The Nurses of Steeple Street

by Donna Douglas

‘But I recall you were sent home from school last month?’

  Christine lowered her gaze. ‘I’ve been sick a few times. But I’ve had a lot of schoolwork to do,’ she added.

  Schoolwork doesn’t make you sick, Agnes thought. She looked down at the girl on the bed, trying to choose her words carefully.

  In the end she knew she had no choice but to say it outright. ‘Christine, do you think you might be pregnant?’

  Her mouth fell open. ‘No, miss!’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Agnes spoke gently. ‘Be honest now.’

  Christine’s gaze dropped, her face flooding with mottled colour. ‘No, miss,’ she repeated.

  ‘When did you last have your monthlies?’

  The girl frowned. ‘I don’t understand—’

  But before Agnes could reply, the door swung open and Bess Bradshaw bustled in.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded, looking from one to the other.

  Agnes straightened her shoulders. ‘Christine fainted and was sick during assembly,’ she said.

  ‘I know that! I’ve just spoken to the headmistress. What I want to know is why you didn’t send for me straight away?’

  ‘I felt I could manage by myself.’

  Bess frowned at her. ‘That’s as may be, but I am the Queen’s Nurse, not you. I am responsible for this school and the wellbeing of its pupils.’ She crossed the room, almost elbowing Agnes out of the way. ‘Now, let’s have a look at you, lass,’ she said to Christine.

  ‘I’ve already checked her pulse and temperature,’ Agnes muttered.

  ‘I’ll just check it again, to be sure.’

  Agnes burned with humiliation as she watched Bess examine the girl. All the while Christine watched her warily over the Assistant Superintendent’s shoulder, eyes huge and terrified in her pale face.

  ‘Yes, well, that all seems to be in order,’ Bess said finally. ‘Let me look at your tongue.’ Christine opened her mouth obediently. ‘It’s probably just another infection you’ve picked up. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Actually—’ Agnes started to speak, but Bess held up her hand.

  ‘I’m not interested in hearing one of your interesting new medical theories,’ she declared.

  ‘But—’

  Bess ignored her, turning back to face Christine. ‘Now, lass, I want you to rest here until you feel better, then get yourself home,’ she said.

  Christine’s pale face filled with dismay. ‘But we’ve got an important arithmetic test today!’

  ‘Not another one arguing with me?’ Bess shot Agnes an accusing look. ‘I don’t want to hear it, young lady. I’m a nurse and I know what I’m talking about. Now, I’ll have a word with the headmistress and let her know what’s going on.’

  ‘Shall I stay with her?’ Agnes asked. She was hoping she might have another chance to talk to Christine.

  But Bess seemed to sense her eagerness, and shook her head. ‘No, you can come with me while I give my talk,’ she declared. ‘I want you where I can keep an eye on you. If I turn my back, you’ll probably be writing out a prescription for her or some such daftness!’

  Agnes looked back at Christine as she followed Bess out of the room. There was no prescription that could help the girl now, if Agnes’ suspicions were correct.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was a new name on Polly’s list of calls that morning.

  ‘Dr Marsh telephoned about him first thing this morning,’ Miss Jarvis explained as they went through the coming morning’s list together. ‘He collapsed yesterday. He has a history of heart and lung problems, but he’s refused to go to hospital. The doctor has done everything he can, but he’d like us to keep an eye on him every morning. I get the impression he’s a rather stubborn old man,’ she said, smiling.

  It must run in the family, then, Polly thought, staring down at the piece of paper in her hand. She didn’t want to react, but all her senses were on the alert.

  ‘I can understand if you don’t want to go?’ Polly looked up sharply as Miss Jarvis seemed to read her thoughts. ‘It’s where Frank is buried, isn’t it?’ the district nurse said kindly. ‘If you feel it might be too much for you …’

  ‘Not at all,’ Polly said, slipping the list into the outside pocket of her bag. She was dismayed to realise that Frank hadn’t been in her thoughts at all. ‘I’ll go first thing as the doctor is concerned.’

