The Nightingale Sisters Page 7

  ‘Me?’ Charlie looked surprised, as well he might. In all the months they had been seeing each other, he had only been allowed to visit the Vicarage once. And Helen knew even that had been for the sake of appearances, and nothing else.

  ‘Yes.’ She couldn’t meet his eye. ‘Mother says she’s looking forward to seeing you again.’

  She could sense his sceptical look. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Helen bit her lip. ‘You will come, won’t you?’ she blurted out. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I’d like you to be there – for my sake?’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t look so worried, love. Of course I’ll be there. Don’t want to let your mum down, do we?’ he added mischievously. ‘Not if she’s looking forward to seeing me.’

  Helen tried to smile back. It will all be all right, she told herself. But deep down, she couldn’t help secretly hoping that William’s new girlfriend would be awful. At least then it might make her mother more kindly disposed towards poor Charlie.

  Chapter Seven

  THE CHILLY GREY January dawn brought another so-called miscarriage on the Gynae ward.

  In the two weeks Dora had been on Wren, not a day went by without at least one woman being admitted, screaming in pain and haemorrhaging badly. Some were young, some older, some married, some single. Some were lucky and survived, others were not.

  It was too early to tell if the girl they’d operated on in the early hours of the morning was one of the lucky ones.

  ‘Miscarriage, my eye,’ Lettie Pike sneered as she made up the fire in the side ward where the patient had been put to recover from surgery. ‘We all know what that one’s been up to, don’t we?’

  ‘Have they made you a doctor now, Lettie?’ Dora snapped.

  ‘You don’t have to be a doctor to see what she’s done. Can you see a wedding ring on her finger?’ Lettie shook her head. ‘No, she’s been caught good and proper. I expect she got a neighbour to help her out, or tried to do it herself. She made a right mess of it, too, from what I hear.’

  ‘You hear too much.’

  ‘I only hear what there is to hear.’ Lettie straightened up, massaging her back.

  Dora didn’t bother to reply as she stroked a strand of pale hair back from the girl’s ashen face. A pulse jumped feebly in her temple. She was as white as her pillows, her skinny frame swamped by the hospital nightgown.

  It was the first time Dora had been entrusted to sit with a post-operative patient. She was so nervous she didn’t dare take her eyes off the girl, just in case she missed the first flicker of consciousness.

  Lettie looked down at her with a knowing eye. ‘You’re wasting your time with that one,’ she said. ‘She’s a goner, if you ask me.’

  ‘No one’s asking you, are they?’

  ‘Just giving my opinion.’

  ‘Dr Tremayne seems to think she stands a chance.’

  ‘Dr Tremayne isn’t much more than a kid himself,’ Lettie dismissed. ‘That one might have stood more chance if she’d had Mr Cooper operate on her.’

  ‘I expect next time she decides to collapse with massive haemorrhaging, she’ll remember to wait until Mr Cooper’s clinic hours,’ Dora said.

  ‘There won’t be a next time, will there?’ Lettie smiled nastily. ‘From what I hear, she’d let it get so bad Dr Tremayne had to take it all away.’ She looked down at the girl in the bed without sympathy. ‘I wonder if she’d have been so quick to get rid of that baby she was carrying if she’d known it was her last chance?’

  ‘Haven’t you got any work to do, Lettie?’ Dora turned on her, fighting to keep her temper.

  ‘Pardon me for breathing, I’m sure. But I take my orders from Sister, not you!’

  Lettie hauled the coal bucket out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Dora turned back to the girl. Poor little thing, she thought. She looked so young, not much older than her sister Josie by the look of it. Her skin was as pale as pearl, her eyelids so translucent Dora could see the tracery of fine blue veins.

  Lettie might be a vicious witch, but she was right about one thing, Dora thought. This girl, whoever she was, had said goodbye to her chances of ever having another child. But if she was desperate enough to turn to a backstreet abortionist, then perhaps she was too desperate to care anyway.

  ‘Now then, little Miss No Name,’ she whispered, covering the girl’s small hand with hers. The skin on her palm was rubbed raw. ‘How about you prove that old cow Lettie wrong and wake up, eh?’

