Nurse Ronnie's Vocation

by Felicity Hayle

  Upstairs in the stuffy little flat Toby was inclined to be irritable. "Whose car was that you came home in?" he demanded. And : "Why were you so long getting out?"

  "It was one of the surgeons from the hospital who knows Aunt Mary," she told him, and postponed until later explaining to him just who the surgeon was and what he wanted.

  It took Toby some time to assimilate the facts, but when he did he seemed strangely amenable. "Tell him to come round any evening—give him supper," he suggested.

  "Certainly not !" Ronnie exclaimed. "My cooking's not good enough—yet. He can come to coffee if you really want to see him. But I thought you didn't like him."

  "Anyone can be mistaken," he remarked pedantically, and then added rather plaintively : "I'd be glad to talk to anyone these days—especially anyone interested in Lemumba."

  Ronnie, however, could not climb down quite so easily as that. When a courteous little note accepted one of Toby's suggested dates she contrived to be out on the evening in question. Toby was guileless enough to accept it as late turn at the hospital, and not until it was too late did Ronnie realise that His Nibs would know that the day shift for all nurses ended at eight p.m. It was too late to do anything about it by then, for she had already accepted one of the many invitations —daily becoming more pressing—from Alan Pickering, and had promised to have supper with him.

  She enjoyed that evening with Alan and, not being introspective, did not realise that the enjoyment was rather that of a child with a stolen treat. When it came to going home she would not let the young houseman go further than the end of the road. She did not tell him the reason for her insistence—which was that Philip Conway's black and silver Jaguar was well known to all the hospital staff.

  She need not have worried, however, for when she got up to the flat he had already gone.

  Toby was sitting back in his armchair looking rather tired, but contented, and the room was rich with cigar smoke.

  "Enjoyed your evening, Daddy?" she asked, perching on the arm of his chair.

  "Yes," he said. "Too bad you couldn't be here, dear. He's a very knowledgeable young man—he'll do well. It would be a godsend to the Protectorate and the surrounding district if he could persuade the Government to get going on this health scheme he's got in mind."

  "What's this?" Ronnie picked up a piece of paper with some hieroglyphics scrawled across it.

  "Oh, that's a prescription that Conway says might help the old ticker. Get it made up for me tomorrow, will you, Ronnie?"

  "Of course, Daddy." There was a spark of gratitude at Ronnie's heart, for so far Toby had consistently refused to see a doctor since they had returned to England.

  "He says he'll keep an eye on me as I haven't got myself fixed up with any other medico," he went on.

  "Good," was Ronnie's only comment as she yawned and got to her feet. She was tired and aching for bed and sleep.

  Suddenly Toby chuckled. "I should think he could be a bit of a martinet at the hospital, though ! He seemed very put out when he couldn't get through to some young doctor who ought to have been at the hospital—a -Dr. Pickering, I think it was. D'you know him?"

  A muffled "Yes" came from his daughter.

  "That young man 'll get a rocket tomorrow, I shouldn't wonder !"

  Ronnie groaned inwardly. But it was not for the rocket that Alan was likely to get, but because she ought to have known that her ruse would be seen through.

  `Not that it's any of His Nibs' business who I spend my evenings with !' she thought ungrammatically. But she wished that she had spent that particular evening with someone else.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE long, hot summer slipped almost imperceptibly into autumn, and it was with something of a shock that October came to St. Chad's. October was the month of examinations for many of the nurses. Ronnie and Flossie and the rest of their intake were not ready yet for the preliminary of their State examination, but they had to sit an internal paper set by the hospital.

  "It's the viva that scares me," Flossie confessed. "I know I shall lose my head and do the stupidest things —like the classic example of the pro who prepared an enema trolley and forgot the b.p. !"

