The Seaside Angel

by Evie Grace

  ‘Do you ever regret the choices you’ve made?’

  ‘Not at all. If I had a husband to buy me a new pair of shoes like this, I’d wear them a few times, then put them away in the wardrobe. The rewards from nursing are far longer-lasting.’ Hannah thought of the bond she’d made with Peter.

  ‘The glow of satisfaction one gets when one’s scrubbed the bedpans, and made the beds, you mean,’ Charlotte said with irony. ‘Let me show you to the stationer’s.’

  They headed to the High Street, passing Harlows’ Mineral Waters and various other shops: corn chandlers; milliners and dressmakers; fruiterers and greengrocers. Hannah bought paper and ink, before they stopped at the confectioner’s to pick up peppermints and fudge.

  After they’d returned home, Hannah stayed up late, writing letters to Alice and Ruby by the light of the moon to avoid keeping Charlotte awake with the flickering flame of a candle. She told Alice of the bathers on Margate beach, of Sister Trim, Charlie and Peter, Charlotte and Doctor Clifton, and wrote to Ruby, addressing the letter to Miss Fellows, the Bentleys’ neighbour in Canterbury.

  Dear Ruby,

  Please note my new address. I will not say too much here, but I have very recently moved to Margate to work at the Royal Sea Bathing Infirmary.

  Your letter causes me much concern because it appears that our father is turning against you, as he did with me. My dearest wish is that you leave Canterbury and come to live with me so that I know you are safe and happy. Let me know when you will arrive, so I can make the necessary arrangements.

  I have been in Margate but a week, and it has exceeded all my expectations. I sign off with renewed hope and optimism for the future,

  With love from Hannah

  Chapter Five

  Kill or Cure

  A week passed and Hannah had heard nothing from Ruby, which was odd, because she normally replied by return of post. Wondering if Pa had intercepted her letter, she wrote again, and waited.

  Peter’s surgery had been delayed and Alan Allspice hadn’t yet been admitted to the infirmary because, despite his best efforts, Doctor Clifton hadn’t been able to obtain a ticket for him. On the Monday ward round, though, Mr Anthony had news: Peter was to have his surgery that morning.

  ‘Where is that cousin of yours?’ he asked Doctor Clifton.

  At that moment, a young man dressed in a dark jacket and tie rushed on to the ward. Running his hands through his hair, which was a darker shade of brown than his beard, he hurried towards them and stopped beside Peter’s bed.

  ‘What time do you call this, Mr Hunter?’ Mr Anthony enquired.

  ‘My apologies.’ Henry bowed his head in front of his superiors.

  ‘I should think so too,’ Doctor Clifton growled. ‘You’re an embarrassment. Hasn’t your suspension taught you anything? How will you ever command respect by turning up on the wards in this state?

  ‘It was forever thus,’ Mr Anthony sighed. ‘Now that you have graced us with your presence at last, perhaps you would like to examine this patient’s neck …’

  Mr Hunter turned to Peter and smiled.

  ‘Good morning, Master …’

  ‘Herring,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Master Herring, how are you feeling today?’

  ‘I ’ave to say I’ve felt better, sir,’ Peter said solemnly.

  ‘The lesions, Mr Hunter?’ Mr Anthony interrupted. ‘Focus on the disease.’

  Mr Hunter looked closely at the weeping lumps on Peter’s neck. ‘This patient has scrofula,’ he muttered, beads of perspiration forming across his bloodless brow.

  ‘A revelation to us all,’ Mr Anthony said with sarcasm.

  ‘Of the glands … they are suppurating.’ He straightened and stepped back.

  ‘It would serve you well to put your books before ale in future.’ Mr Anthony smiled at Mr Hunter’s discomfiture.

  ‘Will you allow me to give you my report on the patient’s condition?’ Hannah said, recalling Matron’s lecture on speaking with tact.

  ‘It isn’t necessary – I have a gap in my list today,’ Mr Anthony snapped.

  There was a momentary silence, then Hannah decided she had to speak up anyway.

  ‘Master Herring has shown signs of improvement. The spikes of fever are less frequent, and he’s taking small amounts of solid food. Perhaps you would consider delaying the operation for a few more days so he can build his strength up further … I fear that he’s too weak to withstand surgery at present.’ She paused, noticing how the surgeon’s eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘I know my patients – I’m with them all day, every day. I want the best for them.’

