A Nightingale Christmas Promise Page 10

  Kate saw her cue, and went straight in, one hand stuck out.

  ‘Good morning, sir. I’m Kate Carlyle.’

  He ignored her outstretched hand. ‘We all know who you are, young woman.’ He turned to address the other students. ‘Gentlemen, we are privileged to have the daughter of one of our consulting physicians with us. I’m sure you all feel, as I do, we are truly in the presence of greatness.’

  Kate’s smile wavered as she let her hand fall back to her side. She didn’t like the way the other students all smirked at her.

  ‘Right, let us begin. We are already late.’ Dr Ormerod pushed open the double doors and marched through, leaving the rest of them to scurry after him.

  They went around each of the consultant’s patients in turn, followed by a retinue of nurses. As they reached each bed, Dr Ormerod would pause while one of his senior housemen presented the case, then he would turn to the students and ask their opinion.

  The students all jostled each other, hoping to catch the Great Man’s eye. For the first three patients, Kate found herself at the back, lost among the nurses. She could barely see past the wall of white coats in front of her. By the time they had reached the end of the ward, she had managed to elbow her way through to a position where she could at least see the patient, a pale middle-aged woman, who wore a lacy bed jacket and a lot of cheap scent.

  Kate sniffed the air. The scent was overpowering and unpleasant. It had a curious, pungent undercurrent, like pine trees.

  Dr Latimer read aloud from his notes. ‘New patient admitted yesterday,’ he quoted. ‘Complaining of fever, which started with a chill, followed by pain and swelling, which migrates from joint to joint. Inflamed joints are painful to the touch. Temperature ranges around one hundred and two degrees, and the pulse is rapid and irregular.’

  ‘Thank you, Latimer.’ Dr Ormerod looked around at the students. ‘What are we seeing here?’

  ‘Um – scarlet fever?’ Evans suggested cautiously.

  Dr Ormerod fixed him with a beady stare. ‘Do you think we would have her lying here in the middle of the ward if she were suffering from an infectious disease? Good grief, man! Think before you speak!’

  ‘Influenza?’ someone else suggested, and was rewarded with another baleful glare from the Great Man.

  Dr Ormerod sighed. ‘Very well, what if I were to tell you the patient sweats freely, and that this sweat is acid and possessed of a sour and foul odour?’ He looked around at them. ‘Tongue is coated, appetite lost, bowels are constipated. Urine scanty and concentrated, and she has anaemia.’

  Kate looked at the woman. She was looking quite dismayed.

  ‘Acute arthritis,’ Kate said.

  A silence followed her words. Dr Ormerod’s gaze skimmed briefly over her, then settled on the young men around her.

  ‘And can anyone tell me the most common complication of acute arthritis?’ he asked.

  ‘Endocarditis,’ someone said.

  ‘Correct. Any others?’

  ‘Periocarditis.’

  ‘Meningitis.’

  ‘Convulsions, chorea and nephritis.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Dr Ormerod. ‘Although fortunately this case appears to be rather more straightforward.’

  The woman’s face relaxed. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘For a minute there I thought I was a goner for sure!’

  Dr Ormerod turned back to his students. ‘Treatment?’ he said.

  ‘Absolute rest and the application of heat to the affected joints,’ said the serious-looking young man whose name was Gibson.

  ‘And?’ The students looked at each other. Dr Ormerod sighed impatiently. ‘Come on, what else?’

  Kate wiped her watering eyes. The woman’s perfume was truly unpleasant, almost overpowering.

  And then it came to her. The pungent pine aroma the woman was trying to disguise with her cheap scent was wintergreen.

  ‘Salicylic acid,’ she said.

  Dr Ormerod glanced at her. ‘Quite.’

  ‘There is also the possibility of alkaline treatment,’ Gibson put in.

  ‘Indeed, Mr Gibson.’ The Great Man bestowed a smile on him. ‘Well done.’

  They started to move away from the woman’s bed. For a moment Kate hesitated, wondering if she should speak up. Then she remembered Dr French’s advice.

  ‘There’s also vaccine treatment,’ she said.

  Dr Ormerod stopped and turned slowly to face her. ‘I beg your pardon? Did you speak?’

  Kate glanced around at the other students. They were all watching her, mouths gaping. Then she caught Rufus French’s eye as he stood behind Dr Ormerod. He gave her a nod of encouragement.

  ‘Vaccine treatment,’ she repeated. ‘It’s—’

  ‘I know what it is, thank you very much!’ Dr Ormerod cut her off. ‘However, the treatment is unproved.’

  He likes a good argument. Kate cleared her throat.

  ‘The treatment might be in its infancy, but it shows a great deal of promise, especially in long drawn out cases where the disease will not yield to ordinary measures—’

  As she spoke, she could see the eyes of her fellow students widen. Even the nurses were looking at her in astonishment. But it was only when she caught Latimer shaking his head and Rufus trying hard not to laugh that she realised she had been taken in.

  She stopped speaking abruptly, but the damage had already been done. She hardly dared look at Dr Ormerod.

  ‘You know, Miss Carlyle, you remind me of your father,’ the consultant said at last. ‘He always likes to have the last word too!’

  Several of the students tittered appreciatively at the joke.

  ‘I – I’m sorry, sir,’ Kate started to say, but Dr Ormerod held up his hand.

  ‘No, no, Miss Carlyle, please don’t apologise. It’s quite clear you believe you have very little to learn from me. I should be honoured that you have even bothered to attend today, although I suppose you thought you might be able to teach me a thing or two?’

  Kate cringed, but Dr Ormerod still had not finished with her. ‘I daresay you considered yourself to be quite bright at the Women’s Hospital,’ he said. ‘No doubt you young women were allowed to chatter like parakeets, all giving your opinion and expecting everyone else to listen to it. But let me tell you something, Miss Carlyle. Just because our medical school has made the woeful decision to admit female medical practitioners to the Nightingale, that does not mean you can march in here and take charge of everything. This is my firm. Here I am the physician and you are the student. And when I want an opinion from you, I will ask for it. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kate whispered.

  After that she kept silent and stayed at the back of the group for the rest of the round. But she could see the patients whispering with each other, all craning to get a look at her.

  She forced herself to keep her chin up, determined to show the others she could take a joke with the best of them. But she couldn’t bring herself to look at Rufus French.

  At last the round ended. They headed to Male Medical next, and Dr Ormerod announced loudly, ‘This is where you leave us, Miss Carlyle. I’m afraid we will have to do without the benefit of your great wisdom.’

  The other students sniggered. Kate forced herself not to look away, even though she could feel herself blushing. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

  As Dr Ormerod led the way through the doors to Male Medical, Kate heard him saying, ‘Thank God some doors are still closed to women. Eh, gentlemen?’

  ‘That was a low trick you pulled, French. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.’

  Latimer faced him across the billiard table in the Students’ Union recreation room. He had a cue in one hand, and a glass of brandy in the other.

  Rufus laughed. ‘You heard what she said. She wants to be treated the same as everyone else. You’ve never minded when we’ve done it to any of the other students.’

  ‘This is different. You shouldn’t do that sort of thing to a lad
y.’

  ‘Since when have you been so chivalrous?’ Rufus mocked. ‘Could it be because she’s a Carlyle?’

  Latimer leant over to pot his shot. ‘The poor girl looked utterly mortified,’ he said.

  ‘Then she’ll have to develop a thicker skin, won’t she?’

  Charlie Latimer shook his head. ‘You know, you really should think about what you’re doing, French. Our Miss Carlyle would make a far better friend than she would an enemy. You should be cultivating her.’

  ‘Is that what you’re doing? Cultivating her?’

  ‘I was only being polite and welcoming, dear boy.’

  ‘Of course you were.’ Rufus took his shot. The cue ball swerved past the red without hitting it.

  ‘Foul shot, old boy.’ Latimer put down his glass and prepared to take his shot. ‘Look, I’ll admit, it doesn’t hurt to have friends in high places.’

  ‘And Miss Carlyle clearly does, or she wouldn’t be here.’

  Latimer smirked across the table at him. ‘I know what this is about,’ he said. ‘You’re still harping on about that business with Leo Carlyle, aren’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Latimer sighed. ‘Look, I told you. Let it go. So the old man took his son onto his firm instead of you. So what?’

  ‘But it should have been my place,’ Rufus burst out. ‘I was recommended for it. I worked hard, I deserved it—’

  Latimer shook his head pityingly. ‘That’s not the way the world works, is it, old boy? Not our world, anyway. It’s not enough to win scholarships and be top of the class.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Rattled, Rufus took his next shot. It skidded past the cue ball and tumbled straight into the corner pocket.

  ‘Oh, dear. Another foul shot. You’re rather off your game tonight.’ Latimer bent down, studying the formation on the table before taking his own shot. ‘Look, if you want to get on, you have to know the right people. You think old Ormerod got his nice private practice in Harley Street by working hard and being an all round good egg?’

  ‘Who says I want a private practice?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Latimer laughed. ‘Are you seriously telling me you want to spend the rest of your life here, tending to people’s aches and pains?’

  ‘I rather thought that was the point of becoming a doctor?’

  ‘Oh, it is. But there’s a difference between the great unwashed that comes through these doors, and the wealthy patients who’ll pay a fortune for your time and talents, don’t you think?’ He straightened up. ‘Your shot. Try to make it a good one this time.’

  Rufus whacked the ball with such force it ricocheted off the end cushion and rolled backwards, taking Latimer’s cue ball with it.

  ‘Look at that. You’re too emotional, that’s your trouble.’ Latimer sighed. ‘You need to start thinking with your head, old boy, and not that heart of yours. You might be the brightest student in our year, but you really are a duffer when it comes to the ways of the world. We’re senior housemen, we need to start making our mark, impressing the right people.’

  ‘Starting with Miss Carlyle, I suppose?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Latimer slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You stick with your Uncle Charlie, old boy. You won’t go far wrong.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Rufus said.

  ‘Then you’re making a big mistake.’ Latimer shook his head. ‘Typical Rufus,’ he said. ‘Always having to do things the hard way. Must be that Spartan Northern upbringing of yours, eh?’

  He neatly pocketed the final ball and straightened up. ‘That’s another half a crown you owe me.’ He grinned, setting down his cue. ‘At this rate you’ll have to win another bursary just to pay me back!’

  He sauntered off, hands in pockets, whistling to himself.

  Rufus watched him go. Latimer would never understand, he thought. He’d had all the advantages life could offer. His father was a high court judge, he had gone to all the right schools, mixed in all the right circles.

  And it wasn’t just him. All the other students here were cut from the same cloth, their lives stretching ahead of them like a golden carpet.

  But there had been no golden carpet for Rufus French. Latimer liked to tease him about his humble roots, but he didn’t know the half of it. He didn’t know how much Rufus’ widowed mother had struggled, the sacrifices she had made for him and his three sisters. There had been no expensive private schools for Rufus, just the local grammar school in Leeds, and even that had been on a scholarship.

  And he had been a scholarship boy ever since. No matter how hard he worked, how many examinations he passed or how many awards and prizes he was given, he never quite felt good enough.

  He wasn’t good enough for Sir Philip Carlyle, that was for sure.

  Rufus couldn’t help feeling bitter. He had so desperately wanted to join Sir Philip’s firm, he deserved it. But the Appointments Committee had given the place to Leo instead. Lazy Leo, who was more charming than gifted.

  It was the unfairness of it that kept Rufus awake at night and filled him with fury.

  Latimer was right, he thought. All the hard work and ability in the world didn’t matter a damn if you didn’t have the right name, the right background, the right friends.

  And now there was another Carlyle to contend with. Would Kate have been admitted to the Nightingale if she hadn’t been a Carlyle? He doubted it. No, she had ridden in on her father’s coat-tails. Rufus had no doubt she would be every bit as lazy and feckless as her wretched brother.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eleanor was going home to Hampshire for a few days before the probationers began work on the wards, and Anna couldn’t have been more relieved.

