Tabitha in Moonlight. Бетти Нилс

that he had wakened for a couple of short periods only, but there was no point in arguing.

      ‘I expect it seemed like all night,’ she observed kindly.

      ‘Bah! I told that fool of a night nurse to get me some more dope and she had the temerity to refuse because it wasn’t written up.’

      Tabitha took up a militant stance at the foot of his bed, ready to do battle on behalf of the night staff, who was a good girl anyway and knew what she was about.

      ‘Nurse Smart did quite right, and well you know it, sir. A fine pickle we’d all be in if we handed out pills to any patient who asked for them. And you are a patient, Mr Raynard.’

      He glared at her. ‘When I’m on my feet I’ll wring your neck…’ he began, and stopped to laugh at someone behind her. She turned without haste; it would be George Steele, zealously coming to enquire about his chief—probably the new man had let him know what time the list would start and poor old George had had to get up early. It wasn’t poor old George but a stranger; a tall, well-built man with a craggy, handsome face, pale sandy hair brushed back from a high forehead and calm grey eyes. He was wearing slacks and a cotton sweater and she had the instant impression that he was casual to the point of laziness. He said ‘Hi there’ to Mr Raynard before his eyes moved to meet hers, and then: ‘Have I come all the way from Cumberland just in time to prevent you committing murder, Bill?’

      Mr Raynard stopped laughing to say: ‘I threaten the poor girl all the time, don’t I, Tabby? This is Marius van Beek—Marius, meet Miss Tabitha Crawley, who rules this ward with a rod of iron in a velvet glove.’

      Tabitha looked at him, her head on one side. ‘You’ve got it wrong,’ she observed. ‘It’s an iron hand in a velvet glove.’

      Mr Raynard frowned at her. ‘Woman, don’t argue. Your hand isn’t iron—it’s soft and very comforting, if you must know.’

      Tabitha said with equanimity: ‘Well, I never—how kind,’ and turned belatedly to Mr van Beek. ‘How do you do, sir?’ She half smiled as she spoke, thinking how delightful it would be if she were so pretty that he would really look at her and not just dismiss her with a quick glance as just another rather dull young woman wrapped up in her work, so she was all the more surprised when he didn’t look away but stared at her with a cool leisure which brought a faint pink to her cheeks. He said at length in an unhurried deep voice that held the faintest trace of an accent:

      ‘How do you do, Miss Crawley. You must forgive me for coming without giving you proper notice, but I was told it was so very urgent.’

      He glanced at Mr Raynard, his sandy eyebrows raised, and Mr Raynard said hastily:

      ‘It is—you’re a good chap to come, Marius. Tabby, go away and whip up your nurses or whatever you do at this hour of the day and come back in half an hour. See that George is with you.’

      Tabitha took these orders with a composure born of several years’ association with Mr Raynard. She went to the door, saying merely: ‘As you wish, sir. If you should want a nurse you have only to ring.’

      She went away, resisting a desire to take a good look at Mr van Beek as she went. Half an hour later she was back again, her neat appearance giving no clue as to the amount of work she had managed to get through in that time. She stood quietly by George Steele, nothing in her plain little face betraying the delightful feeling of excitement she was experiencing at the sight of Mr van Beek, leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets; he looked incapable of tying his own shoelaces, let alone putting broken bones together again. He half smiled at her, but it was Mr Raynard who spoke.

      ‘Tabby, let me have my pre-med now, will you? The list will start at ten o’clock, so take Mar—Mr van Beek to see the other cases now, straight away.’ He winced in pain. ‘Remember you’re coming to theatre with me, Sister Crawley.’

      When he called her Sister Crawley like that she knew better than to answer back, even mildly. She said: ‘Of course, sir,’ and after passing on the news to Rogers, led the way into the ward with George Steele beside her and Mr van Beek strolling along behind as though he had all day.

      She went straight to the cases which were already listed because she knew how Mr Bow would need to be talked over and looked at before it was decided if and when he was to have his bones set. She didn’t think they would keep him waiting long though, because now that he had come out of shock it would be safe to operate. Surprisingly, Mr van Beek, despite his lazy appearance, seemed to have a very active mind, for he grasped the salient points of each case as they were put forward, so that they were standing by Mr Bow’s bed much sooner than she had dared to hope. The old man opened his eyes as they approached the bed and a look of such astonishment came over his face that Tabitha glanced at the two men with her to find the reason, to find the same expression reflected upon Mr van Beek’s handsome features. He said an explosive word in a language which certainly wasn’t English and exclaimed: ‘Knotty, by all that’s wonderful! It must be years….’ He put out a great hand and engulfed Mr Bow’s gently in it and went on:

      ‘The last time I heard from you was—let me see, five years ago—you were in Newcastle, because I wrote to you there and never had an answer.’

      Mr Bow smiled. ‘And now I’m here, and I hope you will be able to stick me together again.’

      Mr van Beek gave him a long, thoughtful look. ‘Yes, we’ll have a long talk later, but now tell me what happened to you.’

      He listened with patience to Mr Bow’s meticulous and long-winded account of his accident, which included a great deal of superfluous information about Podger and a corollary concerning Tabitha’s thoughtfulness of his pet’s welfare, during the telling of which Mr van Beek said nothing at all, but stared very hard at Tabitha when Mr Bow got to the part about her rescue of Podger. Only when the old man at last fell silent, he remarked kindly:

      ‘Well, don’t worry, we’ll get things sorted out for you—Podger is in good hands and I’m sure Sister will be able to arrange something about your rooms.’ And Tabitha’s heart warmed to him for making it sound as if Mr Bow rented something well-furnished in the best part of the city. The surgeon went on: ‘The important thing is to get this leg of yours seen to as soon as possible, Knotty.’

      He turned to George Steele and they examined the X-rays together, then Tabitha turned back the bedclothes and they looked at the bony old leg under its cage. Finally Mr van Beek said: ‘We’ll do Mr Bow after Mr Raynard, Sister.’ He was writing as he spoke and when he had handed the chart to George Steele he looked directly at her. ‘An open reduction and plaster, I think,’ he glanced briefly at the Registrar and received a nodded agreement, ‘and I should count it as a favour if you would take Mr Bow to theatre, Sister—he’s a very old friend of mine.’

      Tabitha rearranged the bedclothes. ‘Yes, of course,’ she answered matter-of-factly, aware at the same time that she would have to change her off duty with Staff Rogers to do so, but perhaps that was a good thing anyway, because then she could go to Mr Bow’s lodgings on her way home—there would be a better chance of seeing the landlady in the evening.

      Mr van Beek disappeared soon after and Tabitha, caught up in the ward routine, had no time to think about him, but presently, on her way to theatre with a determinedly chatty Mr Raynard, he was brought to her notice by that gentleman remarking on the coincidence of Mr Bow being Marius’s tutor at Cambridge. ‘Lost touch with each other,’ droned Mr Raynard, faintly drowsy. ‘Marius tells me they used to do a lot of sailing together—that would be getting on for twenty years ago.’ He cocked a hazy eye at Tabitha walking beside the trolly. ‘Marius is thirty-eight,’ he offered.

      ‘Indeed?’ Tabitha wedged herself into the lift with the rest of the theatre party and sought for something to say. ‘Quite old,’ she ventured.

      ‘At the height of his not inconsiderable success and a distinguished career,’ snapped Mr Raynard, having a little difficulty with the long words. ‘How old are you, Tabby?’

      She gave him a rather blank look