Sister Palmer grunted. “Still look on the peaky side to me. Perhaps you should take some leave when the relief nurse arrives. We don’t want you laid up for weeks on end.”
And with that, she bustled off, leaving Eleanor staring after her in dismay. Leave…She hadn’t thought about that. Where would she go? Not back to England, that much was certain. The prospect of time away from her work filled her with dismay.
Then another letter arrived from Dirk.
Everything is much the same here. I’m not exactly the most popular guy at GHQ; I think my ambulance driving gives them a conscience, and that isn’t something they’re too keen on having. Normally I can shrug it off, but lately the whole situation’s been getting me down. Churning out these bagatelles is eating away at me.
Anyway, I’m due a few days’ leave, and I heard recently about a bunch of Scottish women doctors who are running a hospital at Royaumont. It’s an all-female concern, apparently, and when I heard about it I thought it would make a really interesting story. And of course then I couldn’t help but think of you, and your fascination for blood transfusions and operations!
Could you get away for a few days, Eleanor? Surely you must be due some leave soon, and we’d only need a couple of days. I know it wouldn’t be much of a break for you, swapping one hospital for another, but somehow I think you’d find it interesting, and I’d make sure it was all above board. By that, I mean that I’d promise to be the perfect gentleman, as you English say…
Actually, Eleanor, to be honest, I can already hear you saying no. But please, think about it. I’m going to be going anyway, but it would be great if you would come too…
Of course, she couldn’t go. Could she?
Pocketing the letter, Eleanor got ready for her duty. A hospital run by women with women doctors…She’d known that there were women doctors of course; Elizabeth Garrett Anderson was well known. But it had never occurred to her that there might be female doctors working here in France.
“It’s quiet tonight, nurse.”
Eleanor was doing a spell on nights. This night was unusual in that there had been no convoys in and almost everyone in the officer’s ward was sleeping peacefully. All except for Julian Montague, the soldier who’d spoken to her softly.
She stopped at his bedside, studying his face. He was the officer whose life had been saved by Leo Cartwright, and she thought of this whenever she saw him. Since arriving at the hospital, his broken arm had been put into a splint and both his legs had been amputated at the knee. He would soon be well enough to be transported back to Blighty and out of the war forever.
She smiled at him. He was a pleasant man who seemed to have borne this tragedy with tremendous courage. “Don’t tempt fate, lieutenant. In my experience, whenever anybody talks about it being quiet, four ambulances turn up on the doorstep.” She looked at him more closely and frowned. “You look very tired. Are you still sleeping badly?”
“I’m not too keen on going to sleep,” he said. “Whenever I do, I forget I’ve lost my legs and then I have to learn it all over again. I can still feel them, you see.”
“I’m afraid that’s very common,” she said, feeling sympathetic. Eleanor’s limited training hadn’t told her why this was, and it was one of many things she would very much like to know.
“Have you met Cartwright, the man who brought me in?” Lieutenant Montague asked her, and Eleanor looked at him.
“Yes, I have,” she said, wondering how Leo’s drawings were going. It had been a good week since she’d seen him last.
Julian smiled. “I just wondered whether he’d had any trouble sleeping or not.”
“I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “I think so.”
Julian was pulling a face. “I can’t like the man, you know, nurse. Even though he saved my life.” He turned away from her. “He strikes me as a cold blighter. Arrogant too.”
Eleanor shivered, remembering her initial instinct when she’d first encountered Leo Cartwright. Perhaps that instinct hadn’t been so misguided after all? Possibly, she would never know. Leo Cartwright’s injury hadn’t been that severe, so by the time she returned to work on that ward, he would very likely have been shipped back to England to recuperate.
Julian was speaking again, his face turned away from her. “Or perhaps it’s just that I don’t thank the man for saving my life. Perhaps it would have been better if he’d left me to rot in that stinking shell hole.”
Eleanor sat down in the chair next to his bed. All around them came the sound of men sleeping. There was time to talk for a moment, and that was clearly what Julian needed to do.
