A House for Sister Mary

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Henry?’ He frowned. ‘I thought you didn’t like beer?’

  ‘I loathe the stuff. Tonight it’ll taste like nectar!’

  ‘I expect it will. Good night, Anna.’ He walked away.

  The doorway looked extraordinarily empty. I looked at it for a few seconds, then asked myself if I wanted my head examining and went on with my report.

  I did not remember to read Nick’s letter, or remember my supper conversation with Harriet, until I got in from my date with Henry Todd. By then I was too sleepy to feel more than uncomfortable on those two counts and dropped into bed. The sun shining on my face seemed to wake me up five minutes later. I blinked at my watch. Half-past six. If I got up now I could answer Nick’s letter before breakfast.

  There was a knock on my door, and Jean Hutton’s capped head peered round. ‘I wondered if you had over-slept. The first breakfast bell’s gone!’

  ‘It can’t have!’ Then I saw my watch had stopped as I had forgotten to wind it last night. ‘Thanks, Jean!’ I leapt out of bed. ‘If Night Super reads the register before I arrive, say I’m on my way.’

  That week-end was my first experience as Acting Sister Observation. By Saturday night I understood why Sabby Wardell so frequently curtailed her own off-duty. I spent so much time chaperoning pundits, making explanatory telephone calls and visits to Matron’s office, and dealing with relatives and patients’ friends that I was only able to get the daily mountain of paper-work done by shutting myself in the duty-room in my own off-duty. Not having a moment for writing to Nick, I intended ringing him at the cottage that night. It was ten-thirty before I got back to the Home. I decided it was too late to disturb Sister Mary. Tomorrow should be less hectic, as there were no teaching rounds in Barny’s on Sunday mornings, the resident’s rounds started at ten instead of nine, and if a consultant appeared in a ward, which was seldom on Sundays, it was never before eleven. We had no operations scheduled and, being full, could not admit. Tomorrow there should be plenty of time to think about Nick.

  Wardell had put me down to be off from 10 a.m. until 1 p.m. next day. At half-past nine I was in Observation going through the day’s menu with one of the dietitians from the Special Diets Kitchen, when a junior came in. ‘Please, Nurse Rowe, Mr. Muir’s registrar would like to speak to you on the telephone.’

  ‘Mr. Francis? Thanks, Nurse.’ I excused myself to the dietitian. ‘It’s all right, Nurse,’ I added, as the junior was waiting.

  She said, ‘Excuse me, Nurse Rowe, but it’s not Mr. Francis’s voice. I think it’s Mr. Gordon.’

  I did not see how it could be as Robert was off, and Mark Francis had told me yesterday he had not seen Robert since Friday night. It was not important, though I could not follow how she could have mistaken Mark Francis’s light Australian drawl for Robert’s much deeper voice. Perhaps she was tone-deaf?

  I took the call in the duty-room. ‘Nurse Rowe speaking, Mr. Francis.’

  ‘Not Mark Francis, Anna. Robert. Sorry to disturb you,’ he said, ‘but there’s something you might like to know. Muir, Brown-plus-E, and Tubby Wallace have just arrived in Cas together, and at this moment our sitting-room receiver is buzzing for the S.S.O., Henry, Mark, plus housemen. The bosses want the lads to meet them in Observation. Obviously to consult on Tom.’

  ‘Strewth, yes! You coming up?’

  ‘I’d like to. If this is right and you get a chance, ask Mark to ring me.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks a lot.’ I rang off and raced for Vint.

  ‘A consultation at this hour? Without warning? Nurse Rowe, how dare they!’

  ‘They make the rules, my dear. We’ve got about five minutes. Is Ten ready? Then you set in there and the gown trolley in the corridor. I’ll clear the duty-room.’ I heaved in the portable X-ray-lamp screen. ‘Will you warn Tom he’s having visitors?’ I beckoned a junior and asked her to find Nurse Hutton and to ask the dietitian to join me in the duty room. It took only a minute to finish our menu discussion, and Jean arrived as the dietitian left.

  ‘Sorry, Rowe, I was doing a dressing. Crisis?’

  ‘Consultation. Will you take over the ward as soon as the pundits arrive instead of waiting till ten?’

  She was as indignant as Vint. ‘Nine-thirty on Sunday? It’s indecent!’

