The Nightingale Girls (31 page)

‘Poor Seb,’ Millie whispered to Sophia as the dressmaker’s maid arrived with more tea. ‘He really doesn’t stand a chance, does he?’

‘She’s certainly determined,’ Sophia agreed.

‘I’m surprised she hasn’t set her sights on marrying Richard, if she’s so keen to marry into a title?’

‘She did, at first. But he made it clear he wasn’t interested, so she had to turn her attention to poor Seb instead. I think she’s secretly hoping a terrible accident will befall Richard once she and Seb are safely married.’

Millie was scandalised, until she remembered her grandmother would probably think in exactly the same way.

The conversation turned to Millie. Sophia and Margaret were horrified and fascinated when she told them all about her work on the Gynae ward.

Georgina looked repelled. ‘And you actually have to touch these women? With all those nasty diseases and things?’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

‘How else are we supposed to nurse them?’ Millie asked. ‘They’re just people, like the rest of us.’

‘Maybe, but I wouldn’t want to clean up after them. Can you imagine?’ Georgina shuddered.

Millie saw the looks of revulsion on her friends’ faces and realised they probably couldn’t imagine anything like it. Much as they enjoyed squirming and giggling over all the gruesome details, she knew they would never feel anything but horror at the idea of cleaning toilets or mopping up someone’s vomit.

Once she would have felt the same, but now, after a couple of months on the ward, she barely thought about it. It was only seeing her friends’ expressions that made her realise how distant she had grown from them. She had seen and experienced things they could never imagine in their worst nightmares.

And it worked the other way, too. As they gossiped about the latest scandal in their circle, and excitedly planned what they were going to wear to the next country house weekend, Millie couldn’t help feeling how trivial
and tedious their lives were. She missed her old life back at Billinghurst, but she knew she would miss being a nurse even more.

After the fitting, the other girls were going for tea at Fortnum and Mason’s.

‘Why don’t you come with us?’ Sophia asked.

‘Sorry, I have to catch my bus back to the hospital. I’m back on duty at five.’

‘Those backsides won’t wipe themselves, will they?’ Georgina smirked.

Millie scowled back at her. She sincerely hoped she didn’t manage to ensnare Seb. Her friend deserved far better.

It was twenty to five when she hared through the hospital gates. She headed straight for the nurses’ home, praying Sister Sutton wasn’t around to delay her. But as she put her foot on the stairs, she heard Sparky yapping and a moment later the door to Sister Sutton’s room swung open.

‘Where do you think you’re going, Benedict?’

Millie’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m going to get changed, Sister.’

Sister Sutton gasped as if this were the greatest impertinence she had ever heard. ‘And where have you been? I hope you haven’t been out gallivanting?’ she said suspiciously.

Millie was about to point out that it was her afternoon off and she could gallivant if she wanted to, but thought better of it. She already had less than ten minutes to change and get back to the ward.

There was nothing she could do but to stand and submit to Sister Sutton’s scrutiny as she looked her up and down.

‘Your bed was a disgrace again this morning,’ was all
she could finally find to say. ‘Make it properly before you go on duty.’

‘Yes, Sister.’ To hell with the bed, thought Millie as she raced up the stairs, already tearing off her coat. She was more afraid of Sister Wren than she was of Sister Sutton.

But it wasn’t just fear that made her hurry, clumsily pulling on her black stockings and ramming her feet into her shoes. She was anxious to keep her promise to Blanche, to be there with her lipstick, ready for when she woke up.

Mr Hopkins gave a disapproving shake of his head as she hurried past the porters’ lodge a few minutes later, still buttoning up her cuffs as she went. No one noticed her when she arrived breathless on to the ward. She slid past Sister Wren’s gaze and hurried to Blanche’s bed at the far end of the ward.

As she drew closer, her smile froze on her face. There was no sign of Blanche, and her bed had been stripped down to the mattress.

‘There you are.’ Sister Wren stood at her shoulder. ‘You do realise you are two minutes late?’

‘Where’s Blanche?’ Millie blurted out without thinking.

Sister Wren blinked. ‘I beg your pardon? Were you addressing me?’

‘I’m sorry, Sister.’ Millie lowered her gaze humbly. ‘I just wondered what had happened to Blanche – I mean, Miss Desmond?’

Sister Wren pulled herself up to her full height, which was still barely taller than a child’s.

‘Miss Desmond died earlier today,’ she said.