  It was just turned eight o’clock when the girl came round, and even longer before she was able to understand what was going on. Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared straight up at Dora. Her eyes were green, flecked with amber like a cat’s.

  ‘Hello,’ Dora greeted her with a smile.

  The girl’s gaze darted around the room, then fixed back on Dora. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘In the Nightingale Hospital, love. You’ve been very poorly, but you’re getting better now.’

  Emotions passed like clouds across her face as realisation dawned. ‘I collapsed.’ She frowned, trying to put it all together. ‘There was so much blood—’

  ‘You were in a bad way, love.’

  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘She . . . she said it would be all right. She said I wouldn’t feel a thing and no one would need to know anything about it. But there was so much pain, so much blood. I thought I was going to die—’

  What little colour she had drained from her face and Dora grabbed the enamel receiver dish, just as the girl leant over and retched into it.

  ‘Shh, don’t say any more,’ she said softly, stroking the girl’s hair back off her face. ‘You don’t want to tell too many people what happened, all right? As far as anyone else needs to know, you lost your baby.’

  The girl nodded dumbly. Even in her state, she understood that admitting to an illegal abortion could get her locked up. Most doctors and nurses turned a blind eye for the sake of the poor women, but Dora knew there were some who might not.

  ‘Anyway, it’s all over now, and you got through it. I’ll fetch you some water, shall I?’

  She felt the girl watching her as she filled a glass with water from the jug beside the bed. ‘Does my dad know I’m here?’ she asked fearfully.

  ‘I don’t think so, love. You turned up in the emergency department in the early hours, but I don’t know who brought you.’ Dora held the glass to her lips. ‘We don’t even know your name?’

  ‘It’s Jennie. Jennie Armstrong.’ She pushed the glass away and looked up at Dora. ‘I came here by myself,’ she said. ‘I started walking, but I ended up on my hands and knees when the pain got too bad.’

  ‘That explains all these scratches and grazes.’ Dora turned her palm over to show her. ‘Your knees are rubbed raw too. You poor girl, why on earth didn’t you call an ambulance?’

  Jennie’s chin tilted. ‘I didn’t want no ambulance coming to the house, in case someone told my dad.’

  ‘He’ll find out soon enough, surely?’

  Jennie shook her head. ‘Not if I get back smartish. He works two till ten at the docks. He won’t know anything about it if I’m back before he gets home—’

  She started to try and struggle upright, but Dora pinned her firmly back against the pillows by her shoulders. ‘Sorry, ducks, but you’re not going anywhere. The doctor will want you to stay in here for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘A couple of weeks?’ Jennie’s green eyes filled with panic. ‘But you don’t understand, I can’t stay here that long. My dad will kill me—’

  ‘You’ll kill yourself if you start getting upset. At least let me check you over.’ Dora took the thermometer from its stand beside the bed, shook it and placed it in Jennie’s mouth. ‘You’ve had an operation, and the doctor needs to make sure you’re well before you even think about leaving here.’

  She took the thermometer out of the girl’s mouth, checked it and noted the temperature on the chart. Then she t
ook her pulse and checked her dressing. ‘That seems all right,’ she smiled. ‘And you look as if you’re getting some colour back into your cheeks, which is good. Now do me a favour and try to get some rest.’

  ‘But I need to go home,’ Jennie whimpered. ‘My dad—’

  ‘I’m sure he would rather you stayed here and got well.’

  Jennie turned fear-filled eyes to meet hers. ‘You don’t know my dad,’ she said.

  Once she’d persuaded Jennie to go back to sleep, and finished making notes on her chart card. Dora went out to report to Sister Wren. But she was more concerned about the half-dozen eggs that had gone missing from the kitchen larder than she was about her newest patient.

  ‘They were here yesterday morning, I know they were,’ she insisted. ‘Someone must have taken them.’

  Her gaze raked the nurses assembled around her desk, settling finally on Dora. ‘They belonged to a patient,’ she said. ‘Whoever has taken them is a thief. And I will be keeping a careful eye on you all until I find out who has been stealing.’

