by Jane Arbor
“He—he’s not attending Ned—the patient?”
“Heavens, no. Mr. Bayert was the surgeon on call. Your Ned is his patient. It’ll be Bayert who’ll operate, if that is necessary.”
“Mr. Lingard isn’t still on the ward?”
“Wasna when I left. Bayert had gone too. You won’t have to see either of them. Bayert said he might look back after he’d had his dinner. No reason, though, why Lingard should.”
But when Ursula had donned a uniform which seemed especially recalcitrant against her haste and clumsy fingers, and had hurried on to Miller ward, she found that behind Ned’s screens Matthew Lingard was there before her.
Across Ned’s unconscious body they faced each other, question and answer in their challenging eyes.
Matthew said quietly: “So it does link up. I thought I recognized him, and the name found on him was confirmation. I’d remembered that too. How did you hear about it? They said you weren’t in hospital when I enquired.”
“I’ve been off duty, and I only just got back. Sister Arnock told me, though she didn’t know I knew him. I—I was with him until two or three hours ago, and we were to have dined together, but he didn’t turn up.”
Matthew looked at her sharply. “Of course. While he was conscious he was worrying about a girl, about an engagement...”
“That would have been, his engagement to dine with my stepmother and me at the Grand.”
“Would it?” Matthew shot her a curious glance, then paused. He went on: “I’m afraid you must face it that he is in rather bad shape. I dare say Sister Arnock may have told you that Mr. Bayert considers him too shocked for full examination tonight? He has had a quarter-grain of morphia, though, and the morning may show improvement. Has he relatives who should be told, do you know?”
“No close relatives. He lives in rooms in London.”
Matthew went on musingly: “He walked straight into the car as if he were sleep-walking. No driver on earth could have avoided him. At a walking pace he might have risked no more than being piled up on the bonnet. At speed, he hadn’t a chance.”
“No one should have been speeding, with the roads in the treacherous condition they were tonight,” broke in Ursula, passionate with anxiety for Ned.
“No one was—beyond reason. And the dawdling car can frequently be even more of a danger than the fast one,” he assured her dryly. “Besides, I told you—he was crossing the street as if he were in a dream. I’d had my eye upon him for some time—”
“Then if you were watching him, how was it that you couldn’t avoid him—?”
“What did you say?” His eyes were accusing her and there was an edge of anger to his voice.
She looked up to read in his face the baselessness of her own accusation and wondered in panic how even her agitation had led her to make it. She stammered: “I didn’t know. I...”
"Where did you get hold of such a ridiculous idea? Surely Sister Arnock didn’t give you to believe it?”
“No. No.” At all costs Arnock, and even her gossiping probationers, must be cleared of suspicion. “It was only that you brought Ned into Casualty and accompanied him up here. I—I suppose I was so worried that I jumped to the wrong conclusion. Your own words misled me into thinking that you—you...”
“That I was responsible? Well, for pity’s sake, what did you expect me to do when I saw the whole thing happen before my eyes, and only a few yards in front of my own car? The other driver wasn’t to blame. I told the police so. And when I recognized the Professor, would you have expected me not to make myself responsible for getting him up here without even waiting for the ambulance, which could have spelt fatal delay? Don’t you credit me with common humanity?”
“I—I’m dreadfully sorry.” The words were no more than a broken murmur, and she swayed with weariness as she uttered them.
He did not answer her for a moment. Then with brusque solicitude he said: “Perhaps it was understandable. You are over-tired and a good deal shocked by this. I think I would suggest that you should go now. There’s nothing useful you can do here. The Professor probably won’t come round tonight, and Mr. Bayert is looking in on him later.”
Obedient as a child she turned away, only to find that he was following her out of the ward. His striding figure was a step or two behind her as they passed along the corridors beyond, down the wide stone staircase to the main hall. There Ursula paused, meaning to bid him good night before going across to the nurses’ quarters.
“You are going straight to bed?” he demanded.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“On second thoughts, you’re not, until you’ve had something warm and stimulating inside you.” He fingered his chin thoughtfully. “Where can I take you to see that you get it? The nursing staff isn’t allowed in the medical staff common room; I shouldn’t be persona grata in yours. Could you come back into town if I drove you there and back?”
“Not after I’ve signed back into hospital, and I have. I should have to get a special pass.”
“Then that’s out. Where then? The visitors’ canteen? Is there likely to be a night staff on duty there?”
“The night porter makes tea for any visitors coming to emergencies.”
“Then he shall make tea, for us—strong and potent. Come along.”
In the visitors’ room, which was empty, they sat drinking tea from thick white cups, in a brief intimacy which would have meant heaven to Ursula, had she been able to savor it. She found herself looking furtively across at Matthew, wondering how she could not have known until today that she loved him. Now she found his every mannerism of gesture and of tone implicit with meaning to her love; he had but to turn his head and he could set a tinder to every nerve of her being. Danger lay that way, she knew. Every new day of the future she would have to school herself to meet him as a colleague—and still a stranger. Tomorrow she must walk guarded against that danger. But tonight she could not care—she could not care.
