The Nightingale Sisters (40 page)

The hatred in Pete’s eyes shocked Nick. He had grown up with Peter Doyle, and had never seen him so full of malice. His broad, freckled face burnt with it, his stocky body rigid with tension.

Harry Fishman scowled. ‘Come over here and say that!’

‘Pete—’ Nick put out his hand to stop him but Peter had dropped his cards and was already on his feet.

‘What did you just call me?’ Harry repeated his question.

Peter barely came up to his shoulder, but he looked the other man squarely in the eye.

‘You’re a dirty Jew,’ he snarled.

Nick saw Harry’s hand go back. He sprang like a panther, getting in between the men and trapping Harry’s fist in mid-air.

‘You don’t want to do that,’ he said softly.

Harry glared at him, his jaw tightening. ‘Stay out of this, Nick. It ain’t your fight. Stop protecting him.’

‘I’m protecting you, mate,’ Nick said quietly. ‘What do you think old Hopkins is going to say about porters scrapping on duty?’

Harry hesitated for a moment, then slowly lowered his fist. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘That little runt’s not worth losing my job over.’

As he turned away, Peter jeered from behind Nick’s shoulder, ‘That’s right. Run away, you coward!’

Harry swung round, but Nick beat him to it. Grabbing Peter under the chin, he rammed him up against the wall.

‘And you!’ he said. ‘Just shut it, all right? Do you want to get yourself sacked, you silly sod?’

Mr Hopkins already had his eye on Peter. He’d warned Nick to keep Doyle out of trouble.

‘He’s getting under a lot of people’s skin,’ he’d said. ‘I only took him on because you vouched for him. Now it’s up to you to make sure he stays on the straight and narrow.’

Peter’s eyes bulged, showing wide circles of white around the startled green. ‘N-No,’ he managed.

‘Then behave yourself.’ Nick released him. ‘Come on, you can help me with the linen delivery.’

As they left, Harry Fishman sidled over and whispered, ‘You want to keep a muzzle on that dog of yours, Nick. Before he bites the wrong person.’

He glanced across at the other porters, watching in hostile silence. He knew that unless he had been there, not one of them would have stood up to defend Peter if Harry Fishman had decided to throw that punch.

He didn’t blame them either. If it hadn’t been for Dora, he would have belted Peter himself.

‘You’ve got to keep your nose clean,’ he warned as they headed towards the hospital laundry. ‘Mr Hopkins won’t put up with any of your Blackshirt rubbish in here.’

‘It’s not rubbish,’ Peter muttered defensively. ‘What Mr Mosley says is right. There’s going to be trouble in the East End, you see if there ain’t.’

‘And there’s going to be trouble in here, if you don’t learn to keep your trap shut.’ Nick looked sideways at him. ‘I mean it. You don’t want to make any enemies in this place. Not if you want to keep your job.’

Peter said nothing. His mouth was a set, stubborn line. Nick remembered that expression from when they were kids. Peter had always been in trouble then, standing up to the bigger kids like a little mongrel terrier, growling and snapping and refusing to admit he was in the wrong.

The laundry was warm and welcoming after the brisk chill outside. The thick, steamy air smelt of freshly starched linen. Women with their sleeves rolled up and scarves wrapped around their heads were busy folding and feeding sheets into hissing pressing machines, while others tended the bank of giant tubs that rumbled at the far end of the laundry.

Nick showed Peter where to find the finished bundles of linen and towels, and how to load up a trolley with the separate orders for each ward.

‘They should already be bundled up, but be sure to count them and double check against the list for each ward before you take them up,’ he said, showing him the piece of paper with every item marked. ‘The sisters play merry hell if you forget something and they have to send down for it.’

With their trolleys loaded up, they made their way to the service lift. Nick pulled the doors closed, shut the grille and pressed the button. At first Peter was sulkily silent, but as they made their way around the wards, delivering bundles of linen, his frostiness started to thaw.

Their final call was to Wren. ‘Watch the Sister here, she’s a right snappy cow,’ Nick hissed as he pushed the trolley through the double doors.

‘Blimey, look at all these women in their nighties!’ Peter snorted with laughter. Then he caught sight of his sister, at the far end of the ward. ‘There’s Dora, look. Cooeee! Dor!’

He started to wave, but Nick dug him sharply in the ribs. ‘Shhh! Nurses ain’t allowed to talk to men while they’re in uniform.’

