Vigil in the Night (2 page)

 
A gasp came from the thin lips of Nurse Gregg, from Dr. Hassall an imprecation of disgust. There was a long silence. Anne still held herself erect. Lucy, supporting herself by the bedrail, seemed unable to speak.

 
At last the matron said to Anne in a voice of ice: “Go to your room. You will be dealt with later.”

CHAPTER 4

 
Alone in her own room, Anne waited as the hours dragged by. It was a tiny, narrow room at the end of the corridor of the nurses’ home. For three years it had been her home. Here she had lain down, tired out, at the end of her day’s work. Here she had risen to face another dawn. It held her own few things—a photograph of her parents, one of Lucy, a school group, the old silver-backed toilet brushes that had been her mother’s. But now it seemed oddly alien to her. Or she to it. Her ear, acutely tuned, heard the distant sounds of the hospital’s routine. But as this long and harrowing day went on, no one came near her.

 
Then, toward three o’clock, a knock on the door made her heart jump. Perhaps it was the matron. But no, when the door opened, it was only Nurse Jenkins, who entered with compressed lips, carrying a tray. She peered at Anne, then with a kind of unwilling affection declared:

 
“I’m not supposed to be here. You know that, don’t you? I’m liable to have my head taken off if I’m caught. Yet I couldn’t help thinking you’d be starving.”

 
“Thank you, Nurse. But I’m not hungry.”

 
“Don’t be a fool. You’ll need all your strength for what’s coming to you.”

 
Under the compelling acrimony of Nurse Jenkin’s eye, Anne began to eat the sandwiches and cocoa the older woman set before her. A dried-up, testy little woman of uncertain age, Martha Jenkins was the epitome of melancholy failure. She was probably over sixty. Yet somewhere beneath that desiccated exterior there lay a heart. She had a great affection for Anne; yet rather than show it she would have died.

 
“A pretty fix you’ve landed yourself into,” she now ruminated acidly. “And a pretty commotion you’ve caused in this hospital. The place is humming with it. Nurse Gregg has been saying this was bound to happen sooner or later, saying that you were too good to be true.”

 
“Nurse Gregg was always my friend,” said Anne with sudden bitterness.

 
“Oh, I stuck up for you,” replied Nurse Jenkins. “I shut them up.”

 
Anne was silent. This good old soul’s defense was not the one she would have wished. “Where is Lucy?” she asked.

 
“On duty. She don’t say much.”

 
Another silence.

 
“What do you think they’ll do with me?” Anne spoke dully.

 
“You’ll find out only too soon, I’m afraid. There’s a special committee meeting at five o’clock.”

 
Nurse Jenkins reached forward and patted Anne’s arm. Her faded old face suddenly was human.

 
“Don’t take on, my dear. They can only throw you out. And, mark my words, that’s the best thing that could ever happen to you.” Old Martha paused to take a long breath. “While I’m about it I’ll give you my opinion. Yes, and my advice. Nursing’s a rotten job. You’re better out of it. I’ve had my fill of it. Year after year I’ve worked myself to the bone. And what is my reward? I haven’t got a penny to show for the penal servitude I’ve suffered all my life. And when I’m worn out, when my rheumaticky bones refuse to work any more, they’ll chuck me aside like an old boot without a pension. I’ll be fit only for the workhouse. And there’s hundreds like me. It’s a scandal crying out to heaven. You know I’m right, even though you’ve only had three years of it. You know the life is slavery.

 
“You’ve been careless and foolish, but it’s the luckiest thing that ever happened to you. You get out, my dear, and stay out. Marry that garage fellow that’s sweet on you—Joe Shand, isn’t it? Have a home of your own and a lot of children. They’ll give you all the nursing you want. And believe me, it’s the only kind of nursing any real woman wants. I wish to heaven it had come my way!”

 
The old nurse subsided, exhausted by her outburst. Anne gazed back at her with grave intensity. For the moment she forgot her present trouble, so bent was she on expressing the inmost conviction of her heart. She murmured, as though to herself:

 
“I know it’s true, a great deal of what you say. But I love my work. It’s wonderful work, work that really matters. We’re wretchedly paid; we’ve got to put up with a lot. But it could be changed. If only we’d stick together, fight together, we could get better conditions for ourselves. That’s one of the greatest ambitions of my life, to try to do that. But even if we always had to work under the most miserable conditions, I still think it would be worthwhile to be a nurse.”

 
Nurse Jenkins sniffed as she rose. “Well, your theories are very nice, my dear. But they don’t seem to work out in practice. You take my advice, my girl, and clear out of nursing while the going’s good.”

 
Left alone with her thoughts, Anne felt with renewed intensity the horrible anomaly of her position. What a hypocrite Martha must think her! Yet her determination grew firmer. She had taken up her attitude. No matter what it cost her, she must protect Lucy.

CHAPTER 5

 
At half-past five there came the dreaded summons from the matron. Anne’s blood pounded in her ears as she entered Miss Lennard’s familiar office.

 
The matron sat at her desk, and close at hand were seated the four members of the hospital committee: Amos Green, the miners’ agent; Mr. Weatherby, the coalmaster; Sam Staples, the auctioneer; and the Reverend Mr. David Perrin. They all scrutinized Anne with blank, curiously impersonal faces. Standing beside the matron, making pretense of turning over some papers, was Doctor Hassall. He did not even look at Anne.

 
For a moment there was silence. Then Miss Lennard said abruptly:

 
“Nurse Lee, we have been considering your case, and most painful it has been. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

 
A cold shiver ran through Anne. What could she say that would not incriminate Lucy? The members of the committee sat like magistrates upon the bench.

 
“I have really nothing to say,” she stammered.

 
“Nothing!” exclaimed Amos Green. “Can’t you even offer some excuse for this damnable thing you’ve done?”

