The Nightingale Girls (12 page)

‘Sister wants you to do the tea round.’

‘But she told me to stay here and keep an eye on everyone.’

‘Well, she’s changed her mind, hasn’t she?’ Amy said
nastily. ‘Anyway, I did the wretched round this morning, so you can have the pleasure now.’

Reluctantly, Helen took herself off to the kitchen to put the water on to boil and get the tea ready. She did it far more quickly than usual, almost scalding herself as she poured boiling water into the urn in her rush to get back to the ward.

Serving the visitors tea was a new idea Matron had come up with. Usually Sister Holmes would have resisted anything that involved making them feel remotely welcome. But Matron was allowing them to charge visitors a few pennies a cup, which went towards raising funds for Christmas decorations and gifts.

As she clattered the trolley from bed to bed, serving tea to the patients and their visitors and collecting the money in a tin, Helen kept trying to steal glances up the ward towards Charlie Denton. He and his mother were deep in conversation.

‘You’ve short changed me,’ a voice complained, bringing her back to the present.

‘Pardon?’ Helen looked around vaguely. A woman was holding out her hand. In her palm were two large copper pennies.

‘You’ve given me tuppence,’ she repeated. ‘I gave you sixpence. That’s threepence change.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ Helen absently reached into the tin, took out a threepenny bit and handed it to her.

‘What’s this? Not Tremayne making a mistake, surely?’ Amy sidled up to her, smiling nastily. ‘What’s got into you today?’

Finally Helen reached Charlie Denton’s bed.

‘Nurse T!’ He smiled up at her, but his blue eyes had lost some of their sparkle. ‘Mum, this is the nurse I was telling you about. The one who’s been looking after me.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Mrs Denton caught Helen’s hand in an iron grip. Her own hands were as big and rough as a man’s. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for looking after my Charlie. When he had that accident, I really thought I’d lost my little boy for sure . . .’ She let go of Helen’s hand and fumbled for a handkerchief in her coat pocket.

‘Come off it, Mum! You’ll make me a laughing stock.’ He rolled his eyes at Helen. ‘Does your mum ever embarrass you like this?’

You have no idea, Helen thought. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Denton?’ she offered soothingly.

The bell for the end of visiting time rang out a few minutes later, and the visitors filed out. Helen didn’t have the chance to speak to Charlie until it was time to serve the patients their evening meal.

She made sure she served Charlie. She was worried about him. Since his mother left, he had flicked listlessly through his magazines and not said a word to any of the other patients.

She wondered if she should mention his fiancée. But as she put his plate of boiled fish and mashed potatoes in front of him, he blurted out, ‘Sally decided not to come. Reckons she just can’t face seeing me in pain like this.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t blame her. I’d be the same if it was her in this hospital bed.’ His eyes grew misty. ‘She’s such a soft-hearted girl, my Sal. She cares too much, you know what I mean?’

Helen knew it was wrong to judge. ‘Judge not lest ye be yourselves judged’, as the Bible said. But she couldn’t help thinking that if her fiancé had just survived a near-fatal accident, wild horses wouldn’t have kept her away from his bedside.

HAVING WORKED ALONGSIDE
hospital consultants for twenty years, Kathleen Fox was used to people who thought they were God. But she had never met anyone quite so convinced of her omnipotence as Constance Tremayne.

She reminded Kathleen of a picture she had once seen in a children’s book of the first Pilgrims to cross the Atlantic in
The Mayflower
. She bristled with righteousness from her tightly wound bun to her functional shoes.

It was eleven o’clock in the morning and Kathleen should have been getting on with her ward rounds, or checking the new duty rotas, or, God forbid, actually dealing with some medical matter. But instead she had been sitting in the Trustees meeting for almost two hours, justifying to this woman in the tiniest detail how she chose to manage her hospital.

First it was a lengthy discussion over the abolition of the ward bath book. And now they were arguing over, of all things, Christmas.

Every Christmas the Nightingale held a small concert for staff and patients. Afterwards, the junior staff were invited to a small supper dance in the dining room, funded by the Trustees in gratitude for their hard work throughout the year.

Kathleen had assumed everyone agreed this was a good idea. Until she saw Mrs Tremayne’s tight-lipped expression.

