her mind. She was oblivious of the tense faces of the students watching; one black-haired young man standing almost next to her kept sucking in his breath, and normally the sound of it would have irritated her beyond bearing. Today she hardly heard it.
When at last Sir Herbert was finished he stood back, his face radiant with the knowledge that he had performed brilliantly, that his art had cut away pain, and that with careful nursing and good luck the wound would heal and the man be restored.
'There now, gentlemen,' he said with a smile. 'A decade ago we could not have performed such a protracted operation. We live in an age of miracles. Science moves forward in giant steps and we are in the van. New horizons beckon, new techniques, new discoveries. Right, Nurse Latterly. I can do no more for him. It is up to you to dress the wound, keep his fever down, and at the same time make sure he is exposed to no chill. I shall come to see him tomorrow.'
'Yes, Sir Herbert.' For once her admiration was sufficiently sincere that she spoke with genuine humility.
The patient recovered consciousness slowly, and in considerable distress. He was not only in great pain, but he suffered nausea and vomiting, and he was deeply concerned lest he should tear the stitches in his abdomen. It occupied all her time and attention to do what she could to ease him and to check and recheck that he was not bleeding. There was little she could do to determine whether he bled internally except keep testing him for fever, clamminess of skin, or faintness of pulse.
Several times Mrs. Flaherty looked in to the small room where she was, and it was on the third of these visits that Hester learned her patient's name.
'How is Mr. Prendergast?' Mrs. Flaherty said with a frown, her eye going to the pail on the floor and the cloth cover over it She could not resist passing comment. 'I assume that is empty, Miss Latterly?'
'No. I am afraid he has vomited,' Hester replied.
Mrs. Flaherty's white eyebrows rose. 'I thought you Crimean nurses were the ones who were so determined not to have slops left anywhere near the patients? Not one to practice as you preach, eh?'
Hester drew in her breath to wither Mrs. Flaherty with what she considered to be obvious, then remembered her object in being here.
'I thought it was the lesser evil,' she replied, not daring to meet Mrs. Flaherty's icy blue eyes in case her anger showed. 'I am afraid he is in some distress, and without my presence he might have torn his stitches if he were sick again. Added to which, I have only one pail, and better that than soiling the sheets.'
Mrs. Flaherty gave a wintry smile. 'A little common sense, I see. Far more practical use than all the education in the world. Perhaps we'll make a good nurse of you yet, which is more than I can say for some of your kind.' And before Hester could retaliate, she hurried on. 'Is he feverish? What is his pulse? Have you checked his wound? Is he bleeding?'
Hester answered all those questions, and was about to ask if she could be relieved so she might eat something herself, since she had not had so much as a drink since Sir Herbert had first sent for her, but Mrs. Flaherty expressed her moderate satisfaction and whisked out, keys swinging, footsteps clicking down the corridor.
Perhaps she was doing her an injustice, but Hester thought Mrs. Flaherty knew perfectly well how long she had been there without more than momentary relief, for the calls of nature, and took some satisfaction in it.
Another junior nurse who had admired Prudence came in at about ten o'clock in the evening, when it was growing dark, a hot mug of tea in her hand and a thick mutton sandwich. She closed the door behind her swiftly and held them out.
'You must be gasping for something,' she said, her eyes bright.
'I'm ravenous,' Hester agreed gratefully. 'Thank you very much.'
'How is he?' the nurse asked. She was about twenty, brown-haired with an eager, gentle face.
'In a lot of pain,' Hester answered, her mouth full. 'But his pulse is still good, so I'm hoping he isn't losing any blood.'
'Poor soul. But Sir Herbert's a marvelous surgeon, isn't he?”
'Yes.' Hester meant it. 'Yes, he's brilliant.' She took a long drink at the tea, even though it was too hot.
'Were you in the Crimea too?' the nurse resumed, her face lit with enthusiasm. 'Did you know poor Nurse Banymore? Did you know Miss Nightingale?' Her voice dropped a fraction in awe at the great name.
