Connie’s Courage (29 page)

Only today, listening whilst her junior nurses giggled over the Captain unaware of Connie's presence, their conversation as bold and flirtatious as her own had been as a girl, she had recognised abruptly how much she had changed, how alien that girl she had been now seemed to her.

Those dreams she had had then were so meaningless for her now; the carelessness with which she had flung herself heedlessly into her love for Kieron, the stubborn wilfulness, had all been tamed. She had learned too late what true love was, and she felt she had lost, too, the closeness of her friendship with Mavis, and that recent part of her life would soon be gone as well.

She had already decided that her future lay here in the hospital doing the work, which against all odds, she had come to love. As Sister Pride she was respected, and she respected herself and her own skills. She believed she had earned the right to cut herself off from the mistakes she had made and the shame she had brought on herself. But now suddenly, the Captain had created an unwanted bridge between the old Connie and the new, even if only inside herself. A wave of fear shuddered through her.

‘Connie, I've just heard the best possible news.'

It was Mavis's last evening, and they were having supper together.

As she saw the happiness illuminating her friend's face Connie's heart bumped against her ribs. Putting down her cutlery she whispered, ‘Harry …'

Mavis's smile trembled. No … No … Not that … How could it be? No, Connie, Rosa has written to Mother to tell us that she is to have Harry's child!'

The pain ripped and tore at Connie, unbearable and unending, her face drained of blood and a cold faintness spread out from the pit of her stomach. Harry's child! Rosa was to have Harry's child! The pledge and proof of his love!

‘You can imagine how Mother feels, how all of us feel. Of course, nothing and no one could ever replace Harry, but to know that he is to have a son or daughter …'

She couldn't bear it. She could not bear it. Memories flooded through her. Kieron deserting her; the realisation that she was to have his child; the panic and fear she had felt; the knowledge of her shame – the shame that Harry had witnessed.

‘We are going to do all we can to support Rosa, of course. We are her family after all, and the baby will be Mother's grandchild – Mother wants to have her to stay for a while …'

As she listened to Mavis, Connie tried to battle against the hurt and jealousy she was feeling. Years ago as a young girl, she had stood on the sidelines watching as a new closeness developed between Ellie and their cousin Cecily. She had felt shut out
of what they were sharing, and not just shut out, but hurt and jealous. Ellie was
her
sister and not Cecily's she had reasoned childishly then, resenting having to share the sister she had thought of as exclusively hers, with someone else.

Now, although she was grown-up and Mavis was not her sister but her friend, what she was feeling – the sense of being excluded and the hurt that caused her – reminded Connie sharply of what she had felt then. She didn't want to lose her friend to someone else, but it hurt all the more knowing that the person she was losing her to, was Harry's wife.

Connie tried to be rational about it, and to tell herself that of course it was only natural that Mavis, as a young wife, should make friends with another young wife, especially when they were already related by marriage. And she tried to tell herself, too, that Mavis with her tender caring heart was bound to want to comfort and protect Rosa.

But a part of Connie didn't want to be rational and grown-up, and that part of her reacted to what Mavis was saying by deliberately withdrawing from her in hurt and anger, and to find excuses not to spend as much time with Mavis as she had.

It was, of course, Connie's way of protecting herself, but Mavis was not to know that!

‘You've told them then?'

‘That I'm to have Harry's child?' Rosa answered Gerald's wary question. ‘Of course. They can't hear enough about it. They've even invited me to go and stay in that stuffy house in New Brighton – as if I'd want to go there!

‘You haven't told them that, have you?

‘Of course not. I've said as how I'm feeling too sickly to travel.

‘So what are they going to say when they find out you've travelled here to see me? Gerald challenged her.

Rosa tossed her head. ‘Who says they are going to find out? I told my father I was coming to stay with Phyllis. He doesn't know that she isn't here.

What did you tell Beth?

‘The same. That I was coming to see Phyllis.

‘So does that mean we've got the whole day together, and maybe tonight as well? Rosa asked him suggestively, drawing her fingertip along his arm.

‘What about …? Gerald gave a small nod in the direction of her stomach.

