‘Are you in pain, Mr Eli?’ Her own voice, she noticed without surprise, sounded almost as strained and odd as Fitton’s.
The morning round of washings and temperatures passed in a daze. Fat, jolly Sister Abraham came on early, with the day nurses, her face unusually serious. Matron had obviously spoken to her and she made no comment as May faltered over her report when she reached the far bed. May hoped she saw a gleam of sympathy in her eyes. Wright was pale and subdued; as they left the ward she put her arm round May’s waist and gave her a quick hug, but neither she nor Fitton spoke as they went down the stairs together. Fitton walked painfully, as usual, but May noticed that her face was not collapsed, as it generally was in the mornings; her mouth was set in a determined line, though May knew that underneath the concealing collar her neck must be even more bruised and painful than May’s own.
As they neared the dining room May turned away from the other two.
‘I’m not going to breakfast.’ Wright made a quick protest but May ignored it. She had broken such a major rule this morning that a minor infringement seemed immaterial. Had Ellen been there she might have gone, but Ellen was on days and so already on duty, and Ada too. There was no one else in the hospital May felt able to face this morning.
She fetched her cloak and bonnet from her room and left the Nurses’s Home. But in the courtyard she turned away from the main entrance. She could not bear to see again the place where the body, tossed aside by the tram and broken by the dray, had lain amidst the inevitable small crowd of sightseers. She slipped out through the side entrance, used by the tradesmen’s vans, and into the quiet street of small, dark terraces. On the pavement outside the walls she hesitated, then drew a difficult breath into her parched throat and began to walk northwards. There was only one place she could go to this morning, and only one person she could talk to.
The church spire came in sight first and May fixed her eye on it as though it were a talisman. What if he were not there? But she thrust the thought from her – he had to be there. She pushed open the Vicarage gate and aimed for the front door like a hunter making for its stable after too long a day in the field. It was the maid who came to the door. She looked startled when she saw May, but May was past caring.
‘Yes, Miss?’
May’s lips moved, but no sound came out. She stood in the doorway, swaying with exhaustion – she had got here, but now her mind was a blank. She stared at the maid, who spoke again, louder, and looked more and more puzzled. Then a voice called from inside, ‘Who is it, Bessie? What’s the matter?’
May’s frozen limbs unlocked and she pushed past the bewildered maid and headed for the voice. Walter Lisle stood at the top of the stairs, with a shaving brush in his hand and his face half-covered with lather. May grasped the newel post and gazed up at him, wordlessly. He looked down at her for a moment, then was galvanised into action and sprang down the stairs two at a time. As he arrived in the hall May collapsed into his arms and sobbed and sobbed against his neck. She had a confused sensation of the soap on his chin damp on her forehead, then she heard him say: ‘Open the study door, Bessie – and take this damn brush off me.’
She felt one of his arms tighten around her shoulders and the other reach behind her knees and he had swung her up and was carrying her through a nearby doorway. He put her down gently and she was half-sitting, half-lying on a leather covered sofa. He stood over her in his shirt sleeves.
‘What’s the matter, May? What’s happened?’
But May could only shudder and gulp convulsively. As she moved, her stiff collar chafed unbearably and she wrenched it off. He stared at her neck.
‘Who did that to you?’ His voice was furious.
May shook her head. ‘No one, he’s dead – it was a patient, a delirious patient – I tried to catch him, and he’s dead. He died in the Dock Road because I didn’t ring the bell. It’s my fault, Walter – I killed a patient.’ She gazed despairingly up at him.
He said grimly, ‘It looks to me as if he pretty nearly killed you first, May.’
May shook her head painfully and said, ‘You should have seen Fitton, hers are worse.’ Then she began to weep again, hopelessly.
She heard Walter go to the door and speak to the hovering maid. The maid went away and he came back and looked down at her again. Then suddenly he bent over her, picked her up again and sat down on the sofa with May on his lap. He held her tightly, cradling her head against his shoulder. May continued to sob. The maid came back; her voice was low and concerned.
‘Here are the handkerchiefs, Sir, and the arnica. Shall I put it on?’
