A Nightingale Christmas Promise

by Donna Douglas

  ‘Yes, but won’t it seem odd if I don’t tell them you’re here?’

  ‘Can’t you leave it, just for a couple of weeks?’ He looked up at her appealingly. ‘Please, sis? I don’t want them to know just yet. I’m not ready …’

  She looked into his tear-stained face and she understood. Harry was too proud, he wouldn’t want their parents to see him like this, a trembling shadow of the strapping young man he had once been.

  She smiled. ‘All right, I won’t write to them for a while,’ she said. ‘But just for a week or two, mind. They’ll be so worried otherwise.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He was already half-asleep, his eyelids fluttering closed.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘It seems I made the right decision, bringing Miss Carlyle to the military ward. She has certainly proved herself far beyond my expectations.’ Dr Ormerod looked pleased with himself. ‘It was rather a bold decision on my part, but it seems to have paid off richly, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Rufus replied through gritted teeth. How like the Great Man to take the credit, he thought. Ormerod seemed to have conveniently forgotten he’d been ready to dismiss Kate Carlyle a few months earlier. If it hadn’t been for the huge numbers of military casualties they were receiving, she would still have been withering away among the specimen jars in Pathology.

  He watched her now with one of the patients. She was listening to him, grey eyes intent, delicate hands clasped under her chin, a gesture he had come to notice when she was concentrating. Like Dr Ormerod had done, he had thought her far too fragile to survive on the military ward. But in the past three weeks he had seen her face horrific injuries that would have made even the most hardened male doctor flinch. She certainly worked harder and pushed herself further than most of the other medical students.

  The men had taken to her, too. There was always some uncertainty when they first found out they were being treated by a woman, but that was quickly gone when they realised what an excellent doctor she was. They still liked to make jokes at her expense, but Kate took it in surprisingly good part, and even joined in sometimes.

  She had not only survived, she had positively thrived. She had found a place for herself among the rough and ready soldiers. The cool reserve that had once made her seem so aloof was still there sometimes, but now Rufus recognised it for what it was. It wasn’t that Kate was arrogant as he had first thought. If anything, she lacked confidence. She was so unsure of her position, it sometimes made her seem cold and defensive.

  ‘Dr French?’ Rufus snapped out of his reverie to see Dr Ormerod watching him over his spectacles. The Great Man tutted. ‘Do pay attention, young man. Is there anyone else I should see before I leave?’

  Rufus glanced at his watch. It was barely half-past nine. Dr Ormerod always liked to finish his round early on the days when Sir Philip Carlyle was due on the ward. If the two men ever did meet, there was a lot of posturing and wary eye contact, like two cats converging in an alley.

  Besides, on such a fine spring day, Ormerod would probably want to spend as much time as possible on the golf course, improving his swing.

  ‘No, sir. The only case giving real alarm is the post-op in bed seven.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The cerebral compression.’ Dr Ormerod looked grave. ‘The hypertonic saline should do the trick. Just keep an eye on him for the next day or two, and give another injection if you think he requires it.’

  After Dr Ormerod had left for the day, Rufus went over to join Kate. Thorough as ever, she was checking the chart of a suspected nephritis case, even though Dr Ormerod had seen him not fifteen minutes earlier.

  The young man didn’t seem to mind the attention, but chatted away happily.

  ‘How are you feeling today, Private Hobson?’ Rufus asked.

  ‘Very chipper, thank you, Doctor.’ The young man waved an envelope at him. ‘I’ve just had a letter from my sweetheart, Mary.’

  ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary!’ His friend in the next bed, a tough Scotsman called Andy Mitton, sang under his breath.

  ‘There ain’t nothing contrary about my Mary, thank you very much,’ Private Hobson said.

  ‘She’s probably no’ your Mary nae more, neither!’

  ‘Now then, Corporal Mitton.’ Kate shook her head at him. ‘You mustn’t go around saying things like that.’

