Judith

by Betty Neels

  The next two rooms were empty, waiting for patients booked for the next day, and in the fifth room the young girl with the appendix was asleep.

  The next three rooms were easy, all patients who were on the point of going home, merely wanting a few minutes’ chat before settling down for the night, and the ninth was a young woman with a very small baby who had been operated upon for pyloric stenosis. The tenth door was shut, but there was a light over the door still. Judith tapped and went in.

  Lady Cresswell was sitting up in bed, reading. Judith hadn’t had any idea what she would be like, but she wasn’t prepared for the comfortably plump, positively cosy figure leaning back against the pillows, who took off large, owl-like spectacles and beamed cheerfully at her from a round still pretty face, crowned by short white curls.

  ‘Good evening, Sister,’ she smiled, and held out a hand. ‘I feel such a fraud, lying here, wasting everyone’s time. I’m sure all these tests the doctors want to do could have been done at home…’

  Judith smiled. ‘Well, I suppose so, but it would have been a lot of extra work for them, you know. I see you’re only here for a few days—I should enjoy them if you can, bed can be very nice when you’re not ill.’

  The little lady nodded her head vigorously. ‘And I’ve a pile of books to read.’

  Judith glanced at them, a catholic mixture she would dearly have loved to sit down and browse through. ‘I’ll change places,’ she said flippantly because she sensed that Lady Cresswell intended to look on the bright side. She didn’t know what her doctors had told her, probably a half truth, paving the way for bad news should the test prove conclusive. She was sure that her patient wasn’t a woman to be fobbed off with vague talk, neither did she wish to be drowned in pessimism. They chatted happily enough for five minutes or so, during which time Lady Cresswell made no mention of her son at all. Perhaps they weren’t very close, thought Judith, hurrying back to relieve Sister Reed; the bright little lady seemed quite the wrong type of mother for such a cold fish as the Professor.

  She forgot all about it during the next hour or so, and when she did her second round, Lady Cresswell was sleeping like a child.

  She was awake when Judith did her final early morning round, though; full of cheerful small talk, but Judith learned nothing of her personal life.

  ‘You’ll be having your first test this morning,’ she told her. ‘Nothing to worry about, though. I’ll see you this evening.’

  She went for a walk in the park before she went to bed; the storm had passed, but it was dull and oppressively warm still. There was really nothing to keep her from her bed and there was another busy night ahead of her. But in bed, she didn’t sleep at once; she found herself wondering about Lady Cresswell. If they diagnosed leukaemia, whichever type it was, she had a good chance of being kept alive for a number of years still. Perhaps they would decide not to tell her; she went to sleep pondering the advantages and disadvantages of being told the truth or being fobbed off with a watered-down version of the diagnosis.

  The first hour of the night went quickly. Judith was busy, but no more than usual, her rounds went without a hitch, and although Nigel appeared when she was barely half way round the main wards, she snubbed him so severely that he walked off, saying coldly over his shoulder that he wasn’t on call anyway, and if she wanted help she should get Mr Wright or Mr Davies. ‘I was hoping for a cup of coffee,’ he observed frostily.

  ‘Well, I often hope for it too,’ said Judith, ‘but I don’t always get it.’ She adjusted a drip to a nicety. ‘But I daresay there’s some on the stove in the Men’s Surgical kitchen if you’d like to help yourself.’

  He wouldn’t, of course, he was a man who expected to have things handed to him and then cleared away afterwards.

  It was earlier than usual by the time Judith tapped on Lady Cresswell’s door and went in. Her patient was sitting up in bed looking charming in a pink bedjacket and discreet make-up, and sitting beside her was Charles Cresswell.

  He got to his feet and wished her an unsmiling good evening, then walked over to the window and turned his back on them. Judith flung a glance at his long lean back and then ignored him.

  ‘Well, how did the tests go?’ she asked cheerfully. The preliminary results of two of them were already in her report book, but she wanted to feel her way; perhaps Lady Cresswell hadn’t been told the result, especially as they weren’t conclusive. There was still a test meal to do, to eliminate a simple or pernicious anaemia and a sternal puncture.

