“Duncan, what do you think?” Harriet turned appealingly to Duncan McRey, who had, so far, remained silent. “Jill ought to explain to Matron, oughtn’t she? After all, the whole thing is a silly mistake. I can’t think why that stupid girl had to interfere; I expect she thought she was being clever.” Harriet lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “I don’t suppose you even knew that soon after Jill got here she couldn’t settle down. She’d decided to leave, and I begged her to wait a bit. I knew she’d win through in the end, and now this has to happen. I think she should go to Matron and explain, don’t you?”
“The problem is rather out of my line. I’m afraid I don’t know.”
Jill looked up quickly. She felt sure from his tone that had he been wont to use the phrase, he might well have added, “I couldn’t care less.” His indifference was like a stab at her heart, yet in a way it was perhaps as well, since it gave strength to her flagging spirits. “It’s hardly fair to involve Dr. McRey. This is my affair alone. I should have destroyed the letter. I didn’t, so I must now abide by the results,” she said firmly, glad that neither of her companions could know the tearing ache at her heart as she realized the finality of her own words.
The rest of the evening seemed to Jill to drag interminably. She longed to be alone to relax, to drop this mask behind which she was trying to hide her true feelings. With relief she saw him rise and make ready to leave. The touch of his hand on her shoulder as he held her coat brought stinging tears to her eyes, and she was glad of the covering blanket of night as Harriet’s front door closed behind them.
The journey to hospital was silent. Jill wondered could her companion have known that she could scarcely trust herself to speak, fearful as she was of betraying her true feeling by a single word or gesture.
“Here we are.” He alighted and held the door for her. “Good night...”
Jill felt her hand clasped in his firm hold. With a tremendous effort she forced a note almost approaching gaiety into her voice. “Good night and thanks so much for the lift—I’m sure I’d still be waiting at some wayside junction if it hadn’t been for you!”
He dismissed her remark with a short laugh, then added with an underlying note of gravity: “I’m sorry you are forced to leave against your will; you mustn’t worry too much about it.”
Then he had realized something of her true emotions, her effort to hide them hadn’t deceived him? “I’ll try not to.” Again she forced a note of gaiety into her voice, but as she watched him turn away and re-enter the car she knew that this time she was well and truly beaten. Brenda Malling had played her trump card!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jill had never been more conscious of that “Monday morning feeling” than she was on the day following her week-end leave. At least, she argued, there was good reason. The week-end had hardly been relaxing. Harriet’s disclosure on the Sunday evening had shaken her beyond belief, and on top of that the discovery of her feeling for Duncan McRey had shattered the very foundations of her ordered existence. The blue shadows beneath her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep, and she was sure that the most careful application of cosmetics had not wholly concealed the traces of tears which she had shed during her long hours of wakefulness.
The first sight of her office did nothing to alleviate her distress. Her desk was piled with litter, and Duncan McRey’s white coats were again flung over the one and only armchair. With ill-concealed impatience she thrust them willy-nilly into the cupboard where they belonged; then, with ruthless disregard for Brenda’s feelings, she swept the offending articles from off the top of her desk. The flowers in the vase were stale and drooping, and the water a greenish yellow, and as she flung them away she couldn’t help wondering what her old Sister at Baldwin’s would have had to say if her office had been left in such a state for her return from leave.
Some kind of order restored, Jill seated herself at her desk and, with an almost unconscious action, opened the drawer where her letter to Matron had rested. It was a futile movement, she could hardly have expected to see it, yet somehow its absence only renewed within her that first sense of shock. It was perhaps unfortunate that Brenda’s appearance should have coincided with that feeling.
“Good morning, Sister, I’ve come to report. There isn’t much really—just one admission, and I’ve put all other notes on your desk.”
“You seem to have put everything you’ve handled during my absence on my desk. I’ve never seen such a disgraceful muddle in all my life.” Jill made no effort to conceal her anger.
