Two in a Train

by Warwick Deeping

She passed down the corridor to her own room and found Mrs. Marden sitting on the edge of a chair. The wife had the air of a little creature paralysed by fear, and she moved her eyes while keeping her head and body rigid.

  Sister Armitage stood in the doorway.

  “I’m just going to get your husband a hot-water bottle. And then I’m having tea. Care to have a cup?”

  The pale lips moved.

  “Yes—Sister—— And then—may I——?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Yet, even while she was thinking of the man she was to meet, Nellie Armitage did not see herself tangled up in the lives of these two people. She was not a sentimentalist, and she believed in keeping life cool and clean and calculable, save on those exceptional occasions when some strong urge moved you. So she sat down for ten minutes and drank her tea and talked like a frank sister to Mrs. Marden, and Mrs. Marden said “Yes, I know” to everything this nice autocrat had to say, and that look of fear seemed to sink a little more deeply into her eyes like a little animal retreating into a dark corner.

  Then someone knocked at Sister Armitage’s door.

  “Sister.”

  “Come in.”

  “Oh, Sister—Nurse James has a temperature. She won’t be able to go on night duty.”

  Sister Armitage stood up with lips closing over a word that could not be uttered.

  “Oh, all right. But that leaves only the two of us. Oh, yes, we’ll have to carry on.”

  She turned to Mrs. Marden.

  “You can go in for ten minutes. Don’t tire him. I shall have to get busy.”

  “Yes, I know he will need all his strength.”

  She would need all her own strength, but of the nearness and the poignancy of that crisis she was not conscious, for life has a way of stealing upon you surreptitiously and laying a sudden hand upon your shoulder. For Nellie Armitage was thinking “Damn Nurse James and her temperature. She always chucks up just when she’s wanted. Well—anyway, I shall be able to meet Jack to-morrow. I suppose I shall say yes to him before he goes back to France.”

  At six o’clock the surgeon came, and spent twenty minutes beside Marden’s bed, and Sister Armitage, standing by, noticed that Marden’s eyes never seemed to leave the doctor’s face. They said: “I know I’m pretty bad, but you’ll get me through, won’t you? I must get through.” Mr. Pallant the surgeon was a terse little man with a hook nose and tight lips, and black hair that fitted his head like a cap, and kinder than he looked. He said good night to Marden, and went out into the corridor with Eleanor Armitage. He, too, looked tired and overworked.

  “Touch and go, Sister.”

  “He’s very frail.”

  “If he stands the op., it will be a question of nursing. Nurse James, isn’t it?”

  “She’s in bed with a temperature.”

  Mr. Pallant’s bright eyes seemed to snap.

  “That means Nurse Horrocks—or you.”

  “Quite so. Impossible to get anyone else in. The Matron is nearly off her head as it is.”

  Mr. Pallant nodded.

  “Nurse Horrocks——”

  She knew that she was saying to herself what she was thinking, that Nurse Horrocks was a perfect fool who buzzed and blundered like a bluebottle, and could extinguish a frail flame by the mere draught of her presence. And suddenly she spoke.

  “I suppose it will have to be me.”

  He looked at her approvingly.

  “Take the afternoons off and sleep. If you could hold on for a couple of days. I’ll speak to Matron.”

  Her blue eyes stared.

  “Oh, I’ll manage—somehow. I must get out for a little air once a day. His little wife is terrified.”

  “Poor kid.”

  He hurried off to see other cases on the floor below, and Sister Armitage went and sat on her bed for a minute and faced things out. She felt a little rebellious and desperate. Why should life tie her up like this just when she wanted to be free?

  The floor-maid, a little drab who for some strange reason had not become involved in the making of munitions, came clattering up from below with the patients’ dinner-trays.

  “There’s a note for you, Sister. A gen’leman left it.”

