The Nightingale Sisters

by Donna Douglas

  They smiled at each other. Millie was glad the tension over his birthday had been forgotten, and they were back to the way they used to be.

  ‘You sound like my grandmother. She’s always saying my Aunt Victoria can’t really be an artist because she’s never been able to paint a passable bowl of fruit . . . Seb?’ She frowned, aware he was no longer listening to her, but staring over her shoulder.

  Millie turned to see why, and her heart sank. There, on the other side of the room, was William Tremayne.

  ‘What is he doing here?’ Seb muttered, his smile disappearing.

  ‘Heaven knows. I didn’t realise he and Sophia mixed in the same circles . . . oh, he’s coming over. Be nice, won’t you?’ begged Millie.

  ‘I’ll be utterly charming,’ he replied, his jaw clenched.

  Millie glanced at him worriedly as William approached.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said. ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’

  ‘I completely agree,’ Seb said. Millie shot him a warning look, but luckily William didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘I was supposed to be meeting Phil. I believe she is acquainted with your brother-in-law’s family in some way?’ he said to Seb. ‘But she isn’t here. I fear she may have stood me up,’ he sighed.

  ‘Oh, dear, how dreadful. Perhaps she’s been delayed?’

  ‘Or had a better offer.’ He smiled tolerantly. ‘Philippa is a creature of impulse,’ he explained.

  She sounds extremely tiresome, Millie thought. But as William was clearly so besotted, she thought it better not to say anything.

  Seb drained his drink. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I must go and introduce myself to that publisher, otherwise my sister will despair of me. It was nice meeting you again,’ he said to William.

  They both stared after him as he pushed his way through the crowd. ‘Why do I get the impression your fiancé dislikes me?’ William asked.

  Millie was about to tell him about Seb’s silly jealousy, but stopped herself. It was all too absurd for words, and she didn’t want to create even more tension and ruin the evening.

  But the spell had still been broken. She and Seb did their best, mingling with the other guests, laughing and chatting and trying to enjoy themselves. But everything seemed such a strain, and Millie didn’t know why. It was as if William’s presence had a depressing effect on Seb, dampening his spirits.

  It was almost a relief when the end of the evening came, and it was time for them to leave.

  ‘We must say goodbye to Sophia,’ Millie said, looking around. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘David said she was upstairs, having a rest. I think the party has been more taxing for her than she thought,’ Seb replied.

  ‘I’m not surprised. I’ll go up and see her.’

  Millie made her way up the stairs to the second floor. ‘Sophia?’ she called out softly.

  ‘In here,’ came a feeble voice.

  Millie opened the door and found herself in a grand bedroom, straight out of a Hollywood film, luxurious in shades of white and ivory. The ivory satin cover on the wide gilt-trimmed bed was ruffled, but there was no sign of Sophia.

  Millie called to her again.

  A door opened and Sophia stood in the doorway of her dressing room, clutching the frame for support. She’d changed into a dove-grey silk peignoir that perfectly matched the colour of her face.

  ‘What is it?’ Millie flew to her side. ‘Sophia, what’s the matter?’

  But one look at her friend’s stricken expression and she already knew the answer.

  ‘Oh, God, Millie!’ Sophia whispered, her voice hoarse with pain. ‘I think . . . I think the baby’s coming!’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘BUT IT CAN’T be,’ Millie said. ‘It’s not due for at least another month, surely?’

  ‘I know!’ Sophia wailed. ‘Do something!’

  She fought down her feeling of panic and forced herself to think. ‘Should we call for Sir Charles?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s time for that—’ Sophia stopped talking and caught her breath for a moment. ‘The pains are coming quite often now,’ she gasped.

  ‘How often?’

  ‘All the . . . time.’ She looked at Millie anxiously. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it?’ She grabbed her arm. ‘The baby can’t come now, it can’t! Oh, God, this is all my fault!’

  ‘I’ll fetch help—’ Millie started for the door, but Sophia held on to her arm, fingers biting into her flesh.

