The Nightingale Girls (26 page)

‘You could have told me I had to clean their teeth,’ she whispered to Lucy as she clattered back down the ward with her trolley.

‘I thought you knew,’ the other girl said carelessly.

‘Won’t you help me?’ Millie pleaded.

‘Not a chance. I’ve done my bit. And hurry up about it! They’d better be cleaned and put back in before Mr Cooper shows his face or there’ll be real trouble.’

Millie felt close to tears as she hurried back to the sluice. With so much to do and no one willing to give her a hand, she had horrible visions of not getting the job done in time and ending up in Matron’s office yet again.

She was filling the basin with water when she had a brainwave. She didn’t have to go round to every bed, cleaning each set of teeth individually. Surely all she had to do was collect up all the teeth and clean them at the same time?

Pleased with herself, she hurried back down the ward with the trolley, collecting up everyone’s teeth and throwing them into the basin of water as she went. Most of the women in the ward had false teeth – during training Sister Parker had explained how East End women often had their teeth removed at an early age to save on expensive dental treatment when they got older. When she had a basin full Millie carried them carefully back to the sluice,
briskly trotting as fast as she could get away with, without breaking into a run.

She was just rinsing the last of the teeth under the tap and feeling rather pleased with her own ingenuity when Lucy appeared in the doorway to the sluice.

‘What are you doing now?’ she demanded. Millie suppressed her annoyance. Lucy had become insufferably bossy since they’d started work on the ward.

‘Cleaning the teeth. Look.’ Millie showed her the basin. But instead of being incredibly impressed by her time-saving brainwave, Lucy just stared at the bowl then at Millie and back at the bowl again.

‘How are you going to tell which teeth are which?’ she asked.

‘That’s easy, I’ll just . . .’ Millie’s smile faltered slightly ‘. . . I mean, I’ll . . .’

Then full realisation hit her and she stared in horror at the assortment of teeth in the bowl. They all seemed to be grinning up at her.

‘Oh, Benedict, what have you done now?’ Lucy put her hand over her mouth, her eyes as big as saucers above it. They stared at each other for a moment.

Then the phone rang.

‘Mr Cooper’s on his way.’ Lucy thrust the basin at her. ‘Get this lot handed out stat.’

‘But how will we know who to give them to?’ Millie asked.

‘I don’t know, do I? You’ll just have to guess for now and sort it out later.’

Fortunately Staff Nurse Cuthbert was busy and Sister Wren had retired to her sitting room, so they didn’t witness Millie hurtling up and down the ward, skimming false teeth into the laps of surprised patients.

By the time she had reached the other end of the ward,
Sister Wren had emerged from her sitting room, her ashy brown hair looking suspiciously teased under her starched cap. The staff nurses and Lucy had already gathered at the doors to the ward, ready to greet their illustrious visitor when he arrived.

‘Benedict!’ Sister Wren snapped at Millie. ‘Is that the basin for Mr Cooper? Put it down at once.’

‘But Sister—’

‘I said, put it down!’ Sister Wren hissed furiously. ‘Roll your sleeves down, put your cuffs on and come over here.’

With a quick, guilty glance at Lucy, Millie hastily put the bowl on the stand at the far end of the ward, covered it with a towel and hurried back to join Sister Wren and the other nurses, who were busy patting their hair and smoothing down their aprons. All she could hope now was that Mr Cooper didn’t mind too much that the water in the bowl was stone cold.

She was still fastening the studs on her cuffs when the doors swung open and the Great One himself entered, followed by his firm, a procession of two registrars, a pair of senior housemen and several medical students. Millie could immediately see why Blanche had put on lipstick and Sister had teased her hair. Mr Cooper looked like Errol Flynn in a white coat.

‘Sister Wren,’ he greeted her with a nod.

‘Mr Cooper,’ she simpered. Her voice was high and fluttery, and nothing like the sharp tone she took with her nurses. ‘Your water is ready, if you would care to step this way?’

‘Thank you.’ Millie and Lucy exchanged panicked looks as he strode over to the basin, his retinue following behind. Millie crossed her fingers behind her back. The whole ward seemed utterly, deathly silent, although she guessed
that was because they had been struck dumb by their ill-fitting teeth.

Mr Cooper hitched up the sleeves of his white coat, flicked the towel aside and plunged his hands into the water. Millie closed her eyes and prayed.