  ‘They say they won’t know until tomorrow afternoon.’ The blue eyes stared up at her as though trying to read her thoughts, so she smiled steadily back.

  ‘It takes a bit of time—they weren’t too bad, were they?’

  ‘Good gracious, no, my dear. Tomorrow sounds much much worse.’

  ‘Not really. They explained the test meal, I expect? I’ll be along very early in the morning to get it started, you’ll hardly be aware of it.’

  ‘How comforting you are! But the other thing—I don’t much like the sound of that.’

  ‘Over in a jiffy, and done by your consultant’s own hand. Nothing to worry about. Have you had your evening drink, Lady Cresswell?’

  ‘Yes, dear. Something very nourishing and milky. And now before you go you must meet my son, Charles.’

  He had turned round now, staring at her in a most unamiable manner.

  ‘We’ve already met, Mother,’ he spoke impatiently. ‘In Cumbria.’

  ‘Well, fancy that!’ His mother looked from one to other of them in a speculative way. ‘It is a small world, to be sure.’

  Judith smiled in a non-committal fashion. ‘Well, I must be going. I’ll be along later to make sure you’re asleep.’

  ‘Yes, dear. What do you do now?’

  ‘Well, there’s still a patient in theatre and we’re expecting two admissions as soon as X-ray has finished with them.’

  ‘Good heavens! Don’t you have a rest or a meal?’

  ‘Oh, sometimes—it’s not as bad as it sounds.’ She included them both in her smile. ‘Goodnight.’

  She left a silence behind her which Lady Cresswell finally broke. ‘It’s years since I’ve seen you to be the least bit interested in a girl, Charles.’

  He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his well polished shoes. ‘I wasn’t aware…’ he began in a cool voice.

  ‘No, dear, I daresay not. For a long time now you’ve treated all females in exactly the same way; pleasant, courteous, very mindful of their comfort and not caring a damn about any of them. But this magnificent creature seems to have got under your skin.’ She put her head on one side and added thoughtfully: ‘I wonder if she knows that?’ And when he didn’t answer: ‘I was having a little gossip with the Day Sister this afternoon; there’s a registrar very keen on this sweet creature—pesters her to marry him. He’s a dreadful bore.’

  Her son laughed. ‘Mother, how uncharitable! He may be a very decent fellow.’

  ‘He’s very good-looking, so I’m told, and very conceited—not her type. Charles, before you go—what is her name?’ She smiled gently. ‘I know the Golightly bit—isn’t that sweet—but the rest of it?’

  ‘Judith.’ He bent and kissed her. ‘I’m going now and you’re going to sleep. I’ll be along tomorrow, probably in the afternoon.’

  ‘Avoiding each other, are you?’

  He shook his head at her. ‘Dear Mother, quash your romantic thoughts, will you? I have no plans to marry, or for that matter, fall in love.’

  ‘No, dear.’ His mother sounded very meek.

  She was asleep when Judith did her midnight round and not a word was said about her son when the test meal was got under way in the morning. Having got it started, Judith left it to the night staff nurse and went to finish her report. Two more nights and she would go home again for her two days off. She tucked the pleasant thought away and bent to her writing.

  That evening the report on Lady Cresswell wasn’t so good.
The red cell count was unsatisfactory and the white cell count was strongly indicative of leukaemia—not, it was thought, an acute type, which meant that with proper care and medication Lady Cresswell might live for a number of years yet. But there was still the sternal puncture result to wait for, and that would clinch the matter. Judith sighed, because she liked the little lady, and then because she had seventy-odd patients to think about as well, dismissed her from her mind for the time being.

  Lady Cresswell had been crying, that was apparent to Judith the moment she opened the door of the room. It was equally apparent that her patient wouldn’t thank her for remarking upon her puffy eyes and red nose, so she wished her a perfectly normal good evening, remarked on the beauty of an enormous bouquet of choice flowers on the bedside table and waited.