  Dr. Wallace was a consultant anaesthetist. He always worked with Mr. Browne. Thanks to Robert, when the three pundits and our Senior Surgical Officer stepped out of the lift we were ready for them.

  Henry Todd, Mark Francis, and the two housemen galloped up the stairs a few seconds later.

  ‘Sorry, Anna,’ Henry murmured as he tied his gown, ‘but the bastards didn’t warn me. Thank God you’re on and not Sweet Sabby. This would have been enough to make her take umbrage with me for weeks! How come you’re all set? Second sight?’

  ‘Robert Gordon.’ The pundits were still scrubbing, so I handed on Robert’s message to Mark.

  ‘Oh, my word, I’ll ring him,’ said Mark. ‘He’s welcome to join the bloody party.’

  Robert had arrived by the time the pundits were ready. Tom Elkroyd greeted the nine men with a laconic, ‘Morning, all.’

  Mr. Browne introduced Dr. Wallace. ‘One of my distinguished colleagues.’ He did not mention Dr. Wallace’s specific job. ‘The Senior Surgical Officer you will remember from your last ward.’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said Tom.

  ‘As it’s Sunday,’ said Mr. Browne, ‘we decided to do our round together. Saves the nurses time and much more peaceful without students.’

  ‘Oh, aye.’

  ‘And how are the headaches?’ Mr. Browne sat on the locker-seat. Mr. Muir and the S.S.O. perched themselves on the windowsill. Dr. Wallace took a chair round to the other side of the bed. The residents propped up the walls. I stood by Mr. Browne.

  After the briefest of medical examinations it could have been a social occasion. The conversation was mainly on Tom’s trade, bricklaying.

  Dr. Wallace had lived in China as a boy. He said, ‘Their builders used the same hods as you chaps here. They were using them two thousand years ago.’

  ‘Happen there’s nowt to beat a hod, then.’

  Mr. Muir, rolling his ‘r’s, put in some remarks on traditional building methods in his part of Scotland. Mr. Browne said there was one question he had long wanted to ask an expert. ‘Why does one frequently observe an improvised flag flying on top of an unfinished building?’

  The room was still darkened. Tom had his glasses off, and his slow grin deepened the creases at the corners of his narrowed eyes. ‘That’ll be for “topping-up”. Doctor. Soon as roof’s done, up goes flag to show guv’nor it’s time for beer all round. The lads’ll take it right poorly if there’s no sup of beer.’ It was a long speech for him. Some of his words were slurred, and while he was speaking he had turned his head carefully towards Mr. Browne, then back to Dr. Wallace on his other side, as if he found it easier to move his head than his eyes.

  It was several minutes later that Mr. Browne stood up and announced he had wasted quite enough of the staff nurse’s valuable time enjoying this pleasant little chat, and he supposed he ought to move on and do some work. ‘Very nice to have seen you, Mr. Elkroyd. Your good lady here today? Keeping well? And the children? Good.’ He waved at Tom, nodded at me. ‘Thank you very much.’ He led the procession out.

  Vint had been waiting outside to settle Tom. The S.S.O. stood outside to let me out and her in, and as he was senior resident present, the others were still in with Tom. I heard him ask, ‘On double time, are you then, Mr. Gordon?’

  I did not catch Robert’s reply, only the quick ripple of laughter and Mark Francis’s, ‘Too bloody right!’

  It was the ward sister’s prerogative to be present during consultations on her patients. I had been in on several in other wards but not before in Observation.

  Most of the talking was done by Messrs. Browne and Muir. Dr. Wallace asked a few questions. The S.S.O. made an occasional remark, but spent most of his time scowling at the var
ious plates on the lighted screen as the pundits went over Tom’s case from his first visit to his firm’s doctor. Henry Todd switched on the plates as required. His houseman at first tried to keep Tom’s many notes in the right order, until Mr. Browne told him to stop that damned fiddling.

  Mr. Muir said, ‘We’ve dealt with the known risk. What’s the possibility of those unknown?’

  ‘No possibility, Ian,’ retorted Mr. Browne. ‘A probability.’

