Nurse Errant

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘For that, darling, I’ll forgive a nurse letting her lamp go out. Let’s have ’em. Now’ ‒ he knelt holding the lighted match high ‒ ‘see if you can find any twigs, or bits of stick.’

  There were some twigs under one of the piles of straw. They were fairly dry. He twisted them together, and after wasting several matches, they kindled. He fixed the makeshift torch in a chink in one wall, and the hut was illuminated by its flickering light.

  I said, ‘That’s most efficient.’

  He sat back on his heels and grinned. ‘One thing I will say for you, angel, you’ve fine manners. And you look a fine sight in that tent of a coat with your hair as wet as if you’d been in a dyke.’ He fingered his own hair and face. ‘We must make a fine pair. I need wringing out.’

  ‘I do feel guilty about that and getting you involved in all this.’ I unlooped my coat buttons. ‘Will your aunt be worrying about you?’

  He said his aunt was a sensible woman too used to the odd ways of the men in her family to waste good time worrying over them. ‘Let us not waste good time in idle chatter while we have a light.’ He began heaping the straw against the wall. ‘This stuff’s surprisingly dry.’ He smoothed it into a couch. ‘Fairly fresh.’

  ‘What’s it doing here?’

  ‘Some shepherd will have left it for stray sheep. Sheep haven’t much sense about keeping out of dykes, but they’ve enough to follow the scent of food. Lucky for us, they’ve not found this yet. It’ll be more comfortable than the bare floor.’ He glanced up as I removed the duffle-coat. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  I handed him the coat. ‘I’ve worn this long enough. It’s your turn. Thanks for the loan.’

  He cradled it in his arms and patted it as if it was a baby. ‘You’re a kind girl, Lesley.’ He smiled angelically. ‘A kind girl with winning ways. What if you do get yourself lost in a bog in a fog? We all have our weaknesses.’ He spoke softly as if singing. ‘No man minds a woman having a weakness. Indeed, it adds to the charm. But’ ‒ he rose cautiously to avoid cracking his head ‒ ‘despite your charm you are the most infuriatingly obstinate girl it has ever been my misfortune to meet. You will dig your heels in and drive a man clean up the wall! But there’s no room for me to go up the wall here’ ‒ he shook out the coat ‒ ‘so belt up and put on this ruddy garment. Every man has his limits, and I’m fast reaching mine!’

  ‘Paddy, do be sensible. I don’t need it. You do.’

  ‘Darling, are you getting tough?’ His voice was dangerously gentle. ‘Believe it or not, I can get tough too. And if it comes to a showdown ‒ although I’m reluctant to remind you ‒ we are on our own, and I’m bigger than you.’

  We looked at each other. I said, ‘I don’t hold with showdowns.’ I put on his coat and sat on the straw.

  ‘Or facing facts?’ He collected more twigs, and sat by me weaving them into torches. ‘It might be said you’re in a tricky position, angel.’

  I smiled. ‘Paddy, dear, don’t pretend you’re contemplating seduction?’

  ‘And why not?’ He glanced at me sideways. ‘We’ve the time ‒ place ‒ even the hay.’

  I began to laugh.

  ‘And what’s so damned funny?’

  ‘I’ll tell you ‒ though there’s no need,’ I spluttered. ‘I may not face facts, but I do know something about the human body. No normal man who’s walked for hours ‒ lugged eight stone ‒ and hasn’t had a meal and is soaking wet has much energy left for seducing anyone.’

  He grinned slowly. ‘You’ve several points. You’ve omitted one.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘No normal man ‒ I quote you, angel ‒ has ever in my experience attempted to seduce a girl who did not want to be seduced. Right?’

  I nodded. ‘Then I’ll apply my energies ‒ which, mark you, are not quite so flagging as you would imagine ‒ to my torches. I’m beginning to feel like an Ancient Briton.’

  ‘I had noticed,’ I agreed, and we both laughed. ‘How long will we be here?’

  ‘Until dawn, unless a wind gets up. Maybe six hours.’ He arranged the remaining unplaited twigs in a neat row, and chose one as if it was important he chose the right one. ‘A long time.’

  I leant back against the wall. The many sharp edges of the stone made it a positively painful back-rest, so I sat forward quickly and hugged my knees. ‘I’m honestly sorry to have inflicted this on you.’

