Nurse in White (4 page)

Ellen’s head went up and her brown eyes flashed dangerously.

“All I ask is that you let me absolutely and entirely alone, Dr. Dent.”

“Oh, Nightingale! Not absolutely.” His breath caught in a mock sob of distress. “Cruel—cruel wench! You break my heart—feel the crack.”

He caught her hand and pressed it against his chest.

“Feel it?” he asked.

“No. I don’t even feel your heartbeat. Maybe you haven’t one—maybe—”

“We-ll, as a matter of fact I haven’t,” he grinned at her. “I’ll tell you a secret. It’s just an aching void in there, darling, believe it or not. It was snitched and the place is now for rent. Know of a good tenant?”

“No, I don’t,” Ellen said shortly, “and I’m too busy to listen to your nonsense.”

“Nonsense, she calls it! It’s tragic!”

“Well, don’t expect me to weep. Tell your troubles to the one who has your heart.”

Cy grinned again. “Dear, sweet, Nightingale!” he whispered. “What a woman you are! Always so sympathetic, so kind and helpful! That’s just what I shall do, and if sometimes I forget and haunt your presence, please understand that she
—she
has been especially cruel to me and I crave your sympathy and the healing magic of your sweet and friendly smile, so be a little forbearing.”

A car slid to a stop in the driveway with a squealing of brakes and Ellen slipped back into the Receiving Room. Mary Trent’s eyes were quizzical. Dr. Dent bustled in as the occupant of the car entered. He was supposed to be making the rounds, darn him!

“Ripped the dressing from my leg, doc,” the man said as he came in.

“Okay. Let’s have a look.”

Dr. Braddock poked his head in at the door and ducked out again. Mary Trent went on with her studying and Ellen brought gauze, antiseptic solution and adhesive. Dent worked deftly and the man stood up after the job was done.

“Thanks, doc,” he muttered. “That feels better,” and he started for the door.

“Cost you one dollar, brother,” Cy said crisply.

“Aw, now doc,” the other whined. “I been outta work an’—well—I just ain’t got a dollar.”

“All right. We’ll send you a bill and we’ll expect you to pay. Understand?” Ellen was surprised at the firmness with which he spoke. “And you have got a job—that’s why you’re out so early. I’m keeping tabs on some of you guys who think this hospital runs for your especial benefit. That’s seventeen dollars you owe, and you’d better be prepared to pay something this payday.”

“Free hospital!” grunted the man, sidling toward the door. “Free nothin’. Rob yuh right an’ left. A dollar fer a scrap o’ rag an’ a drop o’ colored water! Free! Bah!” The door slammed after him as he went out into the gray morning.

“Chiseler!” grunted Cy Dent as he washed his hands. Ellen said nothing and after a long and exceedingly gushy sigh, he went out.

Mary Trent giggled and after a moment Ellen joined her. It was all so utterly silly! Why did she let him annoy her? Was he really in love with some girl? If it was true, why did he pester her so persistently? She examined the hand that had been held so tightly against Cy’s heart—examined it curiously as if the answer lay in its pink palm.

I believe you’re spoofing. Dr. Cyrus Dent,
she said to herself as she gave the offending hand an extra scrub,
and if you think for one minute I shall ever take you seriously, you’re vastly mistaken. There is no place in my busy life for men—not for years and years—if ever. And I’m especially not interested in good-looking young doctors—blond ones in particular.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ellen sat
at a table writing her weekly letter home.

Cometh the zero hour and I’m slowly starving. We had stew for dinner last night and you know how I loathe stews of all kinds, shapes and conditions. It’s exactly ten minutes to one and if food doesn’t arrive soon I shall do something desperate, like snitching a couple of chocolates from the little French girl who arrived yesterday. She shouldn’t eat candy, anyway. I saw her hide the box under her pillow, just as if we didn’t know! But perhaps she likes to feel it’s there even if she isn’t allowed to eat sweets. Poor youngster (she can’t be more than twenty). Valvular heart disease and diabetes melitus, as if one wasn’t bad enough!

Hold everything: I hear faint sounds. Tis the elevator coming up!

