The Nightingale Sisters

by Donna Douglas

  ‘I doubt it,’ Dora said. ‘If he was here he would have—’

  And then she saw Joe, pushing through the crowd towards her.

  ‘There you are!’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was beginning to think you hadn’t come. But then my mate Tom got collared by your friend, who told him there were a bunch of nurses sitting over here.’ Joe smiled around at her friends. Dora had forgotten how handsome he was, dressed in his best suit, his fair hair neatly combed.

  ‘This is Joe,’ she introduced him, feeling suddenly proud. It gave her a little lift to see the look of utter disbelief on Lucy’s pinched face.

  ‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, no, I can’t . . .’ Dora was about to refuse until she caught Millie’s encouraging nod. ‘Well, all right then,’ she said. ‘But I’m warning you, I’m not very good.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ he said, offering her his arm.

  The first dance was a lively swing number. Dora was hopeless at first, tripping over and colliding with other couples. But Joe was a better dancer than he’d let on, and with his firm guidance she soon found her feet.

  ‘You see?’ he grinned. ‘It’s not as hard as it looks, is it?’

  She was completely out of breath after two more dances. When the band slowed to a more sedate tempo, she went to leave the dance floor, but Joe pulled her back.

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ he said.

  ‘But my friends . . .’

  ‘They’re fine.’ He nodded across the room, to where Katie was still whirling around in the arms of Tom. She might have taken him by surprise at first, but he seemed to be enjoying her company now. Even Lucy had found a partner to dance with, while Millie seemed quite happy chatting with some other girls who had joined their table.

  ‘You see?’ he said, drawing Dora in to him, his hand circling her waist. ‘There’s nothing to stop you dancing with me.’

  She held herself rigid at first, scared by the unfamiliar feeling of his arms around her. But gradually, as the music took over, she found herself relaxing.

  ‘I’m glad you came,’ Joe said, his face so close to hers she could feel his warm breath fanning her cheek. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would, or if you’d just carry on playing hard to get.’

  Dora pulled away slightly to look at him. ‘I’m not playing at anything,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  She wondered if she should set him straight, tell him outright she wasn’t interested, that they could never be more than friends. But she was enjoying the moment, and she didn’t want to spoil it.

  Joe was very attentive to her all evening, fetching drinks, making sure her friends were kept entertained, and dancing her off her feet. Dora was astonished at how often she took to the dance floor, and how much she enjoyed being in Joe’s arms.

  She caught the admiring glances some of the other girls were giving him, and wondered why he had ever asked her to come to the dance. In spite of the way he acted, she couldn’t believe he was really interested in her. Perhaps he was just being kind because of what she’d done for Jennie, she thought.

  ‘Are you having a nice time?’ he asked, when they were dancing again.

  ‘Smashing, thanks. It makes a change to be out of uniform, anyway!’

  ‘You look lovely.’

  She looked away so he wouldn’t see her blushing face. ‘You don’t have to say that.’

  ‘I mean it.’ He glanced down at her, his green eyes crinkling. ‘Why don’t you like it when anyone pays you a compliment?’

  ‘I dunno.’ She shrugged, embarrassed. ‘I’m probably not used to it, I suppose.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me I’m the first man to fancy you?’

  An image of Alf flashed into her mind. Suddenly Joe’s arm felt like iron around her waist, pinning her against him. Panicking, she wrenched herself free from his grasp and stumbled off the dance floor away from him. The room seemed too hot, too crowded, she couldn’t breathe . . .

  And then her heartbeat slowed again, and she felt like an idiot. She couldn’t even look at Joe as he followed her, shouldering his way through the dancing couples to get to her.

  ‘Dora?’ He caught up with her as she headed for the door. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home. I – I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘But we were having such a nice time.’ He went to grasp her arm, and frowned. ‘You’re shaking,’ he said. ‘What’s going on? Is it something I said?’

