Hospital Corridors (11 page)

Without hesitation, but with fingers that trembled, she knocked on the door, and his familiar, curt voice said, “Come in!”

Not until then had she really thought what she was going to say to him. The sole, the overwhelming, necessity had been to reach him before he went into the operating theatre and disappeared out of reach for hours. Now he was here and had bade her come in. With her mind almost a complete blank, she entered.

He was sitting at his desk writing, and took no notice at all when she first came in.

“Just a minute, Miss Murphy,” he said at last, without looking up, and she realized despairingly that he thought it was his secretary. His lucky, lucky secretary, who had all the time in the world to spare! thought Madeline feverishly. (An idea which would have greatly offended his busy secretary, if she had known.)

“Dr. Lanyon—” Madeline said timidly at last.

And then he did look up.

But it was not the Dr. Lanyon she knew and whose aid she had counted upon. It was the cold-eyed stranger who had driven miles beside her in silence last night.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded coldly. “I thought you were on duty in the Pavilion.”

“I am, but—”

“Then go back there at once,” he said, and went on with his writing.

“Oh, please, please,” Madeline begged, bold with desperation, “won’t you hear what I have to say? Mrs. Sanders says I stole her diamond bracelet and only returned it when I got frightened. There’s no one—absolutely no one to support my own story except you. I showed you the bracelet, don’t you remember? and told you how—”

“Miss Gill”—Dr. Lanyon got up from behind his desk, and in that moment she found him terrifying—“in ten minutes I have to operate on a man who has only a thirty per cent chance of survival. How dare you come badgering me with your trivial little private affairs? Go back on duty at once, and be thankful I don’t report you. Why, for heaven’s sake, should you suppose that
I
should get you out of some idiotic pickle of your own stupid contriving?”

She fell back before him, frightened by the way his eyes went very light in his unusually pale face.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammered, feeling behind her for the door handle. “But you helped me before,” she muttered wretchedly. “You helped me before—and I thought—I’m sorry—” She had found the door handle now, which was just as well, for the tears which had suddenly blinded her would have prevented her from seeing anything. “I’ll go—I’m sorry,” she said for the third time, and, dragging open the door, would have stumbled out, but his voice suddenly arrested her.

“Wait!”

She turned back bewilderedly and looked at him through the tears which she was just managing not to shed. He was standing by his desk now, his head slightly bent, as though in thought. Then, even as she watched him, he reached for the telephone and dialled an extension.

“Miss Ardingley,” Madeline heard him say, “this is Dr. Lanyon speaking. I understand you have some trouble over there about Mrs. Sanders and a diamond bracelet—I beg your pardon?—Well, never mind how. I did hear about it. I think perhaps I can explain the whole incident. Could you possibly postpone your enquiries until some time this afternoon? I shall be operating until one or two, but I’ll come over directly I’m free. You can? Thank you.”

He put down the receiver and said, without turning to look at Madeline,

“Now go back on duty and stop making a nuisance of yourself here.”

“Dr. Lanyon”—she felt almost hysterical with relief—“I c-can’t thank you—” She bit her lip sharply.

“Then don’t,” he replied curdy. “And for heaven’s sake don’t start crying either. It makes me nervous. Also remember that nothing is worse for the patients’ morale than a red-eyed nurse. Now go along.”

So Madeline went along, feeling so weak and unstrung that she hardly knew where she was going. Only, fortunately, some sort of instinct warned her not to delay and somehow took her in and out of lifts and finally to her own corridor.

She glanced automatically at the clock as she came back into her part of the Pavilion and saw, incredibly, that she had been gone only sixteen minutes.

“Feeling better?” enquired Ruth, meeting her in the corridor and giving her a shrewd glance.

“Yes, thanks. I’m fine now.”

“I’m sorry.” Ruth’s glance was kind and a little troubled that time. “Is it this horrible business with Mrs. Sanders?”

Madeline nodded.

