A Ward Door Opens: A touching 1950s hospital romance (The Anniversary Collection Book 7)

by Lucilla Andrews

  Nurse Standing had a night off and Nurse Illingworth was in charge. Before I left the duty-room, the day nurse told me the report about the lotion that had rusted the needles had not yet come back from the Path. Lab.

  Fiona was beaming when I took in her cocoa. ‘Uncle Jock says yes, I can go to your home and thank you very much, if it’s all right with your parents. Sister Wing approves. Matron approves. Everyone approves. So can you ask your mother soon, please?’

  ‘I rang her tonight. She says, Yes, with great pleasure. She is going to write to you, and Daddy will write to your uncle. So now it’s fixed. How about some of this cocoa?’

  ‘It will taste like nectar! I’m so thrilled. If only poor darling Uncle Jock weren’t looking so wretched, I’d be on top of the world.’

  ‘He had rather a heavy night last night. He must be pretty tired.’

  ‘I know. He told me. But it’s something more than that, I’m sure. I tried to get it out of him.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I had as much success as if I had asked that wall. All I did extract was a promise to take some time off to drive me down to your home when I go. Couldn’t you come, too? I’d love it.’

  My heart lurched. It had never occurred to me that through Fiona he might visit my home. Of course he would want to see for himself where she was to stay; driving her down would make a tactful reason. But as for my going, too, it was unbelievable ‒ and wonderful. ‘Fiona, I’d love it, too, but I couldn’t impose on your uncle.’

  ‘Aren’t we both imposing on you? If you’re off, of course you must come. He said so!’

  ‘You asked him?’

  ‘Of course. He knows you’re the one great friend I’ve got here.’ She coloured faintly. ‘At least I hope you are, because that’s how I think of you.’

  ‘That’s how I think of you, too.’

  She gave my apron a playful tug. ‘No more arguments. Don’t forget ‒ I’m horribly spoilt and make a frantic scene if I don’t get my own way.’

  I grinned. ‘I won’t argue. Thank you very much, Fiona. I must leave you now. I’ve got to feed our lodger.’

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘Our lodger. He’s in Room Eleven. His name is William Edward Davis. He has no hair and no teeth. He’s a sweetie.’

  ‘With no hair and no teeth? You’re pulling my leg. This is a hospital Wing, not a boarding-house.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. William Edward is an official lodger on our list; his occupation is given as Baby. He is five weeks old; his head is still inclined to flop, and he is the cutest thing in Jude’s tonight. He came in with his mum, this afternoon. I’ve just been playing with him.’

  ‘Was that the appendix this afternoon? I heard a lot of movement going on down the corridor and I thought I heard a baby but I decided I must be imagining things.’

  ‘William Edward doesn’t much care for a bottle, so you’ll probably hear him again in a few minutes. I must fly now. Drink up that cocoa before it gets cold.’

  William Edward blinked wisely as he drank his feed. He took his time, but he took it all. When Nurse Illingworth came in to see how he was getting on, I was gently rubbing his tiny back.

  ‘All gone? What a good boy. Mrs. Davis has just told me he’s never been any trouble.’ She picked up my feeding-tray. ‘I’m going along to the kitchen. I’ll take this for you.’

  Mr. Yates looked in as I was tucking down the baby. ‘How’s my infant, Nurse?’ He moved slightly aside as someone else came up the corridor. ‘Have you seen the lodger, Jock?’

  The S.M.O.’s tall figure loomed above Mr. Yates. ‘I’d like to see him. Have you got a spare mask, Nurse?’ I handed him one. He bent over the cot and touched one of the baby’s pink starfish hands with his little finger. ‘How do you do?’

  Mr. Yates pulled up his mask and came in, too, and then Nurse Illingworth was in the doorway, looking a little flustered. ‘I’m so sorry, Dr. Cameron ‒ Mr. Yates. I didn’t realise you had arrived.’

  Mr. Yates turned in surprise. ‘Hallo, Nurse. Where’s Nurse Standing?’ He looked at the S.M.O. ‘Not ill, I hope?’

  ‘I believe she has tonight off,’ replied Dr. Cameron evenly. ‘Don’t worry about me, Nurse Illingworth. I’m in no great hurry tonight. If you like to take Mr, Yates round first, I’ll wait.’

