We made quite a tableau, Patient Sixteen and I: I filthy and covered in mold, my hair askew, my uniform damp, my wrist in the grip of a man wearing only a loose shirt and a pair of trousers. I wrenched my hand and he let me go.
“Nurse Weekes,” said Matron again. “You do not have the proper clearance to be in this room.”
“I—”
“According to Nurse Shouldice, you claimed the proper clearance. An untruth.” Matron’s eyes blazed with real anger, and I wondered what had so dearly set her off. “Nurse Fellows tells me the procedure has been clearly explained to you, so there can have been no misunderstanding. Have you any explanation for your actions?”
“Of course she does,” Jack Yates said from behind me. “I asked her here.”
Boney was nearly choking with indignant energy; this was likely the most exciting thing that had happened to her in a month. But Matron narrowed her eyes, her anger cooling under a swift look of uncertainty. “Mr. Yates. The nurses at Portis House are required to follow the rules. You needn’t cover for this girl.”
I made an outraged sound in my throat.
“I wanted these dishes cleared,” he said smoothly, moving up beside me. I did not look at him. “When I opened the door, Nurse Weekes was passing. I asked her to come in and take them.” He gave a remarkable impression, under pressure, of a sober man. “I see no reason to discipline her. She was only doing as she was told.”
It was patent nonsense; if he’d hailed me as I was passing, why had I told Nina I had clearance beforehand? I expected Matron to call him on it, to put him in his place and foist me out the door. Instead she said, “Mr. Yates, you are kind, but this is not necessary.”
This seemed to annoy him. “I asked,” he said slowly, “her here.”
Matron swallowed, as if actually swallowing his absurd fiction. “Very well. Thank you, Mr. Yates.” She turned to me, her gaze unfeeling. “I’ve told you I expect cleanliness at all times. Please go clean your slovenly appearance and resume your duties.”
I felt my jaw clench. “Yes, Matron.”
“Go.”
I moved for the door, but Jack Yates spoke again. “I have another question.”
“Yes, Mr. Yates.”
“What did you mean by ‘clearance’？”
There was a surprised beat of silence. “Yours is a sensitive case, Mr. Yates,” said Matron. “We have a number of nurses and other staff at Portis House, some of whom come and go, not all of whom we know as thoroughly as we would wish.”
“So you give them clearance?” he said. “To come here?”
“Yes, of course. It’s a requirement for your own protection. Surely you were aware of the situation?”
“No.” I gripped the doorjamb as he said the word, staring down at my hand, my heart lurching at the bare confusion in his voice. “No, I wasn’t aware.”
I could turn. I could look at him once more, reassure him somehow. But I raised my eyes to see Boney goggling at me, Matron’s narrow stare on me. I wondered whether Jack Yates was looking at me, too.
“I have no time to deal with you tonight,” said Matron to me in a low voice. “There will be an incident report. We will speak tomorrow.”
I nodded and brushed past her. I set my shoulders, mustered the best dignity I could in a filthy uniform, and left without looking back.
CHAPTER NINE
To my surprise, when I arrived at the old nursery, I found Martha Beachcombe standing at the washbasin, looking in the dim mirror and pinning her hair. She was already dressed in her skirts and blouse, and her apron was neatly laid on her bed.
“You’re awake,” I said. “It’s early for night shift.”
She sighed. “I just couldn’t sleep anymore. I’m restless tonight.” She gestured at the curtain between our beds, which she had tried closing. “It doesn’t help much,” she admitted. She turned to me, and her eyes lit with surprise. “My goodness! What happened to you?”
I glanced down at myself. “I had to, ah, clean the men’s lav. Matron’s orders.”
“The lav?” She stared at me agog. “In the east wing?”
“Yes. I had to mop it.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“You don’t want to know.”
She bit her lip, and an uneasy look crossed her face. I felt sure for a second that she’d heard the strange noises in that bathroom, that she’d seen the black mold coming up from the drains, but the expression passed and the moment was gone before I could think how to seize it.
Martha looked down at her apron on the bed. “It isn’t so bad,” she said. “Matron can be strict, I admit. But she’s really a good person. Deep down, she’s very good.”
“If you say so.” Just thinking about the lav, of what I’d heard in there, made me feel exposed, undefended in some raw way, as if everyone could see my secrets on my face. I moved toward my bed while she wasn’t looking at me. “I don’t much care what kind of person she is. I just want to get cleaned up and out of these clothes.”
“Do you need help?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” I kept my voice steady. I’d learned the trick of getting in and out of my uniform alone. It was a bulky, complicated outfit, but I reluctantly admitted it had its usefulness; I wouldn’t have wanted to clean that mold in my thin skirt. I began undressing. “I’ve met your Patient Sixteen, by the way.”
I didn’t need to be looking at her to know her jaw dropped. “You what? I didn’t think you had clearance!”
“I don’t. I met him anyway.” I remembered Matron’s tone as she’d spoken to him, the way she’d backed down. “So we have the great Jack Yates here, then. What is his story?”
“Oh, Kitty, I don’t know.”
“You may as well tell me.” I jerked off my filthy blouse and dropped it. “I’m going to find out anyway.”
“No, I mean I really don’t know. I have clearance, but I’m not privy to the doctors the way Boney is. He came here about six months ago. He was moved here in the middle of the night, and we were told not to bother him. He never leaves his room.” She bit her lip. “The only thing I know is—well, it’s just hearsay.”
“Tell me.”
She didn’t take much convincing. “I overheard Boney say once—I didn’t mean to hear it, really I didn’t—that he came here after he tried suicide.”
That made me stop. I straightened and stared at her. The room seemed to actually tilt for a long moment. “What did you say?”
“It might not be true,” Martha insisted. “I don’t know, not really. I don’t even know how he—well, how he tried it. But he’s labeled as a suicide risk, Kitty. Even more so than the others. We have to search his room regularly, those of us with clearance. Matron is very fussy about how he’s treated. I think she worries about him. We’ve never yet had a successful suicide here.”
She caught my gaze for a long moment, then looked away. So there had been unsuccessful suicides, then. I didn’t ask. I couldn’t. “But Matron doesn’t make him leave his room,” I said, “and follow the rules like the others.”