Free Nurse Ann Wood by Valerie K. Nelson

little monkey hasn’t accepted you. I didn’t think children had long memories.”
    “They usually haven’t,” Ann replied. “At least, not at Emma and Guy’s age.”
    “When you’ve been here a few days, they’ll accept you,” Mrs. Woods said, with bright confidence. “Perhaps, as you suggest, it will be best not to see much of them until after that Pollard girl has gone. I wish I’d packed her off without any notice.”
    “I don’t think she wants to go,” Ann murmured unhappily. It was odd that something which had been in the forefront of her mind all the morning should be so difficult to mention. Why on earth when she had first seen Mrs. Woods this morning had she not just remarked casually: “Mr. Sherrarde called last night after you had gone out. He stayed only a few minutes.”
    It ought to have been as easy as that, but it just wasn’t. If she had already given that information it would be quite natural to go on to say now that Mr. Sherrarde had spoken last night of Miss Pollard’s staying on.
    Mrs. Woods’ next grim remark didn’t make it any easier. “Well, she’s certainly going. And don’t think that it’s anything to do with your coming here. She’s an inefficient slut. She allowed the children to run away and they were found on the main road by—”
    She stopped there in order to compose her expression, remembering that she was endeavoring to hide from this girl as long as possible the antagonism which existed between herself and all who resided at Dainty’s End.
    “Well, a cousin of Mr. Sherrarde’s. The one I mentioned who is likely to ... er ... marry Iain saw them as she came along in her car and took them to Dainty’s End. You can imagine what I felt like ... when I was rung up and told that.”
    This gave Ann a further opportunity of speaking about last night. But even then she didn’t seize upon it. She said ' vaguely, “They are very lively children. They take a great deal of watching, I’m sure.”
    “They certainly do,” returned Mrs. Woods in a heartfelt voice. “As soon as the Pollard girl has gone, I’ll appoint a nursery maid to help you.”
    “Mrs. Woods, there—”
    “There’s someone outside. Oh, it’s you, March,” as the door opened and the housekeeper appeared. “No, it’s no good looking at me like that. You know how headstrong Beverley is.
    “All right, er — Ann. Go off for your walk, but be back in time to change and be ready for the party at half-past five. No, March, it’s no good trying to get me into a long discussion about it. I want to go up and have a rest. Those children disturbed me far too early this morning.”
    When she was up in her own room again, the girl went over to the window. The sun hadn’t kept its early promise and the day was rather grey, but she felt that she would go mad if she stayed aimlessly within four walls for much longer.
    She changed her shoes, put on her coat and picked up a scarf. It looked as if there might be rain, but she didn’t mind that.
    She crossed the garden, following the path that she had taken on the previous night. This time the woodland path, though gloomy, was sufficiently light for her to see the end of it. As she walked along, she realized that the trees formed a small copse, and that beyond it the path led to a gate in a high stone wall. Beyond lay the main road...
    The trees seemed to separate the gardens of Fountains from those of another house, and as she emerged from the copse, Ann caught a glimpse of that house, grey stone, with white painted woodwork and many well-planted flower-beds stretching in front of it.
    That must be Dainty’s End from which Iain Sherrarde had walked last night. But why then had he come by way of the main drive of Fountains? This was a shorter and far more pleasant way than by the main road. She pondered uneasily, for she could not help feeling that Mr. Sherrarde might have started to come this way, and then in the gloom of the copse, coming upon two