A Nightingale Christmas Promise

by Donna Douglas

  Rufus looked from one to the other of them. ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said. ‘Let’s take a look at him, shall we?’

  He was aware of Leo watching him with a mutinous expression as he examined the patient, a fusilier named Private William Pinder.

  ‘He was admitted with a shell wound to his head,’ Kate recited the notes. ‘He had a temperature of one hundred and two degrees, and the wound was very dirty.’

  ‘He can read the fellow’s notes,’ Leo hissed at her. ‘Well?’ he turned to Rufus.

  ‘It’s hard to be sure, but I suspect it may be traumatic erysipelas,’ Rufus confirmed. ‘I agree, he should be moved to solitary immediately.’

  Kate looked up sharply, and he saw the surprise in her eyes. Leo let out an angry sigh.

  ‘Waste of time,’ he muttered. ‘All he needs is rest.’

  ‘It’s better to be safe than sorry,’ Rufus said. ‘Will you speak to Sister about having him moved, or shall—?’

  He didn’t manage to finish his sentence before Leo stormed off.

  ‘I suppose that means I’ll do it,’ Rufus murmured.

  ‘I’ll speak to Sister,’ Kate said. She paused then added, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Backing me up.’

  Rufus frowned. ‘But your diagnosis was correct.’

  Kate’s mouth twisted. ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anyone will listen to me.’

  Leo approached him later, as Rufus was checking on a post-operative patient. The ward was a great deal quieter and calmer now all the patients had been treated, their wounds cleaned and dressed, and the post-ops were all slumbering quietly behind their screens.

  ‘You shouldn’t have made a fool of me earlier, old man,’ Leo said in a low voice.

  Rufus stared at him. ‘In what way – old man?’

  ‘That chap – the suspected erysipelas. You should have taken my side.’

  ‘Even if you were wrong?’

  Leo’s face coloured. ‘Time will tell if I was,’ he muttered. ‘But in any case, you shouldn’t have contradicted me in front of Kate. It sets a bad example.’

  ‘So you think I should have let a highly infectious patient remain on the ward, just so you could save face?’

  Leo looked at him uncertainly. ‘I think you could have dealt with it differently,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could have pulled me aside later, rather than pointing out my error in front of my sister.’ Leo must have seen the rigid set of Rufus’ face, because the next minute he was smiling. ‘We’re the same, you and me,’ he said. ‘We’re both senior to her. We need to stick together.’ He slapped Rufus on the shoulder. ‘I think we understand each other, don’t we, old man?’

  Do we? Rufus looked at him. Leo Carlyle looked so sleek and sure of himself, it was all he could do not to punch that handsome jaw.

  Just before his shift ended, Rufus looked for Kate to say goodbye to her. He wanted to thank her for all her hard work. But there was no sign of her on the ward.

  ‘Have you seen Miss Carlyle?’ he asked Miss Parker, who was writing up her report at her desk.

  ‘She has just left, Doctor.’

  ‘Already?’

  Miss Parker eyed the clock. ‘She was supposed to go off duty an hour ago. She stayed on to help with settling the infected shrapnel wound in bed three. He was having trouble sleeping.’

  ‘I see. I just thought she might – but it doesn’t matter. Thank you.’

  As Rufus turned to go, Miss Parker said, ‘She did very well, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘About time she’s allowed to show everyone what she’s made of, in my opinion.’

  Rufus looked back over his shoulder at the ward sister. Florence Parker’s sharp blue eyes were full of warmth. At least there was one other person on Kate Carlyle’s side.

  ‘Indeed,’ he agreed.

  He took off his white coat, shrugged on his jacket and left the ward. Even though it was late February, there was still a frosty nip in the evening air. The plane trees in the courtyard were bare and black against the darkening sky.

  He wasn’t looking for Kate, Rufus told himself. It was of no particular concern to him whether she had said goodbye or not. He only had it in mind to offer her some words of praise, let her know she had done a good job.

  He was still telling himself that when he heard her voice, coming from the other side of the Casualty block. He stopped to listen. She was with someone. A man. Rufus heard him laughing, and his heart sank.

  A moment later they rounded the corner, and he found himself face-to-face with Kate and Charlie Latimer.

  She had taken her hair out of its pins. It fell loose about her shoulders, framing her face and making her look younger, less severe.

  ‘Dr French?’ Kate looked as embarrassed as he felt.

  Rufus felt hot with embarrassment. He knew that she and Charlie Latimer had been out several times – God knows, Latimer boasted about it enough – but this was the first time he had seen them together.

  ‘Were you looking for me?’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘I should think not!’ Charlie grinned. ‘It sounds as if you’ve already had more than your pound of flesh from the poor girl today.’

  Kate looked up at Rufus, her grey eyes serious. ‘There isn’t a problem with one of the patients, is there?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ He cleared his throat. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes from her hand, held in Charlie’s. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were all right after your first day?’

  Kate smiled. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘No need to worry, old chap. I’m looking after her very well.’ Charlie Latimer slipped his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘So I see.’ Rufus glanced away. ‘I’ll bid you good night, then.’

  ‘Good night, Doctor. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Rufus turned on his heel and hurried away. As he strode off down the path, he heard Latimer murmur something to Kate. He couldn’t catch the words, but then he heard a sound that he had never heard before.

  Kate Carlyle was laughing.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  For Sadie, one of the worst things about being moved to the military ward was doing the dressings round. The soldiers called it the Agony Wagon, and Sadie could see the fear on their faces as the time came for their wounds to be tended.

  She really felt for them, but it had to be done. All she could do was grit her teeth and try to ignore their cursing and screams of pain as she applied hot poultices to raw wounds or pulled off blood-soaked bandages, taking flesh with them.

  It was easier doing the dressings with Dulcie Moore, because she insisted on flirting with all the patients. It meant the round took ages and they invariably got into trouble with Sister, but at least it took the men’s minds off their pain.

  But this morning Sadie had no time for her friend’s chatter.

  ‘Can we get a move on?’ she pleaded, as Dulcie laughed and joked with a young sapper. ‘I’m supposed to have my off-duty time from ten till two, and at this rate it’ll be lunchtime before we’re finished.’

  Dulcie pulled a face.’What’s the hurry? Have you got a date or something?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Dulcie looked at her archly. ‘You’re blushing!’

  ‘Leave her be,’ the sapper joined in cheekily. ‘So what if the lass has got a date? I wouldn’t mind taking her out myself!’

  ‘Why, Sapper Philipson!’ Dulcie sent him a mock frown. ‘I thought you only had eyes for me.’

  Finally, Dulcie finished checking the young man’s splint, and they headed off down the ward. ‘Speaking of dates,’ Sadie said, ‘what time did you come in last night?’

  Dulcie grinned, her cheeks dimpling. ‘I can’t remember, but it must have been gone midnight. Thanks for leaving the window open for me, by the way.’

  ‘You’re going to break your neck one of these days, shi
nning up that drainpipe!’ Sadie folded her arms. ‘Who was he, anyway?’

  Dulcie tapped her nose. ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘A secret admirer, eh? Very mysterious. And there was me, thinking your heart belonged to Sam Talbot!’ Dulcie had been head over heels in love with the handsome medical student until he had gone off to join the Army Medical Reserve.

  ‘We’re hardly engaged, are we? And if I know Talbot, he’s not going to be turning his back on all those VADs while he’s away!’

  ‘True,’ Sadie agreed. ‘Hello, Gunner Hillary.’ She stopped the trolley at the foot of his bed. ‘Let’s check those stitches, shall we?’

  They made their way up the ward, changing dressings, checking and cleaning wounds and readjusting splints. Thanks to Sadie’s urging, they finally finished the round with minutes to spare before ten o’clock.

  ‘Looks like you won’t be late for your date after all!’ Dulcie winked.

  ‘I told you, I ain’t got a date.’

  ‘Fine. Have it your way,’ Dulcie said, then added, ‘but if anyone asks me, I’m going to tell them you’ve got a mystery man!’

  Sadie laughed. ‘You’ve guessed my secret!’

  What would Dulcie say if she could see her now? Sadie thought as she made her way through the grimy terrace streets of Bethnal Green to her mother’s lodgings.

  It was a sunny day in March, and a few women were hanging out washing on lines strung across the narrow alleys. Children played around them, chasing each other and rattling metal hoops made from old pram wheels over the cobbles.

  The fine spring weather did not penetrate the gloomy stairwell of the tenement building where her mother lived. Inside, as ever, the air was stale and thick with the odours of cooking and unwashed bodies. A skinny cat toyed with a cockroach until it disappeared down a crack in the bare floorboards.

  Sadie climbed the stairs until she reached her mother’s lodgings. She took the money out of her pocket, folded it up and bent to push it under the door. Then she straightened her back and stood still for a moment, waiting, her eyes fixed on the peeling paintwork. Perhaps this time Lily would open the door …

  But, as usual, there was no response. Sadie rested her hand on the doorknob, wondering if she should open it.

  ‘She’s gone out.’

  Sadie turned to face the woman who stood behind her, a kettle in her hand. ‘She still lives here, then? She ain’t done a flit?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘She’s still there.’ She squinted at Sadie in the half-light. ‘I’ll tell her you called, shall I?’

  ‘No, don’t.’ Sadie looked down at the crack under the door where she had pushed the money. ‘She’ll know I’ve been. And she’ll know where to find me if she wants me.’

  But her mother hadn’t wanted her so far. It was more than two months since Jimmy’s trial and Lily Sedgewick hadn’t spoken to her since. Even Belle hadn’t been near nor by.

  Well, two could play at that game, Sadie thought. Whoever made the first move, it wasn’t going to be her.

  She returned to the ward, fresh in her uniform, her fair hair neatly tucked inside her cap, just as two o’clock chimed.

  Staff Nurse Hanley looked pointedly at the clock then back at her.

  Go on, Sadie thought. Tell me I’m late. I’m just in the mood for an argument.

  But all Nurse Hanley said was, ‘There are bandages in the linen room to be rolled, and splints that need padding. And the linen cupboard needs to be checked and counted.’

  Sadie stifled a sigh. ‘Yes, Staff.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dulcie frantically waving to her from the other end of the ward. Nurse Hanley followed her gaze. ‘And no gossiping!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve already had to report Moore today for talking when she should be working. I don’t want to have to tell either of you again.’

  ‘No, Staff.’

  It wasn’t long before Dulcie found her in the linen room. Sadie was trying to fix the broken handle on the bandage-rolling machine.

  ‘This wretched thing’s gone again,’ she sighed. ‘I keep saying it needs a screw or something to keep it in place, but no one listens.’

  ‘Never mind that!’ Dulcie’s eyes were shining. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Sadie glanced at the door. ‘Can’t it wait? Hanley’s in one of her moods, and if she catches us talking—’

  ‘No, it can’t wait.’ Dulcie plonked herself down on the chair opposite Sadie. ‘We’ve got a new patient,’ she said.

  Sadie looked up at her. ‘And?’

  ‘And you’ll never guess who it is!’

  ‘A bullet wound to the shoulder,’ Matron said. ‘Fortunately the bullet passed straight through, but it damaged the subclavian artery. Your brother is very fortunate to be alive, Miss Copeland.’

  Eleanor stared at Matron and said nothing. She could see her mouth moving, but the words seemed to jumble inside her head.

  None of this felt real. She had just spent two days in the sick bay with a septic finger. She was due to start back on the ward the following morning but this afternoon Matron had summoned her and told her that Harry had been admitted to Monaghan ward that morning.

  Harry. Her darling brother. Lucky to be alive.

  Matron was still speaking, her face grave beneath her elaborate starched headdress. ‘It’s a dreadful coincidence that he has been brought to this hospital, of course, but unfortunately it cannot be helped.’

  ‘When can I see him?’ Eleanor blurted out.

