The Nightingale Nurses

by Donna Douglas

  ‘And you’re fighting the girls off, aren’t you?’ Joe snarled back.

  ‘At least Katie’s keen.’

  ‘A bit too keen, if you ask me,’ Joe muttered under his breath.

  Tom stopped. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on, out with it. Are you saying my Katie’s easy?’

  ‘Why not? You’ve said it yourself often enough.’

  ‘That’s different. I ain’t having you insulting my girl.’

  Joe swung round, squaring up to him, pent-up tension scorching through his veins.

  ‘Go on,’ Tom taunted softly. ‘What are you going to do, lay me out like you did that poor bloke in the cells? I don’t reckon the sergeant would buy two accidents in one day, do you?’

  Joe looked at his friend’s scowling face and felt his anger ebbing away. What was he doing? Another second and he would have taken a swing at his best mate.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, turning away. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m just fed up, that’s all.’

  That was what Dora Doyle did to him. She got under his skin like no other girl he’d ever met.

  ‘Frustrated, more like,’ Tom said wisely.

  ‘You could be right.’ Joe couldn’t understand it. He wasn’t bad-looking, he tried to treat her right – better than Tommy treated Katie, anyway – and yet Dora wouldn’t let him anywhere near her. It was driving him mad.

  ‘When are you going to give up, pal? Just admit she ain’t interested?’

  ‘I can’t.’ That was the problem. Joe didn’t like to lose. That was what made him such a mean fighter in the ring, because he couldn’t stand the idea of being beaten. He would do whatever it took to win, even if it earned him a bad reputation.

  And that was how he felt about Dora, too. The thought of not having her, of Tom and the other lads at the station all knowing he’d failed, was too humiliating for Joe to contemplate.

  ‘What you need is someone to take your mind off her. Like that Nurse Willard, for instance. She’s a good-looking girl. And she definitely likes you,’ Tom told him.

  ‘I’m not interested.’ Joe shrugged. Without being vain, he knew girls like Nurse Willard were two a penny, especially for a good-looking bloke like him. But Dora was a real challenge. And the more she pushed him away, the more he wanted her.

  He wasn’t ready to give up on her. Not without a fight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IT WAS A sunny Saturday afternoon in June, and Helen should have been spending it with Charlie. But that morning he’d telephoned the nurses’ home and left a message to say that something had happened and he wouldn’t be able to see her after all.

  She then planned to spend the afternoon catching up with her revision, but Dora and Millie both had a few hours off and had persuaded her to join them for a walk in Victoria Park.

  ‘It’s such a lovely afternoon, it’s a shame to waste it locked up indoors,’ Millie had said.

  Helen eyed the textbooks, teetering in a pile beside her bed. ‘I really should get on with some studying . . .’

  ‘You know what Miss Hanley always says. Fresh air is good for the brain!’ Dora reminded her.

  Helen was glad they had persuaded her. It was a gloriously sunny day and the park was full of families and couples strolling arm in arm. The rose bushes were in full bloom, their exquisite fragrance filling the air. The happy clamour of children playing mingled with distant sounds from the brass band on the bandstand.

  Charlie would have loved it, Helen thought. She couldn’t imagine what might be so important that he would miss out on spending time with her.

  But at least she had Millie and Dora for company. She had been so busy in Theatre and studying for her Finals, she had hardly spent any time with her room mates recently.

  They turned away from the bandstand and headed towards a grove of tall poplar trees, their dark spikes reaching up into the cloudless blue sky. To their right, on the field, an army of women, all dressed in white vests and black shorts, stood in regimented lines, swinging Indian clubs above their heads. Every eye was fixed on a woman who stood in front of them, barking instructions like a sergeant major.

  ‘What on earth is going on there?’ Helen asked.

  ‘The Women’s League of Health and Beauty,’ Dora replied. ‘Sister Percival from Casualty told us about it. She and her friend Marjorie often come over here to exercise. She’s ever so keen.’

  ‘Rather her than me,’ Helen said. ‘After heaving patients around all day, the last thing I’d want to do is spend my time off flinging clubs about.’