One thing that she knew she loved in him was that for him there was no half light of opinion. He condemned as forthrightly as he praised, and she heard him saying now:
“Absurd—this segregation of the sexes within hospital. What is one supposed to do, placed as we were just now?”
She smiled wanly. “It wasn’t foreseen that a consulting surgeon should want to take tea with a ward sister, except in her office, where apparently it is a legitimate pastime,” she said.
“You mean that it was foreseen—and was duly guarded against,” he retorted. “Nevertheless it is absurd. I shall take up the matter with Matron. More social contacts between the staffs could do no harm. Don’t you agree?”
“They would be pleasant—if they weren’t abused,” she said carefully. “In such a large community—”
He shrugged impatiently. “Oh, everything good risks abuse by someone. Don’t tell me that you are content with this sort of thing as a social makeshift?” He indicated the table without a cloth, the characterless earthenware.
Her heart cried, ‘Content? With you, Matthew, I could be content with a crust and a horn platter.’ But he was saying with something of the old raillery: “Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to enlist your sympathies for social amenities that lesser folk sometimes feel in need of. You make it rather clear that for you they are not necessary.”
‘Tonight,’ she thought, ‘he cannot even goad me. Yesterday I should have flared info defence at that. Does that mean then that loving him so hopelessly is to make me abject, to sap my whole character?’
She did not know that, at the thought, her eyes had dulled, nor that Matthew, mistaking the sign for that of a besetting weariness which would force her to sleep, decided that it was time they made a move.
He walked across with her to the nurses’ quarters. Then: “Good night,” he said. “And don’t worry. I believe your Ned is going to be all right.” Surprisingly he set a forefinger beneath her chin, tilting her face to his, looking momentarily straight into her eyes. T
hen he turned upon his heel and was gone.
Was it always going to be like this? The light mockery, the careless misjudgment, the stern partnership of work, each lighted only rarely by an unexpected gentleness which the eager hopefulness of love longed to misinterpret into a meaning it did not hold? Well, tomorrow she would begin to build a barrier of indifference to it all. Tonight should keep its dreams.
CHAPTER SIX
BEFORE GOING on duty next morning she found time to slip in to Miller ward to see Ned, but though he was just conscious he was still hazy from the drug, and she did not stay. Halfway through her morning’s work, however, she was told that Mr. Bayert, the surgeon attending Ned, wished to see her.
With a heart that was beating with apprehension she returned to Miller. She was glad Ned was Mr. Bayert’s patient, for the surgeon, a Czech who had fled from persecution, was highly skilled, and his patience and the clear, careful English in which his directions were given were appreciated by the nursing staff.
He was waiting for her in Sister Arnock’s office, and he told her that though Ned was now fully conscious, he was still worried about his condition.
“We are taking him in to the Theatre for the setting of the femur this afternoon. That cannot be delayed. But that fracture is less serious than the possible effect of the head injuries which, I ought to warn you, could even lead to some degree in delayed paralysis—”
“He might remain paralyzed?”
The surgeon glanced at her shocked face. “A possibility only, Sister, but one which I considered you should be aware of, as I understand you are engaged to marry the patient?”
“Engaged to him? Oh, no, Mr. Bayert, that’s not so.”
Had she been less shocked herself, she might have seen the humor of Ned’s being the second fiancé to be thrust upon her in the course of a few weeks!
“It is not? How is that?”
“Sister Arnock knew Professor Primrose to be a friend of mine, but I think you may have misunderstood her to say we were engaged.”
Mr. Bayert, a short man, bridled slightly at the implication that he was not conversant with plain English. He said crisply: “Pardon me, but it is my patient who tells me so, not Sister Arnock at all.”
“Professor Primrose told you? But—!”
“There is, I see, a misunderstanding—only it is not mine! Let us then be clear about this, Sister, for something about this engagement, which you say does not exist, is worrying my patient, and that I cannot have—in his own interest. I think, from what he says, it is a triviality—no more than the fact that, in asking you to marry him, he forgot to provide himself with a suitable ring. But to him it is a thing of enormous proportions. These matters have importance with you ladies, I know”—Mr. Bayert bowed and almost clicked his heels—“but I sent for you to beg your comfort and reassurance for him, telling him that until he is well he is not to worry. And now you say that there is not only no ring, but no engagement either! That is disaster indeed.”
Ursula stammered: “The Professor’s head injuries, sir—is it possible they could cause—loss of memory?”
“That is so. Though in this case the memory appears clear enough to afford worry to himself.”
“But that’s just it. It isn’t really clear, or not completely so,” protested Ursula. “You see, the Professor asked me to marry him only an hour or two before his accident. And I refused. That is what he has forgotten. We—we agreed to remain good friends instead.”
Frowning, Mr. Bayert moved the few articles on Sister Arnock’s desk into a symmetry of tidiness which pleased him. He said: “This is worse still.” He paused again for thought. Then: “This is so bad that I must ask your co-operation. My patient is under the illusion that he is engaged to you—that is, that he has your support and love on which he can rely for strength. That, if possible, is an illusion he must be allowed to keep for a while. Only you can see that he does.”
