Meanwhile Dr. Staunton and Dorothy drove quickly to The Grange. It was
still very early in the morning, and when they arrived at the great hall
door it was opened by Squire Harvey himself.
"That's right, Dr. Staunton!" he exclaimed. "I am so glad you have come.
Oh, and I see you have brought a nurse. What a blessing! Now, perhaps,
you will induce my wife to take some rest. How lucky that you were able
to find a nurse in a little place like Whittington!"
"I am very fortunate indeed," replied the doctor in his hearty voice.
"Nurse Fraser has been trained at St. Joseph's, and happens to be
staying at Whittington for a brief holiday. She has most kindly
consented to undertake the case until we can get fresh assistance from
London."
"I will stay as long as I am wanted," said Dorothy in her quiet voice.
"If I can be shown to a room for a moment to take off my bonnet and
cloak, I will go immediately afterward to the little patient."
Dorothy's voice was perfectly cool and calm. She did not speak in the
constrained whisper which the poor Squire thought it right to use. There
was an everyday tone in her voice which at this moment was absolutely
refreshing, and the sympathy in her blue eyes just gave the right
quality to the cool tones.
The doctor looked at her with unconcealed admiration. "That girl is one
in ten thousand," he said to himself. "She will keep us all on our
mettle, I can see, but there is plenty of heart underneath that cool
exterior."
The great luxurious house looked neglected and wretched. Although the
father and mother were up, and one or two servants were assisting in the
sickroom, the greater number of the servants were still in bed. There
was no one to take Miss Fraser to a room, and the Squire looked round
him in hopeless bewilderment.
Dorothy saw at a glance that she must take matters into her own hands.
"I do not want to trouble you," she said. "I can put my cloak and bonnet
in here. I should like to put on my cap and apron before I go
upstairs."
She opened a door as she spoke, and went into a room where all the
blinds were down, took off her outdoor things, and, taking a cap out of
her bag, slipped it over her hair, tied on a white apron, and then stood
ready and capable, and fresh and bright, before the Squire and the
doctor.
"Now, come straight upstairs with me," said the doctor.
They went up together; Squire Harvey followed them at a distance. When
the doctor reached the first landing, he opened a green baize door, shut
it behind him, and walked down a long, cool corridor which led in the
direction of the nurseries.
"Now, look here," he said, turning and facing Dorothy, "the great thing
that we have both to do is to keep this terrible disease from spreading.
One or two of the servants have been with the case from the first; the
father and mother have been in and out of the room as freely and
unconstrainedly as if the child had only a cold the matter with her; if
they are likely to take the infection, the mischief is probably done
already; but, on the chance of this not being so, I shall beg of the
Squire to come into this part of the house as seldom as possible. And as
to Mrs. Harvey, she must be got away; that is your task, nurse. You will
allow me to call you nurse, won't you?"
"Certainly. Call me Nurse Dorothy; I like that name best. I am called
that by the children at St. Joseph's."
"Very well. I am sure you will be a blessing here; but a great deal of
tact must be used. The position of affairs is extremely difficult."
"I will do my best," replied the nurse. The doctor gave her another look
of complete satisfaction, and they entered the room where the little
patient lay between life and death.
A small cot had been drawn almost into the center of the room, the
blinds were down, there was a sense of desolation, and a heavy smell in
the air.
"Who has shut these windows?" said the doctor in a voice of disapproval.
He went straight across the room, drew up one of the blinds, and opened
the window two or three inches. A fresh current of air immediately
improved the close atmosphere.
When he spoke, and when he and Nurse Fraser came into the room, a
fair-haired young woman, who was on her knees by the side of the cot,
started up suddenly, and gazed at them out of a pair of wide blue eyes.
Her cheeks were deeply flushed, her lips were parched and dry.
"Oh, doctor," she said, staggering toward Dr. Staunton, "you have come
back. What a blessing! She is asleep now; perhaps she is better."
The doctor went over and looked at the child. She was a little creature
of not more than five years of age. In health she may have been pretty,
she probably was; but now, the shadowy little face, the emaciated hands,
the hot, dry, cracked lips, were the reverse of beautiful. They were all
that was pathetic, however; and Dorothy's heart went straight out to the
baby who lay there in such suffering and weakness.
The doctor looked at her, and gave a significant glance toward Mrs.
Harvey.
Dorothy took her cue at once.
"I have come to nurse your dear little girl, madam," she said. "Dr.
Staunton has brought me. I have a great deal of experience, as I am
superintendent of one of the children's wards at St. Joseph's Hospital.
I think you may trust your little girl to me; but first of all, let me
take you to your room and put you to bed."
"Put me to bed!" said Mrs. Harvey, with a laugh which jarred on
everyone's nerves. "I have not been in bed for nights. I could not
sleep. When the doctor tells me that Freda is out of danger, then I may
be able to sleep, but not before--not before."
"Whether you sleep or not," continued Dorothy, "you must come and lie
down. You are completely worn out, and can do no good whatever to the
child in your present condition. While she sleeps it is surely right
that you should sleep too. Come, I will promise to call you if you are
wanted."
"Yes, dear madam, let me entreat of you to go to bed," said the doctor.
The door was opened at this moment, and the Squire came in.
"Now Elfreda," he said, coming up to his wife, "you will go and take
some rest, won't you?"
She looked from him to the nurse, and from the nurse to the doctor, and
then her tired, bright eyes fell upon the little parched face lying on
the pillow.
