In the Shadow of the Lamp

by Susanne Dunlap

  As soon as we were far enough away from the shore, and the wind picked up and the waves began to rock us, I looked for her, hoping she’d not gone below with so many of the others to escape the bitter cold.

  I found Mrs. Bracebridge sitting toward the stern in a sheltered place, her eyes closed. She looked very tired. I felt bad that I was going to trouble her but I had no choice, now I’d got this far. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bracebridge.” I hoped my voice didn’t quake too much.

  She looked up, startled. She shaded her eyes from the sun and narrowed them before talking. “Do I know you?”

  “We met at Mrs. Stanley’s house. My name is Molly Fraser.”

  “Molly Fraser … yes, I remember. You weren’t qualified. How do you come to be on this boat?”

  “The truth is, I was waiting for you, ma’am. See, I don’t half want to be a nurse and go with your lot to Turkey.” Now that I’d got it out, everything was in her hands. She had a kind face. I kept my eyes fixed on her, hoping she’d see how desperate I was and how much I meant what I said.

  The frown on her brow creased deeper. “But I explained to you that Miss Nightingale requested only trained, mature nurses.”

  I’d practiced what I was going to say to her over and over to myself, but now that it came out it all sounded hollow and flat. “I learn things fast. I know I can prove myself. I know about healing. Please just give me a chance.” I talked too fast. My lips felt like India rubber.

  “It’s not my decision to make,” she said.

  “But Miss Nightingale trusted you to choose the other nurses, didn’t she?”

  She let out a short laugh. “Yes, but if I bring her an inexperienced girl, what will she think then?”

  “If you don’t tell her, she won’t know. I’m here now and I went to a great deal of trouble to get here. Won’t you please just let me try?” I was afraid I might cry if I went on. I was so tired after my night on the docks and all the planning and hoping of the last few weeks.

  She sat silent for a moment, looking out over the water. I could almost hear her tossing the idea back and forth in her mind. What would she decide?

  “Do you realize that you have taken a terrible risk? I could have you arrested by the purser as a stowaway—unless you have a ticket? Not to mention that you need a passport once we arrive in France.”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t have neither one of them.”

  She was silent again. She put two fingers to her forehead and rubbed it a little, like it would help her think. At last she folded her hands in her lap. She looked steadily at me. “All right, Molly. I won’t turn you over to the authorities. But this deception does not add to your scanty recommendations. You will have to prove yourself or you will be sent home. We shall have to see to the passport in Paris. But it will be up to Miss Nightingale whether you may continue with us to Turkey. And you must obey me and Miss Nightingale in everything. This is not a pleasure trip. I doubt you can truly know what you are signing up for. Not a wisp of that beautiful hair must show beneath your cap. If you so much as look at a wounded soldier with those big gray eyes, I’ll send you packing even if Miss Nightingale doesn’t notice. And if she agrees to keep you, you mustn’t expect the same wages the trained nurses will receive.”

  She meant to discourage me. But I was so happy I could’ve thrown my arms around her. I didn’t though. I didn’t want to do anything that might make her doubt me. Instead I tried to keep a straight face and control the trembling that I thought might overpower me at any time. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.” I put out my hand to shake hers. She took it and smiled.

  Chapter 7

  I don’t know what Mrs. Bracebridge said to the others, but they accepted me quickly enough. Most of them were older, well past the age of marrying. Except one.

  “My name’s Emma. Emma Bigelow. I’m not half glad to see someone who isn’t a sour old puss or spends her time on her knees praying.”

  Emma was pretty—or she would’ve been if there wasn’t a scar across her upper lip, a white line that cut from the outside of her nose to the corner of her mouth, which kept her from smiling on that side. But she had big eyes that were a nice, golden brown color and went with her light brown hair. Almost the color Mavis’s was, only with threads of blond in it.

  “I’m Molly Fraser,” I said, leaving it up to her if she wanted to keep talking.

  “Still, you’re young to be a nurse. Where was you nursing?”

