Nightingales on Call Page 20

  Jess tried again. ‘Lovely day, ain’t it?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Jess sent her a sidelong look. ‘Blimey, you look like you’ve lost a shilling and found a farthing. What’s up with you?’

  Effie sighed. ‘I’m going home,’ she said.

  Jess sat forward. ‘Back to Ireland? Why?’

  ‘Because I’m not good enough to stay here.’

  And then it all came out, like a dam bursting. Effie explained that she had been sent to Matron, who had as good as told her she had no chance of passing her PTS.

  ‘And even if I do, they probably won’t let me finish my training here, so I may as well not bother,’ the girl said. ‘I’ll be the only one of my sisters not to be a nurse. It’s not fair! I tried so hard.’

  Jess said nothing. It wasn’t worth pointing out that she’d never seen Effie with a book in her hands. The poor girl was already unhappy enough, without making it worse.

  ‘And I was just starting to enjoy being here, too,’ Effie went on. ‘I’d made some friends, and I have a boyfriend. I daresay Hugo will forget all about me once I’m back in Killarney.’

  Tears started to roll down her cheeks and she fished up her sleeve, looking for her handkerchief. Jess pulled hers out of her pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘Here, it’s clean.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Effie took it and blew her nose loudly.

  ‘When is your PTS exam?’ Jess asked.

  ‘In two weeks.’

  ‘That’s plenty of time for you to get some studying in, surely?’

  Effie shook her head. ‘It’s hopeless,’ she said, sniffing back her tears. ‘I can’t seem to lodge any of it in my head. I don’t even understand half the words in this book.’

  Jess glanced at her textbook. It was the same one Sister Sutton had given her.

  ‘Can’t you revise with the other girls?’ she asked. ‘They’ll help you, surely?’

  Effie pulled a face. ‘They’ll only make fun of me. You know what Padgett is like.’

  ‘What about your sister?’

  ‘Katie’s too busy studying for her own exams. Besides, I don’t want her to know how bad things are. I’ll never hear the last of it.’

  ‘You mean you’d rather go back to Ireland than admit you need help?’ Jess said.

  ‘I suppose not.’ Effie sighed. She picked up the book. ‘I just wish I knew someone who understood all this, and could explain it to me.’ She opened it and showed Jess one of the pages. ‘I mean, look at all these bones and muscles. How am I supposed to remember whether the tibia is bigger than the fibula, or the other way round?’

  ‘The fibula is thin, like a flute. The tibia is thick, like a tuba,’ Jess replied without thinking.

  Effie frowned at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It’s an easy way of remembering,’ Jess said. ‘Flute and tuba begin with the same letters as fibula and tibia, you see? That’s how you can tell which way round . . .’ She stopped, seeing Effie’s expression. ‘What? Why are you staring at me like that?’

  ‘How do you know so much about anatomy?’

  Jess felt herself blushing. ‘I must have heard you nurses talking about it.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Anyway, I’d best get back. Sister Sutton will think I’ve kidnapped Sparky.’

  She set off, walking away briskly, but Effie followed her. ‘Wait, Jess. Tell me the truth. Where did you learn all this?’

  Jess slowed down. ‘Sister Sutton lent me a book,’ she admitted reluctantly.

  ‘And you understood it?’

  Jess scowled at her. ‘I’m not as stupid as I look.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’ Effie looked shame-faced. ‘I’m just surprised that anyone understands it, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s not too hard, if you work out ways of remembering things.’

  Jess saw the spark of hope kindle in Effie’s eyes, and realised with a sinking heart what the girl was thinking before she even opened her mouth. ‘Could you teach me?’ she asked.

  Jess shook her head. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ she said. ‘I’m not a proper teacher.’

  ‘You’ve already taught me the difference between a tibia and a fibula, and that’s something no one else has managed!’

  Jess smiled in spite of herself. ‘Yes, but I don’t think Sister Sutton would like it. Besides, I haven’t got time.’

  ‘Please?’ Effie begged. ‘I’m desperate, Jess, truly I am. You’re my last hope.’ She snatched up Jess’ hand and clung to it. ‘I’m begging you. I’ll even pay you . . .’

