The Nightingale Nurses

by Donna Douglas

  But Amy Hollins had a different view. ‘I want her to tell my fortune,’ she declared, cornering Millie as she filled hot water bottles later. ‘And we’ve all got to do it, so we don’t get into trouble.’

  Millie thought about Katie. ‘That’s not fair,’ she said. ‘What if we don’t want to?’

  ‘You’ve got to. I’d ask Walsh, but it’s her day off.’

  Millie sighed. ‘All right, I’ll do it,’ she agreed. ‘As long as you leave O’Hara out of this. She’s terrified of Mrs Lovell, poor thing.’

  Sister Everett had the afternoon off. They waited until Staff Nurse Crockett had gone off for her dinner at twelve, then Amy nodded to Millie and they both made their way to Mary Ann Lovell’s bedside.

  She didn’t seem at all surprised to see them. ‘Afternoon, my wenches.’ She grinned toothlessly at them as Amy pulled the screens around her bed. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Millie glanced sidelong at Amy, who straightened her shoulders and said, ‘We want you to tell our fortunes.’

  ‘Do you now?’ Mary Ann settled back against her pillows and regarded them with shrewd eyes. ‘And what will your Sister say about that? She’s already given me a mouthful for dukkering on her ward.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to know.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Mary Ann’s gaze settled on Amy for so long, even Millie began to feel uncomfortable next to her.

  ‘Will you do it or not?’ Amy snapped.

  ‘That depends, doesn’t it?’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Whether you cross my palm with silver.’

  Amy gasped. ‘That’s unfair! You didn’t charge anyone else.’

  ‘Happen I don’t like your face, young lady.’ Mary Ann stared down her hooked nose at her. ‘Besides, it ain’t as if she’s a pauper, is it?’ She whipped round to look at Millie. ‘That’s right, ain’t it, my wench? Got a bit of money in your family.’

  Millie fought the urge to run away. It’s just a bit of fun, she told herself. Nothing but harmless, silly nonsense.

  She stood rooted to the spot while Amy and the gypsy woman haggled over a price. Finally, it was settled, and Amy fetched the coins.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ she announced.

  ‘You’ll wait your turn.’ Mary Ann pointed a bony finger at Millie. ‘I’ll tell her fortune first. Or I won’t tell any at all,’ she added, as Amy opened her mouth to protest.

  Amy’s mouth closed again, setting in a frustrated line. ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘But don’t take all day about it,’ she warned Millie.

  ‘She’s a bad ’un, ain’t she?’ Mary Ann murmured in her low, gravelly voice, as they watched Hollins strutting away down the ward. ‘Not like you, eh, my wench?’ She turned her gaze back to Millie. ‘You’ve got a kind heart. A good soul. I can see it shining out of you, like a golden light.’

  ‘Um . . . thank you.’ Millie shuffled her feet.

  She tried not to flinch as Mary Ann seized her hand and turned it over to examine the palm. The woman’s own skin was hard, like worn leather.

  ‘I see a great fortune coming your way in the future.’

  So Cousin Robert might not be getting his hands on the estate after all, thought Millie. Grandmother will be pleased. She had been fretting for years about Billinghurst passing into a distant branch of the family if Millie didn’t produce an heir in time.

  ‘And I see a wedding, too. To a fair-haired man.’

  Millie smiled, thinking about Seb. ‘Will I be seeing him soon?’ she asked.

  ‘Soon enough, my wench. Before the summer is out, at any rate.’ She drew Millie’s hand closer to her face, so close she could feel Mary Ann’s warm breath against her skin. The woman’s brows drew together in a frown.

  ‘What is it?’ Millie asked. ‘What do you see?’

  The woman raised her head. The bleakness in her dark eyes shocked Millie.

  ‘You’ll be wearing mourning black when you see him again.’

  Before Millie had a chance to react, Amy stuck her head through the screens. ‘Are you finished yet?’ she hissed. ‘Crockett will be back soon, and I don’t want to miss my turn.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m finished.’ Mary Ann didn’t resist as Millie slipped her hand out of her grasp. She pushed past Amy Hollins through the screens and walked back down the ward on legs that suddenly felt as if they didn’t belong to her.

