A Nurse's Duty

by Maggie Hope

  ‘I’ll send for you, Karen. I will, I promise I will,’ he was whispering, and she was nodding her head. ‘I won’t desert you, Karen,’ he went on, ‘I swear I won’t.’ But now it wasn’t Dave, it was Patrick.

  She was abruptly anxious and tried to look up at his face but he held her head against his shoulder so she couldn’t move. She struggled to pull away from him but his arms tightened round her and she couldn’t move. Panic rose in her so that in the end she was fighting to get away and he let her go. She jumped up and ran to the door where she turned to see him sitting with his legs crossed and his arms resting along the wooden frame of the back of Mam’s settee, tapping on the wood with his fingertips, tap, tap, tap, tap.

  ‘You’re a frigid bitch,’ he said pleasantly, as though he was complimenting her. ‘No wonder you can’t keep a man once he finds out you’re no good in bed.’ And his fingers tapped, maddeningly, on and on.

  Karen sat up with a start, disorientated until she realized she was in the front room all right, but this was Annie’s front room, the parlour, two hundred and more miles from Morton, and someone was knocking at the door.

  ‘Karen? I’m sorry if I startled you. I knocked but there was no answer and the door was open –’

  ‘Patrick!’

  She started up to go to him as he stood uncertainly in the doorway, love and hope leaping within her and shining from her eyes. But he didn’t hold out his arms to her, just stood woodenly in the doorway, and she stopped, elation fading a little though not altogether. For surely he had come to her because he loved her? He had been wanting her as much as she had been needing him, else why had he come? She gazed into his eyes, trying to read the emotions she saw there. His grey eyes were deepened now almost to blue. There was such an appeal in their depths, she knew it. He did love her, he did!

  ‘Karen, I … we have to talk about this,’ he said at last, his voice husky.

  ‘Yes.’

  She put out her hands to him and drew him into the room. Closing the door behind him, she moved closer to him, holding up her face for his kiss. And he stepped back.

  ‘Karen, I have to explain to you, show you how impossible this is. I’m sorry, Karen. Oh, so sorry. My dear, it should not have happened, I should not have let it happen, it was all my fault. My life is dedicated to –’ But she put her fingers to his lips and hushed him before he could say any more. She wasn’t going to listen to him.

  Karen held on to his hand and pulled him further into the parlour. She heard what he was saying but refused to acknowledge it. He was making a mistake but she wouldn’t let him reject her. He would regret it all his life and she wouldn’t let him make such a grievous error. For he loved her, she was certain of it, she had seen it in his eyes. He couldn’t hide it. He was a man before he was a priest. A man in love with her as she was in love with him. She wasn’t going to give him up to anyone or anything, she would not. She felt strong and filled with the power her love gave her and she would win him, she surely would.

  ‘Whisht, whisht,’ she murmured, and somehow they were standing before the settee and one of her hands slid up around the nape of his neck to the crisp, short hairs there and her body was close against his as she drew him down with her. Her lips were clinging to his and she was guiding his fingers into her hidden places and somehow they had left the settee and were lying on the soft rug before the fire and then there was nothing and no one in the world but the two of them.

  They were lost in a whirl of sensation, deliriously heady. The excitement was mounting, thrilling every nerve in her body, and she knew it was the same for him for they were one now, joined forever. Exultant release washed over them like a spring tide and they sank into it, pillowed by it. Then a languor overtook the wave, a sweet, heavy, slumbrous languor, and then they were still.

  It was the kitchen clock chiming four which woke Karen. Patrick’s head was on her shoulder and the floor was hard through the thin covering of the rug so that her hand and arm were pricking with pins and needles. But that was nothing, she wouldn’t have moved to ease her position for anything. The fire had burned low but there was still sufficient life in it to bathe them in a warm glow. Or was it all coming from within her? she wondered lazily. She was filled with a triumphal contentment. She had won, she was sure she had won, Patrick was hers.

  He turned on to his back, easing the pressure on her shoulder, and a shaft of pain shot up her arm, making her wince. Patrick stirred and opened his eyes and she smiled at him, full of her love.

  ‘Hallo,’ she said.

