She learned that Matron was the be-all and end-all in every situation, and although the consultants and doctors were demigods and to be exalted at all times, even they trod carefully around Matron Blackett. Under her jurisdiction the hospital ran like a well-oiled machine; her word was law, her power absolute.
This didn’t mean that some of the more daring nurses weren’t above taking chances by breaking the rules; Pam being a case in point. Abby had been at the hospital for six weeks and had just come off duty at night exhausted after scrubbing out all the lockers and cupboards in the ward, and then scraping the fluff and other adhesions from the wheels and castors of anything movable before washing the whole floor in a mixture of disinfectant and water so hot she was surprised her hands had any skin left on them. She was now on Gynae Ward which she much preferred to the men’s ward, most of the women being clean and particular in their habits, and she was beginning to work with the patients, albeit in a minor way. That morning she had helped a second-year nurse wash several old women who were incapable of washing themselves, one of her regular jobs now, and then settle them back in bed, brushing their hair and tying it back from their faces with the blue ribbons the hospital provided. The day before she had been given her first independent task by Sister, that of getting a tray ready holding a small-toothed comb and swabs of sassafras oil and then going through the patients’ heads looking for lice and nits. Each patient was checked before being admitted but often the nits were missed, added to which, with visitors who were infected themselves coming in to see loved ones, the patients often got reinfected.
Opening the door to the room she shared with the others, Abby saw that Flo and Kitty were already in bed and that the window was open a crack. Knowing it had been Pam’s half-day, she guessed the reason for the arctic breeze blowing into the room, even before Flo whispered sleepily, ‘Leave the window open – she’s not back.’
Tired though she was, Abby knew she would find difficulty falling asleep tonight so the fact that it was always better for one of them to remain awake and help Pam in the window, after the affair with the knicker elastic, wasn’t the problem it might have been. Much as she preferred Gynae Ward, some of the women’s stories were harrowing, especially the ones who had been admitted as the result of botched abortions. One such patient was a truly beautiful young woman of eighteen called Cecilia, and she had whispered her story to Abby earlier in the day when Abby had been given the task of feeding her, Cecilia being too weak to even lift a spoon. It appeared that the son of the big house where she was housemaid had noticed the lovely Cecilia and had waylaid her one morning when she had been making his bed, the result of which had resulted in a pregnancy. When she had claimed she had been raped he had denied it and she was packed off the same day, returning home to parents who had been adamant she had to get rid of the baby. A visit to a filthy old woman with dirty hands and an even dirtier crochet hook had resulted in Cecilia being admitted to hospital, but in spite of the surgeon’s best efforts, sepsis was taking Cecilia’s young life. It was a word that kept many a surgeon awake at night. Abby had looked down into Cecilia’s white face in which her huge amber-brown eyes with their thick lashes had pleaded with Abby to help her, and had felt bereft. She still felt bereft, knowing that if Cecilia made it through the night it would be a miracle.
After visiting the bathroom she changed into her nightie and lay down in bed, curling herself into a ball against the chill of the icy room and trying to block Cecilia’s delicate heart-shaped face out of her mind. Why was it some men, especially those with money or influence or both, thought they could treat women so badly? she asked herself, and it wasn’t just the sons of rich men or the rich men themselves sometimes who behaved in such a manner. A number of the doctors at the hospital thought they were God’s gift to women; she had been warned by Flo and the others on her first day about one or two who thought nothing of having their way with a new nurse and then moving on when they’d had their fun.
Such conjecture brought Nicholas to the forefront of her mind, much as she had tried to block all thoughts of him for the last weeks. Was he like that? she wondered miserably, before sharply refuting the idea. But she didn’t know, that was the thing, she admitted. Not that it mattered one way or the other because she couldn’t see him again, much as she ached to. She thought of the letter hidden in the hidey-hole where Pam kept any bottles of gin she smuggled in; she hadn’t wanted Sister Duffy reading it when she did one of her room inspections. Nicholas had sent her the letter a week ago, asking how she had settled in to Hemingway’s, and wondering if he could come and see her on her next day off.
Abby twisted under the covers; just picturing the strong black scrawl and the way he had simply signed himself Nicholas, doing away with formality, made butterflies dance in her stomach.
She had dithered for a day or so about whether she should just ignore the letter, but deciding Nicholas was quite capable of writing more or simply turning up at the hospital one day, she had written a reply couched in the formality he had avoided, making it plain any friendship between them was impossible. It would place her in an untenable position, she had declared. Her reputation in the community where her grandfather and brother still lived would be torn to shreds which would be humiliating and embarrassing for them, and their faith in her would be destroyed. They came from different worlds, and, more than that – and she was sorry to have to be so blunt – the laird, his father, was hated and feared, and with good cause. No good came of different classes attempting to mix, everyone knew that. She had finished by saying that while she appreciated his offer of friendship (here she hoped he would read between the lines that she didn’t expect anything more from him – it would be too awful if he thought that she thought he might be wanting an affair, especially if he didn’t), other people would not understand. She had addressed him as Mr Jefferson-Price, and signed herself Miss Abigail Kirby. Then she had gone out and posted the letter and cried herself to sleep that night.
