A Nightingale Christmas Promise Read online

‘There,’ she said, when Sadie had finished. ‘That’s better, ain’t it? You’ll be as right as rain now, Lily.’

  ‘Until the next time,’ Sadie muttered. Her gaze fell on the locket lying on the dressing table. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t take that with him.’

  ‘It’s mine.’

  ‘But you never wear it, do you?’

  Her mother looked away. ‘He gave it to me,’ she insisted stubbornly.

  ‘And that makes it all right, does it? He gives you a stolen trinket, and that makes up for all the beatings?’

  ‘Sadie!’ Belle shot her a warning look.

  She watched Belle putting Lily to bed, as gentle as a mother with her child, carefully tucking in the covers around her, brushing the hair from her face and murmuring endearments. No one who had seen Belle down at the docks, swearing at the sailors and brawling with the other girls, would ever have believed it.

  ‘There, you rest now,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring you in a nice cup of tea, how about that? Plenty of sugar, just the way you like it.’

  Sadie followed her out of the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

  ‘I dunno about tea. I reckon we need something stronger.’ Belle fetched the gin bottle from the cupboard. She took out two cups, but Sadie shook her head.

  ‘Not for me, thanks.’

  ‘I forgot. You don’t, do you?’ Belle looked at her admiringly. ‘You’re a good girl, Sadie. Lucky you were here to patch your mum up.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I’ve never had to bandage a broken rib before, I’ve only read about it in books.’

  ‘You did a good job, from what I could tell.’

  ‘I still think she should see a doctor.’

  ‘You heard what she said.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t understand it. Why would she want to protect Jimmy Clyde after what he did to her?’

  ‘I daresay she has her reasons.’ Belle filled her cup.

  ‘Yes, I know. She loves him.’ Sadie went to the window and looked out into the tiny cobbled yard. Below her, children played in the fading late-afternoon light.

  Belle seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t come back,’ she said. ‘Not tonight anyway.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I know Jimmy Clyde. He’ll lay low with some of his pals over the river, if he knows what’s good for him.’

  Sadie felt a black tide of hate rising inside her. She could imagine Jimmy, drinking and playing cards with his mates, his arms around another woman, while all the time her mother was suffering, too afraid to get help.

  She half-turned away from the window. ‘But if he does come back—’

  ‘I’ll be here waiting for him, don’t you worry.’ Belle gave a grim nod. ‘And I’ll give him more than a piece of my mind, I can tell you. I ain’t afraid of that greasy little sod!’

  Sadie looked at Belle’s set, angry face. No one would dare take her on. She only wished her mother had her friend’s fighting spirit.

  In that moment she made up her mind. If Lily Sedgewick wouldn’t stand up for herself, then Sadie would have to do it for her.

  When she left her mother’s lodgings later, instead of heading east towards Victoria Park and the Nightingale, Sadie turned down in the opposite direction, over the railway line to Seabright Street.

  It was strange how she remembered the street so clearly, even though it had been many years since she’d returned. She had often played there as a kid, rattling over the cobbles in a cart made from old pram wheels and an orange crate they’d scrounged from Columbia Road market.

  A middle-aged woman answered the door. Sadie recognised her, too, those narrowed eyes that missed nothing, mouth always pursed in disapproval.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is Peter in?’

  The woman folded her arms across her chest. ‘Who wants to know?’

  Before Sadie could reply, his voice came from inside. ‘Who is it, Mum?’

  ‘Some girl calling for you.’

  Sadie heard footsteps coming down the stairs, then Peter Machin appeared. He looked even younger out of his policeman’s uniform, tall and lanky, his hair cut short over clean ears.

  He frowned when he saw her. ‘Sadie?’

  ‘All right, Peter?’

  ‘Sadie Sedgewick.’ His mother’s eyes grew cold. ‘It’s you, is it?’ She looked her up and down. ‘You’ve changed, I must say. You’re looking very smart.’

