Consulting Surgeon (13 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

HAD SHE expected that the ward would look any different, Ursula wondered when she went on duty the next morning. That Matthew’s manner when they met there would be anything other than strictly professional? Or that anyone, staff or patient, would recognize that behind her eyes she hid despair, that she could make of her smile no more than a pleasant mask?

Somehow, when your private world lay in ruins about you, you half expected the crash to reverberate
somewhere,
changing other outlooks than your own. But it never happened like that. The daily round went inexorably on, carrying you with it, demanding as much of you as it did yesterday, promising to ask no less tomorrow. So she must force her thoughts deliberately outward, giving herself no time for self-pity or questioning, until sanity and peace of mind returned.

That first morning she made time in her lunch break to ring Coralie and to give her Dirk’s message.

“
Dirk
!” There was a world of scorn behind Coralie’s tone.

“Why not Dirk! I gather you snubbed him severely, but that doesn’t seem to have daunted his wanting to know you. Besides, what sort of impression do you think he’ll take away with him, when the first English girl he is attracted to turns him down for no reason except, so far as I can see, that he is unfortunate enough to be of about her own age?”

“Dirk—after
Matthew
!”

“Dear, don’t deceive yourself. You never had Matthew in that way. You’ve got to face it that, ever since Averil returned to England, no other woman has had his interest as she has. Now she has his love, and you’ve got to forget a hope of him that never really began. For one thing, he is years older than you. You would have had nothing in common with each other.”

“You don’t have to bend over backwards,
trying
to be cruel,” muttered Coralie.

‘
Cruel to you—or to myself?
’
The bitter irony that seemed to turn a sword in Ursula’s heart, but she persisted doggedly: “Well, for my sake, because I don’t want to let Dirk down, and for his sake, because he is a guest in this country and deserves our hospitality, will you at least get Mama to ask him to dinner one night?”

“Oh, I can do that, I suppose.” Coralie’s tone was ungracious, but with a faint smile into the receiver Ursula went on: “There’s another ‘sake’ I didn’t mention—yours. If you made a few dates with Dirk, that would explain your not going to the Court so much or having to see Averil and Matthew together. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

She was rewarded by a little pause from Coralie’s end of the line. Then: “Supposing, when he got to know me, Dirk didn’t ask me?” Coralie queried.

Ursula’s smile, before she hung up, was broad and confident. “Look in your mirror now and again, and then just be the natural, vivacious darling you know how to be—and there’ll be no fear of that,” she promised.

She realized how deeply the girl’s faith in herself had been undermined by her disappointment over Matthew. But she had a shrewd suspicion that a few telephone calls from Dirk might soon restore that.

She returned to the ward to find Staff-Nurse Freedom in a high state of indignation.

“That Calcum woman is going to drive me bats if she’s not careful, or if I don’t keep out of her way,” she announced dramatically.

“Oh, dear, Staff, what now?”

“Well, she saw fit to take umbrage because we gave young Sarah her blanket-bath before attending Milady herself. She said it kept her lunch cocoa waiting, and that if we forced her to take it cold, she’d put in a complaint to Matron. ‘Forced!’ Funny—ha ha, that. As if you
could
force that one—!”

“Well, what did you do?”

“Oh, I set my teeth, because you said we were to placate her, and I promised that her cocoa should be kept hot for her in the kitchen. It was. And when she got it—what do you think? She changed her mind and wanted
coffee
!”

“I know it’s difficult,” soothed Ursula. “But you know what Mr. Lingard said—that she feels all the while that she must make a bid for our notice. I do beg of you to be patient, Freedom, though I know how hard it is.”

“Patient! Job himself—!” exploded Nurse Freedom.

“I’ll have a talk with her,” promised Ursula. But she sighed as she spoke. She had begun to feel disheartened at the small headway she made against Miss Calcum’s conviction that she was not receiving adequate attention or treatment.

She went on thoughtfully: “You know, Staff, I’m worried about little Sarah too. I’d thought that having the first of the bone grafts advised by Mr. Lingard would have buoyed her up with hope. But for some reason she is fretting, even more than she did before, and I can’t discover the reason.”

“Does she know that Mr. Lingard was pleased with the operation?”

“Yes, he said I could tell her as soon as the first results became apparent on the X-ray plates. I explained what was happening—that the new bone was going to have to knit into one with the old, and that the wonderful thing was that as she grew herself the new bone would grow too, just as if it had always been there. But she took only a dumb sort of interest, and I’d expected her to be so happy.”