 
Anne gazed at the stocky miners’ agent. He had been her father’s friend, had often given her sweets when she was a child.

 
“Do you mean us to understand,” asked the Reverend Mr. Perrin gently, “that you are wholly to blame?”

 
Anne nodded blindly.

 
The members of the committee conferred. Finally Anne heard Mr. Weatherby, the chairman, say, “What is the use of taking it further?” He made a sign to Miss Lennard.

 
The matron moistened her dry lips. “Nurse Lee,” she said, “I cannot tell you what a dreadful shock this has been to me. That one of my nurses, that you above everyone, Anne Lee, should have been guilty of such a breach of professional conduct—” her voice wavered; she broke off with a gesture.

 
At this Dr. Hassall turned from the window. He spoke bitterly. “You may well search for a word, Matron. There isn’t one to fit it.” He glanced at Anne. “A human life has been wantonly thrown away through your gross and utter negligence. And yet you stand there dumb as a doorpost. You wouldn’t look like that if you’d had my job of telling the baby’s mother. Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

 
Anne had a frightful desire to blurt out the truth, to reinstate herself. It was the greatest temptation of her life to clear herself of this awful shame. With a great effort she fought back the impulse. She stood there in silence, her eyes downcast, trembling visibly.

CHAPTER 6

 
The matron interchanged a glance with Dr. Hassall and the chairman. Involuntarily she sighed. “Then there is no help for it. You must take the consequences. You are dismissed from your post. You will leave the hospital not later than tomorrow. Only your record here has saved you from a worse punishment, that of losing your certificate. Some of the committee wished this case to be brought before the nursing council. But out of consideration for your previous good conduct we have decided to hush the matter up. You may work out your own salvation elsewhere. That rests with yourself. I can, of course, give you no testimonial whatsoever. I don’t wish to see you again. Good-bye.”

 
Anne gazed at the matron unseeingly, her eyes swimming with tears. That this wise and kindly woman who had trained and encouraged her, whose regard she was certain she had won, should now condemn and utterly despise her, was anguish almost unendurable. But what was there to be done? Nothing.

 
As Anne turned away Dr. Hassall fired his parting shot:

 
“There is nothing in the world so bad as a bad nurse. Nor so good as a good one. Remember that, Nurse Lee. Remember it all your days.”

 
Outside the office Anne wiped her eyes, then hurried to her own quarters. Fortunately she met no one. Holding her side, gasping as though she had been running, she gained her own room. Awaiting her was Lucy.

 
“Anne!” cried Lucy. “What’s happened? I couldn’t get near you all the day. That damned Hall kept me on duty till five o’clock. Quick! Tell me! What’s happened?”

 
“Nothing.” Anne spoke slowly, as from a long way off. “I’m kicked out. That’s all.”

 
A look of relief came over Lucy’s face. “No more than that!”

 
Anne’s gaze was still distant. Yet through the painful haze of her emotions she sensed something of her sister’s selfishness. She said, “Isn’t it enough?”

 
“Oh, I know, I know!” exclaimed Lucy with forced compunction. “But I thought there might be a case, police proceedings—far worse. I was waiting to own up. I kept thinking they might do something terrible.”

 
Anne spun round quite fiercely. She was suddenly angry, passionately and fiercely angry. “You should have done your thinking this morning. Then that poor child would still be alive. Oh! It’s horrible, horrible—a nightmare! I can’t believe it’s true.”

 
Lucy’s figure stiffened. “It’s not too late for me to own up yet,” she answered in a hard tone. “I’ll do it if you wish. Don’t think I’m afraid. I’ll go to Matron this minute.”

 
“She wouldn’t believe you,” Anne said bitterly. “Now she would think you were trying to shield me.”

 
There was silence in the little room, a sad, unhappy silence. Anne stared out of the window in tortured melancholy; Lucy bit her lip with stubborn perversity. Then with a cry of genuine contrition, Lucy threw herself into Anne’s arms.

 
“Oh, I’m sorry, really I am!” she sobbed. “I don’t know how it ever happened. It was wonderful of you to take the blame. I could never have faced it, never, never. I haven’t the pluck. And they’d never have given me my certificate. I’d have been finished. But you can easily get another job, Anne. And when I pass my examination, I’ll join you. We wouldn’t have stayed here much longer in any case, would we, Anne? We wouldn’t have wasted our lives in a hole like this? But of course if you like, I’ll still own up—”

CHAPTER 7

 
While Lucy babbled on, almost hysterically, Anne held her close, stroked her forehead soothingly. So much did she love her sister, the sacrifice she had made became not merely necessary but inevitable. They sat together on the edge of the bed facing the window, envisaging the far horizon of their future, while lights beaded the dusk of the distant town.

 
“Where shall you go?” whispered Lucy.

 
Anne had already considered this contingency. She had always meant to seek her opportunity in a great city. Now the opportunity had come more swiftly, more sadly, than she had expected. “I’ll go to Manchester,” she said. “Now, don’t worry. I’ll soon get a job there. Plenty of chances. It’s not too far away from you, my dearest.”

 
There was silence for a moment, then, hesitantly, Anne spoke again, her voice somber in the obscurity of the room. “There’s just one thing I want you to promise me, Lucy. If you think I’ve done something for you, then do this for me. Promise me never to be careless again. Promise me to vindicate yourself, to make up for what you’ve done. Promise me to be a good nurse.”

 
“I promise,” whispered Lucy, choking back a sob.

 
When Lucy had gone, Anne began to pack. Already she had made up her mind to leave the following morning at dawn. It was not that her peremptory dismissal rankled. She could not bear to face the other nurses in the common room, to hear their comments, sustain their condolences or criticism. In her present case one clear swift cut—that was the best way out.