Damsel in Green

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

THE CHURCH CLOCK across the street chimed the half hour, and Miss Georgina Rodman, already walking down the corridor leading to Casualty, put on a sudden desperate turn of speed. There was a chance—a faint one—that she might arrive on duty before Staff Nurse Gregg; if she didn’t, it would mean the third time late on duty in a week, and Gregg would probably report her to Sister. It would be of no use making excuses, for Gregg never needed to make excuses for herself, and couldn’t understand why anyone else should either. Nurse Rodman wasted precious breath on a sigh as she ran, for her excuses were good ones—on Monday it had been the ward maid falling downstairs with that large pan of porridge; the porridge hadn’t been hot, but extremely sticky; thinking about it, Georgina couldn’t see how she could have ignored the girl’s cries for help. She had been late on Thursday too, when she had met a rather down-trodden old lady who had been told to attend for a barium meal at seven-thirty in the morning, and didn’t know where to go. It had only taken a very short time to walk with her to X-Ray—just long enough for Staff Nurse to remark triumphantly:

‘Late again, Nurse! You should know better—how can you hope to set a good example to the juniors? And you waiting for the results of your Finals!’

Her tone had implied that Georgina need not expect good news. And now it was Saturday, and she was late again, for she had stopped to ask Payne the head porter how his wife was feeling; the poor soul had been ill for weeks, and Payne had been looking sad. She pulled up outside Cas swing doors and drew a breath. It was a pity that life didn’t allow you time to dawdle a little on the way. She opened the doors, to find Staff Nurse Gregg waiting for her—doing the dispensary, of course, because that was her particular job in the mornings; but she had dragged the basket into the center of the room so that she wouldn’t miss Georgina.

She looked pained. ‘Late again, Nurse Rodman—the third time this week. I shall have to report you to Sister—there might have been a terrific emergency on.’

Georgina said, ‘Yes, Staff’ because it was expected of her, and went to twiddle the knobs of the sterilizers in an expert way and count the packets of dressings and instruments CSD had just sent down. The two junior nurses had already prepared the cubicles for the day. She slipped quietly in and out of them, making sure that everything was just so. The first contained a tired-looking boy, a bare, grubby foot on the stool before him, clutching his shoe and sock.

‘Trodden on a rusty nail?’ asked Georgina in a friendly voice. She was already busy cleaning it up.

‘How did you know?’ asked the boy.

‘We get a great many—it’s a common accident. It’ll be fine in a day or two—you won’t need to stop work, but I’ll have to give you an injection.’ She gave him a nice wide smile and went to find Staff. She wasn’t a trained nurse yet—she couldn’t give ATS without getting permission. Gregg gave it with the air of conferring a great honour.

‘Why didn’t you leave the boy? It’s nothing urgent,’ she wanted to know.

‘He’s on night work, it would be a shame to keep him from his bed.’

Staff frowned. ‘You’ll never make a good nurse,’ she grumbled, ‘you’re so impetuous.’

Georgina gave the injection, wondering why she was impetuous. Surely it was plain common sense to clear the cubicles of the minor cases as quickly as possible, otherwise there would be such a bottleneck later on in the morning. She wrote up the boy’s card, filled in the day book, tidied up neatly and went into the last cubicle. Both nurses were in it, as she had guessed they would be. They grinned cheerfully at her, and the youngest and prettiest said, “Oh, George, isn’t she in a foul mood?’

Georgina grinned back. ‘It’ll be worse if you don’t get a porter to change the oxygen in Two … and there aren’t any dressings in Four.’ There was a hurried movement for the door and she added, ‘I’ve seen to the dressings, but it’ll look better if you report the oxygen.’

They stopped at the door. ‘George,’ said the nurse who had forgotten the dressings, ‘we wish you were staff.’

‘That’s nice of you both, but I expect I’ve failed my State, you know.’

She turned to the tiny mirror on the wall to straighten her cap. She had fine, silky hair, and the cap needed a great many pins to keep it at a dignified angle. It was pretty hair, too, light brown and long, and she screwed it up into a severe plaited knob at the back because it was quick to do and stayed tidy that way. She looked at herself in the little square of glass while she re-planted some pins. The face that looked back at her was a good-looking one; not pretty—the nose was a trifle too large and the chin a thought too square, but the brown eyes were large and clear, like a child’s; their lashes long and curling and thick. The mouth was large too, a generous mouth with corners that turned up and smiled readily. She was neither tall nor short and a little on the plump side and looked considerably younger than her twenty-three years. She gave the bib of her apron a tweak and made for the door—it was time to dish the bowls.

She had just put the last two in their appointed places when Sister appeared in the doorway. She said, ‘Good morning, Nurse,’ in a voice which gave Georgina no clue as to her mood. She returned the greeting and wasn’t at all surprised when Sister went on, ‘Come into the office, will you, Nurse Rodman?’

Georgina put the Cheatle forceps back in their jar and followed Sister across the wide expanse of Casualty to the little office. She shut the door behind her and stood in front of the desk, waiting to be told off.

‘Sit down,’ said Sister surprisingly. She put her hand in her pocket and handed Georgina a letter. ‘I thought you would like to have this as soon as possible,’ she said, and smiled. ‘If you would rather open it alone, I’ll go outside.’

Georgina turned the envelope over and looked at its back; it told her nothing, so she looked at the front again. ‘Please don’t go, Sister,’ she said at last. ‘If I open it quickly it won’t be so bad.’

This piece of female reasoning was obviously one to which Sister could subscribe, for she nodded and said:

‘That’s quite true—the quicker the better.’

Georgina undid the envelope with fingers which shook a little, and read the letter therein, then she folded it tidily and put it back in its envelope. When she spoke it was in a tone of great surprise.

‘I’ve passed,’ she said.

