Love for the Matron (7 page)

“Little Miss Muffett you can safely leave to me.
When she was younger she used to blush scarlet when the children a
s
ked her what she had done with her tuffet and why she was afraid of a poor little spider that had never hurt her
...
of course, they would always choose an awkward moment, as children delight in doing.” He sighed. “E
ls
a Moffatt has been here for nearly twenty years ... it makes me feel dated somehow.” He stood up. “I must get on with my round or else my Ward Sister won
’
t be speaking to me. What are you doing with her during the upheaval, or is that an impolitic question?”

Elizabeth got to her feet to escort him to the door.
“I was going to ask her if she would like an early holiday this year,” she admitted.

“Why not ask Sister Ross?” he suggested.

“Because medical ward personnel are never very happy about taking over surgical cases,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“I hadn
’
t thought of that, but I suggest you
’
re very tactful in how you explain the situation to Sister Allison
...
she does rather regard herself as
the
Senior Sister, Miss Graham.”

“Why do you always address me as Miss Graham, Doctor Gregory? I notice that none of the staff call me Matron if they can help it.” After she had spoken Elizabeth wished she hadn
’
t.

He stopped in the doorway and now he turned and looked at her. “I
’
ll answer the last part of your question first
...
it
’
s less personal. The majority of the older members were here as long as Miss Brown was, and to them there has been
no other Matron, partly because she was such a personality, but also because she was the only one they had known. You ask me why I don
’
t. I suppose I could say that most of the women I
’
ve known who have held such a post have been elderly and grey-haired and matronly ... I mean matronly here in the sense of their physical appearance
...
and you don
’
t come under any of those headings, do you, Miss Graham? Does that answer you satisfactorily?” Then as Elizabeth was silent, he went on: “Could I suggest that you mention your programme of alterations to Mr. Hingston? I know you haven
’
t met your senior surgeon yet, but that
’
s because he
’
s been away with a touch of
‘
flu. I believe he intends coming in today. Thank you for the tea
...
Matron.”

William Gregory walked away, leaving Elizabeth wondering whether he was being facetious at her expense or not. Rather reluctantly she went back to her desk and dealt with her letters, putting to one side the ones she would reply to personally. There were two that must have been intended for Miss Brown, and Elizabeth put them back in their envelopes thoughtfully. She would ask Margaret Smith to send them on. One had been very brief, written in a very shaky elderly hand:

‘
Dear Matron,

Can an old woman be allowed to say thank you and bless you? I thought I was alone in the world with no one to care whether I went on living or
not ...
no children or grandchildren left in this country and most of my friends as ancient and decrepit and crochety as myself. Having met you I
’
ve been counting my blessings ever since, and I
’
ve been helping at the Darby and Joan Club and, bless them, they tell me I
’
m a dab hand at it. So I think I might enjoy living a while longer
...
thanks to you, dear
Miriam Brown. May your shadow never grow less.
.
.
’

The other was longer and told of the writer
’
s attempt to take a fresh hold on herself and face up to the job of caring for her husband and children, and ended with:
‘
I hadn
’
t thought of what I was doing as being selfish or cruel until you showed me and you have my promise that I
’
ll never try to end it like that again. They tell me you
’
ve had to leave St. Genevieve
’
s, but tell the doctors to patch you up quick and send you back. There
’
s
no one
who can hope to take
y
our place!”

Elizabeth waited for a moment before ringing for her secretary. She had thought that accepting the post of Matron at St. Genevieve
’
s would be as simple and straightforward as any other job: now she was discovering
that
it meant not only starting her own pattern but also grafting it on to that of her predecessor, and proving to everyone—as well as to herself—that while the new one wasn
’
t a patch on the old it was still a possible one. If she had followed after anyone but Miriam Brown ... if the other Matro
n
had just retired or gone on to a better post or even died, it would have been easier, but this stepping into the shoes of someone who hadn
’
t wanted to relinquish them
...
this working with a staff who
wanted no other Matron than Miriam Brown
—

She sighed and thought of the old legend about the mandrakes, and how they were supposed to shriek when you pulled up their roots
...
Miriam Brown had departed, but she had left
her
roots behind, and seemed that far too many people were watering
those roots
hopefully in the expectation that they would grow again
...

Elizabeth pushed the bell firmly. She was allowing her imagination to run wild, and that would get her nowhere, She handed Miss Smith the letters.