  ‘Why not? Better the lad finds out the truth.’ The grizzled corporal turned to his neighbour with a gap-toothed grin. ‘You mark my words, laddie. She’ll find herself someone else soon enough. I’d bet my good leg on it!’

  ‘Take no notice of him, Private,’ Rufus said. ‘I’m sure your Mary is a delightful girl.’

  ‘She is.’ Private Hobson clutched his envelope defensively to his chest.

  Corporal Mitton laughed. ‘You should do yourself a favour, laddie, and find yourself a pretty nurse while you can. Or what about yon doctor here?’ He winked at Kate.

  Rufus shot Kate a look, expecting her to make some sharp retort. But to his surprise she simply smiled and said, ‘I’m sorry, Corporal, but I’m spoken for.’ He noticed the way her cheeks flushed delicately as she said it, the touch of pride in her voice.

  She was in love, he realised. With Charlie Latimer, of all people.

  ‘Is that right?’ Corporal Mitton looked at her with interest. ‘And who’s the lucky man, might I ask?’

  Kate smiled coyly. ‘That would be telling.’

  ‘It ain’t you, is it, Doctor?’ Private Hobson grinned at Rufus.

  It was hard to tell which of them blushed harder. ‘No,’ Rufus said, in a clipped voice. ‘No, it certainly isn’t.’

  He caught Kate’s look of surprise and realised how churlish that must have sounded. She was expecting one of his usual jokey comments, but for once the words stuck in his throat.

  It wasn’t that he was jealous, he told himself later, as he watched her from the other end of the ward. Far from it. He was disappointed.

  How, he wondered, had a sensible girl like Kate Carlyle fallen so easily for someone like Charlie Latimer? Yes, he was good-looking, and he certainly knew how to flirt, but Rufus was disappointed that she hadn’t seen through his shallow charm.

  Their paths didn’t cross again until some time later when Probationer Sedgewick approached him.

  ‘Sister would like you to look at the patient in bed seven, Doctor,’ she said. ‘She’s worried he still ain’t woken up.’

  When he pulled back the screen Rufus was surprised to see Kate with Miss Parker at the patient’s bedside. He looked from one to the other.

  ‘What seems to be the trouble?’

  ‘The patient’s level of unconsciousness seems to have deepened, Doctor,’ Kate said. ‘Earlier he was awake but disorientated. Now it’s impossible to rouse him.’

  Rufus checked his chart briefly then examined the man, lifting his eyelids to check for any signs of responsiveness. There were none.

  ‘Dr Ormerod did say the hypertonic saline would take some time to work,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but his pulse rate has increased,’ Kate said.

  ‘Which is a good sign,’ Rufus pointed out. He was aware of Miss Parker watching them, her gaze going from one to the other as if she was watching a tennis match.

  ‘It was rapid before,’ Kate pointed to a figure on the chart. ‘If you look here—’

  ‘I can read a chart, Miss Carlyle.’ Pride made Rufus’ temper snap. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘I’m saying, sir, that cerebral compression generally causes a slowing of the pulse.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I think we should consider the possibility of cerebral laceration.’

  Kate looked at Miss Parker when she said it. Rufus saw the ward sister’s slight nod.

  ‘I see you’ve been discussing this already?’ he said tautly.

  Kate looked taken aback. ‘I asked Miss Parker’s advice,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I see. So my opinion and that of the consultant physician ar
e not good enough for you, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Really, Miss Carlyle, I’m surprised at you. You always have to have the last word. I think Dr Ormerod is right, it must run in the family.’

  Kate flushed an angry scarlet. ‘And you never want to admit you’re wrong, even if a patient’s life might be at risk because of it!’

  For a moment they stared at each other in hostile silence. Rufus waited for Kate to back down, to apologise for her remarks. But her mouth remained closed in a tight line.

  He turned to Miss Parker. ‘Keep this patient under observation, as per Dr Ormerod’s instructions.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor.’ Even the ward sister couldn’t meet his gaze.

  He snatched aside the screens and strode off down the ward. He could feel everyone’s eyes following him, and felt sure they must have heard the angry exchange.

