Beloved Scoundrel (22 page)

She said, “I wondered about that.”

“Feelings still run high against him, even though he paid for his crime by dying miserably. And these bad feelings are all too easily transferred to his former friends .”

“I learned something about that in New York,” she agreed. Then she asked . “Did you see anything of him in the final days before the assassination?”

“I met him once or twice,” the major said. “And on each occasion he seemed anxious to get away from me. Something was troubling him.”

“Now we all know what it was,” Fanny said.

“Well, that is in the past,” Major Furlong said. “Let us leave it there.”

She wished that she could. But she was beginning to think this would never be. Memories of John Wilkes Booth haunted her by both day and night. It seemed that something was always bound to bring them up again.

The carriage halted before a plain, frame house and the major helped her out and escorted her to the front door of the modest building. The door was opened by a gaunt woman with graying hair pulled straight back on her head and tied in a coil at the nape of her neck. She wore a black dress and white apron.

Major Furlong introduced them, telling Fanny, “This is Edna Burchill, who is renting you her spare room.”

The room was a good-sized one on the second floor and the major told her she could see the hospital from it in daylight. He remained to see her trunk installed in the room and then prepared to leave. He halted at the door of her room to advise her, “I would like you to report to me in the morning and I will have you assigned to the area in which help seems the most needed.”

“Fine,” she said. “I shall be there at eight.”

After the surgeon had gone Mrs. Burchill came to bring her fresh towels and a pitcher of warm water. The gaunt woman offered her a tired look and said, “Would you like a cup of tea after your long journey?”

She smiled. “It would be most pleasant.”

“I’ll make it fresh now,” the woman said wearily. “You can come down and have it in the sitting room.”

“Thank you,” Fanny told her. The woman’s grim, resigned manner interested her. She wondered why Edna Burchill appeared so apathetic. After spending a few minutes washing and putting out some of her clothes she decided it was time to go down and have the offered cup of tea.

The gaunt woman was waiting for her and poured out the tea and stood watching as she sat to drink it. “So you’re to work in the hospital,” Edna Burchill said harshly.

She looked up in surprise. “Yes.”

“I call it the charnel house!”

“Why?”

“They kill people there,” the woman said, rubbing her thin hands together uneasily.

Now Fanny was truly startled. “That is a strange thing to say. I thought you and Major Furlong were friends.”

The woman shrugged. “He’s good enough. But he’s only one!”

“I’m sure they do as well as they can,” Fanny said. “So many men are brought in badly wounded that some are bound to die.”

“Aye! Some are!” the gaunt woman said angrily. “My son died over there! Within walking distance of his home!”

Fanny now understood. She said, “I’m sorry.”

The woman swallowed hard and raised her chin a little. “I’m not complaining. Few people didn’t have a loss. But it was hard to see him die slowly over there. I would have been better able to bear it if he could have come back to his own bed!”

“I feel deeply for you,” Fanny said. “Believe me!”

The woman looked at her with cold eyes. “You are one of those stage people, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m sure Major Furlong must have mentioned that. I have given up my stage work to come and volunteer as a helper at the hospital.”

“The theatre is the Devil’s house,” Edna Burchill rasped. “It was that drug fiend John Wilkes Booth who murdered our President.”

Fanny put aside her tea cup and looking up at the woman said, “I knew John Wilkes Booth and he was not a drug fiend.”

“You knew him?” The woman’s eyes widened.

“Very well,” she said firmly. “You spoke of us all being hurt by the war. You would do well to think of him as a victim of the conflict. The horror of war turned his head and made him become a madman. He needed to blame someone for the chaos he couldn’t understand and so he turned his hatred towards Lincoln.”

“He was an evil man!”

“An unhappy man,” Fanny said, amending the woman’s words. “I shall be down for breakfast at seven. I must be at the hospital at eight.”

“Very well,” Edna Burchill said stiffly.

Fanny went back up to her room with the feeling that she had not made too good an impression on the grieving woman. But by the same token Edna Burchill had not been all that considerate of her. It was something she would have to put up with.

She slept well in the comfortable bed and ate a hearty breakfast in the morning. Edna Burchill served her and was grudgingly polite but no more. Then Fanny left the house and walked briskly to the sprawling hospital building.

