Hope Page 30

  ‘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?
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  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.

  By noon the following day Hope no longer thought the job was a new beginning, but represented several steps backwards.

  When she reported for work at six, four people had died during the night, one of them a six-year-old boy. She watched in abject horror as two male orderlies stripped the corpses of any clothes they were wearing, and then, manhandling their naked bodies as though they were sides of meat, took them down the corridor into a yard and flung them into an open cart. She was told they were being taken to the Pit.

  No one came to give her any instructions. The two old biddies she’d seen the night before left as she arrived, to be replaced by another two women who were equally old and dirty and introduced themselves as Sal and Moll. Sal was very small, with no teeth, which made her appear as if her face was caving in. Moll was a much bigger woman with a bulbous red nose, and the grey hair which showed beneath her cap was so matted it looked like skeins of darning wool.

  They were friendly enough, but seemed completely oblivious to the needs of the sick on the ward. When Hope asked if they should clean the area where the dead had been lying they cackled with laughter.

  ‘We don’t bother with none of that,’ Moll replied. ‘The cart’ll be back with more within the hour. Ain’t no point in cleaning a place someone else will shit on. You come in the back wif us and ’ave a cuppa tea.’

  Hope wanted a cup of tea badly, and the room they called ‘the back’ was a great deal more inviting than the ward, with a stove, sink, table and chairs and a window that opened. But she couldn’t possibly sit down and drink tea when she knew that more sick people would be arriving soon.

  In a quick reconnoitre of the yard at the end of the corridor where the carter came in, she found there was clean strawin a lean-to shed. There was also a brazier that held the clothes of those who had been taken away earlier, which were obviously going to be burned. Taking a large empty box back in with her, she swept up all the foul straw, took it out and dumped it, then scrubbed the cleared area vigorously.

  Once she’d put clean straw down she went into the back room. Despite the hot weather, Sal and Moll were huddled close to the stove, and the smell coming from them was almost as bad as the stink in the ward.

  In her time in Lewins Mead she’d met many women like them, lazy, dirty and unscrupulous and lacking any morality. Such women would steal the pennies from a dead man’s eyes.

  But Hope knew that if she was to challenge them in any way, they would make trouble for her, so she hoped to appeal to their better natures.

  ‘I’ve cleaned up and put fresh strawdown,’ she said as she washed her hands. ‘Do we give the patients tea now?’

  ‘Tea!’ Sal exclaimed. ‘They only gets water, and they can wait fer that till we’s ready.’

  Hope had seen the wooden water pail in the ward, and was appalled that the tin mug hanging on the side of it appeared to be used by everyone.

  ‘Come on now, ducks, ’ave a cuppa tea,’ Doll said. ‘I knows you wants to look good on yer first day, but them in there ain’t going now here but the Pit. No sense in wearying yerself out fer nothin’.’

  Hope bit back a sharp remark, washed a cup out carefully, then poured herself some tea from the pot they’d made. ‘I thought that maybe we could move some of the patients on to the clean straw and then wash the floor where they’ve been,’ she said tentatively.

  ‘Yer what?’ Doll retorted. ‘We don’t touch ’em, well, ’cept for givin’ ’em a drink and tryin’ to get ’em to take some gruel when they brings it.’

  That, Hope discovered, was the entire extent of nursing in the cholera ward. Even Sister Martha when she appeared later only hovered in the doorway clutching her crucifix and could offer no practical advice or instructions. It seemed that no patient was ever washed, there were no comforting hot poultices, no extra blankets put over those shivering with fever, and absolutely no one rubbed limbs when they went into cramps.

  While Hope could see by the blue colour of the patients and the torpor they’d
fallen into that they were probably too far advanced with the disease to save, nonetheless she felt she had at least to try to make them more comfortable and the ward less foul. So one by one she rolled or pulled the patients on to clean straw, washed their faces and hands, then scrubbed the place they had been before.

  ‘Yer mad,’ Doll said as she stood lolling against the doorpost looking on in complete disbelief that Hope was scrubbing the floor. ‘You’ll catch it an’ all, pokin’ around ’em like that.’

  As expected, the men arrived back with the cart, containing three new female patients. All three were already in the final stages, with blue-tinged faces and struggling to draw breath. Hope tried to get them to drink, but they seemed unable to swallow and the water just dribbled out of their lips. She sawa rat looking balefully at her as she put blankets over them, and thought it was just as well the women were unaware of where they were.

  *

  Hope was kneeling beside a patient, vigorously rubbing his legs because he had severe cramps, when Dr Meadows arrived. She didn’t hear the ward door open as the big, redheaded man was tossing his head from side to side alarmingly while roaring with pain.

  The doctor came straight to her to take over the friction. ‘Take the laudanum from my bag and put a few drops in hot water,’ he ordered her.

  Hope did as he asked, rushing back to feed the man with it. He clenched his teeth against the cup at first, but Hope stroked his face and implored him to drink it.

  ‘It will make the pain go,’ she told him. ‘Just drink it for me.’

  He seemed to hear her and did as she asked, then within a few minutes he was still.

  ‘Thank you,’ he croaked. ‘Will you tell my wife to kiss the babbies for me and say goodbye for me?’

  ‘You’ll be able to kiss them yourself soon,’ she lied. ‘Go to sleep now.’

  Dr Meadows asked her to come out in the backyard with him when he’d made his rounds of the other patients.

  After the darkness of the ward, the sun was so bright she was blinded. But it felt good to breathe fresh air again.