  Katie O’Hara abandoned her TPRs on the other side of the ward and followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘What did she say?’ she asked, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Nothing.’ Millie picked up the kettle and went to fill it at the sink. ‘I’ll start the tea round, shall I?’

  Katie came closer, studying her face with earnest blue eyes. ‘She must have said something?’

  ‘Just a lot of nonsense, that’s all.’ Millie fought to keep her hands steady as she lit the gas.

  ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, I know it.’

  Millie managed a light laugh. ‘You’re imagining things!’

  No sooner had she put the kettle on the hob than the door flew open and Amy stormed in, making them both jump.

  ‘That was quick!’ Katie said.

  ‘It was a complete waste of time.’ Amy’s face was taut. ‘She’s a fraud.’ She threw open the cupboard and started slamming cups down on the tray. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be finishing those TPRs?’ she snapped, turning on Katie.

  ‘I’m going.’ Katie pulled a face. ‘But I think you’re both mean to keep secrets,’ she added.

  Neither of them spoke after Katie had gone. Millie stared at her blurred reflection in the tiled wall as she waited for the kettle to boil

  It was all nonsense, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.

  She looked around. Amy Hollins was standing on the other side of the kitchen, staring down into the teacups. And from the look of her face, she was thinking exactly the same thing.

  On Thursday afternoon, Dora joined the other second-year students in the teaching block for Sister Parker’s weekly lecture. All the students were given time off from their wards to attend, although some sisters gave it more grudgingly than others. To listen to Sister Percival go on, anyone would think Dora was going off to Clacton for the day, instead of sitting for two hours in a cramped, airless classroom, scribbling notes until her hand ached.

  But at least she didn’t have to keep up with Sister Parker’s machine-gun dictation on this particular afternoon as the lecture was being delivered by Mr Cooper, the Chief Gynae Consultant. He was a lot nicer to look at than Sister Parker, too. He was more like a film star than a doctor, with his piercing blue eyes and black hair that gleamed like polished patent leather. All along the front row, Dora could see students sitting up straighter, fiddling with their hair and readjusting their apron bibs in an effort to make themselves more alluring.

  Not that Mr Cooper seemed to notice, as he gave his lecture on the treatment of inevitable abortion.

  ‘It may be taken as a general rule that there is no such thing as a complete abortion,’ he intoned, in his deep, well-educated voice. ‘Even when the pregnancy has reached the placental stage it is rarely expelled completely, small pieces of placenta or more commonly large pieces of chorion being retained in utero.’

  He could even make the gruesome details of a late miscarriage sound charming, Dora thought. All around her, pens scratched on paper as the students struggled to get down every word he uttered.

  ‘For the sake of the patients, the uterus must therefore be emptied with the fingers, sponge forceps and curette. In the first eight to ten weeks of pregnancy, it is very easy to complete the evacuation of the uterus, but after the twelfth to fourteenth week, the difficulty is much greater and requires considerably more cervical dilatation. Are there any questions so far?’

  He looked around the classroom expectantly. Not a single hand went up. Dora caught Sister Parker’s forbidding look as she stood on the dais behind the consultant, her hands folde
d in front of her. Not that anyone would dare to question a consultant in any case.

  ‘Very well, then.’ Mr Cooper looked down at his notes. ‘I will now describe the curettage procedure . . .’

  As Dora picked up her pen again, she realised there was silence beside her. Millie had stopped writing and was staring into space, her pen still in her hand.

  Dora glanced at Sister Parker. Thankfully, her eagle gaze was turned on the other side of the classroom.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Dora gave Millie a quick nudge. Her friend turned to smile vacantly at her.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘So I see. Why aren’t you making notes?’

  Millie stared down at the half-empty page in front of her, as if seeing it for the first time. But before she could reply, Sister Parker’s voice rang out.

  ‘Are you quite finished, Nurses?’

