by Rose Meddon
‘I can see her and Ned getting along perfectly well,’ Naomi whispered later, when they were clearing away the supper things.
And Kate agreed. In fact, the moment Nurse Hammond had hinted at a fondness for the occasional glass of Mackeson Milk Stout – purely for its nutritional value, she had added with a wink – she had warmed to her. Having someone stiff and starchy in their midst would have forced them onto a constant state of alert and would have required them to mind their ways but, with this Nurse Hammond, it seemed as though they would be able to carry on almost as they did on any other day.
‘Yes,’ she agreed with Naomi’s assessment. ‘I think we’ll all get along just fine.’
And, in which case, Naomi’s crazed idea to bring Ned home to Hartland Street might just turn out all right after all.
* * *
‘Please, Min. I wouldn’t have let you bring me here had I thought that’s what you were going to do. You assured me I wouldn’t be disrupting anything.’
Standing beside her brother’s bed, Naomi signalled her disagreement with a shake of her head. ‘You’re not. I’ve already told the organizer at the VAD, and she quite understands that all the while you are here, I shall not be volunteering for any further shifts. For the foreseeable future, your well-being and recovery come first.’
It was after breakfast the following morning and, having been permitted to do so by Nurse Hammond, Kate and Naomi had gone in to see Ned. And now, while Naomi disagreed with her brother over her decision to cease volunteering as an ambulance driver, Kate took the chance to study the many changes to her former room. For a start, every piece of bedroom furniture now stood in a corner, covered with dustsheets. In its place had appeared a pair of simple metal trestles, one stacked with towels, bedsheets and linens, the other laid out with items of a more medical or surgical nature. Gone from the centre of the floor was the rug, which, according to Naomi, had immediately been decreed a hazard to health for both its propensity to harbour dust and for the likelihood that someone would trip over it. From the ceiling had disappeared the light fitting – in its place an overly large electric light bulb – while on a metal stand to one side of Ned’s bedstead was a reading lamp. This morning, with the curtains fastened completely clear of the window, there was no need for either, the natural light of the day sufficiently bright.
For his part, Ned looked little different from when they had last seen him in Manston Street. The lower half of his body was still in traction, his feet, in thick grey woollen socks, fastened to the rail at the bottom, the metal rods holding his legs in place disappearing under the grey blanket. Seeing him confined to such a position raised so many questions. Wasn’t he uncomfortable? Didn’t he long to move – or at least wriggle about from time to time? What happened if he got an itch? And how did he… well, no, she wouldn’t even contemplate such things; concerns of that nature the business of Ned and Nurse Hammond alone.
‘Min, please stop being so stubborn,’ Ned urged Naomi. ‘Ambulance drivers are few and far between – St. George’s needs you.’
Kate agreed. Now it was clear that Nurse Hammond was competent – and that Ned was in safe hands – there was no need for Naomi to even be within earshot of her brother, let alone keeping vigil at his bedside.
She glanced to what she could see of Naomi’s face. ‘It’s true,’ she piped up, bringing both of them to look in her direction. ‘You’re of more value there than here.’
Turning away, Naomi gave a thoughtful sigh. ‘Let me think about it, both of you. Let us see how we manage over these next few days.’
‘Thank heavens,’ Ned said, sending Kate a look of gratitude. ‘Now, please, Min, do go and get on with something. I’m more than used to being left alone. Besides, today I have the luxury of a different ceiling to stare at.’ With a shake of her head, seemingly in despair, Naomi did as her brother instructed and turned to leave the room. But when, smiling at his humour, Kate went to follow her out, he called her back.
Surprised, she turned to regard him. ‘Yes?’
‘Do you think you might have a go at persuading her to see sense?’ he whispered. ‘There’s a greater chance she’ll listen to you than to me.’
Unable to help it, Kate scoffed. ‘Huh. I don’t know about that.’
