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As for John’s request—no, she would not accede to it. If she were truly his wife—even if she had been a paid employee—she would have done her best to stand in for him. But she was neither. She owed John no duty whatever. And so she would carry out her plan to leave Lindacres today—for good.

Abruptly the house phone bell rang in the sitting room. Rosamund tried to ignore it, but it kept on persistently and at last, simply to silence it, she slid out of bed and answered it.

An agitated male voice answered her.

“Tim Ferris speaking, Mrs. Lindsay. I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but there’s a flap on and we don’t—”

“Mr. Ferris, please understand that I’m not responsible for your problems,” Rosamund interrupted firmly. “You really must deal with them yourself—”

“This isn’t quite like that, Mrs. Lindsay,” Tim interrupted in his turn. “Miss Fletcher has been taken ill—very ill, we think, and she absolutely refuses to allow us to send for the doctor! ”

It was exasperating, but knowing as much as she did about Miss Fletcher’s health, it was impossible to stand by and do nothing.

“If she’s -really ill, of course the doctor must see her, whether she’s agreeable or not,” Rosamund answered crisply. “I’ll get through to him myself. But first tell me what’s wrong.”

Obviously thankful to have her co-operation, Tim gave the necessary information and Rosamund grimaced sympathetically at his vivid description. It certainly sounded as if Miss Fletcher was very ill indeed.

“I see. Very well, I'll get on to Dr. Milward at once,” she promised. “In the meantime, try to keep her as quiet as possible and don’t on any account give her any stimulants!”

“Right!” Tim promised, and rang off.

Dr. Milward answered the telephone himself and swore fluently at the news.

“Sorry, Mrs. Lindsay, but my feelings got the better of me! This is just what I’ve been warning the silly old girl could happen. I’ll be right over.”

For a moment or two Rosamund hesitated. Surely, in summoning the doctor she had done all that could be expected of her. It was for him to issue the orders now.

And yet how could she leave it at that? To be old and ill and frightened—and, perhaps even worse, to be one of those unfortunates who don’t inspire affection— it didn’t bear thinking of.

Hurriedly she put on her dressing gown and slippers and ran downstairs to be met in the hall by Tim.

“He’s on his way,” she said briefly in reply to his enquiring look. “Where’s Miss Fletcher?”

“In the staff sitting room—we got her there out of the way of the kids—” Tim explained, but found that he was talking to Rosamund’s retreating back.

She walked swiftly into the pleasant room that had been set aside for the use of the Orphanage staff’s use.

Only two people were there, Miss Fletcher and Mrs. Brickwell.

As Rosamund came in, Mrs. Brickwell caught her eye and shook her head with gloomy foreboding. Miss Fletcher, she was quite sure, was not going to recover.

Miss Fletcher wasn’t even aware that Rosamund was there. She was sitting crouched in an armchair, her head lolling against one of its wings. Her eyes were closed, but little moans fluttered feebly through her livid lips. Her thin hands were clutching with claw-like tenacity to the arms of the chair. There was no doubt about it, Miss Fletcher was a very sick woman.

Rosamund dropped on her knees beside her and took one of those frightened hands in her own warm grasp.

“Miss Fletcher!” She spoke quietly but very clearly. “I want you to try to understand what I’m going to say. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You must believe that. Dr. Milward is on his way here and he’ll know what to do to help you—”

The closed eyes opened momentarily and there was stark fear in them.

“Not—operation,” Miss Fletcher moaned. “Only—only indigestion!”

“We’ll let Dr. Milward decide that,” Rosamund said with gentle firmness. “He’ll know best. And I don’t think that the idea of an operation is what’s really worrying you, is it? It’s afterwards that frightens you, isn’t it?”

The only answer was two tears that forced themselves out from under the closed lids and trickled unheeded down Miss Fletcher’s parchment-like cheeks.

“Yes, I thought so! But there’s no need for you to be afraid of that.” Rosamund tightened her grasp and raised her voice a little. “Because you’re not going to lose your job! Or, if you decide you don’t want to go on working, then there’ll be enough money found for you to live in comfort. You must believe that, Miss Fletcher, because it’s true! I promise you it’s true !”

For a moment there was no response and Rosamund was afraid that Miss Fletcher was too near unconsciousness to have understood her. Then she opened her eyes again and the burning gratitude in them told Rosamund that she had guessed correctly.