  ‘How dare you question my authority! Who do you think you are?’ Mr Anthony said coldly. ‘This is an example of exactly what I’ve been saying: that nurses don’t need all this training. As a nurse advances in the scientific knowledge incidental to her calling, she declines in efficiency. It makes her dissatisfied with the drudgery of which life as a nurse is greatly made up, and she becomes argumentative.

  ‘We’ve shilly-shallied around for long enough with potions and poultices. It’s time to go in with curettage, lavage and full excision, if necessary, under chloroform. Doctor Clifton, what is your view?’ he challenged.

  ‘I believe that we should listen to the nurse who’s in close contact with young Peter here,’ the doctor said, to her surprise.

  ‘You would take her opinion over mine!’ Hannah thought the surgeon might explode with rage.

  ‘I’m not saying that. I’m suggesting that we acknowledge all the evidence in the best interest of the patient. We shouldn’t rush into any kind of treatment which may do more harm than good, out of professional vanity.’

  ‘You are merely a visiting physician,’ Mr Anthony spat. ‘I’m going to take this to the Board and make sure you never work in this establishment again.’

  ‘You would sacrifice a patient’s life out of pride?’

  ‘And you would not offer him this chance out of jealousy?’

  Hannah didn’t know where to put herself. She glanced towards Charlotte, who made a gesture, fanning her face with her hand as the medical student looked in her direction with a meek smile on his lips. Was she mistaken in thinking that Mr Hunter was taking more notice of Nurse Finch than the argument going on in front of them? He seemed transfixed.

  ‘Gentlemen!’ Sister Trim marched over to join them. ‘Not on my ward. Take your argument elsewhere. You’re upsetting the boys.’

  The medical men left the ward to continue their discussion in the corridor, and Hannah stroked Peter’s brow. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘We all want you to get better.’

  ‘My ’ead ’urts,’ he moaned.

  ‘I’m sure it does after that little episode,’ Sister said. ‘They are worse than children. It’s a disgrace. I can believe it of Mr Anthony, but Doctor Clifton … well …’ Hannah was expecting an inquest, but Sister went on, ‘I wish they’d pay more attention to the nurses when we’re the ones who know the patients best. We carry out their observations hourly while the doctors see them once a day, maybe twice. As for that student, what does he expect to learn, coming on to my ward, stinking of drink?’

  Mr Hunter returned to Peter’s bedside a few minutes later.

  ‘Mr Anthony has sent me to tell you that you are to prepare Master Herring to go under the knife, Nurse Bentley.’

  ‘I’d advise you to choose your words more wisely,’ she said, upset on Peter’s behalf. ‘There should be no mention of knives on a children’s ward, but I thank you for letting me know.’

  When he’d gone, Hannah washed Peter’s face and cleaned his neck, then sat quietly, holding his hand.

  ‘You’re being very brave,’ she murmured.

  ‘I want to get better,’ he whispered.

  ‘What will you do when you’re well enough to leave us?’

  ‘I’ll be a doctor like Doctor Clifton.’ His eyes clouded slightly as he frowned. ‘I don’t know ’ow – I don’t think they teach doct
orin’ at the …’

  He meant the poorhouse, she thought, her heart breaking for him.

  ‘Oh, it’s no use,’ Peter sighed. ‘I’ll never be a gen’leman.’

  ‘You’re more of a gentleman than many of the men I know,’ Hannah said, thinking of Henry and the other medical students, and Mr Allspice. ‘Just you remember that.’

  ‘I will.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you for everythin’ you do for me, Nurse.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I’ll be thinkin’ of you.’ Charlie came to wave him off when the porter came to take Peter to the operating theatre. ‘When you’re better, we’ll go out maffickin’ an’—’

  ‘Oh no, you won’t be going anywhere,’ Hannah chuckled. ‘It isn’t right for boys your age to be out being rowdy on the streets.’

  ‘When we’re older, then,’ Charlie said, as his friend was wheeled away, ‘like that Mr ’unter. Anyone can see ’e’s ’alf rats.’