  I wished I didn’t have to answer her, because it’d be a lie. I made like I just wanted to stroll along a little, leading us away from the other nurses.

  “I’ve only done a little nursing,” I said quietly.

  “Oh! Well, then …” A spark of interest lit up her eyes. “I can tell you some about nursing in an hospital. It’s easy, but you got to have a strong stomach.” She looped her arm through mine and nattered on in my ear all the way across the channel.

  When we got on the train to Paris in Boulogne, she sat next to me like we were old friends. She kept telling me stories about assisting with operations in the hospital she worked in up north, she didn’t say exactly where.

  “There was this doctor, see, he was too drunk to stitch up the poor old fella, so I took the needle myself and did it. And it was a neater job than ever he would’ve done, you can be sure!”

  Something told me I should take everything Emma said to me with a pinch of salt. I noticed she told her stories when the others weren’t listening, when they were belowdecks on the packet or asleep in their seats on the train. And her London accent was as thick as mine, so she couldn’t have been in the north for long. I didn’t question her close, though. I had my own secrets to keep, so I figured it wouldn’t do much harm to let her have hers.

  We didn’t clap eyes on Miss Nightingale until we arrived in Paris. We were to stay one day there, in a convent on an island in the middle of the Seine—a river not half as big as the Thames, not even deep enough for ships, so everything had to come in by barge. And it was green and stinking too.

  There were ten nurses already there, Catholic nuns, Mrs. Bracebridge said, who would go on to Turkey with us. Their leader was called Mother Bermondsey.

  “Let’s bunk next to each other,” Emma said, putting her arm through mine as if we’d been friends for ever such a long time.

  “Put your bags down and come into the chapel,” Mrs. Bracebridge said to all of us. “Miss Nightingale would like to speak to you.”

  I should’ve been shaking in my shoes about meeting Miss Nightingale, but by then I was so curious to see this famous lady that I put on my bravest face and decided to take whatever was coming. I didn’t have a choice, after all. I hoped Mrs. Bracebridge wouldn’t say anything about how I came to be among them. Still, I stayed near the back, which wasn’t hard with all the others trying to get as near as possible to Miss Nightingale, probably to impress her or make her notice them at least.

  You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when she came in. She was beautiful. And young. And tall! Taller than I was by an inch or two at least. Unlike the other nurses, she didn’t wear a plain dress but had on silk and full petticoats, with ruffles and lace. I guessed she was a proper lady. She looked nothing like someone who was about to be up to her elbows in blood and stench. The only difference betwixt her and any other rich lady was her hair: it was simpler, just pulled back with no curls or loops of braids.

  “She could’ve married, they say,” Emma whispered, giving me a little pinch.

  “Why didn’t she?” I asked. But Miss Nightingale began to speak, so we all quieted down.

  “Nurses and sisters, I thank you for undertaking this hazardous task, for leaving the comfort of your homes or convents in England to become a part of this noble group, who will do much to enhance the comfort of our sick and wounded soldiers.

  “But we must all tread very, very carefully. Mrs. Bracebridge will give each of you a paper to sign with strict rules of conduct. I am glad to see that most of you are
of a steady age and disposition. However …”

  I could’ve sworn she looked directly at me and Emma. I tried to shrink back into myself, make myself invisible.

  “… I will not tolerate any flirtation or inappropriate behavior around the men, who will be frightened and lonely and much in need of comfort.”

  One or two of the other nurses stared at us as well, the older ones mainly.

  “Also not to be tolerated is inebriation in any form and to any degree. It leads to disorderly conduct and inhibits the proper carrying out of your duties. You are required to maintain your personal hygiene at all times. I have seen to the design of uniforms, and those of you who are not otherwise uniformed will be equipped with them while we are here in Paris. We have the greater part of our journey yet to undertake. The way you comport yourselves, your dedication to the task that lies ahead, will be under my scrutiny, I assure you.

  “Are there any questions?”

  Miss Nightingale might’ve been lecturing new servants. I didn’t mind, but some of the others looked cross. But she, being so young and all, would have to be strong with us or the older ones might not pay her any heed.

