Heaven Is Gentle

by Betty Neels

  She began to write up the diets, sitting at the desk within inches of him. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m going to call her Cat—isn’t it fortunate that the men all suffer from extrinsic asthma and not the allergy kind?’

  His mouth curved faintly. ‘Very, otherwise we would have to have found her a new home.’ He looked at his watch and got up go. ‘You are confident of the day’s routine, Sister?’

  She nodded silently, feeling snubbed, and when he had gone, sat down herself, to tidy the desk and read through the notes she had made. The purpose of the whole experiment, Professor Wyllie had told her during the previous afternoon, was to see if something could be done to ease the lot of the asthmatic patient, who, unlike his fellow sufferer, needed no dust or cat fur or pollen to start him off wheezing, only an emotion. One of the men in the group, he had told her, needed only a good laugh to start an attack, and several started to wheeze only when they were confronted with some circumstance which upset them. ‘We want to keep them here for a month,’ he explained, ‘give them a strict, healthy routine to live by with little or no chance of them encountering the causes of their asthma as possible. Build up their mental resistance, as it were. Of course we’re bound to have the odd setback—Mijnheer Kok, for example, who starts to wheeze the moment he sets eyes on his mother-in-law, I have known him to go into status asthmaticus at the sight of a letter from her. But this research may help a little towards preventing what is a distressing condition.’

  And probably he was quite right, she thought, gathering the papers tidily together before going to see if her ten charges were ready for their prescribed walk. At least it wasn’t raining; indeed, there had been a touch of frost during the night; a walk would be pleasant. Eliza got her cape and stood looking down at her feet, encased in sensible enough shoes but hardly the thing for a walk in the Scottish Highlands. She was wondering what to do about them when Hub appeared silently at the open door.

  ‘Miss?’ He held out a pair of Wellington boots and a pair of knitted gloves. Both were too big but very acceptable. She thanked him nicely, to be told that it had been Professor van Duyl’s orders, and would she remember not to go any further than the stream at the end of the rough track behind the house. ‘And the post will be here when you get back, miss,’ said Hub as he turned to go. ‘I have also visited the little cat.’

  She enjoyed the walk, going from one group to the next as they went, getting to know them, watching them carefully, taking care to temper the pace so that they wouldn’t be overtired. There were pulses to take when they got back, hot mid-morning drinks to give out and the charts to write up carefully; it was surprising how quickly the morning flew by.

  And she had a letter too, from her mother. She read it over her coffee, smiling a little because her mother so obviously thought of her job as being rather more orthodox than it was. The men’s dinner came over at midday; she served them out, made sure that it was eaten, and afterwards gently chivvied the men to their beds for their rest period. She was free now to go to her own lunch, leaving careful instructions as to where she would be before she did so.

  But first she had to go and see Cat. Someone had been there before her; the fire was freshly lighted, a guard set before it, and the little cat with her kittens established in the box within the circle of its warmth. She had been fed too, Eliza noted, that would be Hub again. She stroked her protegée, did her hair and face with speed and went up to the house.

  Only Professor Wyllie was there in the dining room. He greeted her cheerfully, explaining that lunch was a moveable feast and that she would have to put up with his company. ‘Most of them have eaten,’ he told her, ‘and Christian has gone down to the village to fetch a woman who might do for the cleaning. Perhaps you would see her presently and tell us what you think—better still, engage her if she suits you.’

  Eliza helped herself to an appetizing macaroni cheese. ‘Of course. How marvellous to get anyone—however did you manage it?’

  ‘Not me—Christian; went down to make enquiries this morning early—said he’d better get someone before you flew off the handle again.’ He chuckled richly and Eliza choked indignantly. ‘I never flew…well, perhaps just a bit; the stairs are very dusty,’ she pointed out severely.

  They didn’t talk much, but the long silences were companionable; she liked Professor Wyllie and she suspected that he didn’t always feel as fit as he would like people to believe. He was puffing a little and he looked pinched. She said diffidently: ‘Professor Wyllie, will you be sure and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you at any time?’

