Chapter Five
May 1888
It was funny how things worked out sometimes, William thought.
If anyone had asked him a year, or even six months ago, what he’d wanted to make of his life, he’d have had an idealistic answer ready: married to Cecily, the woman he’d loved for as long as he could remember, perhaps with a child on the way, his scribblings worth something more than the paper they were written on.
Not, as he found himself now, alone in the world, on his way to what he inwardly feared would be more like a prison than a hospital.
He’d promised his mother, though. Her dying wish had been for her son to be well again. To be free of the disease that had claimed her life. And so, when Dr. Grey had suggested he become a patient at the Royal National Hospital for Diseases of the Chest, William had felt he couldn’t refuse.
The news of Cecily’s impending marriage to Charles Letts had only hastened his decision. Besides, it would do him good to get out of London for a time. Away from the smoke and smog, yes, but also away from his peers, those who had so cruelly mocked him for daring to have an interest in poetry.
William sighed and turned his attention once more to the approaching view. It was... green. For a man who had rarely left the city, it was a sight to behold. He stood, moved closer to the railing, and tried not to look down at the waves churning around the boat. The island approached ever more hastily, until finally the ferry made port with a bump that nearly shook him from his feet.
Here we go.
William had lost everything in London: his family, the woman he loved, his dignity, and his health. He could only hope that by going to the hospital, he would gain the latter back, and become well again.
Perhaps coming to the Island would give him, too, some of Tennyson’s luck with poetry.
***
The hospital looked a lot less like a prison than William had imagined and it was certainly grander than he'd thought it would be, with its deep red brick, large glass windows, and the most wondrous view of the sea. Dr. Grey, who had accompanied him from London in order to take up a position at the hospital, took him around to the back of the building, and the sight almost took William’s breath away: verdant gardens ablaze with colourful flowers, picturesque cabins nestled between trees, and—best of all—that fantastic ocean view.
William looked back towards the hospital, surprised to see patients sitting out on verandas in the open air, nurses bustling between them.
“Are you sure this is a hospital?” he breathed, turning to Dr. Grey, his eyes alight. “I've never seen such a beautiful sight.” His palms itched with the urge to capture the view on paper.
Dr. Grey chuckled. “Don’t be fooled, William. The location helps, certainly, but you mustn’t forget that you're here to recover.”
“Yes, well.” William paused, hit by a sudden pain in his chest, and he didn't know if it were a true symptom of his illness or caused by the power of suggestion.
“Come on,” Dr. Grey said. “We’ll get you sorted out, and perhaps the matron will find someone to take you around the gardens.”
The doctor left him with the stern looking ward matron, who very nearly managed to get William into a wheelchair for his tour of the hospital grounds.
“I am a fair woman, Mr. Pratt,” she said, her lined face creasing earnestly, “but I do insist that all new patients see the gardens in a chair. Some of the paths are steep, and the walk can be quite a strain on the chest.”
“I assure you, Ma’am, that I am fully capable of walking these grounds myself.”
Perhaps the matron had seen the determination in his eyes, because she sighed and relented. “Very well. I’ll have one of my senior nurses take you around. Wait here.”
The matron exited the room, leaving William to recline in the hard-backed chair. She’d left the door ajar, and he peered out into the corridor, the silence of the hospital not quite what he had expected. He could hear the sound of footsteps on floorboards and the occasional shouted command, but nothing like the hustle and bustle of his pre-conceived notions.
When the matron returned, he asked why the hospital seemed so quiet.
“New ward,” she said briskly. “You’re amongst the first of the patients under my care, Mr. Pratt. I expect we’ll be busier come autumn. Now follow me, please.” She led the way outside, where a nurse waited meekly in the hallway. “This is Nurse Lewis,” the matron said, turning her attention to the other woman. “Lewis, no more than one hour outside. Mr. Pratt will need to get settled in properly this afternoon.”
“Yes, Matron.” The nurse bobbed her head and glanced at William. She was a scrawny thing and looked close to sixty, though William imagined she’d be much younger in reality. Black hair streaked with grey peeked from under her cap, and the stiff, starched folds of her uniform dress rustled when she moved. “Come along then, Mr. Pratt, or Matron will have my hide for dallying.”
