The Nightingale Sisters (24 page)

‘He’s looking a great deal better than he was the first time I saw him,’ Miss Fox observed.

‘Yes, he is.’ Violet could hardly bear to think of that grim night when she’d been so sure she was going to lose him.

‘And so are you.’ Miss Fox turned to her. ‘I trust the accommodation is to your liking?’

‘Very much, Matron.’

‘A little better than your last place, anyway.’

Violet thought about the dank, dark tenement, with its stale cooking smells and Mrs Bainbridge’s scrawny cats screeching in the yard. Just remembering it made her shudder. How had she put up with it for so long?

‘Yes, indeed. Thank you.’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble.’ Miss Fox shrugged. ‘As I said to you, this place was far too large for one person anyway.’

‘I didn’t mean for the flat. I meant for giving me a second chance.’

‘You’re a good nurse,’ Miss Fox said. ‘I didn’t want to lose you.’

She turned her gaze towards the window. ‘Your son appears to be settling in and making friends already, I see.’

Violet ran to the window and yanked back the curtain. Over on the far side of the garden, Oliver was watching Sister Sutton planting nasturtiums.

‘I told him not to be a nuisance—’ She started for the door, but Miss Fox stopped her.

‘Leave him, he isn’t doing any harm. Look.’ She pointed.

As Violet watched them, she saw Sister Sutton’s dog Sparky roll over obligingly to have his tummy scratched, while the Home Sister looked on approvingly.

‘He’s done well to win over such a difficult, ill-tempered creature,’ Matron observed.

‘Yes,’ Violet agreed. ‘I have heard Sister Sutton’s dog can be rather disagreeable.’

Miss Fox gave her a sideways smile. ‘I wasn’t referring to the dog,’ she said.

A moment later, Oliver came flying through the door, Sparky at his heels.

‘Miss Sutton has asked me to have a picnic with her,’ he announced breathlessly while Sparky yapped in unison. ‘We’re having pork pie.’

‘But I’ve made sandwiches—’ Once again Violet found herself addressing the empty air as Oliver dashed out, leaving the door swinging behind him.

‘Oh dear,’ Miss Fox said. ‘It looks as if you’ve lost your lunch companion.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Violet hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘I don’t suppose you’d care for a sandwich, Matron?’

The moment she’d said it she worried she might have offended her. She might be approachable, but she was still Matron. But Miss Fox just smiled.

‘That sounds like a delightful idea,’ she said.

It felt odd to be sitting there together in what used to be Matron’s sitting room, chatting away like old friends. Miss Fox was so easy to talk to, Violet decided. Perhaps a little too easy – she had to keep checking herself before she opened her mouth, just to make sure she wasn’t giving too much away.

Miss Fox didn’t give away too much, either. Somehow she managed to tread a fine line between warmth and decorum. She made Violet feel as if she was a good friend, while still commanding her respect.

‘Well, that was delicious.’ Miss Fox dabbed her mouth delicately with her napkin. ‘But I really mustn’t keep you any longer, Mrs Tanner. I have a meeting with the Board of Trustees about their forthcoming tour of the hospital.’

She rose to her feet. ‘I’m glad you’re settling in. I want you to feel that this is your home.’

‘Thank you, Matron.’

But Violet felt nothing but guilt as she closed the door on Miss Fox. She liked her, and knew Matron had gone out on a limb to help them. Violet really wished she could have been honest with her, and told her everything. Perhaps she would have understood? Perhaps she might even have tried to help them further?

Or perhaps she would have turned them away and told Violet never to darken the hospital’s door again, she thought bleakly.

No, she couldn’t tell anyone her story, no matter how good a friend they seemed to be. Because to put her trust in anyone would be to put herself and Oliver in grave danger.

IT WAS THE
day of the Trustees’ visit, and Sister Hyde was even more exacting than usual.

Straight after breakfast the nurses were set to work, pulling all the beds out into the middle of the ward, scattering tea leaves to settle the dust then sweeping them up. Floors were polished, bedsprings were dusted, lockers scrubbed inside and out, and the fluted-glass lampshades above every bed were taken down and washed.

The patients didn’t escape, either. Those who could get out of bed were hauled off to the bathroom, while the rest were washed, powdered and put into fresh nightgowns. The air was filled with the smell of carbolic and freshly starched laundry.

Of course, there was no chance of anyone being allowed to take a break, much to Millie’s frustration. It was Seb’s birthday and she was desperate to telephone him to make up for not being with him.

