Nurse Errant

by Lucilla Andrews

  I hesitated a second time, feeling much less smug. Then I had a bright idea. I must be beyond the turning. Perhaps I missed it on that very thick patch. That was a nuisance, but not serious, as I had the straight edge of the straight road to guide me. I retraced my steps, intending to investigate an equal distance on the far side of the car. It was a good plan. It failed, because I could not find the car.

  At first I refused to accept this. I had not come by it, so must come to it soon. Another yard, perhaps. I walked several yards. There were no lights visible.

  I was both annoyed and amused at myself. I must be within hailing distance of the car ‒ if only you could hail a car ‒ yet here I was marching blindly up and down an empty road on a freezing misty night with only a torch and the foghorn for company. Paddy would laugh his head off when he heard about this, and I would not blame him. I had been so darned superior with my mental reminiscences all night. I realised now you could lose your way in a London smog, but never really lose yourself because there was always some human being about to tell you where you had got to. Here there was just the weeping mist and moaning horn.

  I went on walking aimlessly up and down until my legs ached. I stopped feeling amused, and had to avoid thinking of that hot bath and my bed at home. I became sleepy, even though on my two feet. It had been a long day and I was very tired.

  It was probably fatigue that made me stumble. I did not fall or hurt myself in any way, but as I stumbled the metal torch shot out of my gloved hand. I saw it fall close by. Then the light went out.

  From the sound it had fallen on something soft. I stepped unthinkingly on to the grass verge I had previously avoided, and felt around carefully. It must be here ‒ or here ‒ or there? There was no hurry, so I took my time. But it was as lost to me as the car.

  Then I discovered something else was lost. Myself. I did not know in which direction the road lay. I was standing on soft ground and had no idea where I was at all.

  I just had to find that torch. Without light I dared not move. I knelt and brushed my hands over the stubby grass. I touched a stone, and realised it could help me. I threw it in the direction from which I thought I had come, hoping it would hit the road surface and guide me. Instead of a reassuring chink, there was a dull splash. I was close to water. Deep water.

  The hair at the back of my head tingled unpleasantly. I sat back on my heels and took a long, steadying breath. There was a dyke near. That meant I was on the marsh. How I had got on the marsh was utterly beyond me.

  I sat in a more comfortable position to think things over. I realised I now must stay put until the mist lifted. It might be as well to stay awake. That was not going to be easy. I was so tired.

  I did not lie down because of this. I hugged my knees and knew just what Paddy meant about loneliness. I felt as if I was alone on the edge of the world.

  Half an hour, an hour, an hour and a half, dragged by. I stopped feeling cold. The trained part of my brain flashed a danger signal. That meant I was near sleep. I shifted my position, slapped my arms, and forced thoughts into the mist that had now penetrated my mind.

  I thought about Ken Mathers, the Ebonys, Grandpa Hassell, Mike and Ann, Angela Gerrard, Paddy. Above all, I thought of Paddy in his more irritating moods and wondered why I let him irritate me, why I bothered about his cracks. It was not really until that moment that I discovered they did bother me. And then I thought about him and Angela, and Mike’s description of her.

  My mind shot off at a tangent to that heron this afternoon. It was incredible Paddy should have thought it a gull. There was no resemblance ‒

  The foghorn interrupted my thoughts by developing an echo. I listened more intently. It was not an echo, it was a car hooter. And either it had jammed, or someone had a hand flat down on it. Perhaps hooting at my car? My car ‒ nothing! I knelt upright in excitement. That was my own car hooter.

  ‘Anyone near?’ I yelled at the top of my voice.

  My words fell flatly on the mist. The foghorn was briefly silent. The hooting went on, then faded. I grasped the silence to bellow again.

  Soft as a whisper an answer travelled through the thick air. ‘Keep calling. Com-ing.’

  ‘Careful!’ I tried to stand but my cramped feet would not support me. ‘Be careful! I ‒ am ‒ very ‒ near ‒ a ‒ dyke.’

  ‘Coming.’ This time the whisper was just recognisable as a man’s voice. ‘Keep calling.’

