by Evie Grace
‘On a boat,’ Charlie informed him. ‘Peter, they’re going to dunk us in the sea for a cure.’
‘That isn’t what I said,’ Hannah pointed out.
‘I suppose medicine ’as to taste bad to do a body any good,’ Peter said with an old man’s wisdom. ‘I thought we’d be there by now …’
‘It can’t be much further …’
‘We’ve passed Whitstable.’ The large gentleman who’d spoken to them before gestured towards the coast. ‘It won’t be long before the Reculver Towers come into view over Herne Bay.’
At about four o’clock when a strong breeze came sweeping across the deck, the town of Margate appeared behind a vast expanse of beach and scrub, the buildings burnished gold by the afternoon sun.
‘Look at all that sand, Nurse,’ Charlie shouted, ‘as far as the eye can see.’
‘Hush, Master Swift. You’re drawing attention to yourself.’
‘I can’t ’elp it – I’ve never been to the seaside. It’s much bigger than I thought it would be. Peter, look at all the people!’
Peter dragged himself up to look.
‘What are those carriages doin’ on the beach?’ he asked.
‘They’re bathing machines, designed with a hood to protect the modesty of ladies who wish to bathe in the sea,’ said the gentleman who had adopted the role of their guide. ‘We’re almost there – we’re going to stop at the stone pier, the one with the lighthouse at the end of it.’
The captain turned the hoy towards the harbour and the crew took down the sails. He brought it alongside the pier and the sailors prepared the gangway for the travellers to disembark.
‘Boys, look away,’ Hannah said quickly as the ladies’ petticoats billowed in the wind, revealing their stockings. ‘Charlie,’ she went on, admonishing them as they continued to stare, but she couldn’t help smiling to herself as she stepped out on to the pier, the stones solid and still beneath her feet. Despite her regrets about leaving London, she had a sense that Miss Russell could be right. Perhaps Margate would be the making of her.
Chapter Three
A Place for Everything and Everything in its Place
Hannah took a deep breath of sharp sea air and strawberries as they passed the hokey-pokey men from Sicily who were selling their penny licks. She was sorely tempted, but – she glanced at the boys who were struggling, wide-eyed, along Marine Terrace with her – she wasn’t here for a holiday, more was the pity.
Even though it was early in the season, there was an air of gaiety and abandon among the wandering crowds: children frolicking like lambkins, running along the pavements without looking where they were going; pretty misses and foppish striplings walking brazenly arm in arm; people stopping to buy from the brightly coloured stalls and barrows along the front.
They made slow progress.
‘Charlie, where are your shoelaces?’ Hannah asked.
‘Which Charlie are you talkin’ to?’ Charlie said.
‘The one without his laces,’ she responded.
‘I ain’t got any and I’m glad ’cause I was always trippin’ up.’
‘Those shoes will hinder you – they must be four sizes too big.’
‘Ma says I’ll grow into ’em.’
‘Mine are too small,’ Peter commented, reaching down to press on the gaping toe of his boot. ‘This is all Mr Glanvill ’ad.’
Having reached the Hall by the Sea, they took the Canterbury road which turned away from the main sands near the railway station, before finding the infirmary on their right. It was an imposing building nine bays wide and two storeys high, its design reminding Hannah of a drawing of a Greek temple she had once seen in a book in her father’s study.
‘I don’t like it,’ Peter announced, seeming overawed as he gazed up at the massive stone columns on either side of the main entrance. ‘I’m not goin’ in there. Mr Glanvill says it’s the gateway of death.’
‘I shouldn’t listen to him – what does he know? Take Charlie’s hand if it makes you feel safer.’
‘No way. I’m not ’olding on to ‘is ’and,’ Charlie argued. ‘We aren’t babies.’
‘Then you must behave like young gentlemen and walk in side by side, quietly, behind me. Do you think you can do that?’ she went on more gently, not wanting to make Peter cry.
‘Yes, Nurse,’ Charlie said.
‘Yes …’ Peter echoed weakly.
Inside the reception hall, the porter, an elderly gentleman with spectacles, stained teeth and a twinkle in his eye, introduced himself.