  ‘Don’t you say anything against him – he’s under the weather, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, Nurse.’ Charlie looked up and winked like an actor on stage.

  ‘Outside. Off you go,’ she said. ‘You’re missing out on the sunshine.’

  When Peter returned to the ward three hours later, he was half asleep, the circles around his eyes darker than they’d ever been, and his face a luminous shade of white. Speaking softly to him, Hannah changed his dressings as the blood seeped through them, and washed his wounds with carbolic to drive off the flies which made their way indoors in the hot weather. She offered him teaspoonfuls of broth, most of which ended up on his pyjamas, so she changed those too before she dined and sat with him again, holding his hand and mopping his brow.

  ‘Dear boy,’ she murmured, but he didn’t speak. She didn’t think he had the strength.

  ‘We’re done here for now,’ she heard Charlotte say later. ‘Hannah? Oh, he is in a bad way, the poor little mite.’

  ‘I’m going to stay for another hour or two.’

  ‘You’ll wear yourself out.’

  ‘I know, but Peter doesn’t have anyone else to sit with him.’

  ‘Except me,’ Charlie said from his bed. ‘I’ll look after ’im for you, Nurse.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her eyes pricked with tears. ‘That’s very kind.’

  She stayed for another hour, then whispered farewell, before going back to find Charlotte sitting up waiting for her.

  ‘There’s a letter for you,’ Charlotte said, handing her an envelope. ‘Mr Mordikai asked me to give it to you.’

  ‘Thank you. Oh, it’s from my friend in London.’ Her heart sank a little. ‘I was hoping it was from my sister.’ Hannah had told Charlotte of her plan while they were dining at the infirmary a few days before.

  ‘I know you’re worried about her, but I reckon no news is good news.’

  Hannah smiled weakly, realising that Charlotte was only trying to cheer her up.

  ‘Do you think Mr Anthony will really take this spat of his and Doctor Clifton’s to the Board?’ she said, changing the subject, as they shared some of the fudge they’d bought on their shopping expedition.

  ‘I don’t know – he’s a law unto himself.’

  ‘I’m afraid that he’ll drag me into it to make a point. He’s stuck in the past, expecting nurses to pay blind obedience to the physicians and surgeons. He’s afraid of losing control of his cases to us lady nurses.’

  ‘I’d tread carefully if I were you, Hannah. Things haven’t changed that much. Mr Anthony still believes that he has the right to dispose of any nurse who steps out of line – according to his wish, not Matron’s. Don’t stick your neck on the block for nothing.’

  Hannah thanked Charlotte for the advice and retired to bed, more concerned for Peter’s fate and what was going on with Ruby than any meeting of the Board.

  When she came back to the Lettsom the following morning, Charlie was lying on Peter’s bed with his arms around his friend. Hannah swallowed hard, not wanting to cry in front of the boys.

  ‘Don’t disturb them,’ Charlotte whispered. ‘Even Sister Trim says not to.’

  Peter’s condition was worse – his breathing was shallow, and a terrible smell emanated from his neck. When Mr Anthony and Doctor Clifton turned up on their rounds, they frowned and shook their heads. Mr Hunter, who was sober this time, stood quietly at the bedside. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong, Hannah thought. Peter had been too far gone when he was admitted for any treatment to have helped.

  Charlie looked up when he became aware of her shadow falling across his shoulder.

  ‘’E’s dyin’.’

  ‘We’ll pray for him,’ Hannah said, pulling the screens around the bed.

  ‘What good will that do?’

  ‘It will be a comfort to him. Keep talking – they say that the sense of hearing is the last to go …’

  An atmosphere of gloom came over the ward. Dark clouds converged and spilled their rain, sending the summer visitors into Margate’s library, coffee houses and bathing rooms for shelter. As the wind whistled across the balcony, blowing the patients’ parasols and umbrellas inside out, Peter took one last rasping breath.

  ‘Sleep tight, little one,’ Hannah said, choked with a sudden grief, even though he was at peace, his torment over.

  Charlie burst into tears of rage and sorrow.

  ‘They’ve killed ’im,’ he sobbed. ‘Nurse, you said we was comin’ ’ere to get better.’

