Nurse Trent's Children (22 page)

“There is one thing I cannot understand.” Dr. Malcolm’s voice was husky.

“Yes, doctor?”

“How could a woman of your principle, a woman who believes so deeply in the family unit—I gather you do believe in it, madam.
”

Miss Watts’s eyes glinted. “I certainly do.”

“Then how could you have separated a unit, have stepped so unfeelingly across the chasm of the victim’s emotional stress?”

“Dr. Malcolm what are you talking about?”

“I am accusing you of breaking up a family.”

“I did nothing of the sort. I simply took Susan away.”

“And why not her
...
brother?”

The plump woman in the gray suit looked sharply at the doctor. Cathy could see a slow understanding in her narrowed eyes. “Susan had no brother,” she said.

“You’re wrong.
I
was Susan’s brother. Malcolm. My name is Malcolm. She was Malcolm as well.”

“I suppose,” said Miss Watts gently, “there are a thousand Malcolms.”

“Not in the same institute. Not traveling in the same ship to the same place. She was my little shipmother. She looked after me. I—I worshipped Susan. She was the only person who
belonged
to me in the world. You, who have always belonged somewhere, cannot understand that.” He laughed without humor.

“I see,” said Miss Watts shrewdly.

He turned on her. “What do you see?” he flashed.

“Why you sat as you did at the meeting, blank, unspeaking—untouched. It was because you had two minds at the same time. One was love and the other distrust. You would not fight because more than a belief, you had lack of confidence. You did not see faith, you saw only shortcomings. I’m sorry for what I thought of you in that boardroom, Dr. Malcolm. It also made me want to change my mind.”

“This is not getting us anywhere,” said Dr. Malcolm harshly. “Why did you do it, Miss Watts? Why did you separate a family unit?”

“There was no unit. Susan was an only child and accounted for.
I
could account, you see. But
you
—” she shrugged unhappily “you had no history, no background. I’m sorry to have to break this to you. It is so long ago I could not remember. But I can recall now. It has all come back.”

“Tell me.”

“I remember going through the house records. It was, and still is, I suppose, a housemother’s task.”

Cathy nodded.

Miss Watts resumed.

“I would find a parent on one side here, a parent on another side there, sometimes both parents—sometimes blank.”

“I was ... the last?”

The woman nodded. “It’s not so bad,” she cheered him, “You have, perhaps, the same instances at Redgates. In time it is overcome.
You
overcame it.”

“You mean, Susan’s record and my record were different? Two Malcolms...?”

“And no relation. I can vouch for that. I told you before I
knew
her parents.”

“But on the ship—the way she looked after me—then when we came to Redgates and she looked after me again...
”

“That was Susan’s nature. It was a mothering nature. If it hadn’t been you it would have been someone else. I think Christabel has taken after her. Probably because you were a Malcolm, too, you became a brother to her.”

He was pacing the room now. “But why was I a Malcolm?” he asked in puzzlement. There was something else in his voice that tore at Cathy’s heart—an emptiness, a futility, despair. “Why?” he repeated, “why?”

Miss Watts looked at him squarely. “Why is Denise a Lane? Janet a Cuthbertson? Why are those twin girls of Catherine’s sur-named as they are? We’ve gone a long way from naming our children from tombstones, from calling the intake of one week J
o
nes and the next week Smith.”

Tombstones. Cathy suddenly remembered the little graveyard. “A surname in an orphanage is just something that grows. Unless it is on the record, it implies nothing at all. Perhaps it is the current preference of the receiving housefather or housemother.” Miss Watts stopped and looked at Jeremy.

There was a silence. Cathy was remembering the tombstone again. She went quietly and unobtrusively out to the kitchen and cornered Elvira.

“Elvie, you recall once I asked you about a grave in the old cemetery
.”

“Susan Malcolm’s, wasn’t it, Aunty Cathy?”

“Yes, Elvie. Elvie, who was that little girl?”

“Little girl? She was a very old lady. The family wouldn’t put her age because the Bensteads boasted they were long living, and if the Malcolms had said their Susan was ninety-five the Bensteads would only have put their Harriet down as a hundred. It was a competition in those days, Aunty Cathy. People were proud of their age, not ashamed of it, and the Malcolms were the proudest of all. Oh, yes, I’ve heard my mother speak of old Susan.”

And Elvira’s voice roved on.

Cathy did not listen. She was listening, instead, to steps in the hall—a man’s steps
l
ong, decisive, unaccustomedly heavy. A moment later she heard the bang of a car door.

