It was said in the Infirmary that Mr Clegg was a man who never turned down work, and Connie reflected ruefully that that certainly seemed to be true. This patient must be one of the Infirmary’s few paying patients, she decided, if Mr Clegg was prepared to attend her lying-in.
When they reached the house where the woman was giving birth, the midwife was waiting for them.
‘Breach it is, Mr Clegg, and I cannot, try as I might, turn the little bugger, she told them above the woman’s screams.
Just for a second, Connie froze.
The woman’s danger reminded her forcibly of the way her own mother had died, and quickly following on the heels of that still painful memory, came an unwanted acknowledgement that she, too, had come close to having her life bleed away from her with the child she had miscarried.
Pity for the woman on the bed filled her, and she made a small, silent prayer that she would deliver safely.
‘Nurse. Quickly. There is no time to lose!’
In the bedroom, the air was foetid and sour, the woman’s screams more like the sound of an animal than a human being. Connie had to steel herself not to think of her mother going through this same agony, only to die at the end of it.
The midwife had already instructed the husband to boil some water, and Connie used it to sterilise Mr Clegg’s instruments as he commanded her to do.
‘Tsk,’ he exclaimed when he had finished examining his patient. ‘The child will have to be turned, and quickly. Otherwise …’
Connie swallowed hard. If he could not turn the baby then Mr Clegg would have to ask the father who he wanted to live, his wife or his child, because saving the one, would necessitate the death of the other.
Silently she prayed that the baby could be turned and that both mother and child would survive, and she was sure that her own relief was almost as great as the poor mother’s when Mr Clegg announced that he had successfully turned the child.
‘Quickly now, Nurse,’ he commanded. ‘We do not want it turning again. I shall have to use forceps.’ He looked at the woman on the bed. ‘And perhaps a little chloroform.’
Connie nodded her head, holding the chloroform-soaked pad to the woman’s nose as Mr Clegg went to work with his forceps.
Half an hour later, the mother was cradling her new son, who had suffered little more than some bruising as Mr Clegg had brought him into the world.
It was dark when they left the house and started to walk back to the Infirmary. The street was eerily, and somehow Connie felt, almost menacingly silent.
‘It’s March now, spring will soon be here, Nurse,’ Mr Clegg pronounced cheerfully.
‘It cannot come soon enough for me, Connie admitted. ‘This cold weather …
‘Ah, thank you, Nurse, you have reminded me that I must speak with the Infirmary Guardians and warn them that we shall need to order more coals. The Government has given out instructions that we must have our hospitals and infirmaries in a state of readiness for war, and that means being fully stocked and equipped with everything that we might need.
‘Do you think that there will be a war, Sir?’ Connie asked him.
‘My heart wants to believe that there will not, but I am afraid that my head is not persuaded to agree with its optimism. What I do know though is that, if it does come to war, there will be dark days ahead of us. Very dark days, but we shall be ready, and … Goodness, what is this?’ he broke off to demand, as suddenly out of the shadows two men, caps pulled down and mufflers pulled up high to obscure their faces, started to move threateningly toward them.
‘Quick, Nurse. Get behind me,’ Mr Clegg instructed Connie, but she refused to do so, standing firmly at his side, determined not to betray her fear.
‘Give us yer bag,’ one of them demanded, ‘and empty yer pockets.’ Connie gave a small gasp of shocked pain as the other man stepped forward and grabbed hold of her wrist, dragging her toward him and forcing her arm up her back.
‘Let go of that young woman at once, you rogue,’ Mr Clegg demanded, but the two men both laughed.
‘You hold on to ‘er and I’ll do the searching,’ one of them commented lewdly, ‘and then you ‘ave your turn after …’
Sickness and terror filled Connie, and suddenly she was back in Back Court with Connolly standing over her.
‘Don’t you dare …’ Mr Clegg began, but it was too late, the man had already reached out a dirty hand and placed it on her breast. A sensation of being dragged back into the past seized her; fear and loathing exploded inside her, and Connie lashed out with terror-driven strength, screaming at him and kicking his shin with all her might.
