The Nightingale Sisters

by Donna Douglas

  Oliver nodded his head solemnly, his brown eyes shining with unshed tears.

  ‘He won’t,’ Violet said. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’ Sister Blake smiled at her. Then she turned and headed off across the grass, back towards the sisters’ block, calling to the other nurses to give them the good news.

  The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. Violet took Oliver to school, then came home and slept for a few hours. Afterwards, she busied herself with errands until it was time to collect her son from school again.

  ‘Please may we go to the park?’ he begged, as he always did when they walked past the tall wrought-iron gates of Victoria Park, with their stone dogs on either side, ears cocked, ever alert.

  ‘After what you did this morning? I don’t think you deserve a treat, do you?’ Violet said severely.

  ‘No,’ Oliver agreed in a small voice. ‘But you never let me go to the park, even when I’m not naughty,’ he complained.

  Violet felt guilty. He was right, she always managed to make some excuse. Either it was too cold, or too wet, or he was wearing his good clothes. But the truth was, the park was a big place and she was too afraid to let him out of her sight.

  Even now, just the thought of it made her tighten her grip on his hand.

  ‘Another day,’ she said.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  They entered the gates of the Nightingale, and skirted the main buildings towards the sisters’ block at the back. As they headed down the gravel path that crossed the gardens, Violet heard her name being called.

  She turned around to see Sister Wren hurrying down the path towards them. She must have been watching for them from the window of her ward.

  Violet sighed. ‘Oh, dear, what does she want now?’ she muttered under her breath.

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good news. Sister Wren’s narrow face was twisted with fury.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ She thrust the shredded remains of a newspaper into Violet’s face.

  She frowned at it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘My copy of The Times. The maid found it stuffed in the broom cupboard. Like this!’ She waved it under Violet’s nose.

  ‘And what does that have to do with me?’ she asked calmly.

  ‘Don’t take that tone with me!’ Sister Wren spluttered with rage. ‘You know as well as I do it was your child who hid it there!’

  ‘Now just a minute . . .’ Violet struggled to hold on to her temper. ‘You can’t go around accusing my son.’

  ‘Who else could it be? He was skulking around this morning when the newspaper was delivered. It didn’t rip itself up and stuff itself in a cupboard, did it?’ Her tiny eyes glittered with malice. ‘Someone must be punished!’

  Violet turned to Oliver. ‘Do you know anything about this?’

  As soon as she looked at him she knew. Two bright spots of guilty colour flared in his cheeks. ‘Remember what I’ve always told you, Oliver,’ she coaxed gently. ‘No one will be cross if you tell the truth. Do you know what happened to this newspaper?’

  He stared up at her, his eyes dark brown pools of misery. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  ‘I knew it!’ Sister Wren hissed. ‘You’re a nasty, destructive little boy, and you deserve a good thrashing—’

  She took a step towards Oliver but Violet barred her way. ‘Lay one finger on my son and, by God, I will make you sorry!’ she snapped.

  They faced each other like spitting cats in an alleyway. Sister Wren quivered with fury, but even she seemed to know better than to take on an angry mother protecting her child.

  ‘What is going on here, sisters?’

  Miss Hanley bore down on them. ‘What is this?’ She towered over them, her broad masculine shape like a prize fighter’s under her starched uniform. ‘Nurses brawling in public?’ Her glacial gaze swept from one to the other. ‘You had better have a very good reason for this shameful display!’

  ‘I’ll tell you, shall I? This . . . malicious little monster,’ Sister Wren pointed a shaking finger at Oliver, ‘has deliberately ripped up my newspaper and hidden the evidence!’

  Miss Hanley’s face darkened. ‘Is this true?’ she demanded.

  ‘He admitted it himself!’ Sister Wren squeaked. ‘Bold as brass, he was. Didn’t even try to lie about it.’

  ‘I will pay for the damage,’ Violet said calmly. ‘And believe me, Miss Hanley, my son will be punished.’

  ‘That’s not good enough! Something should be done about this,’ Sister Wren appealed to Miss Hanley. ‘Matron must be told. We cannot have children running around, destroying other people’s property.’

