Vigil in the Night (13 page)

 
At the thought of Prescott her mind took a firmer turn. Here was the one person whom she could truly trust. With a sudden wave of intuition she felt that she must go to him and, at whatever cost to her pride, seek his advice. She need not incriminate Lucy. She could explain the abstract facts. And however much he might freeze her, she was certain to be believed.

 
A final effort and Anne conquered her pride. It was surely no time for foolish hesitation. She changed hurriedly from her uniform, and left the hospital by the side gate. She set out rapidly in the direction of Wimpole Street.

 
Robert Prescott was standing, rather absently gazing through the window, in his consulting room. He had been fortunate in his appointment to St. Martin’s, and already his consulting practice gave signs of growing to a troublesome extent. His paper at the Lister Society had been received with acclamation. He had friends in London, too—important, influential friends, chief among whom was John Lowe, an intimate of his Cambridge days.

 
It was Lowe who had put Prescott up for his own club, the Arlington. And the same bright spirit who had hinted that, with certain parliamentary moves impending in the direction of national health, a clinic such as Prescott proposed might, if judiciously sponsored, form a main plank in the government’s election platform.

 
Ostensibly, Prescott had every cause to congratulate himself. Yet his expression, as he stood watching some sparrows hop about the courtyard, was neither happy nor contented. Rather was it the expression of a man confronted by a long period of unconscious self-deception. Though he had fought against it all these past months, he now realized, beyond a shadow of doubt, why life and the promise of success had lost their accustomed savor.

CHAPTER 42

 
He turned from the window with a sigh and began, idly, to gather together the papers on his desk. As he did so there came a tap on the door, and his receptionist, now dressed for the street, entered the room.

 
“Someone has just called, sir. A nurse. She has no appointment; but when I told her it was too late, she said you knew her and might see her. Her name is Lee.”

 
Prescott’s expression did not change. For an appreciable time he remained in the same attitude, motionless, as though conscious of a destiny that had given expression to his wish. Then he said, in a strange voice, “Ask her to come in.”

 
The next moment Anne entered abruptly, her manner nervous, her face paler than usual. But if she had dreaded a hostile reception, her fears were quickly set at rest. He came forward and shook hands with her quietly. When she was seated, he studied her from the chair behind his desk.

 
“I felt we should meet again,” he said at last, in a reassuring tone. “In fact, I had begun to feel that our meeting was overdue.”

 
She colored and looked down. Under his quiet gaze a dreadful feeling of weakness assailed her. But she conquered it, forced herself to go forward. She raised her head and met his eyes firmly.

 
“It’s very difficult for me, Dr. Prescott. I hope I am not imposing on you. The truth is—I’ve come to ask your help.”

 
Well,” he smiled encouragingly. “Suppose you go right ahead.”

 
It’s such a long story. I don’t want to try your patience. But I’m afraid I’ll have to tell you it from the start.”

 
Nerving herself, she began to tell him, as concisely as she could, the whole story of the incident at Shereford, mentioning no names, merely indicating how she had assumed the blame and how, at this moment, that action was likely to bring her to disaster.

 
He heard her in silence, his eyes never once leaving her face. And when she had finished he said gently, “You must have been very fond of that nurse to shield her as you did. Who was she? Come, now! This isn’t the time for misguided self-sacrifice. Was she your sister?”

 
“Yes,” Anne had to answer. She could not deceive him. Indeed, his penetration had anticipated her reply.

 
“I must say,” Prescott reflected after a pause, “it was a very brave, a very noble thing for you to do. And yet I can’t help thinking it was mistaken. If your sister had taken her punishment, it might have proved a most salutary lesson, changed her from a careless nurse into something better. As it is—tell me, is she still at Shereford?”

 
“No, she’s in London.”

 
“Where?”

 
Anne could scarcely bring herself to answer. At last she said, “Nursing in a private home—the Rolgrave.”

 
“The Rolgrave!” Prescott almost jumped from his chair. “That’s an abominable place. We must get her out of there.”

 
Again there was silence. Prescott, settling back again in his chair, considered her slight figure and pale, sweet face with an extraordinary sympathy. He realized, almost with a pang, what happiness it gave him to see her again. He rejoiced in this chance to help her.

CHAPTER 43

 
Women had never greatly entered into his life. The bare idea that he might fall in love with a nurse would, a few months ago, have caused him an infinite derision. His early attitude toward Anne had been, indeed, a mere inversion of this complex. He had stressed their professional relationship, maintained their contacts on professional ground, simply because, subconsciously, he distrusted and feared for himself. Now that stupid mechanism of defense was gone.

 
Breaking the long pause, he permitted himself to voice something of his thoughts. “I can’t say how pleased I am that you came to me,” he said. “And I think I can help you. In fact, I am sure I can. Miss Melville is one of my oldest friends. I shall make a point of seeing her tonight. We will discuss the strange sacrificial tendencies of her new ward sister. Meanwhile, sit tight and do nothing. Miss Melville and I will clear the whole thing up.”

 
Overcome by his kindness, she attempted to falter out an expression of gratitude. But he stopped her.

 
“Don’t thank me, please. I’m glad to do this by way of atonement for the atrocious way I treated you when we last met. I was bothered and upset. Our friend Bowley had let me down rather badly, too. I didn’t see things clearly. But now I do. Yes, now I do.”

 
His repetition of the phrase gave her a queer sense of confusion. She got up, feeling that she had taken too much of his time.