  Mr. Yates said he appreciated taking priority because he had to operate at eleven. Illingworth still looked worried at leaving the S.M.O., but as there was nothing she could do she went off with Mr. Yates.

  William Edward gave a tiny hiccup. I said, ‘Oh, dear. Is he going to be sick? Did I feed him too fast?’

  ‘I doubt it, judging by his supremely contented expression.’ Dr. Cameron’s eyes were amused. ‘He just wants to have his back rubbed. Don’t lift him like that, Nurse. He’s not made of glass. Here ‒’ he took the baby from me. ‘Like this. Babies like to be held quite firmly. They feel insecure if you are nervous with them. No, it’s all right,’ he held William Edward against his shoulder and carefully rubbed his back, ‘I’ll manage.’ His left hand held the tiny head steady and the baby snuggled down as if he felt at home and safe. ‘Have you had much to do with little babies?’

  ‘We only had four when I was in Christian and they were all very ill. I was in my first six months and not able to do much for them. But I have got a niece. She’s seven months old, now. I have helped my sister-in-law with her.’

  ‘I thought possibly you hadn’t had much experience with these chaps by the way you had tucked him down. Look, I’ll show you something.’ He lowered the baby gently and unwound the shawl I had been careful to swathe loosely round the little figure. ‘Remember, this laddie is a healthy baby. So he’ll have far more strength than you’ll ever imagine. He’ll have his shawl off in no time, and then wake up cold and start to cry. You want to place one arm across, so, then tuck the shawl right over and under, then the other the same, and then the end. He looks like a little papoose, doesn’t he. Now put him on to his side without a pillow ‒ and there he’ll stay until you turn him. And he will sleep.’ He smiled across the cot at me. ‘It’s so nice to see a fine healthy child once in a while. We see so many in here that are ill or unwanted or both that it’s good to get a glimpse of the other side of the picture.’

  And I could not help thinking how good it had been to get this glimpse of the very gentle side of Dr. Cameron’s nature. So many people put on a special air and use special voices to small babies. But he had shown no affectation or self-consciousness. He did not say one word about Fiona. I only realised this when he went to do his round with Illingworth. I felt rather upset. I was afraid it must mean he could not really approve; he was always so polite that it was not like him to forget.

  Miss Ashbrook had asked me to do some more of her knitting. When my routine was done, and Illingworth at her meal I asked the Assistant Night Sister if I could do it.

  ‘If you’ve got the time, Nurse, go ahead. I’ll call you if I want anything.’ She smiled pleasantly. ‘Incidentally, I’ve good news for you. That boy you saw in the Theatre last night is doing very well. The Senior Surgical Officer was satisfied with his condition tonight.’

  I thought about that boy as I settled down on the bread-bin. It was wonderful to think his legs had been saved. I picked up Miss Ashbrook’s dropped stitches absently, remembering the strain of that long operation.

  The door opened quietly. ‘Don’t let me disturb you, Nurse Blakney.’ Dr. Cameron shut the door and leaned against it. ‘I wanted to see you to thank you for your very kind invitation to my niece. You’ve made her very happy and I am sincerely grateful. All that worries me is the thought that your parents may most reasonably feel you’ve been over-generous.’

  ‘I’m sure they won’t, Doctor. Daddy is going to write to you.’

  ‘That’s very good of him. I shall look forward to hearing from him.’ He nodded at the knitting which I had dropped on the kitchen table when I jumped up. ‘Miss Ashbrook in trouble again? I suppose her glasses haven’t come?’

>   ‘Yes. She got in rather a mess and asked if I’d sort it out.’

  ‘She seems to have done a good bit. Or is this your work?’

  I hedged. ‘Some of it. Not all.’

  He smiled. ‘I quite understand. This will be all her own work, even if two-thirds has been done by Nurse Blakney. I won’t say a word about seeing it in any hands but her own.’ He looked at the kitchen clock, ‘Well, if I’m to take the sound advice you gave me last night, I must push off. With luck I’ll be in bed by two.’ He paused with his hand on the door-knob. ‘I’m sorry I drank your tea,’ he said with a twinkle. ‘I hope you really did get some later?’

  ‘I did. Thank you.’

  ‘Good night, Nurse. And thank you again.’

  I went on with my knitting in a happy haze.

