Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (11 page)

‘Well, at least you're here now.' But as Jess stood aside to let Jean and her children in, Sister approached.

‘What's going on, Nurse?' she demanded. ‘Who are these people?'

‘Mrs Reynolds's daughter, come to visit,' Jess explained.

‘How d'you do, Sister?' Jean said, but Sister Allen ignored her.

‘You're too late,' she said. ‘Visiting time finished five minutes ago.'

Jean stared at her. ‘You're having me on, ain't you?'

‘I assure you, I'm not.'

‘Have a heart, love. I've come all this way to see my mum. It ain't my fault if the trains ain't working, is it?'

‘Then you should have set off earlier and got here on time, shouldn't you?'

‘But I—' Jean started to say, but Sister held up her hand.

‘I'm sorry, but rules are rules,' she said.

‘So what am I supposed to do?' Jean looked helpless.

‘You'll have to come back on Sunday.'

‘But I can't! The trains hardly run on a Sunday. And besides, I've got to work. It's taken me two weeks to sort out my shifts so I could come down today.'

‘That really isn't my problem, is it?' Sister turned on her heel and walked away.

Jess followed her. ‘Sister, please—'

‘Rules are rules, Jago,' Sister Allen cut her off. She turned round to face Jess, eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I do hope you're not thinking of disobeying my orders?'

‘No, Sister,' Jess said quietly.

‘Good. Now see that person and her children off the premises.'

Jean was doing her best to console her whimpering children.

‘It ain't no use crying, kids. There's nothing we can do about it.' She looked near to tears herself. ‘We'll try and come down another day, eh?'

‘I'm sorry,' Jess said helplessly.

‘It ain't your fault, love. You ain't the one with the heart of stone.' Jean glared past her towards Sister Allen.

‘I know, but I wish there was something I could do.'

Jean shook her head. ‘I wouldn't want to get you into trouble. Anyway, I s'pose I'd best leave these with you.' She handed over a bag to Jess. ‘It's just a few bits and pieces I've been putting by for Mum. Christmas presents, y'know.'

‘I'll make sure she gets them,' Jess promised.

‘Tell her I'll try to get down and see her before Christmas, if I can. And I'll telephone every day.' Jean reached out and grabbed Jess's hand. ‘You will tell her we were here, won't you? Make sure she knows we didn't let her down.'

‘I will.'

Hilda was still sleeping peacefully when Jess placed the gifts beside her locker.

‘It's such a shame,' she said to Daisy. ‘Poor Mrs Reynolds will be so disappointed.'

At least she'll have the presents. They'll be a nice surprise for her when she wakes up,' Daisy replied.

‘Not as nice as seeing her daughter.' Jess frowned. ‘I don't understand it. Back in London when a patient was nearing the end, Matron always allowed visitors to spend as much time with them as they could. She reckoned it made things easier for everyone.'

Daisy smiled grimly. ‘I couldn't see Sister Allen wanting her ward cluttered with visitors at all hours!'

‘It's not about what she wants, is it? It's about what's best for the patients.'

Jess looked down at Mrs Reynolds's frail figure, looking like a doll under the bedclothes.

‘Perhaps you should talk to Matron, if you feel like that about it?' Daisy suggested archly.

‘And get my head bitten off? No, thanks. Besides, I know what she'll say – “I know you London nurses think you know everything, Jago, but this is my hospital and I'll run it in my way!”' She mimicked Miss Jenkins's hoity-toity tone.

Daisy laughed. ‘That's just like her!'

‘Isn't it?' The voice made them spin round. Jess's mouth turned to sandpaper at the sight of Miss Jenkins herself, standing behind her. Sister Allen was with her, barely able to keep the smile of malicious satisfaction off her face.

‘Was there something you wanted to say to me, Nurse Jago?' Miss Jenkins's voice was frosty.

Jess hesitated. She glanced sideways at Daisy, who was watching her expectantly, then at Mrs Reynolds's sleeping form. She took a deep breath.

‘Please, Matron, I wondered if Mrs Reynolds's daughter could come to see her out of visiting hours? It's so difficult for her to get down from London, you see, and it would do Mrs Reynolds so much good to see her, especially as …' she lowered her voice ‘… she doesn't have much time left.'

