by A. J. Cronin
Anne felt the position more keenly because she was so anxious to justify herself and to repay the kindness shown her. She had never been so well treated in all her life. It was embarrassing, the attention that was showered upon her. She would return to her room to find more fresh flowers there, a dish of peaches from the hothouse, or some grapes, or perhaps a box of chocolates. She protested repeatedly to Collins that they were giving her too much. The butler, a dark and saturnine man, would glance at her with an impassive face and merely repeat that these were his orders.
She salved her conscience by taking many of the delicacies to her friends when she visited the Hepperton on her off duty. Never before had the nurses’ home feasted so richly or so royally.
One morning toward the end of the second week, as she was returning from the service quarters with a jug of barley water which she had made for Mrs. Bowley, she met Matt himself. He was in a hurry, bustling to keep an appointment in connection with the forthcoming mayoral election. But he stopped with his friendly smile.
“Your half day, isn’t it?” he said, amazing her with his knowledge. “Why don’t you have the car this afternoon? Nobody’s using it. It’ll do you good to have a run into the country.”
She gazed at him confusedly, shook her head. “I couldn’t think of it, Mr. Bowley.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he said with heavy playfulness. “No harm in a solitary motor run. I’ll have a word with Collins. Rather nice to get off the chain.” With a final persuasive nod he strode down the corridor and was gone.
Her eyes followed him perplexedly. Naturally she had seen a good deal of Bowley in these two weeks. He had sent for her on several occasions to get from her an official report on the patient. He also dropped in frequently to drink a cup of tea with Mrs. Bowley when Anne was present. And one day he asked her to do some shopping for Rose.
But this was different. Although there was nothing on which she could put her finger, her instinct warned her that she should accept no direct favors from the master of the house. Before returning to the sickroom she went downstairs and firmly countermanded the instructions which had been left regarding the car.
CHAPTER 29
All that morning she was quieter than usual. And Mrs. Bowley was quiet, too. At two o’clock, when Anne left her patient, Mrs. Bowley casually inquired:
“And how do you propose to enjoy yourself this afternoon, Nurse?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Anne answered, coloring in spite of herself. “Go out a little, I suppose.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Bowley.
Anne was annoyed with herself for flushing so absurdly. She gazed steadily at Mrs. Bowley and said in a quiet tone: “I shall go for a walk. Then I’ll come in and settle down to read. I have a splendid novel. If you want me, I shall be in my room.”
“I don’t think I shall want you,” replied Mrs. Bowley in a thin voice.
With a troubled expression Anne went for a long, hard walk in the park. The exercise did her good. She had tea all alone in a little bun shop at the park gates. When she returned, her frame of mind was lighter, she was inclined to smile at her earlier misgivings. She took a bath, put on a soft gray frock, and curled up on the couch with her book. For over an hour she read steadily; then at seven o’clock a knock sounded on her door.
“Come in,” called Anne without looking up, thinking that it was the maid with her dinner tray.
But it was not the maid. The door opened, and Matt Bowley walked in. “Well, well!” he declared with his beaming smile. “I never saw such a pretty domestic picture in my life.”
At the sound of his voice Anne sat up as if she had been shot.
“Tut, tut,” he protested. “Don’t look so dumbfounded, my dear. I only called round to scold you for not using the car.”
Anne put down her book and gazed at him rigidly. “I hardly expected to see you, Mr. Bowley.”
“Why not?” he said playfully. “Can’t a poor man walk about his own house?” Closing the door, he helped himself to a chair. “You look a treat,” he exclaimed admiringly. “This is the first time I’ve seen you out of your uniform. It makes me wish you’d always stay out of it.”
Anne smiled nervously. “I’m afraid I’m too fond of my job to do that.”
He pulled out his cigar case, selected a cigar, and lit it. Then, head on one side, he considered her, amiably altering his approach.
“A clever girl like you, interested in her work, ought to have a real chance. Get out of the hospital; it’s a dog’s life. Start a private home. There’d be pots of money in it if you had backing.”
Anne asked stiffly, “And where would I find the proper backing?”
He answered with heavy jocosity, “What about applying to Matt Bowley?”
