When the Dawn Breaks

by Emma Fraser

  ‘It’s his only chance. One of our doctors here has established a technique with which we can prevent the blood from clotting by mixing the donor’s blood with a solution of sodium citrate. We’ve started to use it on moribund patients in casualty clearing stations. It doesn’t always work, but this fellow has lost too much blood to survive without it so I’m going to take the chance.’

  Isabel was intrigued. If he was right, the methods they were using could have far-reaching consequences. The Lancet had reported that most wounded soldiers died from blood loss.

  ‘We’ll give him one transfusion now and another after the operation,’ the surgeon continued, as another stretcher was brought in with a man who was conscious. ‘This man has the same blood group and has agreed to be our donor.’

  Fascinated, Isabel watched as the doctor instructed the donor to grasp a rolled-up bandage and keep pumping his fist. Then he made an incision in the vein, inserted a cannula and the patient’s blood flowed into a flask. Powder had been added to the flask, which was then shaken, and the blood was given to the injured patient in the same way saline was normally provided.

  The surgeon watched for a few moments as it trickled into his patient. When he was satisfied, he indicated to the anaesthetist to put the patient under and began to operate.

  After the patient’s amputated stump had been cleaned, the dead tissue excised and re-bandaged, he was given more blood.

  ‘Now it’s in the hands of the gods,’ the surgeon said, pulling off his gloves. ‘We wait and see. But at least he has a chance.’ He handed her a bottle. ‘Take some citrate solution – you never know when you might need it.’

  Now the excitement was over, Isabel wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, even on one of the hard benches. But she had to get back to the hotel. Her dress was stained with the blood of the wounded soldiers and her hair was full of dust. She desperately needed a bath, and she’d have to hurry if she wasn’t going to miss her train, which was due to leave in a couple of hours.

  As she stepped out into the dark winter evening she met Archie, who was bringing another stretcher. His face was dark with fatigue but, when he saw her, his expression brightened.

  He passed his end of the stretcher to an orderly who was waiting by the door. ‘When will I see you again?’ he asked. He stepped aside to allow more stretcher-bearers to pass.

  ‘I don’t know … I can’t see how it would be possible.’

  They looked at each other for a long moment.

  ‘Will you write to me?’ He reached into his pocket for a piece of paper and a pencil. He scribbled something and handed it to her. ‘If ever you need me, you know where to find me.’ His eyes roamed her face as if he were trying to memorise every inch.

  ‘I’ll try.’ She swallowed hard. For some reason she wanted to cry. ‘What about Jessie? Will you see her?’

  ‘I have twenty-four hours off next week. I’ll go then.’

  ‘Archie, remember Lady Dorothea Maxwell is there. Perhaps I could write to Jessie with your address and she could come to you?’

  ‘I won’t let anything stop me seeing my sister.’

  They stood in silence for a few moments.

  ‘Look after yourself, old friend,’ Isabel said, then stepped out into the frosty night.

  Chapter 31

  As the reputation of the hospital at the abbey grew, the number and severity of the casualties increased. Jessie was learning how to keep an eye on several men at once, even though most were seriously ill following operations to remove mangled and frost-bitten limbs that were past saving.

  The nurses were too busy to do anything except fly from patient to patient, and they came more and more to rely on the orderlies, who handled the horribly injured men with the same equanimity they must once have shown when dealing with awkward social occasions. When the orderlies weren’t helping bathe the patients, they gave the men bottles to urinate in, helped them eat and drink, and write letters home to their loved ones.

  But mostly the poilus, the common French soldiers, turned to Jessie. Even though she could speak barely a word of French, it was as if they recognised that she understood them and their lives in a way the aristocratic nurses and orderlies never could. Recently British soldiers had been arriving too and Jessie searched every mud-encrusted face for Tommy. Once the soldiers had been treated, she would ask if they’d come across the Seaforth Highlanders. So far, the answer had always been ‘No.’

