Heaven is Gentle

As the time slid by, Eliza saw that she was going to be busier than she had first supposed. Only ten patients, it was true, and those all up and able to look after themselves, but if one or more of them had an attack, he would need nursing; besides that, each one of them had to be checked meticulously, TPR taken twice a day, observed, charted, exercised and fed the correct diet. There would be exercises too, and a walk each day. She asked intelligent questions of Professor van Duyl and quite forgot that she didn’t like him in the deepening interest she felt for the scheme. It was later, when the last case had been assessed, discussed and tidily put away in its folder, that Professor Wyllie said:

‘There’s me, you know. They did tell you?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. I’m not much use if I start an attack, I can tell you—you’ll have to act sharpish if it gets too bad. Got a nasty left ventricular failure that doesn’t stand up too well…’

She answered him with quiet confidence. ‘Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll keep a sharp eye on you. Do you carry anything around with you or do I have to fetch it from Doctor Peters?’

‘Got it with me, Eliza—waistcoat pocket; usually manage to get at it myself before it gets too bad.’

‘You’re not part of the experiment?’ she asked.

‘Lord, no. Couldn’t be bothered—besides, I’m a bit past such things.’ He laughed quite cheerfully although his blue eyes were wistful.

‘Come, come,’ she said in the half-wheedling, half-bracing tones she might have used towards one of her own patients, quite forgetting that this nice old man was an important and learned member of his profession and not merely someone who needed his morale boosted. ‘That’s no way to talk, and you a doctor, too.’

‘Motherly,’ murmured Professor van Duyl, and she detected the faint trace of a sneer in his voice. ‘Is there anything else you wish to know, Sister?’

He was dismissing her and she resented it, but she got to her feet.

‘Not at present, thanks. I should like to go back to my office—if I may?’ She didn’t look at him but at Professor Wyllie, who dismissed her with a wave of his hand and ‘Dinner at eight o’clock, Eliza.’

The rest of the day she spent with the patients, getting to know them, and when their supper was brought over from the house she served it, just as she would have done if she had been on her own ward at St Anne’s. It was almost eight o’clock by the time she got back to the cottage, to find that someone had been in to mend the fire and turn on the table lamp. She tidied herself perfunctorily because she was getting tired, and huddled in her cloak once more, picked up her torch and went up to the house.

The dining room seemed full of men with glasses in their hands. They stopped talking when she went in and stared as Professor van Duyl crossed the room towards her. She eyed him warily, expecting some nasty remark about being late, but she couldn’t have been more mistaken; he was the perfect host. She was given a glass of sherry, established beside him, and presently found herself surrounded by most of the men in the room. She had already met them all that afternoon, but there were three missing, someone told her; Harry, the telephonist, who was on duty, Hub and Fred the cook. They would, they assured her, take it in turns to man the switchboard each evening, and what did she think of the local scenery and did she know that there wasn’t a shop for miles around, and how long had she been a nurse?

She answered them all readily enough, but presently excused herself and made her way over to the fireplace, where Professor Wyllie was sitting in a large chair, talking to Doctor Peters, who smiled at Eliza nicely as he strolled away. She perched herself on a stool in front of the old man.

‘I wanted to tell you that I think I’m going to like this job very much. I spent an hour or so in the hut—what a nice lot of men they are, and so keen to cooperate. It’s all rather different from Men’s Medical, though. I hope I’ll do.’ She looked at him a little anxiously.

‘Of course you’ll do, girl—couldn’t have chosen better myself.’

Her lovely eyes widened. ‘But I thought it was you…’

He chuckled. ‘Let me explain.’ And he did. ‘So you see, Christian was a little taken aback when you arrived. He was so certain that Eliza Proudfoot would live up to her name—a worthy woman with no looks worth mentioning and—er—mature.’

‘Motherly, buxom and tough,’ murmured Eliza.

‘Exactly. And instead of that he opens the door on to a fairy creature who looks incapable of rolling a bandage.’

‘Is that why he doesn’t like me?’

The innocent blue eyes became even more so. ‘Does he not? He hasn’t said so; indeed, he agreed with me that you will suit us admirably—a nice sharp mind and the intelligence to use it, and not afraid to speak out.’ He chuckled gently, then went on seriously. ‘I must explain that Christian is engaged to be married to a very…’ he hesitated, ‘high-minded girl—never puts a foot wrong, the perfect wife, I should imagine, and very good-looking if you like her kind of looks.’ He glanced at her. ‘That’s why he chose you, you see. We had a list of names; yours was the only…’ he paused again. ‘Well, girl, it’s a plain sort of name isn’t it? but if you will forgive me for saying so, it hardly matches your delightful person. It was a shock to him.’

‘Well, that’s all right,’ Eliza declared in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘He was a shock to me and I don’t like him either, though of course I’ll work for him just as though I did.’

‘Honest girl.’ He got to his feet. ‘Now, let us eat our dinner and you shall tell me all the latest news about St Anne’s.’

