In the Shadow of the Lamp (13 page)

“Tomorrow we shall have to do something about the sick cookery,” Miss Nightingale murmured, her eyes closed. I thought she must have been dreaming already.

I tried my hardest to fall asleep, but down on the floor, with the wind coming in above and whooshing into our room, I soon set up shivering and my teeth chattered so anyone could hear them. Emma touched my head.

“Come up and share with me, you daft thing,” she whispered, then leaned over and took hold of my arm.

I crawled in with her. The warmth of her soon put a stop to my shaking. We curled up together. I could feel Emma’s breath on my ear.

“If I tell you a secret do you promise not to say?”

I nodded.

“I’m sweet on one of the men. In the lower ward.”

I craned my head around. “You mustn’t be!”

“Why not? The great Miss Nightingale doesn’t have charge of my heart! Besides, he was ever so brave in a battle, and isn’t hurt too bad.”

“But how? When?” As far as I knew, Emma was with me so much that she never had a chance to do something I didn’t know about.

“Oh, I’d just take a longer route back when Miss N. sent me on an errand. And it wouldn’t take me all that time to go to the latrine when I said I had to.”

I shook my head. “Emma, you’ll be sent home for sure. You know what Miss Nightingale said.” I don’t know if it was just because I was tired and cold, but a few tears leaked down my cheeks. I wiped them away quickly.

“What’s the matter? You jealous?” Emma said, nudging me with her knee.

“No, that’s not it. I just don’t want you to go home,” I said.

We didn’t talk any more after that, and I soon fell asleep, warmer than I’d been any night since we’d arrived.

I woke up sometime later, thinking it was dawn. I was in a cramp from not moving—there wasn’t room enough in the cot even for Emma and me, the two smallest, to be comfortable. I looked at the windows. Still dark. Not even moonlight came through them.
Who’s lit a candle?
I thought.

I lifted my head to look around. Emma squirmed and nearly pushed me off onto the floor. But it didn’t matter. I saw what caused the light.

Miss Nightingale was sitting up and had put a match to the lamp by her bedside. It was one of those odd Turkish lamps with a pleated paper shade, a little greasy and dirty so the light wasn’t strong. Very slowly, so she wouldn’t wake anyone, she put one foot at a time out from under my blankets and slipped them into the soft shoes by the bed. She pulled her large black shawl around her and stepped gently between the cots, heading to the door that led to the wards.

What was she doing? I waited until she passed through the door, leaving it slightly ajar behind her, then eased myself out of Emma’s grasp. I had no slippers. The floor was icy under my feet.

Trying not to make a sound I walked to the door we never opened and peered through the gap Miss Nightingale had left.

There I saw her, going quietly to every bed, her lamp held high, looking to see that the men were asleep, pulling blankets up to their chins or tucking stray arms underneath the covers, like a nursemaid with young charges. I watched her slow progress to the end of the ward, fascinated by the care she took.

Before she turned and came back I stepped away from the door and got back into Emma’s warm bed. No wonder Miss Nightingale was so exhausted—she spent hours every night wandering through the wards, making sure the men were safe.

By the time we woke up, Miss Nightingale had already gone from my bed. I made it up extra careful, not sure if the damage to her rooms would be repaired before night and she might have to sleep in my cot again. The wind still howled though not as harshly as it was screaming the night before, and the rain had let up some.

“Well, now that they have all the mattresses they need for the soldiers, at least all they can fit in the hospital, maybe we’ll actually get to do some nursing.” Emma and I chatted while we dressed behind one of the screens in our room.

Our breakfast—some watery porridge and tea—waited for us on the table. Mrs. Clarke made a racket in the kitchen with her pots and was muttering so loudly we could hear her out in the common room. “Wants me to do the sick cookery now! As if I don’t have enough to do. These nurses are a bad lot.” She went on and on. It was her way.

I looked about, checking the roster Miss Nightingale posted. We’d only been in Scutari for a few weeks and already things were much more organized—and cleaner.

Miss Nightingale came in, looking more dishearted than I’d ever seen her. “Last night’s gale has been a true disaster,” she said, shaking her head. “A ship containing a thousand beds, linens, clothing, a ton of sugar, a quantity of arrowroot, and numerous other vital supplies was wrecked. Half the crew is gone and there’s not a hope of anything being salvaged.”

“Shame!” cried Mrs. Drake, always the first to say something.

“What is worse is that we have a terrible challenge before us today.” The serious look on her face got everyone’s attention. “Just now, a ship has docked—or rather, limped in—bearing seven hundred and fifty wounded, and one hundred and forty-six ill. There are some cases of cholera, so the greatest attention to hygiene must be paid. We shall all need to do our best this morning to get everyone in and treated as quickly as possible. But that is not the worst of it. I have had word that another ship follows this one, with fifteen hundred men who must be accommodated in our hospital.”

Fifteen hundred men?
On top of the hundreds we were already expecting? How on God’s earth would we do it? There was no space. Already the pallets were only eighteen inches apart from each other in every ward, and a walkway of just three feet was left to get from one end of a ward to the other.

