by Betty Neels
‘I haven’t told them as I didn’t think there was any need to. After all, they have been urging us to get married now that Uncle is dead.’ Tilly’s voice was calm but inside she shook and trembled with uncertainty. She had expected Leslie to reassure her, tell her that she had no need to worry, that he would take care of her future. Now she wasn’t sure of that.
Leslie looked uncomfortable. ‘Look, old girl, we’ll sort things out tomorrow.’ He got up and came round his desk and kissed her cheek. ‘Not to worry.’
But of course she worried, all the way back home and for the rest of the day. The house seemed so empty, the surgery and the waiting-room empty, too, waiting until Monday when the medical centre in Haddenham were to send over one of their members to take morning surgery until such time as a new doctor came to the village or things were reorganised and a small surgery was set up and run by the Haddenham doctors. In any case, thought Tilly, she would never be needed any more. Not that that would matter if she married Leslie. For the first time she put her nebulous thoughts into words. ‘Leslie might not want to marry me now.’
She had a phone call from Mrs Waring the next morning; would she go over for dinner that evening? Leslie hoped to be home rather earlier than usual, and they had a lot to discuss. There was a letter from Herbert, too; he and Jane and her aunt would be coming down and would go over the house and make any changes needed at the beginning of the week. Jane and his mother would move in very shortly, he wrote, and he would commute until such time as the sale of his own house was dealt with. The letter ended with the observation that she was probably looking for a nursing post.
She put the letter tidily back into its envelope. It wasn’t something she could ignore; it was only too clear that that was what she was expected to do. Unless Leslie married her out of hand…
Something it was only too obvious he didn’t intend to do.
His, ‘Hello, old girl,’ was as friendly as it always had been and his parents greeted her just as they had always done for years, yet there was an air of uneasiness hanging over the dinner-table and a deliberate avoidance of personal topics. It was only when they were drinking their coffee in the drawing-room that the uneasiness became distinctly evident.
‘I hear,’ said Mrs Waring, at her most majestic, ‘that your uncle’s will was unexpected. Leslie tells me that there is no way of contesting it.’
Tilly glanced at Leslie. So he had spoken about it with his parents, had he? He didn’t look at her, which was just as well, for her gaze was fierce.
‘It has always been our dearest wish,’ went on Mrs Waring in a false voice, ‘that you and dear Leslie should marry—your uncle’s property matched with ours, the house was ideal for a young couple to set up home; besides, we have known you for so many years. You would have been most suitable.’ She sighed so deeply that her corsets creaked. ‘It grieves us very much that this cannot be. You must see for yourself, my dear, that our plans are no longer practical. We are not wealthy; Leslie needs to marry someone with money of her own, someone who can—er—share the expenses of married life while he makes a career for himself. Luckily there is no official engagement.’
Tilly put down her coffee cup, carefully, because her hands were shaking. ‘You have put it very clearly, Mrs Waring. Now I should like to hear what Leslie has to say. After all, it’s his life you are talking about, isn’t it?’ She paused. ‘And mine.’
She looked at Leslie, who gave her a weak smile and looked away. ‘Well, old girl, you can see for yourself… Where would we live? I can’t afford a decent place in town. Besides, I’d need money—you can’t get to the top of the ladder without it…meeting the right people and entertaining…’ He met Tilly’s eye and stopped.
‘I can see very well,’ said Tilly in an icy little voice, ‘and I am so thankful that the engagement isn’t official. If it were I would break it here and now. A pity I have no ring, for I would fling it in your face, Leslie.’
She got to her feet and whisked herself out of the room, snatched her coat from the hall and ran out of the house.
She couldn’t get home fast enough; she half ran, tears streaming down her cheeks, rage bubbling and boiling inside her. It was fortunate that it was a dark evening and there was no one around in the village to see her racing along like a virago.
Emma took one look at her face, fetched the sherry from the dining-room cupboard, stood over her while she drank it, and then listened patiently.
