The Nightingale Nurses (19 page)

‘Oh, very well, thank you. I thought I would tackle the subject of courage, using the example of Daniel.’ He smiled. ‘Such a wonderful story, don’t you think? A young man who walks into a den of lions for what he believes in.’

Constance looked sharply at her husband, but Timothy Tremayne’s blandly smiling expression gave nothing away.

‘FIVE POUNDS,’ THE
woman in the shop said.

Nick whistled. ‘You sure about that, missus? It’s a pram I’m after, not a Bentley!’

The woman pursed her painted lips. She had pearl-grey hair piled like candy floss on top of her head, and a hoity-toity accent that was as false as the pearls around her throat.

‘It’s a Silver Cross, the best pram you can buy,’ she said. ‘The Duchess of York herself used this one for the little princesses. But if it’s too expensive, we do have cheaper models. Or sir could always find something secondhand in the market . . .’

‘No, thanks.’ Nick stiffened at the insult. No kid of his was going anywhere in a secondhand pram. Only the best for his son or daughter, even if it did cost a bomb.

He crouched down and spun one of the wheels. He wasn’t an expert on prams, but this one looked all right. Handsome, in fact. He could just imagine Ruby pushing it around Victoria Park on a sunny Sunday afternoon, with him at her side. They would stroll by the lake, so their little one could look at the ducks. He’d buy them ice creams from the hokey-pokey man, and feed it to the baby bit by bit . . .

‘So is sir interested or what?’ The woman interrupted his daydream, her accent slipping a fraction.

Nick straightened up. ‘Well, if it’s good enough for royalty, I s’pose it’ll be good enough for us.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. ‘A fiver, you say?’

‘Plus two shillings for storage and delivery.’

‘I don’t want storage or delivery. I’ll take it with me.’

The woman’s pencilled eyebrows rose. ‘Are you sure? Most of our customers prefer to have their pram delivered after the baby’s born.’

‘I said, I’ll take it with me,’ Nick insisted firmly. He couldn’t wait to see Ruby’s face when he showed it to her.

Shafts of pain shot down his back as he pushed the pram along Mile End Road. He’d had two fights that week, and he was feeling it in his bruised muscles.

‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ Nick’s trainer Jimmy had been unsympathetic as he’d cleaned him up after last night’s bout. ‘Carry on like this and you’ll be in no shape for a title fight, you mark my words.’

‘I need the money.’ Nick pressed on a wet towel to staunch the blood flowing from his nose. He would never have let a blow like that touch him if he hadn’t been so worn out. Jimmy was right, he was beginning to lose his edge.

Kids were playing Tin Can Copper on the green in front of the flats. Nick smiled as he passed them. One day it would be his nipper playing out here. He was glad Ruby had dug her heels in and insisted they should move. Victory House was a much better place to bring up a child than the mucky tenements of Griffin Street.

Every muscle in his body protested as he lugged the heavy pram all the way up to the third floor, bumping it up each stair. A group of women gossiping on the stairwell of the second floor stopped to smile at him.

‘New pram, love? That’s a beauty, that is.’

As he walked away, he heard one of them say, ‘I bet his wife’s a happy woman.’

‘I bet she is,’ her friend agreed. ‘Those prams cost a fortune.’

‘I wasn’t talking about the pram!’ the woman cackled.

Smiling to himself, Nick parked the pram in the walkway outside the flat and let himself in. There was a strong smell of carbolic in the air. Ruby must have had a right old spring clean, he thought.

‘Ruby?’ he called again. ‘Are you in? I’ve got something to show you.’

The bedroom door opened. Nick turned, his smile fading when he saw his mother-in-law standing there.

His heart sank. Trust Lettie to be round, sticking her nose in and spoiling his surprise. Ruby saw more of her mum now than she had when they lived under the same roof.

‘You here again?’ he said, shrugging off his jacket. ‘I dunno why you don’t just move in and save yourself the shoe leather.’

He waited for the biting retort, but it didn’t come.

‘Are you going to put the kettle on, or what? You might as well make yourself useful while you’re—’ He saw her stricken expression and broke off. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Lettie stepped towards him, wringing her bony hands. ‘Oh, Nick, it’s Ruby,’ she whimpered. ‘She’s lost the baby!’

She lay curled up like a child on top of the bedspread.

‘Ruby!’ He sank down to his knees beside the bed, all the strength suddenly gone out of him. ‘Are you all right? What’s happened?’