‘Well, of course you have, you silly girl,’ said Sister bracingly. ‘No one expected you to do otherwise.’ She smiled kindly, because it wasn’t all that time ago that she had felt just the same herself. ‘You’d better go to Matron, hadn’t you, Nurse?’

Georgina got to her feet. ‘Yes, Sister, of course. Thank you for letting me come in here to read it.’

She got to the door and had the handle in her hand when she was astonished to hear Sister say, ‘Congratulations, George. You deserve it.’

Everyone called her George; it was inevitable with a name like hers. The housemen probably didn’t know she had another name anyway, and even an occasional consultant had occasionally addressed her so; but no Sister had ever done so before. She flashed a delighted smile across the little room. It was, she realized, a very nice compliment.

She was the last in the queue outside Matron’s office—a gratifyingly long one. There was an excited and subdued hum of voices; everyone had passed; no one had let St Athel’s down. They went in one by one, and came out again in turn, looking pleased and slightly unbelieving. When it was at last her turn, Georgina knocked, entered and stood, as she had stood so many times before, in front of Matron’s desk, only this time she was bidden to take a chair.

Matron congratulated her with just the right mixture of motherliness, authority and friendliness and then asked:

‘Have you any plans, Staff Nurse?’

Georgina gave this careful thought. She hadn’t dared to plan—there was some dim idea at the back of her head that she would like to go abroad—but there was Great-Aunt Polly to think of. She said finally, ‘No, Matron.’

‘Splendid. I feel sure that when you have had a little more experience we shall be able to offer you a Sister’s post.’

Georgina so far forgot herself as to goggle. ‘Me?’ she uttered, regardless of grammar. ‘A Sister? Would I do?’ she asked ingenuously.

Matron smiled benevolently. ‘You will do very well. Think about it—I believe you have a splendid career before you.’

Georgina found herself out in the corridor again. There was no one in sight, so she felt free to execute a few skips and jumps and relieve the excitement Matron’s words had engendered. Even in these days of the nursing shortage, it was a signal honour to be offered the chance of a Sister’s post within half an hour of becoming State Registered. She paused by one of the tall narrow windows overlooking the busy street outside. Matron had said, ‘A splendid career’. It occurred to Georgina at that moment that she didn’t much care for the idea. At the back of her mind was a nebulous dream of a husband and children—an indistinct group rather like an out-of-focus family portrait hanging on some distant wall; the children indefinable in number and vague in appearance, and the man even more so, for she had no idea for whom she sought. Certainly she had not found him so far, and even if she did, she would have to wait and see if he felt the same way … Her train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt by the sound of the ambulance siren, joined within minutes by a second. Her interesting speculations were wiped from her mind as she sped along the corridor in the direction of Cas. There was still no one about, so she did the last few yards at a frank run, with the uneasy thought that nurses never ran except for fire and haemorrhage; well, there was no fire as far as she knew, but there was very probably haemorrhage. Sister was at the outer double doors, already thrown back and fastened. Georgina checked the trolleys; it was vital to have everything in a state of readiness. Minutes, even seconds, counted with someone badly injured. The ambulances, very close together, their blue flashers on, turned into the bay before the doors.

‘I’ll take the first, Staff. Take the second—Staff Nurse Gregg is off until two, so is Jones; but we’ve got Beamish, and Peck’s on at ten.’ She turned away as the first case was carried in and laid carefully on the first of the trolleys. A man, Georgina saw, before she gave her full attention to the second stretcher—another man, not a very young one either and in bad shape as far as she could see. He looked very blue.

She said, ‘Good morning, Bert—’Morning, Ginger’ to the ambulance men, then, ‘Wait a second.’ She opened the flaccid lips and felt around inside them with a gentle finger, then said comfortably, ‘Let’s have these out of the way’, and put the false teeth on the pillow. The unconscious face lost its blueness; she turned it to one side and said, ‘OK.’ And they wheeled the trolley into the second of the cubicles. ‘RTA?’ she asked.

Bert nodded. ‘Lorry and a car—the other two’s not too bad, I reckon, but these chaps—they’ve copped it. T’other went through the windscreen, this chap’s had the wheel in his chest.’

They were in the cubicle by now, and the two men were already busy easing off the man’s boots while Georgina turned on the oxygen and fixed the catheter in one pale, pinched nostril. She regulated its flow very precisely and then started to cut away the man’s clothing to reveal the bloodstained shirt beneath. The ambulance men had already slipped an emergency dressing pad beneath it—they drew small hissing breaths of sympathy as her scissors snipped through the last few inches of sodden vest and exposed the patient’s chest. Exactly in its center there was an irregular depressed wound, several inches in diameter, still bleeding freely. Georgina began to swab it gently—it was a wonder that the man was still alive. She had almost completed her task when a man’s voice said from behind her:

‘Let’s have a needle and syringe, George, and get him cross-matched for some blood—he’s going to need it. Get some ATS into him too, and let’s have the rest of his clothes off and take a look at the damage.’

The owner of the voice had come to stand beside her and was already feeling with careful fingers. Georgina, quite undisturbed by the spate of orders, handed him a syringe and needle and started to unscrew the lid of the Path Lab bottle. ‘Hallo, Ned,’ she said quietly. She liked the young Casualty Officer; he was keen on his work and clever enough at it not to pretend that he knew everything. He said now:

‘This one will need ICU—if we can patch him up sufficiently to get him there.’

They worked steadily. The ambulance men had gone after an exchange of cheerful goodbyes. They had just got the blood transfusion going, not without difficulty, when the Surgical Registrar joined them. Georgina liked him too; he was resourceful and tireless and quiet. She had often thought that he and Sister were well suited, and had several times suspected that they shared that view themselves. She hoped so. He stood between them now, looking down at the patient. ‘Intensive Care, Ned, and then theatre—there may be something we can do.’ He went on, ‘Congratulations, George. What a way to celebrate!’

