We took turns in the laundry, set up as I’d heard it would be in a hut outside the hospital. There was another hospital about half a mile away that we didn’t know about when we first came. It was called the General Hospital, and had mostly convalescents. Only the Sisters of Mercy were sent over to work there. They didn’t want more than one female nurse per ward because the men were getting healthy.
Every day it seemed Miss Nightingale found some other almost impossible challenge to overcome. The first one, after the wards were cleaned up and real beds brought in, was the food the wounded and sick were given.
“Half the time the meat is raw and the other half it is overcooked and cold. They tear their food apart with their hands because they don’t have forks and knives. There are no fresh vegetables, and the bread is so hard the men can’t chew it. As for sick rations … there are those here who seem to think that a light diet means no diet!”
I thought for a while we were all going to have to learn how to cook. But the Muslims would not allow women to prepare food for the men. Mrs. Clarke was pretty happy about that. Though we did end up with a roster for serving food. Soon enough, everyone in the hospital was given wholesome meals according to what the doctors recommended. Whole rations, half rations, quarter rations, or spoon feeding. I swear the men began to heal more quickly.
But as soon as things started to get into a pattern, like a well-run household, something else happened that upset everything.
I had come in from taking my turn in the wards, watching over men who had just had surgery to see if they were getting past the crisis and would live. A moment after I hung my cloak on the peg, I heard a disturbance at the door and the bright chatter of many women’s voices, none of them familiar to me.
When the door burst open to admit another eighteen women in nurses’ uniforms and ten more who were plainly Catholic nuns, my first thought was that some of us might be going home. But it had only been a few weeks, and there had been only one or two minor problems and two nurses sent away for drunkenness.
“Excuse me, girl,” said the one who seemed to be in charge, “I wonder if you’d be so kind as to direct us to Miss Nightingale.”
“What do you want me to tell her?” I asked.
“Tell her Miss Stanley is here, with reinforcements.”
Miss Stanley? She looked a little like the Mrs. Stanley who had interviewed the nurses at Mr. Herbert’s house in Belgrave Square. Probably her daughter. At this time of the morning Miss Nightingale was in her rooms, working in what she called her office. She was currently making a plan to get provisions to the hospital more quickly, so we wouldn’t run out of bandages and chloride of lime. I knocked on her door. When I told her Miss Stanley was waiting for her downstairs, a shadow crossed her face.
“She also said to say she’s brought reinforcements,” I said.
“Reinforcements? I hope she means supplies. We don’t need any more nurses. It’s hard enough managing you lot as it is.” She smiled at me, but not with any real mirth. The expression passed as quickly as it came, replaced by a frown that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m afraid, Miss Nightingale, she means nurses. And more nuns too.”
I’ve never seen someone’s jaw actually drop before, but Miss Nightingale’s did, and her expression changed in an instant to that determined hardness I’d come to recognize any time she was going to meet with the hospital administrators about one of her plans. “I told Mr. Herbert nurses were only to come out upon my authorization! And we already have too many nuns. I promised there would be no effort at conversion in the hospitals,” she muttered, marching out of her room so fast she sent three papers swirling into the air. She didn’t say not to follow her, so I did—at a bit of a distance, so she wouldn’t remember I was there. This could be a very interesting meeting, I thought.
The two women embraced like old friends. Which seemed odd, after what I had just heard Miss Nightingale say upstairs. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mary,” Miss Nightingale said. “But you needn’t have taken such a task upon yourself as to rush out here. You’ll see that we’re managing quite well as it is.”
Miss Stanley drew herself up a little. “There can surely never be enough nurses. And now I have brought you some with a higher level of education and a more reliable moral character. Sidney said you were having difficulties with some that came out with you initially.”
“If I required more nurses, I certainly would have written to Mr. Herbert, who assured me that he would never take it upon himself to send anyone whom I had not personally approved.”
The conversation was hotting up. The nurses—still in their winter cloaks and bonnets—began to shift from one foot to another. The one who was the head of the nuns stepped forward. “If you’ll excuse me, my bishop decides what we do or do not, and I have been charged with the task of nursing the poor dying men out here.” She spoke with a thick Irish accent, which I recognized immediately from having heard the Irishmen on the docks in London.
“I think you’ll find that I have complete jurisdiction over the nursing in this and the General Hospital,” said Miss Nightingale. “It is for me to determine who nurses or otherwise, not your bishop.”
“Allow me to introduce Mother Bridgeman, superior of the nursing sisters I have brought with me,” said Mary Stanley.
“Superior in religious matters does not mean superior in medical matters.” Miss Nightingale’s voice was rising and sharpening. Things were set on a downhill course, I could see. I decided I’d better do something to stop it, even if I risked losing some of the favor I’d won with Miss Nightingale.
“Perhaps the travelers would like some tea and to take off their cloaks,” I said, walking in as if I’d not been listening to everything that had just been said.
“Yes of course, Molly. Miss Stanley and I can speak in my office. Would you have Mrs. Clarke bring tea for everyone?”
“I shall come along as well,” Mother Bridgeman said.
