Please, she prayed silently, don’t let them be right.
Chapter Four
‘AN AIRFIELD? HERE, at Billinghurst?’
‘That’s what I heard,’ Grace said.
‘And there’ll be airmen staying at the house? Actual RAF officers?’
‘A bomber squadron, so they tell me.’ Grace ladled stew on to a plate and passed it down the table. ‘And make sure you eat plenty of those vegetables, Walter,’ she warned her younger brother. ‘They’re good for you, don’t forget.’
He pulled a face. ‘But I don’t like carrots.’
‘They’ll help you see in the dark. All the fighter pilots eat them.’ Grace smiled as Walter reluctantly reached for the spoon and added a few carrots to his plate. He was a growing boy, but too scrawny for twelve years old.
Daisy poked at the meat on her plate. ‘What’s this?’
‘Stew, what does it look like?’
‘What’s in it?’
‘Rabbit.’
Daisy pulled a face. ‘Not again! If I eat any more rabbit my nose will start twitching!’
‘You’d better have some of these carrots, then.’ Walter grinned, pushing the dish towards her.
‘Pack it in, you two.’ Grace pointed the ladle at them. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, you know. I can’t just march into the butcher’s for a pound of rump steak.’
‘I’ve forgotten what a steak looks like,’ Daisy moaned.
‘I promise when this war’s over, I’ll buy you the biggest, juiciest steak you’ve ever seen,’ Grace said. ‘But until then you’ll have to get what you’re given. Anyway, cheer up,’ she said as her sister picked disconsolately at her food. ‘We’ve got apricot flan for pudding.’
Walter looked up hopefully. ‘Real apricot flan?’
‘What do you think?’ Daisy muttered.
Grace smiled. ‘You tell me when you’ve eaten it.’ She hoped her brother wouldn’t notice it was made with yet more of his loathed carrots, along with some almond essence and a dollop of plum jam.
‘So what will you do when Lady Amelia moves out of the big house?’ Daisy asked through a mouthful of food. ‘They won’t need all those servants any more, surely?’
Grace shot a quick look across the table to where Walter and their youngest sister, ten-year-old Ann, were eating. ‘Actually,’ she said in a low voice to Daisy, ‘this arrived earlier.’
She took from her pocket the letter she had been carrying around with her all day, and slid it across the table towards her sister.
Daisy stared at the envelope then back up at Grace, her green eyes round. ‘Your call-up papers?’ she whispered.
Grace nodded. ‘Maggie the second housemaid got the same letter yesterday.’
Both their gazes dropped to the letter on the table, as if they had conjured up a malevolent spirit.
‘What are you going to do?’ Daisy asked.
‘Not much I can do, is there?’ Grace shrugged. ‘I’m going to have to go down to the Labour Exchange and see what they say.’ But a gnawing feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach betrayed the worry she felt.
Daisy bit her lip anxiously. ‘They won’t send you away, will they?’
‘Shhh!’ Grace glanced at Walter and Ann. They were bickering between themselves, oblivious to their sisters’ whispered conversation. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly. ‘That’s what I’m worried about. Maggie says we’re what they call mobile because we haven’t got kids.’
‘What about Walter and Ann?’
‘I’m their sister, not their mum.’ Although she might as well be, as she’d been looking after them ever since she was thirteen years old.
Grace pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. The thought of having to leave them all was too much for her.
‘There must be something you can do,’ Daisy said.
‘I’ve been trying to think. I don’t have many skills, do I? All I know is being in service, and I don’t think scrubbing floors would help the war effort!’
‘But you can’t leave! Who’ll look after us?’
The distress in her sister’s green eyes touched Grace’s heart. It reminded her of the day their mother had died, and the other children had all looked to her to take care of them.
‘I’m sure it will be all right,’ she reassured Daisy, just as she had on that sad day. ‘I’ll think of something, don’t you worry.’ She stood up, automatically clearing away the dishes as she did so. ‘Now, will you be all right to serve up the pudding? Only I’ve got to get to the village hall for the WVS meeting at six.’
Daisy grinned, her fears forgotten. ‘What’s Mrs Huntley-Osborne got you doing now? Another salvage drive, or knitting socks for soldiers?’