  I listened intently as they tossed the subject backward and forward at each other like a ball. Sister would want as near a verbatim report as I could manage. I found it deeply interesting and as deeply distressing. I tried to achieve the correct professional detachment but only succeeded outwardly. I was constantly aware the brain we were looking at belonged to a man I had come to know and like as a great friend. I could not forget Betty Elkroyd; the three elder children at primary school; the baby son who was too fat to crawl and got round at the double on his seat. Betty said she had to patch every pair of pants he possessed. She said he missed his father. ‘He’s right young ‒ but he knows.’

  I knew as much about her parents. Grandad was a passionate supporter of their football team. He said our Tom must be home by start of season and not let United down. Gran had a weakness for Bingo and potted plants. Gran had right green fingers and could get anything to grow. She had recently won a rose-patterned tea service with her prize pelargonium, and was keeping it to use when our Tom gets home.

  Henry fixed up another plate. The S.S.O. said, ‘On the move again. From that I’d say a few weeks.’

  I grimaced involuntarily and stared at the floor. Robert was watching me when I looked up. He did not look away immediately, as he had already done several times. He looked as if this was hell for him also, and he did not mind my knowing it. Perhaps irrationally, I found that comforting.

  The desk was littered with notes, with path lab and X-ray reports, huge X-ray envelopes, and the X-ray lamp was growing hot and smelling faintly.

  Mr. Muir began sorting the notes. ‘Well, Charles?’

  Mr. Browne stared long at the most recent plate, now on the lighted screen. ‘I think we should do him. I still don’t fancy it. I don’t fancy it at all. But I fancy the alternative still less.’ He spun round. ‘What’s he got? Two months? Maybe much less. You agree, Ian?’

  Mr. Muir hesitated. ‘From my angle, I’d prefer to wait another day or two. Otherwise, my opinions are the same as yours.’

  ‘Right. How about you, Tubby?’

  ‘If you’re willing to risk it,’ said Dr. Wallace, ‘I’ll go along with you.’

  Henry Todd and Mark Francis had already produced their bosses’ theatre booking lists. Mr, Browne turned to Henry. ‘I want a clear day for this lad. Have I got one clear in this week?’

  ‘No, sir. Unless you can do that girl from Catherine next week? She’s your only one on Wednesday.’

  ‘She can’t wait, and I’ll want the best part of a day for her. Elkroyd can’t wait more than a few more days. I’d say he’ll be ripe around the week-end. Let’s have that.’ He studied his list. ‘Saturday’s clear, Henry. That’s six days. All right for you, Ian?’ Mr. Muir nodded. ‘Saturday’ll be it.’

  Henry said, ‘It’s your free week-end, sir. And Bank Holiday.’

  ‘Is it? It would be! Can’t help that. See you book my theatre straight away, as all the others will be busy with road accidents. I’ll start at nine. Suit you, Ian?’

  Mr. Muir had been looking at his list. ‘Very well. How long do you expect to take?’

  Mr. Browne had another look at the X-ray screen. ‘Around seven hours. Maybe a little less. Probably longer. Right.’

  He switched off the light. ‘I’ll talk to Elkroyd on Friday. No man should be asked to face more than one night with the knowledge he will then have. Until then he is to be told nothing.’

  In Sister’s place, I asked, ‘And Mrs. Elkroyd, Mr. Browne?’

  He frowned. ‘Yes, I’ll have to see her. I’ll want her here on Friday. But that poor girl has quite enough on her plate. I don’t want to burden her with this today. Let them have today. I’ll get in touch with her later. Will you ask Sister Observation to remind me of this in the next couple of days?’

  Matron arrived for one of her invariably unexpected rounds as the men were leaving. Mr. Browne assured her they would see themselves out.

  Matron waited until the corridor had cleared. ‘Should you not be off duty, Nurse Rowe?’

  I explained about the consultation. She wanted all the details, and, as I was already so late off, said she thought on this occasion I could remain to escort her round. She always spent a few minutes with every patient. By the time she had seen all twenty-eight first lunch was being served. It was not worth my while to go over to the Home, and I went straight to the dining-room.

  Harriet was already eating. ‘I’ve just seen your ward sister walking through Cas looking as if she had stepped out of a fashion magazine in a dream of a pink linen dress.’ She helped me to water. ‘Is her home near Astead? She told Sister Cas she was on her way there.’

  ‘I don’t know where she lives. I expect Robert was driving her down.’

  ‘Could be. I saw his car in our yard. I know she and Robbie are supposed to be very thick, but she surely can’t always be visiting Mr. Norris? With his allergy to visitors?’