  After a moment Lady Cresswell spoke, ‘I insisted that they should tell me.’ Her voice was small but defiant. ‘They weren’t going to, you know. They would have called it anaemia or something and advised me not to get too tired and to eat liver. I loathe liver—but now I’m not sure if I want to know after all. Charles says it’s a good thing because now I can forget all about it and that I’ll probably outlive him, anyway.’ She gave a small sniff.

  Good for Charles, thought Judith, and said out loud, in a calm matter-of-fact way: ‘He’s absolutely right, you know.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed and took one of Lady Cresswell’s delicate little hands in her own capable ones. ‘If you were a child or even a young adult, the outlook might not be all that rosy, although they’ve got these marvellous new drugs nowadays—but the older one gets the longer you’re able to resist it—probably you’ll live till you’re ninety-nine and die of old age! You’ll get your ups and downs, of course, but we all get those, don’t we? and providing you do what your doctor suggests, you’ll be perfectly OK. And I’ve not made any of that up, either—it’s gospel truth.’

  Lady Cresswell managed a quite cheerful smile. ‘What a nice girl you are, Judith! I think I feel better already. I’m getting used to it, it’s that that’s so difficult, isn’t it?’ She paused. ‘Tell me something—why am I in a surgical ward? I’ve only had tests done—they’re not going to do anything they haven’t told me about?’

  ‘Good gracious, no! Didn’t anyone tell you that the medical side was full up when you were admitted? Don’t worry, no one’s going to do anything. You’ll be here for a few days yet while your treatment is worked out, then you’ll be able to go home.’

  ‘Charles won’t hear of that—I’ve a flat here in London, you know. I’m most comfortable there and I have a splendid housekeeper, but he insists that I go and stay with him, at least for a month or so.’

  ‘You’ll like that. It’s so beautiful in the Lakes—I’d live there if I could, and he has a lovely house. But you must have seen it.’

  Lady Cresswell had turned her face a little away. ‘Yes, dear,’ she said vaguely, ‘Charles and I spend quite a good bit of time together, that is when he’s not writing. He loved it as a small boy and his father left it to him—he doesn’t care for London, but of course he has to come here from time to time.’ She was silent for a few moments. ‘You did mean what you said, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Judith steadily, ‘every word of it.’ She got off the bed to check the charts. ‘Would you like a mild sleeping pill, do you think? Or would you rather read for a while? I’ll…’

  The door opened and Charles Cresswell came in. He had a bottle under one arm, and was holding two glasses as well. He nodded to Judith in a careless way and said: ‘I’ve brought my mother a nightcap—champagne. You’ll have a glass with us?’

  Judith paused half way to the door. ‘How kind, but no, thank you.’ She wanted to tell him not to stay too long, but one look at Lady Cresswell’s face told her that champagne with her son at eleven o’clock at night was going to do more good than the most efficient of sleeping pills. She said merely: ‘I’ll be back later, Lady Cresswell,’ in a tone of voice which implied that she hoped he would be gone by then, added a pleasant goodnight and left them together.

  Lady Cresswell sipped her champagne. ‘Charles, will you do something for me?’

  He said yes without any hesitation at all.

  ‘Will you arrange for Judith to come with me when I come to stay with you?’

  ‘You would like that, my dear?’ If she had hoped to surprise him, she hadn’t succeeded.

  ‘Very much. She gives me confidence, you see, and I—want that, just for a little while.’

  ‘I understand. Yes, I’ll arrange that, but you’ll have to persuade her, you know. If I were to ask her she would refuse point blank.’

  He spoke pleasantly with no sign of annoyance.

  ‘You won’t mind? Judith being in the house? Since you dislike each other, I mean.’

  ‘Why should I? I shall be working for a good deal of the day—I’ve got the proofs to check, and I hope my manners are sufficiently good to get us through meals.’

  His mother peeped at his expressionless face. ‘Charles dear, if you hate the idea, I won’t ask her…’

  He put down his glass. ‘Mother, I’m completely indifferent about the matter. It is, in fact, a good idea, because it will leave me free to work without delay and feeling guilty at leaving you on your own.’

