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[Abiatha Nettles]

Everything seemed to have a pulse - that lived in the light which flowed through the high windows, that breathed through the elastic wooden floor, that shone off the impeccable white walls. Everything seemed an infinity of life and death, both at the same time squabbling though symbols and significance; the people were for the most part, sick - yet everything around them was healthy. The walls and ceiling were as cold as dead snow and held between them thousands of tragedies of pain and suffering, yet it was hard to find them any flaw, any ailing, any spec of dirt. It was the white of dead flesh and of linen burial shrouds, and the white of careless clouds and eternal light.

Careless as such a cloud, floating through the labyrinth of white and silver, was young Abiatha. She had been brought to the hospital by a concerned couple from the Lindebo streets, after she had been walking randomly and aimlessly for days like a wounded forest animal that came across the city built over its home. So the girl eventually found herself in that large white building called a hospital, and people she had never seen before were concerned with her health without even asking for money. True, they had taken her dress away, but it wasn’t as if the old thing was worth much. And they had even given her a new one, clean and new looking, compared to the rag she’d lost to them anyway.
Abiatha had been suspicious of their generosity... She’d never been in a hospital before, and didn’t know how things were or were supposed to be. Yet when she met the doctor that looked over the wounds on her feet and hands, and her general physical condition, she was certain there was little to be suspicious about – nobody that stern could be paid a lot. At least when it came to money, the girl was practically certain none would be asked of her, especially if none had been asked by then.

The keep itself was much better than the small, deteriorated home in which she had grown up, and certainly better than the streets. The coldness of the place managed to disenchant her at first, but the clean water, new clothes, the food and even the small bed the staff had managed to find her – for Abiatha, it was hardly ‘small’ though – were enough to convince her to want to stay. So much so that even after the girl had mostly recovered from the mild achings she had come there with, she kept complaining about them.
It didn’t do much to impress the doctor, but Abiatha didn’t care. It wasn’t as if there was much else to do short of wounding herself, which would have been a sign of weakness and insanity.

Yet the problem with being fit while treated as ailing is that there is much energy, and no possibility of using it. This is a problem particularly for the young...
Eventually, after a few days of being confined to mostly that one bed, Abiatha slipped away when few were around, and started roving through the building, all the while trying to avoid meeting anyone. The risk lay in turning corners however... In the end, it was a game of see or be seen.

[Dr. Victor Morton]

The shadow of the old woman who was selling flowers outside in the corner of the street had already become much smaller than her grey bent figure and much shorter than the last time he had cast a glance out of the spotless window. It must have been nearly eleven o’clock, the young man reflected, withdrawing his gaze from the window and focusing it once again on the water than ran over his hands, washing away the blood of the last surgical operation, which also happened to be the second one that he had performed on that day. Perhaps a rare occurrence, especially when the latter one had been expected to be rather taxing; yet none the less satisfactory for the young doctor Morton who always welcomed new opportunities to expand the extent of his experience. Part of his joy, however, could of course be related to the success of the both operations; despite the fact that there remained a chance that the mother – and consequently the child – who had been the object of the emergency caesarean section performed three hours prior, might still run the risk of perishing, yet considering the excellent condition in which the Halfax Charity Hospital was being kept, doctor Morton had high hopes that they might very well survive.

I believe I should pay Mrs. Radcliff and her newborn a visit now, thought Victor with himself while drying his hands with a white clean towel, at the same time thanking the nurse who had been holding the jug of water for him to wash his hands. Victor’s lips curved into a subtle, yet rare, smile as he picked up his stethoscope and stepped out of the surgical ward, setting out towards the maternity ward. He had come to like his new life in Lindebo and particularly his working place; now if only his apartment had been as tidy as he had wanted it to be – if only he had the time to keep it thus – he could have been very happy indeed. Nevertheless, he was well aware that he did not have the required financial means to hire a professional maid who would at least posses the basic skills of nursing as he preferred her to. After all, he still needed to buy the necessary equipment and furniture for his small laboratory before thinking about spending his money in other ways.

