‘But only if you’re a good boy and eat all your breakfast,’ Nanny Perks put in, thoroughly disgruntled.
After breakfast, Millie went up to the house to see William. She made a point of meeting him a couple of times a week, to find out if there were any problems there. If a pipe burst or a roof tile came loose, she would rather know about it before the rot set in to the timberwork.
This time she had to tell him they were spending the weekend with Seb’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Claremont.
Millie couldn’t feel enthusiastic about the prospect. Even though she was the daughter of an earl herself, she always felt like a poor country cousin visiting her in-laws. They were so frightfully grand, and Millie had got used to living such a simple life, that she wasn’t sure she would even know how to conduct herself in sophisticated company any more.
But she knew her grandmother couldn’t wait to stay in a ‘real’ house again. Lady Rettingham loathed the Lodge, with its cramped rooms and only one part-time maid to order about. But Millie quite liked it. The rooms were nothing like as splendid as those in the main house, but they were a great deal more practical to look after, and a lot easier to heat, too. On cold winter nights, it was an absolute luxury for her to go to bed in a cosy bedroom instead of suffering the damp and draughts of her old room, with its inadequate fireplace and high ceilings. She didn’t envy the RAF officers at all, struggling with the ancient plumbing and inadequate heating system.
As she walked up the drive, a pair of pilots passed her and nodded in greeting. Millie could tell from their leather jackets and flying suits that they had been out on a mission that morning and were now heading up to the house to debrief and enjoy some much-needed breakfast and rest.
It astonished Millie how quickly their presence had become familiar to her. She had got used to the guards at the gates, the rumble of cars and lorries on the drive, and the drone of the planes swooping over the roof. She had got used to the people, too, the airmen and the ground crews and the female WAAFs in their smart slate-blue uniforms. She even knew some of them by name, as she had hosted a tea party to welcome them all to Billinghurst.
She went up the stairs into the house. The entrance hall had been transformed into a reception area and office. Two WAAFs sat at desks on either side of the hall, tapping away on their typewriters. Millie had met them both several times before. The dark-haired one was called Jennifer Franklin, and the blonde was a girl from Lancashire called Agnes Moss.
They both looked up and smiled at her. ‘Good morning, Lady Amelia,’ Franklin greeted her.
‘Good morning. Is Squadron Leader Tremayne free?’
‘I’m afraid he’s down at the airfield at present. Can someone else help you?’
‘Oh, no, it’s not important. I only wanted to let him know we’re going to be away for the weekend. Just in case anyone needs me for anything.’
‘I’ll be sure to let him know, Lady Amelia.’ Franklin jotted it down on the pad next to her.
‘Thank you.’ As Millie left, Agnes Moss said, ‘Are you going somewhere nice, your ladyship?’
Millie paused in the doorway. ‘We’re spending the weekend with my husband’s parents.’
‘Do they live in a house like this?’
Franklin frowned at her, but Millie didn’t mind. It seemed like a fair question. ‘Actually, Lyford is a lot grander than Billinghurst.’
‘All right for some! Have a smashing time, won’t you?’ Agnes Moss was smiling when she said it, but there was a glint in her eye that Millie didn’t understand.
‘Thank you.’
As Millie closed the front door, she heard laughter explode from inside.
‘Moss!’ she heard Franklin cry. ‘How could you? You nearly made me laugh out loud.’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ Moss said. ‘Did you hear it? “In case anyone needs me for anything.” As if the war couldn’t go on without her!’
‘Don’t be cruel!’ Franklin said, but she was still laughing.
‘Who does she think she is?’ Moss went on. ‘Swanning around here as if she’s part of the war effort. What’s she going to do if Hitler invades? Throw him a tea party?’
Millie stood rigid with shock. She wanted to run away but her legs wouldn’t move.
‘It’s William I feel sorry for,’ Moss continued. ‘She’s obviously got a thing for him, which is why she’s here every five minutes. It’s embarrassing.’
‘Poor woman,’ said Franklin.
‘Poor William, you mean! He can’t escape her. She’s everywhere you look.’