‘I think we’re supposed to be sorting out clothes for the refugees in Europe.’
‘Rather you than me. I wouldn’t fancy going through Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s cast-offs!’
‘Lucky you don’t have to do it, then.’ Grace scraped leftovers into the pig bin. ‘Now, I’ll feed the chickens and put them away for the night before I leave. Make sure Walter has a wash before he goes to bed, will you? You could grow spuds behind his ears.’ She pulled a face at her brother.
‘I’m going to have a nice long soak myself.’
‘As long as you only fill the bath up to the line, remember?’ Grace reminded her.
‘Have a heart! I ache all over. Sister Allen had us cleaning the ward for hours today.’
Grace laughed. ‘And you’re complaining! I do that every day at the manor.’
‘Yes, but you’re used to it. I’m supposed to be nursing, not cleaning …’ Daisy stopped suddenly. ‘That’s it!’ she cried. ‘That’s the answer.’
‘What?’
‘You could come and work at the hospital!’ Daisy’s face was eager. ‘They’re crying out for VADs to help on the wards.’
‘VADs?’
‘Voluntary Aid Detachment. They’re like assistant nurses. You’d have to do some training classes, but I’m sure—’
But Grace was already shaking her head. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘What if it was too difficult? I haven’t got your education, remember?’
‘Being a VAD isn’t difficult. All you have to do is clean the ward, and make beds, and fetch and carry for the nurses. You’ve been doing that for his lordship and Lady Amelia for years!’
‘I suppose so …’ Grace frowned, considering it. ‘But I’m a bit nervous, thinking about it. I mean, I’ve never worked anywhere but up at the house.’
‘You’d soon get used to it,’ Daisy said. ‘Go on, it’ll be fun working together!’
Grace wished she had her sister’s confidence. Daisy might be two years younger, but she was far more self-assured. ‘And you really think I’d be able to manage it?’
‘Of course. And I’d be there to help you, wouldn’t I?’ Daisy stood up, and started to help with the empty dishes. ‘Promise you’ll think about it, anyway?’
‘I will,’ said Grace.
By the time she’d finished talking to her sister and feeding the chickens, Grace was late for the WVS meeting. Sorting was already underway in the village hall, with groups of women seated at long trestle tables, each one piled with clothes and cardboard boxes.
Grace had hoped she might be able to sneak in unnoticed, but Mrs Huntley-Osborne bore down on her immediately.
‘Ah, there you are, Grace. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.’ Her smile was fixed. ‘We did say six o’clock?’
‘Sorry,’ Grace mumbled, taking off her coat.
‘Well, at least you’re here now. Go and join your friend Mrs Kemp over there, will you? I think she’s been keeping a space for you.’
Pearl Kemp was Grace’s oldest friend. They had gone to the village school together and then into service at Billinghurst Manor until Pearl married when she was eighteen. Now she was a plump, happy farmer’s wife with two children.
‘Did you get a lecture from Mrs Huntley-Osborne?’ she
asked, as Grace joined her. ‘Was she very cross?’
‘Not too bad. I only got the smile, not the eyes.’ She did a quick impression of Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s rictus grin. Pearl snorted with laughter, which earned them both another disapproving look from the woman herself.
Grace sat down. ‘What are we doing?’
‘Sorting through this lot, and putting aside anything that needs to be mended.’ Pearl nodded to the table at the far side of the room, where Mrs Huntley-Osborne was sitting with her closest cronies, Miss Pomfrey, Miss Wheeler and Mrs Urquart. ‘Look at them. I bet they’re keeping all the best stuff for themselves.’
‘I know Lady Amelia contributed some lovely clothes,’ Grace said.
‘There you are, then. I expect Mrs Urquart has already helped herself to anything worth having, the greedy old witch.’
‘They’d never fit her. Unlike these …’ Grace held up a pair of voluminous pink silk bloomers.
Pearl shrieked with laughter. ‘Oh, no! They’re not sending those to the poor refugees, are they? As if they didn’t have enough unhappiness in their lives, without having to wear Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s drawers!’