As time went by, Victor’s pace began to lessen somewhat as illusory images of a neat apartment and a disciplined old woman with great cooking skills who also happened to be an experienced nurse began materializing before his mind. Yet, scarcely had he threaded a corridor and turned left into another one that he came face to face with a young slender woman with unruly hair and bare feet.

“Miss Nelson! What are you doing here!?” spoke Victor, quite taken aback by the sudden encounter, “you should be in bed!” however, the initial shock having diminished, the doctor’s eyebrows united in a frown and he went on in a more serious and mildly reproaching tone:

“If I am not mistaken, I was led to believe that your feet were still not in a condition to allow you to walk. Do you feel, perchance, that they have recovered!?”

[James Pryer]

(OOC: I'm so sorry for the delay! It should definitely not be a regular thing. )

“Oh, aye, it’s right nice, sir.”
“And the care, ma’am? The nurses?”

James Pryer was sitting beside the bed of an old woman named Mrs Grisham. She was of quite a venerable age, well past seventy, but had all her wits about her. She was in the Halfax hospital because she had gout; she was often given opiates for it, but right now she was feeling a bit better and so her does was less. As a result, her head was clear and she could carry on a normal conversation with James. Or as normal as she was willing to make it; she was a seamstress and he a gentleman, and because of this she consistently called him Sir and was unwilling to complain to him about anything at all. She gave him very noncommittal answers on pretty much every question he asked, but he was making an effort to winkle some sort of information out of her. James felt that patients ought to have some sort of input in how a hospital was run; whether the food was all right, that sort of thing, and so he made random visits to their beds, never telling them the reason that he was interested was because he owned the hospital.

The nurses he was currently asking Mrs Grisham about were a mixed lot, but most of them were quite burly. They had to be; these were the women who had to do the routine cleaning and dosing and all the menial tasks that doctors could not be bothered to do but required more skill than that which a simple maid could supply. If a patient refused to take his or her medicine, these were the women that would hold the patient still and pour it down his throat. If a patient could not move and was in danger of getting bed-sores because of it, these were the women that would be required to change his position every two hours, often single-handedly—and needless to say, if patients needed bathing and couldn’t do it on their own, these were the nurses that had to be strong enough to manhandle them into and out of the baths.

“They’re all right, I suppose, sir.”
“Everything’s all right then, is it?”
“Yes, sir, thank you for troubling yourself to ask.”
“You haven’t any concerns at all?”
“Can’t say as I do, sir. Oh, but there was a new cook the other day. She fixed something different.”
“Yes?”
“Well, nothing. I just liked it, is all.”
“I’ll be sure to pass on the compliment and try and see that they make it again.”
“Aw, an old biddy like me liking it won’t make no difference! But that’s right kind of you, sir.”
“It’s no trouble, ma’am. I hope you get well soon.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will, sir, thank you. Do have a nice day.”

James left Mrs Grisham’s bed, smiling cheerfully at her one last time, and headed up the ward. He was very careful to smile and greet each nurse by name as he went out; the secret to a well-run, healthy hospital was to make the nurses happy. Making them feel valued by not ignoring them went a long ways towards that. It was odd how most people thought the doctors were in charge of hospitals, when in reality the doctors’ ire largely went unnoticed, where as if the nurses were upset everything went to pot. He suspected that most of the nurses thought he was a bit hypocritical, since as far as any of them knew he had never donated so much as a penny to the hospital, but that was all right. The more people thought along such lines, the less suspicious they would be of him. Hypocrites were beneath notice.

He was thinking of hypocrites and Hippocrates by word association as he left Mrs Grisham’s ward. He thought he might go to the children’s ward next; it was right next to the maternity ward, and so he headed down obscenely clean corridors in that direction. He rounded one corner and came directly upon a young lady conversing with one of the new doctors; he was forced to stop quite abruptly, skip-staggering to one side to avoid his moment carrying him forward into the doctor. He had seen both of them before, the doctor in his official capacity, obviously, but the girl… he was quite certain that she was one of those who were not supposed to leave their beds. Something to do with the feet, he thought, but he could be mistaken there. She was in one of the hospital dresses—not the kind used for egregiously ill patients, but the one used for those who were likely to walk out on their own two feet some time or other.

