Pattern of Shadows (26 page)

When Mary next struggled to consciousness it was to the clatter of clogs on the pavement followed by the urgent thwack of wood on glass as the ‘knocker-upper’ made his way from house to house, hoarsely calling to wake those men who were on early shift in the mine.

She listened to the twang of bedsprings through the thin wall and her mother’s stumbling descent down the stairs. ‘Oh Mam,’ she whispered. Jean was right: there had to be a way to stop her drinking; they couldn’t carry on like this

The water pipes rattled as Winifred banged the kettle against the tap in the scullery and Mary listened to the tank gurgling in the loft above her for what seemed the hundredth time in the last six weeks.

Six weeks! It had been six weeks since she was raped
by Frank, six weeks since his death. And the police were no nearer to finding out who’d killed him. Every time Mary thought about it her stomach churned. Did she want them to find out: what would the truth be? She just wanted all the worry to go away.

The doctor had said she could go back to work on light duties in a fortnight, but how could she leave her mother like this, drinking day and night? Mary flung the sheet off her and lay with her hands by her sides. But she needed to get back to work, back to Peter; to see the look in his eyes when he first saw her again, to know that he didn’t blame her for the rape and that he wouldn’t turn away from her.

She curled up and buried her face in the pillow, smothering the hot rush of tears. She wouldn’t think about that. Think about what to do about her mother.

But her mind was in a whirl, her mother wasn’t the only person to be dealt with. She had to sort things out with her brothers. She lifted herself up onto her elbows. She’d go to see Tom first; she hadn’t been able to see him since Iori died, since his escape, since her … attack. His whole life had fallen apart and despite all that had happened to both of them and all the letters she’d sent, the only contact she’d had from him had been that one short note. It wasn’t like him. He was her big brother, the one who looked after her, who shared her secrets. She should have gone to see him as soon as he came out of solitary, before Patrick got to him.

Mary rested her chin in her hands, hardly breathing; why had that thought come to her? She frowned, trying to work out why she was so suspicious of Patrick, why she couldn’t believe he’d visited Tom to see if he was all right. Because it wasn’t like him, that’s why, she told
herself; he’d resented Tom all his life, he wasn’t going to start caring now. So why? She sighed and gave up – it was all too much. There was so much to worry about: Peter, Mam, Tom, Patrick. And Ellen. She wondered if Tom had written to Ellen offering his help before Iori died. And if he had done, would that have changed her mind about keeping the baby? But of course that didn’t matter now. Everything was different.

The misery in the letter she’d received from Ellen was stark and desperate. The baby was due anytime in the next week, Ellen was adamant she would sign her rights to the baby away and then she wanted to come home. True to form, in her reply to Mary’s letter that told her everything that had happened, she hadn’t mentioned anything about Frank’s death or what he’s done to Mary.

Mary shrugged. Perhaps Ellen couldn’t cope with anything other than her own problems right now. Perhaps afterwards they would talk. Mary slowly sat up, an idea forming. Ellen would need something to take her mind off everything. For the first time in her life Mary put herself first. She’d written back immediately telling her sister she’d be welcomed with open arms. Now Mary realised Ellen could be the answer. Even if she couldn’t do much at first, she’d be home. Mary refused to listen to the inner voice that had always guided her, that automatically told her she was being selfish. Her desperation to see Peter pushed everything else to one side. Ellen’s presence would solve everything. She could look after the house and their mother.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood up and wrapped her dressing gown around her. She’d go down and talk to Mam, sort everything out once and for
all, try to find out properly why her mother was drinking so much, make her see that it wasn’t the answer to her misery.

Now she’d made the decision she felt better than she had for weeks.

‘I want to come back to work, Matron. I know you’re short staffed. Jean, Staff Nurse Howarth, has told me you are, especially as she’s now finished work, with the baby due in a few weeks. She said there’s been chaos in the camp.’

‘Not in my hospital, Sister,’ Matron said sharply.

‘No, I didn’t mean that. She said since Germany surrendered in Berlin and the prisoners were shown the films of those horrible concentration camp places that have been all over the news, there’s a lot of unrest in the compound and fights.’ Mary shrugged. ‘I just want to help. I want to get back to work. Please Matron.’

Matron smiled at her. ‘I appreciate what you are saying, Sister, but are you well enough? We’ve lost all the German orderlies; they’ve either been transferred to other places or given work outside the camp. The nurses, even the Ward Sisters, have to do a lot of the heavy work themselves. I doubt you’re up to that yet. You’ve lost a great deal of weight and you are looking rather flushed. Have you exerted yourself today? Did you walk here?’