  Jo was looking very pleased with herself when I joined the girls at breakfast next morning. ‘I have now held the fort too, Maggie! We were very busy and my senior couldn’t get to her meal until late, so Night Sister left me in charge of Catherine Ward between two-fifteen and three-fifteen.’ Avis looked up quizzically. As she worked in Casualty, she knew the state of all the wards.

  ‘Why was Catherine so busy? We didn’t send you any admissions, and you’ve no one on the D.I.L.’

  ‘My dear, you are out of touch!’ Jo smiled patronisingly. ‘A ward can be madly rushed, without any D.I.s or admissions. We were simply hectic. I even had to get the S.M.O. up at a quarter-to-three.’

  ‘Why not Tim Jones? He was house-physician on call for the wards. That’s what housemen are for.’

  ‘I thought it better to call the S.M.O. straight. After all, he is in charge.’

  ‘What did you call him for?’ I asked.

  ‘I thought one of our women was having a coronary.’

  ‘No one had a coronary in Jude’s last night,’ said Avis bluntly.

  ‘I know that now. I didn’t then.’

  ‘What was it?’ I asked curiously. ‘Angina?’

  She hesitated. ‘Actually, no. It was acute indigestion.’

  ‘You didn’t drag that poor man back in the small hours to diagnose indigestion?’ Avis was quite pink with indignation. ‘Couldn’t you have taken her pulse, first? There’s a whale of a difference between a coronary pulse and that of a person with indigestion!’

  Jo shrugged. ‘I felt I couldn’t take any chances.’ She smiled slightly. ‘You needn’t get so worked up. I’m sure the S.M.O. didn’t mind at all. He was simply charming.’ She looked at both sides of one hand affectedly. ‘In fact, keep this to yourselves, girls, but I got the distinct impression that he was rather glad to see me on my own.’

  I pushed back my chair. ‘Forgive me, girls. I’m off to bed.’

  Avis said kindly, ‘Maggie, you’ve had nothing but tea and one roll.’

  ‘I’m not hungry this morning, thanks. Coming over?’

  Jo said she might as well come with us. As we all strolled back to the Home Jo gave us a kindly lecture on the pitfalls that surrounded any young nurse who had the misfortune to be admired by a senior resident.

  There were five other young men waiting with George in the Library that evening. Avis drew in her breath sharply as I opened the door. ‘Maggie, I can’t face this!’ she muttered.

  George came forward. ‘Hallo, girls.’ He introduced Avis all round, as Cinderella.

  The students greeted her politely, but with thinly disguised curiosity. I was sure she felt they were comparing her with the various other girls with whom George had imagined himself in love. It made her doubly shy and she was unable to do more than smile stiffly.

  Mike Oxford, the Prince Charming, bent over the piano, ostensibly to rearrange my music. ‘Our George has given her rave notices,’ he murmured, ‘I hope he’s right. She looks a trifle prim.’

  I had done a lot of accompanying for Mike and knew him very well. ‘You wait.’ I rubbed some life into my cold fingers. ‘She’s just dumb with nerves, that’s all.’

  But when Avis began to sing he looked downright worried. She sang very badly. George’s face twisted as if he was physically hurt; the other boys stared at their feet. She took an obvious grip on her nerves and made herself turn to the young men. ‘I’m sorry to be so nervous.’

  They ralliedto a man. Buttons said his nerves struck him all of a heap and he knew just how it was. The King offered to go and wait in the corridor. Prince Charming suggested she thought of them as figures of stone. They managed, between them, to reduce her to helpless laughter. That did the trick as it so often does. She could not feel shy any longer. She took a long breath, ‘Let’s try it again, Maggie.’

  At last she sang properly. I glanced at Mike. He was smiling to himself. George was standing back with folded arms, leaning against the books. His face was in shadow. When she finished he came forward triumphantly. ‘What did I tell you, chaps? Trust Thanet to come up with the right girl at the right moment!’

  Avis’s expression tightened. If I had not been so concerned by his pathetic habit of saying the wrong thing when he was so anxious to do the reverse, I would have been interested in the effect she had on him. With all his other young women he had been the soul of tact, but now, as he had told me, he was out of his depth. Although he gave no outward appearance of being nervous, I suspected that underneath he was as shy as Avis.

  When the rehearsal was over the other students said they considered it had been a great success. We all left the Library together.

  Mike walked ahead with Avis, discussing their mutual scenes. George scowled at the back of Mike’s head as he fell into step beside me.