“That won’t be necessary.” Miss Nightingale dismissed her like a common servant.
And now I would have to go and wheedle Mrs. Clarke for tea. I dreaded asking her for anything. She was likely to throw something at you or let loose a string of curses if she didn’t like what you said.
“Who will take our cloaks?” asked one nurse, whose genteel accent told me she wasn’t of the same class as me.
Without thinking, and I suppose because I was so used to taking orders from Miss Nightingale, I began to collect all their wraps. They dropped them from around their shoulders one by one like they were about to walk into a ballroom. I saw why Miss Nightingale was so put out that they’d come.
I put the cloaks on one of the wooden divans that we’d never managed to rid of vermin, secretly wishing I could watch them all start scratching themselves when the lice began to do their damage. I went in to Mrs. Clarke.
“Miss Nightingale asked me to ask you to bring tea to our lady visitors.”
“Oh, she did, eh?”
I cringed, waiting for the assault, be it words or crockery.
“Get off with ye. I’ll serve ’em tea, if that’s what she wants.”
I didn’t wait to hear any more, leaving her muttering and complaining as she put the kettle on.
The ladies had arranged themselves on all the available chairs, leaving me standing in the room. I wanted to leave but didn’t know whether I should. Soon Mrs. Clarke came in with her big pot on its tilting cradle, returning a moment later with a tray of cups without saucers. The lady nurses Miss Stanley had brought stared as though they’d never seen such a thing before. I thought I’d show them how it was done and help myself, but as soon as I’d poured a cup, one of the ladies came over and reached for it without so much as a thank you. Soon I found myself pouring out for everyone. I should have taken it without being miffed, but I boiled with anger.
After they all had their tea and were settled once again on our chairs, I said, “If you require anything else
, ring the bell and Mrs. Clarke will come. I must go and do my job, which is nursing.” I took my cloak off the peg and left the tower, heading across the parade ground to nowhere in particular. I was on my break. I should have been resting. Instead, I decided a walk around, cold as it was, would do as well as a sit down with a cup of tea in that odd collection of would-be nurses.
I hadn’t got halfway around when someone called me. “Nurse Fraser!”
I turned. It was Dr. Maclean. Out of habit, I gave a quick glance behind me to make sure Miss Nightingale hadn’t come out with Miss Stanley since I last saw them. The parade ground was empty except for a few orderlies smoking. I waited for Dr. Maclean to catch up to me.
“I haven’t laid eyes on you since that night when we were seeing to the casualties together.” He stated it not as if it was a fact, but more like he expected things to be different. “I’ve been wanting to thank you. I don’t think I could have done as much as I did without you to help me.”
It was the first time a doctor had praised me. I smiled. “I learned so much from you that night.”
“From me? I don’t know how.” He said it more to himself, then focused again on me. “I expect you could have done as much on your own. Maybe by the time you’ve been here a while you can do the surgery yourself.”
Was he mocking me? Women didn’t operate, and in any case, it was very different watching than wielding the knife. “No need for that with doctors like you around,” I said, hoping it was the right response. “I’m really not as experienced as I should be, even just to nurse. But nothing would have prepared me for all we have to face here.”
“Molly … I want you to understand something about me.” He turned his eyes away, then lowered his voice, stepping nearer so I could hear him. It was odd, like he was talking to me but not at the same time. “I’m not a true doctor, you see, at least not quite.”
His words snapped me to attention. “You? What do you mean?” It occurred to me for no more than a second that perhaps he was only as much of a doctor as I was a nurse. But that couldn’t be.
“I’ve barely finished my training. In fact, I never did. I’ve never operated on a person before this, nor done anything but the most rudimentary of caring while attending the local country doctor on his rounds. That’s not nearly enough here.”
I wanted to tell him it was more than I had, but something stopped me. “Miss Nightingale says that a body can have the right instincts, and sometimes that makes up for less training. It seems to me, watching you, that you know what to do even if you haven’t been told.”
“You’re a sweet girl, Molly. How old are you?”
His question caught me off guard and I answered, “Seventeen,” before I remembered I was supposed to be nineteen. I covered my mouth with my hand. “Only no one knows! Miss Nightingale’s nurses are supposed to be older. Please don’t say!” I was so concerned with making him keep my secret that without realizing it I’d taken hold of his sleeve.
“So we both have secrets to keep. I was wondering, Molly Fraser, would you let me take you into town for tea one day, if it’s quiet and we don’t have to stay up all night to bring in men who are only partly put together?”
I didn’t know what to say. No one ever asked me to tea before, or anywhere else for that matter. Will and I only knew each other from work, except when he came to see me at Lucy’s. Sitting in a restaurant would mean someone would serve me—something I couldn’t imagine. But it would never happen, nice as it sounded. We were only permitted to go into town in pairs, and only on errands. I’d done it a few times with Emma. And, of course, we weren’t supposed to be friendly with any of the men or we’d be sent home. I looked up into his warm eyes. He was waiting for an answer. “I’d love to—”
“Good! Then that’s settled.”
I smiled. No sense trying to set him straight. It will never happen anyway. We’re too busy, and I can always say no at the time. But I knew I didn’t want to say no.