She was clearing up the small place with an urgent, methodical speed. She said, ‘Thank you,’ but had no time to say more, for Ned interrupted:

‘George, you’ve passed—wonderful! We knew you would, but it’s nice to see it in writing, isn’t it?’ He laughed over at her, and she spared a moment to smile back. He really was rather a dear.

She turned away to help the porters lift the patient on to the trolley which would take him to the ICU. ‘I’ll go up with him,’ she murmured. ‘That blood will need an eye on it.’

When she got back, the other patient had been warded too, and Ned was dealing with the other two men who had been in the crash. She started to work methodically through the waiting patients.

The morning wore on. They snatched their coffee as and when they could get it; indeed, Georgina had barely tasted hers when she was called away to take a toddler to X-Ray; its young, distraught mother insisted on going too, very white-faced and passionately remorseful. She repeated over and over again, ‘Oh, if only I hadn’t left those safety pins on the table!’

Georgina was holding the small boy carefully; they hadn’t been able to discover if the pin had been closed when he had swallowed it—a large one would have stuck, but apparently this one had been very small, small enough to go down a long way before it would begin to do any damage.

‘Try not to worry,’ she said kindly. ‘Children swallow things all day and every day, you know. There’s no reason to suppose he won’t be as right as rain in a day or two. He’ll be quite safe in the children’s ward, and you can stay with him if you like.’

The young woman cast her a look of gratitude out of all proportion to her words—perhaps it was the kindness in Georgina’s voice. When they parted at X-Ray she managed a smile and Georgina found herself promising to go and see how the small boy was doing when she went off duty that evening. She hadn’t really time to do so, she reminded herself ruefully, as she sped back to Cas. It was her day off the next day, and she had a train to catch at seven that evening; but the woman had looked so lost …

She was very late for dinner, but the theatre staff were late too, so that there were half a dozen of them sitting at the table. Two of them had taken their exams with Georgina, and, like her, had passed, but unlike her they were leaving to get married just as soon as they could. Listening to their happy chatter, she felt a small shiver of apprehension; supposing Matron’s ‘splendid career’ was to be her lot in life? She pulled herself together with an effort, aware of a discontent quite alien to her nature. She was a very lucky young woman, and Great-Aunt Polly would be delighted.

Gregg was on duty when she got back, and half an hour later Sister went for her rather tardy half day. Georgina was putting a collar and cuff bandage on a small cyclist who had broken a collar-bone and Ned was washing his hands while she did it. Sister had popped her head round the door as she went and wished them a quiet day, and when she had gone he said in the most casual of voices:

‘They’ll make a wonderful pair.’

‘Who?’ she frowned an enquiry as she tucked in loose ends.

‘Good lord, George, do you go around with your head in a bag? Sister and old Bingham, of course.’

Georgina helped the boy on with his coat and tucked the useless sleeve tidily in the pocket, then sent him outside to the clerk’s desk before she replied, ‘They’re going to be married, you mean? I knew they were friends.’ Although now she thought about it, the Registrar did come very often and sometimes unnecessarily to Cas. She took the towel from Ned and dried her own hands, and said gloomily, ‘I’m glad, they’re both dears, but Gregg will be Sister.’

He gave her a quick look. ‘I shouldn’t be too sure of that, George.’

She had straightened the couch, and now began to refurbish the trolley.

‘You know, Ned, this ought to be a marvelous day, and it isn’t. I feel at least forty, with nothing left to live for.’

He turned at the door, laughing. ‘You need a husband, my girl. Who shall he be? Tall, dark, rich and handsome; clever of course, and ready to buy you all the tea in China.’

She made a face at him. ‘That’ll do splendidly to go on with.’

‘Good. In the meanwhile, talking of tea, I’m going to get some—there’s sure to be a cup going in Men’s Surgical. That’s where I’ll be if I’m needed.’

Georgina nodded understandingly. Ned had a roving eye, which had settled, for the time being at least, on the pretty staff nurse on Men’s Surgical. She hoped that there wouldn’t be anything much in, so that he could get his tea in peace.

She went off duty half an hour late and on the way along the corridor to the Nurses’ Home remembered her promise to the mother of the pin-swallowing baby, and had to turn and fly back again and up two flights of worn stone steps to the children’s ward. As she suspected, he had been operated upon that afternoon in order to preclude perforation. He was lying in his cot, still drowsy from the anaesthetic, and his mother was sitting with him. Georgina spent several minutes listening to her troubled little voice, nothing in her relaxed manner betraying her impatience to be gone.

She caught the train by the skin of her teeth. Great-Aunt Polly lived in a small village in Essex, some miles from Thaxted. It had been Georgina’s home, since she had gone to live with Aunt Polly; that had been when she had been a little girl of nine. Her father, a schoolmaster, had died suddenly and unexpectedly from ‘flu, and her mother had died a week or two after him, leaving a bewildered little daughter, as frightened as she was unhappy. Great-Aunt Polly had carried her off to live with her in her small timbered cottage, and had been father and mother to her ever since. Georgina sat in the train, looking out of the window at the dreary London suburbs, thinking about the old lady. She would be able to repay her now with a hundred and one small comforts … She lost herself in a daydream which lasted until the train slowed down at Thaxted. She picked up her case and jumped out, an attractive girl in her well-fitting corduroy coat and high boots.

The small, rather ramshackle local bus from Thaxted, the last from that town for the day, took her to within a stone’s throw of the cottage. The cottage stood a little way down a narrow lane leading off the village street. There was an ancient hornbeam on the corner, and on the opposite side the apple trees at the end of her aunt’s garden, even on a dark November evening, combined to make a lovely picture in the cold moonlight. She unlatched the little gate and walked, a great deal faster now, up the brick path and beat a tattoo on the Georgian brass door-knocker before opening the door and going in. The passage was brick too, a little worn in places and covered with an Afghan rug, also worn, but still splendid. The back door faced her and each wall held two doors, from one of which a plump elderly woman bustled.

