The Nightingale Girls (47 page)

It was bliss to sink into the deep tub. Millie submerged herself luxuriously, feeling her muscles relax in the warm, scented water. How different from the bathrooms at the nurses’ home, where hot water was as rationed as everything else, and pros had to make do with a few tepid inches after the seniors had used it all up.

After her bath Polly helped her dress, and the kitchen maid brought up a silver tray laden with slices of cold ham and chicken, and delicate slivers of bread and butter. Millie thanked her, but even as she looked at the food she knew she couldn’t eat it.

‘That will be all, Polly,’ Millie dismissed her maid.

‘Are you sure, my lady? I could finish curling your hair for you?’

‘I can manage, thank you.’ Millie couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. She desperately wanted to be alone, and Polly’s insistent fussing was beginning to tear at her already shredded nerves. She knew it wasn’t the girl’s fault, she was only trying to do her job, but what did it really matter if Millie’s hair was perfectly curled or hanging in rats’ tails? Her father was dying. Nothing mattered any more.

‘We must maintain normality for the sake of the servants, if nothing else.’ As grandmother’s stern admonishment came into her head, Millie felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising up inside her.

Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror and realised why poor Polly had been so anxious to attend to her. She looked perfectly dreadful. Her face was drawn and grey-tinged, eyes threaded with spidery red veins and ringed with dark circles like bruises.

She started to laugh, a harsh, spiky sound that echoed around her empty bedroom and made her feel as if she was going quite mad. She tugged a brush carelessly
through her curls. Behind her in the mirror, she caught sight of her bed. The pale pink silk coverlet and big feather pillows looked so soft and inviting, she felt herself drawn towards it. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to sink into its warm, enveloping depths just for five minutes . . .?

She hadn’t meant to close her eyes, let alone fall asleep. But the next thing she knew Polly was shaking her awake.

‘Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but you have a visitor.’

Millie sat up, groggy with sleep. ‘What – what time is it?’

‘Just after four o’clock, my lady.’

‘What? Why didn’t anyone wake me sooner?’ She threw back the covers and leapt out of bed so quickly her legs buckled under her. ‘I have to get back to the hospital – where are my shoes?’ She began searching around desperately.

‘But what about your visitor, my lady?’

Millie turned to look at her, uncomprehending. ‘What visitor?’

‘Lord Sebastian is here, Lady Amelia.’

‘Seb’s here?’ Her brain, still fuzzy with sleep, tried to make sense of it. Why was Seb here? The last she’d heard from him, he was on a shooting party in Scotland with Georgina Farsley’s family.

‘He is very anxious to see you, my lady.’

Ignoring Polly’s protests that she couldn’t possibly meet her visitor with her clothes all crumpled and her hair a tangled mess, Millie hurried out of the room.

Looking over the galleried landing, she could see Seb pacing in the hall. He was still dressed in his shooting tweeds, his cap clenched in his hands.

She stopped at the top of the staircase to compose herself. She might look a complete fright, but she didn’t want Seb to think she had fallen to pieces entirely.

He swung around as she descended the stairs. ‘Millie!’ He rushed over to her, holding out his arms, then remembered himself and dropped them to his sides.

‘Seb,’ she greeted him. ‘This is a surprise. I thought you were in Scotland?’

‘I was. I drove straight down as soon as I heard.’ His eyes searched her face anxiously. ‘How is he?’

‘My father has not yet regained consciousness.’ Millie forced herself to sound calm.

‘But he will recover?’

‘I – I don’t know.’ Her voice faltered. ‘The doctors say he has a chance. But with every passing day that he remains unconscious . . .’ She stopped herself, pushing away the thought. She could feel her fears start to overcome her, and struggled to keep them at bay.

What would her grandmother do in this situation? she asked herself. She would be calm and gracious at all times, whatever she might be feeling inside.

‘You came all the way down from Scotland, you say? You must be very tired.’ She forced a smile. ‘Please come into the drawing room and rest.’ She led the way. ‘Would you like something to eat? Yes, of course you would. I’ll get Mrs Saunders to send something up . . .’ She reached for the bell to summon the butler, but Seb stopped her.