‘Died?’ Millie could hardly manage the word.

‘Yes, Nurse Benedict. Don’t look so surprised. This is a hospital. Regrettable as it may be, people do die here from time to time.’ Her face registered no more emotion
than if she’d been talking about the leaf wilt on her aspidistra. ‘Now, when you’re ready, the bathrooms need cleaning.’

She turned on her heel and stalked off, hands clasped behind her back, leaving Millie numb with shock.

‘Hard-hearted cow,’ the woman in the bed next to Blanche’s muttered. ‘I know you’ve got to be in your job, but she really takes the biscuit. Poor woman.’ She turned her gaze to Blanche’s stripped bed. ‘It’s a real shame, I reckon. She didn’t deserve to go like that.’

How would you know? Millie felt like snapping back at her. You never had a kind word to say to her when she was here. Poor Blanche. She had often lain in bed, watching the other women and longing to join in their chat, but no one ever gave her a smile or the time of day. She never had any visitors, either. Millie was the only company she’d had.

Lucy Lane was in the bathroom, scrubbing out the bath with Vim. She sat back on her heels, brush in hand, when she saw Millie.

‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. I was supposed to go off duty ages ago. But Sister Wren said I wasn’t allowed to leave until you came back.’

‘Blanche is dead,’ Millie cut her off.

‘Who? Oh, you mean the prostitute? Yes, I heard she died during the op. Turned out she had some kind of heart defect, I think. Couldn’t cope with the anaesthetic.’ She dropped her scrubbing brush into the tin bucket and stood up, brushing down her knees.

‘Who did last offices?’ Millie asked urgently. ‘Did they remember her lipstick?’

‘As far as I know, she was taken straight down to the mortuary. What are you talking about, anyway? What lipstick?’

‘I promised her . . . I promised I’d put her lipstick on for her.’

‘I don’t suppose she’s in any position to hold you to your promise.’ Lucy shrugged. She picked up her bucket and handed it to Millie. ‘Anyway, you need to take over. I’m off. And do try to cheer up,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Sister Wren will have a fit if you go around with a face like a wet weekend.’

‘
I DON’T UNDERSTAND
it,’ Lucy Lane said. ‘Why do you want to go to some old tart’s funeral?’

‘Blanche wasn’t an old tart. She was kind, generous, warm-hearted . . . ’ Everything you’re not, Millie almost added.

‘I don’t think your family would approve of you going to the funeral of an East End prostitute,’ Lucy said. ‘And I doubt Matron would like it either.’

‘It’s my day off, and I can do as I please,’ Millie retorted. ‘If I want to pay my respects at someone’s funeral, I can.’

But it was about more than paying her respects. She still felt guiltily that she’d somehow let Blanche down.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Dora offered. ‘I’m on a split shift today. I don’t have to be back on the ward until five.’ She glared at Lucy, defying her to argue.

‘Thanks,’ Millie said gratefully. ‘I was a bit nervous about going, actually. I’ve never been to a funeral before.’

‘You’ve never seen anything like an East End funeral,’ Dora promised her. ‘It’s a big occasion round here. Bigger than weddings, sometimes. People who don’t have two halfpennies to rub together get into debt so they can give their nearest and dearest a good send off. Carriages drawn by horses decked out in black feathers, strings of mourners in top hats, the lot. And then there’s the big party afterwards!’ she said.

But there was no horse-drawn carriage at Blanche’s funeral, nor any black feathers, nor mourners in top hats.
Only a handful of people were gathered around her graveside in the damp, grey afternoon. There was Blanche’s sister Elsie and her five children, and a couple of tired-looking women Millie guessed must be Blanche’s old friends from the docks. A young man stood with them, looking smart in his dark suit, head bowed at the graveside. Millie felt a jolt of recognition.

‘That’s Tremayne’s brother, isn’t it?’ Dora whispered as they approached the grave. ‘What’s he doing here? I wonder.’

‘Same as us, I suppose.’ Millie avoided William’s eye as she and Dora took their places beside the grave.

The service was short and to the point. Even the vicar seemed impatient to get it over with, rushing through the formalities as the drizzle dampened his cassock.

Millie kept her gaze fixed on the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. She wondered what Blanche looked like. She hoped someone had dressed her up nicely in her favourite bright colours. Blanche wouldn’t have liked to go into the hereafter looking less than her best.

