A Nightingale Christmas Carol

by Donna Douglas

‘What’s going on?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Just a little accident, that’s all.’

  Her mother looked from Dora to Mabel and back again, and understanding crossed her face.

  She rose to her feet, wrapping her dressing gown around herself. ‘I’ll strip the bed,’ she said.

  While her mother put the sheets to soak in the scullery sink, Dora washed Mabel down and found a fresh nightgown for her. Then she settled her down in her own bed, in between the twins.

  ‘I want my mum!’ Mabel wept, as Dora pulled the cover up around her. ‘I wish she was here.’

  ‘Believe me, so do I,’ Dora murmured under her breath. Although the way she was feeling now, she would probably wring Lily Doyle’s neck.

  She returned to the kitchen to find her mother scrubbing at the mattress.

  ‘I think I’ve got the worst of it off,’ she said. ‘It should be dry by tomorrow night if I put it out in the yard first thing. Lily will just have to sleep on the floor.’

  Lily should be here, sorting this out instead of leaving it to us. Dora pressed her lips together to stop herself saying the words. She didn’t want to remind her mother that Bea still hadn’t come home.

  ‘You should be in bed,’ she said instead.

  ‘Oh, it’s hard for me to sleep these days. Especially with your nanna. She’s so restless. And she has such terrible nightmares . . .’

  ‘Nightmares?’ Dora was shocked. She couldn’t imagine her indomitable nanna losing sleep over anything.

  ‘She thinks the house is falling down on her,’ Rose said. ‘She’s been like it ever since we left Griffin Street.’ She shook her head. ‘It hit her hard, you know, losing her home like that.’

  ‘I know,’ Dora said heavily. It had been difficult for all of them, but Nanna Winnie felt it most keenly. Griffin Street had been her first home as a young bride. To have it all destroyed like that, especially at her age, must have been nearly impossible to bear.

  Her mother’s gaze strayed back to the clock.

  ‘Why don’t you sleep in with Mabel and the twins?’ Dora suggested. ‘I’ll take the chair for tonight.’

  ‘Oh, but I couldn’t. You’ve got to be up for work in the morning.’

  ‘So have you. You’ve got a home to run and a family to look after, remember?’ Dora looked at her mother’s exhausted face. ‘I’ll be all right. Honestly, Mum, go to bed. You look all in.’

  ‘But Bea—’

  ‘I’ll wait up for her,’ Dora promised. And I’ll have a few words to say to her when she finally decides to come home, she added silently.

  It was nearly two in the morning when Dora woke up to the clatter of high heels coming down the basement steps. There was much scuffling about outside with the key, then a moment later Bea and Lily fell through the back door, giggling helplessly.

  Dora got out of the armchair, stretching her aching limbs.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ she said.

  Bea stuck her chin out. ‘Why? Ain’t you got a watch?’

  Lily gave a muffled snort of laughter. Dora ignored her. The mingled smell of cheap scent and alcohol filled the room.

  ‘Mum’s been worried sick about you,’ she said to Bea.

  ‘Yes, well, we had to take shelter, didn’t we?’ Bea replied defiantly. ‘Or did you expect us to walk home with all those doodlebugs raining down on us?’

  It was exactly what she’d told her mother, but that didn’t stop Dora feeling annoyed.

  She turned her attention to Lily, swaying slightly on her feet. ‘And as for you,’ she said. ‘Your little girl’s been crying for you half the night.’

  At least she had the grace to look guilty at that. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s settled now. Mum’s with her. But she’s wet the bed, so you’ve got nowhere to sleep tonight.’ She knew she should have tried not to sound so pleased about it, but she couldn’t help it.

  ‘It’s all right, Lil. You can bunk in with me tonight,’ Bea offered, glaring at Dora.

  ‘You shouldn’t go gallivanting off and leave her, you know,’ Dora said. ‘You’re her mum.’

  ‘For your information, she hasn’t been gallivanting,’ Bea answered for her. ‘She’s got a job. Ain’t you, Lil?’ She stuck her arm through her sister-in-law’s.

  Dora stared at Lily. ‘What’s she talking about?’

  ‘Bea’s got me a job helping out at the Washington Club with her,’ Lily replied with a touch of defiance.

  ‘I see.’ Dora folded her arms. ‘So you’ll be out like this every night, I s’pose?’

  ‘So what?’ Lily said defensively. ‘You’re always saying I should do some war work.’

  ‘I can think of better things you could be doing for the war effort than emptying ash trays for American soldiers.’

  ‘Oh, you mean like wiping German soldiers’ backsides?’ Lily shot back.

  Bea must have seen the look on Dora’s face because she tugged her sister-in-law’s arm and said, ‘Come on, Lil. Let’s not argue tonight. I’m too tired and she ain’t worth it.’

  As they walked away, Dora called after them, ‘You’d better look in on Mabel before you go to bed. She’s your kid, after all.’

  ‘Take no notice,’ she heard Bea mutter.

  ‘Oh, I don’t,’ Lily replied haughtily. ‘Dora Riley can act as high and mighty with me as she wants, but at least I know what side I’m on!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The new patient was little more than a boy, pale, malnourished and blue about the lips. His racking cough shook his thin body so hard he could barely answer the questions Major Von Mundel asked.

