The Angels of Lovely Lane (48 page)

‘I hope he does the right thing,’ Elsie said as she walked to the door.

‘Oh, he will. He will,’ said Matron. ‘Love conquers all. Or so I hear.’

* * *

‘Martha, none of this was your fault. You know that, don’t you?’

Martha didn’t answer, she couldn’t. They weren’t the words she needed to hear.

‘You have to decide what is the best thing to do, but that bastard should be behind bars. Anyway, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You’ve been through enough, without the police getting involved.’

‘I don’t know, Jake.’ He still hadn’t said what she wanted to hear. The only thing she wanted to hear.

A silence fell between them and Martha felt as if it was pushing them apart. As it grew, she panicked.

‘Jake,’ she said. ‘I’ll understand if you’ve decided you don’t want to marry me, I will. You won’t want used goods, will you?’

Jake rested his head on top of hers. ‘I was just listening to your breathing, queen. I was thinking to myself that this is the first time we’ve been in bed together.’ Despite everything, they both laughed. Martha flinched with pain. ‘Is it bad? Shall I get them to call the doctor back?’

‘No, it’s fading now,’ she said. ‘The doctor said the solution of carbolic the woman used was so strong it has burnt my lining off inside, but he said that he hoped it would repair itself, in time. I’ve not to get pregnant for a year, though, he said.’ She held her breath.

‘Well, that’s all right, we can wait. Martha, there’s something you don’t know about and I was keeping it for a surprise, but I reckon you need a bit of good news right now. Last year, I won on the pools. We aren’t rich, but we are comfortable. I told you, Dessie’s going to promote me to under-porter. So you’re going to be marrying a man with a proper job.’

At last, he had said it. Martha had been sure Jake would no longer want to marry her, but he did. She would stay in bed for however long it took. Follow every order. She would recover. She had a future to look forward to. As Jake hugged her to him and rocked her to sleep, Martha vowed she would never forget the little boy she had seen for only a second. No one would want to talk to her about him. No one would want to know. But she would remember him. He came from her. He was part of her, and he would live, in her heart.

Sister Antrobus was the first to arrive. As she sat in front of Matron’s desk, complaining about Pammy Tanner, it occurred to Matron that Sister Antrobus had sat in front of her desk and complained in this way about numerous nurses. All of them had gone on to leave St Angelus, often without Matron’s encouragement. Matron had defended Sister Antrobus and her capricious relationship with junior nurses, most notably to Sister Haycock, but now she realized that she had committed a dreadful error, one that a woman in her position should never make. She had allowed her judgement to be swayed by her personal feelings.

As she watched Sister Antrobus, squirming and failing to dig herself out of the hole she had found herself in, it was as though a veil suddenly fell from her eyes and everything became clear. Blackie lay in his basket and was silent. Even he could sense that the situation was serious. She had told Elsie not to bring in any tea. A meeting with Matron without tea was in itself an indicator of trouble ahead. As Sister Antrobus dug deeper, Matron felt nothing but contempt for her lack of compassion and her bitterness towards young nurses. It was always the pretty ones she disliked. Matron listened to her tirade for five minutes, then decided enough was enough. It was time to put Sister Antrobus out of her misery.

‘Be quiet, Sister Antrobus. I’ve heard quite enough of your version of events.’

Sister Antrobus stopped, mid-flow. Her mouth flapped open and closed. This had never happened before. She usually had Matron eating out of her hand. For a moment, she was thrown, and fell silent.

‘This patient, this young and pretty girl.’ Matron loaded the words ‘young and pretty’ with meaning, pausing to allow them to sink in. ‘There were no notes, yet Mr Scriven told you he knew her name. Did this not concern you?’

Sister Antrobus was impressive, thought Matron. She recovered very quickly.

‘Why, not at all, Matron. I have nothing but the greatest respect for Mr Scriven. He is a truly great gynaecologist and obstetrician. And we nurses all live by the pledge of Florence Nightingale, to aid the physician at all times, without question.’ A look of satisfaction crossed Sister Antrobus’s face and this irritated Matron. Her voice was full of sarcasm as she replied.

