Corridors of the Night (7 page)

Hamilton was busy making notes. He looked up, waiting.

‘Then he began to tire more easily. He tried to hide it, but I noticed.’ She went on to describe his gradual decline, pain naked in her face.

Hester listened as she described the pain, the unexplained bleeding he tried at first to conceal, then her horror when at last it was too much to hide from her.

‘He had once been so strong,’ she said. ‘So vibrant and passionate a man, a force few would dare to challenge. Now he is scarcely able even to feed himself, let alone fight the final battle without me by his side. I try to make myself hope, but I am beginning to fail in that. I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to believe he will recover.’

Hester could imagine it so clearly it was as if she had been in the room with them. What treatment had they tried? No doubt Rand would ask Miss Radnor all of that.

She went on listening as arrangements were made for Bryson Radnor to be brought to the hospital the following day. Hester watched Adrienne rise a little shakily, express her thanks yet again, and walk with dignity out of the office and down the corridor towards the way out. Refusing to accept the task of giving whatever assistance she could did not even enter Hester’s mind. It would still mean very long hours for her, but daytime rather than night. They would have people around to cover the nights, until Jenny Solway returned.

She went back to the ward and encountered Sherryl O’Neill at the door.

‘Where’ve you been?’ Sherryl demanded. ‘Angus McLeod’s much improved. I wanted to tell you. He’s asking for you. Sitting up!’ Her face shone with her pleasure at the news. McLeod had lost a leg and the wound had bled badly. For a while it had seemed beyond their ability to save his life.

‘He’s still pretty weak,’ Sherryl warned, falling in step with Hester as they moved between the beds, ‘but he’s full of hope.’ They exchanged glances, and Hester understood all that the other woman was not saying, as well. Nursing was moment to moment. One accepted the good and learned from it but took very little for granted.

‘I won’t be here tomorrow night,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s a new patient coming in. By the time I’ve finished with him, I think Jenny will be back. Thank you for your companionship.’

Sherryl looked startled, and then put out her hand with sudden warmth. ‘It was a pleasure. Some of your stories of the army made me realise how lucky I am to be here at peace, and yet I also feel as if I missed something.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Hester said with a lop-sided smile. ‘You’ll get plenty of other tasks.’

Hester went home immediately and tried to go to bed, since it was now early evening. But she had prepared herself to be on duty all night, and sleep was elusive. She lay still only so she would not disturb Monk beside her. She had not told him the reason for her change of duty. He had more than enough to worry about with the rearrangements necessary when Orme finally retired. He was pleased that she was working the same sort of hours as he was. At least they were together all night, a warmth and a sweetness that he valued more than he was willing to admit.

In the morning Hester was in Magnus Rand’s office when Adrienne Radnor arrived with her father. Hester looked at Radnor with intense interest and a pity she found it difficult to conceal. Nature had designed him to be a big man, physically imposing, but now he was gaunt. His broad shoulders and deep chest were painfully bony, his arms limp by his sides where he lay on the palet on which he had been carried. His powerful face, with its aquiline nose and wide, thin-lipped mouth, registered rage at this present dependence upon others for his mere ability to move from one place to another. He must have been magnificent in the days of his health.

Adrienne was at his side, far more soberly dressed than the day before. Her skirt was of a brown so dark as to be almost black and she wore a very plain blouse, which looked drab in the bright August sun that streamed through the office windows. But nothing would dull the burning colour of her hair.

The porters who had carried Radnor set him down on a long couch in the office frequently used for patients who were too unwell to walk. At a nod from Magnus they left, closing the door behind them.

‘Help me up!’ Radnor said to Adrienne, not even glancing at anyone else.

Hester was startled at his tone. It was an order, not a request.

Adrienne moved forward instantly. With a practised gesture she slipped her arm around his shoulders and eased him up.

Hester passed her two pillows to prop his body at a comfortable angle and stepped back. With a smile of tenderness Adrienne smoothed his hair, which was white but still thick.

He did not thank her. It was as natural and accepted as if he had done it himself.

Adrienne stayed beside him, but allowed Radnor to speak to Magnus without her appearing to be between them. Let no one imagine that Bryson Radnor was not still in charge.