  The letter was from her lover, and when Sister Armitage had read it, she put it away in a drawer and looked troubled. Inconsiderate and exacting creatures—men, for her lover’s letter was both peevish and passionate, and rather too full of savage self-pity. It suggested that she was not giving him as much of herself as he had expected. In a day or two he would be back in that bloody business—the war, and she was giving too much of herself to her confounded patients, a lot of old crocks who did not count in a world’s crisis. He said that he would be waiting for her in Vernon Street at four o’clock to-morrow. The very letter had a lowering, passionate face.

  She felt ruffled, hurt. She went about her affairs, and presently she found herself opening the door of No. 5. Dusk had come, and the room was in half darkness, the window showing the dim outlines of roofs and chimneys, and high up the flicker of a star. The figure in the bed lay very still.

  “You want a light. I shall have to draw the curtains. Had your dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  She moved to the window, and was about to draw the curtains when he spoke.

  “Could they stay like that, Sister?”

  “But you can’t have a light—unless——”

  “I don’t want a light. I don’t want to be shut in.”

  She turned and came towards the bed, and was suddenly aware of a groping hand.

  “Sister—I shall get through this, shan’t I?”

  “Of course.”

  “I must——”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand. She was aware of the dim hollows that were his eyes.

  “You see—it isn’t as though she would get a pension if I get put out. They wouldn’t take me in the army; I tried twice. And if I die—she’ll have nothing.”

  She echoed the word: “Nothing?”

  “Absolutely—nothing.”

  He lay very still a moment, gripping her hand.

  “If I can get through this it will be all right. I have quite a good job, and my people are being very decent. I must get through, Sister. You’ll help me?”

  Something in her was deeply moved. She had dealt with hundreds of sick people, peevish people, frightened people, selfish people, but the quiet anguish of this man was somehow different. He did not appear to be thinking of himself. She knew that he was in pain, but the worst pain was not physical.

  She pressed his hand.

  “Yes—I’ll stick by you. It’s a promise.”

  “A promise. Sister, you’re——”

  “Oh, nonsense, it’s my job. We’ll get you through.”

  And when she had uttered the words she knew that she had made a promise that was sacred, and that she would have to abide by it for good or ill.

  Marden was operated on at ten o’clock next morning, and the operation was successful, but whether he had sufficient strength to rally after it was another matter. He was taken back to bed, still only half conscious, and Dr. Pallant and Sister Armitage faced each other across the bed. They nodded at each other, for Marden had hardly any pulse.

  “Touch and go. He can’t be left, Sister.”

  “I shan’t leave him.”

  While, below, in the Matron’s room little Mrs. Marden waited large-eyed for the verdict, her cold hands clasped together. When Pallant entered the room she remained as though paralysed, staring at him.

  “The operation has been successful.”

  “Oh, doctor——”

  “Yes. But he is very weak. It is only fair that I should warn you——”

  Her eyes seemed to grow larger and larger.

  “He’s not going to die?”

  “I hope not. He’s got an excellent nurse, but as I say——”

  “Can I see him, doctor?”

  “Not yet. He must be kept
perfectly quiet.”

  And Mrs. Marden went off alone to her shabby little hotel looking like a ghost, and a lonely ghost, and Sister Armitage sat by Marden’s bed. He had been given an injection; his pulse had improved, and he was rallying. His sleepy, grey eyes looked at her.

  “Is it all over, Sister?”

  “Yes, all over, successfully.”

  “Thank God. Does she know?”

  “Yes. Now, you mustn’t talk. Lie quite still. We want you to sleep.”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “Much pain?”

  “No, Sister.”

  She rose, and going to the window softly drew the curtains. And in doing so she remembered that she was to meet Jack Harkness at four o’clock. Oh, well, probably it could be managed, and Nurse Horrocks could be allowed to carry on for an hour. Also, Marden’s condition might have improved. She glanced at the patient and saw that his eyes were closed, and going out she met the Matron in the corridor, and the Matron was a woman who always hunted her worry to death.

  “Oh—Sister, how’s No. 5?”

  “He has rallied a little.”