“But—”
“The matter of the ring—it is nothing. A gentle assurance from you that you did not expect a ring, that you are glad he waited to consult you about the stone—anything will serve. But the other— no, I do not want him disillusioned about that. In his present state I would not answer for the consequences. Now, Sister, about ways and means?” He had taken her consent for granted. “How many people know of this no-engagement?”
“No one but myself.”
“No one here? Sister Arnock—you said not, I think?”
“No one knows. Sister Arnock, neither one way nor the other.”
“Then it could remain a secret between you and me alone?”
“Yes, I suppose so, Mr. Bayert.”
“Then no one else must be told—no one, you understand? While he remains in danger, you remain his fiancée . I look to you to play that part, and no word to the contrary shall go from me to anyone. You will do this for him? Agreed?”
What could she do but agree? To ensure Ned’s safety she would do anything within reason. So far as the surgeon knew, this was within reason. There was nothing for it but to accept.
Her quiet asking of permission to go to Ned gave her consent. Mr. Bayert’s answering nod of confidence was his sealing of their pact. But when she went on to the ward she found that Ned had slipped back into unconsciousness.
She stood looking down at him, grateful for the respite. Now she would probably not be called to him again until after he had been taken in to the Theatre and had come round from the anaesthetic. That should give her time to prepare her side of the fantastic make-believe. Though perhaps his clouded memory would clear quickly, and it would not be necessary after all. Even for his own good she hated to deceive him. Hated even more the thought of giving to Ned, whom she liked dearly but did not love, the tacit troth which her heart had already pledged to Matthew.
But even after he came round, and was able to talk a little, Ned did not remember her refusal of him. When she went to see him, the victim of an enormous erection of weights and pulleys which were supporting his injured leg, he asked some bewildered questions as to how he came to be where he was, then said worriedly: “You know, I felt awful about not getting a ring for you, Ursula, dear. I couldn’t forget it, and I’ve been dreaming about it ever since.” He passed a hand across his eyes which were pathetically vague for the want of his spectacles. “Say you don’t mind too much? I meant to get one, but I forgot...”
How would she have replied to him, if this situation had been real instead of false? She would have teased him, of course. So that was what she must do now. She said laughingly: “Knowing you, Ned, one could expect nothing else! At least you didn’t offer me the formula for a new detergent or something choice in nuclear physics instead!”
“You’re not angry.” Ned lay back and sighed with relief. “All the same, they’re likely to keep me trussed here for a good while yet. That means that you won’t have a ring at all, unless you’d choose one for yourself. Or would you really not mind waiting until we could choose it together?”
She bent over him. “I’d much rather wait until you are better,” she assured him, hoping that her tone did not sound evasive. When she left him a few minutes later she had managed not to lie directly to him, but only to deal gently with the assumptions that he made. But on her way out she was waylaid by Sister Arnock, who had an accusing twinkle in her eye.
“For a lass of as fair and open a countenance as yours, Craig,” she said, “I will say you’ve all the makings of as dark a horse as I’ve met! What’s this about your being a ‘friend of yon Professor’s, when you’d come but fresh and hew from getting yourself engaged to him?”
“I couldn’t stay to explain, the night before last. I was too upset,” evaded Ursula.
“Yes, well, I can imagine. So I’ll forgive you and look after him for you. When’s the wedding to be?”
“All this will postpone it, naturally—” Only the fact of Sister Arnock’s being called away just then saved Ursula further embarrassment. How long must this mocker
y continue, she wondered as she hurried off the ward. How long before Mr. Bayert considered Ned well enough to accept the truth? Or would memory dawn first upon Ned himself?
She prayed that before either thing happened she would not find herself so involved in a tissue of falsehood that she could not escape without shame for herself and irreparable hurt to Ned. Sometimes she wondered what was Matthew’s opinion of the “engagement” ruse advised by the other surgeon. But as, after that first evening, he had not mentioned Ned’s case to her, she could only hope that he did not think too badly of her for her share in the deception.
Her preoccupation with Ned had further postponed her promised visit to Shere Court. But on her next whole free day she was to go there for luncheon, tea and dinner, Mrs. Damon promising to have her driven back to hospital afterwards.
Meanwhile, she knew that Coralie was at Shere Court almost daily with Averil. A strange friendship that, Ursula reflected more than once. It was opposites who were supposed to be attracted, but Coralie and Averil Damon were oddly alike. Both were self-centered and both were given to dramatizing themselves, although Averil’s worldly poise was more than a match for Coralie’s youthful vivacity. As Ursula knew from long experience of her stepsister, and from a single unfortunate encounter with Averil, both brought more passion than dignity to their affairs. A quarrel between them was likely to be dangerously charged, so perhaps it was as well that, so far, the friendship seemed to have survived the intimacy asked of it.
But how wrong she was in supposing so, she was to learn sooner than she expected.
On the day before she herself was due at Shere Court she was called to the telephone when a rush of work needed her attention on the ward, and upon hearing Coralie’s voice her own tone was unwontedly brusque.
“Coralie, dear, I’m very busy,” she protested.
