Nurse in India

NURSE IN INDIA

Juliet Armstrong

Can one bury the past? Put it behind one forever? Nurse Stella Hantley, traveling in India as secretary-nurse to kind Miss Jellings, would have answered
“
Yes
”
to that question. She found it hard to believe that she had ever danced on the stage and dreamed of becoming a star; and the episode which had shattered her career was little more than a shadowy memory. She was safe now and could reach out to take the happiness which Roger Fendish, she knew, was on the point of offering her
—
and then Allegra, lovely and treacherous, came suddenly back into her life, seeking for a second time to rob her of all she valued.

CHAPTER ONE

“Why rest house—
that
’
s what I want to know!” Sarah Jellings shifted her stout, shapeless body impatiently from one side of the vast, cane-backed chair to the other. “If there
’
s any building stocked with more brutally angular furniture than an Indian rest house, I
’
ve yet to find it.”

“Poor Jelly!” A smile lighted Stella Hantley
’
s dark-lashed blue eyes as she turned from watching the sunset. “Still, some of the so-called hotels we
’
ve struck in our recent wanderings have been a good deal worse—not even clean. Think of that place at—”

“Don
’
t remind me. I have too many vivid memories as it is.” Miss Jellings shuddered. “The fact is, Stella, I
’
m too ancient and decrepit for all this traipsing around the globe, even with a charming young nurse-cum-secretary in attendance. I ought to be sitting comfortably in a nice hotel at Bournemouth, exchanging knitting patterns with other old ladies, not indulging my mania for discovering out-of-the
-
way dances and writing books about them.” She gave a little sigh. “But there, when dancing is in your blood there
’
s no dislodging it—even though it
’
s more than twenty years since you tied on a pair of ballet shoes.”

Stella was silent for a moment. That phrase, “when dancing
’
s in your blood,” had thrown a shadow over the bright surface of her mind. But she made an effort, and said cheerfully, “Most people of your age—or of any other, come to that—would feel pretty proud at having been commissioned to write such an important book. Think of being
the
authority on ancient dances
.
”

Miss Jellings
’
s ugly old face fell into lines of great weariness. “That
’
s the way I kept myself going, up to the end of the third volume. I
’
d reached the Aztecs then. Now that I
’
m on the fifth, I
’
m telling myself I was a fool ever to start.” She heaved a sigh. “It isn
’
t that you aren
’
t a competent secretary, Stella; in spite of your inexperience,
you
’
re the best I
’
ve ever had! As for the material—well, these age-old Hindu dances ought to be thrilling me to the marrow—”

“I should say so!” Stella
’
s eyes were eager now. “Why, Jelly, you and I are seeing an India that the average European misses altogether.”

“What an enthusiast you are, child.” There was kindliness and warm affection in Miss Jellings
’
s glance as it rested on Stella, and just for a second the homely features were touched with beauty. “I
’
m inclined to think you could finish this last volume just as well as I. Honestly, my dear, it
’
s amazing to me the way you
’
ve digested all these odd bits and pieces of knowledge of dancing techniques. Nurses, if you
’
ll forgive my saying so, are usually single
-
track folk; it
’
s miracle enough that you should have learned to work a typewriter.”

Stella turned to the window once more. Again that shadow had fallen across her mind; again she was wishing, as she had so many times lately, that she could find the courage to open her heart to this lovable old woman for whom, during the past six months, sh
e
had been working so happily as nurse, secretary and traveling companion. But no! Even to think of what she still characterized, shudderingly, as “that awful-time,” made her feel physically sick. Jelly must continue to take it for granted that the only life she had ever known was that of a hospital nurse. Those earlier years, from seventeen to twenty, must be left to the oblivion to which she had sought, in such desperate anguish, to consign them.

“It isn
’
t as though you weren
’
t a good nurse, either,” Miss Jellings
’
s voice went on briskly. “For all your youth, there wasn
’
t a nurse at that clinic to touch you. The specialist may have collared the dibs, but both he and I knew that it was really you who saved my worthless life.”

“Worthless! I wish you wouldn
’
t say that, Jelly.” Stella was frowning. And then she asked jerkily, “Are you certain you don
’
t mind my going out tonight?”

“Of course not, child. I shall go to bed early, and Muhammad Ali will bring me a nice little dinner on a tray. And now tell me what you
’
re going to wear. You
’
d better not make yourself too beautiful, dining with three bachelors, or they might start quarreling over you!”

A faint smile touched Stella
’
s warm red mouth. Little did she guess how desirable she looked standing there, her strong, slender body braced against the frame of the long window, her short fair curls tinged red gold by the dying flames of the sunset.

“They
’
re more likely to quarrel
with
me,” she declared. “There
’
s some talk of bridge afterward, and you know what my calling
’
s like.”

“Pretty awful!” Miss Jellings chuckled. “Still, there
’
s one person who won
’
t find fault with you, and that
’
s your host. With him as your partner you can go down five tricks, doubled and vulnerable—”

“Oh, Roger
’
s amiable enough.” Stella tried to sound casual.

But Miss Jellings was not going to let her off so easily. “In point of fact,” she observed judicially, “Mr. Fendish looks to me as though he might have a very hot temper indeed. Now the other two are quite different. Old Mr. Blonson has the permanent blandness that all missionaries acquire; as for that good-looking, young Frenchman
—
Monsieur Verle or whatever his name is—he
’
s probably incapable of frowning for more than two seconds at anything in skirts.”

