‘No, I can’t,’ Jess replied, and meant it. The story seemed fanciful, even for Effie. The boyfriend who had ditched her a couple of weeks before, suddenly turned up and popped the question. ‘It seems a bit rum for Kit to change his mind like that, don’t you think?’
‘He realised how much he loved me,’ Effie said simply. ‘You know what they say – absence makes the heart grow fonder?’
More like out of sight, out of mind in Kit’s case, Jess thought. He didn’t strike her as the marrying kind somehow.
But then, she thought, she was starting to make a habit of misjudging people.
‘Does your friend Connor know?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. I looked for him straight away, but he’d already gone. He didn’t stay too long, come to think of it,’ Effie said in a troubled tone.
‘At least he’ll be able to go home and tell your mum and dad that you’re engaged,’ Jess said.
‘Hmm,’ Effie replied thoughtfully. ‘I’m not sure how my daddy will feel about me marrying an Englishman – and a Protestant, too.’ She blew out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ll be glad when I turn twenty-one in three weeks. Then I can do as I please.’
Jess smiled in the darkness. Effie O’Hara tended to do as she pleased anyway.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Effie changed the subject. ‘You’ll never guess who turned up to the dance after you left? Dr Drake!’
‘What?’ Jess sat bolt upright in the dark.
‘Can you imagine? Talk about a fish out of water! He just walked in, stood there gawping around for a minute or two, then stomped out again. It was so funny. It’s a shame you and Maynard weren’t there to see it, you would have laughed.’
‘I wish I’d been there,’ Jess said quietly.
Poor Dr Drake. Shy as he was, it must have taken a great deal for him to walk into that crowded dance hall. She couldn’t imagine what he must think of her now …
Three dull thuds came out of nowhere, startling her out of her reverie. Effie squeaked in terror. ‘What was that?’
‘Sounds like someone knocking on the door.’
‘In the middle of the night?’ There was a rustle in the darkness as Effie pulled the covers up to her chin. ‘You don’t think it’s the Germans, do you?’
‘Germans wouldn’t march up and knock on the door, would they?’ Jess flung back the bedclothes and got out of bed.
She picked up her torch and went out into the hall. The beam picked out various other heads sticking out of bedroom doors down the length of the passage, most of them wearing crowns of spiky curlers.
At the far end of the passage, Miss Carrington emerged from her bedroom, swathed in a tartan dressing gown and looking cross.
‘Who on earth is calling at this time of night, disturbing everyone’s rest?’ she muttered, heading for the door on slippered feet. ‘Go back to bed, girls,’ she instructed.
Most of the heads shot back into their bedrooms, but something made Jess hesitate. She heard bolts being drawn and keys jingling as locks were turned. And then, finally, Miss Carrington said, ‘Yes? Who are you?’
‘I – I’m looking for Jess Jago.’
Jess hurried up the passage until she could see the doorway. There, just visible beyond Miss Carrington, was Sarah Newland, wearing an old overcoat, doubled over in pain.
‘Sarah?’
The girl looked up and spotted Jess. ‘Help me,’ she whimpered. ‘I think the baby’s coming!’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
EVERYTHING ELSE WAS forgotten as they all rallied round to help.
Miss Carrington ordered two of the nurses to take Sarah into the sick bay, and another to run down to the telephone box in the lane and call for an ambulance.
‘But the baby’s coming!’ Sarah wailed, struggling to catch her breath, gritting her teeth against the pain.
‘Then we’ll just have to do what we can, won’t we?’ Miss Carrington said grimly. ‘Nurse Carr, go and fetch my medical bag from my room. Jefferson and Bevan, we’ll need to make up the bed with a mackintosh sheet, and plenty of newspaper for the floor as well. Now, which of you girls has done her midwifery training?’
Two hands shot up. ‘Excellent. One of you can prepare the room while the other prepares this – the patient.’ She eyed Sarah dubiously.