  Matron’s brows rose at the interruption.

  ‘As soon as you wish,’ she said. She paused, then went on, ‘Although I wonder, Copeland, if under the circumstances it might be better if you transferred to another ward?’

  ‘I would like to nurse my brother, Matron.’

  ‘Are you quite sure? There is a great deal of difference between nursing a stranger and a member of one’s own family.’

  Eleanor read the unspoken message in her eyes. If Harry were to die …

  Eleanor straightened her shoulders. ‘I want to do my duty, Matron.’

  ‘Very well.’ Matron regarded her with a look of grudging approval. ‘I must say, it would help us greatly. We are already overstretched on the military wards.’ She sat back, resting her hands on the polished top of her desk. ‘Very well, you may go.’ She smiled thinly. ‘I am sure you would like to see your brother.’

  Eleanor did want to see Harry, but as she approached the ward she found her footsteps slowing. She paused outside the double doors for a moment, trying to compose herself.

  But when she finally steeled herself to walk the length of the ward to Harry’s bed, he was asleep.

  ‘The doctor has given him morphia for his pain,’ Miss Parker explained. ‘You may sit with him if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  Eleanor was grateful when Miss Parker pulled the screens around them. She was already aware of the curious looks the other nurses were giving her.

  She drew the chair closer to his bed and sat down to watch her brother.

  He looked so different, she thought. Like Harry, but then not Harry. He had lost so much weight, she could see the bones and tendons standing out under his pale skin. What had happened to the big, muscular young man who’d rowed and played rugby for his college? His brown hair was cropped close, showing off the raw bones of his face, his eyes sunken in shadows. Looking at him reminded Eleanor of the photographs of corpses the Sister Tutor had shown them in an anatomy lecture …

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ she whispered.

  His eyes snapped open, so wide his hazel-green irises were entirely circled with white. His body went rigid with panic, hands snatching up handfuls of bedclothes. Eleanor had seen that look of terror and confusion many times on the faces of wounded men when they woke up, not knowing where they were.

  ‘Harry?’ She reached for his hand. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe.’

  ‘Eleanor?’ His voice was a hoarse whisper.

>   ‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ He fell back against the pillows and burst into tears.

  Eleanor watched him in dismay. She had never seen Harry cry before.

  ‘Shhh.’ She squeezed his hand, desperately trying to reassure him. ‘It’s all right, really. Don’t cry.’

  But Harry wouldn’t stop. He sobbed, his body convulsed, his mouth twisted in a strange, ugly grimace. Eleanor gripped his hand, willing him to quieten, shocked and terrified by what she was seeing.

  This wasn’t Harry. Not her Harry.

  She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting Sister to thrust aside the screens and demand to know what was going on. She could only imagine what the other nurses would be thinking.

  Finally, after a long time, Harry seemed to settle. Relieved, Eleanor wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  ‘Are you in any pain?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ He looked at her sheepishly, and she recognised her brother again. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to – you know. I was just so relieved to see you.’

  ‘I know.’ Eleanor filled up a glass with water from the jug at his bedside and helped it to his lips.

  ‘Thank you.’ He lay back, staring up at her. His eyes seemed huge in his drawn face.

  Eleanor could feel his gaze on her as she set the glass down on the bedside locker.

  ‘What happened to you?’ she asked.

  He glanced away. ‘I don’t know. Did I get shot?’

  ‘In the shoulder,’ Eleanor nodded. ‘You’re lucky to be alive.’

  ‘Am I?’ The bleakness in his eyes made her shudder. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘There were more of us … we were sent out into no-man’s-land to search the dead Germans for intelligence.’

  ‘I’ll try and find out. But I think you were the only one from your unit brought in.’

  ‘Only me.’ He closed his eyes.

  Eleanor stood up. ‘I’ll let you sleep,’ she said. ‘I’ll write to Mother and Father tonight, tell them you’re here.’

  ‘No!’

  Eleanor frowned. ‘But they’ll want to know you’re safe.’

  ‘I daresay they’ll find out soon enough. The War Office will write to them.’