Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (6 page)

Jess had a soft spot for her, and not just because they came from the same back streets of Bethnal Green. The poor old girl was very ill and very far from home.

‘I wouldn't have said anything, but I've felt that bad since I woke up this morning,' Hilda went on, looking wretched.

Jess laid a cloth over the receiving dish and set it aside, then gently wiped Hilda's chin with a damp flannel. ‘You should have told us earlier you felt sick.'

‘I mentioned it to Sister, but she didn't take much notice. I s'pose she's right, ain't she? I mean, a bit of sickness is to be expected.'

Jess put a comforting hand on Hilda's back, feeling the knobbled arch of her spine through her flannel nightgown. She was barely skin and bone because she couldn't keep any food down. It was all Jess could do to get her to take her liver extract.

‘All the same, that's what we're here for,' she said.

‘You're very kind, love, but I didn't want to be any trouble. I can see how busy you are. I noticed a couple more arrived this morning?'

Late November had brought an epidemic of broncho-pneumonia to the Female Medical ward. Suddenly every bed was full, with extra beds arranged down the middle of the room to accommodate the patients who seemed to arrive every day, either from the village or on one of the Green Line buses sent down from London.

Jess and Daisy spent their working hours in a flurry of changing beds, applying poultices, tepid sponging and setting up steam kettles.

‘Anyone from London?' Hilda enquired hopefully.

‘Mrs Briggs is, I think. But she's so poorly I haven't had a chance to chat to her.'

‘It'll be nice to have a bit of company.' Hilda smiled weakly up at Jess. ‘I miss the old Smoke, y'know.'

‘So do I, Mrs Reynolds.' A week had passed, and although Jess had settled into the new routine, she still hadn't settled into her surroundings. She loathed the countryside, with its unearthly quiet and strange smells. People reckoned London stank, but Jess would have swopped the reek of manure for the smell of the tanning works and the glue factory any day.

‘I miss my family, too. I wish my Jean could get down to see me, but it's so difficult for her, with the kids. Did I tell you, she's working part-time on the buses now? I'd like to see that, my Jean driving a bus—'

‘Nurse Jago!' Sister's voice rang out across the ward. ‘Come here immediately.'

Jess glanced at Hilda. The poor woman looked terrified.

‘Oh, lor', that's done it,' she whispered. ‘You ain't in trouble, are you, love?'

‘Of course not, Mrs R. How could I be in trouble for doing my job?' Jess smoothed down her apron. ‘I'll be back in a minute. Shout out if you feel sick again.'

Sister Allen was waiting for her at the desk, a thunderous expression on her face.

‘I thought I told you to prepare the new patient … Miss Pomfrey?' she snapped.

‘I was on my way, Sister, but Mrs Reynolds called out that she felt sick, so I thought I'd better attend to her first.'

‘Oh, you did, did you?' Sister Allen's eyes were pinpricks of venom. ‘When I give you an order, I expect you to carry it out immediately, do you understand? Not when you have a moment, or when you feel like getting around to it!'

‘Yes, but Mrs Reynolds—'

‘Mrs Reynolds is always complaining about something!' Sister Allen cut her off. ‘The Londoners do nothing but moan, in my experience. They want everyone's attention all the time.'

The muscles in Jess's jaw ached from the effort of not answering back.

‘I'll get on and prepare Miss Pomfrey,' she said tightly.

‘See that you do,' Sister said. ‘And remember what I said, Jago. The next time I give you an order, I expect it to be carried out immediately. Do you understand?'

‘Yes, Sister.'

‘I'll be watching you.'

Miss Pomfrey was to occupy a bed at the far end of the ward. She was sitting upright in the bedside chair, her bag at her feet.

‘You took your time,' were her first words to Jess as she pulled the screens around them.

Good morning to you, too, Jess thought. ‘Yes, well, I'm here now, aren't I?' She fixed on her brightest smile. ‘Let's get you into bed, shall we?'

Jess was surprised that Phyllis Pomfrey had been admitted with her varicose veins when they were crying out for beds. But even though she was by no means the most seriously ill patient on the ward, she still had a great deal to say for herself. As she told Jess, she was a retired nurse, and she knew how things should be done. And she didn't hesitate to point out where Jess was going wrong. She was too rough, too quick, the water she used to wash her was too cold, the pillows weren't arranged properly and Miss Pomfrey's leg wasn't propped up high enough.