  For a tart’s daughter, Sadie finished for her silently and turned back to Peter. ‘Can I have a word? In private, if you don’t mind.’ She glanced back at his mother.

  Mrs Machin’s chin lifted. ‘If you’ve got anything to say, you can say it in front of me. We don’t have secrets in this family.’

  ‘Ain’t you the lucky ones?’ Sadie faced her boldly.

  ‘Leave it, Ma.’ Peter was already shrugging on his coat. ‘We’ll go outside,’ he said to Sadie.

  ‘Mind you don’t stay too long,’ his mother called out as Peter closed the door behind him. ‘It’s perishing out there.’

  ‘No, Ma.’ Sadie caught Peter’s embarrassed expression and tried not to smile. Peter Machin had always been a proper mummy’s boy, doing as he was told.

  They walked up to the corner of the street. ‘What’s this about?’ he asked.

  Sadie took a deep breath. ‘Jimmy Clyde,’ she said.

  He stopped. ‘What about him?’

  ‘You’re after him for that post office job?’

  ‘Who told you?’

  Sadie sighed impatiently. ‘Are you or ain’t you?’

  He paused, then nodded. ‘We can’t get any evidence against him. He’s got an alibi for that night.’

  ‘But he did it.’

  ‘We know that. Believe me, my inspector would like nothing more than to collar him for it. But three blokes have come forward to swear he was with them that night.’

  ‘Then where did he get this?’

  Sadie took the locket from her pocket and dangled it in front of Peter’s eyes.

  He stared at it, mesmerised. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  ‘Would you swear to that?’

  ‘I’d swear to anything if it got him locked up.’

  Peter looked back at the locket, then at her. ‘You do realise this might mean trouble for you?’ he said in a low voice. ‘You’re upsetting some dangerous people, Sadie. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.’

  Sadie lifted her chin. ‘I ain’t scared,’ she said. ‘I just want him locked up.’

  Peter gave her an admiring look. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I think we’d better go down to the station …’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘They’ve done what?’ Kate stared at her brother.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate.’ Leo looked apologetic. ‘They’ll be letting you know officially later on, but I thought I should warn you first.’ He regarded her warily. ‘I thought you’d be upset.’

  ‘Upset?’ Kate stared back at her brother. The word barely described the rage that burnt inside her. ‘They can’t do it,’ she declared. ‘I’m a medical student at this hospital. I should be afforded the same rights as every other student.’

  ‘I’m afraid the SU committee don’t agree,’ Leo said. ‘Look, it isn’t that bad,’ he tried to reason with her. ‘You’re only banned from the bar and the smoking room. You’ll still be allowed to use the reading room and dining room.’

  ‘For now,’ Kate said. ‘But how long before they decide to ban me from them, too?’

  ‘They wouldn’t.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they?’ Kate shot back. She turned away from him, pacing across the courtyard in her agitation. The cold December wind swirled around her, shaking the bare branches of the plane trees. ‘I know what they’re doing,’ she muttered. ‘They want to squeeze me out, to make it as difficult for me as they can so I give up and leave.’

  Leo sighed. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

>   ‘Am I?’ She turned on him. ‘You haven’t seen the way they look at me. I can’t walk down a corridor without being jeered at.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re imagining it,’ Leo said, but he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘They go out of their way to exclude me, to make me feel uncomfortable,’ Kate insisted. ‘It’s as if they resent me for being here. They’re trying to drive me out, Leo.’

  ‘They can’t do that.’

  ‘No, you’re right. They can’t. I won’t let them. I’ve worked too hard to get here.’ Kate shook her head. ‘I’m going to fight this.’

  Leo looked nervous. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ Kate paused, thinking. ‘Perhaps I should talk to the chairman of the committee …’

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’

  ‘Why? Who is it?’

  Leo lowered his gaze. ‘Rufus French.’

  ‘Ah.’ Suddenly it all made sense to her.