  ‘What do you reckon, Benedict?’ Dora grinned. ‘Shall we join in?’

  Millie looked up vaguely. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Blimey, you were miles away!’ Dora laughed.

  ‘I suppose I must have been.’ Millie smiled back, but Helen could see her blue eyes were troubled.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said. ‘You’ve been very quiet.’

  Millie hesitated. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘You’ve been saying that for ages, but we can tell you’ve got something on your mind,’ Dora said. ‘Come on, out with it.’

  ‘Promise not to laugh?’ Millie regarded them apprehensively.

  ‘Just spit it out!’

  She took a deep breath, and they could see her gathering her thoughts. ‘We had a patient on Everett a few weeks ago, a gypsy. She said she could tell people’s fortunes . . .’

  ‘O’Hara told me about her,’ Dora put in. ‘Didn’t she say a patient was going to die?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Millie nodded. ‘Everyone was in a frightful state about it.’

  Helen guessed what was coming next. ‘Please don’t tell me you let her tell your fortune?’ she sighed.

  ‘I didn’t want to. Hollins made me do it.’

  ‘I might have known she’d be involved!’ Dora muttered.

  ‘So what did the gypsy tell you?’ Helen asked Millie.

  ‘She told me . . . Sebastian was going to die.’

  ‘What?’ Helen and Dora both stopped in their tracks at the same time.

  ‘Those weren’t her exact words. But she did say the next time I saw him, I’d be wearing mourning black. And that’s the same thing, isn’t it?’

  Millie looked from one to the other, her blue eyes huge with apprehension. Helen glanced across at Dora’s grim expression.

  ‘And you’ve been worrying about that all this time?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘You mustn’t take any notice of her. It’s all a load of nonsense.’

  ‘Tremayne’s right,’ Dora added. ‘It’s all made up.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Millie’s voice was tremulous with hope. ‘She seemed awfully convincing.’

  ‘They always do,’ Dora said. ‘Half the women in my street used to say they could read tea leaves, but most of what they said was a load of old twaddle.’

  Millie bit her lip. ‘I wish I could believe that,’ she said. ‘But she predicted Mrs Allen was going to die . . .’

  ‘It’s a hospital,’ Helen pointed out. ‘Someone’s bound to die occasionally, aren’t they? She probably overheard the doctors talking.’

  Millie looked pensive, taking this in. ‘Do you really think she might have made it all up?’

  ‘I’d bet my next week’s wages on it,’ Dora said firmly.

  ‘You mustn’t worry about it any more,’ Helen said. ‘Sebastian will come home safe and sound, you’ll see.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ Millie looked at them, shame-faced. ‘I suppose I have been a bit silly, haven’t I?’

  ‘You, silly? Never!’ Helen grinned at Dora.

  ‘No suppose about it,’ Dora said. ‘Right, now we’ve sorted that out, let’s have an ice cream to celebrate.’

  They bought cornets from the hokey-pokey man on his bicycle. Then they skirted the boating lake while they ate them, and Helen told them about her mother not wan
ting Charlie to go to the Founder’s Day Ball.

  They were both suitably outraged.

  ‘That’s awful! Why would she do such a thing?’ Millie said.

  ‘Because she doesn’t think he’s good enough for me.’

  ‘But he’s an absolute angel, everyone knows that.’

  ‘Try telling my mother,’ Helen said. ‘She won’t give Charlie a chance. She barely speaks to him if she can help it.’

  ‘You could try locking them in a broom cupboard together, and not let her out until they’ve made friends?’ Millie suggested.

  Helen and Dora looked at each other, neither of them quite sure if she was serious. There was no telling with Millie Benedict.

  ‘I suppose that’s an idea,’ Helen said slowly. ‘But somehow I don’t think it would work.’

  ‘Dora! Dora!’

  She stopped, her ice cream halfway to her mouth.

  It was Millie who turned around to see where the voice was coming from. ‘I think someone’s trying to get your attention,’ she said.

  Helen looked over her shoulder, squinting into the sunshine. Two young men were approaching them. She recognised the taller one with dark curly hair, but not the pale, slight boy shambling along beside him.