‘No thank you, Bessie, I can manage. Would you ask Cook to put back breakfast? That will be all.’
The door closed and May sobbed on. Walter untied her bonnet and pulled it off, then he began to pat her on the back while he spoke to her gently. May felt her shudders become weaker and finally stop under the influence of his soothing voice, though she had no idea what he was saying. Eventually she pulled her head away from his shoulder, took a deep breath and sniffed. He pushed a large handkerchief into her hand and she blew her nose, then he wiped her face with another. She noticed the damp patch on his shoulder and said, low-voiced, ‘I’m afraid I’ve made your shirt wet.’
‘It doesn’t matter, May.’ He reached for a small bottle beside him. ‘I’m going to put something on those bruises.’ She sat obediently still while he dabbed the cold lotion on her neck. ‘Are those the only ones?’
May managed a watery smile. ‘I’m afraid the others are where you can’t put anything on them, Mr Lisle.’ Then she remembered the thud as she hit the wall and the squeal of the tram, and began to cry again, but more softly this time. And as she cried she felt her head droop and her lids close; so she surrendered to sleep.
Chapter Thirty Three
May’s return to consciousness was so gradual that at first she hardly knew whether she was awake or still dreaming. She looked drowsily at the blues and greens and ruby reds of the stained glass in the topmost panes of the unfamiliar windows. They sparkled and glowed in the sunlight. Then she lowered her gaze and there was a pair of grey-suited shoulders bent over a desk, with thick black hair curving into the nape of the neck above the stiff clerical collar. She felt as though she were floating, warm and safe and secure, waiting for Nanny’s plump face to appear round the door with its warming smile and the familiar, ‘Wakey wakey, dear.’
Then she moved and winced from the pain in her side, and suddenly reality came flooding back and she cried out. The shoulders turned instantly and it was Walter Lisle’s face which looked at her, anxious and concerned.
May felt a flood of embarrassment wash over her, as she remembered her abandoned weeping in his arms. He reddened, too, but got up and came towards her as she struggled to sit up; he pulled forward a straight-backed chair and sat down beside the sofa. She smoothed down her skirts and pulled her cuffs into line, then raised her hands to her head and felt the great weight of her hair sliding down over her shoulders.
He noticed her look of consternation and said quickly, ‘I’ll call Bessie, she’ll take you upstairs so you can wash your face and tidy up.’ He went to the bell and pulled it, then added, ‘We’ll have breakfast as soon as you’re ready. In here, I think – the dining room is rather gloomy in the mornings.’
He smiled at her, and she managed to smile back. Then she rose with as much dignity as she could muster, murmured, ‘Thank you,’ and followed Bessie upstairs.
In the bathroom the shaving brush was neatly placed on its shelf and May blushed again for her untimely arrival. She peered at herself in the small mirror, fixed a little too high for her comfort, and saw that her face was pallid and drawn. Her eyes were puffy and red with weeping, and encircled with dark smudges. The bruises on her neck were greenish now, and she hid them under her collar; but there was little she could do to improve her ravaged face, though she felt better after splashing her eyes with cold water. She hesitated over using the obviously ma
sculine comb, but then shrugged and picked it up – after wiping off his shaving soap with her hair it seemed silly to quibble at using his comb. She was soon ready, and smelt the appetising aroma of bacon as she came down the stairs. Shadrak met her at the bottom, and led her yowling into the study.
A small table was set in front of the fireplace and there was the smell of good coffee. Walter pulled back her chair and she sat down. Shadrak positioned himself expectantly at Walter’s feet and May raised her eyebrows at her host and gave a small smile. Walter grinned. ‘I’m afraid I get into bad habits on my own – he likes bacon almost as much as kippers.’ He picked up the jug. ‘Coffee?’
May sipped the fragrant brew. ‘Wherever do you get this in the East End?’
He smiled. ‘I don’t. I’m afraid I make a raid on Pratt’s every so often, and smuggle a hamper of delicacies past the customs barrier at Aldgate Pump.’
May laughed aloud, then remembered the events of the night and felt her face stiffen. Walter Lisle talked hurriedly on about his favourite foods, and May responded, hesitantly at first, then with more animation.