  Dora looked around, realising for the first time that the classroom had fallen ominously silent. All eyes were turned in their direction – including Mr Cooper’s.

  Hot colour flooded her face. ‘Sorry, Sister,’ she mumbled.

  ‘It isn’t me you should be apologising to, is it?’ Sister Parker’s Scottish accent was sharp. ‘May I remind you, Mr Cooper is a very busy man. He has generously given up his time to offer the benefit of his wisdom to you, and all you can do is chatter throughout his lecture. Really, Nurse Doyle, you have shown an appalling lack of respect.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ Dora cleared her throat. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘Please, Sister, it was my fault,’ Millie piped up beside her.

  ‘I don’t doubt that, Benedict, since you seem to be the source of a great deal of mischief in this set.’ Sister Parker eyed her severely. ‘Very well, since you are so keen to share the punishment, you and Nurse Doyle can both stay behind and clean the classroom after the lecture has finished.’

  Dora heard Millie’s gasp of outrage, quickly stifled.

  Sister Parker heard it too. ‘Yes, Benedict?’ She swung round to face her, her eyes glacial behind her pebble glasses. ‘Is there something you wish to say?’

  Please don’t make it worse, Dora prayed silently. Thankfully for once even Millie had the good sense to know when she was beaten.

  ‘No, Sister,’ she whispered humbly.

  Afterwards, when all the others had gone, they got out the brooms and the dusters and started on the cleaning.

  ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ Millie said, as she flicked dust from the skeleton’s collarbone. ‘It’s my fault that you’re having to stay behind.’

  ‘I was the one Sister Parker caught talking.’

  ‘Only because you were trying to stop me getting into trouble.’ Millie’s large blue eyes were filled with dejection. ‘Now you’re having to do this on your night off.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Dora kept her head down as she damp dusted the skirting board.

  ‘But you’re meant to be meeting Joe, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’ll be finished soon enough.’

  If she was really honest with herself, Dora wasn’t looking forward to her night out. But she didn’t want to admit it because then she would seem ungrateful.

  She changed the subject. ‘Why were you so quiet in class? You looked as if you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.’

  Millie sighed. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just something that happened on the ward.’

  ‘Oh, yes? What was that, then?’

  Millie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Just me being silly.’

  But as she went back to her sweeping, Dora could see that her friend was troubled.

  And I reckoned I was the one who kept my problems to myself, she thought.

  Dora was twenty minutes late for her date with Joe. She’d been half expecting him not to wait for her, but as she turned the corner she saw him pacing the pavement outside the picture house, a box of chocolates in one hand.

  His scowl turned to a smile when he saw her running towards him.

  ‘There you are. I thought you’d stood me up.’

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ Dora stopped running, fighting to get her breath back. ‘Benedict and I were caught talking in class and had to stay behind.’

  ‘At least you’re here now.’ He handed her the chocolates. ‘I bought these for you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have.’ She admired the padded silk box, finished off with a big red bow. ‘They must have cost a fortune.’

  ‘Only the best for my girl.’

  She winced. ‘Look, Joe—’

  ‘I’d better hurry up and get those tickets,’ he cut her off before she had time to finish her sentence. ‘The film’s about to start.’

  ‘I’ll get them—’ Dora started to fumble in her bag, but Joe stopped her.

  ‘You put your purse away. It’s my treat.’

  ‘At least let me pay my share?’

  ‘You can get them next time, how about that?’

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he was already sauntering off to join the end of the queue at the ticket booth. Dora watched him, standing so tall and handsome, smiling as he gallantly allowed an older couple to go before him. Any girl would be proud to be with him.

  It must be her, she decided. She was too prickly and difficult to allow herself to be loved. If only she was as sweet-natured as Katie O’Hara, she could be blissfully happy by now.

  ‘Nurse Doyle?’

  She turned to face the man who had approached her. There was something familiar about his smiling face, but Dora couldn’t quite place it. ‘I’m sorry . . .?’

  ‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’ he grinned. ‘I’m not surprised. The last time you saw me I was flat on my back with half my arm hanging off!’

