Bittersweet (18 page)

“I see X-ray is a sore point, Liam, but I give you my word that when the dust settles, radiology will be a department of its own having nothing to do with pathology,” Charles said, smiling. “It also doesn’t escape me that this hospital has an excellent pathologist. Now tell me about the cheap nurses.”

This interview plus several more endowed Charles Burdum with a knowledge of Corunda Base Hospital that most of the men
involved in the selection of a new Superintendent never expected or suspected. Charles acquired a reputation for uncanny shrewdness, and also took the job. The day after he was officially informed of his success, he started work; no pussyfooting around for the new Superintendent!

Between his arrival on the Melbourne day express and the notice of his appointment in the
Corunda Post
, three weeks had elapsed. During them, old Tom Burdum gifted his grandson with Burdum House, the mansion Henry Burdum, the founder of the family, had built on the heights atop Catholic Hill, which was Corunda’s best residential district. Charles staffed it at once from maids to groundsmen, pulled the dustcovers off the furniture, and then laid plans for a two-acre garden in the style of Inigo Jones. His maroon Packard had arrived together with two small flivvers for running around in when the big car was too ostentatious; and a carrier from Sydney delivered some ten huge trunks packed with belongings from England that apparently Charles could not live without. His ten thousand books, he told his grandparents, were crated and warehoused in London, but would not make the six-week sea journey until he converted one of Burdum House’s larger rooms into a proper library.

“I confess,” said old Tom Burdum to the Reverend Tom Latimer, “that my grandson Charlie is a bigger bite than I can comfortably chew. I’ve hung on grimly to reach this age in the hope that I’d live to set eyes on my Pommy grandson, who wasn’t in a hurry to come out. What I hoped was that he’d be more satisfactory than Jack Thurlow. Well, he is — but does he have to be so
Pommy
?”

“Tom, he
is
a Pommy,” said the Rector, “and he has no idea what that means. They have to arrive here before they understand Pommyness. Yet I don’t despair for him. He’s not as thick about the phenomenon of Pommyness as most Pommies are. In fact, I think when Charlie is told not to come the superior Pom over colonials, he will actually pipe down.”

“That’s perceptive of you, Rector.” Old Tom leaned back in his chair, a steaming cup of tea at his elbow and one of Maude’s butterfly cream cakes on a plate — delicious! “At first I didn’t think I could like him, but it turned out to be easy. He’s no slouch, my grandson Charlie! Jack looks and behaves right for Corunda, yet now I’m starting to get a feeling that Charlie may be righter in the long run.” The creased, incredibly old face broke into a wide grin. “The Pommyness means he has some ratbaggy notions that will have to be pounded out of him, but he doesn’t have any ironbound conviction that he’s better than the colonials just because he’s a Pommy. In fact, his background and education say he’d behave the same to Pommies as he does to us colonials.”

“You’re getting muddled, Tom, but I know what you mean,” said the Rector. “Eton, Balliol, and Guy’s put him a long way out in the forefront of society, even Pommy society. After all, he has the money to be a Prince of Wales playboy — Mayfair parties, horseraces at Ascot, sunshine on the Côte d’Azur, skiing at Kitzbühl, et cetera. Yet he qualified in Medicine and hasn’t known an idle day since his time at Balliol. I think your grandson Charles has a streak of the altruist in his nature. So, incidentally, does your other grandson, Jack, though in a different way.” A
fierce frown descended on the Rector’s brow. “One thing they share in common is a reluctance to come to church.”

Old Tom burst out laughing. “Jack’s a lost cause, Rector, as well you know. However, I’m sure that when the novelty of his appearance in Corunda wears off, Charles will grace the Burdum pew in St. Mark’s. If he attended at the moment, he’d stir up a near-riot — the whole town is dying to inspect him at close quarters, and where else than in the Burdum pew can the poor chap be imprisoned? Ask three of your own four daughters.”

Which left the Reverend Mr. Latimer without a word to say.

Of course every member of the Corunda Base Hospital staff was agog to meet the new Superintendent, who hadn’t worn the first set of creases into his starched long white coat or heated the leather seat of his office chair before he was in action, marching up and down the ramps, sidling into wards waving an airy hand to signal that he wasn’t really there at all, invading Matron’s sacrosanct areas and privileges, demanding the account books, bank books and property portfolios from Secretary Walter Paulet, and even going so far as to sample the patients’ frightful meals.

