A Nurse's Duty (55 page)

‘I’ll get your dinner,’ she said and Patrick didn’t notice how pale she was, how she trembled, because he didn’t look at her. He ate the jellied cow’s heel she put before him and went back to his seat by the fire where he sat, staring into the flames.

It was the following week when the letter came from Robert. Just a brief, formal note saying he hoped the enclosed reference was suitable for her purpose.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I’M SURE YOU
are a very good and experienced nurse,’ said Matron. She looked across the desk at Karen, her shrewd eyes taking in the younger woman’s neat blue dress which came down modestly over her knees in spite of the current fashion for shorter skirts. ‘Doctor Richardson seems to think highly of your abilities. But we don’t usually take on married women, especially ones with children. They have too many home commitments and sometimes these have to come first, naturally. I’m sorry, Mrs Murphy, I would like to help you but –’

‘I would take anything.’ Karen was anxious enough to interrupt, something to which hospital Matrons were not accustomed. But Karen was past caring about hospital etiquette. After all her hopes, she could see her chances of a nursing job disappearing. ‘My children are not a problem, Brian is at school and Jennie soon will be. And … and I have help at home, someone to look after them if they are ill.’ If Matron thought she meant female help, well, why disillusion her? Nick was good with the children and Patrick was there most of the time.

‘I would have to ask my Board, and to be honest I think it would be a waste of time. I’m sorry, Mrs Murphy, I’m afraid I have to say no. It’s a pity, I need an experienced nurse but there it is.’

Karen rose to her feet, disappointment rising in her throat like bile. ‘Thank you, Matron. I understand of course,’ she said and turned for the door.

‘Have you considered private nursing?’ Matron’s question stopped her in her tracks. Private nursing? Surely a private nurse
had
to live in the patient’s house, at their beck and call both day and night? But nevertheless she sat down again.

‘Private nursing?’

Matron leafed through the papers on her desk until she found the one she wanted. ‘I’ve had a letter from Mr Whitfield at the Manor. He needs a relief nurse for his wife who suffers from rheumatoid arthritis. Just one afternoon and evening per week and alternate Thursdays. The household used to manage between them when the regular nurse was off-duty but now he feels they need a trained nurse at all times. What do you think? I will recommend you if you think you can do it.’

Karen didn’t hesitate. ‘Oh, yes, Matron, I can do it. Thank you very much.’

Picking up Brian from school and travelling back up the dale with him on the bus, Karen was filled with trepidation. She had the job, starting from the following Thursday, and she would be paid seven and sixpence a week. Seven and sixpence for twenty hours work! It was magnificent, a life-saver. But would Patrick think so? Yes, he would, she told herself, once he realized what a difference it made to their standard of living. She murmured in admiration at the picture of Floss rounding up sheep which Brian had crayoned and replied to his chatter absentmindedly, her thoughts still full of how courteous Mr Whitfield had been and of the large, low-ceilinged rooms at the Manor, full of polished oak and cavernous fireplaces. And of Mrs Whitfield, lying in a huge bed barely able to move of her own volition. It would be pleasant working there, she thought. With just the one patient she would be able to give her best.

After leaving the bus, Brian ran on ahead down the lane, eager to show Nick the picture he had done of Floss. Karen followed more slowly, trying to marshal her arguments for taking the job. She would confront Patrick with the news at once, she decided.
He
was taking the flock out on to the low fell this afternoon now that the snow had gone. She would give the children their tea and then go up to meet him and tell him in the privacy of the open fell. Changing into her rubber boots, for the ground was boggy after the melting of the snow, she covered her dress with the decrepit old macintosh she wore for her outside chores in wet weather and set off. At least the daylight hours were lengthening, she thought, there was plenty of time before dark.

It was Floss who saw her first, as she closed the last gate and began to climb on the open ground. The dog came rushing down to her, tail wagging and tongue lolling, her whole body showing her delight in seeing Karen. Patrick was more circumspect. He plodded down the bankside, his face unsmiling.

‘Floss! Here, Floss, heel!’

The dog’s tail dropped and she slunk back to her master, grovelling behind him when she got there. Karen stopped walking and waited for Patrick, her heart thumping. He questioned her with a look. It was a long time since she had come to meet him like this.