  But it was not the practical that worried Ronnie. She was good at her ward work and never lost her head. With book work it was different. She knew she had not given enough time to her studies. That was where the nurses who lived in scored, for when the day's work was done they had no further responsibilities. But for Ronnie another day's work started where one ended. Her father's condition was not improving—she knew that quite well. She also knew that Philip Conway had looked in on him several times and had twice changed the pills he was taking. He had warned Toby too about reducing his alcohol, but with little effect. He was bored and lonely and drank for want of something better to do. But drinks had to be paid for, and the payment was costly, in more ways than one. With shopping, cooking and cleaning Ronnie's spare time was more than fully occupied.

  At times when she ought to have been studying she was often playing chess with her father. She almost never went out after her work was done. Just occasionally she would invite one or two of her colleagues back to the flat for supper. The other girls liked these evenings, for Toby had not lost the charm of manner he had had all his life, nor the art of making any woman feel that she was of paramount importance in his life. This was something the younger generation had not met before, and as Flossie put it, she was 'tickled pink.'

  Once or twice she relented and went out with Alan Pickering for supper at a roadhouse or a quick run to the coast for a bathe. But she was on her guard with Alan, for she had the feeling that he was quite seriously falling in love with her, and as she did not reciprocate and had nothing but the mildest friendship to offer him, her innate honesty made her chary of accepting his invitations.

  Charles Cunningham's interest in her flared up every now and again, but that did not worry her. She and Charles understood one another perfectly now, and there were no heart burnings on either side if they did not see one another for months on end, but there was always pleasant companionship when their paths did

  cross for an hour or two.

  "No," Ronnie absolved herself. "If I have done badly in those wretched papers it certainly isn't because I've been hitting the high spots !"

  But that thought was not really much comfort when the lists came out and Ronnie's name was at the bottom of the written exam, although reasonably near the top in practical nursing.

  "In six months you'll have to sit the first part of your State exam," Flossie warned her—Flossie had a comfortable place in both lists. "What are you going to do? Why don't you come and live in? It's much more fun

  and better for work too, because we egg each other on !" "I know—but I can't leave Daddy. You know that, Flossie."

  "No," Flossie agreed. "And he's such a poppet too. But couldn't he go into a guest-house or something? Better for him, really, because then he'd have company all day."

  Ronnie pulled a face. The thought of her father in the average English guest-house seemed too incongruous. For one thing, Toby did not suffer fools gladly, and for another, he had been used so long to being waited on that he was apt to be a bit impatient of the sort of service a guest-house would be likely to offer.

  "I don't think he'd like that," she said, and then, anxious that Toby should not be blamed, she hastily added : "It's probably nothing to do with living out at all—it's just my lack of brain."

  "Pity," Flossie sighed. "Because you'd make a good nurse—everyone says so."

  "Who's everyone?" Ronnie wanted to know.

  "Well, Staff, for one. And I heard something the other day I wasn't supposed to—"

  "Well, go on ! Don't be exasperating—tell me !" Ronnie prompted when Flossie stopped speaking and eyed her mischievously.

  "Well, I was in the linen room and His Nibs and Alan stopped in the corridor—I couldn't help overhearing. His Nibs asked Alan how you were getting on, and Alan said he thought
O.K., and His Nibs said 'If her paper work's all right she'll make a first-rate nurse.' What're you blushing for?"

  Ronnie was saved the necessity of making a reply by the sudden flaunting entrance of the staff nurse. She was obviously in what was known amongst the juniors as 'one of her tizzies,' which meant that wrath from the

  Sisterly level had been descending on her innocent head for the shortcomings of the junior nurses.

  "What on earth are you two girls playing at?" she demanded. "D'you realise the time? You're responsible for the b.p. round—it should be finished now, and you haven't even started ! For the love of Mike get on— !"

  Conscience-stricken, Flossie and Ronnie darted out of the room. Ronnie flew to close the swing doors which shut off the ward from all outsiders, while Flossie ran for the sluice and the b.p. trolley.

  "You can take an armful," she cried breathlessly to Ronnie when the latter joined her there. "It's quicker that way. Leave old Mrs. Green till last—it'll take both of us to get her settled."