Please don’t let it be too cold, please . . .

For a moment nothing happened. Then Mr Cooper said in his deep voice, ‘Sister, would you mind explaining why there is a set of false teeth in the bottom of this bowl?’

Sister Wren opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, a voice rang out from the far end of the ward.

‘Oh, they’ll be mine, Doctor. The nurse forgot to give me back my set.’ They all turned to see Blanche grinning toothlessly at them all. Her bright red lips only emphasised the gaping cavern of her mouth.

The silence seemed to go on forever. Millie could feel everyone staring at her, but she couldn’t look up from the shiny floor. She’d done a good job of polishing it, she thought. But it would take more than a spot of cleaning to save her now.

‘Nurse . . . my office . . . immediately.’ Sister Wren turned on her heel and stalked out of the ward. Millie trailed after her.

She braced herself as best she might, but couldn’t have prepared herself for the full force of Sister Wren’s wrath. ‘Never . . . in my whole career . . . utterly humiliated.’ Cords of suppressed rage stood out on her thin neck. ‘Dumbfounded . . . disgrace to nursing . . .’ Millie let the words wash over her, until finally the storm blew itself out.

‘Well? What have you to say for yourself?’ Sister demanded when she finally paused for breath.

‘It was an accident, Sister.’

Sister Wren closed her eyes, mentally composing herself. ‘You,’ she said, enunciating slowly and carefully, ‘are one big accident waiting to happen. I would send you to Matron but I’m sure she’s already seen more than enough of you. Now please get out of my sight. And be sure I will be mentioning this in my ward report. How we are going to survive the next three months with you on my ward, I have no idea.’

Lucy was waiting for her in the sluice when she returned. ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Millie’s hands shook as she washed them under the tap. ‘Has Mr Cooper gone?’

Lucy nodded. ‘He said he’d come back and continue his round when Sister had finished dealing with you. He didn’t look too pleased.’

‘Oh dear.’ He would probably go straight to Matron too. Millie had a sudden, horrible vision of being packed off unceremoniously back to Billinghurst. Her grandmother would be delighted. ‘What do you think I should do?’ she pleaded.

‘I’d stay out of everyone’s way, if I were you.’ Lucy could barely hide her glee.

But first Millie had to sort out the puzzle of the teeth. She was so miserable she could barely speak as she trailed up and down the ward with her bowl. But the women did their best to cheer her up.

‘Don’t worry about it, love, worse things happen at sea,’ Blanche said. ‘Besides, it gave us all a right good laugh. And they say that’s the best medicine, don’t they?’

It was kind of them to try and make her feel better, Millie thought as she washed the bowl in the sluice room sink. But she still felt utterly foolish.

‘Really, Millie, you must try to think in future,’ she warned herself.

‘Did you know that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness?’ a voice said behind her.

Millie swung round. A young man stood in the sluice-room doorway. She recognised him as one of the housemen she’d seen with Mr Cooper that morning.

‘Of course, presenting a bowl of false teeth to the hospital’s Chief Consultant in full view of his entire firm may also be considered an act of insanity,’ he drawled.

His grin irritated Millie. ‘Have you come to gloat?’ she snapped.

‘I’ve come to tell you not to take it to heart.’ He wasn’t much older than she was, tall and lanky in his white coat, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. There was something familiar about him, but she wasn’t sure what. ‘If it’s any help, I actually think Cooper was secretly quite amused.’

‘Sister certainly wasn’t.’

‘Sister Wren has no sense of humour.’

Millie frowned at him. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m William. Will, to my friends. And you are?’

‘Benedict.’

‘No first name?’

‘You can call me Nurse Benedict, if you like?’

He smiled. He had a nice smile, Millie thought . . .

‘Thanks for trying to make me feel better,’ she said.

‘I’m a doctor. It’s my job.’

I’m a doctor
. Something about the way he said it made her think. She looked up at him, more closely this time. The last time she’d seen that tall, lanky figure it had been looming out of the fog towards her . . .

‘It’s you!’ she cried. ‘You ran me over!’

‘I’m sorry?’ He frowned. And then, slowly, it dawned on him. ‘You!’

‘You owe me a new pair of stockings.’

‘And you owe me a new rear bumper.’ But we could call it quits if you promise to come out with me one night?’ he added cheekily.

