Corridors of the Night (6 page)

‘We can get those too,’ Hester said reasonably, but knowing she was being totally unreasonable. ‘But we’ll start with paint, one tin at a time.’

Squeaky sat down hard and accidentally scattered half a dozen sheets of paper, sending most of them on to the floor. ‘Paint!’ he howled. ‘And who’s going to use it? You?’

‘No, of course not,’ Hester said sharply.

‘That’s what I thought!’ Squeaky agreed. ‘No! Absolutely not. There’s no money. No . . . money!’

She knew it was time to give in. ‘I know. That isn’t the point, Squeaky. I want Worm occupied. He needs to have something to do that’ll keep him busy all the time. Claudine is going to stand in for me while I’m busy at the hospital. She hasn’t time to worry about Worm . . . and she will do. You know that as well as I do. I’m not having him running off and us all wasting time looking for him, thinking something’s happened to him.’

‘Oh.’ Squeaky stared hard at her. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘I . . .’ She looked at him and wondered why she had not told him plainly. He was almost impossible to deceive, and why did she want to save him fear? Did he really care about one more urchin off the river-bank? Perhaps he did, but he would have his teeth pulled out one by one before he admitted it.

‘I didn’t think you would agree with me,’ she finished.

‘I don’t!’ he said savagely. ‘But I suppose I’ll do it anyway. One tin of paint at a time – no more! I should teach him how to read. Then he’d really be of some damn use!’

‘An excellent idea,’ Hester agreed. ‘But paint the doors first. Let him help you, not you helping him. He mustn’t run away.’

Squeaky stared at her.

‘Can you imagine how Claudine will feel if something happens to him?’ she added quietly.

Suddenly his face softened. ‘We’ll keep him busy,’ he promised. ‘Now get out of my office.’

Hester smiled. ‘Thank you.’

JUST BEFORE she began her evening duty Hester called in at Magnus Rand’s office to ask about Charlie. It was barely dusk outside and the room still held the glow of sunset as if the light were trapped in the covers of the books where the leather was polished with use.

Magnus looked worried. The lines were deep between his fair brows and he stared at Hester for a moment before he could recall her name.

‘Yes, Mrs Monk? What is it?’

‘Charlie,’ she answered. ‘The boy in the wing with the other children. How is he?’ She kept her voice light, but there was insistence in it. She intended to have an answer.

His expression cleared. ‘Ah . . . yes. He is much improved. I have recommended beef tea and as much bread and butter as he will take. Thank you for helping him.’ He smiled as if that were the conclusion of the interview.

‘And Maggie?’ she pressed.

‘Who?’ His frown returned.

‘The little girl, his sister.’

‘Oh, yes. There is nothing wrong with her. A bit sickly, but she has probably never had enough to eat in her life. Don’t worry about her, Mrs Monk. Please return to your regular duties.’ He looked down at the page he had been writing on. Hester turned to leave, not satisfied but aware that he would tell her no more. She would have to catch up on individual patients from Sherryl O’Neill.

As she reached the hallway she came almost face to face with a very elegantly dressed young woman of about her own height, but several years younger, perhaps just into her thirties. She was handsome. Her hair was thick and a rich, unusual shade of auburn. Her features were regular, but currently marred by an extreme anxiety.

She made a little exclamation of surprise and gasped an apology.

Hester smiled at her. ‘Can I help you?’ she offered.

The woman looked at Hester’s plain blue-grey dress and the white apron around her waist with its bib extending up to where it was pinned just above her bosom.

‘You are a nurse?’ she asked, although she had clearly reached her own conclusion.

‘Did you wish to speak to Dr Rand?’ Hester enquired gently.

‘Yes, if you would be so kind,’ the woman accepted. ‘My name is Adrienne Radnor. It is most urgent that I speak with him.’ Her voice cracked under the pressure of her emotion.

‘I will take you,’ Hester responded. ‘Come with me. Is he expecting you?’

‘No, but I have to see him.’

‘Come,’ Hester said again. ‘Please . . .’

The woman kept step with her, almost crowding her in her urgency. In a few yards they reached Magnus Rand’s door, which was now closed.