‘Miss Georgina! It’s nice to see you, that it is. Miss Rodman’s had her supper and I’ve kept yours hot … put that bag down, and go and see her. Did you pass?’ She peered at Georgina anxiously and was swept into a violent hug.

‘Yes, Moggy, I did. Isn’t it wonderful? I’ll tell Aunt Polly.’

She opened another door and went into the sitting-room where her aunt was waiting. She sat, as she always did, in a stiff-backed chair, her almost useless legs on a little Victorian footstool, her sticks on either side of her, so that she need not ask for help if she should want to get up. She hated to ask for help—Georgina had been almost sixteen when Great-Aunt Polly had been stricken with polio, and could still remember very clearly the look on the old lady’s face when her doctor had told her that it was not very likely that she would walk again. She belonged to a generation who didn’t discuss their ailments; she hadn’t discussed them then, but over the following years she had progressed from wheelchair to crutches, and finally, to sticks. Georgina and Mrs Mogg, who had been with them for as long as she could remember, had watched her struggles and said nothing, knowing that that was what she would wish, but the day Aunt Polly took her first awkward steps with her two sticks Georgina had gone down to the Three Bells in the village, and come back with a bottle of hock under one arm, because she wasn’t sure what to buy anyway, but quite obviously the occasion called for celebration. She crossed the little room now and slid on to her knees beside her aunt’s chair and hugged her, just as she had hugged Moggy, only with a little less vigour because Aunt Polly was a small dainty person despite her will of iron.

‘I’ve passed,’ said Georgina, knowing that that was what her aunt wanted to hear.

Aunt Polly smiled. ‘Yes, dear. I knew you would, of course, but congratulations all the same—I’m very proud of you.’

Mrs Mogg had come in with a tray on which was Georgina’s supper—steak and kidney pudding and a nice assortment of vegetables and a little baked custard for afters. Georgina got up and took the tray from her, put it on the floor and sat down beside it, and Miss Rodman said:

‘Mrs Mogg, will you get the glasses and the Madeira? We must drink to Miss Georgina’s health—and you eat up your supper, child, you must be hungry.’

Georgina fell to. She had an appetite and enjoyed good food. Mrs Mogg came back with the wine, and they sat, the three of them, drinking it from very old, beautiful glasses which she fetched from the corner cupboard. Presently, when she had disposed of the steak and kidney, Georgina told them what Matron had said and Aunt Polly nodded and looked happy, then glanced at her sharply and said, ‘But is that what you want, dear?’

Georgina polished off the last of the custard. ‘Yes, of course, Aunt Polly,’ she said stoutly, and remembered rather clearly that Ned had said that what she wanted was a husband. She turned her back on the thought. ‘Ned told me that sister and old Bingham are going to get married,’ she went on, anxious to talk about something else. ‘That means that Gregg will get Cas, I suppose. I expect I shall get a Junior Night Sister’s post to start with anyway, and that won’t be for quite while yet, I shall hate working with Gregg.’

‘You might marry,’ said Mrs Mogg chattily, Georgina gave her a wide smile. ‘Oh, Moggy, who? I only meet the housemen, and they’re far too busy and penniless to marry, and if you’re thinking of rich consultants, they’re all married. Besides, it will be nice to earn some real money at last—it’s time I did my share, you know.’

Miss Rodman straightened an already straight back. ‘That is very good of you, dear Georgina, but Mrs Mogg and I are old women. We need very little, and we manage. You’ve worked hard, the money is yours to spend. Why don’t you go abroad?’

Georgina lied cheerfully, ‘I really don’t want to, Aunt Polly. Perhaps later on when I’ve had more experience—I think I’ll stay at St Athel’s for a year or two and get that Sister’s post, then see how I feel.’

She got up and carried her tray out to the kitchen where she put it on the scrubbed wood table, then took the dishes to the sink and washed up, singing cheerfully in a clear voice so the occupants of the sitting-room would hear how happy she was.

CHAPTER TWO

ST ATHEL’S looked grim and grey on Monday morning, Georgina walked into the cold, well polished hall of the Nurses’ Home and started to climb the stairs to her room on the top floor. She fought, as she always had to, against homesickness. The contrast between the impersonal atmosphere of the home and the little cottage was too great. She paused on a landing and looked out of the window. There was a plane tree close by, quite a nice one; she closed her eyes and saw her beloved hornbeam, then, despising herself for being childish, hurried on up the last flight. Once she was on duty she would be all right again. But somehow she wasn’t, despite the fact that Gregg had a half day. She told herself that it was reaction after all the excitement and was glad that the steady stream of patients kept her busy—too busy to think on her own affairs. Sister went off duty at five o’clock and Ned telephoned to say that Bob Baker would be standing in for him until midnight, and would she let the night staff know before she went off duty. She put down the receiver with a grimace. She disliked Baker—he was on the medical side, which didn’t prevent him from knowing all there was to know about Casualty. When she finally got off duty at nine, she was in a thoroughly bad temper, what with Mr Baker delivering lectures about the art of diagnosing, while pronouncing an obvious concussion fit to go home, and calling a Colles’ fracture a Potts’. She had asked him crossly if he hadn’t learned the difference between an arm and a leg, and roundly declared that the concussed patient was to be warded, and he had retaliated by refusing to leave his supper to write up an X-ray form for an old man with a very obviously fractured hip. He came at length, and signed his very ordinary name with a great flourish, demanding to know where Gregg was.

‘Days off,’ snapped Georgina. ‘I’ll tell her you were asking for her when she comes back,’ and had the satisfaction of seeing him look terrified. Gregg made no secret of the fact that she intended to marry a doctor, and Mr Baker would serve her purpose as well as any, she supposed.