 
He also rose, and as he accompanied her to the front door, he said, “Just one thing more. I wonder if you would do something for me?”

 
“Why, gladly,” she breathed instantly.

 
“Do you remember that little picnic lunch I gave you after the coach disaster? If everything goes as we expect, will you reward me, tomorrow evening, by allowing me to take you out for dinner?”

 
So unexpected was his invitation that Anne’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she flushed. Embarrassed though she was, she could not refuse. She murmured awkwardly, “You are putting me further in your debt. I—I should like very much to come.”

 
“That is settled, then. I’ll drop you a note to the hospital.”

 
The next minute he had said good-bye. As she walked down the street, she still felt the pressure of his fingers upon hers.

 
The next morning, Anne was early on duty in the Bolingbroke. As she entered the ward, she was conscious, despite Prescott’s reassurance of the previous evening, of a tremor of uncertainty. Nothing had apparently happened in the interval. She had not seen Matron, nor had she received any message.

 
But early though Anne was, Nurse Gregg’s appearance had been earlier still. Pale and subdued, yet dressed with more trimness than she had ever before displayed, Nurse Gregg was waiting, standing at attention at the test-room door.

 
“Good-morning, Sister,” she breathed tremulously. “I’ve done the room out, all the test tubes and apparatus. I do hope it’s all right for you now, Sister.” And with a nervous hand she held open the door so that Anne might make her inspection.

 
The room was, indeed, in perfect order; the very flooring shone. Plainly Nurse Gregg had done her best. Nurse Gregg had, in fact, received that morning, at the hands of the matron, a wholly unexpected shock, which had altered her misconception painfully.

 
“And I hope you won’t hold against me anything I said yesterday, Sister,” she mumbled contritely. “I know now I was wrong. I’m terribly sorry.”

 
Anne gazed at the abject figure of the nurse. Power was in her hands, the power to retaliate, to make the other woman’s life a hell. But the thought did not even cross her mind. Instead, she felt a strange pity for the other woman.

 
She said quietly, “We all make mistakes, Nurse. I know you’ll work better now. And if you do, come and see me next month. You shall have an extra Sunday off if we can manage it.”

 
Eliza Gregg stared incredulously at Anne. Then her eyes filled up and overflowed with tears.

 
“I’m sorry, Sister,” she muttered brokenly. “Honestly I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I hate myself for what I did.”

CHAPTER 44

 
All that day Anne’s heart was light, her mind suffused by a sense of relief. Nurse Gregg surpassed herself in willingness. Enthusiasm spread to the other members of the staff. The ward took on a new complexion, and life, for Anne, assumed a different color.

 
So immersed was she in the work of rehabilitation that she was brought back, with a start, to the recollection of her evening engagement by finding in her room, when she went off duty after tea, a small gilt package containing a spray of flowers and the simple note: “Restaurant Manon at eight o’clock.”

 
Anne gazed at the delicate mauve blossoms with a queer confusion. No one had ever sent her orchids before. She was seized by a strange diffidence, a realization that she had no gown fit to wear with them, a desire, almost, to avoid her obligation to dine with Prescott. A smart restaurant like the Manon was not her milieu; she was a hardworking woman, a nurse, grappling with sickness and disease; she could not turn herself into a butterfly at a moment’s notice. Yet the mood quickly passed. Dr. Prescott, she reflected, knew her, prosaically, for what she was. He would expect no fashion plate.

 
Smiling a little at that last thought, she took a bath, did her hair carefully, and put on her newest frock. Then she pinned on the orchid spray. The effect was quite startling. She was nearer the fashion plate than she could have believed. “My heavens,” she thought, in mock dismay, “I mustn’t let young Leslie see me like this or that child will never do a thing for me again.”

 
She slipped out of the home, took a taxi, and arrived at the Manon a few moments before the hour.

 
It was a pleasant place, a long green room, cushioned wall seats with tables in front of them, and a round buffet in the center, displaying the most delicious cold dishes and fruits. Prescott had already arrived. He stood up as she came in.

 
“You are splendidly punctual,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think it possible for a woman to be on time.”

 
“Ah!” she smiled. “That’s part of my training.”

 
She felt quite at ease with Prescott, and he devoted himself to entertaining her, exerting himself to talk well, showing that he had more to his personality than the ability to wield a lancet. It was a side to his character that she had never before suspected. He looked extraordinarily boyish in his dinner jacket. She had a sudden sense of comradeship toward him, a wish that he might have all the happiness, all the success, life could bring.

 
Following a lull in their conversation, she said, “I have been hoping all evening that you would talk about your clinic. Have you no news for one of your most ardent supporters?”

 
He smiled. “A great deal of news,” he replied cheerfully. “I have a friend named Lowe, who has been pushing the matter in inner political circles. This afternoon I had quite a momentous interview. A certain member of the government, who, for all his self-importance, must be nameless, came privately to sound me on the prospects of the scheme. You understand, of course, that this is highly confidential.”

 
“You mean there’s a prospect of the government giving you all you want?”

 
He nodded. “Basically, it’s just an election device.” He spoke lightly. “But it does look hopeful for me all the same.”

 
“That’s marvelous!” She went on to chide him. “Don’t look as though you didn’t care.”

 
“I care very much,” he answered. “But there are other things I care about as well.”

 
Somehow she could not follow his allusion. She did not sense the subtle change in him, nor feel the plane of their relationship to be other than it had been before.