“
Where is the Fete held, Meg?
”
“
Why, outside, of course.
”
Margaret waved her arm to the lawns, which, Jessa suddenly noticed, were looking particularly trim. Probably old Bill had been giving the grass extra attention in preparation for the big event.
“
And the Ball?
”
she enquired.
“
I don
’
t know, but I expect we
’
ll soon discover.
”
At five to seven they joined the crowd making their way down to the second hall.
Jessa remembered the first time the pair of them had walked shyly along the passage. It had been, she recalled, with heightened colour, to attend a lecture by a certain Professor Gink. She remembered how, because they were new and did not want to intrude, they had chosen seats at the back. But now they were old hands—even if Nurse Gwen could not bring herself to allot them their rightful respect.
They crowded as near to the front as possible, as everyone else did. There was to be no formality, it appeared, for Matron Martha was already there and studying a long list. She waved them to be seated at once.
“
I
’
ve a lot to arrange,
”
she said.
Presently she rapped for silence, then announced sadly,
“
As I said last year, as I say every year, it seems a great pity to me that a place like the Lady Belinda should have need to seek for more funds. Yet unhappily this is so. We have a Government subsidy, and public support is good, but we still have not enough; with babies there
is
never enough.
“
In which case we must
make
enough, and the only way we can do it is the way most public institutions do it, or endeavor to do it, by raising money through a Ball and a Fete.
“
More of the Ball later. As you know, it is rather in the manner of a celebration But the Fete, as far as staff is concerned, is
plain hard work.
“
I have a list here of assignments. Some of you who were with us last year and proved your worth, monetarily anyway, on a particular stall have been re-allotted that stall. As for the rest of you, I have assigned positions which I consider you are best able to fill.
“
If you will file up after I
finish what I want to say, and a
fter you have asked any questions you wish, I shall tell you your fate.
”
Everyone giggled at the play on words, and Matron Martha permitted a small smile.
Nurse Dorothy asked about ward duty that day.
“
Whoever is rostered will work as usual, that is the only fair method. It is also,
”
added Matron feelingly,
“
quite often the best of the stick. A Fete is by no means a rest on a feather bed, and take my word.
”
She sighed.
Sister Judith suggested that the roster be announced soon so that the staff would know what was expected of them.
“
I have it now,
”
nodded Matron Martha.
“
The Fete being a very strenuous occasion, I have reserved its working activities mainly for the nurses, nurses presumably being younger
‘
so more energetic. However, as even with all its wearying properties it can still be quite entertaining, the house staff will be larger than usual to enable individuals to an hour
’
s break from the wards for afternoon tea and
”—
she smiled—
“
for spending their money.
”
One of the juniors asked whether they were to attend the stalls in their uniforms.
“
No,
”
said Matron Martha,
“
uniforms are for wards. You can wear what you think fit. Obviously, a lemonade attendant would do better in something washable.
”
She added feelingly,
“
I served on that counter once. Also, waitresses would need a pinafore.
”
Everyone giggled again.
“
But not,
”
said Matron,
“
a bibbed one embroidered L. B. Now any more queries?
”
“
The Ball, Matron Martha?
”
“
It will be held on the Saturday following the Fete. We have been kindly invited to hold it in the community hall of our neighbouring St. Hilda
’
s.
”
Matron looked round.
“
The halls here are not big enough.
”
“
Will those of us who are rostered that evening of the Ball work as usual?
”
“
No, a Ball is a different matter, I think. It is a matter of personal inclination. I believe you can scheme out among yourselves who and who will not attend. In this instance, though I frown upon it on other instances, I will not mind interchange of duty hours to suit each individual. I, of course,
must
attend.
”
Jessa looked at her speculatively.
“
Yes,
”
she thought,
“
and very grand you will look, too, Matron Martha, with your fine upstanding deep bosom in—now, let me see...yes, black lace.
”
Almost as though she had heard her, Matron Martha finished humorously,
“
I must give my yearly airing to my black lace.
