Free A Case of Heart Trouble by Susan Barrie

collision with a taxi, and little Nurse Drew was reasonably popular. She was relegated to her rightful position, made pots of tea and coffee for the visiting doctors and surgeons and carried them into Matron's private office without being noticed by anyone—the fact that she was so pale these days seemed to have detracted from her looks, for one thing—fetched and carried for whoever wanted her to fetch and carry, and spent a lot of time in the sluice-room.
    During her off-duty periods she took advantage of London's pale sunshine—whenever there was pale sunshine—and walked in the park and the quiet squares surrounding the nursing home, without getting any more color in her cheeks. She tired easily, and she still had the remains of a cough, but she couldn't have said she felt ill. Just a little wistful, sometimes, when she dreamed of a world where there were no endless miles of corridors to traverse in rubber-soled shoes, no demanding patients paying very large weekly sums to have their bells answered immediately, and to be lifted, reassured, listened to, when she had a dozen other tasks to perform.
    And, above all, no demanding Day Sister, who would never forgive a lapse, watching her critically all the time, and perhaps reporting on her to Matron.
    But she loved nursing, and was quite sure that when the spring came—the real spring, not just a few deceptive fine days—she would begin to feel much more like herself, and have a new zest for her job. So she went about ticking the days off on the calendar, delighted when February dragged to an end, thrilled by the squally arrival of March.
    And it was on a wild day in March, when Matron’s room was filled, nevertheless, with great bowls of daffodils and vases of other spring flowers, that she was sent for by Matron, and the summons drove every scrap of color out of her face because she was sure that, at last, there was to be some complaint about her work.
    But Matron greeted her smilingly, and waved her affably to a chair. She seemed to understand the slightly petrified air of the youthful Nurse Drew, and explained at once that the reason she had been sent for was a very pleasant one ... a remarkable piece of good fortune for Nurse Drew, who was receiving preferential treatment for the second time in a matter of months.
    “Doctor Loring came to me this morning and explained that he had a problem,” she said. “His daughter, Stephanie, is recovering from some childish complaint that she caught at school, and because she appears to be in rather a run-down condition she’s being sent home for a while. As you know, Yorkshire is quite healthy country, and it’s hoped that the pure moorland air will do her a lot of good. Unfortunately, Dr. Loring’s aunt is rather elderly to have a delicate child thrust on her to take charge of, and since someone must take charge of her he has thought of you. Are you prepared, Nurse, to leave London almost immediately for Loring Court?”
    Dallas was so utterly taken aback that she could say nothing immediately. And then the only thing she could think of to say was: “But—what about Dr. Loring’s wife? Surely she—? The child’s own mother . . . !”
    Matron looked both shocked and pained.
    “My dear Nurse Drew, if the child’s mother was alive do you think that Dr. Loring would be calling in an outsider? His daughter is not ill ... she merely requires someone to be with her and take charge of her, preferably someone young like yourself; and of course your nursing experience will be an advantage. That and the fact that you know Loring Court.
    “B-but—but ... ” Dallas was stammering hopelessly. “But I don’t understand! I was quite sure that I met Mrs. Loring while I was at Loring Court. She came there. ... ”
    Matron began to look impatient.
    “You must be referring to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Roger Loring. She and the late Mrs. Martin Loring were sisters—twins—and in case you’re confusing a photograph they were