by Betty Neels
Augusta put the Cheatles back in the jar; with all the superiority of five years she said: ‘The poor child fainted—she’s been marvellous, but she’s only been out of PTS for two weeks and this is the first time she’s seen anything worse than an appendicectomy scar. She’s asleep. As soon as I can I’ll get her to bed.’
She handed Constantijn the scissors and caught his eye; as usual he was looking amused and she went a furious scarlet and glowered at him, suddenly aware that she must look quite awful—her bow was under one ear, her cap at a ridiculous angle, and her gown was stained and filthy. She realised that Sir was speaking and made haste to beg his pardon because she hadn’t heard a word. He growled, ‘Why must I repeat myself? I want to know where your nurses are.’
The lift gates clanged as she answered, ‘Theatre sent for someone to fetch back your last patient—the night nurses are in the side ward because old Tom fell out of bed, and there’s a nurse at tea—just for ten minutes.’ She hastened to add, ‘And of course, there’s Nurse Meek here.’ She paused to push her cap straight and went on, ‘There are plenty of staff, it’s just that they didn’t happen to be here—they’ll be back any minute now.’
She was right; they were all there within seconds of each other. Mr Rogers, without looking up, said, ‘Constantijn, take a look at that girl and if she’s asleep—and I think she may well be—get her over to the Nurses’ Home; one of the nurses can let someone or other know. And perhaps we might have a cup of tea in your kitchen, Staff Nurse Brown—you will of course join us.’
Augusta said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ rather absentmindedly because she was sharing out the work—they were over the worst now, she thought, but there was still a great deal to do and there wouldn’t be many nurses coming on in the morning. She looked at the clock; it was morning, anyway. She watched Constantijn bending over Meek; presently he picked her up, saying, ‘There’s nothing wrong that I can see—she’s sound asleep though. I’ll carry her over to the Home—if someone could telephone now, I can hand her over.’ He strode away as a nurse scuttled into the office and then went to make the tea.
Augusta hadn’t thought she was tired until, at Mr Rogers’ gruff bidding, she sat down in the ward kitchen. It was a small, quite cosy place, crammed with shelves of china stacked trays and with lists and notices pinned on the walls, like the one extolling the reader to be careful—in red ink—and going on to give the advice—in blue ink—that old Tom was allergic to eggs, there were diabetic diets, salt-free diets, fat-free diets; in fact the variety was unending. They were interspersed by sinister little notes conveying various warnings about broken china; the counting of teaspoons daily and the dire consequences if Sister wasn’t told. Augusta, who had spent several years among similar notices on every ward kitchen in the hospital, ignored them, having indeed written some of them herself, but Sir wandered around reading them commenting adversely upon the grammar and making biting remarks about their context. He had a cup of tea in one hand and a slice of bread and butter in the other and reminded her strongly of the Mad Hatter without his hat. He turned round when Constantijn came in and remarked, ‘Ah, my dear chap, this tea is excellent and I’m sure Nurse will butter you a slice of bread.’ But Constantijn put a hand on her shoulder as she started to get to her feet.
‘Stay where you are, Augusta, I can get it for myself. Home Sister was waiting for us; we shook Nurse Meek awake just long enough to get her upstairs.’ He poured himself some tea and gave Augusta a long piercing look. ‘You look fagged out,’ he observed. ‘How much longer will you be on duty?’
‘Sister will be back about midday, Matron thinks. But I’m quite all right—I don’t feel tired at all,’ lied Augusta smilingly, unaware that her eyes were sunk in her head with fatigue and that she had no colour at all. Only her hair, a little wispy now, glowed rustily. It needed a tremendous effort to stand up again; the thought of the work still to be done appalled her; the temptation to sit down again was so strong that she was actually on the point of doing so when Sir said:
‘Well, we’d better take a look at that spleen. Nurse, I want that lacerations case to have a skull X-ray—get young Dukes on to it.’ He spoke in a voice whose briskness belied his tired face. She had perforce to follow him back into the ward where he and Constantijn became instantly engrossed in the patient, concentration wiping out the fatigue in their faces. Presently they went away. Constantijn gave her a half smile as they went but said nothing at all, a fact she barely noticed because she was up to her eyes in work. The case went to Theatre soon after that, and leaving a nurse on guard by the man with the facial injuries, Augusta tiredly disposed her little team for what she called mopping-up operations.
