‘That’s right, your wife can come tomorrow. So you work with horses, do you, Mr Tyrrell?’
‘Allus ’ave done, since I were a nipper. Us’ter go round and muck ’em out in the evenings for a few ’apence, so Mr Jones – ’e’s the foreman at the Brewery – ’e offered me a job, soon as I left school. I likes ’osses. You treat ’em right and they’ll behave back – mind, you get the odd bad ’un, just like ’umans. One we’ve got, Danny, ’e’s called, a mean brute ’e is. Didn’t get out of ’is way fast enough, and ’e didn’t ’arf land me one, broke the skin of me leg, it did, you can see the bruise. I swore, I can tell you, then the very next day I gets this ’orful pain and I’m in ’ere – wouldn’t put it past the b—, oops, sorry, Nurse, the brute, to ’ave give me appendywhatsit as well!’
May laughed. ‘Well, if he did, it’ll be the first recorded case. Is that quite comfortable now?’ She fastened the last safety-pin.
‘Lovely, Nurse – ta, ducks.’
Glowing with pride May pushed her trolley back down the ward.
Mr Tyrrell’s wound was healing well, and May found him a very easy patient to nurse: anxious to do what he could to help himself, and always bright and cheerful. Even when May, in her rush to give half a dozen enemas at speed, failed to completely fill the bulb of the Higginson’s syringe with soapy water and so squeezed a little air into his rectum, he made light of the pain, merely grunting, ‘Way you girls ’ave to work a little ’iccup’s not to be wondered at, think nothin’ of it, ducks.’
When ‘My Betty’ arrived on Thursday May was introduced as, ‘Me Special Nurse, wot keeps me under control’ with a wink in May’s direction. Mrs Tyrrell looked very young. She moved slowly with the ungainly gait of the heavily pregnant, and her smile was shy as she took May’s proffered hand and murmured a word of thanks. But as she turned back to her husband her thin face lit up and she looked suddenly beautiful as she took his hand and gently stroked it, gazing at him with such open adoration that May felt quite bereft, and Harry Cussons’ face, never far from her mind recently, swam sharply into focus before her. What had she lost by her childish and impetuous behaviour?
‘Winton, what on earth do you think you’re doing? Get out of my way and into the kitchen – you haven’t even started cutting the bread and butter yet!’ Staff Nurse’s voice was sharp, and her face harassed, so May, with a ‘Sorry, Staff,’ moved smartly in the direction of the corridor. Useless day-dreaming, she scolded herself, was a luxury far beyond the reach of a lowly pro, not that Sister seemed to spend much time on it either, as her voice rang out, ‘Nurse Winton, your cap!’ and in a carrying aside: ‘Some young women have no pride in their appearance!’ May thought that she must say, ‘Sorry, Sister,’ in her sleep at night, she said it so often in the daytime. She was reaching for the bread knife even as she tumbled through the kitchen door.
‘’Ere, Nurse, mind yer plates of meat’ – and an indignant Maudie reared up from her kneeler brandishing her scrubbing brush.
‘Sorry, Maudie.’ May positioned her knife and cut the first slice crooked, and heard herself mutter, ‘Sorry, loaf.’ She began to laugh.
Maudie looked round. ‘What’s tickled yer fancy, duck? Come into a fortune, ’ave you?’ She cackled at her own joke. ‘Well, if you ’as, Hi wouldn’t spend another minnit in this dump, ’swelp me I wouldn’t.’
May said, ‘Well, I suppose I might as well stay for tea, since it’s currant buns today,’ and sawed furiously away at the loaf. ‘I’m all behind, Maudie, will you put the butter to warm for me, there’s a dear.’
‘I suppose in the h’absence of a fortune we’ll ’ave to ’ang together.’ Maudie shuffled over to the stove. ‘But don’t you leave it to melt, like you did yesterdiy.’
* * *
On Sunday afternoon Betty Tyrrell visited again. May saw her coming down the ward after Sister had rung the bell to signal the end of visiting time. There had been a serious accident in the Docks the previous day; extra beds had been set up in the centre of the ward and all the nurses were frantically busy, but something about Betty Tyrrell’s expression made May pause and smile. The girl hesitated then waddled slowly up to her.