”
She finished,
“
Any more questions?
”
There were none. The staff consulted
a
list as to who were working in the wards on the afternoon of the Fete, and those selected to work for the Fete lined up at Matron
’
s desk.
Jessa was behind Margaret, who was behind Nurse Gwen. She heard Nurse Gwen assigned to the Afternoon Tea, which apparently pleased her. No doubt, thought Jessa, she is seeing little tables of elegantly-gowned society people eating thin sandwiches and button scones and being photographed for the Sunday press. Perhaps she is even seeing a shot of herself serving them. Oh, yes, the Afternoon Tea will suit our Carabelle grad.
“
I think,
”
Matron Martha was saying to Margaret,
“
the Wishing Well would suit you admirably. It can be quite an irritating business—small children, you know, they take a tiresome time to fish out what they want—but you have always appeared to me to have the gift of patience.
”
“
Thank you, Matron Martha.
”
Having commended once, Matron Martha became businesslike again.
“
Next,
”
she snapped.
Jessa stepped up.
“
Oh
—”
said Matron, and looked down on her list, up
again, down again.
“
I
’
ve something special for you, Nurse Jess.
”
“
Me?
”
“
Yes. I suppose on your home island, your Crescent I
believe it
’
s called
—”
“
Yes, Matron Martha.
”
“
I suppose you meet up with a lot of fable and superstition, that sort of thing.
”
“
What do you mean, Matron
’
Martha?
”
“
I mean I need someone with imagination—if not so much imagination as coming from an unusual background like yours.
”
Jessa had a jumbled vision of a stall with island oddities on it
...
tribal warfare weapons
...
beads
...
grass skirts
...
that sort of thing, which on their strictly sub-tropical isle simply did not exist.
Then she thought with agitation,
“
Perhaps she has a sort of Honolulu idea of Crescent and will expect me to demonstrate the hula or something like that. If only she knew how different it all is!
”
But Matron Martha was saying,
“
Not quite the usual fortune-teller, Nurse Jess, I mean those ones with crystal balls or tea leaves or cards, but sand, I thought, a tray of sand, and you could have them, your patrons I mean, trail a finger through the sand and then read their fate through the lines imprinted, or rather pretend to, at five shillings a go. Fortune-telling can be a very profitable stall.
”
“
Oh, Matron Martha, I couldn
’
t.
”
Matron Martha looked at her with candid eyes.
“
It
’
s hard, I admit, Nurse Jess, but I really believe you could. I
’
ll leave everything to you, the arrangement, the manner you foretell, what you will wear... in this case I think perhaps a little island touch might not be amiss. But discreetly, of course.
”
Matron must be thinking of those hula skirts again.
Before Jessa could protest once more she snapped,
“
Next, please
—
Oh, you, Nurse Dorothy. You look a jolly person, how would you like the Aunt Sally
“
Jessa found herself hustled out of the queue.
Margaret appeared as satisfied with her Wishing Well assignment as Nurse Gwen with her Afternoon Tea.
“
I
’
ll enclose the gifts in attractive wrapping,
”
she decided.
“
They look much more interesting than in plain brown paper. What did you get, Jessamine?
”
“
Fortune-teller. I believe Matron Martha must believe every Pacific island is a hot spot for magic.
”
“
Well, isn
’
t it? I mean there
is
something magic at Crescent, isn
’
t there?
”
For a moment Margaret
’
s eyes dreamed.
Jessa would have wondered over that dreaminess had she not had other things on her mind, worrying things as to how one went about telling fortunes in the sand.
I must brown myself with bottled sun-tan, she planned
—
years in the sun had only ever achieved Jessa a scatter of freckles—and wear an hibiscus or an oleander in my hair, and of course, a floral lei, and bracelets, oodles of bracelets, and perhaps an anklet as well. What will I call myself? Sybil? The Oracle? The Island Sorceress? No, just Oleander, and I
’
ll decorate the tent with oleanders, and tell Ba to fetch over a few conchi shells and coloured coral.