  It had been nearly two weeks since Polly had last been to the church. She was annoyed with herself for staying away so long. No matter how humiliated she felt, she shouldn’t let the likes of Finn Slater keep her from doing her duty to Frank.

  But all the same, her stomach lurched as she parked her bicycle just inside the lych gate. She couldn’t forget how offhand Finn had been the last time she’d visited. Their fledgling friendship had obviously meant more to her than it did to him, and this was his not-so-subtle way of keeping her at arm’s length.

  Job saw her first, as he lolled against the front step of the sexton’s cottage. He lifted his big black head at the sound of Polly’s approach, then jumped to his feet and let out a joyful volley of deep barking at the sight of her.

  A second later the front door flew open and Finn stood there.

  ‘Quiet, Job! You don’t want to bring—’ He saw her and stopped dead. ‘You!’ he said. He looked her up and down, registering her uniform. ‘I didn’t know …’

  Her first thought was how tired he looked. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, and there were deep shadows under his stormy grey eyes.

  Polly gripped the smooth leather handle of her bag tightly, determined not to give away her raging nerves. ‘I’ve come to see your grandfather,’ she said.

  Finn recovered himself. ‘Yes, of course. You’d best come in.’ He stood aside to let her enter.

  Inside the cottage was small, but neat and well kept. Polly looked around, taking it all in. Finn seemed to fill the cramped space, so she couldn’t help but be aware of him as he led the way down a narrow passageway to a bedroom.

  Henry Slater was propped up against his pillow. He looked ashen, not at all like the robust man she was used to seeing up and about. But he managed a smile when he saw Polly.

  ‘Hello, love,’ he greeted her. ‘Well, this is a turn up for the books. What a bit o’ luck, eh, Finn lad?’

  Finn said nothing. He lingered sullenly in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, Job sitting at his feet.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Slater,’ Polly greeted the old man. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Like a fool, nurse. I shouldn’t be lying here in my bed when there’s so much work to be done. We’ve got two funerals tomorrow, and no one’s going to be buried if I don’t fettle it.’

  ‘I told you I’d do them,’ Finn muttered.

  ‘And there’s the fence to be mended.’

  ‘I’ve already done it. I did it first thing this morning. So you’ve no need to worry.’

  The old man looked disgruntled. ‘All the same, I’d rather be up and about.’

  ‘You should be in hospital,’ Finn said.

  Henry shook his head. ‘I aren’t going to no hospital.’

  ‘You heard what the doctor said.’

  ‘I told you, I aren’t going! Now stop your mithering, lad, and go and do summat useful.’

  Finn mumbled a curse under his breath and stomped off, Job at his heels. A moment later they heard the front door slam. Polly flinched, but Henry just gave her a toothless grin.

  ‘He’ll be back when he’s had a chance to calm down.’

  Polly read the message paper from Dr Marsh. Auricular fibrillation, possibly due to congestive heart failure. No medication prescribed as yet, but he had left instructions that the patient was to be kept in bed, propped up, TPRs to be checked twice daily. Also Polly had to telephone the doctor every evening to report on Henry’s symptoms.

  ‘Not bad news, I hope?’ She looked down to see Henry gazing up at her. A smile was still fixed to his grizzled old face, but she
could see the anxiety behind it.

  ‘You’re in good hands, Mr Slater,’ she replied, putting the paper aside. ‘Now, I’ll just go and wash my hands, then I’ll make a start.’

  Polly took the old man’s temperature and pulse, and asked him various questions about his symptoms. Had he eaten? Had he been to the toilet? While she was talking to him, she was aware of the front door opening and closing again. Finn had come back.

  ‘Told you!’ Henry Slater cackled. ‘He just needed some time to clear his head, that’s all.’

  ‘He’s worried for you,’ Polly said.

  ‘I know. He thinks I’m all he’s got.’

  ‘Is he right?’

  Henry paused. ‘Well, I suppose so,’ he said. ‘God knows his own family don’t want to know him, not after—’ He broke off.