The breakfast was well-cooked, and despite the soreness of her neck and throat May managed to round off her scrambled eggs and bacon with three slices of toast. Then she put down her napkin and said wryly, ‘The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast. Matron is calling in the House Governor this morning. Not that it makes any difference, even he can’t bring a patient back to life. We have no Lazarus Ward at St Katharine’s.’ Her voice was heavy with self-reproach.
Walter leant forward and spoke seriously. ‘May, now you’re somewhat recovered, I want you to tell me exactly what happened.’
‘It’s no use, I should have rung the bell.’
‘Stop reciting that like some sinister incantation and think, May.’ His voice was commanding; so, haltingly at first, then with growing speed, May described the events of the night. Walter only stopped her once, to fetch a sheet of paper and make her draw a rough plan of Abraham and Sarah Wards, and the central pillars. He looked wonderingly at it and muttered, to himself, ‘How on earth can they expect one woman to supervise all those beds?’ Then he told her to continue.
When she had finished he sat frowning a moment, then said, ‘I don’t think there was any correct way out of this one for you, May, – no, don’t start on about that bell again. If you had run back to press it I think there would have been a strong possibility that he might actually have strangled this other nurse, Fitton, judging by the state you’re in – and you say she’s smaller than you.’
‘Then I should have rung it on the way back down the ward.’
‘But again, May…’
May broke in. ‘It’s the rule, Mr Lisle. The emergency button is there for us to press in an emergency – and the man did die, you know.’
Walter sighed. ‘Yes, you’ve got to live with that. But still…’
As he spoke May had noticed the clock. She hastily jumped to her feet.
‘I must go now, the doors of the Night Nurses’ corridor are closed at midday. Even if they ask me to leave I’ll still have to go on duty tonight somewhere, we’re so short-staffed.’
Walter Lisle looked horrified. ‘Surely not – you’re in no fit state to work tonight!’
May shook her head. ‘I’ll be needed. I must go now. Thank you for a delicious breakfast – and for being so kind.’ She lowered her eyes, blushing.
‘I’ll fetch a cab from the station. I won’t be a minute.’
‘No, please don’t trouble – I’ll walk back.’
‘You are not walking anywhere.’ Walter Lisle’s tone brooked no argument, and May sat meekly down again and tied on her crumpled bonnet as she waited.
He was back in a few minutes and helped May into the hansom, then jumped in beside her. They said little on the journey, and all too soon May felt her depression deepening as they reached the familiar streets near the hospital. The cab lurched left into the Dock Road. May turned to her companion.
‘I’m sorry I called so early, Mr Lisle. I’m afraid it was very far from being convenient.’ Her voice was prim.
‘Not at all, Miss Winton.’ His tone was formal, but his eyes smiled at her. ‘I had actually been up for some time – the early service, you know; but as I’d overslept a trifle I decided to take a chance on not shaving first thing. I should have remembered your habit of catching me offguard.’ His smile was so warm that May could not help responding; she forgot her worries for a moment. Then the cab jerked to a halt outside the main hospital entrance and she felt the colour drain from her face. He jumped out and helped her down. As soon as she reached the pavement she held out her hand.
‘Good morning, Mr Lisle.’
He grasped it firmly, and stood there holding it, as if he did not quite know how to let go. Then he squeezed her hand gently again, said, ‘Take care of yourself, May,’ turned abruptly and was gone.
As May walked under the archway the tortoise came right out of his cubbyhole.
‘Nurse Winton, Matron wants to see you – soon as you come in.’ Her heart dropped and her feelings must have shown on her face because the old man peered at her from his small rheumy eyes and patted her arm awkwardly.
‘There’s worse things ’appen at sea, duck.’ Then he shot back into his lair.
May felt tears rising at the unexpected sympathy, but she fought them down, squared her shoulders, and set off in the direction of Matron’s office.