He backed to the door. ‘I merely wished to know,’ he stated coldly, ‘because I’m not completely satisfied with your work.’

‘I’ll repeat that, word for word, to Sister in the morning,’ she said with equal coldness. ‘I’m sure she will arrange for you to be replaced by one of the other housemen—she wouldn’t like to think that our standards aren’t up to yours.’ She flounced to the door, took the handle from his unresisting hand, gave him a gentle push, and shut the door with great firmness upon his astonished face.

When she got to her room, it was to find several of her friends there with a large pot of tea and a variety of mugs. Somebody had found a bottle of milk and Georgina rooted around in her wardrobe and produced some sugar and a large homemade cake, pressed upon her that morning by Mrs Mogg. The cake disposed of, and the mugs replenished, the conversation turned, as it always did, to the future. It seemed to Georgina, listening, that everyone there but herself was on the point of doing something exciting. One was going into the QAs, two were going to Canada, the remainder were either on the point of getting married or engaged.

A voice said, ‘George, you haven’t told us what you’re going to do.’

‘Well,’ she began; she wasn’t sure if she should mention about getting a Sister’s post, ‘I thought I’d stay here …’

‘Did Matron dangle a Sister’s cap before you?’ someone wanted to know.

‘Later on … it was all a bit vague. Perhaps I’ll do my Midder.’ She had only just thought of that, but at least it was a future.

Her immediate future was to be taken care of, though. The next morning Matron wanted to see her. There was no chance to change her apron; she turned it inside out, hoping the stains wouldn’t show through, and presented herself, outwardly composed, at Matron’s office. She came out again within a couple of minutes. Night duty—four weeks of it in Cas; valuable experience, Matron had said, by way of sugaring the pill. It meant nights off too, several days at home each fortnight. She brightened at the thought of not having to work with Gregg, and brightened still more when she met Ned and told him, and he said, ‘Thank God! That woman who’s on now calls me for the merest scratch—besides, you’re nice to have around.’

Georgina chuckled. ‘Go on with you, Ned,’ she said comfortably. If she had had a brother, she would have used the same tone of voice she was using now. ‘But I promise not to call you for scratches!’

They started on their separate ways and as they went he called over his shoulder, ‘Are you on tonight?’

She went on walking away from him. ‘No, tomorrow,’ she replied, thinking that she must remember to ring Aunt Polly.

Night duty on Cas followed a pattern, she discovered, after she had been on for a few nights. Until eleven she was kept busy by a steady influx of people who ‘didn’t like to bother the doctor’; toothache, teething babies, bruises it was best not to enquire too deeply into; boils and headaches, cut fingers and ingrowing toenails; they crowded into the benches, confident that someone would do something for them, and in the meantime it was pleasant to have a natter. After the pubs closed, it was the turn of the drunks, cheerfully escorted by a constable, who as often or not gave a helping hand. There was seldom very much wrong with them, but they wasted everyone’s time, for they invariably needed stitches.

After the first night, when there were two or three waiting for scalp wounds to be sutured, Ned suggested that she should give a hand, and after that she added stitching to her duties; of course he did the complicated cuts, but very often it was only a case of one straightforward stitch, which the patient was frequently far too drunk to notice. The crashes followed a pattern too—round about midnight and five or six in the morning, so that Georgina quite often ate her dinner at two o’clock in the morning and had to miss tea altogether, but that was something you expected if you worked on Cas, and it didn’t occur to her to grumble about it. She slept like a log during the day, and there were nights off to look forward to.

On this, the fifth night, however, she had gone on duty tired after an almost sleepless day. She smiled at the waiting patients as she passed them and went on into the office to take over from Sister, who was looking, surprisingly, quite different from usual. She gave Georgina one or two police messages in an abstracted sort of manner and told her that Ned would be on duty, and that Mr Bingham would be available at ten o’clock. There was something in the way she said this that made Georgina look at her carefully. Sister was excited, and excitement had turned her into a very pretty woman. She caught Georgina’s eye and said almost diffidently, ‘Mr Bingham and I are going out to dinner—to celebrate. I might as well tell you, Staff. We’re going to be married.’

Georgina put down her cloak and bag. ‘Sister, how wonderful! I am glad, and wish you every happiness. What a pity Mr Bingham has to be on duty—it’s his night on call, isn’t it?’

Sister got up and draped her cloak around her shoulders. ‘Well, yes, Staff, it is. But we shan’t be long—if anything big comes in, Ned can get help and send for Mr Bingham—there’s the phone number on the pad.’

She smiled dreamily, said goodnight, and slipped away. Georgina rolled up her sleeves and put on her frills, thinking about Sister and Mr Bingham. Sister would leave, of course. She went across to the cubicles and checked their contents with practiced speed, not because she didn’t trust the day staff to leave everything in a state of readiness, but because each one of them did it when they came on duty—it was a kind of unwritten rule no one forgot. This done, she began on the patients.

The benches were half cleared when she heard the ambulance. The two cubicles nearest the door were empty; she pushed back the double doors and wheeled two trolleys as near as possible to them, and found time to warn the waiting patients that they would be delayed. It was Ginger on duty. He drew up with a little rush and got out to join his mate.

‘Evening, Staff,’ he called politely. ‘Got an RTA here. Two kids and a man.’ He had opened the ambulance door and was pulling out the first stretcher. ‘Head injuries—broken legs for the little boy—man’s a walking case.’

She flew to the telephone and dialed the doctors’ quarters and waited a long minute while Ned was fetched. She said merely, ‘An RTA, Ned,’ and went to the first cubicle where the little boy was. He was still on the trolley and unconscious, and she thought that that was a good thing when she whisked back the blanket and looked at his legs. Nothing much to see, but there were already bruises showing between the splints—probably both femurs. He didn’t look too bad, and his pulse was good. The second child was a little girl, semi-conscious and bleeding from head wounds. She had long straight fair hair, hopelessly tangled and matted with blood. Georgina took her pulse too and hoped that she was right in thinking that she wasn’t badly injured. The third patient came in on his feet, looking rather white. He was holding his right hand against his chest, and said surprisingly, ‘I’m sorry to give you this trouble. The children?’