“He’s a busy boy,” said Tufts to Kitty and Edda over hot bacon sandwiches in their cottage.

“Having little heart-to-hearts with your favourite medical man, Liam Finucan,” said Edda, chewing blissfully. “Oh, there is nothing like crisp bacon rashers on fresh white bread!”

“I freely admit that Liam is my favourite medical man,” said Tufts without resentment, “but since Kitty’s bantam rooster took
over the coop, I scarcely see Liam. As you say, Edda, constant heart-to-hearts with the new Super.”

“I wonder when the spiffy new broom is going to get around to deciding what to do with his four newly registered sisters?” Kitty asked, basking in the distinction of having told the Great Man to piss off and leave her in peace. She’d also told him he was a presumptuous twirp! Since she had relayed the story to several nursing friends as well as to her sisters, it had become general gossip, though thus far Kitty had not been offered the opportunity to meet him in her hospital guise. In fact, his way of insinuating himself into hospital business without ever once introducing himself to his subordinates was seen as unorthodox and rude — but then, he was a Pommy and they were mere colonials!

Tufts was speaking; Kitty emerged from her brown study. “I imagine that we four junior sisters are pretty low on his totem pole,” Tufts said, licking her fingers. “Liam says he’s a master-planner and formulating a new character for Corunda Base, which is why he’s to be found poking into forgotten corners. In fact, according to Liam, the man’s a powerhouse dynamo capable of rare analytical detachment and logical construction.”

“I knew a bacon sandwich would get more out of you than a whole syringe full of truth serum,” Kitty said smugly. “So the bantam cock is counting every feather in the hen-house?”

Edda smiled. “Matron must be foaming at the mouth.”

“Oh, he conquered Matron during their first five-minute talk,” Tufts contributed, enjoying her position as oracle even more than the lunch. “Apparently they see eye-to-eye about nursing and nurses,
and
matters domestic and culinary.”

“I heard a rumour that the fur is flying out at the convalescent home,” Kitty said.

“My darling sisters,” said Tufts, “there is so much fur flying in so many directions from so many pelts that the air is thick with it.” She dropped her choicest item. “We are to see Dr. Burdum himself at eight tomorrow morning. Lena too.”

“Out of Limbo at last!” Edda cried.

“Yes, but up to Heaven, or down to Hell?” asked Kitty, face falling into a grimace. “I have an odd feeling about Dr. Burdum.”

“Well, it’s going to be difficult for you — how do you get back into his good books after telling him to piss off?”

The eyes flashed a sudden burst of violet. “Huh! He asked for it, the miserable little worm! If he offends me again, I’ll do worse than tell him to piss off.”

The four new sisters, veiled yet still in aprons, presented their starched persons to Dr. Charles Burdum’s outer office at one minute before eight the next morning; they were apprehensive, but not frightened. Lena Corrigan suffered least, but no one envied her. To volunteer, especially once certificated, to nurse mental patients was so extraordinary that there was little chance an enlightened hospital chief would refuse to employ her. The days of Frank Campbell were gone; Dr. Charles Burdum, even on such short notice, was proving himself a sensible and sensitive chief.

Cynthia Norman, who had been an assistant secretary with nostrils just above the level of the typists’ pool, and was now
Dr. Burdum’s personally chosen private secretary, sent all four in together. The new Superintendent didn’t rise to greet them, nor bid them sit down; three stood facing his desk (which, noted Edda, had had its legs cut down), while the fourth turned her back on him to examine the titles of his many medical tomes. That it didn’t appear insolent was due to the crowded room.

Seated, he looked quite tall, a common trait in small men, whose trunks tended to be average in length; they lost height in their legs. Disproportionate, thought Edda, the tallest of them. How glad I am that I’m wearing two-inch heels on my shoes! Blocky heels on stodgy work shoes, but heels for all that, ha ha. Now why does he provoke that attitude in me? Not because he’s a Pommy, no. More because he’s so bloody sure of himself.

“Thank you for being so punctual, Sisters,” he said from his chair, “and forgive my not bidding you be seated. You won’t be here long.” A charming smile turned his face from gargoyle to film star. “Three out of four beginning nurse-trainees attained registration, and one superlatively good long-term nurse has been grandfathered in as registered, not before time.” Came a dazzling smile. “Don’t give me your names, I’ll work from my list. Sister Lena Corrigan?”

