The Nightingale Sisters (28 page)

The room was empty.

Every nerve, muscle and sinew sprang instantly to life. ‘Oliver!’ She ran around the flat, throwing open doors and calling his name, over and over again. ‘Oliver, where are you?’

She rushed out into the passageway, still calling to him. All the time her mind was racing, knowing her worst nightmare had come true.

‘Violet, what is it?’ Sister Blake emerged from her room, tying the strings of her cap under her chin.

‘Oliver’s been taken!’

‘Taken? What on earth do you mean?’

‘I mean he’s gone . . . missing,’ she amended quickly.

‘Calm yourself, my dear, he can’t have gone far.’

‘But you don’t understand—’ Panic gripped Violet’s throat so tightly she could hardly get the words out.

Other doors opened down the passageway, and heads in various states of dishevelment popped out.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Violet’s son is missing.’

‘Missing? Surely not?’

‘He can’t have gone far.’

The sisters congregated in the corridor. Sister Wren emerged from her room, her sharp-featured face indignant.

‘Well! I didn’t see all this fuss when I said my newspaper had gone missing,’ she snapped.

Violet pushed past them and out through the doors into the garden. She was aware of Sister Blake following as she run across the grass, frantically calling Oliver’s name.

‘When was the last time you saw him?’ Sister Blake asked, catching up with her.

‘Last night, when I put him to bed.’ Violet’s breath was coming in shallow gasps, making her head spin. ‘I said goodnight, and told him—’

She told him what she always told him.
Don’t go off with anyone, no matter what they might tell you.

‘He’ll be here somewhere.’

No, he won’t. The thought went round and round in her head. He’s gone. They’ve found us, and they’ve taken him.

They heard the sound of a dog yapping. Sparky hurtled round the corner, nearly knocking them off their feet.

‘Sparky! Come back, you bad dog.’

Violet started running towards the voice, Sister Blake hard on her heels, and almost collided with Oliver, barefoot and still in his pyjamas, running in the opposite direction.

He froze when he saw her, his face stricken with guilt. ‘Mummy!’

‘Oliver!’ She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘What have I told you about going out on your own?’

‘I didn’t mean to, but Sparky was barking outside my window. I only meant to go out and play for a minute . . .’ His brown eyes brimmed with tears. ‘S-Sorry, Mummy.’

Relief flooded through Violet, melting her bones. She sank to her knees, clutching him to her, tears streaming down her face. ‘Oh, Oliver!’ she sobbed. ‘Please don’t ever do that to me again.’

‘No, Mummy.’

‘There, I told you he wouldn’t have gone far.’

She’d forgotten all about Sister Blake standing behind her. Violet dashed her tears away and stood up, one arm still fixed around Oliver’s narrow shoulders, clamping him to her as if she would never let him go.

‘Thank you for helping me look for him,’ she said stiffly. Now the panic was over, she felt ashamed of her loss of control.

‘Not just me.’ Sister Blake looked over her shoulder. The other sisters were all picking their way in different directions across the lawn, searching under bushes, calling Oliver’s name.

Seeing them, Violet felt a jolt of emotion. Sister Hyde was right, she thought; they did care.

‘And as for you, young man . . .’ Sister Blake looked down at Oliver, her expression mock-severe. ‘You mustn’t give your mummy a shock like that again, do you hear?’

Oliver nodded his head solemnly, his brown eyes shining with unshed tears.

‘He won’t,’ Violet said. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ Sister Blake smiled at her. Then she turned and headed off across the grass, back towards the sisters’ block, calling to the other nurses to give them the good news.

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. Violet took Oliver to school, then came home and slept for a few hours. Afterwards, she busied herself with errands until it was time to collect her son from school again.

‘Please may we go to the park?’ he begged, as he always did when they walked past the tall wrought-iron gates of Victoria Park, with their stone dogs on either side, ears cocked, ever alert.

‘After what you did this morning? I don’t think you deserve a treat, do you?’ Violet said severely.

‘No,’ Oliver agreed in a small voice. ‘But you never let me go to the park, even when I’m not naughty,’ he complained.

Violet felt guilty. He was right, she always managed to make some excuse. Either it was too cold, or too wet, or he was wearing his good clothes. But the truth was, the park was a big place and she was too afraid to let him out of her sight.

