by Evelyn James
Clara was even more confused than before.
“Ward D? But, that was where the patients with psychiatric issues were placed during the war,” Clara was flummoxed. “Are you saying Captain O’Harris has been deemed of so unstable a nature he has been placed there?”
The matron gave her that pitying look again.
“I am afraid so. It seems the captain’s recent experiences have rather unhinged his mind.”
Clara was so angry to hear such a blunt assessment of O’Harris that it took all her effort to bite her tongue. She had better things to do than argue with the matron. She turned on her heel and headed for Ward D.
During the war Clara had worked as a voluntary nurse in the hospital. It had been a job filled with horrors, especially when they started to take in wounded soldiers shipped over from the battlefields. She had seen things that could not be eradicated from the mind; men missing half their faces, or all their limbs. Men so poisoned by gas they could barely breathe. And then there were those whose minds had been so badly affected by the torment of battle that they had descended into madness.
Ward D was for these men. Prior to the war it had been a small emergency ward for ordinary patients deemed to be of unsound mind. But during those four bleak years the ward had been expanded and used to accommodate soldiers who screamed through fear in the night and hallucinated visions of the enemy during the day. There was limited effort made to help them, not because no one wanted to, but because no one knew how to. The nurses and doctors did their best, and occasionally a military doctor was sent in to assess the men and determine if any were malingerers. But when it came to mental conditions, most of the professionals were at a loss as to what to do.
Clara had only been into Ward D once. She had been running an errand for another nurse, and the ward had filled her with a sort of dread. The men about her were so tortured and out of their minds, it broke her heart as well as scaring her. When Tommy had been sent home suffering in a similar, if not so severe fashion, from shell-shock, the memories of that ward had flooded back and terrified her. She had been so scared Tommy might end up in such a place, and now here was Captain O’Harris, war hero and adventurer, shunted into that pit of insanity. Clara was almost in a panic when she finally found herself outside the ward doors.
Ward D was a secure ward for a number of reasons, not least that patients within could be a danger to themselves or others. Some were just prone to wandering away and could get themselves into mischief, others could suddenly be overcome by fits of violence. The double doors to the ward were, therefore, kept locked at all times. To gain entry Clara had to ring a bell and wait for someone to arrive.
A young man with spectacles appeared at the doors after a few moments. He peered through the small window in one of the doors out at Clara, then unlocked them. He opened the door just a fraction.
“Yes?”
“I have come to see Captain O’Harris,” Clara said, masking her anxiety and making her voice sound confident. She was all too aware that if she asked if she could see him she would be bluntly turned away. The only other option was to brazen out matters and act as if being allowed into the secure ward was perfectly normal.
“We don’t let in visitors,” the man said. He was dressed in uniform and Clara suspected he was one of the male nurses needed on occasion to restrain patients.
“I believe you will find my name on the official list of visitors for Captain O’Harris,” Clara responded, keeping her cool. “As supplied by Inspector Park-Coombs. Now, might we move things along? I have already wasted twenty minutes of the visiting hour because no one cared to inform me that Captain O’Harris had been moved.”
Clara glanced at her watch to emphasise her annoyance. She was endeavouring to channel the attitude of one of the ladies who was on the Pavilion Committee. A lady of good breeding who had never been turned away from anywhere. She did not ask to be allowed to enter a place, she commanded it. Clara had been amazed at how her stern, but non-aggressive, determination had enabled her to get her way at more than one meeting. Now Clara was hoping she could achieve the same.
“This is Ward D. We don’t accept visitors without the express permission of Dr Patton,” the man persisted.
“I am well aware it is Ward D,” Clara said stoutly. “I worked in the hospital during the war. In fact, I have run errands on behalf of Dr Patton in my time and regularly set foot beyond these hallowed doors. Why not summon Dr Patton, if you must? Though I insist on you being speedy as visiting time is very nearly over.”
