Hope (38 page)

‘So you think you’ll be a good nurse, do you?’ he said curtly.

That sounded like sarcasm, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘I’m not sure, sir,’ she said, clasping her hands together in front of her. ‘But I shall try.’

‘To prove yourself, d’you mean?’ he growled.

‘Yes, sir.’ She glanced at the younger doctor, noting that he looked distinctly nervous.

‘Then I shall place you somewhere where your character and ability will be tested,’ he said. ‘This evening my nephew will be returning to St Peter’s Hospital, you will accompany him and he will hand you over to the head nurse there. As I am sure Dr Meadows has told you, they are in desperate need of nurses.’

Hope’s heart plummeted. If Dr Cunningham had said he was sending her to the general hospital by Bedminster Bridge she would have been scared but not horrified because it was a newly built hospital and a good one by all accounts. But St Peter’s was viewed with the same terror as the gallows. It was a well-known fact that most entering its doors came out in a coffin, and rumours abounded about the brutality and the squalor within.

She was just about to retort that she would sooner return to the woods to live, when she saw a wily look in the old doctor’s eyes. All at once she realized what he meant by testing her. He hoped she’d refuse; that way he could feel justified in ordering her out of his house and his nephew’s life.

‘I can’t say I’m grateful for such a position,’ she said with all the dignity she could muster. ‘But as I know you wish to test me, then I’ll go and prove I have some ability.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Dr Meadows blurted out, and when she turned to look at him she could see dismay written all over his face. ‘St Peter’s is a hell-hole; there is no other word for it. And with the cholera raging there you will be in danger yourself.’

‘Bennett!’ Dr Cunningham said reprovingly. ‘I will not have you making such remarks about our hospital; the board of health has spent a great deal of money on improving conditions there in the last few years.’

‘You haven’t set foot inside it since the riots eighteen years ago,’ the younger man spat at him. ‘If you had, you would know that the money allocated to it was siphoned off by greedy aldermen for their own pet projects. If I could have one wish it would be that the people of Bristol would riot again and destroy St Peter’s in the same way they destroyed the prison last time.’

‘You were only a child during the riots. What you’ve heard is greatly distorted,’ Dr Cunningham protested.

‘I was staying here,’ Bennett reminded him coldly. ‘I remember you returning covered in blood from patching up the wounds of those slashed by cavalry sabres. You wept about the carnage and the appalling conditions in the hospital. If what I heard was distorted, I heard it from you!’

‘Enough!’ The old man held up one hand to silence his nephew. ‘None of that is relevant. You brought this young woman here today because you believed she could be a nurse. Those poor souls in the hospital need a good nurse far more than a rich dowager with gout does. I say she should go where she is needed.’

All at once Hope saw how the land lay between the two men. Cunningham had probably once been as compassionate and dedicated as his nephew was, but age and perhaps wealth had changed him. Yet what he said made good sense, even if it was hypocritical to send her to a place he wouldn’t set foot in himself.

Hope knew that emptying the chamber pot of some rich and possibly cantankerous old woman would never give her any satisfaction or teach her anything new. But she had an affinity with the poor, and if she could offer a little comfort to them in their last hours, that was at least worthwhile.

‘I will nurse at St Peter’s,’ Hope said, lifting her chin defiantly as she looked straight at Dr Cunningham. ‘And I’ll become the best nurse there, just you see. But don’t think I’m going there because you ordered me to. I’m going because I want to!’

‘You’re a cheeky little baggage,’ he replied, but his tone was softer now, almost amused. ‘Now, clear off downstairs, my nephewneeds some rest before he goes back tonight, and you look as if you could do with a hot meal inside you.’

That evening Hope viewed St Peter’s Hospital with some trepidation from the safety of Dr Cunningham’s carriage, while Dr Meadows went inside to speak to the head nurse.

In the darkness she could see little more than the front door which was lit by two lamps, but she had seen the place by daylight many times before and knew that its attractive appearance belied the wretched plight of its inhabitants.

It was a fine old building, one of the most ornate in the whole of Bristol, and Hope had been curious enough about it in the past to discover some of its history.

The Norton family had the timber-framed mansion built to replace their old one in 1600 and had it elaborately decorated with carved brackets, bargeboards and plaster-work. At that time its position facing St Peter’s church and backing on to the floating harbour close to Bristol Bridge would have been a very pleasant one, but Hope suspected the Nortons had moved on once the river became nothing but an open sewer.