Never mind moaning Londoners, Jess thought. Miss Pomfrey could give Hilda Reynolds a few lessons in complaining.

Miss Pomfrey was taking her to task about putting her belongings too far out of reach on her locker when Jess heard Mrs Reynolds calling out for help.

‘Excuse me a moment,' she cut Miss Pomfrey off in mid-complaint and stuck her head out of the screens. Almost immediately, Sister Allen bore down on her.

‘Is something wrong, Jago?' she asked.

‘I thought I heard Mrs Reynolds calling out …'

Sister's brows arched. ‘And why should that be any concern of yours?'

‘I—'

‘Go back and attend to your patient, Nurse.'

Jess just managed a quick, helpless look at Daisy before she retreated back behind the screens.

Miss Pomfrey scowled at her. ‘Well?' she said. ‘Are you going to move my spectacles, or do I have to fall out of bed and break my neck trying to reach them?'

Don't tempt me, Jess thought, snatching up the glasses and putting them down again.

She was fetching a bedpan when she met Daisy in the sluice, rinsing out a bed sheet under the tap.

‘Bother, this rusty water is just making the stain worse,' she complained. ‘This is all your Mrs Reynolds's doing, by the way, vomiting everywhere.'

‘Don't blame me. I tried to go to her when she first called out, but Sister wouldn't let me.'

‘She wouldn't let me go either. Said Mrs Reynolds has to learn to wait her turn.'

Jess frowned. ‘Have you ever noticed how Sister treats the patients from London different from everyone else?' she asked.

‘What do you mean?'

But before Jess could answer they were interrupted by a voice bellowing down the corridor outside.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?'

Jess went to the door of the sluice, just in time to see a stately-looking woman swathed in a tweed coat go sailing past.

‘Can I help you?' Jess called after her.

The woman turned around slowly, and Jess found herself looking into a pair of steely eyes.

‘I'm looking for my friend Miss Pomfrey,' she announced.

‘And you are?'

The steely eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Mrs Huntley-Osborne! What a pleasant surprise.'

All at once Sister Allen descended on them, wearing an expression Jess hadn't seen on her face before. The corners of her mouth were pinned upwards in what looked oddly like a smile. Except it couldn't be, because Sister Allen never smiled.

‘How delightful to see you,' she gushed. ‘You're here to visit Miss Pomfrey, I imagine? How very thoughtful. I'll take you to her, shall I? I expect she'll be pleased to see you.'

Jess was still watching them walking down the corridor together when Daisy came up behind her. ‘I see you've met Mrs Huntley-Osborne?'

‘Who is she?'

‘The village busybody. She and Miss Pomfrey are on the WVS committee together.'

‘She can't just turn up. It's not a visiting day.'

Daisy sent her a pitying look. ‘You don't know Mrs Huntley-Osborne,' she said. ‘The rules never apply to her. Besides, she and Sister Allen are very thick together.'

‘I can see that.' Jess craned her neck. At the far end of the ward, Sister was fawning over the woman in the tweed coat. She couldn't have looked more excited if King George himself had turned up for a visit.

They were still chattering away behind the screens when Jess went to check on the other new patient, Elsie Briggs.

She was in her thirties, with untidy brown hair and a strong-featured face. She was suffering from endo-carditis, a disease of the heart that required absolute bed rest.

‘Hello, ducks. How are you feeling?' Jess lifted her wrist and checked her pulse. It skipped and fluttered under her fingers.

‘Not good, Nurse.'

‘Oh, dear, I'm sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?'

‘Yes. You can stick me on a bus and send me back where I came from!'

Jess smiled as she marked the pulse rate on the chart. ‘I'm afraid I can't do that, Mrs Briggs.'

‘But I shouldn't be here! It's all wrong. I've got an old man and five kids at home. I should be there with them, not down here on a bleedin' holiday!'

Jess looked at her, pale and fighting for breath. She hardly looked as if she were on holiday.

