The Nightingale Sisters (12 page)

She hoped he wouldn’t be too hard on his sister. Dora had grown to know and like Jennie Armstrong in the week she’d been nursing her. She was seventeen years old, but very young and naïve for her age. Dora got the impression that she didn’t have much of a life, working long hours at a textile factory as well as looking after her father and brother since her mother died. She was just the type to end up getting into trouble. A frightened little girl who was easily led astray and didn’t know any better.

Not that she ever talked about her baby’s father. The only time Dora had mentioned him, a blank look had come into Jennie’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ was all she would say.

When Dora went round with the tea trolley later, Jenny and Joe were still talking. Her face was puffy with tears, but from the way she gripped her brother’s hand, Dora guessed it wasn’t he who had caused them.

‘Doyle, why do you keep making eyes at that young man?’ Sister Wren’s shrill voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘I – I don’t, Sister.’

‘Don’t argue with me, I’ve been watching you.’ She stood in front of the trolley, blocking the way. ‘Keep your mind on your work, please. If I catch you looking at him again, I’ll have to teach you a lesson with a cold bath punishment.’

‘If you ask me, she’s the one who needs the cold bath punishment,’ Katie O’Hara whispered as Dora passed her on her way to the kitchen. ‘Have you seen the way she’s been looking at Mrs Venables’ son? She can’t take her eyes off him.’

‘What’s a cold bath punishment when it’s at home?’

‘Haven’t you heard of it before? Sister’s always handing it out to nurses she thinks are man-mad. You have to get up at the crack of dawn and report to Night Sister for an ice cold bath. And I mean ice cold. Even colder than the baths at the nurses’ home after the seniors have been at the hot water! Mind you,’ she added, ‘I think that one might be worth risking a cold bath for, don’t you?’ She nodded towards Joe Armstrong.

‘You think any man is worth risking a cold bath for!’ Dora laughed. Plump, pretty Katie O’Hara had come over from a small village in Ireland to be a student at the Nightingale like her elder sisters. She was making the most of being in the big city, away from her mammy.

Visiting time finished, and the usual routine of beds and backs, changing dressings and handing out bedpans, began. But first they had to search all the patients’ lockers, confiscating anything that might go mouldy. Any food that could be used went into the ward larder for safekeeping, or to be shared among the rest of the patients.

Sister Wren stood at the larder, greedily eyeing the food as it came in. She was particularly impressed with a jar of home-made jam Mrs Venables’ son had brought in, a gift from her sister.

‘The patients can have that with their breakfast,’ she announced.

‘And she can have it with her tea and toast while she’s putting her feet up this afternoon!’ Katie grinned to Dora as she handed over a box of eggs she’d found.

Jennie Armstrong seemed a lot more cheerful when Dora went to treat her back for bedsores.

‘How did it go?’ she asked, as she carefully washed and dried Jennie’s shoulders and hips. She was so thin, Dora could trace all the knobbly bones of her spine under her skin.

‘It was all right. He was upset, but he wasn’t angry. And he’s told Dad I got rushed into hospital with appendicitis, so he’s none the wiser.’ She sounded relieved. ‘I’m glad about that, at least. I don’t want him finding out what happened.’

‘I’m surprised he hasn’t come in to see you too?’

There was a long silence. Then Jennie said, ‘Dad would never come. I wouldn’t want him to, anyway.’ Her voice was heavy with resentment.

‘You don’t get on with him, then?’ Dora said, dabbing on methylated spirits.

Jennie didn’t reply. Dora wondered if the faded bruises and scars that covered the girl’s back were answer enough.

‘At least you’ve made it up with your brother, that’s a good thing,’ she said.

‘Yes, I’m pleased about that. Joe’s always looked after me. He’s the strong one, you see. Even my dad listens to him.’ Then her smile faded. ‘I just wish he hadn’t kept going on about my . . . the baby’s father.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He kept on at me, wanting to know who he was and where he lived.’

‘I expect he just wants him to face up to what he’s done.’

‘He wants to kill him, more like. Joe would rip him apart with his bare hands if he ever got hold of him.’

‘So you didn’t tell him?’

Jennie shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. He’d never find him.’ Her voice was dull. ‘He’s long gone.’

‘You mean he did a runner after he found out about the baby?’

