‘Not for me,’ Millie said firmly. Then, seeing his disappointed expression, she added, ‘I’m not saying I won’t be as thrilled as Sophia to have a baby one day. But I want to get my State Registration first, and then—’
‘Why?’ he cut her off bluntly. ‘Why do you have to finish your training when you know you’re going to give it up anyway? It just seems like a complete waste of everyone’s time.’
His words struck a painful chord with Millie, reminding her of the harsh comments Sister Hyde had previously made. It was even more painful because she couldn’t find an answer for him. All she knew was that she dreamt of being able to write the letters ‘SRN’ after her name.
‘I want to be able to say I’ve done something worthwhile with my life,’ was all she could say.
‘And marrying me wouldn’t be worthwhile, is that it?’
She stared at him helplessly. ‘Why are you doing this, Seb?’ she pleaded. ‘Why are you making me choose?’
‘If you loved me there wouldn’t even be a choice.’ His voice was flat.
‘And if you loved me you wouldn’t ask,’ she said.
They stood on the pavement, staring at each other. People streamed past, jostling them this way and that, but they barely noticed.
She waited for him to tell her he was joking, that he didn’t mean what he’d said. Anything at all that would help her breathe again. But he was ominously, depressingly silent. Somewhere in the distance, she could almost hear her world crashing down.
‘So that’s it then,’ Seb said finally. ‘I suppose we both know where we stand.’
Millie looked at his stubborn expression, and felt something inside her begin to grow cold and harden like ice. Her gaze still locked on his, she slowly pulled her engagement ring off her finger and handed it to him.
‘I suppose we do,’ she said.
On duty the following morning, Millie threw herself into her work. For once she was grateful that Sister Hyde gave her the bathrooms to clean, because it gave her the chance to work off some of her pent-up energy and frustration. She mopped floors, polished taps until she could see her unhappy face reflected in the chrome, and scrubbed toilets as if she could somehow scrub out all the memories of last night too.
But all the time she couldn’t help wondering if Seb was right. What was the point? she thought. Why struggle on through another two years of training, when everyone knew she was going to give it up anyway? No one would miss her, especially not Sister Hyde. She could go back to Billinghurst and marry Sebastian, and everyone would be happy.
Except me, she thought, grimacing at her reflection in the bath taps.
There were deep shadows etched under her eyes from a night without sleep. She hadn’t told Dora or Helen about her broken engagement yet. Even though she knew they wouldn’t spread gossip, she didn’t want anyone knowing about it. It was as if saying it out loud would somehow make it true. And she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
She missed Seb already. Even though she hadn’t been able to see him very often, he’d always been there, a reassuring presence in the back of her mind. His absence was almost physical, like a lost tooth. She had to keep going back and probing the spot where he had been, even though she knew it would cause her pain.
She worked so hard that even Sister Hyde seemed grudgingly impressed with her efforts. So Millie was confused when she was summoned by Sister while they were serving the midday meal to the patients.
‘Yes, Sister?’ She steeled herself for another reprimand.
‘Benedict, I’m afraid Mrs Mortimer is having more problems with her hands. She can’t manage her cup at all now, even with the dressing wrapped around it. She needs feeding, and has requested that you do it.’
‘Me, Sister?’
‘You, Benedict.’ Sister Hyde’s raised eyebrows told her she was as surprised by the request as Millie was. ‘Usually, I would not allow patients to dictate such things, but Mrs Mortimer is being particularly trying, and I simply don’t have the time or the patience to argue with her today. So you’ll have to get on with it.’
She thrust the tray with the cup on it into Millie’s hands. Good luck, her look said.
Millie carried the tray carefully down the ward, aware of the pitying looks of the other nurses as she went. She understood why; if Maud Mortimer’s failing body had let her down again, she would want to vent her frustration on someone. Millie felt as if she was entering the lion’s den.
She pasted a breezy smile on her face as she placed the tray down on Maud’s bed table.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Mortimer,’ she greeted her brightly. ‘Are you ready for your dinner?’
