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"They don’t call them ’sisters’ for nothing," Hester answered with a flash of humor.
But there were other issues pressing on her mind. She had thought again of Sergeant Robb’s grandfather sitting alone, unable to care for himself, dependent upon Robb to take time from his work. It must be a burden of fear and obligation to him.
And how many other old men were there, ill and poor now, who were victims of wars the young did not remember? And old women, too, perhaps widows of men who had not come home, or those who were unmarried because the men who would have been their husbands were dead?
She leaned a little over the table. "Would it not be possible to create a body of some sort who could visit those people ... at least see to the more obvious troubles, advise when a doctor was needed ..."
The look in Callandra’s face stopped her.
"You are dreaming, my dear," she said gently. "We have not even achieved proper nurses for the poor law infirmaries attached to the workhouses, and you want to have nurses to visit the poor in their homes? You are fifty years before your time. But it’s a good dream."
"What about some form of infirmary especially for men who have lost their health fighting our wars?" Hester asked. "Isn’t that something at least honor demands, if nothing else?"
"If honor got all it demanded this would be a very different world." Callandra ate the last of her pie. "Perhaps enlightened self-interest might have a greater chance of success."
"How?" Hester asked instantly.
Callandra looked at her. "The best nursing reforms so far have been within army hospitals, due almost entirely to Miss Nightingale’s work." She was thinking as she spoke, her brow furrowed. "New buildings have been designed with cleaner water, better ventilation and far less crowded wards ..."
"I know." Hester disregarded her plate, waiting the suggestion which would link the two.
"I am sure Mr. Thorpe would like to be thought of as enlightened ..." Callandra continued.
Hester grimaced but did not interrupt again.
"... without taking any real risks," Callandra concluded. "A poor law infirmary for old soldiers would seem a good compromise."
"Of course it would. Except that it would have to be called something else. A good many soldiers would rather die than be seen as accepting parish charity. And they shouldn’t have to. We owe them that much at least." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "But I shall be very tactful when I speak to Mr. Thorpe."
"Hester!" Callandra called after her urgently, but Hester was already at the door, and if she heard her, she showed no sign of it. A moment later Callandra was staring at the empty room.
"Impossible," Thorpe said without hesitation. "Quite out of the question. There are workhouses to care for the indigent—"
"I am not talking about the indigent, Mr. Thorpe." Hester kept her voice level, but it required effort. "I am thinking of men who obtained their injuries or damage to their health fighting in the Peninsula War or at great battles like Quatre Bras or Waterloo ..."
He frowned. "Quatre Bras? What are you talking about?" he asked impatiently.
"It was immediately before Waterloo," she explained, knowing she sounded patronizing. "It was not a matter of fighting to extend the Empire then; we were fighting to save ourselves from invasion and becoming a subject people."
"I do not require a history lesson, Mrs. Monk," he said irritably. "They did their duty, as we all do. I am sure that, for a young woman, there is a certain glamour attached to the uniform, and one makes heroes of them—"
"No one makes a hero of someone else, Mr. Thorpe," she corrected him. "I am concerned with the injured and ill who need our help and, I believe, have a right to expect it. I am sure that as a patriot and a Christian, you will agree with that."
A variety of emotions flickered across his face, conflicting with each other, but he would not deny her assessment of him, even if he suspected it contained a powerful element of sarcasm.
"Of course," he agreed reluctantly. "I shall take it under advisement. I am sure it is something we would all wish to do, if it should prove possible." His face set in a mask of finality. He would no longer argue with her, he would simply lie. Certainly, he would consider it—indefinitely.
She knew she was beaten, at least in this skirmish. As many times as she came to him he would smile, agree with her, and say he was exploring avenues of possibility. And she would never prove him wrong. She had an overwhelming insight into the obstruction faced by Florence Nightingale and why she had taken to her bed with exhaustion, fever, difficulties of the digestion, and such a fire of the mind as to consume the strength of her body.
Hester smiled back at Fermin Thorpe. "I am sure you will succeed," she lied as well. "A man who is skilled enough to run a hospital the size of this one so very well will be able to exert the right influence and put forward all the moral and social arguments to persuade others of the rightness of such a cause. If you could not, then you would hardly be the man for Hampstead ... would you?" She would not have dared say such a thing were she dependent upon his goodwill for earning a roof over her head—but she was not! She was a married woman with a husband to provide for her. She was here as a lady volunteer—like Callandra—not a paid worker. It was a wonderful feeling, almost euphoric. She was free to battle him unhampered ... as she most certainly would.
The flush in his cheeks deepened. "I am glad you appreciate my position, Mrs. Monk," he said with a tight jaw. "I have not always been so certain that you were fully mindful that I do indeed run this hospital."
"I am sorry for that," she answered. "One has but to look around one to see the standard of efficiency."
He blinked, aware of the double meaning implied. His tone was infinitely condescending. "I am sure you are a good-hearted woman, but I fear your lack of understanding of finance hampers your judgment as to what is possible. For instance, the cost of medicines is far greater than you probably appreciate, and we are unfortunate in suffering a considerable degree of pilfering from morally unworthy staff." He opened his eyes very wide. "If you were to direct your attentions towards the honesty and sobriety of the nurses here, we would lose far less, and consequently then have more to give to the sick who rely upon us. Turn your energies towards that, Mrs. Monk, and you will do the greatest service. Honesty! That will save the sick from their diseases and
the morally destitute from the wages of sin, both spiritual and temporal." He smiled. He was well satisfied with that.
