‘Yes, but everyone knows you die of scarlet fever.’
‘Not any more, Mrs Feather. Mr Heron should go to the surgery if he has cut himself.’
‘I don’t know where that is. I only remembered where you were because of earlier visits when Mistress was alive. Besides, I can’t be taking him anywhere now because he’s flat out.’
With a heavy sigh Isobel turned back into the house. ‘Wait there. I’ll be with you in a moment.’ She put on her stockings and pushed her sore feet back into her shoes then picking up her bag followed the woman out.
At the farm the first things they saw were the broken window and the chair lying in the garden. Ethel Feather led the way into the house, stepping carefully around the tipped-over hall stand. In the lounge items from the mantle piece, piano and bookcase had been swiped to the floor and lay in a broken mess. In another room papers had been pulled from a cabinet and scattered. Heavy silver trophies knocked over and French windows stood open to the evening sky.
‘He’s out here, Nurse,’ Ethel said as she made her way out into the garden.
Heron lay spread out across a flower bed and had bled profusely from a head wound which was now clotting.
Isobel bent over him to examine his head. ‘The bleeding has stopped so I suggest you go down to the cottages and get some of the men to come up and move him to his bed.’
‘Oh, but doesn’t he need to go to hospital?’
Isobel sighed. ‘No, he doesn’t need hospital, he just needs to go to bed and sleep it off.’
‘But what if he is no better when he wakes up?’
‘Well, he’ll have a terrible headache and he should come down to surgery and get that cut seen to.’
‘Oh dear. I don’t know what the poor Mistress would have done.’
About to leave, some instinct made Isobel turn back. ‘Does Mr Heron get drunk often?’
‘Oh no, it’s his head you see. Mistress always knew what to do to calm him down.’
‘What about his head?’ Isobel wanted to know.
‘Pain drives him mad. Mistress told me she knew what to do, but I thought I’d better . . .’
‘Is the telephone still working?’
Looking startled the woman stared back at the house. ‘In the study.’
Making her way back into the house Isobel searched for and found the telephone and when she picked up the receiver was relieved to hear that it was working. She rang the doctor and told him what had occurred. Then gathering cushions and a tartan rug returned outside.
‘Mr Heron will be going into hospital after all Mrs Feather. The doctor is on his way here now.’
* * *
At Pine Tree Farm on Tuesday morning she was telling Joyce Lewis about the Heron children and what a run of bad luck the family was having.
‘He was lucky his housekeeper went to you for help. Why I don’t know how we would have managed this past year without your help and kindness. Jack is always saying how generous and open hearted you are with everyone.’
‘Is he,’ Isobel murmured as she bent to undress Duncan’s leg.
Joyce went on talking but it all floated over Isobel’s head, for inside her heart was echoing between her ribs. She would give anything to know exactly what it was that Jack thought about her. Then Duncan looked down with a grin on his face and said, ‘You and our Jack would do well together, Nurse.’
She felt the blood rush to her face and in a voice slightly higher than normal said, ‘Duncan Lewis, you just keep your ideas to yourself.’
He chuckled and winked at his wife.
Isobel washed her hands and left, turning down the usual cup of tea and chatter. As she steered her bicycle down the rutted track that Jack had promised to get resurfaced and failed, she called herself all sorts of a fool. He had never suggested another date on the few occasions when she had seen him and she had schooled herself into believing that he wasn’t interested.
That didn’t stop her from wondering about him and toying over Alan’s suggestion that, like an iceberg, there was more beneath the surface than appeared above. What was it that Alan had sensed in Jack that she, as a nurse, should know but had missed?
By the time she reached the cottage and found Macky hovering by the gate she had closed off these thoughts.
‘I need my arm seeing to, Nurse. The wrapping you put on is coming off, look,’ and he offered his arm for her inspection.
‘I’m off duty, Macky, you should attend the surgery tonight.’
‘But it’s my darts match the night, I can’t be missing that.’
‘And I have a pile of washing waiting to be done,’ she snapped at him impatiently. It was unlike her she knew, to turn her back on anyone needing help day or night, on or off duty, but something about Macky’s attitude, that she could be called on whenever it suited him, rattled her.
Slamming back the gate she pushed the bike down the path and when she looked back he was walking off down the road. She bit her lip shook her head and went into the house.
‘You did right, girl. We can’t be expected to be at their beck and call all hours of the day and night,’ Doctor Turnbull said.
Which Isobel thought sounded ironic coming from the man who could be called out any time of the day or night in an emergency. Though heaven help anyone who called him out unnecessarily. She had mentioned the incident of Macky and the loose bandage because she was feeling guilty about the way that she had sent him off .
‘The problem is he doesn’t seem to be in the surgery and his arm really should be re-bandaged.’
‘Then I dare say someone has done it for him and he has gone off to the darts match after all.’
Isobel went to call on the next patient and dismissed Macky and his bandage from her mind.
* * *
On Thursday morning she cycled up to the lodge of Hotspur Hall. It was a lovely old house with a covered porch and a deep studded door. The nearest ground floor window was open to the early summer sun and as Isobel parked her bike she overheard voices arguing.
