Love for the Matron Read Online Free PDF Page A

things...
    Her secretary put her head around the corner of the door. “Is it all right if I go now, Miss Graham? I ’ ve got the letters for the post.”
    Elizabeth smiled at her, and then on a sudden impulse asked: “How long were you with Miss Brown ? ”
    “Nearly two years, and she taught me most of what I know.” The girl ’ s face glowed like a lamp switched on, and then the light faded from it again. “Is there anything else, Miss Graham?”
    Elizabeth hesitated, as much from the surprise at the question she was going to put as anything else. “You haven ’ t told me your name yet,” she asked gently.
    The girl stared at her for a moment and then said reluctantly, “It ’ s Margaret Smithy Miss Graham.”
    “Thank you, and good night, Miss Smith.” The door closed softly behind Margaret Smith and her letters for the post. Margaret Smith ... Edith Selby ... Marion Winsley ... the frightened little junior nurse whose name she didn ’ t know as yet ... and countless others. Behind the scenes of their lives had been a crippled woman whose fingers moved stiffly to tug at the strings of affection that brought her loving puppets to do her bidding over and above the call of duty. Of a sudden Elizabeth felt strangely humble at being allowed to sit in the chair vacated by such a woman. Her brave new plans seemed as fragile as the brief blossoms of early spring. Would she be allowed to stay long enough at St. Genevieve ’ s to leave even a small mark that might be remarked upon in future years?
    Elizabeth picked up her folder, left her office and went out of the side door. Her feet made darker stains on the green of the grass and overhead the glowing lights along the castle wall etched the trees blackly against the deepening blue of the sky; a single star glittered and tossed its reflection into the flowing river, below.
    Her hand reached into her pocket for the great key that would unlock the front door of the Matron ’ s house. Would the time come when people pointing out the little dwelling under the castle wall would mean that Miss Graham, the Matron, lived there? She had lived for so long in other people ’ s rooms and had seldom wondered about the nurses who must have slept there, but now she felt differently. It was as if the house were haunted, but it was such a gentle haunting that it brought no fear but left her standing on tiptoe, as if waiting for a prompt from the wings of a ghostly stage.
    The cold iron of the key reminded her that she was still standing on her own front doorstep and the chill of a March evening was biting through the thin wool of her uniform. Her fingers trembled as she slipped the key into the lock, remembering to turn it slightly left before turning it right to open. The door creaked a little as it swung inwards to her touch and her hand went out to find the light switch; the hallway sprang into brightness and the shadows went away. There was a feeling of sanctuary here, of homecoming and welcome, and she went up the short flight of stairs into the little sitting room. Someone had made up the fire and the flames made a pleasing pattern in the polished surface of the tiled hearth. A tea-tray waited on the low coffee table and an electric kettle stood ready to be plugged in. Annie must have just left because there was no sound or sign of anyone else in the little house .
    Elizabeth sat down in the chair from which she could see the river and put on the kettle. She found freshly baked scones tucked into a warm napkin at the side of the hearth and a tin of biscuits had been left handy. Tomorrow she must remind Annie that one thin slice of toast was all she allowed herself for tea, but today she would accept all the gods had to offer...
    Elizabeth finished her tea, brushed the crumbs tidily from her lap, and picked up the newspaper that she hadn ’ t taken time to read yet. She would read the front page and then go and have a le i surely bath and get ready for her dinner at