  ‘Why on earth does she think we’d want to steal her wretched eggs?’ another student, Katie O’Hara, whispered to Dora as they collected their work lists. ‘It’s not as if we can cook in the nurses’ home, is it? If you ask me, it’s more likely to be the night staff who took them, and left us to take the blame.’ She consulted her work list. ‘I’m doing beds, how about you?’

  ‘Laundry, just for a change.’ Dora looked down her list and sighed.

  The morning was spent collecting and counting the soiled linen and entering the details in the laundry book, then packing it up in baskets to be sent off. Ennis brought in a couple of stained drawsheets, which Dora had to soak in cold water.

  She worked as quickly and efficiently as she could, but even then Sister Wren wasn’t satisfied. ‘I hope you’re not going to put those damp sheets in with the rest of the laundry?’ She stood in the doorway to the sluice, watching Dora. ‘You’ll have the whole lot ruined with mildew.’

  ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘And when you’ve finished, clean the mackintoshes. And see you dry them properly, too. I don’t want to see them folded up and shoved in a drawer while they’re still damp.’

  ‘No, Sister.’ Dora gritted her teeth.

  Fortunately she was saved from further nagging by Staff Nurse Cuthbert.

  ‘There’s a man in Emergency looking for his sister,’ she said. ‘Apparently she’s gone missing.’

  ‘And why are you telling me this?’ Sister Wren demanded.

  ‘They seem to think it might be the patient who was admitted during the night? Although we don’t know her name . . .’

  ‘Jennie,’ Dora put in. ‘It’s Jennie Armstrong.’

  Sister Wren turned slowly to face her, her eyebrows rising. ‘I’m sorry, Doyle? Did anyone ask you to join in this conversation?’

  ‘That’s her! That’s the girl he was looking for,’ Staff Nurse Cuthbert said excitedly. ‘I’ll go and tell them, shall I?’

  ‘You certainly will not,’ Sister Wren retorted. ‘I shall go down and speak to this person myself. When I am ready.’

  ‘But, Sister, the poor man has been scouring the streets for her. He’s exhausted—’

  ‘And I shall go and talk to him in a moment,’ Sister Wren interrupted her. ‘Goodness gracious, Cuthbert, I have a ward to run. I can’t just drop everything and rush off willy-nilly, can I? Now, have you had any luck finding those missing eggs?’

  Dora caught the flash of resentment in Staff Nurse Cuthbert’s eyes, and realised they were thinking exactly the same thing. Sister Wren had no trouble dropping everything when Mr Cooper called in, or when she wanted to put her feet up and read Peg’s Paper.

  When she’d finished putting the mackintoshes on to rollers to dry, Dora went to Jennie Armstrong’s room to check on her. She was still sleeping peacefully. It almost seemed a shame to wake her, but she needed to take her pulse and inspect her dressing.

  Dora straightened the bedclothes and was tucking a towel around Jennie’s neck in case of vomiting when Dr Tremayne came in.

  He was as tall and good-looking as his sister, Dora’s room mate Helen. But while she exuded an air of unruffled calm, William Tremayne was endearingly scruffy, with a lanky build and flopping dark hair. But he was still a senior houseman, and far out of Dora’s orbit. She froze, not sure whether to speak to him or not.

  Dr Tremayne smiled at her. ‘How’s our mystery patient?’ he asked.

  ‘She came round just after eight o’clock Doctor. And her name’s Jennie Armstrong,’ Dora added.

  ‘Jennie Armstrong, eh?’

  Dora watched him scanning the chart at the end of Jennie’s bed. ‘The patient was very anxious to go home, Doctor,’ she ventured.

  ‘She won’t be going anywhere for a while yet.’ He hung the chart back in its place. ‘Any vomiting?’

  ‘Only when she first came round.’

  ‘Have you checked her dressing?’

  ‘I was just about to check it again.’

  ‘And her colour was good? She was talking?’ Dora nodded. ‘That’s a relief. I really thought we were going to lose her.’ He stood over her. ‘Well, Miss Armstrong, you’ve had a very lucky escape, I reckon.’ He ran his hand through his dark hair. ‘Poor kid. It’s a hellish business. She left it so late, too. She must have been a good few months pregnant, by my reckoning. It must have been agony for her.’ His face was bleak. ‘Whoever did this to her must have known what was going to happen. I bet they couldn’t wait to get rid of her, in case she died there and then.’