‘What if a bomb drops on them while I'm not there? What'll I do then, eh? Answer me that.'

‘I'm sure nothing will happen to them, Mrs Briggs. Now, you mustn't upset yourself. Can I get you a nice warm drink? It might make you feel better.'

‘The only thing that'll make me feel better is going home to my kids.' Her voice was jagged with emotion. ‘It's no good, Nurse. I want to go back to London.'

‘Jago! Come here at once!' Jess jumped at the sound of Sister Allen's voice ringing out.

Oh, Mrs Briggs, I know how you feel, she thought.

It was a long day, and she was relieved to go off duty at eight o'clock. But Sister Allen couldn't resist one last act of vindictiveness, and forced Jess to stay and give the report to the night nurse while she herself sloped off early. As a result, Jess missed the last cart and had to walk the two miles back to the Nurses' Home.

The other girls had gathered in the Common Room, but Jess went straight to her room. She slipped off her shoes, enjoying the blessed relief after fourteen hours on her feet, then wrapped herself in a blanket and curled up on her bed to write a letter to Sam. She spilled out all her frustration about being stuck in the country, and about the ill treatment she and the other London nurses received at the hands of the spiteful Matron and senior staff. It felt good to get it all off her chest.

She had just finished the letter when there was a commotion outside. Jess hurried down to the Common Room where the other nurses were all crowded at the window in the dark, peering round the blackout curtain.

‘Who is it, can you see?'

‘I can't see anything, its all pitch black. But it sounds like a lorry.'

‘Why has it stopped here?'

‘What is going on?' Miss Carrington stood at the door to the Common Room.

Alice Freeman spoke up. ‘Please, Sister, I think we have visitors.'

‘Visitors? Don't be absurd.' Miss Carrington went to the front door and flung it open. ‘Hello?' she called out into the darkness. ‘Who's there?'

She flashed her torch into the blackness and it illuminated an army lorry at the end of the path, with at least a dozen soldiers in the back of it.

Alice squealed. ‘Soldiers! Oh, my goodness, there are soldiers!'

‘Are they coming here? Quick!'

The other girls started smoothing down their clothes and running their fingers through their hair, still in darkness. Jess went on staring out of the window, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

Two of the soldiers jumped to the ground, then turned to lift another figure out of the back of the lorry. Miss Carrington's torch beam caught a pair of long, coltish legs as they were lowered to the ground.

Jess heard a shriek of laughter, than saw the mane of unruly black curls, and felt a rush of blood to her head. No, it couldn't be …

‘It's a girl!' Alice Freeman was back at the window, her nose pressed to the glass. ‘And she's got a suitcase with her.'

Not just any girl. Jess watched her turn and give the soldiers a cheery wave as they clambered back into the lorry.

‘Thanks, lads!' she called out.

‘Who is it, do you know?' the other nurses were asking amongst themselves.

‘Never seen her before in my life.'

‘I know her,' Jess said. Even in the pitch-dark, she would have known that sing-song Irish voice anywhere.

SHE HURRIED TO
the front door and called out, ‘Effie O'Hara!'

The girl swung round.

‘Jess?' A grin lit up her face. ‘Jess Jago! Of all people – what are you doing here?'

‘Excuse me!' In her excitement, Jess had forgotten all about Miss Carrington who was standing beside her. She was puce-faced and looked as if she might explode. ‘Am I correct in thinking that
you
are the new nurse from Ireland?'

Effie recovered her manners and bobbed a funny little curtsey, wobbling like a baby giraffe on her long legs. ‘That's me, Sister. Euphemia O'Hara. Do you remember me?'

‘How could I possibly forget you, O'Hara?' Miss Carrington's lips tightened. ‘And you arrived here – in that?' She pointed towards the army lorry as it pulled off.

‘It was the only way I could get here, Sister. There were no more trains until tomorrow, and those boys were kind enough to offer me a lift down from London, so …' She shrugged expressively.

Effie hadn't changed, Jess thought. She was extraordinarily pretty, with her milky Irish skin and wide blue eyes surrounded by a cloud of untamed black curls. She was also just as scatty and hopeless as she had been when they'd trained together. She hadn't even stepped over the threshold and already she was in trouble.