‘Of course I am, what else is there to do in this place but eat and sleep?’ Maud snapped. ‘And do stop beaming at me, girl,’ she added. ‘I chose you because I find you the least irritating nurse here, so don’t flatter yourself. What is this anyway?’ She stared at the cup, her lip curling.
‘Broth, Mrs Mortimer.’
‘Broth again? Goodness, how imaginative. That cook has the flair of Escoffier.’ She settled back against the pillows with a martyred expression. ‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘You’d better get on with it. And I don’t want any of your simpering or sympathy either,’ she warned. ‘My fingers have let me down, and that’s the end of it. But my brain is still functioning perfectly.’
‘Yes, Mrs Mortimer.’
Millie supported her carefully with her left arm while she held the cup to her lips with her right hand. There was silence as Millie concentrated on not spilling anything on to the cloth she’d placed around Maud’s neck. But after about a minute, the old woman batted the cup away with her wrist and said crossly, ‘What is the matter with you today? You’re usually chattering like a parakeet.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Mortimer. I didn’t think you’d want me to talk.’
‘Since when has that ever stopped you? Goodness, if I didn’t know better I would have sworn you were actually upset about something.’ She turned her head to look at Millie, her eyes narrowed. ‘You are, aren’t you? What on earth is wrong with you? It must be something of cataclysmic proportions to upset your sickeningly sunny disposition.’
Millie lowered her gaze to the cup. ‘Sister Hyde doesn’t like us discussing our personal lives with the patients.’
Maud tutted. ‘This ordeal is bad enough, without having to endure it in silence. Now you can either fill the time with the mindless chatter that passes for conversation in this place. Or you can talk to me properly.’ She looked sideways at Millie. ‘I assume there is a man involved?’ Millie nodded. ‘There always is, at your age. So you have had a disagreement with a boyfriend, is that it?’
‘I have to get on with feeding you—’ Millie lifted the cup to her lips again, but Maud jerked her head away.
‘Not until you tell me what is wrong with you.’
‘Very well.’ Millie lowered the cup. ‘If you must know, I’ve broken off my engagement.’
‘Ah.’ Maud was silent for a moment. ‘And may I ask why?’
It was obvious she wasn’t going to touch another drop of her meal until she’d found out everything, so Millie told her. Maud proved to be an unexpectedly good listener.
‘So what do you think?’ Millie asked, when she’d finished telling her tale. She half expected Maud to tell her she’d done the right thing, that no man had the right to dictate how she lived her life. She had been a suffragette, after all.
But she didn’t say anything of the sort. ‘Why does it matter what I think?’ She seemed genuinely surprised by the question.
Millie looked at her, crestfallen. ‘I thought you might give me some advice,’ she said in a small voice.
‘It’s rather late for that, don’t you think?’
Millie stared down at the cup. ‘Do you think I’ve done the right thing?’ she asked again.
Maud sent her a wise look. ‘My dear, if you have to ask me that, then I wonder if you have.’
Chapter Thirty-One
VIOLET HADN’T MEANT to join the choir. But, as with everything else about the Nightingale, she found herself gradually drawn in, almost without realising it.
It began just after nine on a fine March evening. It was one of the three nights a month Violet was allowed to take off, and after putting Oliver to bed she had planned to spend the time reading. But no sooner had she opened her book than the electric light above her head flickered, and the next moment she was plunged into darkness.
Violet put down her book with a sigh. She went round trying all the lights in the flat, but none of them worked.
Almost immediately, she heard voices in the passageway outside.
‘What on earth has happened?’
‘Is the rest of the hospital in darkness?’
‘Where are the candles?’
‘I’m just looking for them now . . .’
‘Well, hurry up!’
‘Don’t fret, I’ve found them. Now I just need to find a match . . .’
Violet was more used to the dark than most. She quickly found the box of matches she kept on top of the kitchen cupboard and hurried out into the passageway, just in time to see a beam of torchlight at the other end.