‘Do you think they’re hers, then?’
‘Well, they’re not Miss Pomfrey’s, are they? She’s as thin as a rake.’
‘We should put them aside,’ Grace said. ‘We could send them to the RAF to use as a parachute!’
They both wept with laughter, and Grace mopped her eyes with the bloomers then realised what she’d done and they laughed even harder. They were still giggling helplessly when Mrs Huntley-Osborne called over.
‘Is something amusing, ladies?’
‘No, Mrs Huntley-Osborne,’ they chorused solemnly.
‘Blimey, it’s like being back at school!’ Pearl complained, when she’d gone. ‘It’s bad enough we have to give up our spare time, without being glared at for having a laugh!’
‘I could do with a laugh,’ Grace sighed, tucking a lock of sandy hair behind her ears.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘My call-up papers arrived in the post this morning.’
‘No! Oh, you poor thing. What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. Daisy said I should think about getting a job at the hospital, but I’m not sure I’ve got the brains for it.’
Pearl didn’t reply for a moment as she inspected the seam on a skirt. Then she said, ‘You know, it might be good for you if you did have to leave the village.’
‘Oh, yes? How do you work that out, then?’
‘It might be just what you need. The chance to spread your wings, do something for yourself.’
Grace stared at her, shocked. ‘But what about my family?’
‘They’re not babies any more, Gracie. Ann’s what – ten years old? They’re more than able to manage. Besides, Daisy could help out, couldn’t she?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Daisy’s got enough on her plate with her nursing.’
‘She could still help you out a bit more.’
‘She does her fair share.’ Grace ignored her friend’s old-fashioned look. She knew Pearl didn’t approve of Daisy. ‘A proper little madam’ she’d called her on more than one occasion. Grace knew Daisy could be a bit thoughtless at times, but she had a good heart underneath it all.
Besides, if she did have grand ideas about herself, then Grace had encouraged them. Daisy had a good brain in her head, and Grace had been happy for her to stay at school and better herself instead of leaving early and helping to support the family. It had been a strain, but it was worth it when she qualified as a nurse. Grace was very proud of her clever sister.
At the end of the evening, Mrs Huntley-Osborne thanked them for their efforts, and reminded them that there was another paper salvage drive the following week.
‘I expect everyone to take part and do their bit,’ she warned, her gaze sweeping the village hall like a searchlight.
Pearl rolled her eyes. ‘She’s never satisfied, is she?’ she whispered.
‘May I also remind you that Miss Wheeler will be giving a talk on thrifty cookery next Thursday,’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne continued. ‘I think it’s something we will all benefit from.’
‘What does Miss Wheeler know about thrifty cookery?’ Pearl said. ‘Her maid does everything for her, she hasn’t had to boil an egg in years.’ She turned to Grace. ‘You should do that talk,’ she said.
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’
‘Why not? Everyone knows you’re the best cook in the village. And I bet they’d rather listen to you than to Miss Wheeler.’
Grace shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know the first thing about standing up in front of all those people. I’d be a bag of nerves.’ She could feel herself turning crimson at the very idea.
‘You shouldn’t be so modest,’ Pearl said. ‘You’re capable of a lot more than you think, Grace Maynard. It’s about time you started having a bit more confidence in yourself.’
Perhaps she was right, Grace thought to herself as she made her way home later. Not about the cookery talk – she would rather sort through a thousand pairs of Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s bloomers than do that! But perhaps she was capable of more than she thought. Perhaps she might even be able to do that VAD’s job, if it was as easy as Daisy made out …
Chapter Five
‘I’M SO SORRY, ducks. I’m being a terrible nuisance, I know.’
Hilda Reynolds looked up at Jess. She was sixty-three years old and a gentle little woman. Even though pernicious anaemia had taken all the strength from her body, her true cockney spirit still shone in her bright eyes.
Jess had a soft spot for her, and not just because they came from the same back streets of Bethnal Green. The poor old girl was very ill and very far from home.
‘I wouldn’t have said anything, but I’ve felt that bad since I woke up this morning,’ Hilda went on, looking wretched.