‘As you all know, I have been of the opinion for some years now that the tradition of the Christmas Dance
should cease.’ A faint groan rippled around the table, but Constance Tremayne ploughed on regardless. ‘I hardly feel it is appropriate that the trustees should be spending money that has been entrusted to them for the care of patients on diversions for the staff!’

‘For heaven’s sake, we’re not talking about hiring Billy Cotton!’

Kathleen hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud until she saw the startled looks on the faces of the other Trustees.

Mrs Tremayne faced her across the table, the light of battle gleaming in her eyes. ‘I beg your pardon, Matron? Did you say something?’

Kathleen glanced around the table. Philip Enright, Chairman of the Trustees, smiled sympathetically back at her. He was head of the local council and a successful businessman with a string of draper’s shops to his name. But faced with Mrs Tremayne with a bee in her bonnet, even he could do no more than shrug his shoulders.

The other trustees were little help either. Reginald Collins had his head down, busily pretending to add up a list of figures. He was an accountant and far too timid ever to challenge the formidable Mrs Tremayne. Lady Fenella Brake, the wife of an elderly peer, was too deaf and too dotty to know what was going on. And Gerald Munroe, the local MP, barely paid any attention during meetings, unless there was a chance of getting his name or his face in the newspapers.

The only person paying attention was the Chief Consultant, James Cooper. He met Kathleen’s eye and gave her an encouraging nod, silently urging her to go on.

‘I agree with you, Mrs Tremayne, patient care should come first,’ she began. ‘But the patients at the Nightingale Hospital are very well cared for, unlike many of the staff. Our nurses in particular work extremely long hours, often
in harsh conditions. Surely it wouldn’t harm to reward them with a little entertainment at Christmas time?’

‘Bit of the old festive spirit, what?’ Gerald Munroe put in. Mrs Tremayne silenced him with a withering look.

‘Matron, may I remind you that we are running a hospital, not the Ritz? Yes, perhaps nurses do have to endure a little hardship at times,’ she conceded, ‘but that is no bad thing in my opinion. They should remember that they are also receiving some of the best nursing training in the country, and be grateful for it. A good nurse should be dedicated enough without needing to be rewarded by – entertainment.’ She fingered the gold cross around her neck, her only adornment against her sober fawn suit. ‘When I was training—’

‘My nurses are dedicated,’ Kathleen cut her off before she went into another long-winded story about the good old days. Irritation prickled up her spine. ‘But they are also young women. Most of them will be spending Christmas working on the wards, away from their loved ones. Your own daughter among them, I have to say.’

Mrs Tremayne’s jutting cheekbones were tinged with pink. ‘And I’m sure my daughter will be only too glad to do her duty,’ she said stiffly.

Kathleen caught the amused glint in James Cooper’s eyes. ‘I dare say she will, Mrs Tremayne. As will our other nurses,’ she agreed patiently. ‘But that is exactly my point. While you are sitting down to enjoy your Christmas dinner, they will be on their feet for fourteen hours, cheerfully changing beds, cleaning out sputum mugs and fetching bedpans, or trying to bring some comfort to a dying woman who knows she will never spend another Christmas with her children. Perhaps you would like to explain to them why you feel they do not deserve a little diversion?’

‘Hear hear,’ James Cooper muttered.

‘Indeed,’ Gerald Munroe agreed. ‘And I for one quite enjoy the Christmas Dance. A chance to see all the young ladies dressed up in their finery. Very pretty girls, some of them, I must say.’

He glanced around the table. Everyone stared back at him without commenting.

‘Shall we take a vote?’ Philip Enright suggested, with a touch of desperation.

In the end, Mrs Tremayne was defeated. Only Lady Fenella voted with her, although Kathleen suspected she didn’t quite understand what she was voting for.

‘Someone will not be getting a Christmas card from Mrs Tremayne,’ James Cooper observed when the meeting finally broke up and they were heading back to the wards.

‘I’m sure I can contain my disappointment.’ Kathleen looked rueful. ‘I really wish I knew why she disliked me so much,’ she sighed.

James Cooper’s brows rose. ‘I would have thought it was obvious. You stand up to her, unlike the rest of us. You must remember, Mrs T is accustomed to having her own way in these meetings. She certainly isn’t used to anyone leading a rebellion against her.’

