“Among the medical staff we have our conservatives. If I promoted such changes they would be quick to indict me, just as Pinel was indicted.”
“Pinel took the risk and so should you,” Joy argued. “Until recently the insane in the United States were kept in county poorhouses or in the prisons. But a woman named Dorthea Dix is changing much of this. She is carrying the gospel of Pinel to every part of her country, and now there are at least two dozen asylums operated by the individual states. Proper places for the treatment of these unfortunates who were previously neglected.”
Dr. Murray smiled. “Perhaps you might get your brother to speak out for us in the House. He could be helpful if he supported your views.”
Joy said, “James is a reasonable man. I’m sure he’ll take an interest if I ask him.”
“I’ll talk to him as well,” the doctor said. “But if the war clouds darken I doubt if the government will spend on anything but the military.”
“Funds for a different sort of lunacy,” she said bitterly.
She at once sought out James and presented her problem to him. He listened and then in a tired voice told her, “This may seem urgent to you. But there are more pressing matters. At any moment England may be plunged into a war.”
“I think my cause is more important.”
“You may think so,” he said with frankness. “But I know the government is not in a mood to listen to a plea for the improvement of hospitals for the insane. Their minds are on this problem of an approaching war. However, leave some material with me and when I think the moment right, I will rise in the house and make an appeal for your cause.”
“Thank you, James,” she said quietly. “I know I can depend on you.”
She worked on grimly. Just after the Christmas of 1853 her mother died. The funeral was held the day before Joy’s thirty-second birthday. With her mother’s death, she was confronted again with the passing of the years. She was now close to middle age, though she did not look it, and she had not yet found her place in the world.
During the spring of 1854 she spent a month in Surrey, with Hilda and the three children. They were growing at an amazing pace. She found Joy more interesting as she grew older. The girl was truly much like her in other aspects besides her name. She found it amusing that Hilda should bear a child almost in her image.
James came down to join them for a few days. He was in a distressed state of mind. He told them, “The worst of news! War has been declared! We and the French are lining ourselves with the Turks to fight the Russians!”
Joy sighed. “So it has come!”
“What is the mood in London?” Hilda wanted to know. They were all sitting in the living room of the summer house.
“Only Lord Aberdeen and his government have any enthusiasm for the venture,” he said. “We have naval ships on the way, but no troops will reach the battle scene in the Crimea until September at the earliest. And we shall be in the impossible position then of attempting to wage a war two thousand miles away!”
“Surely it might have been prevented,” Joy said with some annoyance.
“The snobbish fools in the War Office want it,” James said angrily. “They had the Scots Guards march past Buckingham Palace before embarking for Gallipoli! A stunt to arouse excitement among the masses!”
“Did it work?” Hilda asked.
“Of course!” her husband said with disdain. He rose and began pacing before them. “In front of the palace the entire force presented arms as one man, the colors were lowered, the officers saluted. Then the band played, ‘God Save the Queen!’ And I swear you couldn’t hear a word of it for the cheering of the crowd!”
“What a charade!” Joy exclaimed.
“No doubt Victoria and Albert reviewed them from the palace balcony,” Hilda suggested wryly.
“Could you expect anything else?” her husband said with anger. “The soldiers recovered arms, took off their bearskin hats, and gave three deafening cheers. They waved their muskets, and tossed the bearskins into the air. Then they marched on to the Mall, the National Gallery and around St. Martin’s Church. In Trafalgar Square there was a crowd eight deep to cheer them as they swept by! The madness is in full swing!”
“What is the reason for this war?” Hilda wanted to know.
James halted his pacing. “Now that is a good question and not to easy to answer. Disraeli says that England is going to war to prevent the Emperor of all the Russias from protecting the Christian subjects of the Emperor of all the Turks!”
“Another senseless conflict that will leave the country much poorer,” Joy said. “You’ll never be able to offer my plan for improving mental hospitals!”
James grimaced. “Not while the head of our government is a prime candidate to be a patient in one of them!”
It was only when they returned to London a few days later that she realized how completely the country was caught up by war fever. The newspapers featured nothing but the war on their front pages. The Queen had given the enterprise her blessing, and so new shipments of troops were being planned.
One day Dr. Murray came to greet Joy in one of the dark corridors of Bedlam. He eyed her quizically through his glasses. “My predictions of war have proven all too correct, Lady Joy.”
“Yes.”
“So we have more lunatics on the outside than in here,” he said with resignation.
“We must bide our time,” she told him.
“Yes, we must be patient until they finish with their war games,” Dr. Murray sadly agreed.
The mail she received from Scotland also reflected the war madness. Jock wrote her that a new doctor had arrived, and the former one had joined the Scots Guards and sailed off with that noble company. He wrote that there was sadness in the village, for many of their finest young men had signed for the army and had left for the battlefields. Jock wrote that he had no heart for it all, but the new minister of the kirk had preached in favor of the war the previous Sunday. He closed with the news that Heather was well and so were their children.