  ‘It’s nothing. I just felt a bit dizzy, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, after all that dancing. Shall we sit down? I’ll get you a drink—’

  ‘I’d rather go home.’

  ‘Then I’ll walk you.’

  ‘No. It’s fine, honestly.’ Suddenly the room seemed hot and oppressive. She could feel perspiration trickling down the back of her neck.

  ‘Dora, look at me.’ He put his hand under her chin, guiding her face up to meet his. The gentleness in his amber-flecked eyes surprised her. ‘Please stay,’ he said. ‘We don’t have to dance any more, if you don’t want to. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. But I’d just like to be with you, if that’s all right?’

  She managed a shaky smile. ‘I suppose so,’ she agreed.

  For the rest of the evening Joe didn’t leave her side. He was good company, making her laugh and listening attentively when she talked about her family, and life at the Nightingale. He talked too, telling her funny stories about some of the characters he’d met while pounding the beat.

  He was nice to her friends, buying them drinks and dancing with them so they didn’t feel left out. Even Lucy Lane looked grudgingly impressed by the end of the evening.

  When the dance was over, he offered to walk her home, but Dora refused. ‘I’ll walk back with the others,’ she said, as they stood shivering outside the Town Hall.

  ‘I’m sure they’d understand?’ he said meaningfully, reaching for her hand.

  ‘All the same, I’d like to walk back with them.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ Even in the dim lamplight, she could see the disappointment in his eyes.

  She paused awkwardly, not quite sure what to do next. He was still holding her hand, unwilling to let go. ‘Well . . . thanks for inviting me,’ she said.

  ‘Can I see you again?’

  She stared at him, genuinely surprised. She had meant to say no, to tell him there was no point, that he was wasting his time with her. But the words wouldn’t come out.

  He moved towards her, closing in for a kiss, and panic washed over her. But instead of going for her mouth, he planted his lips gently on her forehead.

  ‘I will see you again,’ he said, smiling down at her in the darkness. ‘You can bet on that, Dora Doyle.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  LYFORD’S MODEST PARISH church was transformed for the bap-tism of William David Frederick Arbuthnot, son and heir of the Marquess of Trent. The altar overflowed with white and yellow spring flowers, the brasswork gleamed, and even the ancient organ was in fine tune, thanks to a generous last-minute donation towards its restoration made by the baby’s grandparents Duke and Duchess of Claremont.

  Millie stood with the rest of the christening party around the font, mouthing the words to ‘Dear Lord and Father of Mankind’ while trying desperately to stop her hymn book from shaking. On one side of her stood William, endearingly scruffy as ever, his tie crooked, dark hair flopping into his eyes as he bent his head to read the words. On the other was Seb, blond, sleek and self-possessed. The tension crackling between them was almost palpable.

  As the hymn finished, she sneaked a sideways glance at Seb, bathed in beams of jewel-coloured sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window. His handsome, aquiline profile was very familiar to her, and yet it was like looking at a stranger.

  She had been so looking forward to seeing him again, certain that once they came face to face they would bot
h realise how foolish they had been. But Seb’s cool reserve had shocked her. He had been polite but distant. Millie, ready to rush into his arms, was left feeling stunned and embarrassed.

  Now, as she stood looking out over the crowded pews, she wondered if anyone had noticed his lack of warmth to her. Surely someone must have guessed what was going on? He could barely conceal his contempt for her. She felt exposed, her ignominy on show for everyone to see.

  Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the service came to an end and she could escape. As the congregation began to stream out of the church, Millie went to join her father and grandmother to travel back to the house, but Seb’s mother waylaid her.

  ‘Where are you going? Surely Sebastian is driving you?’

  Millie pointed towards her father’s Daimler. ‘I thought I’d go with my family . . .’

  ‘Nonsense, they are already taking the vicar and my aunt.’ Before Millie could protest, she called her son over. ‘You’re taking Millie back to Lyford, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose . . .’ He looked at her doubtfully.