She turned her head to face him, and he was shocked by how pale she looked. Her make-up was streaked in dark rivulets down her ashen cheeks.

He went numb inside. ‘When did it . . .’

‘This afternoon,’ Lettie answered for her. ‘She’d been having pains all day, so she said. She was in a right old state when I came round. Then she went to the lav, and – it happened.’ She turned away, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘Oh, Rube.’ He reached for her hand. Her fingers felt so small and limp in his. ‘Why didn’t you call an ambulance, get yourself to hospital?’

‘What would be the point?’ Lettie spoke up behind him, harsh and practical. ‘It was already over and done with. Terrible mess it was, too. Blood everywhere. I’ve cleaned it all up now. We didn’t want you to come home to all that. Did we, love?’

Ruby opened her mouth, but no sound came from her pale lips.

Guilt stung him. ‘I’m so sorry, Ruby. I should have been here.’

‘You’re here now.’ She found her voice, but it was barely a whisper. Her eyes met his, huge pools of misery. ‘I’m sorry, Nick. I know how much you were looking forward to being a dad . . .’

She started to cry. Nick put his arms around her, holding her close to him as the huge, shuddering sobs racked her body. ‘Shhh, it’s all right, Ruby. Don’t cry, girl, it’s all right.’

‘But . . . but I let you down,’ she sobbed.

‘Don’t talk like that. You haven’t let anyone down.’ He patted her back automatically. He wanted to weep with her, but he couldn’t allow himself to give in. ‘We’d best call for a doctor,’ he said.

‘No!’ She came to life in his arms, no longer the limp rag doll she had been a moment before.

‘She’s right,’ Lettie said. ‘There’s no need. It’s over.’

‘But you should get examined, make sure you’re all right . . .’

‘She don’t want no more fuss. Not after what she’s been through. Ain’t that right, girl?’ Lettie turned to Ruby, who nodded dumbly. ‘She just needs some rest, that’s all.’

‘If you say so.’ Nick frowned, still doubtful. It didn’t seem right to him, but Ruby looked so beaten and worn out, he didn’t want to argue. ‘Anything you want, Ruby.’

She gave him a wan smile. ‘Thank you.’

He stood up and looked around him. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

She shook her head. ‘Mum’s looking after me.’

‘Right.’ He met Lettie’s grim expression with one of his own. He didn’t like her, but he understood Ruby needed her mum.

He started for the door, but Ruby reached for his hand again. ‘Nick?’ she whispered. ‘You won’t . . . leave me, will you?’

The pleading note in her voice caught him by surprise. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I know you only married me because I was expecting. But now the baby’s . . . gone.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I mean, I know there’s no reason for you to stay . . .’

He stared at her, genuinely shocked. ‘Do you really think I’d walk out on you after something like this? Bloody hell, what kind of a bloke do you think I am?’

‘I – I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I wasn’t sure—’

‘Well, I ain’t going anywhere.’ He bent down, pulling her close. ‘We’re going to get through this, Ruby. You and me.’

‘You and me,’ she sighed, her arms closing around him.

He left Lettie fussing over her daughter, and went into the sitting room. He found the medicinal bottle of brandy in the sideboard and splashed some into a glass, his hand shaking. Poor Ruby. She looked so pale and fragile, curled up on the bed. He couldn’t bear to think of what she’d gone through.

He crossed over to the window and stared out. The first thing he saw was the pram, parked on the walkway outside.

How could he ever have thought it was beautiful? It was nothing but a huge hunk of metal, taunting him. It took all his self-control not to throw the damn thing off the walkway. All he wanted was to see it smashed on the ground below, its gleaming bodywork crushed and twisted, wheels spinning uselessly in the air.

He sank back down on the settee and gulped his brandy. The burning in his throat briefly numbed the pain he felt. His limbs were so heavy, he couldn’t move. He wanted to stay there for ever, staring into nothing.

In the middle of his despair, he suddenly thought of Dora. He desperately wanted to talk to her. Somehow he knew she would understand, be able to take his pain away . . .

He stopped himself. It was wicked of him to be thinking of another woman when Ruby had been through something so terrible, had just lost their baby. He had to be strong for her. She needed him, now more than ever, and he had made a promise to her.

He refilled his glass and downed it in one. Then he sank his head in his hands and, in the gathering darkness of the sitting room, where no one could see him, Nick Riley cried.

