CHAPTER XIX.
Dorothy talked a little longer to Effie. When at last she left her, thepoor girl felt soothed and strengthened. She dropped off to sleep, todream of the old days when she was living in the pretty little cottagein Whittington, and when she longed so earnestly to go out into the wideworld. Effie woke long before it was time to get up. She thought of herdream, and sighed heavily to herself. She was in the wide world now witha vengeance. Did it look as fair, as rose-colored, as fascinating, as itused to look in her early dreams? No; the reality was bitter enough. Shewould have given a great deal at that heavy moment of her life to turnback the page and be a child at home again.
The nurses' bell rang, and she got up quickly. Next week she was to takeher turn at night-nursing. She was getting on well, and, notwithstandingthe small cloud which now existed between her and Sister Kate, SisterKate knew Effie's value. There are nurses and nurses. Many girls who goas probationers to the great hospitals are thoroughly unsuited to thelife; their qualifications are not those essential to the good nurse;they are destitute of tact, of presence of mind, of that tendernesswhich can be firm as well as gentle. But Effie was an ideal nurse; hersoft and gentle ways, her kind yet firm glance, the cleverness sheshowed, the tact she displayed, all proved to Sister Kate that the youngprobationer might one day be a valuable help to her. She was angry withEffie at present, but she was determined to leave no stone unturned tohelp the girl and train her thoroughly in her noble profession.
During that night Sister Kate had thought of Effie. She had noticed herpale face during the past day, the sadness in her eyes, the heaviness inher steps, and her heart smote her a little, a very little.
"I don't believe that girl could do anything mean or underhanded," shereflected. "Of course it is tiresome that she should know any of themedical students, but I believe I can trust her word that she will neverspeak to this young man except out of the hospital."
Accordingly, Sister Kate met Effie the next morning with much of herold pleasantness. Effie's sad heart bounded again in her breast whenSister Kate spoke kindly to her, and she went about her duties with thedetermination not to leave even the smallest matter undone. Thoroughlybut carefully she went through all the minutiae of those everlastingcleanings and brushings.
At last her morning's work was over, and now came the crucial momentwhen she must speak to Sister Kate. The doctors had gone their rounds,the patients were all settled for the morning. Effie came up to SisterKate in one of the corridors.
"Can you spare me a few moments of your time?" she asked.
The Sister looked up at the tall clock in the passage.
"Do you want to see me about anything important?" she asked.
"Yes, it is something important."
"Well, come into my private room; I can give you five minutes."
Sister Kate sat down--Effie stood before her.
"I'll try and tell you what I want as briefly as possible," she said. "Iwish to know if I can be spared to go out this afternoon?"
"It is not your afternoon out. What do you mean?"
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary. The fact is, there's greattrouble at home, and I--I must see my mother, and perhaps I may have tomake another visit."
Sister Kate frowned.
"I don't wish not to sympathize with you, of course," she said, after apause, "but the fact is, nurses should detach themselves as much aspossible from home-life. The nurse who really gives herself up to hersplendid calling has to try to forget that she has a home. She has toremember that her first duties consist in taking care of her patientsand in learning her profession."
"Then I can't be a nurse," said Effie, the color rushing into her face.
Sister Kate looked at her and shook her head.
"I am very sorry," she said, after a pause. "The fact is, I had greathopes of you--you have many of the qualifications which go to make asplendid nurse; I won't recount them here. I had, as I said, great hopesof you, but your words now make me fear that, excellent as thosequalifications are, they are overbalanced."
"By what?" asked Effie.
"By sentimentality--by nervous overworry about matters which you shouldleave in other hands."
"I have no other hands to leave them in; the fact is, home duties mustalways be first with me. I've got a mother and several young brothersand sisters. I am the eldest daughter. I cannot let my mother suffer,even to indulge what has been for a long time the great dream of mylife. It is very probable that I shall have to give up being a nurse."
"How can you? You are engaged here for three years."
"I must beg of the Governors of the hospital to let me off; the case isa special one--the trouble under which I am suffering is mostunexpected. I fear, I greatly fear, that I shall be obliged to leave thehospital for a time."
"I am truly sorry to hear that," said Sister Kate. "Does your friendMiss Fraser know of this?"
"Yes."
"I hope it may not be necessary. As I said, you have the making of agood nurse in you. You want to go away for a few hours? Well, I'll tryand manage it. Perhaps when you go home and see your people, you willfind that it is unnecessary for you to sacrifice yourself to thisextent. Anyhow you can have from two till five to-day. Now go and muchin train for the afternoon as you can. You can stay out from two tillfive. I hope you'll have good news for me when you return."