  The blue eyes were very direct. ‘I will, thank you, Eliza. I dare say you will have me on your hands sooner or later. Are you quite comfortable in your cottage? And what’s all this about a cat and kittens?’

  The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough; Eliza was on the point of leaving the dining room when the door opened and Professor van Duyl came in. He said without preamble: ‘There you are. I have a Mrs MacRae here—I’ve put her in the sitting room—you had better see if she’ll suit you.’

  He sounded quite bad-tempered about it and she had half a mind to say so, but there seemed little point; he didn’t like her and she would have to accept that fact. A faint flicker of regret about that caused her to shake her head and frown as she went out of the room.

  The sitting room was quite nice but hopelessly neglected. No one used it—the two professors and possibly Doctor Peters and Doctor Berrevoets used the study, and there was another smaller room down the hall where the rest of the team went. Mrs MacRae was sitting on the very edge of a chair, registering disapproval, and Eliza could hardly blame her. Someone with a frivolous turn of mind had written: ‘Dust me,’ on the mirror and there were cobwebs on the walls, and yet it could be a charming room; the furniture was old-fashioned but good and comfortable too. If the carpet were once cleared of dust, and its red serge curtains shaken and brushed and a few flowers here and there… She smiled at Mrs MacRae and said: ‘Good afternoon. I’m Eliza Proudfoot, the nurse looking after the patients here. The professor asked me to see you.’ She paused hopefully, but all Mrs MacRae said was ‘Aye.’

  ‘It’s quite a nice house,’ said Eliza, trying again, ‘but you can see how neglected it is—it was the first thing I noticed, and if I had the time I would give it a good clean, but my days are pretty full. I wondered if you…?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Mrs MacRae again, and much emboldened by this monosyllable, Eliza asked: ‘When could you come? Just an hour or two each day…’

  ‘The noo. Twa, three hours.’

  ‘Oh, super!’ She watched while Mrs MacRae, a small, sandy-haired body with the most beautiful blue eyes in the plainest of faces, opened the large plastic bag on her lap. From it she drew an overall, a cotton head-square and a pair of carpet slippers.

  ‘I say, may I help you?’ Eliza felt drawn to the little woman, perhaps because it would be so delightful to have another woman about the place even if only for a few hours a day.

  ‘Aye.’ Her companion eyed her uniform. ‘Ye’ll need a pinny.’

  Eliza nodded. There was an apron hanging in the kitchen at the cottage and she could cover her hair with a scarf. ‘Where shall we start?’ she asked with enthusiasm.

  ‘Upstairs. Is there a broom and such?’

  ‘I’ll find everything,’ promised Eliza, and flew away.

  She was back within minutes, swathed in the apron, her hair tucked away under the scarf, bearing a variety of household appliances. They went upstairs without waste of time and opened the first door they came to— Professor Wyllie’s room, the bed neatly made, it was true, but otherwise sorely neglected. Mrs MacRae tut-tutted, gave directions and set to work with Eliza a willing helper. They were bearing the sheepskin rugs downstairs to the garden behind the house when they encountered Professor van Duyl. He flattened himself against the wall to let them pass and when Eliza was level with him remarked nastily: ‘You are one of those people who keep a dog and bark yourself, S
ister Proudfoot.’ He eyed her coldly. ‘You are also extremely dirty.’

  She paused, and a cloud of dust rose from the rugs she was carrying. ‘Pooh,’ she declared roundly, ‘and you’ve got the wrong proverb. ‘You mean: “Many hands make light work”.’

  She gave him a cold look, her lovely face quite undimmed by the layer of dust upon it, and went on down the stairs, out to the rough grass which must, at some time or other, have been a beautiful lawn. They brushed and beat and shook the mats until they reached the perfection both ladies found desirable and bore them back upstairs, and Eliza, who had been uncommonly hard on her rugs, felt much better, although she would have preferred to have banged and thumped Professor van Duyl instead of the sheepskins.

  They hung the curtains once more, polished the furniture and stood back to admire their handiwork. The room looked quite different; she doubted if Professor Wyllie would notice anything, but they at least had the satisfaction of knowing that it was shining and spotless.