Major Furlong was in his neat, white-walled office near the front of the building. He eyed her plain straw bonnet and severely styled dark gray dress and nodded his approval.

“I’m glad you’ve chosen to wear practical clothes. A great change from your elegant stage costumes.”

She smiled thinly. “I usually dress for the part. I felt this suited the role of handy woman.”

“You will do very well,” the bearded major said. “Before you start out I want you to know you can resign at any time.”

“I have no thought of that,” she said.

The surgeon eyed her sharply across the desk. “It is just possible you might decide this isn’t the right place for you.”

“I’m determined to be useful.”

“I can ask no more,” Major Furlong said. His shrewd eyes studied her as he asked, “What do you think of Edna Burchill?”

“A strangely complicated woman.”

“You are right,” he said. “Are you getting along with her?”

“I think I will.”

“I put you over there purposely,” the Major said. “Not so much for your sake, I fear, as for hers.”

“Oh?”

“She has no doubt told you her son was grievously wounded in battle and died over here in this hospital.”

“Yes.”

The surgeon sighed. “It seemed to give her strange notions about our care for our patients. In plain words, I think she felt her son died because he was here. That her own nursing might have saved him.”

“Is there any truth in that?”

“None,” the surgeon said. “He didn’t die from the wound which was bad enough. He picked up a bad infection before he reached here. No matter what we did we could not halt its raging through him. She would have been even more at a loss to deal with such a case than we were.”

Fanny asked, “Did you explain that to her?”

“Yes. But she didn’t really listen.”

“That is all too often the case.”

The major said, “I hope through your being in her house she will learn more about the hospital and come to have some confidence in it. I do not wish her to go on thinking her son died needlessly.”

“I understand,” she said.

He rose and announced, “Now I will take you into the hospital proper. You know it from your previous visits. And I fear it is still as crowded.”

Chapter 11

Fanny followed Major Furlong on his rounds of the great hospital and soon realized that all he had told her was true. Inside these walls the War still continued. For the unfortunate men still recovering from injuries here the battle had not ended. For some it would end in death and for others there would be recovery and freedom at last.

The wards were still crowded. Nurses, doctors, and aides seemed to be in a state of perpetual urgency. The faint stench of human flesh in decay hung heavily over all the place. As they moved from one corridor to another the bearded major spoke to her almost as if he were voicing his own thoughts.

“Infection is our greatest enemy now,” he said in a trouble voice. “In the battle field our doctors usually took the drastic action of amputation in cases of compound fracture where jagged bone protrudes through the skin.”

“Hasn’t that resulted in needless amputations?” she asked as she kept pace with his swift steps. “It depends on the point of view. Some think better to hack off an arm or leg than try to set it. And even then the stump becomes gangrenous a third of the time.”

“So this is the major problem.”

“Yes,” he said, striding along. “There is no question it will be solved one day. I think cleanliness in the hospital has much to do with it. I insist on our surgeons washing their hands between examinations of individual patients. There is still a shocking lack of cleanliness in our hospitals.”

He halted before the door of a ward. And in a low voice, he said, “In here you will find a sad example of the primitive means we use to deal with amputees.”

“Oh?” she said, not knowing what to answer.

He nodded grimly. “I told you that amputation is still a common practice in almost all cases of compound fractures, and so this hospital is full of amputees whose stumps have a way of breaking open and hemorrhaging every few days!”

“What do you do to guard against this?”

“It is impossible for interns to go from bed to bed checking for hemorrhage, and so we have devised this rather macabre arrangement.”

He now led her into the ward where she was surprised to discover that the beds with the amputees were all arranged in a semi-circle, with the patient’s stumps pointed inward facing an intern who was seated on a stool. He stood ready to rush into action the moment any of them should hemorrhage.

The major halted a moment to speak to several of the wan-faced patients and have a short conversation with the intern in charge. Then he led her out again.

She sighed. “I see what you mean.”

“It may seem a minor horror chamber but it works,” he told her.

“Yes. I could see the benefits.”

“It’s not good enough,” he complained. “We must learn to do more. Improve on our instruments. Make better use of artery clamps.”