He had been wanting to speak to the doctor for some time now, however, and so he used the unfortunate occurrence of nearly bodily running into him as an excuse to insert himself into the conversation. “I do beg your pardon,” he said. “I did not know that either of you were here. Dr Morton and Miss… Kettles, I believe?” He was not quite sure on the girl’s name, but gave it his best guess from hazy recall. He bowed slightly to her and held his hand out to the other man. “James Pryer.” He asked the natural solicitous question, unaware that it had been asked just before as well. “Are you quite certain that you are well enough to be on your feet, Miss?”

[Abiatha Nettles]

((It's alright! ))

“It’s Nettles.” Abiatha harshly responded, glaring up at her doctor. “And of course I can walk! Wha, you expect all yer patients to be dead? Well I can walk, as ye can see, and I wasn’t about to spend another day starin’ at nothing.
Besides, the cool floor’s good for me... Feet got feelin’ better cause of it, too.” All her rough explanations did little to cover the nakedness of the clandestine act the girl was entertaining, but it wasn’t as if what she had said was false, accusing as Abiatha’s tone may have been at certain parts.

“I’ve never been in an ‘ospital before, yanno, so I felt like walking about a little. I din break an’thing and din steal an’thing! Got no pockets and such!” she spread her hands wide for a moment before letting them fall shapelessly back around her.
It was about then that a new figure approached them, or rather dropped in... by almost dropping. It seemed a rather harsh entrance, but the gentleman that had now joined their party managed to relieve the girl of her worries. He seemed a nice enough fellow, and with good spirit, though not enough... aim, or force. He would have relieved her even more if he had managed to actually knock down the stuck up physician. Abiatha’s amusement, however, was quite short lived. With a sigh and desperate roll of her eyes, she repeated the earlier correction.
“Nettles! With an ‘N’, like in nitwit!” She crossed her arms over her chest and thrust her lower lip forward, for a moment looking away from the both of them.

“And I’m alright. I told him I am! So why should I go to bed?” the girl turned back to the doctor. “Do what? I just want to look about the place. Won’t be going in any rooms where I’m not supposed to.” Though that latter statement was a bit of a lie. Abiatha wasn’t too sure about her own strength of suppressing forbidden wants and curiosities, and unless there was a doctor or nurse in the room she wanted to visit, were she honest with herself at that point, the girl would have admitted there was indeed a great chance she would enter.
However, as she spoke to the two of them there was little room to consider ‘what if’s and the like. The main worry on her mind was in regards to the security of her staying in the building much longer, and it showed in the way her eyes looked up, large wide and innocent, almost naturally deceitful, at the uncomfortable person that was the doctor, and the apparently clumsy gentleman.

[Dr. Victor Morton]

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pryer,” stated the young doctor, quickly passing on the stethoscope to his left hand and extending his right hand to shake that of the gentleman’s, wondering how he had come to know his name without being able to hide his delight – which displayed itself in a light smile – upon learning that he had not remained as obscure as he had imagined. Then turning towards the young woman, he frowned slightly which gave him a curious look because of the smile that was still spread on his lips, before speaking:

“In a hospital, Miss Nettles, you are expected to remain in the bed that has been assigned to you for as long as necessary. It is expected from you to do to what we have asked of you, for it is our responsibility to see what is good for your health and help you in improving and preserving it,” his frown eventually disappearing – due to the momentary amusement he had experienced while the girl was justifying her not having stolen anything through her garment’s lack of pockets – and giving it’s place to a determined gaze which was none the more comforting, Victor let out a short sigh and went on, “as for your not having gone into the rooms where you are not supposed to go, Miss Nettles, you have already broken that rule by leaving the only room that you were supposed to stay in. A fact which I believe Mr. Pryer would also confirm. However,” gesturing one hand towards the corridor from which the young woman had apparently passed to get there, he held the other hand behind her back in a distance as though encouraging her to accompany him in that direction, “I am most delighted to see that you have recovered. Now, if you would please follow me back to your room, I can examine your physical health once more and then we can ask nurse Packard to give you clothes and provisions so that you can leave the hospital and obtain your freedom once again.”

