Silence for the Dead(43)

Matron wasn’t finished. “As for Patient Sixteen, can you explain why you entered his room?”

I shook my head.

“Did he request your assistance? The truth this time, Nurse Weekes.”

“No,” I croaked.

She sighed. “I know you believe the rules don’t apply to you, but believe me, they apply to you more than to any other nurse I’ve ever had. A condition of Patient Sixteen’s care here is confidentiality. And that is the second time you have entered his room without any authority. He came here to be privately treated for the breakdown of his mental faculties, not to be followed and fawned over by foolish girls who won’t leave him alone. To disregard the rules of his treatment is to set it back.”

And there I’d been, barging in uninvited, demanding comfort for my own problems. He’d listened so patiently while I’d poured out my stupid mistakes and contravened the conditions of his own recovery. “I’m sorry. I am. It won’t happen again.”

“That isn’t good enough, Nurse Weekes. I have already written another incident report. I had no choice. Your behavior has compromised the effectiveness of this institution.”

“The patients all know who he is,” I blurted, my cheeks stinging. “They all know. You can’t truly think there was a way to avoid it.”

For a second, her gaze flickered. She knew. “A rule is a rule, Nurse Weekes.”

“But—”

“I’ve just explained it,” she snapped. “Your job as a nurse is not to question the rules, but to follow them. Failure to follow the rules results in an incident report.”

I swallowed. “And the incident report is read by . . .”

“Dr. Thornton, Dr. Oliver, and Mr. Deighton, yes. They all receive it.”

So I was ruined, then. I had no one to blame but myself, as usual. I blinked back tears, and a flare of anger burned over my shame. “Did he tell you he locked the door on Patient Sixteen?” I asked her. “When he tattled on me? Did he tell you that much?”

Matron didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know who I meant. “Yes, he did. Orderlies are given keys and can make special judgments if they feel safety is being compromised.”

“Whose safety? Patient Sixteen is on suicide watch, for God’s sake. What if he had killed himself while locked in? What would your Dr. Thornton or your Mr. Deighton have said then?”

Creases bracketed her mouth, forming deep grooves. “That has been taken into consideration. In the end, no harm was done. The incident will not be repeated.”

“Will there be an incident report about him? About Roger?”

“Incident reports are none of your concern, Nurse Weekes.”

“They are when I’m about to get sacked.”

“That is enough, Nurse Weekes.”

I looked away. It was scathingly unfair. It had taken five days—no, six. This was my sixth day at Portis House and I had already ruined it, ruined everything. I thought about the bottle of pills I’d taken, hidden now under the mattress on my bed. I could tell her—what? That I thought the doctors and orderlies were conspiring to have Jack Yates die by his own hand? What if the admission just doomed me further? What if Jack had stolen the pills and the doctors hadn’t given them to him at all? I’d never asked him. If I revealed the pills now, I could cause him more trouble than I had already.

Well, she was right about one thing. I’d taken the bottle. The incident would not happen again.

I was actually sitting there thinking of strategies to keep Jack Yates from trying to kill himself again. It hit me in a wave of awful disbelief. I didn’t realize I’d spoken until I heard the words, tired and quiet from my own lips. “Six months ago he was a hero.”

Matron sighed. “I am not concerned with heroes,” she said, though her own voice had softened a little. “I am concerned with patients.”

“Then you should let Jack Yates come out of his room if he wants to,” I said.

For a second she actually looked surprised, as if I’d said aloud something she’d been thinking. Then she shuttered her expression again. “Let me tell you something, Nurse Weekes. Nursing is a job, and not a glamorous one. You do not get to choose the patients you treat. No one will ever thank you or even tell you you’ve done well. Our only task, which we must perform from waking to sleeping, is to do our duty. That is the profession we’ve chosen.” She put an emphasis on the word “chosen.” “Nurse Weekes.”

I tried to glare, but it probably came across as sullen. I was too tumbled up to do it properly. “How long do I have?”

“If you are asking if you will be dismissed, that isn’t up to me. Mr. Deighton receives the incident reports every few weeks, and it usually takes him several days to get to them. Three weeks, perhaps.”

“May I go now?”

“Yes. You are on duty tonight, though since you’re dressed now, it’s likely the other nurses can use your help with supper.”

I pushed my chair back. “I’m going for a walk first. I’ve barely been out of doors since I arrived.”

She thought about it, likely concluding that if I had the benefit of fresh air, she could get more work out of me. “Very well. One hour. Don’t go far.”

“May I ask one question?”