‘Nurse,’ her voice was shy. ‘Bob, seems – seems a bit low today.’ She flushed and stopped a moment, disturbed at her own temerity, yet determined to ask. ‘Is he all right?’
May said, ‘His operation has been a complete success, Mrs Tyrrell. His wound is healing nicely. I expect he’s missing you, and his son.’
The girl looked slightly relieved, yet it was clear she was still worried. ‘’Is face looked a bit funny, Nurse, and ’e didn’t say much – that’s not like ’im.’
May spoke reassuringly, ‘I’ll ask him how he feels this evening, and if there’s any doubt Sister will send for the Doctor.’
‘Thank you, Nurse.’ Then she burst out, ‘It’s a long time till Thursday.’ She turned her face away and swayed off down the corridor.
When May went to collect the tea things she noticed that Bob Tyrrell had only drunk half a cup, and barely touched his bread and butter.
‘This tea is cold. Would you like a fresh cup, Mr Tyrrell? Perhaps you could try a little more bread?’
‘No thanks, Nurse, ta all the same. It seems to be an effort to get me mouth open to chew proper like.’
On pretence of adjusting the bedclothes May glanced at his temperature chart. It did show a slight rise – but surely she would have noticed if the wound had become infected? If only she knew more: Betty Tyrrell was right, he wasn’t himself, but what did it mean? She made up her mind; she would have to risk a rebuff. She marched down the ward to lay her story before Sister Simeon.
Her evidence seemed very feeble as she related it, and she waited to be sent about her business with a flea in her car, but Sister was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I’ll speak to Dr Barnes when he does his round this evening. You may go now, Nurse.’ Relieved, May escaped to her washing up.
Just after seven she was summoned to Sister’s room. Dr Barnes looked impatient, Sister Simeon determined.
‘Nurse Winton,’ she began, ‘Do you happen to know the nature of Mr Tyrrell’s employment?’
May was surprised. ‘He’s some sort of groom, Sister. He works at the Brewery, with the horses.’
Dr Barnes broke in impatiently. ‘Really, Sister, I am extremely busy…’
Sister Simeon silenced him with an upraised hand. ‘When you have washed him, Nurse, did you notice any injury – a cut or abrasion? Sustained before he entered St Katharine’s?’
May was becoming more and more bewildered. ‘Well, Sister, he did tell me he had been kicked by a horse, just before he went down with appendicitis. It did break the skin on his shin.’
Sister Simeon expelled her breath sharply. Her lips tightened.
Dr Barnes broke in again. ‘Sister, I’m sure this is all very interesting, but I really must…’
‘I suggest you go and consult your copy of Fenwick on the causes and symptoms of tetanus, Dr Barnes; then come back and examine my patient again.’
Dr Barnes was angry. ‘Diagnosis is the province of the medical staff, Sister Simeon.’
Sister Simeon’s voice was icy. ‘Certainly, Dr Barnes; and the sooner you diagnose the better. Tetanus is highly infectious.’
Muttering imprecations under his breath the young man flounced out. Sister Simeon’s lips appeared to be forming the words, ‘Bumptious young pipsqueak,’ but May could hardly believe she had read them aright. As soon as the door closed she risked a question. ‘Sister, what is tetanus? I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t really know…’
Sister looked tired. ‘It’s lockjaw, Nurse. We will leave it at that for the present. I may be wrong, I hope I am – say nothing to the patient, of course.’ She rapped out these last words. ‘You may go now.’
Dr Barnes came back with his immediate superior, and the two white-coated men prodded and poked Bob Tyrrell and listened to his chest, but May went off duty no w
iser.
Next morning Sister was already on the ward when the day nurses arrived. After the report she kept May back, called her into her sitting room and closed the door.
Sister’s voice was grave. ‘Dr Anderson confirmed Dr Barnes’ diagnosis.’ May blinked, but Sister Simeon continued smoothly. ‘I am afraid Mr Tyrrell has contracted tetanus. He will need constant attendance from now on, and as you have already been dealing with his daily dressings I have decided that you shall nurse him alone. It will be safer for the other patients – this is a surgical ward, so however careful we are, there is always a risk of infecting them. Hold your hands out.’ Startled, May did as she was told. ‘Good, no sign of any broken skin. You must tell me immediately if you damage your hands in any way. This is not a task I would normally give to a probationer of only three months’ experience, but we are exceptionally busy at the moment, and the hospital is always under-staffed, so Matron has agreed. The patient is used to you, and you are a level-headed girl.’