‘Well, love, I’d say you’re well rid of him. If a man can’t stand up against ’is ma, he’ll make a poor husband. As to what you’re going ter do, get a job, Miss Tilly. I’m all right ’ere—yer uncle saw ter that, bless ’is dear ’eart. But don’t you go staying ’ere with that cousin of yours—no good will come of it, mark my words.’
Tilly went to church on the Sunday morning, her chin well up, sang the hymns loudly and defiantly, wished the occupants of the Manor pew a chilling good morning and went home to compose a letter to the principal nursing officer of her training school. She hadn’t worked in a hospital for some years now, but she had been in the running for a sister’s post when she left; she could hardly expect that, but there might possibly be a staff nurse’s job going.
Two days later Herbert, Jane and her aunt arrived without warning. Herbert sat back in her uncle’s chair, looking smug. ‘It seemed a good idea if Mother and Jane should get used to the idea of living here. I’ll come at weekends, of course. The house in Cheltenham is up for sale with most of the furniture—I’ll get the stuff we shall want to have here sent down when I have time to arrange it. I’m a busy man.’
Tilly said tartly, ‘Too busy to let us know that you were coming? And even if you were, surely Jane could have telephoned?’
‘I deal with all the domestic arrangements.’ He smoothed his hair back and half closed his eyes. ‘Jane isn’t strong.’
Jane, thought Tilly, was as strong as the next girl, only her strength was being syphoned off her by her great bully of a husband.
Herbert waved a hand, presumably in dismissal. Tilly stayed right where she was sitting. ‘So who does the housekeeping?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Oh, Mother, I suppose, though you might carry on for a day or two until she’s found her way around.’
‘I might and then I might not,’ said Tilly. ‘You have been at great pains to remind me that this is no longer my home—I’m here on sufferance, aren’t I? You haven’t considered me at all; why should I consider you? I’m sure Aunt Nora will manage beautifully.’
She took herself off to the kitchen, shutting the door on Herbert’s outraged face. There was a lot of coming and going—Aunt Nora and Jane finding their way around, thought Tilly waspishly. She went to find Emma crying into the potatoes which she was peeling.
Over a cup of tea they faced the future. Tilly would have liked a good cry but she couldn’t; Emma had to be comforted and given some kind of hope.
‘Has the postman been? There may be a letter from the hospital—I wrote for a job. As soon as I’m settled Emma, I’ll find a flat and we’ll set up house. Just hang on here, Emma dear, and I promise everything will be all right. There’s the postman now.’
There was a letter. Tilly read it quickly and then a second time. There was no job for her; regretfully, there was the full quota of nurses and no way of adding to it, but had Tilly thought of applying for a job at one of the geriatric hospitals? They were frequently understaffed; there was no doubt that she would find a post at one of them.
It was a disappointment, but it was good advice, too. Tilly got the Nursing Times from her room and sat down there and then and applied to three of the most likely hospitals wanting nursing staff. Then, while Emma was seeing to lunch, she went down to the post office and posted them. She met Mrs Waring on the way back and wished her a polite good day and that lady made as if to stop and talk.
‘I’m in a great hurry,’ said Tilly brightly. ‘My cousin and his wife have arrived unexpectedly.’
‘Moving in alread
y?’ asked Mrs Waring in a shocked voice. ‘Tilly, what are you going to do? Leslie’s so upset.’
Tilly went a little pale. ‘Is he? Goodbye, Mrs Waring.’
She smiled in Mrs Waring’s general direction and raced off home. If Leslie was upset, he knew what to do…
Only he didn’t do it. He neither telephoned her nor wrote, which made life with Jane and her aunt just that much harder to bear. So that when there was a letter from a north London hospital asking her if she would attend an interview with a view to a staff nurse’s post in a female geriatric ward, she replied promptly and two days later presented herself at the grim portals of a huge Victorian edifice, very ornate on the outside and distressingly bare within.
She followed the porter along a corridor painted in margarine-yellow and spinach-green, waited while he tapped at its end on a door and then went in. She hadn’t much liked the look of the place so far; now she felt the same way about the woman sitting behind the desk, a thin, acidulated face topping a bony body encased in stern navy blue.
‘Miss Groves?’ The voice was as thin as its owner.
