Callandra frowned. "What sort of provision?"

"I don’t know." Hester grimaced. "I suppose this is not a fortunate time to suggest we provide their medicine and bandages from the hospital budget?"

"We already do," Callandra said with surprise.

"Only if they come here," Hester pointed out. "Some of them can’t come every day. They are too old or ill, or lame, to use an omnibus. And a hansom costs far too much, even if they could climb into one of them."

"Who could give them medicines at home?" Callandra asked, curiosity and the beginning of understanding in her eyes. "Us," Hester replied instantly. "It wouldn’t need a doctor, only a nurse with experience and confidence—someone trained."

"And trustworthy," Callandra added purposefully.

Hester sighed. The specter of the stolen medicines would not leave. They could not keep the knowledge of it from Fermin Thorpe much longer. It was ugly, dishonest, an abuse of every kind of trust, both of the establishment of the hospital and of the other nurses, who would all be branded with the same stigma of thieving. It was also a breach of honor towards the patients for whom the medicines were intended.

"It’s a circular argument, isn’t it?" she said with a thread of despair. "Until we get trained women who are dedicated to an honorable calling and are treated with respect and properly rewarded, we won’t be able to stop this sort of thing happening all the time. And as long as it does, people, especially those like Thorpe—and that seems to be most of the medical establishment—will treat nurses as the worst class of housemaid."

Callandra pulled her mouth into a grimace of disgust. "I don’t know any housemaid who wouldn’t take that as an insult—possibly even give notice—if you compared her with a nurse."

"Which is a complete summary of what we are fighting," Hester replied, taking half a potato and a nice piece of cold mutton.

"The Nightingale School is just about to open." Callandra made a visible effort to look more hopeful. "But I believe they had great trouble finding suitable applicants. A very high moral standard is required, and total dedication, of course. The rules are almost as strict as a nunnery."

"They don’t call them ’sisters’ for nothing," Hester answered with a flash of humor.

But there were other issues pressing on her mind. She had thought again of Sergeant Robb’s grandfather sitting alone, unable to care for himself, dependent upon Robb to take time from his work. It must be a burden of fear and obligation to him.

And how many other old men were there, ill and poor now, who were victims of wars the young did not remember? And old women, too, perhaps widows of men who had not come home, or those who were unmarried because the men who would have been their husbands were dead?

She leaned a little over the table. "Would it not be possible to create a body of some sort who could visit those people ... at least see to the more obvious troubles, advise when a doctor was needed ..."