‘Stop thinking,’ she muttered to herself out loud, but it was easier said than done, and at one o’clock in the morning, when a stone hit the window, she was still wide awake. Padding barefoot across the floorboards, she peered down into the snowy, frosty, still night, gasping as the icy-cold air washed over her. The moon was sailing high in the star-studded sky and the snow and heavy frost illuminated the grounds of the hospital, but for a moment she could see no one. Then as she continued to hang out of the window there was a rustle at the base of the huge tree that regularly provided Pam with her entrances. Pam had made it her business to make a friend of Matron’s spy, the lodgekeeper whose small cottage was situated at the end of the pebbled drive, regularly bribing him with packets of Park Drives or Woodbines and flirting with him until the poor man didn’t know if he was coming or going. The fact that he was sixty-odd, bald, with a belly on him that resembled a nine-month pregnancy, didn’t seem to deter him from thinking he had a chance with the lovely Pam, and she used this to her advantage quite shamelessly. Most nurses who sneaked into the hospital late and got away with it were left with feelings of guilt, but not Pam. Brazen, Kitty called her, and she was probably right.
Now, as Abby called in a loud whisper, ‘Pam, is that you?’ a muted giggle reached her as Pam staggered into view from where she had presumably been sitting at the base of the tree before promptly falling over again. Abby gazed at her in dismay. Pam was far too drunk to attempt to climb the tree, but just in case the idea occurred to her in her inebriated state, Abby hissed, ‘Stay there, don’t move.’
Ducking back into the room, she woke Flo and Kitty, which wasn’t easy – they both slept like logs – and after she had explained the predicament they joined her at the window. Pam was now lying full length in the snow from where she responded to their questions with helpless giggles.
‘Can you stand up?’ Giggles.
‘Sit up then?’ More giggles.
‘If one of us climbs down and helps you, do you think you could make it up
the tree and through the window?’ A guffaw, which they took to mean no as the three of them shushed her.
They stood looking at each other. If Matron caught Pam the worse for drink at one o’clock in the morning, it could mean dismissal. ‘She can’t climb the tree,’ said Kitty, stating the obvious. ‘We’re going to have to get her in some other way.’
‘Any suggestions?’ said Flo caustically.
‘We could make a rope with the bed sheets and haul her in that way.’
‘And what if she lets go and breaks her neck?’
‘She could tie it round her.’
‘The state she’s in she’s likely to hang herself if it moves.’
Kitty stared at Flo. It took a lot to offend Kitty, but her tone was distinctly prickly when she said, ‘All right then, Miss Know-it-all, how do we get her back in?’
‘I think the bed-sheet idea is a good one,’ said Abby, aiming to pour oil on troubled waters, ‘but how about if I go down first and tie it round her? I could help push her up from underneath and then when she’s in, I’ll climb back up the tree.’
Flo looked at Abby doubtfully. ‘You don’t like heights.’
‘Neither do you.’
‘I don’t mind heights. I’ll do it,’ said Kitty. ‘And let’s face it, you two aren’t built for lifting her up from the ground but between you you could pull her if I’m pushing from below.’
Now she had made the suggestion Abby was worried. ‘The tree’s slippy with ice and snow, Kitty. What if you fall?’ She would feel responsible. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m going.’ Kitty began to lug the bedclothes off her bed and the others followed suit, making a thick swathe of linen from the combined sheets that they wound into a rope. Pam had begun to sing gently to herself and the strains of one of the hits from the year before – ‘Tiptoe Through the Tulips’ – wafted up to them on the icy air.
‘I’ll “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” her in the morning when she’s sober,’ said Flo grimly, and then, as Abby and Kitty began to chuckle, Flo gave a reluctant smile. ‘Well, honestly, she is the limit.’
They soon realized it was a lot easier climbing in the window from the tree than it was climbing out, especially as the bare branches were coated in snow and ice and then a thick layer of frost that twinkled and glittered in the moonlight and looked enchanting, but was in fact lethal. Somehow, with Abby and Flo leaning out as far as they could stretch and helping Kitty, she made it onto the branch of the tree just outside the window, clinging hold for dear life for a few moments before she began a cautious descent. Pam was quite oblivious to the drama being enacted above her, having added to her repertoire a somewhat risqué version of ‘I Can’t Give You Anything but Love, Baby’ which had Flo shaking her head and pursing her lips in disapproval.
The next ten minutes or so were filled with anxiety, not least because when the able Kitty hauled Pam to her feet she stood swaying for a moment before falling flat on her face. They heard Kitty muttering words they had no idea she knew as she hoisted Pam into her arms and supported her weight, before tying the knotted sheets securely round Pam’s waist and then criss-crossing them across her chest, securing them again round her waist for good measure, Flo’s dire warnings in everyone’s minds.
It was clear Pam was in no condition to help herself; how she had made it down the drive after her boyfriend had dropped her at the lodge gates was a mystery, and so once Kitty had got her ready to be winched up by Abby and Flo, she bodily lifted Pam to shoulder height to give them a chance. One of Pam’s shoes was already missing and the other one fell off and cracked Kitty on the head as she stood beneath the gently swinging figure being hauled inch by inch towards the window. Careful though they were, a number of times Pam’s head made contact with the wall of the building but Pam was well into ‘Show Me the Way to Go Home’ now and didn’t falter in her rendition.
