Alf Barberâs house. On the way back to the hospital she talked at Bert Truro, who walked with her. What could be so bad , she said, as to make someone so vengeful? She conjectured about such a hate as she mounted the steps of the hospital verandah, and did not see Nell washing the floorboardswith long, slow strokes. Matron Sullivan tumbled, spilling water and profanities over Nell and across the verandah. Nell tried to close her ears but from the bucket sloshed a river of insults and arrogance that adhered to her skin like un-rinsed soap, clogging her pores so that she could not breathe.
Bert Truro, bending to help Matron from the floor, glanced up to see what Nell was doing, and was surprised to see a woman he didnât know, a woman bigger and more angular than the rounded softness of Nell. He decided, when thinking about this later, that it was a trick of angle and light, as it was definitely Nell who spoke soft words of apology and helped him carry Matron Sullivan to a bed in the womenâs ward.
The sprain to Matron Sullivanâs foot was slight, in keeping with the gentle fall over the bucket of dirty water, but she was laid up for several days. Nell, in an effort to cheer her, prepared the hearty soups and stews that she knew Matron liked so well. However, Matron Sullivan became angrier and more agitated after each meal, snapping at Nell about over-cooked meat and under-cooked vegetables; about the thickness of the gravy and the thinness of the custard on the steamed pudding. She even complained about the slipperiness and hardness of the starched sheets â a condition for which she blamed Nell, although it had been Matron herself who specified that bed linen was to be starched. And after each meal and each complaint Nell felt her skin become more clogged and her breathing more laboured.
On the morning of the fourth day, Nell lightly boiled two eggs and toasted the white bread that Matron said made the best toast. She prepared a breakfast tray by covering an ordinary ward tray with a small embroidered cloth and matching serviette. On this she placed two small plates from the set usually kept for official lunches and a silver teaspoon for the eggs. She added a pot of tea and a cup with a little milk in it, covered the tray with another white cloth and carried it down the long passageway to the womenâs ward. There she placed it on the bedside table, as Matron was still asleep, and left quietly, thinking she should not wake her.
Some time later there was a mighty clatter and bang from the ward. Bert Truro dropped the bundle of wood he was bringing in for the kitchen fire and ran down the corridor to the ward, closely followed by Nell. There they found the breakfast tray overturned on the floor and an angry Matron Sullivan struggling off the bed. Bert bent to pick up the tray, but Matron stopped him. Let that black bitch do it , she shouted, and even the stolid Bert winced back from the spray of venom. Make that stupid black bitch clean it up. She made the mess. She fixes it.
Bert helped Matron Sullivan to a chair on the side verandah, where he propped her foot on a stool. Iâm staying here until that bed linen is washed and the bed remade with the same sheets , she said. And itâd better be soon.
Nell picked up the tray and the mess of broken china, egg and tea. Her skin itched with the poison hanging in the air; she could feel the surface flaking away, and wonderedhow much of herself she could lose before disappearing entirely. She fetched hot water and a rag and wiped the bedside table and the floor. Then she took the soiled sheets from the bed and went to the laundry where hot water was already bubbling in the copper, ready for the dayâs normal laundry.
Nell shook shaved soap into the boiling water and threw in the sheets from Matron Sullivanâs bed, pushing them under the suds with a stick. After a few minutes she heaved them out into a large cement trough of cold water. Her
Bert Truro, bending to help Matron from the floor, glanced up to see what Nell was doing, and was surprised to see a woman he didnât know, a woman bigger and more angular than the rounded softness of Nell. He decided, when thinking about this later, that it was a trick of angle and light, as it was definitely Nell who spoke soft words of apology and helped him carry Matron Sullivan to a bed in the womenâs ward.
The sprain to Matron Sullivanâs foot was slight, in keeping with the gentle fall over the bucket of dirty water, but she was laid up for several days. Nell, in an effort to cheer her, prepared the hearty soups and stews that she knew Matron liked so well. However, Matron Sullivan became angrier and more agitated after each meal, snapping at Nell about over-cooked meat and under-cooked vegetables; about the thickness of the gravy and the thinness of the custard on the steamed pudding. She even complained about the slipperiness and hardness of the starched sheets â a condition for which she blamed Nell, although it had been Matron herself who specified that bed linen was to be starched. And after each meal and each complaint Nell felt her skin become more clogged and her breathing more laboured.
On the morning of the fourth day, Nell lightly boiled two eggs and toasted the white bread that Matron said made the best toast. She prepared a breakfast tray by covering an ordinary ward tray with a small embroidered cloth and matching serviette. On this she placed two small plates from the set usually kept for official lunches and a silver teaspoon for the eggs. She added a pot of tea and a cup with a little milk in it, covered the tray with another white cloth and carried it down the long passageway to the womenâs ward. There she placed it on the bedside table, as Matron was still asleep, and left quietly, thinking she should not wake her.
Some time later there was a mighty clatter and bang from the ward. Bert Truro dropped the bundle of wood he was bringing in for the kitchen fire and ran down the corridor to the ward, closely followed by Nell. There they found the breakfast tray overturned on the floor and an angry Matron Sullivan struggling off the bed. Bert bent to pick up the tray, but Matron stopped him. Let that black bitch do it , she shouted, and even the stolid Bert winced back from the spray of venom. Make that stupid black bitch clean it up. She made the mess. She fixes it.
Bert helped Matron Sullivan to a chair on the side verandah, where he propped her foot on a stool. Iâm staying here until that bed linen is washed and the bed remade with the same sheets , she said. And itâd better be soon.
Nell picked up the tray and the mess of broken china, egg and tea. Her skin itched with the poison hanging in the air; she could feel the surface flaking away, and wonderedhow much of herself she could lose before disappearing entirely. She fetched hot water and a rag and wiped the bedside table and the floor. Then she took the soiled sheets from the bed and went to the laundry where hot water was already bubbling in the copper, ready for the dayâs normal laundry.
Nell shook shaved soap into the boiling water and threw in the sheets from Matron Sullivanâs bed, pushing them under the suds with a stick. After a few minutes she heaved them out into a large cement trough of cold water. Her
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