‘Hallo, Patrick,’ she said as he reached her and she fell into step beside him. She tried to think of the openings she had rehearsed but her mind just went blank so she came out with the news baldly.

‘I’ve got work, Patrick.’

He went on walking, not even turning his head to look at her, and she hurried after him.

‘It’s just part-time, private nursing at the Manor in Stanhope. Only one full day and one half-day.’

He had reached the gate by now and stopped walking. As he turned to face her she saw his grim expression. His eyes seemed to have changed colour to a slatey grey and there was a thin, white line round his mouth.

‘You took a job after I told you not to?’

Karen flinched. His words were mild enough and he didn’t raise his voice at all but his tone cut her with its venom. ‘Patrick,
it’s
for the best, you’ll see it is. I’ll have seven and sixpence a week, for only twenty hours. Think what we can do with the money. And Nick will watch out for Jennie, and Brian’s at school. We need to build up our reserves, Patrick, you know we do. Even if you get work on the roads again this summer, we need every penny we can get.’

‘We will manage. You can go back to Stanhope today and tell them you’ve changed your mind, you can’t do it.’

‘I can, Patrick, I can. You’ll see, we’ll manage fine –’

‘If you don’t tell them, I will go myself and tell them for you.’

Karen bridled. ‘Oh no you won’t! You have no right to do that. I’m going to at least try to do this job, even if it only lasts a few months. But I’m going to do it, Patrick. Mind what I say, I am.’

‘I tell you, you will not!’

‘And I say I will!’

They stood face to face, their voices rising until Karen was practically shrieking out her defiance. ‘I am a trained nurse, it’s lunacy not to take advantage of the fact when we are so hard up. It will be ages before we get any return on the farm and Nick has just his pension. And you, what are you trained for?’

‘Shut your mouth, woman, or by Jesus I’ll shut it for you! It’s for me to go out to work, not you.’

He towered over her, his hand raised, but she was too furious to back down now.

‘Go on, hit me, that’s all you’re good for. You’re trained for nothing, nothing useful at all. Why, Nick with his one hand is more use –’

She stopped, appalled at what she had said. Stepping back, she stared up at him, expecting him to knock her down and knowing she deserved it if he did. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.’

Patrick lowered his hand and smiled a bitter smile. ‘No, you’re right. What good am I? I’m not man enough to support my family, my wife has to go out to work because I’m not trained for
anything
. Nothing except one thing. Perhaps I’d be better off going back to that – if they’ll have me, that is.’ He strode off down the bankside at such a pace that he rapidly put a distance between them.

Karen stared after him. Oh, God, dear God, tell me I didn’t say those things to him, she prayed, closing her eyes tightly and lifting her face to the darkening sky. A slight rain had begun to fall, icy spring rain which numbed her cheekbones and mingled with her tears. His last words repeated themselves in her ears. He was going to leave her. Her worst nightmares had come true and she had done it all herself.

But no, it would be all right. All she had to do was run after him, catch up with him, convince him that she hadn’t meant what she had said, she had been off her head. She loved him, he loved her, of course he did. She began to run, slipping and sliding on the wet grass, falling down on her hands and knees and struggling back to her feet.

‘Patrick!’ she shrieked. ‘Patrick! Come back, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t! I love you, Patrick.’ She sobbed out the words, gasping and crying as she ran. In the end, she was barely breathing them for her breath had gone altogether, taken by the effort of running across the uneven ground, falling over ruts made by the melting snow and trodden into jagged heaps by the sheep. A pain in her side intensified and she doubled up, falling to the ground, but after a few minutes of desperately trying to catch her breath she started again. Patrick was long out of sight by now. As she neared the farm there was no sign of him. There was only Nick, followed by the children, coming out of the hen house, locking the hens in for the night, Brian importantly sliding the wooden bar into its slots and looking to him for approval.

‘Missus?’ Nick saw her distress as she opened the gate to the yard and stumbled across to them.

‘Where’s Patrick? Has he gone? He hasn’t gone, has he, Nick?’

