blue dress and frilly cap which St Agnes’s management committee refused to exchange for nylon and paper.
The men went away, leaving her to organise the patient’s removal to the theatre block, warn Night Theatre Sister, Intensive Care and the men’s surgical ward, and, that done, there was the business of his identity, his address, his family… It was going to be a busy night, Sophie decided, writing and telephoning, dealing with everything and the police, and at the same time keeping an eye on the incoming patients. Nothing too serious from a medical point of view, although bad enough for the owners of sprained ankles, cut heads, fractured arms and legs, but they all needed attention—X-rays, cleaning and stitching and bandaging, and sometimes admitting to a ward.
It was two o’clock in the morning, and she had just wolfed down a sandwich and drunk a reviving mug of tea since there had been no chance of getting down to the canteen, when a girl was brought in, a small toddler screaming her head off in her mother’s arms, who thrust her at Sophie. ‘’Ere, take a look at ’er, will yer? Fell down the stairs, been bawling ’er ’ead off ever since.’
Sophie laid the grubby scrap gently on to one of the couches. ‘How long ago was this?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Dunno. Me neighbour told me when I got ’ome—nine o’clock, I suppose.’
Sophie was examining the little girl gently. ‘She had got out of her bed?’
‘Bed? She don’t go ter bed till I’m ’ome.’
Sophie sent a nurse to see if she could fetch the casualty officer and, when she found him and he arrived, left the nurse with him and ushered the mother into her office.
‘I shall want your name and address and the little girl’s name. How was she able to get to the stairs? Is it a high-rise block of flats?’ She glanced at the address again. ‘At the end of Montrose Street, isn’t it?’
‘S’right, fifth floor. I leave the door, see, so’s me neighbour can take a look at Tracey…’
‘She is left alone during the day?’
‘Well, off and on, you might say, and sometimes of an evening—just when I go to the pub evenings.’
‘Well, shall we see what the doctor says? Perhaps it may be necessary to keep Tracey in the hospital for a day or two.’
‘Suits me—driving me mad with that howling, she is.’
Tracey had stopped crying; only an occasional snivel betrayed her misery. Sophie said briskly, ‘You’d like her admitted for observation, Dr Wright?’ and at the same time bestowed a warning frown on him; Jeff Wright and she had been friends for ages, and he understood the frown.
‘Oh, definitely, Sister, if you would arrange it. This is the mother?’ He bent an earnest gaze upon the woman, who said at once,
‘It ain’t my fault. I’ve got ter ’ave a bit of fun, ’aven’t I? Me ’usband left me, see?’
Sophie thought that he might have good reason. The woman was dirty, and although she was wearing make-up and cheap fashionable clothes the child was in a smelly dress and vest and no nappy. ‘You may visit when you like,’ she told her. ‘Would you like to stay until she is settled in?’
‘No, thanks. I gotta get some sleep, haven’t I?’
She nodded to the child. ‘Bye for now, night all.’
‘Be an angel and right away get the children’s ward,’ said Sophie. ‘I’ll wrap this scrap up in a blanket and take her up—a pity we can’t clean her up first, but I can’t spare the nurses.’
All the same, she wiped the small grubby face and peeled off the outer layer of garments before cuddling Tracey into a blanket and picking her up carefully. There were no bones broken, luckily, but a great deal of bruising, and in the morning the paediatrician would go over the small body and make sure that no great harm had been done.
She took the lift and got out at the third floor and walked straight into the professor’s vast person. He was alone and still in his theatre gear.
‘Having a busy night, Sister?’ he asked, in a far too cheerful voice for the small hours.
Her ‘Yes, sir’ was terse, and he smiled.
‘Hardly the best of times in which to renew an acquaintance, is it?’ He stood on one side so that she might pass. ‘We must hope for a more fortunate meeting.’
Sophie hoisted the sleeping toddler a little higher against her shoulder. She was tired and wanted a cup of tea and a chance to sit down for ten minutes; she was certainly not in a mood for polite conversation.
‘Unlikely,’ she observed crossly. She had gone several steps when she paused and turned to look at him.
‘That man—you’ve operated?’
‘Yes; given a modicum of luck and some good nursing, he should recover.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad.’ She nodded and went on her way, her busy night somehow worth while at the news.
The senior sister, when she came on duty in the morning, was full of complaints. She was on the wrong side of forty and an habitual grumbler; Sophie, listening with inward impatience to peevish criticisms about the weather, breakfast, the rudeness of student nurses and the impossibility of finding the shoes she wanted, choked back a yawn and presently took herself thankfully off duty.
Breakfast was always a cheerful meal, despite the fact that they were all tired; Sophie poured herself a cup of tea, collected a substantial plateful of food, and sat down with the other night sisters. There was quite a tableful, and despite the fact that they were all weary the conversation was lively.
Theatre Sister held the attention of the whole table almost at once. ‘We scrubbed at nine o’clock and didn’t finish until after two in the morning. There was this super man operating—Professor something or other. He’s from Holland—a pal of Mr Bellamy’s—and over here to demonstrate some new technique. He made a marvellous job of this poor chap too.’
She beamed round the table, a small waif of a girl with big blue eyes and fair hair. ‘He’s a smasher—my dears, you should just see him. Enormous and very tall, blue eyes and very fair hair, nicely grey at the sides. He’s operating again at ten o’clock and when Sister Tucker heard about him she said she’d scrub…’
There was a ripple of laughter; Sister Tucker was getting on a bit and as theatre superintendent very seldom took a case. ‘Bet you wish you were on duty, Gill,’ said someone and then, ‘What about you, Sophie? Did you see this marvellous man?’
Sophie bit into her toast. ‘Yes, he came into the accident room with Peter Small—I believe he’s just arrived here.’ She took another bite and her companions asked impatiently,
‘Well, what’s he like? Did you take a good look…?’
‘Not really; he’s tall and large…’ She glanced round her. ‘There wasn’t much chance…’
‘Oh, hard luck, and you’re not likely to see him again—Gill’s the lucky one.’
‘Who’s
