Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (7 page)

Miss Carrington's face turned from puce to deathly white. Words seemed to fail her. ‘Come in immediately, and stop making an exhibition of yourself!' she finally managed to say.

The Home Sister turned to Jess. ‘She'll be sharing your room, Jago,' she said shortly. ‘Get yourselves washed and straight into bed, if you please. And that goes for the rest of you. We've had quite enough disturbance for one night. We will speak again in the morning,' she warned Effie ominously.

Effie made a face at Jess. ‘That's done it,' she whispered. ‘If I'd known Miss Carrington was Home Sister I would have asked them to drop me up the lane!'

Jess stared at Effie as she struggled out of her coat. She still couldn't quite believe Effie was here. The last time she'd seen her she was being packed off to Ireland to finish her training, just after the war started.

‘Why didn't you write and tell me you were coming to England?' she asked as she led the way down the passage.

‘I did, but the post is so slow these days. My letter probably got lost. Anyway, I didn't know you'd be here, did I? I thought you were in London.'

‘Miss Fox sent me down.'

‘Me too. I was hoping to stay in London, but now I know you're here, I'm glad I didn't.' Effie seized Jess's hand. ‘This is grand, isn't it? It'll be like old times, sharing together …' She followed her into their room and stopped dead. ‘Is this it?' she asked, looking around.

‘I'm afraid so. It's a bit small, isn't it? And freezing cold.'

‘Ah, I don't care. I'm so tired I could sleep anywhere.' Effie dumped her suitcase on the floor and flopped down on the bed, her legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. ‘God, I'm exhausted!' She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

‘What made you decide to come back to the Nightingale?' Jess asked.

‘You know me. I like a bit of excitement.' Effie grinned, irrepressible as ever. ‘As soon as I finished my training, I wrote to Miss Fox asking if I could come back to the Nightingale.'

‘And what did your mother have to say about that?' Jess had heard stories of the formidable Mrs O'Hara, and how protective she was of her girls. Especially Effie, her youngest.

‘Oh, you know …' Effie's voice trailed off, then she sat up straight. ‘I nearly forgot, I've brought something with me.' She rolled off the bed and kneeled down in front of her suitcase. Unfastening the straps, she said, ‘We've been hearing all about the rationing over here, and how hard it is to get anything decent to eat, so—'

She flung open the case and took out a tin. Inside was a fruit cake, a box of chocolates, and some cheese. ‘There was a bottle of whisky too, but I gave that to the army lads. Come to think of it, I might give the cheese to Miss Carrington as a peace offering, what do you think?' she said.

Jess didn't reply. She was too busy staring at the food, speechless. It had been so long since she'd seen such wonders, she could feel her mouth watering just looking at them.

‘I think I must be dreaming,' she murmured. ‘First you being here, and now all this …'

‘I didn't want to turn up empty-handed!' Effie grinned. ‘I thought it would help me make friends with the other nurses.'

‘I'm sure it will.' Although Jess didn't think Effie would ever need to bribe anyone with chocolate. She had such a warm, cheerful nature, people were instantly drawn to her.

‘Why don't we go and fetch them in now?' Effie said. ‘We could have a midnight feast.'

‘Aren't you too tired?'

‘I've woken up again now. It must be all the excitement.'

The other nurses were only too happy to leave their beds and creep into Jess's room, especially when they heard there were chocolates and cake to be had. They ooh-ed and ah-ed over the treats, passing them round.

In the middle of the party, Jess noticed Effie had gone very quiet. She looked over to see her friend had fallen asleep on her bed, still fully dressed and wearing her shoes.

She smiled to herself. Now Effie O'Hara had arrived, Jess had a feeling the country wouldn't be so quiet any more.

Effie jerked awake, her heart racing. For a moment she lay in the chilly darkness, trying to remember where she was. Then she heard Jess snoring softly in the next bed, and felt herself relax.

She had made it. She was really here.

Effie stared up at the ceiling. She couldn't believe she'd really done it. Even as she was boarding the ferry to take her away from Ireland, she'd kept expecting someone to come after her, to try and stop her. It wasn't until she saw the houses of Dun Laoghaire receding into the distance that she had allowed herself to breathe.

