The Nightingale Sisters (18 page)

Millie glanced down at Sparky, who was baring his teeth dangerously close to her ankle. ‘Last week, Sister.’

‘Last week? A likely story.’ Her eyes were like tiny black raisins in her big doughy face.

As Home Sister, she was in charge of the welfare of the students living in the nurses’ home. Before she’d started her training, Millie had looked forward to having someone motherly in her life. But she soon found out Sister Sutton was as maternal as a regimental sergeant major.

Sensing Sister Sutton was about to go into one of her lectures, Millie did the only sensible thing she could, and burst into tears.

‘Good gracious, girl!’ Sister Sutton stepped back, startled. Even Sparky stopped snarling. ‘What on earth is the matter with you?’

‘I – I’m sorry, Sister,’ she gulped, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘I’ve just been on the telephone to my boyfriend, and he told me—’

‘Yes, well, that’s enough of that, thank you very much!’ Sister Sutton flapped her hand. ‘Go up to your room and pull yourself together.’

‘Y-Yes, Sister.’

Millie hid her smile behind her handkerchief as she watched Sister bustle away. She might be an authority on a well-made bed or a properly starched apron, but if there was anything that threw Sister Sutton into confusion, it was having to deal with young girls’ emotional problems. Bringing a troublesome boyfriend into the conversation had saved her from endless lectures recently.

Millie hurried upstairs to the attic bedroom she shared with Helen and Dora. Dora was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her head in a textbook, while Helen craned her neck to apply her make-up in the small square mirror above the chest of drawers. Both of them were managing to ignore Millie’s upended bed in the middle of the room.

‘Not again!’ she sighed, picking up a pillow. ‘Honestly, doesn’t Sister Sutton ever get tired of doing this?’

‘I’ll give you a hand.’ Dora put down her book and slid off the bed.

As she and Dora hauled the heavy horsehair mattress back on to the iron bedstead, Millie told them about having to let Seb down on his birthday.

‘This is all your mother’s fault.’ She glared at Helen. ‘Couldn’t she and the other Trustees pick another day to visit?’

‘Don’t talk to me about it. I’m not looking forward to it any more than you are.’ Helen pulled the pins out of her hair and fluffed it out around her face. ‘She’s bound to find fault with me. She always does.’

‘I thought you two had called a truce?’ After sharing a room with her for nearly two years, Millie knew only too well how Helen used to live in fear of her over-critical mother. But recently Constance Tremayne seemed to have relaxed her tight grip on her daughter’s life.

‘Oh, we have. But that doesn’t stop her disapproving of everything I do.’ Helen ran a brush through her hair. ‘She’s even worse since I started going out with Charlie. She’s convinced he’s somehow going to stop me finishing my training.’

‘That’s never going to happen, is it?’ Helen had blossomed and lost much of her shyness since she’d met him. But she was still the hardest-working student Millie knew. ‘So where’s he taking you tonight?’

‘Just to the pictures. There’s a new John Wayne film on at the Rialto. Not that I really mind what I see, as long as I can sit down and rest my feet!’ she grimaced.

‘Why don’t we go to the pictures?’ Millie suggested to Dora. ‘I could do with a night out.’

Dora shook her head. ‘I’m back on duty in half an hour. I don’t finish until nine tonight,’ she said, as she tucked in the sheet on Millie’s bed.

‘Some other night, then?’

‘I can’t afford it.’

‘But we only got paid yesterday! You can’t have spent it all already?’ Millie laughed in disbelief.

Dora kept her head down as she smoothed the blanket into place. ‘That’s my business,’ she muttered.

‘Then I’ll pay.’

‘No, thanks.’ She straightened up, shook the pillow and put it in place. ‘I’ve told you before. I’m not a charity case.’

‘I didn’t say you were.’ Millie frowned as Dora headed for the door. ‘Where are you going? Doyle—’ But she’d already gathered up her books and disappeared out of the door.

Millie turned to Helen. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Search me.’ Helen shrugged. ‘You know how prickly she can be, especially about money.’

‘Don’t tell me I’ve put my foot in it again?’ Millie sighed. She always seemed to be doing that with Dora.

BY THE MIDDLE
of February, Jennie Armstrong was well enough to go home.

‘Never underestimate the healing power of youth!’ Dr Tremayne grinned, when he’d finished examining her. ‘And excellent nursing, of course,’ he added, winking at Dora.

