CHAPTER XV The Wrong Girl
Just outside the door to Peter’s room, Judy paused, trying to think.Serious trouble! What did Peter mean? Had the man, Lawson, the wolf insheep’s clothing, discovered his whereabouts? Would he be waiting forhim when he was released from the hospital?
“Oh, please! Keep him safe,” Judy said to the walls which seemed,suddenly, to move dizzily before her eyes. The activities of thehospital day were beginning. Night nurses were going off duty. Daynurses were busy with breakfast trays. Carts were being wheeled—up anddown. Up and down. In a moment Judy feared she would find they werebeing wheeled by golden-haired nurses with identical faces.
“Do you feel faint?” a voice asked quietly.
Judy turned to see one of the nurses standing beside her. The dizzyfeeling had passed.
“Thank you, nurse. I’m all right—now. I was looking for the night nurse,but I guess I’m too late. Could you direct me to the patient who wasasking for the Golden Girl?”
“The patient is awake,” was the quiet answer. “But you must have apermission slip to see her. Tell the guard you think you can identifythe patient in Room 334, and you will be allowed to go up.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Judy, catching her breath in an exclamation of surprise.“Isn’t she identified?”
“Not yet,” the nurse replied. “She’s in a semi-coma. Sometimes we canmake a little sense out of what she says, and sometimes we can’t.”
“If she’s Clarissa, I don’t wonder. Didn’t she give her name?”
“No, not her own name. All she would tell us was that she had to seeIrene Meredith. Mrs. Meredith didn’t leave, did she?”
“I’m afraid she did. But I know her. I can identify her.”
“Good!” exclaimed the nurse. “The guard will probably let you go rightup.”
Five minutes later Judy was standing beside a bed with crib sides aroundit. The next thing she saw was a white face—white and wholly unfamiliar.Flaming red hair fanned out on the pillow. The woman looked at leastthirty. Judy gazed at her a moment. Then she turned to the nurse who hadescorted her to the room.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My friend, Clarissa Valentine, disappeared. Ithought this patient might be Clarissa, but she isn’t. I never saw herbefore in my life.”
“Can’t you tell me anything at all about her?” the nurse askedanxiously.
“Nothing except what you probably know already. We talked with the taxidriver after the ambulance drove away from the scene of the accident. Hetold us what little we know about it. Apparently this woman was on herway to the theater to see Irene’s—I mean the Golden Girl show. I’msorry,” Judy finished.
“Sorry,” mumbled the patient. “Everybody’s sorry.” Then, suddenlygrasping the crib sides, she cried, “I’ve got to get out of here.Please, let me out.”
“And then?” the nurse prompted Judy.
“Well, then we heard the ambulance siren. The show was nearly over so wewaited until afterwards to find out what it was. That’s all I know. I’mafraid it won’t be of much help.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” the nurse replied sadly as Judy turned to go.
Peter was sleeping when she returned to his room. He looked so peacefulshe decided not to awaken him. She’d help, though. Later on they’d talkit all over. There was sure to be some way she could help.
“I’ll go out and have breakfast,” Judy told the new nurse who had justcome on duty. The day nurse assured her that there was no need for herto come back until visiting hours that afternoon.
“You’ll notice a big change in your husband by then. He will probablysleep most of the morning.” Judy tried to hide a yawn and the nurseadded, “You could use a little sleep yourself, Mrs. Dobbs. You must havebeen awake most of the night.”
Judy didn’t say so, but she had rested more when she was awake than whenshe had been dreaming. What had caused those terrible nightmares? Judydreaded sleep because of them. She ordered two cups of coffee in anearby restaurant, hoping to keep herself awake. Then she telephonedPauline Faulkner and told her about Peter.
“You poor girl! Why don’t you come up and rest at my house untilvisiting hours?” Pauline suggested. “I expect Flo. It’s Sunday, or hadyou forgotten?”
“I do need some sleep,” Judy admitted. “But I keep dreaming the samedream every time I close my eyes. I’d never dare—”
“That’s funny,” Pauline interrupted. “So do I. And just now when I spoketo Flo she said she’d had a rough night, too. She didn’t say why but, touse an old expression of yours, I’d like to bet something precious thatit was because she had nightmares, too. Come up and we’ll compare notes.I feel—” Pauline lowered her voice almost to a whisper. Judy couldhardly hear the word “bewitched,” but she knew the feeling.
When Judy arrived at the tall stone house which was Dr. Faulkner’scombined home and office, she said, “Pauline, as you said, it’s Sunday.Let’s go to church.”
“All right.” Pauline hesitated a moment. Then she said, “You may notlike my church, Judy. It isn’t at all like the one you attend.”
“Which one?” asked Judy. “The little white church in Dry Brook Hollowisn’t like the one I used to attend in Farringdon, but I like them both.I think it does a person good to learn different ways of believing,don’t you? How is your church different, Pauline?”
Pauline shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a little more formal. But ifyou watch other people and do what they do you’ll get along all right.The order of service is printed on the church calendar. They’ll give youone as you come in. It’s a little church crowded in between two tallbuildings. They’re going to tear it down and build a new one fartheruptown. I’m rather sorry. But I guess it’s best.”
“In other words, you bow to the inevitable.”
Pauline laughed. “You sound like your brother Horace. Does he know aboutPeter, Judy? It isn’t going to be in the newspapers, is it?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. I telephoned home right afterbreakfast. Horace will put something in after he checks with theauthorities. Publicity could be dangerous. That’s what I told him.There’s nothing about Peter in the New York papers. I did find this,though.”
Judy pointed to a review of _Sleeping Beauty_. A columnist, known forhis sarcasm, had called the play a triumph of youth over experience.
“As for the star, if that was Francine Dow, she has certainly discoveredthe fountain of youth. She has lost her voice and gained the fragilebeauty of a china doll. This reviewer couldn’t believe his eyes.”
“There are others like it,” Pauline spoke up as Judy paused in herreading. “Here, I’ll show you. This paper calls her a changeling.”
“No?” Judy stared at the paper. “That’s what Clarissa called herself. Idon’t get it at all. She was right beside us—”
“Was she?”
“I don’t _know_. I certainly thought she was. Here’s Flo. Maybe she canexplain it,” Judy finished as the doorbell rang.