  Anna sat before the dressing-table mirror, trying to pin up her hair as she watched Eleanor sullenly packing her suitcase on the other side of the room. They had only been sharing for two weeks, but she could already hardly bear the strain of the silence. It was so hard to believe that only a few days before Eleanor had been her friend, and now she could hardly bear to look at her.

  ‘It’ll be nice for you to be able to spend more than a weekend with your family for once?’ Anna broke the awkward silence. Eleanor did not reply. ‘I’m going home myself this afternoon,’ Anna tried again. ‘But then, I’m lucky, aren’t I? I can go home for a couple of hours. Not everyone is so fortunate. Poor Duffield has hardly been home at all since we started training.’

  Eleanor grunted a non-committal response as she turned away to struggle with the latch on her suitcase.

  ‘Would you like some help?’ Anna stood up, but Eleanor waved her away.

  ‘Leave it. I can manage.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said leave it!’ Eleanor glared at her.

  Anna sat down again with a sigh. Eleanor seemed to blame her for their situation, even though she had gone to Miss Westcombe herself and asked if she could be moved. The Home Sister had sent her away with a brisk telling-off.

  ‘I have far better things to do than sort out your silly squabbles,’ she had told her. ‘I know you girls. I’ll go to all the trouble of sorting out a new room, only to find you’ve made up again and want to stay,’ She must have seen Anna’s look of distress because her face softened and she said, ‘Look, whatever you’ve fallen out about, I’m sure it will all blow over soon.’

  I doubt it, Anna thought, seeing Eleanor’s set expression reflected in the mirror.

  She set down her brush. ‘Can’t we just be friends?’ she pleaded. ‘It seems such a shame to be like this when we were so looking forward to sharing a room together. I can’t help who my father is, any more than you can.’

  Eleanor scowled at her. ‘I’m proud of my father,’ she snapped. She left the room, dragging her suitcase behind her.

  ‘So am I,’ Anna said. But the door had already slammed shut.

  Anna could hardly wait to get home. She longed for the comfort of her family around her, to be surrounded by people she loved. She could help he
r father in the bakery for a couple of hours, spend time with Edward … Everything would be just as it used to be.

  She was surprised to find the closed sign up in the bakery window. Anna peered in through the doorway, but all was in darkness.

  Strange, she thought, Friday morning was generally a busy time at the bakery, with people coming to pick up their orders for the weekend.

  She went around to the alleyway that ran along the back of the parade of shops and let herself in through the gate. The yard was empty, and Tom’s bicycle was gone.

  The back door was unlocked as usual. But the kitchen was empty.

  ‘Papa?’ she called out. ‘Mother?’

  She sniffed the air. There was no smell of baking, and the ovens were stone cold when she touched them.

  ‘Papa?’ She called out again, her apprehension growing.

  ‘Anna?’ She swung round to face the door as Liesel appeared. She looked wretched, her face ravaged by tears.

  ‘Liesel? What are you doing home from school?’

  ‘Oh, Anna!’ Liesel launched herself into her sister’s arms, sobbing.

  ‘Liesel, what is it? What’s happened?’ Panic rose in Anna’s chest. She disentangled herself from her sister’s fierce embrace so she could look into her red-rimmed eyes. ‘Tell me!’

  Liesel wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘Oh, Anna, they’ve taken Papa away!’

  ‘They came first thing this morning,’ Liesel told her. ‘They said they had orders to round up any man with German nationality. They think they might be spies.’

  ‘But that’s nonsense! Papa’s no spy. He loves this country.’

  ‘That’s what he tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen.’ Liesel sniffed back her tears. ‘Oh, Anna, it was so horrible, the way they bundled him into the back of a motor car and took him away. They were pushing and pulling him about as if he was a – a criminal, or something. And he was being so brave, telling us not to worry …’ She started sobbing again, and Anna handed her a handkerchief.

  ‘Where’s Mother?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s gone down to the police station, to find out where they’ve taken him.’