Anne took a quick grip upon herself. The situation worried her. But she told herself that she was no silly girl. The last thing she wished to do was to alienate Bowley. She said evenly: “Strange as it may seem, I don’t really care about making money out of my job. What I do care about is improving conditions for the nurses, getting a fair deal for them. That’s the ambition of my life.”
He said archly, “Does that mean that my offer of financial assistance goes begging?”
She had an inspiration, a sudden realization that this was her chance to divert his interest to a matter that had long been on her mind. She spoke with a calmness she did not feel. “Why don’t you make your offer to Dr. Prescott for his clinic?”
He pulled the cigar from his lips to stare at her, his brow clouding. There was a pause. “What interest have you in Prescott?” His frown deepened. “Maybe you’re another that’s fallen a victim of his charm.”
“What nonsense!” she answered indignantly.
He persisted suspiciously, “You’re not in love with the man?”
She reddened with annoyance, with genuine anger. “How dare you say a thing like that! I never think of Dr. Prescott as a man—only of his work, his clinic. My interest in him is purely professional.”
CHAPTER 30
There was another pause. Gradually his expression recovered; he smiled rather sheepishly. “I’m sorry, my dear. I’m a jealous devil when I take a liking to anyone. And I have taken a liking to you.”
Anne lowered her eyes. Bowley’s attitude was now making her acutely uneasy. But with an effort she banished her fears and, trying to make her point, forced herself to smile. “You must admit, quite seriously, that it’s a wonderful scheme of Dr. Prescott’s. An advance on anything that has ever been attempted. When you think of the present waste of human lives—lives that could be saved in this clinic—doesn’t it make you want to get behind it, have all the credit of being the man who made it possible?”
He reached forward and took her hand. “Would you really like me to finance Prescott’s scheme?”
She answered with nervous intensity, “I would indeed, Mr. Bowley.”
“Well,” he nodded significantly. “We’ll see what can be done. I’m giving Prescott my answer in a couple of days. It ought by all rights to be yes. And now, don’t you think you ought to stop calling me ‘Mister Bowley’? My name’s Matthew, you know; good old Matt, for short.”
As he spoke he got up and with a clumsy assumption of ease seated himself on the couch beside her. “Ye know,” he signed, “I’m a very lonely man, my dear.” He paused to fling his cigar into the fireplace before going on. “I’ve hesitated to speak about it before—but you can see for yourself that the missus is no sort of companion for a man like me. Now, now, don’t get up—I’m not sayin’ a word against her. I’m as loyal as any man could be. But the fact remains, I need younger companionship. I need a little lady friend, as you might say, to keep me bright and cheerful in my spare time.”
Anne sat frozen, staring straight in front of her, longing with all her strength to be out of the room. She realized now that in her desire to help Prescott and further his scheme, she had been forced into a horrible position. She made a last effort to keep her rel
ations with Bowley on a basis of good sense. “I hardly think that’s the way to talk, Mr. Bowley.”
“Ah, but I’m a plain-speakin’ man, my dear. I took a notion to ye the first minute I clapped eyes on ye. I like nurses, too. They know summat about life; they’re not so scary as some other women I’ve come across. An’ I just made up my mind to work things so we might ’ave a chance to get together.”
Anne was trembling with sheer aversion. She could endure this no longer. She began to rise. But, placing his hand upon her knee, he restrained her.
“Now, don’t fly off the handle, my dear. I’m not a bad chap when ye get to know me. As for brass—I’ve got a mint of it.”
“Please, Mr. Bowley,” she entreated him. “Can’t you see I hate this?”
He laughed. “Now, didn’t you promise to call me Matt?” And then he slipped his arm round her waist.
At that moment, as he strove to press her toward him, the door opened, and Mrs. Bowley walked into the room. She wore her dressing gown, her hair was piled untidily about her head, and she stood there looking at them in silence. There was an instant of absolute stillness. Then Matt’s jaw dropped foolishly. He tried to speak. But before he could say a word Mrs. Bowley raised her thin, accusing voice. And all the time her eyes remained burningly upon Anne.
“I thought I should find you here. I knew it in my bones. ‘Going out walking this afternoon, Mrs. Bowley. I’ll be in my room if you want me.’ ” She parodied Anne’s tone savagely. “Ah! You didn’t think I would take you at your word! You thought you could pull the wool over my eyes, didn’t you? But I knew differently. I knew what you were up to. You nurses are all the same.” Her voice rose to a shrill tirade. “When the wife’s ill, you try to steal the husband under her very nose. It’s one of the tricks of your pretty little trade.”
Horrified, Anne got to her feet, a passion of protest rising to her lips. But before she could begin Mrs. Bowley lashed out afresh.
“Don’t look at me like that, you little Jezebel. You’ll not get away with it this time. I’ll put a spoke in your pretty wheel!” She swung round vixenishly to her husband. “And you, Matt Bowley! What kind of fool are you, to be taken in by a baggage like her? You that’s running for mayor and wants to make yourself such a big man in the city. Why, I’ve half a mind to come out with the whole thing. A pretty story it would make in all the papers!—Matt Bowley huggin’ and kissin’ his sick wife’s nurse. Ah! they’d be certain to elect ye Lord High Mayor of Manchester when they read that tasty piece of news.”
The stinging venom in her words made Bowley writhe. “Now look here, my dear,” he groaned. “Ye wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t I!” she cut in fiercely. “You just see if I wouldn’t. I haven’t stuck to you for over thirty years to see a trollop like her steal you away from me. And if I get one more word out of you, I promise ye I’ll have every reporter in the city here—if it’s the last thing I do.”
Her agitation and bitterness were pitiful; her head shook as though she had the palsy. She turned back to Anne, pointing with a shaking finger, her words choking her. “As for you, my pretty madam, you’ll get out of the house this very instant. And I’ll have a word to say to the matron about you. I’ll see that all your kind services and attentions meet with their just reward.”
Anne glanced at Bowley, who still sat, bowed, on the couch. Pale-lipped and tense, she waited for him to clear her of the charge, to explain that she was innocent. She knew that no word of hers would bring Mrs. Bowley to reason. But Matt guiltily avoided her gaze. He was too crushed, too terrified by his wife’s threat even to think of vindicating her.
“Go on, get out!” cried Mrs. Bowley. “What are you waiting for? Your luggage will be sent after you. If you don’t hurry I’ll see that you are thrown out.”
Anne faced the enraged woman quietly. “There is no need to do that, Mrs. Bowley.” She felt herself degraded and humiliated by the grossness, the injustice of the scene. But now that her position was hopeless, a strange calmness descended upon her. Her lip curled as she added, “Possibly the commotion would not be good publicity for your husband.”
“Get out!” shrieked Mrs. Bowley. “It’s the last time I’ll tell you!”
Without even looking at Bowley, Anne walked toward the door.
CHAPTER 31
It was nearly nine o’clock when Anne got back to the hospital. Worn out by the recent encounter, sick at heart and utterly depressed, she wished to see no one. Her intention was to go directly to her room. But as she passed the main entrance, Mulligan the porter stopped her.
“Why, Nurse Lee,” he exclaimed, surprised. “What brings you back at this time of night? I just been talkin’ about you, too. There’s a fellow been asking for you this last couple of hours. I told him you weren’t in the hospital. But he would hang about. A bit tight, he was, if you’ll forgive me saying so. I put him in the outpatients’ waiting-room to get rid of him. I expect he’s gone now. But if you like, I’ll have a look.”
“Oh, don’t bother, Mulligan,” Anne said wearily. “It’s probably nothing important.”
But the good-natured porter insisted. In a few seconds he was back. “Yes, Nurse, he’s still there. Says he’s got to see you, too.”
Anne, of necessity, went into the outpatients’ waiting-room. And there, sunk in a chair in that vast and empty white-tiled place, was Joe. He tried to rise at the sight of her, staggered a little, and sat down. Pale-faced, wretched, untidy, his hair falling over his brow, and his collar undone, Joe was drably and miserably drunk.
“Joe!” cried Anne, shocked out of her apathy. “What are you doing here? What’s happened?”
