Twisted Root - Anne Perry [54]
She still wanted to wake Monk and talk to him—no, that was not true, what she wanted was that he should talk to her. She wanted to hear his voice, hear the assurance in it, the will to fight—and win.
She would have liked to get up and do something to keep herself from thinking, but she would disturb him if she did, and that would be the same thing as having deliberately woken him. So she lay still and stared at the patterns of sunlight on the ceiling until eventually she went back to sleep again.
When she woke the second time it was to find Monk waking her gently. She felt as if she had climbed up from the bottom of a well, and her head still hurt.
She smiled at him and forced herself to be cheerful. If he noticed any artificiality about it, he did not say so. Perhaps he was thinking of Miriam Gardiner already, and still worrying about what he could do to help her and what he would say to Lucius Stourbridge.
It was midmorning, as she was coming down the main corridor, when she encountered Fermin Thorpe.
"Oh, good morning, Miss—Mrs. Monk," he said, coming to a halt so that it was obvious he wished to speak with her. "How are you today?" He continued immediately so that she should not interrupt him by replying. "With regard to your desire that women should be trained in order to nurse, I have obtained a copy of Mr. J. F. South’s book, published three years ago, which I am sure will be of interest to you and enlighten you on the subject." He smiled at her, meeting her eyes very directly.
They were passed by a medical student whom he ignored, an indication of the gravity of his intent.
"You may not be familiar with who he is, so I shall tell you, so you may correctly judge the importance of his opinion and give it more weight." He straightened his shoulders slightly and lifted his chin. "He is senior consulting surgeon at Saint Thomas’s Hospital, and more than that, he is president of the College of Surgeons and Hunterian Orator." He gave the words careful emphasis so she should not miss any part of their importance. "I quote for you, Miss—Mrs. Monk, he is"—his voice became very distinct—" ’not at all disposed to allow that the nursing establishments of our hospitals are inefficient or that they are likely to be improved by any special Institution for Training.’ As he further points out, even sisters in charge of wards do, and can, only learn by experience." He smiled at her with increasing confidence. "Nurses themselves are subordinates, in the position of housemaids, and need only the simplest of instructions."
Two nurses passed them, faces flushed with exertion, sleeves hitched up.
Hester opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, raising his voice very slightly to override her. "I am perfectly aware of Miss Nightingale’s fund for training young women," he said loudly. "But I must inform you, madam, that only three surgeons and two physicians are to be found among its supporters. That, surely, is an unfailing mark of the regard in which it is held by professional men who are the most highly qualified and experienced in the country. Now, Mrs. Monk"—he pronounced her name with satisfaction at having remembered it—"I trust you will turn your considerable energies towards the true welfare of both the nurses here and the patients, and attend to their cleanliness, their sobriety and their obedience to do what they are commanded, both punctually and exactly. Good day." And without waiting for her reply, which he seemingly took for granted in the affirmative, he strode away purposefully towards the operating theater, satisfied he had dealt with the subject finally.
Hester was too furious to speak for the first few moments, then, when she could have spoken, no words seemed adequate to express her disgust. She marched in the opposite direction, towards the physicians’ waiting room.
There she found Cleo talking to an old man who was obviously frightened and doing his best