  Dora hesitated, her eyes darting towards the door. If Sister Wren came in and saw her talking to a doctor . . .

  ‘I’d like to string these women up for what they do to young girls,’ he said suddenly. ‘Burning their insides with carbolic and mutilating them so they develop septicaemia. It’s barbaric . . .’ He saw Dora’s look of dismay and stopped. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to go on. But when you’ve stitched up as many of these girls as I have, you start to hate the women who do this to them. And make a good living from it, too.’

  ‘They don’t all do it for the money,’ Dora said without thinking. ‘Sometimes it’s a friend or relative, doing it to help out.’

  ‘Help out?’ Dr Tremayne’s mouth curled. ‘You call this helping out?’

  ‘It’s better than the shame of having a baby and no husband.’ Dora knew she was talking out of turn, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘I bet that’s what drove this one to it. She’s terrified of her dad finding out what’s happened. I expect she’s worried he’ll beat her black and blue, or kick her out on to the streets.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me this girl is more afraid of her father than she is of dying?’

  Dora looked at him steadily. ‘You don’t know what it’s like where I come from.’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t,’ Dr Tremayne agreed. He paused for a moment, considering. Then he said, ‘I’d like you to keep an eye on her. Regular TPRs, make sure she’s eating and drinking, and let me know if there are any symptoms you think I should know about.’

  ‘I’ll fetch Sister—’ Dora started for the door, but Dr Tremayne stopped her.

  ‘No, I’d like you to do it.’

  ‘But I’m just a student.’

  ‘You have compassion,’ he said. ‘Our Miss Armstrong is going to need that as much as good nursing.’ He smiled at her. ‘My sister told me you were a good nurse, Doyle. Between us, you and I are going to pull this young lady through.’

  Dora was still feeling quietly proud of herself when she went down for her dinner break. Even when Sister Wren accused her of being slapdash with the laundry it couldn’t take away the glow of pride she felt after Dr Tremayne’s praise.

  But as she crossed the courtyard towards the dining room, something was troubling her.

  Sister Wren had forgotten all about Jennie’s brother. She was still preoccupied with searching for her missing eggs. Either that or she simply cou
ldn’t be bothered.

  It’s none of your business, Dora told herself firmly, hurrying her steps across the courtyard. These things should be left to Sister. You’ll only get into trouble if you start sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.

  But then she remembered what Dr Tremayne had said about her having compassion. Surely Jennie’s brother deserved a little compassion too?

  She had almost reached the safety of the dining room when her conscience got the better of her and she found herself doing an about turn towards the main building.

  She spotted him straight away, standing at the desk in the Emergency department.

  ‘Please, Nurse, I’ve been here for hours,’ she heard him saying. ‘Surely someone must know if my sister’s here? I’ve looked everywhere else.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Mr Armstrong, someone will be here to talk to you shortly. In the meantime, please take a seat.’

  ‘But that patient, the one you said they brought in during the night . . . That could be her, couldn’t it? For God’s sake, all you have to do is tell me!’

  ‘It is her,’ Dora blurted out.

  They both turned to look at her. She saw the nurse roll her eyes with exasperation. ‘At last!’ she mouthed, and went back to her paperwork.

  The young man stepped forward. He had fair hair like his sister and the same amber flecks in his green eyes. But he was as tall and muscular as Jennie Armstrong was slight and delicate.

  ‘Jennie’s here?’ he said. ‘Please, Miss, is she all right? Has she had an accident?’

  Dora bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but the poor man looked so sick with worry she couldn’t leave him in such a state.

  ‘Your sister is doing well,’ she replied, choosing her words carefully. ‘She’s had to have an operation, but she is receiving excellent treatment so we expect her to make a full recovery.’

  She parroted the words she had heard Sister use when talking to patients’ relatives. But Mr Armstrong wasn’t satisfied.

  ‘An operation? I don’t understand. What kind of an operation? What’s wrong with her?’