Daughters of Liverpool

by Kate Eastham

  ‘Mmm, good thinking,’ murmured McKendrick, opening the man’s eyelids one by one. ‘Well, his pupils are reacting to light, so still some sign of life there, but he is very pale, isn’t he? He must have lost a great deal of blood. Is the stump satisfactory? No sign of suppuration?’

  ‘No, it looks fine. I helped dress it this morning and there is some redness but no discharge from the wound. And Mr Jones asked Sister to bring out the mercury thermometer and take his temperature.’

  ‘Oh, the new device – did it work? Has he got a fever?’

  ‘No fever … and, as Sister said, we could have found that out by laying a hand on his forehead, not messing about with some new-fangled device.’

  McKendrick laughed out loud.

  ‘Good point, Sister Law, very good point. Well, let me know if there’s any change, will you? Somehow it seems worse, doesn’t it, that we don’t even know his name. I suppose we are his family now.’

  ‘True,’ said Alice, looking back to the man who was almost as white as the sheet on the bed, and then reaching out to take hold of his hand again.

  She was still sitting by the bed as the visitors came on to the ward. It felt sad, that no one was there to see her patient. She saw the smiles on the faces of those men who had visitors, it seemed to make all the difference. And although her patient was unconscious, who knows, if a familiar voice spoke to him, he might start to rouse up; it might really help him.

  Maybe he simply doesn’t have any family, she thought, looking back down to the man on the bed. But surely somebody must know him? She could see by the calluses on his hand that he’d had some kind of occupation. Something that involved lifting, maybe, although his hand was clean, no ingrained dirt around his fingernails. What could his job be? And why would an ordinary working man get stabbed and left outside a hospital? It niggled her, there seemed something not right about it. She’d overheard Michael and Stephen talking about him, and they seemed convinced that he’d been left by the cornermen. They were sure that he was involved in some kind of illegal activity. But Michael, in particular, was famous for his stories, so no one really knew.

  Alice looked up again, and this time, she saw a broad-shouldered man wearing a thigh-length black jacket walking in her direction. Instantly she knew him. She definitely knew him, but she couldn’t quite place him. Then, when she saw the way that he was walking, his measured stride down the ward, seeming like he owned the ground he walked on, she knew that she had seen him before, just the once. Although she hadn’t even seen his face that day, she knew that he was the man who had rescued her from the cornermen, the morning of Maud’s wedding. Not wanting to stare and needing to collect her thoughts, Alice looked back down to her patient. But when she saw a shadow fall over the white sheet of the bed, and she heard him draw in a sharp breath when he saw the amputation, she knew that the man had come to see her patient. He was standing by the bed.

  She looked up, and her heart jumped.

  The man had removed his hat, and he stood looking straight at her, his gaze calm. His eyes were dark, almost black; and they matched his hair, which was swept back from his forehead. He seemed to be waiting for something, biding his time, and for a few moments all Alice could do was stare back at him.

  ‘Do you know this man?’ she said at last, breaking the spell.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said, offering no more.

  ‘Oh, that’s good. We need a name, can you tell us?’

  ‘I can – this man is Ray Lloyd.’

  ‘Ray Lloyd,’ repeated Alice, looking back down at the man in the bed. ‘Do you know what happened to him?’ she asked, meeting the man’s dark eyes again with her own.

  ‘Not really … All I heard was that he’d been found in a pool of blood and brought here, to the hospital,’ he said, his voice forlorn.

  ‘Can you tell me anything else about him?’ she asked, looking him straight in the eye and starting to feel hot beneath her starched cap.

  ‘He’s worked for me for many years, a fine man. He turned up on the docks about ten years ago looking for work, and I took him on. He has no family; we, the people in my business, we are his family … I’m very sorry to see him in this state. He’s always been such a strong man and a good worker.’ As he spoke, Alice saw his head start to bow. He truly was sorry, she thought.

  ‘What kind of work do you do?’ she asked gently.

