Connie’s Courage (17 page)

Mavis nodded.

‘He is in dreadful pain, but very brave,' Connie told her soberly, before adding ruefully, ‘have you noticed, Mavis, how often, and how seriously, we
talk about our work these days. It is almost as though we have become proper nurses.'

Both of them burst out laughing.

‘My mother is hoping that you will spend Christmas with us, Connie. You know how fond of you she has become.'

Connie smiled. It was true that Elsie Lawson treated her almost as though she were another daughter, clucking round her when she visited in her fluffy mother-hen fashion, which secretly Connie adored, worrying about whether Connie was eating enough or working too hard.

‘I'm not sure what time Harry will have off,' Mavis sighed. ‘The Head of his House seems to be asking Harry to take on more and more responsibility. There will soon be a vacancy for the position of Assistant Housemaster, and Mr Cart-wright has hinted to Harry that he is considering recommending him for it. If only he might, Connie. For not only would Harry get a rise in salary, he would also have more authority! It would be such a feather in his cap, and, of course, we all understand that he must work as hard as he can to prove to Mr Cartwright that he is worthy of his support.'

Connie kept her head bent, not wanting Mavis to know how relieved she was to hear that, if she went to New Brighton she would not see Harry. Relieved, and yet at the same time there was that unwanted, and very dangerous, little pang of something that was most definitely not relief!

‘Vera came in today,' Mavis continued. ‘I didn't see her, but Josie did.'

‘I saw her as well,' Connie stopped her. ‘She was wanting to know if she could come out with us.'

Mavis looked shocked. ‘But she's married now.'

‘That's exactly what I said to her,' Connie agreed briskly. ‘But you know Vera.' Connie started to frown.

‘Oh dear, I do hope that she isn't regretting marrying Bert,' Mavis replied.

The two young women exchanged looks.

‘It seems such a long time ago now, since we all first came here and became friends,' Mavis sighed.

Christmas came and went, with Connie spending Christmas Day working, and having to forego the trip to New Brighton because of a sudden rush of emergencies.

Naturally she was disappointed, but a part of her was also relieved. She knew that there would have been a great deal of talk of Harry around the family dinner table, even though he himself would not have been there, and, just recently, Connie had had to catch herself up for the eagerness with which she was beginning to look forward to hearing Mavis talk about her brother. She could not afford that kind of silliness.

In truth, she was glad when Christmas was
behind them, with its painful memories of her mother and the family life she had once enjoyed. It had been impossible for her not to think, too, of Ellie and the others, and to wonder sadly, as she had the previous year, if they were thinking of her.

January gave way to February, and then, in March, tragedy struck.

‘Connie, I have had such bad news.'

Connie put down the apron she was folding, as Mavis hurried into her room, her face pale and her voice shaking. There was a stark look of despair in her eyes.

For no reason she could account for, Connie's first thought was that something must have happened to Harry, but when she inadvertently put her hand to her mouth, and protested, ‘Oh, Mavis, is it Harry?' Mavis shook her head immediately.

‘No, it's not Harry! Connie, Mother has telephoned to say that Sophie has scarlet fever!'

‘Oh, Mavis, no!'

Now Connie could fully understand the wretched note in Mavis's voice, and the look of sick worry in her eyes. Mavis started to cry, unable to contain her dread, and Connie instinctively put her arms around her.

She knew how close the whole Lawson family were, and she herself could hardly bear to think of Sophie suffering from such an awful disease.

‘There are two others girls from her school who have it as well, and the doctor has given Mother
instructions as to what she must do. She has already disinfected sheets and hung them at the window of her room, and over the door. I want so much to be there with them, Connie, but I can t! I used the last of my free days over Christmas and I cannot claim any more!

‘I am sure that your mother and the doctor will be doing everything that needs to be done, Mavis,' Connie tried to reassure her.

‘Oh, yes. I know that, and I told Mother about bathing her and … Mavis's voice was suspended, as her whole body shook with anguished sobs. ‘I'm on duty in half an hour. I must go and tidy myself up. But, Connie, I am so afraid for Sophie. It is such a dreadful disease. So many of those who get it do not survive.