Jess shifted in the darkness and turned over. Effie stared across at her friend's outline. She couldn't tell anyone, not even Jess, what had really happened.

She had been disappointed when she'd found out she wasn't staying in London. Living in the big city had been part of the attraction of leaving Ireland for her. But now she thought about it, coming to the country wasn't such a bad idea. Effie also knew that it would be harder for anyone to find her buried down here in the heart of the Kent countryside.

If
anyone came looking for her. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer that they would all forget about her. But even as she said her final amen, she knew it was a forlorn hope.

Sooner or later, someone would come.

ON A DAMP
Tuesday in December, two days after the Japanese bombed an American airbase in a place called Pearl Harbour, the men from the Office of Works arrived at Billinghurst Manor to dismantle the house.

Millie threw herself into the task of supervising them. All day she went around the rooms making sure that the paintings and precious ornaments were carefully packed for storage and the polished wooden floors covered with linoleum. Curtains and chandeliers were taken down, fireplaces and carved cornices were boxed in, and decorative panels covered with sheets of hardboard. By late afternoon, the house had a strange, blank look to it.

All the while, her grandmother roamed around like a tragic wraith, staring at the bare walls and sighing over the cheap blackout curtains that had been put up in place of the silk brocade.

‘Such a pity,' she kept saying, until Millie didn't think she could bear to hear the words any more. ‘Such a terrible, terrible pity. I really don't know what your father would say about it.'

‘I'm sure he'd want to help the war effort as much as I do,' Millie replied briskly.

‘We should be preparing for Christmas,' her grandmother said, ignoring her. ‘Billinghurst always looked so beautiful at Christmas, don't you think? With an enormous tree in the hall, and holly and ivy festooned everywhere. And candles. Hundreds and hundreds of them, everywhere you looked …'

‘We could have candles at the Lodge,' Millie pointed out. It wasn't like her grandmother to be so sentimental. She had barely paid any heed to holly and candles and suchlike in the past. But Lady Rettingham had taken to sighing a great deal, and sniffing back tears when she thought Millie was within earshot. Millie had been upset by it at first, but now she suspected her grandmother was putting it on.

Lady Rettingham shook her head. ‘It won't be the same,' she said sadly.

Millie took a deep breath. No, it won't be the same, she wanted to say. But nothing was the same. Seb was dead and her father was dead, and it was their loss, not that of a few dusty ornaments, that had taken the life out of Billinghurst for her.

‘Yes, well, we all have to make sacrifices, don't we? Anyway, the Quartering Commandant should be here soon.' She changed the subject rather than have the same pointless argument with her grandmother again.

‘Quartering Commandant! It sounds like he's in charge of some ghastly ancient torture.' Lady Rettingham drew herself up to her full height, as if mentally preparing for battle. ‘I daresay he will try to bully us. But we must stand up to him.'

‘Yes, Granny.'

‘I mean it, Amelia. You mustn't allow these people to make too many demands. Heaven knows, we have given in to them enough already.' Lady Rettingham shook her head. ‘If only we had a man here,' she sighed.

Millie bristled. ‘I'm sure I'm capable of talking to them, Granny.'

‘Yes, but they'd take more notice of a man, don't you think?' Lady Rettingham paused for a moment, then said, ‘You know, I really think you should consider marrying again.'

Her voice was almost lost under the sound of hammering, and for a moment Millie wasn't sure she'd heard her correctly. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Oh, don't look at me like that, Amelia. We have to be practical. You need someone to help you run the estate.'

‘I have Mr Rodgers,' Millie pointed out.

Her grandmother gave a tsk of irritation. ‘That isn't what I meant, as you well know,' she said. ‘I'm only thinking of you, Amelia. You're twenty-six, far too young to be widowed. You shouldn't be alone.'

‘I'm not alone. I have Henry. And you,' she added.

‘You can't spend the rest of your life locked up here with an old woman and a small boy!' Lady Rettingham replied dismissively. ‘It isn't fair on you or Henry. He needs a father.'

