Nightingales on Call (34 page)

But then, as she was spooning the linseed mixture on to the linen, she heard two pros whispering on the other side of the door.

‘Did you see her?’ Hilda Ross was saying. ‘Like butter wouldn’t melt. I don’t know if I could be that hard-faced if my father had done something so shameful.’

Lucy tensed, gripping the spatula.

‘And she gives herself so many airs and graces too, doesn’t she?’ Hilda went on. ‘Acting as if she’s better than the rest of us. I don’t know how she has the nerve.’

‘I know! That’s what’s so shocking, don’t you think?’ Effie O’Hara’s lilting Irish voice joined in. ‘My sister Katie said she was always too big for her boots, even when they were pros.’

‘Well, I reckon this will bring her down a peg or two,’ Hilda said. ‘She won’t be able to lord it over the rest of us now.’

‘She’d better not try!’

Lucy froze. Part of her wanted to throw open the door and confront them; the other wanted to run away and hide, and never come out.

‘What are you two laughing about?’ She heard Dora’s voice then, and her heart sank even further.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then O’Hara ventured, ‘We were talking about Nurse Lane.’

‘Gossiping, you mean?’

‘We were just discussing what was in the newspaper,’ O’Hara insisted stubbornly.

‘I don’t care if it was up in lights in Piccadilly Circus,’ Dora said. ‘You’ve still got no business talking about a senior like that. And if you’ve got time to stand there gossiping like a pair of fishwives, you obviously don’t have enough to do. O’Hara, you can go and clean the bathrooms. Ross, you can help with the nappy round. That should keep you nice and busy.’

‘But . . .’

‘And if I hear either of you say another word about this, I will tell Sister,’ Dora went on. ‘Remember, Lane is a senior, and should be treated with respect.’

‘Yes, Nurse,’ O’Hara mumbled.

Their footsteps faded down the ward and Lucy finished making the poultice, her mind still grappling with what she had just heard.

Uncle Gordon had said there was nothing like a scandal to let you find out who your friends were. And it looked as if he had been right.

ANNA PADGETT WAS
complaining about Jess again.

‘I know she’s taken it,’ she said, as they queued for the bathroom on Monday morning. ‘She denies it, but I can see it in her face.’

Effie sighed. ‘We’re not talking about that bottle of scent again, are we?’

‘It’s not just any scent, it’s Midnight In Paris. But, no, that’s not what we’re talking about,’ Anna replied huffily. ‘Now my brooch has gone missing.’

‘You mean that ugly one shaped like a cat? Why would anyone want to steal that?’

‘I don’t know, do I? Out of spite, I expect. Or because she’s a thief and can’t help herself. And it isn’t ugly, by the way,’ Anna told her.

‘Jess isn’t a thief either,’ Effie said.

‘Oh, well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? What with her being a particular friend of yours.’

The queue shuffled forward, and Effie finally reached a basin. Jess might be her friend, but Effie hadn’t seen much of her since she’d passed PTS. She had been too busy finding her feet on the ward, and spending time with Hugo. She was guiltily aware she still owed Jess a night out after abandoning her at the last minute.

‘Friend or not, I know Jess isn’t a thief,’ she insisted.

But there was no convincing Anna Padgett. ‘I’m going to be watching her,’ she said. ‘I’ll catch her out sooner or later, you’ll see.’

It was always a tearing rush to get washed, dressed, finish breakfast and report for duty before seven o’clock. Effie screeched through the double doors with seconds to spare, her shoes skidding on the linoleum.

‘You’re late,’ Lucy Lane snapped. ‘There’s a pile of bedpans waiting for you in the sluice. And make sure you clean inside the handles this time. I’ll be checking,’ she warned.

I bet you will, Effie thought as she stomped off to the sluice. Far from being humbled by her fall from grace, Lucy had become even more short-tempered and unbearable.

Effie was up to her elbows in hot soapy water when she heard Hugo’s voice outside the sluice-room door. She perked up immediately. Abandoning the bedpans, she wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door to see him. She knew she would be in trouble if she was caught, but Sister Parry wasn’t on duty for another twenty minutes and Effie was sure she could risk a quick hello. It had been nearly a week since she’d seen him.

By the time she stuck her head out of the door Hugo was at the far end of the ward, talking to Frances.