‘My name is Mr Mordikai. You must be Nurse Bentley with the boys from St Pancras. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to the house.’
‘Thank you.’ Hannah glanced from the oil paintings on the walls to the rug on the floor, a Turkish carpet that had seen better days, and suppressed the thought that she’d have burned it if she’d been matron. ‘I’d be very grateful if you could direct me to the ward, so the boys may be admitted – they’re tired after a rather trying journey.’
‘Ah, leave them with me. I’ll take them along to meet Sister Trim.’
Peter slipped his hand into Hannah’s, whispering, ‘Don’t leave me.’
‘There’s nothing to be frightened of,’ she began, before recollecting how she’d felt as a probationer walking on to a ward for the first time: the stares, the stink of sickness, the uncertainty. ‘I’ll stay with you until you’re admitted.’
‘Sister won’t like that,’ Mr Mordikai said.
‘I’ll speak to her. I’m sure she’ll have no objection.’
The porter raised one thin eyebrow – a sign of doubt, perhaps – but Hannah was undeterred. Having made sure she had the letters, including the one from Ruby, she watched him put her bag and basket behind his desk, then followed him, a hefty figure dressed in a bowler hat, waistcoat and striped shirt, into a wide corridor. There were doors leading off from one side, into examination rooms, bathing rooms and sluices, with the wards coming off the other.
‘You will notice that the house has undergone much building work. This is the older part of the infirmary.’ The porter stopped beneath a sign above an open door. It read, The Lettsom Ward 1858, in gold lettering.
‘I’d be much obliged if you’d wait here while I find Sister,’ he said, before proceeding to look for her.
Hannah took in her surroundings. The tall windows were wide open, and the beds – iron cots like those at the Hospital for Sick Children – were occupied by boys of various ages, some sleeping, some looking at picture books, some playing quietly with toy boats and spinning tops. There was a nurse, wearing a dark blue dress with her white apron, cuffs, collar and cap, pushing a trolley of dressings and medicines along the ward, and a lady on a chair reading to two boys who were sitting cross-legged at her feet.
There were more doors opening on to a balcony which overlooked the sea, where a fishing skiff with seagulls circling above it was tacking towards the harbour.
‘This ain’t nothin’ like London,’ Charlie breathed.
‘It’s a wonderful view, isn’t it?’ Hannah said. ‘I think we’ll be very happy here in Margate.’
‘This is most irregular.’ A woman about ten years older than Hannah, with an angular nose, pale lips and a widow’s peak of dark hair emerging from under her cap, came marching up with the porter. ‘There’s no need for you to remain on my ward, Miss Bentley.’ She emphasised the word ‘Miss’, and Hannah, realising that it was a deliberate slight, didn’t try to correct her. ‘Mr Mordikai will fetch the duty physician to admit the boys.’
‘I’ll wait with them, if you don’t mind,’ Hannah said firmly, as Peter clung to her hand and Charlie hid behind her.
‘I do mind. Visiting hours are from two until four on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and the same on Sundays for the sake of the fathers who are at work during the week.’ Sister Trim looked past her. ‘Ma’am?’
‘I’d reconsider if I were you.’ Hannah turned to face the speaker, an older lady dresse
d in royal blue and white, her grey hair up in a bun. ‘One can always use an extra pair of hands when one is short-staffed. I’m Mrs Knowles, matron of this house.’ She smiled. ‘Welcome to Margate.’
Hannah thanked her, aware of Sister Trim’s sullen glower.
‘As soon as the boys have been admitted, come along to my office.’ Mrs Knowles turned from Hannah to Sister Trim. ‘Nurse Bentley will be joining you on the Lettsom after she’s completed her orientation.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the sister said in clipped tones, before directing Hannah and her charges to sit on a bench at the far end of the ward to await the doctor. Hannah overheard her muttering to the porter, ‘I wish Mrs Knowles would stop meddling, taking on nurses who aren’t trained in our ways. It’s a recipe for disaster.’
‘I believe that it’s unwise, but it isn’t my place to take it up with her,’ Mr Mordikai agreed. ‘Let me go and find the duty physician.’
