She prepared the instruments and filled bowls with water, administered anaesthetic and grimly held on to patients’ heads while Mr Prentiss set to work, syringing ears, piercing sinuses with terrifying pointed instruments, and banging away at infected mastoids with a hammer and chisel. Then, when the operation was over, she would usher the patient away, tidy up and remove the instruments for cleaning, then replace them with fresh ones from the steriliser.
And all the time, Mr Prentiss was barking orders at her. ‘Adjust the light, Sister, I can’t see a thing.’ ‘Where is the Siegel’s speculum?’ ‘For God’s sake, dry that ear. How am I supposed to examine it?’
Thankfully, by one o’clock it was all over. The last infected sinus had been drained and sent home, and Helen could relax.
She was putting the last of the instruments into the steriliser when French, one of the students, stuck her head around the door.
‘Please, Sister, come quickly!’ she panted. ‘A patient’s just dropped dead in the waiting room!’
In the main Casualty hall, all hell had broken loose. Helen arrived just in time to see the porters carrying away a stretcher draped in a blanket, while all around people were crying and shaking their heads and talking loudly among themselves. Penny Willard was handing out cups of tea to everyone.
‘If you could just calm down, please . . .’ she called out, her voice lost in the commotion.
Another student, Perkins, sat white-faced in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself.
Before Helen could reach her, Dr McKay bore down on her out of nowhere, looking like an avenging angel in his flapping white coat.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded.
‘In the Outpatients’ clinic. What happened?’ Helen looked around.
‘I’ll tell you what happened. A man has just collapsed with a cardiac failure, right in front of the other patients. And you weren’t here to deal with it!’
Helen looked at Perkins. Her face was blotchy with tears. ‘I-I’m sorry, Sister, I didn’t know what to do,’ she stammered. ‘He said he felt sick, so I went off to fetch a dish. But then he suddenly turned a funny grey colour and started sweating, and the next thing I knew he was on the floor – I didn’t know whether to stay with him or to fetch the doctor.’ She wiped the tears from her face with a shaking hand.
‘Why didn’t you get Nurse Willard to help?’ Helen asked.
‘Please, Sister, she was on her break. There was no one here but me.’ Perkins started to cry again, great heaving sobs that shook her body.
Helen hurried over and sat down beside her, putting her arm around the girl’s shaking shoulders. ‘Don’t cry, Perkins, it’s all right. You have no reason to blame yourself,’ she soothed her.
‘Quite right. She isn’t to blame – you are!’ Dr Mckay snapped. ‘The poor girl should never have been left in charge of the Casualty department on her own.’ His brown eyes blazed. ‘That man might have been saved if you’d been here to act. But instead you’re off in Outpatients, merrily cleaning instruments while chaos descends!’
Dr Adler stepped in. ‘Now I’m sure there’s no call for that. Sister Dawson is doing her best—’
‘Then her best obviously isn’t good enough, is it?’ Dr McKay turned on her accusingly. ‘You’re supposed to be the sister. You’re supposed to be in charge.’
Helen stared at him, forcing herself to stay calm in the face of his blistering anger. ‘I am in charge.’
‘Are you? You could have fooled me. Perhaps if you started acting like a real sister instead of a glorified probationer, we wouldn’t have situations like this.’
With one final, quick scowl at Helen, he was gone. She heard the door to his consulting room slam, sending a shudder through her.
She looked around. Penny Willard, the students and a line of patients were all staring back at her. Seeing their shocked expressions was almost too much for Helen. She could almost feel herself shrinking before their eyes, becoming diminished and insignificant. A creature to be pitied, not respected.
She roused herself, squaring her shoulders and drawing herself to her full height. She would not, could not, allow herself to be treated in such a way, not in front of her nurses. If she lost their respect, she would lose everything.
She turned to little Nurse Perkins. ‘Perkins, you may take five minutes off to gather yourself. Nurse Willard, will you take over, please?’
Helen didn’t wait for a reply before she marched off to Dr McKay’s consulting room.