For all her doubts as to her ability, the prospect became quite fascinating.
She was still planning little details as she and Margaret climbed the stairs to bed.
CHAPTER XVI
“
F
E
TE-FEVER
”
had taken possession of Lady Belinda.
It was a totally different fever, thought Jessa, from that of the Great Southern, where annually both women and men patients had thrown themselves into bazaar spirit with warm enthusiasm, eagerly competing against each other with beautifully fashioned wicker baskets, trays, dolls, felt animals, intricately embroidered cloths.
There it had seemed, in spite of the personal competition, more a united effort, here it was individual, staff individual, because Belinda
’
s patients, unlike G.S.
’
s, certainly could not lend a helping hand.
Nurse Gwen, for instance, planned exclusively for her Afternoon Tea Tent, Margaret worked, with Belinda eventually in mind, perhaps, but before Belinda her stall, or rather Well. And Jessa...
Jessa schemed from morning to night. Between feeding
Calypso, bathing Brains Trust, diapering Deb. Number One, she planned for
“
Oleander, the Pacific Oracle. Come and trace your fortune in the sand.
”
She had been lucky enough to find a helpful book in the hospital library.
“
Destinies, and how to foretell them,
”
obviously was a gift volume. Matron Martha would never have
chosen
it for inclusion in her library lists.
None of the enclosed destinies had been told through sand-reading, but Jessa learned by heart some of the patter
—
and also quite a few of the fates.
She estimated that she could recite six, at least, and when the six were up she could always start at the beginning again. It would be too bad if the same person patronized Oleander twice and received the same fortune. Or would it? It might only make the Pacific Oracle sound more genuine still.
“
Certain affairs are about to take place that will alter your career,
”
Jessa conned, deepening her voice to a husky base and imbuing it, she hoped, with mysticism.
“
Your path is about to be crossed by a member of the medical profession.
”
(If that patron was a Belinda trainee it could not fail to eventuate).
“
You will travel to strange places.
”
(A sure winner, this one).
“
A long journey will end with much joy.
”
In deference to Matron Martha she had decided against a grass skirt, but altered an old floral cotton to a modified sarong. It was longer than a native woman would have worn, she thought—at Crescent the native women only wore print dresses, neither grass skirts nor sarongs, so she was a little uncertain about correct length—but she knew a respectable sarong would please Matron, so she spared the hem.
She did not intend sparing the coral necklaces, however. She would pile them on. These, and a lei of flowers round her neck, and so many oleanders in her hair, heavily oiled, previously, to subdue its bright titian, and she should pass. Marquees, she had always found, seem to add atmosphere. She hoped she would create an atmosphere in the Pacific Oracle
’
s tent.
On the day before the Fete there was much coming and going in the grounds. The mood of festivity hung pleasantly
in the air.
Striped canvas was erected, stalls, benches, anything to form a rough counter. The moment one was completed a nurse claimed it and began to decorate and adorn.
Electricians arrived to make weird noises through loudspeakers. Jessa was feeding Slapsie when she heard,
“
One, two, three, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, can you hear me, Bill?
”
“
Yes, I can hear, Tom.
”
She winked at Baby Gerald Quentin, son of Judge Quentin, and was answered by a cool infant stare.
“
All right,
”
she told him back,
“
you may be a judge, too, some future time, but I can still have my bit of childish fun.
”
On the day itself no one bothered much about hospital meals. All sorts of exciting things were being piled on the Fete counters, hot dogs, doughnuts, cakes of all descriptions, ice-cream, coconut ice, fudge, apples on sticks.
Jessa started early on her transformation and she performed it in the bathroom. Over a bath, she thought, would be the only safe place to empty that bottle of tan. To her annoyance she had that fair skin that goes with auburn colouring, and she knew she must take pains if she was to darken herself convincingly.
