The Nightingale Sisters Page 15

  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.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘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.

  ‘F
or 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.’

  ‘I daresay you’re right, Mrs Mortimer,’ Millie agreed. She picked up the patient’s copy of The Times, still neatly folded on her locker. ‘Are you not doing the crossword today?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘I love The Times crossword. I always helped my father do it when I lived at home.’

  Maud raised an imperious eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you were a great help,’ she said witheringly.

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ Millie looked down at Maud’s wrinkled hands, lying limp on top of the bedcover. ‘I could help you, if you like?’ she offered. ‘Perhaps I could fill in the answers for you.’

  Maud’s sharp gaze fixed itself on her. ‘What are you saying? Are you implying I’m too feeble to hold a pen?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘I told you, you stupid girl, I’m not in the mood. Good gracious, is it compulsory to be usefully occupied in this place?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Now I’m finding you rather tiresome. Please leave me alone.’

  She turned her head away, dismissing her. Millie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

  Helen was sympathetic. ‘She really is an absolute horror, isn’t she?’ she whispered.

  Millie shrugged it off. ‘I feel sorry for her. She’s such a proud woman, it must be awful for her to have to admit she needs help.’

  ‘That’s no reason to take it out on us,’ Helen replied. ‘I’m dreading dinnertime. She’s bound to make another horrible fuss about being fed. I just hope I’m not the one who has to do it today.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘I don’t know why they don’t just give her a feeding tube. It would be far easier.’

  ‘Would you like a feeding tube shoved down your throat?’ Millie asked. ‘It might be far easier for us, but it wouldn’t be easier for her.’

  She glanced back at Maud Mortimer who was lying back against her pillows, eyes closed. But even from the far end of the ward, Millie could tell she wasn’t asleep.

  ‘She was a suffragette when she was younger,’ she said. ‘I overheard Sister telling Staff Nurse Willis the other day. Apparently she was arrested and force fed because she refused to eat. That’s why she’s so terrified of the feeding tube.’

  ‘Oh God, I had no idea.’

  ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? None of us knows anything about these women.’ Millie gestured around the ward. ‘To us they’re just old ladies who wet their beds and won’t eat. We forget they were once like us, girls with hopes and dreams and lives ahead of them.’

  ‘Yes, but they’re old and they need our help now,’ Helen reminded her. ‘We’ve still got to nurse them.’

  ‘And what if we end up like them one day? I don’t know about you, but I’d hate it if some young nurse kept trying to treat me like a child, just because she’d learnt it from a textbook.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Now you’re even starting to sound like Mrs Mortimer!’

  Sister Hyde was called away to attend a meeting in Matron’s office, leaving Staff Nurse Willis in charge of supervising dinner.

  Much to Helen’s relief, the job of feeding Maud Mortimer fell to Millie.

  ‘And try to see she has it all this time,’ Staff Nurse Willis warned her as she handed her the cup. ‘Sister is very concerned that she is not keeping her strength up.’

  Millie looked at the feeding cup. It was like something a small child would use. How humiliating it must be to have to subject oneself to it. Especially at the hands of a stranger young enough to be your grandchild.

  She took a deep breath. If Sister Hyde had been supervising dinner as usual, she doubted if she would have had the courage to speak. But Staff Nurse Willis was a kindly woman.

  ‘Please, Staff, may I make a suggestion?’ she said.

  She quailed as Staff Nurse Willis frowned at her. Kindly or not, she still wouldn’t appreciate any interference from a student.

  ‘Go on,’ she said shortly.

  Millie could already see Maud’s forbidding expression as she approached with the tray a few minutes later.

  ‘If you think you’re going to feed me with that slop, you’re wrong,’ she snapped, her mouth already tightening in refusal.

  ‘If you think I’m going to feed you at all, then you’re wrong.’ Millie set the cup down. ‘Sister isn’t here, and I’m far too busy to sit here holding this cup. If you want feeding, you’ll have to do it yourself.’

  Maud Mortimer’s eyes widened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me.’ Millie picked up the cup and showed her. ‘I thought this might help. I’ve wrapped the handles in lots of clean dressings to make them easier for you to grip, you see?’