“I don’t believe you mean that,” she said, and he laughed softly, looking at her again.
“You’ve obviously witnessed a great deal of despair, nurse. I wonder what mine rates on a scale of one to ten?”
She stayed silent, knowing that no answer was required. Finally he sighed. “You’re right of course, although I am at a complete loss to understand it. Why is it that I still possess this ridiculous lust to carry on living when I only amount to half a man now that the Hun has done its worst? My closest friends are dead, and nothing that seemed of importance before the war seems of any importance now.”
“You’re making very good progress,” she said in an effort to comfort him. “They’ll send you back to England soon.”
“Yes, the doctor indicated as much when I saw him today. I can’t picture it somehow, though. I really think one of those convalescent homes might be the best idea to start with, though I imagine they’re pretty depressing places.” He made an attempt to smile. “Still, probably better that than the family en masse, at least at first. We’re all so active, you see, or at least, we were. My father with the estate and his shooting and fishing, my sister with dances and what not. And I’ve always been something of a runner, you know—athletics. No chance of that now, of course. Mother’s the only real indoor bird. Rarely strays from the drawing room and her embroidery or her whist drives. She’ll expect me to join her, I shouldn’t wonder, and I don’t fancy that at all. No, not at all. I suppose I could take up reading poetry.”
She smiled at him. “I can think of worse things to do,” she said. “But perhaps you could write it, too.”
He laughed softly. “My dear Nurse Martin, if you’d seen my pathetic attempts at English while I was at school! No, I’m afraid that writing of any description is not my thing at all.”
Eleanor thought of Dirk—Dirk with his passion for writing and his strong opinions. Perhaps before the war, this man had been the same. And now she was filled with a compassion that moved her almost to tears.
“Then you must find something that is your thing, mustn’t you?” she said strongly. “Something that really matters to you.” And suddenly she knew that if it were at all possible, she would accept Dirk’s invitation. She would go with him to Royaumont to see the Scottish women doctors at work.
Julian was staring at her, not, she sensed, because he thought she was blathering on like an idiot, but because she’d struck home.
“Come to think of it, running was always my father’s hobby horse really,” he said thoughtfully. “Oh, I could do it all right, but it was fun more than anything else for me. I wasn’t naturally very competitive. It was my father who…” He refocused his attention her way. “You’re an incredible woman, you know, nurse?”
She was embarrassed. “No…”
“Yes!”
A voice came from across the ward. “Just take his word for it, nurse. Please! Then perhaps we can all get some sleep!”
Julian and Eleanor exchanged a smile.
“Thank you, nurse. You’ve done a good evening’s work just talking to me,” he said softly.
Eleanor felt her face flush. “It was nothing at all.”
“It was to me,” he assured her.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, put a sock in it, Montague,” came the lament from across the ward, and they smiled at each other again before Eleanor bade h
im goodnight and went to the nurses’ kitchen to make some tea.
Waiting for the water to boil, she decided she would write to Dirk to accept his invitation just as soon as she had spoken to Sister Palmer about the possibility of her taking leave. That way, she wouldn’t be able to change her mind. Even though it would never be possible for her to train to be a doctor, it would still be extremely interesting. There were so many questions about the treatment of casualties that she would like to ask, and, leaving the language barrier aside, it was just far too busy here for her to bother the doctor with them. And to speak to an actual woman doctor…It would be truly thrilling.
But almost as immediately as the decision was made, Eleanor was assailed by doubts. She and Dirk would have to travel there together, for a start. Would they find enough to talk about in all the time they weren’t with the doctors? Besides, for all Dirk’s assurances about being a gentleman, how could she be sure he’d keep his word when they were alone together? The whole idea of the trip was highly irregular, and even Kit, should she be here, might be a little shocked by the idea. Was she crazy to even contemplate it?
Leo hadn’t seen Eleanor all week. When he asked after her, VAD Hurst told him Eleanor had been assigned to the officers’ ward. Then she’d looked at him knowingly.
