The Nightingale Girls (28 page)

‘I don’t think irony is Mrs Tremayne’s strong point.’ James Cooper pulled a wry face. ‘Look, you did your best,’ he said. ‘You can’t expect to win every fight.’

‘But I should have won this one!’ She swung round to face him. ‘This was important. My nurses were relying on me to argue their case for them.’

‘And you did. Admirably.’

‘I still failed though, didn’t I?’

‘There is one consolation.’

‘Which is?’

‘I’m sure you’ll get an invitation to the party.’

Kathleen’s mouth tightened. ‘I can’t wait.’

There was a student waiting outside her office with a broken thermometer. Under normal circumstances, Kathleen would have put it down to an accident and given her a small fine to cover the cost. But this time she harangued her about carelessness and waste until she was hoarse and the poor girl was close to tears.

She was mindlessly shuffling papers on her desk, still trying to calm herself down, when Miss Hanley came in. Kathleen groaned inwardly. The last thing she needed in her present mood was the Assistant Matron’s oppressive presence.

‘Did you have a good meeting?’ she asked politely.

Kathleen looked up at Miss Hanley, towering over her, as solid and unyielding as a block of granite. Usually she would have made some anodyne reply, but for once she was too angry to lie.

‘No, since you ask,’ she snapped.

‘Oh?’ Miss Hanley did her best to mould her features into an expression of concern.

‘I’m afraid we will not be getting the new requisition of linen we ordered. You will have to go and tell the sisters they’re to go on making do and mending.’

‘Oh.’ This time Miss Hanley’s concern seemed genuine. ‘But our linen stock is very low, Matron. Last time I checked—’

‘Then perhaps you’d better tell Mrs Tremayne that?’ Kathleen cut her off abruptly. ‘She’s the one who’s put her foot down. She thinks the money would be better spent showing off to the local dignitaries at a Founder’s Day garden party.’

She could see Miss Hanley’s features twisting in confusion as she struggled to justify her friend’s actions.

‘Well, I suppose Founder’s Day is an important occasion . . .’ she began doubtfully.

‘More important than looking after our patients?’

‘Of course not.’ For once Miss Hanley wasn’t wearing her usual look of self-assurance. ‘I’d better go and talk to the sisters,’ she said.

‘You do that, Miss Hanley.’ And good luck, Kathleen added silently.

Veronica Hanley caught up with Constance Tremayne just as she was leaving.

‘May I have a word, Mrs Tremayne?’ she asked.

‘Of course, Miss Hanley.’ Mrs Tremayne gave her a charming smile. ‘I would have come and said hello but I had no wish to see Miss Fox again. One meeting with her was more than enough for today.’ She shuddered delicately. ‘I can’t tell you how rude and insulting she was to me this morning. Even the other Trustees were shocked. Between you and me, I think they’re beginning to see our new Matron’s true colours.’ She laid a delicate hand on Veronica’s arm. ‘How I wish you were Matron, Miss Hanley. I’m sure we could conduct business in a far more civilised way if we were working together.’

Miss Hanley blushed. For a moment she was too sidetracked by Constance’s flattery to continue. But then she remembered why she’d sought her out.

‘I have to admit, for once Miss Fox has a point,’ she said, trying not to meet Mrs Tremayne’s eye. She couldn’t bear to see that warmth replaced by a look of frosty disapproval. ‘We really do desperately need more linen . . .’

‘And you’ll get it, of course,’ Mrs Tremayne assured her. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer, that’s all.’ She looked disappointed. ‘You know how much I care about this hospital, Miss Hanley. It means as much to me
as it does to you. Do you think I would do anything to damage the Nightingale’s excellent reputation?’

‘Well, no. But . . .’

‘I want everyone to look at this hospital and see it for what it is: a shining beacon of excellence. That’s why I so want this Founder’s Day celebration to be a success. So we can make the Nightingale a hospital to be proud of. You want that too, don’t you, Miss Hanley?’ Her fingers tightened on Veronica’s arm, her eyes glittering with fervour.

‘Of course,’ Veronica agreed cautiously. ‘But I must insist . . .’

‘You must insist that patients’ welfare comes first,’ Mrs Tremayne finished for her. ‘I do agree with you, Miss Hanley, I really do. And I have to say, this problem with the linen is not entirely of the Trustees’ making. In fact, you could have had your order before Christmas, if only . . .’ She let her voice trail away.

