Sad Cypress

Nurse Hopkins said:

‘I’m sorry for Mary. That old father of hers does his best to spite the girl.’

‘Not a civil word in his head, the old curmudgeon,’ said Nurse O’Brien. ‘There, the kettle’s singing. I’ll wet the tea as soon as it comes to the boil.’

The tea was made and poured, hot and strong. The two nurses sat with it in Nurse O’Brien’s room next door to Mrs Welman’s bedroom.

‘Mr Welman and Miss Carlisle are coming down,’ said Nurse O’Brien. ‘There was a telegram came this morning.’

‘There now, dear,’ said Nurse Hopkins. ‘I thought the old lady was looking excited about something. It’s some time since they’ve been down, isn’t it?’

‘It must be two months and over. Such a nice young gentleman, Mr Welman. But very proud-looking.’

Nurse Hopkins said:

‘I saw her picture in the Tatler the other day—with a friend at Newmarket.’

Nurse O’Brien said:

‘She’s very well known in society, isn’t she? And always has such lovely clothes. Do you think she’s really good-looking, Nurse?’

Nurse Hopkins said:

‘Difficult to tell what these girls really look like under their make-up! In my opinion, she hasn’t got anything like the looks Mary Gerrard has!’

Nurse O’Brien pursed her lips and put her head on one side.

‘You may be right now. But Mary hasn’t got the style!’

Nurse Hopkins said sententiously:

‘Fine feathers make fine birds.’

‘Another cup of tea, Nurse?’

‘Thank you, Nurse. I don’t mind if I do.’

Over their steaming cups the women drew a little closer together.

Nurse O’Brien said:

‘An odd thing happened last night. I went in at two o’clock to settle my dear comfortably, as I always do, and she was lying there awake. But she must have been dreaming, for as soon as I got into the room she said, “The photograph. I must have the photograph.”

‘So I said, “Why, of course, Mrs Welman. But wouldn’t you rather wait till morning?” And she said, “No, I want to look at it now.” So I said, “Well, where is this photograph? Is it the one of Mr Roderick you’re meaning?” And she said, “Roder-ick? No. Lewis.” And she began to struggle, and I went to lift her and she got out her keys from the little box beside her bed and told me to unlock the second drawer of the tall-boy, and there, sure enough, was a big photograph in a silver frame. Such a handsome man. And “Lewis” written across the corner. Old-fashioned, of course, must have been taken many years ago. I took it to her and she held it there, staring at it a long time. And she just murmured. “Lewis—Lewis.” Then she sighed and gave it to me and told me to put it back. And would you believe it, when I turned round again she’d gone off as sweetly as a child.’

Nurse Hopkins said:

‘Was it her husband, do you think?’

Nurse O’Brien said:

‘It was not! For this morning I asked Mrs Bishop, careless-like, what was the late Mr Welman’s first name, and it was Henry, she told me!’

The two women exchanged glances. Nurse Hopkins had a long nose, and the end of it quivered a little with pleasurable emotion. She said thoughtfully:

‘Lewis—Lewis. I wonder, now. I don’t recall the name anywhere round these parts.’

‘It would be many years ago, dear,’ the other reminded her.

‘Yes, and, of course, I’ve only been here a couple of years. I wonder now—’

Nurse O’Brien said:

‘A very handsome man. Looked as though he might be a cavalry officer!’

Nurse Hopkins sipped her tea. She said:

‘That’s very interesting.’

Nurse O’Brien said romantically:

‘Maybe they were boy and girl together and a cruel father separated them…’

Nurse Hopkins said with a deep sigh:

‘Perhaps he was killed in the war…’

When Nurse Hopkins, pleasantly stimulated by tea and romantic speculation, finally left the house, Mary Gerrard ran out of the door to overtake her.

‘Oh, Nurse, may I walk down to the village with you?’

‘Of course you can, Mary, my dear.’

Mary Gerrard said breathlessly:

‘I must talk to you. I’m so worried about everything.’

The older woman looked at her kindly.

At twenty-one, Mary Gerrard was a lovely creature with a kind of wild-rose unreality about her: a long delicate neck, pale golden hair lying close to her exquisitely shaped head in soft natural waves, and eyes of a deep vivid blue.

Nurse Hopkins said:

‘What’s the trouble?’

‘The trouble is that the time is going on and on and I’m not doing anything!’

Nurse Hopkins said drily: