The Nightingale Nurses

by Donna Douglas

  She tarried in the kitchen for as long as possible on the pretence of making sure Mary made the tea properly, until she couldn’t put off seeing Charlie any longer.

  She was shocked when she joined the men in the drawing room to find Charlie with a screwdriver in his hand, adjusting the lid of the piano.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, horrified.

  Timothy looked up at her. ‘Charlie is fixing the piano lid for us, my dear. You’ve been saying for weeks we should do something about it before it crashed down on someone’s fingers.’

  ‘I meant we should call in a local carpenter,’ Constance said tightly.

  ‘No need, it’s a quick enough job.’ Charlie put down the screwdriver and stepped back. ‘There, that should do it. Try it now.’

  Timothy opened and closed the lid a few times to test it. ‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Look, Constance, you can practise your Chopin without fear now.’

  ‘Marvellous.’ Her tense smile made her jaw ache.

  ‘I’ll take a look at that desk drawer of yours too, if you like?’ Charlie offered. ‘The one you said keeps sticking?’

  ‘Would you?’ Timothy’s eyes shone with gratitude. ‘I say, Constance, isn’t it grand to have a useful chap in the family?’

  Family! Constance bristled silently. Not if she could help it.

  ‘Really, Charlie, we shall be asking you to use the tradesmen’s entrance soon!’ She said it lightly, but knew her barb had hit its mark when she saw the hurt look in his eyes. ‘Now, shall we have some tea?’ she offered. ‘Or would you rather have it in the kitchen, with the other staff?’

  ‘Let’s have it here.’ Her husband spoke hastily. ‘Then Charlie can tell us why he’s come to see us.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it’s Mrs Tremayne I’ve come to see. I wondered if we might have a word in private?’

  ‘I hardly think . . .’ Constance was about to refuse but Timothy cut her off.

  ‘Of course, dear boy,’ he said. ‘It’s quite all right, I have a sermon to finish.’

  ‘You don’t have to leave.’ Constance shot her husband a beseeching look, but either he didn’t notice or he chose to ignore it.

  Then she was alone with Charlie. Constance busied herself pouring the tea and planning her tactics. She already had a notion of why he had come, and wanted to be ready for him.

  ‘I suppose Helen sent you?’ she said, handing him his cup.

  ‘She doesn’t know I’m here.’

  That was something, at any rate. Constance didn’t like to think of her daughter being involved in anything so ill-mannered.

  She dropped a lump of sugar into her cup and stirred it. ‘Well, I can’t think what on earth you would want to talk to me about.’

  ‘Are you sure about that, Mrs Tremayne?’

  His direct blue gaze flustered her. Her spoon rattled against the side of her cup. ‘If you’re talking about the ball . . .’

  ‘I don’t care about the ball,’ he dismissed. ‘But I do care about Helen. She’s very upset.’

  Constance stared at him, sitting there in his shabby suit, clutching one of her second-best teacups in his work-roughened hands. ‘And so she should be.’ She pulled herself upright. ‘She said some very unkind things.’

  ‘So did you, from what I hear.’

  She coloured under his frank gaze. ‘I stand by everything I said.’

  ‘I daresay you do.’ Charlie smiled. ‘But I haven’t come to pick a fight with you, Mrs Tremayne. I know you’ve got your opinion of me, same as I’ve got my opinion of you. But it’s Helen I’m worried about. Your behaviour is hurting her, and I want it to stop.’

  ‘My behaviour? How dare you!’ Anger scorched through her veins. ‘You’ve known my daughter for all of five minutes, and now you come in here and lay the law down to me?’ She set her cup down. ‘I think you should leave.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I’ve said my piece. Sorry, Mrs Tremayne, but you can’t order me about like you do everyone else.’

  Constance gasped. ‘And you wonder why I want my daughter to have nothing to do with you?’ she spluttered. ‘You are rude, ill bred . . .’

  ‘. . . and you never listen to anyone else!’ Charlie cut her off. Constance stared at him, shocked into silence. She couldn’t remember anyone ever daring to raise their voice to her.

