District Nurse on Call

by Donna Douglas

  ‘You mean you won’t help?’

  ’I can’t, my love. Surely you must understand that?’

  Carrie turned away from him. Behind her, she heard James sigh. ‘It’s getting late,’ he said. ‘I must go to the pit office.’

  ‘Of course,’ Carrie said bitterly. ‘You mustn’t keep the Haverstocks waiting.’

  ‘Carrie …’

  ‘Just go,’ she snapped, turning away from him.

  She stood at the window, staring out at the trees across the street. She heard James go to the door, then stop.

  ‘I’m not the enemy, you know,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You could have fooled me,’ Carrie muttered.

  She stayed at the window for a long time after he had gone. All she could think about was poor Susan Toller. She must be worried sick, wondering what was to become of her husband. And old Mrs Horsfall, too. Who was going to take care of her, with her son gone?

  She made up her mind. James might not be willing to do anything to help, but she would. Whether her husband and the Haverstocks liked it or not.

  Carrie crept carefully around the side of the doctor’s house, keeping close to the wall in case Mrs Bannister happened to look out of the front windows and saw her.

  She had no wish to meet the housekeeper. Mrs Bannister was always conspicuously nice to Carrie now she had come up in the world, but she would never forget when she was younger and her mother would send her to fetch the doctor because her father was poorly, and Mrs Bannister would send her away because she knew they didn’t have the money to pay.

  Mrs Bannister might want to brush all that under the carpet now Carrie was the pit manager’s wife, but Carrie’s memory was too long, and too bitter.

  It was a warm June morning, and the smell of frying bacon drifted through the open kitchen door. As Carrie approached, she could hear Jinny humming to herself as she went about her work. Through the open door, she could see the girl at the stove, while Miss Sheridan was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea. She was reading the newspaper, turning the pages carefully with her fingertips. Carrie guessed it must be Dr Rutherford’s, and that Miss Sheridan was not supposed to touch it.

  Jinny jumped as Carrie sneaked in quietly.

  ‘Carrie – I mean, Mrs Shepherd.’ Jinny put her hand to the chest of her oversized apron. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t hear the doorbell.’ Her panic-stricken gaze flew towards the door leading to the hall.

  ‘It’s all right, I didn’t ring.’ Carrie nodded towards Miss Sheridan. ‘I wanted to catch t’nurse before she went on her rounds.’

  ‘Me?’ Agnes blinked in surprise. She looked cool and efficient in her smart blue uniform, her chestnut hair gathered in a smooth knot at the nape of her neck. Carrie had seen her cycling around the village on that battered old bicycle of hers, and it always struck her how calm the young woman seemed, as if nothing in the world could disturb her composure. ‘I’ve come to ask a favour.’

  Agnes put down her teacup, her expression wary. ‘What sort of favour?’

  ‘There’s someone I want you to go and visit … Mrs Horsfall, lives down on Middle Row. She’s bedridden with arthritis.’

  ‘I know her,’ Agnes Sheridan said. ‘I’ve been to see her a couple of times, but her son told me he takes care of her.’

  ‘Aye, well, he can’t take care of her now. He’s been arrested.’

  ‘Arrested?’ The colour drained from Jinny’s pale face.

  ‘He were caught stealing coal from the pit yard with Matthew Toller.’ Carrie turned back to Miss Sheridan. ‘His mother’s all on her own. Will you go and see her, Nurse?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘T’doctor won’t like it,’ Jinny mumbled.

  ‘The doctor won’t like his bacon burned to a crisp, either,’ Miss Sheridan said, nodding towards the smoking frying pan. ‘Besides, I don’t take my orders from Dr Rutherford,’ she added, picking up her teacup.

  ‘Thank you, I appreciate it. And I’m sure her son will, too.’ Carrie paused for a moment, then said, ‘I wonder if you’d give her this while you’re there?’

  She placed the wicker basket on the table in front of her. Miss Sheridan looked at it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just a few bits and pieces from our larder. I wasn’t sure if she’d have owt to eat.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. But why don’t you give it to her yourself?’