Millie had opened her mouth to reply when she heard voices in the corridor.

‘Sounds like Mr Cooper’s coming back,’ said William.

He ducked out of sight, then stuck his head round the door again. ‘It’s been nice meeting you, Nurse Benedict. Perhaps I’ll run into you again sometime.’

‘Not literally, I hope!’ Millie was still smiling to herself as his running footsteps echoed away down the corridor.

AT NINE O’CLOCK,
just before the day staff went off duty, Sister Hyde gave her final report to the night nurses who were taking over the Female Chronics ward.

‘Mrs Tyler in bed two has been in a great deal of pain from her arthritis today. Dr Grange has prescribed Cincophen, but she may need extra pain relief during the night.’ Like the other sisters, Sister Hyde didn’t need to consult any notes. She knew by heart the state of every patient on her ward. ‘Miss Fletcher in bed four suffered a convulsion at ten-past four this afternoon. She has been quiet since, but you must keep an eye on her. And we have had one admission today. Mrs Mortimer, bed six.’ She swept them with a warning glance. ‘You may need to watch her. She has been rather trying.’

Helen glanced across at Amy Hollins, who was barely listening. She had hoped that after their three months on Male Surgical they might get a break from each other. But here they were, stuck on night duty together, with only a solitary pro to keep them company. And even she was acting as a runner between several wards.

Sister Hyde finally went off duty, after leaving a long list of jobs to keep the nurses busy.

‘She’ll be lucky,’ Amy whispered as the doors closed behind her. ‘Come on, let’s get this lot settled quickly and then we can relax.’ She stretched and yawned.

Helen suspected Amy hadn’t been to bed. After their
shift finished at seven in the morning and they’d had breakfast, they were sent straight to bed in the night nurses’ block, where a sister prowled the corridor to make sure they didn’t get up before noon. Helen usually couldn’t wait to crawl into bed, but she knew some nurses were more interested in their social lives than sleep, and managed to evade Sister’s beady eye to go off for the day with their boyfriends.

She would have asked Amy, but the other girl would probably think she was prying. Better just to stay out of her way, Helen decided.

‘I’ll make a start on the drinks round, shall I?’ she offered.

‘I suppose so. Where’s that runner got to?’

‘Gone over to report to Male Chronics, I think.’

‘Well, I hope she comes back soon. We need her far more than they do. If she isn’t back in five minutes you’re to go and find her,’ she instructed Helen. ‘It’s not fair she should leave you to do the drinks round on your own.’

Helen smiled as she headed for the kitchen. It wasn’t like Amy to be so considerate. Although her consideration didn’t stretch to helping with the drinks herself, she noticed as she put the kettles on.

Amy had disappeared by the time she returned with the trolley, so Helen did the drinks round by herself. It took a long time, as most of the elderly women needed help with feeding cups. Almost half an hour had passed by the time she reached the new patient in bed six. Mrs Mortimer sat up ramrod straight, her long white hair beautifully brushed over the shoulders of her spotless nightgown.

‘Would you like a drink, Mrs Mortimer?’ Helen spoke to her slowly and encouragingly, as she did to all the women on the ward. ‘A nice cup of tea? Some Horlicks?’

Mrs Mortimer gave her a withering look. ‘Good gracious,
girl, why are you speaking to me like that?’ she said sharply. ‘It’s my body that’s afflicted, not my mind.’ She peered at the trolley, unimpressed. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything as civilised as a brandy, do you? No? I thought it was rather too much to hope for.’ She sighed heavily. ‘In that case, you may go.’

She dismissed her with an imperious wave of her hand. Helen stood there, nonplussed.

‘Well? Was there something else?’ Mrs Mortimer said, as if she were addressing a rather dim servant. Helen shook her head. ‘Then I suggest you get on with your work, girl, and stop staring at me like a stunned trout.’

Helen slunk off, pushing her trolley. No wonder Sister Hyde had called her ‘trying’. She could imagine the pair of them clashing terribly if Mrs Mortimer used that tone with her.

Amy returned as she was pushing the drinks trolley back to the kitchen. She was herding the pro back in front of her like a lost lamb.

‘Look who I found,’ she said. ‘Gossiping on Male Chronics, she was. Not a thought for us, slaving away here on our own.’