‘Yes, I have, Miss Nora. I shouldn’t really be here. I wouldn’t like to give you or anyone else an infection.’
‘You have an infection?’
‘I do.’
‘Is it a very bad infection?’ Her voice trembles.
Mrs Lampeter looks steadily at her. ‘Yes, Miss Nora, I’m afraid it is.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
Mrs Lampeter squeezes Nora’s hand. ‘I might not be able to come again,’ she says steadily.
‘Please don’t say that.’ Nora’s voice is just a whisper.
‘I’d rather say it than have you wonder. I would never stop coming if I was able to come. I hope you know that.’
‘Yes, I do. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘You could remember me and my Pat and the kids in your prayers too.’
‘I will, Mrs Lampeter, I will, I promise.’ And she promises right now, to the God she has not spoken to for years, that she’ll start to pray again.
‘Miss Nora, I have to go. I’m sorry, but it’s best I don’t stay too long.’ She coughs again and Nora stiffens as she sees the flecks of blood staining her friend’s handkerchief.
‘I want to hug you, Mrs Lampeter.’
‘That might not be—’ but already Nora’s arms are around her and she plants a kiss on Mrs Lampeter’s cheek.
‘You are my best friend, and I love you.’ Nora stands back and takes a long look at Mrs Lampeter. ‘Please take care of yourself, and I’ll pray for you all. I’ll see you when you’re better and, in the meantime, don’t worry about me.’ She stands back and smiles bravely, though her heart is breaking and she knows that, in all probability, she will not see Mrs Lampeter again.
‘Thank you, Miss Nora – Nora.’ The little intimacy touches Nora just as much as it did on the day of her baby’s birth, and she smiles. Mrs Lampeter clutches the arm of her chair to steady herself and stands still for a moment until she has her balance. With a long look she takes in Nora’s green eyes, her porcelain skin and the dark hair struggling into a slight wave, despite the rough and untidy cut. She brushes down her coat with her hand and squeezes Nora’s fingers. ‘I’m proud of you, Nora. Any mother would be proud to have you as a daughter.’
Nora blinks back tears. ‘You’ve been like a mother to me – a best friend and a mother.’ She takes a step back, no longer able to bear it. ‘Thank you for my scones,’ she offers limply, hugging the little package to her as Mrs Lampeter walks away.
Though she holds herself together as long as she can, as soon as Mrs Lampeter is out of sight, Nora crumples. Wrapping her arms around herself, she sobs. Suddenly she feels a presence beside her, and a hand is thrust towards her.
‘Give!’ the aide demands. When Nora holds the packet even closer, the aide’s voice goes up several decibels. ‘Give! That woman’s dying of consumption. We don’t want her infected things here. She should never have been allowed in here.’
‘She’s not dying. Don’t you say that,’ Nora rasps, pushing her away. ‘Don’t you say that!’ she wails again, but already a whistle has blown and staff descend on Nora from all sides.
‘She’s violent and out of control. She hit me!’ the aide shrieks as Sister Cummings appears.
‘Violent, eh? Well, that’ll be the last visit for you, young lady.’ There’s a sneer of satisfaction on her face as she snaps her fingers. ‘Wet pack,’ she shouts. ‘Now!’
Nora cowers but still holds on to the packet. There’ll be no mercy now. Hands drag her by the arms until she loses her balance and stumbles and she is pulled along the floor, someone holding a handful of hair, another her smock, and the little bag tears and the scones roll onto the floor and are crushed to crumbs under countless feet. ‘No,’ she wails. ‘It’s not fair. I hate you all!’
They tear her clothes roughly from her body and force her down onto a trolley where she continues to shout and struggle, pulling on the leather restraints until her wrists and ankles are red with blood. They steep sheets in icy water and lay one after the other after the other on the metal bed, while Nora can do nothing more than watch and wait in fear. Finally, she’s untied, and four male nurses, who seem oblivious to her screams, her pleas and her nakedness, descend upon her and lift her up, one holding her head tightly, another her shoulders, another her body with her arms pinned to her sides, and the fourth her feet, and for a moment she’s suspended over the pile of soaking, freezing sheets onto which they finally lower her. They hold her still by whatever means and with whatever force it takes, Nora fighting and crying out every bit of the way. One after another, they wrap the sheets very tightly around her, mummifying her from neck to toe, until she’s a stiff, shapeless parcel, shivering uncontrollably and totally helpless. They place a cold compress over her eyes and she’s imprisoned, the frustration of injustice and grief boiling over inside her. The only thing she can do is scream; each time she does, they slap her viciously.
‘One more outburst, Jennings, and I’ll tape your mouth,’ Sister Cummings shouts. But Nora isn’t spent yet and screams again. ‘Tape her mouth!’ cries Sister Cummings and, finally beaten, Nora slumps, though the panic continues within. The only thing that can still move is her mind. The only place where there’s any warmth is between her legs, where she’s wet herself in fear.
Breathe. Be calm. It has to end sometime.
Someone lifts the cloth from Nora’s eyes and Sister Cummings fixes her gaze from only a few inches away. ‘You won’t win, you little bitch. I can play this game just as well as you can – and for even longer. You can never win. No point in trying. And no more brats like the last either. Thought you’d had your appendix out, didn’t you? Sterilisation, my dear. What do you think of that then?’
Nora feels as though she will burst with rage and grief, but the only things she can move are her eyes, which dart about trying to escape this horror. But there is no way out. She cannot move. There is no other place to go. Sterilisation! How dare they? She thrashes her head from side to side and screams with fury, but there is no sound, no relief, since she cannot open her mouth. She scrunches her eyes shut. If there is a God, help me!
And suddenly she feels a release as she bursts out from the top of her head. Out of her poor, bound body, now lying there below her in its white shroud. Now they cannot reach her. She is free and she feels grateful to her father for all the practice he and his belt gave her when she was a child. She watches as her body relaxes, and feels a rare swell of triumph.
Chapter Sixteen
1946
Seven years
Dr Stilworth’s face is increasingly lined, years of fatigue and irritation marking him permanently. Sometimes, during his morning ablutions, he cannot meet his own eyes in the mirror. He’s sick of being the futile thorn in the flesh of the establishment, though hope occasionally sparks that his efforts might one day prompt radical change. Of course, he has a choice. He can stay and try to make a difference, or abandon ship – and he’d be lying to himself if he pretended he hadn’t given the idea a good deal of thought. But despite it all, he can’t let go. And in any case, there are new needs here now since the war. There are many men with shell-shocked minds, missing limbs, lost identities, who nevertheless seem to have lots of visitors, which is strange since the so-called ‘mental’ patients get very few.
Nora Jennings concerns him still as he watches her steady deterioration. Though the war is over, battle obviously still rages within her, to the point that she seems not to have noticed the blooming of spring. This used to be one of the few things that could tease a rare smile from her, despite the humiliation, degradation, assaults and punishments she is forced to deal with on an almost daily basis. There seems to be little he can do to protect her. She was not allowed to attend the funeral of the only visitor she ever had – a Mrs Lampeter – and she registered her objection by refusing to work, something that didn’t go down well with Sister Cummings. There’ll still be some revenge for that to come, somewhere along the line. He is distracte
d from these dark thoughts by the sight of Nora herself, who is walking badly and appears to be wincing with every step. He glances around at the nurses, busy with their endless cleaning and administration, none of which appears patient-related. Hasn’t anyone noticed that something’s wrong? ‘Sister Cummings, do you know why Nora is walking badly today?’
She glances at Nora, her face blank. ‘Apart from her usual attention-seeking, you mean?’ she says dismissively.
Dr Stilworth frowns. ‘I don’t think this is attention-seeking behaviour. She appears to be in pain.’ Sister Cummings rolls her eyes heavenward and returns to her ledger. Dr Stilworth balls his fists but says nothing, watching Nora struggle as she makes for her chair. He walks over to her.
‘Pandering to her will only encourage her,’ Sister Cummings calls after him, not looking up from her paperwork.