The man was feeling badgered by Clara’s persistence. Worse, he knew that Dr Patton had gone out to a dinner meeting with the hospital board and could not be found in a hurry. He knew his instructions, but he also knew how angry Dr Patton became when someone made a complaint against the hospital staff. The man was beginning to feel that Clara was the sort of person who would make a very forceful complaint and it might land him in even further trouble.
Clara leapt onto his indecision.
“I merely want to see if Captain O’Harris requires anything. I shall not disturb anyone and, as I say, I was a nurse here during the war. I have been on this ward in a professional capacity,” that was stretching the point, her errand to Ward D all those years ago had taken less than five minutes. “If people had only been good enough to inform me sooner of what had occurred I could have arranged things through the proper channels. It is not my fault there has been a breakdown in communications.”
The poor male attendant was now utterly disconcerted and uncertain of what to do or say. Dr Patton was not there to yell at him, but this woman with her stern attitude was. He decided it was easiest to concede to her.
“All right, come in. But be quick and don’t disturb the other patients. It has been a bad enough morning already.”
Clara hurried through the doors before he could change his mind. The ward was much as she remembered it; full of men who groaned and cried out random words. Some were tied to their beds and fought against their restraints. Others cried and shrieked, calling out for mercy or for their mothers. Some were old and their madness was a result of senility, others might have always suffered mental disturbances or seizures that robbed them of their normal senses. Among this confusion rested Captain O’Harris. Clara spotted him in a bed in the centre of the ward. She quickly went to him.
“John?”
Captain O’Harris was heavily sedated and looked at her with bleary, glazed eyes.
“Why is he sedated like this?” Clara asked the male attendant, who had hurried after her anxiously.
“Those were the instructions sent to us from his doctor. We follow those instructions until Dr Patton makes his assessment.”
“And when will that be?” Clara took up O’Harris’ hand, it felt cold and clammy.
“When he has a moment,” the attendant shrugged. “Dr Patton is very busy.”
Clara was furious. It seemed Ward D was where the rest of the hospital deposited patients deemed too troublesome for normal wards and then gladly forgot about them. She was angry for O’Harris and for the other poor souls abandoned here, but she had to focus. She took up Captain O’Harris’ medical chart and examined the details. She recognised the name of a ridiculously strong sedative that had been used on him, no wonder he seemed doped out of his mind. She read through the chart further until she found the name of the doctor who had sent him here in the first place.
“I shall see myself out,” she told the attendant sharply.
Clara’s foul mood had grown even worse when she had spied the name of Captain O’Harris’ doctor, the man who had been tending him and had ultimately sent him to Ward D. The man was one she had clashed with before, during her time as a nurse. It looked very likely they were about to clash again. Heels clicking against the tiled floor furiously, Clara marched a familiar route along the hospital corridors, heading for the office of the man who had once been her daily nemesis. She had thought to forget about him. In a large hospital, what wer
e the odds of her bumping into him by accident once she no longer worked there, but was merely a visitor? As it turned out, the odds were surprisingly high.
Clara found the door she had been searching for and hammered hard with her knuckles on its polished surface. The name ‘Dr Holland’ was displayed on a little brass plaque screwed to it. Clara waited impatiently until a voice asked her to enter.
Clara opened the door and strode in to face a man she had come to despise. Dr Holland was an arrogant, unfeeling creature who viewed patients as things and the nurses little better. Clara had argued with him so many times she had lost track of the number. He still made her stomach clench in righteous indignation the second she saw his face.
“You’ve grown a moustache,” Clara said to the doctor, not bothering with introductions.
Dr Holland’s face had fallen as he saw who entered his office.
“I thought you were Gladys with my tea,” he gave a grim sigh. “Don’t tell me you have applied to nurse here again, Miss Fitzgerald. Surely the patients deserve better than that?”
“I am here on a personal matter,” Clara ignored the slight. “You are Captain O’Harris’ doctor, yes?”
“I was, until two o’clock this afternoon,” Dr Holland said languidly. “Then he became Dr Patton’s problem.”
“That I am aware of,” Clara growled. “Might you mind telling me why you have sent O’Harris to Ward D and instructed him to be so sedated he doesn’t even know where he is?”
