The Nightingale Nurses Read online

  ‘I’ve seen you in Theatre, but we haven’t spoken.’ Dr Little flushed a deeper shade of rose pink.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Helen blurted out. Nurses were forbidden to speak to doctors unless asked a direct question, but somehow her older brother didn’t count. ‘You’re not with Mr Latimer.’

  Junior doctors were arranged in groups, or firms, around one particular consultant or department. William was with Mr Cooper, the Chief Consultant in Gynae.

  ‘So I am, but I have been selected to assist the great man today, as has Alec here. It’s the most enormous honour for us, as you can imagine.’ William’s brown eyes glinted with amusement in his solemn face. ‘Apparently we couldn’t possibly call ourselves surgeons if we haven’t witnessed the extraordinary talent of Mr Latimer. Isn’t that right, Alec?’

  ‘I thought you were here because Mr Cooper was busy with private patients all morning, and you had nothing else to do?’ his friend replied in a deadpan voice.

  Helen shook her head. ‘You’d better not lark about during this operation,’ she warned. ‘I think you’ll find Mr Latimer isn’t as forgiving as Mr Cooper. He doesn’t even like a sound while he’s operating.’

  ‘So we’ve heard,’ William said. ‘But I daresay you’ll keep us on the straight and narrow, Sis!’

  ‘I won’t be allowed anywhere near you. I’ll be next door, up to my elbows in steam and soapy water.’

  No sooner had the unconscious patient been wheeled into Theatre than Mr Latimer made his perfectly timed appearance. He swept in to scrub up, flanked by a line of white-faced medical students. Helen was used to doctors being treated like gods, but Mr Latimer truly seemed to be one. His fearsome presence filled the room as he towered over his minions, all blazing amber eyes and a leonine mane of russet waves. His Theatre nurse fluttered around him like a handmaiden, helping him into his gown and fastening the ties while he stood in the centre of the room with arms outstretched. Helen almost expected the sound of a heavenly choir to fill the theatre.

  She glanced across the room at William. She couldn’t see his face behind his surgical mask, but the mischievous crinkling of his brown eyes told her he was thinking exactly the same as she was.

  Once the operation was underway, Helen was banished to the sluice to wash and sterilise instruments from an earlier procedure.

  Wielding the Cheatle’s forceps, she reached into the steamy interior of the autoclave and pulled out a large metal tray. As she lifted it out, a cloud of scalding steam made her lose her grip on the forceps for a split second. She felt the tray start to slide and desperately tried to stop it. But it was too late. She could only watch helplessly as, in terrible slow motion, it slid from the forceps and crashed to the ground.

  The sound was like the crash of a hundred cymbals, shattering the silence. A second later the door flew open and Miss Feehan appeared in the doorway, quivering with fury.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed.

  ‘Sorry, Sister.’ Helen couldn’t meet her eye as she retrieved the tray.

  ‘It’s not me you should be apologising to, is it?’ Miss Feehan’s eyes blazed. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, girl. Put that tray back in the autoclave and resterilise it. And then you must apologise to Mr Latimer. He is most upset.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  All faces turned to her when she stepped into the operating theatre. William regarded her with silent sympathy over his face mask.

  Mr Latimer stared at her, forceps poised, but didn’t speak.

  Helen cleared her throat. ‘Mr Latimer, I just wanted to say how sorry I am that I disturbed your operation.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it still seemed to ring around the hushed theatre.

  Mr Latimer said nothing. Helen squirmed as his amber gaze moved slowly down to her feet and back up to her face. Then, finally, he spoke.

  ‘Go away,’ he said.

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She backed out of the room, closing the door behind her, and fled back to the sluice.

  I won’t cry, she told herself over and over again, trying to blink back the tears of humiliation that prickled at the backs of her eyes. Hot soapy water scalded her arms as she plunged them in, but she was too mortified to care. Any minute she expected Miss Feehan to barge in and send her to Matron.