  ‘Hallo, my love,’ he answered, and bent his head the small distance it needed to be able to kiss her on the nose. ‘I never thought it would be like this,’ he went on softly, ‘so beautiful. I love you, Karen. God help me, I do.’

  ‘And I love you. Oh, Patrick, we’ll be so happy together, you’ll see, how could it be wrong? We were meant to be together. It’s the most natural thing in the world, can’t you just feel it? Oh, Patrick, I’m so happy.’

  A shadow crossed his face and he raised himself on his elbow and leaned over her. He gazed at her as though imprinting her image on his brain.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Oh, Karen,’ he began, but stopped when he heard the squeak of the front gate opening. ‘Someone is coming,’ he went on, his tone changing completely. Rising to his feet, he adjusted his clothing, for in their haste to come together they hadn’t taken the time to undress fully. Karen too was on her feet, smoothing down her dress, tying the tapes of her drawers. But she was smiling indulgently.

  ‘It’s only Annie,’ she said softly. ‘She’s been to Romford for the day. It’ll be all right, you’ll see. She will understand when we tell her about us.’

  ‘No! No, we can’t tell her. Don’t you see, we can’t?’

  Karen was startled out of the haze of happiness which had enveloped her and stared at him, seeking an explanation for his vehemence.

  ‘But why? I thought –’

  ‘Sit down, Karen, for goodness’ sake. Sit down, please. We must pretend nothing has happened. Please, for my sake, Karen. I can’t have any of this getting back to the presbytery.’

  Dimly, she heard the back door of the cottage open and Annie’s cheerful voice.

  ‘Karen? Where are you, love? I’ve had a lovely time. I bought a dress length of artificial silk on the market, a proper snip it was.’

  Karen and Patrick stood facing each other. She could hear Annie perfectly well, a part of her mind could even respond to her friend. She opened her mouth to answer and Patrick’s eyes widened in entreaty. Karen sat down abruptly and smoothed her hair back from her face with quick, nervous fingers. Patrick sat too, in the chair furthest away from her, sitting back and folding his hands in his lap, crossing his legs away from her. In the second before Annie opened the door Karen darted a glance at him and quickly away for she couldn’t bear to see his face so set and white, almost like a stranger’s.

  ‘Karen? Why didn’t you call? Were you asleep?’ Annie came into the room but stopped as she saw Patrick. ‘Oh, I didn’t realize you had a visitor. I’m sorry, Karen. How are you, Father Murphy? Those poor boys up at Greenfields still keeping you busy, I suppose?’

  Patrick rose perfunctorily to his feet and murmured something inarticulate but Annie didn’t seem to notice anything.

  ‘Haven’t you offered Father Murphy any tea, Karen? Oh, and look at the fire, it’s almost out. What have you been doing?’

  They gazed at her in silence, the question hanging in the air. But Annie was on her knees, picking up the tongs and lifting lumps of coal on to the fire, quite unaware of the consternation in the minds of Patrick and Karen. She rose to her feet and dusted her hands together as a small plume of blue smoke rose from the mended fire.

  ‘There, that’s better. Now, I’ll make a cup of tea, and we can drink it cosily in here. I’m sure I could do with a cup. I bought a packet of fancy biscuits on the market, we’ll have them with it.’ />
  Patrick got to his feet and cleared his throat. ‘Not for me, Mrs Blakey,’ he said, not looking at Karen. ‘I have to get back. Father Brown will be wondering where I am. Good afternoon to you both.’

  ‘Oh, are you sure?’ asked Annie, but Patrick was already at the door.

  ‘Yes, I must go, but thank you for the offer,’ he answered, his voice tight. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

  Karen couldn’t bear to let him go like that without another word and she too was on her feet and following him.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ she said, more for Annie’s benefit than anything. She didn’t even notice that her friend was suddenly watching them intently, though with some bewilderment.

  ‘Patrick?’ She hurried after him to the gate, willing him to turn round and speak to her. But when he did stop it was with his back to her and his hand on the latch as though he was ready to take off again any second.

  ‘Please, Karen, let me go now. It’s over. I’m sorry, I should not have done it, I had no right. God knows how sorry I am.’