Even now, just the thought of it made her tighten her grip on his hand.

‘Another day,’ she said.

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

They entered the gates of the Nightingale, and skirted the main buildings towards the sisters’ block at the back. As they headed down the gravel path that crossed the gardens, Violet heard her name being called.

She turned around to see Sister Wren hurrying down the path towards them. She must have been watching for them from the window of her ward.

Violet sighed. ‘Oh, dear, what does she want now?’ she muttered under her breath.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good news. Sister Wren’s narrow face was twisted with fury.

‘Have you seen this?’ She thrust the shredded remains of a newspaper into Violet’s face.

She frowned at it. ‘What is it?’

‘My copy of
The Times
. The maid found it stuffed in the broom cupboard. Like this!’ She waved it under Violet’s nose.

‘And what does that have to do with me?’ she asked calmly.

‘Don’t take that tone with me!’ Sister Wren spluttered with rage. ‘You know as well as I do it was your child who hid it there!’

‘Now just a minute . . .’ Violet struggled to hold on to her temper. ‘You can’t go around accusing my son.’

‘Who else could it be? He was skulking around this morning when the newspaper was delivered. It didn’t rip itself up and stuff itself in a cupboard, did it?’ Her tiny eyes glittered with malice. ‘Someone must be punished!’

Violet turned to Oliver. ‘Do you know anything about this?’

As soon as she looked at him she knew. Two bright spots of guilty colour flared in his cheeks. ‘Remember what I’ve always told you, Oliver,’ she coaxed gently. ‘No one will be cross if you tell the truth. Do you know what happened to this newspaper?’

He stared up at her, his eyes dark brown pools of misery. Then, slowly, he nodded.

‘I knew it!’ Sister Wren hissed. ‘You’re a nasty, destructive little boy, and you deserve a good thrashing—’

She took a step towards Oliver but Violet barred her way. ‘Lay one finger on my son and, by God, I will make you sorry!’ she snapped.

They faced each other like spitting cats in an alleyway. Sister Wren quivered with fury, but even she seemed to know better than to take on an angry mother protecting her child.

‘What is going on here, sisters?’

Miss Hanley bore down on them. ‘What is this?’ She towered over them, her broad masculine shape like a prize fighter’s under her starched uniform. ‘Nurses brawling in public?’ Her glacial gaze swept from one to the other. ‘You had better have a very good reason for this shameful display!’

‘I’ll tell you, shall I? This . . . malicious little monster,’ Sister Wren pointed a shaking finger at Oliver, ‘has deliberately ripped up my newspaper and hidden the evidence!’

Miss Hanley’s face darkened. ‘Is this true?’ she demanded.

‘He admitted it himself!’ Sister Wren squeaked. ‘Bold as brass, he was. Didn’t even try to lie about it.’

‘I will pay for the damage,’ Violet said calmly. ‘And believe me, Miss Hanley, my son will be punished.’

‘That’s not good enough! Something should be done about this,’ Sister Wren appealed to Miss Hanley. ‘Matron must be told. We cannot have children running around, destroying other people’s property.’

‘I agree, Sister. I will speak to her about it. I have always believed a child’s presence here was a bad idea, and this incident proves it.’

‘I don’t want to go!’ Oliver burst into tears. ‘Mummy, don’t let them send us away!’

‘It’s all right, darling.’ Violet bent to put her arms around him, hugging him to her. ‘For pity’s sake, must you discuss this in front of my son?’ She glared at the two women over his shoulder.

At least Miss Hanley had the grace to look shame-faced, while Sister Wren said huffily, ‘You’ve brought it on yourself, I’m sure. We simply can’t have this kind of deliberate trouble-making here.’

‘You’ve made your point, Sister,’ Miss Hanley silenced her. She shot an uncomfortable glance at Oliver, still sobbing on his mother’s shoulder.

‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ he wept. ‘It was an accident. I only put it behind the cupboard to stop anyone being cross with him . . .’ He stopped talking abruptly.

Violet shifted to hold him at arms’ length. ‘What are you talking about, sweetheart? Cross with who?’

Oliver looked warily at Miss Hanley and Sister Wren, then back to his mother. He shook his head, his mouth a stubbornly silent line.

‘You must tell me, Oliver. It’s very important.’