Dr. Maclean crooked his elbow out for me to take. I pretended not to notice, instead looking into the center of the parade ground and stepping just a little bit away from him. It wouldn’t do for someone to see us strolling arm in arm like that. I wondered if he knew how awkward that would be.
He continued to chat as we slowly wandered around the parade ground together—I mostly let him talk about Scotland and the harsh winters there, and what it was like to have to travel to the little villages to tend to the sick.
“Couldn’t you just have a surgery in a town and all those people could come to you?” I asked.
“You sound like my brother. He studied law and is going into Parliament now. He is always telling me that I should make a business of doctoring, but somehow I can’t. Most of the folks I saw with the old doctor in the hamlets didn’t even have a horse to ride, let alone a carriage to protect them from the weather. They’d as likely die before they reached me.”
I pictured him on his horse, braving the swirling snow to bring medicine to someone sick with fever. And then I pictured myself, seated behind him on the saddle, holding his medical bag, sharing his hardship, and when the rounds were over …
“So, what do you think?”
I was too embarrassed to admit I hadn’t been listening to what he’d just said. I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
Dr. Maclean laughed. “You were miles away, I could tell. Can’t say I blame you. Things are pretty grim here. At least they are when I don’t have you to keep me company.” He touched my arm and stopped me, not taking his hand away, but letting his fingers drag along down to my wrist to grasp my hand.
We’d reached the entrance of the hospital. At any moment someone might come through it and see us there, my hand in his, and I didn’t know how to take it away, or whether I wanted to.
“I must return to my rounds, Molly. Are you on duty?” I shook my head no. “Then adieu, until next time.”
He lifted my hand, I thought perhaps to shake it. But instead, he brought it to his lips, using his thumb to draw down the cuff of my glove, and kissing the back of my wrist very softly. He slowly lowered my hand, then turned and went inside. I stood there for several minutes before going back to have my cup of tea, clutching my hands together, wondering what had just happened to make me feel so good.
Chapter 17
The lady nurses caused a terrible uproar. Miss Nightingale refused to situate them, and they had to get back on the ship that brought them. She wanted to send them away, but Miss Stanley wasn’t having it. And then there was Mother Bridgeman. I overheard Miss Nightingale speaking with the other nuns in their room.
“I just don’t understand it. I have offered to take four of the sisters in the Barrack Hospital and the others in the General Hospital, but Mother Brickbat will not have it. They must be all together or nothing. Then nothing it shall be.”
It didn’t help that we were in the midst of one of the lulls in the wounded coming through. Everyone got a little bad tempered at those times, and more of the nurses ended up drunk and we had to cover for them. Already two more had been sent home. And Miss Stanley and her ladies weren’t the only ones who suffered.
“It has come to my attention,” Miss Nightingale said to us one evening, “that some of my—the—regulations are not being obeyed. In particular, those having to do with fraternizing with the doctors and the patients.” She cast her stern eye around at all of us. Several nurses shrank just a little, and others puffed themselves up. I felt guilty, in spite of the fact I hadn’t done anything about Dr. Maclean. When I saw him in the wards I’d smile and pretend I had to hurry away so he wouldn’t have a chance to ask me the question I knew I didn’t have an answer for.
Still, he would keep appearing in my thoughts at the oddest times, and I found myself cradling my right wrist in my hand sometimes, feeling for the exact spot where his lips had touched it. “I am sorry to punish the innocent with the guilty, but as voluntary adherence to the rules has not had the desired effect, I shall have to
insist that you remain in these quarters whenever you are not on duty in the wards, and that any entrance to the wards when your shift is not taking place will result in immediate dismissal.”
A cry of protest went up from everyone. We had all got used to walking into town to buy sweets and bits of this and that, and some nurses would sneak off to the wards to have a laugh with the men that weren’t too poorly. I didn’t know what we’d all do with ourselves when we weren’t busy. There was only so much sewing and laundry that had to be done.
But another part of me was glad we couldn’t go again, after something that happened the last time Emma and me walked into town together. We were on an errand for Mrs. Drake, to get her some wool of a particular color. We did it gladly enough, preferring an excuse to go out over sitting and staring at the walls. I never learned to knit at home, and Mrs. Drake said she’d teach me if I did this for her.
“If you could have anything—and I mean anything in the world, Moll—what would it be?” Emma liked to torture me when we were out of the others’ hearing by asking questions that were impossible to answer.
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it would be money, to help my mum and dad.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t give something away that I didn’t want to share. I really wanted to say that I wished I could see all the pain in the world and touch it and make it go away—but she would never understand what I meant.
“That’s no fun. S’posing you didn’t have to help them—that they was doing all right. Something for yourself, something silly.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you’d want?” That was what this game was really about. She had something in mind, I could tell.
“I’d want to be able to make myself invisible, so’s I could go wherever I wanted to and no one’d see.”
That was even stranger than what I really thought for myself. “Why?” I asked.
“Because then I could go find Thomas, we could be together, and I could come back and nobody would ever know I was gone.”
In the Shadow of the Lamp Page 11
