Corridors of the Night (2 page)

‘Charlie,’ Maggie’s voice wobbled a little and there were tears on her cheeks, ‘it’s going to be all right. I got one o’ the nurses ter come. She’s gonna make yer better.’

‘Yer shouldn’t ’a done that,’ he whispered. ‘Yer’ll get into trouble.’

She lifted her chin up a little. ‘I don’t care!’ She looked at Hester. ‘Yer gotta do summink.’

Hester’s heart sank and she felt a moment of panic. The boy looked desperately ill. Maggie was probably right and he was dying. Was this a quarantine ward? How could she hope to get enough information from a six-year-old to have any idea what was wrong with him, or how to help?

The first thing she needed to do was to reassure him, gain his confidence. She moved forward and stood by the side of the bed.

‘Hello, Charlie,’ she said very quietly. ‘Tell me how you feel. Are you hot? Sick? Shivery? Do you hurt anywhere especially?’

He stared at her for a moment. His face was so pale his skin looked almost translucent, shadows around his eyes like bruises. ‘I don’t really ’urt,’ he whispered. ‘Just a bit achy.’

‘Have you been sick?’ she asked.

‘Yesterday.’

‘Very sick, or just a little?’

‘Quite a lot.’

‘Have you eaten anything since then?’

He shook his head.

‘Drink anything? Water?’

She reached forward and touched her hand to his forehead. He felt hot and dry. She turned to Maggie, who was staring at her, eyes filled with fear.

‘Can you go and fetch Charlie a drink of water, please?’ Hester asked.

Maggie started to speak, then changed her mind and went off to obey.

‘Please, miss, don’t tell ’er I’m dyin’,’ Charlie said almost under his breath. ‘She’d be awful upset.’

Hester felt a sudden ache in her throat. She was a nurse – she was used to people dying – but these children alone, with no parent to comfort them, were different. They were so small, and lost. She did not normally lie to patients. She knew that if you did then sooner or later they stopped believing you, and you had lost much of your power to help, and they had lost trust in the one person they needed to believe.

This was different.

‘I won’t do.’ She made too big a promise, without hesitation. ‘I don’t intend to let you die if I can help it.’

‘But will you look after ’er?’ he asked. ‘An’ Mike? Please?’

It was not a time for equivocation. ‘Yes I will. Are you the eldest?’

‘Yeah. I’m seven. Maggie’s only six, although she acts like she’s everybody’s ma.’ He gave a weak smile, a little lop-sided.

‘Do you know why you’re here in hospital?’ It was time to be practical.

‘No.’ He shook his head a fraction. ‘Summink ter do wi’ me blood.’

‘Are they giving you medicine for it?’

‘They keep putting a big needle in me arm. It ’urts a lot.’

‘Really? Yes, it would hurt. Does this needle have a glass tube on the other end of it?’ She was picturing the major new invention called a syringe, which could transfer liquids into the flesh – or, for that matter, take them out.

He nodded.

‘Do you know what was in the glass part?’

He was looking paler and she could hardly hear his voice when he answered, ‘Looked red, like blood.’

Maggie came back with a mug full of water. Hester thanked her for it, then took a sip. It smelled and tasted fresh. She put an arm around Charlie. She could feel his bones through his nightshirt. She eased him upright and helped him very slowly to drink a little of the water. When he had taken all he could she laid him back down again, then as carefully as possible, straightened the sheets around him so they were smooth. He was gasping for breath, exhausted. She looked at him and was very afraid Maggie was right.

If he died, how was she going to help Maggie, who looked not much stronger herself? It was probably only fear and the need to believe she was doing something that kept her upright on her feet, albeit swaying a little. Hester would have suggested the child slept for a while, but she knew that if Charlie died when she was not there, the guilt would be with her for ever. It made no sense, but she would believe that she could have done something. In her place Hester would have felt the same.

‘How old is Mike?’ she asked quietly.

‘Four,’ Maggie replied. ‘’E’s not so bad. Maybe ’e’ll get worse when ’e’s older.’

‘Maybe not. Do they put the needles into him, too?’

‘Yeah,’ she nodded.

‘And you?’

‘Yeah,’ she nodded again. ‘But mostly Charlie. Can’t you do summink, miss?’

