Free Vigil in the Night by A. J. Cronin

worried. It was the matter of insurance which seemed to be in question. Ted Grein looked after this aspect of the business. But apparently this policy had fallen into arrears. Or it possibly was worse. Anne had an uneasy suspicion that the money had been apportioned for the policy and not paid over by the suave, too gentlemanly Ted. Joe would not say. Yet as he hurried off to attend the court, his face spoke more than words.
      The inquiry was adjourned for a month so that injured passengers, who were necessary witnesses, might appear. Anne did not see Joe before he left for London. She sent a long letter of consolation to Lucy. And then, though deeply disturbed, she was overtaken by the sudden rush of her new duties in the district.
      Never before had she realized the full scope and usefulness of the nurse’s work. Never before had she come so closely in contact with humanity. She went into poverty-stricken homes where there was not enough to eat, into one-room slums where the furniture consisted of a dirty mattress, a rickety chair, an old iron cooking pot. She went into homes on which the hand of dread disease had laid its paralyzing clasp, homes rich and poor where people walked on tiptoe and anxiously read her face for some slight sign of hope. She came to realize what a password was her name, the magic name of “Nurse.” She discovered how rowdy crowds parted to make way for her, how in the worst localities of the city the sight of her uniform was more protection than a squad of policemen.
     
    CHAPTER 25
      Three weeks after her promotion Anne received her first important private case, and with it plain indication that she had made influential friends. In the course of her visiting she had done a certain amount of private work, but this, apart from the fact that it necessitated her living out of the hospital, was a case of the first magnitude.
      She was sent out to nurse the invalid wife of Matthew Bowley.
      The matron, having summoned Anne to her office, did not fail to impress the facts upon her with due severity. “You are very young, Nurse Lee,” said the Bruiser, drawing her eyebrows down, “for this particular responsibility. But Mr. Bowley wished you to be sent, and Dr. Prescott appears to have confidence in you. See that these good opinions are not misplaced. And remember: While you are in this household, see that your conduct is in every way befitting the traditions of the hospital.”
      “Yes, Matron.”
      With a warm sense of elation, a feeling that she was climbing the ladder of her profession, Anne left the office and went to the nurses’ home to collect her things. In a quarter of an hour she was ready, and at ten o’clock sharp the car, as promised, called for her. The car was a glittering blue Rolls-Royce with silvered fittings and a chauffeur in dark gray livery.
      It was a warm, sunny morning. As Anne drove through those crowded, dusty streets down which she usually hastened on foot carrying her own bag, she sensed already, in the smooth luxury of the Rolls, something of the privileges afforded by enormous wealth. The Bowley home heightened this sensation. An impressive and many-gabled mansion, situated in its own extensive grounds on Dene Hill a few miles out of Manchester, it conveyed, through its rich furnishing, thick carpets, and fine paintings, an almost intimidating sense of affluence. There was an excess of opulence about the house.
      Nevertheless Anne found her quarters, which were in the south wing next to Mrs. Bowley’s bedroom, charming in the extreme. Her little sitting room was filled with flowers, there were books about, and the windows opened onto a wide stretch of velvety lawn. No sooner had she arrived than a neat maid appeared and asked if she would care to have morning coffee. Anne could not repress a very human thrill of satisfaction: there were, after all, pleasant oases in the arid desert of a nurse’s life. And this, after her days of grim trudging