After an hour of being seated, Charlie began to fidget and Peter to flag. Hannah was just beginning to wonder if she dared ask Sister Trim if they’d been forgotten, when a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman wearing a plaid waistcoat, white shirt and cravat, with dark, high-waisted trousers, strolled into the ward.
He greeted every patient by name as he passed by.
‘How are you today, Johnnie?’ he asked, pausing beside one of the boys whose left leg was immobilised in a cast.
‘A little better, thank you, but my plaster – it does itch so,’ he replied.
‘I’ll bring you a knitting needle next time I’m on the ward – don’t tell Sister, though.’
‘Oh, I won’t,’ the boy grinned.
‘What was that, Doctor Clifton?’ Sister Trim’s voice carried along the ward.
‘I’m afraid I cannot say,’ the doctor said with humour. ‘I have taken the Hippocratic Oath – whatever, in connection with my professional service, or not in connection with it, I see or hear, in the life of men, which ought not to be spoken of abroad, I will not divulge, as reckoning that all such should be kept secret.’
He continued along the ward, like a breath of fresh air, Hannah thought, comparing him with the rather stuffy doctor who’d carried out the rounds at the Hospital for Sick Children in London. He had been an elderly physician who’d failed to move with the times: his tie always looked as if he’d dipped it in a bowl of soup, and his cuffs were often spattered with blood. His examinations were perfunctory, and he did little to put their young patients at ease. Doctor Clifton was quite another kettle of fish.
Well-spoken and youthful, he couldn’t have been more than twenty-eight years old. His light brown hair was run through with strands of gold as if he’d been out in the sun, and he wore it short, to just above his collar, with a side parting and swept back. His sideburns were neatly trimmed.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said, joining Hannah and her charges.
‘You must stand up when addressed by your elders and betters.’ Hannah gave Charlie a nudge.
‘You may remain seated,’ the doctor said kindly.
‘This is Miss Bentley with the two boys for admission,’ Sister Trim said, scurrying up alongside him. ‘Nurse Finch will be with you shortly.’
‘Thank you, Sister,’ the doctor said. ‘Please accept my apologies for keeping you, Miss Bentley. The infirmary is always busy – we have over two hundred patients, three-quarters of them children – but the extra visitors coming to Margate for the summer put even more pressure on our resources. I have patients queuing up for beds.’
The boys were staring at him warily, their eyes on stalks, like wavering snails ready to duck back inside their shells.
‘I have the paperwork for Master Swift and Master Herring.’ Hannah handed over the letters from her pocket.
He read them, then looked up. ‘These are all in order. Where is Nurse Finch to take the notes?’
‘I can do it,’ Hannah said, noting that his eyes were blue with a hint of green, like the sea, one slightly darker than the other.
‘I don’t think so.’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘There are certain medical terms—’
‘She’s a nurse,’ said Charlie.
‘Hush,’ she said softly. ‘One mustn’t speak unless spoken to.’
‘It appears that I must apologise for a second time. Sister Trim didn’t say so and Mrs Knowles hasn’t seen fit to mention it.’
It seemed that the doctors and nurses were locked in conflict at the infirmary, just like they were at the Hospital for Sick Children.
‘I trained as a lady probationer in London and I’ve been offered a position here.’ It had crossed Hannah’s mind that she would be in a pickle if Mrs Knowles took against her for any reason.
‘Forgive me for the misunderstanding.’
‘Of course.’ She noticed the dimples in his cheeks, which gave him an air of boyish charm. ‘You weren’t to know.’
‘Ah, here is Nurse Finch,’ Doctor Clifton said as the other nurse she had seen on the ward turned up with a trolley, neatly organised with pens, ink and paper, boards and board-clips, flannels and soap, and two pairs of pyjamas. ‘Nurse Finch, this is Nurse Bentley – she will be assisting me.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ Hannah noticed the warmth in the nurse’s striking grey eyes when she gave Hannah a brief smile. She was a handsome young woman, tall and elegant, with brown hair and a clear complexion. ‘Matron’s given me orders to take you under my wing later.’
‘Nurse Finch, there’s no time for gossip,’ Sister Trim called. ‘Benjamin has been sick, and his sheets need changing. Mattie’s wound is weeping – it needs a dressing to keep off the flies.’