He hesitated for a moment, then leant forward and whispered. ‘It was Sparky.’

‘Sister Sutton’s dog? You mean, he ripped the newspaper?’

Oliver nodded. ‘He grabbed it off the paperboy this morning. I saw him out of the window. But before I could get it off him, he’d eaten it.’

‘A likely story!’ Sister Wren huffed.

‘It’s true!’ Oliver turned to her, his brown eyes wide in his earnest little face. ‘I’ve been trying to teach him to fetch the newspaper for Sister Sutton every morning, to save her legs, but he hasn’t managed it yet. He nearly managed it last week with Sister Parker’s
Daily Telegraph
, but then he ate it so Sister Sutton hid it in her coal scuttle and told her the paperboy hadn’t been.’ His cheeks flared red again as he realised he’d given away another guilty secret.

Violet looked up at Miss Hanley who was trying her hardest not to smile.

‘Well, Sister, I think we’ve found the real culprit,’ she said.

‘I’m still not happy about this,’ Sister Wren muttered furiously.

‘In that case, I suggest you take it up with Sister Sutton,’ Miss Hanley suggested.

Violet saw the look of angry disappointment on Sister Wren’s face and felt almost sorry for her. ‘I do feel my son was partly responsible. If you let me know how much I owe you—’ she offered, but Sister Wren cut her off.

‘Forget it,’ she bit out.

As she stomped off, her shredded newspaper stuffed under her arm, Oliver looked at his mother. ‘She won’t punish Sparky or Sister Sutton, will she?’ he whispered anxiously.

Miss Hanley smiled thinly. ‘I’d like to see her try, young man.’

Sister Wren sat at the table in her sitting room, the tattered pieces of
The Times
’ back page arranged in front of her like a jigsaw. It was so frustrating, trying to patch all those tiny shreds of print together. Every time she found an interesting advertisement, she had to search high and low for the post-office box address that went with it. And half the time she wasn’t even sure she’d got the right side of the page, either.

She sat back and stared at the mess in front of her, seething quietly. She had already spent a fruitless half-hour and felt like throwing the whole lot away. But somewhere in the back of her mind she had the lingering fear that today was the day her dream man would finally appear in the Personal Column, and she wouldn’t see the advertisement.

It was all the fault of that wretched Violet Tanner, she thought. Her ridiculously winsome child had even managed to soften the hard heart of Veronica Hanley. Next thing, she would be petting and fussing over him like silly Sister Sutton.

‘Sister?’

She jumped as Staff Nurse Cuthbert stuck her head around the door. ‘For heaven’s sake, Staff, can’t you knock?’ she snapped. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s a new admission on their way up. Uterine haemorrhage.’ Cuthbert eyed the newspaper fragments laid out on the table, though Sister Wren was trying to shield them from view.

‘Can’t you deal with it?’ she snapped.

‘Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister.’ The staff nurse disappeared. As she closed the door, the draught wafted fragments of newspaper like confetti about the room.

‘Damn and blast!’ Sister Wren sighed, and began gathering them up again. As she did, three words, printed in bold, caught her eye.

Dangerfield,
née
Tanner
.

She wasn’t sure what made her pick it up. It was a common enough name, after all. But she felt a prickle of sensation.

The rest of the line was obliterated. But underneath there was another half-line with the words ‘contact immediately’, followed by a telephone number.

Sister Wren sat back and stared at the tiny shred of newsprint between her fingers. What did it mean? She’d often seen those advertisements, asking for a long-lost friend or relative to contact a solicitor’s office ‘to hear something to their advantage’. But this was different, more abrupt, less promising of good things. Just looking at those brusque words ‘contact immediately’ made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

‘Sister?’ Staff Nurse Cuthbert’s voice came from the other side of the door. ‘I thought you might like to know, Mr Cooper is on his way up to see the new patient.’

‘I’ll be there straight away.’ Sister Wren stood up, straightening her cap. She looked down at the telephone number on the scrap of paper in her hand, then, on impulse, slipped it into her pocket.

SOPHIA’S ROOM AT
the nursing home was bedecked with flowers. Every available space was so crammed with overflowing vases, Millie and Seb didn’t dare move in case they knocked one over.

Sophia sat in the middle of it all, radiant in white lace, her face suffused with love as she gazed down at her baby son in her arms.