  One of the nuns raised her hand. I don’t know how she dared! “Shouldn’t we ask God’s blessing on our journey?” she asked. The other nuns smiled and nodded.

  Miss Nightingale flicked her eyes toward Mrs. Bracebridge so fast I wondered if anyone else noticed. “Religion is a personal matter. We have among us those who are of the Church of England, those who attend chapel, and those who profess the Catholic faith. I advise you to ask whatever blessings you prefer—in private.”

  She left me wondering what she really thought, which I suppose was on purpose.

  “We shall enjoy a light supper in the refectory. Tomorrow you have some time to explore Paris if you’d like, in groups of three or more, between the hours of ten in the morning and four o’clock in the afternoon, as I have some business to attend to. We depart on the train for Lyons the day after that, and will take a boat down the Rhône to Avignon, whence we again board a train to Marseille. All the details are on the papers Mrs. Bracebridge will distribute. Thank you.”

  She turned to Mrs. Bracebridge, who stood by her all meek and quiet. They started talking. I couldn’t take my eyes off the two of them, heads together. Miss Nightingale ran her finger down the list of names and shook her head. Mrs. Bracebridge whispered and pointed with her. I itched to know what they were saying. They got to the bottom of the list and Miss Nightingale frowned. I wished I could hear. She said something fast to Mrs. Bracebridge. Then what I dreaded the most happened: Mrs. Bracebridge looked toward me. I think I must have blushed red as a beet. Miss Nightingale looked at me for no more than a second, turned back to Mrs. Bracebridge, then walked quickly out of the room.

  “Come along, I’m starving,” Emma said, pulling my arm. “Won’t be nothing left if we wait much longer.”

  I was concentrating so hard on Miss Nightingale that I didn’t notice the other nurses leave the room, so there were only a few of us left. I turned to go with Emma, but Mrs. Bracebridge caught up with me. Please, no, I thought, then steeled myself. This is it. I’ll be sent home for sure.

  “Miss Nightingale would like to speak with you as soon as you’ve finished your supper,” Mrs. Bracebridge said. No doubt I looked how I felt, because she added, “You’re not in trouble, not yet at least. I kept most of your secret. But she has some questions.”

  I expected she had questions.

  The smell of good food floated out of the refectory, but my throat was too tight to even swallow a bite. I tried but only pushed the food around on my plate.

  “Mind if I finish that?” Emma said, looking at the sausage I’d nibbled at.

  “Suit yourself,” I said.

  I hardly remembered anything about that meal or anything Emma was chattering on about. I nodded now and again, but her voice just rose and fell and made no sense. I would have to face Miss Nightingale and convince her she should let me go on with them to Turkey. I had no trouble picturing her turning me out on my ear and could practically feel the stares of the other nurses as I left them and got back on a train for Boulogne.

  As everyone stood from the long table to go back to their rooms, Mrs. Bracebridge came over to me. “Come, Molly, you can join the others in a moment.”

  I followed her, feeling the way I used to feel when I knew I’d been bad and my mum was taking me in to my dad for a beating. Only worse, if that was possible, because I didn’t know what to expect.

  Miss Nightingale sat in a private room near a blazing fire. She had a small table pulled up in front of her, covered with papers in different piles. She didn’t look up when Mrs. Bracebridge brought me in.

  “Please be seated—Molly Fraser, is it?—I’ll be with you in just a moment.” She pointed the quill of her pen toward the chair in front of the table but didn’t take her eyes off the papers.

  “Would you like me to stay?” Mrs. Bracebridge asked, putting her gnarled hand softly on Miss Nightingale’s shoulder. I hoped for yes.

  “No. I’m sure you’re tired, dear.” She looked up at last, smiling warmly in the old lady’s direction. The change in Miss Nightingale made my heart leap a little. Her face looked kind. Maybe she would understand about me after all, let me continue on to Turkey with them in spite of how I got there.

