“Oh, about a month, perhaps six weeks.”
“A month? Six weeks? And you never mentioned it to me?” She sat up straighter in her chair, unable to keep the dismay out of her voice.
He raised a hand. “I know, I know. I should have mentioned it a long time ago. But you were busy with the school, and things kept pushing it from my mind.”
“Those are hardly—” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Dr. Russell, those are hardly good reasons to withhold that kind of information from me. As your head nurse, I’m entitled to know anything that would influence your career and the health of your patients, am I not? You have a responsibility to keep me informed.”
“You’re right, you’re right, and I’m sorry. It was careless of me. Perhaps I didn’t say anything because I believed it would go away, or that it wasn’t serious.”
She fixed him with a look. “How often have I heard you lecture your patients for having this same sort of attitude?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s true what they say—doctors make the worst patients. We really should listen to our own advice.”
“Yes, I believe you should.” Irene forced herself to relax back into her chair. Becoming even more irate wouldn’t help the situation—she needed to maintain some semblance of calm. “Would you like me to come to the appointment with you?”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I promise I’ll fill you in on all the pertinent bits.”
“You promise, you say? No more withholding from me?”
“I promise.”
“Very well. It’s all very good to be a private man and whatnot, but you don’t get to be entirely private when you’re a doctor. The things you experience will leak out into the care of your patients.”
He raised a hand again. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’ve been inconsiderate and imprudent. That’s why I need you—to keep me from making such foolish mistakes.”
“And that’s probably why you didn’t tell me sooner—you didn’t want to hear me scold you.”
He gave a half smile. “That might have something to do with it. I do dislike your lectures, Miss Cantrell.”
“I suggest you stop doing things to make me lecture you, then.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll send that note. I suppose you’d like to see him this afternoon?”
“If possible, yes. Although it is getting rather late—perhaps tomorrow would be better.”
“I think he’ll make time for you.” Irene stepped from the room, walked over to the nurses’ station in the lobby, and scribbled a note. Then she sent it on its way with a young lad they kept around primarily for that purpose. He’d enjoy the coin she gave him, and it was a quick method of communication between hospitals. She just hoped Dr. Wentworth had some time before he went home for the evening so they could get this matter under consideration. She didn’t think that either she or Dr. Russell could wait much longer for the answers.
***
Dr. Russell had insisted that Irene go out, even though she was anxious to hear how his appointment with Dr. Wentworth had gone, so she invited Jeanette Andersen and Laura Montgomery to accompany her. She put on her dark-blue evening gown and put a few sparkling pins in her hair, wondering why she bothered to dress up when she certainly wasn’t trying to attract anyone’s attention.
The symphony promised to be especially good that night, and she consoled herself with that as the carriage brought them up to the doors of the concert hall. Dr. Russell hadn’t come back from St. Timothy’s yet, and while she knew she would be anxious until she spoke with him, she was determined to enjoy herself. She and the two girls found their seats easily enough, and as the music began, she was carried away on wings of sound that lifted her up, up, and out of her troubles until the conductor brought it all to a halt and it was time for intermission.
“Oh, that was lovely,” Jeanette said, using the small fan she’d brought along for the evening. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so beautiful before.”
Laura raised a shoulder and let it drop. “They always put on nice performances here. You look overheated, Jeanette. Why don’t we get some air?”
Irene agreed, and they moved out into the lobby and toward the doors. The crush of people nearly carried them away, but after a moment, they were safely outside, where the evening breeze had picked up and lifted Irene’s hair from her neck. It was blissful.
“Irene Cantrell? Is that you?”
She looked around, not at all expecting to have heard her name.
“Over there,” Jeanette whispered, nudging with her elbow.
Irene looked and saw a handsome young man approaching her, his hat in his hand, blond hair shining as though it had been polished somehow. Her throat instantly went dry. “Hello, Mr. Washburn.”
Patrick Washburn held out his hand and took her fingers. “You’re looking remarkably well.”