Georgina said quickly, ‘The doctor will be here in a moment—he’ll have to examine them first. Come and sit down. When we’ve seen to them and I’ve a second, I’ll get a sling for that arm of yours. It looks like a collar-bone.’

She smiled at him, her brown eyes soft with sympathy. He was about her own age or a little younger; very good-looking, with fair hair and blue eyes and a mouth that looked as though it could laugh a lot in happier circumstances. She left him sitting, and went at once to the small boy, to be joined at once by Ned. He stood looking at him while she cut away the clothes from the quiet little body, and then at a word from her, steadied each leg as she eased off the shoes and socks.

Ned explored them gently. ‘This is a job for old Sawbones—’ he meant Mr Sawbridge, the senior orthopaedic surgeon. ‘I’ll get Bill Foster down.’ Bill was his registrar. ‘Get him on the phone, George. What’s the lad’s pulse like?’

She had been taking it while he was talking. ‘A hundred and ten—strong, steady. I’ll get him on a half-hourly chart, shall I? And I suppose you’ll want skull X-rays as well as legs?’

She didn’t wait for an answer but went to the telephone for a second time to get Bill Foster, and then to send a message to the Night Super to see if she could spare the junior runner; it wasn’t very likely, and she was used to managing alone for the greater part of the night. She left Ned with the little boy and went to look at the girl. The ambulance men had stayed with her and she thanked them gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stop to make you a cup of tea, Ginger, but you’re welcome to make yourselves one—you know where everything is.’

But they thanked her and said, no, they’d go. There was sure to be some more work for them some time. They collected their blankets and said ‘Cheerio’ because it would have been silly to have said anything else when they would probably be seeing her several more times during the night. They said goodnight to the young man, however, and he wished them a good night in return and then asked them their names. They gave them awkwardly, and just as awkwardly received his quiet thanks. On the whole, not many people remembered to thank them, understandably enough, but it was nice when they did.

Georgina had taken the little girl’s pulse again. It was good, and she started to ease off her clothing. She was wearing a beautifully made topcoat; the dress beneath it was good too, but stained and torn. The child moaned softly and opened her eyes for a moment, and Georgina waited until she had lapsed into unconsciousness again before looking for injuries. There was a dull red mark on one cheek and another one on a shoulder—they would be livid bruises in a day or so. She covered her little patient with the blanket again and started to examine the small head. There were a number of cuts, none of them serious, but needing stitches. She started to swab them one by one, carefully cutting the long hair away from each small wound. The child was still unconscious when she had finished. She pulled the curtain back, hurried across to where the man sat and fastened a sling around his arm, then took an X-ray form along to Ned for him to sign. When she got back, she said, ‘Do you think you could manage to get to X-Ray? We’re a bit pushed for staff—it’s only just across the passage. I’ll fill in your name presently.’

‘The children?’ he asked again.

‘The orthopaedic surgeon will be in presently—I’m afraid the little boy has both legs broken,’ she said gently, ‘but his general condition is quite good. The little girl has a cut head—I can’t tell you anything else until the doctor has examined them.’

He stood up. ‘How kind you are,’ he said, and smiled so that she felt a small glow of pleasure. He took the form she was holding out to him, and walked away to X-Ray.

Bill Foster came then and joined Ned and Night Super followed him. She ran a practiced eye over everything and said, ‘You can manage, can’t you Staff? We’re two nurses short tonight and Men’s Medical is up to its eyes. They really need the runner there—I’ll try and send someone down to help you clear up later.’ She went away again, exuding confidence and encouragement.

Georgina went back to her patient. The trolley was set; it was just a question of waiting until Ned could get along to do the stitching. She took the child’s pulse, was satisfied, and began to draw up the Novocaine. It was while she was doing so that she became aware of the man standing in the doorway.

Her first impression was that he was enormous. She put the syringe, with its needle stuck in the top of the Novocaine bottle, on to the trolley top, and took another look. She had been right; he wasn’t just tall; he was massive as well, so that he dwarfed the small cubicle. He was handsome too, with fair hair brushed back from a high wide forehead, a patrician nose, and a mouth that looked kind. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes, but she thought that they were blue—they were staring at her now, and she made haste to say something.

‘Is this moppet yours? If you wouldn’t mind going to the cubicle at the end, the Casualty Officer is there—I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you calling in to see her.’ She smiled kindly at him. ‘She’s not too bad, although she looks … The boy, is he yours too?’

He smiled faintly. ‘Yes, Staff Nurse, they’re—mine.’ He had a deep voice, but she had expected that; any other would have sounded absurd coming from the great chest. ‘I’ve seen the Casualty Officer. May I come in?’

He suited the action to the word and went to stand by the couch. But he didn’t just stand; he raised the child’s eyelids to test for pupil reaction, examined the small ears and nose carefully and took her pulse. ‘Has she been conscious at all?’ he wanted to know.

Georgina said, ‘Yes, twice, for a few moments,’ and stopped, astonished at herself. The man was a stranger and she was meekly answering his questions just as though he was one of the hospital doctors. She shot him a look of mingled annoyance and perplexity which she was sure he didn’t see. Apparently he had eyes at the back of his head as well, for he said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right to be vexed with me. I should have said that I am a doctor. Your excellent young man here suggested that I might like to stitch Beatrix while we wait for Mr Sawbridge’s verdict.’ He straightened, missing the ceiling by an inch or so. ‘He will—er—vouch for me if you would care to ask him.’