  ‘I suppose you could say that we work in the import trade,’ he said as he leant across the bed to look more closely at his friend, holding his hat in one hand and resting his other hand lightly on Ray’s chest. Alice caught a whiff of cologne and noticed how well trimmed his black beard was. He was also wearing a gold brocade waistcoat with perfect buttons. He must do well from his import business, she thought, very well indeed, to be able to afford clothes like that.

  Straightening up, the man replaced his hat and then fished in his pocket before handing Alice a small card. ‘I’ll be back in to see him tomorrow, but if anything happens before then you can find me, or someone who knows me, at my business address. Please send word.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Alice, taking the card and noting his well-shaped fingers as she did so.

  ‘Till tomorrow, Nurse …’

  ‘Sampson,’ she said, ‘Alice Sampson.’

  ‘Nurse Alice,’ he said, with a smile. ‘I hope that you are fully recovered from the incident with the cornermen the other week. I trust no harm came to the baby.’

  Alice turned a deep pink, instantly worrying that someone might overhear, but at the same time, his words seemed like a connection, a personal thing, something just between him and her.

  ‘Everything is fine,’ she stammered. ‘How did you recognize me?’

  ‘The colour of your hair, the shape of your face, and your lovely blue eyes, of course,’ he said. ‘I hope to see you again tomorrow, Nurse Alice.’

  He certainly wouldn’t have seen the colour of my eyes from that distance, she thought; he’s a flatterer, definitely that type. All the same, as she watched him go, seeing him walk back up the ward in his black jacket, it felt like fate had brought him to her.

  She saw Michael and Stephen with their stretcher both turn their heads to stare at the man as he walked by. He seemed to make an impression on everyone.

  They were straight down the ward. ‘Do you know who that is?’ said Michael.

  ‘Yes, he’s this man’s employer.’

  ‘No, do you really know who he is?’ said Michael, his eyes shining with excitement.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Alice, puzzled.

  ‘That’s Roderick Morgan, the Roderick Morgan, he owns an import business. He came from nowhere, off the streets of Liverpool, and now look at him. Some say he’s got the biggest part of his money through smuggling, though,’ said Michael, with a glint in his eye.

  Alice laughed.

  ‘No, really, I mean, proper smuggling, right under the noses of the police,’ he said, with a grin.

  ‘Really?’ said Alice quietly.

  ‘Really,’ said Michael, still grinning.

  ‘Mr Delaney,’ shouted Sister down the ward, ‘I can see you’re enjoying passing the time of day, but we do need to move this patient …’

  I’d best give Sister Law all the detail, Alice thought, glancing once more to her patient and then getting up from her seat and following behind Michael.

  ‘So, he’s Ray Lloyd,’ said Sister, saying the name slowly and smiling to herself, as Alice stood nodding. ‘It is so important to have someone’s name, so important. Thank you for that, Nurse Sampson.’

  ‘Oh, and another thing,’ said Alice. ‘The man who came to see him, his employer, Roderick Morgan, he left this card with his address, and he said to send word if there’s any change in Mr Lloyd’s condition before he next visits him.’

  ‘Roderick Morgan,’ mused Sister, ‘I seem to know that name.’

  ‘I think he’s in the import trade,’ said Alice, feeling her cheeks starting to burn.r />
  ‘Oh, you do, do you, Nurse Sampson,’ said Sister, rapidly back to her usual self. ‘Well, you keep your thoughts away from the male visitors and solely on the patients from now on.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Alice, knowing that, even though Sister Law didn’t mean it that way, it was nevertheless very sound advice for a woman in her situation. She had, however, taken the precaution of memorizing the address on that card before handing it over.

  8

  ‘Night Nurses. In my restless nights my thoughts turn to you incessantly by the bedsides of restless and suffering Patients …’

  Florence Nightingale

  Being back out in the world of work was starting to feel exhilarating. As hard as it remained to hand Victoria over to Marie, Alice knew that she was getting better at it each day. As much as she adored her daughter and everything that she did was for her, Alice was more able to remember now that there was a whole other world outside that door. She was re-engaging with that world and finding, maybe because she’d been forced to remove herself from it, that it was all the more bright and interesting and full of promise, than ever before.