Before she could continue May burst out, ‘But Sister, suppose I do something wrong – and he dies!’
Sister Simeon paused, then said steadily, ‘Nurse Winton, he is going to die anyway, whatever you do.’
May said, ‘No, no he can’t, he’s such a nice man, his wife…’ her voice trailed away in the face of Sister Simeon’s implacable gaze. ‘Is there no hope?’ She spoke in a small voice.
Sister Simeon’s tone was brisk, but not unsympathetic. ‘Very little, I’m afraid, Nurse.’ – Then why tell me now, May thought rebelliously, but Sister Simeon, seeming to read her mind, went on, ‘It’s better that you face up to this at once, otherwise you might be tempted to blame yourself later, and no good nurse allows herself to indulge in useless self-reproach.’ – But I’m not a good nurse, May’s mind screamed silently, only a raw probationer, a stupid girl who came because she was bored, what have I done? Yet another part of her brain stayed calm, and accepted the harsh truth of Sister’s words, though almost crushed under the weight of her knowledge.
Sister Simeon reached back to a bookshelf behind her chair, and took out a small volume. After finding the page she handed it to May.
‘Stay in here and read this carefully. I will come back in fifteen minutes to see if you have any questions. You may sit down.’
It felt very odd to be sitting alone in Sister’s room during the morning rush. She handled the book gingerly, as though it might explode, then, bracing herself, began to read the section on nursing patients with tetanus.
By the time Sister returned fifteen minutes later she knew what she was supposed to do, but quailed at the thought of having to do it. Sister Simeon questioned her closely, seemed satisfied with her answers, and added further instructions of her own. She told May that she would be nursing Bob Tyrrell in the small linen room, which could be emptied and used as a side ward when the need arose. They went in; Maudie had already lit the fire, which was burning brightly in the small grate, and Sister stood over May while she practised a silent manipulation of tongs and poker.
‘Remember, Nurse Winton, any noise at all, even a movement of air, like a draught, is liable to bring on a convulsion in a tetanus patient. Now go to the door; open and shut it until you can do it silently.’ When Sister was satisfied on this point she made a final check of the room, then said, ‘Don’t forget, Nurse, you are not to leave him under any circumstances. You must always wait for a relief.’ May nodded, then suddenly remembering Betty Tyrrell’s loving face: ‘Sister, his wife, she’ll want to be with him – she’s expecting a child soon.’
Sister asked, ‘Do you think she can be relied on to stay calm and quiet?’
May thought wildly, can I be relied on to do that? But after a moment’s consideration she said, ‘I think so, Sister.’
‘Very well, I will send a message and arrange for her to visit today.’
It was at this point that May finally accepted what was going to happen to lively, friendly, cheerful Bob Tyrrell. Today was Monday; visitors on Monday could have only one meaning.
Chapter Sixteen
The next four days were a nightmare. Although clearly feeling ill and apprehensive at first Bob Tyrrell tried to keep a cheerful face. As his jaw gradually clenched he still tried to crack little jokes, which May smiled and laughed at. Then the jokes became smaller and sadder, and ceased altogether once the spasms laid hold of him like a giant hand and forced his body into a rigid arch, so that only the back of his head and the heels of his feet still touched the bed. As Sister had predicted, his stitches tore apart and his stomach wound gaped; May padded and bound it as loosely as she dared and as gently as she could, bending across so that her body hid the exposed gut from his tortured gaze.
May had to fight for control of herself, repeating like a litany, ‘Slow and rhythmical movements, be slow and rhythmical, don’t hurry, touch him gently, warm your hands and be gentle.’ Then, as he collapsed back on the mattress exhausted she tried, oh so carefully, to spoon a little liquid through the gap they had made by pulling out his front teeth. And all the time he lay there with his mouth twisted up, his eyebrows raised and his whole face fixed and rigid in a travesty of a grin. But his eyes, despairing and hopeless, were fixed on May’s, so that she felt her own facial muscles stiffen and contract as she kept her face smiling and her expression calm.