Not wanting to interrupt she considered withdrawing and coming back later but before she could make up her mind the door shot open and Sylvia’s young cousin, Brenda, ran out nearly knocking Isobel off her feet.
She was quickly followed by an agitated Mrs Crombie who with a cloud of ruffled hair and two very pink cheeks came to a sudden stop in front of Isobel.
‘Oh excuse me, Nurse. What can I do for you?’ she asked Isobel while her eyes followed the disappearing Land Army girl.
‘Perhaps I should come back later,’ Isobel suggested.
‘No no, come along in, come in,’ she said, ushering her down the hall and into a beautiful sitting room.
‘Was that Brenda Douglas that nearly knocked me down? I thought she would have been up at the farm.’
‘Quite right, that is where she ought to be. But you know what these gals are like, Nurse, and when one is responsible for them well one must reprimand them on occasion.’
Poor Sylvia, Isobel thought, what on earth had the girl been up to. Leaving the subject well alone she put her request on behalf of the Heron children to the magistrate.
‘With their mother dead and their father in hospital what will happen when the children come out of the fever hospital? The housekeeper at the farm tells me she can’t stay with them and the foreman and his wife have four children of their own to care for.’
‘Ah yes, poor Mr Heron. How is he doing, Nurse?’
‘As well as can be expected, but Doctor Turnbull tells me it will be some time before he will be home again.’
‘The children, of course, well we shall see what can be done. I have my hands full with the evacuees at the moment but perhaps I can find someone to take them in for a short time.’
Mrs Crombie sat back with a small frown between her brows. ‘If not, then they will have to go into the Children’s Home in Pennington.’
Isobel sighed. ‘That would be a shame.’
‘I quite agree, but un
fortunately that is what it may come to and even then they may be sent onward. One just does not know these days.’
‘I’ll ask around my patients; see if anyone can help.’
‘How old are the children?’
‘Eight, six and four, I believe. A boy and two girls. They are still very distressed by the loss of their mother and would benefit greatly if they could be found somewhere where they could all be together if possible.’
‘We will try our best, Nurse, it is the least we can do. What progress are they making in hospital?’
Isobel smiled. ‘The doctor says it was a mild fever and they should be out in the next ten to fourteen days.’
Mrs Crombie rose to her feet and patting her hair back into place led Isobel from the room. ‘Please let me know as soon as you’re aware of the date of their release.’
‘I will. Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it, my dear.’
* * *
In Rennington the following day for a talk by the Medical Officer of Health at the local library, Isobel was passing the park on her way back to the bus stop when she noticed Barbara Foreman watching some children playing by the river. The next bus wasn’t due for another hour so she made her way over to where the doctor’s wife was sifting.
‘Hello. Lovely day, isn’t it.’
The other woman looked up and smiled. ‘Isobel, isn’t it?’
‘May I join you?’
‘Please do. The two little girls by the fence are our evacuees. I thought perhaps if I brought them down here after school they might find it easier to make friends. Their teacher says they make no effort to mix at school. But as you can see it doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘It’s early days yet,’ Isobel said, in a soothing way.
‘Of course. Andrew is always telling me I am too impatient. I want everything to happen now.’ She gave a soft laugh and turned to Isobel on the seat beside her. ‘But how are you? We haven’t seen anything of you since you came to dinner. Nor Jack either, are you still seeing him?’
‘We aren’t a couple, I just happened to be there when your husband asked us to dinner.’
Barbara raised her eyebrows and gave her a questioning look. ‘Andrew and Jack go back a long way and he swears Jack is interested. I know Jack can be a bit withdrawn, but he’s had a bad time which has made him even more so, however I would have thought as a nurse, you might be prepared to understand that and give him a bit of leeway.’
Isobel watched a little boy make a tentative attempt to include the girls at the fence in his game by tossing a ball towards them. One of the girls ignored him but the other picked up the ball and threw it back. The two women saw this and smiled at one another.
‘Jack has never shown me anything other than friendship and I value that, and as a nurse, yes, I understand how his injuries may have affected his outlook, but I don’t see how I can do more to encourage him.’
‘Do you want to?’
Isobel didn’t answer for a long time. ‘I don’t know, perhaps, there is something that makes me want to know him better.’
‘That will do for now,’ Barbara smiled. ‘When is your next day off?’
‘It’s supposed to be Wednesday if I’m not called out on an emergency.’
‘Well, stick a note on your door and I will get Jack to pick you up and bring you over to us. It’s our anniversary this weekend, but we will put off the celebrations until Wednesday when you can join us.’
‘Please there’s no need . . .’
‘No need at all, but you’ll come, won’t you? About two we can eat in the garden and Andrew’s uncle has promised us a surface for dancing.’
‘Barbara, do you know how your husband persuaded Jack that he should go back to work?’
Barbara withdrew suddenly as though the question had taken her by surprise. Then a shadow crossed her face and she said, ‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘When he first came home, he asked Duncan to help him die, did you know?’
Barbara gaze dropped to the ground and she said quietly, ‘Andrew said he was depressed.’