‘Yes,’ said Tilly, determinedly cheerful. ‘How do you do?’
‘I am the Principal Nursing Officer.’ The lady had beady eyes and no make-up. ‘I see from your letter that you are seeking work as a staff nurse. A pity that you have not worked in a hospital for a while. However, your references are quite in order and we are willing to give you a trial. The ward to which you will be assigned has forty patients. I hope you don’t mind hard work.’
‘No. Would I be the only staff nurse?’
The beady eyes snapped at her. ‘There are part-time staff, Miss Groves. We take a quota of student nurses for a short period of geriatric nursing—they come from various general hospitals—and we also have nursing auxiliaries.’ She paused, but Tilly didn’t speak, so she went on, ‘You will do day duty, with the usual four hours off duty and two days free in the week. It may be necessary from time to time to rearrange your days off. You will be paid the salary laid down by the NHS, monthly in arrears, and your contract may be terminated at the end of the month by either of us. After that you will sign a contract for one year.’
‘I should like to see the ward,’ suggested Tilly, and smiled.
She got no smile in return, only a look of faint surprise.
‘Yes, well, that can be arranged.’
In answer to a phone call, a dumpy little woman in a checked uniform joined them. ‘Sister Down,’ said the Principal Nursing Officer, ‘my deputy.’ She turned the pages of some report or other on the desk and picked up her pen. ‘Be good enough to let me know at your earliest convenience if you are accepting the post, Miss Groves.’ She nodded a severe dismissal.
The hospital was left over from Victorian days and as far as Tilly could see no one had done much about it since then. She followed the dumpy sister along a number of depressing corridors, up a wide flight of stone stairs and into a long narrow ward. It was no good, decided Tilly, gazing at the long rows of beds down each side of it, each with its locker on one side and on the other side its occupant sitting in a chair. Like a recurring nightmare, she thought as they traversed the highly polished floor between the beds to the open door at the end. It led to the ward sister’s office, and that lady was sitting at her desk, filling in charts.
She greeted Tilly unsmilingly. ‘The new staff nurse? I could do with some help. How soon can you come?’
She looked worn to the bone, thought Tilly, not surprising when one considered the forty old ladies sitting like statues. There were two nursing auxiliaries making a bed at the far end of the ward and a ward orderly pushing a trolley of empty mugs towards another door. Tilly didn’t know what made her change her mind; perhaps an urge to change the dreary scene around her. Music, she mused, and the old ladies grouped together so that they could talk to each other, and a TV…
‘As soon as you want me,’ she said briskly.
She didn’t tell her aunt or Jane, but confided in Emma, who had mixed feelings about it.
‘Supposing you don’t like it?’ she wanted to know. ‘It sounds a nasty ol’ place ter me.’
‘Well, it’s not ideal,’ agreed Tilly, ‘but it’s a start, Emma, and I can’t stay here.’ Her lovely eyes took fire. ‘Aunt has changed all the furniture round in the drawing-room and she says an open fire is wasteful there, so there is a horrid little electric fire in there instead. And she says Herbert wants all the books out of Uncle’s study because he is going to use it as an office. So you see, Emma, the quicker I settle in to a job the better. I’ve a little money,’ she didn’t say how little, ‘and I’ll go flat hunting as soon as possible. It’s not the best part of London but there’ll be something.’
She spoke hopefully, because Emma looked glum. ‘You do realise that it will be in a street and probably no garden? You’ll miss the village, Emma.’
‘I’ll miss you more, Miss Tilly.’
Leslie came to see her on the following evening, and without thinking she invited him into the drawing-room. She had nothing to say to him, but good manners prevailed. She was brought up short by her aunt, sitting there with Jane.
She wished Leslie a stiff good evening and raised her eyebrows at Tilly.
‘Will you take Mr Waring somewhere else, Matilda? Jane and I were discussing a family matter.’ She smiled in a wintry fashion. ‘I’m sure it is hard for you to get used to the idea that you can’t have the run of the house any more, so we’ll say no more about it.’