The man let go of her with a howl of rage, at the same time as a policeman walked round the corner, and seeing what was happening started to run toward them. The villains fled.
Mr Clegg was explaining what had happened, and Connie could feel the waves of fear-induced dizziness and nausea rising from the pit of her stomach. But she was a nurse and she was not allowed to faint, so she had to grit her teeth and assure the anxious policeman that she was perfectly all right, as he insisted on walking them back to the safety of the Infirmary.
Once there, Mr Clegg announced that Connie was a very brave, young woman, and Sister, who had bustled up to see what was happening, relaxed her normal starchiness enough to say, almost kindly, that Connie could go and get herself a nice cup of tea.
Conscious of the honour being bestowed on her, Connie managed a weak smile, but in reality all she wanted to do was to go to bed, and pull the covers up over her head, so that she could have a good cry.
She had been so afraid! The touch of the man’s hand on her body, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, had reminded her terrifyingly of Bill Connolly. Never would she allow herself to be dragged back into that kind of life again!
‘How the months are flying by, Harry. It doesn’t seem two minutes since we were all altogether after Christmas,’ Mavis told her brother fondly, as they sat together in the parlour of the New Brighton house.
‘Mother tells me that you are walking out with someone, Mavis,’ Harry answered, looking and sounding very like the older brother he was.
Mavis laughed and blushed. ‘Yes. His name’s Frank. You will like him, Harry. Mother says I may bring him home for tea the next time I have a full day off.’
‘And your friend, Connie. Is she walking out with anyone?’ Harry heard himself asking.
Mavis shook her head, a small frown pleating her forehead. ‘No, she isn’t. Poor Connie, the most dreadful thing happened to her, Harry.’
Harry felt his stomach lurch and his muscles clench.
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.
Casting her brother a brief glance, for it wasn’t like him to sound so grim, or be so peremptory, Mavis explained about the attack Connie had suffered.
‘Mr Clegg, our surgeon, told Matron that Connie was very brave. And she was, Harry,’ Mavis added earnestly. ‘I should have been so afraid. Frank has told me that there is a very dangerous gang at work in Liverpool, preying on people and robbing them.’ She gave a small shiver.
‘I am sorry to hear that Miss Pride has suffered such an attack,’ Harry told Mavis in a low voice, whilst inwardly he battled with his surge of very male, and very betraying, feelings. He wanted to hunt down whoever it was who had hurt Connie and teach them a lesson they would never forget. He also wanted to hold Connie in his arms and tell her that no one would ever hurt her again!
‘Please do give Connie my best wishes, Mavis. He paused to clear his throat, as his heart reacted to his intimate use of Connie’s name. ‘And … and tell her that … that I have asked after her.
Mavis gave her brother a startled look. Harry’s good-looking face was slightly flushed, and he was refusing to meet her eyes.
‘Harry Lawson, I do believe that you are sweet on Connie! she laughed.
Harry’s face went even redder. ‘Don’t be silly. He told her gruffly. ‘I hardly know her.’
‘What does t
hat say to anything? Mavis challenged him mischievously, ‘Frank says that he knew I was the one for him the moment he set eyes on me!
‘I think I shall have to have a word with Mother about this young man, Harry warned her mock-seriously.
‘Well, if you would like to meet him … Mavis began, going a little pink herself now. ‘Since you have the whole week off, Harry, you could come to the Infirmary, and I could introduce you to him there. I am off duty the day after tomorrow at six, and so is Frank. He was going to wait for me and take me out for a bit of supper.
Harry frowned. It certainly sounded as though the relationship between his sister and her young man was becoming serious and, if that was the case, then surely it was his duty and his responsibility to see Frank for himself?
Because of the shifts they were on, Mavis didn’t get the opportunity to tell Connie about Harry’s planned visit to the Infirmary, and so Connie walked totally unprepared into the large room where the nurses gathered in their off-duty hours, and came to a shocked halt as she saw Harry standing next to her friend.