‘I feel rather sorry for her,’ Franklin said. ‘She’s obviously keen to make herself useful.’
‘Then she should find herself a proper job to do, and leave us to ours.’
‘You never know. Perhaps the novelty will wear off soon and she’ll go and play somewhere else. Where’s the tea trolley, by the way? I’m parched.’
The typing started again, rapid as machine-gun fire. Still Millie couldn’t move. She was so mortified, she wanted to melt into the doorframe so she couldn’t be seen.
She had thought she was being helpful by getting involved. She’d had no idea that everyone felt she was in the way.
Shame washed over her. Did William really think she had a thing for him, as Moss said? The very thought made Millie cringe.
She managed to get down the steps, hurrying as fast as she could to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. She got as far as the walled garden, and sat down on the stone bench around the ornamental fountain. The stone felt cold and rough, but the gentle burbling of the water relaxed her.
A couple of the ground crew went past and waved to her. Millie turned away to stare into the murky green depths of the pool. She couldn’t face them. Did they think the same as Moss, that she was just a silly, interfering woman with nothing better to do with her time? She’d thought they liked her, but now she could see they were just barely tolerating her, smiling to her face while all the time wishing she would go away and mind her own business.
Well, she would. From now on, she would keep herself to herself.
As she stood up, she realised what her fingers had been tracing in the rough stonework. She had thought the stone was crumbling away from age, but now she realised that the indentations were actually letters. She peered closer, trying to make out the words. KF, RD, FC … Not words, but initials. And dates, too, all of them within the last month.
Anger raced through her. Someone had defaced her property! Not only did they think she was a joke, they had vandalised her home, too.
She wanted to storm back to the house and have it out with them there and then, but she couldn’t face Agnes Moss’s sneering expression or Franklin’s quiet pity.
Millie stared back at the house behind her. What else had they done? she wondered. Played darts in the plasterwork and whittled their names in the oak staircase, she shouldn’t wonder. And to think she had worried that the house might seem unwelcoming, with its bare walls and boarded-up fireplaces. Now she wished she had boarded up the doors, too, so they couldn’t get in.
Her grandmother was right. Her father would never have stood for it. He would have resisted any attempt to have his house taken over. He certainly wouldn’t have tried to befriend the interlopers like Millie had, rushing around after them like a puppy waiting to have its tummy stroked.
But not any more.
She went back to the Lodge, still steaming with anger. Henry rushed to greet her, Nanny Perks following close behind.
‘I’m ready!’ he cried.
Millie stared at him blankly. It was only when she saw his riding clothes that she remembered her promise.
‘We’re not going,’ she said.
‘No!’ Henry cried.
‘But you promised the child,’ Nanny reminded her.
‘I know what I promised, but we can’t go.’ Her mind was already elsewhere, racing ahead. She would write a letter, she decided. Not to William, but to the
Wing Commander, telling him exactly what she thought. Or even to the Air Chief Marshal …
Henry’s lip stuck out. Seeing him hovering on the edge of tears, Millie tried to placate him.
‘Don’t cry, darling, please.’ She crouched down so her face was level with his. ‘We can do something else. I could teach you a new card game …’
‘Don’t want cards!’ Henry shouted. ‘I want to see the aeroplanes.’
‘Well, we can’t,’ Millie snapped. ‘We’re not going to see those wretched planes again, do you understand? It’s bad enough that we have to have them here at all.’
Henry’s face crumpled. He had never seen his mother lose her temper before, and Millie could see at once how much it frightened him.
‘Henry …’
She reached for him but he fled. Millie went to go after him, but Nanny Perks stopped her.
‘It’s better if I see to him.’ Her disapproving look said it all.
Millie sank down on the window seat, utterly wretched. Now her own son was frightened of her. She was a stupid, hopeless mother as well as everything else. Nanny Perks was quite right to treat her with contempt.
Her grandmother came in. ‘What on earth is all the shouting about?’
‘Nothing, Granny.’
Her grandmother peered at her. ‘Are you quite well, Amelia? You look as if you’ve been crying.’