  Carrie could feel herself blushing. ‘It’s difficult. I shouldn’t really be seen to be helping … And you’d best not say owt, either,’ she warned Jinny.

  ‘As if I would,’ the girl mumbled, scraping furiously at a rasher of burned bacon stuck to the bottom of the pan.

  Miss Sheridan nodded. ‘Of course. I understand you’re in a difficult position.’ She nodded towards the basket. ‘I’ll certainly make sure Mrs Horsfall gets this.’

  ‘Thank you. Well, I’d best be on my way.’

  The visitor started back towards the back door. ‘Will I see you on Friday?’ Miss Sheridan said.

  Carrie frowned, blankly. ‘Friday?’

  ‘My first baby clinic. At the Welfare Institute?’

  ‘Ah.’ Carrie had forgotten all about it. She certainly hadn’t intended to bother going, but then she looked at Miss Sheridan’s face, so bright with hope. ‘I’ll try to be there,’ she promised.

  ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate it. And I’m sure you’ll find it useful.’

  Carrie wasn’t sure how she would find out anything she couldn’t learn from her mother, but she nodded and smiled anyway. Miss Sheridan was doing her a favour, the least she could do was to return it.

  She turned to Jinny. ‘And you’d best warn your Archie there’ll be extra police and specials guarding the pit yard,’ she said. ‘If they’ve caught two of the men, they’re bound to be looking out for more.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m sure,’ Jinny mumbled, but her crimson face gave her away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, Miss Sheridan?’ Dr Rutherford asked.

  Agnes sat back in her seat, surprised by the doctor’s accusation. ‘No, Doctor. Why would I do that?’

  ‘Why indeed? But I’m afraid that’s the conclusion I’ve come to, after the way you’ve behaved lately.’ He leaned across the desk, looking at her over the rim of his spectacles. His kindly, avuncular smile had disappeared some time ago. ‘First you insist on attending patients whom I have specifically asked you not to visit. Now I learn that you’ve been to see the mother of a man who is not only on strike, but has been apprehended by the police for stealing from the Haverstocks’ coal yard!’

  ‘It isn’t a strike, it’s a lockout.’

  Dr Rutherford made an exasperated sound. ‘Now you’re beginning to sound just like them! Lockout, indeed! It makes it sounds as if the Haverstocks are at fault.’

  ‘So they are.’

  Dr Rutherford stared at her, scandalised. ‘I wouldn’t go around saying that, if I were you. Not if you know what’s good for you.’

  Agnes stared at him across the desk. If only he lavished as much consideration on his patients as he did on his friends the Haverstocks, the people of Bowden might be a lot better for it, she thought.

  ‘I’m not afraid of the Haverstocks, I assure you,’ she said. ‘Besides, that really isn’t the point. The point is Mrs Horsfall is a poor, elderly woman who is bedridden and in pain. What was I supposed to do? Let her suffer?’

  ‘You were supposed to do as you’re told!’ Dr Rutherford burst out. ‘You know as well I do that my instructions were not to give medical attention to any miners or their families.’

  ‘I didn’t give her any medical attention. I made her a cup of tea and something to eat, and I organised for one of her neighbours to look in on her until her son came home. I don’t think that counts as—’

  ‘Don’t try to split hairs with me, Miss Sheridan!’ A tiny vein pulsed in Dr Rutherford’s temple
. Agnes didn’t think she had ever seen him so angry.

  But she was angry too. His lack of feeling disgusted her. He was supposed to be in a compassionate profession. And yet all he seemed to care about was keeping his precious friend Sir Edward happy.

  Agnes wondered if Dr Rutherford really understood what the lockout was doing to the families in Bowden. She had seen so much hardship, with women desperately struggling to feed their children. She had seen the empty spaces on the mantelpiece where cherished possessions had been pawned, witnessed families lining up outside the makeshift soup kitchen at the school. On her last visit to Steeple Street she had even seen Reg Willis’ wife on the corner of Briggate, selling handkerchiefs she had made. Agnes had crossed the street, averting her eyes to save the poor woman’s pride.

  Dr Rutherford took off his spectacles and made a show of polishing them on the corner of his tweed jacket, to give himself time to calm down.