She hesitated. It didn’t occur to her to doubt him; he wasn’t that kind of a man. Indeed, she was struck by the thought that she had met him a bare five minutes ago, and on the strength of this short acquaintance was quite prepared to take his word on anything. All the same, perhaps she should ask his name. She was saved from making up her mind about this by Ned, who put his head round the curtain. He took no notice of her at all, but said with marked politeness:

‘Mr Sawbridge has just arrived, sir, if you’d care to see him? I could be having a quick dek—er—look at the little girl in the meantime.’

The big man nodded. When he had gone and Ned had started a careful examination, Georgina burst out, ‘Ned, for heaven’s sake, why are you so polite? Who is he?’ She passed him the ophthalmoscope. ‘Her blood pressure’s normal—her pulse is a bit fast too—a hundred and twelve, but nice volume. Who is he?’ she repeated.

Ned gave her back the ophthalmoscope and took the auroscope she was holding out. He peered down it and muttered, ‘Can’t see anything much wrong—better have her X-rayed, though, when she’s stitched. He’ll do it I expect, while the boy’s in X-Ray.’

‘Who’s he?’ Georgina tried again. She was used to doctors, who tended to get away from the point.

‘George, don’t you ever read those nursing papers of yours, or listen to the grapevine? He’s been here several times. He lectures us—he goes to most of the teaching hospitals. He’s Professor van den Berg Eyffert.’

She opened her pretty brown eyes wide. ‘What a name! Not English, surely. What’s he professor of?’

Ned frowned. ‘Your grammar’s a bit sloppy, isn’t it, old lady? Anaesthetics. Right in the front row, he is. Knows all the answers.’ He went to the door. ‘I’m going to X-Ray to look at that clavicle.’

He went, and the big man came back. He said nothing about the little boy, merely, ‘Shall we start, Staff Nurse?’

He took off his coat and white scarf, and stood in all the magnificence of white tie and tails, looking for somewhere to put them. Georgina took them from him and hung them behind the door, and his tail coat too while he rolled up his shirt sleeves. He was almost ready when she said hastily, ‘Before you start, sir, would you like me to send a message to your wife? I can telephone her … you could speak to her.’

He looked as though he was going to smile, but he answered gravely, ‘Thank you, but I have no wife.’

‘Oh, how awful for you—I am sorry,’ said Georgina, and went scarlet. Would she never learn to think before she spoke? she thought remorsefully, and plunged deeper. ‘I mean—it’s horrid for children when something like this happens, and there’s no mo …’ she stopped again, and met his eyes watching her quizzically from the other side of the trolley.

‘The young man with them—is he yours too?’

This time he did smile. ‘Yes, more or less. A cousin. I have seen him in X-Ray.’ He looked suddenly forbidding. Perhaps, thought Georgina, it would be a good idea not to ask him any more questions.

‘Shall I hold her in my arms in case she comes round?’ she asked. ‘If I sit on the side of the couch with her head over my arm—there’s a stool you could use, otherwise your back will ache,’ she added in a practical voice.

He did as she suggested and started to stitch. Two of the cuts had been closed when the little girl began to whimper, and they waited without speaking until she opened her eyes. Georgina said at once:

‘Hullo, Beatrix.’

The child looked at her for a long moment. ‘Who are you, please?’

‘Oh, a nurse,’ said Georgina, and turned herself round so that her patient could see the man on the stool. The small face lighted up.

‘Cousin Julius! I knew you’d come!’ She started to smile and then, because her scratched face was sore and stiff, began to cry instead. Georgina held her close, murmuring comfort, while the man sat impassive, showing no impatience. In a minute or two, Georgina produced a hanky to mop the large blue eyes and said firmly:

‘Hush now! If we tell you what has to be done to make your head better, will you be a brave girl while it’s done?’

She didn’t wait for an answer but waited for Professor Eyffert to explain. He said gently, ‘You’ve cut your head, Beatrix, and I’m stitching the cuts together again. I shall have to prick you once or twice and we don’t mind if you want to cry; only stay still on Nurse’s lap.’

She was sleepy again. She murmured, ‘Yes, Cousin Julius,’ and made no demur when he picked up the syringe again. He had almost finished when she said:

‘I know you’re a nurse, but what’s your name?’

‘Georgina,’ said Georgina.

The child repeated it. ‘That’s a nice name. Does everyone call you that?’

‘Well, no, not always.’

‘What?’ the small voice was persistent.

‘Actually,’ said Georgina, ‘I get called George.’ She felt faintly embarrassed.

‘I shall call you George. That is, if you don’t mind? I like you.’

Georgina was aware that the Professor had finished his handiwork and was just sitting on the stool, listening. She looked up and caught his eye and frowned in a repressive fashion at him because she found his presence unsettling. She said, ‘Thank you, Beatrix. I like you too,’ then laid the child gently back on to the couch, made quick work of spraying each small cut with Nebecutane and then said to no one in particular:

‘I think I shall be needed to take the small boy …’

‘Cornelis,’ said a small voice from the pillow. ‘He’s my brother.’

‘Cornelis,’ repeated Georgina obediently, ‘to X-Ray.’ She stood up and looked fleetingly at the man sitting so quietly. ‘Shall I find a nurse to sit with Beatrix, or will you …?’

‘Stay? Yes, of course. But please ask Mr Sawbridge if he would spare a moment.’

She went down the row of cubicles to where the little boy lay, and passed the young man on the way. He was sitting on one of the stiff wooden chairs, staring ahead of him, but he smiled fleetingly as she halted before him.

‘All right?’ she enquired. ‘I’ll see to you just as soon as I can—it won’t be long now. Your—er—cousin is in the cubicle with the little girl if you like …’

He interrupted quite fiercely, ‘Thank you, Nurse—if my cousin wants me, he’ll send for me.’

She blinked at this; it would have been nice if she could have spared the time to learn a little more about the Professor. Instead, she made all haste to where an impatient porter was waiting to go to X-Ray.