“That’s me,” said Lena. “I’m the grandfather.”

“A very youthful one. It says here that you want to nurse in the mental asylum — is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent, excellent!” he exclaimed, as if it really were. “You carry twenty years of general nursing with you, Sister, an incomparable asset for one who will assume command in the
asylum just in time to ready the place as much as possible for the new psychiatrist I intend to appoint. There’s not much can be done for chronic epileptics, congenital dementias and the like, but I do believe we’ll learn to treat things like mania and depression successfully in years to come. You will be the top-ranking deputy matron, but your title within the asylum will be Matron. Work on building the necessary additions to the asylum will start immediately, and the psychiatrist will arrive in the New Year. Is that satisfactory, Matron Corrigan?”

“I’m walking on air, sir. Thank you, thank you!”

“Then I’ll see you at two this afternoon for another talk.”

Face transfigured, Lena went out.

“Sister Edda Latimer?”

“Yes, sir.”

No film star for her! The gargoyle went on leering, forked tongue out. “I see that your preference is for Theatre work, but of course you know there are no vacancies at present,” Dr. Burdum said, sounding sorry for it.

“Yes, sir.”

“I haven’t been in the district long enough to gain any real impressions about the hospital’s adequacies as well as its more obvious inadequacies, so I can’t give you any idea as to whether I think there should be a second theatre, only that thus far things seem to say one theatre is plenty. With Sydney only three hours away, more complex forms of surgery are probably better done there apart from true emergencies.” The eyes, she saw, had changed from bright gold to a dull khaki; the gargoyle retracted his tongue and looked wry. “I can offer you work,
Sister Latimer, but not theatre. The six until two shift on Men’s Two needs a second sister, so does the same shift on Maternity. Any preferences?”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll take Men’s Two,” said Edda, turned smartly, and walked out.

“Sister Heather Scobie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Basically,” he said chattily, “you’re already sorted out as Sister Tutor, and have been doing sterling work in Domestic and Culinary as well. What I plan is to put Domestic permanently under a deputy matron who will also be responsible for nurses’ aides and porters. However, wardsmaids, porters and aides from now on will be obliged to attend a course of tuition in hygiene and basic cleaning, will also be shown how to do their duties, and once a year attend another course. Sister Tutor will have charge of all instruction.”

“That’s a terrific idea,” said Tufts, beaming.

“Culinary is a different problem,” Dr. Burdum went on, “with some of the same elements. They too will need tuition in hygiene, for example. As everybody must know by now, feeding people is going to cost more than sixpence a day, but over and above that is the problem of decent cooking. Matron and I intend that Culinary will have its own deputy matron responsible for nothing else, but where should I start?”

“With an axe, sir,” said Tufts. “Matron Newdigate is a city person who wouldn’t know a shearers’ cook if she fell over him, but Dr. Campbell has always run Corunda Base on shearers’ cooks. Shearers, sir, work extremely long hours of extremely hard
labour, and they’d eat
anything
. Sick people, on the other hand, find it hard to eat the tastiest food.” She shrugged. “I leave it up to your imagination, sir. Sack the cooks and get decent ones.”

“I will indeed. It goes without saying, Sister Scobie, that you are Sister Tutor and in charge of
all
hospital education.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Tufts, smiled at him, and left.

Three down, one to go, she who was still studying his books.

“Sister Katherine Treadby?”

She turned in a near pirouette, stripping his face of all ability to be either gargoyle or film star; it had been ironed free from all expression save amazement. “You!” he gasped.

“That depends who ‘you’ is, sir. However, I am certainly the ‘you’ belonging to Sister Katherine Treadby.”

“But your name is Kitty Latimer, you’re the Rector’s girl!”

“Yes, I’m that too,” she said, thoroughly enjoying herself. “My legal name is Latimer, but since all four trainees who started nursing here in April of 1926 were blood sisters with the same surname — Latimer — three of us were given new surnames. Edda kept Latimer. Grace, who left to marry, became Faulding. Tufts — oops, I mean Heather — took Scobie, while I, the youngest by some minutes, became Treadby.”