Daphne Deane

by Grace Livingston Hill

  "I heard that you had been having quite an excitement. It certainly is hard that you should have a thing like this thrust upon you. This young man is not your responsibility. I don't understand why he didn't insist on going to the hospital."

  Daphne looked at him and tried to keep the contempt out of her eyes as she answered: "Well, in the first place, being unconscious he wasn't consulted, doesn't even know yet where he is. In the second place, the doctor didn't dare take him to the hospital; he said he probably wouldn't live to get there."

  "Oh, I doubt that," said the minister in a superior tone. "That sounds like a fish story to me. All doctors that are truly eminent recommend the hospital rather than a private home. It sounds to me as if that doctor was lazy, didn't want to bother getting an ambulance and took advantage of your house as being convenient."

  Daphne's eyes were flashing, but she tried to steady her voice as she answered.

  "We had three of the most eminent doctors in the city in consultation, and they all agreed it would have been fatal to have moved him any farther. Doctor Fisher, Doctor McKenna, and Doctor Rowan. I suppose being a stranger in this section you do not recognize their preeminence. But even if they had not felt that way, there was another reason for our bringing him here. We wanted him. He is our friend. We have known his family for years, and we are very glad that he was so near and that we might take care of him."

  "That certainly is most kind of you, but of course I suppose the young man will want to be removed to a hospital as soon as he is able to go. It really isn't right that you should have such a burden thrust upon you. You are not strong enough for nursing. It seems quite inconsiderate of everybody to think of it."

  Daphne was angry enough to throw things, but she suddenly grinned.

  "I don't think anybody has thought of it," she said. "We have two nurses, a day nurse and a night nurse. Though I would be only too glad to share such service if the case were not too serious at present to trust in inexperienced hands."

  "Oh, really? Is he still so seriously ill as to require two nurses? I didn't realize. Do you think he would like to have me go up and pray with him?"

  Daphne gave him a swift startled look.

  "He is still unconscious," she said. "It might not do him any harm, of course, but I'm sure the doctors and nurse would not allow anyone to go in there."

  "Oh, well, then of course I won't bother. After all, it was really you I came to see. I have my new car at last, and I thought you would be glad to get away from all this smell of antiseptics and gloom that is hanging over your home and take a ride with me. It is a lovely day, and you need to get out away from all this."

  Daphne looked at him gravely.

  "You don't understand," she said with dignity. "We are very anxious about our friend. I would not go away for anything just now. We do not know from hour to hour whether he will live or not."

  "Oh, he'll probably pull through. Healthy young men don't die from a shot or two. And besides, you can't keep him alive by staying here and brooding over gloomy things, you know. Nobody would expect you to do so. You'd better come out and have a short ride at least. Besides, I want to consult you about that class of young girls and what we can give them in the line of a social and recreational character. We really are in need of more gatherings of a lighter character in our church. Come, I know you can help me."

  Daphne's eyes grew distant as she heard him.

  "You'll have to excuse me," she said coldly. "I have no time nor thought for such things now."

  And then to her relief she heard the nurse calling softly down the stairs.

  "Miss Deane, could you come here just a minute and get me something I need?" And Drew Addison took himself away, promising to drop in later in the week.

  Chapter 18

  It took three days for the news of the shooting to reach New York, and another day and a half for it to drift down, in somewhat garbled form, to the shore mansion where Anne Casper lived. And perhaps it would never have got to either place if the men who perpetrated the dastardly deed had not been captured and proved to be three of the most sought for public enemies.

  And because they had been for sometime successfully evading the law and getting unbelievable sums of counterfeit money into circulation, and because their whole outfit of presses and money had been discovered and confiscated, even to the heavy press that they had managed to get out of the cellar and into the truck before they left, the affair had taken on the character of national interest. It made the front page headlines in many a prominent paper and drew the attention of people everywhere, even in the social realms.

