Reckoning (6 page)

Journal of
Mary Seward

8TH
O
CTOBER 1918

There was post waiting for me when I arrived home. As is my habit, I opened it at the dinner table. I recognised the grocer’s bill in its manila envelope. Father leaves such household matters to me entirely now. But the cream envelope that lay beside it was unusual. I receive so little personal correspondence these days, and I did not recognise the neat handwriting that spelled my name.

“It was delivered by hand,” Father told me as I glanced at it. His eyes were bright with interest. “Do open it, Mary. I’ve wondered what it contains since the boy brought it this afternoon.”

“What boy?” I asked suspiciously.

“Just some lad from the village,” Father replied. “I had Mrs. Frobisher give him a ha’penny for his trouble.”

I slowly slit open the envelope and drew out an invitation card to a dinner party at the Edwardses’. My appetite vanished. I had been rash to promise Father I would accept the next invitation I received.

Father must have seen the dismay on my face. “Not bad news, I hope?” he asked anxiously.

“An invitation to dinner,” I murmured.

“Excellent!” He brightened at once. “You’ll accept, of course.”

“I have not yet found anyone to sit with you,” I argued.

“Then you must do so,” he answered firmly. “Or I shall simply spend the evening alone, for I will not be used as an excuse for you to avoid the world.”

“I cannot leave you alone!” I gasped, alarmed at the very thought.

“Then what about asking that new nurse you mentioned?” Father insisted, undeterred. “She sounds like a good type.”

“Yes, she is,” I agreed reluctantly. He had found the perfect solution. Helen was trustworthy and reliable. And Father would likely enjoy her easygoing company. “Very well. I shall ask her,” I told him, feeling my mouth go dry as I spoke the words.

“Good girl,” Father said contentedly.

I gave him a weak smile.

She may have a prior engagement. She may decline, I
reassured myself as I pushed my remaining food around my plate.

I only hoped that would be the case.

L
ATER

Father is long asleep now, and my candle burns low. Apprehension grips me like a vise. If Helen agrees to my request, I will have no option but to accept the Edwardses’ invitation. I cannot break my word to Father; he would be so disappointed in me.

I will have to face the darkness.

9TH
O
CTOBER 1918

What a long day it has been.

Nightmares of Castle Dracula kept me awake again last night. And this morning, as I stood before the mirror to pin up my hair for work, I was struck by my own haunted expression. It reminded me of one I have seen countless times at the sanatorium on the faces of patients freshly returned from the horror of the trenches. I know I can never truly imagine the physical agony the patients have suffered—continue to suffer— but I believe I understand
something of the mental torment they endure.

Tiredness dragged at my limbs through my shift. I felt the very air heavy on me as I moved about the ward.

“You should go earlier to your bed, Seward,” Sister chided when she caught me yawning.

“Yes, Sister,” I mumbled. If only it were that simple, I thought as I watched her walk smartly off the ward. Wearily I prepared a tray of scissors, forceps, and bandages in readiness for the next round of dressing changes.

As I passed by Sergeant Hopkins’s bed, the tray slipped from my fingers. Fatigue had made me clumsy and the instruments clattered to the floor, skidding in every direction.

A great cheer rose up among the men.

“Blimey, Seward—you’ll be for it now!” Sergeant Hopkins teased as I crouched down and started to gather the instruments back onto the tray.

Helen hurried over and reached down for a bandage that had unrolled beneath Sergeant Hopkins’s bed. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “We’ll have this cleared up and another tray prepared before the doctor arrives. Sister doesn’t even need to know—
does she, Sergeant Hopkins
?”

Sergeant Hopkins gave us both a wink and tapped his nose. “Not a word shall pass our lips, eh, lads?” he said with a grin.

The other patients good-naturedly called their agreement.

“Thanks, Helen,” I murmured, greatly touched by her
kindness. Her efficiency smoothed my ragged nerves. On the spur of the moment, I decided I would ask her about sitting with Father.

“Helen,” I began hesitantly, “I wondered if I might ask you a favour. . . .”

“Why, of course,” Helen answered immediately. Indeed, she looked pleased to be asked. “What is it?”

“I have received a dinner invitation,” I explained. “Left to me, I would decline it, as my father is in poor health and I don’t like to leave him alone. But Father is insistent I go out and socialise . . .” I went on, feeling my lips break into a rueful smile. “So, I was hoping that you might consider sitting with him that evening. It’s on the nineteenth.”

Helen’s face fell. “Oh, Mary, I would love to help you out, but. . .” She hesitated. “Johnny, my gentleman friend, returns from the front that day. I’m so—”

“No apologies. Of course you’ll want to spend the evening with him,” I excused her hurriedly, straightening the scissors on the tray beside me. Inwardly I heaved a sigh of relief.

“But maybe Stella or Becky could do it,” Helen offered.

I swallowed hard. “Don’t they both do night duties?”

“Well, it might be a night off for their rota.” Helen fixed me in a playful grin. “They do sometimes get them, you know!”

“Of course,” I muttered, disheartened.

“Why don’t you come back with me after our shift and meet them?” Helen offered eagerly. “Stella especially might be keen to help you out—she hates staying in on her evenings off; she gets cabin fever shut up in our poky little house!”

I forced a grateful smile, aware I should not let my anxieties overwhelm good sense. “Well, if you’re sure . . .” I replied. I had quickly grown comfortable in Helen’s good-natured company; why shouldn’t her friends be as reliable and trustworthy as she?

