Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (39 page)

‘Are you all right?' Effie kept asking her anxiously.

‘Yes, of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?' she snapped back.

And if they weren't watching her, they were sighing over their memories.

‘Do you remember when we all went to the coast?' they would say. Or: ‘Just think, it was only a couple of weeks ago we were at that dance in the village hall …' As if they could make themselves feel better by dwelling on how much they missed him. It made no sense to Jess.

For once, she was relieved that Matron had kept her on nights during the diphtheria epidemic, and didn't have to listen to them going on, wallowing in their misery and memories. She didn't have time to think about Harry's death because she was so busy trying to look after her living patients. The diphtheria outbreak was spreading, and every day seemed to bring more cases to the already overcrowded fever ward. Jess spent her nights running from bed to bed, swabbing throats, setting up steam tents and administering serum.

But if she worked hard, then Dr Drake worked even harder. He seemed to be a permanent fixture on the ward since the outbreak had started, and Jess got used to working alongside him. They rarely spoke, but she liked the reassurance of having him there. The ward seemed strangely empty without him on the rare occasions he was called away to an emergency elsewhere in the hospital.

But even working as hard as they did, they still couldn't save everyone. The night after Harry's remembrance service, a boy called Toby died. He was sixteen years old and delivered groceries for the village shop until he was taken ill.

Dr Drake came to fill out the paperwork and sign his death certificate, then Jess set about performing last offices. She washed Toby's body carefully, combed his hair and wrapped him in a shroud ready for the orderlies to collect. She tried to work quickly and efficiently, but her aching limbs seemed to defy her, growing heavier and more difficult to move the faster she tried to work. All the while her headache was pulsing behind her eyes until she had to stop and close them for a moment just to ease the pain. She could feel a sheen of sweat on her brow.

When she emerged from the room where she'd laid out the boy, Dr Drake was still on the ward. He was making a great show of checking a patient's notes, but Jess had the feeling he'd been waiting for her.

‘Are you all right, Nurse?' he asked.

Usually Jess would have answered him politely, but her weariness and aching head made her snap. ‘Why do people keep asking me that?'

Dr Drake blinked owlishly behind his spectacles. ‘I couldn't answer for anyone else, but you seem rather unwell to me.'

Jess forced herself to calm down. It wasn't Dr Drake's fault. The poor man must have been wondering what had hit him.

‘I'm sorry, Doctor. You're right, I am a bit under the weather. I think I might have a cold coming.'

‘Yes, I can see you have a fever.' His pale gaze searched her face. ‘Perhaps you should go to the sick bay?'

‘Oh, no, I'm far too busy for that.'

‘No one is too busy to be ill, Nurse. Tell me your symptoms.'

His authoritative tone stopped her in her tracks. ‘I have a headache and my limbs ache,' she admitted.

‘Any sore throat?'

Jess paused. ‘A bit,' she said. ‘But it isn't what you think,' she went on in a rush, seeing his face. ‘I had the Schick test, remember?'

‘Test or not, let me see your throat.'

She sighed heavily and sat down at Sister's desk, tilting her head back so he could examine her by the light of the green-shaded lamp. She had never been so close to him before, and found herself swivelling her gaze so she wouldn't have to look so closely into his pale silvery eyes behind his spectacles. He smelled of coal tar soap.

Finally he released her and she straightened up, massaging her neck. ‘As you can see, I'm fine,' she started to say, but he cut her off.

‘Nurse Jago, you are far from fine,' he said shortly. ‘I want you to report to the sick bay immediately. I will telephone Night Sister and inform her.'

The serious expression on his face worried Jess. ‘What is it, Doctor?' she asked.

But deep down she already knew the answer.

‘Diphtheria?'

‘That's what Miss Carrington says. Apparently Dr Drake noticed Jess was ill when she was on duty last night and sent her straight to isolation.'

Effie rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. The Home Sister had roused her even earlier than usual that morning with the news that Jess had been taken to the sick bay. She had stripped Jess's bed and told Effie to get dressed and then pack up some of her room-mate's toiletries and nightclothes for her.