“Everything’s happened,” Joe answered thickly. “Everything’s gone west. ’Sall finished. Had to see you, Anne. You’re decent, you’re straight. Oh, God!” Placing his head on the table before him, he began weakly to blubber.
He sat up at last and brought out the whole story in broken, maudlin snatches. Reduced to its essentials, it was short and bitter. The findings of the court had been promulgated. The insurance company had denied all liability. Ted Grein, proved from the start a swindler and a crook, had absconded with what liquid assets the company possessed. Joe was broke, ruined—every penny of his pitiful little fortune gone.
“I never should have left Shereford,” he blubbered. “That was the place for me. I liked the folks there, and they liked me. I was a fish out of water in that London, dressed up like a monkey on a stick. I never did trust that Grein, either. It was Lucy drove me to it. She egged me on, nagged me into doin’ it, with her wanting clothes and furniture and what not. Ay, she nagged me into marryin’ her, too. You know it was always you I wanted, not her. It would have been better for me if I’d never seen her.”
“Be quiet, Joe,” Anne cut in sharply. “I can’t let you talk of Lucy like that.” She hesitated, then put the question she dreaded to ask. “Where is she now?”
“She’s left me,” Joe shot out bitterly. “We hadn’t been gettin’ on at all well. And when this happened, we had a regular quarrel. She started throwing things at me, so I socked her.” He paused gloomily. “She’s gone back to nursin’.”
“Where?”
“Some place in London. Some home or other.”
CHAPTER 32
Anne drew a long, unhappy breath. So it had come to this. Subconsciously she had known from the beginning that Lucy’s waywardness and Joe’s softness would never blend. Determinedly she pulled herself together.
“Listen to me, Joe,” she said firmly. What you’ve told me is bad enough. But it’s no use lying down to it. You’ve got to brace up. If you do, you may find that things aren’t so bad as you imagine. Now tell me, what are you going to do with yourself?”
He answered glumly: “I can always drive a car. The insurance company is talking about taking over the business—what’s left of it, anyhow.” He paused dejectedly. “I could get a job with them, I suppose.”
“That’s a first-r
ate idea,” Anne said quickly. “If you show you’re worth something, it might lead to a decent job.”
He raised his eyes. “Do you mean pocket my pride and stay on with them?”
“Why not, Joe?” She spoke encouragingly, quietly rebuilding his self-respect. “I should think they’d jump at the chance of having a mechanic like you, a man who knows the practical side so thoroughly.”
“Aye,” he reflected with a flicker of pride. “They’d never find a better engineer than me.”
“Go ahead then, Joe,” she pressed enthusiastically. “Show them what you can do. And show Lucy, too. That’s the way to bring her back to you.”
He straightened himself in his seat, a new hope in his eyes. “Do you think I could still make good?”
“Of course I do!”
There was a silence. Joe was now quite sober. Honest tears came again into his eyes as he turned toward her. “You’re a good sort, Anne. You put new heart in a man. I felt it would do me good to see you. And it has. I’ll lay off drink. And though I hate crawling for that blasted company, I’ll do it. I’ll show you I’m not beat yet.”
“That’s the spirit, Joe.”
He got up slowly, braced back his shoulders, and accompanied her to the outer gates. Here he paused and shook hands with her firmly. He promised to keep in touch with her, to write to Lucy, to do his utmost to make good. Then he turned on his heel and walked resolutely down the street.
Anne watched his figure disappear into the darkness. She had not once permitted him to see the trouble that lay so heavily upon her. But now, indeed, it rushed back upon her with redoubled force. A few moments later, having at last reached her room, she found a note asking her to report to the matron without delay.
CHAPTER 33
Anne never revealed what took place at that nocturnal interview.
It was Matron East’s essential quality to have the mind of a realist. Though she had a fair idea of the facts of this case and, while she took care not to show it, a shrewd belief in Anne’s innocence, this nevertheless made no difference to her judgment. She did not wish a public scandal. And a public scandal Mrs. Bowley would make unless Anne were forced to leave the hospital. There was only one solution. Anne must go.