  ‘He can’t be allergic to Robert. He often nips down to Astead when he’s off ‒’

  ‘Oh, sure, but when is a registrar off? One half-day a week with luck and every other week-end!’

  ‘Which is roughly all Wardell gets, as she never takes her full off-duty ‒ and, baby, do I understand that now!’

  ‘Tough at the top?’

  ‘Tough on my private life.’ I explained why.

  She went for another helping of apple pie. ‘Nick tried to ring you?’ she asked, dousing her food with sugar.

  ‘Not as far as I know. Jill’s bound to tell him I’m busy, and he may not like to run up Sister Mary’s phone bill.’

  ‘No.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I can’t imagine the three of them together!’

  ‘They’ll get along. They’re all chums.’

  Her round brown eyes glanced at me. ‘Talking of chums, I expect you’ve heard Sabby Wardell used to be chummy with your golden boy?’

  ‘Sure. First from Nick. Later from others.’

  ‘Nick told you?’ she echoed, surprised. ‘I wonder if she’s told Robbie?’

  ‘If she hasn’t,’ I retorted sharply, ‘someone else has! That’s for sure!’

  She nodded casually, helped herself to more sugar and promised herself she would start another diet, tomorrow. Then she said, ‘If Wardell only goes down with Robbie, why should Sister Cas tell me Sister Observation must be a great favourite with Dr. Beeching for using the railways so much? Do you suppose the attraction could be that old boy ‒ what’s his name ‒ Marcus Stock?’

  I remembered Nick’s rumour then. Anyone seeing Wardell out of uniform and not knowing her job might well describe her as a fashion model. ‘Harriet, you could be right!’

  ‘Aren’t I always? Or nearly always?’ She reached for the cheese. ‘Pass the biscuits, Anna. Be a break for Robbie if I am this time.’

  ‘He may not see it that way.’

  She glanced at me again. She did not comment on my remark. ‘Do pass those biscuits, duckie! I’m still starving, and I’m due back in Cas in five minutes!’

  Chapter Ten

  A QUIET AFTERNOON IN EYES

  In Barny’s any ward sister off for the weekend was given a private ward report in her room in the Sisters’ Home on Sunday night.

  I went over with the Elizabeth senior staff nurse. The Sisters’ Home was forbidden territory to nurses unless there were official reasons, but as our two sisters lived next door to each other I hoped to look in on Jill after seeing Wardell to ask about her week-end. The Elizabeth nurse told me her report was not very long.

  Sabby Wardell was wearing t
he pink linen dress Harriet had admired. She looked wonderful and was in a rare matey mood. She gave me coffee, and when my report was over kept me talking another hour about next week’s ward arrangements. Jill’s light was out, and it was again far too late to ring Nick when I got away. I eased my conscience by writing him a long letter before going to bed.

  I posted it on my way to breakfast next morning, and then wasted a lot of time that day wondering if I had said too much or not enough.

  Observation was a different ward that Monday. On several occasions Sister was seen smiling. Her staff sighed with relief and smiled with her. The new atmosphere continued until she returned from her first visit to Matron’s Office on Tuesday. From the way she swept back up the corridor, it was obvious, despite the readings on our many wall thermometers, the temperature had dropped degrees.

  The Office wanted Jean Hutton in another ward a day earlier than Sister had anticipated. Then she heard Jean’s team-leader sneeze in the sterilising-room. She reacted as if the poor girl was intentionally spreading bubonic plague. She lined us all up and warned us that the next nurse to come on with a cold would never return to her ward again as long as she was Sister Observation.

  ‘That a promise?’ Vint mumbled behind her mask to her neighbour. Luckily, Sister did not hear.

  Sister added Jean’s team to mine for the rest of the day, which meant a last-minute change in my off-duty. I was off from two till five instead of from five onward. ‘I trust you’ve no objections, Nurse Rowe?’

  ‘No, Sister,’ was the only possible answer. I did not object for myself, but in my letter I had told Nick I would be in that evening, and if he did not ring me first I would ring him between seven and eight. I rang the cottage twice while I was off, but got no answer.

  Addy was back from holiday and waiting in my room when I got off that night. I was so pleased to see her, I forgot to look and see if there had been any phone messages from Nick until after she had gone. There were no messages.