“Can’t say at all, I doubt if even MacFarlayne knows for certain. I’m darned sorry that such a thing should have happened to him.”
“That’s something I can’t understand,” Bill Newlyn remarked. “All the male staff are genuinely concerned for Guy Brenton—the patients too, so they tell me—but except for a sense of vulgar curiosity, I don’t believe one of the nursing staff seriously care one jot.”
“That’s not quite true,” Diana protested. “In a way you are right, but—”
“Just a moment, Di,” Philip interrupted. “Bill is right. All we chaps, housemen, students and the rest, admire Guy Brenton. He is a damn good teacher, sympathetic and understanding with the patients too, but I’ve never heard a sister or nurse say a good word for him.”
“The answer is easy.” Diana leaned her elbows on the table and confronted her companions. “I’m in theatre and see plenty of him—too much at times.” She twisted her red lips into a grimace to express her feelings. “He has got the patience of Job—and some of those students are enough to drives one distracted. But haven’t you noticed what he is like with us? With Sister and me for example, he hardly gives us a civil word, just as well perhaps”—she gave vent to a long-drawn-out sigh—“we’d drop dead with surprise if he did!” She turned to Felicity. “It’s exactly the same on the ward; isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Felicity admitted. “But I think it’s because the nurses show they are scared of him.”
“I think you are both quite wrong,” Philip spoke with conviction. “I believe it’s Brenton that’s scared of you!” The statement brought a howl of laughter, it was such a ridiculous statement and Philip had been quite solemn about it. Regaining her composure, Felicity spoke. “You might explain that one, Phil, you’ve just left us guessing!”
“Can’t explain it, but one day I bet I’m proved right,” Philip responded.
“I really :believe you’ve got something there,” Diana admitted calmly. “Anyway, Guy Brenton has managed to get himself engaged, so I suppose there’s at least one girl of whom he is not scared.”
They all smiled at Diana’s remark, then after a little more good-natured chatter, Philip rose to his feet. “We must be moving. I’m ‘on’ tonight and with an important patient like Brenton in the ward, I’d better be available.”
After a brief walk they turned in to the Hospital gates. The wide, tiled entrance hall always seemed to Felicity completely changed at night, no hurrying feet, no visitors making anxious enquiries at the porter’s desk, no nurses and white-coated students and doctors hurrying hither and thither, the tiles ringing with the echo of, their footsteps. One even missed the clanging of the lift gates which, during the busy day, never for one moment seemed to be at rest.
As they entered the porter approached. “Mr. Elver, sir, Night Sister’s bin ringing you from ‘John Mason’, she’d like you to look in before you goes to Residents, says she wants a word with you about Mr. Brenton, she didn’t seem too happy like, she’d like ter see you soon as she can.”
“O.K., Bates, I’ll go right over.” He turned to his companions. “Good night all, I’d better hurry over and see what the old girl wants.”
Felicity had never been so glad to reach the sanctuary of her own room and close the door behind her. She felt suddenly dog tired and was relieved that she need no longer keep up any pretence of gaiety. With a sigh of relief she slipped out of her clothes and into the cool, loose comfort of her nightgown. It was sheer luxury to stretch her limbs beneath the sheets and lay her head back against the pillow. In spite of the comfort of relaxation a nagging sense of worry persisted. What was Night Sister concerned about? Could anything have gone wrong with her patient, any unforeseen contingency arisen? With tremendous will power Felicity shut out all the disquieting answers which crowded her imagination but even as she composed herself for sleep she realized that this must be the very first time that she had gone to bed longing for the morning, counting the hours until she could return to her ward and shoulder again the responsibilities of her work.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Felicity had anticipated she had no difficulty in getting up the following morning, in fact she only remembered two former occasions when she had reported for duty early and then it had been due to her clock being fast, a fault which she had wasted no time in setting right. It was, however, disturbing to find that, in spite of her own timely appearance, Sister Robinson was already on the ward. Although not visible, her red-lined cloak thrown across her office chair, and her opened letters lying on the desk, proclaimed her presence.
