Chapter 1
It was quiet Saturday afternoon when I arrived at Salisbury railway station and stepped onto the platform with my shabby suitcase. Just momentarily I felt a pang of loneliness knowing there would be no-one to meet me outside, but fortunately when I went through the turnstile a taxi cab was waiting by the kerb. The driver asked me cheerfully where I wanted to go.
“To Laverton House please. It’s a private psychiatric hospital in Laverstock,” I replied hesitantly.
“Oh aye, I knows it. Hop in, miss, I’ll take you there.”
He gave me a rather peculiar look. Perhaps he thought I was a patient. I had a quiet smile to myself and leaned forward to see as much as I could of the streets we were passing through. On either side were half-timbered Tudor buildings with steep gables and small leaded windows. To my eyes, accustomed to Bath where everything was built on regular and classical lines, Salisbury looked quaint and medieval. As we swung out of one of the narrow streets I looked back and gasped, for there, like a finger pointing to the sky, rose the cathedral spire. It seemed almost ethereal as it hovered above the city and it inspired in me a sense of awe. I think from that moment I fell in love with Salisbury. In some strange way I felt I had come home.
Very soon we left the city streets behind and were out in the suburbs. As we approached the outskirts of Laverstock I noticed all the signs of a new housing development, with rows of small modern bungalows on either side. I felt a stab of disappointment that we had left behind the old world atmosphere of Salisbury.
However, the taxi drove on past the new houses and along several tree-lined streets before entering a cul de sac where large houses were set back in spacious gardens. In front of us was an entrance opening onto a gravelled driveway.
“Here we are, Laverton House,” announced the driver, turning off the road.
I had an impression of a large country house, built of warm red brick with ivy covering most of the front. Manicured lawns, with flower beds on either side of the drive, completed the effect of a gracious country home and I felt like a guest arriving for a weekend house party.
The driver commented, as he lifted my suitcase out of the car, “Lovely old place, isn’t it? What kind of work will you be doing here?”
“I’m going to be a nurse.”
“Are you indeed?” and he raised his eyebrows.
After I had paid him, he touched his cap and drove off slowly. I paused for a moment wondering why he had seemed surprised. Perhaps I did not look the type to be a nurse in a psychiatric hospital. In many people’s minds it conjured up the picture of a female prison warder, with a large bunch of keys at her waist, ready to clap patients into a strait jacket. At least I don’t fit that image, I thought as I picked up my suitcase. I studied the building before me. It was certainly nothing like my picture of a mental asylum. Curiously I approached the door and pressed the bell. The door was opened by a smart looking maid in a black dress with a frilly white headband in her hair. She looked at me enquiringly.
“I’m Rhoda Pritchard. I’ve just come down from Bristol by train. I think I’m expected this afternoon.”
“Come in, Miss Pritchard, and I’ll fetch Matron,” and with that she disappeared. As I waited I looked around the vestibule noting the touches of comfort and opulence in the furnishings. I was just wondering whether to sit down in one of the leather chairs when a door opened and a woman came towards me smiling, her hand outstretched. She was short and dumpy with a round face and mild grey eyes.
“I’m Matron Dunne,” she said with a faint Irish brogue. “Welcome to Laverton House, Miss Pritchard. I hope you’re going to be very happy here. I think you will find it rather different from a general hospital,” and she smiled. “You’ve travelled down from Bristol today haven’t you? I expect you would like to freshen up before you come to tea, which will be in half an hour’s time. I’ll get Millie, our maid, to show you to your room.”
She went through a door at the side of the vestibule and a few moments later Millie returned. She offered to take my suitcase.
“No, I can manage thank you.” The girl shrugged and indicated the wide curving staircase in front of us.
“Your room is two floors up, Miss. It’s a bit of a climb.”
It certainly is, I thought, as I followed the slim black figure up the stairs to the second landing.
“Your room is along here. It’s number six,” and Millie pushed open the door. I stood for a moment gazing into a room that could easily have been fitted out for a country house. From the floral carpet to the blue satin drapes at the sides of the tall sash windows, everything was comfortable and well appointed. Two beds were set well apart on opposite sides of the room with a couple of easy chairs between them; against one wall was a dainty bureau.
“It’s a nice room, isn’t it?” remarked Millie glancing around her.
“Yes, it is. Rather different from what I expected,” I replied, thinking back to the cramped cell I had shared with Iris in the Nurses’ Home in Birmingham.
“Well, if you don’t need me I’ll be off. Tea’s in the dining room at five.”
“Thank you, Millie. I suppose the dining room is on the ground floor.”
“Yes, just to the right of the stairs.”
When she had gone I sank into one of the easy chairs, content to sit and absorb the restful atmosphere of the room. It seemed that everything about Laverton House was going to be different from what I had experienced at a general hospital and I felt a momentary pang for the bustling activity I’d been used to.
Don’t be silly, I told myself. You’re lucky to have been sent to such a comfortable place, and I seemed to hear Aunt Edith’s voice saying, “Luck doesn’t come into it. There’s no such thing as luck. It’s providence.”
Whatever it was, the fact remained that only a few months before I had nearly died while I was nursing on the fever ward at Birmingham Infirmary, yet now I was well enough to go nursing again, even if it was only in a psychiatric hospital. A sigh escaped my lips as I thought back to those busy days on the wards, when even the most unpleasant jobs could be turned into a joke with the other nurses. Then there was Iris, my room-mate and best friend. What fun she had been and what confidences we had shared.
I glanced curiously around the room. There was no evidence of anyone else occupying it; not even a brush or comb on the dressing table. Feeling a bit like a spy I crossed over to the wardrobe and opened the door. There I saw a row of dresses and coats all neatly hung up and shoes arranged in order from slippers to boots. The clothes and shoes took up one half of the wardrobe while the other half had been left empty. Whoever she was, the other occupant of the room was scrupulously tidy, not like the harum scarum Iris who left her clothes wherever she happened to step out of them. I smiled at the memory.
