by Anna King
‘Dear God,’ he prayed fervently. ‘Give me strength and wisdom to say the terrible words! Give us both the strength to face and conquer this awful burden you have forced upon us.’ He could feel Ruby’s frantic struggling to extricate herself from his arms, saw her hands go up to cover her ears. Holding her wrists firmly with one hand, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. ‘You must be brave, Ruby. If your leg is not removed, you will die.’
‘I don’t care,’ cried Ruby. ‘I’d rather be dead!’ Her scream tore through the air and then was swiftly muffled as Bernard pulled her into his arms once more.
Neither of them noticed Dr Benson rise quietly from his chair and head for the door. He paused for a moment, wondering if there was anything he could do to alleviate the suffering of the two figures locked together in the chair. Shaking his head sadly, he opened the door. There was nothing anyone could do for them now, except pray. From the other side of the room he heard Ruby sob, ‘Don’t let them hurt me, Father! I’ll be good, I promise! Just don’t let them hurt me!’ before shutting the door quietly behind him.
Chapter Eight
The night had turned bitterly cold, but Bernard, still clothed in his morning coat, scarcely noticed the icy wind that blasted his body, a body that felt as numb as his mind. Acutely conscious of the empty seat beside him, he urged the horses on, part of him longing to get home to Daisy, the other part wanting to whip the horses into a gallop and drive into the darkness of the night until they dropped with exhaustion.
Releasing one hand from the reins, he drew his arm over his tired stinging eyes, trying to wipe out the memory of Ruby lighting to get out of the arms of the two nurses who had kindly but firmly stripped her before placing her in the narrow wooden bed. If Dr Benson hadn’t been by his side, he would have caught her up in his arms and carried her home to Daisy. As Daisy came to mind, he could imagine her clearly sitting by the open fire, her glance going to the clock on the mantelpiece, wondering where they were, worrying in case they had been involved in an accident, her brow furrowing as it always did when she was anxious. He hoped the boys would be in bed by the time he got home. It was going to be bad enough telling Daisy without the presence of his two sons, both of whom adored their sister. Flicking the reins sharply, he shouted, ‘Get up there, Nobby, good boy,’ ignoring Lady’s presence completely. As the horses picked up speed, the memory of the last few hours came flooding back. Wearily he tried to block them out, but it was no good, he was back in the library once more.
He had sat holding Ruby until she had cried herself to sleep, while the thought had come to him, sadly, that this was the closest he had ever been to her, and this brought about only by a tragedy. Dr Benson had wisely left them alone for an hour before coming back into the room, but now he could wait no longer.
‘Bernard, it’s time to go.’ The words were kindly said, his sympathy coming through in the tone of his voice. Easing himself from the chair, Bernard held on to Ruby tightly, fearful of waking her. ‘It would be better if we took my coach, Bernard. It will be more comfortable for Ruby.’
Gathering Ruby’s still sleeping body in his arms, Bernard whispered, ‘Look, William, I’ve been thinking about what you said, and the more I try to imagine… well, what you suggested… I can hardly believe it. And as for rushing her to some hospital this minute before I have had a chance to confer with Daisy, it’s out of the question. I know you mean well, William, but such a drastic step cannot be taken lightly, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’
Dr Benson looked with pity and concern at Bernard’s flushed anxious face, and shook his head. ‘And what will happen when you get home?’ Nodding towards the sleeping form, he added, ‘How do you imagine she will be once she wakes up and remembers what she heard in this room? Are you prepared to lie to her, tell her it was all a mistake, when you know in your heart I’m telling the truth? And what about tomorrow and the day after – are you going to wait until she is in so much pain that she can no longer bear to put her foot to the ground? Think, Bernard, think. What you are suggesting is understandable, but it’s also incredibly foolish. You are no longer a child who believes that an unpleasant thought can be made to disappear simply by going to bed and pulling the covers over your eyes, and when you wake up in the morning the troubles will be over, gone.’ His voice held a desperate note as he tried to convey the urgency of the situation to the man who now stood, a mulish look on his face, refusing to face the truth. No, not refusing, simply afraid to. As Bernard made to move past him, he searched frantically for the right words, words to penetrate the deliberate shutter that Bernard had pulled over his mind. Catching him by his arm, he whispered fiercely, ‘And how will you explain to Ruby why her skin is putrefying, turning bad, and the smell from the useless rotting bone? What explanation will you give her then, Bernard?’