While waiting for the young girl to make her decision on whether she wanted to cooperate or not, Victor averted his eyes from hers, whose innocent and timid gaze made his conscience somewhat uneasy and placed him in the danger of showing excessive compassion, turned his face towards the gentleman and continued in a rather uncertain tone:

“Mr. Pryer, have we met before?” raising his left eyebrow, he paused for a moment, “it seems to me that your name sounds quite familiar, yet I cannot recall having had the pleasure of your acquaintance up until now. If I am not mistaken, I might have heard your name mentioned by one of the nurses,” having now remembered the alleged occasion, he added with his usual candidness:

“Who indeed spoke very amiably of you. Would you mind my asking if you happen to come here often?”

[James Pryer]

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pryer,” was the response James received from the doctor, along with a smile that indicated the man genuinely was pleased to meet him. Not so very warm was the response from the girl: she rolled her eyes, obviously exasperated, and said vehemently, “Nettles! With an ‘N’, like in nitwit!” She pouted and folded her arms across her chest, shutting both of the men out of any congenial conversation with her body language. She turned back after a moment, and went on a surprisingly defensive rant, finishing by looking up at both of the much taller men with huge doe-eyes quite at odds with her contained stance. James was not an idiot, and besides had seen this type of behaviour many times before during his visits to the hospital. The young lady, unless he missed his guess, was afraid of being turned out of the building.

The doctor did not seem to pick up on it, however; if he did he gave a very good impression of not having done so and went on to scold Miss Nettles—with an N like in nitwit, James remembered superfluously, a smile quirking his face. He noticed that the doctor also seemed vaguely amused at something, but the man kept his face straight as he continued on to say that he was happy that Miss Nettles was well and that he would examine her. Though he was forced to nod agreement when the doctor applied to him for confirmation on a point, James felt for the girl, because the doctor managed to say precisely the things that would most worry someone that did not want to leave the hospital; if James were a betting man he would have laid money on Miss Nettles not having a home and thus finding being well a far more frightening prospect than being ill.

Neither of them, Miss Nettles or the doctor, seemed to be aware of the hospital policy in such cases; or at least he hoped very much that the doctor was unaware and not simply attempting to make Miss Nettles uneasy. He had never met the man before, and so he did not know if the fellow was one of those unsympathetic doctors who liked to torment patients in every way possible that was not actually illegal. Such doctors did not last very long at Halfax; they were warned to mend their ways, and if they didn’t James had no pity for them and saw to it that they were dismissed as soon as possible. He had not heard anything of the sort about Dr Morton—in fact he had only heard good things as yet—but the rumour mill could be wrong. Deciding to keep a close eye on the man but give him the benefit of the doubt, James replied to him, “Indeed I do not, Dr Morton, and we have not met. I come here but seldom, for I always seem to have other demands on my time; I am only here two or three times a week. I am pleased to be well remembered, though.”

Then he turned to Miss Nettles directly and said, “I apologise for my error, Miss Nettles. I do believe that you will also need to inform the nurse of your intended lodgings for your follow-up examination. It is not the practice of this hospital to simply throw the newly recovered out on the street without regard for their health afterwards.” In addition to being an exactly correct statement—the hospital did try to procure an address from each person leaving it, so that a doctor could be sent around on a check-up house call later—James hoped that the girl would hear the underlying message. Without being tactlessly blunt about it, without raising her back with whatever scruples she might or might not have with the idea of accepting further charity, he was telling her that help was available if she wanted it. She would not be tossed out on her ear to fend for herself; all she had to do was tell the nurse she had nowhere to go and the hospital would take care of finding something for her.