William nodded and followed her outside. It was a lovely sunny afternoon and, as he walked amongst the flowerbeds, he thought that he should find Dr. Grey and thank him for bringing him to the island. He was feeling better already.
Nurse Lewis didn’t say much but pointed out that the little chalets dotted around the gardens were for the patients to rest in, should they feel ill when out and about in the grounds.
Coughing slightly when they came to the crest of a small hill, William asked if he could rest a while in one of the chalets. There he sat and let himself relax a little. Overlooking the sea, watching the waters glint madly in the afternoon sunshine, he once again longed for paper and pen.
A sudden clattering sound drew his attention away from the ocean, and he turned to see a hunched figure dressed in a nurse’s uniform, bent over a wicker basket and picking up scattered shells and pebbles from the ground.
“Did she trip?” William asked. “Should we help her?”
“Leave her to it,” Nurse Lewis replied after glancing at the girl, disdain on her face.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The answer was firm. “See? She’s finished now. Better left to her own devices, that one.”
William watched as the girl stood up and balanced the basket on her hip, swiping back a strand of dark blonde hair that had escaped from her bun. She looked to him suddenly, her eyes wide when they met his. Colour filled her cheeks, perhaps at the thought that someone had witnessed her fall, and she hurried along the path towards the hospital.
“She’s a nurse?” William murmured, following the girl with his eyes as she retreated.
“She’s the niece of Sister Maclay,” Nurse Lewis said stiffly. “Odd girl and the clumsiest nurse I ever did see.” She stood, and gestured to the path. “Enough gossip. Do you feel well enough to return to the hospital? Matron will want to see you settled in with one of the ward sisters.”
“Yes, of course.” William rose too, his mind still on the young nurse. “Nurse Lewis,” he said, earning a ‘tch’ from the older woman. “What does she do with the seashells?”
“She takes them to the patients who are too ill to leave their beds,” the nurse replied. “Odd, as I said.”
William nodded thoughtfully but said no more and followed her back to the hospital.
***
A dancing light
Upon crashing wave,
Glimmers softly
‘Twixt night and day
Hark! The bluebird cries
“Blast!” William threw his pen down with such force, the ink spattered across the page, rendering the words illegible. Screwing up the paper, he added it to the ever-growing pile at the edge of the desk. Never mind the spill, the poem had been unreadable even before being covered in ink.
In his mind, the lines were fully formed, the stanzas perfect representations of the beauty he wanted to describe. When he tried to put it on paper, however, he ended up with a horrible mess of words that made no sense whatsoever.
Stretching, he stood up from the desk and moved to sit in the chair by the window. It was raining outside, otherwise he’d have been sitting on the veranda, enjoying the view. He rather liked that the doctors and nurses considered that a treatment; every day, presuming that the weather held, all patients would be escorted onto their balconies for a lungful of fresh sea air.
He shared a room with only two others, though there was space enough for eight. Daniel Osborne, a fellow Londoner, and Alasdair Anderson from Scotland, also suffered from Consumption and were at a similar level of ill-health as William.
Both men were of comparable social standing to William, but then they’d have to be to afford the level of care at the hospital. Given their status, William had been rather reluctant to let on about his enjoyment of poetry—remembering the reactions of his peers back in London—and almost two full weeks had passed before he’d felt comfortable enough to write in their presence.
They had been curious but polite, and for that William was thankful. From then on, it seemed that his writing tools rarely left his hands.
The sound of clipped footsteps met his ears, and he sighed. Sister Maclay doing her rounds of the wards. William looked to the door of the room, and, sure enough, the ward sister entered a few moments later. He was surprised to see that she was not accompanied by Nurse Lewis, as usual, but instead a young nurse with dark-blond hair. She seemed familiar to William, but it took him a few moments to place her… the seashell girl!
He blushed as he remembered a scribbling from early on in his stay, where he’d cast the girl as a mythical creature in the beginning of an epic poem. He had started it on a whim, not expecting to see her again.
Eerily she dances
In night time’s ebony gaze.
