Helen shook her head. ‘I need to go back to work . . .’
‘Not this time. When you are feeling well enough, you may return to your room and pack a bag. I will telephone your mother to come and collect you.’
‘No!’ A look of panic flashed across Helen’s face. ‘Please, Matron, don’t call my mother. I’m feeling perfectly all right, honestly. I think it must have been the heat.’
‘Dawson, you are far from all right!’ Kathleen’s voice was firm. ‘You should never have been allowed on duty in the first place. You need to go home and rest. You can’t take care of other people if you don’t take care of yourself.’
‘But couldn’t I just stay here?’ Helen pleaded.
‘Out of the question,’ Kathleen said. ‘Your mother would never allow it, and quite rightly too. Your place is with her.’
She caught Helen’s beseeching look, and suddenly she understood.
‘Give your mother a chance,’ she urged. ‘You never know, she may surprise you.’
And I hope for everyone’s sake she does, Kathleen added silently to herself.
Chapter Forty-Six
‘HAVE YOU SEEN what they’re doing now?’
Dr Adler tossed a copy of the Daily Mirror down on to Esther Gold’s bed. It was the middle of the morning, and Dora was in the middle of the locker round.
‘Do you mind, Doctor?’ She snatched up the newspaper. ‘There’ll be hell to pay from Sister if that print gets on the sheets.’
It was lucky Sister Everett was supervising a pro’s first enema behind the screens at the far end of the ward, otherwise she would have been most displeased by the interruption.
Esther looked up at him blankly. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The Blackshirts are planning a march through the East End. Read it for yourself.’ He took the newspaper out of Dora’s hands and handed it to Esther.
‘The Blackshirts are always marching,’ Dora said, wiping down the tiled top of the locker. Barely a Sunday afternoon went by without her seeing them parading down the street in their black uniforms, heading for some street corner rally or other.
‘This is different,’ Dr Adler said. ‘It’s supposed to be some kind of anniversary celebration. Every Blackshirt in the land is going to converge on London, and march from the City out through the streets of the East End to a rally in Bethnal Green. Can you imagine it? There’ll be thousands of them.’
‘It says here Sir Oswald Mosley himself will be addressing them,’ Esther said, reading from the newspaper.
‘But I don’t understand. Why are they coming here, to the East End?’ Dora asked. ‘Surely they’d be better off having this rally somewhere up west?’
Dr Adler sent her an almost pitying look. ‘Because they want to cause as much trouble as possible, I imagine. They’re marching through our streets, past our shops and businesses, just to provoke a fight.’
‘Do you think they’ll come past the factory?’ Esther looked up, her dark eyes full of fear.
‘I told you, they want to provoke us – what do you think you’re doing?’ he broke off, as Esther threw aside her bedclothes.
‘What does it look like?’ She swung her legs out of bed and started searching for her slippers. ‘I need to go home.’
‘Get back into bed before Sister catches you!’ Dora threw Dr Adler a despairing look. ‘You can’t discharge yourself.’
‘I’m not going to stay in this hospital bed while my home is being attacked by those thugs.’ She searched around. ‘Where are my clothes? I need to get dressed.’
‘Esther, please.’ Dr Adler stepped in. ‘The march isn’t happening until the beginning of October. You’ll be home by then.’
‘But my father—’
‘I told you, I’ll look after him. I’ll look after both of you.’
Dora saw their hands brush against each other on the bedcover, and looked away quickly.
‘Let’s get you back into bed,’ she said briskly, to cover her embarrassment.
‘You’d best do as Nurse Doyle says,’ Dr Adler advised, the moment broken. ‘She’s a very hard woman if you get on the wrong side of her.’
Esther smiled at her. ‘Dora isn’t hard. She’s strong, like me.’
Just then Sister Everett emerged from behind the screens and spotted Dr Adler.
‘Really, Doctor, we are running a hospital, not a social club!’ she snapped as she ushered him out of the double doors.
‘Will your brother be going on that march, do you think?’ Esther asked as she watched Dora scrubbing out her locker.
She stopped, the brush in her hand. ‘I hope not.’
‘He’s still involved with them, then?’
Dora felt herself blushing. She had truly believed that Peter had had a change of heart about the Blackshirts after what they’d done to Esther. But gradually he had allowed himself to be drawn back in. He swore to Dora that he no longer roamed the backstreets at night looking for trouble, but he still went to the meetings and marches, and she had seen him handing out pamphlets in the street.
‘I told you, you don’t know what they’re like,’ he insisted. ‘I’m scared about what they might do to Mum or the kids.’
‘Keep him out of it, bubele,’ Esther urged her now. ‘For his sake, try to get him to stay away.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Dora promised.
‘Stick your moniker on here, will you?’
Nick looked down at the piece of paper Harry Fishman had thrust under his nose. ‘What’s this?’
‘A petition against this march the Blackshirts are planning. We want to send ’em the message that we don’t want their kind in the East End.’
He glared across the Porters’ Lodge at Peter Doyle as he said it. Peter didn’t look up from his newspaper.
‘Now, I’m not sure I approve of political activity in this lodge,’ Mr Hopkins spoke up as Nick scrawled his signature across the paper. ‘It’s not good for morale.’
‘Better tell him that, then.’ Harry glowered at Peter. ‘He’s been spouting his Blackshirt rubbish in here long enough.’
‘Leave it, Harry,’ Nick warned wearily.
‘Anyway, we’re planning to fight back,’ Harry said. ‘We’re going to be out on the streets on that Sunday, protesting against the march. Let Mosley and his lot see if they can get past us!’ His broad chest swelled with pride. ‘You’ll be with us, won’t you, Nick? We could always do with a bit more muscle on our side.’
‘Count me out,’ he said.
Harry stared at him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re siding with the Blackshirts?’
‘I ain’t siding with nobody, all right? I just don’t want to get involved.’
‘You live round here, don’t you? I reckon that makes you involved whether you like it or not.’
‘All the same, I’m staying out of it.’
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur, one of the other porters, jumped in. ‘Best leave it, Harry,’ he murmured. ‘He’s like a bear with a sore head at the minute.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Between you, me and the gatepost, I reckon he’s lovesick.’
‘Sick of kipping on my settee since his missus kicked him out, you mean!’ Harry put in.
‘I ain’t surprised.’ Arthur leered. ‘That missus of his was a bit of all right. I bet he’s regretting not having her to cuddle up to at night!’
They weren’t wrong, Nick thought as he made his way up from the laundry pushing a trolley laden with freshly washed linen. He was lovesick all right, but not for Ruby.
He missed Dora so much it hurt. Even before, when they were keeping their distance from each other, he was always aware of her. He could watch her tending to a patient on the ward, or hear her laughter coming from the kitchen, and somehow he would feel connected to her.
But now it was as if there was a high brick wall between them.
Part of him bitterly regretted lashing out at her, but he’d been angry and hurt. Even now he’d had time to calm down, he still felt be
trayed. He wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her, or trust her again. And that made him feel so lonely.
But never so lonely that he even considered going back to Ruby. She had left him notes at the Porters’ Lodge – his love letters, the other blokes teasingly called them – begging him to give her another chance. But Nick had no intention of returning to her, or to Victory House. He’d even written to tell her their marriage was over, but he should have realised that Ruby wouldn’t give up that easily.
Not like Dora. Since their last meeting in Griffin Street, she had avoided him completely. If they ever came face to face in the corridor, she would quicken her footsteps, avert her face and pretend she hadn’t seen him.
He might have known that, too. Unlike Ruby, Dora had her pride. And so did he. That was the problem.