  She could see him fighting for control, trying to calm himself down. ‘I haven’t come to argue with you,’ Charlie said quietly. ‘That’s the last thing I want. I actually came here to see if we could sort it out between us, try to get along for Helen’s sake.’ He put down his teacup carefully. ‘I know you’ve got a good heart, and that you love your daughter. And I know you don’t mean to hurt her, but that’s what’s happening. All Helen wants to do is to please you, and you making her choose between us is tearing her apart. It’s just not fair on her.’

  Constance winced. Charlie had touched a nerve, but she was determined not to show it.

  ‘Surely my daughter should be the one to say all this?’ she said coldly.

  ‘She’s tried, but you won’t listen. You always cut her off because it’s not what you want to hear.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘You see? You’re doing it now.’

  She looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Charlie was handsome, with his golden hair, firm chin and candid blue eyes. She didn’t blame Helen for falling for him. But that didn’t change the fact that he was eminently unsuitable for her.

  Constance had fallen for a handsome face herself once, and looked how that had turned out.

  ‘It was Helen who walked out on me, the last time we met,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I’m not surprised, from what she told me.’

  ‘I was buying her a dress. I thought it would be a treat for her.’

  ‘No, you were choosing one for her. Just like you’ve chosen everything else. But Helen’s over twenty-one now. She’s a grown woman, and entitled to make her own decisions.’

  ‘And what if she makes the wrong one?’

  Charlie smiled wryly. ‘Like choosing me for a boyfriend, you mean?’

  If he’d expected her to deny it, he had another think coming. ‘I’m sure you’re a very nice young man, but you’re not right for my daughter. Helen could do a lot better.’

  ‘I daresay you’re right.’ Charlie sounded resigned, almost weary. ‘But I love your daughter with all my heart. Surely that counts for as much as knowing which knife and fork to use?’ He leaned forward, appealing to her. ‘Please, Mrs Tremayne, I’m begging you. I know we’ll never be the best of friends, but can’t you find it in your heart to get along with me, for Helen’s sake?’

  Constance turned her gaze towards the French windows and out over the rose garden. The June sunshine was disappearing behind a cloud, turning the garden grey.

  ‘It will rain soon,’ she said. ‘You’d best be getting back to the station, if you don’t want to be caught in the downpour. I’ll get Mary to see you out.’ She reached for the bell.

  ‘So that’s it?’ Charlie said. ‘There’s nothing I can do to build bridges between us?’

  ‘Yes, there is something you can do.’ She turned back to him, steely-eyed. ‘You can stay away from my daughter. If you really love Helen, you’ll walk away from her and stop dragging her down.’

  Charlie’s mouth firmed. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘In that case, there is nothing more to say.’ Constance turned her face away again. The first drops of rain were already pattering against the windows.

  There was a soft knock on the door and Mary appeared. ‘You rang, Madam?’

  ‘Our guest is leaving.’

  Constance held herself rigid as she heard him stand up. Charlie reached the door and she was about to let out her indrawn breath when he turned and said, ‘You know what’s so sad, Mrs Tremayne? That you always have to be right. That’s what’s going to come between you and Helen in the end, not me. As far as I
’m concerned, there’s room for all of us in her life. And Helen needs you as much as she needs me.’

  Constance laced her fingers tightly in her lap. ‘And you can tell my daughter I will be waiting for an apology for her behaviour,’ she called after him.

  Charlie gave a sad little laugh. ‘Typical, Mrs T. You always have to have the last word, don’t you?’

  Timothy returned to the drawing room just as the front door banged shut. ‘Has Charlie gone?’ He looked disappointed.

  ‘He had to catch his train.’

  ‘Surely you didn’t let him go out in this weather? We could have telephoned for a taxi.’

  ‘You heard what he said. He appreciates the fresh air.’ Constance looked at the rain, which was falling steadily now.

  ‘What a pity it was such a flying visit.’ Timothy shook his head. ‘He’s such a nice young man.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Constance’s lips tightened. She changed the subject. ‘How are you getting on with your sermon?’