Even then, Sister Hyde wasn’t completely satisfied. She prowled the ward, running her fingers along bedrails and windowsills, her face rigid with disapproval.

‘Look at her,’ Maud Mortimer remarked, as Millie brushed her hair. ‘Anyone would think we were getting a visit from royalty.’

Millie smiled. ‘The Trustees
are
royalty, so far as this hospital is concerned.’

‘I should imagine they are the same as any other committee – a collection of jumped up accountants, civil servants and busybodies, consumed by their own self-importance.’

Millie thought of Mrs Tremayne. ‘You could well be right.’

‘I am always right.’ Maud peered over her spectacles at the newspaper in her lap. ‘Seven across. “Press down”. Second letter “e”.’

‘Decrease,’ Millie replied without hesitation.

Maud glanced sideways at her. Millie tried to remain expressionless as Maud carefully double-checked it, counting the letters. ‘You may be right,’ she conceded with a sniff.

‘I am always right,’ Millie said.

‘Please don’t be clever with me, child.’ Maud shoved the newspaper towards her with the back of her hand. ‘You may fill it in.’

‘Best not let Sister see me doing this,’ Millie said, picking up the pencil. ‘She’ll send me off to clean the toilets again.’

‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

Millie dropped the pencil, swung round and found herself face to face with William Tremayne.

It had been so long since she’d seen him, the shock made her heart hammer against her ribs as if it was trying to fight its way out of her chest.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘He’s a doctor, you stupid girl. I would have thought this was the obvious place for him.’ Maud looked William up and down. ‘At least, I assume he is a doctor. He seems awfully young.’ She peered at him closely. ‘Where is Mr Forrest? Or that other one . . . the unfortunate-looking man with the squint?’

‘Mr Forrest is in theatre, and Dr Pascoe is unwell today.’ William tried not to smile. ‘My name is Dr Tremayne, and I’m the house officer on call. I understand you asked to see me?’

‘A house officer?’ Maud looked doubtful. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll have to do.’ She fumbled to take off her spectacles with her limp hands. ‘I need some sleeping pills.’

‘Why?’

Maud gave Millie a long-suffering look. ‘Really, is everyone in the hospital half-witted? Because I want to sleep, young man.’

William took the notes Millie handed to him. ‘Are you in any pain?’

‘Pain?’ Maud regarded him incredulously. ‘If you take a moment to read those notes, Doctor, you will realise that pain is the least of my worries. In fact, any sensation at all in my useless limbs would be very welcome indeed.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t sleep because of all the constant hullabaloo that goes on in this ward. Listen to it.’

She paused for a moment. Millie listened too; she had become so used to the low moaning and whimpering that went on in the ward, she had ceased to notice it any more. ‘It’s far worse at night,’ Maud continued. ‘It’s like trying to sleep in a cage full of mad owls. If you won’t give me anything to help me sleep, then for God’s sake, give it to them.’

William’s dark eyes crinkled at Millie over the top of the notes. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mrs Mortimer.’ He flicked through the notes. ‘I see you’ve had electrical and massage therapy?’

‘A ridiculous waste of time,’ Maud dismissed. ‘As if shooting hundreds of volts through my legs is going to bring them back to life.’

‘It worked for Frankenstein’s monster,’ Millie said, under her breath. Maud shot her a narrow look.

‘Don’t be impertinent. My limbs may be failing me, child, but my hearing is still intact.’

‘I notice we have yet to try strychnine injections,’ William observed, pulling a pen out of the pocket of his white coat. ‘Perhaps they would be worth a try?’

‘Will they cure me?’

‘No,’ he admitted, scribbling on her notes. ‘But they will slow down the progress of your illness.’

‘Then we will not be trying them,’ she said.

William looked up at her and frowned, his pen poised. ‘I don’t understand? Surely anything that would halt—’ He caught Millie’s eye. She shook her head warningly.

‘Very well.’ He wrote a few words on the notes and handed them back to Millie. ‘I’ve prescribed you sleeping pills,’ he told Maud.

‘Thank you. Now you may go.’ She closed her eyes and rested back against her pillows.

William stared at her nonplussed for a moment. Millie touched his sleeve. ‘That’s her signal for you to leave,’ she whispered.

‘She’s rather a character, isn’t she?’ he commented as they both stepped away from the bed, out of earshot of Maud.

