Vigil in the Night (9 page)

 
Anne did as she was bid. It did not take her long to discover the exact nature of this kind, exacting, and self-tortured woman. As she laid her cool fingers upon the other’s dry brow, she experienced the beginnings of a real sympathy for her.

 
At three in the afternoon Dr. Prescott came in to pay his visit. Though he was a specialist in surgery, he went out of his way to attend Mrs. Bowley because of his friendship with her husband and because, indeed, she herself insisted that she would see no other man. Observing him closely, Anne felt a rising respect for Prescott’s handling of the case. Quiet, restrained, sitting informally on the edge of the bed, he listened to his patient’s string of symptoms with an impassive face. When she made some outrageous claim, he had a way of raising one eyebrow which was more effective than words. At the end of his visit Mrs. Bowley was soothed and comforted, almost persuaded that one day she would get well.

CHAPTER 26

 
Anne accompanied the doctor down the wide staircase to the front door of the house. As they walked together, he gave her his instructions. When he concluded, he shot a quick side glance at her.

 
“Do you remember what I once told you—about the value of good nursing? This is a case where a good nurse can do more than any doctor. I see the poor creature for only ten minutes in the day. You’re with her all the time. You can influence her enormously.”

 
Anne flushed slightly. “I should like to try. She’s such a nice person. I should love to get her well.”

 
He nodded. “That’s why I’m glad to see you on this case. When Bowley suggested it, I knew it was a good idea.” He paused. “He would be very grateful to you—and perhaps to me—if we could get her back to normal.”

 
She sensed instinctively the implication hidden beneath his words. Before she could restrain herself she said, “You are still thinking of your clinic.”

 
He gave her a sharp stare, and her color deepened. Then a trifle sardonically he answered:

 
“Yes, Nurse. In spite of our excellent publicity, my good friend Bowley has not quite come up to scratch yet. Nearly—perhaps. But not quite.” Another pause. “He’s a hard-headed chap, you see. And he’s running for mayor next month. He doesn’t want to do anything to upset the conservative forces in the city, doesn’t want to be dubbed a radical, to be accused of doing something for a rebel like me.

 
“But I believe, yes, I believe, with a lucky turn of the scale he might do the whole thing handsomely. If he doesn’t—” Prescott’s face hardened—“then no one else in Manchester will. That would slightly inconvenience me. I’d clear out and leave them to stew in their own juice.” Abruptly he looked at his watch. His expression cleared as he turned toward her. “I must go, Nurse. Don’t work too hard on your case. Get out in the gardens here; they’re wonderful. And see that you enjoy the cooking. I expect you’ll find it slightly different from the Hepperton.”

 
When he had driven off, Anne went up the stairs toward her patient. Her expression was reflective, intent. Dr. Prescott had been so kind to her, she owed so much of her present position to his help, that she was filled by an irresistible desire to help him in return. He stood for all that was best in the profession. What he wanted was not for himself but for his ideal. She must help him; she must watch every opportunity. If she succeeded, it would be the greatest thrill of her life.

CHAPTER 27

 
Within twenty-four hours of her arrival Anne had settled down to do her utmost for her patient. She felt that she had made a good start. Mrs. Bowley seemed to have taken to her. And it was the first essential that she should gain the other woman’s confidence and affection.

 
On Thursday at one o’clock, as she was going off duty for an hour, a mild commotion caused her to pause on the top landing and look down over the banister. There in the hall beneath was Matthew Bowley, returned from Liverpool, where he had been on business for three days. Bowley was being helped out of an enormous motoring coat by Collins, the butler, and he was firing questions with extreme rapidity. Suddenly he raised his head and caught sight of Anne.

 
He paused in his machine-gun interrogation to call out: “There you are, Nurse Lee. You’re the very person I want to see. You can tell me what’s been happening.”

 
As Anne slowly descended the stairs, he addressed the butler again.

 
“Nurse Lee will lunch with me today. Serve it straightaway, Collins—after I’ve seen Mrs. Bowley.”

 
It was difficult to argue with such an arbitrary command. Indeed, Bowley left no time for argument. He dashed up to see his wife, and in five minutes was down again, rubbing his hands, leading the way into the little sun parlor where he had ordered the meal served.

 
Anne would quite honestly have preferred to lunch in her room alone; it was the etiquette of her profession that she should do so. Yet there was something spontaneous, something bluntly good-humored, about Bowley which soon made her feel, as she sat opposite him, that there could be little objection to giving him, for once, as he phrased it, her company at table.

 
He must have observed something of her reluctance, for he expostulated with almost likable bad taste: “What’s your objection? You’re not a servant, are you? You’re as good as the rest of us. And I asked you, didn’t I?” He went on broadly with his mouth full. “Matter of fact, you may as well know, Nurse, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you here. ’Twas me put the idea in Prescott’s head. ’Twas me wanted ye to come and tend to missus.” He grinned all over his ruddy face. “Ay, and to give me a bit of your company when you have the time.”

 
Anne scarcely knew what to answer in the face of so blunt a declamation. She said awkwardly:

 
“It’s good of you to have given me this chance. And to have such confidence in me. Believe me, I’ll try to justify your kindness.”

 
“That’s right, Nurse.” He nodded approvingly. “I know ye will.”

 
On he went, talking and eating with tremendous gusto. Like most self-made men, he was not long before he launched into the story of his life. He had begun life as a mill hand and was now near enough a millionaire. And how he enjoyed his success—his fine house, his cars, his art collection, in fact all his possessions and the prestige they gave him. He was going to be mayor of Manchester, too!

