Nurse Hilary

by Peggy Gaddis

  Hilary, emerging from the ward, paused, startled.

  “Oh, Hilary, we’ve had such fun!” Mrs. Barton sounded about sixteen years old. “We’ve been shopping for the baby! Come and see what we’ve bought.”

  “How is the little fellow? And his mother?” asked Mr. Hodding, holding the door open for the two women to precede him, and following with the bassinet.

  “She’s better, and the baby’s just fine,” answered Hilary and her eyes widened as she saw the packages and the bassinet. “Good Heavens, you have been shopping, haven’t you?”

  “Jason telephoned for his car right after lunch and we drove in to town and, oh, it’s been such fun!” prattled Mrs. Barton eagerly, as she opened packages and spilled a complete layette out on the bed that would have outfitted half a dozen babies.

  She held up a microscopic garment of daffodil-yellow, embroidered with gaily colored butterflies, and her cheeks were pink with awed delight.

  “Can you imagine, rompers for a baby only six months old!” she marvelled. “My grandchildren wore dresses until they were a year old. But Jason and I went to Davidson’s and the woman who was in charge of Infants’ Wear said very firmly that rompers were the thing. Isn’t it absurd? So we got a dozen for him.”

  She dropped the small garment and faced Hilary and the eager excitement was momentarily darkened.

  “Hilary, did you know that that poor little mite had on a dress made out of a flour-sack?” she asked softly. “And Mrs. Webster said they found the mother’s suitcase after the accident, and he only had two little shirts and six diapers! Isn’t that awful?”

  “They are very poor people, Mrs. Barton,” answered Hilary gently. “The mother and her baby were on their way to join her husband, who had just got a job in a textile mill in South Carolina. I talked to him on the telephone; he’s terribly distressed and wanted to quit his job and come down immediately. But I persuaded him to hang on to it and promised him we’d take the best care of her and that she is out of danger and the baby didn’t even catch cold.”

  Mrs. Barton drew a little closer to Mr. Hodding and her eyes were warm with pity.

  “Then I’m doubly glad Jason and I went shopping for the baby,” she said firmly. “I must see about things for the mother, too.”

  “You’re very generous—” Hilary began.

  “I’m very happy, Hilary, and very fortunate,” said Mrs. Barton, her voice low and not quite steady. “You see, Jason wants me to marry him. And I’d like to very much. Do you think we’re too old?”

  Hilary smothered her amazed gasp, and looked from one to the other of their anxious faces, and felt a warm tide of tenderness sweep over her.

  “Of course you’re not too old,” she answered swiftly. “And I know you’ll be very happy.”

  Mrs. Barton beamed, though there were tears in her eyes, and slid her hand into Mr. Hodding’s that closed so warmly over it.

  “We’re both very lonely,” said Mr. Hodding quietly. “We are very companionable and we thought perhaps that together we’d find happiness.”

  “I’m sure you will, and I congratulate you, Mr. Hodding. She’s really a darling,” said Hilary warmly, and smiled up at him. “And if you won’t think me fresh—so are you!”

  Mrs. Barton drew a long breath and there was a touch of uneasiness in her eyes.

  “I’m so glad you feel that way, Hilary, because I’m going to ask you for just about the finest wedding present you could possibly give us,” she said tremulously. “I want you to be with me when I tell the children. I’m afraid they’re going to be very upset. They’ll say I’m being ridiculous—that I’m making them a laughing-stock.”

  Mr. Hodding tightened his clasp of her hand and his eyes, as he looked down at her, were very tender.

  “Shall you mind that so much, my dear?” he asked tenderly. She lifted worried eyes above the tremulous smile and nodded.

  “I suppose it’s cowardly of me,” she admitted. “But yes, I’m afraid I will mind, more than just a little. They’ve always been so good to me and, I suppose, a little bit proud of me.”

  “If it’s going to upset you, my dear, we could call it off,” Mr. Hodding offered, the tenderness in his eyes fading ever so little.

  “Oh, no, Jason—no!” Mrs. Barton crowded close to him and pulled his arm about her and looked up at him in anxious pleading. “Hilary will help me talk to them, won’t you, Hilary?”