  ‘Not after what?’

  Henry looked down at his callused old hands, resting on the coverlet. ‘It in’t my business to say,’ he muttered. ‘He just had a few troubles, that’s all. But Finn’s a good lad,’ he added quickly. ‘He tries to hide it, but there’s a heart in there. Trouble is, I reckon it’s more broken than mine,’ he added with a grim smile.

  Polly would have liked to ask him what he meant, but she knew he wouldn’t tell her. Henry Slater was a closed book, just like his grandson.

  She finished examining him and fetched some extra pillows to prop him up, then stood back.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Now, would you like me to help you wash?’

  Henry’s whiskery face coloured. ‘No, thank you, nurse,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Are you sure? You might feel better if you freshen up a bit.’

  ‘I’m much obliged, nurse, but Finn can do all that for me, if you don’t mind?’

  Polly looked at the old man’s anxious expression and understood. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to sort it out between you, then.’

  ‘Thank you, nurse.’ Henry looked relieved.

  ‘But you said you hadn’t eaten. Would you like me to make you something?’

  ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t want to put you to all that trouble.’

  ‘It would be no trouble to make you some tea and toast. Besides, it’s my job to make sure you’re well nourished.’

  ‘I’m sure Finn could manage …’

  From the look of him, Finn hadn’t eaten either, Polly thought. ‘All the same, I might as well do it, while I’m here.’

  She packed up her bag, told Henry she would be back that evening to check on him, and then went into the kitchen. Finn was there, leaning against the sink, moodily watching Job gnawing on a bone. He looked up sharply when Polly walked in.

  ‘How is he?’

  Polly drew a deep breath. ‘As well as can be expected,’ she said, setting her bag down on the table. ‘He’s quite comfortable at the moment, but time will tell—’

  ‘Tell me the truth!’ Finn cut her off harshly.

  Polly turned on him, ready to bite back at him, until she saw the desperate look on his face. ‘That is the truth,’ she replied quietly.

  Finn’s gaze dropped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I’m just worried.’

  He suddenly looked so vulnerable, like a lost little boy, all she wanted to do was to put her arms around him and console him. But she held herself rigid.

  ‘To be honest, your grandfather would be better off in hospital,’ she replied. Then, seeing Finn’s expression, she added, ‘but trying to force him there will do more harm than good. He’s all right where he is for now, with us keeping an eye on him. If the doctor thinks it’s necessary, he will make him go to hospital.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ His eyes were fixed on her.

  ‘I’m quite sure.’

  Finn’s tense features relaxed slightly. ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ he said. ‘The old man’s had attacks before, but never like that. I really thought …’

  Once again, Polly felt the urge to reach out and comfort him.

  She covered it up, hiding behind her brisk, professional exterior as she went to fill the kettle. ‘I’m making him some tea and toast,’ she said. ‘Can I make you something too?’

  Finn shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘But you need to eat.’

  He stared down at his boots. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’

  ‘I am worried about you.’

  He looked up sharply and their eyes met. The room suddenly seemed to crackle with electricity.

  ‘You need to keep up your strength,’ Polly went on, so flustered she could barely get the words out. ‘To look after your grandfather, I mean. We don’t want you getting ill too, do we?’

  Silence stretched between them, and for a moment Polly thought she caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

  Then Job let out a loud bark, breaking the spell. He abandoned his bone and rushed to the door, pawing at the wood.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Polly asked.

  ‘That’ll be your friend t’curate.’ Finn went to the window and twitched aside the lace curtain to look out. ‘Aye, there is he, lurking about. Job doesn’t care for him. Reckon he hasn’t forgotten the way he tried to go for him with that stick.’ He turned to her. ‘I daresay you’ll be wanting to go and see him,’ he said shortly. ‘Don’t bother about the tea and toast, I can make it mysen.’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Polly moved away from the window and set the kettle down on the stove. ‘And I’ll thank you to lower that curtain, I don’t want him to see me. Now, where do you keep the bread?’

