THE DENIAL
DOCTOR ROBERTS removed his fingers from Mrs. Nash's wrist, after taking
her pulse, and then bowed gravely to her husband.
"Your wife has rallied and we can safely leave her with the nurse," he
said. "Come, Nash, you must be very weary after your anxious night,"
and laying his hand persuasively on his companion's shoulder he gently
pushed him toward the hall door, then turned back to speak to Miriam.
"I will be downstairs in the living room if you need me."
Miriam, in the act of preparing Mrs. Nash's medicine, did not answer.
Going over to the bed she aroused the drowsy woman, helped her to a
sitting position and held the medicine glass to her lips. Mrs. Nash
drank slowly, and then settled back with a low sigh. Miriam busied
herself about the bedroom for ten minutes before returning to the chair
by the bed and found her patient regarding her steadfastly.
"When did my husband get here?" she asked.
"Around six o'clock yesterday afternoon," replied Miriam.
"I do not remember." Mrs. Nash passed her hand before her eyes. "He
came while I was unconscious--?"
"Yes. Now, Mrs. Nash, don't talk--"
"Was he with me all night?" Paying no attention to Miriam, she
struggled up on her elbow as she put the question.
"He was in and out of the room most of the night," Miriam bent over and
adjusted the bedclothes. "Doctor Roberts was here also."
Mrs. Nash was silent for some little time, her eyes roving about the
big room, into which the daylight was stealing through the partly open
windows; finally she gazed again at her nurse.
"I wasn't so ill that I could not appreciate what you did for me," she
said, and Miriam was surprised at the amount of feeling in her voice.
"I shan't forget it, my dear."
"Indeed, Mrs. Nash, you must not excite yourself," Miriam protested,
coloring warmly at her praise. "Please lie down again and try to sleep."
"How about you?" with a keen glance at her. "Have you had any sleep?
Ah, I can see you haven't, so don't lie." The injunction slipped out
with Mrs. Nash's customary abruptness and Miriam could not forbear a
smile. Undoubtedly Mrs. Nash was recovering. "Go and lie down on that
cot which I had Martha bring here yesterday afternoon for you. Don't
be afraid"--with a fleeting smile--"I'll make my wants known." And
considering the argument settled Mrs. Nash turned to a more comfortable
position and closed her eyes.
Without moving Miriam considered her in silence. It was only when she
heard Mrs. Nash's regular breathing and realized that she had fallen
into peaceful slumber that she walked over to the cot and, drawing back
the heavy blanket, threw herself, dressed as she was, down upon it.
Her head had hardly touched the pillow before she was sound asleep. An
hour passed and she still slept on, totally unaware that some one had
stealthily entered the room.
Mrs. Nash stirred, opened her eyes and sat up. What was the noise which
had awakened her? Her eyes darted about the room as she turned her head
from side to side, and she bent this way and that to get a better view
of each piece of furniture. A gentle snore from Miriam suggested a
solution--had a louder snore aroused her? Mrs. Nash lay back among the
pillows, but she did not close her eyes.
It was close upon eight o'clock when Miriam awoke and, refreshed by her
long nap, sprang up, to find Mrs. Nash's bright black eyes regarding
her with an expression she could not fathom.
The desultory conversation about the breakfast table ceased altogether
with the departure into the pantry of Anna, the capable daughter of a
neighboring farmer, whom Martha had secured to aid her in caring for
the guests at Abbott's Lodge. She had often assisted Martha when Paul
Abbott and his father had entertained parties in the hunting season
and her familiarity with the household arrangements made her presence
invaluable at the moment to the overworked housekeeper, whose duties
had multiplied with the alarming illness of Mrs. Nash.
Doctor Roberts and Alan Mason had eaten with relish Martha's buckwheat
cakes and country sausage, but Alexander Nash scarcely tasted a
mouthful of the appetizing breakfast, contenting himself with several
cups of black coffee.
"Must you return to Washington, Roberts?" he asked, pushing aside his
plate.
"Yes; I must be at Garfield by noon for an important operation."
Roberts paused to light a cigar handed to him by Alan. "There is every
reason to believe that Mrs. Nash will continue to improve."
Nash looked moodily at the unused knife which he was balancing between
his fingers. "Is there any country doctor in the neighborhood, Alan,
whom we could call on in an emergency?" he asked.
"I suppose so," Alan stopped to knock the ashes from his cigar into his
coffee cup. "I'll get in touch with Trenholm and ask him."
