Australian Hospital (10 page)

“No, sir.”

“You mean to your knowledge they are untrue?”

“Oh, they are true enough, but—”

“Then why don’t, you agree, Sister?”

“Because I think that Sister Trisby has selected her comments deliberately.”

“But you do admit that they were actually spoken?”

“Yes, Doctor, but—”

“That is all, Sister.”

There was more discussion, but it buzzed around Candace like the buzz of a bumble-bee. Somehow, it did not seem to concern her. Only the coldness in Stephen Halliday’s eyes remained before her—and the triumph in the black gaze of Eve Trisby.

Presently, Candace was aware that the gathering was breaking up. As Barbara had anticipated, her fate had been shelved until the Annual Meeting next year.

The Manathunka Ball, one of Sydney’s charity social balls of the year, was held the week after.

Barbara was all agog with excitement, and several of the aides had organised a table and were attending. On the night of the ball Candace was in demand in the aides’ quarters to help fasten frocks, arrange curls, check up on make-up.

She tidied up after the girls had gone, thinking ruefully to herself that had a burglar entered he would have bowed himself out, believing he had been beaten to the job. There were garments everywhere.

She came out of the quarters, and paused a few minutes to enjoy the blue and silver night. It was a romantic night—a night for lovers.

It was not until she had stood there for quite a while that she gained her night vision, and then she saw that Stephen Halliday was standing only a few yards away from her. He seemed to be waiting for someone. He turned, as if feeling her presence, and in the dim light she saw the pristine crispness of his evening shirt, almost stark against his black dress suit. He looked tall, suave, sophisticated, and—yes—unbelievably handsome. For a long moment he regarded her without a word, and in that moment Eve came tripping down the steps, a vision in flowing, all-white chiffon, scarcely a shade lighter than her lovely, platinum, sculptured hair.

Stephen wheeled as she came, bowed, then made some smooth compliment on her dress.

Eve took it like a queen, allowed her thick white fur to fall over an equally white shoulder, then slipped her arm in a proprietorial fashion in Stephen’s and permitted him to lead her to the car.

Before they reached it Candace heard a little scream of laughing protest.

“Ash, you’re spoiling my make-up, you bad boy.”

Through the half-light she stiffened as Stephen’s arms went deliberately round the beautiful girl and he tilted her chin upwards before he kissed her perfectly painted lips.

Candace heard the car start, and go. She smelt the heady perfume that Eve had left behind.

She went slowly up to her room, feeling rather like Cinderella. But Cinderella had had a godmother to produce a prince. There was no godmother for Candace. There was no prince. There was only the vision of a tall, handsome man in a black dress-suit regarding her wordlessly from a distance of four yards—or, asked her heavy heart, had it been a million miles?

The Tilburns came down from Bibaringa again, and spent one day at Manathunka. Rosemary and her mother were very interested, but it was Mr. Tilburn who seemed most deeply impressed. Particularly was he attracted by Bobby Grenfell.

Candace had tea with them, and sat talking with Rosemary’s father as Doctor Halliday conducted the ladies through the female wards.

“Our firstborn was a boy,” proffered Hugh Tilburn unexpectedly.

“You lost him?” asked Candace gently, sensing the man’s wish to confide in her.

“Yes. Things were hard in the Australian outback then, Miss Jamieson. We were very isolated. There was no Flying Doctor service. The bush nursing was rather primitive.

“The child was early. We were unprepared. I have never become reconciled to losing Robert. I always felt it should not have happened.”

“That was his name?” Candace was thinking of Bobby.

“Yes.”

There was a silence, then Hugh Tilburn said, “Did Doctor Halliday tell you that the prognosis of young Grenfell is not so final as the rest of the patients here?”

“No, but Sister Flett mentioned it before she left.”

Candace felt a little hurt over Stephen’s omission. Whatever else he thought about her, he should have known her feelings towards Bobby, and Manathunka.

“There might never be complete recovery, but there is a big possibility that his spine will strengthen. He might even walk without crutches one day.” Mr. Tilburn’s voice had risen. He looked eager and excited.

“That is splendid news,” said Candace. “It is splendid for Bobby.”

“It is splendid for me, too. As you know, the child was transferred from a government home. He has no parents. Miss Jamieson-—Candace, in my mind I have already adopted the lad.”

“Mr. Tilburn—

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not allowing myself to become too sanguine, but if ever the boy becomes sufficiently well to leave this place, his home is to be Bibaringa. I’ve spoken of it to him. I have seen his eyes light up. I know that look, Miss Jamieson. It’s what I have always felt in myself when it comes to the country—
my
country—sheep country. It’s not in Rosemary. She doesn’t care for it like that. She’s rather an odd girl in some ways. She doesn’t really like city life, either. Frankly, I don’t know what we’ll do with Rose.”

He glanced up at that moment to see his wife and daughter advancing over the lawn to the annexe. Rosemary hung on to Stephen’s arm. Her face was animated. Her eyes never left his.

Candace saw what Hugh Tilburn saw, and smiled, but briefly.

“Perhaps I needn’t worry after all,” said Rosemary’s father, obviously satisfied.

“I shouldn’t,” advised Candace in a low tone.

Claire Maclnnes was frequently in attendance at Manathunka.

“What will the parish think?” reminded Candace. “You must be cutting out some of your visits.”

“I’m needed more here. Don’t you realise how near we are to Christmas?”

Candace had not realised. She looked horrified, and declared she would have to send all her cards by air. Already she had despatched her gifts. A woolly rag to Matron, a silk scarf with Australian beach scenes to Gwen, a furry koala bear to the tiniest inmate Christmasing at Charlotte.