‘If only what, Mrs Tremayne?’

She glanced one way and then the other before leaning forward and whispering, ‘I’m not sure I should tell you. It is a matter for the Trustees, after all. And everyone else agreed with it at the time. Apart from myself, of course,’ she added.

‘Agreed with what, Mrs Tremayne?’ Miss Hanley’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is there something we are not being told? If it concerns the running of this hospital and the welfare of the patients, then we have a right to know.’

Mrs Tremayne paused for a moment. ‘There was money for the linen requisition before Christmas,’ she said. ‘I was all for putting it through – the patients’ comfort is paramount, after all. But Matron insisted the funds must go instead on providing some kind of – entertainment – for the nursing staff.’

‘What kind of entertainment?’

‘The Christmas dance. I made my feelings very clear at the time, warned her that funds were low and questioned the wisdom of frittering money away on such a frivolous activity. But Matron would have her way. Which is why we find ourselves in such a perilous financial situation now.’ She looked up at Miss Hanley, her face full of regret. ‘We mustn’t blame Miss Fox,’ she said with every appearance of sincerity. ‘She is new and inexperienced. She has no idea of our values, the way we do things at the Nightingale. If she chooses to spend hospital funds on allowing the nurses to get tipsy and cavort with the junior doctors, while vital stocks run low, well . . . what can we do?’

What indeed? Miss Hanley thought.

‘
DON’T LOOK NOW,
duchess, but your young man’s got his eye on you again.’

Millie looked over her shoulder to where William stood hovering by the end of a patient’s bed at the far end of the ward, pretending to check their notes. He had taken to turning up at different times of the day, ostensibly checking on patients, taking an unusual interest in their welfare.

‘He’s persistent, I’ll say that for him,’ Blanche commented. ‘That’s the third time today he’s been to see Mrs Ruddock. The poor woman will start thinking she’s for the high jump if he keeps frowning at her notes like that.’

‘I do wish he’d go away,’ Millie sighed.

‘Go on, you must have a soft spot for him? He’s a handsome lad. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, that’s for sure. Mind you,’ added Blanche, ‘I wouldn’t kick anyone out of bed, would I? I’d be skint otherwise!’

She cackled with laughter, and Millie joined in. In the six weeks she’d been on Wren she had learnt a lot from the women on the ward. And not just medical knowledge, either. Her grandmother would be shocked by some of the ideas she’d picked up.

William turned at the sound of their laughter, and smiled. Millie hurriedly went back to her polishing, in case the ward maid reported her again. The ward maids were the eyes and ears of the sisters, and Sister Wren’s maid Lettie Pike was especially vigilant.

‘Poor Dr Tremayne,’ Blanche said. ‘I s’pose you’ll be after marrying a lord or summat, won’t you, love?’

Blanche had been fascinated to find out about Millie’s family background. She’d laughed out loud at the idea of having methylated spirit rubbed into her backside by an Earl’s daughter.

Millie kept her entertained with stories about the balls and parties she had been to, and the grand families she mixed with. She was worried it might seem like bragging, but Blanche reckoned that listening to her was better than the films.

‘I’m not sure I want to marry anyone just yet,’ Millie said, rubbing hard at a tarnished spot on the brass plate beside Blanche’s bed. If only the local dignitaries who donated to the hospital knew how long the poor pros spent polishing their blessed name plaques, she thought, they might think twice about handing over the money.

‘Quite right, too,’ Blanche said, checking her lipstick in her mirror compact. ‘You should play hard to get. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, love. Not that there’s much chance of that, you being a real lady and everything.’ She smiled wryly.

‘You’re a real lady too, Blanche,’ Millie said.

‘Bless you, lovey.’ Blanche blushed pink with pleasure. ‘Ain’t nobody called me that in a long time. But that’s all going to change, see? Once Mr Cooper’s fixed me up and I’m out of this place, things are going to be different. I’m going to make a new start.’

‘On your sister’s farm?’ Millie had heard the story several times, but she knew Blanche never tired of talking about it. Her sister’s husband had just died, leaving her with five children and a rundown farm in Essex to look after. She’d asked Blanche if she would move down there and help her.

Millie could hardly imagine Blanche tottering around a farmyard in her high heels and red lipstick, but the idea seemed to cheer her up so much she didn’t want to dampen her spirits.