  Sometimes, after she’d finished for the day, she would go into the cloisters and sit for a while. When she looked up at the clear night sky sprinkled with stars, with the fountain burbling in front of her, she could almost believe she was back on Skye.

  Tonight the silence was broken by a loud sniff and a strangled sob coming from one of the stone benches in the shadows. Jessie moved quietly to see who was crying.

  It was Evans. The only friendly conversation Jessie had had on the journey to the abbey had been with this orderly – a long-limbed woman, who was as tall as a man and had what Mam would have described as an unfortunate face. She had sat down next to Jessie, brought out her Bible and asked if Jessie would pray with her. Afterwards Elizabeth Evans had confided that she was engaged and had been planning to go out to Africa to work as a missionary with her future husband when war had been declared. Their plans would now have to wait until it was all over.

  Now Evans was holding her Bible and whispering to herself, as tears ran down her cheeks. Thinking she was praying, and therefore entitled to her privacy, Jessie was about to creep away when Evans gave another gulping sob.

  She couldn’t leave her. Perhaps she had had bad news from home.

  Jessie moved to the bench and sat down beside the gangly orderly. She waited for her to stop crying before she spoke. ‘What is it, Elizabeth? Is there anything I can do?’

  Evans dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffed loudly. ‘Oh, don’t mind me, Sister. I’m just being silly. I’ll be fine in a minute.’

  Jessie was unsure of what to do. She still didn’t want to leave her, not without finding out more.

  ‘News from home? Your fiancé?’

  Evans shook her head. ‘Everyone is well.’

  ‘It’s been a difficult few weeks for us all,’ Jessie said, ‘getting used to being here.’ The truth was she hadn’t found it hard, but Evans had come from a safe, warm, privileged home.

  ‘It’s not that. I can put up with anything as long as I’m doing the Lord’s work, but does Sister Lafferty have to make it so hard? She’s always telling me to do this and do that, and before I’m even halfway through the first task, she’s given me another. Then she complains that I haven’t finished anything she’s asked of me. I’m useless. Maybe the unit would be better off without me. I’m slow. I know it.’

  Jessie hid a sigh. Sister Lafferty was from the London Hospital and fancied herself above all the other nurses, but Jessie had seen her work and suspected her arrogance concealed a fear that she didn’t know quite as much as she liked the others to think she did.

  ‘You’re bound to be slow at first. Goodness knows, all you orderlies are doing a grand job.’

  The orderly sniffed again. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. You all work hard without a word of complaint.’ Well, not too much complaining: some were more willing than others.

  Evans smiled shakily. ‘I wish I was on your ward. Your orderlies say that you’re the best out of all the sisters to work with. You never lose your temper and you’re always willing to show them what to do instead of barking at them.’

  Jessie was delighted. She had tried hard to remember that the orderlies were mostly new to the job. Some had had experience as VADs before the war, but none had dealt with injured men. Even when she wanted to scream with impatience, she bit her tongue and instead showed them how she wanted things to be done. It had paid off. Soon her orderlies were adept at changing dressings and some were even able to clean wounds under supervision.

/>   ‘I admire you all,’ she said honestly. ‘I was brought up to do physically hard work so it’s nothing to me. When I worked in the infirmary at the workhouse I started under a sister who always found fault with whatever I did. It used to make me so nervous that I’m sure I made mistakes I wouldn’t have done if she’d left me alone. I swore then that when I became a sister I would treat my staff well. Although,’ she warned, ‘I’ve never been able to tolerate slackers. But you’re not a slacker, are you, Evans?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I work as hard as I can. I’m so tired all the time. That’s why I keep falling asleep.’

  ‘Dry your eyes now,’ Jessie said, ‘and go to bed. You’ll see. It’ll look better in the morning.’

  They had been accepting patients for a month, and Jessie was just finishing a dressing on a young soldier with shrapnel wounds to his face when Dorothea Maxwell appeared at her elbow.