“Are you making a complaint?” Dr Holland folded his hands before him.
“I am asking a question,” Clara said bluntly. “Must I make a complaint to get an answer?”
“In the normal course of things I would want you to write out this question in a formal letter, then I might deal with it in a suitable fashion,” Dr Holland had a slight smile on his face.
“You mean you would ignore it,” Clara had her own smile appearing on her face. “I know the games you play Dr Holland, we have been here before. I can play games too. There are several newspapermen outside this hospital, all eager for a story. Shall I give them one about the war hero being mistreated by his doctor?”
“Do you think that will help O’Harris?” Holland grumbled, looking less amused.
“You tell me,” Clara replied. “Why has Captain O’Harris been moved to Ward D? The last time I saw him he was recovering well, so I have to wonder what is going on.”
They were interrupted by another knock on the door and Gladys appearing with the cup of tea. She eyed them both nervously, then vanished just as quickly as she had arrived. The pause had given Dr Holland time to think. He was not really in the mood to lock horns with Clara, he had a stack of paperwork to deal with and he knew how obnoxiously persistent she could be.
“If you must know, Miss Fitzgerald, it was in my professional opinion that Captain O’Harris was suffering from a derangement of the mind. No doubt a result of his misfortune and the ill effects of a foreign clime,” Holland shrugged, as if this was all perfectly logical. “This afternoon he became quite unsettled. He believed himself back in the ocean and started crying out for help. When a nurse tried to intervene he became violent, claiming she was a shark trying to eat him. It was necessary to sedate him and I considered it prudent to send him to Ward D for Dr Patton’s attention.”
“We both know Dr Patton is more interested in cosying up with the hospital board then assessing his patients,” Clara folded her arms over her chest.
“That is his problem, not mine,” Dr Holland waved away the issue. “I have submitted my own report with the recommendation that Captain O’Harris be discharged from this facility into the care of Mowbray Asylum.”
A chill went down Clara’s spine.
“O’Harris does not need to be placed in a lunatic asylum,” she said, her voice tight.
“Really, Miss Fitzgerald? But, of course, you are an expert on these things. Now, I believe I have answered your question and can demand that you depart and leave me be.”
Clara knew she was beaten for the moment. She took a pace towards the door, wanting to say something but not knowing what would be a suitable retort to the arrogant doctor. In the end she just let herself out of the room silently and stood in the corridor, trembling with outrage. She had to save Captain O’Harris. If they transferred him to the lunatic asylum, getting him out again would be difficult. She would not let that happen. Clara had to act fast, before Dr Patton could write one of his lackadaisical reports condemning a man to madness.
Chapter Twenty
On her way home Clara called round at Dr Cutt’s house. She was greeted at his door by his housekeeper who was a dogmatic, though not unkind, sort of a woman. Dr Cutt’s housekeeper was of the opinion that people took advantage of her employer just because he was always willing to help. With Dr Cutt now in his eighties, she felt it was high time he was a little more conscientious of his own health and so she guarded his front door against all possible late night visitors. Getting past her was a battle in itself.
“I must speak with Dr Cutt,” Clara informed the woman. “It is most urgent and cannot wait until morning. I will take up as little of his time as possible.”
“I have this same conversation with about three different people most nights,” the housekeeper, appropriately named Mrs Wall, responded. “I shall tell you what I tell all the rest. If someone is dying call the ambulance. If someone has taken ill wrap them up warm and get them into bed and I’ll have Dr Cutt pop over in the morning. If a baby is on its way there is the midwife. Anything else, make an appointment for the morning.”
Clara was trying to keep her temper. She feared the morning might be too late if Dr Holland insisted on keeping Captain O’Harris drugged up to the eyeballs, and after her tense interview with him it was more than likely her nemesis would be pushing Dr Patton to sign O’Harris over to Mowbray Asylum just to spite her. By the time she was able to see Dr Cutt in the morning, matters could already be out of her hands.