  Luckily there were only two other procedures on Mr Latimer’s list for that day. By four o’clock he had gone, and surgery had finished.

  Helen was still at the sink, scrubbing blood from the joint of a pair of surgical scissors, when William and Alec came to find her.

  ‘You mustn’t take it to heart,’ William said. ‘It was an accident. They happen to everyone.’

  ‘Not to me.’ Helen held the scissors up to her eyes, examining them for imaginary specks. ‘What kind of a nurse am I if I can’t even sterilise an instrument properly?’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You only dropped a tray. It’s not as if a patient died, or anything.’

  ‘Shall I let you into a little secret?’ Alec said. Helen looked over her shoulder at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘First you have to promise not to breathe a word. Not to anyone.’ She and William looked at each other, then both nodded. ‘Do you know why Latimer insists on total silence while he operates?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s terrified of losing his concentration and making a mistake.’ Alec glanced around him, as if to make sure no one was listening. ‘Years ago, when he was first starting out, he left a swab inside a patient.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘That’s what I heard. It didn’t come to light until afterwards, when they were checking the swabs and realised one was missing.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They had to open the patient up again to find it. There was a big fuss, of course, and Mr Latimer came within a whisker of being struck off. Ever since, he’s been absolutely fanatical about no one uttering a sound while he’s working.’

  Helen looked at William. He seemed as surprised by the story as she was.

  ‘Do you see what I’m saying to you?’ Alec said. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. Even someone as great as Mr Latimer.’

  Helen smiled shakily. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That does make me feel better.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what would make you feel even better,’ William said. ‘Let Alec and me take you out for a drink this evening.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to study.’

  William rolled his eyes. ‘You work too hard.’

  ‘And you don’t work hard enough!’

  ‘True. But don’t tell Mother that, will you?’

  ‘She wouldn’t believe me anyway. You know you can do no wrong in her eyes.’

  ‘This is true.’ William sighed dramatically. ‘Oh, well, if we can’t persuade you to join us, we’ll just have to go and celebrate by ourselves, won’t we, Alec?’

  ‘What are you celebrating?’ Helen frowned.

  ‘Surviving a session with Mr Latimer. I don’t know about you, Dr Little, but I’m not in any hurry to repeat the experience.’

  ‘Definitely not.’ Alec shook his head.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Helen sighed. ‘I have to face him again in three days’ time. Even sooner if he’s called to an emergency case.’ She was already dreading it.

  ‘You’ll be all right, Sis.’ William put his arm round her. ‘And a word of advice,’ he added. ‘If you clean those scissors any more you’ll wear them away!’

  By six o’clock, she had finished sterilising, drying and polishing the instruments, and put them all away for the following day. She scrubbed the operating theatre until the white-tiled walls gleamed under the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Then she changed out of her uniform, wiped her shoes over with carbolic, switched off the lights and left.

  Theatre was an eerily silent place to be when everyone had gone home. All the doors were locked, and the only way out was
up the steep back staircase. Helen hurried along the passageway, her footsteps muffled by the thick stone walls. She was far too sensible to believe all the silly stories the other nurses told about the ghost of a former Theatre Sister who was supposed to haunt the place, but the darkness and the soft scuttle of the cockroaches coming out of their hiding places still made her heart race against her ribs.

  She had almost reached the top of the back stairs when she heard the sound of breathing coming from above her. She paused, listening. Someone was standing in the shadows at the top of the stairs, waiting . . .

  ‘Hello?’ She called, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘Is anyone there?’

  She jumped as a heavy door banged shut above her. Whoever it was had gone.

  Helen laughed shakily at her own foolishness. It was probably just a porter, or one of the cleaners. She had spent far too much time listening to Millie Benedict telling ghost stories after lights out, she decided.

  But as she reached the top of the stairs, a curious scent caught her attention and made her stop again. She paused, sniffing the air. Was it her imagination or was that the scent of roses?

  Chapter Six

  ‘GO ON, WHAT happened then?’