She was now trying to do just that while Daisy sat on the bare frame of Jess's bed.

‘How bad is she?' Daisy asked.

‘I don't know. But she must be bad to be in isolation, don't you think?' Effie packed Jess's toothbrush, tooth powder and a clean flannel, towel and soap, then deliberated over the few items of make-up set out on the dresser. She couldn't imagine that her friend would need lipstick and powder while she was in isolation. She hardly ever wore them anyway.

‘Should someone tell her family?' Daisy said.

Effie shook her head. ‘I don't think she has any. Not that she's close to, anyway.' She knew Jess's mother was dead, and that she came from a desperate, rundown part of Bethnal Green. She also knew Jess loathed her father and stepmother and never spoke to either of them. But apart from that, Effie was surprised to realise that she knew next to nothing about her friend's family. Effie had told Jess everything about her own life growing up in Kilkenny, her mammy and daddy and four sisters. She'd even told her the name of their parish priest! But she couldn't remember Jess ever telling her anything in return. When it came to talking about herself, Jess was as closed as the many books on her shelf.

‘I wonder if she'll want any of these?' She ran her gaze along the leather spines.
David Copperfield … Great Expectations … Jane Eyre
… Jess always had her nose in one of them. Effie could never understand why. It took all her time and concentration to read one book, let alone all these, over and over again.

‘I can't imagine why,' Daisy said. ‘If she's that poorly, she won't feel much like reading, surely?'

‘But she'll need to do something to pass the time,' Effie argued. ‘Poor girl, if she really has diphtheria she'll be flat on her back for weeks, not seeing a soul. Maybe I'll put a couple in the bag, just in case.' She chose
Great Expectations
, because it was Jess's favourite – she knew that about her, at least. Jess was always willing to talk about her favourite books, if nothing else.

‘Should someone tell Sam, do you think?' Daisy asked.

Effie considered it. ‘I don't know,' she said. ‘He's bound to wonder what's going on when he doesn't get a letter from her. Especially as she writes to him practically every day.'

‘I think we should write to him,' Daisy decided.

‘But how do we find out his address? He could be stationed anywhere.' Effie racked her brains to remember if Jess had mentioned it. But her relationship with Sam was something else she never talked about.

‘Have a look for one of his letters. It might give you an address.'

Effie recoiled from the idea. ‘I couldn't do that! Jess wouldn't like it. You know how private she is about her things.'

‘Then I'll do it.' Daisy slid off the bedframe. ‘Where does she keep his letters?'

‘In that box under her bed. But I don't think you should touch it,' Effie added. ‘It's not right to go spying in her personal business.'

‘I'm not going to read them, am I?' Daisy got down on her knees and rooted under the bed, groping for the box. ‘I only want to look at one to get the address – ah, here we are.'

She pulled the cardboard box out from under the bed. ‘Blimey, it's heavy,' she said, lifting it on to the bare mattress. ‘Sam must be an even bigger letter writer than Jago!'

‘He can't be. She never seems to get any letters from him.' Effie frowned. ‘Come to think of it, I can't remember her getting a single letter from Sam in the whole time I've been here …'

‘And I think I know why – look.'

Daisy pushed the box towards Jess, and she peered inside. The box was full of letters, all in thin blue envelopes, all sealed – and all addressed to Sam in Jess's neat handwriting.

‘I SAY,' SAID
Teddy. ‘Isn't that your friend William down there?'

Millie averted her gaze from the airfield below them. She had already picked out William's tall, lean figure, with a sheepskin jacket over his blue flying suit, striding across the runway towards the plane.

‘Yes, it is,' she said, tight-lipped.

Seeing him had quite spoiled her day. Up until then, she had been enjoying a pleasant Sunday afternoon ride with Teddy and Henry. Teddy was riding her father's handsome old hunter, Samson, while Henry sat sturdily astride her own childhood pony, a fat piebald called Mischief. Millie was riding Aphrodite, a slender and rather excitable chestnut.

They had ridden around the park, and Teddy had very patiently taught Henry to trot. Then, at her son's insistence, they had taken the path up to the ridge to look down over the airfield. Henry rode between them, Mischief's fat flanks grazing their horses'.