So that she could have a moment to think on what she would rather do at this juncture, James turned again to Dr Morton, and tried to get the man to talk about himself, so as to form a better judgement of his character. “I have, in turn, also heard very amiable things about you, Dr Morton. You are a recent addition to the staff, are you not? How do you like working here at Halfax?”

[Abiatha Nettles]

“L...” Leave? she almost wanted to say, shocked and disappointed by the unfortunate turn of events. The doctor’s words, when they had made some sense – for the girl still wasn’t that bright at juggling words or watching them be juggled – had almost prepared for the disillusion in their harshness, and the fact that he was ‘most delighted’ to see her well wasn’t worth a fig in Abiatha’s eyes.

However, Mr. Pryer’s words brought a little encouragement and support. If the staff wanted to know if she had arrangements and a place to life, and if they found she had nowhere...
But from all the he said, it couldn’t be concluded that just because the hospital didn’t ‘simply throw the newly recovered out on the street’, that they helped the recovered patient find a home as well. That would have been too much, and besides the fact that Abiatha didn’t want to get her hopes up, she wasn’t certain the man’s words should be given a double meaning. The way her mind worked, a person either says what they mean or they aren’t saying it at all. In conversation, as in most facts of live, the girl was very direct and pretty much expected everyone else to live by her philosophy.
“I dun have anywhere else to go, sir... I dun think there is.” Abiatha answered slowly, looking up at Mr. Pryer with disenchanted eyes when she noticed a breach in conversation between the two men.
“I s’pose I’ll have no address to give the nurse then. Not soon, an’way. But I’m sure I’ll find a place eventu'lly... on me own.”

So she decided to let herself be taken back to the room she’d been staying in; a rather reluctant decision, but trying to run away wouldn’t make things any better, and Abiatha decided it would probably be best to make a last attempt at feigning illness.
’Maybe if I say they hurt again, my feet, or my hands or teeth or maybe my back, or maybe I’ll complain more of havin’ nowhere to go... Ah, but they’d maybe send me to one of them homes for children without parents, and I dun wanna go anywhere like that. Heard they’re nasty places... Bah. So what’ll I do? Stay in this place until I’m an old woman? Ha, maybe I’ll learn how to make people better from the doctors and nurses and they’ll keep me ‘ere because of my smartness.
Or maybe I’ll just say my feet hurt again...’

[Dr. Victor Morton]

“I have been here for less than a week now, five days to be exact,” spoke the young doctor, in answer to Mr. Pryer’s latter question, while thinking to himself that he must have indeed been a regular visitor of Halfax to have such an amount of information about the hospital, in spite of his maintaining that he seldom visited the place. Two or three times a week isn’t quite seldom, Victor pondered, yet let the thought rest dormant at that point, as he did not find it very polite to continue being inquisitive about something that was not directly related to him, no matter how much it probed his curiosity. Yet, there was something else that amazed him also, and that was what Mr. Pryer had said about the hospital’s policy in regards to ensuring the recovered patient’s future residence and welfare before letting them go, which in truth would have been an ingenious gesture for it would to some degree make certain that the time and effort spent on the released patients would not be wasted; none the less, it seemed to be a rather idealistic notion when the hospital never seemed to be in need of empty beds for the new unwell individuals that arrived there on a daily basis.

“So yes, I suppose I can very well be considered a recent addition!” smiling courteously, Victor raised his left eyebrow and clasped his hands behind his back with his stethoscope in-between them, “I hope my brief experience in Halfax is enough to furnish me with a sound judgment of the place; thus far, I have truly enjoyed working here and I have to confess that this is one of the cleanest and most orderly hospitals I have ever observed, not to mention worked in. It is very refreshing to see a hospital that actually utilizes Doctor Semmelweis’ methods.”