She offered him a rueful smile. “And where is anyone as ignorant as myself going to fit into all this?”

The bearded doctor studied her in friendly, fashion. “Would you object if I started you off in the supplies area winding bandages?”

“I will do whatever you wish,” she told him.

“I think you should be given time to gradually adjust to the hospital,” he said. “I cannot shove you into the more repellent situations until you are completely at ease here.”

“Please don’t protect me,” she begged.

“I won’t do that,” he promised. “But if I break your nerve at the start I cannot make the best use of you. I train my own stable of thoroughbred horses when I have any leisure. Give me credit for some judgment.”

“I’m entirely at your service,” she told him.

So she found herself in the big supplies room at a table with three others working at the mundane task of winding bandages. The bandages came in all shapes and sizes and she was clumsy at it at first. But with the encouragement of a matronly supervisor she soon began to get the proper knack of it. By the end of the week she was able to turn out almost as much material as her fellow workers.

At home she made every possible attempt to become more friendly with Edna Burchill. But the widow who had lost her son at Gettysburg was not easy to know. She was polite but made herself as scarce as possible whenever Fanny was around. So the house was lonely.

She attended the nearby church on her first Sunday in Washington and to her surprise Major Furlong was also there. As she left the church he came over to her and removing his tophat said, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. How are things in the supplies room?”

“I’m gaining speed,” she said with a smile. “You may soon be overloaded with bandages.”

“I doubt that,” he told her. “I haven’t had a chance to look you up. As you know we have a new lot of patients transferred to us a few days ago.”

“I heard you are close to being overcrowded.”

“True,” he said. “My wife and I are having tea for some of the other doctors and their wives this afternoon. We have a house rented close by the hospital. My own home is too far distant when I’m working here. Would you care to come around about four?”

The prospect sounded inviting but she was hesitant. She said, “Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“Not at all,” the bearded major said. “We have some single men on the staff as well. They will welcome you.” A twinkle showed in his gray eyes.

She smiled in return. “Very well then. I shall be pleased to accept.”

The prospect of even a small slice of social life was warming. She decided, after much soul searching, to wear a chic yellow gown, cut fairly low and without sleeves. She also chose a pert round cap with a feather in it, the cap was of the same shade of yellow as her dress and the feather blue.

As she made her way downstairs she came face to face with Edna Burchill, somber in black, at the foot of the stairway. The gaunt woman gazed at her with open scorn.

“Would you be going to the hospital dressed in that fashion?” she asked.

Fanny smiled. “It might be cheerful for the patients.”

“Your dress is of the stage,” the woman said. “The Devil’s style to tempt!”

“I think you are wrong,” she told the woman. “And I say one should dress as attractively as possible.”

The woman turned her back on her. “Each to his own!”

“Actually I’m going to tea at the major’s house in the hope of meeting some more of the hospital people,” she explained. “In a way it’s a duty call.”

“There’s no need to explain to the likes of me,” the gaunt woman said.

Fanny decided that a further exchange might only make things worse so she went on out. The air was warm and she put up her yellow parasol and strolled slowly towards the house which the doctor had earlier indicated. As he drew near it she saw that the tea party was actually taking place in the sunlight of the lawn. There were a number of uniformed men in blue with their thick leather belts and swords hanging at the hip. The women were fairly young and for the most part dressed in the latest styles.

Major Furlong introduced her to his wife and soon after she found herself in the company of a bachelor doctor whom the major had introduced as Captain Frank Sargeant.

They moved a little apart from the others and stood next to a neatly pruned green hedge which marked the outer limits of the long, narrow garden. Captain Sargeant was a jolly, freckle-faced fellow who looked like a country man.

She told him, “You impress me as an outdoor man.”

He laughed. “Well, I spent three years on active service. A good deal of it outdoors.”

“I mean before the War,” she insisted.

The young doctor’s smile was mischievous. “You are right. I am the son of a Vermont farmer.”

“I do not know Vermont,” she said. “I came over from England before the War. I have been in Philadelphia, Baltimore and New York, as well as here in Washington.”

“And before that I wager London was your home?”

Fanny smiled. “That is true. Am I so clearly from the city?”

