It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.--Charles Dickens
Chapter 4.
A War Nurse.
The day after Dr. Morris' butcher test Carol found herself back in the laundry room, directing the washer woman as they scrubbed the sheets and shirts. The door opened and Florence slipped in.
"Over here, Floy," Carol called to her. Florence acknowledged her with a nod as she hastily came up to her.
"What have you done to Dr. Morris?"
Carol blinked at this unexpected question. "What do you mean?"
"Last night, what did you say to him?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary." Carol turned a little red as she recalled last night's conversation with the doctor. "I told him my honest opinion of him and then lost my tempter after a difficult and serious operation."
Florence let out a chuckle. "This morning he came to me and asked if I would let you be his personal assistant. He praised your work last night, said you not only had a fine steady hand and a quick wit, but could keep your head about you and retain your common sense even in the light of a bloody operation. It was strange hearing him speak of you in such a manner, I was sure Dr. Morris disliked you."
"I was sure of that too." Carol was as stunned as Florence. "What was your reply?"
"I said if the two of you could stand each other, then he could have you by all means. He's got a long line of men to be operated on and wants you with him quick as possible."
Carol hurriedly dried her hands and ran off in search of Dr. Morris. Maybe the man wasn't so bad after all; maybe he wasn't so self-righteous and full of himself as she had originally thought. Maybe the two of them could somehow end up even liking each other.
Coming to the operating room, Carol fixed her hideous uniform and knocked on the door.
"Enter!" Dr. Morris' grumpy voice called out.
Opening the door, Carol found the doctor standing by the operating table, a young gentleman with him.
"Miss Winter," Dr. Morris snapped at her, "I haven't got all day. Why haven't you any hot water with you? And bring fresh bandages, quick as you like!"
Carol forced a smile and hurried off to do as she was told. Dr. Morris seemed to be in a terrible state of temper today, worse than last night that was for sure.
The necessary items were soon acquired and Carol brought them back. As she once more entered the operating room, she found the doctor and his partner in a serious, angry debate.
"I don't care what sort of a gentleman you are!" Dr. Morris' thundered. "You will scrub those hands in hot water or leave that door."
"There is no need to be so cross," his companion replied in a dry, droll voice. "My hands are perfectly clean, there is no need to wash them a second time."
"Mr. Landel, I am the head surgeon and in charge of this here operating room. If I tell you to wash the bloody hands, you will wash them and not argue with me."
"You are impossible to work with, sir!"
"Get the bloody hell out of here, Mr. Landel!" Dr. Morris ordered in a severe voice. "If you refuse to take orders you have no business tinkering around with the bodies of men. Why, even the nurses are better at assisting at operations than you. Work under some other surgeon if you wish, but not with me."
Mr. Landel's face flushed from these words, but he turned and stormed away without a word. Carol wisely kept any comments to herself and silently set about preparing the instruments for the doctor.
"I suppose he didn't pass the butcher test," she dared to point out in a meek voice.
"Humph! He didn't even get to the bloody test! Idiot wouldn't wash his hands! Is it really such a hard task? I always have my helpers wash their hands; cleanliness is next to godliness they say. I don't know where those hands have been and I will not work with dirty, unkept men. He's a butcher, I can see that without the test."
"Who is he, exactly?"
"Some posh young doctor they sent over from London. Thinks he owns the world, thinks he knows everything. Fool doesn't know bloody hell!"
Carol cringed from his use of language, but decided now was not the right time to correct the doctor. "Dr. Morris," she timidly asked, "if I may be so dare as to ask you told Miss Nightingale that I had passed this butcher test of yours?"
"You did indeed, last night."
"I see. And how did I pass it?"
Dr. Morris forced himself to calm down a little. "It is the test I use to determine if a man...or a woman has the call to be a doctor...or a nurse. The world of medicine is not like the law or trade; you cannot simply learn all the rules and think that will make you a good doctor. You have to have the call, the passion, and the desire to truly help a man. If you do not have it then you have no business fiddling with the body of another person. The test is simple. I put my students through an operation and see how the person handles it. If he treats the patient as a slab of meat that must be cut and sewed together, he is a butcher and I cross him out at once. If on the opposite he is careful and diligent and keeps his senses no matter what, he has the call. You, Miss Winther, have the call and that is why I am pleased to have you on my staff. Mr. Landel, he's a butcher and I will not have him at my operating table. The man dares to call himself a doctor! Good for nothing, bloody idiot, that's who he is. I'd send him back to his London society if I could. Those English always did think they ruled the world."
Carol cleared her throat a little.
"Oh, I forgot," Dr. Morris gave a dry chuckle. "You're English. Ah well, I suppose one cannot help their birth. You're a good girl for all that."
