Australian Hospital (2 page)

Matron had paused expectantly, and Candace felt obliged to comment.

“It sounds very good, Matron, though—”

“Yes, Nurse?”

“You indicated before that Miss Fielding’s time might not be—very long—” Candace’s voice held apology.

Matron nodded practically. “Hilary Fielding cannot last more than a year.”

“Then—?”

“I see what you mean. Your future. There are several alternatives. You could come back here to Charlotte. You could start elsewhere. Or you could do what Miss Fielding suggested when I told her of you.”

“Yes, Matron?”

“With your new experience in arthritic nursing as well as the standard you have attained in general nursing, you could specialise. The place Miss Fielding had in mind was—Manathunka.”

“Manathunka?”

“You haven’t heard of it, of course. It is a hospital for incurables, in Australia.”

“But how could
I
afford to go to Australia? You have told me the hospital would pay my salary at Manders, but even then—”

“That, my dear”—Matron relaxed sufficiently to permit one of her very rare endearments—“will be provided for. When I say Miss Fielding is not well placed, I do not say she is penniless. She was very insistent on this point: that whoever came to her would be favourably placed at her death at
her
expense.

“In brief, Nurse, if you accept this position, you need entertain no fear for your future.

“I don’t want you to give me an answer now. I want you to go out to Manders and see Miss Fielding. If you decide against it, I shall ask someone else, and you can stay on here at Charlotte and no harm done.

“I just want you to appreciate, Nurse Jamieson, that you are my first choice.” Matron’s eyes looked keenly into Candace’s for a moment.

“Now,” she said briskly, “you can have the afternoon off, and go out and see Miss Hilary. I’ve telephoned Manders and they will expect you.”

Candace rose, feeling a little bewildered.

“Thank you,” she said uncertainly.

Matron heard the doubtful note in her voice, and understood instantly. “I know how you feel,” she said with unexpected sympathy, “but I think you will see things differently after you have interviewed our dear lady.

“Send Nurse Clissold in, will you?”

“Gwenda? Does that mean that Charlotte—at least—”

Matron nodded. “Nurse Clissold has also been a satisfactory if over-voluble trainee. I think Charlotte will be happy to retain her.”

There was dismissal now in Matron’s fingering of the papers on her desk.

Candace had gone out wondering whether to be pleased or sorry. She was pleased for Gwen, but a little dubious for herself.

She decided to do as Matron advised: not to reach a decision until she had visited Manders.

From the moment Candace had bent over the wheelchair, and taken Miss Hilary’s papery little hands in her own firm ones, her mind had been made up.

She had felt a thrill of beauty as she had passed through the dignified old gates of Manders, up the gravelled drive, then through the Gothic door to the raftered hall where Miss Fielding had awaited her.

There had been little said.

The sweet old eyes had looked up into Candace’s clear young grey ones, and there had been an appeal and a question in them that Candace’s heart had responded to immediately.

“I’m coming to live with you, Miss Hilary,” she told her, and Miss Fielding had smiled and said simply, “I’m so glad.”

Candace had never regretted her eight months at Manders.

It was not the fine old house, the plain but very dignified service, the air of refinement and gentle elegance, that made her happy, it was the friendship of Miss Hilary herself.

It was easy work, as Matron said, though it had its exacting side, and, of course, individual. Candace had found herself becoming very interested and quite well versed in the study of occupational therapy.

They had had many laughs between them, Miss Fielding and Candace, as they had put together the felt extremities of toy elephants to find one tusk coinciding with Jumbo’s tail, or turned a bear inside out for stuffing only to discover he had been assembled the wrong way. But all the time the patient was occupied, and her poor little twisted hands were flexing and unflexing in the manner the doctor advised.

It had been a happy, fleeting period, and the end had come almost as a shock to Candace, though not—as she had thought later—to little Miss Hilary.

The afternoon before she had slipped peacefully away in her sleep, the old lady had spoken to Candace of Manathunka.

“Matron mentioned it. She said it was in Australia, and that it was a home for—” Candace paused. She did not want to say it outright.

“For incurables? Yes, it is, my dear. You will wonder how I know of Manathunka. You might have heard me speak of Laurence—”

“He was your agent, I think.”

“Yes, years ago, when Manders was much more prosperous. He emigrated to Australia, and there took up a secretarial position for this home called Manathunka. He wrote me of it often, and I became very interested. The place, it appears, was founded on one man’s vision. This man was distressed by the ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here’ atmosphere in the establishments that previously had been set aside for people who found themselves in the same unfortunate state as I, so he founded a home he named Manathunka.”