‘Shut up, man! Shut up!’ Bernard hissed furiously, his face twisted in anger. The face before him showed no fear, only compassion, and his anger melted as quickly as it had come.
‘Come, Bernard, my coachman is waiting.’
With head bowed, Bernard carried the sleeping Ruby from the house.
* * *
The afternoon light was slowly fading when the coach turned into the large iron gates of Guy’s Hospital. Telling the coachman to wait, Dr Benson watched as Bernard stepped awkwardly down, trying desperately not to wake Ruby, but his efforts were in vain. As soon as the cold air hit her face she opened her eyes slowly, a smile coming to her lips before she became aware of the strange surroundings. The smile faded, and with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, Bernard saw her eyes grow round with terror as she looked up at the huge grim buildings that surrounded them. Like a wild animal caught in a trap, she suddenly realised the horror of her situation, and as Bernard tried to control her flailing arms, she struggled to free herself from his grasp, opened her mouth wide and emitted a piercing scream that reverberated round the courtyard. With Dr Benson urging him on, Bernard ran into the building, ignoring the startled looks from the doctors, students and visitors who thronged the courtyard. Ignored, too, the frantic pleading of Ruby to be taken home. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Dr Benson’s back, he followed the elderly man through a maze of long bleak corridors until he stopped by a brown wooden door and, without hesitating, banged sharply on the door panel twice before entering, leaving Bernard standing in the corridor.
Within minutes, Dr Benson re-emerged, a tall middle-aged distinguished gentleman dressed in a three-quarter-length coat and black pinstriped trousers following him closely. ‘This is Mr Davis, Bernard. He’s the man I told you about.’ He spoke in a casual way, the word “surgeon” carefully omitted for Ruby’s sake. The introductions over, Dr Benson stood to one side, clearly relieved that the responsibility for Ruby was now out of his hands. At the sight of the stranger, Ruby let out yet another frightened wail, burying her hot face in Bernard’s shoulder, her arms clasped firmly round his neck.
‘If you would care to follow me to my ward, Mr Chadwick, I would like to examine your daughter’s leg.’
Unable to make any kind of reply, Bernard simply nodded; the fear he could feel radiating from the small body in his arms having now violently transferred itself to him. His steps felt leaden as he walked behind the two doctors now deeply engrossed in conversation, all the horror stories he had ever heard now replayed over and over in his tortured mind. Stories he had dismissed as hysterical nonsense came flooding back. Grim tales of death and mutilation, unsanitary conditions, children herded together in tiny stone cells tended only when the gin-sodden so-called nurses remembered them. ‘Not my Ruby,’ he vowed silently. ‘If she has to die, then she will die between clean sheets, nursed by people who love her.’ Gripping her tightly, he continued to walk, urgently seeking a way out of this nightmare. He could hardly believe that only a short while ago his sole concern had been for the wealth and property he had so nearly been denied. Even the hatred he had felt for David had vanished, even the thought that his father m
ight only have a short while to live no longer caused him pain. All that mattered was that his child be spared. His father was old, his life nearly over, and as for David – well, let him have the money and position he had coveted; he no longer cared. ‘Please, God, don’t let my Ruby die! I’ll do anything, anything at all, but please don’t let her die.’
The age-old act of bargaining with the Almighty completed, Bernard quickened his steps to catch up with the two men who were now waiting for him outside a large room, at the sight of which his eyes widened in astonishment. The ward was large and airy, the rows of beds lined up neatly along the walls leaving the middle free for the patients who were well enough to walk to do so. Around each bed was an iron rail to which dark green curtains were attached, to provide privacy for the patients being examined. He noticed also that some of the beds had iron rails at the sides, much similar in design to a baby’s cot, and these obviously were for children.
