Mistress of Greyladies (12 page)

He looked towards the old door. ‘Shall we go back that way? It would … send a message.’

‘Of course.’

When Benedict led the way through the door, Matron was walking across the hall, holding a folder of papers. She swung round at the sound of the door opening and glared as he walked through it, followed by the Latimers.

‘Ah, Matron. Just the person I wanted to see.’ He knew his voice was a bit too jovial, but it was the best he could manage. ‘Mr and Mrs Latimer have agreed to consider giving permission for a lift, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the fabric of the house, and I know just the place we might be able to put one.’

She ignored the Latimers completely. ‘Surely the War Office would have had a lift installed if they’d thought it necessary, Dr Somers?’

‘They’ve left such minor changes to my discretion. I am, after all, an expert in this sort of medicine. Let me show you all what I mean.’ He led the way into the kitchen, going through it to the laundry area. ‘That storage space could be used and its contents stored elsewhere, in a temporary hut, if necessary.’

He flung open the outer door. ‘Let’s see what the building is like here, whether I’ve remembered it correctly. Yes. Yes, I have.’

He waited till his three companions had come outside and studied the outbuildings.

‘This part of the house seems to have been added on to the newer building almost as an afterthought. As you can see, they didn’t bother to beautify the rear of it, because it’s out of sight. I don’t think we’d be damaging anything worth keeping if we put in a lift here.’

Joseph limped up and down, studying the building and Harriet followed him. They spoke to one another quietly, then turned back to Benedict.

‘I think you’re right,’ Harriet said.

‘And what’s more,’ Joseph added, ‘I think you could put a glass walkway here so that the men could get into the front of the house from the lift without disturbing the kitchen staff.’

‘But who would keep an eye on them? Make sure they don’t stray?’ Matron exclaimed in an outraged tone. ‘I can’t spare any staff to oversee this area.’

Benedict let out his breath slowly and threw her a sop. ‘We could give official permission to those capable of it, to move about the house on their own. Others should, of course, be accompanied by a nurse or orderly – or even another patient as they improve.’

‘I agree about installing a lift. It’d make the nurses’ and orderlies’ work easier. But I do not approve of patients wandering about on their own under any circumstances.’

‘It’s part of their rehabilitation, at least for those who can achieve near normality. And it’s my job to help them get to
that stage. Given the war, I fear we’re all about to learn a lot more about what helps and does not help to rehabilitate badly damaged men. We must therefore all keep our minds open to new ways.’

She said nothing, simply scowled at the Latimers, then at him.

‘I was thinking …’ Joseph said hesitantly. ‘Aren’t lifts powered by electricity?’

‘Yes.’

‘There is none at Greyladies.’

‘Oh. I see. I’d assumed that in such a big house you’d have installed electricity, even if only for the main living areas. Most people are doing it, it’s so convenient to be able to light the place up without all the fuss of gas or oil lamps.’

‘We don’t have gas, either. There was talk about having it brought into the village, if enough people were keen, but then the war began.’

Matron’s face now bore a smug smile.

‘I should have checked that sort of thing before getting too enthusiastic,’ Benedict said with a frown. ‘But there are electrical power lines only a mile or two away. I saw them as we drove here. I’m sure we can overcome that problem, given the urgency of the situation. However, you’re right about one thing. It’s no use making any changes until we’ve got the electricity and gas supply set up.’

He turned and gestured to Harriet to precede him into the house. ‘I’ll walk back to the connecting door with you.’

They all looked at Matron, unsure whether to say goodbye to her.

She solved the problem by giving them a slight inclination of the head. ‘I must get back to work.
I
don’t have time to chat.’

What was this if not work? Benedict wondered as he escorted the Latimers to the offending door, then went to find Matron again. ‘I’d like to visit the patients now, if you don’t mind.’

‘It would be far better to do that later on, or in the morning even. There are nursing duties to attend to, you know, and we have our routines.’

He tried to speak calmly. ‘I need to see them now, so that I can review their cases tonight.’

‘Kindly give me half an hour, then, to prepare.’

‘Prepare what?’

She puffed up again, anger sparkling in her eyes. ‘I am used to making sure doctors see a clean and tidy ward, with patients ready to be questioned, if necessary.’

He decided he’d better give in a little, in the interest of their relationship. ‘Fifteen minutes, then.’

Benedict waited for ten minutes, leaving his batman to unpack and settle him in his room. Then impatience got the better of him and he set off. As he walked towards the wards, he heard raised voices and stopped to eavesdrop, in the interests of gathering real information about how things were run.