  ‘I don’t want your money.’

  ‘Then I’ll just have to appeal to your charitable nature.’ Effie squeezed her hand harder. ‘Please, Jess? I don’t want to go home to Ireland. You’re my only chance. Please say you’ll help me?’

  Jess looked into the girl’s face, so full of hope. She wanted to say no, she knew she should, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  ‘I suppose I could do it for a few days,’ she said. ‘But you’ll need to work very hard,’ she warned. ‘I won’t put up with any slacking or excuses.’

  ‘No, miss.’ Effie looked solemn.

  ‘I mean it. Any messing about, and I’m giving up.’

  ‘I’ll work hard, I swear.’ Effie beamed. ‘Oh, Jess, you’re the answer to my prayers!’

  ‘I dunno about that,’ Jess muttered, embarrassed. She looked down at Sparky, who sent her a weary look back.

  ‘You are, you really are.’ Effie hopped up and down in delight. ‘When can we start?’

  Jess took the book from her. ‘No time like the present, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Walk with me, and I’ll test you on the way back to the hospital.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  IT WAS ALWAYS sad when a patient died. But it was even more heartbreaking when it was a baby.

  It was one of the juniors, Elliott, who found little Bobby Turner in his cot, just after they came on duty at seven. She was still trembling as Sister Parry delivered her morning report to the nurses gathered around her desk in the middle of the ward.

  Everyone was saddened by the news, but no one was surprised. Bobby Turner had never really stood a chance. They’d all done their best for him, with injections of mercury and then Salvarsan. But in spite of their efforts, little Bobby had simply wasted away before their eyes, his joints horribly swollen by the infantile syphilis that had eaten away his frail little body.

  ‘He has been moved to side room four,’ Sister Parry said calmly. ‘Jennings, I want you to take everything away for washing and sterilising. The cot must be stripped right down and scrubbed before it’s used again, do you understand? And Elliott, I want you to help Doyle with last offices.’

  ‘M-Me, Sister?’ The junior looked stricken.

  ‘Yes, Elliott. It will be good experience for you to observe it being done.’

  Dora watched Elliott as Sister Parry handed out the rest of that morning’s worklists. The poor girl’s face was grey against the starched white of her cap. Good experience or not, it seemed a harsh thing to do to her, after the shock she’d had.

  When Sister Parry had finished her report, the nurses went their separate ways to set about their work. Dora went into side room four where little Bobby lay on the bed, covered by a top sheet. The blinds had been drawn. She stood for a moment, her hands folded as she murmured a quick prayer for the dear little soul to find a peace he had never known in this world.

  The door opened and Elliott came in, pushing the trolley laden with soap, flannels, scissors, brushes, cotton wool and water.

  ‘I – I wasn’t sure whether to bring a comb,’ she said shakily, her gaze fixed on the trolley. ‘I’ve only ever practised setting a trolley like this before, and never for an infant . . .’

  Dora glanced over the items on the trolley. ‘You’ve done very well,’ she said.

  ‘Th-Thank you, Nurse.’

  Dora watched her as she pushed the trolley i
nto the room, her face still averted from the bed. ‘Elliott?’ she said gently.

  The junior looked up at her, and Dora saw tears running down her ashen cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Nurse,’ she whispered. ‘I know I’m being an absolute fool, but—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Dora comforted her. ‘It’s always a shock, the first time.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t been the one to find him.’ The words bubbled out of the girl as if she could hold them back no longer. ‘I w-was only doing a favour for the night nurse, because she had a headache and wanted to go off duty early. If only I hadn’t offered to help . . .’ She drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

  ‘I know.’ As Dora patted the girl’s shoulder, could feel the tension trembling through her body as she fought to hold back tears.

  ‘It seems such a shame.’ Elliott sniffed. ‘Do you think he was in much pain? You know, before he—’

  Dora shook her head. ‘You mustn’t let yourself think like that.’