“No,” he said. “But I know you are an actress. A kind of famous actress.”

“Major Furlong told you.”

“Yes. But I knew it anyway,” he said. “I saw you here in Washington. You headed a company with a man called Peter Cortez.”

She stared at him in pleased surprise. “You remembered correctly.”

The young doctor said, “As I recall the play was
The Rivals.
Am I not right?”

“We often did
The Rivals,”
she said. “So you saw me as Lydia Languish?”

“You were delightful in the role,” Frank Sargeant said. “And so beautiful. You still are!”

“I fear you are given to flattery!”

“I mean it,” the young doctor said earnestly. “And I like your English accent.”

“I fear I may be losing it. I have been in America for several years,” she said.

“You will never lose it,” he said. “I think it charming. I have also heard that you later were leading lady to John Wilkes Booth.”

“Yes,” she said. “That is true. Though Major Furlong has suggested I do not talk about it.”

“He is right,” the young doctor agreed. “There are still many here with strong feelings about the murder.”

“So I understand,” she said, gazing up at the other end of the garden where most of the others were gathered.

“But that is not what I meant to tell you,” he said.

She glanced at him directly. “What then?”

“This is a small world with many coincidences. Have you ever realized that?”

“Yes, I have. Often!” she said, wondering what he might be getting at.

He said, “You remember I told you about seeing you on stage here in Washington with an actor named Peter Cortez.”

“Yes.”

“Well, the amazing fact is that I have him now as one of my patients!”

She almost dropped the tea cup. “Peter Cortez!” she exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“Here in the hospital? A patient?”

“He’s been here for several months,” Captain Frank Sargeant said.

“No one told me!”

“I doubt that they would know your interest in him,” the young doctor said. “Only a few people on the staff know he was formerly an actor and probably I’m the only one who saw him on the stage with you.”

“I must see him!”

“That will be no problem.”

Now her face clouded. She looked at him and said, “You mentioned he has been here several months. He must have been badly wounded!”

Frank Sargeant frowned slightly. “It is hard to say whether he is a victim of his wounds or of some sort of mental distress brought on by heavy battle.”

“I do not understand.”

“We have many patients with no visible wounds who are almost mindless as a result of the mental stress they suffered under fire. Some of them are apathetic, others more violent. A few suffer merely from depression and occasional spells of violence.”

She was shocked at his matter-of-fact recital.

“Are you telling me that Peter Cortez has lost his mind?”

“He is a borderline case,” the young doctor told her. “He also had some actual head injuries which complicate things. The head injury has happily healed but he is not mentally right. He sits in quiet depression without interest in anything. He also has had a general health breakdown which has left him rather weak.”

“Poor Peter!” she said in an unhappy low voice. “He must have changed completely. He was a volatile, carefree, young man.”

“No longer.”

“I must go to him,” she said.

Frank Sargeant stared at her in astonishment. “You mean now?”

“Will I not be allowed in the hospital at this time?”

“Of course. We have afternoon visiting hours.”

“Then I’m going!” She handed him the tea cup.

The doctor said, “You’re ready to leave the major’s party?”

“Yes. He will understand,” she said.

“Then wait,” Frank Sargeant said. “Let us say our goodbyes and thanks. Then I’ll escort you over to the hospital to see Peter Cortez.”

“Very well,” she said, thinking of nothing now but getting away.

Major Furlong turned to receive their thanks with a knowing look on his bearded face. “So you two propose to go off on your own?”

“It’s not what you think,” Fanny protested. “I have just heard that a former stage actor whom I know well is a patient at the hospital. I do not wish to delay a moment in seeing him.”

The major’s gray eyes twinkled. “You stage vagabonds are all alike. Closer to each other than to anyone or anything else.”

She and Frank left the party with the major’s good wishes. A few minutes later they were back in the hospital and Frank took her to the second floor level which she had not visited before.

He said, “This is where we keep our nervous cases. Cortez often sits on a balcony out at the back. I have an idea we may find him there now.”

“Is he greatly changed?” she asked, tautly.

“From the man you saw on the stage?”

“Yes.”

“He is thin and there is a large scar on his right temple and cheek where a shell splinter hit him. But you will recognize him at once.”