‘Ah, Sister Tanner.’ Matron’s voice greeted her calmly. ‘This is quite a drama, isn’t it?’
‘What’s happened?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. I suspect it’s simply a problem with the fuses. Fortunately it only seems to have affected this building, but I’m going to have a word with Mr Hopkins and see what’s happening in the rest of the hospital.’
‘Shall I come with you?’
She caught Matron’s smile in the beam of the torch. ‘Bless you, but that won’t be necessary. I can see there are lights on in the other buildings, so I’m sure it’s all a fuss over nothing. I just need to make certain everyone is all right, and get some matches from Mr Hopkins for our candles.’
‘I have some here.’ Violet held up the box.
‘Then perhaps you could help the other sisters?’ Matron nodded towards the sitting room from whence she had come. Piano music drifted softly through the half-open door. ‘They’re currently cursing each other for the fact that none of them smokes!’
Matron glided off towards the main buildings, and Violet pushed open the door to the sitting room. Half a dozen faces turned towards her in the gloom.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice hissed. ‘Is that you, Matron?’
‘It’s me . . . Violet Tanner,’ she called back. ‘I’ve brought you some matches.’
‘Thank God! Give them to me.’ A hand snatched them from her in the darkness. A moment later there was the rasp of a match, and a flickering candle flame illuminated Sister Wren’s pinched face.
She looked even more small-boned and diminutive out of her uniform, her little face surrounded by limp brown curls. She barely came up to Violet’s shoulder.
As more candles were lit and handed around, Violet made out the faces of half a dozen sisters in the large sitting room. Sister Hyde was squeezed on to the end of the sofa on one side of Sister Sutton’s spreading bulk, with the Sister Tutor, Sister Parker, squeezed on to the other, like a pair of narrow bookends. Sister Parry lit the candles in a candelabra on top of the piano, where Sister Blake sat.
‘I quite like playing in this light. It’s rather evocative, don’t you think?’ Her fingers ran lightly and expertly over the keys. ‘I imagine Chopin composed his piano concertos by candlelight like this.’
She looked up at Violet and smiled. ‘Ah, I see you’ve discovered our little choir. Won’t you sit and listen for a moment? We so rarely have an audience.’
‘Which is probably just as well!’ Sister Parry put in.
Violet was about to refuse, when she caught the look of challenge in Sister Hyde’s eyes. ‘Well, all right . . . perhaps for a moment,’ she said. She perched herself on the edge of the armchair nearest to the door.
‘You’ll have to forgive us if we’re dreadful,’ Sister Blake continued. ‘We’ve only just started practising “Blow the Wind Southerly” so we’re still getting a feel for it.’
As it happened, they weren’t too dreadful at all. Although Sister Wren’s reedy soprano was no match for the booming alto voices of Sister Hyde, Sister Parry and Sister Sutton. Sister Parker wasn’t much help, since her spectacles kept slipping down her nose, making her lose her place in the sheet music.
Sister Blake stopped playing abruptly halfway through the second chorus.
‘This won’t do at all,’ she said. ‘The altos are drowning you out, Miriam. We really need another soprano.’
‘Then we will have to wait until Miss Fox comes back,’ Sister Wren said, putting down her music.
‘Unless Violet would like to join in?’
‘Oh, no!’ She and Sister Wren both spoke at the same time, both in agreement for once.
‘She doesn’t know the piece,’ Sister Wren argued.
‘Neither do we,’ Sister Parker pointed out in her soft Scottish voice, the candlelight glinting off her pebble glasses. ‘We only started on the music an hour ago. I’m sure Sister Tanner can pick it up.’ She beamed at Violet, who shook her head.
‘No, really, I’m a hopeless singer,’ she protested.
‘Come along, my dear. I’m sure you can’t be any worse than the rest of us,’ said Sister Hyde.
‘But Matron sings the soprano part with me,’ Sister Wren insisted stubbornly.