‘I’m
not
going to undress and go to bed at this time of day, Matron.’

‘You will do as you’re told when you’re in
my
hospital, Major.’

The person replying had a deep voice, an educated accent. ‘Who’s going to force me into my pyjamas?’

‘The orderlies, if necessary.’

‘I don’t think they’d dare do that to a major.’

What the hell was going on? Benedict wondered. He moved quietly towards the door, stopping when he could see the speakers. Fortunately, Matron had her back to him and though the man defying her saw Benedict, he didn’t say anything, but waited, his sound arm resting in his sling. He was standing next to another man, a captain by his uniform insignia. He too had his arm in a sling.

There was no reason for them to stay in bed, if that was all that was wrong. Why was Matron insisting on it?

Taking a deep breath, he entered the room.

Matron swung round and moved forward quickly to block his further progress. ‘We aren’t ready for you yet, I’m afraid, Dr Somers. I need to get your patients into bed first.’

He didn’t want to confront her in the presence of a nurse, who was standing in the corner looking embarrassed. How the hell could he deal with this idiocy?

‘It is my job to prepare patients for a doctor’s round and—’

Someone yelled in the next room, a cry of sheer pain, and he turned instinctively to go and help the person.

He found a man writhing on the bed in the throes of a nightmare. The movements were giving him pain, clearly, but he hadn’t woken, which was strange. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘He’s lost a leg and he seems prone to nightmares.’

‘Have you given him anything?’

‘A sleeping draught.’ She was straightening the bedcovers instinctively, not attending to the needs of the patient, but making it look tidy.

Benedict moved past her and sat down on the bed, taking the man’s hand in his. After a moment the fellow opened his eyes.

‘Sorry. Was I shouting again? The sleeping draughts don’t help the nightmares.’

‘That doesn’t matter. What I want to do is help you. May I see your wound, see if we can do anything about the pain?’

Matron’s mouth fell open in shock and she moved to drag the covers back abruptly, making the patient yelp in pain.

‘
Don’t touch him!
’ Very gently, Benedict finished pulling the covers back and saw a couple of ways to help in bandaging the stump differently and putting a cage over it. ‘Some people don’t do well on sleeping draughts. You must be one of them. But I have some other painkillers which may help, and I’ll see if we can adjust the bandages and find a cage to put over it.’

He turned to Matron. ‘Could we have the equipment set up for a rebandage? I’ll go and check the medical cabinet.’

She signalled to a nurse, then came out with him. ‘I have the key to the medical cabinet. I keep the records for it and can supply you with what you need.’

‘What I need immediately is a key of my own.’

‘It’ll be more efficient for one person to deal with it.’

‘Do you intend to go against me on every single detail, Matron? Because I warn you, you’ll lose the battle.’

Her mouth fell open.

He held out his hand. ‘The key!’

Even then, she hesitated before detaching it from her key chain and dropping it into his hand.

He explored the relevant shelf quickly, giving credit where it was due. ‘Well organised.’ Then he took down a jar of pills and shook two out.

‘Excuse me, Doctor, but we can’t use these except on very major cases. They’re extremely expensive. Sometimes, these
men just have to grit their teeth and cope with pain.’

He was disgusted by her attitude. ‘He
is
a major case. And
I
make the judgements on that sort of thing.’ Benedict locked the cabinet. ‘Do you have any other keys? Right, then give them to me now.’

‘As Matron, I need to have a key as well as you.’

‘I suppose so, but kindly use it only when I’m away.’

He scribbled a note in the medicines book, locked the cabinet and went back to the patient.

He could see at a glance that the trolley was well set up, so bent his attention to rebandaging the stump, which had not been dealt with as skilfully as it should have been. The trouble was, there were doctors doing their best without the necessary training.

Matron assisted him and he let her, noting how good she was at such details.

As the pills took effect, he watched the patient relax and sigh into sleep. Then he turned to Matron. ‘My compliments. You assisted me perfectly then.’

She looked more amazed at his compliment than she had at his complaints.

‘We all have our strengths, Matron. You should be in charge of the surgical side of nursing in a big hospital. You’d run it well.’

‘Thank you.’ She gazed at him warily, but he didn’t say anything else. Not then.

He returned to the major and captain, who were sitting on their beds chatting. ‘Sorry, gentlemen. Had to help your neighbour.’