  ‘I’ve a beautiful nature, darling. I’ll forgive you.’ He stood up and fixed a new torch in the wall. ‘If you’ll hand me the rest, I’ll arrange them in a kind of fuse so that one’ll light when the one above goes out.’

  I watched with interest. ‘That’s a crafty arrangement.’

  ‘Machiavelli and I are blood-brothers.’ He came back to the straw. ‘Now we can relax.’ He leant against the wall, and, as I had done, sat forward instantly. ‘This won’t do. It’s like a bed of nails. Shift off a moment and let me rearrange things. There’ ‒ he patted the straw in its new position then tested it by lying nearly full length ‒ ‘Try that.’ He moved aside himself.

  I looked at the straw, then him. ‘What about you?’

  ‘There’ll be room for us both.’ He half-lifted, half-drew me down by him. ‘Shed a few inhibitions, stretch out, and use my shoulder as a cushion. Since we’ve got to stay put, we may as well stay put in what comfort we can muster. Our combined warmth, plus the straw, should counteract the damp.’

  I did as he said. It was certainly much more comfortable. ‘This is very good ‒’

  ‘If you’re going to start thanking me again, darling, I’ll pitch you out of bed, and you can sleep on the cold, cold ground. It’s no good of me at all. Just plain common sense.’ He yawned. ‘Maybe we’ll even get some sleep.’ He was silent for a while, then, ‘Now we’ve a moment what are you going to do about this talk about Michael and yourself?’

  I sighed. I was really warm and comfortable for the first time in hours, and my brain was hazy with sleep. ‘I don’t know. Let it fade out, I suppose.’

  ‘How about the third party?’

  I tilted my head back to look at him. His face was inevitably very close to mine and quite expressionless. ‘Any suggestions?’

  ‘It’s difficult to suggest when one’s so in the dark. I don’t know how well you know her, if at all. If you do why not give her the set-up straight? Can’t do any harm; may do some good.’

  I thought of the times I had tried to discuss Mike with Ann. ‘It’s so hard to persuade people who are determined not to hear.’

  ‘Don’t try persuasion. Just tell her to take it, or leave it. If she’s in love with him she’ll take it, because it’ll be what she wants to hear.’

  I smiled slightly. ‘Machiavelli Larraby on the job again?’

  He smiled back ‘That’s the man.’

  We were silent again. My eyelids were too heavy to stay open, so I let them close and was asleep immediately.

  I woke much later. All the torches had burnt out, and it was very dark. For an instant I had no idea where I was, then I heard his quiet breathing and realised why I could not move. He was asleep on his side, facing me, and holding me in his arms. His face was resting against my hair. I stayed still so as not to disturb him, and was awake only long enough to think it would be a long time before I forgot tonight.

  The hut was filled with grey light when he woke me. ‘Time to go, Lesley.’

  He crawled out of the low door, and stood just outside with his back to me, stretching his arms. He turned, held out a hand unsmilingly. ‘Come on. We’ve been here long enough.’

  Ann, tucked in a rug, was fast sleep on our sitting-room sofa when I got in. She had obviously fallen asleep waiting, so I let her rest as long as possible. When I did wake her there was only time to tell her briefly about my night.

  ‘From now on, Lesley, we’ll have to learn to love that crazy man. He probably saved your life.’ She shuddered. ‘Who would have thought he was such a Galahad at heart.’


  I stirred my tea, reflectively. ‘He’s an odd man. He can switch from a schoolboy to elderly uncle at the drop of a hat.’

  ‘Which was he last night?’

  ‘Elderly uncle from start to finish.’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Not even one pass.’

  I said drily, ‘I slept in his arms, dear, but no. Not one pass.’

  She looked me over and smiled. ‘Poor man.’

  ‘What do you mean ‒ poor man?’ I demanded.

  She said I would not understand, but would I just take it from her that innocence was a great protection.

  At that I choked. ‘Annie, may I remind you I’m four years older than you?’

  ‘You may be, darling, but only in years. You’re very green about life with a capital L. You’ve spent too many years working hard to be anything else. One needs free time for a life of sin.’ She smiled. ‘Paddy clearly recognised you for what you are, and acted accordingly. From which I’d say his local reputation much maligns him.’