"I hope I shall," said Effie; but her heart felt low. She had littleexpectation of being able to continue the life which she longed toperfect herself in. At two o'clock she went out, and did not take manyminutes in reaching her mother's door.
Mrs. Staunton looked surprised to see her.
"What is the matter. Effie?" she said. "How white and worn you look! Whyhave you come back to-day?"
"I wanted to see you, mother, so I got an afternoon off duty. SisterKate was kind--I begged of her to let me come. I have a great longing tosee you."
"Well, my dear, I'm all right. The fact is, I get better and better."
Mrs. Staunton was seated by the window. She was making a pinafore forlittle Marjory--her needle flew in and out of the stuff. She wastrimming the pinafore with narrow lace. Effie took it up and sat down byher mother.
"Your hands tremble, mother; are you really well?"
"Oh, yes, my love; yes! You look at me as if you thought there wassomething the matter. Have you--Effie, your looks frighten me."
"Don't let them frighten you, dear mother. You know the greatest longingof my heart is to help and serve you. If there is anything worryingyou, you'll tell me, won't you?"
"I will," said Mrs. Staunton. She paused and looked at her daughter."There's nothing _exactly_ worrying me," she said, after a pause, "butstill I feel a little bit anxious."
"You'll tell me, won't you?"
"You won't scold me, Effie?"
"As if I could, mother darling!"
"Well, perhaps I did a rash thing--poor dear George!--You know howdevoted I am to him, Effie?"
"Oh, yes, mother darling, anyone can see that."
"Well, the fact is, I--I yielded to his entreaties. Perhaps I ought notto tell you, Effie--perhaps it will displease him."
"Yes, do tell me," said Effie. "There ought not to be any secrets inone's family. I ought to know--I will know. You are worried aboutsomething, and I will know what your burden is. What is it, mother?"
"I'll tell you in a few words. There's nothing in it, after all. Shortlyafter you left us, George persuaded me to put my money into the CityBank in his name. He said it seemed such folly to have two accounts forsuch very small sums."
"You did it?" said Effie, her face turning white.
"Yes, yes, I knew you would reproach me. I won't be reproached--Iwon't!"
"I will not say a word, dearest, dearest mother. Take my hand--your handdoes shake so. Now tell me all about it."
"Oh, it's nothing, my love, really, only----"
"Yes, mother--only?"
"Only this morning I asked George to fill in a check for me before
hewent to town. He did so. It was for five pounds. He seemed vexed at myrequiring so much, but I said I couldn't do with less, for there was thelandlady to pay, and the butcher has been so troublesome with his bills.I couldn't do with less than five pounds, and George drew a check for mefor that amount. I sent Aggie with it straight to the bank, and----"
Mrs. Staunton's face became very pale, her hand shook more violentlythan ever.
"Yes, mother?" said Effie.
"They sent it back. Effie, with 'No _effects_' written across the back.I am sure there must be a mistake, but they told Aggie that George hadoverdrawn his account, and that they couldn't cash this check--therewere no effects, that was it."
"No effects!" said Effie, her face scarlet. "But hadn't you some of yourmoney still left in the bank?"
"Yes, I had over fifty pounds. I put the money into the bank in George'sname over a week ago. It was to last us for some time. Oh, Effie, don'tlook at me with those reproachful eyes! I feel faint."
Effie got up quickly; she poured some sal-volatile into a wineglass,and, filling it up with water, brought it to her mother to drink.
Mrs. Staunton was soon better. The passing weakness went off quickly.
"What is to be done?" she said, raising her eyes to her daughter. "Oh, Iam so glad you don't scold me, Effie."
"Of course I don't, mother darling. You must have money, you can't geton without it."
"That's just what I say. I am sure I am as saving as woman could be, butthe expenses are so heavy."
"Yes, of course."
"I'm expecting George in every minute," said Mrs. Staunton. "He has verylikely put the money back into the bank now. He is doing such a splendidbusiness that perhaps he drew the fifty pounds--meaning to return it atonce. He has such a capital head for making money--really, I never knewsuch a boy. I dare say he has put it back _doubled_."
"Oh, mother, don't you know better?--how can he do that? But now let ustalk of something else. Here's Agnes, that's right. Agnes, will you getsome tea for mother? She's quite weak and upset. I'm going out. I musthurry, for I've to be back at the hospital at five. I'm going out, butI'll come to see you mother, before I return to the hospital. Get thetea, Agnes; don't be long about it."
Agnes put a little kettle on the fire.
"Do you know about--about the check?" she asked Effie in a whisper.
"Oh, yes; don't make a fuss over it--it will be all right."
"Mrs. Robinson says she must be paid--she is owed four weeks' rent, andshe won't let it go on any longer."
"I'll see her when I come back," said Effie. "Now, do take care ofmother. I won't be away a minute longer than I can help."