  ‘But it was the whole committee’s decision,’ Leo said quickly. ‘You’re not going to make a fuss, are you?’ he pleaded.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Because it would embarrass Father.’ Leo tried to reason with her. ‘Honestly, Kate, it isn’t worth it. You’re not missing much. You wouldn’t want to go to the Students’ Union bar anyway, would you? You don’t even drink.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ Kate insisted. ‘I’m a student at this hospital and I should be allowed to behave as every other student does.’

  ‘But you don’t have the same rights, do you? You’re not allowed on the male wards.’

  ‘And that’s hardly fair, either! Don’t you see, Leo? That’s why this is so important to me. I’ve already had too many doors closed to me, I don’t need another one.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  The clock chimed noon. ‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ Kate cut him off. ‘I’ll be late for the post-mortem demonstration. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Remember what I said, won’t you?’ Leo called after her. ‘Please don’t do anything to upset Father. You know what he’s like …’

  The theatre where the pathology demonstrations took place was a high-ceilinged room, pungent with the scent of antiseptic and formaldehyde. Tiered banks of seating were arranged in a semi-circle, looking down on a space in the middle where a solitary wooden operating table stood, illuminated by a beam of sunlight streaming down from the skylight overhead. On the operating table lay a figure, covered in a snowy white linen cloth.

  As the students attended the daily post-mortem demonstrations on a voluntary basis, most of the time Kate was the only one who bothered to come. But this time there were three young men lounging on the back row together when she walked in. Kate could feel their gazes on her as she made her way down the steps to the front row, her notebook clutched tightly under her arm.

  ‘There she goes. Old Werner’s pet!’ one of them muttered.

  ‘Damned ghoulish, I call it. What kind of a girl wants a front row seat at a PM?’

  ‘But she’s a cold fish, isn’t she?’

  ‘I’d never allow my fiancée to see something like this. Not that she’d want to, of course. Far too much of a lady for that.’

  Kate fought the urge to turn around and defend herself, concentrating instead on arranging her pencils in a neat line in front of her.

  This was what Leo didn’t understand, she thought. He had never had to live through the disapproving and obstructive behaviour she endured every day.

  She opened her notebook at a fresh page just as the door below her opened and the Head of Pathology walked in, followed by his clerk, a tall, serious-looking young man.

  Dr Werner was a cadaverous creature himself, thin-limbed, with sparse grey hair slicked back to reveal a fleshless face with deep-set eyes, a lipless mouth and stark cheekbones. Yet his bright blue eyes glinted merrily as he surveyed the near-empty benches before him.

  ‘I see we have quite an audience today. Good afternoon, gentlemen.’ Dr Werner greeted them formally, his voice gruff and with a foreign accent. ‘And Miss Carlyle, of course.’ He bowed his head in Kate’s direction. He always sought her out, unlike most of the other lecturers, who wouldn’t even look at her if they could help it.

  For a moment the two men busied themselves, checking their instruments, putting on aprons and murmuring to each other. Then Dr Werner stood back while his clerk pulled away the cloth with an almost theatrical flourish, revealing the figure beneath. Kate leant forward, craning her neck to look.

  She had seen a great many dead bodies, and this young man’s ashen pallor did not alarm her. Indeed, she barely registered his face, all her attention fixed on the ugly blistering that covered his left thigh. The black bubbles looked obscene, some as large as her own hand. Kate took a deep breath to quell the nausea that rose in her throat.

  ‘Twenty-year-old male, brought in by ambulance train from France yesterday morning.’ Dr Werner looked up at them over his notes. ‘Now, who would like to tell me the cause of death?’

  He looked around at them all. Behind Kate, the young men had fallen silent.

  ‘Well?’ Dr Werner prompted them. ‘Come, surely you do not need a post-mortem result to tell you? You can see the evidence with your own eyes.’

  Kate raised her hand. ‘Gas gangrene, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed, gas gangrene. An almost uniformly fatal suffusion of tissues with noxious gases from specific bacterial wound infections. You see the blistering here and here? This is typical of how the condition progresses. After forty-eight hours the edges of the wound begin to swell up and gape. The cut surface then takes on the curious balloon-like swelling you see before you here. This is because the tissues are being blown out with gas, and on pressing the fingers down on this swelling, a distinct crackling or bubbling sensation can be felt.’ He looked up. ‘Can you tell me, please, the type of bacteria that causes this?’