She felt herself blushing as she fumbled with the notes he’d handed her. Having worked on the ward with him, she now understood why William Tremayne was so popular with the nurses at the Nightingale. He was so warm and charming, she could imagine him sweeping any woman off her feet.

‘Nurse Doyle, are you and Dr Tremayne – you know?’ Jennie was agog when he’d gone, and Dora was emptying her locker.

‘No!’ she laughed. ‘Although I think I’m probably the only nurse in this hospital who can say that,’ she added with a conspiratorial grin.

‘You don’t have a boyfriend then?’

Dora shook her head. ‘Not me. Do you want to take these flowers with you? It seems a shame to throw them away.’

‘Leave them here, if you like,’ Jennie said. ‘My brother probably meant them for you as much as me anyway,’ she added archly. She looked much younger than her seventeen years, with her big shining eyes and impish face.

‘So are you looking forward to going home?’ Dora changed the subject swiftly.

Jennie’s smile faded. ‘Going back to cooking and cleaning and getting beatings off my dad, you mean? I can’t wait,’ she said bitterly.

Dora looked at her. ‘Is it that bad?’

‘I hate it.’ The vehemence in Jennie’s voice surprised her. ‘He’s made my life a misery ever since Mum died. I can’t wait to get away.’ She pulled a dead petal off one of the flowers. ‘I thought I was going to get away with . . . him,’ she said quietly.

‘Your boyfriend?’

‘He said he’d look after me. He promised we were going to get married, have a place of our own . . .’ she trailed off miserably.

‘But then he cleared off?’

Jennie looked up at her, her green eyes pools of unhappiness. ‘Turns out he was lying about everything,’ she said. ‘He was never going to marry me. How could he when—’ She stopped herself from finishing the sentence.

‘Sounds as if you’re better off without him,’ Dora said. ‘Any man who can walk out on a young girl in trouble isn’t worth knowing, in my opinion.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Jennie said. ‘It wasn’t because of the baby. He didn’t even know I was pregnant when he – left me.’

‘And you didn’t tell him?’

‘I wanted to, but I didn’t get the chance. And then I found out he was married.’

‘Ah.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Jennie insisted, tears filling her eyes. ‘I would never have gone with him if I’d known he already had a wife and kids.’

‘Don’t cry, ducks.’ Dora pressed a handkerchief into Jennie’s hands as she started to sob.

She looked at the young girl’s anguished face. She was so naïve and desperate for love, she would have been easy pickings for a smooth-talking married man looking for a bit on the side. It was such a shame.

Sister Wren kept them busy for the rest of the morning, searching for – of all things – Mrs Venables’ jar of jam, which had gone missing.

‘Someone has stolen it from the kitchen,’ she announced dramatically. ‘I want you to search the whole ward, including the lockers and under the beds. Leave no stone unturned, Nurses!’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Laura Ennis whispered as they pulled out the kitchen cupboards to search. ‘It’s only a jar of jam, not the crown jewels!’

‘True, but you know what she’s like when she’s got a bee in her bonnet,’ Dora replied, sighing. ‘And since those eggs disappeared, she’s convinced we’ve got a thief in our midst.’

She was searching under a bed when Joe Armstrong arrived to collect his sister. Dora saw a pair of polished shoes a few feet from her nose, then shifted her gaze up to his face.

He stared down at her curiously. He was clutching a large bunch of flowers. ‘Looking for something?’ he asked.

‘A jar of jam, would you believe?’ She stood up, dusting invisible specks off her apron. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t let on to Sister that you’re a policeman, or she’ll have you clapping us all in handcuffs.’

‘Come again?’ he frowned in confusion.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She smiled brightly at him. ‘You’ve come to collect Jennie? She’s all ready for you.’

She started to lead the way to Jennie’s bed, but Joe stopped her.

‘Just a minute, Nurse. These are for you.’ He thrust the flowers at her. ‘To thank you for everything you’ve done for our Jennie,’ he explained.

‘They’re lovely, Mr Armstrong. Thank you.’ Dora buried her face in the blooms, enjoying their scent. ‘But you didn’t have to do that.’

‘I know, but I wanted to.’

He slicked down his blond hair nervously. He was blushing, Dora noticed. In a sudden flash of intuition, she knew he was going to ask her out.

‘Dora—’ he began.

‘We’re all very pleased with the way your sister has recovered,’ she interrupted him, her mouth dry with panic. ‘She’ll still need plenty of rest to keep her strength up, but if you look after her she should be as right as rain—’

‘I’ll look after her, don’t you worry. Dora, there’s something I wanted to ask you—’

Dora stared at him, panic-stricken. Oh God, she thought. Please don’t ask me. Please . . .