He ignores her studiously. ‘Nora, come and sit down. What’s happened here?’ He guides her to a chair and beckons to an aide to come over. ‘Nora, I need to take your shoe off.’ As he lifts her slender leg onto his knee and starts to ease off the shoe, she flinches, and his nose wrinkles as the smell of infection assaults him. Nora grasps the arm of the chair and tries to withdraw her foot. ‘I’m sorry, Nora, but I need to see your foot.’
Slowly, he eases her foot from the shoe and stops still, aghast. ‘My God,’ he gasps. The stocking is stuck to her toes with blood and pus – no wonder it smells so foul. He looks up at Nora, whose eyes are scrunched shut and whose mouth is puckered in pain. ‘Nora, I shall be as gentle as I can, but we have to get this stocking off.’ He raises his eyes to the aide who stands by, looking surly. ‘Bring a bowl of warm water with some antiseptic and some clean towels, please. I’ll be back shortly.’
But as he starts to get up, Nora grabs at the sleeve of his white lab coat. She mutters a pathetic ‘Thank you’, and lifts her other foot a few centimetres from the floor. She sits white-knuckled in the chair as he unties the lace of her other shoe and removes it as carefully as he can. Shock and anger suffuse him as he finds a similar stinking mess of pus and blood seeping through the fabric of her stocking.
The aide kneels down with the bowl of water and starts to remove the stockings. ‘No,’ Dr Stilworth says sharply. ‘Leave the stockings and soak her feet in the water for ten minutes. I will come back and remove them myself. Add a little antiseptic.’ He approaches Sister Cummings’s desk as quickly as his damaged leg will allow. He knows he cuts a ridiculous figure when trying to hurry, but fury burns away any trace of self-consciousness. ‘Have you seen Nora’s feet, Sister?’
‘No,’ she says, not looking up from her work.
‘Why not?’
She sighs impatiently and slams her pen down. ‘No one reported anything wrong.’
‘Can’t you see that she can hardly walk?’ Dr Stilworth is incensed. ‘The days of harsh, unsophisticated methods – in other words, of cruelty – are coming to an end, Sister. This is reprehensible and I will be reporting it to both Matron and Dr Mason.’
‘You must do as you see fit, doctor.’ Her insolent eyes dare him to do so.
‘Be sure that I will. And should anything befall Nora or any of the other patients in the meantime, I will investigate with all powers available to me. Do you understand?’ She holds his gaze with arrogant silence, narrowing her eyes. ‘This is the end of this battle of wills between us, Sister. I give you notice that I will fight you openly now – and I will win.’
He goes back to Nora and tells the aide to get out of his sight. He kneels back down on the floor, lifts Nora’s foot onto a towel on his thigh and very gently separates the fabric of the stocking from the suppurating wounds beneath. He still can’t comprehend what he is seeing. Every nail has been cut so low and so roughly that each toe bears a raw, oozing sore where the vulnerable nail bed is not only exposed but traumatised. He notes with astonishment that these wounds are several days old. How could they have been missed? He relieves the other foot of its stocking to find similar wounds. He looks up into her grateful eyes, questioning, but she blinks and looks away.
‘What happened, Nora?’ he asks, lips tight and face pale with shock and rage.
‘Nothing,’ she whispers.
‘Who did this?’ But she’s silent. He prays that this is the result of rough, clumsy and careless work rather than a calculated punishment. Probably he’ll never know.
‘Sister!’ he thunders, his voice carrying along the ward and causing every head except hers to turn. He stands and calls even more loudly. ‘Sister, I can stand here and call you for the rest of the day if you wish, or you could come now and look at these wounds.’ She looks up and makes not a move. Tom raises his voice further. ‘If I have to shout so loudly that Dr Mason and Matron hear me in their offices, I will. I do not accept your disrespect of me or of the people you have been honoured to have in your care. You are a nurse, and I want—’ He breaks off as she finally stands and stamps her way down the ward. Tom waits until she is standing beside him, glowering up at him.
‘I want Nora’s feet gently but thoroughly cleaned, then dressed daily until they are completely healed. Please have one of your nurses apply paraffin jelly and have them dressed with the utmost care. All dressings must be soaked off in warm water for thirty minutes prior to any attempt at removal. No shoes. I’m sure we can improvise some footwear that spares her toes until they are completely well. Do I make myself clear?’