"You are Scottish, are you not sir?"
"I am indeed, and proud of it. Now stop your silly chatter and go have the orderlies bring the first man in. We've got operations to do and rounds to make and have no time to dilly daddle."
"Yes doctor." Carol nodded her head and hurried off. At last she was doing what she had wanted to do from the moment Florence had offered her to come to Scutari. She would minister directly to the men, and what is more work under one of the head surgeons. It had not been a mistake in coming here. There were just things she had to learn along the way before getting to this position.
***
March 1855
Dr. Morris washed his hands after another successful operation. "This one was lucky," he stated with satisfaction. "It was clean wound with no infection, and he will make a complete recovery."
Carol nodded, and with a weary smile sat down. It had been a very long night. There had been two amputations, six complicated wounds that needed cleaning, and a number of minor operations that mainly involved removing bullets and stitching. To think that once upon a time she had slept entire nights without disturbance. Now, two or three hours at random times were all that could be hoped for.
The door to the room opened and two gentlemen entered.
"Giles Morris, how good to see you," the taller gentleman said.
"John Sutherland," Dr. Morris exclaimed, shaking his hand, "now there's a Scottish face I've longed to see. What brings you to this here place?"
"I've been sent here by Lord Palmerston to inspect the hospitals in Scutari in an attempt to bring down the death rates."
"Ah, thank heavens," Carol exclaimed. "Finally our government is taking the necessary measures to help us out."
"Miss Winther, will you never learn to control that tongue?" Dr. Morris scolded.
"Miss Winther?" Dr. Sutherland exclaimed, "Is it Lady Caroline Winther? Lord Richard Winther's daughter?"
Carol nodded her head.
"Lord Winther?" Dr. Morris turned with surprise to his nurse. "You never mentioned that your father was lord, nor that you were a lady."
"I am a nurse." Carol crisply replied.
"I have heard a great deal of you," Dr. Sutherland stated with a smile. "All of London sings your praises."
Carol pulled her eyebrows together. "You must be mistaken, sir. I hardly believe my actions would make me someone society could speak well of."
"You do not know? Miss Nightingale is a hero back in our mother country. Her works among the wounded are greatly exalted. The Lady with the Lamp is what they call her. The Soldier's Friend. Society is proud of its daughters who have come to the aid of our wounded. We are not acquainted personally, but my wife met you on several occasions, I believe it was Miss Nightingale who introduced you to her."
"Ah, you are the husband of Mrs. Sutherland, yes, now it comes to me. I am very pleased to meet you," Carol held out her hand, but withdrew it immediately when she noticed the blood stains. "May I ask who the gentleman with you is?"
"This is Robert Rawlinson, he is an engineer come to inspect your drainage and sewage."
Mr. Rawlinson bowed to Carol with a smile.
"How are you getting along here, my friend?" Dr. Sutherland turned to Dr. Morris. "I haven't seen or heard from you in the longest while."
"I work hard and in bad conditions, but no use complaining," Dr. Morris stated. Carol tried to suppress a giggle. Dr. Morris had a very singular sense of humor and few people understood it.
"And there isn't anything funny about it, Miss Winther," he snapped at her.
Dr. Sutherland chuckled. "I'm surprised, Miss Winther, that you are able to work with Giles here. He isn't very easy to get along with, I should know, I studied under him in the Royal College of Surgeons in Edinburgh."
"It took some time," Carol replied with a smile, "but I have learned that his bark is worse than his bite."
"And I have learned that as long as Miss Winther is kept from barking, all is well with the world," Dr. Morris put in. "She'll talk your ears off if you will but give her the chance."
Carol frowned, she hardly talked at all. It was just with Dr. Morris, anything other than 'yes sir,' was considered by him to be 'too much talking'.
"Now, Carol," Dr. Morris went on before Carol had a chance to retort something smart, "you need a little rest, go to your room and sleep and hour or so. I'll send someone for you when I need you again."
"I'm not tired," Carol protested. "I shall go see if Florence needs any help."
"I order you to sleep!" Dr. Morris' voice grew severe. "It's bad enough that we lost several doctors and three of your nurses to the cholera outbreak, I am determined not to lose you. But if you really want to be of some use, fetch me this morning's paper. You can bring it to me when I call for you. Now go on, out of here."
Carol smiled and with a curtsy to Dr. Sutherland and Mr. Rawlinson, left the room. She stopped by the little library Florence had done her best to organize for the men, and after some search was able to find the newspaper Dr. Morris wanted. In tired curiosity, she glanced over the list of dead and wounded and a familiar name caught her interest. She studied the list more intently and for one terrible second Carol was sure her heart would stop beating. There, at the very top of the list of those reported lost or missing, printed in a bold type, was the name of Major Eric Carrywith.