"Hold on," exclaimed Roberts, as Alan pushed back his chair,
preparatory to rising. "I don't know, Nash, how competent the country
doctors are, but you can safely trust Miss Ward should another crisis
arise."
"The nurse?" The question was put by Nash with raised eyebrows, and
Roberts frowned. He did not relish the clergyman's tone.
"The nurse," he repeated, with dry emphasis. "But for her keeping her
wits about her Mrs. Nash would have died yesterday afternoon, before I
could get to her."
"What was the cause of my wife's critical condition?" asked Nash. "You
have never told me."
"Heart collapse," tersely. "Miss Ward's prompt use of camphorated oil,
administered hypodermically, brought her around, however, and her
clever nursing has aided materially in her recovery from the attack.
Come, Nash, don't be so downhearted; you can place every confidence in
Miss Ward."
Nash laid down his napkin. "I'll be more easy in my mind if you will
return," he admitted. "Miss Ward is undoubtedly clever, but, at that,
only a nurse--"
"A damned fine looking one!" ejaculated Alan, emerging from behind
a screen of tobacco smoke. "Come, Nash, why have you taken such a
prejudice against her?"
Nash glanced angrily at the younger man, but refrained from a direct
answer.
"Suppose we drop the discussion," he said. "I will be greatly obliged,
Roberts, if you will promise to get back later to-day."
"I will try," was Roberts' noncommittal reply. "It depends upon how I
find my patients and my assistant's report whether I can spend to-night
here. I will run up now and see Mrs. Nash," and not waiting to hear
anything further, he left the dining room.
As Roberts reached the second floor, Miriam rose from her seat in the
alcove, where she had been eating her breakfast, and accompanied him
into the sick room. Mrs. Nash, with Martha sitting watchfully by the
bed, was dozing, and Roberts refrained from arousing her. Once again in
the hall he paused to speak to Miriam before going down the stairs.
"Keep up the same treatment," he directed. "Do not let her exert
herself in any way, and no excitement, mind--"
Miriam hesitated. "Is she to see any one?" she asked.
"I leave that to your discretion." He paused for thought. "Don't permit
any discussion--any arguments." He came back a step. "I wouldn't let
her mind dwell too much on Mr. Abbott's murder, and discourage her from
talking about it."
"I do, Doctor." Miriam looked down the empty hall, and then back at
Roberts. "Don't you think you had better get a second nurse?"
"That's not necessary now," exclaimed Roberts. "In fact, two nurses
would alarm Mrs. Nash unduly about her condition. You are getting some
sleep, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm supposed to be off duty now, but I don't like to leave her."
"Oh, have Martha alternate with Miss Carter in the sick room; they
can call you if she has another attack." He noticed her change in
expression, and, struck by an idea, asked in a lower voice: "Are Mrs.
Nash and her niece on good terms?"
"Why, yes," glancing at him in surprise, and Roberts looked sharply at
her.
"Sure?"
"Certainly; I have seen nothing to make me think otherwise," with more
insistence, as he still looked dubious.
"Where is Miss Carter now?"
"Breakfasting in her room, Martha told me. She has volunteered to spend
the morning with her aunt, and--"
"Then you must go to your room and rest." Roberts started down the
staircase. "I have promised Nash to return to-night. If an emergency
arises, you have my telephone number," and the busy physician hurried
away just as Martha appeared in Mrs. Nash's doorway.
"Please, Miss--Ma'am," she came further into the hall at sight of
Miriam. "Mrs. Nash is sleeping nicely. Can I get Miss Betty to come to
her aunt?"
"Surely, Martha," but the housekeeper still hung back, instead of going
on her errand, and she added, "What is it?"
Martha came nearer and lowered her voice.
"Before she fell asleep she said to tell you to ask her husband to
send for her maid, Somers, to come and help take care of her," and her
message delivered in one breathless sentence, Martha went down the hall
to Betty's bedroom.
Miriam went thoughtfully over to the alcove and arranged the soiled
dishes on her breakfast tray while she considered Mrs. Nash's message.
If Somers was the right kind of person she would be invaluable.
Martha's white face, and nervous, excitable manner pointed inevitably
to one conclusion--Martha's usefulness as a nurse's aid would soon be
a thing of the past, indeed, if indications could be depended upon,
she might become a patient herself; for to Miriam's practiced eye, the
housekeeper was on the verge of a nervous collapse.
