Love for the Matron (24 page)

“You don
’
t have to bother about me, William, I can go back to the Matron
’
s house now that the rain has stopped. I was only to stay if you were held up in London.”

“You
’
re not going back to the Matron
’
s house tonight,” William said with quiet authority. “Castleford is on higher ground and there
’
s no telling what the river may do in the night.”

Susan got to her feet. “I
’
ll make up the bed, Daddy,” she offered.

Elizabeth tried once again to protest about being a nuisance, but William stopped her firmly.

“Do you really think that I would let the woman I love
spend the night in danger? Darling, it
’
s time you learned how to let me look after you
...
”
His voice faltered to a standstill and he drew her head down on his shoulder, and one hand began to stroke the hair that rested so close to his cheek.

Susan came in very quietly and found them like that. William made no effort to move. “Have you
done the bed, sweetie?”

Susan
’
s face was studiously casual. “Yes, Daddy, and I
’
ve put a hot water bottle in it.”

“How about finishing with the bathroom before Elizabeth comes up? She won
’
t be long,” William suggested.

Susan nodded. “All right, Daddy.” She leaned down and kissed him good night, and then with a sudden movement laid her cheek against Elizabeth
’
s for a fleeting second before she withdrew and shut the door very quietly behind her.

William straightened himself reluctantly and lifted Elizabeth
’
s head from its resting place. “She
’
s put us on our honor, my darling,” he said whimsically. Then with sudden passion, “Don
’
t be too long making up your mind when you
’
ll marry me, sweetheart. For once I find myself sadly lacking in patience.” He got to his feet and poked
furiously at the dying embers of the fire. “Like a nightcap before you go up to bed?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not tonight, dear William,” she said unsteadily.

He glanced at her. “The strong wine of love enough for you?”

A smile touched her lips. “Yes. I
’
d hate to blur a single moment of what I
’
m feeling
...
right now.”

He reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet and his grip was pleasantly firm upon her arm, He looked at her, so close to him, and with a little groan released her.

“Off you go, darling, before I forget that you
’
re still a guest in our house. Good night, beloved, and sweet dreams ... of what
’
s to be.
”

Elizabeth put up a hand and touched his lips in a gesture as tender as a kiss. “Good night, my darling, and thank you for
...
everything.” She turned and left him there standing in front of the fire, staring into the fading embers as if she saw all his dreams being rekindled there into life once more ... at a time when he had thought dreams were over ...

Elizabeth picked the phone up wearily and rang the ambulance depot. What a week
it had been; Rain and storm and flood warnings and last
-
minute reprieves from the threat of evacuating the hospital, but this last hour had whipped away their final hope.

A voice in her ear said finally, “Shenston Ambulance Depot here. Town calls only. The North Bridge was closed to all traffic ten minutes ago.”

Elizabeth collected her scattered thoughts. “Matron, St. Genevieve
’
s Hospital,” she said briskly. “How soon can you start moving our first patients to the Guild Hall?”

The voice at the other end took a startled gulp. “Right away, I expect. How many patients, Matron?”

E
lizabeth glanced down at the list in her hand. “Thirty old people to go first, as most of them can walk with help; and after that we
’
ll move the maternity cases over.”

“Complete with midwives, I hope, Matron,” the man at the
De
pot said with a respectful attempt at humor.

“They
’
ve had their babies,” Elizabeth put
him
gently in his place. “How soon can we expect the first ambulance?”

“About fifteen minutes, Matron, I guess. We
’
ll do our best.”

“Good
...
thank you.” Elizabeth rang off and then got switchboard to ring Men
’
s Surgical for her.

Sister Ross answered promptly and listened attentively. “I
’
ll start sending them along to the front hall, Matron. Nurse Davies can go with the first batch
...
she
’
s back from sick bay, on light duties, so she should be able to manage that. I expect you will want only walking cases for now.”

“Yes, please. I
’
ll let you know how soon we can take your bed patients. Unless things get much worse we
’
ll keep them at St. Genevieve
’
s as long as we can. Once Maternity has been cleared the very ill ones can be moved up there. Thank you very much, Sister.”

Edith Selby came in as Elizabeth was putting down the phone. She heard the latest news with a worried expression on her face.

“It
’
s too bad Sister Allison is on holiday. Miss Brown always put her in charge at the Guild
Hall end,” she said slowly.

Elizabeth smiled at her reassuringly. “Don
’
t
you think that if we send Sister Winslow she
’
ll do as good a job?” she said gently.

Edith Selby looked thoughtful. “She might. It would give her something to talk about, anyway.”

Elizabeth laughed. “It should last her until she retires. A housekeeping Sister has to be so much of a backroom girl that it
’
s only fair to offer her headlines once in a lifetime. Nurse Davies is going with the first ambulance load from Men
’
s Surgical and Sister Winslow could go with the second. They
’
ll be sufficient staff until the mothers and babes begin their exodus.”

Edith Selby took herself off more happily and Elizabeth had time to plan her next moves. Much of her programme had had many rehearsals during the past week when they had had to work from hour to hour waiting for the next flood report, but this was the first time word had actually gone out to the ambulance depot.

