The Nightingale Nurses (31 page)

Esther’s gaze dropped. ‘I don’t know about that. I mean, I’m no oil painting at the best of times, but now . . .’ Her hand rose to touch the scar. ‘He could do a lot better than me,’ she said.

‘I don’t think Dr Adler sees it that way.’

‘Did I hear my name?’

They turned to see Dr Adler approaching them, all smiles. Dora noticed Sister Everett hurrying in his wake, issuing hasty orders to the junior nurses, clearly annoyed at being summoned from her duties to attend him. The presence of any doctor on the ward demanded a certain protocol, after all.

She seemed even more annoyed when Dr Adler dismissed her with a cheery wave. ‘It’s perfectly all right, Sister, I’ve not come to check up on you. I’ve just come to visit Miss Gold.’

Dora and Esther exchanged amused glances.

‘Really, Dr Adler, you must stop disturbing Sister’s routine,’ Esther chided him. ‘Visiting hours are on a Sunday afternoon from two o’clock, as you well know.’

‘This is not a visit,’ he informed her loftily. ‘I’m here to check up on a patient.’

‘I don’t remember seeing your name on my chart?’

‘Former patient, then.’

‘And do you make a habit of visiting all your former patients? It must take you rather a long time.’

‘I can’t help it if I’m dedicated, can I?’ He smiled. ‘How are you feeling today, Esther – I mean, Miss Gold?’

‘Much better, thank you.’

‘That’s excellent news.’ Dora glanced at Dr Adler. His smile was brisk and professional, but not quick enough to hide the look of relief that flashed across his face.

‘I was just telling Dora how grateful I am to you for keeping an eye on my father,’ Esther went on.

‘I’ve enjoyed his company,’ Dr Adler said. ‘He’s been teaching me to play backgammon. Although I gather I’m rather a poor student,’ he added ruefully. ‘Apparently you’re a much more worthy opponent than I am.’

Esther laughed. ‘I should be, I’ve been playing it since I was a child.’ Then she ventured, ‘Perhaps you’d like to continue your lessons after I get home? I’m sure my father would enjoy having another man about the house. That is, if you’d like to?’ she added quickly, her blush deepening. ‘Of course, I understand if you’re too busy. After all, you have lots of patients to see, and I know we’ve already taken up far too much of your time . . .’

‘I would love to,’ Dr Adler cut her off. ‘But I wonder if you might take over the lessons? I suspect your father finds my lack of expertise rather tiresome.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’

Dora edged away, leaving them lost in each other’s company.

The blood test results arrived back from the pathology department just before lunch.

Millie watched from the end of the line of nurses as Mr Latimer the consultant examined Charlie. He was surrounded by eager-looking students, all craning over to get a better look.

Charlie glanced over at her and pulled a face. Millie forced herself to smile back. Her mouth was stretched so painfully her cheeks ached. But all she really wanted to do was cry.

‘Patient was admitted with acute diffuse glomerulonephritis,’ Mr Latimer announced to his students. ‘In spite of treatment he has since developed oedema, his blood urea levels have gone up to 150 milligrams per hundred ccs and he is complaining of headaches and muscle weakness. What does that suggest to you?’

‘Er . . . uraemia, sir?’ one of the young men suggested tentatively. Millie swallowed hard, trying not to let her face give anything away. She knew Charlie was watching her.

‘Precisely. And what is the recommended course of treatment?’ Mr Latimer scanned the group impatiently. ‘Come on, come on! Surely one of you must have an idea?’

‘Sweating and purgation, sir?’ someone said finally.

The consultant let out a loud sigh. ‘What do you think these poor nurses have been doing since he was admitted? Holding his hand?’ He shook back his leonine mane of hair. ‘So no one can recommend a suitable course of treatment for poor Mr . . .’ he consulted his notes ‘. . . Dawson here? Well, I must say I am rather disappointed. Not to mention dismayed for the future of our patients.’

An untidy-looking young man at the back of the group cleared his throat nervously. ‘How about venesection, sir?’

‘Venesection! Thank you, Mr Wilson. At last, someone who has bothered to read a textbook!’

Millie could see the young man’s ears burning bright red with pride as the consultant turned to Sister Judd and instructed her to prepare the patient for surgery.

‘What’s happening now?’ Charlie asked, as Millie set out the sterilised instruments, swabs, gauze and dressings at his bedside later. He eyed the scalpel and forceps nervously as they lay in their dish of carbolic. ‘They’re not going to take my arm off as well, are they?’ he joked nervously.