‘I can’t wait to get out of this place,’ Blanche said firmly. ‘This will be a new lease of life for me, with Elsie and the kids.’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ Millie agreed.

‘You never know, I might meet a nice farmhand and settle down.’ Blanche opened her bedside drawer and took out a brown paper cone. ‘Humbug, love?’ She proffered the bag to Millie.

She eyed the bag longingly. ‘I can’t.’

‘Go on. One won’t hurt.’

‘We’re not supposed to eat on the ward.’

‘I won’t tell.’

Millie quickly took the humbug before Sister Wren noticed. It tasted divine. It was so strange – not so long ago she would have taken such pleasures for granted. But now a sweet or a piece of toffee or just the chance to sit down for a minute in her long day was a real pleasure to be savoured.

‘Benedict!’

No sooner had she put the sweet in her mouth than Sister Wren’s voice rang out from the other end of the ward, summoning her. Millie made her way as slowly as she could down the length of the ward, desperately trying to finish the humbug before she got to Sister Wren. But somehow it seemed to have swelled to giant proportions, and her throat was so dry she couldn’t swallow it.

‘Hurry up, Nurse. I don’t have all day!’

As she approached, she could see Sister Wren’s eyes narrowing on her. Matron’s office, here I come, she thought miserably.

Just at that moment William stepped out in front of her, so quickly she almost collided with him.

‘Sister,’ he said. ‘May I ask you something?’

Sister Wren tutted. ‘What is it now, Dr Tremayne?’

‘I wonder if I might take a look at Miss Fletcher’s wound?’

‘Must you? We’ve only just put on a new dressing.’

‘I am rather worried about it.’

‘Mr Cooper seemed perfectly satisfied when he did his rounds yesterday.’

‘All the same, I would like to take another look.’

‘Very well, then.’ As Sister Wren turned away, Millie quickly spat the humbug into her hand and looked around desperately for somewhere to deposit it.

The only place she would find was Sister Wren’s prize aspidistra. She had just dropped her sweet into the pot when Sister Wren swung round again.

‘Benedict, perhaps you could assist Dr Tremayne? I’m far too busy.’

‘Yes, Sister.’

As they walked away together, Millie whispered, ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ William replied innocently. ‘Although if it puts you forever in my debt, then I’m happy to accept your thanks.’

‘How will I ever repay you?’ Millie smiled.

‘You could have dinner with me tonight?’

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I already have plans.’

‘Then cancel them.’

‘I can’t.’

‘But you would if you could?’ His dark eyes teased her.

‘I certainly wouldn’t.’ They reached Miss Fletcher’s bed, and Millie pulled the screens around it.

‘Then we’ll just have to make it another night,’ he said in a low voice.

‘What makes you think I’ll say yes another night?’

‘Because you find my charm irresistible. And if you don’t, I’ll tell Sister Wren who buried a humbug in her aspidistra.’

Helen hurried across the courtyard towards the porters’ lodge with her head down, her cloak pulled around her against the cold March wind. It was five o’clock and darkness was gathering. The shivering plane trees stood stark against the purple-grey sky. Lights from the ward windows above her cast long shadows across the wet cobbles.

‘Good evening, Nurse Tremayne. Nasty cold one, isn’t it?’ Mr Hopkins greeted her in his sing-song Welsh accent. The porters’ lodge seemed warm and welcoming after the cold darkness. A hearty fire burned in the grate and the kettle sang on the gas ring. In the room beyond, Helen could see a few of the porters reading their newspapers and playing cards. ‘I still can’t get used to seeing you in the evenings and not the mornings. Throws my routine right out, so it does.’

‘I’m sorry about that, Mr Hopkins.’ Helen pulled her letter out from under her cloak and handed it over.

‘It’s nice, though, that you still find time to write to your mother, even when you’re on night duty.’

I don’t have much choice, Helen thought. If she didn’t, her mother would be up at the hospital gates in no time, demanding to know why.

She was just about to turn away when Mr Hopkins said, ‘Hold on, Nurse. I’ve got one for you, too.’

Helen frowned. Her mother was usually far too busy
to write letters in return. And she couldn’t imagine why her father would want to write to her.

But it wasn’t from either of her parents. Her heart leapt as she studied the spidery, unfamiliar scrawl. She didn’t dare hope who it might be from.

‘Everything all right, Nurse?’ Mr Hopkins was watching her carefully.