Hester knocked on it firmly. When she heard Magnus’s voice, even though she did not hear what he said, she turned the handle and went in, ushering Adrienne Radnor to come in beside her.

At the intrusion Magnus Rand looked up from his desk, a flush of anger darkening his face. Then he saw Adrienne Radnor and instinctively recognised her desperation.

‘Dr Rand?’ she said shakily. Her voice was husky, uncertain, but there was a quality of hysteria in it that impelled her forward, regardless of what he would say. She took a step towards his desk, ignoring Hester. ‘Dr Rand, my father, Bryson Radnor, is terribly ill. Indeed he is dying.’ Her voice trembled and it took all her self-mastery to continue. ‘He has the “white blood disease” you have written about. You are our last hope . . .’

Hester looked from Magnus to Adrienne and back again. She saw an extraordinary change come over him. The irritation was smoothed away like creases under a hot iron. It was replaced by an intense pity; then that too vanished as a sudden energy filled him.

‘Tell me more, Miss Radnor. When did you first recognise the illness in him? Be as precise as you can. I’m sorry, please sit down.’ He rose hastily from his chair and hurried around the desk to pull forward a seat for her, completely ignoring Hester.

Adrienne barely took time to arrange her fashionable, autumnal-shaded skirts, which so complemented her colouring. She sat a trifle awkwardly, leaning forward towards him. ‘I can remember the day very well. It was two months ago. Papa had been growing weaker for a period of time. At first the doctors thought it was just weariness. My father is over sixty and he insists on behaving as if he were a young man.’ She gave a slight smile but it vanished in an instant. ‘He travelled extensively. He was always very vigorous in his pursuits, climbing mountains, riding for days on horseback. He attended the opera and the theatre, visited Paris, Rome, Madrid.’ There was pride in her voice. ‘It was not foolish to wonder if perhaps a long rest would do him good.’

‘And did it?’ Magnus enquired with interest. His eyes were intent upon hers, and his expression very grave.

She lowered her gaze and her answer was almost a whisper. ‘At first it seemed to, but I fear now that we saw only what we wished to see. He is failing very rapidly. Unless you are willing to help him, I think he has only weeks left.’

‘I must consult my brother,’ Magnus said with unusual gentleness.

Adrienne leaned even further forward. ‘My father is a man of very considerable means, Dr Rand. He would be well able to recompense you for your skill, and to meet any expenses you might incur in treating him. Surely that is worth something?’

Hester winced at the words, and yet in the young woman’s place she might have said the same thing, clumsy as it was.

Magnus brushed it aside.

‘I will not take your money, Miss Radnor, unless I am certain that we have some chance of helping your father. I must still consult my brother. He is a chemist of more than skill – of brilliance – and it is his experiments that give us hope that we can cure this, and perhaps many other diseases.’

‘Then call him!’ she begged. ‘Call anyone, only please do not delay.’

Magnus looked up at Hester. ‘Mrs Monk, you have heard Miss Radnor’s plight, and that of her father. Please inform my brother of the situation and ask him if he will be good enough to lay aside whatever he is doing at present and come to my office so he can ask whatever he needs to of Miss Radnor, and reach some decision.’

‘Yes, Dr Rand,’ Hester said willingly, and turned to leave.

She was not accustomed to going to Hamilton Rand’s laboratory. It was closed to the hospital staff for excellent reasons. It was full of chemicals that were highly likely to be harmful if touched, mixed or spilled, and of experiments that could be ruined if disturbed. Hester believed it was also because Hamilton Rand did not wish his work to be interrupted for anything short of the building being on fire. But now she had no choice.

She walked quickly, without distraction. She hurried past other nurses barely acknowledging them. She did not even glance at storerooms, other wards, even operating theatres. When she reached the laboratory door she knocked on it firmly and loudly.

There was no answer.

She knocked again, harder.

Still there was no response.

Hamilton Rand spent most of his time here, not only all day but frequently most of the evening. He had been known to work all night, which had earned him both fear and respect.