As the new day advanced, the nurses were replaced one by one, beginning with the most junior; the night staff had stayed on duty so that the day nurses who had been up all or most of the night could go to breakfast and take a much-needed break; the patients had been sorted out too—some had been transferred to other hospitals, some—the desperate cases—to the hard pressed ICU; some, the lucky few, were being allowed home. The hospital settled back into its regular pattern of life, while worn-out housemen shaved and took quick naps and ate breakfast before getting on with another day’s work and Ward Sisters arranged and rearranged off-duty so that those who had been up all night could have at least part of the day to sleep. Matron had been up to see Augusta after breakfast and asked her again if she felt she could stay on until Sister returned. ‘If you could manage to do so, Staff Nurse,’ she said, ‘I see no reason why you shouldn’t have the rest of the day off. Most of the part-time staff nurses are willing to do extra hours for a day or so, and this should ease the situation.’
Augusta, who was feeling huffy because she hadn’t seen Constantijn again—he could at least have come up to the ward, however briefly—said she wasn’t in the least tired anyway and was quite prepared to stay for as long as Matron wished. That lady gave her a considered look, but all she said was, ‘Thank you, Nurse.’ Her calculating eye swept the ward; there were still beds down the middle and the place was cluttered with a mass of equipment, all vitally contributing to the recovery of the patients, although several of the beds were, sadly, empty now. She turned to go. ‘Be sure and have a good rest when you go off duty, Staff Nurse,’ she said.
Augusta, whose feet were aching and whose eyes were burning in her head, thought it very unlikely that she would wish to do anything else, for she had just eaten an enormous breakfast which had the effect of making her very sleepy. Overcome by a sudden self-pity, she gave a prodigious sniff; nothing and no one—the no one was nameless, but she meant Constantijn—would dissuade her from a long day’s sleep.
Sister arrived back just after noon, and delaying only long enough to tell Augusta that she looked too terrible for words, demanded the report. It took quite a time, especially as Augusta had to explain which nurses were on duty and which were off and why poor little Meek was in bed for the day. At the end of her recital, Sister remarked:
‘You look as though you could do with a day in bed yourself. Off you go, Gussie.’
She went thankfully; she would go straight to bed after a bath; she could make a cup of tea and have it in bed, but when she was ready, the effort to make tea was too great, and she got into bed, closed her eyes, and was instantly asleep.
She had, as she thought, barely closed her eyes when she was shaken awake by Millie, firmly told to sit up, and then given a cup of tea.
“Ere, Staff, drink this nice cuppa—yer young man’s waiting for yer. ‘E told me ter get yer out of bed and yer were ter dress, and if yer didn’t ‘e’d come up ‘isself, and that ain’t allowed.’
Augusta, half asleep, began on the tea which revived her sufficiently for her to ask indignantly, ‘What’s the time? And I haven’t got a young man.’
‘Four o’clock, an’ it’s that nice doctor ‘oo was ‘ere before, an’ I knows ‘e’s yer young man, ‘cos ‘e said so.’
Augusta thought this over
while she finished her tea. ‘Well, I shan’t,’ she said at length, pettishly. She banged the cup and saucer down on her bedtable, thumped up her pillows and prepared to lie down again. ‘I will not get up,’ she repeated.
‘Oh, yes, yer will. ‘E said—She’ll not take kindly to the idea, but tell ‘er that if I can, so can she.’
Augusta was by now fully awake, for Millie’s voice was piercing as well as persistent. ‘Oh, all right.’ Part of her was furious at not being allowed to sleep, but part of her—the larger part, she had to admit—was pleasantly excited to think that Constantijn wanted to see her. She sat up again and threw back the bedclothes and Millie coaxed her in a satisfied voice, ‘There’s the girl—I’ll make yer bed, Staff.’
Augusta tore into her clothes; it was a very warm afternoon; she topped a minimum of undies with a sleeveless shift of a pleasing shade of pink which she mistakenly hoped would lend colour to her pale face, did her hair carefully, snatched up her handbag and flew downstairs, tiredness forgotten.