‘For God’s sake, Millie, what’s wrong with you? I didn’t come all this way for a social visit. I came because I was worried about you.’ He put his hands on her arms, steadying her. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t have to make polite conversation, as if we’re at a wretched tennis party.’ He ducked his head to look into her eyes. ‘It’s me, Seb. Your friend, remember?’

Millie lifted her gaze to meet his. His grey eyes were so full of kindness and understanding, she felt herself begin to crumble.

‘Please don’t be nice to me, Seb. I don’t think I can bear it,’ she said, her chin quivering.

‘Oh, Millie.’ He opened his arms and she fell into them.

He held her for a long time as she sobbed against his chest, her tears soaking the rough tweed of his jacket. It was such a relief to hold someone, to be close to them. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart calmed her. She no longer felt as if she was alone, stuck in the middle of a terrifying nightmare with no escape.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, her face still buried against him. ‘This is not very ladylike behaviour. I don’t know what my grandmother would say.’

‘I couldn’t care less what your grandmother thinks.’ He guided her gently to the couch and sat down beside her.

‘Even so, you should let me arrange something for you to eat.’

‘Perhaps later.’ He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully dried her tears. ‘Oh, Millie, I’ve been so worried about you. All the way down here, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wondering how you were . . .’

‘It was very kind of you to come. I’m sorry if I ruined your shooting.’

‘Do you really think I could have stamped around the highlands, pretending to shoot deer, knowing what you were going through?’ He laughed harshly. ‘I’m sure those poor stags will be most grateful there’s one less gun to worry about. Besides, Georgina seemed to be shooting enough for everyone. She has a rather bloodthirsty nature, it turns out.’

Millie smiled in spite of herself. She could just imagine the extremely determined Miss Farsley tracking down her quarry through the heather.

‘She always did enjoy the hunt.’

Seb rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t I know it! I understand exactly
how those wretched deer feel.’ He touched Millie’s chin with one finger, turning her face towards his. ‘That’s better. I like to see you smile.’

‘I must look a complete fright.’ Millie touched her stringy curls.

‘You look adorable, as always.’ Seb’s face was close to her, only inches away. Then he seemed to remember himself, and stood up. ‘Do you think it would be possible for me to see your father? Is he allowed visitors other than family?’

‘I’m sure that would be all right. Anyway, you are Daddy’s godson, which makes you practically family.’

Seb nodded. ‘I must say, your father has always been very good to me. Far more of a parent than my own dear papa anyway.’ He smiled wryly.

Millie thought about the dissolute duke, bed hopping his way through most of high society, and once again it struck her how lucky she was in her own father. But for how long? She swallowed hard, determined not to allow herself to cry again. ‘Let me arrange something for you to eat, and then we’ll go back to the hospital,’ she said.

Her grandmother expressed no surprise when Millie walked into her father’s room with Seb in tow.

Millie went straight to her father’s bedside. ‘How is he?’

‘Still no change, I’m afraid.’ The Dowager Countess squeezed her son’s hand. ‘The nurses come in and out, but there’s nothing anyone can do for him. I know we haven’t lost him,’ she said with feeling. ‘He’s in there somewhere. If only there was some way we could rouse him.’

‘That’s why we have to talk to him,’ Millie said firmly. ‘If he hears our voices, he can find his way to us.’

She saw the look that passed between Seb and her grandmother. ‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘He will come back to us, I know he will.’

‘Of course he will,’ the Dowager Countess said soothingly. ‘In the meantime, we must keep our vigil and pray.’ She looked up at Seb. ‘But perhaps now you’re here, Sebastian, you can persuade my granddaughter to rest occasionally?’

‘I’ll do my best, Lady Rettingham.’

‘Good. In that case I will take my leave of you both. You will be staying with us I hope, Sebastian?’

‘I would very much like that.’

Millie looked from one to the other, her eyes narrowing. Unexpected visitors always put her grandmother out of sorts, so why was she so calm about Seb’s arrival? Unless . . .

‘Did Granny send for you?’ she demanded, as soon as they were alone.

‘Yes and no,’ he admitted.

‘What does that mean?’

‘She sent word informing me of your father’s illness. I am his godson, after all. She didn’t summon me, but I’m sure she knew I would hardly stay away.’