As she entered the outer office she saw Wright and Fitton sitting against the wall. Wright looked unusually serious, but it was Fitton’s expression which surprised May: her undistinguished features bore a look of fierce determination. Both junior probationers were still in uniform, though Fitton’s throat was swathed in a silk scarf. May had no time to do more than nod in their direction before she was ushered into Matron’s sanctum. Matron was not alone: she had with her both the House Governor and the Hospital Secretary. She rounded on May at once.
‘Where have you been, Nurse Winton? We’ve been looking for you this past half-hour.’
May felt a small spurt of anger. ‘I was not aware that you wished to see me, Matron. I went to see a friend – a clergyman.’
Mr Henderson, the Hospital Secretary, said kindly, ‘That was very understandable, Matron. I’m sure that after the distressing events of last night Nurse felt in need of some spiritual comfort.’
May doubted whether sitting weeping on Walter Lisle’s lap could quite be construed as spiritual comfort, but she smiled gratefully at Mr Henderson as she concentrated on Matron’s next words.
‘Nurse Fitton went to see Colonel Gerrard this morning, and insisted on speaking to both of us, together.’ Matron seemed somewhat baffled as to why she’d agreed to this. She continued, ‘Nurse claims that you had no choice but to act as you did, and when I begged to differ she actually suggested a reconstruction of the sequence of events!’ Matron’s well-corseted bosom quivered; clearly she had not been in favour. ‘Colonel Gerrard considered that, in fairness to you, Nurse Winton, we should adopt this plan. I have agreed, but only in view of your previous excellent record.’
May replied, ‘I understand, Matron.’ But she didn’t understand at all. What was the point? She hadn’t rung the wretched bell, and that was that.
‘We will go now.’ Matron rose majestically. In the outer office she beckoned to Fitton and Wright; they obediently got to their feet and brought up the rear of the procession.
When they reached Abraham Ward they found Charles Wilson there, talking to Sister. He jumped to his feet.
‘Mr Wilson has kindly offered to play the part of the patient,’ Matron announced regally. ‘I gather his height is appropriate.’
Colonel Gerrard stepped forward, his military bearing very noticeable.
‘Now, we must ensure that this operation goes like clockwork – we don’t want any slip-ups. Nurses Wright and Fitton, please explain to Dr Wilson exactly what he must do. You, Nurse Winton, must act precisely as yo
u did last night.’
The other three went into a little huddle; Fitton’s voice was croakingly forceful. Sister Abraham smiled encouragingly at May, and patted her hand as they waited. As soon as Fitton gave the word Colonel Gerrard positioned himself by the crucial pillar and took a large stop-watch out of his pocket. The patients were agog – even the illest were looking eagerly around and May heard Sam Baines hiss just behind her: ‘I completely missed it last night, Bobs, thoughtful of ’em to give a re-run, ennit?’ But May felt detached from the general current of excitement; she stood passively waiting for her instructions. Fitton came up to her.
‘Get into position, Nurse Winton, and do exactly as you did last night.’ Her hoarse voice bore the unmistakable stamp of the schoolmarm. May obediently moved up to the eighth bed and stood with her fingers on the pulse of the pneumonia, who, she noticed with clinical objectivity, seemed rather better this morning.
The door from the balcony swung open; Fitton came through and approached the bed at the far end of the ward. As she reached out her hand Charles Wilson sprang up and seized her by the neck. Fitton gasped, in real pain, and suddenly everything clicked into place. May leapt up the ward, she was onto Charles, he grabbed her throat and she thrust him off. As she did so Fitton, sitting on the floor, slapped him smartly on the leg and he set off down the ward, May in hot pursuit. She was nearly on him as he jumped for the Sarah Ward corridor, dodging the Hospital Secretary stationed there, then Wright came out clutching loaf and breadknife, Charles turned, pushing May to one side, May screamed: ‘The bell, press the bell!’ and threw herself after Charles. She was already through the main ward door when Sister called her back. Charles had stopped, panting, and May skidded to a halt beside him, feeling suddenly dazed and shaken, her side throbbing painfully and her throat on fire as she gasped for breath. Charles took her arm and led her back into the ward. There was a tentative burst of clapping from the men as she reappeared, but Staff Nurse shushed them fiercely.
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