‘Look, Kate, before I agreed to come here, I made it plain that I didn’t want to cause a fuss. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the comforts that being here will bring… and for the company it will provide… but I don’t need either of you to change your habits or, worse still, feel the need to keep up a constant presence at my bedside. I’ve come to accept that to get better, and to one day be up and about again, I have no choice but to lie here and let nature take its course. That’s my lot and I’m reconciled to it, but there’s no need for it to be anyone else’s lot as well.’
She smiled down at him. ‘I’ll try to get her to reconsider. But you will have to let me go about it in my own way.’
‘Well, I’m sure you know best how to—’
‘Unker Ned! Unker Ned!’
Turning in the direction of the little voice, Kate saw Esme hopping about in the doorway, from one hand trailing her ragdoll, from the other, a book, its pages splayed open. ‘Story, pease?’ she asked, peering towards the bed.
With a smile, Kate went towards her. ‘Well, lovey,’ she said, bending to the little girl’s height, ‘Uncle Ned has to stay in bed and rest. So, how about you ask your mamma for a story?’
‘“Not now, Esme”,’ the child mimicked her mother. ‘Mamma too busy.’
Holding back laughter, Kate shook her head. ‘Your mamma said she’s busy?’
‘Busy, busy, busy.’
Turning back to Ned, Kate grinned. ‘Would you mind?’
‘Read my favourite niece a story? Of course I wouldn’t mind,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.
‘Shall I sit you up on this big seat then, lovey?’ Kate asked the little girl, gesturing to the chair alongside the bed.
Venturing further into the room, the little girl nodded. ‘Ess pease.’
‘Can you hold a book comfortable enough to read?’ she thought to ask Ned as she settled Esme onto the chair.
‘It’s actually one of the few things I can do,’ he assured her. ‘Which story is it anyway? What am I letting myself in for?’
Prying the book from between Esme’s fingers, she closed the cover. ‘It’s her compendium of fairy tales,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘The Ugly Duckling always goes down well. She never seems to tire of that one. All the while you can bear to keep reading, she’ll sit nice an’ quiet.’
‘Excellent. Then The Ugly Duckling it is.’
Hoping that Esme would behave, Kate started towards the door. Then, turning back, she said, ‘Esme, you’re to do as Uncle Ned tells you or else Nurse Hammond won’t let you back in to see him again. Do you understand me?’
Her expression solemn, Esme nodded.
Once out on the landing, Kate paused to listen. Ned had begun reading: ‘It was so beautiful out in the country, it was summer – the wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and down among the meadows the hay was stacked.’
With a smile, she started down the stairs. Within a couple of days, it would probably seem as though Ned had always been there. And, hopefully, before too long, he would be free from that ghastly traction device and back on his feet. And yes, she would admit that to begin with she had been wary of Naomi’s idea to remove him from the hospital. But she could see now that it was going to be all right. One way or another, they would find ways to cope with the upheaval; indeed, she would do everything she could to make sure of it.
* * *
‘Ah, there you are, dear.’
Arriving in the kitchen a while later, Kate was greeted by Nurse Hammond coming through from the scullery. ‘Nurse Hammond, did you need something?’ she asked.
‘In a way, dear, yes. I need a moment or two of your time to go over a few arrangements.’
&
nbsp; Remembering her vow to make things work, Kate smiled. ‘Arrangements. Yes, of course. How may I help you?’
‘Well, firstly, there’s the matter of the patient’s meals. Ordinarily, I would discuss these with the family’s cook. But, in this household, I imagine I should go through them with you. Would that be correct?’
Family cook? If only! ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Good. Now, this won’t take more than a minute or two, but shall we sit down?’ Doing as Nurse Hammond suggested, Kate pulled a chair from under the table. She did hope Nurse was right about it not taking long – she had so much to get on with. ‘Now, tell me, dear, when do you place your orders for meat and fish? Only, from the point of view of the patient, freshness is key.’
‘Um…’ Suddenly, her practice of placing an order just twice a week seemed inadequate – remiss, even.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Nurse Hammond swept on, ‘why don’t I run through the whole thing with you and then, when you are next planning the patient’s menus, you will be able to bear in mind what is required.’