The nurses set about boiling water and gathering up bowls, rubber gloves, cotton wool swabs, disinfectant and towels. In less than five minutes the sick bay was prepared and Sarah had been persuaded out of her overcoat, washed, and a clean nightgown had been found for her.
‘Is there anything I can do, Sister?’ Jess asked, as Miss Carrington emerged from her room, having dressed in her uniform.
‘Are you trained in midwifery, Jago?’
‘No, Sister.’
‘Then it’s best you stay out of the way.’
No sooner had she said it than Sarah screeched out, ‘Jess! I want Jess.’
Miss Carrington lifted her brows heavenwards. ‘It seems you’re required after all,’ she said.
Jess followed her into the sick bay, where one of the midwifery nurses was examining Sarah. She turned to Miss Carrington, eyes bulging in her pale face. ‘Sister, I think the baby’s coming.’
‘Well, yes, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’ Miss Carrington washed her hands in the first of a line of enamel bowls that had been set out on the chest of drawers.
‘No, Sister, I mean – look!’
Miss Carrington turned around in time to see the bloodied crown of a head appearing between Sarah’s spread-eagled legs.
‘Good lord!’ she exclaimed, losing her composure for a fraction of a second. ‘Come along, Nurses, there isn’t a moment to waste!’
Jess barely had time to reach Sarah’s bedside and grasp her hand before she screamed again. Jess’s fingers were crushed in a vice-like grip until they lost all feeling, and a moment later a baby, bluish-red, smeared with blood and waxy vernix, slithered into the world.
‘It’s a girl!’ Miss Carrington raised her voice over the baby’s outraged cries. She looked dazed, poor woman. And no wonder – she hadn’t delivered the child so much as caught it.
‘A girl.’ Sarah smiled dreamily. ‘I’ve got a baby girl.’
Miss Carrington blinked hard. ‘Let’s cut the cord, shall we?’
They cut the cord and one of the nurses went off to wash the baby and find something warm to wrap her in, while Effie went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea for the new mother.
‘I’m sorry – about what I said earlier,’ Sarah murmured to Jess through dry, pale lips.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Jess squeezed her hand lightly. ‘You were right, I shouldn’t have interfered.’
‘You were only trying to help. I suppose I’m just – not used to it.’ Sarah’s eyelids drooped and her head began to loll on her slender neck.
Poor girl, Jess thought. She was worn out. But then she saw the blood blossoming on the sheet between Sarah’s legs like a giant crimson flower.
‘Sister, she seems to be bleeding rather a lot … And she’s gone very pale all of a sudden.’
‘Let me see.’ Miss Carrington remained utterly calm, but there was a slight tremor in her voice as she said, ‘Yes, she does seem to be haemorrhaging more than I would expect. We’ll try manual manipulation until the ambulance arrives.’
But nothing they could do would stem the tide that flowed out of Sarah.
‘She must have torn an artery when she delivered so quickly,’ one of the nurses, Janet Carr, whispered to Jess. ‘I saw it happen once in training. It was awful.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, she died, of course, but …’ The nurse stopped herself, realising what she’d said. ‘I’m sure your friend will be all right,’ she said quickly.
I’m not, Jess thought. Sarah seemed to be fading before her eyes, her face taking on a worrying ashen look.
‘I’m going to – die – aren’t I?’ she said to Jess, her voice barely above a whisper.
The shadow of a smile curved the corners of Sarah’s lips. ‘I don’t want her to grow up – in an orphanage,’ she said. ‘I don’t – want her to be – like me.’
‘She won’t,’ Jess said. ‘She’s got a mum who loves her.’
Sarah’s eyes drifted closed, then snapped open again. ‘I want you to do – something for me. The ring …’ She lifted her hand and listlessly clawed at her throat, searching for it.
‘It’s here, ducks.’ Jess picked it up from the bedside locker, where the nurse who had prepared Sarah had left it.
She tried to give it to Sarah, but she shook her head. ‘Take it back – to her,’ she murmured, eyes drooping again. ‘Tell her … tell her I’m sorry for everything …’
The ambulance arrived, and the next moment Jess was being ushered from the room as they got to work putting Sarah on a stretcher. The last thing Jess saw was her pale face, as cold and white as alabaster, as she was carried out.
