The Nightingale Girls (13 page)

‘But I don’t understand. Miss Hanley—’

‘Shut up!’ O’Hara hissed back. ‘Just get down to bed four and pray to God that enema hasn’t worked yet!’

Kathleen watched her hurry away. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ she hissed to Frannie out of the corner of her mouth as they moved together to the next bed.

‘Miss Hanley came and did your rounds earlier. She said you’d asked her to do it.’ Frannie paused at the foot of the next bed. ‘This is Mr Fletcher, who really should be in bed,’ she announced, giving a mock severe look to the man who sat in the chair beside it, reading his newspaper.

‘But, Sister, I’m much more comfortable here,’ he protested.

‘That’s as may be, but you’re not doing that arthritis any good in the long run.’ Frannie plumped up his pillows, the crisp starched cotton crackling in her hands. ‘Nurse O’Hara, please see that Mr Fletcher gets back into bed.
After he’s finished his newspaper,’ she added, with a little smile in his direction.

‘Thanks, Sister,’ Mr Fletcher said gratefully. ‘You’re a sport.’

‘Now, Mr Fletcher. I don’t want nasty rumours like that getting around to the other patients.’ As she walked away from the bed, she said to Kathleen, ‘I don’t blame him. It must be very painful to lie flat in his condition.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ But Kathleen could barely hear what Frannie was saying for the angry buzzing inside her head.

How dare Miss Hanley take it upon herself to do her rounds for her! No wonder the nurses had been so perplexed to see her. Now she was wasting their time forcing them to accompany her around the ward again. Either that or admit she’d got it wrong and make herself look foolish.

Either option made her blood boil.

Frannie must have noticed her silently fuming. When the round was over she said quietly, ‘I wonder, Matron, if you could spare me a moment in private? There’s a matter I wish to discuss with you.’

‘Of course.’

Kathleen followed her into her sitting room, a comfortable little area just off the ward. She waited until Frannie had closed the door, then sank down into one of the armchairs that flanked the fireplace.

‘Would you like some brandy? I keep it locked away in the kitchen for emergencies.’ Her dark eyes were full of merriment as usual. ‘On second thoughts, perhaps tea might be a safer bet.’ She summoned the ward maid and asked for a tray to be brought in. Then she sat down opposite Kathleen. ‘I take it you didn’t know Miss Hanley was doing your rounds?’

‘Indeed I didn’t!’ Kathleen replied. ‘That woman really is the living end.’

‘Perhaps she was trying to be helpful?’ Frannie suggested.

Kathleen glared at her. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’

‘I suppose not,’ Frannie conceded. ‘Miss Hanley hasn’t exactly been helpful to you so far, I must admit.’

There was a tap on the door and the ward maid entered with the tray. They both waited until she’d gone before Kathleen went on.

‘I could cope with her being less than helpful. But it’s the deliberate attempts to trip me up I can’t stand. That and the constant bleating to Mrs Tremayne.’

‘Ah, yes. Mrs Tremayne.’ Frannie poured them both a cup of tea. ‘They do seem to be as thick as thieves at the moment.’

‘I’m sure she has Miss Hanley spying on me,’ Kathleen said. ‘She knew all about me getting rid of the ward bath book. That could only have come from Miss Hanley.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Frannie sipped her tea. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Mrs Tremayne to have spies all over the hospital. Any one of the sisters could have told her.’

‘Well, that’s just marvellous, isn’t it?’ Kathleen’s china cup rattled in its saucer as she put it down. ‘So you’re saying I have enemies everywhere?’

‘Not enemies, Kath.’ Frannie’s voice was soothing, as if she was talking to a patient. ‘But you’re in charge, and not everyone is going to approve of all your decisions.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t try to make any changes?’ Kathleen said gloomily. ‘Maybe I should just allow this place to go on the way it always has. That would please everyone, including Mrs Tremayne.’

‘It wouldn’t please you, though, would it? And it wouldn’t do this place any good, either.’ Frannie sighed impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake, Kath, why do you think I talked you into applying for this job?’

Kathleen smiled wanly. ‘Because you have some long-held grudge against me?’

‘Because I knew you could make a difference. God knows the Nightingale needs shaking up, even if no one here would ever want to admit it. And you’re just the one to do it.’

‘Am I?’ Kathleen allowed her gaze to drift towards the window. A nurse hurried past, her hand pressed against her cap to stop it blowing off. ‘I’m not so sure any more.’

