Hope - Lesley Pearse [132]
‘I despair at the conditions here,’ Sister Martha admitted in her soft Irish brogue. ‘The nurses are often the worse for drink and they steal the laudanum meant for the sick. The orderlies should of course keep the ward cleaner, but they are either feeble-minded or ex-prisoners, and they are so afraid of being infected themselves.’
‘What food do you give the sick?’ Hope asked.
Sister Martha sighed wearily. ‘Gruel is sent up from the kitchen, but I fear that if they are too weak to feed themselves, they do not always get any nourishment.’
The imposing oak-panelled hallway and the staircase leading off it gave a clear idea of how grand the place must have been when it was a family home. This at least was reasonably clean, even if it smelled bad, and the floors were battered with wear from the thousands of pairs of heavy boots which must have tramped across it over the years.
Sister Martha waved one hand towards large closed doors on the opposite side of the hall and said that the old, destitute and orphans were in that part of the building, along with the kitchen.
It was very gloomy, the only light being one oil lamp suspended on a long chain from the ceiling, but Sister Martha picked up one of several smaller lamps standing on a shelf, lit it, and told Hope to follow her up the stairs so she could show her where she was to sleep.
She kept up a breathless commentary as she went on ahead, but much of what she said about the surgical and lying-in wards went over Hope’s head. On the first landing she pointed to a closed door and said that the lunatics were through there. But she added, perhaps sensing Hope’s fear, that she must not feel frightened by their presence for they were locked up and male orderlies took care of them.
Considering there had to be scores, if not hundreds, of people in the building, Hope found it surprisingly quiet. There were the sounds of heavy shoes on bare wooden floors, the occasional raised voice, a baby crying and some feeble sobbing, but none of the uproar she had expected. She wondered if this was because laudanum was dispensed to everyone who was troublesome. She also wondered why she hadn’t seen any other staff aside from Sister Martha and the two old women in the cholera ward. It was about half past eight now, too early surely for everyone to have retired for the night?
As they got closer to the top floor, the sister spoke about Dr Meadows. ‘He’s a saintly man, to be sure,’ she gushed. ‘He feels for everyone, only this morning he said, “Sister Martha, you must get some rest or you’ll become one of my patients.” But then, as his cousin, you must know this, my dear?’
Hope would have said she was mistaken in this, but Sister Martha didn’t give her a chance.
‘He said you already have some experience with cholera. He’s clearly very proud of your nursing skills. And you must have the heart of a lion to want to help us here.’
Hope understood then why the doctor had seen Sister Martha alone. He must have felt that by saying Hope was a relative she’d have an easier time.
‘I’ve got the heart of a mouse,’ she said, and she felt that much was true because she didn’t feel brave enough to contradict what the doctor had said when it was so kindly meant. ‘I hope I feel braver in the morning.’
Maybe it was because of Dr Meadows, too, that Hope was given a room to herself. It was a tiny, cell-like room under the eaves, scarcely larger than the narrowtruckle bed, but as she had been expecting similar conditions to the patients, her spirits lifted considerably. There were sheets on the bed and a door she could lock from the inside. The heat of the day was trapped within it; even by the dim light of the candle she could see the walls were grimy, and maybe there would be bugs in the mattress, but after Lamb Lane and her makeshift