“Fraser and Bigelow, you will help the orderlies with those who are being discharged. They will be given a suit of clothes to wear out of the hospital, and then they must bring them back to us when they have their own uniforms provided again. Mind you make that very clear. You are to keep a register of all the names and regiments of the men that leave.” She gave me a tablet and a pencil to write with. “What’s wrong, Fraser? Better to be seeing to those who are healing than those who may not live the day out.”

I nodded, but my heart was caught up in my throat. It took me nearly an hour to write my one short letter to Will. I’d have to write fast to keep up—Miss Nightingale expected everyone to be as quick as she was at everything.

“They’re waiting for you in the lower ward. On your way!”

Emma and I set off. The destruction in the rest of the hospital was even worse than in our corner. The gale had blown in windows everywhere. Orderlies swabbed the floors, but in some places the water was deep enough to slosh over our shoes. And on the ground floor the rain had made the sewers back up so the mess was all over the floors.

“Ugh! Disgusting!” Emma said. I had to tuck the paper and pencil under my arm so I could lift my skirts out of the muck. As we passed by one broken window, a big gust came, bringing dust and dirt in. Something lodged in my eye. I put my hands over them quick, forgetting the tablet, which dropped into the stinking water.

“Oh no!” cried Emma. “It’s ruined.”

Thank heavens!
I thought, wiping my eyes. I was saved. “Don’t you think if we just tell the men to bring the clothes back they will? I’m sure they’d rather wear their uniforms.”

Emma stared at me. “Is that you inside that head? What happened to Little Goody Two-Shoes?”

“We’d best hurry. They need these beds for the new ones.” I ignored her. I didn’t want her to know the real reason I was glad the tablet was ruined.

We rushed into the convalescent ward, where we normally weren’t allowed because the men were well enough to cause trouble with a girl if they’d a mind to. Here the floor wasn’t covered in filth, thank heavens. The orderlies went down the line of men yelling at the ones who just had their arms in slings or bandages round their heads, telling them they’d bloody well better get up unless they wanted to share their beds with someone whose guts had just been shot out.

Down at the far end, stacks of shirts, trousers, and jackets were roughly arranged by sizes. “Do they know what to do?” I whispered to Emma.

“Why are you whispering?” She turned and clapped her hands loudly. “Oy, mates. If the orderlies say you’re to go, come see us and we’ll give you a suit of clothes. You can change outside.”

They must’ve been surprised to be ordered about by a woman. One by one they stood up and came over without a murmur. Most were all right by now, not like some I’d seen in the other wards. The ones who were the most themselves winked at us and even sometimes said, “Hello, darlin’! Where they been keepin’ you?” We ignored them, just handing them a shirt and trousers and pointing to the jackets, each time telling them they were to bring the clothes back tomorrow, as soon as they had uniforms again.

Some of the men came up in clothes so tattered or ripped apart that they were nearly indecent. We weren’t supposed to care, I knew, but I couldn’t help blushing. And they blushed too, not looking us in the eye.

“What’ll happen to them?” I asked Emma once we got a system going and settled into our job.

“The ones as are strong enough will go back and fight,” she said.

Fight, to be blown apart again
, I thought. What was it all for? Mr. Bracebridge told us we were pledged to help our allies, the Turks, when Russia invaded them. But I didn’t know why we cared anything about the Turks. They were so far away from England, and not even Christians, most of them.

And to make matters worse, I couldn’t help seeing Will in my mind. Any one of the men who might be sent back to fight could be him. A lot were plenty young enough.

“ ’Ere! Mind where you’re going!” Emma stopped handing out trousers and rushed over to a fellow whose head was bandaged and who staggered about, crashing into other men.

“I dunno what’s the matter, miss. My head don’t hurt no more. But I can’t stay on my feet.”

I hurried over to help Emma. The fellow was shaking and seemed like he didn’t know up from down. “He shouldn’t be sent out,” I said. “He’s still poorly.”

“I’ll get him to sit down,” Emma said.

“Can you manage on your own for a bit?” I asked. She nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I went through the ward, past the orderlies already hard at work putting new sheets on the empty mattresses. Everyone did things as fast as ever they could, and as soon as a bed was ready they carried a wounded man in to fill it.
It’s like a factory
, I thought.
Only here we stitch together people
.

“S’cuse me,” I asked one of the orderlies, one who was nice to us nurses, not cross and mean, “I need to find a doctor. There’s a man been discharged what shouldn’t have.”

He pointed to the stairs. Without thinking I ran up. I asked another orderly on the next floor the same question, and he pointed me down to the far end of the ward, where a screen hid an operation that was under way. Still no tables—they’d been on the supply ship that sank. We weren’t supposed to interrupt a doctor working, so I waited. I’d not seen an operation since that day at the Hôtel Dieu. I got as near as I dared to the screens—Miss Nightingale persuaded Dr. Menzies to use them, as well as to change the sheets when new wounded came in—and listened.