Marcella Harris stepped from the electric elevator, reached inside for the tray, slid shut the door and hurried along the dimly lighted corridor to the alcove about halfway down, where Ellen sat at the table. A pile of charts covering the sixteen patients in Ward L lay before her. Marcella’s cap was slightly awry and there was a smudge—was it salad dressing—on the front of her otherwise spotless uniform.

“You’re a direct answer to prayer, Marcy,” Ellen smiled. “What have we?”

Grilled ham sandwiches, cream cheese sandwiches made with brown bread—you like those; some of that good cake left from the auxiliary luncheon, and superfine coffee, guaranteed to float an egg. Okay? I snitched the cake and hid it. You gals on nights here in L rate a few luxuries, sez I. Where’s Murdock?”

“Receiving,” Ellen explained, biting into a sandwich. “She said she’d be gone only a few minutes, but it’s half an hour already. It’s all right, though, everything’s quiet—for a wonder. Grand food, darling. What’s new?”

Marcella perched on one corner of the table and swung a white-shod foot.

“Not much. Dent’s on ambulance duty—swapped with Fielding who hurt his ankle yesterday afternoon. So—I’m afraid Murdock’s visit is quite useless. I wonder why someone doesn’t put her wise.”

Ellen smiled and sipped the fragrant coffee. Marcella didn’t care for Ann. “Oh, it’s all too—too childish, Marcy. The chances are Dent doesn’t know Ann’s alive anymore.” She knew that Ann and Cyrus had not been seeing much of each other lately. She herself had succeeded in avoiding him to some extent, and she wondered if he had noticed. One thing she was certain of, Ann’s heart wasn’t involved. It was just that a man—any man, was necessary to Ann’s happiness. Just now, it happened to be Dr. Dent. And it was in all probability just as Dr. Braddock had pointed out to her, carefully and more or less diplomatically, that Dr. Dent had it in himself to go far. With his personality and looks he would probably seek a wife who could aid him materially—one of the youngsters who chased after him at the country club, for instance. Ellen felt instinctively that he was giving her a gentle hint not to allow Cy to turn her head. Well, she felt like telling him he needn’t worry, though she said nothing. Of course those times when Cy had persisted in bothering her may have been misleading, but she didn’t intend doing any explaining even to the house physician.

“Sez you!” Marcella scoffed. “The man doesn’t live who is immune to the flattery of a pretty girl’s wide-eyed admiration, especially when that girl is redheaded and is provocative like Ann Murdock. I will say, though, that the glamorous Cy’s interests still seem to be fairly well distributed elsewhere, and me thinks Mistress Ann is due for a bump.”

“So?” Ellen asked and was annoyed at the guilty blush that made her suddenly uncomfortable. Perhaps Harris, too, had the crazy idea that Cy actually liked her instead of just—well—getting in her hair for the fun it provided him. Again she couldn’t explain.

Marcella stared at the lovely face opposite and misunderstood the blush. Was it possible that Ellen didn’t know that Dent was just a kidder? That he couldn’t be serious if he tried? That he would without doubt look much higher in the social scale than that of a nurse when he was ready to take the fatal step? In fact, the story went that the debutante daughter of the town’s wealthiest man was rushing him. They were often seen together at the country club.

The sandwiches were exceptionally good or else Ellen was more than ordinarily hungry, for the blush slowly receded and she appeared quite unmoved. Marcella kicked her heel against the table leg. She had to find out and if Ellen was actually soft on the big, good-looking doctor, she would put her wise even if it cost her their friendship.

“Oh, come now, Ellen. You can’t pull the wool over my old eyes, you know. I know you’re a bit on the reserved and haughty side, but I have intuition and all my faculties still. Aren’t you and the handsome Cy—”

“I happen not to be interested in Dr. Dent, Marcella,” Ellen said
coolly
. “But if I was, would it be a sin?”

“Not a sin, exactly; but I’d call it indiscreet or maybe even imprudent, like casting pearls before swine, if you know what I mean. Any girl’s a sap—Oh-oh, here comes Murdock,” as the elevator again slid to a stop and Ann Murdock hurried toward them. “How’s the, er, palpitation?”

“Girls, Robert Cooper’s down in Receiving!”

“The actor?”