“As are you.” She didn’t know how appropriate that was to say, but it was honest, so she figured there couldn’t be any harm in it. “How are your parents?”
“I’m sorry to tell you that my mother passed away last fall, but my father has rallied and seems in good spirits. And yours?”
“I hear from them twice a month, and they report good health and good harvests.”
“Ah, well do I remember eating apples from your father’s orchard. I’ve never had any to equal his.” He paused. “What do you mean, you hear from them twice a month? Haven’t you been to see them?”
Irene glanced down, sure her pink cheeks would betray her guilt. “I haven’t been home since Thanksgiving, I’m afraid.”
“But that was months ago! New York City isn’t so far away from Albany that you can’t get away more often. Is that doctor you work for keeping you under lock and key?”
“No, that’s not it at all.” Irene became aware of Jeanette and Laura listening in, even though they tried to pretend they weren’t. “I’ve just been so busy.”
“We’re very much to blame,” Jeanette said, looking contrite. “If we were better students, she wouldn’t have to keep such a close eye on us.”
“These are your students?” Mr. Washburn asked, regarding the two with interest. At first, Irene wasn’t sure what Jeanette could possibly mean by her comment, but now she understood—the girl was making her look more important in Mr. Washburn’s eyes.
“Yes. I teach at a private nursing school as well as working for Dr. Russell.”
His gaze came back to her. “Impressive. Very impressive indeed. I always knew you were destined for great things, Miss Cantrell. I just never imagined that you’d accomplish them as a nurse.”
“Nursing is one of the noblest professions there is,” she replied.
“Yes, I can see that.” He turned his hat, holding the brim. “I wonder if I might ask you to spend tomorrow evening with me. I’ve been invited to attend a charity ball or some such while I’m in town, and as I don’t know anyone here . . . and I’m so fortunate as to run into you . . .”
“I’m so sorry, but I’m already going to that event with Dr. Russell,” Irene said, feeling genuinely remorseful. It wasn’t pleasant, being a stranger in a strange town.
“Perhaps one of your lovely students?” he asked, smiling at Jeanette and Laura.
“I hope you don’t find me forward, Mr. Washburn, but I’d love to attend,” Laura said. “You see, Miss Andersen is engaged, while I find myself almost ridiculously unattached.”
“Ridiculously, you say?” He smiled again, and Irene was reminded of how charming he’d always been.
“Yes, quite.”
“Then I’d be honored if you’d be my companion for the evening.”
“And I’d be delighted to accept.” Laura batted her eyelashes at him, and Irene had to hide her smirk. Miss Montgomery was a born flirt, and it seemed she couldn’t keep herself from it.
“Why don’t Dr. Russell and I call for you, Mr. Washburn? We’ll bring Miss Montgomery along with us, and we’ll go straight to the ball from there,” Irene sug
gested.
“That sounds very nice. I’ll look forward to it.” He named his hotel, they settled on the time, and then they began to wander back toward their seats for the second half of the evening’s entertainment.
Before they went through the doors, however, Jeanette caught Irene’s arm. “No secrets, Miss Cantrell—who was that man?”
Irene tried to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “I knew him once, back before I started working for Dr. Russell.”
“He seemed particularly glad to see you again,” Jeanette pressed. “Did you ever have an agreement with him?”
“Oh, gracious, no. I didn’t have time for that. My head was in my books—I was going to be a nurse.” Irene gave a laugh, hoping it sounded light and airy, not heavy, the way her stomach felt. “He was just a friend and nothing more.”
“Good, because I certainly don’t want to be competing with your ghost all evening long,” Laura said, lifting her chin a little higher. “You’re twice as pretty as I am, Miss Cantrell, and I don’t think I could compete.”
“What? I am not,” Irene protested, although secretly, she was pleased. For Laura to say something like that about her—well, it was flattering, and she liked hearing it. She couldn’t dwell on it, though. It was a waste of time. “And there’s nothing to compete with. Now let’s get back inside before they start without us.”
