The Magic of Living. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ van der Vorst looked quite different, sitting at a large desk piled most untidily with a variety of papers, but the look he gave her was the same calm, friendly one which had cheered her when she had peered up in that awful bus and seen him staring down at her. He got up as she took a few steps into the room and said: ‘Hullo—I do apologise for taking up your time, you have been working for two since you got here, so I’m told, you must be asleep on your feet. But I must have some particulars, and unfortunately Sister Brewster doesn’t feel able to help.’

      He paused, waiting for her comment, no doubt, but Arabella, much as she disliked old Brewster, was loyal. ‘She’s very shocked,’ she offered in her pleasant voice, a little roughened because she was so tired, and took the chair he offered her, facing him across the desk. The door behind her opened and a homely body, very clean and starched, came in with a tray.

      ‘Coffee?’ enquired the doctor. ‘It will keep you going until you can get to your supper.’

      The coffee was hot and milky and sweet, and there were little sandwiches besides. Arabella gobbled delicately and when she had drunk her coffee and her cup had been filled again, the doctor spoke.

      ‘I’ve done what I could,’ he began in his slow, pleasant voice. ‘I’ve telephoned your hospital, who are dealing with notifying relatives and so forth, attended to the matter of Mr Burns and made a preliminary list of children’s names, but not yours…’ He paused, his eyebrows raised in enquiry and Arabella, whisking the last delicious crumb into her mouth with a pink tongue, made haste to tell him: ‘Arabella Birch.’

      He scribbled. ‘You are a nurse at Wickham’s Hospital?’

      She nodded. ‘I’ve still a year’s training to do before I take my Finals, but I’m children’s trained.’ And because he still looked enquiring, she went on: ‘I’m twenty-two and I live with my aunt and uncle when I’m not in hospital. Mr and Mrs Birch at Little Dean House, Little Sampford, Essex.’

      ‘There is a telephone number?’

      She gave that too and he picked up the receiver beside him and spoke into it, then turned to the papers before him. ‘Will you check these names with me?’ He hardly glanced at her, but began to read down the list in front of him, a slow business, for she had to correct him several times, give the children’s ages and the extent of their disability and any other details she could remember. They were almost at the end when the telephone rang once more. ‘They are getting your home,’ he told her, ‘and will ring back. I expect you would like to speak to your family.’

      ‘Oh, yes—you’re very k-kind. I’m sure Wickham’s w-will have t-telephoned, but that’s not the s-same…’ she added suddenly. ‘P-poor Mr Burns!’

      The doctor stared at her across his desk. ‘I telephoned his wife a little while ago—I too am deeply sorry. Shall we get on with this list?’

      It was complete by the time the telephone rang again. The doctor grunted something into the receiver and pushed the instrument towards her.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her, and smiled nicely as he went out of the room. Just the sort of man, thought Arabella, watching him go, one would wish to have with one in a tight corner—quite unflappable, and knowing what to do about everything. She picked up the receiver and waited patiently until her aunt’s excited voice had calmed a little before embarking on the skeleton of their day’s adventure. When she had finished her aunt said: ‘You’re coming back home, of course, Arabella—your uncle will come down and meet you…’

      Her heart warmed to this unexpected kindness. ‘That’s very sweet of him, b-but I d-don’t know…I should think the ch-children would be travelling b-back in a d-day or so, but I don’t know how, and there are t-two of them who will have to stay—they both have f-fractures. I’ll t-telephone you as soon as I know.’

      She said goodbye then and sat quietly in her chair, waiting for the doctor to come back. It was peaceful in the room, and in an austere way, pleasant too; there were a quantity of bookshelves stuffed with heavy tomes, a gently ticking clock on the wall and thick blue curtains drawn across the tall windows. The walls were hung with portraits of wise-looking gentlemen whom Arabella took to be previous governors and members of the medical profession attached to the hospital—the one behind the desk was particularly severe; she closed her eyes to avoid his pointed stare and went to sleep.

      She wakened within minutes to find the doctor standing over her.

      ‘I’m s-so s-sorry,’ she began, and was annoyed to find that her stammer, which hadn’t been too much in evidence, had returned. ‘I was t-trying not t-to look at th-that m-man over there.’

      ‘My great-grandfather,’ remarked the doctor briefly. ‘You’re tired out, we’ll talk again in the morning—there are still several things…’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas—I must say you look as though you’ve come through stormy seas and you have certainly toiled.’

      She ignored the last part of his remark, but: ‘Spenser,’ she confirmed, ‘isn’t it from the Faerie Queen?’

      He nodded as she got to her feet. ‘I don’t feel that I have anything in common with someone as delicate and dainty as that,’ she said soberly, and he laughed again.

      ‘No? I daresay I shan’t recognise you in the morning, you will look so prim and neat.’ He opened the door. ‘Good night, Arabella.’

      There was a nurse hovering outside, waiting for her, a large, friendly girl, who sat with her while she ate her supper and then took her upstairs to a small, nicely furnished room where the bed had been invitingly turned down and someone had thoughtfully arranged a nightie, a brush and comb and a toothbrush on a chair.

      Arabella looked with horror at her appearance in the mirror, had a bath, brushed her hair in a perfunctory fashion and jumped into bed, considerably hampered by the nightie, which was a great deal too large. She was asleep within seconds of laying her head on the pillow.

      She felt quite herself in the morning, for she was young and strong, and besides had learned from an early age to school her feelings; giving way to these had been something her uncle had discouraged; he never gave way to his, and although Hilary and her mother were allowed to be the exception to his rule, everyone else about him was expected to be what he described as sensible. So Arabella wasted no time in self-pity but dressed in the clean overall someone had found for her, pinned a borrowed cap upon her now very neat head, and when a nurse knocked on the door and asked if she were ready for breakfast, declared cheerfully that she was.

      Not that she thought much of the meal; bread and butter and cheese and jam seemed a poor exchange after Wickham’s porridge and bacon, but the coffee was delicious and everyone was very kind, chattering away to her in sketchy English and occasionally, when they forgot, in Dutch. And they were quick to help, for when she asked if she might see Sister Brewster, she was taken at once to that lady’s room, to find her sitting up in bed with a tray before her.

      ‘I feel very poorly,’ declared Sister Brewster as soon as Arabella entered the room. ‘I have hardly closed my eyes all night and I have a shocking headache. I shall be glad to get back to Wickham’s and have a few days off in which to recover, for I have had a great shock.’

      Arabella let this pass and waited for her to enquire about the children, or for that matter, about herself, but when the older woman remained silent she said: ‘Well, if you don’t mind, Sister, I’m going to the ward to see how the children are.’

      Her СКАЧАТЬ