‘Doyle? Don’t you have anything better to do than gossip?’ Sister Wren’s shrill voice sounded like music to her ears.

‘I was just saying goodbye to Miss Armstrong, Sister.’

‘Yes, well, now you’ve said it.’ Sister Wren bustled over, her starched apron crackling as she walked. ‘Now get those flowers in water quickly and get on with your work. Have you found that jam yet?’

‘Not yet, Sister.’

‘Then get on with it!’

Dora turned to Joe. ‘Sorry, I have to go,’ she whispered.

‘But I wanted to—’

She gave an apologetic shrug and hurried off before he could finish, for once sending up a silent prayer of gratitude for Sister Wren’s bossiness.

‘
IT HAS BEEN
three days now, Matron. Surely this situation cannot be allowed to continue?’

Kathleen Fox glanced at the polished wooden clock on her office wall and sighed. It was five minutes past ten. Her Assistant Matron usually liked to complain about the Night Sister’s continued absence by ten o’clock sharp every morning.

‘There isn’t a problem surely, Miss Hanley? Miss Wychwood is managing perfectly well as relief Night Sister.’

‘That’s as may be, but it’s most inconvenient that we have to cover for Miss Tanner’s absence.’ Miss Hanley’s broad, square face was indignant. ‘The rotas are all over the place.’

Ah, the rotas. Kathleen Fox smiled to herself. Her Assistant Matron had an obsession with lists and time-tables that bordered on the fanatical. Kathleen was sure it must have something to do with Miss Hanley’s father’s military background.

‘I’m sure Miss Tanner didn’t become unwell with the intention of deliberately disrupting your rotas,’ she said mildly.

‘Unwell! Sisters do not become unwell. The former Night Sister did not take a day off sick in nearly twenty years of working here.’

‘The former Night Sister dropped dead on duty. She is hardly a shining example.’

Miss Hanley’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Is that one of your jokes, Matron?’

Their sense of humour was one of the many things that divided them. It was no secret that Veronica Hanley, or ‘Manly Hanley’ as many of the nurses called her, had wanted the Matron’s job. Many agreed she should have had it, too. She was tough and self-disciplined, and would have commanded the hospital like her father commanded the Hampshire Regiment in Lucknow.

But Kathleen Fox had been appointed instead, much to Miss Hanley’s dismay. The Assistant Matron had made life difficult during Matron’s first year, although the pair had settled into an uneasy truce lately.

But that didn’t stop the occasional moments of friction.

‘So what do you suggest I should do, Miss Hanley?’ Kathleen asked wearily. ‘Go to her home, drag her out by her hair and insist she returns to her duties?’

‘It might not be a bad idea to find out if and when she intends to return,’ Miss Hanley sniffed.

Kathleen Fox studied the blotter on her desk in front of her. For once, she had to admit Miss Hanley had a point. It would be an imposition to expect the relief Night Sister to continue indefinitely.

And there was something else, too. Something that had been troubling her ever since Miss Tanner had first telephoned to say she was unwell. Matron couldn’t think what it was, but there was something in the tone of her voice that had made her think Violet Tanner wasn’t telling her the full story.

‘Very well, Miss Hanley,’ she said. ‘I shall pay a visit to our Miss Tanner.’

‘Nurse! Come here immediately.’

‘Yes, Mrs Mortimer, what is it?’

Millie was pleased with herself for remembering to call her by her full name. Last time she’d chummily called her ‘Maud’ by accident, and had received a dressing down from both her and Sister Hyde. Mrs Mortimer’s was far, far worse.

‘For heaven’s sake, I don’t want you!’ Maud dismissed her. ‘I want a proper nurse. What about that dark-haired girl?’ She nodded towards Helen at the far end of the ward. ‘She seems to know what she’s doing.’

‘Nurse Tremayne is busy, Mrs Mortimer. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,’ Millie said cheerfully. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

‘Very well.’ Mrs Mortimer gave a martyred sigh. ‘My pillows need adjusting.’

Not a please or thank you, Millie thought as she shook and plumped the pillows and put them carefully back in place. Maud Mortimer always addressed the nurses as if they were servants.

‘There. Is that better?’ she said.

Mrs Mortimer leant back against them. ‘It will have to do, I suppose,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Although I daresay a real nurse would have made a better job of it.’