  ‘He had no chance, did he? Born to a mother like that. Do you know, she didn’t come in to see him once, not since he was admitted? Just dumped him here and went off, so Staff Nurse Ryan said. I wonder if she’ll bother to come to his funeral?’

  I doubt it, Dora thought. Bobby’s mother was probably back on the docks by now, turning tricks for sailors, her baby long forgotten.

  ‘We’d best get on with this,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

  Elliott nodded, sniffing back her tears. ‘You’re right, we need to get on,’ she said bracingly. But as she went to soak the flannel, her hand was shaking so much she dropped the soap, splashing water everywhere.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Nurse.’ She reached down to clear it up and knocked the scissors off the trolley. They went skittering across the linoleum floor.

  Dora sighed. ‘I think it’s probably better if you leave this to me,’ she said kindly. ‘It’s all right, I can manage on my own.’

  Elliott stared back at her, terrified and grateful at the same time. ‘But Sister said I had to . . .’

  ‘Sister Parry is dealing with a new admission. She won’t know anything about it.’ Dora smiled kindly at Elliott. ‘Go to the kitchen and compose yourself for a minute or two. You won’t be any use to us if you’re at sixes and sevens all day.’

  ‘Thank you, Nurse.’ Elliott hurried out of the room, tripping headlong over the trolley in her desperate haste to escape.

  Dora washed little Bobby, then dressed him in the knitted baby clothes they kept in the linen cupboard for this kind of occasion. She took the flowers she’d brought from the sluice and arranged them in his hands.

  She was fastening the ribbons on his bootees when Sister Parry’s voice rang out.

  ‘Doyle! What are you doing?’

  Dora turned round. Sister’s plump shape filled the doorway to the side ward. ‘Why isn’t Elliott helping you as I asked?’

  ‘I told her I could manage alone, Sister.’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Sister Parry’s eyes hardened. ‘Tell me, Doyle, have you been promoted to Matron recently?’

  ‘No, Sister.’ Dora squared her shoulders, bracing herself for what she knew was to come.

  ‘No, and yet you feel you have the right to overrule my specific instructions.’

  Colour burned in her face. ‘She was upset, Sister.’

  ‘She’s even more upset now, I can assure you. I’ve sent her to Matron.’

  Dora gasped. ‘But it wasn’t her fault!’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ Sister Parry agreed. ‘It was entirely your fault, Doyle. But perhaps in future Nurse Elliott will learn not to listen when you start giving orders.’ Sister Parry took a step towards Dora, so she could see the angry tightness of her mouth. ‘I gave Elliott this task for a reason. I know she was upset, but she needs to learn to rein in her emotions if she is to become a good nurse. She won’t have a soft-hearted senior there every time she sees a dead body.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with having a soft heart, Sister.’

  Sister Parry’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Are you arguing with me, Doyle?’

  Every inch of Dora was telling her not to do it. Apologise, the voice inside her head said. Say sorry, hang your head and hope for the best.

  But she couldn’t. Not this time. Sister Parry had picked on her too often.

  She lifted her head and met the ward sister’s eye.

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ she said. ‘I am.’

  Dora hadn’t been summoned before Matron in ages, and she had forgotten how terrifying it was, stepping into the book-lined office. Matron sat behind her desk, her black-clad figure tall and very straight against the sunshine that flooded in through the window behind her.

  ‘Well, Doyle?’ she said softly. ‘Sister Parry has told me what happened. Perhaps you would care to explain yourself?’

  Shaking with nerves, Dora tried to put her side of the story as clearly as she could. Matron listened intently, her steady grey gaze never leaving Dora’s face.

  ‘I see,’ she said, when Dora had finished. ‘Well, I can tell you only acted to spare a junior’s feelings.’ But just as Dora was allowing herself to relax, Matron went on, ‘Nevertheless, you were wrong to act as you did. For this hospital to function properly, everyone has to know their place. You have to learn to take orders, even if you don’t agree with them, and especially if you don’t feel like obeying.’ She clasped her hands together on the desktop. ‘What do you think would happen if everyone followed your example and did what they wanted, rather than what they had been told to do? If a probationer decided that instead of cleaning the bedpans as was necessary, she would go off and arrange some flowers instead? No one would have any authority and nothing would get done. The ward would be in chaos in no time. Don’t you agree?’