  The thought of that dyke had me by the throat. If I kept calling I would probably guide him into it. ‘Stay where you are.’ I pitched my voice as high as possible, hoping that would make it travel farther. ‘Too dangerous.’

  There was another silence, then an irate and perfectly recognisable voice answered me. ‘Will you stop arguing, woman! Just stay where you are,’ hollered Paddy, ‘and keep shouting!’ He had been so present in my thoughts a few minutes back that my immediate reaction was to wonder if I had fallen asleep and was dreaming all this.

  His next yell left me in no doubt. ‘Angel, where in hell have you got to? How do you expect me to get to you in this bastard of a mist, if I haven’t your voice to go on?’ His voice was considerably nearer. ‘Or have you passed out on me?’

  ‘I’m all right.’ I was too worried by the prospect of walking into that dyke to see the unconscious humour of his last question. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here ‒ for God’s sake don’t come closer. It’s too risky.’

  ‘It’ll be a damned sight more if I’ve no sound to follow. I’m on my way,’ he retorted, ‘so keep shouting!’

  Ten minutes, or ten hours, later he reached me. I lost account of time. Suddenly he was standing over me. ‘What in hell’s name do you think you’re doing, angel?’ He knelt by me, grasped my shoulders, and shook me not ungently. ‘Have you no sense at all in that damned head of yours? Didn’t I warn you to stay put? And what are you doing on the ground? You said you were all right? Are you hurt?’

  ‘Not at all.’ My voice was husky with shouting. ‘Paddy, you shouldn’t have come ‒ there’s a dyke right near.’

  ‘God, girl! What else would you expect? On the Stepping Stones! What made you come here. Tired of life?’

  ‘No ‒ it was a mistake ‒ I’m sorry.’ I began to shiver uncontrollably, and could say no more because of my chattering teeth.

  ‘Hey, there.’ He slipped his arms round me and held me firmly against his chest. ‘There now, you take it easy. We’ll thrash it out later, when the shock’s stopped hitting you.’

  It was some time before I could answer. I shook and shook as delayed-action shock broke over me in waves.

  ‘Sorry to be such a bore,’ I muttered eventually into his coat collar.

  ‘Don’t talk so foolish.’ He rubbed his cheek against my hair. ‘What if you have been daft? Aren’t we all at times? Better now? Great. Then can you just sit back on your own a moment?’ He helped me do this. ‘Wait there.’ He stood up, removed his duffle-coat, and draped it round me. ‘Shove your arms in. It’ll be too big, but no matter.’

  ‘Paddy ‒ please, no, thanks!’ I tried unsuccessfully to remove his coat from my shoulders. ‘You’ll freeze without ‒ and these coals of fire are burning me.’

  ‘A salutary experience, no doubt, angel! Stop being obstreperous, and do what you’re told, if only this once.’ He heaved the sleeves over my arms and looped the wooden buttons. ‘I honestly don’t want it. We’re going to make tracks fast and I can move more easily without it.’

  ‘How can we make tracks? Didn’t you say something about our being on the Stepping Stones? And what about your bad foot?’

  He said his foot had been cured hours ago, and we were certainly going to move. ‘I’m only too happy to sit out the mist with you, my love, but not on these ruddy Stones.’

  The Stepping Stones was the local name for an old smugglers’ path that wound round a series of dykes in one of the most difficult to drain, and consequently most treacherous, areas in the whole fifty miles of the marsh. I had h
eard of that path previously, but never been near it. Luck alone had made me stumble on it; he had had the same luck; but remembering all the splendid marsh horror-tales I had heard about the Red Charlies, Ginger Joes, and Black Harrys who had vanished without trace through missing the Stones, I did not see how we could push our luck too far.

  ‘If we move we’ll walk into a dyke. You said you could only get to me by voice. And how I got here the Lord alone knows.’

  ‘Not alone. I can tell you. The Stones run up from the sea to Red Rose Lane.’

  ‘We can’t be anywhere near Red Rose Lane,’ I protested. ‘I came off the main road past the lighthouse. I kept straight on when I left the range.’

