Australian Hospital (12 page)

“You mean prognosis? On present-day achievements, rather favourable. He might improve sufficiently to discard that armour one day.”

“Ash Halliday frowns on Mr. Tilburn’s interest.”

“Oh, no, Jam, you’ve got him wrong. As regards treatment, Bobby will be all right
without
Tilburn’s backing. There is not a specialist, local or imported, who wouldn’t handle Bobby’s case free, gratis, and without charge. Ash knows this, and he wants Tilburn’s interest to embrace
all
Manathunka, not just one child.”

“He doesn’t want Mr. Tilburn to have Bobby,” argued Candace stubbornly.

Toby looked at her rather oddly. “Is that the way you see him? You don’t understand him much, do you?”

“No,” returned Candace dryly, “so he implied.”

The craft moved forward along the runway. It gained speed, trembled, then suddenly Candace was aware of that exultation that comes with a first experience of wings.

She glanced at Bobby’s rapt face, and peeped through the window with him.

“Mushrooms,” said Bobby of the tiny houses.

“Ants,” he announced of the people left below.

Presently they were too high for Bobby to identify either mushrooms or ants. They sailed in a world of cotton-wool clouds. They slid through a rainbow.

The hostess brought tea for Candace and lemonade for Bobby. There were sandwiches and cakes. Bobby said it was like a party.

Then the sound of the engines altered, and they were descending, and then running along a huge field dotted with white thistle and dandelion.

“We’re here,” said Bobby.

Rosemary had come in the car to meet them. In no time she was driving them swiftly but capably back to Bibaringa.

Candace looked out with interest.

A drowsy, shimmering plain stretched out on either side of the dirt road. Occasional threads of watercourses crept between. Everything was as hazy as a washed-out watercolour. She remembered the pictures in the vestibule at Manathunka. They had not seemed real to her, there. Now she saw that they portrayed truly.

Rosemary pointed out the meshed wire netting fences.

“Rabbits,” she explained briefly. “Some cynics say the fences are to divide one rabbit from another.”

Candace was surprised at the trees. She had heard people speak of the monotony of the gums, but it was not true. In no two hundred yards was the variety of gum the same. Rosemary, seeing her interest, recited their names proudly. Red, silver, box, umbrella, scribbley, river—many more.

At length they reached Bibaringa. The hill from which it had been named rose slightly to the left.

An avenue of peppercorns stopped abruptly before a big, comfortable old home—one-storeyed, as Candace was to discover most Australian houses were—surrounded by verandas, not unlike, so Bobby said, a wide-brimmed hat.

Rosemary’s parents stood with arms wide open. Soon they were all passing into the cool interior, cool because of the large rooms and lofty ceilings, and the electric fans that whirled in every corner.

“Is there power here?”

“We make our own.”

“How do you make ’lectric?” demanded Bobby.

“After you have a little rest, I’ll show you, old son.”

Candace saw Mr. Tilburn’s delight in the boy, and her heart sank as she wondered how he was to overcome that obstacle that was Stephen Halliday.

She went to her room, a pretty chintzy guest-room with a little dressing annexe. The annexe had been turned into a corner for Bobby.

“Will everything be all right?” asked Rosemary anxiously.

“You’ve done it beautifully,” assured Candace. “Come in, Rose, and talk.”

They sat on the bed together, and presently the conversation came round to John Buckland and his invitation.

“I’d rather like to go,” admitted Candace. “I want to see as much of Australia as I can.”

Rosemary was silent a moment, but when she answered she spoke cheerfully.

“We’ll go,” she promised She added, for no reason at all, so Candace thought, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

The three days went too quickly.

Mr. Tilburn took command of Bobby for one of them, and the girls went into the district picnic races.

Another day was spent at the billabong. Rosemary’s father grilled chops and Mrs. Tilburn produced an authentic bush damper.

The last day soon disappeared in a Cook’s Tour of Bibaringa, from the western paddocks to the shearing sheds, not in use just now, while in the afternoon Candace and Rosemary went riding, and even Bob was lifted on to a quiet pony, and led round the yard.

Tea was a rapturous meal of all Bobby’s favourite dishes, and there were bright patches of colour on his little cheeks.

Mr. Tilburn was almost as excited as the child.

“Would you like to stop here all the time, Bobby?” he asked at last. “Not just three days, but
years
and
years
?”

All faces were turned to the boy. His eyes were bright and shining.

Then:

“No, Mr. Tilburn,” said Bob. “Not without Peter, and Wendy, and Ruthie, and Reg who is teaching me chess, and Mr. Grantham who is reading me
Treasure Island.
”

There was an abrupt silence round the table.

Candace glanced at Rosemary’s father.

“But you like it here. You told me you liked it better than Sydney.”