  “I’m glad. I want you to go to bed and get some sleep this afternoon. You’ll have to be on duty to-night. I’m sorry, but we can’t get help.”

  Sister Armitage’s colour rose. She hated fussy interference.

  “That’s all right. I’ll manage. I’ll lie down at six and sleep till ten. I want to go out for an hour.”

  The Matron was about to raise some objection, but Eleanor suppressed it.

  “Yes—I must get some exercise and fresh air. If I crock—it will be bad business. I’m not a fool.”

  The Matron was constrained to agree with her.

  “Very well. I rely on your common sense, Sister.”

  At half-past three Nellie Armitage opened the door of No. 5 and looked in. Marden appeared to be asleep, and she closed the door silently and went to speak to Nurse Horrocks.

  “I’m going out for an hour. No. 5 is asleep. Put in your head at half-past four, and if he’s awake get him to take some egg-albumen.”

  Nurse Horrocks was not only a fool, but an opinionated fool.

  “Yes, Sister, I quite understand.”

  A solid, hot-coloured man in khaki was walking up and down Vernon Street. He had a little black moustache, and thick lips, and brown eyes that were quickly angered. Other men were sometimes afraid of Captain Harkness, for the war had not improved his temper. He could bully. And when he saw Nellie Armitage emerge from the door of No. 7 in her nurse’s uniform he was annoyed.

  His salute was sulky.

  “Well, here you are. But why those damned clothes?”

  Her eyes met his.

  “What’s the matter with my clothes?”

  “You might have put on something—nice. One’s sick of any sort of uniform. Too much like the war.”

  She said: “I’ve only got an hour, Jack. I have to sit up all night with a bad case. I’m sorry.”

  But he was in one of those awkward moods that would not be appeased. They walked into the Park and sat on a seat, and he kept jabbing at the gravel with the point of his cane. His mouth looked ugly.

  “Look here—I want one whole evening. We’ll dine at Florio’s in a private room. I haven’t had much jam.”

  Her eyes looked hurt.

  “Don’t be a beast to me, Jack. I’ve got my job. One can’t——”

  He glared.

  “Well—I like that! I’ve been eating my soul out, and you seem to care more for——”

  “I don’t. But—somehow—one can’t chuck one’s job.”

  “Yes, you can. If you care. Look here, Thursday night. I have to catch that damned train on Friday morning. I’ll call for you at seven.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment.

  “I can’t promise——”

  He clutched her wrist.

  “Yes, you can. I want you. Damn it, you may never see me again. Promise.”

  She sat rigid, and then gave a little shudder.

  “All right. I promise. I’ll meet you in Vernon Street at seven.”

  She went back to her job, but not with any feeling of happiness or peace. Oh, this ghastly war that seemed to fill some men with a sort of savage hunger! They wanted life, raw, hot elemental life, and though she could understand it and feel compassion, it shocked her a little. She climbed the stairs and was about to enter her room when Nurse Horrocks appeared.

  “You’d better go and see No. 5, Sister.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “He’s one of those funny cases. A bit hysterical.”

  Sister Armitage’s face suddenly looked tired. She went into her room and took off her hat and cloak, and glanced at her face in a small mirror. Oh, confound the Horrocks woman! She was like a clumsy cow in a crisis.

  She pulled herself together and went and opened the door of No. 5. She was aware of two eyes looking at her. They seemed to brighten when they saw her face.

  “Well—feeling better?”

  He put out a hand.

  “I’m glad you’ve come back, Sister. I can’t——”

  “Can’t what, my dear?”

  “She worries me. She’s got such—ugly hands.”

  Sister Armitage smoothed his pillow.

  “Now, now, mustn’t get excited. It’s all right; I shall be here with you.”

  “I’m glad. You’re good for me, Sister, somehow.”

  “Well, go on feeling good.”