Jess laid a cloth over the receiving dish and set it aside, then gently wiped Hilda’s chin with a damp flannel. ‘You should have told us earlier you felt sick.’
‘I mentioned it to Sister, but she didn’t take much notice. I s’pose she’s right, ain’t she? I mean, a bit of sickness is to be expected.’
Jess put a comforting hand on Hilda’s back, feeling the knobbled arch of her spine through her flannel nightgown. She was barely skin and bone because she couldn’t keep any food down. It was all Jess could do to get her to take her liver extract.
‘All the same, that’s what we’re here for,’ she said.
‘You’re very kind, love, but I didn’t want to be any trouble. I can see how busy you are. I noticed a couple more arrived this morning?’
Late November had brought an epidemic of broncho-pneumonia to the Female Medical ward. Suddenly every bed was full, with extra beds arranged down the middle of the room to accommodate the patients who seemed to arrive every day, either from the village or on one of the Green Line buses sent down from London.
Jess and Daisy spent their working hours in a flurry of changing beds, applying poultices, tepid sponging and setting up steam kettles.
‘Anyone from London?’ Hilda enquired hopefully.
‘Mrs Briggs is, I think. But she’s so poorly I haven’t had a chance to chat to her.’
‘It’ll be nice to have a bit of company.’ Hilda smiled weakly up at Jess. ‘I miss the old Smoke, y’know.’
‘So do I, Mrs Reynolds.’ A week had passed, and although Jess had settled into the new routine, she still hadn’t settled into her surroundings. She loathed the countryside, with its unearthly quiet and strange smells. People reckoned London stank, but Jess would have swopped the reek of manure for the smell of the tanning works and the glue factory any day.
‘I miss my family, too. I wish my Jean could get down to see me, but it’s so difficult for her, with the kids. Did I tell you, she’s working part-time on the buses now? I’d like to see that, my Jean driving a bus—’
‘Nurse Jago!’ Sister’s voice rang out acro
ss the ward. ‘Come here immediately.’
Jess glanced at Hilda. The poor woman looked terrified.
‘Oh, lor’, that’s done it,’ she whispered. ‘You ain’t in trouble, are you, love?’
‘Of course not, Mrs R. How could I be in trouble for doing my job?’ Jess smoothed down her apron. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Shout out if you feel sick again.’
Sister Allen was waiting for her at the desk, a thunderous expression on her face.
‘I thought I told you to prepare the new patient … Miss Pomfrey?’ she snapped.
‘I was on my way, Sister, but Mrs Reynolds called out that she felt sick, so I thought I’d better attend to her first.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Sister Allen’s eyes were pinpricks of venom. ‘When I give you an order, I expect you to carry it out immediately, do you understand? Not when you have a moment, or when you feel like getting around to it!’
‘Yes, but Mrs Reynolds—’
‘Mrs Reynolds is always complaining about something!’ Sister Allen cut her off. ‘The Londoners do nothing but moan, in my experience. They want everyone’s attention all the time.’
The muscles in Jess’s jaw ached from the effort of not answering back.
‘I’ll get on and prepare Miss Pomfrey,’ she said tightly.
‘See that you do,’ Sister said. ‘And remember what I said, Jago. The next time I give you an order, I expect it to be carried out immediately. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘I’ll be watching you.’
Miss Pomfrey was to occupy a bed at the far end of the ward. She was sitting upright in the bedside chair, her bag at her feet.
‘You took your time,’ were her first words to Jess as she pulled the screens around them.
Good morning to you, too, Jess thought. ‘Yes, well, I’m here now, aren’t I?’ She fixed on her brightest smile. ‘Let’s get you into bed, shall we?’
Jess was surprised that Phyllis Pomfrey had been admitted with her varicose veins when they were crying out for beds. But even though she was by no means the most seriously ill patient on the ward, she still had a great deal to say for herself. As she told Jess, she was a retired nurse, and she knew how things should be done. And she didn’t hesitate to point out where Jess was going wrong. She was too rough, too quick, the water she used to wash her was too cold, the pillows weren’t arranged properly and Miss Pomfrey’s leg wasn’t propped up high enough.
Nightingales Under the Mistletoe Page 4