“Got a real soft spot for her, haven’t you? I don’t know; it’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? Now, if it were Martin’s friend Kit, I could understand it. All the men are crazy about Kit. Not that she’s around just at the moment; her brother’s just been killed. Terribly sad. Quite dashing, he was. Anyway, that’s the reason they’re short staffed on the officers’ ward…”
Finally realizing she hadn’t got Leo’s full attention, the VAD’s voice trailed off. She looked at Leo shrewdly.
“I say, if it’s an artist’s model you’re after, I’d be willing to give it a go.” She put one hand to the back of her head and the other on her hip and proceeded to pout.
As Leo watched VAD Hurst’s double chins smooth themselves out as she adopted the pose, it was all he could do not to shudder. VAD Hurst was about as different from Eleanor as it was possible for a woman to get, and since it was not Leo’s way to hide what he was thinking, VAD Hurst was left in no doubt of it when she relaxed the ridiculous pose to look at him.
“I see,” she bridled. “Like that, is it? Well, then, I’m afraid you’re set to be disappointed. Martin’s not due back on this ward for the rest of the week, and by the look of your wound, I’d say you’re bound to be shipped back to England to recuperate within the next few days.” With that, she walked away with a sniff and had treated him coolly ever since.
And now, just as VAD Hurst had predicted, the time had come for Leo to leave, without him seeing anything of Eleanor since the incident on the veranda with Pryce.
Damn Pryce. Leo hadn’t spoken to him since. The man had had his leg amputated and had been sulking about it at the end of the ward, his head turned toward the wall. Not that Leo felt inclined to speak to him; if it hadn’t been for Pryce and his accusations, Eleanor would have popped in to see him, whether she was working on the ward on not. Leo knew she would.
“Come along, soldier. Get a move on. The transport won’t wait all day for you.”
Of all people, it was the dreaded Sister Palmer who was standing with her hands on her hips, waiting for Leo to collect his things. There was to be no opportunity for him to slip away in search of the officers’ ward, or even the nurses’ quarters. He was going to have to leave without seeing Eleanor again, and Leo was surprised how bad that made him feel. The idea of having Eleanor at hand to paint whenever he felt like it, of her being his muse, had given him a glow—a purpose. In every fantasy he’d had about it, Eleanor had been reclining on a couch, draped in soft, revealing fabric. After Leo had painted his fill, he’d gone over to join her there, gently removing the clinging material from her quivering, acquiescing body. It was an image that had returned again and again during the long, boring hours on the ward; so much so, that it had become something concrete to him, something that would actually take place. And now he was climbing into a truck that would take him away from this place forever.
No. This could not be it. As the truck bounced along the dirt track and Leo looked back at the abbey building crouched among the trees, he decided it. He would see Eleanor again, somehow. This wouldn’t be the end of them, or his dreams. He would return some day and whisk her away from her life of drudgery. Together they would take the art world by storm.
Chapter Sixteen
“TELL ME, MISS MARTIN, why did you want to visit Royaumont?”
Eleanor swallowed. Dr. Hilda McPherson was a formidable person, and it was a nerve-racking experience to have the full force of her attention directed her way.
“Well,” she said nervously, “Dirk, that is Mr. Loreson, thought—”
“I’m not concerned with what Mr. Loreson thought,” said Hilda McPherson. “I want to know your motives. Presumably you have a mind of your own?”
The conversation was taking place while they were climbing the huge oak staircase that led to the second floor of the abbey—the same staircase up which, Dr. McPherson had recently informed her, many of the casualties had to be carried on their stretchers. Presumably by women orderlies, since the hospital was staffed entirely by women. It was one startling fact out of many Eleanor had learned since arriving at the former Cistercian abbey two hours previously. She had been bowled over time and time again by the sheer impressiveness of both the place and the work being carried out there.
Despite it now being used as a hospital, Royaumont was a fairy-tale place, especially after the long twelve-mile journey along the appalling road from the rail point at Creil. Emerging from a thick, lush forest, they had finally seen an abbey fashioned from pale gray stone in front of them. It was huge, at least three times larger than the hospital at Revigny. Beyond it, Eleanor could make out what looked like a lake.