  That she had both a soothing and strengthening effect on him was evident, for she was a born nurse, perhaps because she had never ceased to be woman. Her urge was to help people, not only with her capable hands but with her sympathy and good-will, and all the drudgery of a nurse’s life had not killed this spirit in her. She watched him all that night, stealing in and out on silent feet and sometimes sitting beside his bed to listen to his breathing. He made little noises in his sleep, sighings, murmurings, and sometimes he would utter a faint moan. From time to time he woke and always her shadowy shape was there beside him.

  “You there, Sister?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Can I have a little water?”

  “Yes, my dear, and something else.”

  She spoke to him like a child. She was ready with a feeding-cup to coax him to take the nourishment that he needed.

  “Now, drink this.”

  “Must I?”

  “Yes. Got to keep your strength up.”

  She supported his head while he drank, and her compassion seemed to bear up his courage.

  “You’re awfully good, Sister. Don’t know what I should do without you.”

  “Oh, I just want to help you, my dear.”

  For the next two days she fought death with him, growing more and more tired, and yet enduring. Scrutinizing her face in her mirror she would see herself looking haggard and almost old, for there was that other strife within her. She thought: “I shall look pretty cheap on Thursday.” At six o’clock she would undress and sleep till ten. She did not go out of doors. Dr. Pallant, observing her with his shrewd eyes, paid homage to the nurse in her.

  “I believe you are going to pull him through, Sister.”

  On the morning of the Thursday she came up against her crisis. She saw it in his frail figure, in the flicker of the flame, in the eyes of little Mrs. Marden, on the face of the doctor. She seemed to hold her breath. She was conscious of something wild and rebellious in herself, compassion for that other man, the urges of her own youth. She wanted to give and to get, to spend those last hours with her lover, for even a man’s raw selfishness somehow called to her compassion.

  She heard Pallant saying to her, “You are being perfectly splendid, Sister. If you can get him through to-night I think he will live.”

  She was listening to the wife.

  “You are going to save him, Sister. I shall never be able to thank you.”

  She saw herself involved in a double crisis, her own and Marden�
��s, and inevitably she knew that she would have to make her choice for both of them. One night, a few short hours, one of the lyric moments in her life! Why should she sacrifice it to this comparative stranger, this man who belonged to another woman, while her own lover waited? She knew a moment of anger and revolt. She found herself half-way down the stairs to the Matron’s room, and with those words ready on her lips: “I must have to-night off. Someone is going back to France to-morrow. It’s my right.”

  Yet, she paused on the stairs; she hesitated; she stood leaning against the wall. She thought: “No, I can’t do it, somehow. If I went I should be feeling torn. It’s just as though he were to sneak out of the trenches and leave his men when the shells began to fall. I can’t do it. I’ve got to see this job through.”

  She went back to her room and wrote a letter.

  “Jack,

  It’s terrible, but I can’t come to-night. I have a case that can’t be left. Oh, my dear, try and understand. I want to come to you, and I can’t. I’ll try and be at the train to-morrow. Forgive me.

  Nellie.”

  She wrote “Captain Harkness” on the envelope and sealed it up, and going downstairs found old Tombs the porter reading the paper.

  She said, “Tombs, I want you to do something for me.”

  He was ready to do anything for her, and she gave him the letter.

  “I was going out with a friend, but I can’t leave No. 5. I want you to find an officer who will be waiting in Vernon Street at seven. Captain Harkness is the name. Find him and give him this letter.”

  Old Tombs looked at her very kindly.

  “I’ll find him, Sister. Don’t you worry.”

  At six o’clock, when she should have been lying down, she took a chair and carried it to the landing window. To Nurse Horrocks she said, “One can get some fresh air here. Yes—I shan’t sleep till he’s safely through.” She could watch Vernon Street from the window, and at five minutes to seven she saw the brown figure of her lover appear. He walked up and down. And then she saw old Tombs’ bald head and round shoulders. The porter accosted Captain Harkness; the letter passed between them. Tombs disappeared.

  She saw her lover reading the letter, and suddenly she threw up the lower sash of the window and leaned out. She dared to outrage the etiquette of No. 7 by calling to a man.

  “Jack.”