Wings of fine gossamer…
William was snapped from his remembrance of the lines by a touch to his hand, and he glanced up to see Sister Maclay frowning down at him. “Honestly, Mr. Pratt, stained hands again? Am I going to have to confiscate your ink?”
“No!” William said in alarm, feeling much as if he were a child again. Sister Maclay had that effect and rather reminded him of his own mother. “I’ll be more careful, I promise.”
“William’s a poet,” Sister Maclay said, turning to address the young nurse. “Maybe one day he’ll be famous, and we can say we knew him, Elizabeth.”
“Oh, no. I’m not—I’m no good.” William stumbled over his words as the nurse—Elizabeth—looked over and he realised she was beautiful.
“Perhaps you’ll consent to read us some,” Elizabeth said, and William was sure he detected a smile in her voice. “One day soon.”
He wanted nothing more than to gather his papers together and clutch them to his chest, but he couldn’t allow himself to be rude to this girl. “Perhaps,” he said, with a tight smile.
Elizabeth left Daniel’s bedside and joined Sister Maclay by the window. “It’s brightening up,” she commented. “We’ll be able to get the patients outside after lunch.”
“Yes.” Sister Maclay nodded and turned to address the room. “Gentlemen, Nurse Lewis has unfortunately been taken ill. This is Nurse Summers, my niece. She’ll be helping me from now on.”
“I didnae think she could,” Alasdair said, sceptically. “Young lass like her, on the men’s ward. Not done, is it?”
“Needs must, Mr. Anderson. We’re short-staffed as it is, and Elizabeth is a good worker. She has earned my trust.”
William submitted to Sister Maclay’s examination silently, coughing when she said so, flinching when her cold hands tested the temperature of his forehead. Elizabeth kept back, observing.
“Nurse Summers will be along with your lunch shortly,” Sister Maclay said finally, on her way out of the room. “Then we’ll see about getting you all some fresh air.”
***
The sky looked as if it had been washed clean, the bleak grey of the morning rinsed into a bright blue with fluffy white clouds.
William leaned against the veranda’s wooden railing and took a deep breath. Doing so didn’t pull at his chest as it had done in London. Perhaps there was something to be said for sea air. Daniel and Alasdair had chosen to take their ‘treatment’ in the grounds, with a walk through the gardens. He had opted to stay, wanting to try and finish a poem.
He moved back into the room and to the desk in the corner. Matron had been reluctant at first to allow him to keep his books and writing implements, saying that writing was work, and work was not conducive to rest. William had argued that he found writing restful, and eventually she had relented. It seemed, though, that his stores had come to an end—he was out of paper. If only his compositions turned out well straight away, he wouldn’t have to waste so much…
He went to the door and pushed it open slightly, peering out into the corridor, hoping that Sister Maclay was nearby.
No such luck, but he soon spied the back of a retreating nurse. “Ah—excuse me?” he called.
The nurse turned, and he saw that it was Elizabeth Summers, Sister Maclay’s niece.
“Mr Pratt? Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, no. I ah—just wondered if you could ask a favour of Matron for me. I’ve run out of paper. For my writing, you see.”
“Tell you what,” Nurse Summers said, after a moment’s thought, her eyes twinkling and her cheeks going pink. “I’ll be going into the village later. I could pick up a journal for you, if Matron allows it. You’d be able to keep your work organised, and it’d be more difficult to throw away. I saw your pile of scrap.”
William’s eyes widened; he hadn’t expected such sass. He chose to ignore her last comment and cleared his throat. “If you’re sure it won’t get you into trouble with Matron or Sister Maclay, I would be very grateful.”
“It’ll be fine,” Nurse Summers said. “Besides, you’re my aunt’s favourite patient.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and you’re fast becoming mine, too,” she said. “When I brought your lunch I happened to see your poem about the seashell girl.” She smiled knowingly. “Now, you’d better get back outside; we don’t want Sister Maclay to say I’ve been letting you neglect your treatment.” With a wink she turned on her heel and strode down the corridor, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll bring a journal with tomorrow’s lunch.”
William gaped after her, standing in the corridor for several long moments even after she’d gone. Eventually, he returned to the veranda, mind racing and cheeks hot.