“That’s all right, then!” Rosamund said, and then, looking over her shoulder, she added thankfully: “And now here’s Dr. Milward !”

She stood up, still holding Miss Fletcher’s hand in hers. Indeed, she could not have released herself without using considerable force, which she was reluctant to do. She glanced enquiringly at Dr. Milward, who nodded approvingly.

“Stay just like that, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Lindsay,” he said quietly. “Now, Miss Fletcher—”

He bent over his patient and made a brief examination, asked her a few questions to which a simple “yes” or “no” was sufficient answer. Then he stood erect.

“No doubt about it,” he said under his breath to Rosamund. “Absolutely typical! Now, Miss Fletcher, I’m going to take you along to the hospital and we’ll put this trouble of yours right before you can say Jack Robinson! But first of all, I’m going to give you a little jab that will ease the pain for you. Will you roll back her sleeve, please, Mrs. Lindsay?”

Rosamund did so as Dr. Milward prepared the syringe. The injection was given and after a moment or so the doctor gave a satisfied grunt.

“That’ll hold her for a bit,” he said softly as they looked down at the unconscious woman. “Poor old soul, she’s been an absolute idiot, but you can’t help feeling sorry for her.”

“No, you can’t,” Rosamund agreed. “Dr. Milward, will she be able to stand the operation?”

“She’s got to,” he replied grimly. “It’s that or
—'
he left the sentence unfinished, but Rosamund had no difficulty in finishing it for herself. “As a matter of fact, physically, she’s in reasonably good shape. Her heart’s above average for her age. It’s her mental condition that worries me. I don’t mean she’s off her head or anything like that, but she’s the sort that can scare herself to death when she ought to recover.”

“She won’t,” Rosamund assured him positively.

Dr. Milward looked at her with considerable interest. “You sound very sure of that,” he remarked. “May I ask why?”

Briefly Rosamund told him of her promise and its effect and he nodded understandingly.

“I see. Yes, of course. I should have known that for myself. Well, that gives her an excellent chance. Now, if I may use the telephone—I alerted the hospital before I left home, but I must confirm that she is coming in. They promised to hold an ambulance for half an hour unless there was any other emergency call. Stay with her till I come back, will you, Mrs. Lindsay? I won’t be long.”

He was back in very short time looking considerably relieved.

“Everything laid on,” he said with satisfaction. “Twenty minutes at the outside. I’ll stay with her if you want to—” he stopped tactfully, but Rosamund flushed as she remembered that she was still in her dressing gown.

“My goodness, yes!” she exclaimed ruefully. Her hand went up to her hair. “I must look an absolute mess! I’d only been awake a few minutes when they called me down.” Dr. Milward grinned in a friendly way.

“You look, if you don’t mind me saying so, about sixteen in that rig,” he told her. “And yet—” he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face the light—“you also look very strained and tense. Anything wrong, Mrs. Lindsay?”

“Well, of course there is,” Rosamund said quickly, pointing to Miss Fletcher. “Isn’t an upset like this enough—” Her voice trailed away as she saw him shake his head.

“No, I don’t think so—you’re too sensible to let a thing like this get you down. Besides, whatever’s troubling you is of longer standing than just the last half hour or so.” Rosamund shrugged her shoulders.

“Then in all probability it’s just that you’ve not seen me without make-up before,” she suggested. “All women look hags when they are only wearing their natural faces, you know!”

“But you hardly use any make-up,” Dr. Milward persisted. “I remember noticing that the first time I saw you. No, all right, Mrs. Lindsay—” as he felt her shoulder move restlessly under his hand, “I’m not going to probe. All I’m going to say is that young though you are, unrelieved tension could work havoc with you as it has with Miss Fletcher, even if not in the same way. No, there’s one other thing. If there’s any way in which I can help, let me know. I’ve got the habit of keeping any confidences that are given to me!”

“I’m sure you have,” Rosamund said gratefully. “But truly, there’s nothing—”

It had been on the tip of her tongue to say
“nothing that you or anybody else can do”
but she left the sentence incomplete. Fortunately Dr. Milward didn’t seem to realise that, and she made her escape.

Ten minutes later, rather breathless, she was downstairs again in time to see the still unconscious Miss Fletcher off in the ambulance. Dr. Milward went with her saying that he’d got someone to run him back to Lindacres later so that he could collect his car.