  Keith Morrell, though known to a number of New York's socialites, had been but a quiet member of the group that surrounded Anne Casper, one of many who basked in her smiles, or her frowns. But now his name had suddenly jumped into prominence, and he became a hero. Actually a martyr to "those horrid unprincipled gangsters," suffering in the good cause of apprehending and bringing to justice men who were defrauding society. Some who would never have hesitated to accept and spend counterfeit money if any came their way and they could get away with it without going to jail, held up their hands in horror at the wholesale production of it.

  And so the news came to Anne Casper. After studying over the paper for some time she gathered herself together and decided to go and investigate the truth of this account. She wrote a note to her father before she left:

  Dear Daddy:

  Keith Morrell has got himself into some kind of a jam, and I'm going down to see what it's all about. If he's really hurt, and it has taken him down enough to make him amenable, I may bring him back with me. If I do, please be prepared to forget old scores, and let's try him again.

  Hastily,

  Anne

  Then she dressed herself smartly and took the noon train.

  The Deanes had a good many callers that morning. People had been getting curious as the days went by quietly, without any definite bulletins concerning the young man who lay at death's door.

  Mrs. Gassner was the first one to call. She had decided to go to the source of information and get her news firsthand. So she came over with a cup to borrow some sugar. She had run out of sugar while she was mixing up a cake, she said. It was remarkable how many times Mrs. Gassner ran out of sugar. It was such a respectable device for getting into a neighbor's home. So unanswerable.

  "You folks are having a real hard time, aren't you?" she said to Mrs. Deane who had answered the knock at the kitchen door and had taken the cup to fill with sugar.

  "Oh, it is always hard to have someone you are fond of suffer," evaded Mrs. Deane pleasantly.

  "Oh, yes? I s'pose you were fond of him, seeing as he lived so near when he was a little kid. But I don't seem to remember his being over to your house very much. His ma was kind of snooty, wasn't she? She never called on me, I know."

  "Why, I always thought she was very pleasant," said Mrs. Deane. "I admired her very much. She led a busy life. She was a writer, you know, and that kept her busy. She wasn't a society woman, and she hadn't time to go out much."

  "Oh, she was a writer, was she? Poetry? I never could be bothered reading poetry. It always seemed to me they tried so hard to say a common thing all decorated up with words to confuse you."

  "Why, yes, she wrote some poetry, but more prose, I believe. I read some lovely things of hers in the magazines sometimes. She wrote delightfully."

  "H'm!" said the caller. "I never heard anything about her in the women's club."

  "Well, I guess she wasn't much of a club woman, either. She didn't have time for that. She was just a quiet homebody who loved her home and her work. I liked her."

  Mrs. Deane didn't say that she had never spoken a word to Mrs. Morrell in her life but only admired her from a distance. She didn't feel that it was wrong to suppress that fact. She had really loved her neighbor well, though she had known her only from afar. Being sure of the sweet, strong woman her neighbor had been, Mrs. Deane wanted to let Mrs. Gassner see
her as she saw her.

  "Well, her son's pretty fortunate to get took care of this way," went on Mrs. Gassner. "I guess she'd be surprised if she was to come back to earth and know her son was laying over here in your house. How is he? Any better today?"

  "There's been no change yet," answered Mrs. Deane gravely. "The doctor says it may be a little while before he can tell just how it will come out. There was a concussion, you know, and that sometimes is very serious."

  "Does he know how sick he is? What does he say about how it happened?"

  "Oh, he hasn't been conscious at all, you know," said Mrs. Deane.

  "Not yet? Why that's bad. Don't look as if he might be going ta live, does it?"

  "The doctor says it is too soon to tell the outcome," said Mrs. Deane sadly.

  "H'm! I guess your daughter Daphne feels pretty bad about it, don't she? Wasn't they pretty thick?"

  "Oh, no, they were not close," said Daphne's mother quickly. "They went to school together, but that's all--just old schoolmates. But we all feel very anxious."

  "Oh, then Daphne wasn't engaged to him, was she? I heard say they were, but I wasn't sure, the new minister comes here so much."