The succeeding days took on the detachment of a nightmare, only it was one without beginning or end. Hours on or off duty no longer had any meaning and as long as there was work to be done all staff remained available. Night staff was a constant number, but Night Sister knew that she only had to lift the telephone to have as many hands as she needed. Making a round didn
’
t just mean going around the wards once or twice a day, but it also involved making her precarious way along the top of the castle wall until she reached the upper town where the Guild
Hall
reared its ancient structure—and saw that all went well there.

At first it seemed odd that there were so few motor vehicles on the move, until one realized that there were so few streets that were passable for all of their length. Boats moored in the Old Square in the lower town or bobbed along from window to window to check that all was well within ... Army DKWS chugging through narrow lanes
...
Boy Scouts
‘
and Girl Guides going so
importantly about their tasks
.
.. all schools closed and the younger children having a hilarious holiday in the makeshift cr
e
ches which had been organized in the Market Place—the older ones all seemed to be in uniform of some sort or other and busy from dawn until dusk. Elizabeth knew that somewhere among all these willing volunteers both Susan and Robin were playing a major role, and now and then she caught a fleeting glimpse of them or received a cheery wave or a message
...

After the first two or three days the confusion took on some sort of a pattern. She became used to the water lapping around the walls of St. Genevieve
’
s. The piles of builders
’
sand and bricks took on the forlorn appearance of a seaside beach at the summer
’
s end. Her night on duty meant sleeping fitfully in Sister Allison
’
s spinster flat with its array of faded photographs of patients and nurses that had made up the older woman
’
s world. Her night off meant walking along the castle wall to Castleford with William
’
s shoulder warm against hers and sleeping in the other bed in Susan
’
s room. Even Castleford bore the marks of change. Stuart had been discharged as semi
-
convalescent at the first flood warning, but William had flatly refused to allow him to return to the Gate House even if Gladys had been willing to brave the water that washed its doorstep, so he tucked away in William
’
s dressing room at night and spent his days in front of the library fire reading his way through the bookshelves, answering the phone and trying to tel
l
the callers where William might be at that particular moment, or talking to anyone who might be home long enough for the purpose.

Dear Emily had returned unasked at the first hint of trouble, but most of her time was taken up with the soup canteens she had organized for those marooned in their houses, and if Elizabeth did encounter her there was a mutual ignoring of the issues that had originally caused the other
’
s departure.

The only constant factor seemed to be sharing a tea-tray with William in her office, and even then there was little chance for personal things. Margaret Smith was back, but now most of her duties seemed to involve interrupting Elizabeth with urgent messages that couldn
’
t be deferred even for the only fifteen minutes of the day she could be sure of seeing William. His rounds took him on foot, by ambulance, by boat, all around the winding streets of the
beleaguered
town, and no one knew when he would be back or in what condition. Sometimes if she were sleeping at
Castleford
she might rouse to hear the faint thud of the side door, and she would put on her housecoat and slip down the stairs to find William, wet and weary, trying to warm himself in front of a dying fire, and if she were lucky she would p
e
rsuade him to change into dry things while she heated up some soup and made them a pot of tea. They would sit drinking their cups of tea, too weary and too sleepy for words, but gaining strength and comfort from the very fact of each other
’
s presence.

Mornings became a matter of routine. Elizabeth was usually the first up whether she was at Castleford or sleeping at the hospital. Breakfast was a hasty affair which she often had alone. Then there would be the reports to go through: hospital reports, staff assignments, weather reports, flood reports, special call which might ne
c
essitate sending some of her nurses to help the town authorities—a midwife to go to some cut-off cottage where a new baby had refused to be delayed by storm or flood, emergency innoculations to be done, and rounds to make—not only of wards and patients and staff but of the very structure of the building itself, to see whether the flood was eating away the outer walls which had withstood the onslaught of man and
nature over the centuries. Elizabeth began to wonder whether life would ever slip back to normal.

Often as she made her way alone through the dim corridors she wondered how many of these near-disasters her predecessor Miriam Brown had survived. Had they been responsible in part for the swift onslaught of the crippling disease which had struck her down?

She took comfort from reading the older woman
’
s notes and found little references tucked away which helped
h
er to deal promptly with each fresh emergency that arose: water rising in the cellars meant shifting the dry food stores up to a spare airing cupboard; coal could be moved into the old laundry, now disused, which was higher than the coal bins and yet easily accessible both to boiler room and kitchen; in the lower corridors, which had sloped with time and age towards the river and so caught the first of the rising waters, duckboards could be placed so staff had some hope of reaching their destinations dryshod; extra batteries to supplement the theatre emergency lighting so that its service could be extended to the nearby wards when the town power broke down once again.

