It seemed to him that time stood quite still as Sir James worked, cutting swiftly through tissue to reach the silent heart, finding it, smoothly flexing his long spatulate fingers in an attempt to pump life and movement back into it.
And even when Sir James straightened up, and shook his head, and stood with his hands dangling helplessly at his sides, Barney still stood stupidly, feeling for a pulse beat that wasn’t there, waiting for a still heart to start beating again.
‘You might as well turn off the machine, Elliot,’ Sir James’s harsh voice cut through the silence, making Barney jump slightly.
‘What?’ he said stupidly.
‘Turn off the machine,’ Sir James said again, and then spoke more gently. ‘Bad luck, m’boy. The man’s dead.’
‘But he can’t be!’ Barney said, staring at the older man and then down at the figure on the theatre table. ‘He can’t be——’
‘I can assure you he is,’ Sir James said dryly. ‘Diagnosis may not be as strong a point with me as it is with some of the physicians, but I can assure you this man is dead.’
Barney swallowed, a suddenly dry throat making him feel sick, and he sat down heavily on the swivel chair at the head of the table, and automatically reached for the machine and turned the knob on the oxygen cylinder to the off position.
‘I don’t understand it,’ he said dully. ‘I don’t understand it.’ And then he looked up at Sir James and spoke with an almost pleading note in his voice. ‘Sir James? He didn’t bleed, did he—did he? Haemorrhage? Shock?’
Sir James began to peel off his gloves and shook his head, avoiding Barney’s eyes.
‘No,’ he said gruffly. ‘This isn’t any surgeon’s error, m’boy. It’s yours, and only yours. The man died under anaesthetic.’
He looked up then, and said almost hopefully, ‘Allergy? Unexpected allergic response to the anaesthetic?’
But Barney had to shake his head. ‘No. I’d recognise that a mile off. This was—extraordinary. He was fine—fine. I examined him briefly in the anaesthetic room before I started because he was an emergency admission in the middle of the night and I hadn’t had a chance to get to him earlier, but I had no doubts, none at all. He was in fine condition for an anaesthetic—an abdominal emergency admittedly, but a healthy man otherwise. I don’t understand it——’
‘Well, perhaps the inquest will tell us the answer. We’ll see what the post mortem report suggests——’ Sir James said, and Barney closed his eyes suddenly in sick apprehension.
‘Inquest—post mortem——’ he said, and then looked at Jackson almost appealingly. ‘Colin? Will—you be involved? Or just me and Sir James?’
‘I’ll probably be called as a witness,’ Jackson said in a flat voice. He had been standing staring down at the dead man on the table, showing nothing of what he felt in his face.
‘I’m sorry for you, Elliot, but you’ll have to face it. An inquest is obviously inevitable, and there’s no way of knowing what the verdict will be. I’ll do my best for you—I imagine Sir James will too——’ Sir James nodded heavily. ‘——and as far as I can see there’s been no negligence.’
‘My God—if they say there was I could be struck off!’ Barney said, his voice rising, and Jackson nodded, and looked at him very directly.
‘Precisely, Elliot. But we’ll do our best for you. And perhaps the post mortem will reveal a cause. In the meantime—I’m sorry, but I imagine Sir James will agree that we’d better get Steven Cantrell to do the rest of the list this morning. It—will give you a chance to recover. You’ve had a shock——’
He turned to Sir James, and raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you prepared to go on in this theatre, sir? Because the rest of this morning’s patients have been prepared——’
‘We’ll use the second theatre, sir,’ Sister Osgood said, all brisk efficiency. ‘Nurse Cooper! Send for Gellard, and tell him to arrange to move this patient to the mortuary. And then come at once and help me prepare the other theatre. Hurry, girl——’
Sir James touched Barney’s shoulder briefly, and then went out, dropping his gloves and mask and gown into the bucket by the door as he went, and Jackson followed him.
And Barney sat still in his swivel chair, beside the body of the man who had died under the anaesthetic he had given him, too stunned by what had happened to think clearly at all. All that seemed to stick in his mind was that a patient was dead, and he, Barney, would appear to be the cause of that death.