  ‘You did not. Your car is at this moment standing in Red Rose Lane. You must have got off the main road on one of the left turns. There are three off the range road. One of them leads round the light on the far side, then curves back and becomes Red Rose. From there it’s but a few yards to the start of the Stones. Which is where we came in.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been luckier than I thought. But you knew what you were doing, Paddy. That was big of you.’

  ‘What else would you expect a man to do?’ He drawled affectedly. ‘Walk off and leave you to be taken out by the tide, if you didn’t fall into a dyke first? And sleep well after? I’ll admit I’m not the hero-calibre, angel, but even I have my limits at being a heel.’

  ‘The tide?’ I queried absently, realising, not for the first time in my life, that courage can wear many coats. ‘Where does the tide come in?’

  ‘As we’re sitting on the wrong side of the sea-wall, maybe up to here. We’re on the edge of the marsh, darling ‒ the edge of this world, if we don’t shift. You’ve surely heard this spot has never been successfully drained?’

  ‘I’ve heard lots of stories.’

  ‘A few’ll be true. It’s this way ‒ these dykes flood with each high. That’s why they were so handy for the old smuggling characters. They could bring a boat way up the flooded dykes, heave over the brandy and lace, and nip home waist-high in water, since they knew where to put their feet. A small detail I know too. What I don’t know is what the tide is doing now, apart from its being out. If it hadn’t been out,’ he added grimly, ‘I would not have found you. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Perhaps two hours.’

  He was momentarily silent. ‘It may still be on the way out, but I could be wrong. I don’t propose sitting around to find out. Can you stand? Here ‒ I’ll give you a hand up.’ He held me on my feet. ‘Cramped?’

  ‘Slightly.’ I made the understatement of the year. My legs felt made of straw and a violent outbreak of pins and needles had started in my feet. And although I was grateful for the warmth of his coat, its weight and length were going to make walking very tricky ‒ if my feet had remembered how to walk.

  ‘Stay still.’ He lifted me in his arms. ‘We’ll do well this way.’

  ‘Paddy ‒ please. Do stop being a hero. You can’t possibly carry me.’

  ‘And why not?’ He began to walk. ‘When I’m enjoying my heroic line.’ His arms tightened. ‘It has certain compensations ‒ and you’re no weight.’

  ‘Do be sensible. You can’t see an inch ahead.’ I tried to free myself. ‘Put me down at once, please.’

  ‘Darling, will you use some sense ‒ stop beefing ‒ and stay still! If you thrash about you really will land us both in a dyke. I may not be able to see, but my feet know where to go. They’ll go faster this way.’

  I saw his point and gave in. ‘You really are being very splendid.’

  He said he was just a simple little knight errant at heart, but would I skip the pretty speeches as they made him go all of a tremble, which would be disastrous under present circumstances.

  I rested my head in a more comfortable position against his shoulder. ‘How did you come to be a knight errant in the first place? What about your date?’

  ‘It came unhitched.’ He walked on slowly but steadily. ‘I got things mixed up. Angela expected me during the afternoon, not the evening. She had some party on tonight ‒ just down the road in their village, so it wasn’t scrapped by the mist. I wasn’t in party mood or dress, so I said hallo and good-bye, and pushed off hoping to be in time to stop you at the marsh turning, and cadge a lift back. I was in pretty good time. I waited around, but you didn’t show up. No car passed at all. Eventually I walked down the range to the coastguard cottages. No sign of you. So I kept on walking round the lighthouse ‒ up one lane and down another, so to speak. Then I found your empty car. And you heard the hooter?’

  ‘I thought at first it had jammed.’

  ‘You might well. I fixed it down. I was a shade anxious. A man doesn’t like to lose track of his guardian angel.’

  I said I was glad of that and his date coming unstuck, but sorry for his angel. ‘I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t come looking for me.’

  ‘Stop looking back, darling. Always a big mistake. Get’s one nothing but a stiff neck.’ He stopped walking. ‘You hear what I hear?’

  I tilted my head to listen. The mist was still a thick cloud. From what seemed a long, long way off, I caught a murmur of water. ‘Sea coming in?’

  ‘I’d say so. Hard to say how close it is. This mist plays as many tricks with one’s ears as one’s eyes. To be safe, we won’t make for the car yet. We’ll leave that until the light comes.’