  ‘Isn’t that Nick Riley, from the hospital?’ she said.

  ‘So it is,’ Millie said. ‘But who’s that with him?’

  ‘His brother Danny.’ Dora’s voice was flat.

  ‘Do you know them?’ Millie asked.

  ‘I used to live next door to them.’ Dora started to walk on, but Helen and Millie stayed put.

  ‘Don’t you want to talk to your friends?’ Millie asked.

  Before Dora had a chance to reply, the pale-haired boy rushed up to her. His brother held back, slowing his steps.

  ‘All right, Danny?’ Dora’s smile was forced. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Nick’s t-taking me on the boat!’ The young man’s eager smile lit up his face, transforming his odd features.

  ‘That’s nice for you, love.’

  Nick Riley caught up with them. He nodded a curt greeting to Millie and Helen, but barely spared a glance for Dora.

  ‘Come on, Dan, we’d best go. They’re letting all the passengers on, and we don’t want to get left behind.’ He took hold of his brother’s sleeve, but Danny held back.

  ‘W-Why don’t you come with us?’ he asked Dora.

  ‘No, love, I can’t. I’m here with my friends.’

  ‘Th-They can c-come too, can’t they, Nick?’

  ‘I don’t think so, mate.’

  ‘Oh, but I’d love to!’ Millie chimed in. ‘I haven’t been on a pleasure cruiser for ages. And it’s such a lovely day. Oh, do let’s!’

  Helen caught Dora’s tense expression. ‘We really should be getting back,’ she ventured, but Millie was having none of it.

  ‘Nonsense, we have lots of time! Now, where do we buy the tickets?’ She had already turned and was picking her way down the path towards the boat house.

  Helen glanced back at Nick. ‘Looks like we don’t have any choice,’ she said apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘It’s a free country,’ he muttered, his expression as tight as Dora’s.

  The only ones who seemed happy about the trip were Millie and Nick’s brother. After clinging to Dora’s hand shyly for a minute or two after they set sail, Danny had slowly shuffled towards Helen and Millie as they stood at the rail, looking out over the lake.

  ‘Hello, young man,’ Millie greeted him cheerfully. ‘Come to look at the ducks with us, have you?’

  She chatted easily to him, pointing out the various birds as they bobbed along beside the boat and making up stories about them. Danny listened avidly to her every word, gazing up at her enchanted, as if he had never seen such a glorious creature in his whole life. Helen smiled to herself. It looked as if Millie Benedict had won another admirer.

  But Danny’s brother wasn’t so easily won over. Helen watched him as he sat on the narrow bench, his gaze fixed on the far horizon. Dora sat at the other end of the bench, her hands folded in her lap, gazing in the opposite direction. Both still as statues, both of them looking at anything and everything except each other.

  And yet even from the other side of the deck, Helen could feel the tension crackling between them, like a ribbon of electricity binding them together.

  As soon as the boat docked, Nick was on his feet, springing across the gap between the side of the boat and dry land, even before the crew had a chance to lay down the gangplank. He waited on the bank to help his brother off, guiding his unsteady steps across the narrow strip of wood.

  ‘You’re all right, mate. I’ve got you,’ he said.

  Millie stepped up next, putting out her gloved hand for him to help her.

  ‘Would you mind?’ she asked.

  Nick hesitated for a moment, then took her hand and guided her across. Helen followed, grateful for his strong, steady grip as she tottered down the gangplank.

  Then it was Dora’s turn. ‘It’s all right, I can manage,’ she said shortly.

  Nick didn’t need telling twice. He dropped his hand to his side and stepped back to let her pass.

  Helen watched them. They were doing everything in their power not to touch or look at each other. Which could only mean they had something to hide.

  ‘We’re h-having tea now,’ Danny stammered, breaking into her troubled thoughts. ‘C-can you come?’

  Millie’s face brightened, but Helen got in before her. ‘We really must get back,’ she said.

  Danny’s slack mouth turned down in disappointment.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Millie said, ‘why don’t I buy you a toffee apple instead? Come on, let’s go to the kiosk.’

  ‘Looks like she’s won him over!’ Helen smiled as Millie took the young man’s arm and marched him down the path.