And she did do it convincingly. She emerged halfway between a brown gipsy and a bronzed goddess. Her hair, three shades darker than usual with oil, was circled with a wreath of white oleanders, and when she walked her necklaces tinkled against each other and her anklet made a jangling sound.
It was a lovely day, a fitting day for the last of spring and the first fair entry of the crown of the year...a perfect day for the Fete.
Jessa ran across to her tent, pleased at the crowd outside Belinda gates waiting eagerly for the stroke of two when admission would begin.
She barely had time to put a finishing touch to her small enclosure when she heard chatter, laughter, the jingling of coins—that would be Nurse Joan collecting the entrance money—then steps and voices.
She peered cautiously out, taking care not to disarray her wreath of oleanders, and saw that already a mass of people were beginning to mill around. Small children were wasting no time in buying balloons and blow-outs, their older brothers and sisters storming the ice-cream and lemonade stall. Mothers had made a beeline to the jumble bench, fathers to try their skill on the Aunt Sally.
Then she saw that two figures were making shyly towards
“
Oleander, the Pacific Oracle. Come and trace your fortune in the sand.
”
She risked a disarray of the flowers in her hair and peered closer. She knew those two. She
should
do. She had given the girl a personal Cook
’
s Tour of the wards; she had given the boy the Perfesser to hold and a bottle to feed him from. She had contrived something to happen to them while they were prisoner patients in the hospital following the accident that had landed them
on the Belinda hedge. Jim and Jill Of course they would
recognize her, but just in case there was too much stardust in their young eyes, she ran back to her sand-tray on the floor, squatted by it in the least illuminating position, then bent with seeming absorption over her supposed source of mysticism.
When they coughed hopefully outside the flap, she called throatily,
“
Come in,
”
then
w
hen they did so she waved them to low stools on the other side of the tray.
“
The sands of time,
”
she intoned when they were settled, taking care not to raise her head,
“
await your tracing fingers. Come, mark your destiny, kind gentleman, fair lady, for sands too soon run out.
”
She was not sure whether she made much sense, but it sounded all right as it echoed mysteriously in the greenish gloom of the little tent.
The kids must have felt its quality, too, for Jilly gave a nervous giggle and Jim blew his nose.
“
Come,
”
Jessa said.
Obediently they traced, then Jessa shot out a brown finger
—
she had been careful to burnish her hands as well as her face, neck, shoulders and legs—and read their destiny.
“
I see earth, not sand,
”
she told them as one making a great discovery.
“
Why, it
’
s a block of land.
”
“
The lot we looked at last week,
”
gasped Jill to Jim, who said,
“
Ssh.
”
“
It
’
s bare flow, this land, but presently there will be a
house upon it, not a big house, but very pretty, very gay.
”
Jilly said,
“
Oh.
”
To please Jim, Jessa added,
“
I see also a car. In a garage by the house. Like the house, the car isn
’
t large.
”
“
Better petrol consumption,
”
mumbled Jim.
To please them both Jessa finished, believing they had had good return for their five shillings,
“
I see a perambulator
... I
’
m sorry I cannot tell you whether it
’
s a boy or gir
l.
”
“
It doesn
’
t matter,
”
beamed Jilly.
“
Either would do, and you
’
re still wonderful even though you can
’
t tell which.
”
Jim muttered,
“
I
’
ll say,
”
and they both scrambled up from the stools and went deliriously out.
“
Stardust,
”
grinned Jessa.
“
They
’
re positively blinded, those two dear kids.
”
The pair certainly had started something. From then on Jessa
’
s tent had a steady queue of fortune-seekers. For most of them she used the patter and the cribbed destinies, but now and then, as in the cases of Margaret and Sister Helen, her imagination broke through and she gave a very good five shillings worth.
Matron whipped in, but shook her head as Jessa waved her to a stool.
“
I may have suggested it, but that doesn
’
t mean I have to suffer it,
”
she smiled acidly.
“
I
’
ve come to tell you that I
’
ll stand by the tent while you have your afternoon tea. Here comes Nurse Gwen with it now. And, Nurse Jess, isn
’
t that Mother Hubbard a little brief?