Chapter Forty-Seven
MILLIE’S MAKE-UP AND perfume were scattered haphazardly on top of the chest of drawers, along with her silver-backed hairbrush, comb and mirror. Helen put them away without thinking. Poor Millie, how would she ever manage to escape Sister Sutton’s wrath without a friend to watch over her? Helen wondered as she straightened the brush and mirror into perfectly parallel lines.
She was glad she didn’t have to say goodbye to them. Dora was on duty, and Millie was spending the weekend at her family’s country estate with Seb. Helen didn’t want to have to face anyone, least of all the girls she had come to think of as her friends.
But just as she was wrapping up her washing things to put into her suitcase, she heard a familiar light tread hurrying up the attic steps, and Millie breezed in.
‘What are you doing here?’ Helen said. ‘I thought you were down in Kent.’
‘Daddy was called up to London for an important meeting, so we decided to come back with him.’ Millie plonked herself down on her bed and pulled off her hat. ‘I’ve only come back to change, and then Seb and I are going to—’ She stopped, taking in the suitcase open on Helen’s bed. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Matron’s sending me home.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Millie said. ‘You need some time off. I know you think you can cope, but we’ve all been so worried about you. A few days at home and you’ll be as right as rain.’
Helen said nothing as she went on folding her clothes and arranging them in her suitcase. Luckily, Millie was in one of her chatty moods and didn’t notice.
‘Daddy wouldn’t say why he had to go to this meeting, but he was in a frightful state,’ she said, shrugging off her coat. ‘Between you and me, I think it’s all to do with the King and that dreadful American woman, as Granny calls her.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Helen tucked her washing things into a corner of her suitcase.
‘The Prime Minister’s in an awful flap about it, and so are most of the Privy Council,’ Millie went on. ‘They know it’s been going on for years, but they all thought he’d give her up as soon as he came to the throne. But now she’s got her claws into him and he’s utterly besotted. Spends all his time locked away in Fort Belvedere with her and her American cronies. Granny says the writing was on the wall when he swapped the state Daimler for a Buick.’ She flung open the wardrobe, then turned to Helen. ‘I say, you’re packing rather a lot for a few days, aren’t you? Anyone would think you weren’t coming back!’ She laughed, and then her face grew serious. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’
‘I—’
‘Of course you are, how silly of me,’ Millie went on before Helen had a chance to speak. ‘You’re not going to leave a week before your Finals, are you?’
She pulled out a dress and started to get changed, chatting away about Seb, her weekend in Billinghurst, and the latest scandals at court. Helen finished her packing and locked up her suitcase.
‘All done,’ she said. ‘Will you say goodbye to Doyle for me?’
Millie nodded. ‘I don’t know how she’ll put up with me without you to sort out our squabbles.’
‘You’ll be all right.’ Helen smiled bracingly. ‘Try to keep your room tidy, won’t you? And don’t break your neck getting in through that window after lights out.’
Millie laughed. ‘Really, I’m sure we’ll manage without you for a few days! You never know, we might be reformed characters by the time you come back.’
‘I hope not.’ Helen put down her suitcase and hugged Millie impulsively. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said, breathing in her Guerlain perfume.
‘I’ll miss you too.’ Millie pulled away from her, her expression quizzical. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’
Helen took a deep breath. If she told Millie the truth, it would mean so much explanation. And she wasn’t sure she could face it.
She was saved from answering by the sharp toot of a car horn outside.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘My mother’s waiting for me.’
‘I’ll come down with you and wave you off.’
‘No, don’t.’ Helen smiled at her. ‘Let’s just say goodbye here, shall we?’
Constance was sitting in the back of the taxi, stony-faced. She turned to face Helen who stiffened, waiting for the usual critical comment. But for once none came.
‘Hurry up and put the suitcase in the boot,’ her mother said, tight-lipped. ‘We’ll be late for our train.’
Constance stared out of the window at the passing scenery and struggled to find something to say.
Helen hadn’t spoken a word to her since she’d got into the taxi. Constance could feel waves of resentment coming off her, though she didn’t understand why.