‘He’s gone quieter.’

‘I think I’ve improved matters, with Matron’s help. Now,
I’m going round meeting the patients at the moment. I can see that you two are improving nicely, so will wait till morning to examine your wounds, unless Matron thinks I should do it now.’

‘And we don’t need to get undressed to talk to you?’ the major teased.

He grinned at them. ‘You’d better stay undressed in the morning, before my round. Have breakfast in your pyjamas. But no, there’s no need for bed examinations. This is a rehabilitation and convalescent home, not a hospital in the normal sense. I just want to meet everyone today. Unless someone needs help, like your neighbour.’

The major stood up. ‘The place isn’t full. Let me introduce you. I’m the senior officer here on the patients’ side.’

Matron was very quiet as they continued their round. Her glances at Benedict seemed slightly puzzled now, as if he were an unknown and potentially dangerous phenomenon.

He was concerned about the whole situation. What to do about the amenities? What to do about
her
?

By the following morning, he’d come to one conclusion. He needed to go up to London before he did anything else.

He checked the patients quickly, then said goodbye to the Latimers as well as to Matron, telling them all that nothing should be done about making changes until he got back.

Corin was summoned to see ‘a certain gentleman’ in Whitehall. The person’s name was not offered to him and the message was delivered verbally by a senior officer, which intrigued him.

When he arrived, he was shown to a short corridor of offices hidden away in the depths of the building. Everything was very quiet there, with no stray people walking around and a brisk woman sitting guard at the reception desk, who showed him to a large corner office.

He recognised the man who stood up to greet him: David Brookes, whom he’d met at his aunt’s house. Brookes was an anomaly, his exact role at the War Office known only to a few people and not quite explained even to them. He was considered eccentric, but was well thought of and connected.

Corin saluted smartly.

‘Never mind that army stuff, Captain McMinty. You’re not on parade now. Do sit down.’

He did this and waited.

‘I need someone working in my group to help me deal with the damned army, someone who knows the ropes there. You seem more tactful than most, and less rigid about … things.’

‘Sir?’

‘What I’m going to tell you must be kept to yourself. No one is to know, unless
I
give you permission. Not even your commanding officer.’

Corin couldn’t help hoping fervently that he would have an opportunity to refuse to share information with his arrogant fool of a commanding officer. It would be very satisfying.

When Brookes had finished explaining, Corin sat thinking it through. ‘It seems … a prudent thing for a government to have a unit like yours.’

‘So I think. Not just prudent but necessary. Do you have a strong prejudice against German or Austrian internees?’

‘Not if they’re simply citizens caught in this mess. I’d have a prejudice if I thought one really was a spy.’

‘Exactly. But there are some who consider all people from that background to be the blackest of villains. Hysterical idiots! If I were to ask for you to be seconded to my little group, and occasionally work with internees, would you be interested?’ Brookes leant back in his chair, hands steepled, waiting with no sign of impatience for a response.

Corin was surprised. The army didn’t usually ask you what you wanted, or let civilians ask you, either. It just told you to do it. So he took a moment or two to think carefully before replying. ‘Did someone suggest me for this role?’

‘Yes. But we checked you out before contacting you. We don’t take just anyone.’

‘Well, to answer your question, I don’t believe I’m prejudiced against individuals, whatever I think of their country’s activities. But I am loyal to my own country and that comes first.’

‘I have to say, it’s possible there may be an occasional spy among the internees, and one of our jobs is to keep our eyes open for such annoyances as we deal with the others. We never forget that possibility.’

‘I wouldn’t forget to be watchful, I can promise you.’

Brookes slapped his hand down on the table. ‘Ha! Watchful. That’s a very good word to sum up what we do in all sorts of areas. I gather you have some skill with foreign languages.’

‘I speak French with reasonable fluency, passable German and I understand some Italian, though my skill in speaking the latter isn’t anything to boast of.’

‘Mind if I check that?’ He switched into fairly fluent French and they conversed for a few moments, then he switched suddenly into German, which he spoke far better than Corin.

When he fell silent, Corin said, ‘My gift for languages is modest, compared to yours, Mr Brookes.’

‘Multilingual family. I grew up all over the world. Children learn without realising it. Take your time thinking. Oh. I nearly forgot. You’ll be working directly under me at this and that. I don’t have a rigid view of the world. It’d be very different from the army.’

Corin took a sudden decision. After all, he had been intending to leave the army till war was declared, though only his aunt and Phoebe knew that. ‘I don’t need more time, but can you give me any details about what the work would entail?’