She was so fired up with anger she walked straight in without knocking. Dr McKay looked up at her in surprise.
‘What the—’
But before he could begin his sentence, Helen got in first. ‘How dare you speak to me like that in front of my nurses?’ she snapped. ‘I realise you were upset over the death of a patient, but you were rude and disrespectful, and I won’t stand for it. Would you ever have spoken to Sister Percival like that? I doubt it.’ She saw his eyes narrow, but she was too angry to care. ‘I know you don’t like or approve of me, Doctor, but nevertheless I have been given a job to do, and I intend to do it to the best of my abilities,’ she continued. ‘I would appreciate it if you could refrain from trying to humiliate me in front of my nurses, and treat me with the respect and courtesy I deserve!’
Without waiting for a reply, she left the room. Her legs were shaking so much she could hardly walk.
Rather than go back and face the other nurses, Helen sought refuge in the Plaster Room to give herself time to calm down. As her anger abated, she began to realise what a foolish thing she’d done. Had she really just given a senior doctor a dressing down? Even if Dr McKay had deserved it, it was a shocking thing to do. It would probably also spell the end of her short career as a ward sister. Once he told Matron what she’d said, that would be it for her.
Not that she really cared. She couldn’t go on working for Dr McKay the way things were. He had been spoiling for a fight for the past week, ever since she’d arrived.
Perhaps this was what he’d wanted all along, she thought. Perhaps he’d been deliberately goading her, trying to make her lose her temper so he could have her removed? If so, she’d played right into his hands.
She jumped guiltily when the door opened and Dr Adler stuck his head round. ‘Is this a bad time?’ he asked.
‘No, not at all.’ Helen hurriedly turned away, smoothing down her apron. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor, did you need me?’
Dr Adler smiled. ‘I came to see if you were all right.’
His kind face almost undid her composure completely. ‘I’m quite all right, Doctor. Thank you,’ she said.
‘I also came to apologise for Dr McKay. He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.’
‘I’m afraid I was rather rude to him in return,’ Helen said.
‘So I understand.’ Dr Adler looked more amused than angry.
Helen bit her lip. ‘Is he going to tell Matron?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Dr Adler grinned at her. ‘Don’t look so worried, Sister. Dr McKay isn’t one to bear a grudge, I assure you.’
All the same, Helen knew she hadn’t made things better between them.
‘He had every right to be angry,’ she said. ‘A man died because of my negligence.’
‘If it’s any consolation, he would have died anyway,’ Dr Adler said. ‘We’ve seen that patient in here before. He’s had myocarditis since he contracted diphtheria as a child. His heart was barely functioning. Truly, it was only a matter of time.’
‘That’s not what Dr McKay thinks.’
Dr Adler let out a sigh. ‘I don’t know what’s troubling Dr McKay. He doesn’t usually take things so personally. And he isn’t usually so difficult, either.’
‘I know what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t like me.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true—’ Dr Adler started to say, but Helen cut him off.
‘Dr Adler, I heard the two of you talking on the morning I first arrived,’
she said. ‘Dr McKay made it quite clear he feels I’m too young and inexperienced, and can’t cope with the job.’
The worst of it was, she proved him right every day. He made her so nervous, she had started making silly mistakes. Things she’d done a hundred times, things she had never got wrong even as a student, were suddenly impossible for her. She handed him the wrong forceps, or set out the wrong instruments for a procedure, or she gave an injection clumsily and caused the patient to yelp in pain.
And all the time she could feel David McKay watching her, judging her. She didn’t have to look at him, she could just imagine him silently shaking his head in reproof.
‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ Dr Adler said solemnly. ‘And you know I don’t agree, don’t you? I think you’re a first-rate nurse.’
‘Thank you.’ Helen finished washing her hands and reached for the towel. In the week she’d been in Casualty, she’d come to realise what a kind, generous, open-hearted man Jonathan Adler was. He’d gone out of his way to welcome her and to make up for his colleague’s mean-spiritedness. She felt she could confide in him. ‘Do you want to know the real reason I was helping at Mr Prentiss’s Outpatients’ clinic?’ she said.