She must, of course, be in Guy Brenton’s room and with some concern Felicity awaited her return. One or two of the night staff still lingered on the ward waiting to be relieved, as the day staff, one by one, made their appearance. With routine action Felicity commenced her work of the day, setting out Sister’s desk, sorting the patients’ mail... subconsciously she knew herself to be tensed and on edge as she awaited Sister Robinson’s appearance. Why had Sister come on duty so early? Was anything wrong? Was Mr. Brenton worse? As on the previous night a thousand questions chased each other through her mind. Even the Night Report Book was missing, she might have gleaned something from that; Night Sister had perhaps not completed her entries or Sister Robinson must have it in her possession.
“Thank goodness you are early!”
Felicity had never been so glad to see Sister before, although when she glanced-up and saw the worried lines on her face, her heart sank. “Yes, Sister ... but you? I didn’t expect to see you on duty yet.”
“I had to see Matron...” Her words trailed away as she sank into the chair at her desk. “Pull up a chair, dear, I want to speak to you.”
Felicity tried to control her quickened heart beats. Whatever could be wrong? Sister was always getting fussed up over nothing at all, Felicity was used to that, but somehow this morning there was real anxiety in the kindly expression of her grey eyes. “Yes, Sister, what is it?” Felicity made an effort to keep her voice steady.
“You went off duty at seven-thirty last night?” As Felicity nodded assent, Sister continued: “You knew Mr. MacFarlayne’s orders were that Mr. Brenton was to be kept as quiet as possible and on no account to have visitors?”
“Of course,” Felicity agreed,
“When Night Sister came on duty at eight, Mr. Brenton had a visitor, his fiancée had been with him almost an hour. Sister, not realizing that anyone was there, had not interrupted them. As you knew, he was utterly unfit to receive anyone; the visit left him completely exhausted, followed by a sharp rise of temperature.”
“But, Sister—” Felicity protested, but before she could go on speaking, her companion interrupted her.
“There is no excuse. I know you were entitled to go off duty before Night Sister’s arrival but you were in charge, and it was up to you to see that Nurse Bellamy had detailed instructions.”
“I did, I told her exactly what Mr. MacFarlayne had said,” Felicity insisted.
“I’m sorry, dear, but there it is.” Sister gave a deep sigh. “It seems that Night Sister had to call Mr. Elver, and he phoned for Mr. MacFarlayne who came along about midnight. Naturally, Mr. MacFarlayne was very angry that his instructions had been ignored and he complained to Matron ... I saw Matron this morning. I explained that it had been my half-day but you may be sure that I spoke up for you as much as I could. She wants to see you.” Sister Robinson paused. “I’m sorry, dear, I told her how reliable you always are, and I said I was confident it couldn’t be your fault.”
“I passed on Mr. MacFarlayne’s instructions ... I may not have specifically mentioned visitors, I hardly thought anyone would come at that time of night, but in any case I imagined that instructions for complete quiet would cover any such contingency.” There was a note of bitterness in Felicity’s voice. The censure was so unexpected—and unusual—she couldn’t recall any occasion during her three years at St. Edwin’s when she had been brought to book for any neglect of duty
. For Matron to send for her too, it was unbelievable, and a spasm of apprehension assailed her. Of course she would only get thoroughly lectured but that was something which she had so far managed to avoid and had hoped never to experience. Her apprehension turned to something approaching anger. So those were the methods of the suave Mr. MacFarlayne? To be all honey to one’s face and to rush to Matron with complaints behind one’s back! She’d rather have Guy Brenton to deal with any day, at least he expressed his complaints to one’s face, he didn’t hide his disapproval behind a bland, ingratiating smile.
“You know, dear, I’m as sorry about all this as you are.” Sister Robinson gave Felicity’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “Run along to Matron now and get it over.”
When later Felicity returned from an uncomfortable half hour in Matron’s office she was filled with a sense of burning resentment. Fundamentally, no doubt, the blame lay with the nurse with whom she had left instructions, but Felicity knew only too well that in fact the sister or nurse in charge invariably got the blame.
