“She’ll be kept as comfortable as possible in a temperature-even room with other afflicted patients. She’ll be sponged down and have her sheets changed as needed, and kept hydrated in hopes of staving off pneumonia. That’s all we can do.”
“What about medicine?”
He shook his head. “This strain is like nothing we’ve encountered. It defies every preconceived notion we have of the virus. There’s nothing we can do but wait it out.” To see if they live or die. It was the worst, most powerless situation.
“Then I will wait with my sister.” Ducking, Svetlana slipped under his arm.
He caught her elbow and pulled her away as her fingers brushed the door. At times of family consultations when he had to give heartbreaking news, he relied on a reserve of professional calm and detachment. Many outside the medical field called it coldly impersonal, but it was necessary lest emotion destroy the order he was trying to keep.
All detached order shattered the moment he touched her. It was as if a live wire had been routed under his skin to his heart, jolting it alive. He’d tried to put her out of his mind and thought he was having a rather decent go at it, but that involuntary reaction told him he’d failed miserably.
“Your desire to help is admirable, but I’m short staffed and there aren’t enough nurses as it is. The last thing I need is for you to come down sick, too, adding to our increasing list.”
She glanced down at his hand still holding her elbow but didn’t move to dislodge him. “With not enough nurses to see to proper care, you have no argument to be selective. I will nurse my sister.”
He did have an argument, a very good one, but her twist of semantics wasn’t the most important one at the moment. “You don’t have proper training.”
“Then I will learn. Quickly.”
Nestor would gleefully have Wynn’s head on a platter if he discovered this break in protocol, but if the Duchess of Westminster could tend the wounded in a casino turned hospital, why not a Russian princess?
Reluctantly, Wynn released her arm as nurses bustled by, their head coverings flapping behind them. This could be the best decision he ever made or the worst. Odd, how those two were often separated by a precariously thin line.
“You must do precisely as the nurses instruct without question. No privileges will be given. At the first whimper of insubordination, you’re gone. Do you understand?”
She nodded, loose hair slipping from her plait. “Yes.”
“You’ll need a sterilized uniform before you can enter the ward. One of the VADs should do, and your regular clothing will need to be boiled and scrubbed with lye.”
Ana roused herself from where she still leaned against the wall. Her face had paled by two shades. “I’m going too. My daughter needs me.”
The last thing her daughter needed was a nervous mother hovering about and causing more harm than good. She’d only serve to cause upset. To everyone.
Wynn shook his head. “Your maternal feelings are commendable but will be put to greater use from a distance. You must remain strong to care for her once she is released. In the meantime, boil all of your clothing and bed materials in the hottest water you can manage. We need to stop the sickness from spreading to the other émigrés.”
“You are right, of course, Doctor, but I’m not sure . . . I can’t think properly.” Ana clutched the golden cross necklace around her throat. “What’s going to happen to my little girl? She’s so young.”
Svetlana slipped an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Mama, I believe Dr. MacCallan is correct. Marina will rest much easier knowing you’re far from here and praying for her. Come, I’ll take you back to the church.” She eased the woman toward the stairs before looking back to Wynn. “I’ll return shortly.”
As promised, Svetlana returned an hour later sans hysterical mother. She’d changed from her rumpled clothing into a plain but clean VAD uniform—a blue dress and crisp white apron with a white handkerchief tied around her head—that Wynn had taken from the nurses’ supply closet. He wasted no time in placing her under the watchful eye of Sister Elton, a no-nonsense matron of the first and second Boer War and survivor of the disastrous Gallipoli Campaign. Ironside, the younger nurses called her for her unbending tenacity.
Sister Elton didn’t blink as she stared down at Svetlana from her imposing height. “I don’t care if you’re a princess or a chauffer’s daughter. This is my ward. My rules are to be obeyed at all times.”
To her credit, Svetlana met her stare boldly. “Of course.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Yes, Sister,” Svetlana respectfully repeated. Shoulders pulled back and chin tilted just so, one might never suspect she was not accustomed to acting the subordinate.