CHAPTER THREE
‘SITTING there like a zombie isn’t going to help much,’ Lucy said with a display of calm practicality she wasn’t really feeling. ‘Have some coffee, and then talk about it. Here——’ and she thrust the cup under his nose.
He’d come into Female Medical with a look of blind misery on his face that she could see even from half way down the long ward, where she had been preparing the equipment for Mrs. Chester’s pylogram. He’d stood very still, just inside the double doors, his head held up in a defensive sort of way, and she had felt the familiar lurch deep inside that she always felt when she saw his square body and ugly kind face.
And then she had become aware of the wave of misery that was coming from him, and had said crisply to her Staff Nurse, ‘—here, Crowther—you finish this. I’ll be back in a moment——’ and had walked swiftly down the ward between the serried ranks of beds, and taken his elbow and steered him into her office.
He’d let her push him into a chair, let her put a cigarette between his lips and light it, saying nothing. And when she’d said gently, ‘What’s happened, Dr. Elliot?’ he’d lifted bleak grey eyes to her brown ones and said huskily, ‘I’ve had a death. On the table.’
And that was all. He sat there, the cigarette sending faint tendrils of grey smoke through his lax fingers, staring into space, and she sat perched on the desk in front of him, her hands on her lap, looking at him with all the sympathy she was feeling on her expressive round face, wanting to take him in her arms and rock him back to happiness again.
But you couldn’t do that to a member of the medical staff, however much you ached to do it, not when the only time you’d ever been that close to him was when he’d danced with you at a hospital ball. So she did the practical thing, and rang her bell for coffee, and when the orderly brought it, staring with a positively macabre curiosity at the silent man slumped in his chair, had sent her sharply away before pouring out a strong cupful.
‘Talk about it, Dr. Elliot,’ she said again, gently, and then with a tentative movement, touched his hand.
He started, and looked up, and managed a twisted travesty of a smile that made her want to cry suddenly. It was absurd the effect this man could have on her.
‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ he said, and his voice was thick. ‘I’ve had a—a shock.’
‘Yes,’ she said gently. ‘I can see you have. Please, drink this. It will help—and then you can tell me about it——’
Obediently, he drank the coffee, and she watched him, and when he put the cup down said approvingly, ‘That’s better. You’ve got your colour back.’
‘I feel better,’ he said, and then tried to smile again. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t think why—I don’t even know how I got here. Isn’t that crazy? I just came here without knowing I was doing it.’
He put out a hand, and touched hers. ‘You’re good for me. I must have realised that and come for help. Thank you.’
Through the anxiety she felt for him an absurd little shiver filled her with pleasure, but she tried to ignore it.
‘I’m glad you did. Now, what happened? You really must try to talk about it, you know. It must have been something pretty grim to have this effect on you. You aren’t usually so—so easily bowled over.’
His hand was shaking slightly as he lit another cigarette, and he leaned back in his chair and looked at her apologetically.
‘I’m sorry to behave so stupidly—like a junior nurse at her first operation or something. But I’ve never had a death on the table
before, and this—this was so unexpected. He was fine, you see, absolutely fine! I gave him a very brief examination in the anaesthetic room—I mean, damn it all, it was an emergency, and Foster had seen him in the small hours. Anyway I gave him a perfectly straightforward anaesthetic and he—he just collapsed and died,’ he finished lamely.
It took ten minutes of patient probing on Lucy’s part to get the story out of him properly, but he managed to explain, and then started to shake again as he let shock and anxiety mount in him again.
‘There’ll have to be an inquest and a post mortem—and if they find I’ve—I was negligent in some way, I’ll be struck off—don’t you see? It’s taken me almost ten years to get to this stage, and I was going to apply for a junior consultancy at Christmas, and then—and then—oh, hell!’ and he put both arms on the desk before him and dropped his head to pillow it miserably.
‘Oh, my dear, don’t!’ Lucy said softly and slipped from the desk to crouch beside his chair. ‘Oh, please, don’t upset yourself so! I’m sure you’re panicking for nothing! I know it’s an awful thing to have happened, but patients have died under anaesthetics before and no one was struck off for it! Aren’t you exaggerating the whole thing, because it shocked you so?’