  His mother eyed him lovingly. He had lived alone far too long, in another few years he would be a dryas-dust bachelor, sinking into premature middle age. Distinguished, good-looking, well-to-do, much sought after by women on the look-out for a husband, but quite impervious to them. Bother the creature! thought Lady Cresswell wrathfully, remembering the seventeen-year-old girl who had spent a summer charming the heart out of her son’s body and then wafting away from him, swathed in white tulle and lace, down the aisle with his best friend. He’d got over it years ago, she was certain of that, although he had never realised it. She doubted very much if he remembered what the girl looked like. It was high time someone broke the spell, and who better than Judith with her lovely face…she was a thoroughly nice girl too. She said soothingly: ‘Yes, of course, dear. Will the hospital let her go?’

  ‘If you can persuade her to come to Hawkshead with you, I’ll see that there are no difficulties.’

  And Lady Cresswell nodded happily. Charles had a way with him when he wanted something. She foresaw no trouble, and she was so determined to throw them together. She lightly dismissed the idea that neither of them might welcome the idea of being thrown—after all, she concluded inappropriately, love would find a way.

  When her son got up to go presently, she offered a cheerful face for his kiss, assured him that she was no longer despairing and promised that she would sleep soundly. Which she did.

  She had decided to say nothing to Judith in the morning; after a long night’s work, she would be in no mood to be argued with or cajoled. Lady Cresswell possessed her soul in patience, forbore from saying a single word to her son when he came to see her, presented a bright face to the doctors and nurses and bided her time.

  Judith was earlier than usual that evening. All three Sisters were on duty, which meant that the work load could be spread between them. It happened seldom, they would be back to their usual two on and one off on the following night, but by then her own nights off would be due. She worked her way round the women’s surgical ward and started on the private patients’ corridor, feeling a strange reluctance to get to Lady Cresswell’s room. She hadn’t expected to see Charles Cresswell and it had annoyed her so much that she had slept badly in consequence. But lightning never strikes twice in the same place, she told herself, it was just bad luck that he had come when she was there. All the same, she felt an unaccountable let down feeling when she found her patient alone. A very cheerful patient too.

  ‘I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you,’ observed Lady Cresswell, ‘I do hope you can spare me five minutes, Judith.’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I can. So far it’s very quiet on the surgical side and I’ve got two oth
er Sisters with me.’ Judith smiled and sat down composedly by the bed. It took no longer to sit down and the patients relaxed more; hovering on one foot by the bed did no good at all.

  ‘I’m going to ask you to do something for me,’ began Lady Cresswell. ‘You’ll say “No” at once, but please, I do beg you, go away and think about it. It’s very important to me, but I’m not going to fish for sympathy I have that already, I know that, but I know that I need help, just for a little while. I’ve remembered all you told me about living to a ripe old age, and I believe you, but I have been given a death sentence, haven’t I? I’ll accept that as best I can, but it takes a little swallowing. Judith, I want to take you with me to Hawkshead. It’s asking a great deal of you—you’ve a splendid career here, and probably you’ve a young man here too—you’re far too pretty not to have—and I’ve no right at all to ask you, but would you consider it?’

  Judith sat and looked at her hands, lying quietly in her lap. Hawkshead, she thought, and all the glorious country round it. Uncle Tom to visit, the rose garden and last: Charles.

  She raised her quiet face. ‘I must think about it, Lady Cresswell, but I promise you that I will do just that. May I have a day before I give you my answer?’

  Lady Cresswell managed not to grin from ear to ear. ‘I understand, of course, dear. I’m to be here for another few days, I believe. I’m not sure how things can be arranged…’

  ‘Or even if they can be arranged. It’s rather unusual, you know. In fact I’ve never heard of it being done.’

  Lady Cresswell looked faintly smug. ‘Well, we can but try—that is if you agree?’ She added: ‘They tell me I shall grow no worse for some time, which is a comfort—several years, they mentioned. At my age that’s very comforting.’