Constantijn was talking to Valky. It was annoying to see that he looked as fresh and well rested as a man who had spent the entire night in his bed; he also looked annoyingly calm, self-assured—and not in the least penitent at getting her out of bed. As she approached them, Valky said rather dramatically, ‘Ah, the poor young girl—so white and tired and so overworked.’
‘As are all the nurses in the hospital,’ said Constantijn casually, and Augusta, already edgy, her pleasure at the sight of him evaporating at his unfeeling attitude, glowered at him, her eyes glittering greenly.
‘Which makes it all right to have me got out of bed after barely four hours’ sleep…’ she choked on rage.
‘Quite all right.’ His voice, she considered, was hatefully smooth. ‘You’re young and healthy and perfectly able to cope.’ He smiled with charm. ‘I thought—I hoped you would like to come out with me.’
Before she could think of an answer to this, he had caught her hand in his, said goodbye to the beaming Valky, and led her outside to the car. As he slid into the seat beside her, Augusta asked, ‘Where are we going?’ She still sounded cross.
He leaned over and kissed her lightly on a pale cheek. ‘You’ll see,’ he said; he wasn’t teasing any more—his voice sounded warm and comforting so that she felt a little ashamed of herself.
Ten minutes later he turned the car into the quiet square where Lady Belway lived and drew up before her house door. Augusta, who hadn’t spoken at all throughout the short drive, took one look and burst out indignantly, ‘Well, I simply will not go visiting…’ and was interrupted patiently. ‘My dear girl, I know you’re tired, but to try to recover some of your usual good humour. Lady Belway isn’t home—she’s gone to Paris to see Susan because I was unable to—and a fine upheaval it was. If it hadn’t been so urgent…’ he sighed. ‘I thought that we might have tea here, it will be quiet, and if you’re going to doze, which I have no doubt at all you will, you might as well do it in peace.’
This speech had the effect of waking Augusta up. She said quite sharply, ‘I’ve no intention of going to sleep,’ but she allowed herself to be helped out of the car and crossed the pavement to the door which was opened by Sims, the butler, who wished them a civil good afternoon and went on to say that they would be served their tea in the garden if they would be so good as to follow him.
He led the way down a passage at the back of the hall and opened a door into a room with french windows giving on to a small but charming garden where there was a table, several comfortable chairs and a canopied hammock set invitingly in the shade of two lime trees. Augusta’s ill-humour dwindled away at the pleasant sight. She hurried across the small lawn, exclaiming, ‘Oh, what heaven!’ and was about to sink into the hammock when she stopped and turned round to say to Constantijn:
‘I don’t know why you bother with me—you think of such nice things and I was absolutely—absolutely wrathy.’ Rather disconcertingly, he agreed, adding, ‘But then there are so many things you don’t know about me.’
She sat in the hammock and he took the chair opposite her. It was quite true, there were a great many things she didn’t know about him; she would want to know some of them at least before she got any more involved—supposing he were to ask her to marry him? She went pink, thinking about it, and felt all of a sudden wide awake and quite marvellous, which feeling prompted her to ask ill-advisedly:
‘Why didn’t you marry Susan? I should like to know about her—and you…’ she paused, ‘you said, just now, that you wanted to go to Paris to see her…’
She looked at him and saw that he wasn’t only annoyed; he was disconcerted as well. All the same, he said mildly, ‘Yes, but I prefer not to discuss it.’ He smiled very kindly at her, the sort of smile one gave when one was administering a snub to someone one didn’t want to upset. Well, she had deserved it, she supposed. She said stiffly, ‘What a delightful little garden this is,’ and felt the colour wash her pale cheeks at his amused look. It was a relief when tea, borne out upon a vast silver tray and accompanied by a quantity of little cakes and sandwiches, proved a welcome diversion. She poured out carefully, and sampled the sandwiches, discovering that she had an appetite whatever her feelings, and after a few minutes she came to the conclusion that perhaps she had been unduly sensitive, for Constantijn went on talking without the merest hint of awkwardness. ‘Yes, it’s charming,’ he agreed. ‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else as nice and as close to St Jude’s.’