  ‘Clostridia, sir,’ a voice came from behind Kate.

  ‘Indeed. Anaerobic bacteria found deep in soil. And we have trench warfare to thank for bringing this bacteria to the surface. Soldiers’ clothing becomes saturated with mud, so that when they are wounded, pieces of bacteria-saturated uniform become lodged in the open tissue, leading to the condition you see before you. Clostridia works quickly and produces toxins which cause severe pain, gaseous swelling and myonecrosis.’ Dr Werner picked up his scalpel. ‘And now, we will perform the post-mortem …’

  Kate watched the pathologist and his assistant at work, carefully removing the various organs, weighing and checking them and recording the results. She tried to concentrate as Werner pointed out the scarring, the fatty deposits, the state of the young man’s liver and lungs, but couldn’t stop her mind drifting back to her conversation with Leo.

  It was so unfair. Her brother was right; she would probably quite willingly never set foot inside the students’ bar or their wretched smoking room. But what he didn’t understand was that there was a world of difference between choosing not to go and not being allowed.

  It was all Rufus French’s doing, of course. He had taken against her for some reason she couldn’t fathom. He never missed an opportunity to trip her up and make a fool of her. She could just imagine him turning the committee against her.

  An hour later, the post-mortem was over. As the clerk set about stitching up the cadaver, Dr Werner said, ‘Miss Carlyle? A word, if you please?’

  He was at the sink in the corner, washing his hands under the tap. He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Do you have a moment?’ he said.

  ‘Of course, Doctor.’ Kate gathered up her books.

  Dr Werner turned off the tap and reached for a towel. Kate watched him carefully dry his hands.

  At last he said, ‘You are an excellent student, Miss Carlyle. Very dedicated.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Now I wish to ask you something.’ He nodded towards his clerk, the tall figure bent over the body he was stitching. �
��Mr Chapman here has been called up, so now I find myself with a vacancy for a clerk in my department for three months. I wondered if you would be interested?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I only ask because you seem very keen,’ Dr Werner went on. ‘I notice you come to my pathology demonstrations every day, not like the other students.’

  Kate hesitated. She didn’t want to admit that the only reason she came to the pathology demonstrations was because they were one of the few teaching resources in the hospital made available to her. She was excluded from watching any surgical demonstrations involving live male patients.

  ‘But, of course, you do not have to answer me yet,’ Dr Werner said. ‘I am sure the vacancy will still be open for some time. Think about it, will you?’

  ‘I will, Doctor. Thank you.’

  Kate was heavy-hearted as she left the theatre. Dr Werner had been so kind to her. He was one of the few lecturers who had any time for her. He made no distinction because she was a young woman; indeed, he had told her that in the rest of Europe, women had been training and working as doctors for years.

  But at the same time, she wondered if she had been his first choice. She doubted many of the other students would be keen to take the job. They all looked down their noses at Pathology, and at Dr Werner, because he was German. Kate wondered if he had asked her because she was an outsider, like himself.

  As she was heading down the stairs towards the dining room, she spotted Rufus French sauntering along the corridor in her direction, Charlie Latimer at his side. Kate’s first thought was to dart away down a side corridor to avoid him, but then she changed her mind. Why should she stay out of his way? She had done nothing wrong. It was he who should be embarrassed, not her.

  She forced herself to walk towards him. ‘Dr French?’ she called out.

  He didn’t look surprised. Kate had the feeling he had seen her before she saw him.

  ‘Miss Carlyle!’ Charlie grinned. ‘How—’

  ‘May I have a word?’ Kate cut across him, her gaze still fixed on Rufus French.

  He folded his arms across his chest. ‘What about?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about the committee’s decision to ban me from the Students’ Union bar?’