She thought about the lipstick, and a lump rose in her throat. She took a deep breath, sniffing back tears. Immediately she felt a handkerchief pressed into her hand.

‘Here,’ William whispered.

‘Thanks.’ She took it, feeling foolish. No one else seemed to be crying, not even Blanche’s sister. Why did she have to be so sentimental?

Afterwards, her sister approached them. ‘Excuse me, I’m Mrs Wilkins. Were you friends of my sister?’ she asked. She was nowhere near as showy as Blanche in her plain black coat, her mousy hair tucked into a limp felt hat. Her eyes, green like Blanche’s, were full of suspicion.

‘Yes. I mean no . . . not friends exactly . . .’

‘We’re from the Nightingale Hospital,’ Dora explained, as Millie scrabbled for the right words. ‘My friend nursed Miss Desmond.’

Mrs Wilkins’ eyes lit up, and suddenly she looked more like Blanche. ‘Are you Millie? Blanche wrote to me about you. She told me there was a nice young nurse on her ward she’d made friends with. She thought a lot of you.’

‘Did she?’

‘Oh, yes. Reckoned you were the best of the lot. Treated her right, she said.’ Mrs Wilkins lowered her voice. ‘There weren’t many who did that to my sister, her being what she was.’

Millie lowered her gaze, embarrassed by the hot tears that sprang to her eyes.

‘Bless you.’ Mrs Wilkins smiled fondly at her. ‘My Blanche told me you had a soft heart.’

Please stop it, Millie begged silently. She didn’t want to hear any more about what Blanche thought of her. Not when she’d let her down so badly.

William joined them. Elsie Wilkins was most impressed when he introduced himself.

‘A doctor, eh? Blimey, Blanche had some friends in high places, didn’t she? Do you lot always turn out for patients’ funerals?’

William shot Millie a sidelong look. ‘Blanche was very special,’ he said.

‘Well, she’ll be pleased you came.’ Mrs Wilkins started looking around for her children, who had wandered off to explore the churchyard. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d best be going. We’ve got a train to catch.’

‘You’re not having a send-off then?’ Dora frowned.

Mrs Wilkins shot her a guilty look. ‘I didn’t think I’d
bother with all that,’ she said. ‘My sister didn’t have many friends – not the kind I’d want to associate with anyway. Besides, funerals cost money, and it’s not as if Blanche left us anything for the expenses.’ Her chin lifted defensively. ‘It’s been very hard on me, you know. I only lost my husband a few months back. I’ve had to get someone to look after the farm while I came all the way up here, and that costs money too . . .’

‘Of course.’ William switched on the easy charm that worked so well on his patients. ‘We understand, Mrs Wilkins. You need to get your children home. It’s been a long day for all of you.’

‘That it has.’ The woman looked mollified. ‘I would have done something for Blanche,’ she said to Millie and Dora. ‘But I have to put my family first.’

‘Blanche was family too,’ Millie muttered, as they watched Mrs Wilkins head off towards the gates of the churchyard, leading her string of children.

‘I’ve known families pawn everything they had to give someone a decent funeral,’ Dora agreed.

‘And there’s no reason why we can’t do the same.’ William looked at them both. ‘We don’t need Blanche’s sister to give her a good send-off. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to the King’s Arms to drink to her. Would you care to join me?’

Millie glanced at Dora.

‘Don’t look at me,’ she said. ‘I have to be back on duty at five. Sister Blake might be a nice woman, but I doubt she’d understand if I went back stinking of drink!’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Millie told William.

‘Are you sure?’ Dora frowned. ‘East End pubs can be a bit rough at the best of times, and the King’s Arms has a bad reputation . . .’

‘I’m sure William will protect me.’

Dora shot him a look, as if to say that idea was no comfort at all. ‘Just see that you do,’ she warned him.

They didn’t mean to stay quite so long. The afternoon turned into evening and the pub became crowded with dockers, filling the hot, stuffy bar with laughter, raised voices and cigarette smoke. Over in the corner, someone was banging out a tune on an old piano.

‘If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy . . .’

William smiled. ‘I can just imagine Blanche sitting at the bar, giving all the men the eye, can’t you?’

‘She’d be laughing and singing louder than anyone,’ Millie agreed. ‘No wonder she loved this place so much.’ She raised her glass again. ‘To Blanche.’

‘To Blanche.’ William’s hand shook as he raised his glass to his lips. He’d lost count of how many times they’d toasted her.