  ‘Nooo! Don’t leave me! You’re a nurse, you can help me.’

  ‘I can’t deliver a baby on my own. I haven’t had any obstetrics training. I’ll be back in one minute, I promise. Just hold on.’

  ‘How am I supposed to do that – oh, God!’ She doubled up as another wave of pain hit her. ‘Hurry up!’ she urged through clenched teeth.

  Seb was waiting in the hall, Millie’s velvet evening cape draped over his arm.

  He turned to look up at her as she came down the stairs. ‘Did you find—’ His smile disappeared. ‘Millie, what is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve got to find William.’ She hurried into the drawing room, Seb following, and scanned the crowd. William was over by the window, charming a rather inebriated actress. Millie rushed over and grabbed his arm, pulling him aside.

  ‘You’ve got to come,’ she whispered. ‘Sophia’s gone into early labour.’

  ‘Are you sure? Pregnant woman can have false pains for several weeks . . .’

  ‘These are not false pains, believe me!’ She tugged at his sleeve. ‘Come on, William, or I’m worried she’ll give birth before we get back!’

  William stared at her tense face. ‘I’ll get my bag from the car.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Seb asked.

  ‘Warn her husband what’s going on, and get him to telephone this specialist of hers,’ William said. ‘And for heaven’s sake, get rid of all these people!’

  Seb’s face clouded at the curtness of his order. But then he turned on his heel and hurried off.

  Millie made to follow him, but William caught her by the sleeve.

  ‘You’re coming upstairs with me.’

  ‘But I can’t do anything! I’ve never delivered a baby in my life.’

  ‘Let’s hope Sir Charles Ingham gets here before it comes to that,’ William said grimly.

  Sophia had managed to get herself on to the bed by the time they reached her. ‘Oh, thank God!’ she wept when she saw them. ‘It’s definitely coming, I can feel it. Mother will kill me, I know she will!’

  That’s the least of your worries, Millie thought, as William put down his bag, took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. As he moved around, he was already issuing instructions.

  ‘We’re going to need plenty of hot water, bowls and jugs, nail brushes, towels, perchloride of mercury lotion – you’ll find it in my bag,’ he added, as Millie looked blank, ‘carbolic soap, towels, antiseptic gauze, wool and some cold sterilised water.’ He muttered in a rapid undertone, ‘You’ll also need to sterilise a catheter ready for use, clean and shave the patient and give her an enema.’

  Millie’s head was spinning as she hurried around, trying to get everything together while William scrubbed up in the bathroom.

  He returned, his worried frown replaced by the reassuring, professional smile she had seen so many times. ‘Right, your ladyship,’ he said briskly. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’

  He drew back the coverlet and examined her as Millie mixed up the soap solution for the enema. When he looked back at her, his face was as white as the satin bedspread.

  ‘What?’ Sophia cried, seeing his expression. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother doing that, Nurse,’ he said, keeping his voice steady with an effort. ‘I don’t think there’s going to be time.’

  No sooner had he said the words than Sophia drew up her knees and let out an ear-splitting scream that seemed to
go on for ever, echoing around the house and bouncing off the walls.

  A second later, a fist crashed against the bedroom door and David shouted, ‘What’s going on in there?’

  Millie slipped outside. David and Seb stood on the landing, both looking lost and worried.

  ‘Seb said the baby’s coming?’ David’s face was tense. ‘I called Sir Charles, but he’s attending a birth in Berkshire. What should I do? Shall I call an ambulance?’

  ‘There isn’t time.’

  His face lost what little colour it had. ‘What? You mean – it’s happening now?’ He glanced towards the door and back at her. ‘Oh God, will Sophia be all right?’

  ‘She’ll be fine—’ Another ear-splitting scream gave the lie to Millie’s words.

  David swallowed hard, his face pale. ‘Just save her, please,’ he begged.

  ‘Millie!’ William shouted from the other side of the door. ‘I need you in here.’

  She looked at Seb, who put his arm around his brother-in-law’s shoulders. ‘Come on, old man, let’s go downstairs and have a brandy.’