“I wouldn’t like it for ever without Peter and Wendy and Ruthie. Besides, Reg is going to tell me about Rooks and Castles next week, and where Mr. Grantham and me are up to in
Treasure Island
—why, we can hardly wait!”

“I can teach you chess. I can read
Treasure Island.
”

Bobby shook his brown head. “You can’t be Peter and Wendy and Ruthie. You can’t be all those people.”

The wisdom of children ... Candace put down her knife and fork. She thought, “Stephen, too, was wise. He knew the heart of a small boy. Bobby’s heart is in Manathunka. Bibaringa is three hundred miles away. How could a child live so far from his heart?

“Stephen sees everything the
wide
way. He believes in the entirety, not in the little cog. I was wrong, and I must tell him. I must tell Stephen his way was right.”

Mr. Tilburn’s eyes were staring fixedly through the window. Candace’s heart went out to him in genuine sympathy. Only Bobby was unaware of the little drama.

“You promised to tell me about the Wool Sales,” he reminded.

“So I did.” Rosemary’s father made a brave effort.

He arranged the knives and forks.

“This is the auctioneer, here are the buyers, British, French, German, Bobby—every nationality in the world.” The spoons were added.

“Here is the wool, every bale split open, tumbling like froth from a pewter pot.”

“Go on. Go on, Mr. Tilburn.”

The man suddenly put back the cutlery. He turned round to Bobby. “I won’t
tell
you, old son. Instead, I’ll
take
you one day. You—and Peter and Wendy.”

“And Ruthie?”

“And Ruthie.”

“All of us together?”

“All together. Every one of you.” Mr. Tilburn stifled a sigh.

Presently, his eyes met Candace’s. He glanced at Bobby, but the boy was intent on a cream bun.

“Ash Halliday wanted it that way,” said Rosemary’s father. “He wanted
all
children to benefit, not
one
child. He wanted
all
Manathunka. Once he said to me, ‘Every child must have all men as father; every man is father to all children.’

“I did not understand then—or would not. All I wanted was a son. I could not see that they were all sons—if I cared to make them that.

“Ash saw it, though. That is why he has been visiting Bibaringa. He wanted to interest me in Manathunka
—all
Manathunka, not just one boy. He knew I had the means and the earnest desire to put them to good use. He knew I needed guidance.”

Candace waited in silence.

“He was right—I can see it now—with his talk of entirety. Every man
is
the father to all children. I admit it without reservation, and you can tell him so.”

“From you?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“And”—Candace’s tone was eager—“does something go with it?”

“Would I be inviting you to tell him if it didn’t?” said Rosemary’s father.

... So Bobby and Stephen had won ...

They left in the morning and all the way back Candace’s heart seemed to keep time with the rhythm of the engines.

“I’m going home,” was what her heart sang, “and I’ll tell Stephen he was right,
right.
I’ll tell him first from Mr. Tilburn. And then—and then I’ll tell him from—me.”

When they landed Doctor Halliday was there to meet them.

He bent over Bobby and for a moment his grave eyes met Candace’s across the child’s brown head

All she meant to say retreated from her. She felt suddenly like a shy schoolgirl, bereft of words. Bobby chattered all the way back to Manathunka, and when Stephen helped her out and carried the child to his cot the message was still unsaid.

CHAPTER IX

Eve Trisby
lost no time in finding Candace.

“You’d better get into your uniform. Did Ash tell you the frightful time we’ve had. A flu epidemic. A particularly acute variety. Hardly one of the patients hasn’t gone under. Thank goodness I’m due for my rest leave. I must say
you
chose an opportune period for your holidays.”

“It wasn’t a holiday.”

Eve tapped her foot impatiently. “So
you
assert, but I know where I’d sooner have been. Well, get into it now.
We’re
all exhausted.” She whirled round, slamming the door as she went.

Wondering why Stephen had not spoken of the demands on the Manathunka staff, Candace changed hurriedly.

She met Brenda in the lobby and asked her how everyone was.

“A few sniffs here and there, but not many. Not so far, anyway. Doctor Halliday believes we might be in for an epidemic, though, and he and Doctor Ferry are trying to ward it off.”

“Then you haven’t been rushed off your feet?”

“Not yet, Sister. Looks like
you’ll
just land it.” Brenda grinned sympathetically and went on with her polishing job.

Candace did receive the worst impact of the infection.

In spite of injections Manathunka went down to the germ, and for a fortnight there was very little rest for any of them.

Eve came back from her rest leave three days after Candace’s return from Bibaringa, but went promptly to her bed with the prevailing complaint. How bad she was Candace did not know, and did not have any time to inquire. As Brenda had anticipated, she was run off her feet.