Jennie kept her mouth tight shut, trapping the words, as if she’d already said too much.

‘It’s all right,’ Dora went on. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’

Jennie regarded her warily. ‘You wouldn’t tell Joe?’

‘’Course not. I know how to keep a secret, believe me.’

Jennie hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m too ashamed. It turns out . . . he wasn’t the man I thought he was.’

‘In what way?’

But Jennie didn’t reply. Dora saw a tear squeezing out from between tightly shut lids, and understood that, whatever had happened with Jennie’s mystery man, it was too painful for her to talk about.

She didn’t think any more of it until she was sent off duty at five. She was crossing the courtyard when she spotted Joe Armstrong sitting on a bench under the plane trees. A freezing wind whipped his fair hair across his face but he hardly seemed to notice as he smoked a cigarette, his gaze directed into space. He looked as if he had the worries of the world on his broad shoulders.

Dora hesitated. Should she go over? She remembered the last time she’d taken it upon herself to speak to him. She’d caused more harm than good that day, and didn’t want to repeat it. Besides, they were right outside Matron’s office. She would only have to look out of the window and Dora would be in for a lot more trouble than Sister Wren’s cold bath punishment.

But Joe Armstrong looked so desolate, she was walking towards him before she could stop herself.

‘All right, Mr Armstrong?’

He looked up at her sharply. ‘Oh, it’s you, Nurse. Sorry, I was miles away.’

‘Is there something on your mind?’

‘Just thinking, Nurse.’

‘Visiting time finished over an hour ago.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot of thinking to do, haven’t I?’

Dora took a quick glance towards Matron’s window, then sat down beside him. ‘Jennie will be all right, you know.’

‘Will she?’ Joe Armstrong looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘She told me she can’t have kids now. What kind of life is that going to be for her, tell me that.’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. His hands were shaking, Dora noticed. ‘Our Jennie’s always loved babies. All she’s ever wanted is to get married and have a family of her own. Who’s going to want her now?’

‘I – I’m sorry.’

Joe’s shoulders slumped. ‘No, Nurse, I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.’ He managed a weary smile. ‘Our Jennie couldn’t stop talking about you . . . Nurse Doyle this, Nurse Doyle that. I don’t think she would have pulled through if it hadn’t been for you.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that—’

‘I do. You’ve been kind to her. And Jennie’s not had a lot of kindness in her life, I can tell you.’

Their eyes met and held. Dora rose to her feet, feeling suddenly awkward. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘If Matron sees me talking to you, she’ll have my guts for garters.’

As she started to walk away, he called her back. ‘Nurse?’

‘Yes?’ She looked over her shoulder.

‘I don’t suppose she’s said anything to you . . . about who did this to her?’

Dora thought about her promise to Jennie, and shook her head. ‘Not to me.’

‘Probably just as well.’ Joe Armstrong dropped his cigarette end and ground it out viciously with the heel of his boot. ‘But I daresay I’ll find him soon enough.’

Nick Riley was having a cigarette behind the Porters’ Lodge when he spotted Dora talking to Joe Armstrong.

He recognised Armstrong immediately. The man belonged to the Poplar Boxing Club, and they’d faced each other in the ring a few times. He had a reputation as a dirty fighter and most of the lads were afraid of him. But not Nick.

Why was he talking to Dora? Nick immediately felt his hackles rise.

It seemed to him sometimes as if he’d spent most of his life watching Dora Doyle, never quite getting up the courage to speak his mind. They had lived next door to each other for more than ten years, his family and hers, always in and out of each other’s houses. He had been eleven years old when she first arrived in Griffin Street, already on the verge of manhood and responsible for putting food on his family’s table. He’d watched Dora play with the younger kids, and envied her her freedom. He’d listened to her sitting on the pavement, telling them stories, and wished he could sit at her feet like they did. He’d felt so tongue-tied and foolish around her, all he could do was lash out and tease her. But even then she was more than a match for him. When he’d made fun of her frizzy ginger hair she’d kicked him in the shins, so hard it had brought tears to his eyes, although he would never let her see how much she’d hurt him.

And she’d hurt him again, just a few months ago, when he’d finally plucked up the courage to kiss her. It was the first time he’d ever shown his real feelings, the first time he’d made himself vulnerable to anyone.