‘I am sure that if Florence Nightingale were alive today, she would be more than grateful for your contribution. Why was this girl’s life in danger, Sister?’

‘Excuse me, Matron?’

Matron sighed. Sister Antrobus was now deliberately playing dumb. How on earth had she come to rate her relationship with Mr Scriven more highly than her loyalty to the reputation of the hospital itself? How had he achieved that? Matron wondered.

They were disturbed by a heavy knock on the door. ‘Ah, that will be Mr Scriven himself, just on cue. I can ask him myself. Would you mind waiting in my dining room please, Sister?’

Matron had chosen the dining room deliberately. Elsie had done a fine job of clearing up that morning, but she hoped the wet stain on the carpet and the faint lingering odour would be enough of a reminder to humble Sister Antrobus.

Matron rose from behind her desk and opened the door to admit Mr Scriven. Gone was his usual arrogant swagger. Matron noticed the look that passed between him and Sister Antrobus before the sister closed the dining-room door. They had sent each other a flurry of silent messages. His look asked plainly,
Does she know?
Hers returned,
It’s not good. Hold firm. Not your fault.

As the door to the dining room clicked shut, Matron wasted no time. She wanted him out as soon as possible.

‘Mr Scriven, that baby was your own, was it not? Were you aware of that?’

Mr Scriven was so stunned, he couldn’t say a word.

‘I shall try another question which may be easier to answer. Does your wife know you raped Martha O’Brien?’

For a moment, Matron thought he was about to turn on his heel and leave, and indeed he began to do so before turning back and placing both his hands on her desk.

‘Matron, I am the senior surgeon on ward two, and as you know...’ He didn’t have the chance to continue. Matron was not going to allow him to sidetrack her, or waste her time with weaselly words of bluster.

‘Mr Scriven, I think it is best for all concerned if we keep this as brief as possible. I know exactly who you are. Your position at St Angelus is the reason why such high standards are expected both at a professional level and in a personal capacity. You have taken advantage of a member of my staff. A young girl who was trusted to work in the consultants’ sitting room.’

She saw the colour drain from his face as he let out a small gasp. She didn’t blame Martha. She was all too aware of the arrogant manner in which consultants could behave and of the way in which some of them terrified and intimidated young nurses. Martha wasn’t even a nurse. Matron herself had taken Martha on as a maid in acknowledgement of Elsie’s service and this made her feel doubly guilty. Martha, the daughter of a war widow, could have stood no chance in the face of advances from a man like Mr Scriven, who was now looking less than suave as the corner of his mouth curled and his eyes narrowed.

She felt no pity for him. Only shame at herself for condoning the treatment of the student nurses on ward two because she had been blinded by her own attraction to Sister Antrobus. Matron knew what it was like to fear the reaction of society, to have to conform at all costs, and now she would back Martha all the way. Mr Scriven, with his god-like arrogance, could have destroyed a young girl’s life and as a result all three of them were responsible for the death of a child. How would they live with that? Matron wondered, as she watched the blood rise up Mr Scriven’s neck. Thank God I told Dessie to take the baby to the mortuary and not the incinerator.

As she saw his rage change to disbelief, she remembered that she had seen the same expression on the face of every nurse she had taken to task in this office. Always at the personal request of Sister Antrobus, and she wondered now how many of them had suffered advances from the supposedly perfect Mr Scriven.

It all fell into place. A pretty nurse he had tired of could become an embarrassing problem. Far better to bring Sister Antrobus on side, complain about the nurse and suggest that maybe Sister should have a word with Matron. As for Matron, she had been a fool. She had jumped through hoops to accommodate and please; she had wanted Sister Antrobus to like her.

‘Mr Scriven, I shall not waste anyone’s time here. My suggestion is that you leave this hospital forthwith. I am sure we are both aware that Martha’s life was in danger. What you did yesterday was highly illegal. You also administered a harmful drug, oxytocin, in a manner which has yet to receive approval to be used in this way and I am quite sure this was because you wished to leave no surgical trace of your endeavour. Am I right?’

She paused for a moment to gauge his reaction. She was worried that he might put up a fight, prove to be difficult. She was, after all, asking him to walk away from his career, his livelihood and his reputation.