  It wasn’t a question, Dora knew that. She might have been foolish enough to argue with a ward sister, but no one argued with Matron. If she said it was raining outside, everyone put up their umbrellas.

  ‘Yes, Matron,’ she mumbled.

  ‘You will miss your next day off as punishment,’ Matron said, making a note in her ledger. ‘I want you to apologise to Sister Parry immediately, and make sure there is no repetition of this. If I have cause to reprimand you over such a matter again, it will be the last time. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Matron.’

  Dora trailed back to the ward, already practising her apology in her head. But it wasn’t the thought of saying sorry to Sister Parry that she dreaded so much as the smug look she knew would be on Lucy Lane’s face when she did it.

  But the only expression on Lucy’s face was a deep scowl. She whisked past Dora into the kitchen, banging the door behind her.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Dora whispered to Daphne Anderson, who was stacking up dirty dishes on the trolley, ready for washing up.

  ‘She’s just had some bad news,’ Daphne replied. ‘How did it go with Matron, by the way? Was she truly awful?’

  ‘You know Matron. She can make you feel like a worm just by looking at you. I have to apologise to Sister Parry anyway.’ Dora rolled her eyes. ‘At least we’ll be seeing the back of each other in a few days. I don’t know which of us will be more relieved.’ She caught Daphne’s smirking expression. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘I’ve got some bad news for you, too,’ Daphne said. ‘You know Staff Nurse Ryan was sent to the sick bay earlier? Well, it turns out she has suspected Scarlet Fever.’

  Dora’s stomach dropped. ‘And?’ she said, although she already knew the answer to that one.

  ‘And Sister Parry can’t afford to lose any experienced students. Miss Hanley has just been up to tell her that you, me and Lane are staying on here until our State Finals.’ Daphne grinned. ‘You’d best hurry up with that apology, Doyle. It looks as if you and Sister are stuck with each other for another three months!’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  IT WAS SISTER Sutton’s day off, and she was preparing for it like a military ope
ration.

  Jess had never known the Home Sister have a day off, but a former nurse friend of hers had been taken ill, so she and Sister Parker were going down to the south coast to visit her.

  Sister Sutton had been going on about it for days, fussing about catching her train, and how she was going to get to and from the station. Every morning when Jess took her breakfast in, she would find a stack of railway timetables on her bedside table.

  And when she wasn’t fussing about her journey, she was fretting about leaving Jess in charge.

  ‘The windows will need cleaning, and don’t forget to polish the floors.’ She bustled around the nurses’ home, pointing out all the jobs that needed doing in her absence. She looked very different out of uniform, dressed in an old-fashioned tweed coat in spite of the warmth of the July day. ‘And I want you to keep an eye on the students, too. Miss Hanley has kindly offered to take charge of the office while I’m away, but I want you to keep me informed of any misdemeanours.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  ‘And don’t forget to clean that brasswork and take the lampshades down for washing.’

  ‘Blimey, how could I forget? You’ve already told me a dozen times!’

  Jess’ muttered comment was barely louder than a breath, but Sister Sutton still heard it.

  ‘Yes, and I’ll tell you another dozen times if I have to!’ she snapped.

  It was a relief when Sister Parker arrived to collect her friend. She was a gentle-looking elderly lady, as petite as Sister Sutton was bulky, with white hair and pebble-lensed spectacles. Jess couldn’t imagine why all the students were so utterly terrified of her.

  ‘Are you ready, Miss Sutton?’ Her Scottish accent was soft and pleasant.

  ‘I think so, Miss Parker.’ Sister Sutton adjusted her shapeless hat in the hall mirror. ‘I’ll just fetch Sparky’s lead . . .’

  ‘Surely you can’t think you’re going to take that dog with us?’ Sister Parker shook her head. ‘I’m afraid they won’t allow him in the convalescent home.’

  Sister Sutton’s jowly face quivered. ‘Why not?’