Owing to her delay in visiting Matron, Sister Robinson had taken over her duties and was apparently attending Mr. Brenton. Felicity was glad of the respite; in some peculiar way she wanted to defer the moment when she would have to enter his room, she’d hate to feel that any retrogression in his condition might be due to her, and whatever her personal ideas in the matter might be, Matron hadn’t minced her words. Forcing a smile to hide the ache at her heart, Felicity made her way round the ward assisting and advising her juniors. The curious looks and whispers made it plain that every detail of the night’s happenings was known by even the most junior ‘pro.’. Felicity had no illusions, the whole story—elaborately embroidered—would be round the Hospital by dinner-time.
“Nurse ... can you spare a moment?” Felicity put down a tray of dressings she was holding and, giving instructions to her junior to carry on, followed Philip Elver into Sister’s office. She hadn’t even noticed his arrival on the ward, but she knew herself to be inordinately glad to see him, she longed to pour her troubles into sympathetic ears.
“Oh Philip, it’s awful, have you heard?” she enquired anxiously as she carefully closed the office door.
Dropping the formal manner he had adopted on the ward, Philip Elvers seated himself on the edge of the desk. “I have and I’m devilish sorry. I wouldn’t have sent for MacFarlayne if I’d realized what a song and dance he was going to kick up and how you’d get involved.” He spoke ruefully.
“Don’t be silly, you rang MacFarlayne because you needed his advice, you know perfectly well no other consideration counted. She paused. “The point is that, in spite of everything it wasn’t really my fault; that fool Bellamy had full instructions—and as for his fiancée staying almost an hour ... I could cheerfully throttle her!”
I know ... but there it is and don’t you go worrying about it. I saw Brenton at crack of dawn, he is still running a temperature, one expected that, but he had morphia in the night and he is much more rested. How does he seem now?”
“I haven’t been in this morning, Sister took over while I went to Matron.” She pulled a face. “Nice visit it was too; I was on, the carpet well and truly. I do resent Mr. MacFarlayne running to Matron with his complaints. I’m just boiling over about him—what time is he due to make his round? I wish I could miss him,” she admitted fervently.
Philip glanced at his watch. “Any moment I should say.” He broke off abruptly as Sister Robinson bustled into the room. Rising to his feet, he stood back at Felicity’s side.
With a brief nod and smile to the young houseman, Sister turned to Felicity and addressed her in conspiratorial tones. “Interview with Matron go off all right?”
As the whole Hospital undoubtedly knew all by now, the secretive air seemed to Felicity somewhat unnecessary. “Yes, quite all right, thanks,” she responded conventionally, inwardly wondering whether having felt like a naughty schoolgirl being given” a bad conduct mark, constituted being “all right”.
Obviously glad to have that matter off her mind, Sister continued in brisker tones. “I’ve been attending Mr. Brenton, temperature is settling slowly, on the whole I think the dear is a little better.”
Felicity, catching Philip’s eye, had difficulty in stifling her laughter; she was glad that the necessity for answering the telephone afforded her an opportunity to turn away. Replacing the instrument she turned round. “Phoning from theatre, Mr. MacFarlayne is on his way up.”
“Splendid! We’ll get through nice and early and get Smith’s plaster done before serving dinners. Now listen, Nurse, I’ll take the round if you’ll see to Mr. Brenton. I’ve made him all nice and comfy but there is his injection to give and perhaps you can manage to persuade the dear boy to take a little something—if it’s only fluids—I’m sure a nice cup of tea would be very reviving.”
Although Felicity knew that the flush of colour in Guy Brenton’s cheeks was anything but a good sign, on the whole she found him looking more rested and obviously in far less pain. Crossing to the bedside, she bade him a quiet “Good morning”, then removed the untouched tray of tea from the bedside table. She felt his glance following her as she placed it aside and busied herself preparing the injection.
“Don’t take that tea away, I’ll have it after you’ve finished with me.”