She nods, but there’s no trace of remorse. The fury that surrounds her is palpable, but for once Dr Stilworth is above it. ‘Let me say again: if anything should befall Nora or any other patient – or indeed any member of staff – I will take that very seriously indeed.’ He turns to Nora. ‘I’m so sorry, Nora,’ he says. ‘I know you dare not tell me who did this, and you don’t need to. Please don’t worry. We will get these dressed for you and, in the meantime, I want you to keep off your feet for a few days. You will have a wheelchair and the staff will help you in and out of it.’
Nora gazes at him with fearful eyes.
‘Don’t worry, Nora. We’ll get it all sorted out for you.’ He fixes Sister Cummings with a stare and his voice becomes steely. ‘Won’t we, Sister?’ He turns to leave then halts, as though something has just occurred to him. ‘Sister.’ He turns to look her in the eye. ‘Bearing in mind the seriousness of the condition of Nora’s feet, it might be an idea if you were to dress them yourself, since you are the most experienced member of staff here. And, of course, I’d like to examine them, so please do send for me when you’ve taken the bandages off and I’ll come immediately before you dress them again.’
He looks back at Nora. ‘Nora, I’m putting you in very good hands now. Your feet are going to be fine. I don’t want you to worry about anything.’
He straightens up, his face almost unreadable. ‘Sister, please may I see you in your office?’
An air of repressed rage like the vibration of an impending storm floats around Sister Cummings, who stays rooted to the spot.
‘We can do this here, Sister, or we can do it in the privacy of your office. Personally, I don’t mind which.’ He turns once again and limps up the ward, where the staff seem to be holding their breath. Sister Cummings scowls but then falls in behind him, her face like thunder.
Dr Stilworth holds the door open until she follows him inside, then he closes it quietly behind her and remains standing while she takes her seat at the desk. He regards her for a long, silent moment, allowing himself the relief of finally being at the point of speaking his truth regardless of consequence. And when he opens his mouth, the voice that emerges is clear, controlled and powerful. ‘I have no idea why you hate this woman so much. I can only assume that something in your own past makes you behave as you do. I pity you in carrying such a burden that must contaminate every area of your life. However, you cannot be allowed to continue to mistreat Nora Jennings – or anyone else for that matter – any longer. You are not fit to hold a position that allows you to harm people.’ He takes a br
eath, watching Sister Cummings, whose eyes remain focused on the desk in front of her. ‘I shall report this to Dr Mason and Matron and demand an enquiry. I will not rest until you are dismissed from this hospital. Do you understand?’
Sister Cummings makes no move, and Dr Stilworth quietly leaves the room.
The next morning Sister Cummings is in her office as normal, but is unusually quiet. The staff mill about, wondering what to do, since there has been no morning handover and no list of demands from the sister. Shortly after eight thirty, Dr Mason and Miss Endsleigh enter the ward and proceed directly to the office.
Stan looks at Gladys who raises her brows, shrugs her shoulders and looks mystified. Then she turns to the younger staff. ‘Come on now, you know your routine. There’s lots to be done. Let’s have this floor mopped and make sure that everything is as Sister would want it. Come on. Look sharp.’
In Sister Cummings’s office, the voices are strained and hushed.
‘Why?’ Dr Mason asks. ‘You are a bright, efficient woman and have been with us for some years now. This is not the first time that there has been concern about your treatment of the patients, and I regret that I have not taken those complaints more seriously in the past.’
But Sister Cummings is not fully there. She is Beatrice Cummings, seventeen and deliriously happy; in love for the one and only time. She sees her life laid out in front of her, married with happy children playing at her feet. Then everything changes. Memories flash through her mind – her mother becoming sick and unable to manage the house; she herself having to leave school before her final exams in order to care for her; discovering her beloved boyfriend hand in hand with another girl. Her mother bedbound, her breast rotting with putrid, cancerous sores that only she is allowed to see. Hearing the banns read in church for the marriage of her love to another girl. Beatrice ripping up a beautiful dress and stuffing the fabric in her mouth so she cannot scream out loud.
The Girl Behind the Gates Page 11