The Nightingale Nurses (41 page)

‘Sick of kipping on my settee since his missus kicked him out, you mean!’ Harry put in.

‘I ain’t surprised.’ Arthur leered. ‘That missus of his was a bit of all right. I bet he’s regretting not having her to cuddle up to at night!’

They weren’t wrong, Nick thought as he made his way up from the laundry pushing a trolley laden with freshly washed linen. He was lovesick all right, but not for Ruby.

He missed Dora so much it hurt. Even before, when they were keeping their distance from each other, he was always aware of her. He could watch her tending to a patient on the ward, or hear her laughter coming from the kitchen, and somehow he would feel connected to her.

But now it was as if there was a high brick wall between them.

Part of him bitterly regretted lashing out at her, but he’d been angry and hurt. Even now he’d had time to calm down, he still felt betrayed. He wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her, or trust her again. And that made him feel so lonely.

But never so lonely that he even considered going back to Ruby. She had left him notes at the Porters’ Lodge – his love letters, the other blokes teasingly called them – begging him to give her another chance. But Nick had no intention of returning to her, or to Victory House. He’d even written to tell her their marriage was over, but he should have realised that Ruby wouldn’t give up that easily.

Not like Dora. Since their last meeting in Griffin Street, she had avoided him completely. If they ever came face to face in the corridor, she would quicken her footsteps, avert her face and pretend she hadn’t seen him.

He might have known that, too. Unlike Ruby, Dora had her pride. And so did he. That was the problem.

MILLIE’S MAKE-UP AND
perfume were scattered haphazardly on top of the chest of drawers, along with her silver-backed hairbrush, comb and mirror. Helen put them away without thinking. Poor Millie, how would she ever manage to escape Sister Sutton’s wrath without a friend to watch over her? Helen wondered as she straightened the brush and mirror into perfectly parallel lines.

She was glad she didn’t have to say goodbye to them. Dora was on duty, and Millie was spending the weekend at her family’s country estate with Seb. Helen didn’t want to have to face anyone, least of all the girls she had come to think of as her friends.

But just as she was wrapping up her washing things to put into her suitcase, she heard a familiar light tread hurrying up the attic steps, and Millie breezed in.

‘What are you doing here?’ Helen said. ‘I thought you were down in Kent.’

‘Daddy was called up to London for an important meeting, so we decided to come back with him.’ Millie plonked herself down on her bed and pulled off her hat. ‘I’ve only come back to change, and then Seb and I are going to—’ She stopped, taking in the suitcase open on Helen’s bed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Matron’s sending me home.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Millie said. ‘You need some time off. I know you think you can cope, but we’ve all been so worried about you. A few days at home and you’ll be as right as rain.’

Helen said nothing as she went on folding her clothes and arranging them in her suitcase. Luckily, Millie was in one of her chatty moods and didn’t notice.

‘Daddy wouldn’t say why he had to go to this meeting, but he was in a frightful state,’ she said, shrugging off her coat. ‘Between you and me, I think it’s all to do with the King and that dreadful American woman, as Granny calls her.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Helen tucked her washing things into a corner of her suitcase.

‘The Prime Minister’s in an awful flap about it, and so are most of the Privy Council,’ Millie went on. ‘They know it’s been going on for years, but they all thought he’d give her up as soon as he came to the throne. But now she’s got her claws into him and he’s utterly besotted. Spends all his time locked away in Fort Belvedere with her and her American cronies. Granny says the writing was on the wall when he swapped the state Daimler for a Buick.’ She flung open the wardrobe, then turned to Helen. ‘I say, you’re packing rather a lot for a few days, aren’t you? Anyone would think you weren’t coming back!’ She laughed, and then her face grew serious. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’

‘I—’

‘Of course you are, how silly of me,’ Millie went on before Helen had a chance to speak. ‘You’re not going to leave a week before your Finals, are you?’

She pulled out a dress and started to get changed, chatting away about Seb, her weekend in Billinghurst, and the latest scandals at court. Helen finished her packing and locked up her suitcase.

‘All done,’ she said. ‘Will you say goodbye to Doyle for me?’