Brookes’ smile faded and his eyes became chill, suddenly the sort of man to fear, for all his previous affability. ‘You’d need to do anything which might help our country win the war. Anything at all.’ After a pause, he added, ‘Right down to murder.’

‘I doubt I could kill someone in cold blood, but I’d give a good account in self-defence or in protecting someone else.’

‘Good answer. I’m the same. I don’t employ men who enjoy killing. Sorry to keep testing you, but it’s important to get the right people into place. We get involved in some rather ticklish situations.’

‘Very well. I accept your offer. It sounds a lot more interesting than what I’m doing at the moment.’

Brookes held out his hand. ‘Welcome on board, then, Captain McMinty. I gather you already have somewhere to stay in London.’

‘I own a flat.’

‘How many bedrooms?’

‘Three.’

‘No one else living there?’

‘No.’

‘Excellent. We might need to put someone up suddenly. We all do it, if needed. Would it be all right with you for us to use your flat, just occasionally?’

‘It’d be fine.’ The more he was told, the more intrigued Corin was by what the job might entail.

‘And you’re Lady Potherington’s nephew?’

‘Yes.’ Was Beaty the one who’d put his name forward?

‘So you’ll have an entrée into upper circles, should it be necessary.’

‘If you can call it that. It’s Beaty who has the entrée. But I’ve only to hint to her that something might help the war effort and she’d do what she could to help, I’m quite sure of that.’

‘So am I.’ He saw Corin’s surprise and gave him a grin that was surprisingly boyish in a man with silver hair. ‘I’m well acquainted with her. Have been for years. Knew Podge
before I knew her. Shame he died so young. Sorry about your wife, too, but accidents happen. I lost a nephew in a car accident, poor lad.’

Corin didn’t say anything. He’d thought at one time he’d not get over Norah’s death, not because theirs had been such a great love, but because he felt so guilty. They’d quarrelled the evening of the accident and she’d flung out in a rage, saying she was going to meet her lover.

He’d not even tried to stop her driving off in her little car, even though he knew she’d been drinking and wasn’t in a fit state to drive. By that time in their marriage, he hadn’t cared where she went as long as it was away from him. He’d regretted his inaction bitterly. Norah hadn’t deserved to die like that, her beautiful face battered and bruised. And his unborn child hadn’t deserved to die, either.

Brookes too was having a thoughtful moment, then he sighed and became brisk again. ‘I’ll contact your regiment and get you seconded to “special duties” straight away. I think we’d better get you made up to major as well. It’ll give you more power to get things done.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Yes. Once everything’s fixed, my deputy will get in touch with you. You’ll like Andy.’

Corin walked out of the building with a lighter heart, for all the seriousness of the interview. He’d not been looking forward to acting as a human bludgeon in the war that was building up across the Channel, though he’d have done what was necessary if called to the actual fighting.

But this job sounded interesting, and far more valuable to his country.

Benedict didn’t return to Greyladies for three days. He sent a telegram to Matron in case she was concerned about his absence, but it was brief, giving nothing away about what he was doing in London.

When he drove back to Wiltshire, he was followed by Mr Pashley in an official car, accompanied by an officer whose role they didn’t explain.

‘Shall I show you gentlemen round?’ Matron asked.

‘Oh, we wouldn’t dream of interrupting your busy day,’ Mr Pashley said. ‘I did the initial inspections here, so I remember the place well. Dr Somers and I can act as guides to Captain Rainham. Captain, this is Matron Dawkins.’

The officer inclined his head, but said nothing, then the three men walked away, leaving her standing scowling after them.

They went all over the house, speaking only in near whispers. It was surprising how many times they met Matron traversing the corridors or stairs, which greatly annoyed Benedict.

He stopped to speak briefly to his patient Major Humphreys, who had looked well on the way to recovery when he left, but was looking tired and wincing when he moved the injured arm unwarily.

He offered no explanation to the major of why his companions were there, only said he’d come round after he’d finished this to check on that arm.

They finished their tour at the old laundry. Captain Rainham tapped walls, and studied the building both inside and out, then walked to and fro again, before grimacing. ‘Not the best place for a lift. Could have one put in, but only with a lot of trouble and expense, because you’d need to strengthen the walls. Is it worth that to you?’