‘It’s not as drastic as that, don’t worry!’ Millie smiled. ‘They’re just going to drain off some of your blood. It might help bring down your urea levels.’

‘Might help? You don’t sound too sure?’ he laughed.

Millie busied herself arranging mackintoshes and towels over the bed, keeping her head down. ‘It will make you feel better.’

She started as Charlie put out his hand to grasp hers.

‘It isn’t going to stop me dying though, is it?’ he said, suddenly serious.

‘I – I –’ she stammered.

‘I was watching your face when that doctor was in here. This isn’t going to help. Nothing will.’

Millie glanced up at Charlie’s face. He was smiling, but his blue eyes were full of fear.

‘I’m not daft, Nurse. I realise you’ve done your best to hide it, but I’ve known for days I’m not going to get better.’

She wanted to say the right thing, to make him feel reassured. But the words had deserted her.

‘Charlie, I – I don’t—’

‘It’s all right, Nurse, you don’t have to say anything. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.’ He smiled kindly at her. ‘How long do you think I’ve got?’

Millie hesitated. ‘That’s not for me to say,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you mustn’t talk like that,’ she went on. ‘Even severe infections can suddenly just start to get better. The important thing is not to give up hope, Charlie.’

He nodded, taking it in. He looked so brave. Millie wondered if she could ever face her own fate as calmly or courageously.

‘Just as long as I have time to marry Helen,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to let her down.’

WHEN DORA RETURNED
to their room after her duty was finished, she found the place in chaos. The wardrobe doors were flung open and there were dresses everywhere: draped over the beds and chair, heaped on the floor and hanging from the buckling curtain rail. The room was a riot of colourful silks, delicate georgettes and sumptuous velvets.

Helen stood in the middle of it, holding up a dress of oyster-coloured crepe de chine. ‘What about this one?’

Millie kept her eyes fixed on the letter she was writing. ‘It’s very nice,’ she said.

‘You’re supposed to be helping me, and you’re not even looking!’ Helen turned to Dora. ‘What do you think? Will it do for a wedding dress?’

‘It’s lovely.’ Dora glanced at Millie, who lay on her bed, chewing on the end of her pen. She was well known in the nurses’ home for her expertise when it came to picking the right dress for the right occasion. Her couture wardrobe, especially selected by her aristocratic grandmother for Millie’s London season, had seen many a student nurse through dinners, dances and dates.

‘Don’t ask her, she’s being completely hopeless!’ Helen sighed.

‘I still can’t believe Matron agreed to you getting married,’ Dora said.

‘She didn’t have much choice.’ Helen’s face was determined as she added the crepe de chine to the growing heap on the bed. ‘I told her I was going to marry Charlie even if it meant leaving the hospital. She said she could see my mind was made up and she didn’t want me to give up my studies so close to the State Finals.’

‘And what about when Charlie comes out of hospital?’ Dora said.

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’ Helen pulled a blue velvet dress out of the wardrobe and held it up against herself.

‘Too dark for a wedding,’ Dora declared. ‘It’s meant to be a happy occasion. Isn’t that right, Benedict?’

‘I suppose so.’ Millie still didn’t look up.

‘Now you’re both here, I’ve got something to ask you,’ Helen said, putting down the dress. ‘It’s a big favour, and you can say no if you like . . .’

‘Spit it out!’ Dora laughed.

Helen looked from her to Millie and back again. ‘I wondered . . . would you two be my bridesmaids?’

Dora pushed aside a heap of silk brocade and sat down on her bed. ‘Do you mean it? You really want us to be your bridesmaids?’

‘I know it’s short notice,’ Helen said. ‘But you two are my best friends, and I’d feel a lot happier if you were with me.’

Dora stared at her. When she’d first met Helen Tremayne nearly two years ago in this very room, it had never occurred to her that they might even become friends, let alone anything else.

‘If you really can’t bear the idea, I don’t mind.’ Helen’s face was anxious. ‘But I’d really appreciate it.’

‘Of course we’ll do it!’ Dora grinned. ‘We’d be dead chuffed, wouldn’t we, Benedict? Benedict . . .’

She turned around. Millie was looking up from her letter, stony-faced. ‘Of course,’ she said in a flat voice. ‘We’d be delighted.’

