desperately hard to follow Mrs. Grant's badly received advice, and to relax. But her nerves mocked at her, as they stiffened up against her will and refused to do as she 91 wished. Over and over again she went through the events of the day, scarcely daring to include the short and wonderful interlude when Chesfield had seemed to be making an offer of real friendship. That brief happiness was cluttered around by too many emotions, too much upset. There could be no real happiness now in her relationship with Chesfield, for whereas hitherto it had been thafc of an adoring employee and kindly employer now, quite suddenly, it had become something very different, and quite indefinable. She loved Laurence . . . and he was already married. And because, of that simple fact, she had jeopardized her position and run the risk of bringing disgrace upon herself and the hospital. Was that, perhaps, an exaggeration of the true facts? She tried to believe so, but so high was the standard she had set herself that this. lapse assumed gigantic proportions, look at it as she would. She found herself unable to eat the supper Mrs. Grant had left her, and presently she crept along the landing to the bathroom, had a warm bath, and then returned to her bed, quite expecting to face up to a sleepless night. Within the space of minutes, however. Sally fell into a sleep of sheer exhaustion, and did not wake again until morning. So deep had been her slumber that she awoke with a headache, and as the memories of the previous day came flooding back to her she sat up abruptly, pushed her fair hair off her forehead, and thought with dismay of the day ahead. Breakfast was rather a silent meal and Sally was glad when she was able to leave the house. However, she set off for the. hospital with a feeling of dread as to what she might find when she arrived there. The first person she saw as she crossed the courtyard was Alan Trenton. Seeing her, his face brightened a little, , and he nodded a greeting to her. "' "I've just been to see Billy," he told her _ kindly, duly noting her pallor and nervousness. "He's going to be all right, Sally. I hope you won't worry any more about what happened." 92 "Thank you," she managed, rather stiffly, "I did try to thank you yesterday, but you were too angry widi me justly so, of course " ' His smile faded, and she saw a faintly puzzled lieht in his eyes. s: e> "Not angry, I think," he said slowly and carefully, as if feeling for his words, "j"st a little disappointed. Foraet it, Sally, as I have .. "It's not so easy as that," she said defensively. "After all you know hospitals well enough to realize that rumor dies . hard " "There is no rumor," he said shortly, "I have seen to that. Go see Billy, if you can it will put your mind at rest. The parents are the real culprits, for leaving him unattended so long." She tried to grasp at the excuse he offered her then with a strange impulse, she put a hand on his coat sleeve. "That's not true," she said steadily. "They were ignorant of the seriousness of the case, I was not. They may have been stupidly negligent, but that stupidity excuses them. I have no such excuse." For a moment he looked at her oddly. Then he shrugged his shoulders enigmatically. "If you're determined to wear the martyr's crown " he said lightly, "so be it! But don't expect me to sympathize with you. Sister!" He turned on his heel, leaving her staring after him with ill-concealed indignation. How could he speak to her that way! Alan Trenton of all people to mock at her resolution to take no easy way out! She went slowly to the Clinic, where she found Nurse Frensham awaiting her with 'some trepidation. As she took off her cape and began to check up on preparations, the little dark-haired nurse watched her shyly, and Sally, preoccupied as she was, saw nothing of the anxiety and affection in those brown eyes. She knew nothing either of the fervent desire in the young nurse, to help the Sister through what seemed to be a difficult and perplexing situation. Something had gone wrong the previous day . ,, what, she did not know. All she did know was that there were queer little rumors flying about Merry's that the names of her beloved Sister and Mr Chesfield were being bandied about in a way which hurt Janie deeply, and that she wanted, more than anything in the world, to show her gratitude for all Sally had done for her in the past. By ten o'dock that morning the waiting-room was full to overflowing. Sally viewed the crowd through her own tiny peephole with rising dismay, and as the hours crawled by she became aware of a strange impatience with her work, a feeling almost amounting to irritation against the patients who came shuffling in and out with maddening regularity. Surely there could be few people left in England who did .not have sore throats, or sinus trouble, or exasperating ears, she decided grimly just before lunchtime! Even the children seemed more annoying than usual, and Janie, watching her worriedly, had more than once to reassure a young patient before he would allow Sally to ' handle him. By lunchtime there were still half a dozen patients waiting their turn, and Sally turned to Janie in some exasperation. "This is ridiculous!" she said bluntly, an "edge to her voice; "Mr. Chesfield is expecting the impossible, sending us 'this number of patients day after day! Nobody could cope " "You can," Janie said, with surprising simplicity. "It's just that you're tired today, Sister, that's all. Yesterday wasn't easy, that I know. But we'll manage." "What do you mean, yesterday wasn't easy?" Sally asked sharply, staring at the girl accusingly. "Nothing went wrong, did it?" Janie looked down at the swabs she had been. making. "You had a headache," she offered nervously, "that was all I meant. Sister. Headaches can make such a difference to a day, I think." Sally's eyes suddenly blurred. Why was everybody being so kind to her, so anxious to hand her ready-made excuses for yesterday? Supposing she told all the real truth "Nothing that happened would have happened had I not 94 suddenly learned that Laurence Chesfield was married!" What would become of their pity then? She braced herself, and smiled at the troubled iTfile nurse. "Yes, headaches can be the very devil, nurse," she agreed, contritely. 