  ‘What is his reputation? And how do you know about it?’

  She said her boss had talked about him. ‘He’s considered quite a lad on the marsh. He’s had dozens of young women, but has managed to stay unhitched. Mrs Allan thinks that’s mainly because some girl called Angela something knows her own mind. He ever mentioned an Angela to you?’

  ‘Openly.’ I told her about his date last night.

  ‘Wow.’ She looked amused. ‘She won’t be too pleased when she hears he spent the night with another girl.’ She stopped smiling. ‘Wonder how Mike Ellis’ll react?’

  I was too concerned by the idea she had planted in my mind to bother about Mike. ‘Angela Gerrard should understand. Same thing happened to her once. Even same net-house.’

  ‘That’ll probably make things worse. Still, a great talker like Paddy Larraby should be able to talk his way out of that one.’ She deposited the crockery she had used in the sink. ‘But if I were you, I’d ring Mike smartly. Things have a way of getting round this village ‒ forgive me, honey ‒ I must fly.’

  I could not keep her talking or she would miss her train. Obviously, the sooner I had that heart-to-heart with her, the better for both of us. It was her half-day at the shop, so there should be plenty of time for that during the afternoon.

  I was busy that morning and had no time for personal problems. That did not stop them niggling uncomfortably at the back of my mind.

  Peter Ebony came out of his barn as I got out of my car at his front door. ‘Nurse, are you fit to work? We heard how you and Mr Larraby were stranded on the marsh all night. Nasty thing to happen, that.’

  I would liked to have asked which was nasty, Paddy or the marsh. As I did not want to shock Peter I said I was fine, and asked how he had heard.

  ‘From Dickie Hassell when he went by on his tractor an hour back. Dickie’s uncle works down by the lighthouse, and had a real turn when he saw your empty car in Red Rose on his way to early milking. He cycled back to the light to get Mr Wells, the head keeper, to ring old George.’

  ‘Old George?’

  ‘You know George Jones, Nurse. Our local cop.’

  I apologised meekly. ‘Sorry. I only know him as Mr Jones.’

  Peter said that was all right and went on. ‘While Mr Wells was getting through, Charlie Gould, the second keeper, came in and said he’d just seen Mr Larraby helping you over the rocks back of Red Rose, so they guessed what had happened.’

  ‘But how did Dickie know this? The light’s miles from our village.’

  He looked surprised by such an apparently obvious explanation. ‘Jesse Hassell ‒ he’s old Tom’s youngest ‒ brings the milk in for the early train. And Dickie’s brother Dave works on the railways and is on night shift this week.’

  The efficiency of the village grapevine continued to astonish me during that morning. Every patient I visited knew I had been lost, was agog to hear my story at first-hand, then to tell me of the numerous occasions when they, their friends, and relatives had been similarly stranded.

  It was Dr Bowers’s turn to take the Baby Clinic that morning. ‘So you had an encounter with the elements last night, eh, Nurse? You be careful in future, young woman! Paddy Larraby might not be on hand, and we wouldn’t want to lose our nurse that way ‒ as I’m sure young Ellis would agree.’

  I smiled mechanically. My romance with Mike must be common talk indeed for Dr Bowers to mention it so openly. He was usually punctilious to avoid non-professional matters with me. He was a pleasant man, but one of the old order of medical men who regarded nurses as sub-human, sexless machines. That was not his fault. He had qualified in the days when there was apparently an endless supply of young women available to work the incredibly long hours on fragmentary wages then offered by hospitals. The economic position of women in the last dozen years having radically altered, that supply was no longer endless, but as necessary as ever. My profession, during my training years, had suddenly enjoyed an entirely new status, and not merely because we had better hours and pay on which it was possible to live. It was more simply the old law of supply being far less than the demand. We became our hospitals’ most treasured possessions ‒ and knew it. So did the young doctors of Mike’s generations. ‘Don’t upset the nurses, gentlemen!’ was early grained in them. Naturally, my colleagues and I thought this a fine thing. We had a mild respect for the medical profession in general, but any doctor suffering from the old God Almighty complex in hospital was dealt with in short order.

  Dr Bowers had good manners, so there had never been any need for the latter with him. I was just slightly amused, as well as perturbed, to see that my romance had raised me, in his eyes, to the level of arch remarks.

