The Nightingale Girls (33 page)

MILLIE WOKE UP
the following morning with a pounding headache, dry mouth and a churning stomach, absolutely certain she was going to die. The maid’s voice outside their door summoning them awake sounded like an unearthly clamour.

‘I truly don’t feel at all well,’ she told Dora, pulling the thin covers around her, her teeth chattering. ‘Do you think I should go to the sick bay? I think I might have a virus, and I don’t want to pass it on to the patients.’

‘I don’t think what you’ve got is contagious.’ Dora smiled knowingly as she adjusted her woollen stocking to hide a hole. ‘If you ask me, I reckon you had too much to drink last night.’

‘Surely not!’ Millie sat up sharply and wished she hadn’t, as the world lurched sickeningly around her. ‘I only had – oh, heavens.’ She’d lost count after the third port and lemon, but she had the awful feeling there had been many more.

Dora laughed. ‘You came crashing in here, fell over the rug and passed out face down on your bed. I had to get you undressed.’

Millie clutched her head and stared at the heap of discarded clothes that lay crumpled on the floor as the previous night’s events came back to her in sickening waves. Had she really climbed in through a window in Female Chronics? Worse still, had she really asked – no, practically begged – William Tremayne to kiss her?

Hot shame washed over her. She wasn’t sure which was worse, her asking or him refusing.

Dora noticed her look of dismay. ‘What happened last night?’ she asked.

Millie couldn’t meet her eye. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Dr Tremayne didn’t try anything with you, did he? Only I’ve heard about his reputation with the nurses. I wasn’t sure if I did the right thing, leaving you alone with him . . .’

‘Dr Tremayne was a perfect gentleman.’ Millie blushed, thinking of the bold way she’d turned her face towards his, ready for a kiss.

‘How odd. From what I’ve heard, he never usually misses a chance to get fresh.’ Dora shrugged. ‘Anyway, you’d better hurry up and get dressed before Sister Sutton comes in. This room smells like a brewery.’ She sat down on the bed to pull on her shoes.

‘I can’t.’ Millie fell back groaning against the unyielding pillows. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t ever face the world again.’

‘It’s not that bad.’

‘But I did something terrible. Tremayne is going to hate me.’

‘Why? What on earth did you do?’

Millie told her about breaking into the ward. For some reason Dora seemed to find the idea of her getting stuck under a patient’s bed hilarious.

‘You’re a caution, d’you know that?’ she laughed, wiping away a tear.

‘It’s not funny!’ Millie insisted. ‘I’m so mortified, I just want to crawl away and die.’ She pulled the sheets over her head. ‘Tremayne is probably writing to her mother about me as we speak.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ Dora tugged at the covers. ‘Now get up, get dressed, wash your face and come and have some breakfast.’

‘Ugh! I couldn’t face breakfast.’

‘You must. It’ll do you good.’

She was right. Even though Millie’s stomach churned as she forced herself to eat tiny forkfuls of cold kipper, by the time she’d washed the last of it down with a cup of hot, sweet tea she felt less fragile.

She was still feeling a little shaky as she cleaned out the sluice and did the bedpan round. And when she had to hold a bowl for one of the women to be sick, her own stomach heaved in sympathy.

But she thought she was managing quite well until Sister Wren sought her out and told her to report to Matron’s office.

‘Why, Sister? What have I done?’

Sister Wren looked affronted. ‘Good heavens, there is so much wrong with you I would hardly know where to start,’ she said. ‘But for once the complaint has not come from me. Now hurry along. I want those lockers cleaned and scrubbed when you get back.’

At nine o’clock, Millie joined the line of sorry-looking nurses waiting outside Matron’s office.

Matron sat behind her desk, Miss Hanley the Assistant Matron at her shoulder. Outside the harsh wind spattered rain against the windowpanes like gravel against the glass. It was more of a downpour than an April shower.

Matron eyed her wearily. ‘Do you recall, Benedict, the last time we met in this office I told you that if I heard one more report of your misbehaviour, I would have no choice but to dismiss you?’ she said.

‘Yes, Matron.’ A tiny seed of unease began to unfurl inside her.

‘And if I recall correctly, you gave me your word that you would be a reformed character and apply yourself assiduously to your studies?’

