Silence for the Dead (2 page)

“I will not discuss your background, or lack of it, with anyone for now. But you are expected to perform all the duties of a nurse, to the level of your fellow nurses. How you do that is your problem. Is this fully understood?”

“Yes, Matron.”

“Fine, then. I'll have Nurse Fellows show you around the place.” She stood.

I stood as well, but I didn't follow her to the door.

“Well?” she said irritably when she opened the door and turned back to see me standing there. “What is it?”

“Why?” I said. “Why did you accept me, really? You don't like me at all. Why didn't you turn me away?”

I could see her deciding whether to answer, but her distaste for me won out and she went ahead. “Very well. Because I think the only girls who will stay here will be the ones who have nowhere else to go,” she said bluntly. “Normal girls haven't worked, but someone desperate might do.” She shrugged. “And now I've found you.” She turned to the open doorway. “Nurse Fellows, please show Nurse Weekes to her quarters.”

“
L
inens in the second cupboard,” said Nurse Fellows. “Matron keeps the key and I keep a copy. One pillow, one sheet, and one blanket for each man—no extras allowed. In winter we add a second sheet and a second blanket, but it's only June, so they're to have summer blankets only. The third cupboard under here is for disinfectant—refilled once per week; take note, you'll need it. Sponges on the shelf here. For larger spills call Paulus and he will bring the other orderlies. This button here rings Paulus's office. Orderlies are to be called only for emergencies, not for everyday problems, or Matron will hear about it. Are you following me?”

“Yes.” I hefted my valise in my hand. They'd offered to have an orderly come take it for me, but I'd refused. I didn't like the idea of a strange man pawing through my things.

Nurse Fellows was spare and thin hipped, perhaps twenty-four, though the pockmarks on her face and the thin line of her lips made her look older. She wore the shawl-collared blouse, long pale blue skirt, and full apron that was the Portis House uniform, the apron tied at her boyish waist. Under the starched cap her tightly pinned hair was of a bright yellow hue I'd never seen in nature.

“Breakfast is at seven sharp, followed by morning exercise. Luncheon is at noon, afternoon tea at three o'clock, and supper at six thirty. Curfew for the men is nine thirty, no shirking, and ten o'clock for the nurses. Any disturbances past ten o'clock will be reported directly to Matron.”

We left the back corridors, lined with supplies and storage closets, and started up a servants' staircase. The house was much larger even than it had appeared when I approached; I hadn't yet seen anything but the servants' quarters, and those were finer than anyplace I'd ever lived. The floors were worn, but the wood was fine; the banister of the winding servants' stairs was smooth and heavy beneath my hand. I wondered exactly how rich the Gersbachs had been.

Nurse Fellows kept talking, seeming to need no reply from me. “The doctors come every second Wednesday to see the patients. They do inspections, so be sure the patients are quiet and everything is clean and ready for presentation.”

“The doctors don't live here?”

She gave me a look. “I'm not sure what hospital you're from, but no. Doctors don't usually live on the premises.”

Cold sweat on my neck again. “Well—no, of course not. I just thought—”

“Perhaps you're used to casualty cases. Injured men requiring round-the-clock care?”

“Yes—I am.”

“Right. You'll have to adjust. We aren't dealing with sick men here, Nurse Weekes. Not truly sick, anyway. They are treated with rest, quiet surroundings, and routine. The doctors just come to mark their progress.”

“I can handle that.”

“Don't be so certain. Without discipline, the men can be unruly, and some of them are sly. I wouldn't trust one of them past the end of my nose. Meals are served in the dining room here.”

We were in the main house now, walking a wide corridor lined with dark wainscoting. There was the scent of wood polish, but underneath it was a damp smell, as if the fog were creeping through the windows. We turned a corner and she opened a set of double doors, revealing the room beyond. “Oh,” I said.

Whatever the original furniture had been, it was gone now, replaced with two long tables and rows of chairs running the length of the room. Molded plaster in the shape of leaves crowned the high walls where they met the ceiling, itself decorated with vines crawling between its thick beams. Two windows adorned one wall, heavy brocade curtains framing an indistinguishable view of fog. Blank squares mapped where the family artwork had hung, and the uncarpeted floor rang with the empty echo of our footsteps. The room looked stripped, as if it had come down in the world, but the elegance was still there, like an aristocratic woman in a simple set of clothes.

