The Return of the Indian by Lynne Reid Banks Read Free Book Online

need for alarm, ladies just a little electrical failure; we’ll have the emergency generator working in no time!”
    Omri opened the cupboard door.
    “Ah!” cried the voice.
“That’s
more like it! Now, what was I—”
    And it stopped.
    Omri swung the door right back. The matron stood there on the shelf where they had put her, her hands coming slowly away from her hips. She looked at the two enormous faces for a few seconds. Then she covered her eyes, rubbed them, shook her head briskly, and looked again. Then she said, “What’s this, then, boys, some kind of trick? Put the mirrors away and get back to your beds.” Then, when nothing happened, her face suddenly went as white as her cap. She did a kind of spin on one heel and fell straight backwards off the shelf.
    Omri just managed to catch her. He’d been half expecting something of the sort. She lay in the palm of his hand in a dead faint. Omri marveled at the feeling of her tiny warm limp body, in its crisp starched clothes, alive … He transported her gently to the chest and showed her to Bright Stars.
    “White woman dead?” she asked, aghast.
    “No, no. She’s just had a fright. Make her sit up and put her head between her knees.” He showed her how. Bright Stars wasted no time. After a minute or two, the matron showed signs of reviving. The first thing she didwas reach up to check that her cap, which was like a white organdy castle with flying buttresses and banners, was still in place. Miraculously, it was.
    She scrambled to her feet and stared around her. She was middle-aged, Omri guessed from her face and voice. She wore glasses and no makeup and looked formidable. He was glad that he was not a patient in her charge. At the same time, she did look as if she knew her job—if only she was not too terrified to do it.
    He cleared his throat.
    “I know it’s hard to believe,” he began, “But you’ve come through a magic cupboard which has made you very small. Please don’t be frightened. You can think it’s a dream if you like, or some kind of trick, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. After you’ve helped us, you can go back to your … your normal life. Would you mind telling us your name?”
    The woman opened and shut her mouth several times like a goldfish. Then she managed to say, very faintly, “You may call me Matron.” Then she swayed and put her hand to her forehead. “I must be going mad!” she muttered. And she looked as if she might fall over again.
    “Please! You’re not mad. Don’t faint!”
    Matron stiffened at once and lifted her chin.
    “Faint? Me?
Don’t be absurd, I’ve never fainted in my entire life!” She straightened her splendid cap and stared at them haughtily. “Matrons don’t faint! The very idea.”
    Patrick opened his mouth, but Omri nudged him into silence.
    “I beg your pardon,” he said.
    “Not that I wouldn’t be grateful for a strong cup of tea,” she remarked severely. “Especially if there’s any work to be done.”
    “There is!” Omri exclaimed eagerly. “I’ll get you some tea later, but could you please look at a patient for us?”
    Bright Stars was already almost pulling Matron over to where Little Bear was lying on the ground.
    “Dear me,” murmured the Matron. She adjusted her cap and her glasses and knelt down beside Little Bear’s prone form. After a brief but efficient examination, she rose, looked over her glasses at Bright Stars, evidently decided
she
was innocent of any crime, and turned her accusing gaze on the boys.
    “This man,” she announced, “has been shot in the back.”
    “Yes, we know,” said Omri.
    “He needs an immediate operation to remove the bullets.”
    “We
know,”
said Omri. “Only, they’re not bullets, they’re musket balls. You see—”
    “He must be taken at once to the nearest hospital. I recommend my own—St. Thomas’s.”
    “Matron,” said Patrick.
    “Yes, young man?”
    “We can’t. You see, St. Thomas’s is our size, and