She put down her pen and got up, gathering her wash bag. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get ready for bed.’

Dora followed her out on to the landing. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she hissed.

‘I – I don’t know what you mean.’ Millie kept her head down, her towel and washbag clutched tightly under her arm.

‘Your friend’s getting married and you’ve got a face as long as a fiddle. You could at least try and look happy for her. Here, I’m talking to you!’ Dora made a grab for her as she started down the stairs.

Millie swung round. Her face was stricken, blue eyes swimming with tears.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, Doyle!’ A fat tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. ‘Charlie’s dying.’

Dora released her abruptly, her hand dropping to her side. ‘No!’

‘The tests came back. He’s developed uraemia. There’s nothing more they can do for him.’ Her voice was thick with emotion.

‘Does Tremayne know?’

Millie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, she knows he’s ill, but I don’t think she’s worked out how serious it is. I feel so awful, listening to her planning her wedding, knowing what’s going to happen. It’s just so horribly sad.’

‘In that case I’m surprised at Charlie,’ Dora said. ‘Why would he let her go ahead with this wedding, knowing he’s going to die? It seems so selfish, and not at all like him.’

‘I’m the selfish one.’

Dora turned around. Helen stood in the doorway to their room, watching them. Her face was calm.

‘He didn’t want to marry me,’ she said. ‘I talked him into it when I found out how ill he was.’

‘You – you knew?’ Millie said.

‘Really, did you think I wouldn’t guess? I can read a chart, you know.’ Helen gave a small, sad smile. ‘Ever since he was admitted, I’ve been trying to tell myself it was going to be all right, but as time went by I could see he wasn’t getting any better.’

Millie burst into tears. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed.

‘Shh, don’t cry.’ Helen came over to them and put her arms around Millie. ‘It’s me who should be weeping, you silly thing.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Dora fought to keep her voice steady.

‘I didn’t want a fuss,’ Helen said. ‘I just wanted to feel like any other girl who was about to get married. I couldn’t bear the idea of people feeling sorry for me. Because I really don’t need you to feel sorry for me,’ she added, with a touch of defiance. ‘I’m getting married to the man I love. And that makes me very happy.’

Dora looked at her face. She seemed so composed. Could she ever be as brave as Helen Tremayne, she wondered. ‘That’s why Matron gave her permission, isn’t it?’

Helen nodded. ‘We didn’t talk about Charlie’s illness directly, but I know she understands.’

I bet she does, Dora thought. Matron’s wisdom was all-seeing and all-knowing.

Millie sobbed into Helen’s shoulder. ‘Look at me, I’m such a selfish idiot! I should be the one comforting you, not the other way round.’

‘No one needs to comfort anyone.’ Helen held Millie at arm’s length. ‘I told you, I want you to be happy for me. And besides, you never know, it may not turn out as badly as everyone seems to think. I’ve got to keep holding on to hope.’

As Millie mopped her face on her towel, Dora struggled to keep control of her own emotions. The last thing poor Helen needed were long faces all around her.

‘Is there anything we can do for you?’ she asked.

‘You can be my bridesmaids. You can walk down that aisle with me and smile and make this a day for Charlie and me to remember.’

Millie sniffed back her tears. ‘We’ll do that. Won’t we, Doyle?’

‘And you can start by helping me to find something to wear. You know you’re far better at choosing clothes than I am.’

Millie’s face brightened. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll find you the best dress in the world.’

‘You’d best hurry, you’ve only got three days to do it in!’

Dora braced herself. ‘Is there anything else we can do?’

Helen smiled. ‘Just be my friends.’ She smiled then. ‘Unless you want to help me break the news to my mother?’

Millie’s mouth fell open. ‘You mean, you haven’t told her yet?’

Helen shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been putting it off,’ she admitted. ‘I’m going down to Richmond tomorrow. And I don’t think my mother is going to be quite so understanding as Matron!’

‘
NO. I WON’T
hear of it.’

Constance Tremayne kept herself rigidly under control, hands clenched in front of her. She reminded Helen of a tightly wound clock.

‘Well, I think it’s marvellous news.’ Her father broke the tense silence. ‘Congratulations, my dear. Charlie is a wonderful young man.’

‘It’s a perfectly ridiculous idea,’ Constance snapped. ‘And why do you have to get married so quickly, anyway?’ The colour drained from her face. ‘Oh, dear God. Don’t tell me you’re –’