In a corner of her mind May remembered Lady Clarence’s patient, tireless training. ‘Walk more slowly, May, do not bob up and down, move smoothly, be graceful. You must sit absolutely still in your chair, do not ever fidget.’ Now May was grateful as she sat quite still and did not fidget and moved so slowly and smoothly – yet still he went into violent contortions, and once she knew it was her fault, when the door slipped in her hand and banged as she came back from her half-hour at dinner; she watched helpless, consumed with guilt as his body reared up and hung suspended.
Betty Tyrrell, and Bob’s tiny wrinkled mother slipped in and crouched motionless in the corner. The two women’s hands were clasped and May sensed their desperate longing, willing him to survive, to recover. May made herself believe he would; she forced her mind to blank out Sister Simeon’s predictions and kept repeating to herself only, ‘He will get better, he will get better,’ and fancied she saw a faint glimmer of reassurance in the eyes staring up into hers.
Dr Barnes and Sister came and went. At mealtimes Staff Nurse slipped in and sent May out; she ate mechanically, grateful for Ellen’s fierce unspoken protectiveness, which allowed her to sit in silence and pull herself together for the inevitable return. At night, when Grayson came to take over, May did not want to leave, convinced that the stolid Grayson with flat white face and boot button eyes could not understand and anticipate as she could do; though she knew that the other nurse was tireless and efficient.
At the end of four days it was clear that willpower was not enough: Bob Tyrrell was dying. He was gasping for breath, his skin was cold and wet with sweat as May touched him, and his face livid and swollen with the oedema of incipient heart failure. Yet his eyes were still alive, and he gazed imploringly at his wife as she bent over him, whispering her love and her devotion. May watched with breaking heart, and saw intensity give way to resignation; she knew he could fight no longer.
She helped Betty Tyrrell back to her chair before closing the eyelids of the body, relaxed at last. Then she went to the door and summoned assistance, her voice still even and low-pitched, although the man on the bed would suffer no more convulsions now.
After Staff came she led the two women out and listened to their broken words of thanks as she swallowed the bitter taste of defeat. Sister came, and May realised she was offering her a choice: she did not have to lay out the body if she did not wish it. But feeling that she must complete her duty to Bob Tyrrell to the end she said she would prefer to do so. Sister nodded, and left Staff to help her, for which May was grateful.
By late morning the body had been removed, the bedding bundled up and sent down to be sterilised, the mattress and b
ed carbolised, and the room thoroughly scrubbed out. May reported to Sister Simeon in the ward; the latter ordered her to go and wash in a bath laced with disinfectant and to send all her own clothes for fumigation. ‘Then you may go off duty until five, Nurse Winton.’ As she heard these last words, and realised she was no longer needed in the small side ward, May felt the threatening tears well up, but Sister Simeon’s stern voice telling her to pull herself together held them poised on her lids, and they did not spill over. Then came her dismissal.
‘That is all, Nurse Winton, you have done everything that was necessary.’
But despite her shock and grief May knew that this was not true; there was still something more she must do. Hesitant, groping for words and worried by her own presumption in the face of the inexorable hospital system she reminded Sister Simeon that she, May Winton, was a woman of considerable means – would it be possible? – Betty Tyrrell’s baby was due soon, she had another young child, no husband now, could Sister arrange discreetly, so that no one need know? Sister inclined her head in agreement. She would speak to the Lady Almoner herself, if May would visit her in her office tomorrow – a convenient Charity would be used. May bowed her head, murmured ‘Thank you, Sister,’ and left the ward.
As soon as she was disinfected May went back to her bedroom, threw herself on her bed and wept. At one o’clock Ellen rushed up and dragged her off to dinner, then had to leave her to go back on duty. May tramped round the streets of the East End until she had tired her legs and regained some degree of composure, then for lack of any alternative, came back to her room.
She had only been there for a few minutes, sitting at the table trying to compose a careful letter to Emily, when a maid tapped at the door.
‘There’s a gentleman to see you, Miss, waiting at the porter’s lodge.’
May stared blankly at the maid before she spoke. ‘Thank you, Ethel, I will be down in a few minutes.’
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