A youngish woman dressed in an ankle-length pale blue gown, a white bib covering the front, was handing out drinks to a group of children dressed in their night-clothes, and the scene was so unexpected that Bernard felt his body slacken with relief. Maybe there was a chance, after all. Maybe William had been wrong in his diagnosis, but if he hadn’t, well at least Ruby would have a good chance of surviving the dreaded operation, wouldn’t she?
‘Would you lay your daughter on the bed, please, Mr Chadwick? I need to examine the injured leg.’ Bernard felt Ruby’s arms tighten as he tried to prise them from his neck. ‘Ruby – hello, my dear.’ Mr Davis had moved round to behind Bernard, his face now on a level with the still terrified Ruby. ‘My name is Mr Davis. I’m a doctor, and I’m going to try to make you better. The first thing I’m going to do is give you something to make the pain go away. Will you let me look at your leg?’
Bernard held his breath as he felt her hands loosen on his aching neck, then he watched in amazement as Ruby trustingly put her arms out to the stranger. Mr Davis picked her up and carried her to one of the railed beds and gently laid her down.
‘Now then, let’s see what’s what, shall we?’ he asked kindly. ‘Can you answer some questions for me, Ruby?’ The small head nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘Do you feel hot and unwell?’ Again the small nod, this time her eyes travelling to where Bernard was standing, his face anxious.
He saw the look and felt his stomach lurch. She was afraid to admit that she was feeling ill in case he would somehow blame her for her condition. All the times she had insisted that she was all right had been a lie; she must have been feeling unwell for a long while and been too afraid to admit it. The knowledge hit him forcibly, causing him to stagger away from the bed. Was he such a bad father, was he so terrifying that his own child was afraid to seek help from him? Closing his eyes tightly, he remembered how, the day after the accident, he had gone for the children with the belt and how Daisy had fought to get them safely away from him. He remembered, too, the coldness he had shown to her, and like a child crying out for forgiveness, he cried silently, ‘I didn’t mean it! Oh, God, I didn’t mean it!’
‘Mr Chadwick, are you feeling all right?’
No, he was not feeling all right! He felt like hell, but now was not the time to admit his failing. Forcing himself to remain calm, he answered, ‘I’m quite all right, thank you. I’m more concerned with my daughter’s condition.’ Even to his own ears the words sounded stiff and formal, but the surgeon merely nodded, then turned back to Ruby.
‘Does your leg hurt very much? Have you been able to walk on it?’ ‘No, Doctor.’ The words were spoken so softly that Mr Davis had to lean forward to hear her. ‘I mean, I haven’t been able to walk properly for a long time. It hurts too much.’
‘I see. Well, don’t worry. As soon as the ward sister arrives, I’ll look at your leg and then give you something to make the pain go away as I promised. Ah, talk of the devil! Ahem… Sister Anne, this is Ruby. She’s not been feeling very well. I’m just going to take a quick look at her leg. She was kicked by a horse, you know.’
A small stout woman dressed in the same manner as the younger nurses had come to stand by the bed, the dark navy uniform denoting her rank as a Sister. ‘Kicked by a horse, were you? And what were you doing, that a lovely kind animal like a horse should want to kick you?’
Bernard listened to the kindly banter, his mind telling him that it wasn’t fair on Ruby to behave like this. Already she had relaxed, lulled into a false sense of security by the attention she was receiving. He looked at the Sister, judging her to be in her late 50s, her hair, already grey, caught up in a solid bun at the nape of her neck, leaving the top of her head free for the frilled white cap she wore.
‘Would you draw the curtains, please, Sister. We can’t expect a young lady to undress in front of complete strangers, can we?’
‘Indeed we can’t, Doctor,’ she answered, her face beaming down on the now calm Ruby.
‘Would you wait outside please, sir.’ She turned to face Bernard, the smile still in evidence, but not bright enough to hide the concern in her dark brown eyes.
‘No, Father, don’t leave me!’ Ruby cried, and she attempted to sit up, but Mr Davis held her firmly.