“Perhaps she is still afraid she will never dance again, after all, Sister?”

“Mr. Lingard didn’t promise that she would. So we mustn’t take it upon ourselves to give her that hope.”

“Not even to make her happy?”

“No. Imagine the setback to her, if it weren’t so. All the same, I wish I knew what
is
going on in the poor child’s mind—” Ursula broke off as a probationer from Miller ward appeared at the open door of her office. “Yes, Nurse, what is it?”

“Please, Sister, could you come? Mr. Bayert wants to see you.” Ned was worse—or better? She had scarcely time to debate it before she found herself in Sister’s room on Miller ward.

As she entered Mr. Bayert smiled and said: “Bravo, Sister. We need dissemble no more. The Professor’s mind has cleared; he remembers everything that went immediately before his accident as well as you do yourself. And the danger of paralysis has passed.”

“Oh ...!” Relief for Ned’s sake and distress at the task now before her mingled in her tone.

“There. Do not worry. He remembers that you refused his proposal, but he accepts it like a man. I think you will find he is not unhappy.”

“He wasn’t when—when it happened. We had agreed we could remain good friends. But does he not resent the deception, Mr. Bayert?”

“As my patient, he could scarcely resent any treatment I judged to be the best for him,” retorted the surgeon with slightly offended dignity. But he smiled as he added: “Well, now, I must congratulate you on the playing of your part. As for me, I kept honorable faith with you too—telling no one of our ruse that has now succeeded. I must say that I am glad we have had this outcome today, as tomorrow I go on six weeks’ vacation myself. That would have meant my handing over our secret to a colleague, but now only the physical trouble—the fractures and the actual head wound—remain to be treated. But you would like to go to him, would you not?”

Thanking him and wishing him a good holiday, Ursula went on to the ward.

Ned’s bed was not screened now, and his smile as he saw her approaching was very heart-warming.

His hand went out to grasp hers as she drew a chair to his bedside. “What an old fool you must have thought me—babbling about a ring!” he murmured.

“No, Ned—no! I was only afraid that when you did remember you might be angry or hurt.”

“I’d been asleep,” he said dreamily. “And when I woke up it all came back to me. When the surgeon came to see me, he explained why he let me believe we were engaged. But ever since I’ve been kicking myself for placing you in such a false position. Now I want to set about putting it right for you—telling everybody that it was just a joke on me!”

Ursula laid a hand over his. “I shouldn’t do that, Ned, unless it comes out naturally. It’s the sort of story that hospital gossip would love to make into a nine days’ wonder—until something more sensational took its place.”

“You mean that you would be embarrassed by it?”

“A little, I think. I’d rather let the whole thing rest without comment until you have left hospital, when it will cease to be of interest to anyone.”

“Well, if you’d rather...” began Ned doubtfully.

“I would, Ned, dear, really. Let’s not talk about it ourselves again. So long as it helped you to get well, that’s all I want.” Afterwards she wondered whether her pride was wrong to seek shelter behind Ned’s continued silence. But she could not bear the thought of making explanations to Matthew now. And by the time Ned was able to leave hospital, she must be thinking of leaving too. And afterwards no one would ever be interested in the truth. In fact, from the moment of the laying of the falsehood that had eased Ned’s way to recovery, one man’s misjudgment of her had already made any telling of the truth too late.

Meanwhile, in the staff common rooms, and on the wards a tide of expectancy and speculation was gathering towards the coming centenary celebrations of the hospital. There were to be Mayoral receptions, Sports and a culmination in a grand Centenary Ball, at which tableaux were to be presented by each ward. Matron had called a meeting of the senior staff and had made it clear that she was looking for a fair degree of originality. She had arranged with the governing Board to set aside a sum to be drawn upon for the necessary expenses.

“I wish that on Christian Shere we could think of something really different,” worried Ursula, though she was glad to be caught up in the impersonal interest of it all.

“Yes. Rumor has it that Children’s Medical is doing itself proud with a set of nursery rhymes—Night Sister as Humpty-Dumpty, imagine!” replied Nurse Freedom. “And Miller is having a big contoured lay-out of Sheremouth and the Downs and the hospital. They say Sister Arnock bribed the medical students to make it for her out of plaster of Paris, unofficially lifted from stock.”