  "Why, the minister goes everywhere, doesn't he? Being a minister he has to. You know Daphne is the organist and choir leader, and of course he has to consult with her about the services. Is this sugar enough, Mrs. Gassner? I could let you have one of these pound packages if you need more."

  "Oh, no, a cup's enough. I got some ordered, but he didn't bring up the things in time, and I wanted to get the cake in the oven. I better be going. I just thought I'd run over and get the true lay of the land; so many ask me, you know, me living next door and all. But you say there isn't nothing to it, do you?"

  "Why, I don't know that I said anything about it, Mrs. Gassner. I think such things ought not to be discussed. Young people do hate it so. They want to manage their own affairs. Here, let me give you a tumbler of my quince jelly. It came out so pretty this year I like to look at it."

  "Thanks a lot! It does look good. Well, I'll be running in again to see how the patient gets along. I'm sure I hope he lives after all the trouble you've had with him. Well, good-bye!" And Mrs. Gassner took herself home.

  And William Knox came.

  He came because Martha told him he had to, that it wasn't decent not to. He told her that if the young man should die and there should be any trouble about his letting Gowney have permission to take possession of the house, it was just as well that he shouldn't appear to be mixed up in the affair. But Martha said the young man might not die, and then if he found out that William hadn't even been decent enough to call and inquire how he was, he might think it very strange. And now that all this trouble had come about Gowney and that counterfeit money affair, she said it was just as well that William should keep in with young Morrell, at least as long as he was alive.

  So William came with frightened eyes and a fat roll of money concealed in his trousers pocket, in case he should find it necessary to hand it over.

  But he seemed rather relieved than otherwise to find the young man still in a serious condition and not able to see him even for a minute, and he took himself away like one who has had a sudden reprieve.

  Emily Lynd, thoughtful always, refrained from telephoning and sent her nurse Delia over for a whispered word with Daphne at the back door, to find out just how the young man really was and tell briefly what she had seen and heard the night of the shooting.

  She was scarcely gone when Evelyn Avery arrived, noisily, at the front door.

  "Hello!" she greeted Daphne casually. "I just ran in to see Keith a few minutes and cheer him up. Hard lines having to lie still, and I thought he might like to see some of his friends. Brought over a pack of cards if he feels like playing, and some candy and magazines to pass the time away. Shall I run right up? Which is his room?"

  Daphne drew her out on the veranda and closed the door behind her, speaking in a hushed voice.

  "Mr. Morrell is in a very serious condition," she said with dignity. "He would not be able to see you. He has not been conscious at all so far yet."

  "For heaven's sake!" said the girl quite taken aback. "What doctor have you got? I should think a doctor could always bring anybody around if they were alive at all."

  Daphne named the imposing array of eminent physicians.

  "Well, I suppose they're all right," reluctantly admitted the young woman. "But I should think you ought to have a nurse, as serious as that is."

  "We have two of them," said Daphne quietly.

  "Well, how soon do they think he'll be up and around?" asked Evelyn after an annoyed pause.

  "They do not know whether he will ever be up and around. It is a question of whether he can possibly live or not."

  "Why, I understood he was only shot in the ankle. I don't see how that could possibly be so serious. Are you sure you know what you are talking about?"

  Daphne gave her a steady look and then said gently: "He was shot three times. One bullet entered the lung near the heart. They operated and took that out, but he lost a great deal of blood. In addition, he was struck on the head with a blackjack and has a serious concussion. The doctor has said that there is only a slight chance that he can pull through, and he may die at any minute. If you want to know anything more than that, you had better ask the doctor yourself. I have told you all I know, and we ought not to be talking here so near his window. The nurse is trying to keep it very quiet."

  "Oh, my goodness!" said the caller, turning swiftly toward the steps. "I'd better get away. I never can bear to be around where there's talk of dying. It makes me actually sick. If he rallies, you might tell him I called!" And Evelyn hurried down the steps to her car and was soon out of sight.

  There came a bevy of reporters almost at once, but Daphne made short work of them, for the doctor had told her what to say.