  ‘Oh, very well, thank you. I thought I would tackle the subject of courage, using the example of Daniel.’ He smiled. ‘Such a wonderful story, don’t you think? A young man who walks into a den of lions for what he believes in.’

  Constance looked sharply at her husband, but Timothy Tremayne’s blandly smiling expression gave nothing away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘FIVE POUNDS,’ THE woman in the shop said.

  Nick whistled. ‘You sure about that, missus? It’s a pram I’m after, not a Bentley!’

  The woman pursed her painted lips. She had pearl-grey hair piled like candy floss on top of her head, and a hoity-toity accent that was as false as the pearls around her throat.

  ‘It’s a Silver Cross, the best pram you can buy,’ she said. ‘The Duchess of York herself used this one for the little princesses. But if it’s too expensive, we do have cheaper models. Or sir could always find something secondhand in the market . . .’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Nick stiffened at the insult. No kid of his was going anywhere in a secondhand pram. Only the best for his son or daughter, even if it did cost a bomb.

  He crouched down and spun one of the wheels. He wasn’t an expert on prams, but this one looked all right. Handsome, in fact. He could just imagine Ruby pushing it around Victoria Park on a sunny Sunday afternoon, with him at her side. They would stroll by the lake, so their little one could look at the ducks. He’d buy them ice creams from the hokey-pokey man, and feed it to the baby bit by bit . . .

  ‘So is sir interested or what?’ The woman interrupted his daydream, her accent slipping a fraction.

  Nick straightened up. ‘Well, if it’s good enough for royalty, I s’pose it’ll be good enough for us.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. ‘A fiver, you say?’

  ‘Plus two shillings for storage and delivery.’

  ‘I don’t want storage or delivery. I’ll take it with me.’

  The woman’s pencilled eyebrows rose. ‘Are you sure? Most of our customers prefer to have their pram delivered after the baby’s born.’

  ‘I said, I’ll take it with me,’ Nick insisted firmly. He couldn’t wait to see Ruby’s face when he showed it to her.

  Shafts of pain shot down his back as he pushed the pram along Mile End Road. He’d had two fights that week, and he was feeling it in his bruised muscles.

  ‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ Nick’s trainer Jimmy had been unsympathetic as he’d cleaned him up after last night’s bout. ‘Carry on like this and you’ll be in no shape for a title fight, you mark my words.’

  ‘I need the money.’ Nick pressed on a wet towel to staunch the blood flowing from his nose. He would never have let a blow like that touch him if he hadn’t been so worn out. Jimmy was right, he was beginning to lose his edge.

  Kids were playing Tin Can Copper on the green in front of the flats. Nick smiled as he passed them. One day it would be his nipper playing out here. He was glad Ruby had dug her heels in and insisted they should move. Victory House was a much better place to bring up a child than the mucky tenements of Griffin Street.

  Every muscle in his body protested as he lugged the heavy pram all the way up to the third floor, bumping it up each stair. A group of women gossiping on the stairwell of the second floor stopped to smile at him.

  ‘New pram, love? That’s a beauty, that is.’

  As he walked away, he heard one of them say, ‘I bet his wife’s a happy woman.’

  ‘I bet she is,’ her friend agreed. ‘Those prams cost a fortune.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about the pram!’ the woman cackled.

  Smiling to himself, Nick parked the pram in the walkway outside the flat and let himself in. There was a strong smell of carbolic in the air. Ruby must have had a right old spring clean, he thought.

  ‘Ruby?’ he called again. ‘Are you in? I’ve got something to show you.’

  The bedroom door opened. Nick turned, his smile fading when he saw his mother-in-law standing there.

  His heart sank. Trust Lettie to be round, sticking her nose in and spoiling his surprise. Ruby saw more of her mum now than she had when they lived under the same roof.

  ‘You here again?’ he said, shrugging off his jacket. ‘I dunno why you don’t just move in and save yourself the shoe leather.’

  He waited for the biting retort, but it didn’t come.

  ‘Are you going to put the kettle on, or what? You might as well make yourself useful while you’re—’ He saw her stricken expression and broke off. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  Lettie stepped towards him, wringing her bony hands. ‘Oh, Nick, it’s Ruby,’ she whimpered. ‘She’s lost the baby!’