‘You get used to her.’

‘I’m not used to patients expressing opinions on their treatment.’ He looked so shaken, Millie felt sorry for him.

‘Mrs Mortimer has lots of opinions. Most of them at odds with the rest of the world, I’m afraid.’

He gazed around the ward. ‘And are they all like that here?’

‘Most of them aren’t as lively as Mrs Mortimer. Many of them aren’t even aware of what’s happening to them.’

‘Then it must be a very depressing place to work.’

‘I used to believe it was, but I’ve come to think differently. We can’t save these patients, but we can at least make their last days as comfortable as possible. And, you know, some of these women haven’t had any comfort or care from anyone for years.’ Millie glanced sideways at him. ‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘You’ve changed,’ William said admiringly. ‘You’ve grown up a lot since I last saw you.’

She felt hot colour scalding her face. ‘I hope so. But I still do idiotic things sometimes.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I’d hate to think you were getting too serious.’ He gazed deep into her eyes. ‘How are you?’ he said.

‘I’m very well, thank you.’

‘It’s so long since I’ve seen you. Have you been avoiding me?’

‘Of course not, why should I?’

‘I just wondered if things were awkward between us?’

‘I see no reason why they should be awkward,’ Millie hissed out of the corner of her mouth, aware of Sister Hyde close by.

‘I’m glad to hear it. I’d like to think we could still be friends. Even if you have forsaken me for another man,’ he added teasingly.

Before Millie could respond, Sister Hyde came over to ask William to take a look at another patient, Mrs Little. As she hustled him off, she turned back to Millie and said, ‘Benedict, please make absolutely sure Mrs Church has had a bedpan. I do not want any unfortunate mishaps when the Board of Trustees visit. Is that clear?’

The Trustees were almost an hour late. They arrived in the middle of the afternoon, by which time Sister Hyde was in an even more irritable mood.

‘This is perfectly ridiculous,’ Millie heard her whisper furiously to Staff Nurse Willis as they stood waiting in line to greet the visitors outside the ward. ‘We have work to do and patients to care for. We can’t wait about out here for the circus to arrive.’

‘I’m worried about Mrs Little,’ Staff Nurse Willis whispered back fearfully. ‘Dr Tremayne doesn’t think she has much longer. What if she dies while they’re here?’

Sister Hyde sent her a withering look. ‘What do you suggest we do about it? We can hardly tell the poor woman to hang on until they’ve gone, can we?’

While they waited, Sister Hyde walked up and down the line, inspecting her nurses like a sergeant major reviewing his troops. She picked out a crooked cap here, unpolished shoes and holes in stockings there. Only Helen escaped without a word of criticism, as usual.

Finally, the Trustees arrived, led by Matron. Half a dozen well-fed and very self-satisfied-looking men in suits, a very old lady with an ear trumpet, and Mrs Tremayne.

One look at Constance Tremayne and Millie understood immediately why Helen had been so afraid of her. Everything about her was stiff and self-righteous, from her tightly drawn bun to her buttoned up suit. She wasn’t the head of the Trustees but she certainly acted as if she was, bestowing regal smiles all round.

Matron introduced her to Sister Hyde, who then introduced her to all the nurses. Millie felt her palms break into a sweat as Mrs Tremayne approached, and prayed she wouldn’t want to shake her hand.

‘I haven’t felt this nervous since I was presented at court!’ she whispered to Helen, who stood quaking beside her.

‘How do you think I feel? She’s my mother!’ Helen hissed back.

Mrs Tremayne whisked past Millie with barely a glance, and moved straight on to Helen. Millie felt for her friend as her mother greeted her coolly, her critical gaze moving slowly up and down, looking for faults.

Millie was shocked. She had never had a mother so she could hardly make comparisons, but she treated her maid at home with more warmth than Mrs Tremayne did her own daughter.

As they moved into the ward, Sister Hyde hissed to Millie, ‘Now you’re sure you offered Mrs Church a bedpan?’

‘Yes, Sister.’ No need to tell her Bessie had refused it, she thought. Sister Hyde looked worried enough.

Mrs Tremayne led the way around the ward, while the other Trustees straggled in her wake. She paused at every bed, offering words of comfort to each patient. Sometimes she would reach out a gloved hand and gently touch a shoulder or a fevered brow. She reminded Millie of pictures she’d seen of Florence Nightingale, passing calmly among the war-wounded at Scutari.