And she’d rejected him.

The memory of it still burnt. He’d made up his mind in that moment that he would forget her. He had even started courting Ruby Pike in an effort to push all thoughts of Dora from his mind and his heart.

But he had never realised how hard it would be.

He watched her turn away from Joe and head across the courtyard towards him. As she drew level with the Porters’ Lodge, he stepped out in front of her.

‘Oh, Nick! You nearly gave me a heart attack!’ Dora put her hand to her chest.

‘Was that Joe Armstrong you were talking to?’

She frowned. ‘You know him?’

‘I’ve been in the ring with him a few times.’

‘He’s a boxer?’ She considered it for a moment. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘He’s been in to visit his sister.’

‘The girl who had the backstreet abortion?’

He saw the flash of anger in Dora’s face. ‘Who told you that?’ she snapped. Then, before he could answer, she said, ‘I suppose it was Lettie Pike?’ Her mouth tightened. ‘That old bag shouldn’t go around gossiping.’

‘Asking Lettie Pike not to gossip is like asking her not to breathe.’

‘True.’ Dora smiled reluctantly. She wasn’t even pretty, Nick thought. Her mouth was too wide, her nose was too pudgy and smattered with far too many freckles. And as for that hair . . . He’d always gone for lookers in the past. Real glamour girls, like Ruby. The kind who turned men’s heads in the street.

Dora would never turn any man’s head. And yet when she looked at Nick in a certain way, it was like someone had lit a firework inside him.

‘So why was he talking to you?’ he asked.

‘You’re a nosy one, aren’t you? It’s not like you to want to know everyone’s business. If you ask me, you’ve been spending too long with Lettie Pike!’ There was a teasing glint in Dora’s eyes. ‘If you must know, he’s worried about his sister.’

‘I daresay he’ll want to know who got her into trouble, too. I know if I were him, I’d want to make someone pay for what they did to her.’ Someone always had to pay. It was the East End way.

‘And you think that would help his poor sister?’

‘You’ve got to protect the people you love,’ Nick insisted stubbornly.

Perhaps if he’d stepped in sooner, he could have protected his brother Danny from their dad. As it was, he’d made Reg Riley pay in the end, giving him a taste of his own medicine and then running him out of Bethnal Green for good.

‘Violence isn’t the answer to everything, Nick,’ Dora said.

It got rid of your stepdad, didn’t it? he wanted to reply.

He would never have interfered in anyone else’s business, but when Danny told him he’d seen Alf Doyle beating Dora that day, it was as if someone had flicked a switch inside Nick’s head, rekindling all his old rage. A few days later he’d cornered Alf in an alleyway and convinced him to pack his bags and leave Griffin Street. And, coward that he was, Alf hadn’t argued.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have interfered, thought Nick. But as he’d said to Dora, you had to protect the people you loved.

It was the way he looked at her. In all the months they’d been courting, Lettie Pike had never seen Nick look at her Ruby the way he looked at Dora Doyle.

She had stopped for a moment by the window to rub her aching back. Those nurses thought they had it so hard, but they should do her job, she thought. She was getting too old for sweeping and scrubbing and laying fires. She should have been putting her feet up. And she would have been, too, if her lazy husband Len ever managed to stay away from the bookies long enough. Between the horses and the drink, he somehow managed to squander every penny she brought home, and a lot more besides. He’d even found the few quid she’d hidden in a toffee tin under the bed, the thieving sod. And when she’d complained, he’d given her a clout round the ear for hiding it in the first place.

She glanced out of the window and caught sight of Dora Doyle talking to a young man under the trees in the middle of the courtyard. And she wasn’t the only one watching. From the shadows behind the Porters’ Lodge, Nick Riley was watching them too.

Lettie felt a prickle of unease.

She stood rooted to the spot as Dora finished talking to the young man and headed across the courtyard. Then Nick stepped out in front of her.

Lettie pressed her nose against the glass, but she didn’t have to hear what they were saying. It was there, in the way they looked at each other.

‘Sister?’ she called out.

‘What is it, Lettie?’ Sister Wren came over straight away.

They’d worked together on the ward for many years. Sister didn’t treat her like she did the nurses. She understood Lettie’s value too much for that. The maid was her eyes and ears on the ward; she let Sister know when the nurses were getting up to no good.