  ‘Sorry? But you love me, Patrick, how can you be sorry? We belong together. We do, we do!’ she cried, forgetting the need to keep her voice low, and he looked anxiously up and down the lane. Luckily it was deserted. No one could have heard her. He turned to face her at last.

  ‘It’s over, Karen, it should never have happened,’ he repeated tersely, his voice shot through with pain. ‘I am a priest, for God’s sake.’

  ‘But I love you and you love me. You can’t deny it, Patrick, not now.’ She caught hold of his coat as though she would hold him to her physically but he disengaged her fingers.

  ‘No, Karen. If you love me you must forget it.’

  Karen watched as he strode off down the road. She struggled to regain her composure, refusing to cry, refusing even to give in. Surely he would realize what a mistake he was making? He needed her, she was certain he needed her. All she had to do, she told herself, was hang on, wait for him to realize he needed her. Stubbornly, she refused to think about his church, her rival, so cruel and uncompromising. It was wrong, so wrong. Hadn’t she been brought up to believe in the priesthood of all believers? Priests were not a race set apart, they were not. She would win in the end, oh, she would, she vowed to herself. Taking her handkerchief from her dress pocket, she blew her nose. Patrick’s figure disappeared round the bend in the lane and Karen turned back to the house.

  She would see him at the hospital, she told herself. She would work something out so that they could have a quiet talk together. She was not giving up, no, she wasn’t, all she had to do was have a proper talk with him.

  ‘Tea’s made, Karen,’ called Annie from the front door and the prosaic quality of the words amazed Karen. How could she drink tea with Annie when her world was ending?

  ‘Coming,’ she answered, and went in.

  ‘What brought Father Murphy here again?’ asked Annie curiously as they drank their tea before the fire.

  ‘Oh, he was just passing,’ said Karen. (Just passing!) Annie glanced at her and bit her lip but forebore to ask any more. As soon as she decently could, Karen excused herself and went to her room. She lay on her bed with her arms folded across her breast, hugging to herself the memory of him as they had lain on the hearthrug, his head on her shoulder and the whole lean length of him against her. ‘It’s not over,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Oh, no, it’s not over.’ She refused to acknowledge the dark doubts in the back of her mind. She would wait and eventually she would meet him at the hospital. It would be worth the waiting.

  Chapter Thirteen

  KAREN DID NOT see Patrick for more than a fortnight. She even considered going to the presbytery to seek him, she felt so desperate. But what if she summoned up the courage to walk past the statue of Mary and the Baby Jesus to the front door, and then had it slammed in her face?

  She tried to put him out of her mind and even succeeded for short intervals; she was not even thinking of Patrick as she walked up to the hospital one evening, she was thinking of Nick Harvey, feeling a little worried about him. He was still so attached to her and she hoped the military authorities wouldn’t send him home, not for a while at least. She saw the boy every time she went on duty and knew he was not ready to fend for himself. He probably never would be, she thought, sighing.

  Patrick was standing in the hall with Doctor Clarke when she opened the front door and both men looked across at her as she entered. Karen was taken completely unawares, the hope and the dread rising instantly within her. Now it had actually happened, it felt almost unreal.

  ‘Good evening, Sister,’ said Doctor Clarke, and she mumbled a reply. Her composure had deserted her and her face burned so that she turned quickly away from them, using the excuse of hanging up her cloak. Her hands shook and she fumbled with the loop of material which for some reason refused to go over the hook on the hall stand. In her confusion she dropped the cloak and Doctor Clarke looked at her in surprise as she bent to retrieve it.

  ‘Something’s making you clumsy tonight, Sister,’ he remarked with a smile. ‘Haven’t you been to bed today?’

  He glanced at Patrick and his smile faded as he saw the priest was acting strangely too. Without a word of farewell, he was heading for the door.

  ‘Goodnight, Father,’ the doctor called after him, looking bewildered. They had been in the middle of a very interesting discussion of the Royal Flying Corps, so why was Father Murphy cutting it short?

  Karen stood up with the errant cloak in her hands and saw the door closing behind Patrick. If anything, her confusion increased and her cheeks burned more fiercely. Carefully, she hung up the cloak and, without raising her eyes to the doctor, sat down at her desk and gazed sightlessly at the report.