"Won't you have a cup of tea first, Effie?"
"No, no; I've no time."
Effie ran downstairs, and went out into the street. She felt nerved andbraced now. The moment of indecision was past--the moment for definiteaction had arrived. There was no question with regard to her duty. Itlay plain and straight before her.
She happened to know that the Harveys were in town. They were staying inEaton Place. She took an omnibus, which presently brought her into theneighborhood of Victoria; a few minutes afterward she rang the bell attheir hall door.
A man-servant, whom she did not know, opened it.
"Is Mrs. Harvey at home?" asked Effie.
"I believe so," he replied, "but I'm not sure if she can see anyone."
"Perhaps she will see me if you give her my name," said Effie in agentle voice. "Say Miss Effie Staunton, please, and that I am anxious tosee her on pressing business."
The man withdrew, inviting Effie as he did so into the hall.
"He takes me for a servant," she said to herself. "Well, what matter?That truly is only a pinprick."
In a minute or two he returned, with a changed expression on his face.
"Follow me upstairs, please, miss," he said. "My mistress will see you."
Effie followed him up some low stairs--her feet sank into the richcarpets. The contrast between this luxurious house and the severity ofthe hospital sickened her.
"I shall choke if I live here," she said to herself. But then shecrushed all thought of self.
The men led her up two or three short flights of stairs. At last heknocked at a door, before which a rich curtain hung. A voice said "Comein," and Effie found herself in Mrs. Harvey's presence. She was seatedin a deep armchair; her maid stood before her, holding out differentrich brocades and silks which had just been sent round for her to see.
"That will do, Carey," she said, when she saw Effie. "You can take allthose things away. Tell Madam Miller that I have decided on this bluesilk crepon, and this rose-colored silk. I'll call round to be fittedto-morrow morning. Now, Miss Staunton, I'm sorry to have kept youwaiting. How do you do? I am so glad to see you."
Mrs. Harvey was not so impulsively glad as she had been the last timeshe saw Effie. The doctor's death--the death he had died for her--seemedremoved into the background; her existence was absorbed in pleasure, ingayety and excitement. She had an affectionate, kindly nature, however,and one glance into Effie's sad eyes softened her toward the poor girl.
"Well, what can I do for you?" she said. "How are you? Why, you are anurse--you are in nurse's dress--how capital! What a splendid idea!"
"Yes, I am a probationer at St. Joseph's," said Effie.
"Oh my dear child, that's splendid for you, of course; but I trust youhave brought no infection in your clothes."
"No," said Effie, with the faintest of smiles. "I have nothing to dowith any of the infectious wards. I am quite safe. I want to speak toyou."
"I shall be very glad to listen to you, my dear. You know, of course,that the Squire and I take the deepest interest in you and in yourfamily. By the way, how is your dear mother, and how are all thosepretty girls and boys getting on?"
Effie could not remember that Mrs. Harvey had ever seen her mother--why,therefore, should she speak of her as "dear"? and as to the boys andgirls, they were not specially remarkable for their good looks, and ifthey were, Mrs. Harvey knew nothing about it. She answered theseconventional inquiries in a quiet voice.
"I hope you'll forgive me," she said, at the first possible pause, "butI am in a very great hurry. I have promised to be back again at St.Joseph's at five o'clock, and it's nearly four now. May I tell you whatI really came about?"
"Oh, yes, of course, of course!"
"Do you remember, before I came to London, the very kind offer you andthe Squire made me?"
"Of course," said Mrs. Harvey, "if you mean our wish that you shouldbecome governess to little Freda. But Freda goes to a kindergarten now.Carey takes her around every morning, and Rhoda goes to fetch her atdinner time. The life seems to suit her very well. Of course we did wishfor you very much, but as you could not come--oh, no doubt you havechosen wisely."
Mrs. Harvey yawned; she stretched out her hand and rang the bell. Theservant appeared almost immediately.
"Tea for two," she said, "and be quick, Andrews."
"I can't wait for tea," said Effie, rising. "I am very much obliged. Ionly came to say that circumstances would make me inclined to acceptyour offer now, but as you don't want a governess there's nothing moreto be said."
"Oh, it's so sweetly good of you, Miss Staunton, and had matters beendifferent we should have been pleased. Well, good-by, if you must go.Where did you say your mother lived?"
"A long way from here."
"But do give me her address. I should be so pleased to drive round andsee her some day. Perhaps she would go for a drive with me. What a goodidea! Yes, I'll come. Where did you say you lived?"
Effie had not said anything.
Mrs. Harvey held out her limp, long hand. "Good-by, Miss Staunton. Youknow I take a great interest in you," she exclaimed.