  ‘Come and have a cup of tea with me,’ suggested Eliza. ‘You can come as you are and put your things on in the cottage. There’s half an hour to spare.’ She hardly waited for Mrs MacRae’s ‘Aye,’ but ran downstairs to get back to the cottage and put the kettle on. As she drew level with the kitchen door, however, it opened and Hub stepped out into the hall.

  ‘Fred took the liberty of making some scones,’ he said in his fatherly way. ‘There’s a nice fire burning and the teapot’s warming.’

  She took the covered plate he was offering her. ‘Oh, Hub, you are a dear—and Fred, bless you both, we shall enjoy them. I’ll come and thank Fred later.’

  The cottage looked homely and welcoming and Cat got out of her box and came to meet her. Eliza gave her a saucer of milk, put the kettle on, took off her apron and scarf, and washed her face and hands; presently she would take a shower before she went on duty, but now there was no time. She was uncovering the plate which Hub had given her, to discover little cakes as well as scones, when Mrs MacRae arrived.

  They made an excellent tea, although there wasn’t much time. ‘How will you get home?’ Eliza wanted to know.

  ‘The Professor, in his car. I’ll come tomorrow, same time.’

  Eliza wondered if he found it annoying to have to drive to and fro each day as she helped her guest tidy herself, and when she was ready, she went with her to the house, to return the plate and thank Fred. Hub was there too and she thanked him for a second time and he accepted her thanks with dignity, thinking privately that it was a pity he couldn’t tell her that it was Professor van Duyl who had gone to the kitchen and told him to see that Miss Proudfoot had a good tea provided each day—it would be more than his job was worth to even hint at it, which was a pity, seeing that the pair of them had started off on the wrong foot.

  Eliza, who had privately hoped that she might have seen Professor van Duyl when she went up to the house, didn’t see him again that day. His elder colleague came down to the hut to talk to his patients during the evening, making copious notes as he did so, and when she went off duty and went up to the house for supper, it was to find no sign of the Dutchman, but Harry was there, sitting opposite her. He called across the table: ‘Watcher, sister,’ and when she answered him and wanted to know what he was doing, away from his telephone, he told her: “Is Nibs is doing a stint at the switch-board—turns ‘is ‘and ter anything, ‘e does, that man. ‘Ow’s tricks, Sister?’

  She told him readily enough, musing the while over the punctilious way in which everyone addressed her as Sister. It made her feel a little elderly and aloof, and she guessed that it was Professor van Duyl who had instigated it. The conversation became general and lively enough over the excellent supper, only from time to time she found herself glancing down the table to where he should have been sitting, and wasn’t, and although she assured herself that it was a great deal nicer without his dark gaze meeting hers each time she raised her head, she was conscious of disappointment.

  Sitting by the dying fire in the cottage after her good night round in the hut, she found herself thinking about him again—an ill-tempered, arrogant man, she told Cat, given to wanting his own way. ‘I hope,’ she observed to the small creature, ‘that this paragon of a girl he is going to marry will keep him in his place.’

  Cat yawned and took no notice at all, and Eliza said a little crossly:

  ‘Oh, of course you wouldn’t agree—he rescued you, didn’t he?’ She cast the animal a smouldering glance and went to bed.

  The ringing of the internal telephone, placed strategically by her bed, wakened her, and when she answered it with a quick ‘Yes?’ it was one of the Dutchmen, Mijnheer Kok, who wheezed out an agonised ‘Sister…’

  ‘I’m coming,’ she told him, and hung up. She was in her slacks and an old guernsey, pulled over her nightie, within seconds, with the socks she had charmed out of Hub on her feet and her length of hair tied back with an end of ribbon. The torch and her Wellingtons were by the door; she shoved her feet into their roominess, shone the torch on Cat to make sure that she and the kittens were still safe and sound, and let herself out into the dark. The cold bit her as she turned the key in the lock and slipped it into her pocket; it was almost three o’clock in the morning and freezing.