For a moment, Kate simply sat staring ahead. Menus? Would Ned not eat the same things as they did, then? Last night, he’d had a few mouthfuls of the potato and leek soup without any bother. And this morning he’d eaten some toast.
Beside her, Nurse Hammond was turning the pages of a notebook.
‘For your ease,’ she said, ‘I have noted everything down and organized it according to the various meals, starting with breakfast.’
Well, that didn’t seem unreasonable. ‘Breakfast,’ she said. ‘Yes.’
‘Now, the patient will alternate between a porridge made from oatmeal and milk one morning, and a lightly boiled egg and toast the next. Needless to say, the milk should be from that day’s delivery – the egg, the freshest available and boiled for no more than three minutes. The white should be only just set – not firm – and the accompanying toast should be of brown bread with the crusts left on. It should not be allowed to burn. In the event that it does, please do not attempt to scrape off the blackened areas and think it will suffice. It will not.’
Staring down at the handwritten instructions entitled To Make Toast, Kate frowned. Clearly, her usual habit of letting the bread catch and then scraping at it with a knife wouldn’t measure up! ‘No burnt bits, no,’ she repeated, stilling an urge to laugh.
‘Now, Lieutenant Russell tells me that he is fond of coffee—’
She looked back up. ‘Yes.’
‘—and I have no objection to him partaking of a single cup each day.’
‘All right.’
‘But only if the coffee can be made from beans that are freshly ground and brewed in accordance with this recipe.’
Freshly ground beans every morning? Even the stuff Naomi brought from Clarence Square wouldn’t fit that bill. ‘And if it is not freshly ground…?’ she ventured, almost afraid of how Nurse Hammond would reply.
‘Then the patient will have to go without, I’m afraid. All other forms of coffee, especially in these days of shortages and rationing, are, to a greater or lesser extent, little more than chicory, roasted until dark and then ground – the result of which not only lacks any nutritional value but has a taste bitter enough to taint the poor man’s palate for all other foods.’ As quietly as she could, Kate swallowed. ‘If it is unavailable, then I suggest substituting beef tea.’ When Nurse Hammond then flicked ahead through the pages of her notebook, Kate grimaced; by the look of it, there had to be three dozen recipes in there – maybe more. Surely, she couldn’t be expected to tackle them all. When it came to preparing a straightforward meal she was reasonably sure of her abilities. Certainly, she had very few disasters. But if these were the expectations of her, then panicked didn’t even begin to describe how she suddenly felt. ‘As you will see,’ Nurse Hammond went on, pointing to the appropriate page, ‘at the back I have included recipes for puddings and drinks.’
‘Yes.’
‘So, here we are, beef tea. Now, from one pound of lean gravy-beef, a quart of water, and a salt spoon of salt, you will end up with a pint of tea. If Lieutenant Russell’s appetite is generally good, you might only need to make this up four times a week. But, if he is off his food for any reason, then he will need to take this tea three or four times a day, requiring a new batch to be made each morning.’
Clasping her hands in her lap, Kate noticed how clammy her palms felt. ‘Each morning. I see.’ Inadvertently meeting the nurse’s look, she did her best to raise a smile.
‘Don’t worry, dear, once you become familiar with it, the whole recipe will take you less than an hour – possibly, with the right cut of the meat, even less than that.’
Feeling unexpectedly hot, Kate reached for the edge of the table. An hour. Every morning. And that was without the actual effort involved in procuring a supply of fresh beef each day.
To her despair, though, Nurse Hammond’s requirements didn’t end there. Flicking through the notebook, she came to a halt at a page headed Rice-Milk Pudding. ‘Rice,’ she said, ‘boiled with a little finely-minced suet – and with a strip of lemon peel added to enhance the flavour – produces a most nourishing dish. Now, the instructions I’ve given here suggest boiling it in a saucepan but, in one house where I was employed for several months, the cook used to put it in the bottom of the oven while her other dishes were cooking. The result was more than acceptable.’