  How dare she? She was a medical student, she had no right to question his or Dr Ormerod’s judgement. Just because her name was Carlyle, that didn’t give her some kind of God-given authority.

  And to accuse him of never admitting to being wrong! Well, she was a fine one to talk about that. Arrogance was ingrained in her family.

  Anyway, he was willing to admit he was wrong about one thing. He’d been wrong about her. He had thought she was different, but she had proved herself to be every bit as conceited and high-handed as the rest of the Carlyles.

  She and Latimer deserved each other, he thought furiously.

  Just to make him feel worse, at that moment Sir Philip arrived for his round, trailing students and housemen behind him. He looked larger than life in his Savile Row suit, tall and upright, chin lifted so high he could only look down his nose at everyone.

  Leo was at his side, a pale imitation of his father but just as supercilious.

  Rufus groaned. This was just what he needed, all the Carlyles on the ward together! He looked for Kate, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Rufus tried to concentrate on his patient, a man with a leg wound that was not healing as it should. But it was difficult to ignore Sir Philip’s stentorian tones carrying down the ward.

  ‘He’s got a voice like a bloody foghorn,’ Rufus’ patient put it succinctly. ‘Likes the sound of it too, don’t you think?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Rufus agreed grimly.

  Kate’s words still stung deep within him. But there was another part of him that wondered if perhaps they hurt so much because he knew they were true.

  He did not like to admit he was wrong. Not because he was arrogant, but because he was afraid. Afraid that if he was ever found to be at fault then perhaps people would start to question whether he was good enough to be there.

  He put down the patient’s notes. ‘I won’t be a moment,’ he said. ‘I need to check on someone …’

  The patient in bed seven was still unconscious. He barely stirred when Rufus tried to rouse him. Rufus felt for his pulse. It skittered under his fingers, so fast he could barely count the beats.

  He was checking the man’s blood pressure when he heard Kate’s voice on the other side of the screen.

  ‘May I have a word, please, sir?’

  Rufus stiffened, listening.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ Sir Philip’s voice was clipped with irritation.

  ‘There’s a patient I’m concerned about. I wonder if you could have a look at him?’

  Rufus felt his anger rising again. She was going behind his back! Of course, he should have known she would run straight to her father …

  ‘Is it one of my patients?’

  ‘No, sir. Dr Ormerod is in charge of his case.’

  ‘Then why don’t you speak to him?’

  There was a long pause. Rufus could imagine the blush rising in Kate’s face, her hands clenched together.

  ‘Dr Ormerod is not here, sir.’ Her voice wavered slightly. ‘Please, I’m very worried—’

  ‘I do not wish to hear any more,’ Sir Philip cut her off. ‘Frankly, I am extremely disappointed that you would even speak to me about another physician’s case. You clearly have no idea how to conduct yourself.’

  Rufus edged over to a crack in the curtains and peeped out. He could just make out Kate’s profile, her head hung in shame. There was something so vulnerable about her, he promptly forgot his anger. All he wanted to do was go to her.

  But he didn’t. He forced himself to stand still behind the curtain until Sir Philip and his retinue had passed by. Only then did he continue with what he was doing.

  Kate Carlyle had gone from the ward when he finally emerged. Rufus made himself wait for some time before he looked for her.

  He finally found her in the sink room. He could tell straight away she had been crying.

  She turned to him, dabbing her eyes with a cloth.

  ‘I had some lint in my eye,’ she muttered.

  ‘Shall I look at it for you?’

  ‘No.’ She turned away from him sharply. ‘No, it’s all right now.’ She turned back, her face composed. ‘Can I help you, Doctor?’

  There was something so heartbreaking about the way she stood there, it was all he could do not to comfort her.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about the post-op in bed seven,’ he said.

  Kate dropped her gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ she said. ‘I should never have spoken to you like that. You’re right, Dr Ormerod said—’

  ‘No, Miss Carlyle, I think you’re right.’