‘No, I came on the bus. Honestly, Matron I’m fine.’ Mary had caught a glimpse of Peter as she’d passed the
ward and her heart was still thumping. ‘I’d be an extra pair of hands. I want to get back to work. My sister comes home tomorrow. She’ll look after my mother.’ Mary hoped she didn’t sound as frantic as she felt. She had to be where Peter was. It had been so long since they’d spoken. Even a snatched conversation here or there was better than nothing; was something to hold on to. And any guilt she felt for leaving Ellen with their mother was balanced against the hope that her sister would make Mr Brown stop bringing his bottles of wine into the house every day.

‘Ah yes, your sister. She’s been working away? Is she back for good?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She’s fine, Matron.’

Mary really did think her mother was trying to cut down on her drinking since they’d had that first talk. Of course it helped that Mr Brown had been away, staying with his son in Birmingham, but at least Mary understood a little of why she drank so much.

‘I’m lonely Mary,’ Winifred said, hugging the beaker of tea. ‘I miss your father.’

‘I know that Mam but Dad was such a bully.’ Mary said, her forehead furrowed in puzzlement. ‘And you’re free to do what you want now.’

‘That’s just it, love. I don’t know what I want,’ Winifred said. ‘I’ve done what’s been expected of me for so long I don’t know what I want now. I suppose, if I think about it, it’s not so much that I miss your father as I miss being needed. Even if no one noticed what I did.’ Fat tears plopped on to her hands as she drank. ‘I thought that after
what happened to you, you’d need me but you don’t. Jean and Patrick have taken over. And Ellen … she could have stayed at home, kept the baby. I’d have helped her to look after it. My first grandchild, Mary, and it’ll be brought up God knows where by God knows who.’ She brushed the tears off her face with the back of her hand. ‘And Tom … I miss Tom. Every time I think they’ll let him out he seems to do something they can pounce on; something that lets them keep him in.’ She put her beaker on the table and looked at Mary, her eyes bleak. ‘No one needs me, I’m no use to anyone.’

‘That’s not true.’ Mary grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘That’s not true, Mam. We all know how much you did for us. It’s just different at the moment, but in our own way we still need you. I have to get back to work, we need the money, so you’ll have to keep the house ticking over; look after things like you used to. And once Tom and Ellen get back you’ll feel better. And then there’s Patrick and Jean’s baby coming soon, they’ll be glad of some help then.’

‘Happen,’ Winifred sighed, ‘happen.’

‘I want you to be the Mam we used to have. I know you’ve always liked the odd tipple, and heaven knows you deserved it with all you had to put up with, but it’s too much now. You’re drinking too much, love, and you know it.’

‘Aye, I know you’re right. It’s just so hard.’

‘Just try, eh Mam, just try.’

‘I will, love. For you Mary, I’ll try.’

And Winifred had. But, as Mary reminded herself, Mr Brown was away.

‘So, if you’re sure you’re ready?’

‘I am, Matron. Thank you.’

‘Well, I’m sure we can find plenty for you to do.’ She tapped a pencil on her desk, giving one last sharp rap before she said, ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking but there is something else. Private Shuttleworth.’ The unexpected mention of his name sent a shock through Mary. ‘Because he was a guard here the police informed the Camp Commandant as to what happened and he received a copy of the Coroner’s Inquest for the records. It must have been dreadful for you and as far as the Commandant and I are concerned that is an end to the matter, except there is something I have to ask. I’m aware it must be a painful subject for you.’ She hesitated.

Mary swallowed and clenched her hands behind her back. ‘Yes Matron, it is. But, please, if you have anything to ask?’

‘I believe your brothers have been subsequently questioned? Hospital gossip, I’m afraid, Sister, but I need to know there will be no distractions from your work, if you come back. Were any charges brought?’

‘No.’ Mary frowned. Matron had plainly heard about Tom’s escape, why otherwise did she ask about both of them? Well, she’ll get nothing from me, she thought. ‘They were cleared of being involved in any way.’ She didn’t think it necessary to tell Matron that she’d been refused her last prison visit to Wormwood Scrubs, with no good reason given. Or that Detective Yeats had actually told Mary that his men had more to worry about than the death of a rapist; they had their hands full dealing with the riots caused by the resentment of soldiers returning from the war, jobless, and seeing German POWs working on the
building sites and roadworks in Bradlow. Investigations into Frank’s murder were on hold and unlikely to be reopened.

‘Well then, if you’re sure you’re ready, Sister Howarth, I’ll be very glad to see you back on the ward. But not for another week or so.’ She held up a hand as Mary started to speak. ‘That’s my final word, Mary. It will give you more time to recover; you’ve been through a lot. So, I will see you on,’ she consulted her calendar, ‘the seventeenth. Start you on days.’