‘Connie!’ Mavis exclaimed in delight. ‘I was hoping I would catch you. Harry has come over so that he can inspect Frank!’ she added drolly, pulling a face.
‘You were the one who suggested that I meet him,’ Harry pointed out calmly, but inwardly he was feeling anything but calm. Grimly he wrestled with those feelings he knew it was unwise for him to have.
‘Connie, would you please look after Harry for me whilst I go across to the Infirmary and bring Frank back with me?’ Mavis begged, unaware of the bombshell she was dropping.
Connie closed her eyes in despair, and then opened them again. She felt as though her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth and that she was indeed tongue-tied just like some of their afflicted patients. She certainly couldn’t utter the refusal she needed to give, and Mavis was already darting away, her face alight with the expectation of seeing Frank.
He could have offered to go with his sister, Harry acknowledged belatedly, as she sped away.
He could almost feel the weight of Connie’s silence, and he had seen the constrained, apprehensive look she had given him, before immediately looking away again. For a moment, they regarded one another in mutual silence, Connie’s wary and watchful, and Harry thought he could guess what she must be thinking and fearing.
He had no taste for being in such an awkward situation, and couldn’t help wishing that he had only met Connie for the first time when Mavis had brought her home. He had met her before though and, in all conscience, he knew he had a responsibility to his family to assure himself that Connie was a suitable person to be his sister’s friend.
Taking a deep breath he plunged in, reluctantly, ‘Miss Pride, Connie. There is something … a matter, both delicate and … er, in short a matter to which we were both privy and which I feel … When I arrived at my great-aunt’s house and saw you there. I realised immediately that, that is to say, I recognised you immediately.
Connie bit her lip, unable to say anything, her face burning with shame and misery.
Harry could see how white her face had gone, and how her eyes had become burning pools of fear and pain.
‘Connie,’ Harry urged her gently. He didn’t want to frighten or hurt her, but he had a moral duty to put his sisters first.
‘You intend to … to denounce me, is that what you are saying?’ Connie demanded tonelessly, her despair only too evident.
Watching her, Harry felt a fresh pang of pity for her, coupled with a desire to reassure her. He drew a deep sigh. ‘Denounce you! No, Connie. Please don’t look so afraid! I have to think of my sisters,’ he told her gently. ‘You must see that, with our father’s death, I must take the role of a father. Mavis has a very high regard for you.’
‘Far higher than I deserve, you mean?’ Connie challenged him bitterly.
He paused and took a deep breath. ‘It is not for me to sit in judgement on you, Connie.’
‘You say that, but others will do so if you tell them …’ Her mouth had started to tremble so badly she had to break off, and force back her shaming tears. She would not further humiliate herself by pleading with him to spare her.
Even so, she couldn’t stop herself from bursting out frantically, ‘Don’t you think I have regretted, over and over again, my own stubborn foolishness? I refused to listen when I was warned of the disgrace that would fall upon me for allowing my heart to rule my head. Such things are permissible for a man, of course! He may walk away from a situation such as mine with his character unstained! But a woman, no matter how respectably born, must lose everything!
Harry frowned, stirred reluctantly to the admission that it was brave of her to speak so to him, and he could not help but admire her for her courage.
‘The man …
‘He is dead,’ Connie told him flatly. ‘He was on Titanic. We both should have been, but he left without me. Suddenly it was as though an old wound had opened up inside her, flooding her with sharp pain. ‘He promised that he would marry me on board before we started our new lives together in America, but he deserted me, and then his uncle …
Connie had no idea why she was telling Harry so much, or why she was exposing her own pain and shame. Abruptly, she swallowed. ‘Denounce me if you must, she began. ‘But …
Harry shook his head. ‘I shall not do that. I have no wish to cause you any more pain. What purpose would it serve? My concern is for my sisters.
‘Lest I corrupt them?’ Connie challenged him bitterly.
‘I did not say that,’ Harry told her quietly. ‘But, naturally, I do not wish either of them …
‘To be tainted by my disgrace?
‘I think we should consider the matter closed, and say no more about it, Harry told her gently.