‘What other drug did you use, Mr Scriven? We know you used something other than oxytocin. What was it?’

He met her eye. He tried to stare her out. To intimidate and even as he did so, they both knew, he was losing. Her eyes were bright. Her expression bold and her smile challenging.

‘I have thought this through, and maybe you need some time to recover from a spell of illness which will mean having to take things easier in the future. Maybe one of your physician friends could help with that?’

He momentarily regained his composure and pulled himself up to his full height.

‘I do not think it is your place to tell me what to do, Matron. Martha O’Brien was a very stupid young girl who went to a back-street abortionist. How many times have I had to save the lives of girls who do exactly that?’

She silenced him with one glance.

‘I saw Martha last night with her mother, who also works here at the hospital. Martha has told us everything. I can assure you that if you wish to kick up a fuss about this, Mr Scriven, I shall fight you every step of the way. Sister Haycock heard your conversation with Sister Antrobus last night and is happy to provide the police with a statement. If you haven’t left my office in thirty seconds, I shall pick up my telephone to call them. I am sure they will be very keen to read your mysterious and elusive notes, when they can be located. Oh, and by the way, when I looked in on Martha this morning, her fiancé Jake was on his way down to Whitechapel police station to do just the same thing. I think you may be in rather a lot of trouble, Mr Scriven.’

This was of course not true. She wanted to scare him. What Martha had done was illegal and Matron knew, if the police were involved poor Martha would suffer. A young hospital maid would not stand chance against an articulate, well educated male.

It was as easy as popping a balloon with a pin. She watched his shoulders drop as he deflated.

‘You will pay for this,’ he shouted, eyes now bulging in his face, suffused with anger.

‘No, Mr Scriven. If you remain in St Angelus a moment longer, you will be the one to pay. Do you really want your peers to see you being interviewed by the police?’

The dining-room door burst open and Sister Antrobus rushed to his side. ‘Is everything all right?’ His raised voice through the dining-room door had made it impossible for her to remain parted from him. She laid her hand on his arm, entirely ignoring Matron’s raised eyebrows.

Mr Scriven, however, was staring at Matron, long and hard. She held his gaze. She was enjoying this. She felt empowered for the first time in years. She was doing something good, and she was winning.

‘Darling, are you all right?’ The corner of Matron’s nose screwed up ever so slightly and her eyes narrowed in a half-mocking manner. No one had ever called anyone darling in her office before today and she found it slightly distasteful.

‘Get off me, you stupid woman,’ Mr Scriven roared, shaking Sister Antrobus’s hand from his arm. ‘You make me sick with your fawning. You are an ugly, pathetic woman.’ With that, Mr Scriven stormed out of Matron’s office.

Matron looked down at her desk for a moment, to allow Sister Antrobus time to regain her composure.

‘Was it your idea?’ she asked. The answer was important.

‘What?’ Sister Antrobus was still staring at the door, as though she expected it to reopen and for Mr Scriven to walk back in and apologize.
I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.

Instead, the only sounds were those of his footsteps as he took the stairs two at a time and the slamming of the main door. Blackie sat up in his basket and looked enquiringly at the door before satisfying himself that all was safe and lying back down.

Matron thought that in just those few moments Sister Antrobus had somehow shrunk, both in height and weight. Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes looked haunted.

‘No, of course not. He came to me, desperate. He said that it was the son of his friend who had got her pregnant.’ Her voice was despondent as his parting words began to sink in, and Matron saw tears begin to fill her eyes. The same tears she had seen fill the eyes of many a student nurse standing in exactly the same place.

‘And you believed him?’

Sister Antrobus nodded. ‘We all have our secrets, Matron.’ She looked directly at Matron, her voice loaded with meaning.

Matron rolled her pen between her fingers. She felt as though she were a child on a seesaw. Which way should she come down? Should she send Sister Antrobus the same way as Mr Scriven? Or should she give her a second chance?

While laying the pen down on her desk with exaggerated care, she made her decision.

‘I have decided to allow you to remain in post.’ She let the words register before she proceeded. Sister Antrobus stood slightly taller and pushed her shoulders back as she let out a long breath.