The night in the surgical ward stretched on endlessly, as though time itself had thickened like syrup, the air heavy with the sharp tang of antiseptic and medicine. In the dim glow of the nurses station, slumped in a chair, sat Eleanor Whitmoreslender, with wild blonde hair and eyes that burned like embers. A book lay open on her lapDickens, her escape, her fragile tether to something beyond scrubbing floors and emptying bedpans.
Days were spent studying at medical college, nights mopping up after the sick and injured, and these rare stolen moments of quiet were her only solace. Reading wasnt just a habitit was the one thing keeping her from crumbling under the weight of it all.
“Look at thisa literary salon in my hospital?”
The voice was sharp, grating. Eleanor flinched. The book vanished from her hands. She looked up to see Dr. Reginald Thorne looming over her, the wards head consultant. Hed appeared, as always, without a sound, like a cat stalking prey. Short, balding, his face perpetually pinched in irritation, he held her book between two fingers as if it were something foul.
“Dickens?” He sneered. “Very noble, Im sure. But Miss Whitmore, youre not in some aristocrats parlour. Youre here to work. Or do you think we pay you to daydream?”
Eleanor rose slowly. No fearjust the old, familiar anger simmering in her chest.
“First, you pay me pennies. Second, Ive done my rounds. The wards are clean, the patients seen to. Am I not allowed a break?”
His face darkened. “You dare argue? One more word, and youll be out on the street before you can blink!”
Just then, the door swung open. It was Lucy, her friend and fellow nurse. One glance at the scene, and she understood.
“Eleanor, quickMr. Harris in Bay Six is crashing!”
She grabbed Eleanors arm, pulling her into the hallway, then turned back with sickly sweetness. “Apologies, Dr. Thorne, well sort this straight away!”
Once out of earshot, Lucy exhaled. “Have you lost your mind? Hell destroy you! Just keep your head down, for Gods sake!”
Eleanors voice was low but firm. “I wont stay quiet while he tramples people. Hes not a doctor. Hes a jailer.”
“Your words wont change a thing. But theyll ruin you.”
Eleanor smiled bitterly. Prudence had ceased to mean anything years ago.
At two in the morning, when the hospital had finally stilled, Eleanor dozed off againonly to be jolted awake by shouting in A&E. She rushed in.
On the trolley sat a manfilthy, reeking of alcohol and sweat, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers.
“What happened?” Eleanor asked.
“Knife,” he rasped. “Over nothing just a bloody empty wallet”
Dr. Thorne emerged from his office, drawn by the commotion. He took one look and curled his lip.
“Good Lord, whats this? A drunk from the gutter?”
“Hes bleeding out,” the duty nurse said. “Needs surgery now.”
Thorne didnt move. He just shook his head.
“Im not wasting resources on some vagrant. No insurance, no paperwork. Call the police. Let nature take its course.”
He turned to leave. The staff stood frozen. The man on the trolley groaned, his face grey.
Something in Eleanor snapped.
She was holding an enamel bedpanempty, thank God, reeking only of bleach. In that moment, it felt like a weapon.
Lucy grabbed her arm. “Eleanor, dont! Think of your mum!”
But Eleanor was already moving. She flung open Thornes office door. He looked up from his desk, startled.
“Youre no doctor,” she spat. “You took an oathto help anyone in need! Rich or poor, clean or filthy! Youre just a murderer by neglect!”
Thorne rose slowly, his face twisted with rage.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Your job is to mop floors and empty piss pots, not lecture me! Get out!”
Eleanors voice turned icy.
“Empty piss pots? Fine.”
Before anyone could react, she upended the bedpan over his head.
Silence. Water dripped down his bald patch, onto his pristine collar. Then
“YOURE FIRED! Ill ruin you! Ill have you arrested!”
He stormed out, shrieking. But in A&E, something shifted. The spell was broken.
“Get him to theatrenow!” the senior nurse barked.
The gears of justice, however absurdly, had finally turned.
Eleanor packed her thingsa few books, a photo of her mum, her old rucksackand stepped into the cold dawn. She didnt regret a thing. But she knew what came next: dismissal was just the start. Thorne would press charges. Fines, maybe worse.
At home, her mother, Margaret, sat waiting by the window, wrapped in a shawl.
“Ellie, youre early whats wrong?”
“Nothing, Mum,” Eleanor lied, forcing a smile. “Just finished early. How are you feeling?”
But the truth came hours later, with a knock at the door. A weary constable stood on the step.
“Miss Whitmore? Theres a complaint from Dr. Thorne. Youll need to come with me.”
Margaret paled. Eleanor told her everythingthe homeless man, the refusal, the bedpan. Fear flickered in her mothers eyes but also pride.
Three days later, Lucy called in a panic.
“Men in suits showed upasking about you, about that night! Thorne gave them your address! Be careful!”
The knock came again. Two men in tailored suits stood there.
“Miss Whitmore? Were here to thank you. Were Daniels brothers.”
Danielthe man shed saved. Not a vagrant. A wealthy heir whod gone undercover to prove himself.
He was waiting in a black Bentley, sheepish, clean, alive.
“Name anything,” he said. “Money, university, a jobwhatever you need.”
Eleanor laughed, shaky with relief.
“First, keep me out of jail.”
He smiled. “Already handled.”
A week later, he arrived at her doorroses in hand, awkward but earnest.
“Fancy a cuppa?”
She let him in.
Six months on, they married quietly. A year later, their daughter Charlotte was born. Margarets health improvedproper care, no more stress. She laughed again, held her granddaughter, came back to life.
Three years later, Eleanor graduated top of her class. And one day, she returned to that same hospitalno longer a cleaner, but Dr. Whitmore, invited back by the chief consultant.
In the corridor, she locked eyes with Thorne. He froze. Recognised her. Understoodshe wasnt just a doctor now. She was the wife of a man who could crush him with a word.
Without a sound, he turned and fled. An hour later, his resignation was on the desk.
Eleanor watched him go. She could have destroyed him. Could have made his life hell.
But she didnt.
The strongest justice, she realised, wasnt revenge. It was letting the unworthy fade awayso those who truly cared could take their place.