‘Then suddenly he was well again.’
‘He needed a reason to live.’
‘Pen pushing in charge of a POW camp,’ Isobel shook her head, ‘I don’t see it.’
‘As long as it worked.’ Barbara said with a shrug.
Isobel glanced at her watch. ‘I have to catch my bus now. Thank you for the invitation on Wednesday, I’ll see you then.’ And with a wave of her hand she hurried away as Barbara turned and called to the children.
Sitting on the bus as it made its way back to Thornbury, Isobel pondered on all Barbara had said or not said. Alan was right, there was something she wasn’t being told.
The desperately depressed Jack she had first met was not going to be suddenly given a new lease of life because of a desk job, there was more to it than that and the fact that she was not considered suitable to be trusted with this information hurt her more than Jack’s disinterest ever could.
People came to her with all kinds of problems, drawn not just by the uniform but because, as she liked to believe, they trusted her. From marital differences to advice about truancy, from the care of new babies to the signing of wills, and the feeling that the Foremans were keeping something about Jack’s past from her gave her a sick feeling in her stomach.
Surely, she thought, it was natural to want to know everything about someone you were attracted to. You only had to look around to see young girls rushing into marriage with virtual strangers before their men went off to war. What was going to happen when they returned and found they hardly knew one another.
The bus came to a groaning halt and Isobel climbed down. As she hurried home she passed the Post Office which was really just the front room of the owner’s cottage. The two spinster sisters who ran it had their faces pressed to the window watching her go by.
An old man in the allotments stopped what he was doing and looked up as she passed. A woman with a shopping bag had stopped to gossip with an old lady sitting on a chair by her front door. They stopped their chatter to turn and watch the nurse go on up the street.
Isobel noting all the attention smiled to herself. The nosiness of her neighbours at times irritated her and the speed of the gossip astounded her. But on the whole it was harmless and well meant. She knew they would be dying to know where she had been and what she had been up to. As if I ever get the chance to get up to anything, she thought.
DREADFUL NEWS FOR ISOBEL
It was lying on the mat inside the door. It didn’t register at first and she almost missed it, stepping over it to take off her jacket and place her bag on the bench top. When she turned back her heart nearly stopped.
Small, thin and yellow with HMS stamped in the corner. The telegram everyone dreaded stared up at her as though daring her to pick it up. Squatting down she reached out unable to touch it for fear it would prove real, until with shaking fingers she closed them over it and walking through into the living room sat down heavily in the old chair.
Time shrank into nothingness; dying coals fell unheeded into the grate. The room grew dark and she hid in its darkness. She didn’t dare to think, for if she did she would also feel and that would bring a pain she couldn’t bear. Shivering she got to her feet, rebuilt the fire and automatically drew the blackout curtains. Tears coated her eyes but failed to fall as if by withholding them she could stem the inevitable. The band around her chest tightened until she could only breathe in little gasps. Then she had to get up and be sick.
Later she crept back to the chair ignoring the telegram by the hearth. She woke at four in the morning and opened the telegram. It stated that her brother’s plane had been hit by enemy fire over the North Sea and the loss of life noted. Tears came in great wracking sobs until finally she climbed wearily up to bed.
* * *
By morning the doctor too had heard the gossip and he grieved for the nurse he had grown so fond of. When Mrs Holland had told
him with tears in her eyes, he had bowed his head and shaken it slowly from side to side. He’d patted her shoulder and grunted something unintelligible and taken himself off to his surgery.
Isobel arrived as usual fifteen minutes before surgery was due to open. One look at her face and the doctor muttered something into his chest and concentrated on the paper work in front of him on the desk. Patients arrived, were seen to, and departed. When the last one had gone the doctor leant back against his desk and stared from under bushy brows at the back of the girl tidying the trolley in front of her.
‘Because we care for other people’s suffering it doesn’t make us immune against our own. I’ve added two more to your list for home visits. Work girl, that’s the only answer,’ he added gruffly.
Isobel nodded without turning around and finished what she was doing. Then taking down the woollen navy jacket she had put on earlier, not because the weather had grown colder but because she was having difficulty getting warm, she pulled it around herself and stuffed the extended list into her bag.
Passing the housekeeper on the way out she was engulfed in a warm squashy embrace that smelt of lavender polish and cooking apples. Tears rolled freely down the woman’s cheeks and Isobel biting her lips pushed past her out of the door.
No smiles and happy waves greeted her this morning as she made her way through her list of visits, only solemn faces and sympathetic glances. In outward appearances nothing had changed. She chatted to her patients, enquired after the families and dished out advice and encouragement.
Today was her day for visiting Pine Tree Farm. When she arrived at the bottom of the track up to the farm there were men working on its surface, and because it was impossible to ride up she left her bike at the bottom and walked up. She was exhausted when she reached the gate and had to call several times before Joyce Lewis came hurrying to her rescue.
Once inside the house Duncan was waiting for her. They went through into the other room where she saw him through his exercises and dressed his leg before returning to the kitchen. There was a lot of chatter in the kitchen as the girls and the Polish helper had come in for their morning break.
A Caring Heart Page 10