  ‘I know, and we tried. Everyone tried – Doctor Clifton, Mr Anthony …’

  ‘I told you them baths wouldn’t do no good, but you wouldn’t listen!’

  She leaned across and closed Peter’s eyes. ‘We must call for the duty doctor—’

  ‘What for?’ Charlie interrupted. ‘It’s too late.’

  Nurse Finch came to take him out to the balcony, where the other patients were grumbling at Sister who’d insisted that they stay outside. They’d come to the house for fresh air, and fresh air they would have.

  Doctor Clifton turned up to certify the cause of Peter’s passing and send for a porter to remove the body to the mortuary, before he rushed away again to attend to a patient who had broken his shoulder, crushed by falling barrels on the wharf.

  It was a difficult day, not made any easier by the arrival of Alan Allspice, the boy with the scrofulous hip who took Peter’s empty bed as soon as it had been cleaned and the linen changed. At the end of her shift when Hannah stopped to wish Charlie goodnight, he turned his back to her. She couldn’t face anyone either, not yet.

  Needing some time to herself, she made her way to the chapel where she offered prayers for Peter’s soul, for Charlie and Alan, for the other patients and the staff at the infirmary, for her sister whom she hadn’t heard from and her extended family. She gazed up at the stained-glass windows, studying the picture of Jesus restoring sight to the blind beggar. The pain of Peter’s death began to lessen slightly with the reminder that they couldn’t perform miracles, only do their best.

  Someone moved behind her. She turned to find Doctor Clifton walking along the aisle towards the cross on the altar.

  ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you,’ he whispered as he stopped beside her. ‘I wanted to ask you if you were all right.’

  ‘I’m better now,’ she said, standing up. ‘I needed to …’ She’d been taught to moderate any outward display of emotion, but sometimes it was impossible.

  He smiled wryly. ‘We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t feel for our patients. Peter was a young boy with his life ahead of him. He hadn’t had much luck before he came here – it seems terribly unfair.’ His voice was deep and reassuring. ‘We must look on the bright side, though – he had a few days of comfort here, even happiness. I saw it in his eyes when he and Charlie were together, when you spoke to him …’

  She gazed at him. He was unusual, not arrogant or mocking, unlike many of the other doctors she’d met.

  ‘I admire your compas
sion and your ability to express it,’ she said. ‘It’s refreshing.’

  ‘It’s sometimes said that a doctor ought to be a nurse before he’s a physician. It’s a vocation, a privilege to care for the sick and dying, and it pains me to find doctors at loggerheads with each other and the nursing profession. When this matter – the one which arose yesterday between Mr Anthony and me – goes before the Board—’

  ‘He is going ahead with it?’

  He nodded. ‘The governors meet tomorrow. I don’t know if you’ll be called as a witness.’

  ‘You can rely on my support, if that’s the case.’

  ‘I’m very grateful. I wish that everyone – physicians, surgeons and nurses alike – would put their patients before their professional pride. We can learn much from each other – but that’s enough. I’ve said my piece. How is Master Swift?’

  ‘He’s devastated. He places the blame for Peter’s death squarely at the door of the house.’

  ‘I’ll talk to him tomorrow. There was nothing we could do – Peter’s brain was fatally inflamed. I will write to Mr Piper at St Pancras, enclosing the certificate of burial after the funeral.’

  ‘Will he have a proper send-off? He’s an orphan.’

  ‘The chaplain will say a few words and he’ll be interred here in Margate, his grave unmarked, but recorded.’

  Hannah sat down again.

  ‘His memory will live on in my heart,’ she said, wiping the corner of her eye. ‘Do you know what he said to me yesterday? That he wanted to be a doctor like you.’

  Doctor Clifton cleared his throat. ‘That’s terribly sad – and humbling.’

  Hannah took a moment to regain a measure of self-control. ‘What about Master Allspice?’ she asked eventually. ‘You found him a ticket.’

  ‘I asked Mrs Phillips to speak to her husband – he had an unused ticket which he was pleased to allocate to a sick boy from an impoverished yet deserving family.’

  ‘Doctor Clifton, were you being devious?’

  ‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘May I sit with you? If I’m not intruding, that is. I’m sorry, you came here for some quiet reflection.’