“You asked me not to interfere with your room, so I left any correspondence or notes for you to deal with.” Brenda spoke with an air of injury which only served to anger Jill more.
“Don’t twist my meaning, Nurse. You know perfectly well what I mean.” Jill swung round in her chair and faced the other girl squarely. “Naturally I passed my keys on to you when I left on Friday, but you knew that the centre drawer of my desk was for my personal use. Why did you open it?”
“How was I to know?” Brenda protested. “I was looking for the poison register and thought it might be there.” She paused for a moment before continuing, then went on: “I saw a letter there ... I do hope I did right, it was addressed to Matron. I wondered if you’d overlooked it, so I handed it in.”
Brenda Malling’s air of innocence was like a fan to Jill’s anger. She almost felt like striking the girl. With a tremendous effort at control she spoke quietly. “I consider your action presumptuous. I am not in the habit of overlooking important letters—and one hardly writes to Matron of trivialities. I fully understand your urge to expedite my departure, but even that hardly excuses your action.”
“How could I guess what was in the letter?” Brenda began, but Jill without ceremony broke in on her companion’s words.
“Don’t lie—you didn’t send it without knowing.” Jill gave a short, mirthless laugh. “It might too well have been a complaint about you, the letter was unsealed and you read it.”
“All right—I did,” Brenda admitted, her dark eyes flashing defiantly. “That doesn’t mean that I didn’t imagine you might have forgotten to send it yourself.”
“Nonsense!” Jill summarily dismissed the prevarication. “One doesn’t forget that kind of thing. Since the very first day I arrived here you have used every means in your power to make me resign! Well, you’ve succeeded, and I hope that now you are satisfied!” It was so unusual for Jill to lose her temper that she found herself trembling in every limb.
“In any case, I am here for another month. I hope it isn’t asking too much for you to be civil during that brief period. You might, by the way, also try to learn a little too—at least with regard to tidiness and keeping order. You’ll stand very little chance of holding down a post as Sister if you don’t.”
“I shan’t be Sister.”
“What? After all the trouble you have gone to! You led me to believe that if it hadn’t been for Dr. Laine’s inopportune mention of my name when Sister Wilks left, the position would automatically have fallen to you. You don’t mean to tell me that you’ll derive no benefit from your successful efforts to get rid of me?” She couldn’t keep a note of sarcasm from her voice.
“I didn’t particularly want to get rid of you.” Brenda’s voice held that unmistakable note of resentment to which Jill had become accustomed.
For a moment Jill remained silent staring at the girl before her. Brenda’s face looked even paler than usual against the dark sweep of her hair showing beneath her cap, and her whole bearing lacked her usual air of arrogance. Having accomplished all she’d set out to do she could afford to soften, Jill decided, but she had suffered too much at Brenda’s hands to be easily moved. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? You’ve admitted that you deliberately handed in my notice. Now, you say you didn’t want me to leave! The whole thing is ridiculous, and I don’t think we need discuss it further.” With an air of dismissal Jill turned her attention to the files on her desk.<
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“Please, let me try to explain.”
This time there was no doubting the note of appeal in Brenda’s voice, and Jill, despite her feelings, felt constrained to give her a hearing.
“Let me try... you must listen.”
Jill was naturally kind and easily moved to sympathy, yet Brenda had made her suffer so much ... but now Brenda’s unmistakable air of distress touched her, and she refrained from voicing the bitter words of resentment which sprang to her lips; instead she found herself pulling forward a chair and saying gently, “You look thoroughly washed out. You’d better sit down and tell me what’s troubling you.”
Brenda sank down gratefully in the chair. For a moment she hesitated, then began to speak. “Matron told me Sunday that you were leaving; when she sent for me I knew what it was about.” Her lips twisted into a wan smile. “At least I thought I did.” She looked up as if to make sure of her companion’s attention. “She said that she intended replacing you, that I ... I wasn’t suitable for the post ... She said Dr. McRey wouldn’t approve. He’d want someone with more experience.”