“Mrs Wall,” Clara said as calmly as she could. “The person I am concerned about is already in hospital, so I can neither call them an ambulance or get them into their own bed. And they are not having a baby, but I do fear that time is of the essence. By tomorrow it may all be too late.”
Clara caught her breath. She was trembling all over, righteous fury having turned into cold dread. The sight of Captain O’Harris so incapacitated in his bed, so beyond her help, scared her to death. She had to put a hand on the doorframe, for her legs felt numb as her emotions heaved inside her.
“It is just so awful, Mrs Wall,” Clara admitted, no energy for pretence left in her. “I have left a friend in hospital fearing for him. The doctor he is under has written him off as a lunatic, and nothing I can say will change that. I need Dr Cutt’s help desperately, or else my friend will be declared a madman and sent to the asylum. He is not mad, Mrs Wall, he has just been through such an ordeal.”
“Is he a soldier?” Mrs Wall’s defensiveness had lessened. She relaxed a little. “A lot of soldiers have come back with problems.”
“He was an airman in the war,” Clara explained. “I won’t say he came back from that unscathed, but he was coping. Sadly, a recent misfortune seems to have tipped the balance. Dr Holland thinks him dangerously unhinged…”
“Dr Holland!” Mrs Wall interrupted gruffly. “Don’t tell me the poor sod is under that buffoon’s care? The man is incapable of diagnosing a headache, let alone anything more complicated.”
“You know Dr Holland?”
“My dear, I had the grave misfortune to be under his charge at one stage. I was suffering from a feminine complaint. I needed an operation, but Dr Holland was of the opinion my problem was all in my head. I spent weeks going in and out of the hospital, trying to persuade someone to listen, while all the time the pain grew worse and I became depressed,” Mrs Wall’s mouth hardened. “Dr Holland declared that I was becoming hysterical, that the pain was in my mind. I had three children, you see, and
the complaint that was affecting me is not normally seen in women who have had children. Dr Holland wouldn’t give me the time of day.
“I don’t know what would have happened if a friend had not suggested I go to her doctor, Dr Cutt. My own doctor would not argue with Dr Holland, seeing him as superior to himself because he worked at the hospital. Fortunately, Dr Cutt is not so silly-headed. I told him my problems and explained the situation. He at once agreed I should be operated upon and rang the hospital to make the arrangements himself, bypassing Dr Holland. I had my operation and became a new woman. I was so grateful that when I learned Dr Cutt’s old housekeeper was retiring I offered myself for the job and even said I would take only half the pay, as I wanted to return the favour Dr Cutt had done me. He would hear none of that, of course. Dr Cutt is a very good man.”
Mrs Wall paused. She took a good look at Clara, assessing her with a keen eye.
“So now your friend has fallen foul of Dr Holland?”
“Yes, and I have done what I can but Dr Holland despises me. I was a voluntary nurse during the war and we failed to see eye-to-eye. He has never forgotten that. I went to see him this afternoon, for what little good it did,” Clara sighed, she felt washed out by all the emotional drama she had just been through. She also felt she had failed Captain O’Harris.
“I admire anyone who is prepared to give that quack a piece of their mind,” Mrs Wall’s eyes sparkled. “He has won this round, has he, dear? Never mind, we will soon take the fight back to him. You better come in and sit down. You look done in.”
Mrs Wall took Clara’s arm. Having decided that Clara was a fellow victim of Dr Holland, a man whose name Mrs Wall still took pleasure in cursing whenever she could, the housekeeper was now more inclined to help and had forgotten her earlier decree that Dr Cutt would not be seeing anyone after surgery hours. She deposited Clara in the front parlour and went to inform the doctor of his visitor.
Clara sat in silence on a sofa, listening to the clock in the hallway tick down time. Her stomach was in knots, she had not felt a fear such as this since she had heard Tommy had been shot. She pulled on her fingers unconsciously. She could not allow O’Harris to be sent to a lunatic asylum, she felt certain such a thing would destroy a man already become so fragile. Besides, if the doctors at Mowbray were anything like Dr Patton or Dr Holland, then he would stand no chance of recovery once committed. She couldn’t bear to let that happen.