  Maud stared at the cup, then back at Millie. Her face was unreadable. Looking into her cold eyes, Millie felt her confidence wilting. ‘Anyway, I’ll just put it down for you on this tray . . .’ She set it down carefully.

  Maud looked from the cup to her and back again. Millie noticed her flexing her fingers tentatively. Then, gearing herself up, she reached for the cup. Millie held her breath, only letting it out as Maud grasped the handles and lifted the cup shakily to her lips.

  ‘Busy, indeed!’ Millie heard her mutter as she walked away. ‘Busy gossiping with her friends, more likely.’

  Typical Maud, Millie thought as she walked away. She always had to have the last word.

  She was still smiling to herself when Sister Hyde returned to the ward. Millie was in the kitchen, washing up the dishes with the pro. Through the crack in the door, she saw Sister talking to Staff Nurse Willis. Sister Hyde looked down the ward at Maud Mortimer, then back over her shoulder at the kitchen door. Millie caught her frosty grey glare, and her stomach plummeted.

  ‘Nurse Benedict?’ A dish slipped from her hands at the sound of Sister’s voice. It fell back into the sink, splashing her and the pro with soapy water.

  ‘Yes, Sister?’ She turned, soap suds running down her face.

  Sister Hyde suppressed a sigh. ‘Staff tells me you came up with an idea to help Mrs Mortimer feed herself?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ She stared at the ground. This is it, she thought. This is where I get hauled over the coals yet again.

  ‘It was a good idea, Benedict. Mrs Mortimer struggles with the loss of her independence, so you showed great sensitivity. For once,’ she added.

  Millie looked up at her, hardly able to believe what she’d heard. It didn’t even matter that Sister Hyde managed to make praise sound like stinging criticism. Just to hear the words was more than enough. ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  Sister Hyde looked her up and down. ‘It’s just a pity you can’t manage a simple task like washing up,’ she said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  KATHLEEN FOX CONSULTED the piece of paper in her gloved hand, then looked back up at the dank tenement building. Surely this wasn’t the right address?

  Her doubts had been growing ever since she’d got off the bus at Cable Street. The narrow, cobbled streets around her were straight out of Dickens. Grubby washing hung listlessly from lines strung between houses so tall and close together that only the dimmest strip of daylight penetrated the gloom. A sway-backed horse clopp
ed past, slowly dragging a cart, while children in ragged clothes played in the gutter. In the distance the skyline was scarred by dockside cranes and the smoke stacks of ships, while seagulls screeched overhead, searching for pickings.

  Even as she knocked on the door, Kathleen couldn’t imagine someone as refined as Violet Tanner choosing to live in such a place.

  The woman who answered had a cigarette dangling from her lips.

  ‘Yes?’ She squinted at Kathleen through the drifting smoke. ‘What do you want?’ She looked her up and down. ‘If you’ve come round collecting for the church, you can sling your hook, ’cos I ain’t got nothing to give.’

  She went to shut the door in her face, but Kathleen held out her hand. ‘I’m looking for Miss Tanner,’ she said.

  The woman regarded her with hostile eyes. ‘There’s no one here by that name.’

  From somewhere inside the house, Kathleen heard the distant sound of a child coughing.

  ‘Are you sure? This is the address she gave me.’ Her tone was pleasant, but the look she gave the woman was capable of reducing a student to tears in under ten seconds.

  ‘Then she’s pulling a fast one, ain’t she?’

  ‘I hardly think Violet Tanner would pull a fast one, as you call it.’

  The woman cocked her head. ‘Violet, you say?’

  ‘That’s right. Violet Tanner.’

  A malevolent smile edged across the woman’s face. ‘I knew it,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I knew the uppity cow was hiding something. Tanner, eh? She’s got some front.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  The woman looked at her, considering for a moment, then stepped aside. ‘Top floor,’ she said, jerking her head towards the narrow staircase. ‘That’s where Violet Gifford lives, at any rate.’

  Kathleen edged past her into the hall. The greasy, yellowing wallpaper and smell of overboiled cabbage made her feel sick. Poor Miss Tanner, she thought. Why on earth would she choose to live in such a hellhole?

  She found out when she reached the top floor. She stood outside the door for a moment, listening to the sound of the child’s rasping cough. Then she knocked.