“Who else? It seems he was in an accident—hurt his knee. Gee! Don’t I have the darndest luck? The month I’m down there nights, nothing more romantic than a few battered small town drunks, the usual number of messy accident cases happen along and the saintly old rector of Saint John’s with a first class shiner—you know the time. He ran into a door, or so he said. And here, the first week I’m back on ward duty, Robert Cooper drops in.”

“Oh, woe is you!” Marcella mocked.

“Is he staying?” Ellen asked.

“No, worse luck! Old Braddock is fixing him up so he can go straight on to Chicago by plane. Girls, he’s the best-looking thing! Handsomer even than his pictures.”

Marcella grinned slyly. “Better looking than Dent?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that Cy Dent is the handsomest man in the world exactly,” Ann retorted unperturbed, “but unquestionably he has the certain something—”

Ellen agreed that without doubt Cy did possess that certain something. She wished Ann would stop making an idiot of herself over him. He wasn’t worth it. The faint whirring of the ascending elevator brought three pairs of eyes to the end of the dim corridor. Dr. Dent stepped off and came toward them, a friendly grin on his handsome face.

“Speaking of devils—” Marcella muttered.

“Sister, can you spare a bite?” he whined ingratiatingly, his fine blue eyes on Ellen. But it was Ann who snatched up the plate of sandwiches and held them out to him. Marcella glowered. His own lunch was downstairs. But the young man, appearing not to understand her scrowl, sent her a bland and somewhat mocking smile as he poured himself a cup of coffee in the cup intended for Ann, who, strangely and to Ellen’s astonishment, was far too excited either to eat or drink.

“Was it actually Robert Cooper, doc?” Marcella inquired.

“Robert Cooper? Where?”

“In the Receiving Room just now. With a busted leg or something. Murdock here is all in a dither.”

Dr. Dent shifted his gaze to Ann, who promptly denied the allegation. “Do you mean the fellow Braddock routed Tony out for—the chap who had to be in Chicago by morning?”

“Yes—yes. Robert Cooper.”

Dent grinned as he took a third sandwich. “If he was, he’s traveling incognito. The name he gave Burns was Terrill Morley, twenty-seven, engineer, residence Boston.”

Ellen and Marcella hooted softly. “Your imagination seems to be working overtime again, Murdock,” Marcella jeered. “Probably looks as much like Cooper as I do Garbo.”

“Well, he did,” insisted Ann. “I guess I ought to know. I saw him, and I bet that’s just it. He’s incognito.”

“Rather a good-looking chap,” Dent conceded magnanimously, “and he had a mighty bad knee. Braddock nearly wept when he insisted on going on—warned him against using it for a couple of months—you know what an old granny he is. But it was all wasted. The fellow looked mulish. ‘That’s all right, doctor. Now bring on your chauffeur. I’ve got to get that plane,’ ” Dent drawled with an exaggerated nasal down-east accent.

Ann indignantly protested she didn’t talk like that at all. A light flashed red and Ellen left them. She was back almost at once, however, and poured herself a second cup of coffee.

“How’s Lady X coming?” Dent asked, reaching for cake and remaining stubbornly oblivious to Harris’s open displeasure.

Ellen shook her head sadly. “She doesn’t seem to be coming at all, doctor. She’s so terribly languid—so apathetic—doesn’t seem to have
the strength or desire to even try to live.”

“I was afraid of that,” he said. “She appeared licked from the start. No vitality—no endurance. But I had hope those transfusions—” He broke off, then “No clues, I suppose? Has MacGowan seen her lately?”

“Yesterday.”

“Did he say anything?”

Ellen shook her head again. Marcella shrugged. It was Ann, an Ann roused and suddenly animated—intensely concerned over the unknown patient in whom Dent was obviously interested.

“Say anything! Does he ever say anything beyond the briefest of instructions? We’re not supposed to have any interest in our patients as human beings—just as cases. The man’s a machine—a robot. A clever one I’ll admit, but still a machine. I’ve never seen a sign of human emotion in him in the more than two years I’ve been here. Have you?”