Later, when she was on her own, Connie knew that she should be feeling much happier than she was. After all, Harry had as good as said that he wasn’t going to tell anyone. But his comment about the matter being closed had left a thorn of pain inside her that pricked sharply at her. For her, it could never be closed, she recognised miserably. For her, it would always be there. A stain on her character for ever!
Spring came and went, and they were into summer. Connie was spending more and more time working in the operating theatre and on the acute wards. Connie found it rewarding work, although she knew that some of the nurses found the operations too harrowing and preferred to do other work.
They scarcely saw anything of Vera any more, but, unexpectedly, she turned up at the Infirmary announcing that she had brought them invitations to her wedding.
‘Ooh, Vera, just look at that blouse you’re wearing,’ Josie squeaked round-eyed.
‘It’s the latest fashion,’ Vera told her, preening herself as she sketched the neckline of her blouse with her fingers.
‘Pneumonia blouses they’re calling them in the papers,’ Connie put in.
‘Pooh the papers, who wants to read those!’ Vera sniffed disparagingly. ‘Bert says he’d ‘ave ‘em banned, if he were Lord Mayor.’
Connie and Mavis exchanged rueful looks.
‘It’s to be a full, posh, wedding breakfast and then there’s to be dancing afterwards,’ Vera told them, reverting to the subject which was of much more interest to her, before adding, ‘It’s a pity you and Josie aren’t walking out with anyone yet, Connie. There’ll only be a few spare lads, and me cousins will be wantin’ to dance with them. And what about you, Mavis? Vera probed archly. ‘I know you re walking out with that Frank, but has he declared himself yet and shown his intentions?
‘Frank and I are perfectly happy as we are, thank you, Vera, Mavis replied sedately, but as she told Connie later, she had felt more than a little put out by Vera’s manner.
‘It’s all very well for her to boast of her plans, Connie, her wedding, and the rooms Bert’s parents have let them have over one of the shops, but things are different for me and Frank. Mavis gave a small sigh. ‘Frank has his mother to think of. She is not in t
he best of health, and widowed, and she is used to having Frank to herself.
Connie gave her a sympathetic look. Although Mavis was not the sort of girl who would say so, Connie had guessed from what she had not said, that Frank’s mother was not the easiest person to get along with.
‘Vera is having a September wedding and, personally, I think June would be much nicer, Connie announced, trying to cheer Mavis up a little. ‘What we need, Mavis, is a jolly night out. Connie went on.
‘I’ve got to go back on duty. I promised one of the patients, a soldier who fought in the Boer War, that I’d read the Echo to him this afternoon, if I’ve got time. He can’t see very well, and he wants to know what the Government have to say about the Germans.’
Connie’s forehead creased, ‘Do you think there really will be a war, Mavis?’
Mavis looked worried. ‘Oh, Connie, I do hope not. Harry and Frank were talking about it only the other day. Harry wants to join up if there is, but with his weak chest, I don’t think he would be accepted.’
‘Harry has a weak chest?’ Connie demanded, unable to conceal her shock.
Mavis nodded her head and looked uncomfortable. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Harry hates it being mentioned, but sometimes, when he is overtired, he struggles so hard to breathe that it can be frightening. He was dreadfully poorly when he was little. I do hope there won’t be any fighting, Connie. There are soldiers from the Boer War on the non-acute wards.’
Both girls fell silent. The Infirmary being a poorhouse hospital was obliged to provide beds for non-acute patients, and many of them were occupied by the long-term sick of the parish, some of whom were old soldiers, whose injuries had left them bedridden and in pain.
‘Harry, my daughter has been asking me why you have not been round to have tea with us of late?
Harry’s heart sank, as he avoided meeting Mr Cartwright’s eyes.
The plain truth was that Rosa set his teeth on edge, and, even worse, bored him silly, but he could hardly say so to her doting father, especially since that father was his superior. And more than that, there was a boldness about Rosa’s behaviour toward him at times, which made Harry feel acutely uncomfortable.
Connie’s Courage Page 12