  ‘I’ll fetch it.’ Finn let the curtain drop and went to the larder. ‘What’s wrong? Have you had a lovers’ tiff?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You heard.’ Finn put the loaf down. ‘You two are courting, aren’t you?’

  Polly turned to face him, a box of matches in her hand. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  He lowered his gaze. ‘I saw you … talking together the other day.’

  ‘You were watching, were you? I thought you were ignoring me.’

  He made a great show of rifling in the drawer, clattering noisily in search of a knife. ‘He likes you,’ he said. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘Perhaps he does,’ Polly said. ‘But for your information, I have no interest in Matthew Elliott.

  Finn shrugged. ‘It in’t my business if you do or if you don’t.’

  Isn’t it? Polly looked at his profile. She was sure she saw the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips.

  ‘Oh! Has she gone?’ Henry looked disappointed when Finn took his breakfast in to him.

  ‘Aye, she has. She’s got other folk to see, y’know. Can’t be fussing round you all day.’ He set the tray down in front of his grandfather. ‘You’re stuck wi’ me, I’m afraid.’

  Henry looked at him. ‘I dunno about me, but I reckon seeing her has made you feel better. Put a right smile on your face.’

  Finn let his features drop into his usual scowl, embarrassed that he’d allowed the mask to slip.

  ‘Nay, lad, you can’t fool me that easily,’ his grandfather chuckled. ‘Anyone can see you’re fond of the lass. And I reckon she likes you too.’

  Finn moved away from the bed to open the window, not wanting his grandfather to see his face. He’d already given away far too much about how he felt.

  He scarcely dared to allow himself to think it, but he suspected his grandfather was right. There had been something between them. He’d sensed it as they worked together in the kitchen, making breakfast.

  Finn thought about what she had said about the curate, and his smile broadened. That alone had been enough to make his day.

  But then his grandfather ruined it all by saying, ‘Have you told her anything?’

  Finn stiffened, instantly wary. ‘What about?’

  ‘You know.’

  He went on staring out of the window. ‘I’ve told her nothing,’ he muttered.

  ‘Don’t you think you should?’

 
; The hope and happiness that had briefly warmed him faded away, leaving him feeling cold and empty again. ‘I thought this was meant to be a fresh start for me, coming here?’

  ‘It is, lad. But I reckon it’s only fair she knows what she’s taking on.’

  Finn flinched. He knew his grandfather meant well, but he made him sound like an unwelcome burden.

  But then, wasn’t that exactly what he was?

  ‘You should be straight with her,’ his grandfather carried on. ‘Better she hears it from you than someone else.’

  ‘And who’d tell her? There’s no one round here knows, except you and me.

  ‘And Reverend Turner. I had to tell him, don’t forget.’

  Finn tensed. ‘You don’t think he’d say anything—’

  His grandfather shook his head. ‘Nay lad, he’ll not go out of his way to make trouble for you, any more than I would. But all the same, it wouldn’t take much for someone to remember your name, or your face.’ He paused. ‘I reckon you should speak to her. For your own sake.’

  Finn stared out of the window again, his gaze fixed on nothing. Of course he’d thought about telling Polly. He’d tried to imagine talking to her, opening his heart and letting all his secrets spill out.

  But then he imagined the look of dawning horror on her face, the light fading from her eyes. And he couldn’t bear that. Finn would rather lose her completely than have to endure that.

  ‘Better she never has to know at all,’ he murmured.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christine perched on the bed, her hands laced tightly in her lap, staring at the grubby net curtains. Beyond, the window looked out on to the gable end of the shop opposite, a high brick wall covered in a weather-worn advertisement for Bovril. Christine had never noticed it before. But then, she had always been too wrapped up in Oliver to notice anything.

  She wished they could have met somewhere else. The grim little room in the bed and breakfast hardly seemed right for what she had to say, especially when they had spent so many happy times there together. But they couldn’t be seen in public, and Oliver wouldn’t hear of her visiting his lodgings, so here it had to be.

  But perhaps that would all change, she thought. Everything would change after today, one way or another.