  Jessie had seen little of her over the last weeks. The chauffeurs were all housed in rooms above the stables, and as their hours were different from others’, they tended to keep themselves to themselves, sharing a small dining room and eating at different times.

  ‘There’s someone outside who wants to see you. He wouldn’t say who he was.’

  Jessie’s heart raced. Could it be Tommy? Had she been right all along and he was still alive? Had he come to find her?

  But it seemed that Maxwell knew what she was thinking. She squeezed Jessie’s shoulder. ‘He’s not a soldier, Sister. I’m sorry.’

  The disappointment made Jessie’s throat tighten.

  ‘All he would say was that he was with the American Hospital near Neuilly,’ Lady Dorothea continued, ‘and that he needed to see you.’

  An American unit? Could this man have news of Archie? Next to finding out that Tommy wasn’t dead, it was what she longed for most.

  ‘Will you cover for me?’ she whispered. ‘I’m not supposed to be off duty for another hour.’

  ‘Just go. If Matron comes looking for you, I’ll tell her you’re counting linen or something.’

  Jessie quickly finished what she was doing and tucked her patient in. Then she wrapped her cloak around her. Over the last few weeks the snow had thawed but it was still bitterly cold outside.

  She ran down the stairs and into the courtyard where visitors were asked to wait. A tall figure was pacing up and down the cloisters with his back to her. At first she wasn’t sure but when he turned her heart stopped.

  ‘Archie?’ she whispered. Then, as a glow like a burst of sunshine spread through her, she launched herself towards him. ‘Archie! Is it really you?’

  He opened his arms and she went into them. ‘Hello, Jessie.’ His voice was different, with a slight, unfamiliar drawl.

  When he let her go, she led him to one of the stone benches and they sat down. ‘What are you doing here?’ He wasn’t in uniform so he couldn’t be with the army.

  ‘I was in Paris on business when the war broke out. I decided to stay and do my bit by driving ambulances for the American Hospital.’

  Paris on business? There was so much she wanted to know that she couldn’t think where to begin. ‘How did you find me? I didn’t have an address for you so I couldn’t tell you where I was going. How is America? Are you all right? Tell me everything!’

  He laughed. ‘Whoa. Slow down. I’ll tell you everything. I just want to look at you for a moment.’ He held her at arm’s length and studied her. ‘My little sister. All grown-up.’ He grinned again. ‘Look at us! Who would ever have thought we’d both be looking after the injured – not,’ he added quickly, ‘that I do much except patch them up and drive them to the nearest doctor.’

  ‘But how did you know I was here?’

  ‘I met Isabel in Paris and she told me.’

  Jessie tried to ignore a stab of envy. Had he been in touch with Isabel all these years and not her? His own sister?

  Now that the first flush of pleasure of seeing him alive and well was over, the anger that had been burning inside since he’d left flared again. ‘Why didn’t you write to me when you got to America? I couldn’t write to you. Not even when…’ She bit her lip. Although she was furious with him, he didn’t deserve to be told about Mam’s death before she could prepare him. ‘Archie, Mam got sick and I couldn’t even let you know.’

  Dread flickered in his eyes. ‘If I’d known she was ill, I would have tried to come back to see her. How is she?’

  ‘Oh, Archie. She’s gone. She died five years ago.’

  He sucked in a breath. ‘Mam dead? Oh, no, Jessie.’

  Jessie laid her hand on his and squeezed. ‘She’d been ill for a long time. She knew months before you left but wouldn’t let me tell you. She didn’t want anything to stop you going.’

  ‘I wish I’d known.’

  ‘Would it have made a difference?’

  ‘Did you get the money I sent you?’ Archie asked after a pause.

  ‘Oh, aye, I did.’ Her anger rose again. He hadn’t answered her question. ‘But you never put a return address. Did you forget about us so easily or…’ She hesitated. They couldn’t talk here. Not where they could be overheard. Although they were talking in Gaelic, it was possible someone would understand what they were saying. She stood up. ‘Let’s walk. We can talk more freely in the gardens.’

