Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (21 page)

‘Here you are.' Sarah handed her the money and took the jacket. She held it up to her cheek, and for a second Jess glimpsed an unguarded side to her as she pressed the soft lemon-coloured wool against her skin.

But then she noticed Jess watching her and the mask snapped back into place.

Jess waited a moment, then said, ‘I'll be off.'

As she went to leave, Sarah suddenly asked, ‘Why did you do it?'

‘What?' Jess replied.

‘Why did you buy the jacket for me? It's not as if you know me or anything.'

It was a question Jess had asked herself several times. And there was only one answer she could come up with. ‘I suppose because I know what it's like to be an outsider,' she said.

‘An outsider?' Sarah bristled. ‘Is that what you think I am?'

‘That's what you are, ain't it?'

Sarah stared at her so hard, Jess wondered if she had offended her again. Daisy was right, Sarah was a prickly character.

‘Anyway, I'll be off.' She turned and started to walk away.

‘I've just put the kettle on,' Sarah said suddenly. ‘You could stay for a cup of tea, if you like?' She eyed Jess warily, as if she expected her to refuse. There was a proud tilt to her chin that Jess recognised all too well. It was the look of someone who expected to be rebuffed, and who had made up her mind she wouldn't care if she was.

‘I'd love to, if you're making one.'

She sat at the table while Sarah put the kettle on and then built up the fire. She set it like an expert, Jess noticed. Then she remembered Daisy had said she'd been Mrs Huntley-Osborne's maid.

How had she put up with it? Jess wondered. The woman must have been insufferable.

As Sarah made up the fire, she said, ‘What did you mean – about you being an outsider?'

Jess paused. ‘When I started nursing, a lot of the other girls used to leave me out because I wasn't posh like them. I used to be a housemaid, and they didn't think people like me had a right to be a nurse.'

Sarah looked over her shoulder at her. ‘You were a maid?'

‘I went into service when I was thirteen.'

‘Me too. I was sent to work straight from leaving the orphanage.'

‘For Mrs Huntley-Osborne?'

Sarah sent her a sharp look. ‘I suppose everyone's been gossiping about me?'

‘If they have, I ain't been listening. I don't like gossip.'

‘You're the only one in this village who doesn't, then.' Sarah stared into the flickering blue flames of the fire. ‘And, yes, I worked for Mrs Huntley-Osborne. But only for the past three years.'

Sarah hauled herself to her feet wearily. She had the exhausted, heavy-bellied look of a young woman who was nearing her time.

‘How long have you got before the baby comes?' Jess asked.

‘A couple of months.' Sarah went over to the stove, where the kettle had started to boil.

Jess hesitated, choosing her words carefully. ‘And the father?'

Sarah sent her a sharp look. ‘What about him?'

‘Does he know about the baby?'

‘He's dead,' Sarah said flatly. ‘He was killed by a U-boat in the Atlantic six months ago. But yes, he knew. He was going to marry me,' she said, looking defensive. ‘He even gave me this ring. Look.' She showed Jess a grubby piece of string tied around her neck. Dangling from it was the most exquisite solitaire ring. It looked like an antique, ornate twisted gold surrounding a glittering chunk of emerald. A ring like that must have cost a fortune, thought Jess.

She looked at it, then up at Sarah. ‘It's beautiful. But why don't you wear it on your finger?'

‘I don't know … it just doesn't seem right somehow, now he's gone.' Sarah gazed at the ring sadly, then slipped it back inside her jumper. ‘Anyway, he was going to marry me,' she repeated firmly. ‘He loved me. Whatever anyone else says about it,' she murmured.

Jess watched her making the tea. She couldn't imagine why everyone had turned against Sarah Newland. Yes, she was a bit of a spiky character, but who wouldn't be, in her situation? All Jess could see was a young girl who was down on her luck. She had fallen pregnant, but that wasn't the worst crime in the world. The rest of the village should have been giving her a helping hand, not condemning her.

‘Why does everyone have it in for you?' she asked, as Sarah set the cups down in front of them.

Sarah gave her a resigned smile, as if she had been expecting the question ‘I can tell you that in three words,' she said. ‘Mrs Huntley-Osborne.'