  Her pen scratching was loud in the empty room. After what seemed forever she pushed her papers aside and lifted her eyes, taking me in with a piercing glance. “Now, Miss Fraser. Your name was not on the list I was originally sent by Mrs. Stanley and Mrs. Bracebridge. I’m prepared to think the best of you, but I believe you should explain yourself to me.”

  More lies?

  No. I couldn’t lie to Miss Nightingale. Looking at her there, a beautiful lady who could probably have anything she wanted but chose to go and nurse common soldiers for the good of the country, I couldn’t think of telling her tales. The difference between us was enormous—the scrappy, low life I was running away from and the fire that burned in her eyes, staring straight at me—what business did I have to be there? So I told her my story, all of it, from beginning to end, about service and Will Parker and Lucy’s baby. About helping my mum care for the little ones in the East End. About wanting to find a way to prove myself, to make my mum proud of me again.

  “Well, Molly,” she said when I was finished, “it seems you’ve got quite a determined spirit. That’s no substitute for training, however. And your youth is without doubt a deterrent to effective nursing. How old are you?” She leaned back a little in her chair and dipped her chin so the angle of her eyes changed and threw me a little off my guard.

  “Nineteen.” I said it before I had a chance to think about it. Maybe she knew it for a lie but to my relief she didn’t question it.

  “My instructions to Mrs. Stanley were not to consider anyone under the age of twenty-four.”

  I studied my hands clutching each other in my lap. This was the moment. The end of the road for me. I’d go back to London to God knew what, my mother forever ashamed of me for something I didn’t do. But then I remembered that Emma wasn’t over twenty-four, at least she didn’t look it, and somehow she was here.

  “You mustn’t expect to do anything but assist the other nurses, and you will have to be trained on the job. If you put your mind to it, however, and don’t get distracted, I have a feeling you might become a good nurse. But that’s up to you. And at the first sign of any familiarity with any man—soldier, surgeon, or servant—you will be sent home.”

  I couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t going to send me away! I looked at her. She had on her stern, all-business face, but I thought I saw just a hint of the kindness she showed to Mrs. Bracebridge tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “Thank you,” I said. My heart swelled up in my chest and stopped my throat.

  “You may go. But I would like to take you with me tomorrow on a few errands. I may need your help.” She stood, scraping he
r chair back.

  She could have ordered me to stick my hands into the fire that blazed at her feet and I would’ve done it. I curtsied to her and made my way back to the dormitory, flying with joy.

  Chapter 8

  Mrs. Bracebridge woke me before dawn the next morning. “Miss Nightingale would like you to go with her to the Hôtel Dieu.”

  I was too tired to ask questions, especially why we’d be going to a hotel at that hour. I dressed as fast as I could and soon found myself hurrying along the still-dark streets of Paris, trying to keep up with Miss Nightingale.

  “The Hôtel Dieu is a hospital, where they are working hard to improve conditions,” Miss Nightingale said to me as we walked. “There’s something I want you to see there.”

  Oh, so that was it. The hospital wasn’t very far from where we were staying. A nun greeted us, welcoming Miss Nightingale like an old friend. They spoke French to each other. My amazement at Miss Nightingale grew.

  The smell indoors was strong but not dirty. Something stung my eyes and they teared a little.

  “That’s chloride of lime,” Miss Nightingale said, switching back to English for me. “You must become accustomed to that smell because we will use it a great deal in Turkey. I have come here to find out where the Sisters of Mercy get their supplies so we may purchase some and bring them with us. And also to show you what you might expect and give you one final chance to return to London. At my expense, of course.”

  We had reached a large closed door with enormous hinges on it. The sister who accompanied us said something else in French to Miss Nightingale. She nodded. They both looked at me before the sister opened the door. I expected it to creak like some ancient entrance to a dungeon, it looked so like one. But it swung out quiet and smooth. Just inside the door hung some heavy aprons. Miss Nightingale put one on and handed one to me.

  The stench hit me so hard I caught my breath. Something in that room smelled even stronger than the chloride of lime. I put my hand over my mouth and swallowed back the bile that flooded it.