At last the epidemic abated, leaving behind it the usual wearying additional tasks of applying nasal drops, brewing infusions, fetching bronchitis kettles, soothing the minor complaints of tired, worn-out people.

Eve returned to duty when everything was near normal She was sulky, and complained bitterly that no one had been near her.

“That’s a lie,” said Brenda, “Doctor Ash went often.”

Candace, rubbing Peter’s chest, remembered how eagerly she had returned from the Tilburns full of words to say to Stephen.

She had never said them. She had had no opportunity. She thought of Eve, sitting up in her bed in one of those breathtaking negligees of hers, and how many opportunities
she
would have found.

“There every day,” embellished Brenda, “sometimes
twice
a day, and I bet she wasn’t
that
bad.”

Candace buttoned Peter up, and corked the menthol bottle.

She would
never
tell him now, she thought.

John Buckland had written to Candace asking her to get in touch with Rosemary, then decide on a definite date. Everyone at Kemona was looking forward to their visit, he said. The Wet was almost over. They were assured of fine, if hot, weather.

Rosemary replied to Candace’s letter that she would go whenever it was convenient to Sister Jamieson.

Candace smiled at Rose’s over-polite answer, then sought an interview with Matron to ask if her offer of leave was still available.

It certainly was, asserted Matron wholeheartedly, especially after the hard work Sister
Jamieson
had put in during the epidemic. Matron sniffed a little as she said this, but she did not explain herself.

“You can go directly the Board Meeting’s over. I like my staff to attend the Annual.”

Candace had not thought the event was so near. She certainly had no .intention of missing it; her interests were far too strong.

As the day approached, Barbara became a little nervous.

“I’m a fool, Jam. I could walk into a dozen positions quite as good as Manathunka. But I want
this
one. I can’t explain why, unless it’s to say that without achieving something with The Thorn, I have achieved nothing. She’s a challenge to me. I know I can win through with Miss Walsh if I only have time.”

“You will, Barbara.”

“I think so. I’ve been working it all out, and the odds are on
my
side. Have you seen Mr. Laurence lately? I was talking to him yesterday. There will be only nine voters at the Meeting. Generally there are ten. This time one of the Board members is away, however, so he waives his right to vote.”

“Nine?” queried Candace, and Barbara detailed them.

“Matron, Jessie Arnold, Eve Trisby, yourself. That comprises the staff vote of four. Then there’s Mr. Laurence, Arthur Maclnnes, Doctor Ferry, Ash, and, of course. Mr. ‘Dawson.
He
is Eve’s godfather, the much-quoted patron whom Trisby’s always trotting out to impress us. Nine in all, you see.”

“And how do you estimate the voting?”

Barbara perched on one of the beds.

“I’m afraid Matron will go against me. She won’t really
mean
it, poor pet, but the cash I need will put me right on the debit side, and you know how Matron reacts over that.”

Candace nodded. “Jessie Arnold will dither around, then vote with Matron. Eve’s godfather, of course, will make a weighty speech punctuated with ‘... my little girl tells me ... my god-daughter has reported ...’ then vote definitely with Eve. Well, that makes four.”

“Then our side?”

“You, Arthur, Toby, Mr. Laurence, bless him, and most certainly Ash. Five against four that Miss Breen stays on. Oh, I’m confident all right. It’s just that I wish it was all over.”

“It seems so ridiculous to me,” said Candace. “The very idea of having to
consider
anything so essential.”

“It’s the money that must be considered. Manathunka’s money is by no means inexhaustible. I’ve often thought that Ash wouldn’t be so tolerant of Eve if it wasn’t for that.”

“How do you mean?”

“She who holds the strings of the money-bag,” said Barbara breezily, “holds much power.”

She got up from the bed, took up a hot-water bottle cover cut out in felt, grimaced, and added, “Listen to The Thorn when I try to interest her in this.”

The next day the drive was filled with cars. Many ordinary members attended the Annual Meeting although they possessed no right of vote. That was reserved for the staff and Board.

The nine people in whose hands lay the decision as to Barbara’s fate sat at the table.

The audience either stood around or brought in chairs, and quite a few aides watched proceedings through the windows.

Barbara alone did not show any curiosity. She remained in her therapy corner stitching assiduously at a felt rabbit, only looking up now and then when she renewed her thread, or stopped to correct one of her pupils’ efforts.

Afterwards, Candace could not imagine it was all over so quickly.

There were the usual preliminaries, then suddenly, without any warning, without even the pompous speech Barbara had anticipated from Eve’s godfather, the vote was being’ taken.

“I’m afraid I must vote against the continued employment of our therapist,” coughed Matron apologetically. “Expenses are going up and up, and—”

“Your vote?” reminded Stephen Halliday, politely but definitely.