‘But why?'

‘She thinks I betrayed her.' Sarah stared down at her cup. ‘As far as she's concerned, she took me in and gave me a roof over my head, and I repaid her by getting myself into trouble, as she called it.' Her mouth twisted. ‘Mrs Huntley-Osborne likes to think of herself as the most respectable woman in the village, and having a pregnant unmarried maid would definitely give the wrong impression …'

‘But that's no reason to turn everyone against you, surely?'

‘She wants to drive me out. She's even tried to get the landlord to evict me, but thank God, he needs the rent more than he needs that woman's approval.' Sarah's mouth was a taut line. ‘But I know her, and it's only a matter of time before she gets her way.'

Jess stared at her. ‘But I don't understand. Why would it be any of her business what you do?'

‘Because I'm an embarrassment to her, I suppose.'

‘An embarrassment?'

Sarah shrugged. ‘That's all I can think. But who knows what goes on in that woman's mind? Sugar?' she offered. ‘It's only saccharine, I'm afraid. It's all I could get.'

‘No, thank you.' Jess glanced across the table at Sarah. Her face was closed, deliberately expressionless. Jess had a feeling there was much more to the story, but if there was, Sarah Newland wasn't going to be the one to tell it.

THAT NIGHT, AS
the day staff were enjoying a New Year's Eve drinks party in the dining room, Jess was still stuck on nights in the Fever Wards. And it seemed as if fate had planned to make the last night of
1941
as difficult as possible for her.

‘The night nurse in charge of the diphtheria ward has been sent off sick, so you'll have to go and cover for her,' Miss Tanner the Night Sister told Jess when she reported for duty. ‘I've arranged for Nurse Frimley to take over your ward.'

‘Yes, Sister.'

‘Come with me, and I'll show you what needs to be done.'

Miss Tanner walked through the diphtheria ward with her, describing the various cases, and their stages of treatment. Jess had never imagined she would miss the whooping cough ward, with its cacophony of coughing, retching and endless wet and dirty beds. But she feared the menacing silence of the diphtheria ward. All the patients were kept lying flat on their backs, too poorly to make a sound. And then there was the foul smell too; the sweet, sickly odour of the disease mingling with the sharp tang of disinfectant made her want to retch.

Miss Tanner pointed out a new patient, a four-year-old girl who had arrived that afternoon.

‘Dr French has already increased her serum to twenty thousand units, but she seems to be deteriorating quite quickly, so keep an eye on her and call him if you think her dosage needs to be increased,' Miss Tanner instructed.

‘Yes, Sister.'

As they returned to the sister's desk, Miss Tanner said, ‘Are you sure you'll be able to manage, Nurse?'

‘I'll do my best, Sister,' Jess promised.

Miss Tanner smiled. ‘I'm sure you will, I know I can rely on you.'

Once the night sister had gone, Jess went through the ward, checking on all the children. She administered serum, swabbed throats with carbolic, gave strychnine injections and raised beds to stimulate failing hearts.

And all the while she was aware that Pamela Jarvis, the little girl in the corner, was getting steadily worse.

By ten o'clock, she decided to telephone Dr French.

‘I'm worried about the new admission, Doctor. Pamela Jarvis. The little girl with faucial diphtheria? She doesn't seem to be responding to the serum.'

She could hear the sound of laughter in the background. He might have been on call, but it sounded as if Dr French was determined not to miss out on the fun of New Year's Eve. He had obviously sloped off to join the drinks party.

‘She's very pale and restless, and she's having increasing difficulty swallowing,' Jess persisted. ‘I wondered if we should increase her dosage?'

‘We?' Dr French echoed coldly. ‘When did you qualify as a doctor, Nurse Jago?' In the background came the sound of shattering glass, followed by a whoop of laughter.

Jess swallowed down her rising temper. ‘I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm just a little anxious about her, that's all.'

He sighed heavily. ‘Very well, I'll come as soon as I can. But I'm rather busy at the moment.'

I can hear that, Jess thought, listening to the voices in the background. ‘But if you could …'

‘As soon as I can, Nurse,' he said abruptly, and hung up.

