fragile solace.
The kitchen was deserted, but there was a plate of food keeping warm on the range and Julie tucked into it, hoping it wasn’t meant for someone else. The gravy had dried, the edges of the corned beef hash were crisp, and the cabbage leaves were brown and curled, but in her ravenous hunger she didn’t care. There was a portion of apple pie left in the larder and she soon demolished it, washing her meal down with another cup of tea. Sitting back in the chair, she felt partially restored, the need for sleep not quite as urgent.
The clock on the wall ticked heavily in the silence and Julie was astounded to see that it was after five. Matron might have given her the day off, but she’d had a full case-list today. She just hoped they hadn’t been let down.
Matron came bustling into the kitchen just as Julie was rinsing her plates. ‘I gave your list to Nurse Preston,’ she said without preamble, ‘so you can besure that all your patients have been well looked after in your absence.’
‘I’ll remember to make it up to her,’ murmured a grateful and much relieved Julie. Poor Polly Preston had a big enough round as it was without shouldering Julie’s as well, and she just hoped she hadn’t run Lily too ragged during the day.
Matron reached for the kettle that always stood by the range and glanced disapprovingly at Julie’s filthy dress and bare legs. ‘I suggest you have a bath and go to bed. You can continue your duties in the morning when you’re feeling more refreshed.’
‘Thank you, Matron,’ Julie said quietly, ‘but I’ll need some time off to make arrangements for the funerals.’ She saw the older woman raise her brow in question and went on to explain about her parents.
‘Of course,’ Matron replied when Julie came to a stuttering halt. She gave her a soft, kindly smile. ‘You’ve rather been through the mill, haven’t you? Take time off until the funeral and then, if you feel able to cope, you can pick up your duties again.’
‘Thank you, Matron,’ she murmured, touched by this usually stern woman’s kindness.
‘I’ve already spoken to the Church Adoption Society,’ continued Matron as she made another pot of tea and set out a tray with a cup, saucer and two digestive biscuits. ‘The paperwork should all be through by the time your sister’s baby is ready to leave hospital.’
Julie stared at her, aghast. ‘William doesn’t need adopting,’ she said hastily. ‘He has me, and when his father comes home—’
‘I don’t think you’ve considered your position,’ said Matron, her expression not quite as kindly as before. ‘You’re not married and can’t possibly raise a child on your own. Think of the scandal it would cause. And you certainly couldn’t continue with your work and stay here. We have no nursery facilities.’
The cold reality of her situation slowly began to dawn on Julie. ‘But I promised Franny I’d look after him,’ she replied, her voice sharp-edged with growing concern. ‘She specifically told me she didn’t want him raised by strangers.’
‘He could be fostered out, I suppose, but with so many families—’
‘No,’ Julie interrupted. ‘He stays with me until Bill can get home.’
Matron’s lips formed a thin line, and her eyes hardened. She clearly didn’t appreciate Julie’s tone. ‘And what if this Bill doesn’t come home? He and your sister weren’t married – he might not want the responsibility.’
That had never occurred to Julie and she hesitated before replying. ‘He loved Franny, and she trusted him. He won’t turn his back on his son.’
‘Let us hope your faith in him is justified,’ said Matron. ‘But that does not solve the problem of who will look after the child until he returns.’ She gavea deep sigh and stared out of the window to where Horace was lethargically hoeing the vegetable plot. ‘Bringing up a child takes every ounce of your energy and requires full-time attention,’ she
The kitchen was deserted, but there was a plate of food keeping warm on the range and Julie tucked into it, hoping it wasn’t meant for someone else. The gravy had dried, the edges of the corned beef hash were crisp, and the cabbage leaves were brown and curled, but in her ravenous hunger she didn’t care. There was a portion of apple pie left in the larder and she soon demolished it, washing her meal down with another cup of tea. Sitting back in the chair, she felt partially restored, the need for sleep not quite as urgent.
The clock on the wall ticked heavily in the silence and Julie was astounded to see that it was after five. Matron might have given her the day off, but she’d had a full case-list today. She just hoped they hadn’t been let down.
Matron came bustling into the kitchen just as Julie was rinsing her plates. ‘I gave your list to Nurse Preston,’ she said without preamble, ‘so you can besure that all your patients have been well looked after in your absence.’
‘I’ll remember to make it up to her,’ murmured a grateful and much relieved Julie. Poor Polly Preston had a big enough round as it was without shouldering Julie’s as well, and she just hoped she hadn’t run Lily too ragged during the day.
Matron reached for the kettle that always stood by the range and glanced disapprovingly at Julie’s filthy dress and bare legs. ‘I suggest you have a bath and go to bed. You can continue your duties in the morning when you’re feeling more refreshed.’
‘Thank you, Matron,’ Julie said quietly, ‘but I’ll need some time off to make arrangements for the funerals.’ She saw the older woman raise her brow in question and went on to explain about her parents.
‘Of course,’ Matron replied when Julie came to a stuttering halt. She gave her a soft, kindly smile. ‘You’ve rather been through the mill, haven’t you? Take time off until the funeral and then, if you feel able to cope, you can pick up your duties again.’
‘Thank you, Matron,’ she murmured, touched by this usually stern woman’s kindness.
‘I’ve already spoken to the Church Adoption Society,’ continued Matron as she made another pot of tea and set out a tray with a cup, saucer and two digestive biscuits. ‘The paperwork should all be through by the time your sister’s baby is ready to leave hospital.’
Julie stared at her, aghast. ‘William doesn’t need adopting,’ she said hastily. ‘He has me, and when his father comes home—’
‘I don’t think you’ve considered your position,’ said Matron, her expression not quite as kindly as before. ‘You’re not married and can’t possibly raise a child on your own. Think of the scandal it would cause. And you certainly couldn’t continue with your work and stay here. We have no nursery facilities.’
The cold reality of her situation slowly began to dawn on Julie. ‘But I promised Franny I’d look after him,’ she replied, her voice sharp-edged with growing concern. ‘She specifically told me she didn’t want him raised by strangers.’
‘He could be fostered out, I suppose, but with so many families—’
‘No,’ Julie interrupted. ‘He stays with me until Bill can get home.’
Matron’s lips formed a thin line, and her eyes hardened. She clearly didn’t appreciate Julie’s tone. ‘And what if this Bill doesn’t come home? He and your sister weren’t married – he might not want the responsibility.’
That had never occurred to Julie and she hesitated before replying. ‘He loved Franny, and she trusted him. He won’t turn his back on his son.’
‘Let us hope your faith in him is justified,’ said Matron. ‘But that does not solve the problem of who will look after the child until he returns.’ She gavea deep sigh and stared out of the window to where Horace was lethargically hoeing the vegetable plot. ‘Bringing up a child takes every ounce of your energy and requires full-time attention,’ she
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