He raised his face, and it was blotched and heavy.
‘No, I’m not exaggerating. You see, I—I should have examined him more thoroughly—shouldn’t have assumed that Foster’s examination was enough. I—the post mortem’ll probably show some defect I should have recognised in advance. That’s what I’m afraid of. And I—what would I do if I couldn’t practice any more? What would I do?’
‘Now, stop it!’ and she made her voice sound sharp, though every bit of her wanted to soothe him, to cradle him in her arms and soothe him. ‘You’re just panicking. This was just one of those tragedies that happens sometimes and you aren’t going to mend matters by behaving like this. For pity’s sake, don’t you realise that if you go around the place looking like this, people’ll think you were negligent, and knew it? You really must calm down.’
He looked at her for a moment and then straightened up.
‘Yes. Of course. My God, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. I am in a stupid panic. It’s just that—my job means a lot to me.’
‘Of course it does,’ Lucy said, and stood up, awkwardly smoothing her apron. She had been very close to him for those few seconds and now it was her turn to be aware of feeling rather shaky about the knees. ‘And it can go on doing so, I’m sure. You’ll see.’
He stood up and put out a hand to take one of hers in it. ‘Yes. Of course. Look, I’m sorry to have thrown this at your head. I just didn’t know what to do—and as I say, you always make me feel—good. Do you mind?’
She looked up at him, and then let her eyes slide away, feeling her face redden foolishly.
‘No, I don’t mind. I’m—glad, really. I mean—it’s nice to be—be useful.’ And then trying to be practical again, the brisk ward sister, said, ‘Now what? Will you do that job for the X-ray department? Mrs. Chester’s pylogram?’
He looked panicky again for a moment, and she shook her head slightly at him and said firmly, ‘Yes. You must. Work has to be done. Everything’s ready, and I’ll call the X-ray department and tell them. OK? They’re bringing up a portable machine because she can’t be shifted down to the department. Come on now.’
By the time the X-ray department people had packed up their equipment and departed, he was in a much better frame of mind. He’d felt the hateful shakiness come back into his fingers as he tried to slip the needle of his syringe into the twisted gnarled vein in the crook of old Mrs. Chester’s elbow, but Lucy held out a swab, letting her hand rest near his, and he felt better, was able to control the trembling. It had been difficult to force himself to put the anaesthetic mask on the elderly face, but he found Lucy Beaumont close behind him again, and again, felt obscurely that it would be all right. And it was.
It had been a very light anaesthetic, and the old lady came round almost as soon as he turned off the machine, to start swearing with a fluency that was very funny, coming from so lavender-and-lace looking a person. And in the flurry of settling her again, he finally regained his equilibrium.
By the time Lucy escorted him, with perfect control, to the ward door he was much happier. He was so much happier that Lucy almost didn’t say what she wanted to, for fear of upsetting him again, but she felt it was necessary.
‘Dr. Elliot——’ she said diffidently, as they stopped by the big double doors. ‘There’s just one thing——’
He looked down at her, and smiled. ‘I’m usually called Barney. My misguided father named me Barnabas after the church where he was curate when I was born, but Barney makes a more tolerable sound. You’re Lucy, aren’t you?’
She blushed absurdly, and nodded, and then went on in a rush. ‘Look, I suspect I know how the official mind works here, better than you do. I’ve been on the staff here for eight years, ever since I started my training——’
‘That makes you—about twenty-six?’ He really was feeling a great deal better.
She laughed. ‘Perfect mathematics. I was twenty-six last week. But look, let me explain—and please, don’t take it the wrong way——’
He sobered immediately. ‘What is it?’
‘Mr. Stroud—the hospital secretary—well, he’s the sort that plays safe all the time. If one patient falls out of bed, he makes you put the entire wardful into cot sides. And, after this morning—well——’ she stopped, confused.
‘After this morning in the private theatres, he isn’t going to feel very safe with me,’ Barney said flatly.