  She lay curled up like a child on top of the bedspread.

  ‘Ruby!’ He sank down to his knees beside the bed, all the strength suddenly gone out of him. ‘Are you all right? What’s happened?’

  She turned her head to face him, and he was shocked by how pale she looked. Her make-up was streaked in dark rivulets down her ashen cheeks.

  He went numb inside. ‘When did it . . .’

  ‘This afternoon,’ Lettie answered for her. ‘She’d been having pains all day, so she said. She was in a right old state when I came round. Then she went to the lav, and – it happened.’ She turned away, covering her mouth with her hand.

  ‘Oh, Rube.’ He reached for her hand. Her fingers felt so small and limp in his. ‘Why didn’t you call an ambulance, get yourself to hospital?’

  ‘What would be the point?’ Lettie spoke up behind him, harsh and practical. ‘It was already over and done with. Terrible mess it was, too. Blood everywhere. I’ve cleaned it all up now. We didn’t want you to come home to all that. Did we, love?’

  Ruby opened her mouth, but no sound came from her pale lips.

  Guilt stung him. ‘I’m so sorry, Ruby. I should have been here.’

  ‘You’re here now.’ She found her voice, but it was barely a whisper. Her eyes met his, huge pools of misery. ‘I’m sorry, Nick. I know how much you were looking forward to being a dad . . .’

  She started to cry. Nick put his arms around her, holding her close to him as the huge, shuddering sobs racked her body. ‘Shhh, it’s all right, Ruby. Don’t cry, girl, it’s all right.’

  ‘But . . . but I let you down,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Don’t talk like that. You haven’t let anyone down.’ He patted her back automatically. He wanted to weep with her, but he couldn’t allow himself to give in. ‘We’d best call for a doctor,’ he said.

  ‘No!’ She came to life in his arms, no longer the limp rag doll she had been a moment before.

  ‘She’s right,’ Lettie said. ‘There’s no need. It’s over.’

  ‘But you should get examined, make sure you’re all right . . .’

  ‘She don’t want no more fuss. Not after what she’s been through. Ain’t that right, girl?’ Lettie turned to Ruby, who nodded dumbly. ‘She just needs some rest, that’s all.’

  ‘
If you say so.’ Nick frowned, still doubtful. It didn’t seem right to him, but Ruby looked so beaten and worn out, he didn’t want to argue. ‘Anything you want, Ruby.’

  She gave him a wan smile. ‘Thank you.’

  He stood up and looked around him. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Mum’s looking after me.’

  ‘Right.’ He met Lettie’s grim expression with one of his own. He didn’t like her, but he understood Ruby needed her mum.

  He started for the door, but Ruby reached for his hand again. ‘Nick?’ she whispered. ‘You won’t . . . leave me, will you?’

  The pleading note in her voice caught him by surprise. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I know you only married me because I was expecting. But now the baby’s . . . gone.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I mean, I know there’s no reason for you to stay . . .’

  He stared at her, genuinely shocked. ‘Do you really think I’d walk out on you after something like this? Bloody hell, what kind of a bloke do you think I am?’

  ‘I – I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I wasn’t sure—’

  ‘Well, I ain’t going anywhere.’ He bent down, pulling her close. ‘We’re going to get through this, Ruby. You and me.’

  ‘You and me,’ she sighed, her arms closing around him.

  He left Lettie fussing over her daughter, and went into the sitting room. He found the medicinal bottle of brandy in the sideboard and splashed some into a glass, his hand shaking. Poor Ruby. She looked so pale and fragile, curled up on the bed. He couldn’t bear to think of what she’d gone through.

  He crossed over to the window and stared out. The first thing he saw was the pram, parked on the walkway outside.

  How could he ever have thought it was beautiful? It was nothing but a huge hunk of metal, taunting him. It took all his self-control not to throw the damn thing off the walkway. All he wanted was to see it smashed on the ground below, its gleaming bodywork crushed and twisted, wheels spinning uselessly in the air.