“Will you answer those, please
..
? I
’
ve ma
r
ked in any special points to mention in your replies. These two are for Miss Brown: perhaps you
’
ll put them in fresh enve
l
opes
and
re-address them, please, and send them.”

“I haven
’
t got Miss Brown
’
s address,” Margaret Smith said in a flat little voice.

Elizabeth stared at her. “Can
’
t you get it from the Assistant Matron
’
s office, then?”

“No, Miss Graham. Miss Selby hasn
’
t got it either ... no one has it. She didn
’
t want people to know where she was going in case they might write and say how sorry they were ... at least that
’
s what I think.”

“In that case, if you
’
ll merely put Miss Brown
’
s name on the envelopes
.
I
’
ll see to them myself,” Elizabeth said briefly.

“Yes, Miss Graham.” She started to walk away and then stopped. “Doctor Gregory might know where to send them on if you asked him,” she offered reluctantly.

“Thank you, Miss Smith.”

Elizabeth waited until the girl had gone before deciding that she might as well make her hospital round. The wards would have had time to get most of the urgent routine work done and her appearance might cause less of a flurry than it had yesterday. She would begin with the Children
’
s Ward and have a look at the end ward to see if it would suit the purpose of William Gregory
’
s suggestion. Sister Moffatt had had a day off, so Elizabeth had still to meet her. Her senior physician
’
s description of the woman who had held sway over the destinies of the Children
’
s Ward for nearly twenty years gave her a picture of someone who was grey-haired, pink-cheeked, and motherly.

But the person who appeared upon her request for Sister Moffatt was a tiny little woman with a mass of soft white curls and dancing blue eyes that didn
’
t appear a day older than those of the
small child that sat contentedly astride her hip. But her cheeks were very pink, and not because the new Matron had appeared unexpectedly upon her ward.

“Good morning, Miss Graham. I
’
ve just been giving Elaine her sun-lamp treatment. She won
’
t let the physiotherapist get near her.”

Elizabeth could see why she had been given the nickname of Miss Muffett, and reminded herself in time not to inquire about her curds and whey ... As she walked through the ward with Sister Moffatt the children kept calling out to her to see this and that. The result wasn
’
t noise as one might have expected but rather a hum of happiness, the warm chuckles of small children, the happy laughter of the older ones, and nowhere a sigh of mystery. The ward was tidy, but it was a comfortable tidiness that gave an atmosphere of homeliness.

As they reached the doorway of the end ward Sister Moffatt glanced-inquiringly at Elizabeth. “Doctor
Gregory
was asking me if we could take the younger lads from Men
’
s Medical here when the builders begin their work. I told him I
’
d be very glad to as it never seemed right for them to be with the older men like that, but that it wasn
’
t really up to me to say. With Easter being early this year there shouldn
’
t be so much pressure in our beds.”

“It would be the easiest answer, Sister Moffatt, if you wouldn
’
t mind the extra work. Some of them are cardiacs, but you would have some of the staff from Men
’
s Medical if necessary.”

“We could see how we go on, Miss Graham. This is not a heavy ward as a rule.” She handed the child she was still carrying to an approaching nurse. “See that she has her orange juice, Nurse Williams.”

“How do you feel about the change-over to assistant nurses, Sister?” Elizabeth felt safe in
asking this happy-faced little woman. There was no hostility here.

“I
’
ll miss our own girls, but I think the change is a wise one. So often the type who trains as an assistant nurse is what I would call a good girl ... too much knowledge hasn
’
t come between her and her natural instinct for caring for the sick, which after all is the main reason why she was attracted to nursing in the first place. I know learning is supposed to be a wonderful thing, but there are times when the price paid for it is the sacrifice of a girl
’
s more womanly qualities, Miss Brown and I often used to discuss the subject.”

Elizabeth remembered the frightened little junior nurse in a hurry who had spoken of Miss Brown
’
s coming to tell stories to the children when the pain got bad...

“Where is
Miss Brown now?” Elizabeth asked casually.

Sister Moffatt gazed at her with eyes that had gone suddenly serious. “I think she wanted to keep it to herself. She said she was taking time off to make her soul, and if the Good Lord were willing she would take up the fight again ... if not we were to think about her now and again. As if any of us could ever forget!”

Elizabeth felt that she had strayed into a shrine in a strange land where none of the ritual was known to her. “Thank you for telling me, Sister Moffatt,” she said as calmly as she could.

Sister Moffatt was smiling again. “Let me know when you want me to have the boys, Miss Graham, so that I can have a good clear-out first.”