Nurse Finch left the trolley and returned to her work. Hannah wondered how long she’d been working at the infirmary – she was a few years older than her, in her late twenties perhaps.
Hannah pushed the trolley along behind the boys, who followed Doctor Clifton to one of the examination rooms across the corridor, like lambs to the slaughter. The doctor held the door open for them, catching Hannah’s eye.
‘It will soon be dinnertime. The food is excellent – I can thoroughly recommend it,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Now, which of you two young gentlemen is going to be first?’
‘Not me,’ Charlie said quickly.
‘Peter, then.’ Hannah pushed him gently forward. He didn’t resist, seemingly reassured by the doctor’s manner as he removed the filthy bandages from his neck and poked and prodded the scrofulous lumps. He measured his temperature and listened to his chest with his stethoscope, while Hannah took down his observations.
‘Are you keeping up?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Doctor,’ she said, although her hand was aching and the pen was scratchy, leaving blots of ink across the page. She didn’t like to delay him – his time was precious.
He moved on to Charlie and, at the end of his examination, summed up his plans for them.
‘Gentlemen, you’ll receive a nutritious diet as prescribed, daily saltwater baths and as many hours as possible in the open air. Mr Anthony, the house surgeon, will discuss the options for surgery in the morning. Nurse Finch will take over now – one of the conditions for admittance is a thorough scrub to remove any unwanted visitors. I’ll see you on our rounds tomorrow morning.
‘Thank you, Nurse Bentley,’ he added with a smile, before he left the room.
‘I won’t ’ave a bath of any sort,’ Charlie said.
‘Doctor knows best,’ Hannah said, ushering them back towards the ward. In her experience, they thought they did anyway.
‘I told you, I can’t ’ave a bath.’ Charlie brushed back tears.
‘Cry baby,’ muttered Peter.
‘Leave him alone,’ Hannah scolded as she steered them back towards Nurse Finch who was putting bandages away in a box. ‘It’ll be your turn soon enough.’
Peter fell silent. She feared that he was about to face something far worse than a bath, but it was better he didn’t know about it until the last minute.
‘Trimmie’s a
sked me to take them now,’ Nurse Finch said. ‘I mean – Sister … Sister Trim.’
‘What’s for tea?’ Charlie asked her. ‘The doctor said it was nearly dinnertime.’
‘It’s mutton and potatoes today. Come along. Let’s get you settled in.’
Charlie and Peter seemed to have no qualms about going off with Nurse Finch while Hannah made her way to Matron’s office.
Mrs Knowles called for tea and Florentines. ‘I won’t keep you long,’ she said. ‘I’m delighted that you’ve agreed to take up the position here. There will of course be a month’s probation, but it’s only a formality. I’ll have a contract prepared for you to sign in the next few days. You’ll spend a week in various departments – outpatients, the splint room, theatre and the wards before you take up your position on the Lettsom. You’ll find that Judith Trim is an excellent sister, strict but fair.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘I’ve asked Nurse Finch to look after you. She’ll meet you in the dining hall at six. I’ve also arranged for one of the maids to see what you require in the way of dresses and aprons, and tell you about the arrangements for laundering. You may wait in the reception hall until Nurse Finch is ready.’
Hannah didn’t like having to wait – she would much rather have started work straight away – but she filled in the hour meeting with the maid, then sat and read her letter from her sister.
Dear Hannah,
I have had to resort to subterfuge to send this letter because Pa has decided to censor all my correspondence. Although it is an inconvenience to her, dear Miss Fellows at number three has agreed to post and receive letters on my behalf until the storm dies down. I expect you are asking yourself why, and the only way I can respond is to say that there was a misunderstanding. I admit that I did play a part in it, but Pa has blown it out of all proportion.
I hope you are well and happy in London. Do send me your news.
Yours affectionately,
Ruby
Hannah frowned as she put the letter away. What had Ruby done to raise their father’s ire? She felt a little frustrated that she hadn’t gone into more detail, but she guessed that she couldn’t reveal too much in case Pa happened to intercept her post. Who knew what he would do if he found out that Ruby had gone against him?