  “I’m not sure that would be much help.”

  “Oh, but it would, Hilary, it would. They’ll be here next week, and Jason and I will tell them and please help us.” Mrs. Barton pleaded.

  “Oh, but I won’t be here next week, Mrs. Barton,” Hilary told her gently.

  Alarm and shock chased themselves over the two anxious old faces.

  “You’re not leaving, Hilary?” Mrs. Barton made it an unimaginable catastrophe.

  “I’m leaving at the end of the week, Mrs. Barton.”

  “But why? Oh, Hilary, this is awful. The T. & C. won’t be the same place without you,” said Mrs. Barton miserably.

  Hilary smiled up at Mr. Hodding, who was looking as anxious and worried as Mrs. Barton, though not, she noted, as tearful.

  “May we be permitted to ask why you are leaving, Miss Westbrook?” asked Mr. Hodding awkwardly. “Of course, I realize perfectly that it’s none of our business but we’ve grown very fond of you and we shall be very distressed to have you leave.”

  Hilary smiled at him.

  “I don’t imagine you and Mrs. Barton will stay on here after you are married, so you shouldn’t be concerned with what happens here,” she reminded him.

  “No, that’s quite true,” he admitted and obviously the thought had not occurred to him before. “We shall be going away, of course. But the others here, I’m sure they’ll miss you.”

  “Has the Duchess anything to do with your leaving?” demanded Mrs. Barton so unexpectedly that Hilary’s expression betrayed her before she could control it, and Mrs. Barton gave her no time to answer. “Ha, so that’s it! The Duchess is back of the whole thing. Well, we’ll just see about that.”

  She turned towards the door, a small, belligerent fury, and Mr. Hodding’s arm tightened, to stop her.

  “Now, Lily-Mae,” he protested firmly, and Mrs. Barton looked up at him as though startled both at the tone and at his use of her given name. “You mustn’t rush off to do battle with Mrs. Keenan without being sure of your facts. Miss Westbrook hasn’t said she was leaving because of something Mrs. Keenan had done.”

  “But I just know that’s the reason ...” sputtered Mrs. Barton indignantly.

  “I’m leaving primarily because I feel I’d like a job where there is more—shall we say, need—for my services,” Hilary told them both. “This is a very beautiful place, and the guests are charming and delightful people; but none of them is in need of serious nursing care; and I hate squandering whatever abilities I may possess when there are people who stand in need of them.”

  She looked from one to the other, and suddenly she bent her head and kissed Mrs. Barton’s cheek.

  “Bless you both, I know you’ll be happy—you both deserve it,” she told them. “And don’t be afraid of telling your plans to your family, Mrs. Barton. They love you dearly and once they are convinced this is for your happiness, they’ll be all for it. You wait and see!”

  They stood watching her as she left. Outside in the corridor, Hilary stood for a moment thinking about them. The darlings. She was so happy for them.

  “It’s against the law, you know,” said an amused voice behind her and she whirled around to face Dr. Marsden, who had just come from the ward and who stood grinning down at her, hands jammed into his pockets.

  “What—what is?” she stammered, her mind still caught up in the problems of the two elderly people behind that closed door.

  “For a nurse to be standing idle,” he reminded her, and tucked a hand through her arm and drew her with him as he walked down the corridor to his offic
e, where he held the door open for her, still grinning that pleased grin down at her.

  “I wasn’t idle,” she defended herself as she walked past him into his office. “I was thinking.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose that’s legal enough.” He waved her to a chair, offered her a cigarette, lighted hers and one for himself. “Am I permitted to ask what you were thinking about? Or is it none of my business?”

  “It’s as much your business as mine,” she admitted. “Two of our guests are getting married.”

  He stared at her, forgetting to blow out the match until it burned his fingers.

  “Oh, no!” he protested.

  “I don’t see why you say that,” she all but snapped at him. “I think it’s wonderful. They are both darlings and they’ve been so terribly lonely. Mr. Hodding said—”

  “So it’s Jason Hodding,” he mused, obviously startled. “And the lady could not possibly be anyone but Mrs. Barton.”