“But it’s going to be all right now, I think.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ruth said drily. “She’s caused enough upset Try not to let it get you down.”

And then Miss Ardingley sent for Madeline.

She was once more sitting behind her desk, looking preternaturally grave.

“Frankly, I don’t know what to make of all this trouble, Miss Gill,” she said, with a shade of irritation in her usual cold, calm manner. “But I’ve just received a telephone call from”—she moved one or two things on her desk in a characteristic manner—“Dr. Lanyon. He seems to know something about it, though I confess I don’t know how, and asks me to postpone any enquiries until he can come across here after operating.”

“Yes, Miss Ardingley,” Madeline said meekly.

“I can’t imagine how he even knew there was trouble over here.”

“No,” agreed Madeline huskily. But she shook in her neat ward shoes and hoped Miss Ardingley would never, never know that she herself had been standing by, almost in tears, while Dr. Lanyon made that sensational telephone call.

The morning dragged its tedious length. Madeline went about her duties automatically, though she tried with all her heart not to let her private worries interfere with her work. Every now and then, when there was a slight slackening in the tempo of the place, she reminded herself that Dr. Lanyon could and would set things right. Though he too, of course, could only say that she had told him her story. But she had done so before there had been any hue and cry. Surely, surely there was some significance in that.

The bracelet, she supposed, was now safely restored to Mrs. Sanders’ jewel-case—Miss Ardingley would have seen to that What Dr. Lanyon had to clear her of was the
intention
of stealing. To judge by his conversation with Miss Ardingley, he seemed confident he could do this, and, for some reason she could not fathom, something in Madeline’s appeal must have decided him to intervene.

If she came out of this crisis without major injury, she would once more have Dr. Lanyon to thank. But—she did not think, somehow, that this would restore their relationship in any way. From the curt, almost brutal, way he had spoken to her, she gathered that an objective wish to see justice done, rather than any friendly feeling, had prompted his telephone call.

At lunch-time, she found she could hardly look at food. And, back on duty, she glanced at the big clock whenever she passed it, afraid, as the minutes ticked away, that, after all, Dr. Lanyon would not come while she was still on duty. But to have everything discussed and settled in her own absence would be unbearable.

It was after two now, and time, which Madeline would willingly have hurried on during the morning, now seemed to be flying.

She thought once, in almost childish misery, “Why did I ever come here?” But common sense told her the next moment that problems and crises could arise wherever one was. One had to be brave and calm and deal with them.

At twenty minutes to three, when Madeline was feeling anything but brave and calm, the glass doors at the end of the main corridor swung open and Dr. Lanyon came in. To Madeline, who saw him as soon as he entered, he looked pale and fagged and not at all agreeable. But he made immediately for Miss Ardingley’s office.

If he saw Madeline at the far end of the corridor, he did not show any sign of the fact. But a couple of minutes later, she was summoned to Miss Ardingley’s room.

When Madeline came in, Miss Ardingley was in her usual place, at her desk, and Dr. Lanyon was in the rather austere armchair opposite. He looked up as the door opened, but he did not smile at Madeline, and again she was aware that he had the slightly exhausted air of a man who had been under great strain for some while. In spite of everything, a sort of remorse smote her at the thought that she had made any demands upon his patience and energy at a time when both were probably at a low ebb. She wished she could have told him how sorry she was, but there was certainly no opportunity of that.

“May I do the talking, Miss Ardingley?” he enquired, and although he himself looked tired, his voice was as clear and energetic as ever.

“Please do.” Miss Ardingley bent a gracious, even an admiring, glance upon him.

“Very well. As you probably know—you’d better sit down, Miss Gill,” he, interpolated almost irritably. “This is going to take some time.”

Madeline glanced at Miss Ardingley, who inclined her head. So Madeline sat on the edge of a chair, and Dr. Lanyon turned back to Miss Ardingley.