‘Yes, but Matron isn’t here, is she? And heaven knows how long she’ll be. Besides, we’re going to need a solo soprano for this piece, too. Perhaps Violet would like to take that part?’
‘I hardly think so!’ Sister Wren broke in before Violet could refuse. ‘If anyone sings solo, it should be me. I have been here the longest, after all.’
Even in the dim candlelight, Violet could see the stricken faces of the other sisters as they exchanged horrified looks.
‘But we need you where you are,’ Sister Blake stepped in smoothly. ‘You are a vital piece of the puzzle, Miriam. The glue that holds us together.’
‘If you were to sing solo, we would fall to pieces completely,’ Sister Parker agreed solemnly.
‘Well, I can see that,’ Sister Wren agreed, mollified. ‘But I think if I can’t do it, then Matron should sing the solo part,’ she added, with a glare at Violet.
‘Then that’s settled,’ Sister Blake said. ‘Violet can sing soprano.’
Violet was about to refuse again, but looking round at the other nurses’ faces, she realised defeatedly that it would be quicker just to agree and get it over with than to argue about it.
‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘But I warn you, I’m rather out of practice.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Sister Parry murmured to her with a smile as she took her place beside her.
Violet was so nervous she could hardly keep her sheet music still. But once she’d managed to get through the first few bars, it all began to come back to her. It had been so long since she’d sung, she had forgotten the sheer joy of letting the music flow out of her.
She was so carried away by it, she lost track of where she was until Sister Blake finished playing and she saw them all looking at her.
‘I’m sorry.’ Violet dropped her music and bent to pick it up, suddenly flustered by their attention. ‘I did warn you I was out of practice . . .’
‘Not at all. That was beautiful,’ Sister Blake said admiringly.
‘It was indeed.’ Miss Fox stood in the doorway, her torch in her hand. How long had she been there? Violet wondered. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you had such a fine voice?’
Violet stared at the floor, her face burning, as the others murmured their appreciation. All the while she kept asking herself why she’d ever got herself into this situation. The last thing she’d wanted was to be singled out in any way, good or bad.
‘I was just filling in for you, Matron,’ she said. ‘Now I’d best be going . . .’
‘Surely you can s
tay a bit longer?’ Miss Fox urged her, against a chorus of protests. ‘We can’t lose our star singer already, not when we’ve just found her!’
At that moment the lights flicked back on. The first thing Violet saw was Sister Wren’s face, taut with resentment.
‘No, really, I have a lot to do,’ she muttered. ‘I’m sorry . . .’
Putting down the sheet music, she fled before they had a chance to try and change her mind.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘HERE, LET ME help you with that.’
Dora, bending over the bathtub to scrub a mackintosh sheet, looked around in surprise at Lettie Pike, standing behind her with a brush in her hand.
‘It’ll be quicker with two of us,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’
‘You don’t want to be here all night, do you? Not when you’re supposed to be getting off at five.’
Dora straightened up and massaged the cramped muscles in her back as Lettie set to work, scrubbing enthusiastically. If anyone had told her a week ago that Lettie Pike would even be giving her the time of day, let alone lifting a finger to help her, she would have laughed.
But a lot had changed since she’d found that box of eggs in Lettie’s shopping basket. Dora had never intended to tell Sister Wren about her stealing – for all her faults, Lettie Pike was still a neighbour, and people in Griffin Street stuck by each other – but she had been so grateful she had been falling over herself to be nice to Dora ever since.
Dora wasn’t sure what made her smile more: the fact that Lettie had stopped spreading gossip about her family, or watching her making such a painful effort to be pleasant.
Working together, they finished scrubbing the sheet then wiped it dry and Lettie helped drape it over a roller to finish drying. Thanks to her, Dora managed to get off duty just half an hour after she was supposed to go – a record for her, since Sister Wren inevitably managed to find her ‘just one more thing’ to do before she would finally release her. But luck was on her side, as Sister Parker, the Sister Tutor, was visiting the ward to check up on her students, and Sister Wren clearly didn’t feel she could be her usual merciless self in front of her.
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