I heard a small cough behind me and started guiltily. A tall girl with glossy black hair fashionably shingled was standing in the doorway observing me, a quizzical expression on her face.
“Hello, I presume you are my new room-mate,” she said and smiled slightly.
“Yes, I’m Rhoda, Rhoda Pritchard.”
“And I’m Shirley Richards. I only heard you were coming yesterday so I cleared some space in the wardrobe. Actually, I came back early. I was going to be away until tomorrow. That would have given you time to settle in. Sorry.”
“Oh that’s alright. I’m glad to meet you.”
There was a pause as we studied each other. I noted Shirley’s pale skin, which was almost translucent, and her clearly defined features. Without being pretty she was what people would call attractive and refined looking. Only her mouth spoiled her. It was downturned and rather sulky. I wondered what she was thinking about me.
Shirley smiled suddenly and all trace of stiffness vanished from her manner.
“I’ll just get my coat off and show you where everything is, Rhoda. I suppose nobody thought of taking you on a tour of the place.”
“Well, no, but I did find out from Millie where the dining room is.”
“We’ve still got half an hour before tea, time enough for me to explain the layout of the house, then after tea we can go for a walk through the grounds.”
She turned out to be a clear and succinct guide and by the time we went into the dining room, at 5pm., I felt quite familiar with the house.
The dining room was pleasant and spacious with French doors at one end opening onto a wide lawn. About eight tables, each seating four, were arranged so that there was plenty of space between them. Only five of them were occupied, although all were laid for tea. As we entered, several of the diners looked up and smiled pleasantly at us. Shirley led the way to a table at the end of the room where there was a view of the garden and yet was far enough away from the other tables for our conversation not to be heard. She seated herself at one side and indicated the chair opposite her.
“This way I can tell you about everyone without them overhearing,” she smiled across to me. “Now you see that group in the far corner by the potted plant? They are the old-timers. They’ve been here from the year dot, in other words since the hospital was taken over by Dr Hall.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, about fifteen years ago, I think. Dr Hall bought it when it was a rambling old country house and turned it into what you see today. He and Dr Branson run it together, although Dr Hall is mainly concerned with admin and the financial side of things. It’s Dr Branson who looks after the patients.”
“It’s fairly unusual for patients and staff to eat in the same dining room, isn’t it? That would never happen in a public hospital.”
“I suppose not, but this is a private hospital and Dr Branson has quite modern ideas. He believes that mental patients should be treated as if they were normal. Laverton House is run along the same lines as a private hotel.”
“What are they like, Dr Branson and Dr Hall, I mean?”
A strange look passed across Shirley’s face.
“Well, let me put it like this, they are as different as chalk from cheese. Dr Hall looks the image of Gandhi, small and dark and rather sinister. Dr Branson is a giant beside him.”
“What are they like to the patients?”
“Oh, Dr Branson is kindness itself, but Dr Hall is only interested in what they bring in cash-wise.”
Just then Millie approached our table wheeling a trolley, on which were sandwiches and a tiered plate of small cakes. We stopped talking and watched as she lifted these and a china teapot from the trolley onto the table. When she was gone we helped ourselves to a sandwich each and for a few minutes were silent as we ate.
I was the first to speak. “What kind of patients do they have here, Shirley? The ones I have seen walking around look perfectly normal to me?”
“Oh, they seem that way until you get to know them. Then you find out that they have all sorts of obsessions and quirks that make it difficult for them to lead ordinary lives. They simply need looking after, but they’re not dangerous - we don’t use strait jackets here - just in case you wondered,” and she grinned. “I suppose they are a bit of an embarrassment to their families and so that is why they are happy to pay for them to be here. One of our patients is Lady Saddleton, a member of the Nightingale family, a great- niece of Florence. We call her Tuffy.”
“And what is wrong with her?”
“Oh she has an obsession about her weight. Thinks she’s terribly fat. We have a hard job persuading her to eat. Apart from that she’s a dear little thing.”
“Will she ever get over that obsession, by careful nursing perhaps?”
“No, she’s a chronic case, as so many of the old ones are.”
“That’s rather sad, isn’t it?” I remarked.
“Not really,” replied Shirley airily. “They’re happy enough and they are well looked after here.”
“Tell me more about Dr Hall, Shirley, he sounds interesting.”
Again a curious expression flitted across her face.
“Oh, he’s alright. You’ll meet him soon enough and then you can judge for yourself.”
Shirley was clearly being evasive and I glanced at her curiously. I was so busy watching her I didn’t notice the girl approaching our table.
“Shirley, do you mind if I sit here?” She looked across at me with a smile. “Hello, you’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I just arrived today. I’m Rhoda.”
“And I’m Maisie.”
“Alias Fairy, so named for obvious reasons,” interjected Shirley, and as I looked at the girl’s delicate colouring and long fair hair I could see how appropriate this nickname was.
It did not take long before we were all chattering freely and I experienced the same sense of easy camaraderie that I had known in the nurses’ home in Birmingham. As Shirley and I stood up to leave, Maisie turned to me.
“Have you seen around the grounds yet, Rhoda? They are quite extensive. I’ll take you on the grand tour if you like, that is if you haven’t anything more pressing to do.”
I glanced at Shirley.
“You go with Maisie,” she said quickly. “I’ve got one or two things to do.”
“Let’s go then, Rhoda, shall we?” said Maisie, and as I followed her from the dining room I hoped she would shed some light on Shirley’s reluctance to talk about Dr Hall.