Hester was moved not so much by concern for Magnus as pity for Adrienne Radnor. She understood painfully well her deep love for her father and the desire to save him at almost any cost. The guilt still ached within Hester for her own father whom she had not been there to save. She had been fighting her own battles for independence and purpose as an army nurse in the Crimea when her father had been dishonoured by a brutal trick, and had taken his own life. If she had come home even a month or two earlier she might have prevented the tragedy that had driven him to such a thing. That would have spared the whole family. For her mother, the loss of a son in battle, followed by financial ruin and then the death of her husband had been too much. Her health could take no more. James, Hester’s younger brother, had done all he could, but it was beyond his power to help.

Hester had no option but to override good manners. She turned the handle and opened the door. The laboratory was a very large room, as large as a ward, but there were no beds in it. Shelves and cupboards lined all the walls. In the centre were benches with sinks and racks of all manner of scientific instruments: glass tubes, bottles, retorts, individual gas burners and other contraptions whose use she could only guess.

Hamilton Rand was only about eight feet from the door. He stood rigid, his face like a wedge of ice, his white cotton coat splashed with chemicals and what looked to be blood.

‘What do you imagine you are doing here, woman?’ he demanded. ‘How dare you barge in and interrupt me? Get out!’

Hester straightened her shoulders and stared back at him. Doctors did not frighten her, chemists still less.

‘I came to deliver a message to you from Dr Rand,’ she replied levelly. ‘He requests your presence in his office to consult a young woman whose father is dying of the white blood disease. He is desperate, and has the financial means to pay you for any cure you are willing to try. Dr Rand does not wish to take the decision without consulting you.’ She said it with some satisfaction in telling him because she knew he would not resist the temptation. Even in the short time she had been here, his devotion to science had become clear to her. He spared neither himself nor others in the search for healing.

He put the dish he was holding down on the nearside bench. ‘Then move out of the way, woman!’ he ordered. ‘We must see this patient at once.’

He looked her up and down. He was not a tall man, and she was close to his height.

‘What are you?’ he asked, frowning at her. He had seen her before only a day ago, but had instantly forgotten.

‘A nurse,’ she replied equally stiffly.

‘Ah!’ There was light in his eyes. ‘Yes. Now I remember Magnus telling me about you. Come with me. Don’t stand here wasting time!’ He brushed past her and she stepped aside out of his way to avoid being knocked down. She swivelled round and followed him briskly back down the long corridors all the way to Magnus’s office.

He flung the door open without asking. Adrienne Radnor was still sitting in the chair and she had the composure not to rise as he came in, announcing himself brusquely.

Magnus introduced her and she answered as calmly as she could, but Hester heard the tremor in her voice. For her Hamilton Rand was far more than a brilliant and ill-mannered chemist. He represented the hope of life for the father she clearly loved profoundly.

Hamilton turned to Hester. ‘You wait there,’ he ordered her. ‘And close the door, for God’s sake! Do you expect this young woman to tell me all her father’s symptoms with the whole world listening in?’

‘Mrs Monk,’ Magnus interrupted, ‘you may return to your regular duties. Thank you.’

‘No, you may not!’ Hamilton snapped. ‘Stay where you are, and listen.’ He completely ignored his brother but turned more gently to Adrienne. ‘I have asked Mrs Monk to remain because she was an army nurse. That means she has great experience in treating men who have been badly injured and lost much blood. She thinks quickly and does not panic. If we take your case, she will nurse your father. Now tell me everything I need to know. And the truth, if you please. The exact truth as much as you know it. Our ability to help him depends upon it.’

Adrienne obeyed without hesitation, and Magnus only occasionally interrupted. As Hamilton asked questions and made brief notes Hester listened with professional interest and intense personal compassion.

‘My mother died eleven years ago,’ Adrienne said quietly in answer to Hamilton’s question. ‘She had been failing for a little while, then she caught pneumonia and within days she was gone.’ There was no expression to her voice. The loss was old and she was only remembering how she had felt.

‘Your father’s health?’ Hamilton returned her to the only subject that interested him.

‘Oh, it was excellent,’ she said with a quick smile, which vanished even more rapidly. ‘We supported each other. I went with him on some of his travels.’ Her voice thickened with unshed tears. ‘It was marvellous. He was interested in everything. He showed me so much . . .’ She blinked quickly several times, and went on before Hamilton could prompt her. ‘He did not become ill until three years ago, and at first it seemed to pass after a short rest. He always had so much energy . . .’