The Summer of Sir Lancelot

Matron? Dear me, dear me!‘
    ‘Then it must be my imagination. Nurse Spratt left this in her bed,‘ she explained calmly.
    ‘The little devil!‘ Sir Lancelot hissed, eyeing Exhibit A. ‘By jove, she shall pay for this! I‘ll rain down fire and brimstone on her thicker than a cloudburst at Old Trafford. I‘ll make her ears tingle as though she‘d dipped the pair of them in hydrochloric acid. I‘ll certainly-‘
    ‘I‘m sure you will, Sir Lancelot.‘ The Matron gave a little sniff. Old Tripp absolutely reeked of eau-de-Cologne. She‘d be going about in a padded bra and eyeshadow next.
    ‘And where exactly is the black lamb of my family?‘ the surgeon ended hotly.
    ‘You will remember she has an appointment this morning in Addle Street.‘
    ‘And me a magistrate too!‘ He snorted. ‘I think it would be more appropriate if you administered the wigging, Matron. In the first instance, at any rate.‘
    ‘But I‘m afraid it is nothing to do with me, Sir Lancelot.‘
    He frowned. ‘But you‘re the Matron, dammit.‘
    ‘Miss Spratt has, of course, automatically become expelled from the hospital.‘
    ‘Expelled?‘ Sir Lancelot looked blank. ‘Expelled?‘ He tugged his beard. ‘But... but... you can‘t expel her.‘
    ‘My dear Sir Lancelot! I have in the past had the disagreeable duty of banishing girls for far less.‘
    ‘You are not going to expel Euphemia!‘ he commanded.
    ‘Why not, pray?‘
    ‘Because... because, damnation! She‘s my niece.‘
    ‘Really!‘ The Matron stared. ‘I should have thought you were the last to encourage favouritism in the hospital - Come in!‘
    The corpus delicti entered.
    ‘How much were you nicked?‘ demanded Sir Lancelot at once.
    ‘Good morning, Uncle.‘ Euphemia wore the expression of Joan of Arc at lighting-up time. ‘Forty shillings.‘
    ‘H‘m.‘
    ‘Miss Spratt,‘ began the Matron, taking from Sister Tripp a pink Ministry card headed WOMAN 18 AND UNDER 65 (PINK). ‘I must ask you to remove your personal belongings from the hospital within the hour, as we shall be wanting your room.‘
    ‘Yes, Matron.‘
    ‘Look here,‘ exploded Sir Lancelot. ‘This is utterly preposterous. It was a mere girlish prank - ‘
    ‘A prank!‘
    A grin spread like oil across his storm-tossed features. ‘Of course it was, Matron. A mere lark. The whole evening was conceived in a spirit of pure fun. Wasn‘t it, girl? Eh? Eh?‘ he barked. ‘After all, Matron, you must make allowance for her being but a child of eighteen.‘
    ‘If she is old enough to nurse, Sir Lancelot, she is old enough to behave herself properly.‘
    ‘Besides, she was seduced.‘
    ‘What!‘ cried Sister Tripp.
    ‘I mean in the abstract sense, dammit!‘
    ‘I‘m sorry, Sir Lancelot.‘ The Matron sounded a shade weary. ‘But you cannot seriously expect me — ‘
    ‘Euphemia,‘ ordered Sir Lancelot, ‘leave the room.‘
    There was a pause.
    ‘Sister Tripp,‘ requested the Matron, ‘see if the second post has come. I am perfectly impervious to blandishments, Lancelot,‘ she added when they were alone.
    ‘That girl‘s name is Spratt.‘
    The Matron said nothing.
    ‘A name borne honourably through the wards of this hospital for three generations. I don‘t intend to see it disgraced by the headstrong frolic of an overgrown schoolgirl under the influence of a faintly camouflaged medical student.‘
    The Matron pursed her lips.
    ‘She‘s a good nurse, isn‘t she? Liz Virtue says so, and she‘d have blackened Florence Nightingale herself.‘
    The Matron murmured, ‘Admittedly so.‘
    ‘I assure you I have never asked anyone in the hospital to do me a favour until this very moment. Give that girl any punishment you like short of the sack. In return I personally guarantee her conduct in the future will be impeccable.‘
    ‘That is, of course, an impressive pledge — ‘
    ‘Besides, Hester,‘ he added, quietly, leaning on the desk, ‘you haven‘t forgotten the past, have you?‘
    Once they had shared a mad, mad moment. Sir Lancelot had been a young registrar. Matron was a junior nurse. It was late. They were alone in a darkened corridor. Their emotions had melted from the heat of an exhausting day in the operating theatre. She passed him with a kidney-dish. He pinched her behind. Somehow, she had never forgotten it. Nobody had pinched it since. As a matter of fact, nobody for years could possibly have thought of such a thing.
    ‘There were only a few circulars,‘