“Why did he call it that? Has it some meaning?”

“It is the aboriginal version of ‘morning,’ Candace. This man with the vision, Laurence told me, felt that the old infirmary held the gloom of night. Manathunka would be to-morrow for its unhappy inmates—new, untried, full of hope and courage. Manathunka—morning.”

“I think that is very lovely,” said Candace.

“I think so, too. The place was to be run on therapeutic lines. It would receive no Government aid, but depend on people with the same vision as the man who founded it.”

“Was it—is it a success?”

“Yes—as far as Laurence has told me. Of course, there are pinpricks. There must be a flaw in every diamond, it seems. But the way Laurence spoke about it impressed me tremendously. I felt I would like to see Manathunka, the place of the morning. If I could not see it, I wanted someone else to see it for me. I would like
you
to, Candace.”

Candace was about to speak, but the little lady put up her hand.

“Laurence, as secretary, could place you, my dear. I cannot see how you would do anything but gain through your Australian visit. Manathunka is greatly sought after by local nurses, he has assured me. The conditions are extremely good, and”—a little twinkle—“the marriage prospects quite high.

“I have put aside your fare money should you decide to try out Manathunka—indeed, I have even booked your passage.”

“Miss Hilary—”

“My dear,
I
know how near I am. You think not. Well, perhaps it is better that way—”

She had taken up the felt elephant that she had cut so that the tusk coincided with the tail. “I really must do this again. I’ll do it to-morrow, Candace.”

She did not do it.

She died in her sleep.

Candace had packed the elephant in the bag she had taken back to Lady Charlotte.

It was still in the bag waiting to be unpacked in her cabin in this ship that was to take her to Australia.

CHAPTER II

All
at once Candace became aware of a babble around her, then she heard a warning gong and saw that the groups of people were beginning final rounds of farewells.

She did not get up to watch the departing crowds or see the withdrawal of the gangways.

She sat quite still, aware of lonely tears pricking her eyes again—and that was why the critical stranger was upon her before she knew it. Through the blur of tears she had not seen his approach.

“We’re leaving.” His voice was not quite so cold now. It held even a slight trace of apology. “Come and see the last of England.”

Candace was inclined to refuse. She even opened her mouth to do so, but before she could, he had pulled her unostentatiously but quite definitely to her feet, and was steering her to a small space at the rails.

He pressed her into the narrow circumference, and stood directly behind. She could feel his large, muscular presence, and felt grateful because the crowds were elbowing her now in a desire to see the last of their friends.

He held them off, but he also, thought Candace a trifle ruefully, held her prisoner. She turned once, and met his intensely blue eyes—still cool, still appraising, but not quite so irritable.

The last streamer broke. The last good-bye faded away. The man beside her was tucking her elbow in the palm of his hand and leading her back to a deckchair.

“I must go and unpack,” she said.

“Never go straight down. You get trodden in the crush. Wait ten minutes and everything will be clear. We’ll sit here.”

Again he acted quietly but definitely. Candace sank into the chair, and wondered why she did not protest.

The man at her side was proffering a case of cigarettes. He raised one brow as she shook her head, then lit his own. “I feel some slight apology is forthcoming,” he stated coolly. “You must have thought me a boor.”

That “slight” rather amused Candace. This man would be fair, she thought, but never generous. He was being merely fair now, not generous.

“I’m Stephen Halliday,” he introduced.

“I’m Candace Jamieson.”

“Going right out?”

“Yes.”

“I am, too. As probably we shall have to see quite a lot of each other, we’d better be friends.”

“Were we enemies?”

“There was an antagonistic air on my part. I have apologised. I was irritated with the delay. That and—”

“My friend’s conversation?”

He smiled unexpectedly. It made him look altogether different.

“I was not intending to say that. I was going to add ‘and this whole ill-timed journey to Australia.’ ”

“You do not want to go?”

“I did not want to go—
yet.
I was in the middle of something—” He paused. “I was not quite ready.”

“Couldn’t you have put it off?”

“I was asked to come in a hurry.”

“Then I should imagine you would have flown.”

“I wanted time to think things over,” returned Stephen Halliday. He looked at her and said in surprise, “But why am I telling
you
this?”

Candace smiled wryly. “Why have you decided on friendship?” she retaliated.

