Nightingales on Call (39 page)

Katie gave her a sideways smile. ‘Trouble will always find you, Effie O’Hara,’ she sighed. ‘But at least you can stop trying so hard to look for it.’

As Effie approached the double doors to Parry ward, she could see Frances Bates on the other side. She was lurking in the doorway to one of the bathrooms, pretending to fold towels. But from the anxious way she looked at the doors, it was obvious she was looking out for Effie.

Sure enough, Frances pounced on her as soon as she walked in.

‘Have you seen Matron? What did she say?’ she hissed.

‘Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her who it was who spiked the punch.’ Effie shouldered past her. ‘You and your friends are quite safe.’

She went to walk away, but Frances followed her down the ward towards Sister Parry’s desk. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Hugo told me he’d put that test tube in your coat pocket,’ she said, stumbling over her words. ‘I thought that was going a bit too far, actually.’

Effie glanced over her shoulder at her. ‘Is that supposed to be an apology?’

Frances blushed. ‘I suppose so. But Hugo didn’t know you were going to whip it out in front of Miss Hanley, did he?’

‘No, and I don’t suppose he really cared either.’

Frances hung back as Effie reached Sister’s desk to receive her orders for the morning. Cleaning and more cleaning, just for a change.

Frances fell back into step beside her as Effie headed to the bathrooms. ‘Why didn’t you tell Matron it was us?’ she asked.

‘I thought you might do the decent thing and come and own up yourselves.’ But Effie was beginning to realise how naïve that was. She’d defended Hugo out of loyalty, but he felt no loyalty towards her at all.

Frances blushed. ‘I’m sure Hugo would have, if he’d known you were going to get into so much trouble . . .’ she started to say, but Effie cut her off.

‘If you believe that then you’re even dafter than I am,’ she said.

Ernest was going home. Mrs Philpott came to collect him with the family chauffeur.

Lucy had never seen anyone so upset to leave hospital. Ernest was in tears as the housekeeper fussed around, packing up his belongings.

‘Are you sure I shouldn’t stay longer?’ he pleaded. ‘I still feel unwell, you know.’

The only one more upset than him was Archie. Sister Parry had grudgingly allowed him to get out of bed to see his friend go. He watched from the doorway, skinny shoulders squared, jaw clenched. But he couldn’t hide the desolation in his eyes.

‘You will write to me, won’t you?’ Ernest asked him.

‘’Course I will,’ Archie promised. ‘And you could come and visit, if you like? We can play tin can copper with my mates, and I’ll show you the place by the canal where me and my brothers made a den.’

Lucy caught the housekeeper’s look of shuddering disapproval. Not long ago she would have disapproved too. But so much had changed for her in the past few months, she barely recognised the snobbish girl she used to be.

‘I’d like that,’ Ernest was saying. ‘But I don’t know if my mother would allow it.’

‘Then I’ll come and see you,’ Archie said. ‘And you can teach me how to play that fiddle of yours.’

Ernest grinned. ‘I don’t know what my mother will say about that, either.’

They looked like two little old men, shaking hands in the doorway, both very formal, both struggling not to show their feelings. Archie managed it better than Ernest: a tear rolled down his fat cheek.

‘Look at you, crying like a girl!’ Archie teased.

Ernest gave him a watery smile. ‘Promise we’ll stay friends for ever?’

Archie held up his hand. ‘Scout’s honour!’

Mrs Philpott rolled her eyes at Lucy. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she said. ‘Can you imagine these two being friends?’

Lucy looked up and caught Dora’s eye as she pulled off the bedclothes. Stranger things have happened, she thought.

Sister Parry sent her off duty at one, and Lucy decided to go and visit her mother in Kentish Town. Ever since her talk with Dora the previous night, it had been playing on her mind that she needed to go and make the peace. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d seen her, and Dora was right; family should stick together.

But Lucy wasn’t looking forward to it. She approached the tall, Edwardian building with a sense of trepidation. What kind of mood would her mother be in? she wondered. Drunk, probably. And consumed by self-pity, as usual. Lucy wasn’t sure if she could cope with any more tears or recriminations.

Or what if it was worse than that? What if her mother had felt truly abandoned and had done something to herself? Lucy ran up the narrow flight of stairs to the top floor, already feeling sick with terror and anticipation.