  ‘Well, I’m going off now, Sister,’ said Doctor Clarke uncomfortably.

  ‘Yes. Goodnight, Doctor.’

  Gradually Karen’s pulse steadied. Nothing had happened that she had not expected. The thing was, she had to keep her head, she had to act normally. Day Sister appeared and they discussed the report. When Day Sister went off duty, Karen did a round of the wards, helping with patients where the ward nurse needed help, checking sleeping draughts and pills, ready for the medicine round. At last it was time for supper.

  In the dining room she took a cup of tea but refused any food. She sat alone and allowed herself to think about Patrick. This time, perhaps because it was the middle of the night when spirits are low, she was ready to face the fact that he didn’t want to speak to her.

  He wanted nothing to do with her, she could tell that. He was avoiding her, he must be. Before Christmas she had met him two or three times every week as they both went about their work at the hospital. Now she hardly saw him at all.

  ‘I must get away,’ she whispered desperately. Like an injured animal, she longed for home. She would see Matron in the morning and give in her notice, say that she must go home.

  *

  Matron was not pleased. She wore that particularly forbidding expression used by all the hospital matrons Karen had known when they wanted to convey their displeasure to a junior nurse. Karen was standing before the desk in Matron’s small sanctum at eight o’clock on a dark, grey morning after a particularly dark, black night and had just tendered her resignation.

  ‘What do you mean, you wish to resign? Do you not know there’s a war on?’

  Matron’s chipped ice eyes stared sternly at the slightly built sister. Karen looked at the iron grey hair pulled back in a bun under her cap, the strings of which were tied in a stiffly starched bow under her chin, the badge of her rank.

  ‘Do stop fiddling, Sister.’

  Karen hastily put her hands behind her back. ‘Please, Matron, it’s my mother, you see. I must go home, she’s ill.’

  A sudden inspiration, that, and surely only a small white lie.

  ‘Well now, Sister, so are all of our patients ill, have you thought of them?’

  ‘Yes, Matron, of course. But my mother’s heart �
�’

  It was true, Karen told herself, Mam did have heart trouble. Aortic stenosis, a legacy of rheumatic fever. She pushed aside the uncomfortable thought that she hadn’t let her mother’s heart trouble stop her from coming down to Essex to work in the first place.

  ‘I’ll be able to work in the local hospital, Matron, I just need to be near, to help when I can …’ Her words died away under Matron’s stare.

  ‘You do seem to be upset and worried. I suppose it’s only natural,’ she allowed. ‘Well, it’s no good trying to keep you here against your will, though you will be missed here. You have proved to be a capable nurse.’

  ‘Thank you, Matron,’ said Karen, looking humbly down at her shoes.

  ‘You know the difficulties we have in getting decent staff, even for a small place like Greenfields,’ Matron went on. She sat back in her chair and sighed. ‘Oh, very well, Sister. I’ll just have to try to replace you. I suppose you will be willing to work the usual month’s notice?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Matron, of course, Matron. Thank you very much for being so understanding.’

  Karen backed out of the room, hearing herself gabbling. But now she had given in her notice she felt calmer as she walked down the drive and out on to the lane which led to the village.

  Oh, she wanted to go home, she did, she burned to go home. No, you don’t, one part of her mind put in. If you leave you might never see Patrick again. The thought was unbearable. Beneath her cloak she fumbled in her dress pocket for her handkerchief as the tears sprang to her eyes.

  Patrick is married to his church, he doesn’t want me, she told herself. The very best thing she could do for him would be to get away from him as quickly as possible. Blowing her nose, she decided to put all thoughts of him out of her mind and concentrate on her work. Surely, if she threw herself into it, she would get through the month somehow? Pulling her cloak closely around her against the bitter wind from the coastal marshes, she hurried on down the lane to Annie’s cottage.

  ‘Morning, dearie,’ Annie greeted her, in her usual bright and cheery manner. ‘You’re a little late this morning, aren’t you? Never mind, I’ve kept your breakfast hot by the fire. I’m sure you must be ready for it in this nasty weather. The wind is enough to cut you in two.’