The man shrugged. “The only alternative. I’m
obliged
to. You will soon realise that the younger circle on board is very small. It is always like that on an expensive ship. The majority of the passengers will be elderly and established. They will either nap, play bridge, or swap success stories. Though youth bores me, I feel I can stand it better than stories I have already heard a hundred times. A mere matter of obligation, as I just said.”

Candace had risen. “I’m sure I’m most grateful,” she smiled insincerely. “Are those ten minutes up?”

“Not quite, but the way should be comparatively clear now.”

“Then thank you for being so attentive.” Her tone was slightly derisive.

He had risen, too, and he bowed, equally derisively, as she passed.

“I would not take it to heart,” he advised.

“What, Mr. Halliday?”

“That suggestion of mine that our meeting is merely obligatory. It is not always the case. I’m sure there will be someone on board with quite different views to mine on such matters. What was it your friend said? ‘Sea-trips are definite mantraps.’ Sometimes the victim is quite unaware of the process. Quite often he even
enjoys
it.”

Candace responded in a low, level tone. “You are really unpardonable. You think because you have apologised once you have apologised for all time.”

“Oh, no, I’m always fair. As I transgress further, I shall beg your pardon afresh.” His smile was mocking.

As Candace began to step forward, he took his place by her side and walked with her.

“I see you are affronted now, so I tender another apology, Miss Jamieson.”

“It is not accepted.”

“No? But keep in mind I offered it. There, I believe, is your cabin.”

“How can you know?”

“It is the only door left open, and there is some luggage waiting to be dispersed.”

Candace drew away from him without speaking.

She went through the door he had indicated, and pulled it sharply behind her.

A girl was sitting on one of the twin beds, and she looked up eagerly as Candace entered.

“Oh, hullo,” she said brightly. “When nobody else turned up I hoped it might be you.”

She smiled a welcome, and Candace smiled back.

She was the pretty girl in the deceptively simple clothes who had stood near her chair on deck saying farewell.

For a moment, looking at those clothes, Candace’s heart sank. Then she caught the genuine friendship in the laughing hazel eyes, and felt better.

She sat down on the other bed, surveyed her luggage as the girl was surveying hers, reviewed the sufficient but not over-abundant hanging space, met the girl’s rueful glance, then joined her in gay laughter.

“I’m Rosemary Tilburn,” announced Candace’s cabin-mate. “I’ve oodles of bags. I don’t know where I am going to fit everything in.”

“I’m Candace Jamieson. I haven’t very much, so you can use some of my space.” Candace gave a sidelong glance, and added teasingly, “Perhaps that is why you were hoping it would be me. I don’t look the type to have a great deal of luggage, I admit.”

Rosemary widened her eyes. “How horrible of you, Candace. It never occurred to me. I just noticed you on deck and said to myself: I hope I get her. She seems nice and easy to get on with and she’s
young.
That’s a big thing. This ship is filled up with elderly and middle-aged people. Only that sort of people can afford the high fare. The younger group go Tourist. I wish I could have gone Tourist by myself, but Mummy and Daddy would take pink fits.”

She had jumped up from the bed, and was shaking out some dresses from a wardrobe trunk. They followed the trend of the deceptively simple style she was wearing. Candace could not resist crying out in genuine admiration.

“Yes, they’re all right. I like a good line. Isn’t it funny, though, Candace? I go to Montague’s and pay him a fortune for something to look like the suit you are wearing, and which probably you ran up yourself for thirty shillings.”

“Two pounds,” said Candace. She laughed. There was something warm and irresistible about Rosemary. You could not be offended at anything she said.

“We’ve pots of money,” chattered Rosemary uninhibitedly. “Wool, you know. A few years ago Daddy was struggling—yes, literally
struggling.
Then bang! Up goes the price of the clip, and we’re rolling in dough.” She used the slang with obvious enjoyment, probably, suspected Candace, because her mother was not there to object.

The girl shook out more dresses.

“Money’s all right, I suppose, but sometimes I think it’s rather like first-class on Red Plimsoll—a bit dull.”

“I can’t imagine you would ever be dull,” said Candace frankly.

“Oh, I have lots of fun, I admit. Life is a round of pleasure back home. But—” Rosemary hung up a pink ballerina dress in the space that Candace had offered, and sighed a little as she did so.

“Tell me about
you,
Candace,” she invited.

“There’s very little. I’m a nurse.”