“So that’s what happened!” Jill could not resist a tiny feeling of elation, but it was not for long. Her heart smote her when she became aware of Brenda’s utter dejection. “Surely it isn’t all that important, you are still young and there is plenty of time ahead of you.”
“That’s what Matron said, but I’m tired of waiting.”
“I’ve had a longer training, and in a teaching hospital; that makes a difference I expect.” Jill was annoyed at her own easy capitulation, but, used as she was to Brenda’s self-possession, this sudden change could not fail to evoke her sympathy. “I think you are unduly concerned about it. I’m leaving—that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You’ll get another Sister instead of me, that’s all.” She tried to instil a note of lightness into her tone.
“I’d rather you stayed than have someone else.”
This really seemed too much. Jill hardly knew whether to be angry or amused. It was perhaps fortunate that her sense of humour came to her aid. “I think that’s the limit!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “You make my life a misery, even manage to turn me out, and now you say you want me to stay.”
“Oh, don’t you understand?” Brenda leaned forward and her eyes were like dark pools in the pallor of her face, her hands clasped together in her lap twisted convulsively. “I wanted that job. I want it so much ... it meant ... it meant everything to me! I don’t dislike you, I never have. Why should I? If I’m not to get promotion then I’d rather you stayed than have someone new again ... What a fool I’ve been; oh, what a fool!”
“I think you are making a tremendous fuss about nothing,” Jill spoke with a note of authority. Brenda being sullen and rude was one thing, but hysteria was something that Jill felt in no mood to deal with. “Now pull yourself together and view this thing reasonably. I’m leaving and you’ve only yourself to blame. It might have been better to make sure of stepping into my shoes before acting, but you didn’t, so that’s that. Now you must just put up with things as they are.”
“Must you go? Couldn’t I explain to Matron?”
“You could explain, yes...” Jill paused as she considered her words, then went on. “But you see it wouldn’t help very much. I do happen to have written the letter; I would not humiliate myself by saying I wanted to change my mind now.”
“I was afraid you might feel like that.” Brenda’s figure slumped despondently in her chair. “Oh, I wish I hadn’t been so stupid—why, why didn’t I stop to think?”
“I shouldn’t be so miserable about it if I were you. After all, you have only to face a new Sister, I have to face a new job!” It hadn’t been easy to find sympathy and to dismiss from her mind all the irretrievable harm she had suffered at this girl’s hands. Brenda couldn’t of course know of that secret link which now bound her to St. Joseph’s. She could no doubt get a job easily enough, but the very idea of a new post made her head spin. The very thought of another hospital, any work without Duncan McRey would seem flat and dreary. It seemed as if she had reached the parting of the ways, and when she left St. Joseph’s it would be the end of her nursing career. That was absurd. The idea must be instantly dismissed from her mind. She’d have to go on, and with the passage of time no doubt she would forget him. What would he think if he knew the truth? The question certainly had a sobering effect, and showed her only too clearly the unreasonableness of this love. The futility of trying to justify herself only added to her confusion, and with a determined effort she turned back to her companion. “Yes, I have to find a new job.”
“Oh, Sister, I’m so sorry. Isn’t there some way; isn’t there anything I can do about it?”
This time there was no mistaking the sincerity of Brenda’s tone, and in spite of everything, Jill found herself unaccountably touched by her companion’s obvious concern. “Not a thing!” She dismissed the matter with a casualness she was far from feeling, then with the conviction that the discussion had gone far enough, she rose to her feet. “You’d better be getting along, we’ve both wasted enough time. See what’s happening on the ward. I expect Matron will send for me soon, and I must go through these papers first.”
The expected summons to Matron’s office was not long delayed, and as Jill tapped nervously on the door she was again overwhelmed with that schoolgirl feeling. Even Matron’s affability did nothing to put her at her ease, and she hoped that the interview might at least prove brief.
