The Seaside Angel

by Evie Grace

  ‘It’s fine. You’re welcome.’

  ‘You’re missing London?’ Doctor Clifton took a seat beside her, stretching out his long legs into the space that had been left free of pews so that patients could be wheeled into the chapel and take part in the services.

  ‘A little,’ she confessed.

  ‘You have friends there?’

  ‘‘Yes, but Charlotte – I mean, Nurse Finch – has been very kind.’

  ‘What brought you into nursing?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a long story. I left home at seventeen when my father tried to force me into marriage to a friend of his. Unable to contemplate such a fate, I told him I’d rather earn my living as a nurse, but he was dead set against it. To be honest, I didn’t know much about nursing as a vocation back then, only that I remembered the kindness of the private nurse when I lost my half-brother to scarlet fever.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear of your troubles. You’ve been through some hard times.’

  ‘I think they’re supposed to build character,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘It’s been two years since I last saw my father. The nurses, my patients and the community of whichever hospital I’m working at are my family now, although I’m still very close to my sister.’

  ‘What about your mother? She must be very proud of you.’

  ‘She died,’ Hannah said softly.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I was only three – I have very few memories of her.’ She kept the details of her mother’s passing to herself.

  ‘My father was disappointed in my choice of profession,’ Doctor Clifton confided. ‘He’s a naval chaplain who wished me to follow in his footsteps, but I wanted to heal minds and bodies, not souls.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘Oh, she was delighted at the prospect of having a medical man in the family. She wanted me for her personal physician. Hence’ – smiling, he tipped his head slightly to one side – ‘I moved here to put a convenient distance between us. She lives in Hastings, close enough to maintain family ties and offer advice, but too far away to make house calls. One shouldn’t treat family or friends – one is too involved to make rational, dispassionate decisions.’

  ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ She wondered if she was being impertinent, but it was Doctor Clifton who’d started the conversation.

  ‘I have a brother, four years my junior, who’s gone into the Church after my father, then I have three sisters, all flibbertigibbets,’ he said fondly. ‘Their letters and drawings have been a comfort to me, though, since Suzanna – my wife – passed away.’

  It was Hannah’s turn to feel sorry for him as he looked up towards the altar, his expression shaded with grief.

  ‘Today is the second anniversary of the day my life changed for ever. When …’ – she heard him gulp and clear his throat before he could continue – ‘… she died in my arms, I not only lost her, but I lost my faith. Why would God cause so much pain and suffering to my beautiful wife whom I loved with a passion? Why would he tear us apart after just a year of marriage?

  ‘I’ve always strived to be a good man; I didn’t understand what I’d done to deserve it. I still don’t – it’s unfathomable. I tell the relatives of my departed patients that the feelings subside, that time heals, but it’s a lie. Nothing heals the wounds. Even though you do your best to cover them, they continue to fester underneath. I’ve prayed and prayed, and God hasn’t answered me.’

  ‘You’re an unbeliever?’ Hannah recalled how she’d gradually come to terms with the loss of her half-brother, trusting that one day they would meet in Heaven. Not to have that comfort would be unbearable.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve not been able to move on from those thoughts. I recall the day as if it were yesterday: the sweet fragrance of roses outside the open window; the sound of gulls on the roof; the metallic taste of tea that our housekeeper brought up to the sickroom – she’d forgotten the sugar. Suzanna’s death haunts me from the dawn of each day to the next.’

  Hannah’s heart went out to him. The doctor was in as much need of healing as his patients, but who and what would cure him?

  ‘I also lost faith in medicine. What use could I be when I couldn’t save my own? I took a few months away to travel, but when I returned, the doubts remained. Am I really helping these people? Or am I giving them false hope?’ His tone was run through with misery.

  ‘Everyone dies eventually,’ Hannah said. ‘Medicine hasn’t discovered the elixir of eternal life on Earth, but we must trust in God and that life goes on in Heaven.’ She realised her words would sound empty to an unbeliever. ‘Doctor Clifton, you must trust me, too, when I say that you’re an excellent physician. The patients not only respect you, they like you. You go out of your way to help them.’ She stopped abruptly, remembering the incident with the knitting needle.