'Sorry to be such a bear this morning. Send in the next patient, please." Later in the afternoon the phone rang, and 'Janie answered it. She waited until Sally had finished with an ar examination, then said quietly. "Mrs. Ghesfield phoned to say Mr. Chesfield is coming over to see Billy later today, Sister." Sally turned slightly away, that Janie might not see the flush that had risen to her cheeks when Mrs. Chesfield's name was mentioned. "How strange!" She laughed lightly. "Until yesterday I did not know of the existence of a Mrs. Chesfield now I heard of her twice in quick succession. Has she been away?" Janie duly noted the flushed cheeks, and drew her own conclusions. "I think so," she' said slowly, .uncertainly, "I I know her a little. My father was very friendly with her brother at one time, as a matter of fact. She's a very pretty woman unusual coloring." "How unusual?" Sally tried to keep her voice casual, though each word was like a tongue probing an aching tooth. Janie smiled fleetingly. , "Oh, I don't know I suppose it's the fact of her having flaxen hair something like yours, as far as I remember and absurdly, dark eyebrows and eyelashes. It's very attractive, you know. Trouble is that she's very delicate, poor woman." "Oh?" Sally glanced nervously at her hands, then, seeing that they were trembling visibly, she put diem beneath the table. Janie turned to the swab jar, as though no longer in. forested. "How delicate?" Sally insisted. "A spot of heart trouble, or something," Janie said vaguely. "I have heard say she exaggerates it a little, but diat may not be true, of course. All I do know is that she is not very often at home with Laurence Chesfield spends a good part of her time in a house in the country." Sally digested dtis in silence, miserably aware that she was deliberatdy digging for flaws in this unknown wo-man. "You make it sound a rather uninteresting marriage," she laughed, glancing swiftly at Janie and then away again. "Most doctor's wives find it difficult to be away for even a day if they're really interested in the husband's work of course ... as she must be, no doubt." Janie kept her back turned, much to Sally's relief. "I don't think I would agree that it necessarily follows that a woman who marries a doctor must automatically be interested in his work," Janie said slowly, after a strange pause. "Certainly I wouldn't say that Joan Chesfield was engrossed in medidne." "I see." There was a silence in the room and then, realizing that Janie had cleared up after the former patient and was waiting for instructions to call in another, Sally pulled herself together and tried to dismiss the matter of Laure
nce and his wife from her mind. But all day, at odd intervals, her thoughts crept back to it, savouring the revelation which Janie had unwittingly made, trying to resist the pleasure of knowing that Laurence had not found his ideal wife in Joan. Surely, she told herself indignantly, if she loved Larry, her first wish should be for his happiness? But not with another woman, her rebellious thoughts reminded her unpleasantly. Better an unhappy marriage to contend with than one which filled her with envy! Unsettled, and filled with self-contempt for her treacherous thoughts, Sally found her work irksome and difficult during the following days. Evening after evening she decided that she must give in her resignation so far as the Clinic was concerned, and either return to ordinary duty or go to some odier hospital. It was sheer madness to con tinue at the Clinic under the new circumstances, for the very sight of Laurence now upset her, set her pulses throbbing and made her hands awkward and clumsy. If Janie had been hamfisted, she sometimes taunted herself, hers were playing a very good imitation of the little nurse, now! Tempers grew' short and whereas before the Clinic had ; had an obviously happy atmosphere, with patients and staff working in dose harmony, now there was a tension which ' frightened Janie and worried Sally. She felt awkward and ill-at-ease, unable to concentrate on each individual as she ' had once done. One woman, who had been coming regu: larly to the Clinic for many months, came out of Sally's "room one morning with a pursed up mouth and an angry light in her eyes. "I'm not coming any more," she announced to the room at large, much (o the discomfiture, of Janie, who was hov ering in the doorway, ready to beckon to the next patient. ; "Her, with her high and mighty airs not fit to speak to since she was made a Sister, if you ask me! I'm better any way: only continued to come to please her!" The woman stamped out, ignoring Janie's anxious call to her. As the nurse returned to the surgery, she glanced ; thoughtfully at Sally and shook her head unhappily. This couldn't go on, of course. Sooner or later Chesfield would , realize that his Clinic was not running as well as it had ; done, and then there would be trouble. "Sister " as soon as the surgery was empty, Janie spoke impulsively, "Mrs. Peters isn't coming any more. I I heard her say'*so as she went out." , "But she must!" Sally said swiftly. "Her treatment is only half finished. What's wrong?" "I I guess she just got tired of coming," Janie began awkwardly, and Sally, seeing the girl's embarrassment, bit ;her lip. ' "I'll phone her," she said wearily. "And now, if anybody 'wants me, I'll be in the children's wards. I want to see Billy before he goes home." Sally climbed the stairs up to the children's ward wearily, conscious of a great listlessness which she had never known 97 since she started nursing. She felt unutterably lonely, and she was on the point of