“What a good idea!” envied Ursula. “We
must
think of something.”

“What about—no, that’s no good...” Nurse Freedom subsided, shaking her head.

“I wonder!” This from Ursula. “Look, the Centenary takes us back to the eighteen-fifties. That was the time of the Crimean War—”

“Florence Nightingale and all that,” put in Freedom automatically.

“Yes, though I think the original building of the Easterbrook Trust was a little earlier—not too sure of my dates! But my idea, though only vague, is that in our tableau we might reconstruct the ward as it was when it was first endowed by Christian Shere himself—”

“Sister, what a
grand
idea! Now that
is
something! Or is it? I mean, have we the faintest idea how to carry it out? Do you know what a hospital ward looked like in those days?”

“Only from films, really,” admitted Ursula. “But there must be some historical records. The Borough Librarian might help—” She broke off as, after a perfunctory knock which neither girl had heard, the door opened and Matthew stood upon the threshold.

Looking from her to Nurse Freedom he asked formally: “Are you busy, Sister? I have just received the latest of Sarah Caspar’s plates, and it occurred to me that you would like to see them.”

“I should indeed, Mr. Lingard. And Staff-Nurse and I were only discussing Christian Shere’s plans for the Centenary—”

Greatly daring, Nurse Freedom put in: “Do you think, Sister, that Mr. Lingard might be able to help us about that? About getting the details right, I mean?”

Matthew glanced at Ursula. “Details? What details?”

Wishing heartily that her staff-nurse had said nothing until the thing was more than the merest suggestion, Ursula haltingly explained her idea.

However, she was to be gratified by the attention Matthew gave to it, and he dealt crisply enough with their main difficulty by saying that he happened to know that there were some actual early records of the Easterbrook Trust in the library at Shere Court.

He said: “I dare say that Aunt Lucy has told you that she is related to the Sheres by marriage—old Christian Shere was her late husband’s maternal grandfather—and the Court still prizes a book of engravings of the original buildings and interiors, as well as a biography of Christian, and I know there is even a set of the first accounts with which, as principal mover in the Trust, he appears to have dealt. I remember they amused me when I happened across them, as they list everything from the nurses’ salaries to the yardage necessary for their ‘stuff gowns,’ and even show a regular monthly purchase of candles.”

“
Candles
? What for, sir?” asked Nurse Freedom blankly.

Matthew’s mouth quirked into an involuntary smile. “To see to operate by, among other things, Staff-Nurse,” he said. “The eighteen-fifties were without benefit of the wall switch or neons, you know!”

“Oh, dear, of course!” Freedom began as he turned again to Ursula. “I’ll look them out,” he promised. “Then I’ll ring you to meet me at the Court one evening to examine them.”

“That would be kind of you.” As she spoke Ursula was thinking that she had not expected to have to thank him again for kindness. But, of course, this was nothing personal. He was doing it for the prestige of Christian Shere ward which, as one of his own surgical wards, had calls upon his interest which she had not.

As if to confirm this, the note of reminder he made was in his case book, not in his private diary. Then he offered the X-ray plates to her. Nurse Freedom effaced herself, and from over Ursula’s shoulder Matthew pointed out the slight progress the negatives showed.

When he took them from her Ursula ventured: “I wish the child could be convinced she is doing well.”

“She is depressed, is she? It could be a natural reaction to the inevitable tedium of her recovery. Actually, I am now fairly sanguine that she will not only walk without a limp eventually, but she will come again to her beloved ballet-dancing. Later on I may even prescribe a course of it as a very necessary exercise to bring all those atrophied muscles into play—”

“Oh, I’m so glad...!” All Ursula’s personal reserves were forgotten as she glanced up, her eyes shining.

Matthew looked at her until her gaze dropped before his.

“That will make you happy?” he asked levelly.

“Yes, very. Would it be possible to tell her?”

He considered that. Then: “No, not yet. It is too early to be sure, and I mustn’t raise expectations that may not be fulfilled—especially considering the child’s temperament.”

“I’m sorry. I should have liked to give her something to build on.” Ursula’s disappointment sounded in her voice.

“So should I. So shall I—if and when the time comes. But hope deferred is better than hope annihilated, don’t you agree? Meanwhile, I must look to you to keep up the child’s spirits by some other means. You must instruct your staff accordingly, for they—and you—must regard the psychological care of your patients as being as much part of your job as any other.”