  ‘I agree, Sister. I will speak to her about it. I have always believed a child’s presence here was a bad idea, and this incident proves it.’

  ‘I don’t want to go!’ Oliver burst into tears. ‘Mummy, don’t let them send us away!’

  ‘It’s all right, darling.’ Violet bent to put her arms around him, hugging him to her. ‘For pity’s sake, must you discuss this in front of my son?’ She glared at the two women over his shoulder.

  At least Miss Hanley had the grace to look shame-faced, while Sister Wren said huffily, ‘You’ve brought it on yourself, I’m sure. We simply can’t have this kind of deliberate trouble-making here.’

  ‘You’ve made your point, Sister,’ Miss Hanley silenced her. She shot an uncomfortable glance at Oliver, still sobbing on his mother’s shoulder.

  ‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ he wept. ‘It was an accident. I only put it behind the cupboard to stop anyone being cross with him . . .’ He stopped talking abruptly.

  Violet shifted to hold him at arms’ length. ‘What are you talking about, sweetheart? Cross with who?’

  Oliver looked warily at Miss Hanley and Sister Wren, then back to his mother. He shook his head, his mouth a stubbornly silent line.

  ‘You must tell me, Oliver. It’s very important.’

  He hesitated for a moment, then leant forward and whispered. ‘It was Sparky.’

  ‘Sister Sutton’s dog? You mean, he ripped the newspaper?’

  Oliver nodded. ‘He grabbed it off the paperboy this morning. I saw him out of the window. But before I could get it off him, he’d eaten it.’

  ‘A likely story!’ Sister Wren huffed.

  ‘It’s true!’ Oliver turned to her, his brown eyes wide in his earnest little face. ‘I’ve been trying to teach him to fetch the newspaper for Sister Sutton every morning, to save her legs, but he hasn’t managed it yet. He nearly managed it last week with Sister Parker’s Daily Telegraph, but then he ate it so Sister Sutton hid it in her coal scuttle and told her the paperboy hadn’t been.’ His cheeks flared red again as he realised he’d given away another guilty secret.

  Violet looked up at Miss Hanley who was trying her hardest not to smile.

  ‘Well, Sister, I think we’ve found the real culprit,’ she said.

  ‘I’m still not happy about this,’ Sister Wren muttered furiously.

  ‘In that case, I suggest you take it up with Sister Sutton,’ Miss Hanley suggested.

  Violet saw the look of angry disappointment on Sister Wren’s face and felt almost sorry for her. ‘I do feel my son was partly responsible. If you let me know how much I owe you—’ she offered, but Sister Wren cut her off.

  ‘Forget it,’ she bit out.

  As she stomped off, her shredded newspaper stuffed under her arm, Oliver looked at his mother. ‘She won’t punish Sparky or Sister Sutton, will she?’ he whispered anxiously.

  Miss Hanley smiled thinly. ‘I’d like to see her try, young man.’

  Sister Wren sat at the table in her sitting room, the tattered pieces of The Times’ back page arranged in front of her like a jigsaw. It was so frustrating, trying to patch all those tiny shreds of print together. Every time she found an interesting advertisement, she had to search high and low for the post-office box address that went with it. And half the time she wasn’t even
sure she’d got the right side of the page, either.

  She sat back and stared at the mess in front of her, seething quietly. She had already spent a fruitless half-hour and felt like throwing the whole lot away. But somewhere in the back of her mind she had the lingering fear that today was the day her dream man would finally appear in the Personal Column, and she wouldn’t see the advertisement.

  It was all the fault of that wretched Violet Tanner, she thought. Her ridiculously winsome child had even managed to soften the hard heart of Veronica Hanley. Next thing, she would be petting and fussing over him like silly Sister Sutton.

  ‘Sister?’

  She jumped as Staff Nurse Cuthbert stuck her head around the door. ‘For heaven’s sake, Staff, can’t you knock?’ she snapped. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s a new admission on their way up. Uterine haemorrhage.’ Cuthbert eyed the newspaper fragments laid out on the table, though Sister Wren was trying to shield them from view.

  ‘Can’t you deal with it?’ she snapped.

  ‘Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister.’ The staff nurse disappeared. As she closed the door, the draught wafted fragments of newspaper like confetti about the room.