  She looked at him blankly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’ve taken another look at him, and I think his pulse rate and blood pressure would suggest cerebral laceration. I have sent him down for an X-ray. Hopefully that will tell us more.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘I’m the one who should be thanking you.’ They looked at each other for a moment. ‘You see?’ he said ruefully. ‘I can admit I’m wrong sometimes.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘Your wound is healing nicely. It won’t be long before it’s mended.’

  ‘That’s good news.’ Harry Copeland’s smile didn’t reach his hazel eyes.

  Anna tried again. ‘I daresay the doctor will let you start exercising it soon, to help the muscles grow strong again,’ she said.

  Harry did not reply. Anna studied his profile as she finished dressing his shoulder. He seemed even more withdrawn today.

  She remembered what Sister had said when she handed out the work lists that morning: that they should keep an eye on him, make an effort to draw him out and cheer him up if they could.

  ‘Is there anything else you’d like?’ she asked, as she straightened his bedclothes and plumped his pillows. ‘Would you like to read? We’ve had some new books donated. You never know, there might be something to interest you. Or perhaps I could help you write a letter?’

  ‘No. Thank you, Nurse. I don’t really feel like doing anything.’

  Anna glanced towards the window. ‘Would you like to sit outside for a while with the other men? It’s such a beautiful day …’

  ‘No!’ he roared, startling her. ‘I told you, I don’t feel like doing anything. Just leave me alone, will you?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Anna turned quickly to gather up the soiled dressings.

  ‘No, I’m the one who should apologise.’ Harry looked up at her, his face contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just tired, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Eleanor came bustling towards them, her accusing glare already fixed on Anna. ‘I heard you shouting, Harry. Are you all right?’

  ‘I was only asking your brother if he wanted to go outside,’ Anna defended herself.

  ‘If he wants to go outside he only has to ask me.’ Eleanor reached over and plumped up the pillows Anna had rearranged not a minute earlier. ‘Now, are you in any pain, Harry? Would you like me to ask the doctor to give you something?’

  ‘I’m all right, really. I just want to be left alone.’

  ‘Of cou
rse you do.’ Eleanor stroked the hair back from her brother’s face. ‘But let me straighten your bed first, make you more comfortable …’

  Anna watched Harry’s face as his sister fussed around him, pulling and tweaking the already smoothed bedclothes, chattering all the while. He scarcely seemed to be listening to her, eyes closed as he patiently tolerated her ministrations.

  ‘Don’t take it to heart,’ Grace Duffield said as she whisked past, her arms full of fresh linen. ‘She’s the same with all of us. No one can look after him the way she can. I suppose it’s only natural that she’d be protective of him after everything he’s been through, isn’t it? I know I’d be just the same if it was my brother.’

  ‘I know.’ Anna looked back at Eleanor, carefully pouring out a glass of water for her brother. They might not have got on in the past, but Anna’s heart still went out to her.

  It had been more than a month since Edward had left for France, and Anna worried about him constantly. At night she would lie awake, imagining him lying wounded in a clearing station.

  In a way Eleanor was one of the lucky ones, she thought. At least she knew her brother was safe now.

  The following Saturday was Anna’s half-day off, so she went to Chambord Street to see Tom.

  She found him up a ladder, replastering the sitting room. He had grown used to Anna’s regular visits and now scarcely gave her more than a nod of greeting.

  But today he stopped work, trowel in hand, and looked her up and down as she took off her jacket to reveal a man’s shirt, the tails hanging almost to her knees.

  ‘I’ve remembered to bring some old clothes this time,’ she said.

  ‘So you have, miss.’ Tom turned away, but not before she saw the shadow of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

  Anna rolled up her shirtsleeves and looked around. ‘What’s to be done?’ she asked.

  He nodded towards the planks of wood stacked up against the wall. ‘You could start planning down that lot of skirting boards.’

  ‘All right.’ Anna picked up the heavy planing tool and turned it around in her hands, trying to make sense of it.