“Sometimes sympathy goes very deep, too,” he replied. And he gave her a flashing, curiously friendly smile before he left her.
For the rest of that evening Leonie carried the impression of that smile with her. And—though she could not really see that the two things had anything to do with each other—she deliberately avoided Kingsley Stour, and did not give him an opportunity to pursue any further whatever interest he might, or might not, have in her.
The next day they arrived at Port Said, and even before they went ashore, Leonie and Claire were fascinated by the scene of color and movement which surrounded the ship as it lay in harbor.
Countless little native craft came skimming over the water, their owners holding up innumerable articles of infinite variety for sale, while they called out the most tempting offers to the amused passengers who crowded the deck rail to watch.
In addition, there was a tremendous coming and going of vessels of all sizes and kind—coaling, oiling or watering before the long voyage which lay between them and Colombo, on the one hand, or England on the other.
Later there was an opportunity to go ashore for a short time, and, in company with two or three other passengers, Leonie and Claire went to explore this little piece of the Arabian Nights which lies at the beginning of the Suez Canal.
Native booths, open shop-fronts, an infinite variety of Eastern costume, chatter in unrecognizable tongues, strange sights, sounds, smells—all these combined to make an unforgettable experience. And Leonie was able to relax and allow herself to enjoy it all to the full. She knew now that, whatever plans Kingsley Stour might once have entertained, he would not again either try to have her left ashore, or even try to arrange that he and Claire should escape on their own.
By the time they returned to the ship—and how careful Leonie was this time that there were no delays or mishaps—coaling and watering were complete. But it was already nightfall—that incredibly quick nightfall which comes like a stage drop-curtain in that part of the world. And the long, slow passage through the Suez Canal did not begin until the following morning.
Although Nicholas Edmonds had asserted that it was not specially interesting, the two girls were on deck from early morning, to watch the progress of the Capricorna through what is one of the miraculous waterways of the world.
As the day went on, it became overpoweringly hot. And long before they reached the Red Sea, at the other end of the Canal, most passengers were glad to seek any patch of shade on deck, or—if they were fortunate enough to possess an airy cabin—to rest for a while.
Some did not even turn up at dinner that night. And, to Leonie’s surprise, both surgeons were among this number.
“I don’t see Kingsley at his table,” whispered Claire.
“And Mr. Pembridge isn’t here either.” Leonie indicated the empty seat at the head of their table.
“Perhaps they’re busy with heat-stroke cases,” suggested Clive Cheriot. “I thought I was going to be laid out myself at one point during the afternoon.”
“I think,” said Nicholas Edmonds, “there was some sort of accident in the hospital quarters about an hour ago. I expect that’s what has delayed them.”
“Accident!” Claire and Leonie spoke with one breath. And Claire added fearfully, “Was anyone much hurt? And—and who was it?”
“Not Mr. Pembridge himself?” At that moment Leonie sounded almost as anxious as Claire.
But Nicholas Edmonds was reassuring on that point.
“I don’t think either of the surgeons was involved.”
“Then who was it?” Claire’s anxiety was not very much allayed. “One of the nurses?—or a patient? or who?”
“I really don’t know. I only overheard a few words, and perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.” Nicholas Edmonds seemed slightly taken aback by the degree of anxious interest he had caused. “I gathered that everything was under control again.”
But however much under control things might be, neither Mr. Pembridge nor his Assistant Surgeon appeared during the whole of dinner.
“I can’t understand it.” Claire slipped her arm into Leonie’s as they came out of the dining-room together. “I do hope Kingsley is all right.”
With difficulty Leonie kept herself from saying that the Senior Surgeon was of more importance. And then she reproached herself for becoming irritable and unreasonable because of the heat.
Neither of the girls felt much like dancing that evening, even though the ballroom was air-conditioned. So they sat on deck, trying to catch a faint ripple of breeze. And here it was that Mr. Pembridge found them, half an hour later.
“Oh, Mr. Pembridge!” Claire sprang to her feet. “Is Kingsley—is everyone all right?”
“Quite all right, Miss Elstone.” The Senior Surgeon smiled down at her reassuringly. “Mr. Stour was not even there when it happened.”
“What did happen?” Leonie inquired.
“One of my nurses had a fall, and unfortunately she was carrying a tray of bottles and measuring glasses at the time. Her right hand and arm were cut, and she lost a good deal of blood. But we’ve got her strapped up and comfortable now.”
“But that must have put her out of action for a while,” Leonie exclaimed.
“I’m afraid so—yes. That’s why—” For a moment the Senior Surgeon looked unusually hesitant. “I wonder if I could have a word or two with you, Miss Creighton? Professionally,” he added, so that Claire could not feel slighted.
Claire smiled and withdrew immediately, satisfied with any arrangement, now she was assured that Kingsley was safe.
Leonie walked a few paces along the desk beside Mr. Pembridge.
“Miss Creighton, it’s a good deal more serious than I made it sound,” he explained rapidly. “There is a severed tendon and very extensive injury. I’m afraid Nurse Donley won’t use that hand much for a couple of months. She was much the more capable of the two, and now I am left with one nurse—a junior nurse—just as we’re starting on that part of the voyage which usually means most cases.”
