A Match For Sister Maggy. Betty Neels

strange that a condition as rare as this one should coincide with your lecture.’

      They discussed technicalities for a few minutes, and she surprised him with her sharp brain and knowledge used with so much intelligence.

      ‘Could you spare time to come and see Mrs Salt?’ he suggested. ‘Not to examine her, just a social visit.’

      They walked down the ward to the old lady’s bed. She had no visitors—she had been a patient for so long that the novelty of coming to see her had worn off—and she hailed Dr Doelsma with delight.

      ‘Cor, if it ain’t Dr Dutch ‘isself!’ She extended a hand, which he observed had become more transparent, and if possible thinner than it had been a week ago. Her lively black eyes snapped at him, however.

      ‘Don’t feed me a lot of codswallop about getting better, doctor. I ain’t a fool, no more I’m a cry-baby, though I’ll be fair mad if I don’t ’ave me birthday.’ She turned her penetrating gaze on to Maggy. ‘Goin’ to ’ave a cake, ain’t I, love?’

      Sister MacFergus, replying to this endearing form of address, smiled and said, ‘Yes, Mrs Salt, a cake with candles, so you’d better be good and do as you’re asked so that you’ll be able to blow them out. There’ll be presents too.’ she added.

      The old lady brightened. “Oo from?’

      Maggy smiled. ‘That’s a secret, but I can promise that you’re going to get quite a lot of parcels.’

      ‘Suppose I don’t last, love?’

      Maggy didn’t hesitate. ‘Mrs Salt, I promise you that you shall have a birthday party.’

      The old lady nodded, satisfied. ‘Right yer are. You’re coming, young man?’ She turned briskly to the doctor.

      His eyes widened with laughter. ‘No one’s called me young man for years! How nice it sounds. For that I shall bring you a birthday present. Will you choose, or shall it be a surprise?’

      ‘I’ll ’ave a pink nightie with lots of lace,’ she replied promptly. ‘It’ll cost yer a pretty penny; d’yer earn enough to buy one?’

      He didn’t smile, but answered gently, ‘Yes, Mrs Salt, I do, and you shall have it—on condition that you wear it at the party.’

      ‘O’course I shall! A bit of a waste on an old woman like me, ain’t it? but I always wanted one—more sense ter give it ter Sister ’ere. She’d look nice in it, I reckon.’

      Maggy kept her eyes on the counterpane, and concentrated on not blushing, but was well aware that Dr Doelsma was studying her with interest and taking his time about it.

      ‘Yes, very nice, Mrs Salt,’ he murmured, ‘but she’ll have to wait for her birthday, won’t she?’

      He said goodbye then, and they turned away. Madame Riveau, in the next bed, had visitors. Her husband and son sat one on each side of her; they looked, Maggy thought, as though they were guarding the woman in the bed. She wished them a good afternoon as she passed, and was surprised when they both got up and walked over to her. Subconsciously she recoiled and took an instinctive step towards the doctor, who looked faintly surprised but remained silent.

      The older man spoke. ‘I wish to take my wife home. You will arrange it?’ It wasn’t a request but a demand, couched in an insolent tone and awkward French.

      Maggy stopped. ‘I’m sorry, Monsieur Riveau; you must arrange that with the doctor. Your wife is almost better; please let her stay for another week.’

      The younger man had joined his father. ‘My mother is not to have her teeth X-rayed or drawn.’ There was an ill-concealed dislike in his voice.

      Maggy glanced at him briefly, refusing to be intimidated. Dr Doelsma had remained silent, but his presence gave her a good deal of courage.

      ‘Your mother is in pain; surely she may decide herself?’

      His small black eyes glared at her. She couldn’t understand what he said, but evidently the doctor could. He stopped him and began to speak in a voice Maggy hadn’t heard him use before; it was cold and hard and full of authority. He spoke in fluent French which she couldn’t hope to follow, and she watched the two men cringe under it. When the doctor had finished, they made no reply but looked at Maggy with hate in their eyes, and went back to the bed.

      Maggy stood irresolute, but Dr Doelsma tapped her on the shoulder in a peremptory fashion, and she found herself, rather to her own surprise, walking meekly beside him down the ward. By the time they had reached her office, however, she had begun to feel a slight indignation. He had had no right to interfere when she was discussing her own patients; the fact that she had been very glad to have him there while he talked with those two awful men had nothing to do with it. Standing by her desk, she said stiffly,

      ‘Thank you for your help, although I am usually judged capable of dealing with matters concerning my patients.’

      She was vexed to hear her voice shaking. She was enraged still further when he laughed.

      ‘How pretty you are when you are angry! I’m sorry you are annoyed with me. Was I very high-handed? You didn’t understand what that man was saying, did you? Shall I tell you, or will you take my word for it that he was crude and disgusting? If we had been anywhere else but a hospital ward, I should have knocked him down.’

      She looked startled and contrite. ‘I didn’t understand him, you were kind to…to stop him. Thank you.’

      ‘Why are you afraid of them?’

      ‘Oh! How did you know—did they see…?’

      ‘No, they did not. I don’t blame you for disliking them. I found them most repulsive.’ He smiled. ‘Am I forgiven?’

      ‘Yes, of course, sir. I’m sorry I was rude.’ She looked at him anxiously. He was still smiling—she remembered that he had smiled on the day of the lecture and said quickly in a brisk fashion, ‘Now I’ll be helping Nurse with the teas. The visitors will be going…’ She got as far as the door.

      ‘My mother complains bitterly that she has hardly seen you all day. Could not the green-eyed blonde help with teas while you come into Sep? She has proved a poor substitute for you, Sister.’

      She bristled. ‘Nurse Sibley is a very competent nurse.’

      Their eyes met; his were dancing with laughter.

      ‘Indeed yes, Maggy. But that isn’t what I meant.’

      She found she had been ushered out of the office and across the landing into Sep and heard herself telling Nurse Sibley to go the ward and help with teas. She seemed to be doing exactly what the doctor wished her to do. She remembered Sir Charles’ words, and made a resolve to be very much firmer in the future.