It was approximately a moment or two later that the young woman began speaking of her not having any place of her own or any place to stay at, for that matter. Either because of her tone whilst explaining her situation and her lack of desire to leave or due to Mr. Pryer’s affectionate words, which had in fact reminded the young doctor of his old tutor who used to employ such warmth and care towards his patients while persuading his pupils to do the same, Victor felt it necessary to demonstrate more tenderness this time and let the slight – nevertheless, definitely present – concern that had welled up in his heart surface and show itself in the following speech:

“Miss Nettles,” turning to face the young woman, he looked at her with a softer gaze which carried an air of sincerity about it, “I have heard that Lindebo has a good and clean orphanage that…” yet realizing that the latter words had elicited more of a negative reaction from the young woman than a positive one, he saw it best to let go of the subject matter and instead continue on another one, “but you don’t seem to be young enough to enter an orphanage, in my opinion; and if you know how to work, perhaps the hospital’s staff could find you a proper job,” placing the stethoscope around his neck and his hands into his pockets, Victor raised both his eyebrows and exchanged a quick glance with Mr. Pryer, “they sometimes do that sort of thing it seems...”

[James Pryer]

“I have been here for less than a week now, five days to be exact.” James nodded thoughtfully in acknowledgement. Dr Morton was a very recent hire indeed, then; a fact which the doctor himself mentioned only a moment later. The man listed what he liked about the hospital; and James could not help but smile. He was immensely pleased to have such a modern doctor in the hospital. The views that the man held were in line with his own—however unstudied—opinions in the matter; this in itself was always a plus, but in this particular case it was of vital importance. James firmly believed that uncleanliness did in fact spread disease, and that washing everything that touched infected materials or persons was of paramount necessity, but above all that hand-washing was crucial to a healthy hospital.

It was refreshing to find a doctor that did not regard the strict protocol about that at Halfax as an idiosyncratic whim of the unnamed founder, but actually agreed with it. Some of the older doctors had needed to be very firmly reminded about such things, and in the beginning there had even had to be some examples made before they even grudgingly followed along. Some of them even still spoke of Semmelweis as a madman, and discounted Pasteur as a wind-bagging attention-seeker. James personally thought that some of them refused to change because they were simply stuck in their ways, some of them were envious of the acclaim Pasteur got from the more enlightened, and some were simply too lazy to go about being as clean as all that. Fortunately, the worst offenders in that regard had been dismissed and persons such as Dr Morton had replaced them.

Miss Nettles—with an N like in Nitwit, seemed to be stuck in James’ mind—chose that moment to speak up. “I dun have anywhere else to go, sir... I dun think there is.” She looked at him with eyes that were too old for her young face, and said with a certain fatalism, “I s’pose I’ll have no address to give the nurse then. Not soon, an’way. But I’m sure I’ll find a place eventu'lly... on me own.” James nodded gravely, as if he believed she would be able to pull off this plan, to preserve her dignity. In all likelihood, it would be very difficult for the girl to find a place of her own; it would be hard to find a place willing to hire her if they knew she had not lodgings, and of course living in the street carried with it the unfortunate circumstance of being too dirty to pass for someone with a home. Without employment, she could never hope to find a place to stay, and thus the vicious circle would continue.

Perhaps Dr Morton had some thoughts along these lines, because he spoke up with, “Miss Nettles, I have heard that Lindebo has a good and clean orphanage that…” James suppressed a smile. It was his own orphanage that the doctor mentioned, and Miss Nettles might very well find it better than she expected, but it was quite clear from her expression that she had no intention of ever giving the Shropsea Orphanage a chance. The doctor seemed to realise this too, because he changed what he had been going to say. “But you don’t seem to be young enough to enter an orphanage, in my opinion; and if you know how to work, perhaps the hospital’s staff could find you a proper job.” James mentally applauded; it was a deft enough save. Dr Morton looked at him for confirmation as he added, “They sometimes do that sort of thing it seems...”

Since that was indeed the case, James was happy to agree. “They do indeed, Miss Nettles; in fact I believe the most recent case was only four days ago—one of the nurses engaged a young lady from Bramwell to be her sister’s cook, if I remember rightly. I can ask around if you would like.” He looked at Dr Morton to bring him on board with his next suggestion, hoping the doctor would go along with it. “But in any event, I think it is rather unkind of us to keep you on your feet. I can’t imagine you will be released today, so perhaps it would be best if we took you back to your ward and continued the discussion there.”