She fished out her handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘I think I might be getting a cold, that’s all.’
Lady Rettingham’s inquisitive expression turned to one of dismay. ‘Please tell me you’re well enough to go to the Claremonts’?’ she said. ‘I don’t think I could bear it if we had to cancel our arrangements. I can’t wait to get away.’
Millie looked out of the window, at the landscape filled with slate-blue uniforms. ‘Neither can I, Granny,’ she said.
Chapter Thirteen
HILDA REYNOLDS DIED late on Friday morning.
Jess was in the middle of scrubbing the bathroom just before lunch when Sister Allen summoned her and announced matter-of-factly that Mrs Reynolds had been moved to one of the private rooms off the ward corridor, and that Jess would have to perform last offices.
‘I can’t spare anyone else to help you as it’s almost time for the midday meal,’ she said briskly. ‘And please be quick about it. I am off duty this afternoon, and I don’t want to be delayed.’
‘Of course, Sister. Heaven forbid you should be inconvenienced!’ Jess muttered as she vented her temper on stripping Mrs Reynolds’s bed, attacking the iron rails with Lysol and a scrubbing brush, as if she could scrub away her anger and sadness.
Poor Mrs Reynolds. And her poor daughter, too. Jean would be devastated that she’d missed her chance to say goodbye to her mother.
Hilda Reynolds looked perfectly peaceful, the blinds drawn so that the side room was filled with murky shadows. In spite of what Sister had said, Jess took her time, washing Hilda carefully, combing out her long, fine strands of hair and arranging them into two plaits, tied with white ribbon. It took her several attempts to get them right, as her hands were shaking with rage.
How she detested Sister Allen and this wretched hospital! She could never have imagined any ward sister in London, no matter how spiteful, denying a dying woman the joy of seeing her family for the last time. Especially when they’d travelled all day to see her. Miss Fox would never have allowed it, Jess decided.
But Miss Fox wasn’t here. Instead they had to put up with Miss Jenkins, who was every bit as vindictive as Sister Allen.
Jess had learned to put up with the rough treatment that all the London nurses received. But to make the patients suffer through no fault of their own was too much …
She dressed Hilda in a clean nightgown, and rolled white stockings up over her stick-thin legs. At least the poor woman was at peace from her dreadful illness now, although that wouldn’t be any consolation to her family. Jess wondered if she should write to Jean, to let her know that her mother hadn’t suffered? She knew the hospital would contact her, but felt as if she wanted to add her own condolences.
She was busy mentally composing a letter in her head when she heard Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s braying voice passing the door. She was on her way down the corridor.
Jess looked at the watch on her bib. It was nearly one o’clock. Sister Allen would have gone off duty by now.
She came out of the bathroom, rolling down her sleeves, and met Daisy.
‘Oh, hello,’ the other girl greeted her cheerfully. ‘Have you finished with Mrs Reynolds? Such a shame, isn’t it? We’ve just finished serving the meal, and Sister’s just gone off duty, so …’ Daisy must have seen the light of combat in Jess’s eyes because she stopped and said warily, ‘What’s wrong?’
She nodded in the direction of Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s broad rear, disappearing through the double doors to the ward. ‘What’s she doing here?’
‘Come to visit Miss Pomfrey, I expect. Now, shall I put the kettle on, or will you?’
‘In a minute. I’m going to have a word with Mrs Huntley-Osborne first.’
‘What? No, you can’t! Jago—’ But Daisy’s words were lost as Jess marched down the corridor.
Mrs Huntley-Osborne was already at Miss Pomfrey’s bedside when Jess caught up with her.
She cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
Mrs Huntley-Osborne turned to her. She was even more formidable up close, with that square jaw and her bulky body encased in tweed. The fox stole around her neck stared at Jess, glassy-eyed.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.
Jess stood her ground. ‘Visiting hours are Wednesdays and Sundays, from two until four. It is now –’ she looked at her watch again ‘– twenty-past one on a Friday afternoon. You shouldn’t be here.’