‘And I need someone to run the estate for me, do I, because I'm not capable of doing it on my own?' Millie said.

Her grandmother's silence spoke volumes.

Millie was saved from answering by a knock on the door. ‘I expect that will be the Quartering Commandant,' she said, moving past her grandmother. ‘I'd better go and see him, since I don't have a man to do it for me!'

But it wasn't the Quartering Commandant. Their housemaid, Grace Maynard, stood in the hall. From her embarrassed expression, Millie guessed she must have heard their argument.

‘I just wanted to say goodbye, your ladyship,' she mumbled. ‘It's my last day today.'

‘Oh, yes, of course. You're joining the VADs, aren't you?'

‘That's right, your ladyship.' Grace's face lit up with pride. She was a solidly built girl, with wide hazel eyes and thick sandy hair scraped back off her broad, smiling face.

‘We'll miss you,' Millie said. Grace's resignation had caused her grandmother much consternation, especially as they couldn't seem to find a replacement maid. It was yet another of the Dowager Countess's grievances against the war.

‘I'll miss this place too, your ladyship.'

‘How long have you worked here?'

‘Ten years, your ladyship. Since I was thirteen years old. It's all I've ever known …'

The girl's eyes were filled with apprehension, and Millie rushed to reassure her. ‘But I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time at the hospital,' she said. ‘It's such worthwhile work, although it can be very hard.'

‘I don't mind hard work,' Grace said stoutly.

‘I know that, Grace.' As far as Millie was aware, the girl had never missed a day's work in her life. She was there first thing in the morning, cleaning out the grates, and last thing at night. No wonder Grandmother was so devastated at the prospect of losing her.

‘Wait there a moment,' said Milie. She left Grace in the hall while she went to fetch her purse. ‘I want you to take this, as a token of our appreciation for all your years of service …'

She went to hand her the five pound note, but Grace shrank back from it as if Millie was offering her a venomous snake.

‘Oh, no, your ladyship, I didn't come for that—'

‘I know you didn't, Grace. But I want you to have it anyway. Call it an early Christmas present, to buy yourself something nice.'

‘Thank you, your ladyship.' Grace couldn't meet her eyes as she took the money reluctantly. ‘It'll come in very useful, I'm sure.' Millie walked her through the hall, past three men from the Office of Works who were setting up ladders to take down the pictures hanging there.

At the front door Grace stopped abruptly, like a horse refusing a fence.

‘It's not right, your ladyship.' She shook her head in confusion. ‘Servants never use the front door …'

‘Yes, but you're not a servant any more, are you?' Millie smiled at her. She opened the door. ‘Goodbye, Grace,' she said. ‘And good luck.'

‘Thank you, your ladyship.'

Grace hesitated for a moment, then took a step through. As she did, she lifted her face to the sky and smiled, and suddenly it was as if the sun had split the grey clouds, bathing her in golden light.

Millie watched her springing down the steps, so full of joy and hope. How she envied the girl her freedom. She was starting a new life, doing a job where she would be truly useful and valued. Millie envied her.

She turned back to see the men about to take down the portrait of her mother that hung over the fireplace facing the front door. One was up the ladder, while the other two stood below him, waiting to take the painting's weight.

‘Wait!' Millie left the front door open and hurried towards them. ‘Are you taking that down, too?'

‘We were told it was to go into storage,' one of the men spoke up.

Millie stared at the portrait. Her mother, Lady Charlotte, smiled back at her, calm and beautiful. People always said they looked alike, but Millie couldn't see it. Lady Charlotte was far more composed and graceful than Millie would ever be, her fair hair arranged in waves around a heart-shaped face, with clear blue eyes that seemed so full of life.

The thought of putting her into a cold, dark storage room made Millie sad. This was more than just paint on canvas to her. It was the only connection she had to the mother who had died giving birth to her. She often stood in front of it when she felt sad or alone, and tried to imagine her mother offering her words of solace and comfort.

But as she'd told her grandmother, they all had to make sacrifices.