  Mike came in to him half-way through the Clinic. He walked over to the weighing table as Dr Bowers was temporarily in the examination room. ‘Whose vastly over-fed infant is that?’

  ‘Hush ‒ Mrs Vidals’s. She’s sitting over there’ ‒ I nodded to the row of mothers ‒ ‘and fearfully proud her babe’s fat.’

  ‘She won’t be so proud when it picks up bronchitis, as it certainly will sooner or later,’ he muttered gloomily. ‘I suppose it’ll take first prize at our next baby show.’ He waited while I returned the hefty but engagingly placid baby boy to his equally hefty mother. ‘I hear you spent the night with Paddy. Unconventional young woman, aren’t you?’ he remarked when I returned.

  I glanced at him. His eyes were very amused. ‘Mike, dear, do be quiet or you’ll shock all these mums!’

  ‘Nonsense, Lesley. You know as well as I do they regard you as Caesar’s wife. They’re convinced we are talking serious shop.’ Dr Bowers came out of the examination room. ‘I must get on. See you.’

  I looked after him briefly. He had reacted to last night just as I would have expected. I hoped Angela Gerrard would do the same.

  Ann was out when I got home at half-past one. A note on the telephone pad explained she was lunching at the vicarage and would be in the village hall all afternoon helping with decorations for the December Fair.

  The annual Fair was being held the following Saturday afternoon. It was a traditional and very popular event, and was the means of raising funds for the village Old People’s and Children’s Christmas parties and presents. I heard all about it on my rounds, and gathered it involved a great deal of intense rivalry.

  Mrs Withers, Sandra Ebony’s mother, had warned me her white elephants were determined to outdo the homegrown produces.

  ‘We’ll have to put our backs into it, Nurse. The homegrowns have taken the First for stall decorations these last two years. Mrs Mercer and Mrs Arbuthnot are that clever with their hands ‒ do anything with crepe paper, they can! They made a rose bower last year. You could have smelt the scent of those roses! Mind you ‒ they’ve got more time than I have,’ she admitted, looking down her nose. ‘As you’d reckon if you could see the state of their kitchens. Still, it’s going to be the white elephants this year.’

  Grandpa Hassell went purpl
e when I told him Peter Ebony thought the Young Farmers would win the side-show award with their miniature shooting gallery.

  ‘Them lads hasn’t a chance, Nurse! It’ll be the Bellringers’ coconuts, same as always! You’ll see!’

  I promised I would. ‘You a ringer, Grandpa?’

  ‘Been ringing them bells for over fifty years I have, Nurse!’

  I was looking forward to seeing it all. I loved the various aspects of village life, and only wished I had a little more time to join in. I was particularly pleased Ann had been asked to help. It was good for her to make her own friends in the village, and as she had a definite talent for decorating, this afternoon would be just her cup of tea.

  I was sleepy after lunch, but far too mentally restless to relax. I wandered aimlessly round the cottage doing odd chores, hoping the feeling would wear off. When it did not I decided to turn out the kitchen dresser since I had always found cleaning and rearranging cupboards the most soothing of occupations in moments of stress. I set the crockery in neat rows on the kitchen table, and assured myself I was only restless because of lack of sleep and perhaps another delayed reaction to last night’s shock.

  Myself was not impressed. I scrubbed furiously, concentrating on the many occasions when Paddy had irritated me. He was affected, insincere, lazy, infuriating. Angela Gerrard could have him with my love. He was not worth a second thought ‒ even if he had been nice to me last night. Damn last night! Damn mists, marshes, net-houses, and Paddy. I wanted a quiet life, but because of last night, I was as edgy as an adolescent in love for the first time.

  The sound of light, running steps, then a frenzied knocking on the back door, was a welcome interruption. I dropped the brush, opened the door. The pig-tailed, breathless little girl who pitched in would have fallen flat on her face had I not caught her.

  ‘Lindy, dear, what is it?’

  Lindy was ten. She was a very grown-up child who took seriously her position as the oldest of the family of children who were our nearest neighbours.

  ‘Nurse ‒ Nurse ‒ please come quick. Mum’s out with the little ones,’ she gasped, clinging to me, ‘and it’s Billy!’