‘I’ll just be outside the curtains, my dear. I won’t leave you, I promise.’ Bernard said quickly, the new form of endearment sounding hollow to his ears before the faded curtains were pulled around the bed, shutting Ruby from his view.
Left alone, he became aware of the curious eyes surveying him. Grimly determined not to make eye-contact with any of the women and children that filled the clean but cheerless beds, he fixed his gaze firmly on the varnished wooden floor, lifting them only to stare at the large gas lamps that hung from the grey ceiling, their soft light giving the ward a soothing effect that would vanish in the light of day. A sudden bout of coughing startled him and, without thinking, he looked towards the bed from which the sound had emanated. A woman as old as his father was leaning over the side of her bed, her face suffused with blood as she tried to catch her breath. Watching her struggles, Bernard felt a pang of sympathy, a feeling that changed to one of disgust as the unfortunate woman promptly began to retch violently over herself and the bedclothes. Nauseated, he turned his head away, unable to witness such a spectacle, then stepped quickly to one side as a young nurse pushed by to get to her patient, the look of compassion on her fresh face shaming him.
The swish of the curtains being drawn back brought his head round sharply to where Ruby lay quietly, the elderly Sister holding her hand, her soothing words too soft for Bernard to catch. Eagerly he raised his eyes to Mr Davis, but his hopes were cruelly dashed at the bleak expression on his face. With a slight shake of his head he motioned to Bernard to remain silent. A moment later, the smile was back on his face as he turned to Ruby.
‘I’m going to have a talk to your father, Ruby. We shall both come back presently. Sister Anne will look after you until then.’
‘You’re not going to cut my leg off, are you?’ Ruby whispered fearfully. ‘Dr Benson said you were going to cut my leg off! You’re not going to, are you?’
Bernard felt his breath quicken as he waited for the surgeon to answer.
‘There now, don’t you go getting yourself upset,’ Sister Anne interrupted quickly. ‘Tell me all about your family. Have you any brothers and sisters?’
Taking the chance to get away, Mr Davis walked off quickly, with Dr Benson and Bernard close behind him.
‘But he’s not going to cut my leg off, is he? Father! Father…’
* * *
‘I’m sorry, Mr. Chadwick, but the condition of your daughter’s leg leaves me no other choice but to amputate.’ Mr Davis’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way off as Bernard fought down the feeling of nausea. ‘It is unfortunate that she should have overheard your conversation. In the circumstances, there is no alternative but to operate as soon as possible. It would be unbearably cruel to leave her contemplating her fate any longer than is absolutely necessar
y.’ Pulling open his desk drawer, he extracted a large sheet of printed paper resembling a document. ‘I shall need your permission to operate, Mr Chadwick. Mr Chadwick?’
Bernard raised his head slowly, his hand going to the form in front of him. As if to gain some time, he tried in vain to study the black print that seemed to jump and blur in front of his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I…’ Clearing his throat noisily, he tried again. ‘What exactly shall I be signing?’
‘It’s a standard procedure, Mr Chadwick, exonerating myself and the hospital from any liability should sudden death occur. Not that that is likely in your daughter’s case,’ he added hurriedly, as Bernard made to rise from his chair. ‘Medical science has come a long way since the days of strapping patients fully conscious to the operating table with a gag in their mouths to stop them from screaming out in their agony. Twenty years ago it was found that one out of every three successful amputation patients died later from septicaemia, or a similar type of infection. Now, thank heavens, we have chloroform to render patients unconscious while we perform surgery, and the risk of death by infection has been almost ruled out thanks to Joseph Lister’s development of antiseptic methods.’ Warming to his theme, Mr Davis seemed to have forgotten the presence of Bernard and Dr Benson. ‘He realised that by sterilising the surgical instruments during the operation and also the wounds afterwards, he was saving more lives than hitherto had been deemed possible. Did you know that in 1871 he operated successfully on the Queen?’ The question was rhetorical, and he swept on, ‘Yes, we all have a lot to thank Joseph Lister for. I met him once at King’s College. A remarkable man!’