changing her mind about visiting Billy when the baize doors opened and Alan Trenton stood there, staring at her in some surprise. "Why, Sally " he began quietly, "it's so long since you paid us a visit up here. Come along in Billy will be so glad to see you. He's quite well now." He stood back for her to enter, and as she did so something of 'the simplicity and peace of the tiny patients seemed to come and enwrap her. She felt suddenly rested, no longer alone. On a sudden impulse which she could not have explained, she turned to smile wistfully at Alan. "I'm thinking of leaving Merry's," she told him quiedy. "Does that surprise you?" He did not answer at once. Instead, he put a hand beneath her arm and led her across to the cot where a rosy cheeked Billy awaited them, his roguish eyes filled with a new health and joy. "Sometimes it is a good idea to move on," he said at last, so unemotionally that she could scarcely believe her ears. "One can stay too long." "But you " she began, shaken -toy his lack of surprise, "you have been here longer than I, yet you do not 'move on', as you term it. Why?" He smiled a little, leaning his arms on the cot rails. "For the simple reason that I have not been here too long, as yet. Indeed, I doubt if I shall ever leave. Salty."-. "Oh, but diat's ridiculous!" she- began reproachfully. "You can't be so lacking in ambition as to remain in the same job all die time, surely? You need experience, everybody does." "Is diat why you're going?" he asked quietly, not looking at her. She fidgeted nervously. "Of course " she lied awkwardly. "Why else! I should have diought you would agree that one must go oa developing in this profession, just as in any odier?" "I haven't finished developing here," he said simply. "It is quite likely diat I'm wrong, but to me there is no advantage in leaving the patients I love, and die surround98 . ings I love, just for the sake of doing what I can do for other people in other places. A cross-section of humanity comes to every hospital, and here at Merry's I suppose one meets with practically every type of being possible to meet anywhere. I can only give of my best anywhere so why not here, where I know and am known ? All very sentimental, I suppose " he laughed a little, "but I have ties here diat I never wish to break." "I see " she felt vaguely uncomfortable, and did not know why. Well, I must say good-bye to Billy, and then get back. I believe Mr. Chesfield is to see him later, isn't he?" Alan straightened himself. "So I have been informed," he said mildly. -"I am going down to Matron now shall I walk down with you?" Oddly rested by her brief respite, Sally returned to the Clinic, All the patients had gone, and she had only to make up die case book and then go off duty. Nurse Frensham had gone off already as she was needed to help in Maternity, and so Sally, for the first time in weeks, had the Clinic entirely to herself. The rows of empty chairs had a strangely ghost-like effect and Sally, smiling at her own stupidity, firmly closed the door of her office, glad to shut out the view of that deserted room. Inside the office it was warm and bright, and the curtains fluttered idly in the breeze from die gardens. She opened the books, but did not begin work at once. The unaccustomed peace and quietness of the place charmed her, and for a time she recaptured the old thrill of knowing heresif to be the ruler in this "small domain. It had been so sweet. . . . while it lasted. But now, encouraged by her impulsive words .to Alan, she knew the time had come for her to move on. Here, working dose to Laurence, her work was bound to suffer and that must not happen. Was not her work her whole life now? If, just for a little while, she had dared to dream of love, then that dream was over. Laurence was married whether happily or unhappily, it made no difference to the 99 simple fact that he was not for her. She had hoped to work beside him, but the past week had proved the fallacy of this wish. There was plenty of work to be found. She leaned back, playing with the idea, and wondering just how long it would be before she could really make the necessary break. Once the very thought of leaving Merry's would have horrified her. Now . . . She leaned forward suddenly, as if in physical pain. Oh, what was the use of pretending? She still loved the place, every stick and stone of it the more so since it was here she had found Laurence again! Why could she never be allowed happiness? Why must she always lose diose she loved? First her parents, both snatched away from her at one fell swoop, now the only man she had ever loved . . . She did not hear the door open, nor see the man standing in the doorway staring at her. When he spoke she started violently and turned towards him, her eyes wide widi dismay. "Sister what's all this I hear about Mrs. Peters?" he demanded irately, in a voice she had never heard him use before. "The wretched woman phoned me half an Aour ago to say she intends to stop visiting the Clinic from today! Says you were unkind to her I know she's an impossible woman, but hang it all Sister I expected better of you " For a moment she stared at him, struggling for words, and finding none. She pushed back her hair and stood facing him, her hands hanging forlornly at her sides, her eyes betraying her utterly. Coming on top of her tiredness and loneliness, this unexpected rebuke from Chesfield was too much for her. She began to cry, open and helplessly, as a child cries. Laurence Chesfield took a step forward, his dark face filled with dismay. "Sally, my dear " he began thickly. "My dear child what on earth is wrong? I didn't mean to hurt you, surety you know that? I wouldn't hurt you for the world! Sally " 100. He was close beside her now. He put his hands on her shoulders to comfort her, then, as she looked up at him through her tears, his .hold on her tightened, and he drew her to him and kissed her. 101
The Thursday clinic Page 7