  With a last, pleading glance at Millie, David turned and allowed himself to be guided away. Seb looked over his shoulder at Millie.

  ‘Please do what you can for her,’ he mouthed.

  ‘We will,’ Millie nodded.

  She returned as Sophia was recovering from another contraction. As the pain released her from its grip, she collapsed back against the pillows, sweating and exhausted.

  ‘Not long now, I think,’ William said encouragingly. ‘You’re doing very well, your ladyship. Try to rest between the contractions as much as you can.’

  Sophia shot him a stony look. ‘Given the situation we find ourselves in, I think you might call me by my name.’

  Mercifully for all of them, it was a very quick delivery. Millie barely had time to finish sterilising all the instruments before the tiny, limp body slithered into the world.

  ‘It’s a boy,’ William said.

  As he clamped the cord, he caught Millie’s eye. One look at his solemn face, and her heart plummeted.

  ‘Is he . . . is he all right?’ Sophia looked from one to the other of them. ‘He isn’t crying . . . why isn’t he crying? I thought babies always cried?’

  She struggled to sit up but Millie came to her side and held her gently by the shoulders, easing her back against the pillows. Sophia’s peignoir clung to her, damp with sweat. ‘He just needs a little bit of help to get his breathing started, I expect. Just try to rest.’

  But Sophia fought her off. ‘I want to see him,’ she insisted. ‘I want to see my son!’

  Millie shot a look over her shoulder at William, who was briskly rubbing at the baby’s tiny chest with the flat of his hand. His hair flopped over his eyes and he pushed it back with one wrist before carrying on.

  ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ Sophia murmured through dry, grey lips. ‘My baby is dead—’

  Just at that moment a thin, reedy cry drifted across the room. William turned to look at them, his dark eyes blazing triumphantly in his pale, sweating face.

  ‘You have a healthy son, Lady Trent,’ he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

  Sophia burst into tears, as did Millie. Still sniffing them back, she quickly washed the baby and wrapped him in one of the new blankets monogrammed with the family crest that Sophia had ordered especially.

  ‘You’re a lucky little boy,’ whispered Millie.

  She carried the baby across the room and laid him in his mother’s waiting arms. Sophia stared down at him, speechless with emotion.

  ‘We’ll clean up a bit, then let the proud father in, shall we?’ William said.

  When Millie opened the door a few minutes later, David was already standing breathless on the landing.

  ‘I heard a baby crying,’ he said. ‘Is it—’

  Millie smiled. ‘It’s a boy.’

  ‘Good God! Really?’ The expression of joy on his face made her want to cry again. ‘Can I see him?’ asked David, his voice thick with emotion.

  He already had tears streaming down his face by the time he laid eyes on his son for the first time.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ he said, over and over again.

  ‘I’m just relieved we were here and able to help,’ William replied. He gathered up his bag and he and Millie crept out of the room, leaving the new parents alone together.

  It wasn’t until they were out on the landing and the bedroom door had closed behind them that he let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

  ‘Thank God,’ he said, rubbing his brow. ‘I was so scared—’

  ‘Me too.’ Her limbs were shaking as if she’d just run up a mountain. ‘But we did it,’ she said.

  ‘So we did.’ They looked at each other. Then, at exactly the same moment, they let out a shout of joy and relief.

  They were still grinning foolishly at each other when Seb appeared at the foot of the stairs. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he called, ‘but my mother is on the telephone. She wants to know if there’s any news?’

  ‘Tell her she has a grandson,’ William called back. He turned to Millie. ‘Seriously, I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘Was it really your first delivery?’

  ‘I’ve only helped out in the hospital, with the consultant looking on. You were a marvel at keeping everyone calm. Including me.’

  ‘Now you can tick “Delivering a baby” on my training record!’

  ‘Maybe you should tick it on mine, too?’

  ‘You can’t imagine how nerve-racking it was, Seb. I really thought we were—’ Millie turned round to him, but he had gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘HAVE YOU SEEN my newspaper?’