  Walking out that morning, with the cat trotting behind her, having the privilege of leaving Victoria with a woman who not only loved her like her own, but who knew how to contend with her – play times, fractious moods, and her crying – Alice felt content, at last, and excited about the day ahead.

  On the ward, however, there had been a change of plan. One of the night nurses had gone off sick with a fever. The ward was in disarray and Sister Law had been told that no replacement could be found for the coming night.

  ‘You’ll have to do it, Nurse Sampson,’ she said, looking directly at Alice, who knew by the expression on Sister’s face that she would have no choice.

  ‘We don’t usually ask probationers to cover the night shifts, but needs must, and I can’t ask either of these two, “wet behind the ears”,’ she said, pointing at the two new probationers. ‘Or …’ Alice followed her line of gaze and saw Millicent folding a towel. ‘And you know the ward, you’ve got some nous about you, and you’re almost at the end of your training. You’ll have to do it.’

  Alice nodded, thinking it through. She could go back to Stella’s directly, help out this morning, get some sleep in the afternoon, feed Victoria to the brim, then out for the night shift. Marie was always around in the kitchen at night and Alice would give her a bit extra when she got paid for covering the night shift as well. Yes, it could work as long as Marie didn’t mind.

  The only regret she had, instantly, was that she wouldn’t be around for visiting time. Ray Lloyd was still holding his own, there’d been no further change, so Mr Morgan would be visiting again. Well, Alice, it’s fate playing a hand, she thought, as she made her way off the ward. There is no way that getting involved with a man like that, or any man for that matter, is a good idea. No way at all.

  Nevertheless, she continued to think of Mr Morgan’s dark eyes and she could smell his cologne, all the way home.

  Initially, night duty didn’t feel any different from days. Sister Law was still around at the start of the shift, fussing over the detail of the patients with Night Sister. The men on the ward, apart from the poorlies, were all awake and ready for their evening beverage. Much the same.

  Once Sister Law had said her goodnights, though, and the ward began to darken as some of the patients fell asleep, that’s when the world of the hospital became a very different place.

  For a start, you could hardly see a hand in front of your face. There were some oil lamps standing on the table, and lanterns and candles to use, but the ward was so dark. And there were only two staff, herself and the night sister, with a night superintendent on call. When Sister was busy doing her rounds, Alice was expected to do everything else and see to all the patients who were calling out. Until the night shift Alice had thought that the days were exhausting, but this was a whole different thing.

  The night sister, Grace Tweedy, was a very quiet woman; Alice had heard a rumour that she’d once been a nun. That was probably true, at least, thought Alice as she knelt to say a prayer with her before the night’s work began. Alice had to help her up – she was a fair age and her knees were bad. No wonder, thought Alice, all that kneeling and praying on hard ward floors.

  ‘You should use a cushion, Sister,’ she said.

  ‘I need to feel the hardness of the ward, I need to be connected to it,’ said Sister Tweedy.

  ‘Even so,’ said Alice. ‘It can’t be good for you, not at your age.’

  Sister grasped Alice’s hand. ‘What a lovely girl you are,’ she said, ‘thinking of me like that.’ Then she was off, limping down the ward, doing her rounds, with straggles of grey hair escaping from under her cap.

  ‘Nurse, Nurse,’ called a patient from the far corner. ‘I need a urinal, quick, quick.’

  Alice grabbed one out of the sluice and went as fast as she could, but in the dark she kept bumping into things and then lost sight of the patient momentarily. She only just got there in time. Thank goodness for that, or she’d have had the whole bed to change as well.

  There was no rest at all on nights. Alice was constantly answering patients’ calling out and then helping Sister Tweedy turn the poorly patients in bed, shifting their position so that they wouldn’t develop bed sores.

  When they came to Ray Lloyd’s bed, Sister lowered her voice. ‘I think we might have to send for his family,’ she said. ‘I can tell by his breathing, I don’t think he’s going to last the night.’

