A Girl in Ten Thousand, L. T. Meade [books recommended by bts TXT] 📗

greatly fear, that I shall be obliged to leave the hospital for a time."

"I am truly sorry to hear that," said Sister Kate. "Does your friend Miss Fraser know of this?"

"Yes."

"I hope it may not be necessary. As I said, you have the making of a good nurse in you. You want145 to go away for a few hours? Well, I'll try and manage it. Perhaps when you go home and see your people, you will find that it is unnecessary for you to sacrifice yourself to this extent. Anyhow you can have from two till five to-day. Now go and much in train for the afternoon as you can. You can stay out from two till five. 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 little expectation of being able to continue the life which she longed to perfect herself in. At two o'clock she went out, and did not take many minutes 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! Why have you come back to-day?"

"I wanted to see you, mother, so I got an afternoon off duty. Sister Kate was kind—I begged of her to let me come. I have a great longing to see 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 for little Marjory—her needle flew in and out of the stuff. She was trimming the pinafore with narrow lace. Effie took it up and sat down by her mother.

"Your hands tremble, mother; are you really well?"

"Oh, yes, my love; yes! You look at me as if you thought there was something the matter. Have you—Effie, your looks frighten me."

"Don't let them frighten you, dear mother. You know the greatest longing of my heart is to help146 and serve you. If there is anything worrying you, 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, "but still 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 how devoted 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 not to tell you, Effie—perhaps it will displease him."

"Yes, do tell me," said Effie. "There ought not to be any secrets in one's family. I ought to know—I will know. You are worried about something, 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. Shortly after you left us, George persuaded me to put my money into the City Bank in his name. He said it seemed such folly to have two accounts for such 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—I won't!"

"I will not say a word, dearest, dearest mother. Take my hand—your hand does 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 he went to town. He did so.147 It was for five pounds. He seemed vexed at my requiring so much, but I said I couldn't do with less, for there was the landlady 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 me for that amount. I sent Aggie with it straight to the bank, and——"

Mrs. Staunton's face became very pale, her hand shook more violently than 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 had overdrawn his account, and that they couldn't cash this check—there were no effects, that was it."

"No effects!" said Effie, her face scarlet. "But hadn't you some of your money still left in the bank?"

"Yes, I had over fifty pounds. I put the money into the bank in George's name over a week ago. It was to last us for some time. Oh, Effie, don't look 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, I am so glad you don't scold me, Effie."

"Of course I don't, mother darling. You must have money, you can't get on without it."

"That's just what I say. I am sure I am as saving as woman could be, but the expenses are so heavy."

"Yes, of course."148

"I'm expecting George in every minute," said Mrs. Staunton. "He has very likely put the money back into the bank now. He is doing such a splendid business that perhaps he drew the fifty pounds—meaning to return it at once. He has such a capital head for making money—really, I never knew such 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 us talk of something else. Here's Agnes, that's right. Agnes, will you get some tea for mother? She's quite weak and upset. I'm going out. I must hurry, for I've to be back at the hospital at five. I'm going out, but I'll come to see you mother, before I return to the hospital. Get the tea, 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, and she won't let it go on any longer."

"I'll see her when I come back," said Effie. "Now, do take care of mother. 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 and braced now. The moment of indecision was past—the moment for definite action had arrived. There was no question with regard to her duty. It lay plain and straight before her.

She happened to know that the Harveys were in town. They were staying in Eaton Place. She took an omnibus, which presently brought her into the149 neighborhood of Victoria; a few minutes afterward she rang the bell at their 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 a gentle voice. "Say Miss Effie Staunton, please, and that I am anxious to see 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 rich carpets. The contrast between this luxurious house and the severity of the hospital sickened her.

"I shall choke if I live here," she said to herself. But then she crushed all thought of self.

The men led her up two or three short flights of stairs. At last he knocked at a door, before which a rich curtain hung. A voice said "Come in," and Effie found herself in Mrs. Harvey's presence. She was seated in a deep armchair; her maid stood before her, holding out different rich 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 all those things away. Tell Madam Miller that I have decided on this blue silk150 crépon, and this rose-colored silk. I'll call round to be fitted to-morrow morning. Now, Miss Staunton, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. How do you do? I am so glad to see you."

Mrs. Harvey was not so impulsively glad as she had been the last time she saw Effie. The doctor's death—the death he had died for her—seemed removed into the background; her existence was absorbed in pleasure, in gayety 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 a nurse—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 you have brought no infection in your clothes."

"No," said Effie, with the faintest of smiles. "I have nothing to do with any of the infectious wards. I am quite safe. I want to speak to you."

"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 your family. By the way, how is your dear mother, and how are all those pretty 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 and girls, they were not specially remarkable for their good looks, and if they were, Mrs. Harvey knew nothing about it. She answered these conventional inquiries in a quiet voice.

"I hope you'll forgive me," she said, at the first151 possible pause, "but I 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 what I really came about?"

"Oh, yes, of course, of course!"

"Do you remember, before I came to London, the very kind offer you and the Squire made me?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Harvey, "if you mean our wish that you should become governess to little Freda. But Freda goes to a kindergarten now. Carey takes her around every morning, and Rhoda goes to fetch her at dinner time. The life seems to suit her very well. Of course we did wish for you very much, but as you could not come—oh, no doubt you have chosen wisely."

Mrs. Harvey yawned; she stretched out her hand and rang the bell. The servant 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. I only came to say that circumstances would make me inclined to accept your offer now, but as you don't want a governess there's nothing more to be said."

"Oh, it's so sweetly good of you, Miss Staunton, and had matters been different 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 and see her some day. Perhaps she would go for a drive with me. What a good idea! Yes, I'll come. Where did you say you lived?"

Effie had not said anything.152

Mrs. Harvey held out her limp, long hand. "Good-by, Miss Staunton. You know I take a great interest in you," she exclaimed.

CHAPTER XX.

Just at this moment the door was opened, and the Squire came in. He was of different stuff from his wife. When he saw Effie, his face beamed with pleasure, and he held out a big, hearty hand.

"Miss Staunton!" he exclaimed. "Why, this is a pleasure! Oh, you must not run away; you must sit down and tell me all about yourself—I've been longing to hear about you. How is your brother in the City, and your mother? I do hope she is a little better. And all those other lads and lasses? Sit down, my clear child, I insist on it—I have lots of things to