Dinner was a gay affair because she sat beside Professor Wyllie and Professor van Duyl was at the other end, at the foot of the table. Although she tried not to, every now and then she glanced at him and caught his eyes upon her in an unfriendly stare, his dark face unsmiling. It spurred her on to make special efforts to amuse her companions at table, and by the time they were drinking their coffee, the laughter around her was evident of her success. But she didn’t allow this pleasant state of affairs to swamp her common sense; at exactly the right moment she bade everyone a quiet good night and beat an unassuming retreat. But not a solitary one; Professor van Duyl got to the door—despite the fact that he had been at the other end of the room—a fraction of a second ahead of her, and not only opened it but accompanied her through it. She paused just long enough to catch up her cloak and torch from a chair.

‘Thank you, sir,’ her voice was pleasantly friendly, if cool, ‘I have a torch with me. Good night.’

He took it from her, gently, and opened the house door. It was pitch dark outside and cold, and she felt thankful that it wasn’t raining, for her cap, a muslin trifle, lavishly frilled, would have been ruined. As they turned the corner of the house she slowed her pace. ‘I’m going over to the hut to say good night,’ she informed him. ‘I said that I would.’

He made no answer, merely changed his direction, and when they reached the hut, opened the door for her and followed her inside.

The men were glad to see her; they were, to her surprise, glad to see her companion too. He seemed a different man all at once—almost, one might say, the life and soul of the party, and his manner towards herself changed too; he was careful to let them all see that she was now a member of the team, to be relied upon, trusted and treated with respect; she was grateful to him for that. It struck her then that whether she liked him or not, she was going to enjoy working for him.

They stayed for half an hour while Eliza made sure that they were all comfortable for the night; that they understood what they were to do if any one of them started to wheeze. ‘I’ll be over before I go to breakfast in the morning,’ she assured them. ‘Good night, everyone.’

They left the hut followed by a chorus of good nights and walked in silence to the cottage, and Professor van Duyl unlocked the door for her.

‘Someone came in while I was away and made up the fire,’ she told him. ‘It was kind of them.’

‘Hub—I asked him to. I have a key which I keep in my possession, and I hope that you will do the same.’

‘Of course. Good night, Professor.’ The little lamp on the coffee table cast a rosy glow over her, so that she looked prettier than ever.

He said austerely, ‘And you will be good enough to lock your door when you are in the cottage, Miss Proudfoot.’

‘Well, of course I shall—at night time, at any rate.’

‘During the day also.’

‘But that’s a bit silly!’ She watched his mouth thin with annoyance.

‘Miss Proudfoot, I am seldom silly. You will do as you are told.’

‘Oh, pooh!’ she exclaimed crossly, and without saying good night, went into the cottage and shut the door. She had been in the room perhaps fifteen seconds when she heard the faint tapping on the back window of the sitting room. A branch, she told herself firmly, then remembered that when she had looked out of the window during the afternoon, there had been no tree within tapping distance. It came again, urgent and persistent. She ran to the door and flung it open, and in a voice a little shrill with fright, called: ‘Oh, please come back! There’s something—someone…’

CHAPTER THREE

EITHER he had not gone away immediately or he had been walking very slowly; he was there, reassuringly large and calm, before Eliza could fetch another breath.

‘The back window—someone’s tapping. I’m afraid to look.’

He had an irritating way of not answering when she spoke to him, she thought, as she watched him cross the small room in two strides and fling back the curtains. She shut her eyes tightly as he did so; she might be a splendid nurse, a most capable ward Sister and a girl of spirit, but she wasn’t as brave as all that. She heard the Professor laugh softly, and opened them again. He had the window open and was lifting a small, bedraggled cat over the sill, a tabby cat, badly in need of a good grooming, with round eyes and an anxious look. She was across the room and had it in her arms before she spoke: ‘Oh, what a prize idiot I am! You poor little beast, I never thought…’ She looked at the Professor, who was standing, his hands in his pockets, watching her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him, ‘calling you back like that—it’s a bad start, isn’t it, behaving like a coward.’

He didn’t laugh, but said quite gently: ‘You’re not a coward.’ He was going to say more than that, she felt sure, but for some reason he didn’t; only as his eyes fell on the little cat: ‘Shall I take her up to the kitchen with me? Fred and Hub will look after her.’

‘Oh, please don’t, I’d love to keep her—that’s if you don’t mind. She’ll be someone to talk to.’ She had no idea how wistful she sounded. ‘She’s very thin…’ She looked at the small creature for a minute and then back to her companion’s impassive face. ‘She’s going to have kittens,’ she stated.

‘So I noticed. You will need a box and some old blanket, and she looks in need of a meal. Don’t give her too much to begin with—warm milk if you have any.’ He put a hand on the door. ‘I’ll get a box and something to put inside it—I’ll be back very shortly.’ At the door he turned. ‘Lock the door, Miss Proudfoot.’