'Yes,' Hester said with very slight amusement. 'I knew them both. And Mary Seacole.'
The girl was mystified. 'Who's Mary Seacole?'
'One of the finest women I ever met,' Hester replied, knowing her answer was borne of perversity as well as truth. Profound as was her admiration for Florence Nightingale, and for all the women who had served in the Crimea, she had heard so much praise for most of them but nothing for the black Jamaican woman who had served with equal selflessness and diligence, running a boardinghouse which was a refuge for the sick, injured, and terrified, administering her own fever cures, learned in the yellow fever areas of her native West Indies.
The girl's face quickened with curiosity. 'Oh? I never heard mention of her. Why not? Why don't people know?'
'Probably because she is Jamaican,' Hester replied, sipping at the tea. 'We are very parochial whom we honor.' She thought of the still rigidly absurd social hierarchy even among the ladies who picnicked on the heights overlooking the battle, or rode their fine horses on parade the mornings before-and after, and the tea parties amid the carnage. Then with a jolt she recalled herself to the present. 'Yes, I knew Prudence. She was a brave and unselfish woman- then.'
'Then!' The girl was horrified. 'What do you mean?
She was marvelous. She knew so much. Far more than some of the doctors, I used to think-Oh!' She clapped her hand to her mouth. 'Don't tell anyone I said that! Of course she was only a nurse…'
'But she was very knowledgeable?' A new and ugly thought entered Hester's mind, spoiling her pleasure in the sandwich, hurrying as she was.
'Oh, yes!' the girl said vehemently. 'I suppose it came with all her experience. Not that she talked about it very much. I used to wish she would say more… It was wonderful to listen to her.' She smiled a little shyly. 'I suppose you could tell the same sort of thing, seeing as you were there too?'
'I could,' Hester agreed. 'But sometimes it is hard to find words to convey something that is so dreadfully different. How can you describe the smell, and the taste of it, or being so tired-or feeling such horror and anger and pity? I wish I could make you see it through my eyes for a moment, but I can't. And sometimes when you can't do a thing properly, it is better not to belittle it by doing it badly.'
'I understand.' Suddenly there was a new brightness in her eyes and a tiny smile as something unexplainable at last made sense.
Hester took a deep breath, finished the tea, then asked the questions that crowded her mind. 'Do you think Prudence knew enough that she might have been aware if someone else had made a mistake-a serious one?'
'Oh…' The girl looked thoughtful, turning the possibility over in her mind. Then with a thrill of horror she realized what Hester meant. Her hand came up sharply, her eyes wide and dark. 'Oh no! Oh dear Heaven! You mean did she see someone make a real mistake, a dreadful one, and he murdered her to keep her quiet? But who would do such a wicked thing?'
'Someone who was frightened his reputation would be ruined,' Hester answered. 'If the mistake was fatal…'
'Oh-I see.' The girl continued to stare at her aghast.
'Whom did she work with recently?' Hester pursued. She was aware that she was treading into a dangerous area, dangerous for herself if this innocent, almost naive-seeming girl were to repeat the conversation, but her curiosity overpowered her sense of self-preservation. The danger was only possible, and some time in the future. The knowledge was now. 'Who had been caring for someone who died unexpectedly?'
The girl's eyes were fixed on Hester's face. 'She worked very close with Sir Herbert until just before she died. And she worked with Dr. Beck too.' Her voice dropped unhappily. 'And Dr. Beck's patient died that night-and that was unexpected. We all thought he'd live. And Prudence and him had a quarrel… Everyone knows that, but I reckon as if he had done anything like that, she'd have told. She was as straight as they come. She wouldn't've hidden it to save anyone. Not her.'
'So if it were that, then it happened probably the day before she was killed, or even that night?'
'Yes.'
'But Dr. Beck's patient died that night,' Hester pointed out.