Millie nodded. ‘I don’t know how she’ll put up with me without you to sort out our squabbles.’

‘You’ll be all right.’ Helen smiled bracingly. ‘Try to keep your room tidy, won’t you? And don’t break your neck getting in through that window after lights out.’

Millie laughed. ‘Really, I’m sure we’ll manage without you for a few days! You never know, we might be reformed characters by the time you come back.’

‘I hope not.’ Helen put down her suitcase and hugged Millie impulsively. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said, breathing in her Guerlain perfume.

‘I’ll miss you too.’ Millie pulled away from her, her expression quizzical. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’

Helen took a deep breath. If she told Millie the truth, it would mean so much explanation. And she wasn’t sure she could face it.

She was saved from answering by the sharp toot of a car horn outside.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘My mother’s waiting for me.’

‘I’ll come down with you and wave you off.’

‘No, don’t.’ Helen smiled at her. ‘Let’s just say goodbye here, shall we?’

Constance was sitting in the back of the taxi, stony-faced. She turned to face Helen who stiffened, waiting for the usual critical comment. But for once none came.

‘Hurry up and put the suitcase in the boot,’ her mother said, tight-lipped. ‘We’ll be late for our train.’

Constance stared out of the window at the passing scenery and struggled to find something to say.

Helen hadn’t spoken a word to her since she’d got into the taxi. Constance could feel waves of resentment coming off her, though she didn’t understand why.

She supposed it was because Helen hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital. Matron had made that very clear when Constance took her to task for not sending her daughter home earlier.

‘She was most adamant she didn’t want me to contact you,’ Miss Fox had said.

‘But I’m her mother!’

Miss Fox had given her one of those knowing looks that Constance found so irritating. ‘I believe she’s afraid of letting you down,’ she commented.

‘Well, I can’t think where she’s got that idea from.’

As they were leaving, Miss Fox had taken Constance to one side.

‘Please take care of her,’ she had urged. As if it had ever occurred to her to do otherwise. What did Matron think she was going to do, take Helen home and beat her?

But now they were together, travelling homewards on the train, she struggled to find words of comfort.

She wished she had been more generous and loving to her daughter, and towards Charlie. If only she’d realised how ill he was, of course she would have done things differently. She knew Helen resented the way she had behaved. But she couldn’t turn the clock back, as much as she wanted to.

She took a deep breath, and plunged in.

‘I’m sorry to hear you’ve been ill,’ she said. ‘But a few days’ rest should make you feel a lot better.’

She saw the cold look Helen sent her, and realised immediately she had said the wrong thing.

‘I’m not ill, Mother,’ Helen said in a chilly voice. ‘I’ve lost my husband, I’m not recovering from influenza.’

‘No, of course not, I didn’t mean it like that.’ Constance looked down at her hands, flustered. Helen seemed like a different person – distant, more grown up somehow. ‘What I’m trying to say is that you need to start looking forward. Once your State Finals are out of the way . . .’

‘I’m not taking my State Finals.’

Constance stared at her. ‘What do you mean, you’re not taking them?’

‘Just what I said.’ Helen faced her, her gaze level.

‘And how do you expect to become a nurse if you don’t take your exams?’

‘I don’t. I’m giving up nursing.’

Constance felt dizzy with panic. ‘Don’t be absurd. You’re not thinking straight,’ she dismissed.

‘And you’re not listening.’

‘I am listening, Helen, but what I’m hearing is utter nonsense!’

‘Why is it nonsense? Just because you don’t agree with it.’

Constance glanced around. The other passengers in the carriage were sending them interested looks. ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ she said firmly.

‘You can talk about it all you like, but I won’t change my mind. I’m sorry if you think I’ve let you down, Mother, but that’s the way I feel.’

‘But you haven’t—’ Constance started to say. Helen had already turned away to stare out of the window again.

‘
I DON’T CARE
what you say, Dora. I’m going on that rally.’

Reflected firelight from the incinerator flickered across Peter’s obstinate face as he threw more rubbish into the stoke hole and watched it burn.

It had taken Dora three days to get her brother on his own. She had finally tracked him down to the basement on the pretext of needing to go there and burn some dressings.