‘Make way!’ Hilda came towards her, arms full of precariously balanced bedpans. ‘Quick, before I drop this lot.’

Effie stepped aside automatically to let her pass, her gaze still fixed on Hugo and Frances.

‘What’s Hugo doing here at this hour?’ she asked. He wasn’t known as an early riser; he’d often boasted to Effie about missing lectures because he’d stayed up all night playing cards.

‘God knows. Maybe he wants to impress Mr Hobbs by being an eager beaver for once?’ Hilda put the bedpans down with a clatter.

Frances made a comment, and Hugo laughed. Jealousy shot through Effie as she watched them both, their dark heads tilted close together.

‘They seem very pally?’ she commented.

Hilda came to stand beside her. ‘They’re probably just planning their next prank. You know what they’re like, always having fun at someone else’s expense.’

Usually mine, Effie thought. She had forgiven Hugo for locking her in the linen cupboard, but couldn’t forget Frances’ part in it.

‘Anyway, I wouldn’t take much notice if I were you.’ Hilda shrugged. ‘Frances may be his partner in crime, but you’re the one he’s taking to the ball, aren’t you?’

Only because I forced him into it, Effie thought miserably.

‘You there!’ She flinched as Lucy Lane appeared out of nowhere, her face like thunder. ‘Why are you standing around gossiping when there are bedpans to wash? And have you done those handles yet? I’m going to inspect them, and if I find they’re dirty . . .’

She bustled past Effie, who trailed miserably after her into the sluice. Why was it always Effie who ended up in trouble? Hugo and Frances could be locked in a passionate embrace at the other end of the ward, and Lucy would still only notice the dirty bedpan handles.

Sister Parry arrived on the ward at half-past seven, took the report from the night nurse and then handed out the worklists.

Effie was delighted when she was told to set the trolley for the dressings round. At last, some proper nursing! It made a change from endless cleaning and scrubbing.

But just her luck, she had to assist Nurse Lane. And even worse luck, their first patient was the boy with the fractured femur.

‘I don’t like him,’ Effie confided as she followed Lucy down the ward with the trolley.

‘It doesn’t matter whether you like the patient or not, as long as you’re pleasant and courteous at all times,’ Lucy replied shortly.

Effie scowled at her back. I’d like to see
you
being pleasant and courteous to anyone, she thought.

Lucy seemed to be taking her job as stand-in Staff Nurse very seriously. Instead of getting on with the task as quickly as possible, she insisted on quizzing Effie on fractures.

‘What are the unfavourable symptoms to look out for in these cases?’ she asked.

Effie stood still, hands knotted behind her back, and racked her brain for an answer. ‘Er . . . blue fingers or toes?’ she ventured.

‘And?’

Effie glanced sidelong at the boy. He was watching them, arms crossed, enjoying the show. ‘Cold and numbness?’

‘Anything else?’ Lucy tutted impatiently. ‘You’ve forgotten swelling, persistent pain and a temperature.’

‘Sorry, Nurse.’

‘You don’t have to apologise to me, O’Hara. It’s you who’ll fail your State Final if you don’t know this.’

Give me a chance, I’ve only just got PTS out of the way! Effie thought. She had three years until she had to worry about her State Final and anything could happen before then. She might even marry Hugo and give up nursing altogether.

Lucy was called away by Sister Parry halfway through the dressings round, and left Effie to finish attending to the boy, Cyril. She could feel him watching her as she struggled, all fingers and thumbs, to fit the new dressing.

‘Not very good at this nursing lark, are you?’ he observed.

Effie opened her mouth to make a stinging reply, then remembered Lucy’s warning. Be courteous and pleasant at all times.

So she gritted her teeth and tried to do just that.

‘How did you hurt your leg?’ she asked. ‘Were you playing football?’

‘Hardly!’ Cyril snorted. ‘If you must know, I was running away.’

‘Who from?’

‘Someone who wanted to catch me, of course! Except that bloody van got in the way.’

But Effie wasn’t listening. Somewhere in her brain, a penny dropped. ‘It’s you!’ she exclaimed. ‘I remember you now.
You
were the one who stole my bag.’

He blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you did! You offered to carry my bag for me, then ran off and left me stranded. I thought I recognised you, but I couldn’t work it out until just now.’