  ‘Well, I thank you for your belief in me. Oh dear, I shouldn’t have inflicted my sorrows on you … You must think me weak,’ he muttered.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said gently, wondering how much courage it had taken him to talk. She couldn’t imagine her father expressing feelings of regret and sadness, if he had any, in such a frank manner.

  The doctor smiled sadly. ‘I’ll be back to my normal self tomorrow.’

  ‘I wish you a peaceful evening,’ she said, standing up. He stood too and walked with her to the door.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said, letting her go ahead of him.

  She returned to the nurses’ home, deep in thought. Having shared in his grief, she felt she had formed a closer connection with him, akin to friendship. She guessed that Doctor Clifton threw himself into his work as a way of coping with his wife’s passing. She wished she’d known what to say or do to console a doctor who felt too much.

  Chapter Six

  What’s Sauce for the Goose is Sauce for the Gander

  When she arrived on the ward the next morning, she looked for Peter, but it was Alan Allspice who gazed back from the bed. He was fifteen, older than the other boys on the Lettsom.

  ‘Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Nurse,’ he said politely, recognising her from a few days before.

  ‘How are you today?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve told ’im, ’e’ll only get worse comin’ in ’ere,’ Charlie interrupted from the bed next door. ‘Look at the dirty toe-rag takin’ Peter’s bed when it’s still warm.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie, you can’t say things like that.’ Hannah moved up beside him. ‘Peter was very poorly, and yes, we lost him, and we all feel terrible about it, but life has to go on. There are hundreds, thousands of boys like him – like you and Alan here – who deserve the chance to be well again.’

  Charlie fell silent, tears rolling down his face.

  A different doctor turned up for rounds, causing some consternation among the nurses. Doctor Pyle, the resident physician, was middle-aged, quiet and efficient. Charlie was to continue with his saltwater baths and daily quarter-pint of seawater, while Alan was to begin a regime of baths and further treatment on consultation with Doctor Clifton, who’d been delayed, preparing for the Board meeting later that day.

  Hannah was called at eleven o’clock and shown by Mr Mordikai to the boardroom.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be expected to speak,’ he muttered, opening the door for her. ‘Mrs Knowles wishes to show off her latest protégée.’

  She took a seat on one of the chairs beside Matron, and glanced at the lists of governors written in gold leaf on mahogany panels on the walls, and the paintings of Doctor Lettsom and other dignitaries who’d been involved with the infirmary.

  Thanks to Charlotte, she had some idea of how the hierarchy worked. Queen Victoria was patron, then there was a Court of Directors in London, and under that, the Margate Local Management Committee. Anyone who gave ten pounds could become a governor and donate a ticket to admit one patient each year. Matron looked after the nurses and patients, while Mr Cumberpatch looked after the maintenance and general running of the h
ouse.

  ‘We will reconvene,’ the chairman said. ‘The next item on the agenda is the complaint raised by Mr Anthony, resident surgeon, against Doctor Clifton, visiting physician.’ He peered over his spectacles. ‘Will those two gentlemen make themselves known?’

  They stood, one at each end of the row of seats.

  ‘Mr Phillips, I’m most grateful to have this opportunity of stating my case to the Board of this magnificent house,’ Mr Anthony began.

  Hannah remembered Doctor Clifton’s patient, Mrs Phillips, and that her husband was Chairman of the Board. They were an odd couple, she thought, certain that Mr Phillips, with his white hair and long salt-and-pepper moustache, couldn’t be less than sixty years old.

  ‘Your preference is that Doctor Clifton be removed from his position as visiting physician, due to a disagreement over the treatment of one of your patients, a Master Herring,’ Mr Phillips said, reading from his notes. ‘Doctor Clifton, what do you have to say for yourself?’

  ‘Only that I apologise if Mr Anthony thinks that I spoke out of turn. We come from different backgrounds and contrasting disciplines, but we have the same aim, to improve the lives of our patients.’

  ‘You did speak out of turn,’ Mr Anthony said crossly.