“I’m terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Leonie asked.
“Well, it’s entirely irregular, of course—and the final decision will rest with the Captain, naturally—but, if it could be arranged, would you be willing to give up most of your leisure between here and Colombo, and act as my senior nurse in the hospital?” asked Mr. Pembridge.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Your senior nurse!”
No words could describe with what nostalgic pride and pleasure Leonie heard this term applied to herself.
“Only if you feel willing to sacrifice your pleasure in what is usually one of the nicest parts of the voyage,” he said quickly. “I quite understand if you—”
“But I’d love to!” cried Leonie. “I’d simply love to, Mr. Pembridge.”
“Would you really?” He gave her a half-amused, half-curious glance. “It will be quite hard work, you know, with a lot of dull routine.”
“Oh, I don’t mind!”
She could not have said why the prospect so delighted her. She only knew that no other part of the ship so absolutely fascinated her as the turquoise-and-white-painted hospital. Not the promenade deck, not the ballroom, not even her own charming stateroom had the same magnetic attraction.
“I’m extremely obliged to you.” Mr. Pembridge sounded cordial but business-like. “I’ll have a word with the Captain and make sure that he countenances such an irregularity, in the special circumstances. I don’t doubt the fact that you were one of my nurses at St. Catherine’s will help.”
He seemed to be choosing the most felicitous phrases that evening. “One of my nurses at St. Catherine’s” also rang in Leonie’s ears like a chime of bells. And the moment he turned away, to go and seek official sanction for the arrangement, she rushed to Claire, with all the eagerness of a child with news of a party.
“Claire! I’m going to be allowed to nurse in the ship’s hospital! At least, Mr. Pembridge is going to try
to fix it all up. They’re terribly short-handed, with one of the nurses out of action, and Mr. Pembridge had this marvellous idea that I might—”
“But you don’t want to do that!” Claire looked dismayed.
“Oh, I do.”
“But, Leonie, they can surely find someone else. There can’t be any need for you to sacrifice yourself like that.”
“It won’t be any sacrifice.”
‘ Of course it will! Who wants to be cooped up in a surgery, dressing squashed thumbs or prescribing for heat-stroke, when they could be lounging on deck in the lovely sea-breeze?”
“A bit of lounging won’t come amiss when I’m off duty,” Leonie conceded. “But I adore the idea of nursing again, even if it’s only until we reach Colombo. Oh, Claire, I can’t tell you what it does to me to see a spotless, brightly painted ward again, or to know that someone’s comfort and well-being depend on my skill and care.”
Claire stared at her with a sort of admiring disbelief.
“You are a funny girl,” she said. “You say that as though you feel it right deep down inside you.”
“So I do, I suppose.”
“Are you sure that it isn’t a question of being sweet on your Mr. Pembridge?” inquired Claire, trying to explain the situation along lines she could herself understand.
“Of course not! I’m not in the least. And, anyway, he’s not mine,” Leonie declared, not quite coherently. “He adored some girl who died.”
“You don’t say?” Claire looked interested. “Poor Mr. P! No wonder he looks rather grim and earnest at times. When was this?”
“Something over a year ago, I think.”
“Oh—well. Life does go on, you know,” Claire said reasonably. “And he’s comparatively young and not at all bad-looking.”
“Not bad-looking? He’s really very handsome,” declared Leonie. Not as a matter of personal interest, but merely in the cause of general accuracy.
“Well, you go on thinking that,” Claire told her with a laugh. “If you’re going to don a uniform and look fetching in the ship’s hospital, I’d rather you admired Mr. Pembridge than the Assistant Surgeon.”
“I can live without either,” retorted Leonie lightly. But for the first time she realized that this new change in her circumstances would bring her even more within the orbit of Kingsley Stour. If she wished to pursue her idea of disillusioning Claire, she would have ample opportunity for this.
Half an hour later Mr. Pembridge sought her out, to tell her that not only had full permission been given for her to act as his senior nurse for the time being, but official appreciation had been expressed.
“You’d better come down now and meet my other nurse—Nurse Meech,” he said. “And we can work out times of duty and areas of responsibility.”
Suddenly the identity of a carefree, pleasure-seeking passenger dropped from Leonie. And, as she accompanied Mr. Pembridge down the two flights of stairs leading to the hospital deck, she felt that with every step the transformation into Nurse Creighton became more complete.
In the surgery they found Nurse Meech—a fair, pink-cheeked, harassed young woman who was anxiously checking a list left by her injured colleague. And when Mr. Pembridge explained that Nurse Creighton, who had once worked with him in hospital, was here to help them, in the most respectful way possible Nurse Meech nearly fell on Leonie’s neck.
“How terribly nice of you,” she said. Because she knew—as these things are known on board—the Leonie was one of the first-class passengers. And some how, though this is quite illogical, one does not think of the first-class passengers as rolling up their sleeves and willingly getting down to hard work.