As they entered and found their seats, Irene looked all around to see if she could spy where Mr. Washburn was sitting, but she didn’t see him again all evening.
Chapter Three
“We’re doing what?” Dr. Russell all but bellowed at the table the next morning. Irene could have imagined it, but it seemed that the dishes seemed to vibrate a little.
She was well used to his small, ineffective temper tantrums and continued to butter her toast as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “We’re picking up Mr. Washburn at his hotel on our way to the ball.”
“But who is this Mr. Washburn, aside from being Miss Montgomery’s date and your old friend? And what do you mean by ‘old friend,’ anyway?”
Irene paused, holding her butter knife aloft. “I’m not sure, actually. He was attending college last time I saw him. I believe he was going into business.”
“Into business? And that’s all you know of him?”
She placed her knife on her plate and smiled. “This won’t be the dreadful evening you think it will be, Dr. Russell. We’ll dance, we’ll have a nice dinner, and you might even enjoy yourself.”
Dr. Russell seemed to look down the length of the table to dare any of the students to disagree with him. “I will not have a pleasant time. In fact, I refuse to do it, and you can’t make me.”
“Oh? Now, that sounds like a challenge.” Irene smiled as she picked up her toast. Inwardly, though, she wondered what had him in such a state. She worried that it had something to do with his consultation with Dr. Wentworth, and she was determined to speak with him about it as soon as breakfast was over. Thankfully, it was Saturday, which meant no classes, and that meant more time she could spend trying to figure out what had him in this mood.
After the meal had been cleaned up, she went and found him in his home office. He stood in front of his expansive bookshelf, scowling up at the selection as though he’d never seen it before.
“Dr. Russell, you’re acting rather a lot like a spoiled little boy who didn’t get dessert after his dinner.”
He turned to her, his face melting into a smile. “You’re right, and I apologize. I shouldn’t be so petulant. I’d rather not go to this event at all, as you know, and now to learn that I am not only attending, but will be lending the use of my carriage to some strange fellow you knew back in your college days, some fellow I’ll more than likely have to talk to—well, I suppose I’m just not in the best of spirits today.”
She took the chair across from his desk and contemplated him. “What did Dr. Wentworth say?”
Dr. Russell sat down and ran his hands through his hair. “He said he needs to do some research. He has several volumes in his office, possibly even more than I have here, and he knows he’s read about such things, but he couldn’t tell me anything straight out. So we wait, and in the meantime, we attend parties we don’t want to attend.”
“If you’re going to insist on sulking, I suppose we could stay in tonight, although I really shouldn’t reward you for your bad behavior,” she said with a smile.
“Again, I apologize. I’m not myself at all, am I?” He sat up straighter and looked her in the eye. “I’m quite all right again, as you can see. Now, let’s discuss how this will work. We’ll pick him up at eight, you say? And he’s escorting Miss Montgomery?”
“That’s right. And since we’ll be in your carriage, you’ll have total control over the whole evening. No one can force you to stay late or to do anything you don’t absolutely want to do.”
“But you said we’d dance.”
Irene raised an eyebrow at him. “You enjoy dancing, and you know it.”
He grinned, and she loved seeing his expression lighten. “That’s right, I do love to dance, and I especially enjoy dancing with you. I was merely trying to raise your ire, Miss Cantrell.”
“Well, I don’t know why you’d try to do a thing like that when my ire is already sufficiently raised. You never know what you might incite.”
“True, true, but at times, I like seeing a little bit of extra spark in you. It makes your eyes come alive. It’s quite beautiful.”
Irene felt her cheeks grow warm again. Traitorous things—why couldn’t she be embarrassed without advertising it to the whole world? “Well, now that I’m plenty full of ire, I do hope you’re satisfied.”
“Quite,” he replied, sitting back and regarding her. She felt very much like she had the day before when he watched her teaching. Like she was an amusing specimen. She didn’t know if it was admiration or indulgence she saw in his expression. She wasn’t entirely sure it mattered.