  ‘Please remain silent unless you’re spoken to,’ Mr Phillips barked. ‘The outcome of your preferred option for Master Herring’s treatment was unsatisfactory, was it not? What happened to the patient?’

  ‘He … um, unfortunately … died post-surgery,’ Mr Anthony muttered.

  ‘In that case, I put it to the Board that there is no case to answer, as we can never know if medicine alone would have cured this poor boy.’

  The members of the Board voted, and the motion was carried unanimously.

  Mr Phillips summed up.

  ‘It’s a shame that there’s such conflict between the physicians and surgeons, and the medical men and nurses, for that matter. Gentlemen, shake hands and be done with it. We’ll move on to the next item on the agenda, which is … the provision of a new Turkish rug to replace the existing one in the reception hall …’

  ‘You may leave now, Nurse Bentley,’ Mrs Knowles whispered. ‘Common sense has prevailed, thank goodness. I wouldn’t want to see either of them leave the house.’

  Hannah returned to the Lettsom. She asked one of the lady volunteers to read Charlie a story, something uplifting, but she chose a tract from the Bible, being avid in her wish to improve the children’s minds. Charlie sat with his arms folded, frowning, as she read. When he glanced across at Hannah, he seemed to frown even harder.

  ‘I sat and listened for you, Nurse,’ he said afterwards.

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Out of respect for your feelin’s, I’ll say that I did.’

  After their break, Hannah and Charlotte continued cleaning and tidying until visiting time started at two. Neither Alan nor Charlie received any visitors, and the pitiful expression on Charlie’s face reminded Hannah of waiting for her own mother who’d never arrived.

  She’d been three years old and, although her memories were vague, the image of Ma’s glittering smile, Ruby’s mop of dark hair, and Ma’s white bed-coat was as vibrant as if it was yesterday. Ma had let her perch on the edge of the mattress and touch the infant’s cheek. She’d told her she was proud of her for being so gentle, that she would make the best big sister in the entire world, and then she’d hugged Hannah and whispered, ‘I love you, little one.’

  That had been the last time she’d seen her.

  There had been much discussion behind closed doors, then a nurse had been summoned before Ma had gone away for a rest. A few weeks after that, Pa had called Hannah to his study to tell her that Ma had been taken up by the angels and he was engaged to be married to the woman who would become their stepmother.

  There’d been no sugar to sweeten the bitter pill of that loss, but on the ward at teatime, the boys – some of whom had cried when their mothers had gone – were given extra treacle on toast as a treat to restore their spirits.

  ‘I could do with extra treacle to cheer me up,’ Hannah said aside to Charlotte as the maid cleared the plates away. ‘I’m worried that I haven’t received a letter from my sister. I’ve written to her a second time, asking her to write back by return of post, but I’ve heard nothing. I hope she isn’t unwell.’

  ‘You could write to your stepmother,’ Charlotte suggested, ‘but as I’ve said before, you’re probably fretting unnecessarily. I expect she’ll be in touch soon.’

  Hannah changed the subject. ‘By the way, I wanted to ask you – do you know what happened to Doctor Clifton’s wife?’

  ‘Oh, it was a terrible thing, an accident.’ Charlotte kept her voice down. ‘Her nightgown caught fire – she was horribly burned and lingered for a long time afterwards. I don’t think he’ll ever get over it. He hasn’t walked out with anyone since – as far as I know, at least.’

  ‘It’s no wonder. I can’t imagine anything worse.’

  Charlotte glanced around. ‘Quickly, Trimmie’s on the warpath,’ she said, moving away.

  ‘Nurse Bentley, Charlie has been sick on his bedclothes,’ Sister Trim called.

  It was the last thing she needed, she thought, hurrying to his side with a bowl, cloths and fresh linen.

  ‘I got the mullygrubs,’ he groaned.

  ‘I’m not surprised you have bellyache – you’ve eaten too much treacle.’

  ‘Will you call Doctor Clifton for me? ’E’ll make it better.’