‘Nurse Willard said it was because all the students were terrified of him?’
‘That wasn’t the only reason. I also wanted to escape from Dr McKay and his constant criticism.’
‘Is he really that bad?’ Dr Adler frowned.
‘I would rather assist Mr Prentiss with a hundred tonsil ops than clean a scraped knee for Dr McKay,’ Helen replied.
Dr Adler was silent for a moment, taking it in. ‘But he’s usually so kind.’
‘I know.’ That was what made it even more difficult. She’d seen Dr McKay show great tenderness to his patients. He comforted distressed parents, made fractious children laugh, and even slipped a shilling to a homeless tramp who’d wandered in out of the cold. He was also kind and patient with the student nurses, forgiving them their endless mistakes.
But not with her. Helen couldn’t remember a time when he’d even looked at her with any real warmth.
‘It’s only been a week,’ Dr Adler said. ‘Perhaps he just needs more time to get to know you?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Helen shook her head. ‘I think it might be easier for everyone if I left. Then at least you could find someone more experienced for the post.’
‘No!’ Dr Adler’s broad, bearded face was full of dismay. ‘Don’t even think about leaving, Sister, please. You’re a wonderful nurse, and you’ve done such a good job here already. We’d be lost without you.’
Helen smiled wryly. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think Dr McKay sees it that way.’
And after the way she’d just spoken to him, she was sure it would be all-out war between them.
Chapter Eight
AS USUAL, EFFIE was given the job of changing Adam Campbell’s dressing. She caught the other nurses’ sympathetic looks as she made her way up the ward with the trolley, but no one offered to help her. In the fortnight he’d been there, Adam had managed to upset everyone on Blake ward except her. And that wasn’t for the want of trying on his part.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he greeted her sullenly.
‘Good morning, Mr Campbell,’ Effie replied through gritted teeth, determined to maintain her sunny disposition come what may.
‘I don’t know what’s good about it.’ He eyed her gloomily. ‘I suppose you’ve come to poke and prod me again?’
‘I’ve come to change your dressing.’ She checked the traction on his splint, as Sister had shown her.
‘Why does it always have to be you?’ he demanded. ‘You’re so clumsy.’
‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with me because no one else will do it.’ She inspected his leg closely. ‘No sign of splint sores, which is a good thing.’
He shifted himself upright, a look of genuine interest on his face. ‘Really? Why not?’
‘I suppose it’s because the splint isn’t rubbing against your skin—’
‘No, I mean why won’t any of the nurses come near me?’
Effie paused. ‘They find you – difficult,’ she said.
‘Don’t you find me difficult?’
‘Oh, I find you impossible. But I’m only the junior, so I get stuck with all the jobs no one else wants. Still, it could be worse.’ She shrugged. ‘I could be scrubbing the toilets, I suppose.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Right, let’s have that leg.’
He lay there in martyred silence as she removed his old dressing, checked and cleaned his wound, then applied a new one. It wasn’t until she’d almost finished that he suddenly blurted out, ‘Has there been any word from Adeline yet?’
Effie’s heart sank. Every day he asked the same question, and every day she dreaded it. ‘Not yet, Mr Campbell,’ she said briskly. ‘But I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon.’
‘But it’s been two weeks.’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Are you sure they’ve written to her?’
‘Sister gave her address to the Almoner’s office.’
‘But did she give them the right address? I wouldn’t put it past you to get it wrong.’
Effie gritted her teeth. ‘I’m sure she’ll be in touch,’ she repeated doggedly.
Adam thought about it for a moment. ‘I should write to her myself,’ he said. ‘Where can I get some writing paper?’
She considered it for a moment as she finished dressing his wound and collected up the used dressings. ‘I suppose you’d have to ask someone nicely to bring some in for you,’ she said.
He turned to her. ‘Will you—’
Effie held up her hand. ‘Only if you ask nicely,’ she reminded him.