"I know she is going to die!" she said, with a kind of broken sob. "I
cannot leave her. How can anyone dare to ask me to leave my little child
just now?" Her agitation became more terrible each moment. She was
evidently on the verge of hysterics.
Dorothy walked straight from the nursery to a sort of dressing-room
which lay beyond. There was a small bed there, which was sometimes
occupied by the under-nurse. A scared-looking, tired young woman was
standing in this room. Dorothy gave her quick directions. "Get clean
sheets, and make this bed up immediately," she said.
The girl started, but looked relieved at having anything explicit to do.
She ran off to obey, and Dorothy came back to the sickroom.
"Hush!" she said, going up to Mrs. Harvey, who was standing shaking from
head to foot with dry sobs. "You must not give way like this; it is very
wrong. Remember you have not only yourself to think of." She bent
forward and whispered a word in the young mother's ear. Mrs. Harvey
started, and with a violent effort controlled herself.
"I see that you must not be separated from your child," continued
Dorothy--"at least, not at present. I am having a bed made up for you in
the dressing-room, where you will be within call."
"Ah, yes, that's better," said the poor lady--"that's much better."
"Come, then, at once," said Dorothy. She held out her hand. Mrs. Harvey
crossed the room. She and Dorothy disappeared into the dressing-room.
In ten minutes the nurse came back to Dr. Staunton. "I have undressed
her, and she is in bed," she said. "She is very weak, and in a terribly
nervous condition; she ought to sleep for hours. Will you prepare a
composing draught for her it once?"
"Yes," said the doctor; "I have brought some medicines with me."
He went out of the room, and returned in a minute or two with a small
dose in a glass.
Dorothy took it into the dressing-room. Mrs. Harvey's tired eyes were
shut already.
"Now, you're to drink this," said Dorothy, raising her head slightly.
"Drink this--don't open your eyes. Trust. Lean on me, if you like.
Believe me, that nothing would induce me not to call you if your child
were in real danger, but you must sleep now--sleep, and try to believe
that all will be well."
"You comfort me, nurse," said Mrs. Harvey. "You are strong. I somehow
believe in you."
"You may do so," said Dorothy. She bent down and kissed the hot lips.
She absolutely forgot that she was only the nurse, and that the tired
woman in the bed was a lady of high position. At such a moment as this
they were only two women, two sisters.
Dorothy waited for a moment to see the sleeping draught take effect,
then, drawing down the blind, she left the room, closing the door softly
behind her.
When she returned to the nursery, Dr. Staunton was bending over little
Freda, who had opened her eyes, and was moaning in terrible pain.
"The fever is better," he said, turning to the nurse; "the feverish
stage is over, and of course, although we may expect and must guard
against complications, there is no reason why the child should not do
well as far as that is concerned, but the state of the throat is the
real anxiety. I do not like to suggest such a terrible operation as
tracheotomy, but if the child does not get relief before long, I fear
there is no help for it, and it must be performed."
Dorothy bent down and examined the little patient carefully.
"I have had a good deal of experience in these cases," she said, after a
pause, "and have found "--she mentioned a certain remedy which could be
inhaled--"work wonders, especially in the cases of children."
"I have not heard of it," said Dr. Staunton, knitting his brows in
anxiety, "but it sounds simple, and I see no harm in trying it."
"It is very simple," said Dorothy. "I should like to try it."
The child moaned and tossed on her pillow.
The doctor went out of the room to prepare the medicine which the nurse
had recommended, and Dorothy called one of the frightened servants to
her side. She told her that she meant to take the child up and walk
about the room with her in her arms.
"While she is out of bed I will have the windows closed," said the
nurse, "and of course she must be well wrapped up in blankets. She may
drop off to sleep again in my arms; anyhow, the change of position and
the slight movement will be most refreshing to her. Will you make the
bed and put on clean sheets while I am walking about with the child?"
The girl promised to obey.
"It is very infectious, ain't it, miss?" she said suddenly.
"It is in God's hands," replied the nurse.
There was a sound in her voice, a sort of thrill of strength, which
subjugated the girl at once, and made her forget her fears. She obeyed
the nurse's directions with a will; and when, in an hour's time, Dr.
Staunton returned with the remedy which Nurse Dorothy had suggested, he
scarcely knew the sickroom.
The little child had been laid back again in bed. Her long hair was
combed away from her pale, worn face, Dorothy had plaited it neatly; the
little face was washed, and looked almost cool compared with its old
flushed and weary condition. The bed was neat, and in perfect order,
with snowy sheets. The tired little head rested on a cool pillow.
Dorothy and the maid had removed the carpets from the floor, and the
room was sprinkled with a disinfectant. Two of the windows were open,
and a faint sweet breath of air from the garden outside blew into the
room.
"Why, nurse, this is an admirable change," said the doctor.
"It is necessary," replied Nurse Dorothy. "There is no chance of
recovery without fresh air and a cool, quiet, calm atmosphere. I think
Rhoda"--she looked at the servant as she spoke--"will help me with this
case, and I should like as few other people as possible in the room. I
have promised Mrs. Harvey to call her if there is any change for the
worse in the child, but my impression is she will soon be better."
"God grant it!" said the doctor.
"What a blessing a good, properly-trained nurse is!" he thought, as he
went off to the room which had been prepared for him, and where he was
glad to take an hour or two of much-needed rest.