Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The curtain around Charlie’s hospital bed parted and Ginger woke. She’d been dozing, exhausted from the long morning. Henry’s pocket watch was limp in her hands. Only a few minutes before noon.
They’d driven straight to St. Thomas’ Hospital in London, where Dr. James Clark had met them in the early hours before dawn.
Thank goodness for inventions like the telephone.
Dr. Morgan had reached his friend and apprised him of the situation hours earlier.
Despite the country doctor’s terrible manners, she was grateful for the favor.
Ginger stood from her chair as a nurse stepped into the small space and tidied the bed.
The nurse wore a uniform like a nun’s—a long-sleeved grey dress, white apron, red cape, and a veil covering her head. How had the woman become a nurse? What had inspired her?
Being a nurse right now would be useful. Especially with the war.
Ginger’s thoughts were interrupted as two orderlies brought Charlie back from surgery on a stretcher. The doctor had set the young boy’s leg in a cast. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed in a deep slumber—a remarkable change from the way they’d brought him in.
The skirt of her evening gown still wore stains of his blood. Her fingertips skimmed the stiff fabric.
The curtain swayed as the doctor stepped through. James Clark was younger than Ginger had imagined a surgeon with such glowing references—he looked to be only a few years older than Henry. His dark blond hair was naturally wavy, giving him a boyish look.
Ginger approached him, clasping her handbag. “How did he do?”
“He did well. I reset the bones. He has a long road to recovery ahead of him. But I did what I could.” Dr. Clark pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. “Injuries of this nature are difficult. I can’t predict how it will affect the growth of his leg.”
Then Charlie might live with this forever—and not just the scars, but possibly a deformity.
Her shoulders sank, her guilt heavy. “Thank you, Dr. Clark. For your help and your honesty.” Most men seemed to tread carefully around her “delicate sensibilities” and leave her without a proper response to her questions.
She stepped back and nearly toppled over, pain gripping her ankle. Gasping, she reached for the first thing in her grasp—Dr. Clark’s forearm.
His blue eyes were sharp. “Are you quite well?”
“I don’t know.” She cleared her throat and straightened, favoring the ankle which had given her trouble. “I seem to have injured my ankle last night helping the boy’s mother flee from her house.”
Dr. Clark raised his brows. “Flee her house?”
“It’s a long story.” The vicinity was filled with other patients and medical personnel, the ward rather public.
She wanted to believe the doctors and nurses here were so dedicated to serving others, they wouldn’t treat Charlie with the same xenophobic fervor she’d witnessed the past few days.
But if she’d learned anything, it was to be more cautious in what she said.
Dr. Clark offered his arm. “Perhaps you could share it with me in the privacy of my office? It would be an excellent opportunity for me to examine your ankle as well.”
Ginger hesitated, taking a glance at Charlie. “I don’t want to leave the child by himself. My brother’s gone to rest at my aunt’s house.”
“I think the boy will sleep for some time.”
Ginger placed her hand on Dr. Clark’s arm.
He was a tall, lanky man. Though she wasn’t short of stature, he made her feel dwarfed.
Her ankle throbbed, and she supported herself on his arm as he led her through a corridor.
He gave her a shy smile as he opened a door for her.
Holding it open as he continued to hold her other arm, she had to pass under his extended arm.
“It might be better if I support myself on the door—” she said when Dr. Clark let go of the door. It swung closed rapidly and hit Ginger in the forehead “—oof!”
Dr. Clark yanked the door open once more and stared at her from the doorway, frozen in horror at what he’d done. Then, snapping to attention, he helped her stand. “Terribly sorry. I’m a bit clumsy, you see, and I didn’t intend to knock you over.”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” Ginger brushed away the impulse to feel irritated that came naturally. He’d done nothing wrong, after all. She smoothed her skirt and gave him a taut smile and then noticed the earnestness of his expression, the redness of his cheeks.
She offered a more genuine smile and an attempt at humor. “It’s not every day a doctor almost injures me while trying to treat my existing injury.”
It wasn’t a very good joke. She cringed inwardly as his blush deepened.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Virginia—”
She’d better appear more congenial, and quickly. Though he was a stranger and she knew nothing of him, she said in a smooth tone, “Please. Call me Ginger.”
He blinked, a surprised look in his eyes.
Then he knew a thing or two about how to address titled ladies properly. Her offer of friendship hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Ah—is it Ginger because of the remarkable shade of hair you have?”
She smiled. “No, though it’s always been a joke in my family.
I’m named after my paternal grandmother—Lady Virginia Whitman, Dowager Countess of Braddock.
My immediate family calls me Ginny. But on my mother’s side, they always called me Ginger and my brother Henry, ‘Harry.’” She stopped, feeing imbecilic.
She’d yammered on about family names enough.
He fidgeted with his glasses. “I’m James. James Clark.” Then he scrunched his nose. “But, you know that.”
The awkward tension in the room filled the space between them again. Ginger shifted. She pointed to a chair in front of a large desk. “May I sit?”
“Oh. Of course, of course.” James hurried over and held the chair for her.
Ginger eased herself into it. “Thank you.”
James knelt in front of her and gestured toward her ankle. “May I?”
Ginger nodded. He tugged her long skirt up a few inches. He frowned at the stocking over her ankle. Moving his gaze back and forth between her ankles, he settled back. “From what little I can see, the left ankle appears to be swollen. Would you mind removing the stocking?”
She clasped her hands together on her lap. “May I have a moment alone?”
He exited out the door. “I’ll be just outside. Please call me when you’re ready. I’ll leave the door open a crack so I can hear you.” He turned, his back to the door, barely visible through the small slit.