  ‘Damn and blast!’ Sister Wren sighed, and began gathering them up again. As she did, three words, printed in bold, caught her eye.

  Dangerfield, née Tanner.

  She wasn’t sure what made her pick it up. It was a common enough name, after all. But she felt a prickle of sensation.

  The rest of the line was obliterated. But underneath there was another half-line with the words ‘contact immediately’, followed by a telephone number.

  Sister Wren sat back and stared at the tiny shred of newsprint between her fingers. What did it mean? She’d often seen those advertisements, asking for a long-lost friend or relative to contact a solicitor’s office ‘to hear something to their advantage’. But this was different, more abrupt, less promising of good things. Just looking at those brusque words ‘contact immediately’ made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

  ‘Sister?’ Staff Nurse Cuthbert’s voice came from the other side of the door. ‘I thought you might like to know, Mr Cooper is on his way up to see the new patient.’

  ‘I’ll be there straight away.’ Sister Wren stood up, straightening her cap. She looked down at the telephone number on the scrap of paper in her hand, then, on impulse, slipped it into her pocket.

  Chapter Thirty

  SOPHIA’S ROOM AT the nursing home was bedecked with flowers. Every available space was so crammed with overflowing vases, Millie and Seb didn’t dare move in case they knocked one over.

  Sophia sat in the middle of it all, radiant in white lace, her face suffused with love as she gazed down at her baby son in her arms.

  ‘Isn’t he utterly perfect? I could look at him all day,’ she sighed.

  ‘Motherhood suits you,’ Millie said.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Sophia looked up, her face full of joy. ‘I thought it would be rather tedious, but it isn’t at all. Of course, it helps that everyone is spoiling me madly,’ she added.

  ‘So I see.’ Millie gazed around at the flowers. ‘It’s like a florist’s shop in here.’

  ‘I know!’ Sophia pointed across the room at a very tasteful arrangement of spring blooms. ‘Guess who sent those?’ Millie looked blank. ‘Your Dr Tremayne!’ She grinned.

  Millie sent Seb a quick sidelong glance. ‘He’s not my Dr Tremayne,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I know, but he is rather dashing, isn’t he? Far more glamorous than dull old Sir Charles Ingham. I’ve already told David I’m a little bit in love with him. How could anyone not be?’

  ‘How indeed?’ Seb’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  Millie felt the heat rising in her face. ‘It was nice of William to send flowers,’ she commented carefully.

  ‘Absolutely. If anything, I should be the one sending flowers to him,’ Sophia agreed. ‘When I think about what he did for me – and you, of course,’ she added quickly. ‘You were both absolutely marvellous, coming to my rescue like that.’

  ‘You did all the hard work!’

  ‘I was utterly hopeless, and you know it,’ Sophia dismissed the comment. ‘I would have been a gibbering fool if you hadn’t been there to keep me calm. And when poor little Billy didn’t make a peep for such a long time . . .’ She suppressed a shudder. ‘The consultant said he didn’t know what would have happened if Dr Tremayne hadn’t got him breathing the way he did.’

  ‘Billy?’ Seb said coldly.

  ‘Oh, dear, I’ve let the secret out, haven’t I? I promised Mother I wouldn’t tell anyone until it was announced in The Times.’ Sophia stroked her baby’s cheek with one finger. ‘David and I were both so grateful to Dr Tremayne, we asked if he would mind us naming the baby after him. And he’s agreed to be a godfather, isn’t that wonderful? Of course, you’ll be his other godfather, Seb.’ She smiled at her brother. ‘Don’t you think that’s a marvellous idea, having a doctor for a godfather?’ she said. ‘Perhaps Dr Tremayne will inspire Billy to a career in medicine?’

  ‘If Seb doesn’t inspire him to a career in writing,’ Millie added loyally. The frosty look Seb shot her silenced her instantly.

  Sophia noticed, glancing from one to the other of them. ‘Is everything all right?’ She frowned.

  ‘Everything is fine,’ Millie assured her. ‘So has your mother been to see her first grandchild yet?’ she swiftly changed the subject.