‘Well you put it there and no one else, Rosa pointed out coarsely. ‘You should have married me you know, Gerald …

‘Don't you think I wish that I had,' he responded thickly, pulling her into his arms. ‘We re a good match you and me, Rosa.

‘But you married Beth, and she's carrying your child as well.

‘More's the pity. All she ever does is complain.

She's been driving me mad with her moaning about her bloomin' headaches.

The Captain's parents had arrived to see him and the Captain's father had announced that he wanted to see Mr Clegg.

‘Instantly and no messing! Tell him it's Councillor Forbes who is wanting him.

Connie didn't care very much for the Captain's father, but for very different reasons than those that made her fear his son. Whilst the Captain spoke with the accent of a gentleman, his father was hewn from a much rougher stone. And obviously believed that his money could buy him whatever he wanted.

Had it bought him the thin, cold-looking woman who was his wife and the Captain's mother, Connie wondered?

They had brought the Captain's betrothed with them, Miss Burrell Howard, a haughty, proud-looking young woman, who had got the backs of all the nurses up good and proper.

‘Fancy er being engaged to someone as good-looking as the Captain, and er that plain, an all, one of them had sniffed, after one of her earlier visits.

‘Good-looking or not, she's welcome to him, Connie had replied grimly.

‘Ooh, ‘ow can you say that – ‘e's a fine well-setup man the Captain is, and always got a cheery
word and a bit of a twinkle in his eye, if you know what I mean.

‘Aye, well we all know what you are likely to get if you pay too much attention to it, and it won't be a wedding ring on your finger!' Connie had warned, not mincing her words.

The other nurse, a pretty, pert young woman who reminded Connie very much of the girl she herself had once been, had tossed her head and announced boldly, ‘Well, you can't blame him for wanting sommat warm in his bed with a cold piece like ‘er.'

Connie ignored her, but an older nurse who had happened to overhear the comment, came over to Connie once the girl had flounced off, and began disapprovingly, ‘Little Madam, she wants to be tekken down to the women's ward to see what happens to girls who warm men's beds without a wedding ring. There's two of them on there now, two who got themselves into trouble and tried to get out of it! she told Connie scornfully. ‘Brung their disgrace on themselves they have. Shameful that's what they are, and shouldn't be allowed on the same ward as respectable women.

‘Time was when the likes o' them would have been tied to the cart-tail and whipped through the streets. And if you want my opinion, it's a pity that their sort isn't still made a public spectacle of. Any woman who bears a child outside of wedlock is a disgrace to her sex and should be punished accordingly, and I'm not the only one as thinks so.

Connie knew that the other nurse was speaking the truth, but hearing it made her mouth go dry and her hands start to tremble slightly. She didn't want to be reminded of the fate that could have been her own, and she was relieved to see Mr Clegg walking toward her. Connie sensed, as she had done before, that Mr Clegg was no fonder of Captain Forbes than she herself was.

‘There you are, Clegg. Took yer time, didn't yer. You know I'm a busy man …' The Captain's father puffed out his chest. ‘I've got a munitions factory to run, I'll ‘av you know.'

Discreetly Connie moved away from the door. She had other patients to attend to, and it didn't matter how much the Captain's father bullied and blustered, Mr Clegg would not allow the Captain to leave the hospital until he was well enough to do so.

Walking down the ward, she stopped by the Sergeant's bed. He was well enough to be discharged now.

‘Mr Clegg tells me that we shall need to find a new patient for your bed, Sergeant.'

He beamed at her, whilst several other men on the ward started to cheer. As Connie knew, it always lifted the spirits of the whole ward when one of their number was declared fit enough to leave, just as the death of one of them plunged the whole ward into gloom.

‘No doubt Mr Clegg will give you the news himself when he does his round.'

She was about to walk away when the Sergeant whispered urgently to her, ‘'Ere Sister, there's sommat I wanted ter tell yer!'

Frowning a little, Connie moved closer to his bed.