  ‘Of course you are.’ The duchess gave Millie a little shove towards him. ‘Off you go. And don’t be late,’ she added. ‘Luncheon is being served promptly at noon. I know what you young people are like.’

  The arch look she gave them sent scalding colour flooding into Millie’s face. Once they might have laughed about it together, but now she could hardly look at Seb as he flung open the door of his car for her to get in.

  He didn’t speak as he manoeuvred carefully out between the church gates and on to the lane. Then he said stiffly, ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you. And you?’

  ‘Can’t complain.’ He swung the car on to the verge to avoid a passing tractor. ‘How’s – um – life at the hospital?’

  Why do you care? she wanted to snap at him. But he was making an effort to be civil, and the least she could do was to do the same.

  ‘Just the same as ever.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded. They drove on for a while, making stilted small talk like strangers. Millie stared at the passing landscape of fields and trees, and thought how wretchedly she missed their old closeness. A few weeks ago they would have been roaring with laughter by now, chuckling together over the vicar’s tedious speech or someone’s absurd hat. How had that disappeared so completely, she wondered.

  As Lyford came into view in the valley below them, she said, ‘I take it you haven’t told your family about our broken engagement yet?’

  He shook his head. ‘I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want anything to ruin Sophia’s day,’ he said, his face grim.

  ‘I agree.’

  Seb glanced across at her. ‘I take it you haven’t either, judging by the fact that your grandmother didn’t arrive at the church with a shotgun this morning?’

  Millie smiled reluctantly. ‘I’m not quite sure who she would have been pointing it at, if she had.’ She dreaded breaking the bad news. She wasn’t sure which would be worse: her grandmother’s frustrated rage or her abject disappointment.

  As if he could read her mind, Seb said, ‘I could tell her for you, if that would make it easier? Or we could do it together?’

  ‘Thank you, but it’s better if I do it.’ Millie picked at the seam on her glove. ‘As Sister Hyde would say, this is my mess and I have to be the one to clean it up.’ She smiled wryly.

  She felt Seb turn towards her. ‘Millie—’ he started to say.

  ‘Anyway, we don’t have to tell anyone today, do we?’ she cut him off, desperate not to hear what he had to say. She had the feeling his words would be too final. ‘I think we can bear to be civil to each other for a few hours, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, turning his gaze back to the road. ‘Yes, I think I could pretend for a few more hours.’

  On Sundays, most of the sisters held their own kind of observance on their wards, whether it was simple prayers, hymn singing, or, in the case of the jazz-loving and somewhat eccentric Sister Everett on Female Medical, a selection of spirituals played on her harmonica.

  Those nurses who were not on duty were expected to attend the local parish church of St Luke’s, either for morning service or Evensong. And it was the duty of Miss Hanley and Sister Sutton to make sure they got there.

  Just after noon, they led a straggling crocodile of tired-looking girls up the gravel path back to the nurses’ home. Sister Parker had come with them as usual. And, as usual, her views were at odds with everyone else’s.

  ‘All I’m saying, Veronica, is that the sermon went on too long,’ she said, her soft Scottish accent making her sound far more mild-mannered than she actually was.

  ‘You can’t say that!’ Miss Hanley protested. ‘The subject of the Atonement is complex and subtle. You can’t explain it in five minutes!’

  ‘You don’t have to take four hours to do it, either,’ Sister Sutton said shortly. ‘I was quite numb with cold. Wiseman!’ she addressed one of the nurses sharply. ‘Pick your feet up, it sounds as if you’re dragging a sack of coal. And do keep up, Pritchard, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘A criticism of God’s anointed messenger is a criticism of God,’ Miss Hanley said primly.

  ‘Really, Veronica!’ Sister Parker’s blue eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘I don’t think God would mind my saying the Reverend Jennings is an old windbag. He’d probably agree with me!’

  Miss Hanley was still spluttering in outrage when Sister Sutton said, ‘Who on earth is that?’

  A woman was standing outside the Home Sister’s ground-floor window, shading her eyes to peer in through the glass.