It had been such fun, having Teddy there to share the day with them. Henry adored him, and insisted on showing off all his tricks. And Teddy, as usual, made a very patient audience.

He was looking at Millie now, eyebrows raised. ‘What's this?' he said sharply. ‘A lovers' tiff?'

Millie busied herself leaning down to adjust Henry's stirrups, hoping Teddy couldn't see her face. ‘Whatever there was between us is over,' she stated firmly.

It had been a week since Millie had delivered her ultimatum. And even though she realised with hindsight she might have been unfair to make demands that William couldn't possibly meet, she still stood by every word.

‘What did he do wrong?' Teddy asked.

‘Nothing. I just realised that it would never work between us, that's all.'

Teddy pulled a face. ‘Oh, my dear. Did you find out something truly shocking about him? An unforgivable skeleton in his closet?'

‘Nothing like that.' Millie smiled in spite of herself. ‘If you must know, I realised I couldn't possibly allow myself to fall in love with another pilot.'

‘Ah. I see.' Teddy considered this for a moment. ‘Yes, all becomes clear to me now. You can't face the prospect of those sleepless nights, worrying if what happened to Seb will happen to him?'

‘Exactly.' If Teddy could understand how she felt, why couldn't William? Millie wondered.

But he plainly didn't. And things had become strained between them since that morning. Now, if they happened to meet in the grounds or near the house, William simply ignored her.

‘Anyway, whatever there was between us is well and truly over now,' she said firmly. She eyed the planes as they taxied down the runway. ‘Shall we turn back? I can see they're about to take off, and Aphrodite is easily spooked.'

No sooner had she said it than one of the bombers suddenly picked up speed and took off. It roared low over their heads, almost brushing the tops of the trees, casting them into deep shadow.

Millie fought to keep Aphrodite's head as she skipped and shuffled sideways away from the noise, but it was Mischief who panicked. He reared up on his stubby hind legs and then took off, galloping into the trees carting Henry with him.

Millie screamed, but Teddy's reflexes were faster. He jabbed his heels into Samson's flanks and took off after Henry.

‘Hang on!' she heard him yelling to her son. ‘Hang on until I catch you.'

Aphrodite was still dancing on the spot, spooked by all the excitement. Millie wheeled her round and urged her on, following Henry and Teddy.

She was barely into the trees when she spotted Mischief, chomping on the grass. Samson was with him, looking around warily. Then Millie saw Teddy, crouched over the small body that lay on the damp, mossy ground under a tree, and her blood turned to ice.

‘Henry!' Millie was off Aphrodite before she had even stopped. She dropped to her knees beside Teddy, her heart in her mouth. ‘Is he —'

‘He's breathing,' Teddy said, one ear pressed to Henry's chest. ‘I think he must have hit one of those low-hanging branches.'

‘Henry?' Millie took over, gently trying to rouse her son. ‘Henry, can you hear me? It's Mummy.'

It seemed like a very long moment before Millie heard her baby boy groan. Relief flooded her body, and she burst into tears. ‘Oh, thank God!'

Millie watched as Teddy tenderly examined the boy, reassuring him softly as Henry whimpered. She knew she could have done it herself, but was too paralysed with shock to move. At least Henry had stopped crying, although he was staring up at Teddy with round, dazed eyes.

‘Well, there don't seem to be any bones broken, but I'm no expert,' Teddy said finally, sitting back on his heels. ‘But we'd better get him back to the house and call a doctor, just in case.' He took charge, gently gathering the boy up in his arms. ‘I'll take him, shall I? I think Samson will be a safer bet with precious cargo.'

‘Thank you.' Millie kissed the top of Henry's blond head, smiling through her tears as he squirmed away from her. He was already getting back to normal, she thought with relief.

At the Lodge, there was a long, anxious wait while the doctor examined him. Millie sat in the drawing room beside Teddy, clutching his hand so hard she carved half moons in his flesh with her nails. The calm manner she used on the words seemed to have completely abandoned her.

‘It will be all right,' Teddy kept telling her. ‘He'll be fine.'