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      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE orthopaedic ward for children at Trent’s Hospital was in the throes of its usual periodical upheaval: Sister Richards, on the edge of retirement, and, after a lifetime of caring for the small, sick children, a trifle eccentric, was making the cot change, an exercise which entailed her little charges being moved up and down the ward as well as from side to side, until none of them—and that included the nurses—knew exactly where they were any more, so that the children were either screaming with delight at being at the other end of the ward, or roaring with rage at being moved at all, and the nurses, especially those who were new to the experience, were on the edge of hysterics. And this time she had been fortunate in enlisting the help of the two housemen who had unwittingly arrived to write up their notes, and instead now found themselves, under Sister Richards’ inspired direction, shifting cots too. One of them, trundling a cot containing a very small and cross girl, asked furiously: ‘Is she out of her mind? Can’t someone stop her? My notes…’

      The girl he had addressed was guiding him towards the far corner of the ward. ‘Certainly not,’ she protested in a pleasant, cheerful voice, although it held a faintly admonishing note. ‘It works splendidly, you know—the children are mostly here for weeks and they get bored; moving them round is good for them—they never know where they’ll be next.’

      ‘And nor do you, I’ll be bound, Staff.’

      ‘Well, it’s a bit awkward at first, but we soon get sorted out.’

      They pushed the cot into a corner, and he said: ‘I do believe you like the old thing.’

      ‘Yes, I do—and she’s a wonderful nurse.’

      He stood aside and watched her settle the small girl against her pillows, thinking that she seemed a nice little thing; not much to look at though; too small and thin, and all that mousey hair piled high—if it wasn’t for her eyes she would be downright plain, but those green eyes, with their thick, dark lashes were really something. It was a pity about her foot, of course—he gave it a quick look and glanced away as she limped round the end of the cot. He was fairly new on the orthopaedic side and he had been warned about Staff Nurse Esmeralda Jones; she didn’t take pitying glances easily, and anyone wanting to know, however tactfully, why it was that one small foot dragged so horribly behind its fellow would get a cold green stare and no answer at all. True, there was one person who could apparently say what he liked to her—the orthopaedic Registrar, Leslie Chapman. The young houseman had heard him boasting about it in the common room one day, and hadn’t much liked him for it.

      ‘Anyone else to shift?’ he wanted to know cheerfully.

      Esmeralda beamed at him. ‘No thanks, you’ve been a Trojan. Sister will be having coffee in her office, I expect, and I’m sure she’ll give you a cup—after all this, you’ll be in her good books.’

      He started to move away. ‘What about you?’

      She was adjusting a gallows frame with careful skill.

      ‘Oh, I’ll be along in a minute—it’s Mr Peters’ round in half an hour and this place looks like a fairground—we’ll have to tidy it up a bit.’

      She knew as she spoke that she would probably not get her coffee—even with three nurses to help her, it would take time to get the place straight, especially when half the children were objecting at the tops of their voices to being moved. She coaxed and scolded gently, slicked down untidy heads of hair, wiped faces and hands and then, with a minute or two to spare after all, was hurrying down the ward with the intention of swallowing a quick cup of coffee in the kitchen, when the ward doors were swung open—Mr Peters, bother the man, was early.

      He was a short man, looking older than his forty years, and already going bald, which might be why he cultivated a heavy moustache and a formidable beard. The children loved him and the nurses went out of their way to fulfil his every whim. He stood just inside the doors now, bellowing good morning to the children, and added: ‘Hullo, Esmeralda—taken you by surprise, have I?’

      She fetched up in front of him, said ‘Good morning, sir,’ in an unflurried manner and added: ‘I’ll fetch Sister, she’s in the office.’

      ‘I know, I’ve been there—I thought you might like to know that I’ve brought someone with me. I’ve known him for years, we were students together—he’s over here doing a few odd jobs, wanted to see the ward.’ His eye roamed round his surroundings. ‘Good lord, girl, Sister Richards’ been having a moving day. Where’s Benny?’

      ‘Right at the other end, Mr Peters. Sister thought that he might like to see out into the inner yard.’

      Mr Peters started up the ward. ‘I’ll say hullo to him while we’re waiting,’ he declared. ‘You might as well come along too.’

      Benny was his pet; he was everyone’s pet as a matter of fact. He had come in weeks ago with a congenital dislocation of both hips, which was being painstakingly corrected by Mr Peters’ skilled surgery,