‘Lady Belway wouldn’t mind us coming?’
‘Lord, no. Anyway, I asked Susan to tell her when I telephoned her earlier—this isn’t the first time I’ve used her garden for a tea party.’ He went on deliberately, ‘You see, Augusta, how I am uncovering my—er—wicked past, but as I’m quite sure you wouldn’t admit to loving me until I do… Am I not right?’
Augusta swallowed a morsel of cake without tasting any of it. ‘Yes,’ she said baldly. ‘Did Susan mind? Me being here?’
She wasn’t quite sure of the expression of his face. He said coolly enough, ‘My dear good girl, how you do harp on Susan! I can’t think why.’ He put down his cup and got out of his chair to sit beside her. He took her cup too and put it on the table. ‘And now,’ he said blandly, ‘if you feel like a nap?’ She felt his arm around her shoulders; his own broad shoulder was invitingly near; she rested her head against it and said worriedly, ‘We don’t always agree, do we? And I’m never sure what you’re thinking.’
‘That’s easily answered; two people who agree all the time would be so deadly dull they would destroy each other. And as to what I’m thinking—we’ll leave that for the moment.’ He went on more briskly, ‘You had a pretty awful night, I imagine.’
‘Grotty,’ said Augusta pithily. ‘All those poor people—more than fifty hurt, did you know? and twenty-three dead; I can’t forget it.’
‘Oh, yes, you can, Augusta. At least you can be thankful that you could do something to help them instead of just reading about them in the papers and wishing you could help.’
She nodded into his waistcoat. After a minute she asked, ‘Do you know everyone at St Jude’s?’ and felt his chest heave with quiet laughter.
‘Not everyone, but Dr Soames knows Rogers and Weller-Pratt, and remember, I’m his godson; I’ve known them since I was a small boy—just as I’ve known the Brigadier.’
She digested this and then asked a little shyly, ‘And your mother?’
‘She died a long time ago, when I was sixteen. Huib and I had grandparents in Holland and of course Lady Belway and Dr Soames over here. My father was broken-hearted when my mother died; we had never been very close, I suppose. He did everything to see that we had a good education and we lacked for nothing—only his affection. When I have children…’ He paused and Augusta reached up quickly, kissed him fiercely and said in a warm voice, ‘You’ll be a wonderful father, and they’ll all adore you because you’ll love them so.’
He looked down at her, his eyes very bright.
‘Yes, I believe I shall. Why did you kiss me?’
She stared back at him. ‘Because I love you with all my heart and it hurts me to know that you could ever be unhappy.’ She spoke with a little rush, made reckless by lack of sleep and nerves that were still tense. She hadn’t meant to say it, but somehow she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She looked away from him, feeling foolish and shy, and saw Sims coming out of the house towards them. She would have sat up, but Constantijn’s hand on her shoulder held her firmly where she was while the old man delivered his message. ‘There’s a telephone call for you, sir, from Miss Susan, she says it’s very urgent.’
Augusta felt Constantijn’s arm slacken and withdraw. He said merely, ‘I shan’t be long.’ She watched him stride away and there was no denying the urgency of his walk. She frowned a little; whatever Constantijn said, Susan seemed to loom very largely in his life…she was roused from thoughts which weren’t happy by Sims’ quiet voice asking if he should take away the tea things. He talked a little as he gathered them together; mild aimless remarks to which she replied just as aimlessly, but they had the effect of making everything normal again, so that when Constantijn returned after five minutes or so she was able to say in an ordinary, friendly voice, ‘What a dear old man Sims is—has he been here long?’
He sat down, but this time in a chair. He looked preoccupied, even vexed, but answered placidly enough, ‘Oh, years—I remember him when I came here as a small boy with my parents. What would you like to do, Augusta? A drive into the country, perhaps, and dinner somewhere quiet?’ She was about to agree to this reassuring suggestion when Sims appeared again. ‘A call from Uldale, sir—for you.’
Constantijn got to his feet again; there was a little frown between his eyes, although he said casually enough, ‘Forgive me, Augusta, but it may be important—there is something I must attend to.’ He smiled at her. ‘Why not have a nap while I’m gone?’