‘It's about old Jinxy,' he told her in a confidential whisper, nodding his head in the direction of Jinx who, since Connie's quiet revelation to him, he had begun to treat far more kindly. ‘I don't like to tell tales outta school like, especially not where there's an officer involved, but old Jinxy, well I feels I owes him one like, and knowing as how you ‘ave a soft spot for him …' He paused and looked uncomfortable.

‘It's the Captain you see, Sister … Yer gets men like ‘im in the Army. All right if yer stands up ter ‘em like, but they can be buggers – if you'll excuse me language – if yer lets ‘em.'

Connie's whole body had gone bone cold. ‘What is it you are trying to say, Sergeant?' she pressed him.

‘Well, it's old Jinxy, Sister. Captain doesn't like ‘im and he's stirred up one or two of the lads like, as well. Of course, whilst I've bin here I've kept me peepers on wot's goin' on like, and I've bin able to put ‘em right about Jinx – tried ter tell the Captain as well but he weren't having it – and wi' me only being a Sergeant and ‘im Captain … Aye, a real nasty piece o' work he is and no mistake! Jinxy is scared shi … er, sick of him and, all and well, I just thought I'd give yer a warning like, Sister.'

‘I ll remember what you ve said, Sergeant, Connie thanked him sombrely. It made her feel guilty that she hadn't realised for herself that the Captain might have had some part in Jinx's recent deterioration.

‘Well, Sister, it's not my place to interfere, but he's not really a bad sort old Jinxy like – sorta got a bit fond o' him mesel as it ‘appens, although Gawd knows what's goin to happen to him when he leaves here.

‘I don't know that either, Sergeant, Connie answered truthfully, as she glanced toward the darkening sky outside the ward windows.

Mavis had written to invite her to join them for her Christmas off-duty days, adding excitedly that they were hoping that Rosa would return from her cousin's in time to spend Christmas with them, prior to her lying-in.

‘For, after all, Connie, Harry's baby is far more closely related to our family than it is to Rosa's cousin s. We all grieve so for Harry, Connie, but Mother more so than any of us naturally.

More so than her? In a different way, perhaps, but not more so, Connie thought painfully. She already knew that she would not accept Mavis's invitation and go to New Brighton. There would be too many painful memories there for her, and some even more painful reminders of Harry's love for someone else. And apart from that, she suspected that Mavis's invitation was borne more of duty than because she wanted to see her.

They had been exchanging letters it was true, but Mavis's had been full of the coming baby, and Connie had replied almost tersely to them, unable to express on paper how she was feeling, and how much she missed the closeness they had once shared. And she did miss it, and Mavis herself, most painfully.

In her most recent letter, Mavis had expressed her anxious concern for Rosa so strongly that Connie had felt a physical stab of misery. To make matters worse, Mavis had only made the most cursory enquiry into Connie's own happiness, leaving Connie feeling as though she didn't matter at all.

Stubbornly determined not to reveal how hurt she was, she had deliberately written back to Mavis describing her own life and work as though she was in the best of spirits, and even implying that she was too busy with her life without Mavis to have time to visit New Brighton over Christmas.

Mavis had taken longer than normal to write back to her, and she had not once pressed Connie to change her mind and visit over Christmas. Connie had shed more tears than she wanted to admit over that letter, before screwing it up and pushing it into the pocket of her cape.

Surely if Mavis had thought anything of her at all, she would have made some push to persuade her to go to New Brighton, Connie had thought forlornly, forgetting that the tone of her own correspondence might have hurt Mavis as much as Mavis's had hurt her.

At least she would be needed on her ward over Christmas, she tried to comfort herself. Her patients did not stop needing her just because it was Christmas.

She had come to accept that, from now on, the hospital must be her home and her security, and that her life would be spent here, and, as she already knew, her situation could have been much worse.

The Captain's visitors had gone. Reluctantly she made her way back to his room. The door was closed. How were her nurses supposed to keep a check on him on their way up and down the ward with a closed door? Frowning she opened it, and then froze. The Captain had one arm around the waist of the bold-eyed probationer who reminded Connie so much of her old self, whilst his free hand was cupping the girl's breast.