He looked shifty. ‘Sorry, Nurse, I reckon you must have the wrong lad. As if I’d do something like that. That’s wrong, that is. That’s thieving.’

‘You are a thief! And I’ve a good mind to call the police and have you arrested.’

‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘Wouldn’t I? Just watch me.’

‘Oh, keep your hair on. You got your bag back, didn’t you?’

‘Well, yes I did, but—’ she broke off. ‘Hang on a minute. How did you know I got my bag back?’

He grinned. ‘You mean you ain’t worked that out yet?’

Lucy’s mother was right. Kentish Town wasn’t the most salubrious address in the world. Lucy hadn’t been expecting a mansion, but as she trailed around the flat Cousin Antonia had offered, from one cramped room to another, she could feel her spirits sinking. The whole place would have fitted easily into the servants’ quarters at Eaton Place.

Her mother was even less impressed. She walked around, listing the faults.

‘It’s so small,’ Clarissa said. ‘And dark. I wonder when the windows were last cleaned?’

She rubbed at a grubby pane with the finger of her glove and peered through the patch.

‘Oh, well, I can see why they haven’t bothered,’ she said. ‘The view, if you can call it that, is absolutely shocking. Nothing but dismal grey rooftops as far as the eye can see, with a couple of factory chimneys in the distance to break the monotony.’

‘At least Cousin Antonia is letting us have it for next to nothing,’ Lucy said.

‘I’m not surprised. No one in their right mind would think of paying money to live in a hovel like this.’ Clarissa sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling. ‘Can you smell damp?’

Lucy searched her mind desperately for something encouraging to say. ‘Well, we won’t have to get rid of any of our furniture. It should all fit in here nicely.’

Her mother smiled thinly. ‘The amount of furniture we have left would fit in a doll’s house.’

Lucy gritted her teeth. She’d had to organise the removal from Eaton Place because her mother had done nothing about it, except complain about the inconvenience.

And she’d had to beg for time off to be there. Sister Parry had been very annoyed about it, and Lucy was sure it would mean a bad ward report, which in turn could affect her chance of getting a permanent place at the Nightingale.

She rubbed her eyes, which were gritty from lack of sleep. If she wasn’t lying awake worrying about her exams, she was worrying about her mother, or her father, or what everyone was saying about them.

Lucy took a deep breath to steady herself. She had to make this work. It was their only option.

She tried flattery. ‘You know what marvellous taste you have, Mother. I expect you’ll soon have this place looking wonderful.’

Lady Clarissa scowled. ‘Even I can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’

‘Yes, but surely once we’ve put some pictures up, and had the curtains altered to fit, and given the walls a lick of paint . . .’

‘A lick of paint?’ Her mother’s mouth curled in contempt. ‘It will take more than a coat of paint or a roll of wallpaper to make this place attractive. The only thing that could improve it is to flatten it all and start again!’

‘Yes, well, we can’t do that, can we?’ Lucy’s last shred of patience finally snapped. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘And whose fault is it that we’re beggars?’ her mother flared back. ‘Don’t take this out on me, Lucy. You’re treating me as if I’m being difficult, when it’s your father’s fecklessness that’s got us in this mess.’

Lucy saw her mother’s martyred expression, and something inside her exploded.

‘Do you ever stop to think why he was so feckless, as you put it?’

Clarissa’s chin lifted. ‘Because he was selfish, I suppose.’

‘No, Mother,
you’re
the selfish one. Do you ever think about the pressure Father must have been under, trying to keep us in the luxury we expected? He must have been worried sick about this business deal, but he had no one to turn to. How do you think he must have felt, knowing it was all collapsing around him? Aren’t you ashamed that he couldn’t confide in his own wife?’

Her mother turned pale. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’

‘Why? What are you going to do? Drink yourself into a stupor, as usual? We can’t afford a bottle of gin, in case you hadn’t noticed. Or are you going to flounce off to your room for a few hours? It’s about time someone told you the truth, Mother. Perhaps if Father had felt able to do that, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.’

Her mother turned her back and stood staring out of the window. Lucy could see her thin shoulders trembling as she went to stand behind her.

‘The truth is, you’ve been far too cosseted for far too long. You were never interested in Father’s business. All you were ever interested in was how much money he was making, and how fast you could spend it.’

‘And you weren’t, of course?’