“It will seem strange having a warm Christmas,” she said to Barbara.

“It would be strange to me to have a cold one. Christmas means the song of the cicadas, hot blue days, long afternoons to the Australian. They would feel foreign if it were cold and snowy. But while we’re on that subject, Jam, I’d like you to speak to little Peter.”

Peter was a newcomer, a boy only four months in Australia from Manchester. Unsuspected hip trouble had developed. Doctor Halliday had him in hand.

“What’s wrong with Pete?”

“He refuses to admit it’s Christmas.”

“Poor little lad, I know how he feels.”

“I do, too, but I’m not qualified to help him. That’s your job, Jam. Spare a moment, won’t you?”

Candace spared it that evening. She sat on Peter’s bed and they chatted together.

Presently, Candace said: “Won’t it seem strange having a warm Christmas, Peter?”

“It won’t be Christmas, Sister, not
really
.”

“Oh, yes, it will. Christmas is Christmas everywhere.”

“Not here it isn’t. Not with sun every day and not even wearing a woolly singlet. Besides—”

“Yes, Pete?”

“Fellers here have told me the presents get hung on one of those camphor trees. That’s not a proper Christmas Tree, Sister.”

“We don’t think so in England, but then, of course,
ours
isn’t the right Christmas, either, is it?”

“How do you mean?”

Sitting there on his little bed, Candace told the Christmas Story. She knew it very well, for her Fairhall days were still not so far away.

“Yes, Sister, I know all that.”

“Then hasn’t something struck you?”

“What, Sister?”

“Where all this happened, Peter.”

“Bethlehem, of course.”

“And what sort of place was it, Peter?”

“Why, it was—
why, it was warm
.” The realisation of his discovery astounded Peter. To think that all this time his mind had been on snow and fir trees.

“I’m going to tell me dad,” he said importantly. “I guess he never thought of that.”

The week before Christmas excitement prevailed. It was almost as intense as for the Annual Fete.

The biggest camphor near the entrance of the house proper was being electrified for illumination, and every day guilds, younger sets, committees or just private visitors arrived with arms laden with gifts.

Morning and afternoon the piano rang with carols. Different churches sent their choirs, and the holy music sounded sweetly down the long corridors.

Candace, attending Jeanie one afternoon, realised that the little girl should have been at her music lesson.

Jeanie looked weary, so she did not question the child, but sought information from Barbara.

“She’s not going. She hasn’t been going for a few weeks.”

“But why?”

“Trisby’s doing, I expect.”

“Oh, Barbara, Eve wouldn’t do that.”

“Eve would do anything. But perhaps I’m being unfair. Ask Toby.”

Doctor Ferry confirmed that Jeanie had ceased her lessons.

“The old music teacher was being paid, you know. She wanted to do it gratis, but Ash insisted on a financial basis.”

“Yes?”

“Well, Sister Trisby said it wasn’t a sound proposition. An aide had to be set aside to wheel the child backwards and forwards to Welfare, but in spite of the extra work entailed Jeanie didn’t seem particularly keen after all. Of course, they’re Trisby’s words, not mine.”

“But, Toby, you surely had an answer to that.” Candace’s eyes were angry.

“Hold your horses, Jam, I had plenty of answers, but it was no use my uttering them.”

“Why?”

Doctor Ferry paused a long moment. “Jam,” he said gently at length, “haven’t you noticed Jeanie of late?”

“Yes, she looks tired.”

“She is tired. Tired out. Too tired to keep back with us, Jam. She’s not going to be very long, I’m afraid. Ash and I were discussing that yesterday. The child’s become too frail to be hauled up to a music room and taught minims and crotchets. The interest is gone, Jam. Jeanie will be going soon, too.”

“Oh, Toby—” Candace was taken by surprise, she was distressed.

“I’m sorry, my girl, but I thought you would have noticed. It’s better now, poor kiddie. She’s happy in her own little way. She’s never realised things yet—”

Candace nodded. “I suppose you’re right. And I’m glad you told me.”

She went back to Jeanie and looked down on the tumbled curls.

“Sister—”

“Yes, darling?”

“They’re playing carols, aren’t they? I wish I could have played carols, but I couldn’t seem to sort the black notes from the white.”

“Would you like to try again?” Candace was determined the child should be deprived of
nothing.

“No, I don’t think so. I just want to listen. Will they be playing carols to-night?”

“Of course, Jeanie, to-night is Christmas Eve. The tree will be lit.”

“I don’t care about the tree, it’s the carols. Will they sing Midnight Clear?”

“Of course, darling. If they don’t I’ll tell them to.”

“Will you come and sit with me and sing it, too?”

“I’ll come, Jeanie.”

Candace remembered her promise, but the day and the early evening proved very arduous.

She did not know what time it was that Brenda came to her side.

“Busy, Sister?”

“Very busy. What is it?”

“Jeanie.”

Candace put down what she was doing. “I’ll come at once.”

Jeanie was lying like a doll in her narrow cot On a sudden impulse Candace went behind the bed and pushed it on the veranda.

The aide stood watching.

“Brenda,” Candace whispered, “I want you to go down to the waits and ask them something.”

“Yes, Sister?”

“Ask them to sing ‘It came upon the midnight clear,’ and to make it full and loud.”

“Yes, Sister.”

Brenda went, and Candace sat beside Jeanie. She took the little hand in hers, but the fingers did not stir.

The child continued to lie quiet and motionless until the hymn started.

“Sing it. You promised.”

“Of course I shall, darling.”

Candace’s sweet slight voice rose in unison with the waits.

“... It came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,