From where she stood in the window, Miriam caught sight of Alan talking
to Doctor Nash in the driveway which led to the garage. Apparently
Alan spoke rapidly, with quick jerky movements of his hands, while
the clergyman contented himself with a nod of his head now and then;
suddenly Alan whirled around and went in the direction of the garage.
Nash, left to himself, stood still for a minute, then commenced pacing
slowly up and down, each turn bringing him nearer the house. Miriam's
eyes brightened. Here was her opportunity to deliver Mrs. Nash's
message and to talk to Nash undisturbed. Since his arrival in the sick
room the night before she had had no chance to speak to him, other than
brief statements as to his wife's condition. But she had recognized him
instantly upon his entrance as Betty Carter's companion on Monday night.
Leaving the breakfast tray for Martha to take to the pantry, Miriam
ran lightly down the staircase and out of the front door. The driveway
was entirely clear of snow and at the sound of Miriam's tread on the
gravel, Nash looked over his shoulder and halted abruptly.
"Does my wife need me?" he asked. "I'll go to her at once."
"No, wait." Miriam, to her surprise, was breathing rapidly, and
paused to recover herself. What was there about this middle-aged man
confronting her to make her nervous? A certain hardness about the
clean-shaven, handsome mouth, a drooping lid which partly covered one
of his blue eyes--no, they did not account for her instinctive dread of
the clergyman. She caught Nash's surprise at her continued silence and
spoke in haste to cover her embarrassment. "Miss Carter is with your
wife."
"Ah, then you are out for a walk. Pardon me for detaining you," and
Nash raised his hat, intending to move on, but Miriam checked him.
"Just a moment," she exclaimed. "Your wife wishes you to send for
Somers."
"Somers?" questioningly. "Ah, very well. I will go at once and
telephone."
"Again I must detain you." Miriam spoke with assurance. She had caught
sight of Guy Trenholm as he turned the corner of the house and came
toward them. Her eyes brightened. Trenholm had come most opportunely.
Unconscious of her added color, she turned to the silent man regarding
her, as Trenholm paused by her side.
"Doctor Nash," she began, "I have told Sheriff Trenholm of Miss
Carter's visit to Mr. Paul Abbott on Monday night just before he was
murdered and that you accompanied her and, in my absence from the sick
room, performed the marriage ceremony. Will you kindly confirm that
statement?"
Alexander Nash eyed her and Trenholm, then his gaze swept upward to a
window of his wife's bedroom where Betty Carter stood looking down at
them. His gaze turned again to Miriam and the silent, attentive sheriff.
"On Monday night?" he asked, and his voice was under admirable control.
"I fail to recall any such occurrence."
Slowly Miriam took in the meaning of his words. Her face flamed
scarlet, then went deadly white.
"You liar! You despicable liar!" she cried, and Trenholm caught her
outflung hand. For one moment they confronted each other, then Nash
broke the tense pause.
"Hysterics," he commented, pursing up his lips. "Can you manage her,
Sheriff, or shall I sent out one of the women?"
Trenholm looked down at Miriam, then across at Nash. "I need no
assistance," he said, and the dryness of his voice was not lost on the
clergyman. "You need not wait."
Miriam tried to free herself from Trenholm's grasp as Nash went inside
the house. Suddenly she ceased struggling and rested limply against him.
"Do you feel better?" he asked, and the human sympathy in his voice
almost broke her down. "Shall I get you a glass of wine?"
"No, thanks. I'll be all right in a minute." Miriam straightened up
as she regained her self-control. She laid one hand over her rapidly
beating heart, but her eyes did not falter in her direct gaze at him.
"I owe you an apology for creating a scene."
Trenholm looked at her long and searchingly. From behind a box hedge
which skirted the walk, Pierre, the chauffeur, watched the tableau. He
was too far away to hear what was said, but the sheriff's expression
provided him with food for thought.
Miriam broke the protracted pause. "Doctor Nash does not speak like an
American," she said. "What is his nationality?"
Trenholm turned to accompany her into the house. They had reached the
veranda before he answered her question.
"Nash is a Canadian," he replied. "Take care--watch that step," as she
stumbled.
Miriam slowly released his strong hand, which she had clutched
instinctively to keep her balance.
"Thanks!" She looked up again and Trenholm noticed the distended pupils
of her eyes. "I shall not trip again."