Felicity looked up. “Sister told me you didn’t fancy anything.”
“Would you fancy anything if you were told to ‘drink up like a good boy’?”
Felicity’s lips curled into a smile, and somehow it considerably relieved her pent emotions. “I really don’t know, I’ve never experienced it,” she admitted. Her tone was dispassionate, she felt too ill at ease to express her amusement openly, she had learnt from experience how firmly he discouraged any signs of familiarity. Returning to the bed, she rolled back the sleeve of his pyjama jacket and with quite unwonted nervousness, which she fervently prayed wasn’t obvious, she quickly inserted the needle. Well, that was over! She replaced the syringe in the dish. No disparaging remark had so far been forthcoming so she could only hope her technique had passed muster.
“Now how about that tea?”
Felicity obediently returned with the tray. “Milk and sugar?” As he nodded assent, Felicity poured the drink and set it within reach of his uninjured hand. “Let me raise your pillow a little, you’ll manage more easily.” Again she experienced those quickened heart beats as she felt his head rest heavily against her arm, it seemed strange that such a simple act could stir any emotion, but, she told herself, it was probably quite natural when the patient was someone for whom one had always felt such deference.
“Thank goodness you didn’t suggest feeding me,” he commented, although he appeared to be manipulating the cup with some difficulty. After a few sips he replaced it carefully in the saucer, then, deliberately focusing his eyes on Felicity, went on speaking. “I understand that you were in some trouble over admitting my fiancée last night.” So even he knew! The ready flush rose to Felicity’s cheeks and her lips trembled with humiliation and anger. “I might have known that everyone in Hospital would hear of it, even the patient,” she added pointedly, and there was a bitterness in her voice which she made no effort to conceal.
There was an indefinable expression in Guy Brenton’s eyes as they held hers, it might have been surprise at her outburst or even resentment; it was impossible to tell. Baffled and not a little uncomfortable, Felicity turned away. She was glad to be able to busy herself unscrewing the syringe ready for sterilizing; she worked slowly, unconsciously playing for time. By the rattle of the cup against the saucer, she knew he was drinking again, yet she was sure his eyes were still following her movements. That particular job could not be prolonged indefinitely so, forced to turn, Felicity packed up the tray with the tea things ready for removal. “Have you finished with your cup?”
“Yes, thanks.” He lay back against the pillow. “Tell me, who is supposed to be nursing me, you or Sister?” Felicity the tray n
ow balanced on her hand turned as he asked the question.
“I am. Of course Sister Robinson is in charge—she had to attend you this morning as I was otherwise engaged— with Matron,” she added pointedly, while her lingering resentment was obvious.
“I haven’t the slightest doubt that Matron instructed you to keep visitors away from me, I’d like to endorse those instructions—with a small addition. Keep Sister Robinson away too. I appreciate that she is well-meaning, but I dislike being fussed.”
As he finished speaking a slow smile curved his lips, it was so friendly and reassuring that Felicity felt strangely moved. It gave her courage too, she was sure that during all the months of their association it was the first time she had felt completely at ease in Guy Brenton’s presence. “I have no intention of fussing you.” Only her deep blue eyes returned his smile, her lips remained impassive, but she was aware of an added sense of confidence as she turned from the room, softly closing the door behind her.
With relief, Felicity realized that Mr. MacFarlayne’s round was over by the time she “got back to the ward. Sister was nowhere to be seen but Philip was awaiting her in the office.
“There you are, I thought I’d wait a few moments to see if you’d turn up—how is he?”
The question was vague, but obviously referred to Guy Brenton.
“Better than I thought he’d be, quite cheerful in fact; still running a temperature but he managed some tea and seems in far less pain,” Felicity responded as she set down the tray she was carrying on a side table until she could attend to it.
“The next few days will make a lot of difference;” Philip paused to light a cigarette, then went on: “MacFarlayne has had to go to theatre for an ‘emergency’, he is coming back again to see Brenton later. Sister has gone to Plaster Room, she’ll be back in about half an hour.”
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