‘Stop being so wet. It doesn’t suit you.’ Anyone outside on the ward would have been utterly shocked to hear a sister address the Matron in such a sharp and disrespectful way. But Frannie was one of Kathleen’s oldest friends.

Frannie refilled her cup and stirred it thoughtfully. ‘Do you remember the Matron back in Leeds?’ she said after a moment.

‘You mean The Monster?’ Kathleen shuddered. ‘She was utterly terrifying, wasn’t she? I hope I never end up like her.’

‘But that’s just it. You’ve got to be. What do you think she would have done if she’d found Miss Hanley had done her rounds for her?’

‘Crushed her to dust, probably.’

‘She would make sure she didn’t do it again, that’s for certain. And that’s what you’ve got to do, Kath. Show them all who’s boss. Including Constance Tremayne.’

Kathleen stared down into her empty teacup. It wasn’t that simple, she thought. The Monster had been so old and wise. Sometimes when Kathleen saw the nurses’ expectant faces looking to her for guidance, she felt as if she knew no more than they did. ‘I’m scared, Fran,’ she said.

‘I know you are, ducks. But you can’t let anyone see
that.’ Frannie smiled sympathetically and refilled her cup. ‘Like it or not, you’re The Monster now.’

Kathleen returned to her office ten minutes later to find Miss Hanley sitting at her desk, rifling through some papers.

‘Find anything interesting, Miss Hanley?’

A mottled flush crept up her flabby cheeks. ‘I was – um – looking for the laundry order. It needs to be signed off, and since you were so late back from your meeting—’

‘I did it yesterday.’

‘Ah. Of course. That explains why I couldn’t find it.’ Miss Hanley shifted awkwardly from Kathleen’s seat.

‘I think you’ll find the laundry orders are usually filed in there.’ Kathleen nodded towards the filing cabinet on the other side of the room. ‘In the drawer marked “Laundry Orders”.’

Miss Hanley pursed her lips. ‘I will try to remember that.’

As she headed for the door, Kathleen called after her, ‘Thank you for doing the ward rounds for me, by the way. It was very thoughtful of you.’

‘I was only doing my job,’ she replied stiffly.

‘Actually, Miss Hanley, you were doing
my
job. And I would appreciate it in future if you could let me know beforehand when you intend to take over any of my duties. If you don’t mind?’

Miss Hanley’s broad, square face twitched. ‘I’ll remember that,’ she snorted. And I’ll make sure you do, Kathleen thought as the door banged behind her.

IT WAS THE
Saturday before Christmas, and Millie had been looking forward to going up to Oxford Street with some of the other students after they’d finished their morning lectures. But at the last moment Lucy Lane had been beastly to Jennifer Bradley, and both Jennifer and Dora had refused to go on the outing.

Millie would have refused to go too, but it was Katie O’Hara’s first Christmas in London and Millie knew how much she was looking forward to seeing the festive lights in all the big shops.

‘You’ve got to come with me,’ Katie had pleaded with her. ‘Please don’t leave me with Lane! I don’t think I could stand her bragging if you weren’t there.’

It was bitingly cold and a thick yellow fog was curling off the river as they hurried to catch their bus. Millie and the others jammed their hats down over their ears and pulled up their scarves so they didn’t have to breathe in the cloying, metallic-tasting air.

‘I expect we’ll have a lot of bronchitis cases turning up after this,’ Katie predicted, her voice muffled through thick layers of wool. ‘My sister says they have chest infections queuing up outside the gates once the winter fog comes down.’

The air was clearer in Oxford Street, which bustled with Christmas shoppers. On the corner with Regent Street a brass band was playing Christmas carols, and the smell
of the roasting chestnuts offered by street vendors filled the air.

Millie was glad she’d made the effort to come when she saw Katie’s face light up in rapture at the sight of the brightly lit department-store windows.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ she breathed, her face pressed against the glass at Marshall & Snelgrove to admire the glittering decorations. ‘Back home we only have old Mr McGoogan’s shop, and that tight-fisted old goat wouldn’t even light an extra candle, let alone make his window as gorgeous as this. Have you ever seen a Christmas tree that big? It’s like it came straight out of a forest.’

‘Actually, the one we have at home is much bigger,’ Lucy announced loftily. ‘But I suppose when you have a house as large as ours, a small tree would just look ridiculous.’

