Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (26 page)

With her last bit of strength, Effie brought her knee up between his legs. It wasn't a hard kick, but it was enough to shock him into releasing her. As he jerked upright, she rolled away from under him and clambered quickly to her feet.

‘I – I'm going to find the others,' she said, brushing down her clothes.

Kit sat up. ‘Don't bother coming back,' he muttered.

Effie looked down at him. ‘Kit, please don't be like this. I love you …'

‘Just go,' he cut her off, scowling at the distant horizon.

Effie paused for a moment, lost for words. Then, with a sigh of misery, she turned and started off down the beach.

Effie spent most of that night crying into her pillow.

She wished she'd caught the train home with Jess that afternoon, instead of hanging around with Kit, Max and Harry. But Kit had been in such a foul mood, Effie hadn't wanted to leave him until she'd tried to smooth things over.

Not that it had done any good. He had barely spoken to her since she'd rejected him. And the looks of silent sympathy that Max and Harry kept giving her hadn't helped either. In the end she'd slept alone in the room Kit had meant for the two of them, while he'd bunked in with Harry and Max.

She'd lost him for ever. Now the reality of what had happened had finally sunk in, Effie had begun to worry she had been too hasty. It was all her fault. She couldn't blame Kit for thinking what he did, when she'd given him the wrong signals.

‘You mustn't blame yourself,' Jess had comforted her when Effie whispered what had happened, just before her friend went home. ‘Don't you worry about it, love. You did the right thing.'

But it didn't feel like the right thing when she cried herself to sleep, or in the cold light of day when Kit ignored her all the way home.

She sat in the back seat of the car, staring at the back of his head. He was driving, but not once did he turn his head to look at her, or even catch her eye in the rear-view mirror. It was as if she had ceased to exist.

Effie slumped in her seat, too engulfed in misery to laugh at Harry's endless jokes. She kept replaying the events of the previous day, wishing she could have said and done things differently. If only she'd given in to him, they could all be happy now. She would be sitting in the front seat beside him, his hand stroking her leg, exchanging secret smiles, and basking in the afterglow of their love.

But now it was too late.

Kit stopped the car at the gate to the Nurses' Home. As she got out, Effie plucked up the courage to turn to him and whisper, ‘When will I see you again?'

He didn't reply, but the dirty look he gave her said it all. Without a word, he started up the car and drove off, leaving her standing there, alone and forlorn.

She was still staring down the empty lane when the heavens opened.

Effie looked up into the dismal sky. Rain spattered her face, the icy drops mingling with her hot tears.

She had lost Kit, and that wasn't even the worst of it.

Now she had to face the wrath of Connor Cleary.

IT HAD BEEN
a quiet night on the Fever Wards, but by the time the day staff arrived Jess was still bone weary and looking forward to her bed.

She also knew Effie would be coming home from the coast with Kit, Max and Harry that morning, and Jess was keen to find out what had happened after she'd left. Poor Effie had looked so anxious the previous afternoon, and even though Jess knew she'd brought most of her troubles on herself, she still couldn't help worrying about her friend. Jess was afraid Harry might be right about Kit's reputation. Seeing him with Effie was like watching a wolf playing with a kitten.

So she was dismayed when she was summoned to Matron's office just as she was going off duty. Jess racked her brains as she hurried across the courtyard towards the main hospital building. What could she possibly have done wrong now?

As usual, Miss Jenkins's forbidding expression gave nothing away.

‘Ah, Jago.' Matron put down her pen and regarded Jess across the desk. ‘I have some good news for you. I'm putting you back on to days.'

But before Jess had time to register the fact, Miss Jenkins added, ‘I'm afraid one of the nurses on the Fever Wards has managed to come down with suspected scarlet fever. She is in isolation until Dr Drake can decide what's wrong with the silly girl.' Matron tutted, as if it was the poor nurse's fault that she'd fallen ill. ‘Of course, it might all be a lot of fuss over nothing, in which case you'll be moving back to Female Medical. But for today you'll have to report back to Sister Fever.'

‘Today, Matron?' The words were out before Jess could stop herself. ‘But I've just come off night duty.'