The sheer size of it amazed me. “This was a dining room for one family?”

“Well, yes. This was a private home. Didn't they tell you?”

It sat twenty people easily along the tables, and where I'd come from, a room like this could have housed two families. “Did they move because they had no money?” I asked.

The look she turned on me was incredulous. “How in the world should I know? It's nothing to me, and it's nothing to you, either. Why would you even ask such a question?”

I looked at her and realized that under the brusque manner that she probably used on everyone, she genuinely disliked me. Well, well. “I'm just curious about the rich, that's all. Aren't you?”

“I am not. If you want my advice, you should keep a quiet tongue in your head if you want to get by here. The doings of people who own grand houses are none of our business.”

“Fine,” I said, but I narrowed my eyes at her behind her back as she turned away.

“We have nineteen patients here,” she continued as we left the dining room again, I still carrying my valise. “Each man has his own room, which he should certainly be grateful for. There's the nurses' room, separate quarters for Matron and myself, four temporary rooms used for the doctors, families of patients, and Mr. Deighton. Quarters downstairs for orderlies, kitchen staff, and the gardener. Even with all that, there's a section of the west wing closed off. That's how big the house is.”

“Where are the patients now?”

“In their rooms. It's part of the schedule for late-afternoon rest. Supper is in an hour, and after that, they're allotted ninety minutes of leisure time in the common room.” She swung open another door at the end of the hall. “That would be this one.”

This room was larger than the dining room; even stripped of its artwork and furniture, it was grand. It was opulently paneled, with a lower section connected to an upper section by three wide steps. At the far end of the upper level a bank of French doors—three pairs, I counted—looked out on a verandah and a set of manicured gardens beyond. The doors were latched closed now against the fog, the verandah damp and empty, the gardens only shadows of trimmed hedges hunched in the mist.

Like the dining room, this room had been emptied and the furniture replaced with hard, functional pieces. Thin-cushioned chairs were positioned on cheap rugs in clusters meant to be social. Two sagging sofas had been placed next to a scarred bookshelf piled with ratty magazines and books with dark, puffed pages. A single table featured a chess set and two facing chairs. I looked up and saw the same plaster vines that had decorated the dining room, looking down on this meager sight from their majestic place on the ceiling.

“There is no smoking,” Nurse Fellows said as I craned my neck. “Cards are forbidden. We get newspapers, but they cannot be current and they must be vetted by Matron first. All letters coming in and going out are read and censored if needed. Dice and gambling of any kind are not allowed. We have tentatively encouraged amateur theatrics, but so far none of the men has shown an interest.”

“Blimey,” I said. “What do they do in here, then?”

A look of unmistakable disgust crossed her face, and she answered as if swallowing something sour. “There are books on the shelf. Some use the time to converse, or simply to sit and think. Many are not capable of much else—you'll see. The vicar comes from time to time.”

“Coo,” I said, just to irritate her.
You're not so high and mighty yourself, miss. Your vowels give you away.
“Impressive. We had nothing like this at Belling Wood.”

Nurse Fellows rolled her eyes. “Well, of course you didn't. Belling Wood is entirely different from what we have here.” She pulled a watch from her apron pocket, checked it. “Late-afternoon rest is almost finished. I'll take you up to the nurses' quarters to wash and change. You'll need to be ready for supper duty.”

“Very well,” I said as I followed her narrow back out of the room and along the corridor toward the servants' stairs. “I'd like a smoke first, if you don't mind. It was a long trip from the train station.”

She started briskly up the stairs. “Weren't you listening? There's no smoking here.”

I stopped. “What do you mean, there's no smoking?”

“I just said it.”

“I thought that was for the patients.”

She stopped at the first turn of the stairs and looked down at me, her yellow hair nearly glowing in the dim light. “Nurse Weekes, there is no smoking anywhere at Portis House. The smoking of cigarettes is not healthful.”

“Not healthful?” I tried to keep my voice from rising as I pictured life without cigarettes. “What kind of mad rule is that?”

“The nurses are to set a proper example for the patients—an example that is healthful, helpful, and moral.” She gave slight emphasis to the last word as she pronounced this little speech, which was quite obviously memorized. “A nurse's duty is to give comfort with quiet obedience, which is the highest calling there is. Surely they didn't let the nurses smoke in London?”

I had no idea about the hospital, but Ally had smoked steadily when not on duty. “What about in my free hours?”