  ‘What’s gone wrong?’ I asked.

  He sighed. ‘She doesn’t like me. Why should she?’

  ‘It’s something more than that. Something has upset her. I’ve noticed it these last few days.’

  He stopped in the corridor. The others did not see us and walked on. ‘Something I’ve done?’

  I shrugged. ‘I thought maybe you might have some idea?’

  ‘I haven’t done a thing beyond trying to date her again. She turned me down flat. And you saw how she tried to wriggle out of this affair.’

  ‘Yes, I did. Avis is no fool. She may not be used to the boys, but she may not care to join your list.’

  He winced. ‘Maggie, why have I been such a mug? No one but she has ever mattered. I’m more certain of that every time I see her. How can I make her believe that?’

  ‘I think you’ll just have to be very patient and much more tactful.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘I dropped another brick tonight, didn’t I? I’ll have to watch every word. As for being patient, I’m not a patient character, but I don’t mind how long I wait for ‒’ he stepped aside for someone who was coming along the corridor behind me. ‘Sorry, sir … For her,’ he finished very softly as the S.M.O. walked quickly by.

  I looked at the tall, retreating figure. I knew just how George felt. ‘You do that,’ I said. ‘If I can find out what’s wrong, I’ll try to put it right or let you know or something. I must get a move on now, George. I’ll be late for supper.’

  Sister Wing was attending a Sisters’ Meeting that evening and the Day Staff Nurse was again in charge. When she had given us the report, she handed Standing a yellow form. ‘The analysis of our sterilising lotion,’ she said drily, glancing at me.

  My heart sank. Standing read the report without a flicker of expression showing on her face. ‘Has Sister Wing seen this?’

  ‘Not yet, Nurse. It only arrived twenty minutes ago.’

  Standing passed me the report. I looked through it quickly. The detailed analysis was listed on the centre of the page; across the foot was written, Cause of rust; excess of aqua pura.

  ‘Water in it. I’m glad that’s explained,’ said Standing. ‘I dislike mysteries.’ She nodded at me. ‘See to your drinks, please, Nurse Blakney.’

  I obeyed her only too willingly. She followed me to the door and shut it after me. I filled the urn and put on the milk with shaking han
ds. I was setting the drink trays when I heard the day nurse go past the kitchen. A minute later Standing came in. ‘Sister Wing is not going to be at all pleased about that report,’ she said a shade unnecessarily. ‘She won’t care to have bothered the S.M.O. and the Path. Lab., about a nursing error.’

  ‘No, Nurse,’ I agreed unsteadily.

  Her eyes appraised me keenly. ‘Blakney, I’m going to ask something I’ve asked before. How did you make up that lotion?’

  I told her. Her quiet manner amazed me, her use of my surname without the formal prefix added to my amazement. The use of Christian names was strictly forbidden but I had discovered that the use of the surname by a senior was a definite compliment in our hospital. Nurse Gill, the Theatre Staff Nurse, being a friendly person, always used surnames; Illingworth did it when she was feeling matey; I had never heard a stickler for etiquette like Standing ever say anything but ‘Nurse’.

  She did not take her eyes off my face. ‘Have you ever at any time topped up anything with sterile water? You know that’s not allowed. I would like you to tell me if you have?’

  ‘No, Nurse.’

  She said very slowly, ‘You are the obvious person to blame. You realise that?’

  ‘Yes, Nurse.’

  ‘But you are sure you did not make a mistake?’

  ‘Yes, Nurse,’ I said hopelessly.

  ‘Right.’ She nodded to herself. ‘I’ll talk to Sister in the morning.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand, Nurse.’

  ‘Surely it’s simple to follow. You say you did not make a mistake. I have worked with you and I know you. I believe you. You aren’t the only nurse who could have done it, even though you are responsible. I have always found I can trust you. If necessary, I’ll explain that to Matron.’

  I stared at her. ‘To Matron? But, Nurse, it isn’t your fault.’

  ‘As I am responsible for the nursing in this Wing at night, any error automatically becomes my responsibility. I won’t cover up my junior’s mistakes; but I won’t have my junior blamed for a mistake I don’t consider she made. Naturally, I’ll accept the blame. That’s part of my job. It will be yours, too, when you’re a Staff Nurse. Now do get on! We’ve wasted quite enough time over this nonsense.’