“It’s not really,” Leonie confessed, feeling rather a fraud. “I always loved nursing, and was sorry to have to give it up. I’m genuinely glad to have a chance of a hospital interlude.”
“Well, of course,” said Nurse Meech, with lightly veiled worship, “it’s a privilege to work under Mr. Pembridge.”
“Thank you, Nurse.” Mr. Pembridge’s tones were brisk and astringent. “Now with regard to surgery duties—”
After that, pleasant personalities were put aside, and the three of them discussed future arrangements.
“How much time are you willing to give?” Mr. Pembridge inquired practically.
“If I’m taking it on at all, I’d better do the job properly,” said Leonie—a point of view which obviously commended itself to the Senior Surgeon. “I’ll just undertake to replace Nurse Donley, and work whatever hours she worked.”
“That will leave you little free time,” Mr. Pembridge warned her.
“Never mind. I can’t suppose it would be much help to either of you to have me float in and out for a few hours daily.” Leonie smiled—at Mr. Pembridge who looked grimly amused, and at Nurse Meech, who looked as though she could hardly believe such good fortune as seemed to have come their way with this unusual voluntary helper.
“Thank you, Nurse.”
In according her the official term of address, Mr. Pembridge evidently acknowledged her acceptance of full duties, and Leonie felt herself flush with pleasure.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am personally,” Nurse Meech said. “I was getting really rattled at the thought of managing single-handed until we got to Colombo—and perhaps after that too.”
“If we are lucky, we should be able to get someone at Colombo,” Mr. Pembridge explained to Leonie.
“If not, I’m willing to go on helping,” Leonie replied. “What sort of uniform shall I wear? I’m afraid I have absolutely nothing suitable with me.”
“Suppose you leave that to me and Nurse Donley, sir.” Nurse Meech rushed effusively into the breach as the Senior Surgeon hesitated. “We can manage caps and white overalls, even if we can’t fit her with an actual uniform.”
“Very well. Do the best you can.” He got up. “You’re taking ward duty this evening, aren’t you, Nurse Meech?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then perhaps Nurse Creighton would come on surgery duty in the morning. Crew surgery nine to nine-forty-five, Cabin Class for the next hour, and First Class from eleven to twelve.”
“Yes, sir,” said Leonie, as naturally as Nurse Meech. And then Mr. Pembridge went away, and Leonie and Nurse Meech had a nice, cosy talk about nursing duties, just as though they had trained together and known the same heights and depths of hospital experience.
Presently they visited Nurse Donley, comfortably installed in one of the upper bunk beds in the hospital, where at least she could look out of a porthole and see the moonlight on the waves. And to her Nurse Meech explained about Leonie’s generous offer.
Nurse Donley also seemed to think it amazingly good of Leonie. But she smiled understandingly when Leonie once more declared that she was happy to have the opportunity of nursing on board ship.
“There’s nothing quite like it,” Nurse Donley conceded. “In a way, of course, you don’t have the dramatic and interesting cases that you do in hospital, because naturally people don’t come on a trip of this sort with the expectation of being ill. But there’s an occasional emergency, to pep things up a bit.” Thus did Nurse Donley regard the unexpected appendicitis or premature baby or major accident. “And the circumstances are infinitely more attractive than the ordinary run of ward duty.”
“And then we have two of the nicest surgeons possible,” put in Nurse Meech.
“Well—Mr. Stour isn’t quite my idea of a surgeon,” replied Nurse Donley, who had been trained in a stern school and liked people to know it. “But that’s neither here nor there. Mr. Pembridge sets the tone in this place. Though perhaps,” she added, regarding Leonie thoughtfully, “he may relax things a bit for you.”
“I doubt it, and I certainly don’t expect it,” said Leonie, thereby endearing herself to the other two nurses, who now regarded her as entirely one of themselves.
Between them they fitted her out with a very satisfactory emergency uniform. And then, having given a
hand with the half-dozen heat-stroke cases who were the only inmates of the hospital at present, Leonie went off early to bed, in preparation for the next day’s duties.
She had not yet gone to sleep when Claire came in, to say goodnight and report on the various reactions to Leonie’s decision.
“Everyone thinks it awfully sporting of you, which of course it is, but we hope we shan’t have to do without you at all the balls and things,” Claire said.
“Oh, I shall get to some of them, I expect,” Leonie smiled.
“Kingsley is tremendously amused.”
“Really? I don’t know that there is anything so specially amusing about the position,” said Leonie coolly.
“I mean he is amused at the idea of your working under him—”
“I shall be working under Mr. Pembridge.”
“Yes, I know. But with Kingsley as well.”
“I suppose so—yes.”
“Of course you will! And then, as he thinks you’re— well, you know—very much out of the top drawer, I think he finds it all the more piquant,” Claire explained. “Rather like Princess Margaret offering to help out with the spring cleaning.”
“Not at all like that,” said Leonie, with truth. “It’s just a question of returning to my original way of earning my own living.”
“But he doesn’t know that, Leonie!’
“No, I know.”
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