They had become so used to the sound of the rain lashing against the windows, the wind roaring gustily around every
corner
, the threatening murmur of the restless river, that the first break in the weather came as suddenly as the breath of spring to a winter scene. They stared unbelieving at the blue sky through the widening rift in the clouds, the glint of almost forgotten sunshine on wind-whipped leaves. They ran to switch on radios to get the latest reports
...
bright intervals with a few scattered showers dying out by evening; roads emerging from the floods, cars getting through to cut-off towns, farmers going out in boats to see if any of their stock still survived, fire services pumping out houses which could only mean that they thought there was some hope of their not flooding again, householders venturing down from their upper storeys, tales of courage and disaster and heartbreak and cheerfulness and hope
...
talk of disaster funds, government help, visits by officials
...
and everywhere people rolling up their sleeves and getting out their buckets and scrubbing brushes to do battle with the mud.

With the first easing of the strain came the realization of how utterly exhausted they all were
...
the hours without time off, the broken sleep, the snatched meals, the disorganization that lurked everywhere just below the surface of the emergency routine, like dust that shows up in the sunlight
...
and there was so much to do before they could hope to have St. Genevieve
’
s running like a proper hospital again.

William came in for his cup of tea and took one look at Elizabeth sitting there behind her desk, her face as pale as the letters arranged so neatly in front of her, the shadows under her eyes making her features look strained and thinner than they were.

“When did you have your last off-duty?” he demanded abruptly.

Elizabeth leaned her head on her hand and laughed weakly. “Like everything else around here ... before the flood. Why?”

He didn
’
t answer right away,
but took over the task of pouring out their tea, He waited until she had taken the first swallow before he spoke again.

“You can take your morning reports and make a ward round. After that, I
’
m calling for you, and you
’
re not going to be allowed to even think of St. Genevieve
’
s until tomorrow morning. That
’
s an order!”

She straightened her shoulders and then let them slump as if even that took more energy than she possessed. “I can
’
t. The rest of the staff have
p
ut in just as much overtime as I have,” she said flatly.

“Possibly, but they weren
’
t carrying the same load of responsibility that you were. It
’
s no use arguing, Elizabeth. As senior physician I have some authority around here
...
quite apart from any personal feeling I may have in the matter.”

Elizabeth lifted her eyes to his face. She guessed from the use of her Christian name how deeply moved he must be. “All right, just this once,” she agreed.

He laughed then. “Does that mean that you intend to be one of those women who insist that marriage is fifty-fifty?”

She smiled a little. “That would make holy deadlock, surely. If we ever get around to being married, you
’
ll have to be the boss.”

He frowned. “What do you mean
...
if we ever get around to being married
?
I
’
m not a patient man, Elizabeth, not where you
’
re concerned. I love you too much.”

Her face softened at his words. “It isn
’
t me— it
’
s Robin and Susan. We must give them time to get used to the idea.”

William refilled their cups rather impatiently. “I admit that I
’
ve seen very little of t
h
em these past days, but I should imagine that their resentment, like many other things, has been swept away by the flood.”

She snatched at the one word. “You
imagine
!
That doesn
’
t mean that you know they
’
re willing to accept me as your wife.”

“Whether they
’
re willing or not, you will still become my wife, Elizabeth,” William said heavily.

She shook her head slowly and sadly. “No, William, not unless and until Robin and Susan want it that way. You did promise me, you know.”

William
’
s face went white. “Not quite like that!” he protested.

There was a knock on the door and Margaret Smith came hurrying in. “Excuse me, Matron, but
this just came by hand and they said it was very urgent,” she said.

Elizabeth took the note from her and laid it on top of the other letters. “Thank you, Miss Smith. I
’
ll deal with it right away.”

William got to his feet as the girl started to move away. “I
’
ll be back at twelve o
’
clock, Matron,” he said.

He followed the girl out of the office before Elizabeth could speak or stay his departure. As the door closed behind them she felt as if William had taken what little strength she had with him. She glanced down at the note Margaret Smith had brought, but the envelope was blank. She picked up her paper knife and slit it open and took out the single sheet of writing paper. The handwriting was unfamiliar, so she glanced down at the signature.
Emily Evans
...
that could belong to anyone, but it sounded a very prim and spinterish name. She began to read, and as her tired brain took in the meaning of the written words she began to concentrate more carefully.

“
...
and of course I
’
ve known Susan since she was bo
rn
, and no one could realize more clearly than I what a sensitive child she is and how deeply she is fretting over this thoughtless plan you have coaxed Doctor Gregory into. No good can come of it for him or for anyone else, yourself included. I know it can
’
t be easy for someone of your age to give up your final hope of marriage, but for the sake of Robin and Susan it
’
s the only decent thing to do. I
’
ve mothered them both since their own sweet mother died and I
’
ve never allowed them to forget her, and believe me, their father hasn
’
t either ... although he may think so for the moment while he
’
s in the grip of this silly infatuation.
”

Elizabeth could bear to read no further and crumpled the note angrily. Then with a sort of sick anguish she unfolded it and reread it very slowly until she felt that come Do
oms
day she would be able to recite every single word. Was there any truth in what Emily Evans said? Was she really Dear Emily who knew the Gregory family far better than she herself could ever hope to? Or was she a miserable lovesick spinster who had seen the pivot of her little world spinning out of her fevered grasp? Elizabeth shoved the crumpled note back into its envelope, put it into her own personal folder and closed the desk drawer on it very firmly. She would have to do something about it, but not now ... St. Genevieve
’
s duties came first.