He had been so worried and contrite after what happened with Esther Gold, Dora would have bet a month’s wages on him not going anywhere near the Blackshirt rally. So she was shocked when he told her he was not only going to be there, he was also going to be one of the men guarding the platform at Victoria Park Square where Sir Oswald was going to speak.

‘It’s expected of me,’ he said, eyes fixed on the dancing flames. ‘Besides, it’s a big honour for Bethnal Green to have someone like him come to speak here.’

‘We don’t want him here.’

‘Speak for yourself. There’s plenty who want to hear what he’s got to say.’

‘Then let them go and listen to him up west. We don’t want them in the East End.’

‘It’s a free country,’ Peter protested. ‘We’re allowed to march where we like. That’s what it’s all about, ain’t it? Defending our rights.’

‘And what about the rights of all those Jewish shops and businesses who get turned over by your lot every day?’ Dora went up to him, feeling the heat of the stoke hole on her face. ‘Have you forgotten what they did to Esther Gold, Peter? They would have killed her if I hadn’t come along . . .’

‘They wouldn’t,’ he mumbled, emptying another sack of rubbish into the gaping, fiery jaws of the furnace. ‘Anyway, if she’d turned around and walked away, then no one would have got hurt.’

‘So Mosley and his gang have the right to walk where they like, but Esther and her family and friends don’t, is that it?’ Dora stared at her brother with contempt. ‘I can’t believe you, Pete, really I can’t. You saw her yourself, lying unconscious in that hospital bed. You were so scared for her, remember?’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve had time to think since then.’

‘Time to let someone else do your thinking for you, you mean! What did your mates say to you, Pete? Did they tell you she deserved it? That she had it coming to her? Come on, they must have said something. How else can you sleep at night?’

Peter slammed the stoke-hole door shut and drew the heavy bolt into place. ‘I told you, I’ve got to think of our family,’ he muttered. ‘You don’t know what those men are like . . .’

‘Oh, I do. I’ve nursed Esther, remember? Helped stitch her up where they caved her skull in with their boots.’ Dora saw him flinch but went on, relentless. ‘I know what they can do all right, Peter. But do you think that’s what Mum would want? Do you really think she’d want your protection, knowing what it cost? No, she wouldn’t. She brought you up to do the right thing, Peter Doyle. And I reckon she’d be ashamed of you, just like I am.’

He tried to turn away from her but Dora grabbed his shoulders, swinging him back to face her.

‘And let me remind you of one more thing,’ she said. ‘You would have been locked up by now if Esther had told the police you were there that night. She kept quiet because she’s a decent person, and she hoped that you might see sense and do the decent thing. You just think of that when you go out marching with your bully-boy mates!’

Constance Tremayne had never been afraid to speak her mind before, but now she felt as if she was tiptoeing across eggshells.

Helen had been at home for three days, and her mother still didn’t know what to say to her. Every word she uttered seemed to inflame the situation further.

Constance wanted to reassure Helen that all was not lost, that she still had a future to look forward to. But Helen turned it around, made it seem as if her mother was forcing her into something against her will.

She even made it sound as if Constance had cajoled her into taking up nursing. Constance couldn’t recall doing any such thing. She had only suggested nursing because it seemed a sensible way for a respectable young woman to earn a living. Everything she had ever done, she had done for Helen. So why did her daughter make it sound as if she was the enemy?

And all the time she was conscious that the days were passing, the Finals were getting closer, and Helen’s textbooks remained abandoned in the bottom of her suitcase. Constance had to talk some sense into her before it was too late.

She tried again on Thursday evening, while they were having dinner together. It was the only time Helen ever emerged from her room, so Constance had to take the chance.

‘Have you thought any more about the exams?’ she asked, ignoring her husband’s warning look.

Helen sighed wearily, her gaze still fixed on her plate. She had been pushing her food around untouched for ten minutes. ‘I’ve already told you, I’m not going to take them.’

‘And do you think that’s what Charlie would have wanted?’

Helen’s head went back. Constance saw the flare of anger in her eyes and realised she had thrown petrol on a blazing fire.