Hester understood. She might have done the same. No one else would know what gratitude he might express when he and his daughter were alone, what private passion or despair she might be a silent witness to, what indignities she would pretend not to observe, yet he would always be conscious that she knew. The very ill have little privacy, even for the most intimate of things.

Radnor studied Magnus for several moments and seemed to be satisfied with what he saw. Magnus was an unassuming man. He had none of the arrogance of his elder brother, but he had the confidence of both education and practical success. And unlike Hamilton, he had patience.

Radnor nodded and inclined his head towards Hester. ‘Who is she?’ he asked, his question clearly still directed at Magnus.

‘One of Florence Nightingale’s nurses,’ Magnus replied without hesitation. ‘She was standing in for a friend, on night duty, but we have asked her to remain and look after you. We will find someone else to replace her in the ward.’

Radnor regarded Hester for only a moment longer, then nodded. ‘Good. You may begin.’

Before he would do anything further, Magnus had Hester make all the usual measurements and assessments of pulse, temperature, history of eating, drinking, digestion and elimination, patterns of sleep or lack of it, and such treatments as they had attempted, and their results.

Radnor told her grudgingly, and twice Adrienne stepped in to answer in his behalf. Hester accepted this, because it was not uncommon for people to find it awkward to answer such things to people they did not know, or more often in the presence of those they knew very well.

She assessed the answers with her own private marks on the notes to indicate where she doubted the truthfulness of them. She would explain later to Magnus what they meant. Dependence can make people hate those they depend upon. It could be a complex and exhausting relationship. Often it was better to be nursed by someone whose opinion does not matter to you.

Finally Radnor was in the room he would occupy for the next days, perhaps weeks, possibly even in which he would die. Hester suggested that Adrienne wait until he was settled, and then come to wish him goodbye, for the time being.

‘Oh, no,’ Adrienne said immediately. ‘I must come with him. I will make sure that everything is as he likes it.’

Hester stood in front of her on the threshold, and spoke quietly but firmly. ‘It was not a suggestion, Miss Radnor.’ She spoke very softly and with her back to Bryson Radnor. ‘We will look after him, and start treatment as soon as we can. You will be in the way. Please don’t argue. Time is important.’

Adrienne hesitated. The fear in her eyes was momentarily undisguised.

‘But he needs me!’ Her voice trembled. ‘You don’t understand . . .’

Hester was blunt. ‘Dr Rand will not proceed until all other people are out of the room. How long do you wish to hold him up?’

Adrienne let out a sigh. Then she took a step backwards.

Hester touched her gently on the arm. ‘We will do everything we can for him. Don’t lose hope.’

Adrienne nodded, the tears spilling over on to her cheeks.

‘Go home,’ Hester advised her. ‘It will be a while. We will send a message if there should be anything urgent.’

‘Can’t I wait . . . somewhere?’

‘Yes. But it is uncomfortable and you will be both tired and hungry.’

‘I don’t care!’

‘We do,’ Hester told her. ‘If Mr Radnor recovers, he will need you to be well and strong in order to nurse him back to full health. He will be in no position to look after you. This is a time to be strong.’

Very slowly Adrienne acquiesced. She turned and walked away, a stiff-shouldered solitary figure moving all the way down the hall until she was just a silhouette against the daylight, and finally disappeared.

Hester followed Radnor and Magnus Rand into the room that was to serve both as treatment theatre and bedroom as long as he needed it. The bed was ready and beside it was a large contraption, the top of it shoulder high. It was constructed largely of bottles and tubes held in exact place with clamps, springs and hinged metal arms.

Radnor stared at it, but if it alarmed him he hid the fact superbly. He made no comment as the porters lifted him on to the bed and then, on being told by Magnus that they were not needed any further, they excused themselves and left.

Magnus busied himself with the contraption.

Hester assisted Radnor out of his clothes and into a long, white nightshirt. She had done such a thing countless times before, usually to soldiers who were either very seriously wounded, or exhausted from debilitating disease such as typhus or cholera. She was used to bodily functions both natural and those produced by disease. She had seen men naked and in terrible distress. She had watched people die when there was no time to mourn. She knew that action could protect against the utter helplessness, and keep panic or despair at bay.