Miss Jenkins's eyes bulged like steel ball bearings. ‘Do you hear that, Sister?' she addressed the woman at her side. ‘Once again, Nurse Jago thinks she knows better than the rest of us.'

‘I didn't say that, I just—' Jess was silenced by a sharp nudge from Daisy.

‘And she thinks it's acceptable to answer back to her superiors!' Matron's eyebrows almost disappeared into her starched headdress. ‘That tells you something about the way things are done in London, doesn't it?'

‘Indeed it does, Matron,' Sister Allen agreed smugly.

‘But you are correct about one thing, Nurse Jago,' Miss Jenkins said. ‘This is my hospital, and I will run it in my own way. And if you don't like it, I'm sure Miss Fox can find something for you to do in London.'

Jess stared down at her shoes. ‘Yes, Matron.'

Miss Jenkins narrowed her gaze. ‘I've got my eye on you, Jago,' she warned. ‘Please don't give me cause to speak to you again.'

Daisy stifled a giggle as they watched her walk off towards Miss Pomfrey's bed, Sister Allen still at her side. ‘Oh, dear,' she said. ‘You had a lucky escape there.'

Jess's mouth firmed. ‘I don't know about that,' she said.

‘
WHEN CAN WE
go and see the planes again, Mama?'

Millie smiled at her son over the breakfast table. ‘Would you like to go this morning?' she asked.

Nanny Perks cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me, your ladyship, but we're leaving for Lyford after luncheon,' she reminded her.

‘I know, Nanny, but there's still plenty of time, isn't there?' Millie ignored Miss Perks' scowl and turned to her son. ‘I have to go up to the house first, but I'll be back soon. We'll go then.'

Henry jigged up and down in his chair with excitement. ‘Can we go and see the pilots?' he asked, his grey eyes shining.

‘No, darling, we can't disturb them when they're busy. But we can ride up to the top of the hill and look down. You'll have a good view then, won't you?'

‘But only if you're a good boy and eat all your breakfast,' Nanny Perks put in, thoroughly disgruntled.

After breakfast, Millie went up to the house to see William. She made a point of meeting him a couple of times a week, to find out if there were any problems there. If a pipe burst or a roof tile came loose, she would rather know about it before the rot set in to the timberwork.

This time she had to tell him they were spending the weekend with Seb's parents, the Duke and Duchess of Claremont.

Millie couldn't feel enthusiastic about the prospect. Even though she was the daughter of an earl herself, she always felt like a poor country cousin visiting her in-laws. They were so frightfully grand, and Millie had got used to living such a simple life, that she wasn't sure she would even know how to conduct herself in sophisticated company any more.

But she knew her grandmother couldn't wait to stay in a ‘real' house again. Lady Rettingham loathed the Lodge, with its cramped rooms and only one part-time maid to order about. But Millie quite liked it. The rooms were nothing like as splendid as those in the main house, but they were a great deal more practical to look after, and a lot easier to heat, too. On cold winter nights, it was an absolute luxury for her to go to bed in a cosy bedroom instead of suffering the damp and draughts of her old room, with its inadequate fireplace and high ceilings. She didn't envy the RAF officers at all, struggling with the ancient plumbing and inadequate heating system.

As she walked up the drive, a pair of pilots passed her and nodded in greeting. Millie could tell from their leather jackets and flying suits that they had been out on a mission that morning and were now heading up to the house to debrief and enjoy some much-needed breakfast and rest.

It astonished Millie how quickly their presence had become familiar to her. She had got used to the guards at the gates, the rumble of cars and lorries on the drive, and the drone of the planes swooping over the roof. She had got used to the people, too, the airmen and the ground crews and the female WAAFs in their smart slate-blue uniforms. She even knew some of them by name, as she had hosted a tea party to welcome them all to Billinghurst.

She went up the stairs into the house. The entrance hall had been transformed into a reception area and office. Two WAAFs sat at desks on either side of the hall, tapping away on their typewriters. Millie had met them both several times before. The dark-haired one was called Jennifer Franklin, and the blonde was a girl from Lancashire called Agnes Moss.

