Daughter of England

Chapter 5. The Wounded Soldier.

"Oh, I told her, I told her not to go to Balaclava!" Carol shook her head in despair. "Those field hospitals are something dreadful, and Floy was worn and weak. I knew, I just knew this would happen. I warned her, but she didn't listen to me! She went off against my better judgment and now look at what has happened!"

"Since when are you the voice of authority to Miss Nightingale?" Dr. Morris questioned.

"I wasn't the voice of authority," Carol retorted. "I was the voice of reason!"

"Well, voice of reason, can you give me a reason why I had to come looking for you?"

"I was just on my way to find you when Sister Agatha brought me the terrible news. Oh, Dr. Morris, why didn't she listen to me? Crimean Fever is something dreadful and I fear she doesn't have the strength to fight it."

"I don't know, and I don't think it matters. Come along, I've got men who need attention."

"But Dr. Morris, what of Floy?"

"What of Floy?" Dr. Morris snapped. "There is nothing you can do for her because she is not here. However, more than a thousand wounded men are. So if you will please gather your wits together and come with me to the operating room!"

Dr. Morris had a very good point. As worried as Carol was for Florence, there was nothing to be done, so she took a deep breath and with a nod to Sister Agatha, walked with Dr. Morris.

"Did a new shipment come in?" she asked.

"Yes, and it is one sorry lot. But on the bright side at least we are actually getting wounded men here and not soldiers with endless diseases. I believe we have finally conquered the cholera that was spreading around like a wild fire. There are some serious cases however, and I must once more demand to know where you were?"

"You could have started without me," Carol pointed out. "There are plenty of nurses and orderlies who are perfectly capable in assisting you. I was in my quarters, performing some necessary toiletries."

"You where WHAT? I have men to operate on and you ran off to preen about?"

Carol tossed her head in annoyance. "Personal hygiene is important to every young lady, even if she is a nurse. You always say you refuse to work with dirty people, I was really thinking of you."

Dr. Morris tried to keep his rough exterior, but Carol could see he was suppressing a smile. They had come to the operating room by now and Dr. Morris reached for his large, white apron.

"Get my instruments together," he instructed Carol. "Make sure they are all in order. I hate it when I'm in the middle of operating and I find something has been misplaced. Is there hot water?"

"I brought some with me from the kitchen." Carol set the jug she had been caring on the table. "You are out of ether, Dr. Morris."

He growled, "I know that!"

Knowing there was nothing worse than the doctor in a bad mood; Carol dropped the subject and busied herself with inspecting the instruments. The door opened and a man was carried in and placed on the operating table.

"So, what do we have here," Dr. Morris mused aloud as he inspected him. "Bullet wound in the leg, someone slashed him on the arm, and...oooooh," His bored voice became solemn.

Carol turned to see what had made Dr. Morris sound so grave. "Is it an infection...OH!" Carol gasped in dismay at the sight of the man on the table. "Eric!" She whispered, her hands covering her mouth.

Dr. Morris glanced at her. "You know the man?"

"I knew him once," Carol choked out the words, "in London. He is an officer, Major Eric Carrywith. In March I read in the paper he was missing in action..." Carol's voice faded as she continued to stare at the bruised and beaten form.