  ‘Of course!’ Sophia rolled her eyes. ‘She simply won’t stay away.’

  They talked about how besotted the duchess was with the baby, and how she and David’s mother were locked in bitter rivalry over him already. Meanwhile Seb stood at the window, hands thrust into his pockets, staring moodily down at the street.

  ‘Did you have to be in such a foul mood?’ Millie scolded him as they left the nursing home half an hour later and made their way along Marylebone Road.

  ‘I’m sorry, were you disappointed I didn’t join you and my sister in your adoration of Dr Tremayne?’

  ‘I’m disappointed you behaved like a sulky little boy,’ Millie said. ‘Anyway, what have you got against William? He saved your nephew’s life, remember?’

  ‘How could I ever forget that?’ Seb said bitterly. ‘I’m constantly being told what a hero he is.’ He saw Millie’s reproachful expression and his shoulders slumped. ‘I am thankful to him for saving the baby’s life, of course I am. I just wish I could have done more that night. Do you have any idea how utterly useless I felt while you and he were in there, delivering Sophia’s baby?’

  ‘You did your bit.’

  ‘I called an ambulance, then plied David with brandy while he chewed his nails down to the elbows. It’s hardly heroic, is it? Not the same as saving a baby’s life, at any rate.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Let’s face it, I can’t compete with Tremayne.’

  Millie frowned. ‘Why should you want to compete with him?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Seb laughed bitterly. ‘I’m jealous as hell, Mil. And I can’t stop asking myself why you would want someone like me when you could have him?’

  She reached for his hand. ‘But I don’t want him.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  He started to cross the road but Millie held him back. ‘Seb, you’re not making any sense. I love you, you know that.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do know that any more, Mil.’ His blue eyes were full of sorrow. ‘I feel as if we’re spinning off in different directions, and I’m losing you. You belong to that world now, a world full of hospitals and doctors, seeing and dealing with things I couldn’t imagine. And then there’s me, stuck in my world full of shooting parties and social engagements, and the same people talking endlessly about the same things all the time.’

  ‘That’s my world too,’ Millie protested.

  Seb shook his head. ‘It used to be, when we first met. But you despise it now. No, don’t deny it, I saw it in your face that weekend we went to Lyford. You co
uldn’t wait to escape.’

  ‘Only because of that idiot Jumbo Jameson!’

  ‘But don’t you see? I’m just like Jumbo Jameson. We went to the same school, the same college, we have the same friends, go to the same parties. We’re both rich, idle fellows, chasing the latest fad and fancy, pretending our lives have some kind of meaning. But really we’re both just treading water.’

  ‘You’re nothing like him, Seb. You have a career!’

  ‘Oh, that! I’ve hardly set Fleet Street on fire so far, have I? A couple of diary pieces and a report on my cousin’s wedding for the society pages.’

  ‘Everyone has to start somewhere.’

  ‘All I’ve really done is drink port with the other hacks in The Cheshire Cheese. I’ll probably develop gout before I make it on to the front page.’

  ‘I have great faith in you.’

  ‘Do you, Mil? I’m not sure I do.’

  She stared at him. She’d never seen Seb so depressed, it wasn’t like him at all. She longed for him to smile, to make her laugh again.

  ‘I don’t care anyway,’ she declared. ‘I don’t care if you give up journalism and spend the rest of your life shooting grouse with Jumbo Jameson. I’ll still want to be with you.’

  ‘Prove it,’ he said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Marry me.’

  She smiled uncertainly. ‘I will.’

  ‘I don’t mean in two years’ time. I mean now.’

  At first she thought he was joking. But the look in his eyes was deadly serious. ‘We can be married in the summer,’ he said. ‘We could live at Billinghurst, at least until we found a place of our own nearby. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be back in the country, living with your family? We could go riding every day, and I’m sure your father could find some useful work for me to do on the estate. I don’t think I made too poor a job of it, last time I helped out!’ He smiled self-deprecatingly.

  ‘And what about me?’ Millie said, her voice tinged with ice. ‘Would he find something useful for me to do, too? Or would I be expected to produce a baby straight away, like Sophia?’

  Seb’s mouth turned down. ‘That would be enough for some girls.’