“Oh, I say, what fun. What are you doing here then? And aren’t you rather a goose? I mean, if it were me, I would be going on some line where there would be hosts and hosts of young things, not near-millionaires napping on deck, or playing bridge.”

Candace explained her position briefly. Rosemary nodded as she hung more frocks.

“And where are you bound, Candace?”

“Sydney.”

“That’s my stamping-ground. At least, when we are not stopping at Bibaringa.”

Candace was interested. The smooth cadences of the aboriginal names intrigued her. She asked its meaning.

“Mountain, though there’s not one in sight, really. Our station is on the plains. There is a sort of rise, about as big as a glorified pudding basin, and after so much flat I suppose it achieves height. Where will you be in Sydney?”

“I shall be out of it, really. I believe about fifteen miles. A home called Manathunka.”

“Oh, yes, I know. It’s for arthritic, and established polio, and spinal and muscular cases, isn’t it? All rather hopeless.”

Candace nodded. “Have you been there?”

Rosemary looked ashamed. “I’m on the Younger Set Committee. I am one of the hostesses at the Annual Ball. I sell buttons to susceptible gentlemen on Manathunka Friday, but I’ve never set foot in the place. That’s what I mean, Candace. What good am I except to buy things from Montague?” She paused in her unpacking for a while, her pretty little face clouded with doubt.

“Your parents are on board?”

“Yes. Mummy will be thrilled when she sees what a good influence you are.” Candace laughed. “Oh, I mean it. You only have to
look.
They wanted me to have a single, but I said I’d go blue-mouldy by myself. As it is, I’m beginning to brighten somewhat. That was a nice number you were with. What’s his name?”

“Stephen Halliday.”

“Mmm.” Rosemary tasted it reflectively.

A gong sounded, and she put away the frock she was holding, and turned and entwined her arm in Candace’s.

“Tea. Let’s go. It might be my last snack for a while. I’m a rotten sailor.”

The two girls went out of the cabin along to the saloon, where dishes of cakes and muffins were being distributed to the sound of much talk and laughter.

It seemed that Rosemary’s words were to be true.

That night they ran into bad weather. Candace awoke to the noise of wind and rain and roaring water. Rosemary’s groans of distress filled the small cabin.

Candace got up and rang for the stewardess. She only came after many ringings, and even then could spare but a few moments to the prostrate girl.

“Nearly all the ship have gone down. We hardly ever get it this bad so soon. There is really very little I can do, but I’ll come back as often as I can.”

Candace told her not to worry that she would attend Rosemary herself, and the woman left relieved of at least one less patient on her busy hands.

Rosemary was worse in the morning, and Candace went up to the cabin her friend had told her was the berth of Mr. and Mrs. Tilburn, and knocked on the door.

Weak voices bade her enter.

Rosemary’s parents were as prostrate as their daughter.

It was a busy day for Candace, but she was glad. Attending Rosemary she had neither the time to think about Gwenda and Charlotte and all she had left behind, nor the opportunity to anticipate being sick herself.

By the evening, although the weather had worsened, she felt sure she would not be sick, in spite of the fact that tables had thinned considerably since lunch, and even now several passengers were leaving the saloon wearing distinctly miserable expressions.

Candace noted that Stephen Halliday was neither among the absent nor the departing. He sat at his table eating unconcernedly.

The next day was the same. The third day the ship seemed to roll more distressingly with every knot. The skies were heavy and lowering, and the ocean a monstrous mass of angry froth.

The fourth morning there was only a handful of people at breakfast. To Candace’s surprise, the steward led her to Stephen’s table.

Halliday rose, sat down after she had, then explained laconically, “This weather will last another day. A pity to give the stewards unnecessary work. I have decided to help them with closer settlement.”

Candace was annoyed. She did not mind his consideration for the stewards, but she thought he should have consulted her first. At the least he could have come to
her,
not ordered her to be brought to
him.

As though reading her thoughts, he said, with that sudden smile of his that made him look so different, “Anyway, it’s a better table.”

A trifle mollified, Candace ordered kidneys and bacon. As she ate she remarked with justifiable pride, “The Captain says it’s the worst trip he’s made.”

Halliday raised amused brows. “It affords some weathers and gives a fillip to the more robust customers. Incidentally”—crushingly—“I wouldn’t be too triumphant, Miss Jamieson.
Mal-de-mer
happens at the oddest times. You can never be quite certain—” He glanced at her plate, and, feeling considerably smaller, Candace returned to the kidneys that somehow did not taste quite the same this time.