Miss Jenkins raised her brows. ‘I do know that, Jago. I'm not a simpleton. You must return to the Nurses' Home to sleep, then return for duty at noon.'

Jess glanced at the clock and did some frantic sums in her head. It was nearly eight now, which meant she had four hours to walk the two miles to the Nurses' Home, grab some sleep, then walk two miles back to the hospital. Was it worth even leaving? she wondered.

She was aware that Miss Jenkins was watching her through narrowed eyes.

‘Well, don't just stand there, girl,' she said. ‘You'd better hurry up, hadn't you?'

It was too much to hope that Sulley might be waiting at the gates in his cart. Jess pulled her cloak around her and started off up the track that led from the village. It was a grim, cold day, and the countryside was sheathed in grey. Rain drizzled down, insinuating its way inside her upturned collar and turning the ground underfoot to churned mud that splattered over her feet and ankles. Jess sighed. She would have to polish her shoes and find a clean pair of black wool stockings before she came back on duty.

But at least there was one blessing. As it was Sunday morning Miss Carrington had gone to church, so the Nurses' Home was empty. Jess crawled into her bed, for once too exhausted to notice the hard, unyielding mattress or the threadbare sheets. She pulled a pillow over her head to shut out the distant mooing of the cows in their barns. It sounded as if they were serenading her under her window.

And it seemed no sooner had she fallen asleep than she was woken up by the clatter of Effie returning. Jess had been looking forward to talking to her friend. But with the prospect of only an hour's sleep before she must return to work, it was the last thing she wanted to do now.

Jess tried to ignore her, but Effie made such a commotion moving around the room, unpacking her bag and throwing her things into drawers, shaking the rain off her coat and sighing heavily all the while, that Jess was dragged unwillingly from her sleep.

‘Can't you be quiet?' she mumbled, the pillow still clamped tightly about her ears.

‘Sorry,' Effie mumbled. The bedsprings creaked as she sat down, then promptly burst into noisy tears.

Jess threw off the pillow and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her gritty eyes. ‘What is it? What's wrong?'

‘It's all right,' Effie sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. ‘You go back to sleep.'

‘Not much chance of that now.' Jess looked at the clock. It was just turned eleven. ‘I've got to be back on duty in an hour, anyway.' She got out of bed and went to sit beside Effie. ‘What happened? Is it Kit?'

Effie burst into tears again, covering her face with her hands. ‘Oh, it was awful!'

Jess was instantly alert, shaken out of her weariness. ‘Why, what happened?' Coldness suddenly washed over her. ‘He didn't – force himself on you, did he?'

‘No!' Effie's reply was sharp with outrage. ‘Kit would never do such a thing. He – he loves me. Or he did …' She broke into fresh sobs. ‘But now I've ruined everything. I feel such a fool!'

Jess stood up, relieved now that she knew her friend hadn't been hurt. ‘Look, we've both got to be on duty at twelve, so why don't you tell me all about it while we get changed?' she coaxed gently.

She listened as Effie explained how she had turned Kit's advances down and how angry and disappointed he had been. It was just as Jess had suspected.

‘Now I've lost him and it's all my own fault. He's right, I was stupid and naïve, and now he's gone for ever!' she wailed

‘In that case he wasn't worth having in the first place,' Jess said stoutly.

Effie turned a reproachful gaze on her, blue eyes huge and puffy with crying. ‘You don't understand, I love him.'

Jess suppressed a sigh. As far as she was concerned, losing someone like Kit was no loss at all. Hopefully Effie would see that eventually, if she didn't die of heartache in the meantime.

It was a long trudge back to the Nurses' Home, with Effie weeping silently beside Jess all the way, refusing to be consoled. It was a relief to be able to leave her at the door to the main building and cross the grounds to the Fever Wards.

At least Sister Fever seemed pleased to see her.

‘I have some good news,' she said. ‘It turns out Nurse Stone doesn't have scarlet fever after all.'

Jess smiled. ‘I am glad to hear it, Sister.' Glad for poor Nurse Stone, and for herself, too. But before she could allow herself to hope that she might be allowed the rest of the day off, Sister continued,

‘However, she's been told to rest for the day and come back tomorrow. So the patients will need feeding, and then the doctors will be doing their rounds. Then I want you to special the new pulmonary TB case that came in this morning. He's already had a severe haemorrhage, and he's on the Dangerously Ill List. I've asked the doctors to look at him when they come.'

