Love for the Matron

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Authors: Elizabeth Houghton
They tell me you ’ ve had to leave St. Genevieve ’ s, but tell the doctors to patch you up quick and send you back. There ’ s no one who can hope to take y our place!”
    Elizabeth waited for a moment before ringing for her secretary. She had thought that accepting the post of Matron at St. Genevieve ’ s would be as simple and straightforward as any other job: now she was discovering that it meant not only starting her own pattern but also grafting it on to that of her predecessor, and proving to everyone—as well as to herself—that while the new one wasn ’ t a patch on the old it was still a possible one. If she had followed after anyone but Miriam Brown ... if the other Matro n had just retired or gone on to a better post or even died, it would have been easier, but this stepping into the shoes of someone who hadn ’ t wanted to relinquish them ... this working with a staff who wanted no other Matron than Miriam Brown —
    She sighed and thought of the old legend about the mandrakes, and how they were supposed to shriek when you pulled up their roots ... Miriam Brown had departed, but she had left her roots behind, and seemed that far too many people were watering those roots hopefully in the expectation that they would grow again ...
    Elizabeth pushed the bell firmly. She was allowing her imagination to run wild, and that would get her nowhere, She handed Miss Smith the letters.
    “Will you answer those, please .. ? I ’ ve ma r ked in any special points to mention in your replies. These two are for Miss Brown: perhaps you ’ ll put them in fresh enve l opes and re-address them, please, and send them.”
    “I haven ’ t got Miss Brown ’ s address,” Margaret Smith said in a flat little voice.
    Elizabeth stared at her. “Can ’ t you get it from the Assistant Matron ’ s office, then?”
    “No, Miss Graham. Miss Selby hasn ’ t got it either ... no one has it. She didn ’ t want people to know where she was going in case they might write and say how sorry they were ... at least that ’ s what I think.”
    “In that case, if you ’ ll merely put Miss Brown ’ s name on the envelopes . I ’ ll see to them myself,” Elizabeth said briefly.
    “Yes, Miss Graham.” She started to walk away and then stopped. “Doctor Gregory might know where to send them on if you asked him,” she offered reluctantly.
    “Thank you, Miss Smith.”
    Elizabeth waited until the girl had gone before deciding that she might as well make her hospital round. The wards would have had time to get most of the urgent routine work done and her appearance might cause less of a flurry than it had yesterday. She would begin with the Children ’ s Ward and have a look at the end ward to see if it would suit the purpose of William Gregory ’ s suggestion. Sister Moffatt had had a day off, so Elizabeth had still to meet her. Her senior physician ’ s description of the woman who had held sway over the destinies of the Children ’ s Ward for nearly twenty years gave her a picture of someone who was grey-haired, pink-cheeked, and motherly.
    But the person who appeared upon her request for Sister Moffatt was a tiny little woman with a mass of soft white curls and dancing blue eyes that didn ’ t appear a day older than those of the small child that sat contentedly astride her hip. But her cheeks were very pink, and not because the new Matron had appeared unexpectedly upon her ward.
    “Good morning, Miss Graham. I ’ ve just been giving Elaine her sun-lamp treatment. She won ’ t let the physiotherapist get near her.”
    Elizabeth could see why she had been given the nickname of Miss Muffett, and reminded herself in time not to inquire about her curds and whey ... As she walked through the ward with Sister Moffatt the children kept calling out to her to see this and that. The result wasn ’ t noise as one might have expected but rather a hum of happiness, the warm chuckles of small children, the happy laughter of the older

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