  Alice felt her heart miss a beat. She’d been sure that fate had played a hand and moved her on to nights, so that she could keep safely out of temptation’s way by not seeing Mr Morgan. But now it seemed he would almost certainly be coming to the ward whilst she was on duty.

  ‘Can you hear that? There’s a slight rasp in his breath, and the breaths are shallow and more spaced out.’

  Alice stood with Sister and they listened together. She’s right, thought Alice, his breathing is different.

  ‘Now help me turn him, and then we’ll see if there’s any change.’

  The effort of turning in bed made poor Ray Lloyd worse. His breathing was gurgling now, rather than rasping. It was clear that the man was entering his final phase of life.

  Alice felt so sad for him, just from the little she knew: he’d no family, who knows what life he’d had, and clearly he’d been attacked by someone. Michael had told her that he’d heard the police weren’t interested. They’d said there was no evidence, but he’d thought it was because they knew that some gang was involved and they’d been paid off. Either that, thought Alice, or they were too busy rounding up working women off the streets.

  It felt like no one cared. Well, maybe there is one person, thought Alice, and it won’t be long before he arrives. Sister had the card, and she’d just been to inform the night superintendent of a change in Mr Lloyd’s condition. When she came back, she told Alice that Mr Morgan had been sent for. Alice kept herself busy, but she couldn’t do anything without also listening for the sound of his leather-soled shoe as he measured his stride down the ward. She was frustrated with herself and even more frustrated with Sister when she told her to go and sit with Mr Lloyd; she could tell by his breathing that he was coming very close to the end.

  ‘I’ve already said a prayer for him, and when the Reverend Seed has finished on Male Medical he’ll be in here, and he can see the man before he departs this life,’ said Sister. ‘Now you go and sit with him, so that he isn’t alone. We never leave the dying on their own, unless there is no choice, especially if they are without family. And a surprising number of people in this city are without family.’

  Of course I’ll sit with him, thought Alice. It’s the least I can do.

  And she felt that it was exactly the right thing to do. In the hush of the night, with the glow of the candles and the lamps around them, in that space between daylight, it seemed like the most natural time for Ray Lloyd to die.<
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  Alice sat with him, gently sponging his forehead with the cloth that Sister had left by the man’s bed. Then she held his hand. She was perfectly at peace. Until she heard the sound of a leather-soled shoe on the hard ward floor and she saw the dark, unmistakeable shape of a man coming towards the bed.

  Instantly her heart was racing; she was almost holding her breath as the man approached. Then his face loomed out of the darkness, and she could see, instantly, that it wasn’t him: it was the pale face of Reverend Seed.

  ‘Hello there, Nurse,’ he said, his voice mournful. Alice was taken aback not to see Mr Morgan but instantly glad that the Reverend had come to say prayers for her patient. She felt suddenly overwhelmed and she could feel a sob building in her chest. She got up from the bedside quickly and managed to say, ‘I’ll leave you to say the prayers, Reverend,’ before heading off down the ward and diving into the sluice.

  All of the pent-up sorrow for her patient, and the excitement at the prospect of his visitor, burst out of her, in a fit of sobbing. She grabbed a clean towel off the shelf and desperately tried to muffle it. But out it came, and even when she buried her face in the towel and desperately tried to think of happy things, like her daughter’s smiling face, she couldn’t take it back, it continued to erupt from her body. Her chest was heaving, starting to feel sore, and tears were streaming down her face as she stood in the sluice. When the door clicked open to show the shape of Sister Tweedy, the shock of it, at last, allowed Alice to get back some control. She couldn’t stop it completely, but she managed to rapidly convert it into a coughing fit, using the towel to muffle the sound. ‘Sorry, Sister,’ she croaked, desperately holding back the tears. Sister Tweedy stepped forward and placed a solicitous hand on Alice’s arm. Good job I’m on nights, thought Alice; Sister Law would never have stood for this. And even if I was choking to death with a cough, she’d still have told me off, and marched me out of here.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sister Tweedy, still not cottoning on in the slightest. ‘Are you all right, Nurse Sampson, shall I get you a drink of water?’