At the end of the seventeenth century it had been the Mint for a while, but later it was purchased by the Bristol Incorporation of the Poor as a workhouse.

Betsy had always been very wary of going near the place because of the lunatics shut away inside it. She also claimed it was haunted. Hope felt she could well be right about that, for in the cholera epidemic of ’32 it had been vastly overcrowded and hundreds died there. From what Bennett had said today she couldn’t expect the conditions to be any better now.

One thing just about everyone in Bristol agreed on about St Peter’s was that it was the very end of the road for anyone unfortunate enough to be taken there.

It was tempting to run off now, while she still could, but her stubborn streak would not allow her to give Dr Cunningham the satisfaction of hearing she’d slipped off like a thief in the night.

Yet some half an hour later, alone with Sister Martha, the head nurse, Hope involuntarily gasped with horror as the door was opened to the cholera ward where she would begin work at six the following morning. Her first thought was that this was hell come to earth.

Some thirty or so men, women and children were in a dark, dank, stinking room hardly big enough for half that number. There were no beds; they lay on straw fouled by vomit and excrement or sat huddled against the walls. In the dim light of two lanterns, seeing the pain-filled eyes which turned to her was like glimpsing the lost souls Reverend Gosling used to speak of in his fire and damnation sermons. The sound of their sobbing, moaning and plaintive calls for help wrenched Hope’s heart.

‘There’s little we can do to help the poor souls,’ Sister Martha said, clutching the large wooden crucifix which hung around the waist of her habit as if it might protect her. ‘Since this plague started no one brought here has recovered. Many of these will be dead by the morning.’

She whisked Hope out quickly, shutting and locking the ward door behind her. She explained this was necessary as some of the sick became so demented they tried to escape. She also pointed out that the new general hospital in Guinea Street had refused to take any cholera cases.

Hope had seen two elderly crones shuffling among the patients offering water. But she had the feeling that the moment the door was closed again they would withdraw to the small adjoining room Sister Martha had said housed the stove and sink, and get out their bottle of gin.

Sister Martha was a stout, middle-aged Irish woman with a vivid red birthmark on one side of her face. This disfigurement was possibly responsible for prompting her to join the Sisters of Mercy and why she had compassion for others, but Hope thought she should be firmer with those who were supposed to be caring for the sick, for they were clearly doing very little.

‘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 camp in the woods it looked palatial to her.

Sister Martha gave her a uniform before saying goodnight, a shapeless, rough brown dress, two linen aprons and two mob caps.

As the sound of Martha’s stout boots plonked away back down the stairs, Hope sat on her new bed suddenly feeling very alone and unsure of herself.

The entire hospital was very daunting; the unnatural quiet, the many locked doors, the absence of people, and even the tremendous age of the building. She was only too aware that she was going to be forced to deal with hideous sights and suffering far beyond anything she had ever experienced before. She doubted there would be anyone else here who might become a friend, and the work would be exhausting. But with the bolt in place on her door, and the golden arc of light from the candle making her tiny room feel almost homely, she reminded herself that she had been extraordinarily lucky in meeting up with Dr Meadows today. He had handed her a cotton bag as he left her earlier, saying Alice had asked him to give it to her once they were here.

‘It’ll be a few comforts,’ he said with a smile. ‘She told me to tell you she’s put your other belongings away safely for you as you won’t need them here, and that she wishes you well and hopes to see you again one day soon.’

Hope had wanted to look into the bag right away, but Sister Martha swept her away before she could even say goodbye properly to the doctor, let alone rummage through it. But she was glad she had that pleasure now, for it would help to take her mind off what was coming in the morning.

The first thing she drew out was a blue checked shawl, and her eyes misted over at Alice’s thoughtfulness because she had nothing for when the cooler weather arrived. Next was a flannel night dress, another petticoat and a pair of stockings. There was a hairbrush, a new comb, a towel and a box of hairpins too. Right at the bottom was a tin box full of Alice’s homemade biscuits, a couple of candles and an enamel candlestick holder.

Hope couldn’t hold back her tears then. She had liked the plump, motherly woman on sight and felt so comfortable with her in the kitchen today, but these lovely and practical gifts suggested Alice had taken her to her heart.

It had been a very long, tiring day, but now she was certain her luck had changed. She had work, a place to live and people who cared about her.

While it might be true she’d be doing a job that no one else wanted, and which might even kill her, at least she had a way now of regaining her self-respect. Tomorrow would be a new beginning for her, and maybe in time she could even think of contacting Nell and the rest of the family again.