And then she heard it, drifting down from above her. The unmistakable sound of laughter.

Lucy stopped dead. It had been so long since she’d heard her mother laughing, it took her a moment to realise what she was hearing. In fact, she couldn’t remember Lady Clarissa Lane mustering more than a cynical little smile in years.

Yet here she was, roaring with laughter.

The door to the flat stood half-open. Lucy crept inside. A smell of fresh paint greeted her.

‘Mother?’

There was no reply. Lucy pushed open the door to the sitting room, then stepped back in astonishment.

She hardly recognised the place. What had been a dingy, cramped space had been transformed into a light, inviting room. The paintwork had been brightened up, the windows cleaned and hung with fresh curtains. Mirrors reflected light around the room, and the worn floorboards were covered with an Indian rug.

And in the middle of it her mother sat on the floor, a scarf tied round her head, polishing silverware. There was another woman with her, hemming curtains. They were so deep in conversation they didn’t notice Lucy standing in the doorway.

‘Mother?’

Clarissa looked up. ‘Lucy!’ She put down her duster and got to her feet. ‘What a delightful surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner.’ Lucy stared around her in a daze. ‘I see you’ve been busy.’

‘Well, I thought I should make the effort, rather than stare at those nasty brown walls for ever.’ Clarissa smiled. ‘What do you think?’

‘It looks – wonderful.’

‘Such a transformation, isn’t it? Your mother has a wonderful eye,’ the other woman put in.

‘Have you met Lavinia?’ her mother introduced them. ‘Turns out she’s a distant cousin of mine. She and her husband live downstairs. They’re in straitened circumstances, too,’ she laughed gaily.

‘We’re absolute paupers!’ Lavinia grinned. ‘I ran off and married a disgraceful musician, and my stuffy brother cut me off without a penny. Like your mother, we are living on Cousin Antonia’s charity.’

‘How she must love it!’ Clarissa cackled. ‘I expect she’s told all her friends about it, bragging about the hordes of impoverished relations she’s rescued.’

‘Makes a change from cats, I suppose!’ Lavinia said, and they both snorted with laughter. Lucy watched them, open-mouthed with astonishment.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ her mother said. ‘Lavinia has taught me how to make the most marvellous Turkish coffee. Come with me.’

She led the way into the kitchen. This also was transformed, with bright wallpaper and framed prints hanging on the walls.

Lucy watched her mother boiling water and mixing up the coffee in a silver pot. If Lucy hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have believed it. Clarissa looked ten years younger then the last time she’d seen her. And much, much happier.

For some reason, the sight of her made Lucy want to cry.

Clarissa looked over her shoulder at her. ‘Lucy, what is it? Whatever’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I just can’t quite believe what I’m seeing, that’s all.’ She fumbled for a handkerchief. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. Last time I saw you, you seemed so utterly defeated . . . I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived,’ she confessed.

‘You thought I might be a drunken, sobbing mess on the carpet?’ Clarissa said. ‘Or that I’d starved because I didn’t know how to butter a slice of bread? I’m not quite that helpless, darling. Although I admit I have allowed myself to get a little – feeble since I married your father.’ She paused, holding a cup in her hand. ‘Bernard was always so strong, you see. He liked looking after us so much, I quite forgot what I was capable of.’

‘You’ve certainly remembered now,’ Lucy said, looking around the kitchen.

Her mother smiled. ‘I just needed a little kick to get me started.’

She carried the tray back into the sitting room, and the three of them chatted together. Lucy found out that, far from being a pauper, Lavinia’s husband was a respected band leader, and Lavinia herself was a talented singer. She made them laugh with outrageous stories about some of the places they’d played, and the people they’d met. Lucy was glad her mother had made a friend; she needed someone lively and vivacious to keep her spirits up.

‘I’ve been talking to your mother about going into business, decorating other people’s houses,’ Lavinia said.

Clarissa waved her hand. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Why on earth not? You have such a flair for design. And, to be blunt, London is absolutely awash with wealthy Americans since dear old Wallis seduced our former king, all with lots of money and absolutely no taste at all. They’re desperate for someone like you to come along and give their new country homes some English refinement.’