Thankfully Sarah made it through the night, but the next morning she was still in a very bad way. Janet Carr had been right, she’d suffered a traumatic haemorrhage brought on by her baby’s sudden and dramatic birth. Mr Cooper the Senior Surgical Officer had operated to stitch up the torn artery but Sarah had still lost a lot of blood, and no one seemed to know if she would pull through or not.
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if she weren’t so weak and malnourished,’ Janet Carr told Jess when she went up to the Maternity Ward to check on the patient during her break. ‘I’m not sure she’s got any fight left in her.’
‘Oh, she’s a fighter, all right,’ Jess said. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’
‘What about the baby? Have you seen her?’
Jess nodded. ‘I popped down to the nursery before I came up here. She’s doing well.’ Considering the child was a month early she was already as bright as a button, with her a shock of black hair and her mother’s green eyes.
‘Well, I hope she pulls through, for the baby’s sake,’ Janet said. But she didn’t seem convinced.
Jess thought about the ring in her pocket, and the promise she had made to Sarah.
If anything happens to me …
Perhaps Sarah felt the ring was cursed, she thought. After all, she hadn’t had much luck since she’d stolen it. Perhaps that was why she wanted to give it back, in the hope that her fortunes would change.
Mrs Huntley-Osborne lived in a grand Georgian house at the far end of the main street, with a commanding view of the village. So she could keep an eye on her subjects, Jess thought.
Jess wasn’t looking forward to seeing the woman again. But she had made a promise to Sarah, and she meant to keep it.
The maid showed her into an elegant drawing room with pale lemon walls and dove-grey silk upholstery. A grand piano dominated the room, its polished ebony surface covered with a forest of photographs in silver frames. There were pictures of Mrs Huntley-Osborne as a young girl, playing tennis and sitting astride a horse. There was a wedding photograph, and various pictures of a timid-looking man Jess took to be the late Mr Huntley-Osborne.
But most of the photographs were of the same subject: a handsome dark-haired boy. There were pictures of him as a baby in rompers, of him as a schoolboy winning a prize, in a student’s cap and gown. The biggest was one of him looking smart in a Royal Navy uniform, smiling at the camera, a proud glint in his dark eyes.
Jess picked it up and studied it. This must be Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s son, she decided. Now she came to look more closely, she could see he had his mother’s prominent brow and long nose. But somehow it looked better on him.
‘Put that down!’
Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s cry nearly made Jess drop the photograph. She stood in the doorway, her steely gaze fixed on Jess.
‘I was only looking.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t touch anything.’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne advanced into the room and took the photograph from her. She wiped an invisible mark off the silver frame with her sleeve, then replaced it carefully on the piano, in exactly the same position. ‘My maid said you wanted to see me. You’ll have to make it quick, I’m due at a committee meeting in half an hour.’
‘I won’t keep you. I only came to give you this …’
Jess handed her the ring. Mrs Huntley-Osborne stared down at it, a curious look on her face.
‘Where did you get this?’ she asked.
‘Sarah gave it to me. She said she wanted you to have it back.’ Jess looked at her. ‘It is the one she took from you, isn’t it?’
‘It’s my mother’s ring.’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne didn’t take her eyes from it, turning it round and round in her fingers. ‘And she told you to give this to me, you say?’
Jess watched her warily, a thought occurring to her. ‘She won’t be in any trouble, will she? Not now she’s given it back?’
Mrs Huntley-Osborne looked up at her blankly. ‘But I don’t understand … why would she return it?’
Jess shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just wanted to make amends, I suppose.’ She paused. ‘She’s in hospital. She gave birth to her baby last night.’
The other woman frowned. ‘But surely the child wasn’t due for another month?’
‘She was born early. Took us all by surprise, she did.’
‘She?’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne interrupted. ‘It’s a girl? How is she?’
‘She’s very well. I just wish I could say the same for her poor mother.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with her?’
