The Doubtful Marriage. Бетти Нилс
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drank it, and then listened patiently.
‘Well, love, I’d say you’re well rid of him. If a man can’t stand up against ’is ma, he’ll make a poor husband. As to what you’re going ter do, get a job, Miss Tilly. I’m all right ’ere—yer uncle saw ter that, bless ’is dear ’eart. But don’t you go staying ’ere with that cousin of yours—no good will come of it, mark my words.’
Tilly went to church on the Sunday morning, her chin well up, sang the hymns loudly and defiantly, wished the occupants of the Manor pew a chilling good morning and went home to compose a letter to the principal nursing officer of her training school. She hadn’t worked in a hospital for some years now, but she had been in the running for a sister’s post when she left; she could hardly expect that, but there might possibly be a staff nurse’s job going.
Two days later Herbert, Jane and her aunt arrived without warning. Herbert sat back in her uncle’s chair, looking smug. ‘It seemed a good idea if Mother and Jane should get used to the idea of living here. I’ll come at weekends, of course. The house in Cheltenham is up for sale with most of the furniture—I’ll get the stuff we shall want to have here sent down when I have time to arrange it. I’m a busy man.’
Tilly said tartly, ‘Too busy to let us know that you were coming? And even if you were, surely Jane could have telephoned?’
‘I deal with all the domestic arrangements.’ He smoothed his hair back and half closed his eyes. ‘Jane isn’t strong.’
Jane, thought Tilly, was as strong as the next girl, only her strength was being syphoned off her by her great bully of a husband.
Herbert waved a hand, presumably in dismissal. Tilly stayed right where she was sitting. ‘So who does the housekeeping?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Oh, Mother, I suppose, though you might carry on for a day or two until she’s found her way around.’
‘I might and then I might not,’ said Tilly. ‘You have been at great pains to remind me that this is no longer my home—I’m here on sufferance, aren’t I? You haven’t considered me at all; why should I consider you? I’m sure Aunt Nora will manage beautifully.’
She took herself off to the kitchen, shutting the door on Herbert’s outraged face. There was a lot of coming and going—Aunt Nora and Jane finding their way around, thought Tilly waspishly. She went to find Emma crying into the potatoes which she was peeling.
Over a cup of tea they faced the future. Tilly would have liked a good cry but she couldn’t; Emma had to be comforted and given some kind of hope.
‘Has the postman been? There may be a letter from the hospital—I wrote for a job. As soon as I’m settled Emma, I’ll find a flat and we’ll set up house. Just hang on here, Emma dear, and I promise everything will be all right. There’s the postman now.’
There was a letter. Tilly read it quickly and then a second time. There was no job for her; regretfully, there was the full quota of nurses and no way of adding to it, but had Tilly thought of applying for a job at one of the geriatric hospitals? They were frequently understaffed; there was no doubt that she would find a post at one of them.
It was a disappointment, but it was good advice, too. Tilly got the Nursing Times from her room and sat down there and then and applied to three of the most likely hospitals wanting nursing staff. Then, while Emma was seeing to lunch, she went down to the post office and posted them. She met Mrs Waring on the way back and wished her a polite good day and that lady made as if to stop and talk.
‘I’m in a great hurry,’ said Tilly brightly. ‘My cousin and his wife have arrived unexpectedly.’
‘Moving in already?’ asked Mrs Waring in a shocked voice. ‘Tilly, what are you going to do? Leslie’s so upset.’
Tilly went a little pale. ‘Is he? Goodbye, Mrs Waring.’
She smiled in Mrs Waring’s general direction and raced off home. If Leslie was upset, he knew what to do…
Only he didn’t do it. He neither telephoned her nor wrote, which made life with Jane and her aunt just that much harder to bear. So that when there was a letter from a north London hospital asking her if she would attend an interview with a view to a staff nurse’s post in a female geriatric ward, she replied promptly and two days later presented herself at the grim portals of a huge Victorian edifice, very ornate on the outside and distressingly bare within.
She followed the porter along a corridor painted in margarine-yellow and spinach-green, waited while he tapped at its end on a door and then went in. She hadn’t much liked the look of the place so far; now she felt the same way about the woman sitting behind the desk, a thin, acidulated face topping a bony body encased in stern navy blue.
‘Miss Groves?’ The voice was as thin as its owner.
‘Yes,’ said Tilly, determinedly cheerful. ‘How do you do?’
‘I am the Principal Nursing Officer.’ The lady had beady eyes and no make-up. ‘I see from your letter that you are seeking work as a staff nurse. A pity that you have not worked in a hospital for a while. However, your references are quite in order and we are willing to give you a trial. The ward to which you will be assigned has forty patients. I hope you don’t mind hard work.’
‘No. Would I be the only staff nurse?’
The beady eyes snapped at her. ‘There are part-time staff, Miss Groves. We take a quota of student nurses for a short period of geriatric nursing—they come from various general hospitals—and we also have nursing auxiliaries.’ She paused, but Tilly didn’t speak, so she went on, ‘You will do day duty, with the usual four hours off duty and two days free in the week. It may be necessary from time to time to rearrange your days off. You will be paid the salary laid down by the NHS, monthly in arrears, and your contract may be terminated at the end of the month by either of us. After that you will sign a contract for one year.’
‘I should like to see the ward,’ suggested Tilly, and smiled.
She got no smile in return, only a look of faint surprise.
‘Yes, well, that can be arranged.’
In answer to a phone call, a dumpy little woman in a checked uniform joined them. ‘Sister Down,’ said the Principal Nursing Officer, ‘my deputy.’ She turned the pages of some report or other on the desk and picked up her pen. ‘Be good enough to let me know at your earliest convenience if you are accepting the post, Miss Groves.’ She nodded a severe dismissal.
The hospital was left over from Victorian days and as far as Tilly could see no one had done much about it since then. She followed the dumpy sister along a number of depressing corridors, up a wide flight of stone stairs and into a long narrow ward. It was no good, decided Tilly, gazing at the long rows of beds down each side of it, each with its locker on one side and on the other side its occupant sitting in a chair. Like a recurring nightmare, she thought as they traversed the highly polished floor between the beds to the open door at the end. It led to the ward sister’s office, and that lady was sitting at her desk, filling in charts.
She greeted Tilly unsmilingly. ‘The new staff nurse? I could do with some help. How soon can you come?’
She looked worn to the bone, thought Tilly, not surprising when one considered the forty old ladies sitting like statues. There were two nursing auxiliaries making a bed at the far end of the ward and a ward orderly pushing a trolley of empty mugs towards another door. Tilly didn’t know what made her change her mind; perhaps an urge to change the dreary scene around her. Music, she mused, and the old ladies grouped together so that they could talk to each other, and a TV…
‘As soon as you want me,’ she said briskly.
She didn’t tell her aunt or Jane, but confided in Emma, who had mixed feelings about it.
‘Supposing you don’t like it?’ she wanted to know. ‘It sounds a nasty ol’ place ter me.’
‘Well, it’s not