Doctor Fane (hiatus)

The New Nurse II.

Doctor Nicholas Fane had a business partner with whom, in addition to working at the cottage hopspital, he ran the private practice that served most of the wealthier residents of the valley. His name was Reginald Culpepper, of some forty-five years of age. He was lazy by habit and by design. If a chore could be skipped, Culpepper would skip it. If a duty could ignored, Culpepper would ignore it. Sometimes even if they couldn't, he would skip or ignore them anyway. It was a rare evening indeed when Culpepper did not leave the office at least half-an-hour earlier than his appointed six o'clock. Despite that, when Nick came in after putting away his car, he was not surprised to see that Doctor Culpepper was still here tonight, though he had been meant to leave an hour ago. If there was anything that could rouse Culpepper out of his slothfulness, it was the promise of good gossip. He sprawled in the most comfortable armchair by the fire, dozing over a newly printed medical journal. Nick came very softly closer, careful to dodge the creaking floorboard behind the desk, then picked up the poker and prodded him in the stomach.

Culpepper snorted awake. "Wassat?"

"When you are the only person in the office," Nick said, "you are supposed to remain conscious."

"I just nodded off for a moment."

"It's twenty past seven."

Culpepper started up, the journal falling off his lap and crashing to the floor. "I'm late for dinner!"

"Late enough," Nick said, "that hurrying won't make Mrs Culpepper any better tempered."

"Fair enough." Culpepper yawned and stretched. "How's the new nurse? Pretty?"

"I didn't notice."

"That means she is," Culpepper said. "You wouldn't say anything of Miss Devon when she came either, though you conceded that Miss Jameson was not handsome, and the first time I laid eyes on her I nearly went blind. If a nurse is pretty, you would never admit it."

Nick shrugged. "It doesn't matter to you if she's pretty or not. You're married."

"And I have paintings of flowers in my dining room, but that doesn't mean I don't take the time to appreciate the wildflowers blooming in the hedgerow. Though it's you I'm thinking of. Unless you have eyes for Matron Howard?"

Nick sputtered.

"I see," Culpepper said. "Not. Well, I'm glad she's pretty."

"You had rather be glad she's a good nurse," Nick said. "If she is."

"She's experienced at least." Culpepper, never one to stand too long, slouched against the back of the armchair. "I read her letter of recommendation while you were out. She was two years at the New Hospital for Women and before that three years at Barnes in Manchester. Probationed at the Manchester Royal Infirmary. I think she also squeezed some domiciliary work in there too."

Nick had also read Miss Barnes's letter of recommendation, and two weeks ago, when the hospital board had convened to decide upon the new hire. Despite the glowing terms in which her superintendent had written of her, he could not help but be suspicious of Miss Barnes. Every hospital she had been at had been a step down in reputation from the one preceding it. And a cottage hospital in the middle of nowhere, Yorkshire, was less a step down than a plunge. There was no good reason for Miss Barnes to work here, therefore, Nick thought, there had to be a bad one.

He made a non-committal sound. "It sounds like all she really knows is maternity cases."

"Lucky for all the babies we have born in this village," Culpepper said cheerfully. "Why do you think she came here, anyway? Bit out of the way for a young woman, aren't we?"