  ‘You have to remember we are in a very delicate position here, Miss Sheridan,’ he said, more calmly. ‘We have a duty to the owners of the pit.’

  ‘You might have a duty to Sir Edward, but I don’t,’ Agnes pointed out. ‘May I remind you, I’m funded by the Miners’ Welfare, not the Haverstocks. So really, neither of you is in any position to tell me who I can and can’t visit, or what treatment I can give them.’

  Dr Rutherford stared at her, his eyes glacial behind his spectacles. ‘I don’t like your tone, Miss Sheridan.’

  ‘And I don’t like your attitude, Dr Rutherford.’

  They glared at each other for a moment. Then Dr Rutherford sat back in his chair and said, ‘Well, we may not have to put up with each other for much longer.’

  Agnes sat up straighter. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘As you’ve just pointed out, your position here is funded by the Miners’ Welfare Fund. But with no one paying in any more, and all the money going towards the strike, I wonder how long your employment can continue?’

  Agnes stared at him, shaken. She hadn’t thought of that.

  Dr Rutherford smiled nastily. ‘So you see, Miss Sheridan, if you want to go on working in the village, it might pay to be a little more – pragmatic?’ he suggested.

  ‘We’ll see, shall we?’ Agnes rose to her feet. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and prepare for my clinic.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Your clinic.’ Dr Rutherford’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. ‘Another waste of the miners’ money. You do realise no one will come, don’t you?’

  Agnes’ chin lifted. ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Oh, I do. You see, I know these people, Miss Sheridan. Unlike you, I’ve lived here for twenty years. I understand them. And I have to tell you, they bear no loyalty to anyone but themselves and each other.’ He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. ‘I know you think you’re winning them over, tending to them and supporting their strike—’

  ‘It’s not a strike, it’s a—’

  ‘—but if you think they’ll support you in return then you’re quite wrong,’ Dr Rutherford went on, as if she had not spoken. ‘You’re putting yourself out on a limb for nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘You really should think more carefully about where your loyalties lie, Miss Sheridan. For your own sake.’

  His warning stayed with Agnes as she sheltered in the doorway of the Miners’ Welfare Institute later, her coat collar turned up against the drizzling rain, waiting for Phil to arrive with the equipment Agnes had arranged to borrow from Steeple Street.

  She was late. The clinic was supposed to start at one o’clock, and it was already nearly noon.

  She saw Ruth Chadwick at the bottom of the lane, struggling to push her pram up the hill. She caught Agnes’ eye and hurried to cross the street, but Agnes called out to her.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Chadwick.’ She walked down the hill to meet her. ‘Here, let me help you.’

  Agnes went to take the handle of the pram, but Ruth held on fast. ‘I can manage, Nurse,’ she insisted.

  ‘At least let me push it up to the top of the hill for you.’

  ‘It’s heavy,’ Ruth warned.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I can manage. I’m stronger than I look.’ Agnes started to push, but the pram wouldn’t budge. ‘Goodness, you’re right,’ she gasped. ‘Is the brake on?’

  Ruth Chadwick smiled reluctantly. ‘Nay, Nurse. It’s just a bit overloaded, that’s all. I’ve been down to t’allotment to pick some veg for the soup kitchen.’

  Agnes peered into the pram, where she could just glimpse little Ernest Chadwick sleeping peacefully amid two sacks of potatoes and carrots. His woollen shawl was still wrapped tightly around him to conceal his twisted neck.

  ‘The soup kitchen? So we’re going the same way,’ Agnes said. ‘I’m holding my first clinic at the Institute this afternoon.’

  ‘Aye, Jinny said you were going ahead with it.’

  ‘Of course. Why shouldn’t I?’

  Agnes threw her shoulders forward, and the wheels began to move slowly. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing little Ernest there. You will be bringing him, won’t you?’

  A dull flush spread over Ruth’s pale face. ‘Thank you, Nurse, but I’ll not bother,’ she muttered. ‘There’s nowt wrong with my bairn.’

  ‘Mrs Arkwright’s remedy is working, then?’

  Ruth looked away sharply.

  She seized the pram, shouldering Agnes aside in her eagerness to wrestle control of it.