‘I would prefer night shift, Matron.’

‘Give it a little time to get adjusted and then let’s see, Sister.’

Outside Matron’s office Mary grimaced. Another week!

Peter was waiting in the corridor, reading a bulletin on the notice board. He didn’t look at Mary as she walked towards him. ‘Good afternoon, Doctor Schormann,’ she said in a loud voice. ‘How are you?’

He turned towards her and clicked his heel. ‘Matron, she watches,’ he murmured.

‘I’ll see you next week,’ Mary whispered.

‘You are back?’

‘Yes. I love you. I have missed you so much.’

Peter raised his voice. ‘I am well. Fully recovered, thank you Sister.’ Then he muttered. ‘She is gone. I too have missed you. And I love you,
mein Geliebter
.’ Their hands brushed as Mary walked on. He’d met her gaze, his eyes hadn’t wavered and they’d told her everything she needed to know.

Mary had been watching Peter all morning. This was the second time she’d seen him since she came back to work two days ago and he was different somehow. What if she’d got it wrong last week? What if he did think she was partly to blame for what Frank did to her? Her skin prickled. ‘Is there something wrong?’ She collected the notes from ward round off the trolley and joined Peter, who was sitting at her desk, filling out forms.

‘It is nothing.’

Mary shuffled the files, pretending to put them in order. ‘Is it me? Do you feel differently about me?’ She made herself sound calm. ‘Is it us? Has someone said something?’

Peter sighed and looked past her at the other nurses on the ward. He spoke quietly. ‘No, it is not us. I have received threats from … certain people; about something that I wrote in the
Wochenpost
.’

Mary balanced the notes on top of the filing cabinet and began to search through them. They didn’t look at each other.

‘While you were … ill, not here, we were shown some films of the KZs, the concentration camps. Those poor people; their suffering.’

Mary stopped filing. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘I’ve heard it on the radio, read about them in the papers. It’s horrible.’

‘For weeks I was unable to remove them from my mind. I could not sleep. The creatures that carried out such horrific crimes are not part of the Germany I know and love. They are a cancerous growth. I needed to say how much, as an honourable German, I am ashamed. But
my writing has caused harm to others. There have been beatings of those who dared to agree with what I wrote.’

‘The Nazis?’

He moved his head slightly.

‘So, it is the Nazis who are threatening you?’

‘Ja. They are young SS thugs. I care nothing for politics but they seek to weaken my position as
Lagerführer
; show others that I cannot protect them.’ He spread his fingers. ‘That I am unable to make sure they are looked after by the authorities here. They are determined to demonstrate what will happen if anyone dares to oppose their doctrines.’

‘You must report them.’

‘I cannot. It will make things worse.’

‘Then I will.’ Mary opened a drawer and began arranging the files in the compartments. ‘As a doctor you are part of this hospital and you are entitled to protection.’

‘No, please Mary. You must not draw attention to yourself. It is dangerous for you. Your people …’

‘I’ll not stand by and see you beaten like some of those poor beggars in there,’ Mary interrupted, waving her hand towards the ward.

‘You must not. You will put yourself in danger.’ Peter watched a nurse walking down the ward towards the office. ‘Staff Nurse Lewis is coming. Please, Mary, say nothing, for your own sake.’ He stood up. ‘And there are too many of the SS. If one or two are sent away, there are others to replace them.’ He moved away from Mary’s desk. ‘I must get back to camp, to my other duties.’

‘Be careful!’

‘I will, but I must also do what I can to prevent more beatings. I have to reassure the others, tell them, as you
say, to keep their heads down.’

When Hilda Lewis walked into the room he inclined his head and snapped his heels together.

‘Is everything all right, Sister Howarth?’

‘Fine.’ Mary returned her gaze. She thought back to the last conversation she’d had with the woman. Since she’d returned to work she’d avoided her. From what the other girls said she’d become even more insufferable since her promotion. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘I just wondered.’ Hilda Lewis hovered by the door. ‘We haven’t spoken since you came back and I just wanted to say I was so sorry to hear what happened. It was dreadful. I was shocked. I do hope it was nothing to do with what we’d spoken about?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember.’

‘Oh surely you must. I told you … about the conversation I heard.’

‘You
thought
you heard, Staff.’

‘I know I heard, Sister. So I wondered …’

‘Instead of wondering, Staff, you would make better use of your time if you supervised the second Urea Concentration Test on the patient admitted this morning. We need to see if his kidneys are working as they should.’ That should keep her busy for a while, Mary thought. ‘I have to leave the ward for a few minutes. I’m taking some notes to Matron.’

As she left Mary could almost feel the hatred that Hilda Lewis was directing at her back.