Rosamund went slowly back into the house and was met in the hall by Mrs. Brickwell.

“Young Mr. Ferris asked me to give you a message, madam,” she announced. “He asked me to say that two of the non-resident mistresses are coming in half an hour earlier than usual to ease matters.”

“Oh, good! ” Rosamund said fervently. Evidently Tim had taken her earlier warning to heart and was settling problems on his own.

“Also, madam—” there was a note of conscious virtue in Mrs. Brickwell’s voice—“I have personally been giving assistance supervising the children at breakfast—”

“Splendid, Mrs. Brickwell!” Rosamund spoke with all the enthusiasm of which she was capable. “I don’t know what we’d do without you!"

She went upstairs, free at last to consider her own affairs. But no, she wasn’t! She’d made a promise to Miss Fletcher and it was a promise that she must see would be substantiated. She considered for a moment and then went to the sitting room. She looked up Sir George Parks’ number and with a little grimace of distaste, got through to him.

“Mrs. Lindsay speaking, Sir George,” she began briskly, but was immediately interrupted.

“How delightful to be rung up so early in the morning by such a charming neighbour! And what can I do for Mrs. Lindsay this bright and smiling morning?” he asked with that same overdone flattery which had annoyed her so the previous evening.

She wished she could slam down the telephone in protest, but she mustn’t offend him if it could be helped because she knew that in him lay the best chance of keeping her promise to Miss Fletcher. None the less—

“For me, personally, nothing,” she told him. “But for Miss Fletcher, quite a lot, I hope!”

“Miss Fletcher? Who’s she?” Sir George asked blandly. “I don’t know anyone—oh, you mean Miss Fletcher at the Orphanage! Well, what’s the matter with her?”

Briefly Rosamund explained and heard Sir George click his tongue with impatience.

“How extremely troublesome of her! Really, to choose a time like this—”

“That’s just the point, Sir George,” Rosamund said crisply. Really, the man was impossible! “This trouble has been looming for some time, as Dr. Milward will confirm. But Miss Fletcher has been afraid to do anything about it in case her absence meant that she lost her job.”

“Well, of course, we have been considering the advisability of replacing Miss Fletcher with someone younger and more able,” Sir George admitted. “We have, however, as you may not be aware, already stretched a point in keeping her on several years beyond normal retiring age.”

“But that’s just it, Sir George,” Rosamund said earnestly. “Miss Fletcher felt that she
must
stay on if she possibly could because otherwise, she’d starve ! ”

“Oh come, Mrs. Lindsay!” Sir George was taken aback by her bluntness and also put out by it. “I really can’t believe it’s as bad as all that!”

“I’m afraid it’s more than likely to be,” Rosamund insisted. “You see, so far as I’ve been able to discover, she has no relative with whom she could live. So even the most modest rent would be a terrible strain on her resources. It would mean going short of food and warmth—”

“Now really, Mrs. Lindsay, don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” Sir George suggested, very much on the defensive. “I think your kind heart is running away with you. After all, other people manage.”

“Yes, but usually one finds that they have other resources—relatives who help, or perhaps a little nest egg. Or even a pension from their employers. Of course, if Miss Fletcher knew that she would be getting a pension from you, it would make all the difference in the world—” she paused hopefully.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing like that, Mrs. Lindsay,” Sir George said stiffly. “I don’t say we wouldn’t like there to be, but our funds are limited and overheads are increasing all the time—”

“Oh dear!” Rosamund said regretfully. “I had so hoped that
you
would be able to help! ”

Sir George didn’t answer immediately and when he did speak again it was in a far more conciliatory way.

“Now, you mustn’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Lindsay,” he began ingratiatingly. “I’m not a hard man, believe me! But my fellow Governors and I have the responsibility of handling money that isn’t our own. Consequently, we have to be realistic. And that, as I’m sure you will see, means putting the needs of the children first.”

He paused as if he expected her to agree with him, and Rosamund realised that he had, rather cleverly, taken the wind out of her sails since one could hardly argue that the children shouldn’t be put first. At a loss how to answer, she said nothing at all, realising only too well that she had been over-optimistic in making that promise to Miss Fletcher, at least as far as Sir George was concerned. And, surprisingly, her silence had far more effect than any answer could have had, for Sir George ploughed on with, surely, a growing note of anxiety in his voice: