Holly grinned. ‘Not since I was little but I’m told that once you’ve ridden one you never forget so I dare say I could manage.’

‘Excellent.’ Matron produced a list of names and addresses and after perching her gold-rimmed glasses on the end of her nose she stabbed her finger at one address.

‘This Mrs Murdoch lives in the courtyards in Abbey Street. She reports that three of her children have a rash. It sounds like chickenpox or measles to me. That might be a good place to start as it’s fairly central but as I said I’m quite happy to leave it up to you. Now, is there anything you need to ask me?’

Holly shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘In that case I suggest you make a start, nurse.’ And with that Matron handed her the loaded bag and Holly set off with the list of patients gripped in her hand wondering just what on earth she had let herself in for.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

‘Mrs Murdoch?’

‘Aye, that’s me.’ The gaunt-looking woman peering warily round the door opened it wider when she saw the nurse’s uniform and Holly stepped into a tiny room that looked to be little more than a hovel. A bed with an iron frame stood against one wall with three young children huddled together in it and as Holly approached them she saw that they were indeed covered in spots.

‘Tim started first wi’ spots behind his ears,’ Mrs Murdoch informed her. ‘An’ now there’s three of ’em covered from head to bloody toe. They’re itchin’ like hell an’ all.’

‘It’s chickenpox,’ Holly said as she inspected the nearest child to her and noted the small blister-like spots. She searched in her bag and produced a bottle of calamine lotion. ‘Dab this on their spots, it will help with the itching,’ she advised. ‘And keep them cool and see that they drink lots of liquid.’

‘Is that it?’ the woman asked and Holly nodded as she snapped the bag shut and crossed to the sink to wash her hands.

‘I’m afraid so but now that the spots have come out I think you’ll find that they’ll be feeling much better.’

‘An’ what about your fee?’ the woman asked worriedly. She was clearly very poor.

‘The doctor will send you a bill, but don’t go worrying about it, it won’t be very much,’ Holly informed her, wishing she could just waive the fee. As she left she prayed that this wouldn’t be the start of an epidemic.

Holly’s next stop was in Willington Street in Abbey Green where a very old lady admitted her.

‘It’s me ’usband, dearie,’ she told Holly worriedly. ‘He’s over there in the chair, see, sittin’ on a cushion.’

‘I see, and what appears to be the problem?’

‘Well …’ The old woman flushed. ‘It’s a bit embarrassin’, but the poor old sod’s got a boil.’

‘And where is it?’

The old woman pointed to her skinny backside. ‘Right there, I’m afraid.’