  ‘I could help him, you know,’ Agnes said, but Ruth was already pushing the pram away from her, as if she couldn’t escape fast enough.

  Agnes watched her, hurrying away up the street, her narrow shoulders hunched as she struggled with the pram’s weight. She reached the top of the lane and crossed the street, narrowly avoiding Phil’s car as it swung around the corner and came to a halt outside the doors to the Institute.

  Agnes caught up just as her friend was getting out of the car. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Phil said. ‘Veronica gets a bit out of breath on hills, so I have to go slowly.’

  Agnes wondered if Phil even knew the meaning of the word, after the speed with which she had come round the corner, nearing running down poor Ruth and her pram of potatoes.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m just grateful you could come at all. Did you manage to borrow all the equipment I asked for?’

  Phil nodded. ‘And I brought something else too, that I thought you might find useful …’

  ‘Oh, yes? What’s that?’

  Agnes looked round as the passenger door opened and a blonde-haired figure stepped out.

  ‘Polly!’ Agnes cried. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘My mother sent me. She thought you might be in need of some moral support.’

  ‘She’s right, as usual.’ Agnes sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to Bess Bradshaw for her wisdom.

  ‘Don’t tell her that, will you?’ Polly smiled. ‘She’ll be even more insufferable.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get this equipment unloaded before we get soaked,’ Phil interrupted them, looking up at the grey sky.

  The three of them busied themselves, carrying in the equipment, moving tables and chairs and setting up screens. All the while, Ruth and the other local women went to and from the back of the building where they were setting up the daily soup kitchen, but none of them looked Agnes’ way.

  ‘I expect we’ll be seeing some of them later?’ Polly said.

  ‘I expect so,’ Agnes agreed, thinking about Ruth Chadwick’s look of dismay.

  Once again, Dr Rutherford’s words came into her mind.

  If you think they’ll support you in return then you’re quite wrong.

  They finished setting up the rows of chairs and screens on the stroke of one o’clock. Then Phil and Polly took their places behind the tables while Agnes walked down the length of the hall to open the doors.

  She hadn’t really expected there to be a long queue waiting to come in, but the sight of the empty passageway still came as a
shock to her. The only sign of life was a scrawny dog sniffing around the doorway.

  She turned back to the others and shook her head.

  ‘Oh, well.’ Polly smiled bracingly. ‘It’s still early. I’m sure things will pick up soon.’

  But they didn’t. Agnes sat between Phil and Agnes at the long trestle table, painfully conscious of the minutes ticking ponderously away on the clock behind them. Meanwhile, she could hear the cheerful, chattering voices of the women in the soup kitchen at the other end of the passageway.

  ‘You did put the right date on the notices, didn’t you?’ Phil asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And the right time?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Phil, I’m not an idiot!’ Agnes snapped, then instantly regretted it when she saw the frown on her friend’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m just disappointed, that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t take it to heart,’ Polly said. ‘It might just be the weather keeping them away. I know in Quarry Hill we always have far fewer mothers turning up when it rains. They don’t want to risk their babies catching a cold.’

  ‘Hardly!’ Phil mocked. ‘Can’t you hear them, larking about in the kitchen? I’m going to go and have a word with them.’ She started to her feet, but Agnes put out a hand to stop her.

  ‘Please don’t,’ she said.

  ‘But—’

  ‘If they’re not here then it’s because they’ve decided they don’t want to come,’ Agnes said quietly.

  Another half an hour ticked by in agonising silence. Agnes was painfully conscious of Phil discreetly checking her watch beside her.

  ‘You can go, if you like?’ she offered. ‘I’m sure you must both have better things to do with your time than sitting here in an empty clinic with me?’

  ‘Well—’ Phil started to say, but Polly cut her off.

  ‘Oh, no, we’re happy to stay, aren’t we, Phil?’

  ‘Are we?’ she said, earning herself a sharp look from kind-hearted Polly. ‘Oh, I suppose so,’ she sighed. ‘I mean, if I weren’t here I’d only be in a muddy farmyard somewhere, getting soaked to the skin and chased by pigs. At least I’m dry in here!’