‘You must not think like that, Mavis, Connie urged her, even though she knew what she was saying was true. ‘You must be strong for Sophie's sake.

But after Mavis had gone, a thoughtful look darkened Connie's eyes.

‘You want to take all your remaining leave, now? But that is five days, Pride …'

‘Yes, Sister, Connie agreed.

‘Is there any particular reason for this? Sister was frowning, and Connie hesitated. Scarlet fever was a contagious disease and Connie felt sure that if Sister knew she was planning to go and nurse
a victim of it, she would put her foot down and refuse to grant Connie her leave.

There had been an outbreak of it in Preston when Connie had been at school, and she could well remember her mother's fear when she had learned that the girl sharing a desk with Connie had been struck down with it. She had forced salt gargles, and worse, on Connie for days on end until she was sure the danger had past.

‘It is for family reasons, Sister,' Connie answered quietly. And, after all, that was the truth, even if the family was not her own, but Mavis's.

‘Very well, then, Pride.'

There were other things Connie had to do, including making a visit to the Infirmary's dispensary.

The young man on duty grumbled as Connie told him what she wanted. ‘It's for a friend,' she told him, when he had finished and handed her the bottles. ‘So, shall I have to pay you?'

‘So you shall, indeed,' he scowled disobligingly, ‘wasting my time having me mixing private medications.'

Connie, already dressed in her coat and hat and with her bag packed, was waiting for Mavis when she came off her shift.

‘Connie, where are you going?' Mavis demanded.

‘To New Brighton,' Connie answered her calmly. ‘You may not have any leave days left, Mavis, but I have five.'

‘You are going to nurse Sophie!' Tears welled up
in Mavis's eyes. ‘Oh, Connie, I could not expect you to do that.

‘It isn't a matter of you expecting, Connie told her firmly. ‘It is a matter of me wanting to, Mavis. Sophie may be your sister, but she has become as dear to me as if she were mine.

‘Oh, Connie, if I cannot nurse Sophie myself, then to know that you will be with her is almost the same.

‘The same?' Connie teased her, deliberately trying to lighten the emotional mood. ‘I'll have you know that Mr Clegg considers me to be one of his best nurses!

When Connie arrived at the New Brighton house, she found Elsie Lawson almost on the point of collapse, through fear for her daughter, and the physical effort of looking after her, whilst trying to answer Great Aunt Martha's every querulous need.

‘I daren't tell her about Sophie, Connie, in case she refuses to let us remain under her roof.

‘I am sure she would do no such thing! Connie answered her stoutly. ‘After all, if she did, she would be cutting her own nose off to spite her own face, for no one could make her more comfortable than you do. You must not be cross with her for doing so, but Mavis has told me herself how her great-aunt had used to employ a fresh person every six months because they were always giving her notice.

‘Oh, Connie, I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you here. When Mavis telephoned to say that you were coming, I knew that my prayers had been answered. Do you want to see Sophie now?'

‘Not yet, I will change first if you don't mind,' Connie told her briskly, automatically assuming her nurse's manner, as she suggested that Elsie Lawson might instruct Cook to make them a pot of tea.

In reality, Connie wanted some time to herself to mix a disinfectant wash in which to soak some clean linen and some masks. If they were to care for Sophie in the best way they could, then it was imperative that they took every precaution with their own health.

Back downstairs, she explained this to Elsie Lawson, who immediately seized gratefully on her advice and told her, ‘Oh, yes, Doctor Miles has said much the same thing.'

‘And I have brought with me from the Infirmary dispensary everything that I think we shall need. I do not wish to sound too officious, dear ma'am, but if I may suggest it, once you have taken me in to see Sophie, and she has accustomed herself to my being here, I think it would be a good idea if you were to go upstairs and rest for a while.'

‘But what if Aunt Martha should ask for me?' Mavis's mother worried.

‘If she does, then the maid will inform her that you have stepped out to go to the shops,' Connie told her calmly.

‘Oh, Connie. You are such a tonic! Already I feel so much better!

‘Good. I am delighted to hear it. Connie smiled. But whilst outwardly she might seem confident; inwardly, Connie recognised the moment she saw Sophie, how seriously ill she actually was. Not that she betrayed her feelings to Mavis's mother!