Dr. Dent put down his empty cup and brushed an imaginary crumb from the lapel of his spotless white coat. “We-ll, Murdock,” he drawled, his manner judicial, “it depends on just what you call ‘human emotion.’ I’ve never seen him, er, kissing—say, Miss Forsyth, for example, or chucking you under the chin; but for all that he’s a darned fine surgeon in his particular field and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if what the medical journals say of him is true—that he’s just about tops in his special line. To lesser folk, Angus no doubt appears something of a god.”

Ann looked disdainful. “That’s all right, doc, but I’d think a lot more of him if he were less god and more man.”

“No doubt about that,” grinned Marcella wickedly, and picked up the tray. Ann had eaten little or nothing, but that was her affair. If she was silly enough to get all hot and bothered over every male creature who came within a mile of her, Marcella determined that it should not interfere with her schedule. Ann was the limit and how she ever got into Anthony Ware was a mystery to her. She stalked to the elevator shaft, pressed the button and watched the car ascend. She deposited the tray and waited to see if Dent was going downstairs where he belonged. Apparently he hadn’t finished what he had come for. Well she could wait. She wished he wasn’t so darn good-looking and she wished he had picked anyone but Ellen Gaylord. Ellen was much too sweet to be tricked as she was sure he was tricking her every day of his life. Marcella’s plain little face darkened belligerently. “I’d like to wring his neck!” she muttered. “Why are the nicest girls the biggest saps?” She wished he had really fallen for Murdock. She was a match for him. Look at him now, darn him!

Ann had sputtered angrily at Marcella’s gibe: “You know what I mean, Marcella Harris,” and glared at the young intern as he grinned into her face. “And you know, too. MacGowan’s an old crab and I don’t care who knows I think so.”

“S-sh-sh!” admonished Dent. “Not so loud, my girl. And I’m sure Gaylord here doesn’t agree with you.”

“No,” said Ellen stoutly, “I don’t. I think Dr. MacGowan is wonderful and I adore working with him. Was there something in particular you wanted doctor?” she asked coolly as Dent lingered in spite of Marcella’s attitude of exaggerated patience as she waited at the elevator.

“Er, no—oh, no. Just had a free moment and thought I might get a bite to eat up here.” His laugh was exasperated. Why didn’t those two leave and let him have a few minutes alone with Ellen? “I know Harris’s penchant for Ward L—or rather the nurses at present on this ward. And I hate eating alone.”

“Umph!” snorted Ann, still peeved. “You might have brought your own lunch along. You cheated me out of mine, I notice.”

“Did I? Gee, that’s tough, Murdock! Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Stop you! How could I? I never saw food disappear so fast in my life.”

“Want me to send mine up to you?” he asked as he motioned Marcella that he was going down. “Anyway, thanks for the handout,” he called back.

“Hope he chokes!” muttered Ann as she watched him enter
the elevator
. “A typical intern—a typical man. Selfish brutes!”

Ellen picked up her fountain pen. “Aren’t we all?” she asked. “And you should not have allowed him to eat your lunch, Ann. Breakfast is a long way off.”

“You’re telling me!” complained the other, then brightened. “Maybe Slavonski’ll give me an orange if I hint long enough.” She got up to answer as a red light glowed. “That’s Slavonski now. Probably wants another orange—and here’s where I eat.”

Ellen finished her letter to her mother in Michigan, slipped it into an envelope, stamped and addressed it and watched it slide down the mail chute. No news this week. Except for the advent of the unknown young woman who lay in a plaster cast at one end of the long free ward—nothing especially interesting had occurred in the hospital for days. The same old grind. If only that strangely appealing patient could give them some clue to her identity! Another summons and Ellen slipped down the long room to the semi
-
privacy of the unknown patient’s bed.

The great eyes were open with that same strange look in their purple depths—half terror, half inquiry.

“What is it, dear?” Ellen asked, softly smoothing back the bright hair from the thin face on the flat pillow.

“Could—could you please stay with me—a little while? I am fr—lonely.” This was the second time the patient had made this request. Miss Forsyth considered such requests encouraging.

“Of course, dear.” Ellen smoothed the bedclothes and bathed the clammy face and hands before she sat down beside her.

“Thank you—you are kind,” the girl whispered and Ellen felt close to tears at the hopelessness of her low tones.