‘
DR ADLER’S LOOKING
very spruced up these days, don’t you think?’ Penny Willard commented.

Dora squinted across the waiting room at the doctor, who was crouching down to reassure a crying child. There was certainly something different about him. He’d trimmed his shaggy mane of dark curls and his white coat was well pressed for once.

‘I can’t remember the last time he asked me to sew a button on for him,’ Penny said.

‘Maybe he’s got someone else to sew them on for him?’

He’d certainly had a spring in his step since Esther Gold came in to have her stitches taken out. He’d also stopped working late into the night and sleeping on benches. He hadn’t said anything, but everyone knew he and Miss Gold were walking out together.

‘Do you think he’ll bring her to the ball?’ Penny asked.

Dora rolled her eyes. With the Founder’s Day Ball only a matter of weeks away, it was all Penny seemed to talk about.

‘At least he’s got someone to go with,’ Penny sighed, her chin in her hand. ‘I still can’t find anyone to take me.’

‘You could always go on your own? Lots of the other girls are.’ She’d heard some of her set making plans to go together. They made it sound so much fun, Dora wished she could go with them. But Joe had already bought their tickets.

‘Doesn’t look as if I’ve got much choice, does it?’ Penny said. ‘It’s all right for you, you’ve got a boyfriend to take you. You’re one of the lucky ones.’

‘Aren’t I just?’ Dora muttered.

At that moment, Nick emerged from the corridor behind them, pushing an empty wheelchair. His expression was even surlier than usual.

‘He looks happy,’ Penny remarked. ‘I wonder if he’s coming to the ball?’ She smiled. ‘I’ll ask him, shall I?’

‘I wouldn’t—’ Dora started to say, but Penny was already calling out to him as he passed.

‘Will you be bringing your wife to the ball, Mr Riley?’

He whipped round to scowl at them. ‘What?’

‘The Founder’s Day Ball. I wondered if we’d be meeting Mrs Riley there? Or are you thinking of going by yourself?’ Penny gave him a slow, lazy smile. ‘Because if you are . . .’

‘I don’t know anything about a ball, and I don’t want to know either!’

He barrelled past them, pushing the empty wheelchair as if it was a battering ram.

‘Well!’ Penny watched him go, eyes wide with astonishment. ‘I didn’t think he could get any more bad-tempered, but he’s managed it. What do you suppose that was about?’

‘I haven’t got a clue.’ Dora frowned. But she understood him well enough to know when he was angry, and when he was upset. And Nick Riley was definitely upset.

Before Nick had reached the double doors, they crashed open and a heavily pregnant woman staggered in, on the arm of a middle-aged man. He looked so sick and white-faced, it was hard to tell which of them needed treatment.

‘Help me, please!’ he begged. ‘My wife’s having a baby!’

‘Well, she can’t have it here!’ Sister Percival appeared, brisk as ever. ‘You need the Maternity ward. It’s out of the doors, turn right—’

She started to direct him, but the man cut her off. ‘You don’t understand,’ he cried. ‘It isn’t due for at least another month. But she fell down the stairs and now her waters have broken. That’s not right, is it? It shouldn’t have happened now.’

Sister Percival took a step back, assessing the situation. Then she turned to Penny. ‘Ring the bell,’ she ordered, in a clipped voice. ‘And you,’ she called to Nick. ‘Bring that wheelchair over here immediately.’

Suddenly the whole room was galvanised into action. Dr McKay appeared, and within moments Dora found herself in the consulting room with him and the woman.

‘I – I tripped and took a tumble down the stairs,’ she stammered as Dora helped her on to the bed. She was older than Dora had first thought, in her late-thirties. Her eyes were wide with terror in her thin face. ‘I blacked out for a couple of minutes, and when I came to . . .’

‘Shh, try to calm down, love.’ Dora held the woman’s hand. ‘The doctor is just going to have a listen to the baby’s heart, see what’s going on.’

But one glance at Dr McKay’s face as he listened with his ear trumpet to the woman’s distended abdomen told her that all was not well.

‘The heartbeat is very slow,’ he said. He gently pressed the woman’s belly, feeling around for the baby’s position. ‘How long have you been having contractions?’

‘I’m not sure . . . Quite a while, I think. My waters broke an hour ago.’ The women looked from one to the other. ‘Is my baby all right?’

‘I’ll have a better idea about that when I’ve examined you properly.’ Dr McKay was already scrubbing his hands under the tap.