“What a place,” Dirk breathed, turning to smile at her.
Eleanor returned his smile, a feeling of excitement spreading through her veins. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“You’re glad you came, then?” he asked.
“So far I am, yes.”
He laughed at that and went around to open her door for her. Then he went to unload their bags from the trunk. While he was doing so, Eleanor’s notebook tumbled out, sending Leo’s sketch of her flying through the air onto the ground.
“I’m so sorry,” Dirk said, stooping to pick it up, looking at the drawing as he did so. “Wow, this is good. It really looks like you. Who did it?”
Eleanor, who had forgotten she had stuffed the picture into her notebook, took it from him, feeling embarrassed. “One of the soldiers on the ward. Private Leo Cartwright. He’s an artist,” she explained. “I think he wanted to thank me for what I’d done for him. Not that I need anyone to thank me, of course…” Her awkward words faded away, and she was glad when he gave a nod and led the way to the abbey’s entrance.
Almost as soon as they came to a halt outside the impressive entrance hall and announced who they were, Dirk was whisked away to see the senior medical officer. Eleanor, meanwhile, was shown her to her temporary quarters by a VAD named Megan who had a broad Scot’s accent.
“Pay no mind to the bats when you go to bed,” Megan told her as she showed Eleanor the former monk’s cell in which she was to sleep. “We’ve grown quite used to them flying about our heads, and there’s no way to keep them out with these old mullioned windows.”
But now, in the presence of the formidable Dr. McPherson, Eleanor reflected that a few bats were the very least of her worries. The doctor was waiting impatiently for her reply and would not, Eleanor knew, be impressed to hear that she had come to Royaumont in order to escape from her problems.
“I wanted to come because—”
“Yes?” The doctor paused half way up the stairs to look at her, paying no attention to the bundle of soiled uniforms that was be
ing winched past their ears to the top floor.
Eleanor searched her heart for the truth. Instinctively, she knew the other woman would accept nothing less, and she had been motivated to make the long journey here by more than just fear.
“When I heard from Mr. Loreson about this place, I…Well, I was thrilled. I could hardly believe it was true. For a hospital to be staffed wholly by women—”
“Yes, yes,” the doctor insisted. “But what did you want to get from your visit? What do you wish to take back with you to Revigny? Merely the experience of having been thrilled?”
“No, I…” The bundle of clothes had reached its destination high above them, but still Dr. McPherson remained stationary, waiting for her answer. “I would like to leave here feeling…inspired,” she said.
The doctor frowned. “Inspired?”
“Yes, by what’s possible.”
“For the patients? Or for you on a personal level?”
Eleanor hesitated. “Both, I think. That is…Yes, both.”
There was a pause. Eleanor waited to see whether the doctor would continue up toward the wards or whether she would turn about and consign Eleanor to an afternoon of waiting for Dirk in the grounds.
“Both, is it?” she said, then finally turned and continued to climb the remaining steps. “Well, you’re in luck. It’s my birthday today, so I’m in a good mood. Come with me, and we’ll see what we can do.”
Downstairs, in the office of the chief medical officer, Dirk was also being subjected to a grilling.
“I’ll be blunt, Mr. Loreson,” Dr. Frances Ivens was saying to him. “We have a lot of visitors to Royaumont. As a hospital staffed by women, we’re something of a curiosity. We get a little tired of being exhibits at a zoo.”
“I assure you, ma’am, I—”
“And I assure you, Mr. Loreson, that we do not tolerate fools gladly here. We simply haven’t the time to do so. Yes, we are women, but first and foremost, we are surgeons. We have a job of work to do, and that is that. It is immaterial to us whether you, as a man, find it fascinating that we, as women, are prepared to get our hands dirty in the process of carrying out that work. We are an oddity in that this hospital is unique, but that is the fault of society. It is society that needs to adjust, not us.”
A Nightingale in Winter Page 16