“No.” Matron sighed it, but it was still “No.”

“Sister Arnold?”

“Well, I think—well, it’s this way—”

Stephen did not interrupt this time. He merely raised impatient black brows.

“Then—no.”

“Mr. Dawson?”

The affluent-looking, elderly gentleman by Eve’s side boomed, “No, and a definite no. Indeed, I’d go so far as to say that I would withdraw my sponsorship immediately if the money continued to be wasted.”

“We are taking a vote, sir. You may address the gathering later. Sister Trisby?”

“No.” Eve made it sound regretful, even
forced
out of her. She did not want to say it, her tone implied, but her conscience demanded it.

‘You, Mr. Maclnnes?”

“I am in favour of retaining Miss Breen.”

“Doctor Ferry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Laurence?”

“Yes, Mr. Halliday.”

“Sister Jamieson?”

“Yes.”

There was a silence. Everyone sat expectant.

Matron and Jessie Arnold alone did not seem to be hanging on the final vote. They were conferring softly over some new expense.

Candace glanced up and was surprised at the look on Eve’s face. She was smiling faintly as though she already knew something. She was leaning idly back.

“It appears I have the last say,” said Stephen Halliday levelly.

A minute went by. The wall-clock ticked it distinctly.

“I cast my vote with Matron, Sister Arnold, Mr. Dawson and Sister Trisby. I vote
against
the retention of Miss Breen.”

There was no babble of surprise. There was not even a ripple of interest.

Candace herself sat stunned. She did not know how Arthur and Toby and Mr. Laurence felt.

The meeting broke up. The general members replaced their chairs. Gradually the room emptied.

Candace did not realise that she alone remained in it until the door leading to the book recess opened abruptly and Stephen Halliday stood hesitating on the threshold.

They looked at each other across the width of the Honoraries’ Office. Suddenly it seemed a chill room, and Candace shivered.

“You are getting a cold?” The doctor’s voice was oddly gentle and concerned. “After last week that would not be surprising—”

“I am not getting a cold.”

“I—I want to say something about what just happened.”

“Is there anything?”

“There is a great deal if only I could put it into words.”

Candace had risen.

“I would not want to hear it,” she said frozenly.

“Candace—”

“It is no use your trying to gloss things over. One issue alone is very clear.”

“What is that, Sister Jamieson?” The gentle note was leaving his voice. He did not repeat his mistake of calling her by her Christian name.

She raised her chin.

“This is it: that you were only paying lip-service when you spoke so
nobly
that night of Howard Jeffrey and how he thought of Manathunka as an entirety; how
you
believed that way, too. You could not have meant what you said—not in the face of your recent action.”

“Come, come,” Stephen Halliday’s expression had altered now. There was that old sardonic light in his vivid blue eyes. He seemed to have recovered himself; become the old, cold appraiser.

“Come,” he repeated, “a little matter of the dismissal of one therapist.”

“It is more than that, and you know it. It’s a mean, petty act, perhaps ostensibly unimportant, but it’s a crack in the surface of something, and what you call an
entirety
no longer is there.”

“What melodrama is this?” He was actually faintly smiling. “The child does take things seriously. ‘Entirety’—what nonsense are you talking?”

Candace was moving to the door. Her cheeks were flaming.

“I don’t remember, after all,” she said coolly. “I must have
thought
I heard.”

She went proudly past him, unaware of the hand that half rose to stop her, then slowly dropped again to his side.

She did not go across to see Barbara. She felt she could not bear it.

Thank goodness to-morrow it would all be over.

She would not be seeing Manathunka—or Stephen Halliday—for several weeks. She would be on her way, with Rosemary, to the Bucklands’.

Perhaps, she thought, something will happen between now and my return. Perhaps I shall find another position, and never come back at all!

Arrangements had been made for Rosemary and Candace to take the mail plane to Darwin, then John would fly them in the Buckland private craft to Kemona.

Candace had been adding up the mileage, and she turned almost startled eyes now on Rosemary.

“Do you realise we’re travelling to Siberia and back? From England, of course.”

Rosemary was unimpressed. She was intent on her own thoughts.

“Do you think he’ll have changed?” she asked.

“John? Of course not. We wouldn’t be sitting here travelling to his home if he had.”

“He asked
you,
remember.” Although Rosemary reminded Candace of this fact, there was no rancour in her words.

She seemed, so her friend thought, almost oddly excited. Not just the excitement of fresh fields, but something infinitely more. Her eyes were starry, and she could not concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes.

Candace, who had wanted to look at the scenery, found herself drawn back into conversation.

“It’s a long time—And then on board ship it is all so different—”

Yes, it
was
different. Candace remembered those five weeks on the Red Plimsoll line, and how she had first met Stephen Halliday.