She went into the room to talk to Miss Watts, but she had departed to continue yesterday’s reminiscences with Jeffreys.

She listened to the car gaining speed down the driveway, but did not look out. It would not have been any use. There were tears blurring her eyes.

She could not see it all just yet as Miss Watts had, as something that was soon overcome.

She remembered Jeremy’s tortured words that evening he had taken her to dinner ... “A child remembers something tender and puts out an eager hand to find emptiness instead.” ... “I believe that you can’t take away from a family without destruction. When Susan was taken it was like tearing a piece off myself.”

A little lonely boy had grown into a disillusioned man, but for all the disillusion there had been a streak of confidence somewhere, a knowledge in himself, the confidence of
family
,
even a remote family, the knowledge that somewhere he “belonged.”

Now all that was shattered.

He had no family. An institution had not cruelly separated him from, his sister as he had thought, for the simple and elementary reason that he had no sister—but he had not realized that.

He realized now. He was going back to the office his ambition and pride and resource and toil had built, his faith in his own ability and the legendary background that had availed him that ability—the background that was named Malcolm.

But it was different now. There was no background. There had been no sister. No family. He was empty, rootless; he had never belonged.

Oh, Jerry
...
Jerry
...
She put her head against the window and the tears did not blur any longer, they fell fast and strong.

Elvira found her there. Had not Elvie been agitated herself, she would have noticed the reddened eyes. But other matters had claimed her attention.

“Aunty Cathy, all the children are home, but not Rita. It’s long past her time, and here’s a funny thing. Mrs. Ferguson declares she noticed her in the hall. It was during the debate, but she wasn’t in at brothtime, and none of the other girls can remember seeing her at all.

Cathy dashed a handkerchi
e
f over her eyes.

The debate ... the movement by the window that she had thought was the wind
...
Fayette’s haughty, “I have a home waiting for Rita ... It is the only course” ... the stir in the curtains
...

“There is more,” said Elvira gravely, reading Cathy’s silence.

“Andrew is missing
.
”

“Andrew.”

“Mr. Kennedy sent a message. Andy is always home by the same train. He walks from the station, so they know the exact time he’ll come. The boys’ cook keeps a snack ready.”

“And he didn’t arrive?”

“No, Mr. Kennedy has gone looking for him. He says that if Rita met Andrew’s train
...”

“Rita!”

Elvira’s eyes met Cathy’s frankly. She did not go into any more details. She knew that Cathy understood.

Cathy thought a moment. “I expect David took the truck.”

“No, he left that for you. He says he knows the things Andy is interested in. He thinks he will be faster on foot.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

“I’ve got it for you. Here are the car keys, Aunty Cathy. I only wish I could come, too.”

“You’re needed here. And Elvira, don’t tell Miss Watts
...
”

“Don’t tell her! She knows already. She has the garage door open. Aunty Cathy, bring back our
girl...
”

“I’ll bring her.” Cathy’s voice was firm. She ran down the steps and around to the shed. She got into the truck.

Miss Watts was still holding the door. She called, “Don’t look too far afield, nurse. Mr. Kennedy reports that Andrew carries very little money, and Rita, I know, hasn’t any.”

Cathy considered. “She may have. She may have been saving it with this in view.”

“She did. She reached thirty shillings.”

“Thirty shillings!” Cathy was backing now, not very straight in her surprise at Miss Watt’s knowledge.

“I saw her counting it,” called Edith Watts calmly, “and I had my suspicions. So before the board meeting today I found her purse and took it out of her bag.”

“Oh, Edith
...”
said Cathy, forgetting herself. She could almost have laughed if she had not felt first like crying. She saw Miss Watts rifling Rita’s purse with the same calm aplomb as when she had made a yearly undertaking with an institution for a cool five thousand pounds.

She stopped reversing, turned the truck, and was out through the red gates in a flash.

She drove first to the station. That was
silly really. If Rita had met Andrew there to report his and her fate, and if they had decided not to return to Redgates, then half a dozen trains must have departed by this time.

Nonetheless, she got out and scrutinized the little platform.
Perhaps they had gone from Gullybank station. She ran the truck a mile and a half to the next railway station, looked carefully around, and received a
similar
result.

She drove back slowly, peering along every side street.

Perhaps a cave somewhere
...
Children were so unpractical. They would not remember it was winter and they had no blankets.