“As you probably know, we have in Mrs. Sanders the typical jealous, possessive hysteric, and I’m afraid Miss Gill has been unfortunate—or foolish—enough to arouse her jealousy. Rightly or wrongly, Mrs. Sanders has got hold of the idea that her son admires Miss Gill. Right, Miss Gill?” He turned sharply on Madeline and gave her what was known among his students as his clinical glare.

“I—I’m afraid so, Dr. Lanyon,” Madeline stammered.

“The news that Miss Gill was to spend a weekend with some cousins of Sanders, and in his company, must have had the most disastrous effect upon her, and, in her slightly unbalanced condition, she was ready to stop at nothing in order to discredit Miss Gill.”

“But—just a moment,” said Miss Ardingl
e
y, who was no fool. “Did you realize all this, Miss Gill?”

“Not fully.” Madeline shook her head. “I knew there had been occasions when she—she had silly ideas about me. But just before I went away, she spoke in a most friendly way. She even gave me a brooch, out of her jewel-case, and said she hoped I would forget any unpleasantness there had ever been between us.”

“A declaration which Miss Gill appears to have accepted with a completeness that does her heart more credit than her head,” observed Dr. Lanyon drily. “Anyway, having made this menacingly friendly gesture, she then gave Miss Gill the disputed diamond bracelet, as I understand it, asking her to convey it to her niece, who would be at the house where Miss Gill was going. If the niece were not there, Miss Gill was to bring the bracelet back and say nothing to anyone. The niece, I need hardly say, was away from home.”

“I see.” Miss Ardingley moved the inkpot from one side of her desk to the other. “May I ask, Dr. Lanyon, how you know all this? Not that I am—am
querying
anything, but—”

“Of course. And you have every right to query,” Dr. Lanyon informed her. “As it happened, I was also a house guest at this party, and it was I who drove Miss Gill back into town last night. At this point, she had the good sense, or possibly only the good luck, to think of showing me the bracelet and telling me the story.”

“I see,” said Miss Ardingley again. “Then you are—if I may put it that way—just repeating the story which Miss Gill told you?”

“Certainly. But the story was told before she had any knowledge that the bracelet was being described as stolen. And the result of her telling the story, whether true or false, could only be that the bracelet had to be returned. Not exactly the action of anyone who intended to keep the thing for herself.”

“No—of course, of course,” Miss Ardingley agreed, moving the inkpot back to its original place. “Then it is your considered opinion that the whole thing is a jealous fabrication on Mrs. Sanders’ part?”

“It can’t be anything else.” Dr. Lanyon smoothed back his hair with a half-weary, half-impatient gesture. “I should add perhaps”—he glanced at Madeline here, but without friendliness—“that I know Miss Gill’s—family, back in England. It is quite inconceivable that any of them would be involved in a theft of any sort. Whereas it is even to be expected that Mrs. Sanders would stage some self-advertising drama of this kind. I’m sure you agree.”

“Indeed, yes.” Miss Ardingley’s manner warmed suddenly, and she even smiled at Madeline, perhaps because Dr. Lanyon knew her family. “For my own part, I’m perfectly satisfied—and thank you very much for going to so much trouble to explain, Dr. Lanyon. I still don’t know about Mrs. Sanders’ reactions, but—”

“I’ll come and see her!” With a sudden movement, unexpected in its energy and completeness, Dr. Lanyon was on his feet.

“She’s very difficult,” Miss Ardingley warned him.

“All right. Will you please come too? And”—his glance took in Madeline, also on her feet now and quivering with eagerness—“though I don’t expect Miss Gill had better come in with us, perhaps, in the circumstances, she might be allowed to wait outside the half-open door.”

Miss Ardingley looked as though this was stretching friendly condescension too far, but she did not actually object. So Madeline came too, a step or two behind the others, and paused outside Mrs. Sanders’ door as Dr. Lanyon and Miss Ardingley went in.

She was not quite sure what she thought was going to happen, but when she heard Dr. Lanyon speak, she was almost amused by the warm, flexible tones which had succeeded his curt manner to herself.