‘What a thing to say.’ Matron pushed her glass of Guinness to one side and folded her elbows on the table as she leant forward. ‘Why do you think I’ve asked him to be responsible for the first sift of potentials only? The final interview will still have to take place at St Angelus. Can you imagine me trying to recruit without the board having a look-in? I don’t have full control as it is – that assumption is a myth. I’m not a tyrant, Dr Gaskell.’

He was about to point out that by introducing this process, she was in fact controlling the quality of applicants who were put before the board, but they both knew that was what excited her so much about this. With the help of Mr Keene, she really would remain in control.

‘Ah, good evening,’ said Mr Keene, walking towards them with a pot of very dark liquid in his hands, which Matron now recognised as Guinness. ‘I have good news.’ He pulled out the chair next to Dr Gaskell. ‘I have spoken to the postmistress in Tarabeg this evening, a Mrs Doyle. She is very excited at the prospect of our visit. She said they get a lot of visitors these days in Tarabeg. We will call in there on our way to Belmullet, and that will cover the area, more or less. I imagine you will be spoilt for choice, Matron. I have been to Tarabeg a few times, because of the property I told you about. It’s a very quiet little village and the people are extremely friendly, honest and hardworking. Nothing of any note ever happens there. I’m very sure you’ll have a good supply of young ladies wanting to hop over on the boat to Liverpool and take up a nursing career. Indeed, they will be so used to hard work, it will seem like a holiday to them.’

‘Tarabeg? That was where Mary Kate, the young lady Nicholas Marcus was with, came from,’ said Dr Gaskell.

‘Excellent. Well then,’ said Matron, ‘it sounds perfect. Despite the circumstances, which we won’t go into right now, Mary Kate was a very well put-together young lady, and she made such an impact on everyone in the ward. This is all going to be just marvellous. Now, can I tempt either of you to a glass of sherry?’

*

Mrs Doyle ran down the steps of the post office to greet the car. ‘Mr Keene, is it?’

Mr Keene looked about him in confusion and an embarrassed Mrs Doyle answered his unspoken question.

‘I have no idea what is occurring here today,’ she said as Matron stepped out of the car. ‘The place has gone mad.’

She scanned the gathered crowd and the women who were hurrying out of their cottages and tying their shawls as they trotted towards the post office. News travelled fast in Tarabeg and Mrs Doyle was usually the main source. It appeared as though the entire village had come out into the main street within mere minutes. She saw Philomena leave the front door of the butcher’s and stop Ellen Carey, both turning to look at her, aghast.