As she approached Burnley Hills again she saw a familiar figure. She could have cried aloud with relief at being able to share her troubles, if only briefly, with David.

She pulled up the car, and he crossed and stood beside it.

“No luck, David?”

“None, Cathy.”

“I’ve been to Gullybank.”

“I’ve been every place that Andrew has ever spoken about: the boys’ club, the new sports store with the soccer and angling gear in the window, the gymnasium where they are training for a local boxing tournament, even the fish and chip shop, since children must be filled.”

“
David, how serious is it?”

“Serious enough for
me to have report it to the police after one more attempt to find the youngster.”

“You believe they will be together?”

“I’m afraid so, Cathy. That’s what makes it worse. Not in my eyes or yours either,
we
are glad Rita has Andrew to look after her. But in black and white print to
others
it’s going to look bad. Bad for Redgates.”

“Where are you going now?”

“To the Fletts. I should have thought of them before. It was Mrs. Flett who first gave Andrew the idea of earning a livelihood as a pastry cook. She had noticed his interest in that direction and given him the freedom of her kitchen. It was she who whispered his bent to me, and when Marsdon suggested it from a professional analysis I was pretty certain, as I said at the meeting, that Andrew had found his right niche. But this is wasting time, Cathy. Just run me around the corner to the Fletts’, then you go home.”

“Home?”

“They may have turned up. If they haven’t then there is nothing more you can do. After the manse I have no other place
to inquire. There is only one other avenue—the police.”

C
athy put the car in gear and went forward slowly
.

“Do you think they might camp out?”

“Quite possibly, the young fools. They’ll freeze.”

It was not far to the manse. Before Cathy had stopped the car properly, David was out and running up the driveway. She hesitated a moment, then turned the utility toward home.

She had not gone long when she heard another vehicle close behind her. It tooted imperiously, then, when she didn’t pull up, it veered ahead and stopped in the middle of the
r
oad, obstructing her passage. It was a green car. It was Dr. Malcolm’s.

She braked, opened her door and got out. The doctor was out already and coming back to her.

“So the search is over,” he said briefly. “I rang Redgates, and Elvira told me you were scouring the countryside. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Miss Trent.”

When he had said “The search is over” her spirits had soared. Now she realized with a new sickness at heart that he had been looking for
her.

“I can’t waste time,” she said hurriedly. “Rita and Andrew are missing. I must get back to the home. There may be a message. They may even be found.”

“They are found.”

She stared at him incredulously.

“Rita?”

“Rita and Andrew.”

“Where
...
who
...
?”

“They were sitting in an obscure corner of the local park adding up their joint resources and making their plans.”

“Poor babies!”

“I was returning from an emergency at the hospital and happened to see them. I judged they were out of bounds. They were unwilling to come along with me at first, but it didn’t take much to persuade them that if they were running away they might as well run on full and satisfied stomachs. Rita was very much upset. She has lost thirty shillings.”

“Miss Watts has it,” said Cathy. She explained.

For a moment he stopped his story to laugh appreciatively. “She’s a unique woman.”

“Tell me about my children.”

“They drove to my office with me, and the last I know they were eating large platefuls of pie.”

Cathy was alarmed. “They will escape again.” She turned to get back into the truck. Immediately his arm was firm on her. “They won’t escape.”

“You have them locked in?”

“I suppose you could call it a lock in a way. Come back with me. I’ll explain.”

“The truck...”

“David can pick it up. I called at the manse just before I found you, and he told me you could not have gone far. He’s staying for a cup of tea now the emergency is over. Mrs. Flett insisted on that.”

Cathy shut
t
he truck door and followed Jerry to the convertible. For all his promise to explain, he did not say a word, and she did not ask.

When they reached the office she went as though to run through to the kitchen, but with the same light yet firm arm he held her back.

“Come this way,” he said, and they went into the little office that for weeks had been Cathy’s schoolroom.

He put the match to the fire before he spoke again. Only when the flames leaped up did he turn and face her.

“Before we go any further, Miss Trent, there exists in you a state of mind that you must put aside ... abandon
...”

She did not answer. She waited for him to go on.

“You said two words a little while ago. You said ‘Poor babies.’ The pair in the next room are not that. They are grown-up. They are man and woman.”

“A girl not quite sixteen ... a boy a year older
...
”

He looked at her sadly. She did not realize it was sadness tugging at the corners of his long sensitive mouth until he spoke. “Wednesday’s children grow up quickly.”

“Wednesday’s children?” She echoed it uncomprehendingly and then she knew.