Sheets dipped in disinfectant had already been hung at the door, and as the doctor had instructed, everyone entering the patient's room had donned a cotton cloak which had also been soaked in the same preparation, in order to protect themselves from the disease.

But Connie decided to mix a stronger wash of her own, using the carbolic acid she had brought with her. At the same time, she mixed a little of the acid with water.

‘What is that for? Elsie Lawson demanded anxiously.

‘I thought, ma am, that we had agreed that you were going to rest. Connie smiled at her.

‘Connie, I cannot. Not whilst my poor child is suffering so dreadfully and in the gravest of danger. If she does not recover …

‘We must not think of that! Connie insisted sternly. ‘You have had much to bear, I know, but you must be strong for Sophie's sake. I have filled this jug with a mixture of carbolic acid and water, and it is for Sophie to gargle with. No one else must touch it, not even to wash it or refill it. I shall do that myself.

Dr Miles has left some Listerine spray for her throat,' Elsie broke in. ‘But she hates it so, poor love, and protests that it makes her feel sick.'

Connie said nothing, knowing that the stronger medication she had mixed was even more likely to taste unpleasant.

‘I shall take this up to her now, and I shall sit with her and see how she goes on. You must rest, dear ma'am,' she repeated firmly, smiling at Mavis's mother.

In the kitchen, Connie took one of the freshly soaked and wrung-out cotton sheets, cutting a hole in the middle of it and tugging it over her head. She then tied another piece of cotton around her head, and picked up a piece of disinfected cloth she had made into a protective mask for her nose and mouth. Then, she made her way up stairs.

As she had suspected, the sleep Sophie's poor mother had told her that their patient had slipped into, was more a state of feverish unconciousness. After she placed a new sheet at the door, Connie took the old one back downstairs, and put it in a fresh tub of disinfectant solution. She then made up a bowl of warm disinfectant water which she took back upstairs with her.

Mindful of Mr Clegg's insistence on absolute cleanliness whenever he performed any kind of operation, Connie washed her own hands again and then gently pulled back the bedcover from Sophie.

The flannelette nightdress Sophie's mother had
told Connie the doctor had insisted she was to wear, was sticking to her skin, and Connie gently unfastened it and removed it. She carefully and thoroughly sponged Sophie's fevered body, with two different bowls of fresh water, before patting her dry and redressing her in a fresh nightgown.

Connie had given strict instructions that every piece of fabric which touched Sophie's skin was to be boiled and then soaked in disinfectant, and that everything worn by anyone who went into her room had to receive the same treatment, but separately from Sophie's own.

Sophie's long hair had become tangled and matted, and as she moved restlessly, Connie frowned. By rights her hair should be cut short, but Connie knew how she would feel were someone to do that to her. As a compromise, she dampened it with the disinfectant carbolic solution and plaited it, all the while talking soothingly to her patient.

Mr Clegg said that, although there was no medical proof of such a thing, he firmly believed that his patients could hear what he was saying, even under the direst of circumstances. He instructed all his nurses to talk only of hope for the patient's recovery and, automatically, Connie did the same thing now. Keeping up a gentle, low monologue whilst she busied herself making Sophie clean and comfortable. She had not, as yet, inspected her throat, which was where the real root of her illness lay – and the danger lay, as well.

Having removed the bowls of disinfectant and
the dirty garments, Connie renewed her own protection and re-washed her hands before going back upstairs with her jug of carbolic acid and water, and a glass.

When she entered the room, Sophie's eyes were open but glazed and distant, and Connie knew that she did not recognise her.

Calmly, she approached the bed, and said gently, ‘Sophie, it's me, Connie, and I am here to help nurse you.'

Sophie's tongue was pink and swollen, the infection giving off a noxious smell, the membranes of her throat swollen.

She was showing all the worst symptoms of the dreaded disease, Connie recognised. Her face was flushed, but she had the telltale pale area around her mouth that was one of the hallmarks of Scarlet Fever, along with a rash of spots. She looked, and was, very poorly, Connie acknowledged grimly. She could not, though, allow her personal anxiety for Sophie to affect her duties as a nurse!