Elizabeth continued on her way around the other wards, but her thoughts kept slipping back to the Children
’
s Ward. True, there had been no hostility or resentment there and nothing but co-operation, but there had been a dignified air about the department that suggested that strangers were welcome provided they kept to
the proper paths and didn
’
t want to walk on the grass marked
private
.

Sister Ross came hurrying up to her as she reached
Men’s
Surgical. “Good morning, Miss Graham. I didn
’
t know you were doing your round. Mr. Hingston wanted to see you and I sent him along to your office.”

Elizabeth glanced at the clock ... nearly eleven. She could go and offer coffee to her senior surgeon and come back to Men
’
s Surgical afterwards.

“Could you tell Miss Smith that I
’
m on my way, Sister Ross, and I
’
ll see your ward later.”

“
Certainly, Matron.” Sister Ross bustled away.

Not one of
them
.
Elizabeth decided. This one was competent at her job and not bothered about the clash between the old and new loyalties and would have little tie for or interest in resentment.

A tall thin man unfolded himself from the chair in her office where Margaret Smith had put him. Good morning, Matron. I
’
m sorry I was still
hors de combat
yesterday and unable to greet you properly.”

Elizabeth took the hand he offered her. “Good morning, Mr. Hingston. Doctor Gregory told me you were back on duty. Won
’
t you have a cup of coffee with me? I was about to have mine.” Elizabeth gestured him back to his chair and sat down behind her desk.

“Thank you
...
that would be very nice.” Margaret Smith appeared with two cups of coffee before Elizabeth could even touch her buzzer.

Anthony Hingston stirred his coffee thoughtfully. “I understand that the builders are actually going to descend upon us at last, Matron,” he remarked.

“In a fortnight
’
s time, I believe,” Elizabeth said carefully.

“Hm
’
m. That will mean an upheaval.”

He wasn
’
t helping at all, so Elizabeth took the plunge without encouragement. “Would you be
w
illing to have some of Men
’
s Medical patients on your ward, Mr. Hingston? They would go on the sun porch and be out of the way. Sister Moffatt could have the boys
...”

“She could, could she? You seem to have got it all worked out, Matron,” Anthony Hingston said rather coldly.

“They are only suggestions, Mr. Hingston,” Elizabeth said in her most conciliatory tone.

“In that case it
’
s probably post-
’
flu depression that makes me take a dim view of it. However, you must carry on. I don
’
t see how I
’
m going to cut down my waiting list at this rate,” he grumbled gloomily.

“The builders also want to paint Theatre II,” Elizabeth said very humbly.

“They
’
ll have to do it at Easter, then. No other time could we manage, and that
’
s definite.”

Elizabeth thought of the probable overtime rates the painters would demand and decided that perhaps peace would be cheap at that price. “I
’
ll tell the architect personally,” she said swiftly.

“And so will I. We
’
re lunching together at the club if I have strength enough to get that far. Don
’
t get
‘
flu, Matron ... it turns your bones to jelly. Thank you for the coffee, and don
’
t take anything old William Gregory says too seriously. We don
’
t see eye to eye and that
’
s a fact. I
’
m all for action and he likes things slow and easy. Hm
’
m, never thought of it before, but that could be why I
’
m a surgeon and he
’
s a physician. I must remember that next time we cross swords. Or should it be scalpels?”

The phone rang before he could get to his feet. Elizabeth excused herself and answered it.

Margaret Smith
’
s apologetic voice came over the wire. “It
’
s a personal call, Miss Graham. I told him you were busy, but he insists on being put through.”

“All right, Miss Smith, I
’
ll deal with it if you switch the call over.”

There was a little click in her ear and then Stuart Nichols
’
s voice, saying calmly: “You do fence yourself in, Elizabeth. Can you lunch with me today?”

“I
’
m sorry, but I
’
m afraid I can
’
t.”

“What
’
s the matter? Are you afraid of me, or have you some bigwig with you?”

“No to the first and yes to the second,” Elizabeth said curtly, wishing he would hang up.

“Are you off this afternoon? I must speak to you when there isn
’
t someone breathing down your neck. Is it William, by the way?”

“No, it isn
’
t. Three o
’
clock would do,” Elizabeth told him reluctantly.

“Three o
’
clock. You
’
ll be at the Matron
’
s house
...
around the
corner
I wasn
’
t allowed to come last night. Bye for now, Liz, and don
’
t forget to be human when you
’
re breathing the rarefied air up there!”