have you home in a brace of shakes,’ Constantia promised him, ‘but I’m going to have to hurt you, my boy, so grit your teeth.’
She scooped him up into her arms in one gentle movement and although he bared the teeth she had urged him to grit, he didn’t bite her, only whimpered.
The doctor’s house was close by; just at the bottom of the lane and then round the corner and across the canal. She walked as quickly as she dared, telling Prince to be a good boy as she went. There was no one to be seen, but once in Oude Delft she sighted Pieter and Paul hurrying along, going away from her. Her shrill whistle turned their heads and they came running back to fetch up beside her, their anxious eyes on Prince.
‘He’s hurt,’ she told them in a reassuring voice, ‘but I don’t think it’s too bad. Pieter, run on and open the door, we’ll take him straight to the kitchen. And get a blanket or something to put on the table.’
Elisabeth was at the door when Constantia reached it and broke at once into a babble of Dutch, tears still streaming down her small cheeks. ‘Now, now,’ said Constantia, ‘don’t cry, poppet—get me a towel and a bowl and some water from the tap—they’ll all be in the kitchen. Paul, where’s your uncle?’
‘He had to go out to a case in one of the villages. Is Prince very ill, Miss Morley?’
‘Call me Constantia, dear. I don’t know. We must clean him up gently, and your uncle will have a look when he gets here.’ She had reached the kitchen by now and had laid Prince down on the folded blanket. He wagged his tail as she slipped his collar off and began, very gingerly, to clean up the wound in his side. It was ugly enough but not, she thought, dangerously so, but there could be other injuries. The children stood round in a hushed circle, scarcely breathing, so intent on what she was doing that none of them heard the doctor’s quiet approach. The moment they did however, they all began to explain at once.
‘One at a time,’ he said calmly, and as Constantia stood back, bent over Prince. Paul’s tale was interrupted a dozen times by the others and by the time he had finished, his uncle had examined the dog, taking no notice of its lifted lip, talking to it quietly as he poked and prodded with large, gentle fingers.
‘A couple of ribs,’ he pronounced, ‘and a nasty cut here—there’s another one on his muzzle. I’ll get the vet and we’ll have him all right in no time.’
Constantia heard the sighs of relief from the children, unaware that she had sighed too. She felt a warm tongue on her hand and looked down to find Sheba and Solly standing beside her, and said: ‘Oh, they’re here too.’
The doctor turned to look at her, then: ‘They were with me,’ he told her. ‘Thank you for finding Prince and bringing him home—we’re all very grateful.’ His voice was pleasant, but he didn’t smile and she found herself stammering a little: ‘I do hope he’s not badly hurt—I’m glad that I…’
He had turned away to bend over Prince again and none of the children answered her, indeed they didn’t look up, either. Constantia waited a moment and then went quietly from the kitchen and across the hall to the still open front door, shutting it silently behind her, and reflected as she did so that she was shutting herself out, but that the doctor had, metaphorically speaking, already done that.
She went quickly down Oude Delft and up a side street into the Wijnhaven and so presently to Mrs Dowling’s house. She would be late, but there was nothing to be done about that now.
Mrs Dowling was in a mood. ‘You’re late. Why?’
Constantia took time to answer her. ‘Only a few minutes, Mrs Dowling, and I was half an hour late going off duty.’
‘Impertinence!’ Her patient gobbled with bad temper. ‘But it’s just as well you’re back. I’ve eaten some chocolates. I sent Nel out for some—delicious ones with soft caramel centres.’ She nodded carelessly towards a box lying on the floor beside her chaise-lounge. ‘They’re there.’
‘How long ago did you eat them?’ asked Constantia calmly.
Mrs Dowling shrugged. ‘My dear nurse, how should I know? An hour—half an hour.’
‘Then we shall have to wait a little while and see how you feel, Mrs Dowling.’
Her patient sat up with no trace of her usual languid movements. ‘I may go into a coma.’
‘Quite likely, but I shall be watching for the first symptoms and we can prevent that happening. In the meantime, I’ll ring Doctor Sperling.’
The doctor wasn’t home. The voice at the other end of the telephone repeated: ‘Niet thuis,’ several times, and Constantia sighed as she went back to her patient. She wasn’t quite sure that Mrs Dowling was telling the truth; she was a devious woman and spoilt. She was bored too, and boredom caused people to do strange things. All the same she played safe, setting out syringe, glucose and insulin ready for immediate use, and then spent the next ten minutes coaxing Mrs Dowling to provide her with a specimen.
Constantia hadn’t been a Ward Sister for nothing; her patient was overbearing and intent on making life hard for those around her, but she was her patient, and personal feelings didn’t come into it. All the same, it took all her patience and tact to get what she wanted, but it was worth the effort. Mrs Dowling was loaded with sugar.
Constantia, tidying the room, took the opportunity to peep into the chocolate box; it was half empty. She picked it up without comment and put it away in a cupboard, all the while talking pleasantly about nothing much while her mind was busy working out calories and units of insulin. Mrs Dowling was sulking now and frightened, which had the effect of making her even more unpleasant than usual.
Neither of them heard the doorbell. Nel opened the door with something of a flourish and ushered in Doctor van der Giessen. His good evening was nicely professional and he added: ‘Doctor Sperling’s wife telephoned me; he asked me to cover for him if he shouldn’t be available. What’s the trouble?’ He addressed himself to Constantia, and although his manner was pleasant enough she could sense his reserve.
‘Mrs Dowling has eaten some chocolates. I don’t know exactly how many—about three or four ounces, I should suppose. There’s an orange reaction and ketones—I thought that Doctor Sperling should be told.’
‘Quite right, Nurse. Pulse? Nausea, vomiting?’
‘Nausea, nothing else.’
‘In that case, perhaps I might take a look at your tongue, Mrs Dowling?’
He examined her carefully, cheerfully ignoring her peevish demands for Doctor Sperling, and when he had finished he wrote up her chart and handed it to Constantia. ‘That should take care of everything, I fancy. Give the insulin straight away, will you? And a further dose after two hours, according to the sugar level.’ He went to his bag and took out a syringe and a small glass tube which Constantia took from him. Mrs Dowling moaned and cried and he soothed her like a small child as he took the blood he needed for a blood sugar test, assured her that she would be quite all right in no time at all, and prepared to leave.
‘You can’t leave me, I’m in danger,’ declared Mrs Dowling.
‘Not any more, Mrs Dowling, and Nurse Morley knows exactly what to do.’
‘I insist on you staying!’
‘I’m