‘Nay, missus, I don’t know. He’s in the house, isn’t he? By, you’re in a state, just look at you, covered in clarts. Has something happened, is somebody chasing you?’ He snatched the bar from the door of the hen house and strode over, gazing behind her up the fell, holding the piece of wood like a club. Brian ran to his mother, taking her hand and gazing up into her tear-streaked face in alarm.

‘You’re crying. What for, Mam? Why are you crying?’ he asked. He looked at the mud on her skirt and the old mackintosh. ‘Did you fall down, Mam?’

Jennie, still standing by the hen house, put her thumb into her mouth and stared fearfully. ‘Mam, I’m frightened,’ she wailed.

With a great effort of will, Karen tried to speak normally to calm the children. She seized on the excuse provided by Brian.

‘It’s all right, no, there’s no one after me, no one at all. I just tripped up on the fell and hurt my knee. It’s nothing, I’m all right now. It knocked the wind out of me, that’s all. Now go and help Nick while I speak to your daddy.’

She bent down and kissed Brian’s forehead and scooped Jennie up and hugged her. The little girl stopped crying.

‘Is there baked potatoes for supper?’ she asked, her fright of the minute before forgotten. ‘Can I have butter on mine? I like butter better than cheese, Mam. Can I have butter?’

‘Yes, you can. Now be a good girl and go with Nick.’

Nick looked searchingly at Karen, aware that there was more to her distraught appearance, but he said nothing, merely taking the little girl’s hand and leading the way to the stable.

‘Howay, Brian,’ he said. ‘You can help me with the pony. And Jennie can look for eggs in the corners. I’m sure one of the hens is laying away, she’s looking broody.’

‘Thank the Lord for Nick,’ breathed Karen as she sped into the house and took off her mackintosh and rubber boots in the scullery. ‘Patrick? Patrick, are you there?’ she called as she went
through
to the kitchen, but the room was empty, the fire in the grate burned down to white ash and black cinders. She ran up the stairs and searched every room, even the attic, not believing that he had gone. Downstairs, she looked in the cupboard under the stairs and in the pantry, not even considering how foolish her searching was. Why should he be hiding?

In the end, she returned to the kitchen and sat down by the table, burying her head in her hands. After a while, she got to her feet and mended the fire with bits of twig and, when she had them ablaze, piled on pieces of coal from the dwindling store. She propped the metal blazer on the top bar and opened the back door so there was a draught and soon had the fire hot enough to boil the kettle and warm the oven for the potatoes. Then she washed the mud from her face and arms and changed her skirt, putting it before the fire to dry.

She would brush off the worst of the mud tomorrow, she decided. Strangely, her wild grief had subsided. All she felt now was a numb weariness.

She made the supper and fed the children and put them to bed. Nick came in and she forced herself to eat a baked potato filled with cheese and drink a mug of tea. Nick finished his off quickly.

‘He’s gone off to the pub again, has he?’ he ventured once. Karen nodded, her mouth full of potato which refused to go down her throat. She took a long swallow of tea and at last the potato went down. Sitting back in her chair, she held the mug in both hands, staring into the brown liquid.

‘Well,’ said Nick, ‘I half-promised Mr Bainbridge I’d go with him to the men’s meeting at Chapel.’

Karen looked up, slightly surprised. Nick rarely went out in the evenings. ‘Oh? Yes, well, you’d better be going then.’

Left on her own in the kitchen, she went over the row with Patrick, bitterly regretting her sharp tongue. Why on earth had she said what she did? Why couldn’t she have kept quiet? And why,
oh
why, couldn’t Patrick see that what she was doing was for them all? She sipped at her tea, feeling indescribably desolate.

Restlessly, she took the mat frame and began sorting through the bag of coloured clippings but she couldn’t settle to it. Giving it up, she put it away again and walked out into the dark yard, making her way over the cobbles to where she could see the rowan tree outlined against the sky. She stood for a few minutes, looking up the lane, but there was no bobbing lantern showing Patrick was coming home, only the blackness of the night. She shivered. There was a touch of frost in the air though it was coming up to summer. An early night, she thought, that’s what I need. Going back inside she went up to bed, lying stiff and unsleeping hour after hour. Every little sound from the night outside she thought was Patrick coming home. But there was no clip-clop of hooves, no whinny from the foal as its mother came home. After Nick came in there was only the hooting of an owl in the ghyll.