He sighed. ‘Please, Nurse O’Hara, please, please, will you be so kind as to get hold of some writing paper for me? If you don’t mind. Please?’ he said with exaggerated humility.
Effie smiled. ‘Well, since you put it like that . . .’ she said, pushing back the screens. But Adam wasn’t listening to her. He was staring beyond her shoulder. Effie turned to see a man standing at the foot of his bed. He was in his forties, tall, dark and distinguished-looking in an army officer’s uniform.
‘Can I help . . .’ she started to say, but Adam interrupted.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.
‘I came as soon as I heard.’
‘I didn’t send for you.’
‘Nevertheless, I’m here.’ The man’s face, shadowed by his peaked cap, gave nothing away. ‘How are you, Adam?’ he said stiffly.
Adam looked sullen. ‘Why should you care?’
Effie looked around the ward for one of her sisters to help her, but for once neither Bridget nor Katie nor any of the other staff nurses were lurking around. And it was Sister Blake’s afternoon off.
‘Could someone please tell me what’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Allow me to introduce Major Campbell, of the Lancashire Fusiliers,’ Adam said, a mocking edge to his voice.
Effie saw the man wince. ‘I’m also his father,’ he said.
‘Support the Peace Society! No war at any cost!’
It was a Saturday afternoon three weeks before Christmas, and Oxford Street was packed with Christmas shoppers. Lights blazed in every window, illuminating the freezing twilight. The inviting aroma of roasting chestnuts hung in the air. On the corner, a group of carol singers joined in with a rousing ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’.
Wet slush seeped through Frannie’s shoes as she stood shivering on the street corner, pressing pamphlets into the hands of passers-by.
‘Support the Peace Society. Tell the government we don’t want war!’ she cried.
‘Never mind the government, it’s that Hitler you want to tell!’
Frannie turned round. Two young soldiers in uniform were looking down at her.
‘What’s this, then?’ One of them took the pamphlet and flicked through it. ‘You one of them Communists, missus?’
‘No, I’m not,’ Fran
nie said, facing him. ‘I’m just someone who believes that war is wrong.’
‘So you reckon we should just roll over and let Hitler do what he likes, is that it?’ the other soldier sneered, an insolent expression on his face.
‘I’m saying we shouldn’t get dragged into someone else’s fight like we did last time.’
The soldier’s chin lifted. ‘My old man fought for his country in the last war and he was proud to do it,’ he said.
Frannie turned on him. He looked so young, twenty years old if that. He reminded her of Matthew and his friends, little boys in men’s uniforms. Perhaps one day his sweetheart would see him off on a train, never to return.
‘But he wasn’t fighting for his country, was he? He was fighting for a few hundred yards of mud that meant nothing to anyone,’ she said. ‘Do you know how many British boys lost their lives on the Western and Eastern fronts? Thousands of young lives wasted, and for what? So some general could stick a pin in a map of a place no one’s heard of.’
The soldiers looked at each other, and Frannie could sense their uncertainty.
‘The Germans are our enemies,’ one of them insisted. ‘They were our enemies then and they’re our enemies now.’
‘Why?’
The young man’s face puckered in confusion. ‘Eh?’
‘Why are they your enemies? How many Germans do you know? I bet you could walk past dozens on this very street and not even know them. They’re not monsters, they’re just ordinary people like you and me, going about their business and looking forward to Christmas.’
‘Tell that to the poor Jews who’ve had their shops smashed up!’ one of the young men said. ‘Tell that to the poor sods who’ve been turned out of their houses and put into camps. And you reckon we should turn a blind eye to that?’
‘Of course not,’ Frannie said. ‘But I don’t want to see young men like you and your friend dying either. Do you want to die?’ she challenged them. ‘Do you want your mothers to get a telegram, telling them you’ve been lost?’
‘I’ve heard enough!’ the soldier stopped her. ‘This is what I think of your stupid ideas!’ He ripped her pamphlet up and scattered the pieces into the air. Frannie watched them fluttering down like confetti, soaking into the slushy ground.
A Nightingale Christmas Wish Page 5