Ten minutes later, while they were taking the lateral views, Mr Sawbridge, Bill Foster and the Professor came in. They went straight to the darkroom, where she could hear them muttering together over the wet films until the radiographer had finished his work and went to join them. They all came out together very shortly, and Mr Sawbridge said, ‘All right, Staff, take him back. I shall want the theatre in twenty minutes, please. Ask Theatre Sister to telephone me here as soon as possible. Oh, and put a figure-of-eight on Mr van den Berg Eyffert.’

She did as she was bid, but before starting on the bandaging she filled in a case sheet for Cornelis and got Bill Foster to write it up. There was the little matter of the pre-med. When she got back it was to find that the runner had got down at last; she left her to get the little boy ready for theatre and whisked into a cubicle where she had bidden the young man sit. ‘Now,’ she breathed, ‘let’s get you done.’ She was rolling cotton wool into a pad as she spoke and had eased him out of his shirt when a voice said placidly, ‘Shall I get a pull on his shoulders for you, Staff Nurse?’ He didn’t wait for her relieved murmur, but got behind his cousin and drew his shoulders firmly back.

The young man went white. ‘Revenge is sweet!’ he muttered.

‘I imagine you don’t mean that, Karel,’ the big man spoke patiently with no trace of ill-humour. He eased the injured shoulder up a little so that Georgina could arrange the pad, and she heard her patient say, ‘Sorry, Julius—I apologise.’

No one spoke again until she had finished her bandage. She nodded with satisfaction at the neatness of it and said briskly, ‘I should like particulars of you all, please, but I’ll get you a cup of tea first.’

She peeped in at Beatrix as she passed the cubicle; the little girl was asleep with Ned sitting beside her, writing up notes. He looked up and said crossly, ‘There you are! Wherever do you go?’

‘Round and about,’ said Georgina soothingly. ‘Is this one to be warded too?’

He nodded. ‘After X-ray, yes. Twenty-four hours’ observation.’ He nodded towards the benches, where a few of the hardier patients were still waiting. ‘Better run through that lot, hadn’t we?’

She nodded. ‘All right. Nurse can make the tea, then stay with the boy until he goes to theatre. I’ll take this one to X-Ray; that’ll leave her free to help you.’

She went back again after she had primed the runner about the tea, and the Professor, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, looked up and said vaguely, ‘Ah, yes,’ and walked away, leaving her patient to answer her questions. She began to fill in the cards and only just restrained herself from speaking when he gave the address as being very near Debden, which was only a few miles from her own home. Dalmers Place, he had said; she dimly remembered cycling through the village years ago. There had been several old Tudor houses in the neighbourhood—it must be one of those. She had barely finished taking the particulars when they came for the boy from theatre. She left him to drink his tea while she went with the child, and wasn’t in the least surprised to find the Professor, gowned and capped, waiting by the anaesthetic trolley.

She left the patient in the care of the theatre staff and sped back to Cas. The young man and Ned had joined forces over their tea. Ned said, ‘Ward the little girl, will you, ducky, and I’ll fix a taxi for Mr Eyffert.’

She came back to find Ned impatient to finish the diehards on the benches, and the younger Mr Eyffert on the point of departure. He wished her goodbye, thanked her charmingly and hoped to see her again, and it warmed her to think that he really meant it. He explained, ‘I’d like to stay, but Julius told me to go round to the hotel.’ Apparently Julius gave the orders and expected them carried out. She shook his sound hand and said soothingly, ‘That’s a fine idea; a good night’s sleep will do you a world of good. I’m sure Professor Eyffert will let you know how things go.’

‘Lord, yes. You see, the accident wasn’t my fault, but I am to blame. I decided to come to town for the evening and the kids got into the back of the car for a lark, so I brought them with me for the ride.’ He saw her astonished eyebrows. ‘I know it sounds silly. It was. Julius wiped the floor with me, and I deserved it.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Poor chap, saddled with four children and me—but he’s a wonderful guardian.’

Georgina felt a peculiar lifting of her spirits. ‘Guardian? I thought he was their father.’

He laughed again, ruefully. ‘He’s not had much chance to think about getting married. Well, so long, Staff Nurse. I shall see you again.’

She agreed lightly, aware that it was unlikely—nearly all patients said that. She didn’t see the Professor again, either. He had called in on his way back from theatre while she was at her meal and expressed regret at missing her. She was surprised to find that she minded not seeing him again very much, but she was far too busy to ponder the matter.

She called in to the children’s unit on her way off duty in the morning. Beatrix was sitting up in bed, eating her breakfast; rather battered but apparently none the worse for her experience, and delighted to see her. Cornelis had regained consciousness an hour or two earlier and Georgina was invited to go along and see him. His eyes were closed; his face looked small and white and lonely on the pillow, as though it had nothing to do with the two legs in their Thomas’s splints.

‘They made a good job of them,’ commented the staff nurse who was with Georgina. ‘Sliding traction—they were both nice clean breaks. He’ll be as good as new in a few months’ time.’

He opened his eyes then, and asked, just as his sister had done, ‘Who are you?’

‘Hullo, Cornelis. I saw you last night when you were brought here.’

He nodded, staring at her. ‘I like you. What’s your name?’

‘Georgina Rodman.’

‘Mine’s Cornelis van den Berg Eyffert. You may call me Cor if you like.’ He added, ‘I shall call you George,’ and added again, very politely, ‘That’s if you don’t mind.’

There was no need to reply, for he had dropped off to sleep again. George went back to Beatrix and reiterated her promise to see her again, then ran downstairs to the dining-room, where she ate her meal rather dreamily without contributing greatly to the conversation. She was wondering if she would ever see Professor Eyffert again, and even if she did, whether he would remember her. In the No Man’s Land of muddled thoughts before she slept, she remembered that the children had called him Julius. A nice name, she thought sleepily, for a nice man. She slept.

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