Mr Pashley let out a grunt. ‘I doubt it, not with the alternative we have in mind. Shall we see the owners about that alternative now? We need to check the final piece of the jigsaw, before we decide. I have permission to broach the matter with them, as you know, but I will emphasise that it’s top secret.’

Benedict led the way back to the entrance hall and knocked on the connecting door to the old house. He caught the flash of a white, starched headdress on the landing above them and made a mental note to tell Matron to keep away when he was showing people round in future.

She’d find nothing out from her snooping, but it still irritated him – and it was disrespectful. But then old-fashioned matrons often were disrespectful towards the medical staff, particularly the junior doctors. Only he wasn’t a junior doctor now; and he was the commandant of this establishment as well as its medical head.

Harriet opened the door to them.

‘May we have a word with you and your husband, Mrs Latimer?’

‘Of course. Do come in, Dr Somers. Mr Pashley, how nice to see you again.’

He waited until the door was shut and they were seated near one of the windows, before introducing Captain Rainham and explaining their difficulties about installing a lift.

‘There is another way we could use the old house, though, one you might find more pleasant to live with, and which would entail no structural changes. I’ll let Mr Pashley explain.’

Harriet and Joseph listened, nodding and exchanging glances from time to time.

When Mr Pashley stopped speaking, Joseph turned to her and asked openly, ‘What do you think, my dear?’

‘I think it’d suit Greyladies much better than the present arrangement, and it’d suit us too.’

‘I agree.’ Joseph turned to Mr Pashley. ‘So what must we do next?’

‘Leave that to me. I’ll speak to a certain gentleman, who is in charge of this sort of project. He’s very capable and he has the power to do something about this quite quickly.’

‘Thank you for letting us know what’s going on,’ Joseph said. ‘We appreciate the courtesy.’

‘And we appreciate your co-operation.’

When they’d gone, Harriet turned to her husband. ‘This could make our lives much more pleasant.’

‘It could indeed. Shall you mind?’

‘No. I much prefer it that way. It’d be wonderful to be rid of the Dragon, don’t you think?’

Phoebe found the work of a VAD hard physically. General dogsbodies, the group of young women soon called themselves. However, a sense of camaraderie built up quickly, and that helped them to cope. It made such a difference to have friends to support you.

And there were the injured men, always the men to care about, to help in any small way they could. Some of the patients were so badly wounded, she wondered how they’d survived. Or if they’d have chosen to survive with such wrecked bodies.

The patients were brought into the hospital lying on stretchers, covered in grey blankets, some moaning or occasionally crying out in pain, others grimly silent.

Occasionally a man was taken out again, still lying on a stretcher, but this time covered completely by a flag, in honour of the sacrifice he’d made by giving his life in the service of his country.

Everyone stopped work and stood with bowed heads when a stretcher bearing a body was carried out to the waiting hearse.

She felt lucky in her companion VADs, because the other three were all hard workers. When four more young women joined them, there were a few problems with one of them. How anyone could complain about something as unimportant as getting her hands dirty when lives were at stake, Phoebe couldn’t understand.

By the time she’d been there three weeks, Phoebe had settled in and was ready for her first day off. She’d written to Beaty two or three times, and her friend had insisted she travel up to London to have lunch and a chat. If Corin was available, they’d invite him to join them for lunch, too.

Phoebe wanted to see Beaty for reasons other than her own pleasure. She was still worried about the Steins. Their money remained sewn into her handbag lining, which seemed as safe a place as any for the flimsies, as everyone called the white, semi-transparent five-pound notes.

It made her smile sometimes that she, who had never had a five-pound note of her own, now carried so many of them around in a shabby old handbag. It was good leather and well made, passed on by the doctor’s wife when Phoebe was looking after her mother. The bag would serve her for a few years yet.

She would have liked to put the money in a savings bank for them, so that it would earn interest, but it would have
to go under her own name and she didn’t like the thought of doing that. Besides, how would she explain having such a large sum of money?

She’d tried to write to her former employers but her letter had been returned with ‘whereabouts unknown’. It had been opened and no doubt checked. She didn’t mind that precaution, but she still wanted to find the Steins, so she was hoping Beaty could discover where they were. So far, however, she hadn’t managed to come up with any information.

Everyone knew that males of German extraction resident in the UK had been taken away and interned, but people weren’t always sure who had been taken where. The situation was even less clear with women, who were not always interned with their husbands or fathers. Mrs Stein might have gone to live with friends. Well, Phoebe hoped she had. But the poor woman must be worried sick about her husband.