‘Lavinia is right, Mother,’ Lucy agreed. ‘You could do that. You’re so good at design, and putting things together.’

Her mother blushed. ‘And how would I find these wealthy Americans?’

‘You won’t have to find them, darling. Once they know about your talents, they’ll be beating a path to your door,’ Lavinia assured her.

‘What do you suggest I do, place an advertisement in
Tatler
?’

Lucy put down her cup, her expression thoughtful. ‘I think I know a better way than that of spreading the word,’ she said.

‘Does this mean I’m forgiven?’ Leo asked.

‘Absolutely not,’ Lucy replied tartly. ‘But you said you wanted to help, and now I’m taking up your offer. Unless you’ve changed your mind?’

‘Not at all.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d be happy to help. But what exactly do you want me to do?’

He listened attentively as Lucy explained her plan.

‘What do you think?’ she said finally.

‘That’s very – enterprising,’ he said. Lucy’s heart sank.

‘You don’t think it will work?’

‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be able to find some willing clients,’ Leo said. ‘I’m just not sure your mother is up to the job, that’s all. I get the impression Lady Clarissa isn’t used to getting her hands dirty.’

Lucy thought about her mother sitting on the floor with the silverware, and smiled to herself.

‘I think you’ll find my mother’s attitude has changed somewhat since my father left,’ she said.

‘And what about you?’ Leo asked. ‘How are you coping since he’s been gone?’

Lucy reflected on the question. She would never have believed it, but her father’s leaving had forced her to grow up, just like her mother. She had had to stop seeing the world from up on her cloud of wealth and privilege, and it had taught her a great deal.

‘My attitude has changed too,’ she admitted.

‘And yet you still can’t find it in your heart to forgive me?’ asked Leo.

Lucy looked at him. It was very hard not to. As well as those blond, blue-eyed good looks, he had an irresistible boyish charm.

But he also had a cold, conniving heart, she reminded herself.

‘You ruined my father and destroyed my family,’ she said. ‘That’s somewhat hard to forgive.’

‘I told you, I didn’t write that story. I promised you I wouldn’t, and I kept my word.’

There was no reason for her to believe him. And yet there was something about the way he looked at her, the frank appeal in those aquamarine eyes, that made her wonder.

‘Then why are you so keen to help me, if you don’t have a guilty conscience?’ she asked.

‘Maybe because I like you.’

Lucy snorted dismissively. ‘I find that very hard to believe!’

‘That someone could like you? You don’t think much of yourself, do you?’

She opened her mouth and closed it again. He was right, she thought. Everyone always imagined she was big-headed because she bragged about herself and everything she had. But really she was trying to convince herself as much as everyone else that she was worth knowing.

‘I hope you’re not after my money?’ she said, to cover her confusion. ‘You’re forgetting, Mr Alderson, I’m no longer a wealthy heiress.’

‘So? You think the only interesting thing about you is your money?’ He leaned closer. ‘You’re bright, clever, pretty – and you’ve got a hell of a lot of courage,’ he said. ‘How could anyone not like you, Miss Lane?’

‘
WELL, THIS IS
a nice, ain’t it?’ said Alf. ‘Afternoon tea with my daughter. What could be better than that?’

Dora sat rigid at the table, staring down at the cloth, unable to meet his eye. She wished she’d never asked to meet him. Just having him close to her, even in a public place like a café, made her feel sick.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Katie O’Hara, and the way she’d tried to take the blame for what went on at the ball, to save her sister.

Everyone thought she was daft, but Katie was adamant it had been the right thing to do.

‘Effie’s my sister,’ she’d said simply. ‘You have to do what you can for your family, don’t you? Whatever it costs.’

Her words had struck a chord with Dora, which was why she’d forced herself to meet Alf. She couldn’t allow Josie to go through all that heartache again. Whatever it cost.

‘How are you, love? Your mum and I were just saying the other day, we haven’t seen much of you lately.’

The word ‘we’ made Dora wince. ‘You’ve been making yourself at home, then?’ she muttered.

‘Oh, yes, we’ve been getting on like a house on fire.’ Alf’s smile was bland, but Dora could see the glint in his eyes. ‘Your mum’s a very warm-hearted and forgiving woman, Dora. I don’t deserve the kindness she’s shown me, I really don’t.’