‘But she’s my sister!’

‘You could be the Pearly King of Bethnal Green and she still wouldn’t be able to talk to you!’

It took all his self-control for Nick not to look at Dora himself as he handed the list to the staff nurse to check. Thankfully the bitch of a Sister was nowhere in sight, otherwise she was bound to give him trouble over something.

‘Thank you.’ The nurse signed her name and handed the piece of paper back to him. ‘Put it in the linen cupboard, will you?’

‘I can never get over how different Dora looks in her uniform,’ Peter remarked, as they unpacked the bundles on to the shelves. ‘Sort of grown-up.’

‘She is.’ Finally, Nick allowed himself a glance sideways at her. She was taking a patient’s pulse, her head bent as she held the woman’s wrist. He caught a glimpse of her profile, her blob of a nose, her wide, smiling mouth. The patient said something to her and she laughed, a merry, husky sound that made Nick’s heart race uncomfortably in his chest.

‘You know she’s courting now?’

It was a casual comment, but it hit him like a blow. Nick spun round. Peter was lifting another bundle of linen into the cupboard, apparently unaware that he had just thrown his friend’s world into chaos.

‘Who’s she courting?’

‘That policeman – Joe Armstrong? The one whose sister’s lodging at our place.’ Peter grinned. ‘He seems very keen. He’s always dropping round on the off chance Dora might be there. He took her dancing the other night. Can you imagine that? Our Dora dancing!’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, Mum and Nanna are convinced it’s all serious. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to go out with my sister though, can you?’

Nick glanced over his shoulder at Dora. She scribbled a figure on the patient’s chart then hung it back in place. As she did, she spotted Nick and gave him a warm smile.

‘No,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t imagine that at all.’

BY THE TIME
Millie got back to her room, Sister Sutton had upended her bed again. Seeing the sheets, pillows, blankets and mattress tipped in an untidy heap was too much for her. Sinking down in the middle of the wreckage, Millie cried her heart out.

This was it. It was over. She could never go back to the ward, never set foot inside the hospital again. Matron would send for her, and she would be instantly dismissed. And good riddance.

But even as shame and misery washed over her, she felt relieved. She was so tired of trying every day, and failing every time. Of knowing that all the other nurses, even the first years, were better and cleverer than her, more competent, more everything. Finally she accepted what Sister Hyde, Matron and everyone else had known for ages: she was a terrible nurse.

Perhaps if Maud Mortimer’s care had been left to someone who knew what they were doing, she would still be alive now.

‘I might have known your room would be a mess, Benedict.’

Sobbing noisily into her pillow, she hadn’t heard the creaking tread on the attic stairs. Now Sister Hyde stood in the doorway looking down at her, Millie’s crumpled cap still clasped in her hands.

Millie instantly stumbled to her feet, wiping her puffy, tear-ravaged face.

Sister Hyde’s brows rose. ‘I’m pleased to see you have remembered your manners, at least.’ She looked down her long, aquiline nose at the girl. ‘Now, perhaps you would care to explain what that ridiculous outburst on the ward was all about?’

Millie felt her nerve failing under Sister’s severe gaze, but held it together long enough to say, ‘I’m leaving, Sister.’

‘And why, may I ask?’

Millie stared at her. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘With respect, Sister, you’ve told me yourself. I am thoughtless, untidy, incompetent, I daydream constantly—’

‘Yes, yes, I’m aware of all that,’ Sister Hyde cut her off impatiently. ‘But I’ve told you all that before and you’ve never decided to leave. Why now, girl?’

Millie braced herself. There was no point in lying about it. Fixing her gaze on the spotted mirror behind Sister Hyde’s shoulder, she said flatly, ‘Please, Sister, it’s my fault Maud – Mrs Mortimer – died.’

Sister Hyde went very still for a moment. ‘Explain yourself,’ she said.

Millie opened her mouth, and everything came out in a rush. About Saturday night, how she had neglected Maud, refused to stay and talk to her when she needed her most.

‘And you think Mrs Mortimer decided to kill herself because you didn’t help her with
The Times
crossword?’ Sister Hyde said slowly.

‘There’s more to it than that, Sister. I didn’t listen to her. Looking back on it now, I’m sure she was trying to tell me something. The clues were there, just like a crossword. The way she talked about not having regrets . . . If only I’d listened to her, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt so alone . . .’ Millie swallowed hard. Tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks again but with Sister Hyde staring so hard at her she didn’t dare wipe them away on her sleeve.