Joy sat with the letter in her lap and thought of those other days in Invermere. She had recently had a letter from Rose. It seemed that Rose and her clergyman husband had been in Edinburgh for several years. She told of meeting the former schoolmaster who had made her pregnant and then deserted her. They had met at a church social given by the church. She said he looked very down at heel, and had fled from the party which she and her husband were giving.
These letters from her friends of the Invermere days were always welcome. Every two years she received a letter from Dr. Marsh at the University, tendering the name of the young doctor he had chosen to serve in the village hospital. She continued to send cheques every six months to keep the hospital open. The villagers had voted to name it the John Hastings Memorial Hospital. This pleased her. In this modest enterprise she felt John still lived.
One morning she received a note marked urgent from James. She at once donned a fresh dress and bonnet and had her carriage take her to his office near the House.
As soon as she was shown into his office he rose to greet her. He kissed her and pulled out a chair for her to be seated. Then he announced, “I have some interesting news for you.”
“Tell me!”
“You know of Florence Nightingale?”
“Of course. She graduated from the Kaiserworth Deaconness Hospital a few years before me.”
“I’d forgotten,” her brother said. He moved back to the chair behind his desk and sat facing her. She thought that as he grew older he came to look more like their father.
She said, “Why did you mention Miss Nightingale?”
He hesitated. “I know you are much dedicated to your work here in London.”
“My lunatics seem more sane each day this war madness lasts.”
“Yes,” James said with a sigh. “Like myself, you are basically opposed to this war.”
“Firmly opposed!”
“This makes my message difficult to o
ffer,” James told her with a frown. “I can only hope you will listen with sympathy. This war is being fought a long way off in a primitive area. We are sending many troops out there and I’m afraid it’s going to be a long and bloody massacre.”
“None of this is news to me.”
“Her Majesty’s Government is concerned about the medical care of these men.”
“Rank hypocrisy! Why send them to be massacred?”
James shrugged. “I cannot answer that. Government often is inconsistent and appears to make little sense.”
“I agree.”
“But whether right or wrong in conducting the war the government does want to give its fighting men all the protection possible. I’m talking now of medical protection. We have a good supply of doctors but no nurses.”
“No nurses?” This was surprising.
“None,” James said. “The Russians and the French have their Catholic Sisters of Charity. God alone knows what the Turks have to offer in the way of nurses. But I know we have no nurses at all!”
“Another disgraceful example of the government’s ineptitude,” she said.
“No doubt of it,” he said. “But it so happens that the Secretary of War, Sidney Herbert, is a close friend of Florence Nightingale. He happens to be a reformer, and an earnest humanitarian.”
“So he neglects the unfortuunate at home to send the equally unfortunate off to be massacred. I’m not impressed!”
“Wait a minute,” James begged her. “To accomplish things in government one must be practical and often one must compromise. When this war is over I’m sure I can enlist Sidney Herbert in your plan to reform the hospitals for the insane. But he won’t listen to the idea now. But should you become associated with Florence Nightingale in the work he’s assigned to her, you can almost count on his support later.”
“What work has he assigned Florence Nightingale?”
“He has asked her to organize a group of fifty or so nurses to leave England in October for the Crimea.”
She shook her head. “These women will be looked on as camp followers! A sort of prostitute! It is unheard of for women who are not members of religious orders to engage in army nursing.”
“Whatever they will be called, such a group is being formed,” her brother said. “And most of the women will be nurses like yourself, without affiliation to any religious order.”
She stared at him for a long moment of silence. Then she asked, “Do you want me to join Florence Nightingale’s group?”
“I don’t see how you can refuse to join it,” he said. “This is your chance to win powerful friends for your cause in the government.”
“What about my mad people?”
“They got on before you came and they will manage now,” James said. “And you will be able to really improve their lot on your return.”
“If I return,” she pointed out.
“Hospitals will be established far behind the battle lines. I would expect that you would never be asked to experience any actual danger in the face of the enemy.”
“Hospitals far behind the lines do not strike me as being of much use.”
“I do not know the details,” her brother confessed. “I would not suggest this to you if I did not think you’d be reasonably safe.”
“There are other risks beside battle,” she said.
“I know,” he agreed. “Risk of disease and travel. But we face risks every day of our lives here in London. I’m sure you take more chances than most in your work at Bedlam.”
She smiled grimly. “You’re asking me to give my support to a war of which I do not approve.”
“But for an excellent reason.”
She nodded. “You don’t expect me to refuse.”
“I hope you won’t,” he admitted. “The war cannot last long. But the good coming from your taking part will be of assistance to you in your work for years ahead.”
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll talk with Miss Nightingale.”