Jess tried to stay calm, but she couldn't take her eyes off Pamela. She set up a steam tent but the little girl's breathing was laboured and noisy as she desperately tried to suck in the air past the dirty yellow, foul-smelling membrane that extended across her throat. If it spread any further, the child would suffocate.

After half an hour there was still no sign of Dr French. Jess tried to telephone him again, but there was no reply from the exchange. It was as if the whole world was off having a good time, leaving her to struggle alone to keep poor little Pamela alive.

But perhaps not the whole world …

A thought suddenly struck her, and she dashed down the corridor to the whooping cough ward.

‘Will you listen out for my lot?' she begged Nurse Frimley. ‘I just have to run and find someone. I'll only be a minute.'

Nurse Frimley, a nervous second year who was already clearly overwhelmed by the responsibility she'd been given, jumped to her feet. ‘But what if—'

‘One minute!' Jess promised, and darted off before Nurse Frimley could say any more.

Dr Drake was coming out of Male Medical when Jess caught up with him. He was clearly having as bad a night as she was. He looked utterly shattered.

He started off down the corridor but Jess called after him. ‘Doctor?'

He swung round. ‘Yes?'

‘Can you come with me, please? I need you to check a diphtheria patient.'

His frown deepened. ‘Dr French is covering that ward tonight. Call him,' he said shortly.

‘But, Doctor—'

‘Nurse, I'm far too busy looking after my own patients. Now, if you'll excuse me …'

‘Dr French has buggered off with his friends. Please, Dr Drake!' Jess blurted out as he strode off.

He stopped dead, and for a moment she thought she'd gone too far. Jess tightened her fists at her sides and braced herself as he turned around slowly to face her.

‘Show me this patient,' he said.

As soon as they arrived on the diphtheria ward, Jess knew she'd done the right thing. Pamela had got worse since she'd been gone. Her face was an ominous shade of purple, dark as a storm cloud.

Dr Drake put on an overall and examined her in silence for a moment.

‘She needs a tracheostomy,' he said flatly. ‘But we'll have to do it here. She's far too ill to be moved.'

‘Yes, Doctor.'

Don't panic, Jess told herself as she arranged screens around the table in the middle of the ward and set up the trolley for the operation. He knows what he's doing.

She had never seen a tracheostomy performed before, and hoped her nerves didn't show as she wrapped little Pamela in a blanket and laid her down carefully on the table. Jess placed a sandbag under her frail shoulders so that her head tilted back, exposing the full arch of her slender neck.

Dr Drake's breathing was soft and slow behind his mask as he prepared to make the incision.

‘Hold her head very steady, please, Nurse,' he instructed, his voice muffled behind the starched linen. ‘We don't have a second chance at this.'

Every muscle in Jess's body went taut as she held on to little Pamela's head. She wanted to look away but she didn't dare. As Dr Drake lowered the scalpel to the child's tender throat she couldn't stop herself from yelping with fear.

Dr Drake's eyes met hers, stern over his mask. ‘Trust me, Nurse,' he said.

He made the incision fast and decisively. There was a loud hiss of air, and immediately Pamela's colour returned to normal.

Dr Drake straightened up, the scalpel in his hand. ‘Right,' he said. ‘Let's get that dilator fitted.'

After Jess had put Pamela back into her bed and made sure her dilator was in place, she went off to wash up the instruments. She thought she was alone, so jumped in shock when she heard Dr Drake say, ‘You did a good job, Nurse.'

She turned around. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching her.

‘I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realise you were still here.'

‘Just taking five minutes.' He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He looked utterly drained, Jess noticed.

On impulse, she said, ‘I don't suppose you'd like a cup of tea?'

She hadn't expected him to accept. But he raised weary eyes to hers and said, ‘Yes please, Nurse. That would be very nice.'

Jess began to wish she hadn't offered as they sat in awkward silence together at the ward table. She had never sat down and tried to hold a conversation with a doctor before, especially not one as stand-offish as Dr Drake. She had no idea what to say to him, and he didn't seem to know what to say to her, either, as he stared into the depths of his cup.

‘Pamela seems a lot better,' she commented finally.