And then she was off, bragging again. Millie and Katie exchanged long-suffering looks as Lucy described in detail the lavish Christmas her mother had planned. No expense was to be spared for the food, the decorations or the presents.

‘My mother knows how to entertain,’ she boasted. ‘On Christmas Eve my parents throw an enormous party and all kinds of important, wealthy and famous people come. You’d simply be amazed. I expect it’s the same for you at Billinghurst?’ She casually dropped the name of Millie’s family home into the conversation.

‘Not really.’ Millie glanced sideways at Katie, who was pretending to watch the model train that whizzed in and out of a toy display. She was painfully aware that the Irish girl was feeling fed up because she couldn’t go home at Christmas, and the last thing Millie wanted was to make
her feel even more homesick. ‘My father and grandmother prefer a quiet Christmas, just the three of us.’

‘Oh, come on! You must have some other plans?’ Lucy nudged her conspiratorially. ‘You can’t tell me you sit at home playing chess all day. Aren’t there lots of house parties?’

How her father would laugh at the idea of her playing chess, Millie thought. She never seemed to find the concentration to finish a game. ‘My friend Sophia’s family is having a house party over the New Year,’ she conceded reluctantly.

Lucy’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Is that Lady Sophia Rushton? Daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Claremont?’ Millie nodded. ‘Oh, how thrilling! I was only reading about her in
Tatler
the other day.’ Lucy sighed. ‘I’d love to meet her. Perhaps I could come down to Billinghurst sometime?’

‘Perhaps.’ Over my dead body! Millie thought. She could just imagine what her grandmother would make of Lucy. She was what the Dowager Countess would call ‘an arriviste’, which in her eyes was even worse than being a communist.

Millie took Katie’s arm and steered her towards the ornate brass-trimmed doors. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we? It’s freezing out here.’

Knowing Katie was short of money she’d expected to do nothing more than browse, but Lucy had other ideas. They trailed after her as she bought gloves and stockings, then proceeded to try on hats in the millinery department.

‘What do you think of this one?’ she asked, turning her head this way and that to admire a green feathered creation from every angle as the salesgirl fussed over her.

‘You look as if a parrot’s landed on your head,’ Katie muttered. Millie spluttered with laughter.

Lucy turned around sharply. ‘I’m sorry? Did you say something?’

‘I said it’s a shame Doyle couldn’t come with us. I bet she would have loved an outing,’ Katie said, meeting her eye boldly.

‘If you ask me, she didn’t want to come because she knew she couldn’t afford it.’ Lucy adjusted the hat a fraction and pouted at her reflection. ‘She’s so poor she probably couldn’t even afford the bus fare!’ She laughed unkindly.

‘She didn’t want to come because you were so beastly about Bradley,’ Millie said.

‘She deserved it.’ Lucy pulled off the hat and tossed it back dismissively at the salesgirl. ‘She’s an idiot.’

‘She’s not an idiot. She tries very hard, she’s just terribly nervous and shy. And you don’t make it any better, picking on her constantly.’

‘I can’t help it if she’s incompetent, can I?’

‘Stop it, you two,’ Katie broke in. ‘If we’re all going to fall out we might as well have stayed at home. We don’t get that much time off and I want to enjoy it, not bicker all the time.’

‘You’re right.’ Millie looked at Lucy.

‘Fine by me,’ Lucy shrugged, putting on her beret and smoothing down her chestnut hair. ‘Let’s hurry. I want to buy some more presents before the shop closes.’

It was dark by the time they got back to Bethnal Green, and the fog was a dense, cloying blanket, pierced only here and there by the sulphurous glow of the streetlamps. Millie, Lucy and Katie stood for a moment at the bus stop, trying to get their bearings.

‘Holy Mother of Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Katie declared. ‘How are we going to find our way back to the hospital?’

‘We can manage,’ Millie said bracingly. ‘We’ll edge our way along the wall like this, you see?’ She groped until her fingers found the rough brickwork. ‘If we hold on to each other we should be all right.’

They made their way slowly down the street, clutching each other’s hands in case they became separated in the dense fog. Figures shuffled past them, emerging briefly like ghosts from the gloom then disappearing again, shoulders hunched against the cold. From the road to their right came the muffled clip-clop of heavy horses and the rattle of carts making their way cautiously homeward.

They reached the corner of the road and stopped. Opposite them they could make out two pools of dull light from the lanterns on top of the gateposts at the Nightingale.