“It isn't allowed.”

“That's ridiculous.” I put down my valise. Even at the factory, the shift supervisors had looked the other way when we slipped out the back door for a smoke. “The last I checked, I'm not mad, and I'm not a patient here. How can you make rules about my free hours?”

“Because we can,” she said simply. “You are an employee here, and you are being given room and board. As such, you are setting an example twenty-four hours a day. Aside from the fact that the mad are lacking in moral judgment, it is simply the rule. And if Matron makes the rule, you follow it. Now, will there be a problem, Nurse Weekes? If so, I can inform Matron.”

I gritted my teeth. I'd only just got the job, and I couldn't lose it. “No,” I made myself say. “There will be no problem.”

“Good. Then I'll show you to your quarters.”

We looked at each other for a long moment, and I saw how it would be. When I picked up my valise again, the corner of her mouth quirked in triumph. Then she turned away, and I followed her up the stairs.

•   •   •

T
he nurses' quarters were on the second floor, in a long, narrow room that overlooked the front gardens and the drive. Five cots, each neatly made, were set up along the windows. Makeshift curtains, now tied back with strips of cloth, were strung up between the beds; the effect was a little like a hospital ward, though it was offset by the mullioned windows, the rich wood flooring covered with only the thinnest of rugs, and the dark wainscoting that matched the rooms below. Again I had the impression of a room that had once been opulent.

Atop one bed sat a girl with dark blond hair, wearing full uniform and cap, leaning against the headboard with a magazine propped against her knees. A pair of heavy shoes was discarded on the floor, and she rubbed her stockinged feet together as she read, moving the sole of one foot over the top of the other. She looked up as we entered, and I saw her face was heart shaped, her eyes wide and gray.

“Oh—hullo!” she said to me.

“Nurse Beachcombe,” said Nurse Fellows before I could reply. “Supper is in fifteen minutes. Have you washed and prepared?”

The girl blinked. “No—that is, Nina is—”

“And where is Nurse Shouldice? She should be preparing as well.”

“I'm here.” A woman's low tenor voice came from the doorway behind us, and I moved aside. A second girl came into the room, this one tall, her shoulders wide, her hair mousy brown, her face doughy and slack. She regarded Nurse Fellows with naked hostility from behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “Who's this, then?”

Nurse Fellows's lips pursed even thinner. “This is Nurse Weekes, who starts today.”

“Is it?” The big girl swung a look at me. “Will she last longer than the last one, then?”

“That was unfortunate,” said Nurse Fellows. “Matron has taken it under advisement.”

Now the look swung back to Nurse Fellows. “Will she take it under advisement that Martha and I have been doing double duty for four days?”

“Nina,” said the girl on the bed weakly.

Nurse Fellows's returning stare was icy. “Matron is well aware of the staffing levels here, I assure you. That is why we have a replacement. The two of you will have to train her, as I am far too busy. I expect you to teach her properly.” She turned to me. “I'll get you one of the uniforms from the cupboard. I'll remind you that you are expected to wear your uniform at all times.” She darted a glare at Nurse Beachcombe, who was still sitting shoeless on the bed. “Even during breaks. I'll see the three of you in fifteen minutes.”

“Where does she get off?” grumbled Nurse Shouldice after Nurse Fellows had gone.

“It was only my shoes,” Nurse Beachcombe said uncertainly as she scooted off her bed. “I'd no idea it was against regulations.”

“Of course not,” the bigger girl replied. “
Too busy?
Too busy doing what, I'd like to know.”

I stared at the heaping pile of cloth Nurse Fellows had deposited on the bed. The outfit looked ridiculously complicated. “I'll never get into all this,” I said.

Nurse Beachcombe slid her shoes on and stood next to me. “It isn't so hard. I'll help.” She assisted me out of my blouse and skirt and gave me a shy smile. “I'm Martha,” she said to me, “and this is Nina. Where are you from?”

“London,” I said. “And I'm Kitty.”

“I like that name,” said Martha. “I've only been to London once myself, and wasn't it wonderful! You see, this is rather simple—underskirt, skirt, then blouse and collar. The apron goes on last.”

“So you're the new girl,” said Nina. She was watching me with a wariness I couldn't quite fathom, as if she thought I'd steal her valuables, whatever they might be. “You've already met Boney, I see.”