She supposed it was because Helen hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital. Matron had made that very clear when Constance took her to task for not sending her daughter home earlier.
‘She was most adamant she didn’t want me to contact you,’ Miss Fox had said.
‘But I’m her mother!’
Miss Fox had given her one of those knowing looks that Constance found so irritating. ‘I believe she’s afraid of letting you down,’ she commented.
‘Well, I can’t think where she’s got that idea from.’
As they were leaving, Miss Fox had taken Constance to one side.
‘Please take care of her,’ she had urged. As if it had ever occurred to her to do otherwise. What did Matron think she was going to do, take Helen home and beat her?
But now they were together, travelling homewards on the train, she struggled to find words of comfort.
She wished she had been more generous and loving to her daughter, and towards Charlie. If only she’d realised how ill he was, of course she would have done things differently. She knew Helen resented the way she had behaved. But she couldn’t turn the clock back, as much as she wanted to.
She took a deep breath, and plunged in.
‘I’m sorry to hear you’ve been ill,’ she said. ‘But a few days’ rest should make you feel a lot better.’
She saw the cold look Helen sent her, and realised immediately she had said the wrong thing.
‘I’m not ill, Mother,’ Helen said in a chilly voice. ‘I’ve lost my husband, I’m not recovering from influenza.’
‘No, of course not, I didn’t mean it like that.’ Constance looked down at her hands, flustered. Helen seemed like a different person – distant, more grown up somehow. ‘What I’m trying to say is that you need to start looking forward. Once your State Finals are out of the way . . .’
‘I’m not taking my State Finals.’
Constance stared at her. ‘What do you mean, you’re not taking them?’
‘Just what I said.’ Helen faced her, her gaze level.
‘And how do you expect to become a nurse if you don’t take your exams?’
‘I don’t. I’m giving up nursing.’
Constance felt dizzy with panic. ‘Don’t be absurd. You’re not thinking straight,’ she dismissed.
‘And you’re not listening.’
‘I am listening, Helen, but what I’m hearing is utter nonsense!’
‘Why is it non
sense? Just because you don’t agree with it.’
Constance glanced around. The other passengers in the carriage were sending them interested looks. ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ she said firmly.
‘You can talk about it all you like, but I won’t change my mind. I’m sorry if you think I’ve let you down, Mother, but that’s the way I feel.’
‘But you haven’t—’ Constance started to say. Helen had already turned away to stare out of the window again.
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘I DON’T CARE what you say, Dora. I’m going on that rally.’
Reflected firelight from the incinerator flickered across Peter’s obstinate face as he threw more rubbish into the stoke hole and watched it burn.
It had taken Dora three days to get her brother on his own. She had finally tracked him down to the basement on the pretext of needing to go there and burn some dressings.
He had been so worried and contrite after what happened with Esther Gold, Dora would have bet a month’s wages on him not going anywhere near the Blackshirt rally. So she was shocked when he told her he was not only going to be there, he was also going to be one of the men guarding the platform at Victoria Park Square where Sir Oswald was going to speak.
‘It’s expected of me,’ he said, eyes fixed on the dancing flames. ‘Besides, it’s a big honour for Bethnal Green to have someone like him come to speak here.’
‘We don’t want him here.’
‘Speak for yourself. There’s plenty who want to hear what he’s got to say.’
‘Then let them go and listen to him up west. We don’t want them in the East End.’
‘It’s a free country,’ Peter protested. ‘We’re allowed to march where we like. That’s what it’s all about, ain’t it? Defending our rights.’
‘And what about the rights of all those Jewish shops and businesses who get turned over by your lot every day?’ Dora went up to him, feeling the heat of the stoke hole on her face. ‘Have you forgotten what they did to Esther Gold, Peter? They would have killed her if I hadn’t come along . . .’
The Nightingale Nurses Page 33