Abby and Flo were sweating by the time they grasped Pam’s wrists and dragged her into the room, dropping her unceremoniously on the floorboards before they turned to watch Kitty’s careful progress up the tree. It wasn’t until Kitty was safely in the room that they saw to Pam, untying the bed sheets and attempting to smooth them out before making their beds once again. Pam they simply dumped fully clothed on her bed, flinging the blankets on top of her.
It was the virtuous and upright Flo, panting heavily and still red in the face from her exertions, who lifted the floorboard and extracted Pam’s latest bottle of gin from its hiding place, much to Abby and Kitty’s amusement. Pouring a good measure into each of the beakers that they took along to the bathroom when they brushed their teeth, she drank hers in one swallow before refilling it once more. ‘Bottoms up,’ she said to the others, grinning widely. ‘We’ve earned this.’
By the time she slid under the covers again, Abby’s melancholy was quite gone. It could have been the neat gin coursing through her system that immediately sent her into a deep sleep, but the fact that her heart was lighter was due entirely to the three girls with whom she shared a room. They were more than room-mates – they were friends and comrades-in-arms – and for the first time since she had arrived at Hemingway’s she felt settled in spirit and mind.
Chapter Sixteen
It was the middle of May, and the old rhyme, ‘March winds, April showers, bring forth May flowers’, had proved to be abundantly true. Everywhere, even in the confines of the hospital, the scent of hyacinths and bluebells and other spring blooms filled the air, combating the smell of disinfectant and antiseptic and diseased bodies as vases and jam jars filled with flowers from visitors appeared on bedside tables. Outside in the hospital grounds, pink and white blossoms loaded the boughs of trees, and the horse chestnuts on the perimeter of the land close to the dry-stone walls that surrounded the building were lush with foliage, displaying their pyramids of bloom. After the long harsh northern winter, the deep-blue skies and milder air provided a tonic that was welcome to patients and nurses alike.
Abby’s days off had been stopped three months running because the sister in charge of the ward had insisted she couldn’t spare any of her nursing staff, but Abby wouldn’t have contested this even if she had had the nerve – which she hadn’t, knowing her life wouldn’t have been worth living. A day off would have meant she was duty bound to go home, and much as she longed to see her grandfather and Robin, it was the possibility that she might – she just might – run into Nicholas that made her glad she had a viable excuse. He had written twice more, asking her to reconsider her decision and requesting that he be allowed to come and visit her, and finally after she had replied so forcefully that it had taken every ounce of her courage to post the letter, he had written saying he would never forget their talk on that cold winter’s day and she would be for ever in his heart. The letters had stopped after that.
But now she had to go home. Abby paused outside Matron’s office and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. She had made an appointment to request a sleeping-out pass, and she knew, as did every nurse in the hospital, that such passes were a special privilege and only slightly less rare than hen’s teeth.
Matron Blackett looked up as Abby entered the room, her gimlet eyes raking Abby from top to bottom. Satisfied that this particular junior nurse didn’t have a hair out of place, she raised her thin eyebrows. ‘Yes?’
Abby had had to state the reason for the appointment to Matron’s secretary so she knew the matron would be fully aware of why she had asked to see her, but her superior liked her full pound of flesh. ‘Please, Matron, I would like to ask for a sleeping-out pass this weekend. My brother is getting married.’
‘I see.’ The long nose quivered with disapproval. Matron clearly didn’t approve of such frivolity. ‘So I take it you will be sleeping under your parents’ roof?’
‘My grandfather’s roof, yes. My parents are dead, Matron.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember, Nurse Kirby. Your grandfather sent you to Kelso High School until you were eighteen year
s of age. Is that correct?’
Remembering the matron’s less-than-effusive comment about academic prowess in her first interview, Abby’s voice was expressionless when she said, ‘Yes, Matron.’
‘He must be very fond of you.’
She didn’t know how to reply to that so she said the truth. ‘Yes, he is, Matron, as I am of him.’
‘Quite.’ There was a pause while the matron continued to survey her. ‘Well, I suppose you would not wish to miss your brother’s wedding.’ This was said with some reluctance and the tone stated quite plainly that as far as the matron was concerned it was scant reason to leave the sanctity of the hospital and her duties. Nevertheless, she wrote out the pass and handed it to Abby. ‘You will return to the hospital the following day by twelve noon ready to come on duty at two in the afternoon. I will accept no excuses about missed trains or anything else if you are late. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Matron. Thank you, Matron.’
‘And you carry the reputation and prestige of Hemingway’s with you, Nurse Kirby, whether you are in uniform or out of it. I trust you remember that at all times.’
‘Yes, Matron.’ Abby was unable to keep the elation out of her voice. She was going home to see Robin and Rachel married, and until this very moment she hadn’t realized just how much she needed to see the farm and everyone on it again – or almost everyone.
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