The privacy allowed her some time to examine the small office. Drawn blinds obscured the light from the late morning sun. Shelves filled with bottles and books took up most of the space—not at all surprising. Very little she could use to bring up conversationally, though.
She admired him. Not only because of all the medical books with titles she didn’t dare pronounce.
But because he was a man who helped the hurt.
With a gentleness and kindness she could only aspire to.
She hadn’t expected that about him either, given the behavior of the man who had referred him.
Dr. Morgan could use some lessons from his friend.
She pulled up her skirt and unfastened the garter. Rolling the stocking down, she paused at her ankle and removed her shoe. She saw nothing on her ankle. “Oh, really, Ginger, don’t be such a ninny,” she muttered to herself in a low voice.
“What’s that?” James called from the doorway.
“Oh, nothing. You may come in now.” Ginger neatly tucked her stocking into her shoe and set it at the base of the chair. She straightened as the door opened and then adjusted the neckline of her gown, which had shifted while she’d been leaning forward.
The doctor bent in front of her once again and examined her ankle.
After asking her to turn it a few times, he sat on his heels, still holding her foot in his hands.
“Well, there’s no visible bruising, but it is swollen.
I’d say it’s just a sprain. You want to rest it, with ice.
” He met her gaze. “How was it this happened?”
“I was running. The Martins—” She paused.
She couldn’t let her experiences make her entirely cynical.
And Dr. Clark had such a kind gaze. “Mr. Martin is German, you see. He’s been here for ages and his wife is British-born, but now with the war, he’s been imprisoned.
Some radicals in the village burned the Martins’ shop last night. I helped them escape.”
A dark look crossed over James’s face. “Say no more. I understand completely.”
An apprehensive feeling gnawed at her heart. “I don’t at all believe he’s guilty of any crime—”
James startled, his fingers curling around the sole of her foot.
“Oh, no, you misunderstand. We’ve seen several patients come through the last week—victims of attacks from an overzealous public.
My sympathies are with Mr. Martin and his wife.
What’s happening is barbarous. All Englishmen should do more to make certain we aren’t penalizing the innocent for the acts of others. ”
She smiled. At last, someone who seemed to understand her sentiments.
“Yes, I quite agree.” His continued hold on her foot felt strange, and she shifted.
“I’ve been urging my father to take up the Martins’ case with the Home Secretary but he’s worried he’ll be seen as too sympathetic to the Germans. ”
“McKenna and Asquith were the only ones who expressed hesitation in passing the Aliens Restriction Act.” James shook his head. “Then again, Asquith has been a disappointment as the Liberal Prime Minister we hoped for.”
“Well, he’s certainly done little for the vote for women.
” Ginger checked herself. She rarely gave her political opinion publicly on the suffragette cause.
Her father had made it clear he did not support his daughters becoming vocal supporters of these movements.
Then again, her discomfort might be due, in part, to James continuing to hold her foot.
Was this a normal part of the examination?
James’s eyes were warm. “My thoughts exactly.”
Ginger cleared her throat and pulled her foot back slightly.
Clearly just realizing he hadn’t released her, James startled. He gave her foot a slight pat and then lowered it. “You’ll be fine. I’ll wrap it for you. It will help stabilize the joint. Rest and aspirin. I’ll give you some.”
He reached into a drawer and removed a bandage. Taking her foot once more, he wrapped it around her ankle and foot deftly. When he’d finished, he cut the bandage and tied it off. “It’ll be bulky. But you’ll find it hurts less because you can’t bend it as easily.”
He was right. She bore weight on her foot much better with the bandage on.
Ginger smiled to herself as he left her to pull her stocking on.
He was an amiable man, though perhaps not the most graceful.
Still, she appreciated the way he’d conversed with her.
When he entered the room again, he handed her a small envelope.
“Take these tablets with water. Two, every four hours. It should help the pain.”
She took the envelope, clutching her handbag. “Thank you for all your help. You’ve been such a gift this morning.” She turned to go.
“Excuse me—one thing.” James grabbed a pamphlet from his desk. “You said you helped Mrs. Martin and her children flee their burning shop?”
“Yes, that’s right.” She didn’t want to have to admit she was partially to blame for the shop’s torching.
The corners of James’s eyes turned up in a smile. “You’re quite the heroine. May I ask—you’re not married, are you?”
His boldness was astounding. Ginger’s eyes widened. She gripped her handbag tighter, hoping to keep herself from blushing. “No, no—I’m not.”
James reddened. “I didn’t mean—” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“That’s to say, while any man would be quite fortunate to have you as a wife, my interest was more professionally based.
” He jammed the pamphlet toward her. “The Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service.
They have a requirement their nurses be unmarried women, you see.
Given young Charlie’s injuries, you clearly have a strong stomach. You might be a good match for them.”
She—a nurse? She furrowed her brow. His echo of her unspoken thoughts, thoughts she’d barely verbalized, felt as if he’d read her mind.
She gawked at the pamphlet, then took it, hesitantly. “Nursing?” She stared at the typeface on the pamphlet. “I-I’m uncertain I’d have many skills to offer.” Not to mention her father would more than likely forbid it. But still. The idea gave her a rush of excitement up her spine.
“Well, it might be something for you to consider. I am volunteering for the Royal Army Medical Corps. There will be an urgent need for doctors and nurses soon. It may be a good way for you to do your bit, if you’d like.
” He smiled. “St. Thomas’ has a well-known program for nurses. I could put a word in for you.”
He would do that? He hardly knew her. That her actions with Charlie had impressed him brought a wave of pride.
Could she do something like nursing? The idea was bold.
A huge departure from any role she’d ever imagined for herself.
Ginger met his eyes and a strange, energetic feeling rose in her heart.
It was a laughable thought—wasn’t it?