‘Yes, Matron. I have, Matron.’

‘Indeed?’ Matron’s brows rose. ‘In that case, why did I this morning receive an anonymous note claiming that you returned to the nurses’ home late last night in a severe state of intoxication?’

Millie stared down at the parquet floor. She was too afraid to breathe, let alone speak.

‘Should the allegations in this note turn out to be true, you understand I would have no choice but to dismiss you immediately from this hospital. I cannot have students behaving in such an outrageous fashion.’

‘No, Matron.’ This was it, Millie thought. She could already see herself travelling home on the train, Felix picking her up at the station, her father’s disappointment, her grandmother’s elation . . .

‘However, as yet I have been unable to prove these accusations,’ Matron continued. ‘I have received no official complaint either from Home Sister, or the night porter. I cannot make decisions about a nurse’s future based on gossip and rumour. And since the author of this note clearly lacks the courage to approach me personally with any proof, I am regrettably forced to give you another chance.’

Millie looked up, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. Neither could Miss Hanley, judging by the thunderous look of outrage on her face.

‘You – you mean you’re not dismissing me?’ said Millie.

‘Not unless you wish to confess to this misdemeanour?’

Millie opened her mouth and closed it again. She knew honesty was one of her many failings, but even she wasn’t silly enough to speak up now.

‘I have nothing to say, Matron,’ she said stiffly.

‘No, I didn’t think you would.’ There was a glint in Matron’s grey eyes. ‘Very well, then, Benedict, you may go. But rest assured, I will be keeping my eye on you.’

‘Yes, Matron. Thank you, Matron.’

‘Oh, and Benedict?’

‘Yes, Matron?’

‘You might find a couple of Aspirin beneficial, I think.’

Millie felt as if she’d received a last-minute reprieve on her way to the gallows. Her hangover forgotten, she almost danced her way through the rest of her duties on the ward, and by lunchtime she was feeling a great deal better, even though she still couldn’t face food.

She was pushing a stringy piece of meat around her plate when one of the seniors, Amy Hollins, plonked herself down in the seat next to her. Millie was shocked; seniors rarely associated with lowly pros.

‘What were you doing in Hyde last night?’

Millie looked at her sharply. ‘You saw me?’

‘I was coming back from my break just as you were sneaking out. You weren’t exactly being subtle about it. What were you up to?’

She laughed when Millie told her. Millie couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to find it so amusing.

‘You’re lucky no one caught you.’

‘They did,’ Millie said miserably. ‘I had to see Matron this morning.’

‘I bet she was furious.’

‘Actually, she was very nice about it. She said since Sister Sutton hadn’t caught me red-handed, there wasn’t much she could do.’ Millie put down her fork, her appetite gone. ‘I wish I knew who’d written that note. What a beastly thing to do.’

‘I bet I can guess,’ Amy said through a mouthful of food. ‘It’s got to be Tremayne, hasn’t it?’

Millie shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t do a thing like that.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘Because she’s not like that. She’s always covered for me in the past when I’ve come in late.’

‘Perhaps you upset her?’

Millie thought briefly about what William had said. Helen didn’t want her brother to have anything to do with Millie. She couldn’t remember if she’d told Helen who she’d been with that night, but it wouldn’t take a genius to work it out . . .

No. Millie dismissed the thought. ‘Helen wouldn’t do it,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t deliberately set out to get me dismissed.’

‘Why not? It’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do. She’s done it before.’

Millie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you ever heard of a girl called Peggy Gibson?’ Millie shook her head. ‘She shared a room with Tremayne last year. She thought she could trust Tremayne too. Until she got thrown out.’

Amy reached across for Millie’s plate and scraped her leftovers on to her own plate.

‘What happened?’

‘Tremayne told tales. She went to her mother and told her Gibson had a bottle of gin hidden under her bed.’

‘And did she?’

‘Well, yes. We were planning a party and she’d bought a bottle of booze to share. But Tremayne found out about it and reported her. I suppose she was just annoyed she hadn’t been invited.’ Amy shovelled a forkful of food into her mouth. ‘And she was supposed to be Gibson’s friend. The rest of us never wanted anything to do with Tremayne because she was such a swot, but Gibson was always nice to her.’