  And then came Anne Casper.

  She arrived in a taxi, which she left throbbing at the gate.

  Daphne, weary-eyed and sad, came to the door again, and the two girls eyed each other hostilely. Daphne was very tired, and this seemed but another Evelyn Avery. A little more expensively dressed, perhaps, but even more beautifully insolent than Evelyn.

  Did that moment's pause as she stared at Daphne show that Anne recognized the beauty of the girl before her and was measuring swords, wondering who she was and what she was doing here?

  Then she lifted her haughty chin naughtily.

  "Is this the gardener's cottage?" she asked loftily.

  "Oh, no," said Daphne amusedly, "this is where Mr. Deane lives. I don't know any gardener living around here."

  "Well, but I understood this was the place. A young woman in a car just directed me. She said she had just come from here and that I would find the gardener's daughter here. Aren't you the gardener's daughter?"

  So, this was the way Evelyn Avery had taken her revenge! It was so like her, it was almost funny. A whimsical little twinkle came into Daphne's eyes.

  "Sorry," she laughed softly, "but my father happens to be a professor in the university, chair of English. However, who is it you want to find? I might be able to direct you."

  "I want to find Mr. Keith Morrell," said Anne Casper coldly. "I understood he had had an accident and had been brought to some house in this neighborhood. It is unaccountable that he should not have been taken to a hospital. I cannot understand it. Do you know where he is?"

  Daphne's eyes were suddenly shadowed. Who was this insolent creature?

  "Yes," she answered quietly. "He is here."

  "Well, take me to him!" commanded Anne Casper.

  "I'm sorry," said Daphne. "It's against the doctor's orders. Nobody but the nurse is allowed in the room."

  "Indeed! Well, I'm somebody who will be allowed, you'll find out. I've come to take him to the hospital, and I'm keeping the taxi waiting while he gets ready. Won't you hurry?" Anne Casper stepped within the hall and glared up the stairs.

 
; "Come this way," said Daphne, quickly leading her down the hall to the dining room and closing the door behind them. "We must speak very quietly. They want no noise. I brought you in here to explain. Mr. Morrell is in a serious condition. It would be quite impossible to move him anywhere. That was why he was brought here, because the doctors were afraid he might die on the way. He has lost a great deal of blood, and he is unconscious. There are symptoms of delirium, and his life is hanging in the balance. We have been told that no one must go near him and that the house must be kept very quiet."

  "All this is quite irrelevant," said Anne with a sweep of her jeweled hand. "I came here to take charge. I must see Mr. Morrell, and I intend to see him at once! Stand aside, won't you! If you won't show me where he is, I'll find him for myself."

  "No!" said Daphne, placing herself firmly in front of the door. "You cannot see him now. It might make all the difference between life and death for him."

  Anne Casper was white with anger.

  "I guess you don't understand who I am!" she said furiously.

  "Does that matter now, while his life hangs in the balance?" said Daphne wearily. She felt as if she would like to break down and cry. Suddenly all the reserve strength seemed to have gone out of her.

  "Matter?" said Anne, growing angrier momentarily. "It certainly does. I am Mr. Morrell's fiancée! Now, do you understand? I have a right to see him and to take him away from here to a hospital where he would stand some chance of getting well under proper professional care."

  Daphne was very white and her head was reeling with a sudden faintness that came over her, but by sheer force of will she controlled herself and answered steadily: "If you are his fiancée, I am sure you will want to do what will be best for him, and will be reasonable. You can sit down here and wait till the doctor comes. He was to be here about five o'clock, and you can talk with him. I was instructed to keep people away from him, and I'm going to do it until he gets here."

  "The very idea!" said Anne Casper furiously. "If you think for a minute you are going to control me, or hinder me going to Mr. Morrell when I like, you are sadly mistaken. Get out of my way!" And Anne Casper caught Daphne's wrist with a jerk, digging her long sharp fingernails into the firm flesh and looking like a small storm of fury.