‘Well, yes,’ Lucy said awkwardly. ‘I don’t mean that he’ll rush around blaming you, or anything, just that, well, he’ll probably suggest that you—you don’t take the major lists for a while. It’ll be as much to protect you as the hospital, truly it will, so you mustn’t let yourself get into a state about it——’
‘I’ll bet it will,’ Barney said bitterly, and then managed a smile as he looked down at her anxious face. ‘Bless you. Being warned that Stroud may make life awkward will certainly help me cope. You really have been splendid this morning, haven’t you? Look—tonight, when you get off duty, let me buy you a drink, hmm? It’s the least I can do, after all the coffee I’ve had on this ward. And you’re easy to talk to. Please?’
If she hadn’t been so upset for him she’d have wanted to dance a little pirouette. But she just said meekly, ‘I’d like that.’
‘The Ship in Bottle, then? Will that do?’
She laughed. ‘Where else? It’s our local, isn’t it? I’ve heard rumours they’re going to extend the tannoy call system to the Saloon bar there. It’s the one place you can be sure of finding a doctor when you need one. About nine? I’m not off duty until half past eight.’
‘About nine. I’ll be there, crying into my beer.’ But he smiled again as her face fell, and the worried look returned to it. ‘Not really. But I’ll look forward to seeing you. And thanks again——’
He touched her shoulder briefly, and went, leaving Lucy feeling extraordinarily confused. The one thing she had yearned for for weeks now had been just this—a chance to get to know Barney Elliot better. But what a hateful way for it to happen! She knew quite well that his anxiety was perfectly justified; that in the case of any unexplained death under dubious circumstances—and what could be more dubious than a death on the table, of an apparently healthy man?—officialdom bayed for a scapegoat. And Barney seemed to be ideally suited at the moment for casting in the role.
She spent the rest of the day in a thoroughly confused condition, even forgetting to order the week’s supply of stock drugs and medicines from the Pharmacy—an omission which was to complicate the ward’s running not a little.
Lucy had been absolutely accurate in her forecast of official reaction to the morning’s episode. Mr. Stroud sent for Barney just before lunch, and a painful interview, during which Barney was har
d put to it not to lose his temper, so sleekly did the hospital secretary put his point of view, sent his temporarily raised spirits plunging again. As he made his way to the doctors’ quarters after assuring Mr. Stroud with some bitterness that he would not work single handed, always using the help of his opposite number Dr. Steven Cantrell, until after the inquest, even the thought of his appointment with Lucy Beaumont failed to make him feel anything but thoroughly miserable.
He had no appetite for lunch, so he bypassed the dining room, deciding to settle for a ham sandwich and coffee in the common room. He was standing by the table near the door, pouring his coffee, when Jeff Heath came in and slammed the door behind him.
Barney looked up in surprise. Jeff was one of the easiest going men on the staff, and it wasn’t like him to display temper.
‘What’s up, Jeff? You look fit to hang someone.’
‘Leave me alone, will you?’ the other man said gruffly and hooked the bunch of path lab keys on to the board by the door, alongside several other sets. ‘I’ve had about as much as I can take this morning. First three bloody technicians are off sick, so I’m running the damned laboratory single handed—well, the haematology lab, anyway—and now this!’
Behind him, the door swung again, and Colin Jackson came in, with John Hickson bustling behind. They too came to pour coffee, and Colin raised his head sharply when Jeff went on. ‘The way Sir James went on, you’d think I’d just slopped any blood into the man, and not bothered to cross match——’
‘Sir James? What about him?’
Jeff threw himself into one of the shabby armchairs and took the cup of coffee Barney brought him. Barney sat down too, and John Hickson came and joined them in their corner by the big window. Jeff drank some coffee, a little noisily, and then leaned over and took one of Barney’s sandwiches before answering, with his mouth full.
‘He’s rampaging about like a bloody lunatic,’ he said bitterly. ‘To listen to him, you’d think he was the only surgeon operating here—not to mention the physicians. I’ve got a pile of work as high as a house to get through, and he sends me to vet a transfusion in the wing in the middle of the morning, and hang everyone else’s urgent stuff! Not that he hadn’t a fair enough reason, I suppose——’
Death on the Table Page 3