“So, you’ll attend this ball and be on your best behavior?” she asked, eager to get the topic back on track. Things had taken an entirely strange turn, and she didn’t think she liked it. It was too unpredictable, too far out of their usual patterns and habits, and she didn’t know where she stood in this new, uncharted territory. It was almost as if Dr. Russell had been flirting with her, but that couldn’t possibly be the case. She had to be imagining the whole thing.
“I will attend, I will be on my best behavior, and I will bring both you and Miss Montgomery a posy in case this Whitewash fellow forgets,” Dr. Russell said.
“Washburn,” Irene retorted, even though she smiled.
“Ah, yes. That’s right. I can’t be so impolite as to forget the man’s name.” Dr. Russell bobbed his head a few times. “All right, Miss Cantrell, you may go do whatever thing you ladies like to do for entire afternoons before events like this. Organize your stockings or what have you—I really don’t know. I’m going to read a good book, drink some of Mrs. Everett’s excellent herbal tea, and possibly even take a nap.”
“That’s most likely a good idea. You realize that if Mr. Washburn doesn’t dance for whatever reason, you’ll be expected to give Miss Montgomery a turn or two around the floor, so you might be completely done in by the end of the evening.”
“What? Are you sure this Whitebottom fellow doesn’t dance? Why on earth would he invite a young lady to a ball if he doesn’t dance?”
Irene laughed. “I never said he doesn’t dance. I was just presenting the possibility, that’s all. He might have turned his ankle or something this morning, or perhaps he suddenly went tone deaf. There are any number of reasons why you might be called upon last minute to dance with Miss Montgomery, and I want to be sure you’re well rested.”
“Oh, I see what you’re saying. This is an obvious jibe about my advanced age, is it not? Well, I’ll have you know that age means wisdom, and wisdom means better dancing. Never you fear, Miss Cantrell—I shall leap and
cavort around with the best of them tonight. Just you watch.”
Irene shook her head as she moved into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Whatever mood Dr. Russell was in, at least he was now jovial, and that lifted a weight from her shoulders. Now if Dr. Wentworth would only be quick about his research and put them all out of their anxious misery.
***
Frank watched Irene slip out into the hall and nearly cursed aloud before he realized she could probably still hear him. He hated lying to her, but what choice did he have? There simply wasn’t enough information yet, and telling her what little he did have would only worry her more. No, it was best to wait until Dr. Wentworth completed his hypothesis.
The few tests that had been done the night before had made both of them very grim. Dr. Wentworth had taken a small pin and lightly pricked here and there on Frank’s hand, and in a few places, Frank could not feel it at all. What did that mean? And was it going to get worse? Would the numbness spread up his arm, and would it eventually manifest itself in his other hand? He was a surgeon. This wasn’t happening—it couldn’t be happening. It would resolve itself, or Dr. Wentworth would figure it out.
He’d promised to tell Miss Cantrell everything, but he hadn’t realized that making such a promise would turn him into a liar, and by extension, into a fool.
Chapter Four
When Dr. Russell had first invited Irene to attend the charity ball, she’d thought she’d wear the same gown to both the symphony and the dance. It seemed silly to pull out two dresses when one would do. Now, however, she was unhappy with that idea, and reached farther back in the closet to pull out an ivory brocade gown she’d only worn once before. She told herself she’d wear it so it wouldn’t go to waste, but she had to be honest with herself and admit that she’d be embarrassed if Patrick Washburn saw her wearing the same gown twice. Not that she thought he’d notice, but he might.
As Irene stepped into her dress, she had to laugh at herself. When she came to New York City, she’d expected her life to be a whirlwind of parties and events, and had four gowns made to be ready for them. If she’d realized that her outings would be few and far between, she would have settled on two gowns and saved herself a little bit of money.
Heart of Hearts (Nurses of New York Book 4) Page 2