  ‘The impertinence of her!’ Sister Sutton trundled across the grass towards her. ‘You there! What do you think you’re doing?’

  The woman turned around and regarded them calmly. She didn’t seem in the least bit perturbed at being caught spying. ‘I’m looking for Violet Tanner.’

  ‘And you are?’ Miss Hanley said.

  The woman looked her up and down before replying. ‘My name is Mrs Sherman. I am – an old acquaintance of Violet’s.’

  Miss Hanley regarded her suspiciously. Outwardly, there was nothing untoward about her appearance – she was a well-dressed woman in her fifties, tall and straight-spined, with an almost military bearing the Assistant Matron recognised as similar to her own. But there was something about her cold, pale eyes that sent a warning chill down the back of Miss Hanley’s neck.

  ‘Is she expecting you?’

  Her smile lacked any warmth. ‘I thought I would surprise her.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Miss Hanley caught Sister Parker’s small shake of her head.

  ‘You should speak to Matron,’ she said. ‘Come back tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I don’t have time for that!’ Mrs Sherman bit out. Then, seeing Miss Hanley’s frown, she recollected herself and said, ‘Forgive me, I have come a long way and I’m rather tired. I have to catch a train back to Bristol tomorrow, and had hoped to be able to spend a little longer with Violet. We have a lot of catching up to do.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I think it would be best if . . .’ Miss Hanley didn’t have time to finish her words before Sister Sutton broke in impatiently.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Veronica! Violet’s taken her little boy to the park,’ she told Mrs Sherman. ‘It’s just across the road.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m most grateful to you.’ There was a glint of something like triumph in the look she shot Miss Hanley.

  ‘What did you have to tell her that for?’ Sister Parker hissed as they watched Mrs Sherman picking her way back down the path.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Sister Sutton looked at them blankly, her chins wobbling in indignation. ‘You heard her. She’s a friend of Violet’s.’

  ‘She didn’t seem very friendly to me.’ Miss Hanley looked at Sister Parker.

  ‘We must inform Matron,’ they said together.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  MILLI
E THOUGHT IT would be easier with Seb being nice to her. But actually it made the pain in her heart much worse than if he’d just gone on being beastly. It was so hard, standing next to him, having him be so utterly charming to her in front of everyone, while knowing he was no longer hers.

  It was even worse sitting across the table at luncheon, watching Georgina Farsley flirting with him. She might be with Jumbo Jameson now, but how long before she made a play for Seb once she knew he was free, Millie wondered with a stab of jealousy.

  As soon as luncheon was over, she escaped on to the terrace to smoke a cigarette. She sat on the stone steps, careless of the damp seeping through her dress, and stared out over the immaculately manicured grounds and the trees tinted with pink and white spring blossom.

  She hadn’t been sitting there long before Sophia came out to join her.

  ‘Are you escaping too?’ she asked, sitting down beside her and helping herself to a cigarette from Millie’s packet. ‘Billy’s having a nap, thank God. I had to get some fresh air, or I’d simply faint.’ She lit her cigarette with a click of Millie’s lighter and took a deep drag, letting a thin plume of smoke stream out from between her lips.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ she said.

  Millie’s mind flew to her own broken engagement, until she saw Sophia’s smile. ‘What news?’

  ‘Lucinda is making an honest man out of my brother.’ Sophia’s grin widened. ‘Isn’t it too funny? All that planning and scheming finally worked. I’m not surprised . . . she hasn’t let poor Richard breathe by himself for the past two months.’

  ‘That’s – good news,’ Millie said faintly.

  ‘Good news for Lulu, certainly – she’s walking around in there with a smile you could practically see from the moon, as are her parents. But not such good news for my brother. Or for you, darling,’ she added. ‘You do realise that now everyone will be expecting you to set a date for your wedding?’

  She gazed at Millie through the curling smoke. ‘Are you all right, Mil? You’ve gone rather pale.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Just a bit shivery, that’s all.’