Hester still had little idea what was wrong with any of them. A misjudged treatment could be lethal. There was a stage in an illness when there was nothing more anyone could do. A small boy could take only so much ‘treatment’.

‘What is the doctor doing to help him? Tell me all you know, Maggie. I need to do the right thing for him.’

The tears spilled over and ran down Maggie’s cheeks. ‘’E don’t do nothing, miss. ’E comes and puts a needle into Charlie, an’ ’e gets sleepy an’ sick. ’E just lies there. Can’t even speak ter me an’ Mike. Please, miss . . .’

Hester knew that Dr Rand went home at night. Everyone had to sleep, but there was a senior nurse on duty all night. Where was she? Sometimes there were emergencies that only a doctor could deal with, and a messenger would have to be sent to waken him. Then the doctor would walk, or even run, the half-mile or so from his home. But this was a hospital for those who were extremely ill, or so badly wounded that often there was nothing that could be done for them, except ease their distress, or at the very least, not leave them to die alone.

That was all too often what military nursing had been during the Crimean War, not so very long ago. Haemorrhage, gangrene, raging fever – these were things Hester had been used to coping with because scores of men, even hundreds, were wounded in battle. There were too few doctors, and usually too little time. That was one of the reasons the two Rand brothers, Dr Magnus Rand and his elder brother, a chemist, Hamilton Rand, had been so pleased to have Hester, another Crimea nurse, fill in for Jenny Solway. Her experience was of great value.

Where on earth was the nurse in charge here? Hester did not dare leave Charlie to go to look for her. Maybe she was ill herself. Or passed out drunk somewhere. It had been known to happen.

‘Do you know what his illness is called?’ Hester asked Maggie.

Maggie shook her head.

‘Do you have the same illness?’ Hester persisted.

Maggie nodded.

‘What does the doctor do for you?’

There was little time. In the bed beside them Charlie was lying motionless, his face white, and his breathing shallow. But Hester had to find out all that Maggie could tell her before she attempted to help. A mistake would almost certainly be irrevocable.

‘Maggie?’ she prompted.

‘’E pricked me wi’ the needle, too.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It hurt something awful.’

‘Do you know what was in the little bottle at the end of the needle?’ Hester asked. ‘What colour was it?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘I didn’t want ter look, an’ ’e told me not ter, but I did, just quick. I think it were blood.’

Hester felt a chill run through her. So Magnus was taking blood. What for? Was Hamilton Rand testing it for something? He was a brilliant chemist, almost visionary in some ways. What was he learning from these children’s blood?

Maggie was staring at her, waiting, her eyes full of hope.

‘Get me another cup of water,’ Hester said to her. ‘Please.’

Maggie turned and went immediately. Finally there was something she could do to help.

Hester leaned forward and pushed the sleeve up a little on Charlie’s thin arm. She took the skin between her finger and thumb. It lifted away as if there were no flesh over the bone. At least she knew something to start with. ‘When did you last go to a bathroom to pee?’ she asked.

He seemed a little embarrassed. ‘Long time ago.’

‘Can you let me look inside your mouth? Please?’ He dropped his jaw obediently. She bent and peered inside. His skin was pale and almost dry, even his tongue. Now she knew at least one thing seriously wrong with him. Dehydration bad enough could kill, especially a child as slight as he was. Water might not be all he needed, but it might save him long enough for something further.

Maggie came back, running so quickly she almost tripped, but the glass she carried was full to the brim.

Hester smiled at her, and very gently lifted Charlie up again so he was cradled in her arms and his head was nearly upright. He opened his eyes, but it was Maggie he looked at. He smiled at her hazily, and then seemed to drift off again.

Hester put the glass to his lips. ‘Drink a little more, Charlie,’ she urged him. ‘Just a sip.’

For several moments he did not move, then as he tipped the glass very slightly he took a mouthful. He swallowed it and coughed. After a few seconds he took another.

Maggie was staring at Hester as if she were seeing a miracle. Hester ached with grief for her because this small act was almost certainly useless, but she could not bear to tell her so. Maggie’s eyes were bright and she was so intent on Charlie she was hardly remembering to breathe.