  Millie heard the voices as she opened the door to the sluice. Amy Hollins and another third-year, Sheila Walsh, were leaning against the sink, gossiping. They fell silent when Millie walked in.

  ‘What do you want?’ Amy demanded.

  ‘Sister sent me to make an ice bag for the patient in bed ten.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get on with it, hadn’t you? And hurry up. We don’t need Staff snooping around in here, wondering where you are.’

  Millie felt two pairs of hostile eyes following her as she slid the block of ice into a sacking bag and started to chip away at it. They were silent for a moment, then Sheila said, ‘Take no notice of her. Go on.’

  ‘Well, he took me for dinner at the Savoy, and then we drank endless champagne cocktails in Harry’s Bar . . .’

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ Sheila sighed. ‘My boyfriend can barely afford Lyons Corner House!’

  ‘You’re right, he does rather spoil me.’ Amy simpered. ‘He says nothing is too good for me.’

  ‘So when are we going to meet this wonderful man of yours?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He’s a very private person.’

  ‘So private you won’t even tell us his name?’ Sheila laughed. ‘If you’re not careful, we’ll start to think this Mr Perfect of yours doesn’t even exist.’

  ‘Of course he exists!’ Amy’s voice rose. ‘I’ve got proof, too. He gave me this last night.’

  Millie couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder. Amy had unfastened her collar and was delving down inside her dress. Millie caught a flash of gold before Amy turned on her, scowling.

  ‘Haven’t you finished that ice bag yet?’ she snapped.

  ‘Nearly.’ Millie emptied the ice into a bowl and took it over to the sink to run it under tepid water to melt off any sharp edges. But her attention was still fixed on Amy and Sheila.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Sheila sighed. ‘But you’re taking a risk, aren’t you? You know you’re not allowed to wear jewellery.’

  ‘There’s a lot of things I’m not allowed to do!’

  Some whispering and giggling followed. Then Millie heard Sheila’s shocked gasp.

  ‘Oh, Hollins, you didn’t!’

  ‘Well, he’d gone to all the trouble of booking a suite. I couldn’t disappoint him, could I?’

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘It was blissful. The rooms looked over the river, and it had the biggest bathroom you could imagine—’

  ‘I didn’t mean the hotel room, silly!’

  They shrieked with laughter. Millie turned back to her ice and let out a cry of dismay. She had paid so much attention to Amy Hollins’ story, she hadn’t noticed the ice melting under the tepid water.

  Amy crossed the room and glanced over her shoulder. ‘Now look what you’ve done! You’ll have to start all over again. Serves you right for eavesdropping on our conversation.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be eavesdropping if you weren’t in here gossiping,’ Millie muttered under her breath.

  ‘Did you say something?’ Hollins frowned.

  Millie kept her head down. ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a good thing too, or I’d report you straight to Matron.’

  Millie went off to fetch more ice and left them giggling and gossiping together.

  Coming out of the sluice, the first person she met was Staff Nurse Crockett. She was a squat woman in her forties, much older than any of the other staff nurses. Millie heard rumours that she’d stayed on Female Medical for so many years because she was devoted to Sister Everett.

  If she was devoted then she had an odd way of showing it. The pair bickered constantly, and occasionally went for days without speaking. It made life very difficult for the students sometimes.

  Today, thankfully, they were in perfect accord.

  ‘We have a kidney abscess just come in. Bed Six, a Mrs Lovell,’ she announced. ‘Sister wants you and O’Hara to settle her in and give her a bath.’

  The new patient sat on the edge of her bed, her coat pulled tightly around her in spite of the warm spring day outside. Katie O’Hara, another second-year student, was trying to coax her out of it.

  ‘Come along, Mrs Lovell,’ she was saying in her gentle Irish lilt. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had a nice warm bath.’

  ‘I ain’t staying,’ Mrs Lovell growled. Her expression was truculent under her wild mane of grey-streaked hair. ‘I need to go, see. My family are off on the road and I’ve got to go with them.’