  "O.K.," Ronnie gasped, seizing the shining stainless steel bedpans from the racks. She was tall and could carry a good pile of the empty pans, though she had never quite managed to equal the record established by a legendary Irish nurse named MacQueen, which stood at six. Five was Ronnie's maximum, and that was not too easy.

  With her precariously balanced stack Ronnie made to follow Flossie and her trolley into the ward when suddenly with a muttered exclamation Flossie stopped. "Oh, no !" she said. "Look what's blown in !"

  "Look out !" Ronnie warned. "You'll make me drop the lot if you stop like that. What's blown in, anyway— I can't see round these things."

  "His Nibs," Flossie said hollowly.

  "But he can't—not now !"

  "You tell him so, then," Flossie recommended. "Dare you to !"

  "I will." Ronnie set her lips. They were late enough already. "Here, take these—" she thrust her pile of bedpans into Flossie's unwilling arms and made a beeline

  for the intruder, who was standing just inside the ward door.

  The unsteady pile of pans proved too much for Flossie, and as Ronnie advanced towards His Nibs a stifled squeak and an unholy clangour behind her told her that Flossie had dropped the lot.

  In the silence that followed some of the patients tittered. Everyone knew what had been dropped—even His Nibs; that was obvious from the wicked glint in the eyes which he turned upon Ronnie. She flushed, more with anger than embarrassment. "Can't you see that the ward is closed?" she demanded. " ... Sir," she added, just a fraction of a second too late.

  For the briefest moment she could see laughter in his eyes, and felt a hysterical giggle arising in her. Then she pulled herself together as the door from the balcony at the other end of the ward opened and the starched figure of Sister Young appeared. At once His Nibs was his usual urbane self.

  "Ah, Sister, I'm glad Nurse Forbes is on duty. I want to borrow her for a few moments, please. We've got a child upstairs straight over from West Africa and he doesn't understand a word of English. The poor kid's so scared I can't even examine him—I don't want him doped for the moment. It may be that Nurse Forbes will know a word or two of his dialect and be able to calm him down a bit. I won't keep her long—"

  Sister was not too well pleased. "Really, Mr. Conway ! Children's Ward has its full complement of nurses—I have not. I cannot possibly spare one of my nurses—"

  "But I'm not asking for one of your nurses, Sister. I want Nurse Forbes for a few moments because I think she may have special qualifications for the job. I'm sure Sister White will let you have a replacement if necessary—"

  "Thank you, sir." There was a cutting edge to Sister

  Young's voice, although she strove to keep it low. The conversation had been forced on her in full hearing of the prick-eared patients. "Thank you, but staffing arrangements come under Matron's administration."

  The very smooth pleasantness of Philip Conway's voice gave his words an edge of tempered steel as they rang out to the four corners of the ward. "Surely, Sister ! There's a little child upstairs, desperately ill and very frightened. Isn't this a time when red tape could be sacrificed for the sake of humanity?"

  There was dead silence for a moment. Ronnie felt like nothing so much as a large bone between two angry dogs, and wished herself anywhere but there.

  "Very well, Mr. Conway," Sister Young's lips were tight and hard, though she tried to relax them into a smile. She turned to Ronnie. "Nurse Flourish will have to manage without you. I'll see you when you return, Nurse."

  "Thank you very much, Sister," Philip Conway flashed his charming smile at Sister Young and then turned to Ronnie. "Come along, Nurse." He got to the door before her, and held it open. Ronnie groaned inwardly as she realised that this would be another black mark against her. Under hospital regulations she should have performed that service for the consultant.

  "Would you think there'd be so much fuss !" Phillip Conway half muttered under his breath as he strode along the corridor, and only stopped himself going up the stairs two at a time when he realised that Ronnie could not keep up with him.

  She was not sure whether she was supposed to answer the question or not, and her own annoyance crept into her voice as she asked coldly : "Do you happen to know how many African dialects there are—sir?"

  "Hundreds, I should think," he turned to grin impudently at her. "But then I'm notorious for having the

  devil's own luck, and the kid may speak one you know."