The woman who faced her across the desk was slender, slightly older than herself, and possessed of a plain but intelligent face. She wore a plain, gray dress similar to those Joy remembered from Kaiserworth. She could not help feeling nervous in the knowledge that this was the formidable Miss Florence Nightingale.
Florence Nightingale studied her with quiet interest. “So you were at Kaiserworth?”
“Yes. In Kaiserworth I gained valuable experience about hospital organization. But I must say I learned more about real nursing by working in a village hospital in Scotland.”
“I’m sure that is true,” the older woman said.
Joy said, “I have been told you plan to recruit your nurses from outside the religious orders?”
“That is true,” the woman behind the desk agreed. “That is why I have to be extremely careful in my choice of young women.”
“Without a doubt.”
“I cannot afford to have anyone who might bring the slightest scandal to us.”
Joy said dryly, “I doubt, with that in mind, that I could qualify.”
“I have heard about you,” Florence Nightingale said, watching her closely. “I know almost everything about your past. I also know what you have done to improve conditions in Bedlam this past year. Weighing one thing against the other, I’m more than ready to gamble on you. As a matter of fact I’d like to invite you to be my chief assistant in this venture.”
Joy was taken by surprise. “You think I warrant such a great responsibility?”
“You have courage and spirit. Qualities which I know will be needed.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I shall try hard not to fail you.”
At that moment she had little idea of what it would mean to be the second in command to the hard-working Miss Florence Nightingale. But in the days which followed she soon learned the task was immense, and her superior a hard taskmaster. Yet she came to have nothing but admiration for the plain, aging nurse, and was dedicated in her devotion to her.
She had a great many interviews with young women who felt a call to join the nursing corps. Many of them, in fact most of them, were unsuited to the challenge for one reason or another. When she had a few recruits, Joy began organizing their training in operating diet kitchens, primitive sanitary engineering, the preparation of surgical dressings. They were also taught how to supply postal services, and some recreational activity.
Late one afternoon, a few weeks after Joy had accepted office in the group, a weary Florence Nightingale summoned her to the private office. The older woman stood up to greet her and said, “Time is getting short. We do not have enough nurses from the volunteers. Have you any suggestions?”
Remembering her experiences in Germany, Joy said, “The Roman Catholic Sisters of Charity have a fine nursing staff. They are active almost everywhere. I’m sure some of them might be allowed to join us if we approached the proper authorities.”
The older woman brightened. “That is a possibility. I should have tried before, but I was afraid there might be obstacles. But you are right, no harm can be done in asking.”
“There are others,” Joy continued. “I’m thinking of Miss Sellon’s Nursing Sisterhood and the nurses from St. John’s House. I know the women in charge of both groups. I can discuss our need with them if you like.”
“Please do,” Florence Nightingale said. “Between us we surely will get enough new members to complete our party.”
“Getting such trained personnel would provide additional benefits. We would have less work to do in preparing them for their nursing duties.”
The older woman nodded and sat at her desk again. She gave a long sigh and said, “Would you believe it? Even before we are ready to embark to the Crimea I’m having to deal with opposition to our work.”
“Opposition?”
“You shouldn’t be surprised. Some of the military doctors are of the opinion they can do better without us. And one of the officers in charge of preparing the ground for us, Co
lonel Thomas Sanger, has tried to win support for a rival nursing group.”
“And we are expected to cooperate with him?”
“He is the chief army officer assigned to us.”
“You should complain!”
“I have. It has done no good. I have been personally criticized as a fanatic. And they have smeared your name. It seems Colonel Sanger was a crony of your late husband Sir George Nason. He knows about your running off to Scotland with that young doctor.”
Joy at once said, “If my being your assistant is a source of embarrassment to you I’ll gladly resign.”
Florence Nightingale raised a thin hand in protest. “There is no question of your resigning. You are invaluable to me.”
She crimsoned with pride. “You are too kind.”
“I’m being honest,” her superior said crisply. “And I’ve told Colonel Sanger so.”
“I do not recall him. But then I knew few of my husband’s friends.”
“Sir George was a noted womanizer and gambler, was he not?”
“Yes.”
“One could hardly blame you for leaving him.”
Joy said grimly, “There were many reasons. He abused me physically and he was suffering from a repulsive social disease. He married me for my inheritance.”
“Dear me!” Florence Nightingale was shocked. “I had no idea it was that bad.”
“It was,” Joy said. “I shed no tears when he died. Then I made an unfortunate second marriage to Ernest Layton, who was murdered, as you must recall.”
“Yes,” Florence Nightingale said. “Colonel Sanger went over your history. He laid great stress on your leaving Sir George and going to Scotland with that doctor.”
“I’m sure the Colonel made it sound much different from what the true situation was.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
“Going to Scotland was my initiation into nursing,” she said. And she explained more about John Hastings, and what he had meant to her.
Vintage Love Page 175