Bryson Radnor had never been assisted by a woman he did not know since he had left childhood behind. It embarrassed him, which made him angry, and yet he could not lift his own limbs to dress himself without her help.

She would like to have told him that he should feel no self-consciousness. She had no personal interest in him whatever. But that would have been unprofessional, especially in front of Dr Rand. Very possibly it was all an alternative to showing the fear that must be flooding his every thought at the moment. She was alive and well. He was dying. Those were the only facts that mattered.

She was gentle with him, averting her eyes where practically possible. When he was ready and the sheets pulled up to his chest, only his shoulders and arms above them, she stepped back and made room for Magnus to begin.

Hester looked at Radnor. His face was totally calm and he stared back at her coldly, almost contemptuously. Only his almost skeletal hands on the sheet in front of him gave him away. They were locked rigidly, the rope-like blue veins standing out.

‘I will begin in a moment,’ Magnus told him. ‘I have to take a small amount of blood from you. I will look at it, then as soon as I am certain, I will prepare. It must all be fresh, and absolutely clean, you understand? Do not move.’ He did not wait for Radnor to reply, but turned away from him to Hester. ‘Mrs Monk, the syringe, if you please.’

Hester passed him the long, thin needle with its tiny clear glass tube on the end. She was familiar with it only as it was used to give medicine directly into the bloodstream, or as had proved so tragically fatal, opium in its most virulent form.

Very carefully Magnus took Radnor’s arm, bent it at the elbow and then felt for the vein. It took him several moments to find it to his satisfaction. He sank the needle into it.

Radnor winced, but the movement was so slight Hester, watching his face, barely saw it.

Magnus pulled the handle of the syringe back very slowly. The glass tube filled with blood so lacking in the dark red of health that he needed no more than half the instrument full to satisfy his need for knowledge. The last shred of doubt vanished. Bryson Radnor was dying of the white blood disease.

Magnus removed the needle and pressed a piece of surgical lint over the mark. ‘Mrs Monk, will you come and assist me to prepare the equipment?’

Hester followed him out of the room and into the next one from it. She stared at the pale blood in the glass tube that Magnus had drawn from Radnor, the knot inside her stomach clenched tight.

‘I want you to go back and explain to Radnor what I am going to do,’ Magnus said gravely, as if he had not noticed her emotion. ‘I will put another needle into his arm. It will remain there for the best part of an hour, or possibly even longer. He must keep calm, and on no account remove the needle. You will watch his progress closely. See that his temperature is steady, and his heart rate. If he becomes feverish, nauseous, clammy, or has difficulty in breathing then we will stop immediately. It will mean that the treatment will not succeed. Have I explained myself clearly, Mrs Monk? Do you understand your duty?’

She hesitated. She wanted to argue, tell him that she did not know what the treatment was, but she knew that she had no right to know. It was experimental, but Radnor had little to lose. Untreated, the disease would kill him within weeks.

‘Are you going to explain it to Miss Radnor?’ she asked.

Magnus turned away and concentrated on what he was doing. His powerful short-fingered hands were absolutely steady. ‘The scientific side is my concern, Mrs Monk. I find people . . . difficult. I rely on you to take care of his fears, or . . . or apprehension. And there may be a great deal. Some patients have a feeling that amounts to dread. It is a symptom that the treatment is failing.’

‘I can’t explain what I don’t understand,’ she said with rising alarm.

‘You don’t need to,’ he replied, trying to sound reasonable, but his impatience showed through the thin veneer of courtesy. ‘Just keep him calm. I’ve watched you. You are good at it. You like people. To me they are –’ he shook his hand as if to brush away flies – ‘cases! I am trying to heal them. I have to look at their bodies, think rationally, disregard fear or pain, except as they are symptoms of their disease. Pity is natural, but it is of no use to me. Just do your job, Mrs Monk. Keep the man calm, steady, as unafraid as possible. If you do not do that, I cannot help him. Do you understand?’ He stared at her for a moment, his hands still, the contraption, the jars and bottles forgotten.