So, at the end of our shift, I accompanied Helen to the small house at the end of the village where she was boarding with Stella and Becky. She unlocked the front door with her key and bounded straight up the stairs calling, “Hello, there! I’ve brought a visitor!”

I followed her up the staircase, the flowery carpet soft under my feet, my coat brushing against the brightly painted banister.

Helen swung open the first bedroom door at the top of the stairs. “Stella?” she called.

“In the bath, darling!” a muffled voice called from behind a door.

Helen crossed the landing to another door. “Let’s see if Becky’s up yet—she should be if she isn’t!” After a quick knock, she clicked it open. “Becky? Are you decent?”

“Helen! You’re back already. Sure, come in.” I heard
the lilting tone of a soft Irish brogue from within.

Helen beckoned me to follow as she slipped through the doorway. “I share this room with Becky,” she whispered to me. “It’s a bit of a squeeze, but it’s cheaper to share.”

Becky was up—but only just, I could see. She was still in her nightgown—which looked at least two sizes too big. She was kneeling in the narrow space beside her bed.

“I was just saying my prayers. Forgot to do it before I went to bed after my shift,” she said a little sheepishly. “I just can’t get used to this sleeping in the day. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going!”

Helen went over and lit the gas lamp. Its warm glow illuminated the still-curtained room.

“Oh, that’s better,” Becky said, blinking like an owl. She reached clumsily toward her nightstand, feeling for a pair of spectacles that lay there. When she put them on, she looked even more owl-like, her eyes enlarged behind the thick lenses.

“Hello!” she said, suddenly noticing me and hastily smoothing back her mouse brown hair.

“This is Mary,” Helen explained. “The nurse on my rota who’s been teaching me the ropes.”

“Mary!” Becky greeted me like an old friend. “How nice to meet you at last. Helen’s told us all about you.”

“Come and sit in front of the fire.” Helen ushered me to the battered chair placed before the tiny iron fireplace in the
far corner of the bedroom. Small flames flickered in the grate.

As Helen stooped to place a few more coals on, Becky quickly smartened her bed and shrugged into a tattered old dressing gown. Then she gasped. “Oh, I’d forget me head if it was loose, so I would!” She scooped up a small glass bottle from her bedside table, uncorked it, tipped a few drops of its clear contents onto her fingers, and crossed herself before sprinkling a few more drops on her bed.

I assumed it was scent, though I could not detect its smell.

I stared in wonder.

Helen laughed affectionately. “It’s holy water,” she explained. “Becky’s always dabbing herself with the stuff.”

Becky looked momentarily embarrassed. “My ma’s convinced this country is filled with boggarts and banshees and that evil is bound to prey on an innocent country girl like myself.” She grinned and rolled her eyes. “I promised I’d keep myself doused in the holy water while I was away from home.”

I smiled back. It was impossible not to warm to Becky, and I found myself comforted by her superstitious piety.

How interesting that at one time, I would have privately thought it foolish to put stock in such practices.

“Is it your first time in England?” I asked her.

“First time away from home anywhere,” she told me, straightening her spectacles.

Just then, a door on the landing clattered open. The heady scent of an exotic perfume wafted into the room, followed by a strikingly beautiful girl clutching a towel around her.

Stella, I deduced.

“The bathroom’s all yours, Becky,” she announced, raking long white fingers through her newly washed hair. “I hope I haven’t used up the all hot water again.”

“Ah, never mind,” Becky answered good-naturedly. “It’s still a treat having an indoor bathroom.” She picked up her wash bag and squeezed past Stella out of the room.

Stella turned a limpidly beautiful gaze on me. “Oh, hello,” she said.

“This is Mary Seward,” Helen told her. “She works on my shift at the sanatorium.”

Stella flashed a perfect white smile, her teeth sparkling like pearls. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. Holding her towel to her body with one hand, she held out the other to me.

“Pleased to meet you, Stella,” I said as we shook hands. I held her in my gaze. Something about her made me uneasy.

“Mind if I borrow your robe, Helen?” Stella asked. Without waiting for an answer she turned, letting her towel slip to the floor as she unhooked the flowery kimono that hung on the door and then slipped into it.

I found myself gaping at Stella in surprise. The girl’s brash confidence overwhelmed me. She was brazen, almost feline in her movements.

“How are you enjoying your work at the sanatorium?” I asked, wondering how such a free-spirited creature conformed to the quiet discipline of the wards.

“Well, it’s good to be away from home,” she answered, plopping down onto Helen’s bed. She reached for a nail file that sat on Helen’s nightstand and began flicking it idly across her nails. “I don’t know about the sister on your shift, but ours is a stickler. She had me scrubbing bedpans till dawn. My nails are ruined.” She held out five well-manicured fingers, and I felt instantly self-conscious about my own sore, bitten nails. I hid them furtively behind my back.

Helen rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Don’t believe a word of it. Stella always exaggerates!” She grinned at Stella. “Becky told me that Sister is utterly charmed by you, just like everyone else.”

A smile spread easily over Stella’s full lips. “Well, Sister’s a nice old bird really, once you get to know her.”

Something in Stella’s manner completely unsettled me. I knew that I didn’t want to leave Father in her care—not even for a couple of hours. Perhaps with more time to get to know her, I might change my mind—but from what I’d seen, she did not seem the calm, patient sort of person I’d hoped to find.