It took half an hour, but sip by sip, Charlie drank the whole glassful. Hester felt a sense of triumph as if she had climbed a mountain. She laid Charlie back in the bed and pulled the blanket up over him again. He lay still, as if the effort had exhausted him. Almost straight away he was asleep.

Maggie’s smile was so wide it must have hurt her cheeks. She was too full of emotion to speak. She knew it was only the beginning.

Hester stayed with them. Slowly she went around the rest of the ward, checking on each child. There were another six. They were tired and thin, yet still far better than Charlie. Even Mike, the younger brother, was lying quietly and did not do more than stir and turn over when she touched his brow and then his arm. He looked more like three than four, but she knew that poor or sick children were often small for their ages.

An hour later she woke Charlie and, sip by sip, gave him another glass of water. Maggie helped. She refused to go back to her own bed, even though she was swaying on her feet with exhaustion. She agreed to sit down beside Hester, then at last, somewhere near dawn, she crumpled up and slid on to her lap, sound asleep.

About an hour later Hester laid Maggie gently into her own bed, and then went back to her own ward to tell them where she was and why. She retraced her steps carefully to find the children’s ward again, but before going in she looked for the nurse who should have been on duty there.

She tried all the nearby storerooms and cupboards, rooms with sinks, taps, and places for laundry and rubbish, but there was no sign of her. Either she had not come in in the first place, or she had been and gone again almost straight away. Had she been ill, lazy, or on some emergency of her own? Or simply an assignation? It wouldn’t be unheard of.

Unhappy and a little worried, Hester went back to the children’s ward. She looked carefully at each of them, then, satisfied for the time being, she slept on and off for what was left of the night.

By morning Charlie was sitting up and definitely feeling better. His eyes were still hollow but his skin was less papery, and he could take a cup of water in his hands and drink it himself.

Maggie was elated. She refused to listen to Hester’s warning that this was only a temporary respite. She stared at Hester solemn-eyed and said that she understood, but her joy burned in her like a flame and Hester’s words meant nothing. Charlie was not dying now, and that was all that mattered. Even Mike, awake and standing beside Maggie, clinging on to her hand, believed her, and regarded Hester as if she were a bright angel.

Hester stopped her struggle with reality and let them enjoy the idea of hope, for however long it might last.

It was still very early. The sky was paling at last and she needed to return to the ward where she was on duty.

‘Let Charlie sleep,’ she told Maggie. ‘And keep on giving him water when he’ll take it, but don’t waken him specially. And don’t forget to drink yourself. If he’ll take breakfast, then help him, but don’t insist. And all the rest of you must eat as well. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, miss,’ Maggie said earnestly. ‘You’ll come back, won’t yer?’ Now there was fear back in her eyes again.

‘Of course,’ Hester promised, but wondered how she was going to keep to it. As soon as Dr Magnus arrived she must see him. That meant staying longer than she had meant to, but her own family would simply have to understand.

Nurse O’Neill met her the moment she was through the door of her own ward. She was an imposing woman, young and quite handsome in an individual way. Now she was angry and made no attempt to conceal it.

‘What on earth are you thinking of?’ she demanded, hands on her hips. Her fairish hair was coming out of its pins and she looked exhausted. Her sleeves were rolled up crookedly and there were stains of blood and spilled water over her white apron front. ‘There’s only been me and Mary Ann here! They don’t pay you to sneak off and find somewhere to go to sleep! I don’t care what you did all day; you’re meant to be here and on duty all night, just like the rest of us.’

Hester’s heart sank. She knew what was the matter with Sherryl O’Neill. She expected to lose patients – this was a ward of desperately ill men – but she still could not bear it. Each death was a defeat and she took it personally.

‘We lost Hodgkins,’ Hester said quietly, assuming the worst. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

‘No we didn’t!’ Sherryl blinked furiously but the tears ran down her cheeks anyway. ‘He’s still alive. God knows how. No thanks to you.’

Hester waited, confused.

‘Wilton,’ Sherryl filled in the silence. ‘He took a sudden turn for the worse and there was nothing I could do. You should have been here!’ Again the accusation was harsh.

Hester understood. Unexpected loss cut especially deep. It made you realise all over again how little control you had. Victory could turn to defeat in an instant. They had all felt certain that Wilton was recovering.

‘What happened?’ she asked, dreading the answer.