  As Dora peered at him, a mental picture began to slide into place. ‘Of course, I remember you now. It’s Mr Gannon, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right!’ He beamed, delighted. ‘Blimey, Nurse, you must have a good memory!’

  ‘It was my first day in Casualty. I’m not going to forget that in a hurry!’ She grimaced. ‘How is your arm now?’

  ‘As good as new, thanks to you and Dr McKay.’ He flexed his arm, clenching and unclenching his fist to prove his point.

  ‘I don’t think I had much to do with it,’ Dora said ruefully. ‘It was all I could do to stop myself fainting on the spot!’

  ‘You and me both!’ Mr Gannon said. He glanced towards the doors. ‘Oops, my missus is giving me a funny look. I reckon I’m going to have some explaining to do, stopping to chat to a young lady!’ He shook Dora’s hand. ‘It was nice to see you, again, Nurse. You’ll thank Dr McKay for me, won’t you?’

  ‘I will, Mr Gannon. And I’m glad your arm’s on the mend.’

  Dora was still smiling when Joe came over.

  ‘Who was that you were talking to?’ he demanded.

  Dora blinked at him, taken aback by the bluntness of his question. ‘He was my first patient on Casualty.’

  Joe glared after him. ‘You seemed very friendly.’

  Dora laughed, until she saw the muscles clenching in Joe’s jaw. ‘So what if we were?’ she replied tartly.

  ‘I just don’t like strange men getting over-familiar with my girl, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m not your girl,’ Dora snapped. ‘And you certainly can’t tell me who I can and can’t speak to!’

  A shadow passed across Joe’s handsome face, and then his smile was suddenly back in place. ‘You’re right. Sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘Let’s go in before the film starts, shall we?’

  The cinema was crowded, but the usherette found them two seats on the back row. Couples disentangled themselves hastily as they found themselves caught in the roving beam of her torch.

  The film started and Joe’s arm snaked around her shoulders. Dora kept her eyes fixed on the screen, where Max Miller was playing a cheeky racing tipster. Everyone was laughing at his antics, but all she could thi
nk about was the weight of Joe’s arm, and the way his hand dangled limply over her shoulder, almost brushing her breast through her jumper.

  Suddenly Max Miller disappeared and all she could see was her stepfather Alf’s leering face looming at her, his slobbering mouth and the smell of beer on his breath . . .

  She jumped, just catching the box of chocolates as it slid off her lap. Joe leaned closer to her. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She shifted position slightly to loosen his grip on her shoulders.

  She was fine, she told herself. Alf had been gone for a while now, and as the days went by she thought of him less and less. But sometimes, when Joe came too close, the dark memories would come creeping back and the old fear would engulf her.

  After the pictures, he insisted on walking her back to the Nightingale. It was a mild May night. The cherry trees in the park were heavy with blossom, and the scent of mown grass filled the air.

  It seemed too nice an evening to spoil, but Dora knew she had to set Joe straight. She took a deep breath. ‘Look, Joe—’

  ‘Before you say anything, there’s something I need to tell you,’ he cut her off. ‘It’s about your brother.’

  She stared up at him, all other thoughts forgotten. ‘Peter? What about him?’

  Joe paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘There was a bit of trouble at a British Union of Fascists’ meeting last night in Whitechapel. Someone started heckling, and a few of the Blackshirts turned on him and gave him a hiding.’

  Her blood turned to ice. ‘And Peter was involved?’

  ‘I’m not saying he started it,’ Joe said. ‘But he was in there with the rest of them, throwing punches. Broke the other bloke’s nose.’

  ‘The silly sod.’ Dora ran her hand wearily over her eyes. ‘That’s all we need, for him to end up in jail.’

  ‘It’s all right, I didn’t arrest him. I just gave him a warning and frightened him a bit. But if we see him causing trouble again, I might not be able to let him off. And I don’t want to see him up in front of the judge on account of those thugs.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Dora.

  Joe looked anxious. ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you?’