  ‘Then ‒ where?’

  He hesitated. ‘Originally I thought we could follow this path back to the sea-wall, skirt round it and into Red Rose.’

  ‘Why such a long way ‒ you reached me much more quickly.’

  ‘Darling, I reached you by fording a dyke. I’m not all that keen on paddling, particularly when I suspect the water in that dyke is now fast approaching my waistline. No ‒ we’ll play for safety even though’ ‒ he sounded as if he was smiling ‒ ‘it may not seem so to you at first.’

  ‘Where’s safety?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘There’s an old net-house just back from here. The chaps who built it didn’t want their nets washed away with each incoming tide, so it’s above high-water line. Will you object to spending the night in it with me?’

  I smiled slightly. ‘Not at all.’

  He said I was damned lucky not to be pitched into a dyke for that.

  I let that pass, and blinked at the mist. ‘How can you find it in this? You must be walking blind.’

  His arm muscles were suddenly tense, and the drumbeat of his heart quickened. ‘I have walked this way before. On such a night ‒ and so on.’

  ‘Carrying someone?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘My size?’ I thought of Mike’s description of Angela Gerrard.

  ‘No taller ‒ heavier. We made it all right. Bring ’Em Back Alive Larraby never misses. If it’ll ease your mind ‒ that time when we finally got back to the rectory at St Crispin’s for breakfast ‒ I was staying there over a weekend ‒ we looked so fit Mrs Gerrard thought at first we were pulling her leg about our misspent night. That was before my aunt had a telephone. We’d been out on a party in our village, and the Gerrards thought we had waited out the mist with Aunt Mary.’

  ‘Lucky all round.’ The mist saved my having to pretend to smile. ‘I didn’t realise this was just a routine event for you, Paddy. Nevertheless, I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Not exactly routine. On that last occasion,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘the set-up was rather different.’

  I’ll bet it was, I thought wearily. I’ll bet it was.

  Chapter Six

  A NIGHT IN A NET-HOUSE

  He did not speak for some time after that. The mist, his silence, and the slow rhythm of his steps combined to make me drowsy. This, I thought, had to be a dream.

  It should really have been a nightmare. His temperament prevented that. He could annoy, infuriate, and, at times, hurt me; but sooner or later he inevitably made me laugh. Laughter and nightmares do not go
hand in hand.

  I was thinking this over, when he stopped again. ‘We should be there. See anything like a stone wall?’

  I brushed the thick air in front of my face. ‘Just mist.’

  He walked a few steps on. ‘Still mist?’

  ‘Afraid so ‒ no ‒ wait! There, on the right ‒ is it a wall or more mist?’

  ‘God, keep still, girl! Or you’ll have us over.’ He lowered me. ‘Sit there while I take a look.’

  I rubbed my legs, watching him. ‘Right?’

  ‘We are.’ He returned, hauled me up. ‘The dykes are behind us. Can you walk?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ I limped, since for no good reason my left leg was taking longer than my right to recover. He lit a match. The dampness extinguished the flame almost immediately, but momentarily it illuminated a rough-stone wall. ‘Paddy, you’re quite brilliant to have found this.’

  ‘Save your kindly praise, darling, until we see what it’s like inside.’ He struck another match. ‘Watch out for your head in that doorway. I’ll go in first to light your way.’ He crawled through the low door and reached out to guide me in. I stooped, but even then my hair brushed the top of the doorway. ‘This was built for pygmies.’

  In the light of many matches I saw the net-house was built like an inverted stone bowl. The door was the only opening, the floor was earth and littered with small heaps of straw. The place was damp and chilly, but warm after the soaking mist outside.

  The ceiling was a few inches above my head. It was impossible for him to stand upright.

  ‘This isn’t going to be very comfortable for you, Paddy.’

  ‘It’s a damned sight more comfortable than the thought of all that water out there.’ We were in darkness. ‘I wish I had had the sense to bring a torch tonight. My matches are running out. We’ll need light to get this habitable. You wouldn’t have a forgotten torch on you?’

  I explained just why not. ‘But I’ve matches.’