Free Nurse in White by Lucy Agnes Hancock

carol you sang just now. Will you sing it again, please? Just for me?” And Ellen sang softly, there close to the bed of the mystery girl. The pale lips moved and Ellen knew she was singing with her, though no sound came. The deep violet eyes were flooded with tears.
    “Oh, why cannot I remember?” she whispered.
    “You will, all in good time. Just relax and don’t try to think. I’m sure you are going to have a lovely Christmas. Santa Claus left something on the tree for everyone. So, close your eyes and go right to sleep,” she urged smilingly. “Morning will come that much quicker if you do.”
    “You are so kind,” the girl whispered. “Everyone is so kind.” A shadow flitted across her face and was gone.
    Everyone wasn’t always kind, Ellen knew. She wondered how much longer it would be before recollection came. She wondered, too, if perhaps Dr. Dent had joined the carol singers. They were over now. The last visitors gone. The hospital had settled down for the night. Ann had wandered over to Maternity to see the twins born that morning to the wife of the town’s chief of police. The elevator whirred and Ellen’s heart missed a beat. But it was only Joe Chilson, the night watchman, come to fix a shutter that was loose.
    Ellen called herself an idiot. Cy Dent was no doubt spending Christmas Eve with some of Brentwood’s gay young people. He was one of the most popular men ever to intern in Anthony Ware. A feeling of desolation swept over her and for a moment she longed for home. Eleven o’clock—the tree was probably all trimmed now and dad and mother and the grandchildren were in bed; but she visioned her sisters and brothers and in-laws sitting down to a snack of sandwiches and coffee or maybe griddle cakes and maple syrup with little homemade sausages. Her eyes filled. What wouldn’t she give for just one little peek into the big, warm old kitchen! The hospital corridor was lonely tonight; the wind howled dismally as it swept around the corner of the ancient building. Even the mystery girl was asleep—all the world was asleep she felt—asleep or having a good time somewhere. Mentally, she shook herself. What ailed her? This was no way to feel on Christmas Eve.
    “Holy night—peaceful night—
    All is calm—all is bright—”
    She hummed softly and felt comforted.
    Down in MacGowan’s office, Cyrus Dent and the chief of staff were discussing Lady X’s condition. At last the older man got wearily to his feet. It had been a hard day—a long day.
    “Aye, she’s stronger. I’m sure o’ that. And in time nae doot she’ll recall her name. We maun nabe impatient, lad. Just bide a bit.” He opened the door—touched the young man’s shoulder as he went out. “Gude night, doctor.”
    “Not be impatient!” muttered Cy as he left the hospital. “I’ve a hunch my plan’ll hurry things along a bit. Time! Wait! Too much time has been lost already. We’ve waited long enough. Action is indicated.”
    He swung down the snowy street, humming softly:
    Holy night—peaceful night—
    All is calm—all is bright—”
    Nightingale would be relieved to discover the identity of Lady X, he was sure of that. If his plan worked—it just had to work!

CHAPTER SEVEN
    “Cast your eyes on this blurb, Gaylord.” Cyrus Dent laid a folded newspaper on the table in the corridor of Ward L and thrust thumbs through imaginary suspenders.
    WHO IS LADY X?
    An interesting case of amnesia is under observation at Anthony Ware Hospital. Some two weeks ago, the patient, a beautiful and apparently well-bred girl of about twenty, was found in an unconscious condition near the lodge of T. Montgomery Davis, on West Lake Road.
    At the hospital it was discovered she was suffering head and spine injuries causing complete though perhaps temporary paralysis.
    There is not the slightest clue to her identity aside from the fact that she is probably English, hence the title given her by the hospital staff.
    Lady X is five feet two