Бетти Нильс – A Valentine for Daisy (страница 3)

‘The new cook seems to be in a bit of a muddle,’ she ventured. ‘The kitchen…’

‘Attend to your own work,’ commanded Mrs Gower-Jones. ‘She is perfectly capable of attending to hers.’

The children ate their dinner—what Mrs Gower-Jones described as a wholesome stew made from the best ingredients, followed by ice-cream—and Daisy, Mandy and Joyce took it in turns to eat their own sandwiches before arranging the children on their little camp beds for their afternoon nap, a peaceful hour during which they prepared for the hour or so still left before the children were collected. Only it wasn’t peaceful; before the hour was up every child—and there were forty of them—was screaming his or her head off, clasping their small stomachs in pain and being sick into the bargain.

Daisy, rousing Mrs Gower-Jones from the little nap she took after lunch while the children were quiet, didn’t mince her words. ‘All the children are vomiting and worse—something they’ve eaten. They’ll have to go to hospital. I’ll phone…’

She sped away to dial 999 and then to join the hard-pressed Mandy and Joyce. The place was a shambles by now and some of the children looked very ill. They wiped hands and faces and comforted their wailing charges and had no time for Mrs Gower-Jones, who had taken a look and fled with her hands over her mouth, but she appeared again when the first of the ambulances arrived, asserting her authority in a shrinking fashion.

‘I shall have to notify the parents,’ she uttered to no one in particular. ‘Miss Pelham, go to the hospital and let me know immediately how the children are. Mandy, Joyce, you can stay here and clear up.’

It took some time to get all the children away; Daisy, squashed in with the last of them, looked down at herself. She smelt nasty for a start and the state of her overall bore witness to that fact; she felt hot and dirty and very worried. Food poisoning—she had no doubt that was what it was—was no light matter with small children; she remembered the new cook and shuddered.

Casualty was full of screaming children although some of them were too quiet. Daisy, making herself known without fuss, was led away to wash herself and remove the overall and then she was given a plastic apron to take its place. Feeling cleaner, she was handed over to a brisk young woman with an armful of admission slips and asked to name the children. It took quite a while for she stopped to comfort those who weren’t feeling too bad and bawled to her to be taken home. The brisk young woman got a little impatient but Daisy, her kind heart torn by the miserable little white faces, wasn’t to be hurried. The last two children were the twins, no longer difficult but greenish-white and lackadaisical, staring up at her in a manner so unlike their boisterous selves that she had a pang of fear. Disregarding her brisk companion’s demand for their names, she bent over the trolley where they lay one at each end.

‘You’ll be all right very soon,’ she assured them, and took limp little hands in hers. ‘The doctor will come and make you well again…’

Two large hands calmly clasped her waist and lifted her to one side. ‘He’s here now,’ said a voice in her ear and she looked up into the face of the owner of the Rolls-Royce.

Katie and Josh spoke as one. ‘Uncle Valentine, my tummy hurts,’ and Katie went even greener and gave an ominous heave. Daisy, a practical girl, held out her plastic apron and the man beside her said,

‘Ah, sensible as well as sharp-tongued.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Staff Nurse, these two are dehydrated; get a drip up, will you? Dr Sims will see to it. Where’s the child you told me couldn’t stop vomiting? I’ll see him next.’ He patted the twins on their sweaty little heads, advised Daisy in a kindly voice to dispose of her apron as quickly as possible and, accompanied by one of the casualty sisters, went away, to disappear into the ordered chaos.

The brisk young woman showed her where to dump the apron, took a look at her overall and found her another plastic pinny. ‘If I could have their names,’ she said urgently. ‘They called Dr Seymour Uncle Valentine…’

‘Thorley, Katie and Josh, twins, almost four years old,’ Daisy told her. ‘They live along the Wylye valley—Steeple Langford, I believe. If I could see one of the sisters just for a minute perhaps she could let me know if any of the children are causing worry. Mrs Gower-Jones told me to phone her as soon as possible so that she can warn the parents.’

Her companion gave a snort. ‘I should have thought it was Mrs whoever-it-is who should have come here with the children. Still, I’ll see if I can find someone for you.’

A nurse and a young doctor had arrived as they talked and they began to set up the saline drips, no easy task for the twins took exception to this, screaming with rage and kicking and rolling round the trolley.

‘Well, hold them still, will you?’ begged the doctor impatiently. ‘What a pair of little horrors…’

‘Well, they don’t feel well,’ said Daisy with some spirit, ‘and they’re very small.’ She leaned over the trolley, holding the wriggling children to her, talking to them in her quiet voice.

Dr Seymour, coming back to take another look, paused for a moment to admire the length of leg—Daisy had such nice legs, although no one had ever told her so. He said breezily, ‘They need a ball and chain, although I have no doubt they prefer to have this young lady.’ As Daisy resumed a more dignified position, he added, ‘Thanks for your help—my nephew and niece are handfuls, are they not?’ He ignored the young doctor’s stare. ‘You work at the nursery school? You may telephone the headmistress or whatever she is called and assure her that none of the children is in danger. I shall keep in some of the children for the night—Sister will give you their names. Run along now…’

Daisy, mild by nature, went pink. He had spoken to her as though she were one of the children and she gave him a cross look. If she had known how to toss her head she would have tossed it; as it was she said with a dignity which sat ill on her dishevelled appearance, ‘I’m not at all surprised to know that the twins are your nephew and niece, Doctor.’

She gave him a small nod, smiled at the children and walked away; fortunately she didn’t see his wide grin.

She was kept busy for quite some time; first getting a list of the children who would be staying for the night and then phoning Mrs Gower-Jones. That lady was in a cold rage; the nursery school would have to be closed down for the time being at least—her reputation would suffer—‘and you will be out of a job,’ she told Daisy nastily.

Daisy realised that her employer was battling with strong emotions. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said soothingly, ‘but if you would just tell me what you want me to do next. Shall I stay until the children are collected?’

‘Well of course,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones ungratefully, ‘I’ve enough to do here and Mandy and Joyce are still clearing up. I have never seen such a frightful mess; really, I should have thought you girls could have controlled the children.’

A remark which Daisy thought best not to answer.

She phoned her mother then went back to organise the children who would be fetched as soon as their parents had been told. Anxious mothers and nannies began arriving and in the ensuing chaos of handing over the children fit to go home Daisy lost count of time. They all, naturally enough, wanted to see Mrs Gower-Jones, and since she wasn’t there several of them gave vent to their strong feelings, bombarding Daisy with questions and complaints. No matter that they had already had reassuring talks with Sister; they could hardly blame her for their children’s discomfiture, but Daisy, unassuming and polite, was a splendid target for their indignation. She was battling patiently with the last of the mothers, a belligerent lady who appeared to think that Daisy was responsible for the entire unfortunate affair, when Dr Seymour loomed up beside her.

He had been there all the time, going to and fro with his houseman and registrar, making sure that the children were recovering, but Daisy had been too occupied to see him. Now he took the matter smoothly into his own hands.

‘A most unfortunate thing to happen; luckily, none of the children is seriously affected.’ He glanced down at the wan-faced small boy clutching his mother’s hand. ‘This little chap will be fine in a couple of days—Sister has told you what to do, I expect? This young lady is an assistant at the nursery school and is not to be blamed in any way. The matter will be investigated by the proper authorities but it is evident that the cause was either in the cooking or in the food. I suggest that you take the matter up with the principal of the school.’

Daisy, listening to this, reflected that he had a pleasant voice, deep and unhurried and just now with a hint of steel in it. Which might have accounted for the ungracious apology she received before the small boy was borne away.

‘The last one?’ asked the doctor.