Tilly clamped her teeth tight on the explosive retort she longed to utter, ushered Leslie out into the hall and said in a voice shaking with rage. ‘Come into the kitchen, Leslie. I can’t think why you’ve come, but since you’re here we can at least sit down there.’
‘That woman,’ began Leslie. ‘She’s… She was rude, to me as well as you.’
Not quite the happiest of remarks to make, but Tilly let it pass.
She sat down at the kitchen table and Emma gathered up a tray and went to set the table in the dining-room. No one spoke. Tilly had nothing to say and presumably Leslie didn’t know how to begin.
‘You can’t stay here,’ he said at length. ‘You’re going to be treated like an interloper—it’s your home.’
‘Not any more.’
‘Well, your uncle meant it to be; surely your cousin knows that?’
‘Herbert is under no legal obligation,’ Tilly observed.
Leslie stirred uncomfortably. ‘I feel…’ he began, and tried again. ‘If circumstances had been different… Tilly, I do regret that I am unable to marry you.’
She got up. ‘Well, don’t.’ She kept her voice cheerful. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth, Leslie. Besides, I’ve got a job in London; I shall be leaving in a few days.’
She watched the relief on his face. ‘Oh, that is good news. May I tell Mother? She will be so relieved.’
He went awkwardly to the door. ‘No hard feelings, Tilly?’
She opened the door and stood looking at him. ‘If you ask a silly question you’ll get a silly answer,’ she told him.
When he had gone she sat down again and had a good cry; she was a sensible girl, but just at that moment life had got on top of her.
Herbert arrived the next day, stalking pompously through the house, ordering this to be done and that to be done and very annoyed when neither Tilly nor Emma took any notice of his commands.
‘I expect co-operation,’ he told her loftily when he asked her to move a chair from one room to another.
‘If you wish any of the heavy furniture to be moved, then I suggest you do it yourself, Herbert. After all, you are a man, aren’t you?’ Tilly said it in a placid voice which stopped him doing more than gobble like a turkey cock. It was an opportunity to tell him that she would be leaving; she had had a letter from the hospital asking her to report for duty in two days’ time—a Monday. It didn’t give her much time to pack up but, if she didn’t manage it all, Emma could fini
sh it for her and send the rest on.
When it came to actually leaving, it was a wrench. The nice old house had been her home for almost all of her life and she had been very happy there. Besides, there was Emma. She promised to write each week and to set about finding somewhere to live just as soon as possible.
The nurses’ home at the hospital was as gloomy as its surroundings. Tilly was shown to a room on the top floor with a view of chimney pots and one or two plane trees struggling to stay alive. At least they would provide some green later on to relieve the predominant red brick. The room was of a good size, furnished with a spartan bed, a built-in dressing-table and a wardrobe with a small handbasin in one corner. There was no colour scheme but the quilt on the bed was a much washed pale blue. There was a uniform laid out on it, blue and white checks, short-sleeved and skimpily cut. With it was a paper cap for her to make up. She stood looking at it, remembering the delicately goffered muslin trifle she had worn when she had qualified, and the neat blue cotton dress and starched apron.
She was to go to the office as soon as she had unpacked and changed into her uniform. The Principal Nursing Officer was there to bid her a severe good afternoon and speed her on her way to the ward. ‘Sister Evans is waiting for you, Staff Nurse.’
It was barely three o’clock but the monumental task of getting forty old ladies back into their beds had already begun. As far as she could see, Tilly could count only four nurses on the ward, and one of those was Sister, who, when she saw her, left the elderly lady she was dealing with and came to meet her.
She nodded in greeting and wasted no time. ‘I’m off duty at five o’clock, Staff Nurse. I’ll take you through the Kardex and show you where the medicines are kept. You do a round after supper at seven o’clock. Supper is at six o’clock; ten patients have to be fed. You’ll have Mrs Dougall on with you—she’s very reliable and knows where everything is kept. There’s a BP round directly after tea. The trolley’s due now, but you’ll get a few calls before the night staff come on at eight.’ Sister Evans smiled suddenly and Tilly saw that she was tired and doing her best to be friendly.