“Then why say that Roger won
’
t be cross?” Stella began unguardedly, only to break off, flushing at the glint of satirical amusement in the old woman
’
s eyes.

“My dear Stella, don
’
t pretend you
’
re not aware that Roger Fendish is falling head over heels in love with you.”

“Jelly, what nonsense! Why, we
’
ve only known each other six days.”

“Six minutes was sometimes enough, when I was a young girl,” was Miss Jellings
’
s swift retort. And then, with a little grimace of pain she began to haul herself out of the hard, deep chair that was so cruel to feminine curves. “I
’
ve only one request to make of you, and that is that you
’
ll postpone marrying the man till you
’
ve seen me safely back to England.”

“How absurd you are, Jelly!” Stella
’
s face was crimson as she ran to help her. “Me—a staid and sober hospital nurse!”

“You—a girl of twenty-five with a figure like a nymph
’
s and a curly yellow head like a cupid
’
s!” Miss
Jellings achieved a teasing smile. “And now call Muhammad Ali to bring our drinks onto the veranda. I
’
ve a notion to toast your luck in a gin and lime before you go. ”

Within a half hour
the sun had slipped behind the foothills in a blaze of scarlet and gold; and almost at the instant of its setting, darkness fell like a pall, and the warmth of the day was invaded by
the crisp tang of a typical cold-weather evening. It was a relief to turn indoors again. But when two hours later Stella, hearing the sound of Roger
’
s car, called good-night to Miss Jellings and stepped out onto the veranda again, the world was once more flooded with light. The moon, climbing up the sky, was spilling silver radiance over plane and hill and making fairylike the distant huddle of low, flat roofs, interspersed with domed mosque and towering temple that was the native city.

“It
’
s very good of you to fetch me,” she said, as the big, burly man jumped out of the car and came hurrying up the veranda steps. “You should have let me come in a
tonga
.”
She was trying to speak naturally, but Jelly
’
s teasing had disturbed her more than she would have cared to own; and in her anxiety not to behave like a flustered schoolgirl, she was adopting an air of formal politeness very different from her usual gay camaraderie.

“What an idea!” Tall as she was, Roger Fendish topped her by a good head, and he was smiling down at her protectively now, with an expression on his rugged features that certainly lent color to Miss Jellings
’
s triumphant assertions. “Are you sure you
’
re going to be warm enough?” he went on, looking her up and down.
“
As you
’
ve probably learned by now, the nights can be pretty chilly at this time of year.”

She snuggled herself more closely into her fur coat and nodded.

“I
’
m fine, thank you,” she told him, and hoped, as she climbed into the car beside him, that the ridiculous thumping of her heart would pass unnoticed.

It
’
s absurd of Jelly,
she was saying to herself vehemently.
Just because Roger Fendish and I like each other, she starts up this hare about falling in love.
And she tried to ignore the little tremors of delight that shot through her at the feel of his shoulder pressed close to hers as they rounded a bend in the road—the little pricks of pain that troubled her
as she reflected that within a week or two she and Jelly would be moving on to another part of India, hundreds of miles away, and that she and Roger might never see each other again.

She found, when they reached Roger
’
s bungalow, that she was the first guest to arrive; and beaming with satisfaction over this, Roger took her on a tour of his home. To her surprise and pleasure—for she had never suspected him of artistic leanings—it was furnished with some taste; there were some good pictures on the walls, as well as the inevitable sets of antelope horns, and the hangings were of soft-patterned cretonne that might well have come from Liberty
’
s.

“Why, each room is more charming than the last,” she told him as he showed her, with some pride, into his study. And then she caught her breath as
s
he noticed, in a place of honor on his desk, the studio portrait of a very lovely young girl: a girl with a small, heart-shaped face and wide, dark eyes.

Allegra! Surely she must be dreaming—wandering in some horrible nightmare! What was a photograph of Allegra Glydd, of all people in the world, doing on Roger
’
s desk?

She was trembling so violently, it seemed inevitable that he would notice; but to her relief he moved forward to adjust a curtain, and when he turned around again she had managed to get some control over herself.

“Is
n’
t she sweet?” he exclaimed, handing her the photograph in its silver frame. “Allegra Glydd is her name. She is going to marry my favorite brother—young Jim. They got engaged last summer when he was home on leave, and by Jove, he
’
s been in seventh heaven ever since.”

“She
’
s certainly lovely.” Stella could not drag her eyes away from that pictured face, though it was sheer torment to look at it.

“And what a fine little sport, too!” Roger
’
s tone was enthusiastic. “Do you know that kid
’
s persuaded an aunt and uncle of hers to bring her out here for the cold weather? She couldn
’
t bear to be separated from Jim even for a few months!”

“You mean she
’
s in India now?” It was hard to keep her voice steady, but she succeeded.

“Yes, she
’
s in Bombay, where Jim
’
s stationed. I hope to
get leave to run down there before very long. We
’
re all boys in our family, and a new and charming sister-in-law is an event.”

“I
suppose so!” Stella managed to achieve a smile.

“She was on the stage once, dancing,” Roger went on more soberly, as he replaced the photograph in its former position, “but fate dealt her a very shabby trick. She got mixed up in a rotten set and—oh, I don
’
t know the ins and outs, but there was a very nasty bit of business over a jewel theft. She was a mere baby—scarcely seventeen—and in any case there was no blame attached to her at all. But a frightful scandal blew up, and she shook the dust of the stage from her feet forever.”