Sister Hyde pulled her gaze away and looked around for somewhere to sit down, finally selecting the rickety chair in the corner. Millie prayed silently it wouldn’t collapse under her; none of them had ever dared sit on it before.

She took a few moments to compose herself before she began to speak. ‘Listen to me, child,’ she said finally. ‘Mrs Mortimer decided to end her life a long time ago, and there is nothing anyone could have done to stop her.’ Millie opened her mouth to speak, but Sister held up a silencing hand. ‘Yes, you could have stayed with her. You could have sat up with her all night, and she would merely have done it another night instead. There is nothing anyone could have done,’ she said firmly, her gaze holding Millie’s. ‘Do you understand that?’

Millie nodded dumbly. She desperately wanted to believe it.

‘As you know, Mrs Mortimer was a woman of great dignity, and she was facing a most undignified death. She knew that, so she decided to take matters into her own hands while she still could. It had nothing to do with her being unhappy, Benedict. It was the last act of a fiercely independent woman, making her own decision to die rather than subjecting herself to a slow, cruel death.’

Millie sniffed back her tears. ‘I know she wanted to die, but I wanted her to want to live,’ she blurted out. ‘I tried so hard to cheer her up and make her happy, to show her she had something to live for. But in the end I failed her . . .’

‘You didn’t fail her at all, child. Don’t you see that?’ The shadow of a smile crossed Sister Hyde’s gaunt face. ‘On the contrary, you are probably the reason she didn’t kill herself a long time ago.’

Seeing Millie’s puzzled expression, she explained, ‘When Mrs Mortimer first came to us, she was withdrawn, wretched and unhappy. She was like an angry snake, striking out at anyone who came near her. But you managed to win her trust. Not only that, you actually made her smile. Mrs Mortimer would have ended her life sooner or later, but you made the last few weeks of it far brighter than they might have been.’ She looked up at her. ‘You have a gift for that. A gift for understanding people, bringing out the best in them. It’s a rare gift indeed. Not many people have it, but all good nurses do.’

It took a moment for Millie to reply. ‘But I’m not a good nurse,’ she said finally.

‘Not yet,’ Sister Hyde agreed crisply. ‘Indeed, you have a great many faults and failings. I give you the simplest of tasks and yet still you manage to get them wrong. You are an accident waiting to happen. Every day I despair of you.’ Millie cringed, but then Sister Hyde went on, ‘However, these are all faults that can be overcome with proper training and self-discipline.’ She fixed Millie with a severe look. ‘Why exactly do you think I am so hard on you?’

‘Because I’m hopeless?’ Millie ventured.

‘Because I see in you the potential to be an excellent nurse. Why else would I waste my breath on you? If I seem frustrated at times, it is only because I know that potential is going to be wasted by your rushing off to get married.’

‘I might not be getting married now,’ Millie admitted unhappily.

Sister Hyde looked uncomfortable. Like Sister Sutton, discussing personal matters didn’t seem to come easily to her. ‘That is – regrettable for you, and I am sorry to hear it,’ she said shortly. ‘But if you do decide to stay, then I will endeavour to start training you properly for the rest of your time on Hyde.’

‘That’s only two weeks,’ Millie said.

Sister Hyde gave a weary sigh. ‘Then we will just have to do the best we can, won’t we?’

She got to her feet and handed over the cap. ‘Will you come back? I warn you, you might regret it if you do. You must be prepared to put all your silliness behind you, and buckle down to some very hard work. Are you ready for that?’

Millie hesitated for a moment. Now her initial relief at walking out had worn off, she realised how much she would miss nursing. She took the cap from her. ‘I’m ready,’ she said.

‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll expect you to report for duty at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Not a minute later, is that understood?’

‘Yes, Sister.’

As Sister Hyde turned to leave, Millie plucked up the courage to voice the thought that had been troubling her since that morning.

‘Please, Sister, may I ask a question?’

Sister Hyde’s eyes narrowed at her impertinence. ‘Go on,’ she said.

‘They said . . . Mrs Mortimer saved up her sleeping pills?’

‘That is correct.’

‘But where did she keep them? We change the patients’ beds and clean out the lockers so often, surely it wouldn’t be possible to hide anything?’