  ‘I’d best go with them, make sure they don’t get back on that boat!’ Nick muttered.

  ‘Thanks again for letting us come on your excursion,’ Helen called out, but he was already striding away from them, catching up with Millie and his brother.

  Helen watched him go. She didn’t need to look at Dora to know she was watching Nick too, her gaze fixed on him as if she couldn’t drag her eyes away.

  Helen wondered if she should say something, but one look at her friend’s wretched expression and she knew it would be wiser to stay silent. Private as she was, the last thing Dora would want was anyone to guess her secret.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON Constance Tremayne was in her rose garden, inspecting the blooms with her husband.

  ‘What a marvellous display we have this year.’ Timothy Tremayne bent to breathe in their scent. ‘I think all the rain we had earlier has done the garden good.’

  ‘And brought out the greenfly.’ Frowning, Constance examined the underside of a leaf.

  ‘This is my particular favourite. It’s called Rambling Rector – rather appropriate, don’t you think?’ Timothy chuckled. ‘I’m sure it must be Morley’s little joke.’

  ‘Morley takes advantage of your good nature,’ Constance snapped. ‘He clearly hasn’t kept up with the dead heading at all. I sometimes wonder what we pay him for, apart from pulling up the odd weed and drinking tea in the kitchen with the maid.’ She took out her secateurs and savagely snipped at a wilting bloom, then looked up and caught her husband’s eye. ‘What?’

  Timothy Tremayne gazed at her with affectionate amusement. ‘You know, my dear, sometimes I think if you reached the gates of heaven themselves, all you would probably notice is that they needed a lick of paint.’

  Constance bristled. ‘I just like to see a job done properly, that’s all.’ She straightened up, and caught sight of a lone figure in the distance, coming down the lane towards them.

  ‘Now who’s this?’ She frowned with irritation. They must be coming to the Vicarage because it was at the end of a country lane and no
one ventured that way unless it was on church business. ‘I do hope it isn’t Mr Gregory again,’ she sighed. The elderly churchwarden always kept Timothy talking for ages. ‘His visits are so tiresome.’

  ‘Mr Gregory is very lonely since he lost his wife,’ her husband pointed out. ‘He likes the company.’

  But it wasn’t Mr Gregory. The man walked with a limp, leaning heavily on a stick. As he approached, he took off his cap and Constance caught a flash of red-gold hair. She let out a gasp of dismay.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ she murmured. But her husband was already ambling down to the gate to meet the visitor.

  ‘Charlie, what a delightful surprise! Is Helen with you?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Sir.’ Charlie shot Constance a glance. ‘I hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this?’

  ‘Of course not, old chap, we’re very happy to see you.’

  ‘Although you might have telephoned first to let us know you were coming?’ Constance put in.

  Charlie’s smile faltered. ‘If it isn’t convenient, I can always come back . . .’

  ‘Of course it’s convenient,’ Timothy interrupted before Constance could reply. ‘Come in, come in.’ He pulled open the gate. ‘I’m just sorry we couldn’t order you a taxi from the station. Surely you didn’t walk all the way?’

  ‘It wasn’t too far,’ Charlie assured him cheerfully as he walked up the path. ‘Besides it’s such a glorious day, and it’s not often I get to breathe in country air.’

  Constance pulled off her gardening gloves, her afternoon ruined. ‘I hope he’s not going to stay long,’ she hissed to her husband.

  ‘My dear, he is a guest. At least let him take his coat off,’ Timothy replied mildly.

  ‘It’s very poor form for a guest to invite themself unannounced,’ Constance whispered. ‘What if we’d been entertaining?’

  Her husband looked amused. ‘We rarely do.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it might have been very embarrassing,’ Constance insisted.

  She was still in a bitter mood as she instructed Mary, their maid of all work, to make some tea.

  ‘Doesn’t he realise this is not the East End?’ she muttered, as much to herself as to the maid. ‘We don’t just drop in and out of each other’s houses without an invitation. It’s simply not good manners. Don’t use the best cups, Mary. Where are the ones we’d put aside for the church rummage sale?’