Jess gave a last, yearning thought to her bed at the Nurses' Home, then straightened her shoulders. ‘Yes, Sister,' she said.

Dr French and Dr Drake arrived on the ward just as Jess finished sterilising the dishes after lunch. Dr French was as genial as ever, pausing to flirt with Sister while Dr Drake twitched impatiently beside him.

‘Do you think we could see the patient, since that's why we're here?' he snapped finally, his patience giving way.

‘Oh, do calm down, old chap. I must apologise, Sister, for my colleague's lack of charm.' Dr French flashed another broad grin at Sister Fever, whose cheeks dimpled, even though she was in her late forties and easily old enough to be his mother.

They were just leaving when Dr French glanced over his shoulder, and said, ‘Hello? Who do we have here?'

They all looked round. A young woman stood behind the window that separated visitors from patients, her pale hands pressed to the glass. She was anxious, but that didn't take away from the loveliness of her pale face, framed by thick honey-blonde hair. Her gaze was fixed on the doctors, as if she wanted to get their attention.

‘That's Mrs Jarvis,' Sister said. ‘Her daughter is Pamela, one of our diphtheria patients. The little girl who had the tracheostomy on New Year's Eve?' she prompted, as Dr French looked blank.

The one you couldn't be bothered to visit, even though she was at death's door, Jess added silently.

‘She's rather early for visiting hour,' Sister frowned at the watch on her bib. ‘If you'll excuse me, I'll tell her to come back later.'

‘No, I'll speak to her,' Dr French said.

Sister and Dr Drake both opened their mouths to protest, but Dr French was already heading out of the door that led to the visitors' area.

‘Hello there,' he said. ‘It's Mrs Jarvis, isn't it? Little Pamela's mother?'

Mrs Jarvis blushed. ‘You know who I am?'

‘Oh, I never forget a patient. And I must say, little Pamela is every bit as pretty as her mother.'

‘Oh!' Mrs Jarvis's colour deepened. Jess gritted her teeth so hard her jaws hurt. ‘I'm very sorry to disturb you, Doctor. I just wanted to see how Pamela was getting on.'

‘She's doing very well,' Dr French said, even though it was obvious he didn't have the first idea who or what he was talking about. ‘I'm sure you'll be able to take her home in a couple of weeks.'

Mrs Jarvis looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘Really? Oh, that's wonderful news. I was so scared when Sister told me what had happened, I really thought we were going to lose her.'

Dr French looked mildly confused. ‘Yes, well, she – um – gave us all a scare,' he said.

‘Are you – the doctor who saved her?'

‘Well, I wouldn't say that …' But the look of false modesty on Dr French's face told a different story. It was all Jess could do not to say something.

‘I've been hoping to see you, ever since it happened,' Mrs Jarvis gushed. ‘I wanted to thank you for bringing Pamela back to us. She's our only child and I – I don't know what we would have done if we'd lost her.'

Dr French lowered his gaze. ‘My dear lady, I was just doing my job,' he murmured.

No, you weren't! Jess wanted to shout. You weren't doing your job at all. You were living it up at a party while poor little Pamela Jarvis was fighting for her life, and you couldn't even be bothered to come and look at her.

She glanced at Sister Fever. She was smiling benignly, because of course she knew nothing of that night's dramas. As far as she was concerned, Dr French might well have had a hand in saving the little girl's life.

The only other person who knew the truth was Dr Drake. But he was flicking through a patient's notes, staring down at the words with fixed concentration, as if his life depended on them. It seemed as if he hadn't even heard the conversation, but Jess could tell by the mottled flush that spread up his neck to his ears that he had.

She stared at him, willing him to speak up, to take the credit that was rightfully his. Finally, as if he could feel her gaze like a touch on his shoulder, he looked up at her. He glanced at Dr French, who was now explaining in detail to a breathless Mrs Jarvis exactly how heroically he had battled to save her daughter's life, then gave a slight shrug and looked back at the notes in front of him.