.

  “Good afternoon. I hope Miss Jellings is getting on well,” he observed, his tone very formal.

  “Fairly well.” She could not bring herself to meet his eyes. “But unfortunately it will be some weeks before we are able to leave Ghasirabad.”

  She had finished her business at the counter and now moved toward the door, but to her surprise he followed her.

  “I see by your shoes that you’ve walked here,” he said stiffly. “If you’d care for a lift back, my car’s here.”

  “It’s very kind of you, but I’m supposed to get all the fresh air I can manage.” Her refusal was so definite, he did not press the invitation. But after a moment’s hesitation he said brusquely, “Then, if I may, I’ll walk a little way along with you. I’ve something I’d like to say to you.”

  This time she made no answer, and they started off together down the dusty road. For a while he was silent, but at last he observed bitterly, “If you had been frank with me, that last time we had a talk together, it would have been fairer to us both.”

  She went very white. What did this mean? Had Allegra, breaking her promise gone behind her back and told Roger her lying version of those happenings of five years ago?

  But the next moment she found that in imagining this, she was on quite the wrong track. For Roger went on, still in that hard voice, “There’s no crime in preferring one man to another, but why couldn’t you have said straight out there was someone else? Of course I see it all quite plainly now!”

  “See what?” The retort was childishly blunt, but her heart was hammering so hard she scarcely knew what she was saying.

  “That you and Verle are crazy about each other.” And then he gave a short laugh. “It dates from the evening you first met—at my bungalow, ironically enough. You’ve been quite different to me ever since that night—deny it if you can.”

  She struggled for words. Half his accusation was so false—but the other half so plainly true. Most certainly she had changed toward him since that fatal evening. Yet how could she explain to him that the introduction to Armand had nothing to do with it: that it was the sight of Allegra’s photograph, and the discovery of her engagement to his younger brother, that had worked the mischief?

  What was she to say? Ought she to blurt out that she was not in the least in love with Armand? If she did that, wasn’t it pretty certain that Roger would try to probe further into the reasons that made her so suddenly decide to discourage him? Was it not better that for the time being he should believe that her affections were otherwise engaged?

  Her hesitation ended in her making no reply to him at all, for Roger, reading in her silence a confirmation of his suspicions, remarked with an effort, “However, I’ve no right to find fault with you; I promise you that I won’t mention the matter to you again. I’ve said my say and that’s that. Apart from Jim and Allegra’s wedding—and they’ll want you, no doubt, to come to that—I’ll do my best to see that we don’t meet.”

  “Jim and Allegra’s wedding!” Stella found her voice at last. “Are they going to be married in Ghasirabad?”

  Roger gave her a curious look. “You seem much more interested in their affairs than in your own. That question’s the first spark of life you’ve shown since we left the post office, five minutes ago.”

  Annoyed at her lack of caution, she shrugged her shoulders and tried to look unconcerned. “I was surprised because I’d understood they were going to be
married in Bombay.”

  “Originally they were to have been married in England the next time Jim went on leave. But now that Allegra is here there seems no point in waiting. As for having the wedding in Bombay—well, they plan to go to Kashmir for their honeymoon, and Ghasirabad is almost a halfway house.”

  “I see.” On her guard now, she managed to sound casual. “And is the date actually set yet?”

  He shook his head. “Jim doesn’t know yet when he’ll be able to get up here again from Bombay. Lady Glydd talks about moving into the rest house soon; she feels that three extra people are too great a strain on my housekeeping resources.”

  Stella glanced at him in unconcealed dismay. “Good Lord! Oh, I know there is a whole set of rooms empty, but... ” She was stammering in her agitation.

  “You’re thinking of Miss Jellings, of course.” Roger spoke with just a shade more kindliness. “You needn’t worry about it, Stella; you shall be left undisturbed. Actually, I quite enjoy having some company. It’s pretty lonely there at times.” And then, unhappiness creeping into his tone, he added quickly, “If things were different between you and me, I’d bring you and Miss Jellings up to stay with me and shift the Glydds down to the rest house.”

  “What are they like—Allegra’s aunt and uncle?” Stella made the query with some timidity. It was a strain being with Roger these days; even if they succeeded in embarking on an ordinary conversation, they were apt to land on awkward topics or find themselves becalmed in hopeless silences.

  “Not a patch on their niece! Charming people, but very worldly and mercenary, I should think. However, they play an excellent game of bridge and that’s something, though Allegra and I get a little tired of being beaten every evening! They will insist on playing as partners, and of course understand each other’s calling to the last pip.”