”
“
It
’
s a sarong, not a Mother Hubbard, and it
’
s rather lengthy really.
”
Matron was not listening. She had gone to the flap to discipline the queue. Jessa heard her saying,
“
The Oracle will not be long, ladies and gentlemen, she is having a brief respite. Please be patient, because she is well worth your wait.
”
Jessa smiled and stuck out her chest.
Nurse Gwen, meanwhile, was looking superciliously at the sand tray and superciliously at Jessa.
“
At Carabelle Fete,
”
she informed her frostily,
“
we had a Doctor of Psychology giving psycho-analyses.
”
“
Has anyone complained at your tea-tables,
”
asked Jessa sweetly,
“
that your tea is stewed?
”
The patrons were admitted again. Between their destinies
Jessa had a peep and saw that the queue at last was dwindling.
About time, too, she thought, looking at her wrist-watch concealed under a grotto of leaves—an oracle should not need to consult a watch—and discovering that the Fete had only fifteen minutes to go. She tallied her takings and felt inordinately proud. She would not top the profit list, but she had done extremely well, considering hers was a one
-
woman show.
“
I
’
m your last customer, Madame Oracle,
”
announced a voice, and Jessa looked up quickly, feeling more insignificant than she had ever felt beside the bulk that was Professor Gink. This was because she was squatted on the ground and he was standing, of course. To make matters a little more even she waved the Professor hurriedly to a
stool
He sat down awkwardly, not knowing where to tuck his daddy-long-legs legs.
“
Do I cross your palm or something?
”
he asked, taking off his owl glasses and blinking at her.
“
You pay as you leave,
”
said Jessa in her ordinary voice, then in Oleander
’
s voice,
“
The sands of time await your tracing fingers. Come, mark your destiny, kind gentleman, for sands too soon tu
r
n
o
ut.
”
“
You mean doodle on the sand-tray?
”
blurted the Professor.
“
Well, I don
’
t mean on the canvas,
”
said Jessa crossly, not liking his interruption of her mood.
“
You must have read the sign
‘
Oleander, the Pacific Oracle. Come and trace your fortune in the sand.
’
”
The Professor looked apologetic and put out his long lean hand.
Jessa watched it. She watched the slender index finger trace a line. How often, she thought with a stab of emotion, had those clever fingers, that gentle hand, pulled a dying baby back to life?
She stared at the hand, fascinated. So thin yet so strong, the nails short, square and workmanlike in odd variance to the long pointer fingers.
“
I
’
m waiting, Oracle,
”
the Professor said.
Jessa bent over the sand, thinking of the destinies she had conned. Which one? she thought
...
“
Certain affairs are about to take place that will alter your career
”
...
“
You will travel to strange places
”
... or
... or...
Then suddenly a voice was quietly intoning. She knew it was hers because her lips were moving, though she had no feeling of thinking of, or mouthing, the words, they simply seemed to come, to be there She knew also that what she said had been cribbed from no library book because she was relating what she was seeing, actually seeing, on the little square of sand.
...
“
Longer sands than this, sir... wide sands, white sands, and beyond them a reef, a moon coming up, a big yellow moon... you are walking the sands, and there is a girl...
”
“
Yes? Yes, Oracle?
”
Jessa sat silent. The vision was still there... she could see it clearly... but how could you cry out to a man who could not possibly be interested in you,
“
And it
’
s
not
Margaret, it
’
s
I,
Jess,
Jess
”
?
“
Yes, Oleander?
”
The Professor
’
s voice was impatient. It snapped Jessa out of her trance.
“
A long journey,
”
she
s
aid in a discouraging monotone,
“
will end with much joy.
”
The Professor looked disappointed. He also looked a little piqued.
“
But
—”
he protested.
Jes
s
stood up.
“
Five shillings, please,
”
she demanded, and beg
an to remove the oleander wreath
.