The Other Linding Girl Read Free Page B

and pretty well deputising for God in Matron’s view.”
    “I see,” said Rachel—tactfully non-committal. And then they all went down to the drawing-room, where her uncle was deep in conversation with a dark, good-looking man in perhaps his middle thirties, and her aunt—as young and beautiful and soignee as Rachel had been led to expect—was reading a letter by the window.
    Rachel saw immediately what her father had meant about the inadvisability of addressing her as “Aunt”. But Hester Linding greeted her quite pleasantly—and then Sir Everard noticed Rachel again and said,
    “Come and meet Mr. Mayforth, Rachel. He is assistant surgeon at My Nursing Home—” Sir Everard not only laid claim to the home, but gave it capital letters. “You’ll be working for him too. Mayforth, this is my niece, Rachel Linding, who is going to get us out of the muddle that idiotic Freney girl created.”
    “Is that so?” said Oliver Mayforth quite courteously.
    But he looked as though he reserved judgment about the newcomer until she should have given genuine proof of undoing some of the mistakes of her erring predecessor.
    Possibly, thought Rachel amusedly, Miss Freney had also had her problems. At least the assistant surgeon believed in wasting no time, it seemed, for he said immediately,
    “May I have Miss Linding tomorrow morning, sir? I’ve a stack of letters that need answering, and one or two things to put right.”
    “Well—” Sir Everard seemed reluctant to part so promptly with the treasure he evidently felt he had acquired.
    “You’ll be operating from eight-thirty,” Mr. Mayforth
    reminded him, respectfully but firmly.
    “Yes—yes, that’s true. All right, then. That means you’ll go over to the Nursing Home tomorrow, Rachel. But I’d like you back here for the afternoon. What time is dinner, Hester? If I’m making an early start tomorrow—”
    “Almost immediately” his wife replied calmly. "It’s ordered for seven sharp, as we are going out.”
    “Going out?” repeated Sir Everard, in tones of mellow indignation. “I’m not going out tonight.”
    “Of course you are, Everard.” Hester Linding was tranquil but adamant, and she passed over her husband’s protest like a steamroller—though a very decorative one, of course. “It’s the Spastics’ Ball at the Gloria. We’ve had the tickets for the last six weeks, and I’m wearing my new Florian dress.”
    “I’m sorry about that.” Her husband frowned impatiently. “But you know I never go out late if I’m operating early. Nigel must take you.”
    “Nigel is taking Rachel.”
    “Oh, but that isn’t necessary,” Rachel broke in quickly. “I wasn’t expecting to go. I don’t mind at all—”
    “Nonsense.” Her aunt gave her an oddly quelling glance. “Everything can be arranged, if we’re sensible about it.”
    “If by that you mean that I should put a social engagement before a professional one, everything cannot be arranged,” Sir Everard stated curtly. “There’s no question of my going out tonight, Hester, and that’s final. For God’s sake, don’t you yet know what it means to be married to a profession? If you have to go, Nigel must take you—and the pair of you can be as irresponsible as you like together. Nigel’s better suited to that than I am.”
    And Sir Everard gave his brother-in-law a glance of undisguised disapproval which Nigel Seton, Rachel noticed, withstood with admirable calm.
    It was at this point that interruption came from a totally unexpected quarter.
    “If Lady Linding will allow me to escort her,” said Oliver Mayforth, “I shall be happy to do so.”
    “But, Oliver—” Hester looked unexpectedly taken aback— “you realise, don’t you, that—that almost everyone we know will be there?”
    “I’m sure they will.” The assistant surgeon looked rather grim. "But I hope you will let me take you, all the same.”
    “Well, that settles things splendidly,” declared Sir Everard