Millie considered for a moment. ‘I can’t believe she’d do something like that.’

‘Can’t you? I can.’ Amy pointed her fork at Millie. ‘Ask anyone here. They’ll tell you Helen Tremayne is not to be trusted.’

HELEN SAT BLEARY-EYED
behind her cramped desk, fighting sleep as Sister Parker described the anatomy of the colon. Night duty or not, all students were expected to attend lectures one day a week. But it was difficult to stay awake in the stuffy, airless classroom, with Sister Tutor’s voice droning on, punctuated only by the squeak of her chalk across the blackboard. Helen had to keep pinching the back of her hand to make sure she didn’t nod off.

Finally the lecture finished, and she escaped into the fresh air. After days of slate-grey skies the rain had finally cleared and spring sunshine had emerged, glinting in the puddles and making the rooftops shine. The patch of grass in front of the students’ block was fresh and green, studded with purple and white crocuses and yellow daffodils.

As she crossed the courtyard on her way back from her lecture, she noticed Millie sitting on the bench under the trees. Helen saw her pale, sombre face and smiled to herself, wondering if she was suffering from the after-effects of her night’s drinking. Even though she hadn’t been amused at the time, the thought of Millie wedged under Mrs Mortimer’s bed, only inches from the Night Sister’s shoes, had made Helen laugh all day. She wished she could be like her, so confident and fearless and always ready to take risks.

Millie caught her eye and waved her over.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said.

‘Me?’ Helen was surprised. ‘Why? Is everything all right?’

She could see immediately that it wasn’t. For once Millie wasn’t smiling. Her pretty face was tense, brows knotted under her starched cap.

‘Was it you who reported me to Matron?’ she asked. ‘No, don’t tell me, I know it must have been you.’ Millie looked up at her, her blue eyes full of reproach. ‘Why did you do it? I thought we were friends?’

Helen stared at her in confusion. ‘Why would I report you? You’re always coming in late and I’ve never said anything before, have I?’

‘I’ve never been out with your brother before.’

Helen felt her stomach lurch. ‘You were with William?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know!’ Millie stood up to face her. ‘I know you told him not to have anything to do with me. Is that why you reported me? Because you wanted to keep us apart?’ Her blue eyes were cold. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t want us to be together, but this was a nasty way of going about it. You could have got me thrown out of the hospital. Is that what you really wanted?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I didn’t report you. I wouldn’t do something like that to you.’

‘You did it to Peggy Gibson.’

Helen felt the blood drain out of her face. ‘Who told you about her?’

‘Does it matter? It’s true, isn’t it? I didn’t want to believe it, but I can see it in your face. You got her thrown out.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Helen said quietly.

‘Then what was it like?’

Helen looked into Benedict’s face. She wished she could tell her, make her understand. It would have been so nice
just for once to stop everyone hating her so much. But she had sworn to Peggy that she would never tell.

Millie shook her head. ‘And to think I actually liked you. No wonder no one else does, if that’s the way you treat people.’ She looked more disappointed than angry. ‘Well, you’ve just lost another friend. Although I don’t suppose you really care, do you?’

Helen watched her walk away across the courtyard. You’re wrong, she thought. I do care.

Millie was counting the dirty sheets and towels before they went off to the laundry the following day when she was summoned back to the ward for Mr Cooper’s round.

She had been hoping to avoid William. But as she joined the other nurses at the doors of the ward to greet the consultant, she saw him trailing along with the other registrars, housemen and students behind the great man as usual.

Millie tried not to catch his eye as she tagged on to the end of the train that went from bed to bed. She was too mortified to face him. What on earth must he think of her, after the last time they’d met? Not a lot, apparently; everyone knew no girl was safe from William Tremayne, yet he’d turned her down flat.

At every bed Mr Cooper paused to study the notes as Sister Wren rushed around pulling the screens around the patient. He would then ask the patient how they were feeling, and question the registrars and housemen about their treatment. Occasionally he would pounce on an unsuspecting medical student and ask them how they would proceed with the treatment. If the patient’s condition were very serious, they would move discreetly away from the end of the bed to discuss it out of their earshot. Millie always wondered how this was any more reassuring
than telling them the facts, since they immediately knew that they were doomed.