Surgeon at Arms

think Mr Trevose is perfectly right,’ announced Mrs Sedgewick-Smith.
    Captain Pile spun round. The unexpected desertion of his ally appalled him. Trevose was a difficult customer at the best of times, and that morning he needed all the support he could muster. She stood tugging the hem of her tweed jacket and staring at Graham with large grey eyes. She must have been quite a good-looking girl, Graham thought. Even now, I could do her face a power of good.
    ‘After all,’ continued Mrs Sedgewick-Smith crisply, ‘there are no children roaming the hospital. And the rest of us surely know that expression exists. 5
    ‘Exactly,’ said Graham.
    Mrs Sedgewick-Smith had undergone a change of heart. She had been dying to meet Graham for eighteen months. He was the Graham Trevose, the man you once saw in the Tatler, the surgeon one or two of her friends could talk about, quite breathlessly. Now she saw him at close quarters she realized he had a distinction, a dignity, an authority, an air about him which Captain Pile despite his uniform so sadly lacked. In short, Graham Trevose was a gentleman. And, war or no war, the ladies and gentlemen of England had to stand shoulder to shoulder together.
    ‘We mustn’t wallow in our indignation,’ she continued calmly, ‘and I’m sure the paint can very easily be cleaned off. Mr Trevose, I appreciate every word that you have said. Isn’t there anything I can do for your patients? To give them a nice little break?’
    ‘There most certainly is. And it isn’t very much. Just ask them to tea, invite along some girls, and talk about the weather.’
    ‘This is nothing to do with a breach of discipline,’ Captain Pile broke in furiously.
    ‘Surely, Captain, if Nelson could turn a blind eye you can?’ asked Mrs Sedgewick-Smith tartly. ‘There are so many regulations these days, none of us can avoid breaking one or two, can we?’
    Captain Pile fell silent. He had been rather afraid of this turn in the conversation. Regularly every Friday Mrs Sedgewick-Smith brought him half a dozen eggs from her hens, in a cardboard box labelled as Red Cross library books. A side of bacon had once been smuggled into his house, wrapped in a sheet to resemble the laundry. There had been pots of gooseberry jam, pounds of sugar, even a few ounces of butter. It would be sad if the flow ceased. Captain Pile was extremely fond of egg and bacon for his breakfast. It was a testing decision. Should he pawn his military honour for a handful of eggs?
    ‘I suppose if you don’t feel inclined to press the matter, Mrs Sedgewick-Smith, I—’
    ‘Extremely sensible of you,’ she said quickly. She turned to Graham with a smile. ‘Mr Trevose, I do hope you can drop in for a little drink some evening? I’m sure my husband can find something in the cupboard.’ Graham promised. The bargain struck him as cheap at the price.
    When Graham finally started his ward-round, he said to Sister Mills, ‘I’m sorry about that. It doesn’t happen every Sunday morning.’
    ‘Oh, what a pity.’ She smiled. ‘I thought you were terribly impressive, Mr Trevose. Though I can’t for the life of me see what all the fuss was about.’
    ‘Neither can I, said Graham. It suddenly occurred to him he didn’t even know what the word was.
     

CHAPTER NINE
     
    THE HOSTESS opened her own front door. In peacetime, as she was half-tempted to explain, there would have been a maid in a lace apron. ‘I’m so glad you could come,’ Mrs Sedgewick-Smith greeted them brightly.
    Bluey and the half-dozen others who had courted disgrace on the Saturday night found themselves standing on Mrs Sedgewick-Smith’s doorstep the following Monday afternoon. Graham had conscripted them as a punishment. The outing had not struck them as at all attractive. Tea didn’t promise much fun, and an invitation from the local grand lady had an intolerable air of condescension about it. But if the Wizz told them to go, go they must. Even Bluey agreed a bloke would do anything to please the Wizz.
    ‘Hello, Missus,’ announced Bluey. ‘Here’s the Home for the Sick and Crippled. Frankenstein’s monsters’ annual outing.’
    Mrs Sedgewick-Smith gave an uncertain smile. But years of intense social struggle with the wives of other stockbrokers had tempered her conviviality like steel. She hesitated only a second before continuing, ‘But do come in. Quite a charming afternoon for the time of year, isn’t it?’
    Bluey led his companions into the