 
His expression softened slightly as he went on to talk about his family. His wife, though an invalid, caused him to make no complaint, but his son had contracted an unfortunate marriage and had turned out a failure. There was only his niece, Rose, a little girl of thirteen, whom he adored. He was having her educated at the best school in England; in his own proud words, she was “getting her learning amongst the nobs.” He insisted on showing Anne several photographs of the child.

 
Bowley would, clearly, have gone on talking about Rose, about himself, about life in general. But the clock on the mantelpiece now showed two o’clock. And Anne had her eye on it. Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, she said quietly:

 
“It’s time I went back to my patient, Mr. Bowley. My off-duty hour is over.”

 
“There’s no hurry, my dear,” he said. “The missus won’t go wrong for another five minutes.”

 
But Anne shook her head, smiling. “I really must go, Mr. Bowley. I have my work to do. You wouldn’t think much of me if I neglected it.” And she rose from the table.

 
The unexpectedness of her action seemed to take him aback. Yet he quickly concealed his feelings. He got up heavily, leaned across and patted her hand.

 
“That’s right, my dear. Duty before pleasure. That’s always been my motto, and it’s paid me well.” He laughed heartily. “You run along, then. Give the missus my love. I’ll be seeing you soon enough. Make yourself at home. Collins here will look after you. And don’t forget, if there’s anything you want, you’ve only to say the word.”

CHAPTER 28

 
A fortnight passed swiftly. But to Anne’s bitter disappointment there was, despite all her efforts, no marked improvement in Mrs. Bowley. Judging by the reactions of her patient when she took over the case, Anne had hoped for a rapid, a dramatic cure. But during these last few days she had turned strangely taciturn and morose. Anne tried everything to dispel this mood. Yet the more she tried, the worse the mood became. She would look up suddenly to find the other woman’s eyes fixed on her with a queer and penetrating regard. It was both uncomfortable and inexplicable.

 
Anne felt the position more keenly because she was so anxious to justify herself and to repay the kindness shown her. She had never been so well treated in all her life. It was embarrassing, the attention that was showered upon her. She would return to her room to find more fresh flowers there, a dish of peaches from the hothouse, or some grapes, or perhaps a box of chocolates. She protested repeatedly to Collins that they were giving her too much. The butler, a dark and saturnine man, would glance at her with an impassive face and merely repeat that these were his orders.

 
She salved her conscience by taking many of the delicacies to her friends when she visited the Hepperton on her off duty. Never before had the nurses’ home feasted so richly or so royally.

 
One morning toward the end of the second week, as she was returning from the service quarters with a jug of barley water which she had made for Mrs. Bowley, she met Matt himself. He was in a hurry, bustling to keep an appointment in connection with the forthcoming mayoral election. But he stopped with his friendly smile.

 
“Your half day, isn’t it?” he said, amazing her with his knowledge. “Why don’t you have the car this afternoon? Nobody’s using it. It’ll do you good to have a run into the country.”

 
She gazed at him confusedly, shook her head. “I couldn’t think of it, Mr. Bowley.”

 
“Don’t be stupid,” he said with heavy playfulness. “No harm in a solitary motor run. I’ll have a word with Collins. Rather nice to get off the chain.” With a final persuasive nod he strode down the corridor and was gone.

 
Her eyes followed him perplexedly. Naturally she had seen a good deal of Bowley in these two weeks. He had sent for her on several occasions to get from her an official report on the patient. He also dropped in frequently to drink a cup of tea with Mrs. Bowley when Anne was present. And one day he asked her to do some shopping for Rose.

 
But this was different. Although there was nothing on which she could put her finger, her instinct warned her that she should accept no direct favors from the master of the house. Before returning to the sickroom she went downstairs and firmly countermanded the instructions which had been left regarding the car.

CHAPTER 29

 
All that morning she was quieter than usual. And Mrs. Bowley was quiet, too. At two o’clock, when Anne left her patient, Mrs. Bowley casually inquired:

 
“And how do you propose to enjoy yourself this afternoon, Nurse?”

 
“Oh, I don’t know,” Anne answered, coloring in spite of herself. “Go out a little, I suppose.”

 
“I see,” said Mrs. Bowley.

 
Anne was annoyed with herself for flushing so absurdly. She gazed steadily at Mrs. Bowley and said in a quiet tone: “I shall go for a walk. Then I’ll come in and settle down to read. I have a splendid novel. If you want me, I shall be in my room.”

 
“I don’t think I shall want you,” replied Mrs. Bowley in a thin voice.

 
With a troubled expression Anne went for a long, hard walk in the park. The exercise did her good. She had tea all alone in a little bun shop at the park gates. When she returned, her frame of mind was lighter, she was inclined to smile at her earlier misgivings. She took a bath, put on a soft gray frock, and curled up on the couch with her book. For over an hour she read steadily; then at seven o’clock a knock sounded on her door.

 
“Come in,” called Anne without looking up, thinking that it was the maid with her dinner tray.

 
But it was not the maid. The door opened, and Matt Bowley walked in. “Well, well!” he declared with his beaming smile. “I never saw such a pretty domestic picture in my life.”

 
At the sound of his voice Anne sat up as if she had been shot.

 
“Tut, tut,” he protested. “Don’t look so dumbfounded, my dear. I only called round to scold you for not using the car.”

 
Anne put down her book and gazed at him rigidly. “I hardly expected to see you, Mr. Bowley.”

 
“Why not?” he said playfully. “Can’t a poor man walk about his own house?” Closing the door, he helped himself to a chair. “You look a treat,” he exclaimed admiringly. “This is the first time I’ve seen you out of your uniform. It makes me wish you’d always stay out of it.”