  Mijnheer Kok was sitting up in his bed, gasping in air and then struggling to let it out again, and there was no need, even if he had had the breath, to tell Eliza what was the matter. She nodded at him reassuringly as she switched on the oxygen, took his pulse and then went to the telephone in the office. Professor van Duyl answered her. He listened in silence while she made her brief urgent report, said: ‘I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes,’ and rang off. She was standing by her patient, adjusting the oxygen flow, when she became aware of him, in a tremendously thick sweater and slacks, standing beside her.

  ‘How long?’ he asked, and smiled reassuringly at Mijnheer Kok.

  ‘I was called at five minutes to three. I’ve not asked him any questions.’

  He nodded, aware as she was that poor Mijnheer Kok had no breath for conversation. ‘OK,’ he handed her an ampoule, ‘give him adrenaline 1:1000—0.5 stat.’

  Eliza did as she was told, listening to him talking in his own language to Mijnheer Kok. His voice sounded different; there was no coldness in it now; it was unhurried and calm as he took the man’s pulse and rolled up his pyjama sleeve, and there was a warmth in it she hadn’t heard before. She gave the injection slowly and then picked up the chart to record it while they waited for it to take effect. Only poor Mijnheer Kok showed no signs of improvement; the prescribed half hour dragged by and there was nothing to do but maintain a calm front and see that the oxygen was at its correct volume, but the moment the thirty minutes were up, at a nod from the Professor she drew up another injection and gave that. It was obvious that this wasn’t going to help either; another half hour had almost gone when he said: ‘I’m going to give amino-phylline—0.25 should do it. A syringe, please, Sister, and ten ml. of sterile water.’

  She prepared it and watched while he found a vein and injected it and this time the improvement was dramatic. Mijnheer Kok’s labouring chest gradually quieted itself, his breathing became slower and his colour almost normal, and after a little while he smiled at them. Eliza arranged him more comfortably on his pillows and began to tidy up, leaving everything to hand in case it should be needed again. The Professor was talking quietly to his patient, and presently she heard him give a low laugh. ‘Kok had a dream about his mother-in-law,’ he explained. ‘He woke up thinking about her and started wheezing at the very idea. We’ll put him on phenobarbitone for a day or two and something last thing to abort any further paroxysm.’ He looked intently at his patient. ‘He’s tired out, he’ll sleep now.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ll stay the rest of the night in the office.’

  Eliza didn’t look at him as she straightened the blankets. ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you, sir. I’ll stay, that’s what I’m here for.’

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bsp; ‘True,’ he agreed coolly, ‘but if you don’t get another hour or two’s sleep there will be no one in a fit state to look after the other nine men later.’ He gave her a quick detached look and added, ‘That’s an order, Sister Proudfoot.’

  She didn’t answer but went obediently to the door, and he added quickly:

  ‘Wait—Kok is asleep and will remain so. I’ll walk over to the cottage with you.’

  ‘I’m quite all right, thank you, I’m not nerv…’ She could have bitten out her tongue the moment she had said it; only last night she had behaved like a frightened child. But all he said was, in the mildest of voices, ‘I know that. All the same, you will allow me to take you back.’ He turned back to the sleeping man for a moment, then followed her out of the cubicle.

  ‘I’ll just make sure the rest of them are sleeping,’ she whispered, and went softly from one man to the other before rejoining him.

  It took less than a minute to reach the cottage; he took the key from her and opened the door and switched on the light before standing on one side to allow her to enter. Cat stretched in her box, made a pleasant welcoming sound and walked to meet them, leaving the kittens in a sleeping heap. She passed Eliza with a mere flick of her tail and went to wreathe her small body round the Professor’s long legs.

  ‘Ungrateful wretch!’ exclaimed Eliza. ‘I’m the one who feeds you and gives you a home.’ She yawned unaffectedly like a small girl and turned to wish her companion a good night—not that there was much night left by now. Bed, with a hot water bottle and possibly a hot drink. The idea of the Professor sitting over in the hut pricked her conscience. ‘Look,’ she said quickly, ‘let me go back—you’ll be so tired.’

  A strange look came over his face. He said slowly: ‘That is kind of you, but I shall be quite all right. It will be better if you do your full duty tomorrow, you are more necessary than I.’