  As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to him. ‘I have to ask. Did your leaving have anything to do with Lord Maxwell’s disappearance?’

  Archie shook his head. ‘What is it with you women? When I saw Isabel she asked me the same thing. God, Jessie, I’m your brother. How can you ask me that?’

  Isabel? Why would she be asking? Because Jessie had asked her. That must mean she knew as little as Jessie did about what happened that day. Jessie shook her head in frustration. Had she doubted her brother all these years for nothing? ‘I ask because he went missing the day you left. His horse returned home without him. At first everyone thought he’d fallen and the earl had everyone out looking for him, but they couldn’t find his body – or any trace of him.’

  ‘Isabel told me. But why do you ask if I had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Because a policeman came looking for you a day or two after you’d left, Archie. It seems Lachie McPhee told some garbled story about seeing you pull him off his horse. It turned out he was only repeating what Flora had told him, and apparently she denied ever saying such a thing.’

  ‘There you are, then.’

  ‘But the policeman didn’t like it when Mam told him you’d gone away. She didn’t tell him you’d gone to America, Archie. She made up some story about an argument and you going off to Glasgow in a temper. She lied, and Mam would never lie for no reason. She was too scared of going to Hell.’

  The dark look on Archie’s face deepened. ‘Mam lied for me?’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me why. The night you left, your knuckles were bleeding and you had a mark on your face, so I knew you must have fought with his lordship, whatever Flora did or didn’t say. Then you never sent an address. Is it any wonder I worried you’d had something to do with his disappearance?’

  Archie shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘I did hit him. He said something…’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind that. I would have thrashed him, but he got back on his horse and rode off.’

  Jessie wanted to believe him, but there was something in the way he was avoiding her eyes that made her uneasy.

  ‘The night I left, Flora McPhee came to the house,’ Archie went on. ‘She’d been on Galtrigill and had seen me pulling the man from his horse. She was glad someone had stood up to him. She hated him for refusing to acknowledge the baby she’d had by him, but she came to tell me she’d told her father she’d seen us fighting. As soon as Lachie heard that Maxwell’s horse had returned without him, he said he was going to tell the earl what she’d told me. Flora knew the police would take a dim view of my fight with Lord Maxwell even if he turned up safe and sound. And if they discovered his body – even if his horse h
ad thrown him – she guessed I’d get the blame of it. So she came to warn me.’

  That made sense. Flora had always had a soft spot for Archie, while Lachie McPhee hated him and Dad.

  ‘I used the ticket of John McPherson’s brother who died, and kept his name,’ Archie continued. ‘His first name was the same as Dad’s. I’m Calum McPherson now, although the men in the unit call me Scotty.’

  ‘And why didn’t you write?’

  ‘I never trusted Effie in the post office not to read my letters – everyone knows she can’t let one be delivered without having a look first. That’s why I never put a return address.’

  Although what he was saying made sense, intuition told her that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. If he had had nothing to do with Lord Maxwell’s disappearance, there was still something he wasn’t telling her.

  ‘I wondered if you might have left because of Isabel,’ she said.

  ‘Why would you think that?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘Because she told me you’d confessed your love to her and she’d refused you.’

  Archie frowned. ‘It seems to me that you and Isabel have too much to say to one another.’

  Jessie blushed. She hoped Archie would never find out exactly what she had said to the doctor. She was now ashamed of her outburst.

  ‘But, Jessie, let’s not talk about them any more. Let’s talk about you.’ Archie eyed her with admiration. ‘My little sister a nurse!’

  ‘And once a wife and mother. Oh, Archie, I lost them both.’

  ‘I know, Isabel told me that too. I’m sorry, Jessie.’ He placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I wish I’d been there to help you. And not even to be at Mam’s funeral…’ His eyes were anguished. ‘Leaving you both is the thing I regret most about going to America. I wish I could have met Tommy and your wee boy.’

  ‘You’d have loved them, Archie, and they would have loved you.’