‘I’m not interested in leading any kind of rebellion,’ Kathleen said. ‘I thought we were all supposed to be on the same side?’

‘Only if that side happens to be Mrs Tremayne’s.’

Kathleen massaged the tense muscles at the back of her neck. ‘At least she didn’t get her way over the Christmas Dance. I’m very glad about that. Apart from anything else, I think it’s an excellent way of improving relations between the staff.’

‘I think it’s the “relations” she’s worried about.’ Mr Cooper smiled as he opened a door for her. The expression
‘tall, dark and handsome’ could have been invented with him in mind, she decided. ‘Mrs Tremayne prides herself on being the hospital’s moral guardian, don’t forget. She thoroughly disapproves of anything that encourages fraternisation between the male and female staff. She believes all doctors are sex-crazed beasts in white coats. And the nurses aren’t much better, either.’

‘If doctors and nurses are going to fraternise at all, I would far rather it happened under the watchful eye of the senior staff than locked away in the basement by the stoke hole!’

‘By the stoke hole, eh?’ Mr Cooper looked amused. ‘I do hope that isn’t the voice of experience, Matron?’

‘That would be telling, Mr Cooper.’

‘I’m deeply shocked.’ His eyes were extraordinary, she thought. A clear, sapphire blue, fringed with very long dark lashes. She could imagine they had a devastating effect on his female patients.

They reached the other side of the courtyard and Mr Cooper turned to her. ‘This is where I have to leave you. I’m due in theatre, and thanks to Mrs Tremayne, I’m already at least two hysterectomies behind on my list.’

‘And I’m late for my ward round.’

‘I hope you make sure all those patients have had their baths, since you’ve wilfully done away with all the written records?’

‘Don’t.’ Kathleen shook her head. Mrs Tremayne couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d announced she was doing away with all the beds. Kathleen wasn’t sure how she’d found out but she suspected Miss Hanley might have had a hand in it. She’d already made it quite clear where her loyalties lay.

Kathleen tried to forget the unpleasantness of the meeting as she headed off to do her ward rounds. She
knew the nursing staff dreaded her daily visit, but she enjoyed meeting the patients and satisfying herself that they were being cared for properly. She tried not to give the harassed nurses too hard a time. Unlike the former Matron, who she’d heard wasn’t averse to tossing poorly patients out of bed so she could lift the mattress and inspect the bedsprings for dust.

As she headed down the warren of corridors, she could hear a tide of whispering and scurrying feet going before her. She knew each ward would be ringing the others to warn them of her impending arrival. Even so, she usually managed to surprise a couple, and it amused her to see them all fluttering around like startled birds when she appeared in the doorway. Once she had found Sister Wren with her feet up in her sitting room, reading
Peg’s Paper
.

Matron started with Blake, the Male Orthopaedic ward. It was usually a cheerful place, filled with good-humoured patients who were more bored with being laid up than gravely ill. The sister who ran Blake, Frannie Wallace, was an old friend of hers. They had worked together in Leeds, and it was Frannie who had written encouraging her to apply for the position of Matron at the Nightingale. She was one of the few friendly faces who greeted Kathleen on the wards.

But as she entered Blake today, Frannie was nowhere to be seen. There was no expectant line of nurses either, apart from a solitary pro scurrying up the ward with a bedpan. When she saw Matron she gave a squeak of terror and abruptly fled. Kathleen watched her dive through the screens around one of the beds, then appear a moment later, followed by Frannie and her staff nurse, an Irish girl called Bridget O’Hara.

Frannie smiled when she saw Kathleen. ‘Matron, what a pleasant surprise,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’ve come to do the ward round, Sister Blake.’ Kathleen remembered to address her by her proper name. Sisters always took on the name of the ward they ran. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was in a meeting that went on for rather a long time.’

‘But I thought—’ O’Hara blurted, until Frannie silenced her with a look. Kathleen glanced from her to the pro, who stared down at her sensible black shoes and looked as if she might cry.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

‘No, Matron, nothing is wrong,’ Frannie said smoothly. ‘The patients are ready for you, if you’ll come this way?’

But Kathleen had an uneasy feeling as she followed Frannie to the first bed. As she talked to an elderly patient about his painful hip, she was aware of the pro whispering to Staff Nurse O’Hara behind her.