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere until the doctor has been to see you, Mrs Lovell,’ Millie said.

  ‘I don’t hold with no doctors. And I don’t hold with no hospitals, neither. I told ’em, I didn’t ought to be here.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sure the doctor will explain everything when he comes round.’ Millie went to remove her coat, but Mrs Lovell lashed out at her like an angry, spitting cat.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ she snapped, her black eyes gleaming. ‘I told you, I ain’t staying. I ain’t slept under a roof in my fifty years, and I ain’t going to start now!’

  Millie turned to Katie. ‘You hold her down, I’ll get it off her.’

  Katie shook her head. ‘I’m not touching her,’ she whispered. ‘You know what she is, don’t you? A gypsy.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘You have to be careful of gypsies. They have powers. They can put a curse on you, just like that.’

  Millie laughed. But then she saw the terror in Katie’s eyes and realised she was deadly serious.

  ‘What superstitious nonsense!’

  ‘She’s right, my wench,’ Mrs Lovell murmured. ‘I can put a gypsy curse on someone, if I have a mind to do it.’

  ‘You see?’ Katie retreated a few steps towards the curtains. ‘I’m not risking it, Benedict, and neither should you.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Millie turned to Mrs Lovell. ‘Look, I’m awfully sorry you haven’t been able to go on the road with your family, but you’re ill. You have an abscess on your kidney, and you need proper medical treatment.’

  ‘I can treat myself,’ Mrs Lovell insisted stubbornly, her arms folded across her chest. ‘Romanies don’t have any need for doctors and medicine.’

  Millie suppressed a sigh. ‘I daresay you’re right, but we can make you better a lot quicker. And surely the sooner you recover, the sooner you can catch up with your family. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Mrs Lovell eyed her suspiciously. Millie saw Katie out of the corner of her eye, edging towards the curtain, but she stood her ground.

  Finally, Mrs Lovell said, ‘All right, then. Do what you have to do. But don’t think I’m happy about it,’ she added, shooting a malevolent look past Millie at Katie, who ducked away.

  ‘Thank you
. Right, let’s start by making you more comfortable, shall we?’

  She reached to take off the woman’s coat, then let out a squeak of shock as Mrs Lovell’s hand shot out, fixing around her wrist like a claw.

  ‘Your young man’s over the water, ain’t he?’

  Millie frowned back at her. ‘How did you know that?’

  Mrs Lovell grinned up at her, showing a few stumpy, misshapen teeth. ‘You’d be surprised what I know, my wench.’

  Ruby ran the tap in the sink and plunged her hands into the warm soapy water. It was so much easier to do the washing when you didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to heat up the water in the copper, or drag the dolly tub out into the freezing yard. She pitied her mum, getting up on a Monday morning, knowing she had a back-breaking day’s work ahead of her.

  But she missed it too. She and her mum would usually have a good laugh together while they worked, gossiping about all the neighbours and the goings-on in Griffin Street. It wasn’t the same, rinsing out Nick’s shirts on her own in the kitchen.

  She’d thought she would enjoy the peace and quiet of having the place to herself, not having to put up with her noisy brothers or her mum and dad arguing. But sometimes she felt homesick for her family and for Griffin Street. Being stuck up on the third floor of Victory House with just a narrow concrete walkway outside her front door, she never saw her neighbours. She missed being surrounded by the world going about its business, people laughing, crying and arguing just a few feet from her back door.

  She even missed Gold’s Garments. That cow Esther Gold and her dad worked the girls hard, but there was still plenty of time for a laugh over the machines as they stitched and snipped.

  She rinsed out the washing in cold water, then put it through the mangle and took it outside. Nick had rigged up a washing line for her, strung across the walkway. It was a brisk, breezy late April day and washing fluttered like bunting outside the other flats.

  ‘Someone’s been busy, I see.’

  Ruby looked around and saw a man dressed in a shabby pin-stripe suit and trilby hat.