Ensconced in bed, Miss Pomfrey let out a little yelp of outrage. ‘Do you know who you’re talking to?’ she spluttered. ‘This is Mrs Huntley-Osborne!’
‘I don’t care if it’s the Queen of Sheba, she ain’t allowed here outside visiting time. Rules are rules,’ Jess parroted Sister Allen’s words firmly.
Mrs Huntley-Osborne drew herself up to her full height. ‘I will talk to Sister about this. Where is she?’
‘She ain’t here. Now, if you don’t leave immediately, I will call a porter to have you removed,’ said Jess.
She and Mrs Huntley-Osborne stood toe to toe, eyeballing each other. Jess barely came up to the other woman’s shoulder, but she refused to be intimidated. She was an East End girl, and she’d faced down tougher types than this old windbag.
But all the same, she was relieved when Mrs Huntley-Osborne turned away and snatched up her bag.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But, believe me, you haven’t heard the last of this. I shall be speaking to Matron.’
Daisy was hiding in the corridor, watching the scene unfold. She hurried after Jess as she returned to the bathroom.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed. ‘You can’t talk to Mrs Huntley-Osborne like that!’
‘Why not? I don’t think it’s fair to have one rule for one person, and another for everyone else.’ She took off her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves. ‘If Mrs Reynolds’s daughter can’t come in five minutes late, I don’t see why an old witch like that can turn up whenever she feels like it.’
‘Yes, but all the same … you do realise she’s going to go straight to Matron, don’t you?’ Daisy said.
‘What can she do?’ Jess shrugged.
A moment later, the ward telephone rang.
‘I think you’re just about to find out,’ Daisy replied.
Jess was still reeling from her bruising encounter with Matron as she left the hospital with Daisy and Effie after their shift finished at eight.
‘So she’s putting you on nights on the Fever Wards as punishment?’ Daisy laughed. ‘She must be utterly furious with you!’
‘She wasn’t best pleased,’ Jess sai
d.
It was an understatement. Miss Jenkins had been so incandescent with rage, Jess thought she was going to hurl herself across the desk that separated them.
‘Is this true, Nurse?’ she had demanded, her pale eyes bulging. ‘You had the temerity to eject Mrs Huntley-Osborne from the ward?’
‘It was out of visiting hours, Matron,’ Jess tried to defend herself, but Miss Jenkins was having none of it.
‘It is not for you to decide who should be where and when in this hospital. Mrs Huntley-Osborne happens to be Chair of the Hospital Fund-Raising Committee, as well as a dear personal friend of mine. I will not have her spoken to in such an offhand manner. I can only put it down to the fact that you have not been properly trained in how to deal with people. I could never imagine one of my own nurses …’
And so it went on. And all the while, Jess was aware of Mrs Huntley-Osborne standing behind Matron’s shoulder, a smug expression on her square-jawed face.
‘Poor Mrs Huntley-Osborne,’ Daisy giggled. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever said no to her.’
‘Then it’s about time someone did,’ Jess muttered. ‘Nasty old busybody, thinks she’s better than everyone else.’
‘Oh, no, I’ve just had a thought,’ Effie cried. ‘You do realise that you’ll probably be on nights over Christmas?’
Jess pulled a face. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Daisy said. ‘Christmas is always such fun on the wards, isn’t it? There’s the carol singing, and the presents, and the Christmas show …’
‘All right, you don’t have to rub it in!’ Jess said irritably.
‘Well, that settles it, then. If you’re going to spend the next few weeks in isolation, you’ve definitely got to come out with us tonight,’ Effie said. ‘No, don’t argue.’ She held up her hand as Jess started to protest. ‘You’ve got to have some fun, my girl. Go on, please? I’m sure Sam wouldn’t want you to shut yourself away for his sake.’
Jess considered it for a moment. ‘You’re right,’ she agreed.
‘Then you’ll come?’ Effie’s blue eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Oh, that’s grand!’
‘But I don’t want you trying to fix me up with anyone,’ Jess warned.
Nightingales Under the Mistletoe Page 9