  “No one else but, and I think it’s wonderful!” said Hilary.

  “Take that chip off your shoulder, my pretty, so do I.” Dr. Marsden grinned. “The Wedding March is being heard all over the place. Twice in one day for a place like the T. & C. is slightly above the normal I’d say.”

  “Twice in one day? Who else?”

  “Oh, hadn’t you heard? Reid Keenan and Angela Ramsey eloped.”

  “Well, hooray for them!”

  Dr. Marsden laughed.

  “Somehow, I knew you’d feel like that,” he said.

  “But the Duchess? I mean, Mrs. Keenan? How did she take it?”

  “With her customary charm and sweetness, I understand from Angela.”

  Hilary eyed him suspiciously.

  “Which, of course, means she threw fits,” she suggested.

  “With knobs on, as Angela reported,” admitted Dr. Marsden. “I wasn’t summoned to the lady’s bedside, so I don’t suppose the fits were beyond Middy’s ability to control. Seems Mr. Hodding has been a sort of fairy godfather, waving the magic wand of his millions, setting Reid up as his legal representative on a fabulous yearly retainer, so he and Angela went hand in hand across the state line and got themselves married.”

  “Well, bless them; and Mr. Hodding,” Hilary amended hastily.

  “The old boy seems to be quite a character,” said Dr. Marsden. “I like him.”

  “So do I,” Hilary assented warmly, “Mrs. Barton’s scared of her family, afraid they’ll claim she’s making herself ridiculous by getting married at her age. They wanted me to stay on long enough to help her fight them.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dr. Marsden and his light-hearted tone grew heavy. “You are leaving us. I’m terribly sorry.”

  For the barest instant Hilary waited. Because he had said that if she left he would go, too. But, now, he was merely telling her that he was sorry she was going.

  “Thanks, that’s very nice of you,” she told him, polite as anything as she stood up. “I hope you’ll stand by Mrs. Barton when her family descends on her.”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll help them elope if they like,” he said firmly, and grinned up at her as she turned towards the door. “See you at dinner?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Hilary and let herself out of the office and went, head held high, along the corridor and up the stairs to her own room.

  She stood for a long moment, her back against the closed door, fighting the depths of depression that flowed over her. It wasn’t that she wanted him to give up his work here, to leave just because she was going; it was just that—well, he had kissed her and he had said that he thought he was in love with her. So now she had to believe that he had changed his “thought”; or, rather, that he had discovered that he had been mistaken all along, and that he wasn’t at all in love with her.

  “So all right,” she whispered to herself. “So you made a fool of yourself and fell in love with him; and he changed his mind. He never was in love with you; he never really said he was; he just said he thought he was. And you’re a fool to have thought he was. So snap out of it. You’ll leave here in three days and you’ll probably never see him again—” She had to bite down hard on that because it hurt so. But it was a hurt she knew she was going to have to live with all the rest of her days so she might as well begin right now getting used to it. It wasn’t going to be any fun, but it could be done. Because it had to be done.

  Chapter Twenty

  The dinner hour was well-advanced when Mrs. Keenan made her first appearance since the eventful day when she had been so sure she was poisoned. It was really an entrance, too, Hilary told herself dryly as she noted the bronze lace of the dinner gown, the jewels in the ears half-hidden behind masses of carefully dyed red hair and about the wrinkled old throat. A dog-collar of pearls replaced the black velvet band without which Mrs. Keenan was seldom seen. Leaning on her stout stick, with its impressive golden knob, Mrs. Keenan was escorted to her table, nodding graciously here and there to such as she considered her social equals, haughtily ignoring those who were not.

  Hilary and Dr. Marsden had just been served, and their conversation had been limited to trivialities, but as Mrs. Keenan achieved her table, Dr. Marsden grinned wryly at Hilary.

  “Now that Her Grace is up and about again, life can’t be dull any more,” he drawled.

  “Without Reid to yell at and to make ugly scenes with, I’m afraid she isn’t going to be very happy,” was the best answer Hilary could offer, above the depressed feeling she had not yet been able to dispel.

