Betty Neels - The Magic of Living

Arabella looked with horror at her appearance in the mirror, had a bath, brushed her hair in a perfunctory fashion and jumped into bed, considerably hampered by the nightie, which was a great deal too large. She was asleep within seconds of laying her head on the pillow.

She felt quite herself in the morning, for she was young and strong, and besides had learned from an early age to school her feelings; giving way to these had been something her uncle had discouraged; he never gave way to his, and although Hilary and her mother were allowed to be the exception to his rule, everyone else about him was expected to be what he described as sensible. So Arabella wasted no time in self-pity but dressed in the clean overall someone had found for her, pinned a borrowed cap upon her now very neat head, and when a nurse knocked on the door and asked if she were ready for breakfast, declared cheerfully that she was.

Not that she thought much of the meal; bread and butter and cheese and jam seemed a poor exchange after Wickham’s porridge and bacon, but the coffee was delicious and everyone was very kind, chattering away to her in sketchy English and occasionally, when they forgot, in Dutch. And they were quick to help, for when she asked if she might see Sister Brewster, she was taken at once to that lady’s room, to find her sitting up in bed with a tray before her.

‘I feel very poorly,’ declared Sister Brewster as soon as Arabella entered the room. ‘I have hardly closed my eyes all night and I have a shocking headache. I shall be glad to get back to Wickham’s and have a few days off in which to recover, for I have had a great shock.’

Arabella let this pass and waited for her to enquire about the children, or for that matter, about herself, but when the older woman remained silent she said: ‘Well, if you don’t mind, Sister, I’m going to the ward to see how the children are.’

Her companion shot her a baleful look. ‘I can see that this dreadful experience has hardly touched you,’ she commented sourly. ‘I suppose you found it all very exciting.’

‘No,’ said Arabella patiently, ‘I didn’t find it at all exciting when Mr Burns died, nor when the children were hurt and frightened. Do you want anything before I go, Sister?’

‘No,’ her superior sounded pettish, ‘you’ll have to see to everything. I’m in no fit state to cope with anything—my head.’

Arabella bit back some naughty remarks about her companion’s head and went out, closing the door smartly behind her.

She received a quite different welcome from the children. True, they had bruises and cuts and one or two black eyes, but they were smiling again, trying to express themselves as they had their breakfast. Arabella went to feed Sally and Billy, lying side by side in their beds and inclined to be grizzly and saw with surprise that Doctor van der Vorst was already doing a ward round, going from child to child with a couple of young doctors and the Ward Sister. When he reached Arabella he stopped, wished her good morning and wanted to know how she felt.

‘F-fine, thank you, Doctor,’ said Arabella, annoyed about the stammer.

‘Good. Will you come to the office at eleven o’clock, Nurse Birch? I—er—gather that Sister Brewster is still confined to her bed.’

‘Her head aches,’ said Arabella flatly.

He nodded again. ‘In that case, we must endeavour to make all the necessary arrangements without bothering her unduly, must we not?’ he asked smoothly as he bent to examine the two children. ‘These fractures are in good alignment; they should do well.’ He smiled at Billy and Sally, ruffled their hair, made a little joke so that they smiled at last, and passed on to the next bed.

He wasn’t sitting at his desk when she entered the office later on, but standing at the window, looking out, but he turned to her with a smile and came forward to pull out a chair for her.

‘How I do take up your time,’ he remarked pleasantly, ‘but I feel we must get these children back home as soon as possible, don’t you agree? The camp to which you were going is quite unsuitable for them, I’m afraid, for most of them are still shocked, not to mention bruises and cuts; to go back to their own familiar surroundings and people they know and trust is essential. I’ve been on the telephone this morning and we have arranged to fly them back the day after tomorrow—I’ll engage to have ambulances to take them to Schiphol, and the staff there have promised their fullest co-operation The children will be met at London Airport—Wickham’s will send nurses and ambulances and give them another check-up before they go to their homes.’ He paused. ‘I have just been visiting Sister Brewster, who feels that she is well enough to accompany them,’ his voice was dry. ‘There remains the question of Sally and Billy; it is out of the question that they should leave the hospital for the moment. I suggest that you should remain here with them, Arabella.’

She saw her holiday with Doreen fading to a regretful oblivion. Doreen couldn’t be expected to change her holidays yet again—besides, by the time she got back to England it would be October and she couldn’t expect her friend to miss the last of the autumn weather. A wild idea that Hilary might come out in her place crossed her mind, to be instantly dismissed. Mr Thisby-Barnes, for the moment at any rate, was far too important a factor in her cousin’s life. She said slowly:

‘If you s-say so, D-Doctor, and if Wickham’s d-doesn’t mind.’

He smiled at her. ‘Apparently not. It was suggested to the Matron—by your cousin, I believe—is she not a Ward Sister at Wickham’s?’

‘Yes. Who is to tell Sally and Billy?’

‘You, Arabella; they trust you, don’t they, and you’ll know just what to say. They have homes? They aren’t orphans?’

She racked her brains for the information she had primed herself with before she had started on the ill-fated trip. ‘No, they come from good homes, I believe, but poor, though. I’m sure their mothers and fathers came to see them off.’

‘I’ll see if we can arrange something.’ He sounded vague. ‘You don’t mind staying?’

It wouldn’t be much use saying that she did, she concluded ruefully.

‘Not at all,’ she spoke with such politeness that he shot her a keen glance before going on to say:

‘Good—if you would be kind enough to look after the two of them—day duty, of course, and the usual off-duty hours. I think it might be best if we paid you as though you were a member of our own nursing staff, and any adjustments can be made when you get back. Have you sufficient money for the moment?’

‘Yes, thank you—the police gave me my handbag and case.’

He stood up. ‘I won’t keep you any longer.’ He went to the door to open it for her. ‘I am grateful to you for your help.’

She paused by him, looking up into his face; he wasn’t only a very handsome man, he was kind too, even though she perceived that he was in the habit of getting his own way. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘I have a practice in the town,’ he told her, ‘and I am Medical Director of this hospital.’

‘How fortunate it was that you should have come along.’

‘A happy accident, shall we say, Arabella, if one might use the term without giving offence. You don’t mind if I call you Arabella?’

The stammer, which had been happily absent, came back with a rush.

‘N-no, n-not in the l-least.’ In fact she liked to be called Arabella by him, but it would never do to say so; she liked him very much, but he was still the Medical Director, being kind to a strange nurse who had been forced, willy-nilly through circumstances, to join his staff. To be on the safe side, she added ‘sir.’