She turned back to Dr Logan. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

He said nothing, but his stony look said it all.

Sylvia and Mary returned to report that there was no sign of Captain Jeffers in the kitchen, the sluice, the scullery, the prep room or either of the bathrooms. Fighting panic, Grace was about to suggest they search the linen cupboard when the doors opened and an orderly came in, pushing a wheelchair with Captain Jeffers in it. He was pale and shivering in his rain-soaked pyjamas, his fair hair dripping.

‘Lost someone, have you?’ the orderly said cheerfully. ‘One of the porters caught him just as he was wandering out of the main gates.’

‘I was only going to get some cigarettes,’ Captain Jeffers replied in injured tones. ‘I told you I’d run out.’

‘Lucky the porter spotted him,’ the orderly said. ‘He would have been halfway to Roman Road by now. And in his pyjamas too!’

‘Oh, Captain Jeffers, you’re freezing. Let’s get you warmed up and out of those wet clothes. Nurse Saunders, run a hot bath for him. And Nurse Finnegan, prepare some hot water bottles for his bed. Oh, and we’ll need some extra blankets—’

‘What about my cigarettes?’ Captain Jeffers complained.

‘Here.’ Dr Logan took a packet of Woodbines out of the pocket of his white coat and thrust them at him.

‘Thank you, Doctor. You’re a true gentleman. May I trouble you for a light?’

Grace cringed as Dr Logan took out a box of matches and lit the officer’s cigarette. She knew she should say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

‘Doctor, I—’ she began, but Dr Logan interrupted her.

‘I’ll come back and finish my round when you’ve sorted out this mess,’ he said shortly.

Then he turned on his heel and left the ward.

Captain Jeffers blew a smoke ring into the air. ‘Oh, dear. He seems rather miffed. I hope it isn’t anything I’ve done?’

Grace stared down the ward. Dr Logan had barely looked at her since the moment she had come through the double doors.

‘No, Captain,’ she sighed. ‘I think it’s me he’s miffed with.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘The neurasthenia ward? But why?’

‘You tell me.’

Edward’s voice was flat, but Anna could sense the frustration simmering inside him.

She didn’t blame him for it, either. They’d both been expecting him to be discharged at the end of the week, but this morning Dr Carlyle had announced that he was to be moved to Wilson ward.

‘Have they said anything to you about it?’ he asked Anna.

She shook her head. ‘The first I knew was when Sister told me to pack up your things. I asked her why, but she gave me short shrift.’

‘You’re here to follow the doctors’ orders, Nurse, not to question their decisions,’ had been her exact words.

Edward sank back against the pillows with an angry sigh. ‘I wish I understood why they were moving me to the shell shock ward, of all places. It’s not as if I’m a gibbering wreck, is it?’