‘I do wish she wouldn’t meddle.’

‘Grandmothers are made to meddle. Mine is the most atrocious meddler, as I’m sure you know.’ He sent her a sidelong look. ‘Why? Would you rather I weren’t here?’

She turned her head to look at him. ‘No,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Seb.’

THEY SAT TOGETHER
at her father’s bedside all evening. Millie would have stayed there all night too, if Seb hadn’t gently persuaded her to go home and rest. ‘You’ll do your father no good at all if you’re exhausted,’ he reasoned. ‘Do you think he wants to wake up and see you looking like death?’

All through the following day he was there by her side. And the day after that.

‘You don’t have to stay, you know,’ she said, over and over again. But the answer was always the same.

‘I know I don’t have to. But I want to.’

As they sat there together, Millie opened her heart and confided in him her fears for the estate.

‘Granny’s right,’ she sighed. ‘Jackson is a good man, but someone needs to take charge there. There’s so much to be done. The hops will be ready for picking soon, and then there’s the fruit and all the other crops . . .’

‘Let me help,’ Seb said.

‘You?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ he laughed. ‘I know I might seem like a bumbling fool, but I do know something about running an estate. Who do you think has been looking after Lyford while my brother’s been in the army and my father’s been – well, doing whatever he does? I would like to help,’ he said earnestly. ‘I could help keep an eye on everything until your father is well enough to take over the reins again.’

The way he said it touched Millie. It gave her hope that
one day everything would be back to normal, even though in the back of her mind she knew it wouldn’t.

‘Would you?’ she said hopefully. ‘It would be such a relief to know Billinghurst was in good hands.’

‘Of course. You know I’d do anything to help you.’ He took her hand and for a moment they stared into each other’s eyes. ‘Millie—’ Seb started to say, but she cut him off.

‘I’d better read to Daddy.’ She withdrew her hand from his and picked up the folded copy of
The Times
she had brought from home. ‘He needs to know what’s happening in the world.’

Seb rose to his feet. ‘I’ll take a stroll, if you don’t mind? I need some fresh air.’

Millie watched him out of the window, walking briskly down towards the stream that ran through the hospital grounds. Dear Seb. He was the kindest, most wonderful friend she could ever wish for. But she knew he wanted more than that.

Could she offer him anything other than friendship? She knew she loved being with him, that she needed his strength and his unshakable good humour. He was the only one she could really talk to, and she missed him when he wasn’t by her side.

But was that the same as love? He didn’t make her heart flutter, or her head spin. But perhaps those kinds of feelings didn’t really count? She pushed her troubled thoughts aside, opened up the newspaper and scanned through the stories.

‘“Parliament has finally passed the new Government of India Act,”’ she read aloud. ‘“It gives all provinces full representative and elective governments.” Just think, thirty million Indians will finally have the vote. I think that’s a good thing, don’t you, Daddy? Although it says the
Viceroy and his governors retain veto powers. I hope they don’t use them. That wouldn’t be very fair, would it?’ She laughed to herself. ‘Listen to me! A week ago I wouldn’t have given a fig about politics, and now I’m quite au fait with it all. You always said I should take more interest in current affairs, didn’t you?’

She stared at her father’s waxy, lifeless face, willing him to respond, to be proud of her. But there was only silence.

Choking back tears, she turned hurriedly to the crossword, rustling the pages. As usual, she could only manage a few of the clues before she was completely stumped.

‘Twelve across. “Left in the dark”. Eight letters. Now what could that be?’ She chewed the end of her pencil thoughtfully. ‘Electric? That’s to do with the dark, isn’t it? Although I suppose it’s more light than dark. Abandon? No, that’s only seven letters. Maybe it’s abandons? Although that has nothing to do with dark, has it?’

She gazed at her father. ‘I bet you’d know it straight away, wouldn’t you? You’d just say the answer as if it were the simplest thing in the world. You always know the answer, don’t you, Daddy? You just say it, and it’s completely obvious.’ She caught her breath on a sob. ‘Oh, Daddy, why aren’t you here to help me?’

Grief, exhaustion, frustration and every other emotion she had been storing up came pouring out as she sat by his bedside, weeping silently, her shoulders heaving.