A Man in the Open

by Roger Pocock

The danger was over now, the menace of evil in the night had vanished. I felt an immense relief, with hands wet, mouth parched, knees shaking, and great need of tears. I knew the strain had been beyond endurance, but now it was gone, although a velvet darkness closing round me, black night swinging round me, sickness—I must not faint, when I had to fight, to keep command, to set an example worthy of Jesse's wife. And there I was sitting in my chair, with drops of sweat forming and pouring on my forehead. Billy, groping on the floor at my feet, had found and lighted the candle, and was holding the flame in the palms of his hands till it steadied and blazed up clear. "Buck up, missus," he was saying. "Cheer-oh. Don't let 'em know you swooned, mum. Grab on to that cross, and make it proud of you. That's right. Laugh, mum! Laugh! Wish'd I'd half yer grit."

I had come to myself and only Billy knew, who was loyal. As the candle blazed up I saw the Chinaman gibbering like some toothless mask of yellow india-rubber, but that nurse still kept up her silly screaming, until I ordered her to shut her mouth, which she did in sheer surprise.

There lay Polly prone across the doorway on her face, racked with convulsive sobs, until feeling, I suppose, the lashing rain on her back, she rose on hands and knees like some forlorn wild animal crawling to shelter, while behind her stretched a trail of wet and blood. I stared until in shame she sat up, still for all the world like an animal lost to human feeling, and to a woman's dignity, until as she looked at me a wan shamed smile seemed to apologize. She sat back then against the log wall, limp, relaxed with weakness.

"Nurse," I called, still with my gaze on Polly, "this woman is wounded. You are a nurse. You claimed to be a nurse."

But Miss Panton indulged in hysterics, so I turned to Billy. "Run into the house, get the hip bath, warm water, blankets, bandages."

"Aye, aye, mum," he touched his forelock, and swinging the Chinaman to his feet: "Come along, Sam," he grunted, and bustled him off on duty.

Polly looked up, trusting me with her tawny bloodshot eyes. Her voice was a dreary hoarseness, demanding liquor. But with an open wound, to quicken the heart's action might be fatal, and Polly knew well it was no use pleading. Instead of that she pointed at the nurse, and said, "Send that away."

I turned upon Nurse Panton who sat forsaken and ostentatious in her corner. "Go," I said, "and make beef tea."

Sniff.

I took her by the shoulders, and marched her out of the room, while Polly grinned approval. I came back and asked where she was wounded. She pointed to the left hip, but I dared not remove any clothing which might have caught and sealed the flow of blood. A sole diet of alcohol and months of neglect had made her condition such that I shrank from touching her.