And on and on Nurse Hammond went: rabbit – preferably a very young one – stewed in milk; mutton chop, trimmed and boiled to a turn; calf’s-foot broth, the main ingredient being so fortuitously now in season.
Eventually, her instructions seemingly exhausted, Nurse Hammond closed the notebook and offered it in her direction.
‘Thank you,’ Kate said, seeing no option but to accept it from her. ‘I shall refer to it often and abide by it closely.’
‘Of course you will, dear. Now, it just remains for me to ask you whether, once you have drawn up your first week’s menus for Lieutenant Russell, I might take a little glance over them – just to satisfy myself as to the variety of dishes. Oh, which reminds me. We haven’t discussed vegetable accompaniments. Not to worry – you will find guidance as to their preparation and cooking within.’
Of course I will, Kate thought.
‘So, all it remains for me to mention for now, is presentation.’
Staring down at the cover of the notebook, her eyes wandering abstractedly along its title – Guidance as to the Preparation and Cooking of Meals for Invalids – she bit her bottom lip. Presentation? Presentation of what?
‘Please, do advise me,’ she said, trying not to sigh but nevertheless resigning herself to yet another lengthy set of instructions.
‘Needless to say, cleanliness is key.’
‘Of course.’
‘Now…’
Separate set of utensils… hottest water available. Scour thoroughly… Good grief, Kate found herself thinking as she sat listening. Anyone overhearing this lecture could be forgiven for assuming that she was a new girl, about to embark upon her first day in service.
Realizing then that she had allowed her thoughts to drift, she straightened her posture. ‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured when Nurse Hammond looked at her for confirmation of some or other point.
‘And at no stage allow any food to slop over the side of the bowl or down the side of the cup or glass. Food dripping onto bedclothes or nightclothes necessitates that they be changed straight away, producing more work all round. A doily upon a charger beneath the plate, and another in the saucer of the cup, along with a napkin on the tray, all go a long way to avoiding such distress.’
Distress. The word rang in Kate’s ears. Doilies? Calves’ feet? How on earth was she going to manage all of this extra work when already, she struggled to keep on top of everything? Having a nurse to care for Ned’s medical needs was one thing – but, by the seem of all this, it wasn’t going to be nearly enough. Not nearly enough.
When Nurse Hammond
got up from the table and left the kitchen, Kate didn’t move. The notebook seemed almost to be defying her to ignore it. And how dearly she would love to. But where was the point in courting disaster? In any event, its purpose was to help poor Ned get better. And so, one way or another, she would ignore the colossal amount of extra work it was going to add to her days and make a friend of it – do everything she could to ensure that, in no time at all, Ned would be up and about again, back on his feet and making a full recovery.
Chapter Four
The Accident
Kate heaved a sigh of relief. At least Pamela Russell hadn’t come alone; at least now, there was less likely to be words.
It was now more than a week since Ned had arrived from Manston Street and, just yesterday, Naomi had decided that extending an invitation to her mother could be put off no longer. Ned would have to grin and bear it, she had decreed; they all would. And so, to find that Mrs Russell had arrived in the company of Aunt Diana – the only person on earth ever able to reason with her – felt like a reprieve for all of them.
Having ventured less than two paces inside the front door, Pamela Russell was now teasing off her gloves and looking about the hallway as though distinctly uncomfortable at once again finding herself in such a small home. The uneasy set of her mouth made Kate want to giggle.
‘Mamma,’ Naomi greeted her mother.
‘Naomi.’
Kate lowered her eyes; to witness such iciness made her bristle.
‘If you don’t mind, I should like to go straight up to your brother,’ Pamela Russell announced, releasing her daughter from their frosty embrace. ‘I have to be at the Ritz at twelve-thirty for luncheon with Lady Ashwin, and so I am rather pressed for time.’
When Naomi affixed a smile, Kate thought it a very thin one. Hardly surprising: her mother showed not a glimmer of warmth whatsoever.