THE BLUE DIAMOND (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes
that. But quite apart from any such idea”—as Sir Arthur made a hasty gesture of dissent—“the nursing there would be a slight matter, while here—”
“Surely we can look after one girl amongst us?” Mavis said quickly. “Dorothy and I are both going to help, and my maid, Minnie Spencer, is a very good girl.”
“A very good girl, I have no doubt, Miss Mavis,” the doctor said as he beamed at her over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles. “But I am afraid our patient requires rather more attention than I could impose upon either of you two young ladies or upon Minnie Spencer. Now at the Cottage Hospital—”
“The Cottage Hospital is out of the question,” Sir Arthur interrupted brusquely. “I beg your pardon, doctor. But this young lady is in some sort our guest. We could not entertain such a suggestion for an instant. Still, if you think she requires further care, by all means let her have a trained nurse here. Can you get one for us?”
Dr. Grieve stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“They can’t spare one at the Cottage Hospital, I am sure of that. I might telegraph to Exeter, but I doubt our being able to get one from there to-day. I know they are very busy. Well, we must do our best.”
Garth Davenant had taken no part in the conversation after the first; he had been looking abstractedly through the window and fidgeting about from one foot to the other, but as the doctor spoke his face lighted up. He turned round.
“Upon my word, I believe I can help you there, doctor. You remember Mary Marston?”
“Yes, I remember Mary—she has been trained at one of the London hospitals. You don’t mean—‘‘
“She is at home now, I know—or was yesterday afternoon. She has been nursing on her own account lately—has severed her connection with the hospital, I believe. She has been at home for a holiday, but I heard she was anxious to be at work again. I dare say she would come.”
“The very thing!” Dr. Grieve exclaimed. “If you approve, Sir Arthur, you could send for her. She could come up to-day and the worst of our difficulty would be over.”
“Certainly,” Arthur said heartily. “I remember Mary Marston well; she was always a nice, reliable woman. My mother will like it better than having a stranger.”
“I will go down and ask her to come if you like,” Garth interposed.
“The very thing!” the doctor said again as he rose.
“Then you will tell her to be here as soon as she can, Mr. Davenant?”
“One moment, doctor,” Garth went on, as the little man turned to the door. “Wouldn’t you be inclined to suggest a consultation? It seems to me such a strange case!”
Dr. Grieve did not look quite pleased.
“Not the least necessity for that! Any doctor would only tell you, as I do, that rest and quiet are the best things for her. We can do no more at present. Ah, here comes Miss Dorothy! My dear, you are a sight for sore eyes this morning!” as the girl, looking very fresh and sweet in her simple morning-gown, came running down the stairs.
She laughed and blushed.
“You have not forgotten how to pay compliments, I see, Dr. Grieve. Mavis, Aunt Laura wants you for one moment,” with a laughing glance at Garth, whose expression at the moment was by no means attractive.
The long morning with Mavis upon which he had been reckoning was out of the question now, and his stay at Lockford was limited. But the cause of his dissatisfaction lay deeper than the mere disappointment; the more he heard of it the more inexplicable did the discovery of last night appear to him, and the less did he relish the idea of this unknown girl being brought into daily contact with Mavis.
Mavis’s whispered promise to come down again when he returned from Nurse Marston’s house served to dissipate the clouds for the moment, however, and while she ran upstairs he turned to Dr. Grieve, and, chatting with him, turned down the steps.
Arthur was left alone with his cousin; he crossed to her as she stood near the fireplace with Nero lying at her feet, his eyes upturned with an expression of ridiculous devotion.
“Dorothy, I wanted to ask you—”
The girl’s eyes glanced round nervously; the pretty faint colour in her cheeks flickered.
“I—I don’t think I must stay now, Arthur. I told Aunt Laura I would sit with that poor girl a while this morning. Dr. Grieve says she ought not to be left alone.”
“That is very good of you!” Arthur said heartily. Not for a moment did he glance at the girl’s downcast face—his eyes were straying absently to the door and watching Dr. Grieve as he bent down from his dog-cart for a last word with Garth Davenant. “It was about her that I wanted to speak to you,” he went on. “Have you seen her already? How does she strike you this morning?”
“I hardly know,” Dorothy said, vaguely chilled by his manner. “She has not spoken when I have been in the room, and Minnie says that for the most part she lies quite still with her eyes wide open, though every now and then she will moan or cry mournfully to herself.”
Her cousin’s face looked very pitiful.
“Poor girl! I wish we could do more for her.”
“It is very queer that we cannot hear of her friends,” Dorothy said thoughtfully. “She is very pretty, Arthur.”
“It is the most beautiful face I have ever seen!” he declared enthusiastically. “The features are perfect, and her colouring—did you notice what glorious masses of hair? Just the colour Titian would have loved to paint! One can only imagine what she would be like in health; but even last night—” He broke off suddenly. “Well, I must not keep you from her, Dorothy. If she will only let me paint her later on—”
For in the intervals unoccupied by his different crazes he was wont to devote himself to painting, and was by no means destitute of artistic abilities.
The vague unrest in Dorothy’s eyes deepened, her lips quivered a little.
“It—oh, I should think she will!” she said simply. “For the Elaine, you mean, don’t you? I—we must all try to persuade her, Arthur.”
“Thank you! Hasn’t she exactly the ideal face for which I have been waiting? I knew you would understand,” he said heartily. “Thank you for all you are doing for her, Dorothy.”
Chapter IV
“Minnie, can I speak to her ladyship?” said the nurse. The maid looked doubtful.
“Her ladyship has just gone downstairs; she told Mrs. Parkyns and me to see that you had all you wanted.”
The nurse paused a moment in indecision. She was a pleasant, capable-looking woman, nearly thirty years of age, with dark hair, already beginning to be streaked with grey, drawn back from her face and braided smoothly beneath her cap. “It isn’t anything of that kind. I have everything I need, thank you. But I should like to speak to her.”
Minnie shook her head as the sound of wheels became audible.
“It is no use now. We have a big dinner-party to-night and the guests are arriving. I couldn’t go to her ladyship. If Miss Mavis—”
“Miss Mavis wouldn’t do,” Nurse Marston said decidedly, frowning as if in perplexity. “I must see her ladyship to-night. It is about my patient.”
“Is she worse?” the girl asked in consternation. “We thought she was going on so nicely, and Dr. Grieve said—
“She is doing very well,” the nurse said absently. “It wasn’t about that I wanted to speak. It—well, I