  When they approached the cot where the little African patient was sobbing weakly and refusing to be comforted by Sister White or her staff nurse, they had the momentary advantage of surprise.

  The little boy—he looked about four or five—stared at the newcomers and for a moment the sobs which were racking his little thin body ceased. Ronnie noticed at once that his face had the grey colour that black skins take on in illness and fright, but she noticed too the same reaction to her fair skin and blue eyes as she had seen in other Africans. Obviously the child found her pretty to look at, and for the moment there was a flicker of interest.

  Sister White did not look too pleased, Ronnie thought, but she had to give way to let Ronnie approach the cot.

  "Try him with a few words in whatever dialects you know, Nurse Forbes," Philip Conway urged.

  Ronnie smiled at the child and tried a few words in the two dialects that had been in common use in Lemumba. But they did not seem to mean anything to the little boy, whose mouth began to turn down again.

  In desperation she tried him with one of the out-of country dialects of which she knew no conversation but merely a little meaningless nursery jingle—she had heard the mothers at the market place crooning it to their infants.

  It acted like a magic spell. The little boy's face lit up, and his matchstick arms came out from under the blankets and wrapped tightly round Ronnie's neck as she bent over him.

  She had not had any training in children's nursing, so she did not have any qualms at all about taking the small boy into her arms. He was just a sick child who needed comforting, and that was that.

  She sang the little jingle over to him softly again, and

  in a very few moments he had quietened so that the consultant could make his examination to a background of whispers between the houseman and Sister White.

  "Much vomiting?" he asked as with gentle fingers he probed the distended little stomach.

  "Almost incessant," Sister informed him.

  "Hm. Looks like an intussusception all right. Large intestine. All right, you can give him a sedative now, Pickering, and I'll operate as soon as you can have him ready, Sister."

  With that he turned and strode over to the washbasin, followed by the houseman. There was a few moments' conversation about the case, and then the consultant hurried away through the swing doors.

  Ronnie felt rather like a cast-off dummy as she stood there, still holding the two little pink-palmed hands in her own as the sedative began to work and his eyes t
o close.

  Then Sister White approached. "That will do. Thank you, Nurse Forbes. Please tell Sister Young that I hope it has not inconvenienced her to spare you up here for a few moments."

  "Yes, Sister," Ronnie murmured, and hurried away down the stairs to Connaught Ward, with a sinking of the heart at the prospect of Sister Young's reaction to the 'inconvenience.'

  But she had a stroke of luck when she got back. Sister had been sent for by Matron, and Staff was in control. Flossie, however, was completely out of temper.

  "You really are the limit, Forbes !" she complained. "You put Sister in a rage, and I had to bear the brunt of it !"

  "Well, I'm sorry, but it wasn't my fault," Ronnie was in no mood to be placating. "I didn't know that

  His Nibs was going to barge in and demand my presence—"

  Flossie snorted. "His Nibs ! Why don't you call him `Phil' and have done with it—trying to tell us that you don't know him !"

  It had been a trying morning, and Ronnie's temper flared. "It's no business of yours or anyone else's how well I know Mr. Conway. I've already told you the truth of the matter, and if you don't choose to believe me I can't help it."

  Flossie looked sceptical. "Alan Pickering tells a different tale. How do we know who to believe ?"

  Ronnie stared at her, icily angry now. "And what has Mr. Pickering being saying?"

  "That His Nibs is always calling round at your flat—"

  "He's been to see my father once or twice on business —he happens to be interested in the part of Africa where my father was Resident for twenty years. Is there anything else you or Mr. Pickering would like to know? If not, I'll get on with my work."

  Her next job was cleaning out lockers, and after that she had to make an inventory of the linen room stock. Both were jobs that she disliked, but it was just that sort of day. And while she was doing them she had plenty of time to brood over her wrongs. Why on earth couldn't His Nibs leave her alone?

  But even while she railed against him there came the memory of the little coloured boy upstairs and the way he had held out his arms to her. Perhaps after all His Nibs had been justified, but she wished with all her heart that he had not made her so conspicuous in the process.