  ‘I’m not going to disturb him now. I’ll give you some gripe water and a wash.’ She turned briefly to Alan who had rolled himself up into a ball, like a hedgehog, with just his bad leg stretched out to one side. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Practisin’,’ he mumbled.

  ‘’E’s in the circus,’ Charlie said, impressed. ‘’E’s goin’ to show me ’ow to be a con-tor-tion-ist.’ His complexion paled. She thrust the bowl under his chin just in time. It had been a day of mixed fortunes.

  Three more weeks passed and, even though she’d written twice more, addressing her letters to the neighbour, Miss Fellows, Hannah still hadn’t heard back from Ruby. She did hear back from their stepmother, though, having decided to write to her at Charlotte’s suggestion. Her reply had been both reassuring and disturbing at the same time.

  Ruby was in trouble with Pa over an incident with the butcher’s boy, and that’s all Stepmother would say about it, except to add that her sister was well, and accepting of her punishment. She expressed her desire that Hannah would stop putting ideas of leaving home into Ruby’s head because she was young and foolish, and it would break Stepmother’s heart because she’d grown very fond of her.

  Hannah realised that their stepmother – and probably Pa too – must have read her letters. All she could do now was keep writing inconsequential notes to her sister, just to let her know she was thinking of her. She didn’t want to cause her any further difficulty with Pa, and she didn’t know what else to do.

  It was the third week of June and Sister Trim had been pushing her, telling her that if she wanted to be a sister, she’d have to prove she was capable. Hannah didn’t think it would go down too well if she asked for unpaid leave so soon to go to Canterbury to speak to Ruby face-to-face.

  One morning, the doctors turned up as usual. Mr Anthony and Doctor Clifton had called a truce, and Mr Hunter, who joined them on the ward a couple of times a week, appeared to have taken notice of his cousin’s advice and was attending to his studies most diligently, asking questions and taking notes.

  ‘How are you, Master Swift?’ Doctor Clifton asked, after he’d greeted everyone.

  ‘I’m feelin’ well, but me knee does ache so.’

  ‘Let me have a look.’ Charlie had been fitted with a Thomas splint at the beginning of June. An iron ring padded with leather was fitted around the highest point of Charlie’s leg, while two iron rods ran down to a ring beneath his foot. The splint was held o
n by means of a leather strap across his shoulder, while traction was provided by more straps stretched tight between the two rings. ‘What is your opinion, Mr Hunter?’

  Mr Hunter hummed and hawed for a while. Hannah flashed a glance at Charlotte. She felt for him – the presence of his superiors seemed to have knocked his confidence.

  ‘I think that the splint is in compression,’ he said eventually.

  ‘What does that mean for the patient?’ Doctor Clifton asked.

  ‘Um, it means …’

  ‘Spit it out, man,’ Mr Anthony muttered from behind him. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

  ‘What I mean is that the patient has grown, but the splint hasn’t. It needs to be replaced with a larger one, to relieve the pressure on the knee joint which is causing the pain.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Doctor Clifton agreed. ‘Charlie, Nurse Bentley will arrange a time for you to go back to the workshop for a new splint. Mr Anthony, I will write to Mr Piper at St Pancras to request that Master Swift remains here for a further six weeks after his ticket runs out. He has been here a month already and another two weeks won’t be long enough.’

  ‘I’d like to go ’ome and see Ma.’

  ‘The next few weeks will fly by,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Must I still ’ave a bath every day?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Doctor Clifton said. ‘You may not be going into the sea, but you are benefitting from the saltwater in your baths. I didn’t believe in the miracle of a daily dip in the sea until I came to Margate and tried it for myself. The water is most invigorating.’

  ‘What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,’ Mr Anthony observed.

  ‘You should try it, Nurse,’ Doctor Clifton said, making her blush.

  She wouldn’t be seen dead in a bathing dress, even protected from view by a bathing machine. As it was, it had seemed terribly daring to expose her ankles while paddling with Charlotte … A memory of the men splashing around in the distance came into her head, and suddenly, she didn’t know which way to turn. She felt sure that she’d seen Doctor Clifton and his cousin cavorting shirtless in the sea.