“I found the letter you placed on my desk on Friday. I must say I’m very sorry.” Matron paused, obviously awaiting some comment or explanation.
“I’m sorry too.” Jill felt that under like circumstances words could never have been more genuinely spoken, and for one mad moment she longed to burst out the true facts of the whole wretched business. Yet, on looking back, she wondered now if she had really ever intended to hand in that letter. When she had written it she had been so humiliated and miserable that it had been a relief to pen the lines as some balm to her hurt pride. She knew now that subconsciously she had only waited for Harriet’s inevitable persuasion to destroy it.
“I repeat, I’ll be sorry to lose you. Dr. McRey was so satisfied too.”
Jill looked up sharply, aware of a feeling of pleasure which all too quickly died. Just meaningless words, the routine sentence used no doubt to any of the staff who resigned of their own volition. “I’ll be dreadfully sorry to leave.” The phrase was spoken spontaneously, but when Matron replied Jill realized her own tactlessness.
“Then I assume it is due to some private cause?” Matron smiled encouragingly. “Maybe you are considering marriage?”
Jill hesitated miserably, it was such an easy way out and would inevitably stop all further questions, yet she could not bring herself to lie. Her silence turned out to be more effective than words, and when a few moments later she found herself in the corridor outside Matron’s office, she knew that Matron had drawn her own, and entirely erroneous, conclusion as to the reason for her resignation.
The interview over, Jill was at least conscious of relief, the die was cast, in a month she’d be leaving St. Joseph’s—and Duncan McRey, Her heart felt heavy, yet there was nothing she could do but accept this cruel trick of fate. With controlled bearing she did her round of the ward, the children’s welcome after such a brief absence warmed her heart, yet in every tremulous smile and flushed cheek she could visualize Terry as she had last seen him.
It was some consolation to be busy, to keep both hands and mind occupied, and with the urge for occupation she commenced to tackle the large Christmas hampers which awaited attention in the passage. In a few moments Brenda had joined her. “Can I give you a hand?”
“Yes, I’ll be glad if you will. Let’s lug this hamper into the linen-room, we’ll be out of the way there.” She glanced surreptitiously at her Staff Nurse over the top of the wicker basket. She still looked white and drawn, but far more composed than she had been in Jill’s office.
Brenda unstrapped the lid and threw it back, then turned impulsively to Jill. “Your interview with Matron—you didn’t say anything? ... I mean you didn’t explain it was all a mistake?”
Jill looked up quickly, anxious to discern any trace of guile in Brenda’s apparent anxiety, but was instantly reassured. Brenda’s concern was transparently honest. “No, it would have been quite impossible,” Jill replied shortly. Then, in order to prevent further discussion quickly turned the conversation to the matter on hand. “I think we’d better start sorting out small things suitable for the tree, and then the presents, boys’ on one pile, girls’ on another.”
For a time they worked in silence, then Brenda spoke again. ‘Aren’t some of these toys awful? I can’t think how people have the cheek to send them. Look at this engine one wheel missing, all chipped and broken, it’s only fit for the dustbin.” She held it out for Jill’s inspection.
“Yes, some are pretty awful,” Jill agreed. “I’ve turned out a fur rabbit absolutely riddled with moth. It must have been stored away for years, but I’ve found some lovely dolls, some brand new—I wish there had been just one more, then we’d have had enough for all the girls—”
“Wouldn’t this one do?” Brenda held up a bedraggled baby doll, its face had taken on a sickly yellow hue where the paint had worn off and its clothes were torn and dirty. “Oh, I know it looks hideous now,” she hastened on, at Jill’s look of disgust. “But I can redress it and paint the face. I’m quite good at that sort of thing. I did one last year that Sister Wilks had thrown out and fixed it up for my niece. You wouldn’t have known it.” She spoke with more animation than Jill had believed her capable of.
To Please the Doctor Page 13