Jess stared at her, surprised. For someone who loathed Sarah, this woman was taking a great interest in her suddenly.’ She’s fighting for her life. The birth was very traumatic … We still don’t know if she’s going to pull through or not.’
‘How very – unfortunate.’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s stiff mask was back in place.
‘Yes, it is,’ Jess agreed. ‘If Sarah dies, that baby won’t have a soul left in the world.’
‘I suppose not.’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s gaze shifted to the photographs on the piano. She seemed lost in thought, oblivious to Jess and everything around her.
Jess followed the other woman’s gaze towards the photograph of the good-looking sailor. ‘Is that your son?’ she said.
Mrs Huntley-Osborne nodded. ‘Clifford.’
‘He’s very handsome.’
Mrs Huntley-Osborne gave her a sad smile. ‘He was. He was killed in the North Atlantic six months ago.’
Jess looked at the young man in the photograph and then back at Mrs Huntley-Osborne. And suddenly everything clicked into place.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘IT WASN’T THE ring,’ she said.
Mrs Huntley-Osborne shot her a sharp look. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It wasn’t the ring that Sarah stole from you, was it? It was him. Your son.’
Something very precious, she’d said. Something that could never be replaced. At the time, Jess had assumed she was talking about a valuable piece of jewellery. But now, seeing Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s face, she realised that the ring meant little to her compared to the loss of her son.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne said, but her face betrayed her.
‘What happened?’ Jess said. ‘Did he fall in love with Sarah?’
‘I think it’s time you left.’ She reached for the bell to summon the maid, but Jess didn’t move.
‘I suppose that must have been difficult for you to accept, your son falling in love with the housemaid.’
‘He didn’t fall in love with her!’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne snapped. ‘If you must know, Sarah trapped him. Clifford was an impressionable young man, and she managed to twist him round her little finger. By the time I realised what was going on, she was pregnant. And of course, just as she’d planned, Clifford felt he had to do right by her.’ Mrs Hunt
ley-Osborne’s mouth was a tight, bitter line.
‘So he gave her the ring?’
‘He had no right to do that – and she had no right to take it. Scheming little minx!’ Her face was taut. ‘Sarah knew exactly what she was doing. She stole my son from me.’
‘Has it ever occurred to you that he wanted to marry her because he loved her?’
Mrs Huntley-Osborne turned on Jess, temper flaring. ‘How could he possibly be in love with that – that creature?’ Her mouth curled. ‘I brought him up better than that. He was well educated, cultured. I made sure he went to the best school and the best university money could buy. He had ambition, he was going to be a doctor. How could someone like my son ever fall in love with a workhouse girl who could barely write her own name?’
Mrs Huntley-Osborne had answered her own question, Jess thought. If Clifford Huntley-Osborne had grown up being pushed through life by an ambitious, forceful mother, he might well be attracted to a girl who was completely the opposite.
‘Sarah might not have been educated, but she wasn’t stupid,’ Mrs Huntley-Osborne went on. ‘Oh, no, she was as cunning as a sewer rat. The way she pursued him … Clifford had another girlfriend at the time … Evelyn Allen, the ward sister at the hospital? But once Sarah Newland got her claws into him, he dropped poor Evelyn completely. And she was such a nice girl, too.’
There was nothing nice about Sister Allen, Jess thought. Poor Clifford had had a lucky escape. But Sister Allen and his mother were both cut from the same cloth. Mrs Huntley-Osborne had probably hand picked his wife-to-be for him, the way she’d picked his expensive education.
And perhaps Clifford had been willing to go along with it, until Sarah Newland came along and showed him there might be a different way to live his life. She was his last, bold bid for freedom.
Jess could understand why Mrs Huntley-Osborne might dislike the girl so much. Not only did she have to cope with the shame of having a housemaid for a daughter-in-law, and a pregnant one at that, but Sarah was a free spirit, who wouldn’t be controlled like Evelyn Allen.
Nightingales Under the Mistletoe Page 26