They both looked up and smiled at her. ‘Good morning, Lady Amelia,' Franklin greeted her.

‘Good morning. Is Squadron Leader Tremayne free?'

‘I'm afraid he's down at the airfield at present. Can someone else help you?'

‘Oh, no, it's not important. I only wanted to let him know we're going to be away for the weekend. Just in case anyone needs me for anything.'

‘I'll be sure to let him know, Lady Amelia.' Franklin jotted it down on the pad next to her.

‘Thank you.' As Millie left, Agnes Moss said, ‘Are you going somewhere nice, your ladyship?'

Millie paused in the doorway. ‘We're spending the weekend with my husband's parents.'

‘Do they live in a house like this?'

Franklin frowned at her, but Millie didn't mind. It seemed like a fair question. ‘Actually, Lyford is a lot grander than Billinghurst.'

‘All right for some! Have a smashing time, won't you?' Agnes Moss was smiling when she said it, but there was a glint in her eye that Millie didn't understand.

‘Thank you.'

As Millie closed the front door, she heard laughter explode from inside.

‘Moss!' she heard Franklin cry. ‘How could you? You nearly made me laugh out loud.'

‘I couldn't help it,' Moss said. ‘Did you hear it? “In case anyone needs me for anything.” As if the war couldn't go on without her!'

‘Don't be cruel!' Franklin said, but she was still laughing.

‘Who does she think she is?' Moss went on. ‘Swanning around here as if she's part of the war effort. What's she going to do if Hitler invades? Throw him a tea party?'

Millie stood rigid with shock. She wanted to run away but her legs wouldn't move.

‘It's William I feel sorry for,' Moss continued. ‘She's obviously got a thing for him, which is why she's here every five minutes. It's embarrassing.'

‘Poor woman,' said Franklin.

‘Poor William, you mean! He can't escape her. She's everywhere you look.'

‘I feel rather sorry for her,' Franklin said. ‘She's obviously keen to make herself useful.'

‘Then she should find herself a proper job to do, and leave us to ours.'

‘You never know. Perhaps the novelty will wear off soon and she'll go and play somewhere else. Where's the tea trolley, by the way? I'm parched.'

The typing started again, rapid as machine-gun fire. Still Millie couldn't move. She was so mortified, she wanted to melt into the doorframe so she couldn't be seen.

She had thought she was being helpful by getting involved. She'd had no idea that everyone felt she was in the way.

Shame washed over her. Did William really think she had a thing for him, as Moss said? The very thought made Millie cringe.

She managed to get down the steps, hurrying as fast as she could to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. She got as far as the walled garden, and sat down on the stone bench around the ornamental fountain. The stone felt cold and rough, but the gentle burbling of the water relaxed her.

A couple of the ground crew went past and waved to her. Millie turned away to stare into the murky green depths of the pool. She couldn't face them. Did they think the same as Moss, that she was just a silly, interfering woman with nothing better to do with her time? She'd thought they liked her, but now she could see they were just barely tolerating her, smiling to her face while all the time wishing she would go away and mind her own business.

Well, she would. From now on, she would keep herself to herself.

As she stood up, she realised what her fingers had been tracing in the rough stonework. She had thought the stone was crumbling away from age, but now she realised that the indentations were actually letters. She peered closer, trying to make out the words. KF, RD, FC … Not words, but initials. And dates, too, all of them within the last month.

Anger raced through her. Someone had defaced her property! Not only did they think she was a joke, they had vandalised her home, too.

She wanted to storm back to the house and have it out with them there and then, but she couldn't face Agnes Moss's sneering expression or Franklin's quiet pity.

Millie stared back at the house behind her. What else had they done? she wondered. Played darts in the plasterwork and whittled their names in the oak staircase, she shouldn't wonder. And to think she had worried that the house might seem unwelcoming, with its bare walls and boarded-up fireplaces. Now she wished she had boarded up the doors, too, so they couldn't get in.

Her grandmother was right. Her father would never have stood for it. He would have resisted any attempt to have his house taken over. He certainly wouldn't have tried to befriend the interlopers like Millie had, rushing around after them like a puppy waiting to have its tummy stroked.