Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-seven
‘He’s a Hun, Tilda, don’t forget that.’
I’d called him Hugo. It slipped out and Alison noticed. I made light.
‘Hugo the Hun,’ I said. ‘The alliteration is irresistible.’
‘It’s not a laughing matter,’ she said. ‘He’s the enemy and it could get you dismissed, or worse.’
‘Worse,’ I said, persisting with a smile. ‘A firing squad at dawn, perhaps?’
It wasn’t funny and Alison didn’t respond. Instead, she opened the desk drawer and took an exercise book from her bag. She turned the pages.
‘There are seven reports of unnecessary interaction between you and Dr Henning.’ She looked up to make sure I was paying attention, then looked back at the exercise book. ‘None of them, on their own, are of any real consequence.’
‘Then why are we talking about it?’
‘On their own they might be benign, but together these interactions create an impression.’
I was inscrutable. ‘An impression of what?’
‘Tilda, please. Don’t act dumb. Despite your skills, it is unconvincing.’
‘Who, then, has these impressions?’
She turned the pages of the exercise book and recited, ‘Sister Fielding had such an impression more than six months ago; Sister Thompson raised a concern back in February; and Sister Clark has made four reports of what she calls “friendly” behaviour.’
Sister Clark – that was her name. Sharp and disapproving.
‘And Sister Morgan’ – she thumbed through a few pages until she found what she was looking for – ‘is convinced of an affair.’
‘An affair?’ I said. My incredulity deserved applause.
‘It was a feeling she had.’
And there it was. A moment of relief that nothing had been seen, nothing had been heard. I felt it flick across my face, and Alison saw it. She closed the exercise book and returned it to her bag.
‘I am aware of the unique pressures of this ward, Tilda, but I suggest you make an effort to disabuse Sister Morgan, and the others, of their impressions. As long as I am in charge, gossip and conjecture will not get you dismissed, or executed at dawn, but I cannot guarantee it won’t condemn you.
It is an unfortunate truth that throughout history an impression is all that has been required to condemn a woman.
In times of war, that condemnation can be brutal. ’
‘I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘That is not the criterion by which you will be judged.’
I heard the ward door open and Alison looked over my shoulder.
‘Speak of the devil.’ She got up from her desk to take receipt of the prisoner, but as she passed me she paused.
‘Did you know, the ancients would shave the heads of women they thought had been too familiar with the wrong man? They didn’t need evidence, they just needed enough people to believe the gossip. ’
‘Is that so?’
‘In some places, they would stone her to death.’