  Mr. Hodding and Mrs. Barton were at their usual table, and suddenly Mrs. Barton rose, shaking off Mr. Hodding’s restraining hand, and marched directly to Mrs. Keenan’s table.

  “I want to talk to you,” she announced curtly.

  Mrs. Keenan fumbled among the laces at her bosom, found the lorgnette she used in the evening to disguise her poor eyesight, and surveyed Mrs. Barton as though she were something unpleasant she had discovered in her salad.

  “I can’t think of anything you could possibly have to say to me that would be of the remotest interest,” she murmured venomously.

  “Can’t you? Well, I can think of a lot of things.” Mrs. Barton was being belligerent, her blue eyes snapping. “Of course, if you like, we’ll wait until you’ve finished dinner, and then have it out in privacy. But knowing how you dote on scenes, maybe you’d rather have it right here? Now you no longer have Reid, poor boy, to rail at and bully.”

  Mrs. Keenan’s carefully made up face flamed with outrage, as she signalled a waitress.

  “Get this woman out of here,” she ordered, her voice trembling with rage.

  The waitress looked terrified, and scurried out of the dining room in search of Drew Ramsey.

  “I want to know what you mean by demanding that the best nurse this or any other place ever had be fired?” demanded Mrs. Barton sharply, and there was a small, shocked murmur that sped through the room like an Autumn wind through a corn field.

  “Oh, we’ve got to stop this,” Hilary gasped to Dr. Marsden, and started to rise.

  Instantly he laid his hand on her arm and pushed her back into her chair, his eyes on Mrs. Barton.

  “Let her alone. She’s doing fine,” he whispered, eyes dancing. “The shy little violet who was afraid to come to the dining room when she was hungry. Well, she’s not shy now, bless her heart.”

  Mrs. Keenan’s voice went up.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you uncouth creature.”

  “Oh, yes you do,” snapped Mrs. Barton. “I’m talking about you having Miss Westbrook fired. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  By now Drew Ramsey, summoned by the waitress, was coming swiftly into the room, eyes alert for the commotion, the guests who were standing, watching, listening to the two women.

  “What’s going on? Mrs. Barton, Mrs. Keenan, what’s the meaning of all this?” he demanded. He turned to the others and with some effort put on his usual charming manner. “Do please go on with
your dinner. I’m sure all this is just some sort of misunderstanding.”

  He turned back to the two women.

  “And now, Mrs. Keenan and Mrs. Barton, if you’ll come into my office...” he began soothingly.

  “I think not,” said Mrs. Barton coolly, her blazing blue eyes not leaving Mrs. Keenan’s outraged face. “I think it’s about time all the guests knew just what sort of woman she is.”

  “What sort of woman—” Mrs. Keenan’s voice became an angry sputter. “Drew Ramsey, how dare you let a woman of this sort into the T. & C.? I demand that you send her away.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” answered Mrs. Barton sharply. “I’m leaving, anyway, and so is Jason. We’re going to be married.”

  Instantly, realizing what she had said, Mrs. Barton clapped a hand over her mouth, color suffused her face and she looked about helplessly, in a panic, as Mr. Hodding reached her side.

  “Married?” gasped Mrs. Keenan as though she had never heard the word before and looked, stunned, from one to the other.

  Drew Ramsey was scarcely less shocked than she, and all over the dining room there were excited murmurs, a few who were hard of hearing demanding that they be told what was going on, and their companions shouting it out.

  “You two—doddering old fools—are going to be married?” Mrs. Keenan recovered first, her tone acrid with shocked disgust. “At your age? I’ve never heard anything so disgusting in all my life.”

  Mr. Hodding smiled at her, a cold, wintry smile.

  “I’m sorry to know it affects you like that, Mrs. Keenan,” he said gently. “But I feel we are two very lucky people, to have found a companion for our declining years—which we feel will be the golden years of our lives. Because we shall spend them together.”

  “Mr. Hodding, you’re really serious...” Drew began, somewhat dazed still.

  “Most certainly, Mr. Ramsey,” said Mr. Hodding sternly. “We hope to be married in a few days, as soon as Lily-Mae has a chance to break the news to her family. I, unfortunately, have no family so I’m hoping hers will accept me.”