  Sister Wren was pacing the passageway of the Sisters’ block in her dressing gown when Violet returned from night duty. Most of the nurses looked better out of uniform, but Sister Wren’s sparse, ashy curls did nothing to soften the sharp angles of her little face.

  ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t.’

  Sister Wren tutted. ‘That wretched newspaper boy must be late. Typical!’ Without another word she flounced off, slamming the door of her room behind her so hard the frame rattled.

  Good morning to you, too, Violet thought, letting herself into her own flat.

  ‘Oliver?’ There was no reply. He must still be asleep, she thought. ‘Come on, sleepyhead, it’s time to get—’

  The room was empty.

  Every nerve, muscle and sinew sprang instantly to life. ‘Oliver!’ She ran around the flat, throwing open doors and calling his name, over and over again. ‘Oliver, where are you?’

  She rushed out into the passageway, still calling to him. All the time her mind was racing, knowing her worst nightmare had come true.

  ‘Violet, what is it?’ Sister Blake emerged from her room, tying the strings of her cap under her chin.

  ‘Oliver’s been taken!’

  ‘Taken? What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘I mean he’s gone . . . missing,’ she amended quickly.

  ‘Calm yourself, my dear, he can’t have gone far.’

  ‘But you don’t understand—’ Panic gripped Violet’s throat so tightly she could hardly get the words out.

  Other doors opened down the passageway, and heads in various states of dishevelment popped out.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Violet’s son is missing.’

  ‘Missing? Surely not?’

  ‘He can’t have gone far.’

  The sisters congregated in the corridor. Sister Wren emerged from her room, her sharp-featured face indignant.

  ‘Well! I didn’t see all this fuss when I said my newspaper had gone missing,’ she snapped.

  Violet pushed past them and out through the doors into the garden. She was aware of Sister Blake following as she run across the grass, frantically calling Oliver’s name.

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’ Sister Blake asked, catching up with her.
<
br />   ‘Last night, when I put him to bed.’ Violet’s breath was coming in shallow gasps, making her head spin. ‘I said goodnight, and told him—’

  She told him what she always told him. Don’t go off with anyone, no matter what they might tell you.

  ‘He’ll be here somewhere.’

  No, he won’t. The thought went round and round in her head. He’s gone. They’ve found us, and they’ve taken him.

  They heard the sound of a dog yapping. Sparky hurtled round the corner, nearly knocking them off their feet.

  ‘Sparky! Come back, you bad dog.’

  Violet started running towards the voice, Sister Blake hard on her heels, and almost collided with Oliver, barefoot and still in his pyjamas, running in the opposite direction.

  He froze when he saw her, his face stricken with guilt. ‘Mummy!’

  ‘Oliver!’ She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘What have I told you about going out on your own?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to, but Sparky was barking outside my window. I only meant to go out and play for a minute . . .’ His brown eyes brimmed with tears. ‘S-Sorry, Mummy.’

  Relief flooded through Violet, melting her bones. She sank to her knees, clutching him to her, tears streaming down her face. ‘Oh, Oliver!’ she sobbed. ‘Please don’t ever do that to me again.’

  ‘No, Mummy.’

  ‘There, I told you he wouldn’t have gone far.’

  She’d forgotten all about Sister Blake standing behind her. Violet dashed her tears away and stood up, one arm still fixed around Oliver’s narrow shoulders, clamping him to her as if she would never let him go.

  ‘Thank you for helping me look for him,’ she said stiffly. Now the panic was over, she felt ashamed of her loss of control.

  ‘Not just me.’ Sister Blake looked over her shoulder. The other sisters were all picking their way in different directions across the lawn, searching under bushes, calling Oliver’s name.

  Seeing them, Violet felt a jolt of emotion. Sister Hyde was right, she thought; they did care.

  ‘And as for you, young man . . .’ Sister Blake looked down at Oliver, her expression mock-severe. ‘You mustn’t give your mummy a shock like that again, do you hear?’