  Dr Abbott stood at the foot of the bed, flanked by Dora and Helen, and made a great show of checking his watch as he watched the pair conversing in rapid German.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! I only want to know his symptoms, not his entire ruddy life story!’ He snatched up his stethoscope and stepped forward, nudging Major Von Mundel out of the way. ‘Let me have a look at him. I’ll soon tell you what’s wrong!’

  After a quick examination of the patient’s chest, Dr Abbott declared that he was suffering from acute bronchitis.

  ‘Rest in a semi-recumbent position, menthol inhalation, mustard poultices as needed,’ he said, writing on the man’s notes.

  Behind them, Major Von Mundel cleared his throat.

  ‘Excuse me, Herr Doctor?’

  Dora looked up in surprise. The Major had never spoken up before during the doctor’s round, although she had a feeling he had been tempted to do so several times in the past.

  Dr Abbott was just as surprised. He peered at the officer over his spectacles. ‘Yes? What is it?’.

  ‘I believe you may be mistaken in your diagnosis.’

  Dr Abbott bristled. ‘And what makes you think that?’

  Dora could hear the hostility behind his words, but Von Mundel obviously couldn’t. Either that, or he’d chosen to ignore it.

  ‘The patient is complaining of a pain in his side when he lies down. There is also considerable effusion, breathlessness and cyanosis,’ he said.

  Dr Abbott’s face flushed. ‘It might have been helpful if you’d mentioned some of those symptoms earlier,’ he muttered.

  ‘Pardon me, Herr Doctor. I assumed you would be able to diagnose a case of pleurisy without my help.’

  Dr Abbott’s colour deepened. Dora and Helen exchanged uncomfortable looks.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, handing the notes back to Helen. ‘We’ll keep an eye on him. Restrict his diet to liquid feeds and I’ll prescribe a diaphoretic for the fever – ‘

  ‘He needs aspiration,’ Major Von Mundel said curtly.

  Dr Abbott’s chin lifted. ‘That really isn’t necessary,’ he dismissed. ‘Most pleurisy cases recover on their own in a couple of weeks – ‘

  ‘He’ll be dead by then,’ Major Von Mundel cut him off. ‘The boy is drowning. Even you can see that?’

  Even you. The words hung on the air between them. Dora could fe
el Dr Abbott’s mortification as keenly as if it were her own.

  ‘He needs to have the fluid removed from his lungs before it kills him,’ the Major went on. He paused, then said, ‘I could perform the procedure, if you are unable?’

  It was the worst thing he could have said. Dr Abbott pulled himself up to his full height, his boyish face mottled with angry colour.

  ‘May I remind you, Von Mundel, that this is my patient?’ he said icily.

  ‘Then I suggest you treat him, before it’s too late,’ the officer snapped back.

  There was a long, tense silence. Dora held her breath as the two men stared at each other. Dr Abbott seemed to be trapped like a frightened rabbit in the glare of Von Mundel’s cold blue gaze.

  Then he broke away and turned to Helen. ‘As I was saying, I will prescribe a diaphoretic – ’

  Without saying another word, Von Mundel turned on his heel and walked away.

  He didn’t return for the rest of the doctor’s round. Dr Abbott’s usually genial mood had also disappeared. He barely spoke a word to Dora or Helen as they hurried round to each patient. He was rushing, but to Dora the round still seemed to last forever.

  ‘Well!’ she said to Helen, when Dr Abbott had finally gone. ‘What did you think of that?’

  ‘I thought it was utterly shocking,’ Helen replied. ‘How dare he try to tell Dr Abbott what to do! It’s typical of the man’s arrogance.’

  Dora frowned. ‘You don’t think he might have a point?’

  ‘No, I don’t!’ Helen looked aghast at the idea.

  ‘But what if he’s right? That boy could die.’

  ‘I’m sure the doctor knows what he’s doing,’ Helen said primly.

  ‘Yes, but Major – ’

  ‘Major Von Mundel is not a doctor at this hospital,’ Helen cut her off sharply.

  ‘He’s a qualified surgeon.’

  ‘How do you know that? You only have his word for it.’

  ‘He seems to know what he’s talking about. More than Dr Abbott, at any rate.’

  Helen looked scandalised. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because it’s true. Oh, come on, Dawson!’ Dora reasoned with her. ‘You know as well as I do that Jimmy Abbott means well, but he was never the best medical student, and he’s not the best doctor either.’ She paused. ‘Can’t you talk to him? He might listen to you . . .’

  ‘No, I could not!’ Helen looked scandalised. ‘It’s not my job. And it’s not yours, either,’ she added, as Dora opened her mouth to protest. ‘You should know better than to criticise a doctor, Nurse Riley.’

  She went into her office and closed the door firmly on Dora, ending the conversation.

  Dora stared at the door in frustration. It wasn’t like Helen to be so stubborn. Dora knew very well that she would have spoken up if it meant saving a patient’s life.

  But not if the patient was a German.

  The thought shocked her. It couldn’t be true. Helen was too compassionate, too good a nurse, to make those kinds of distinctions. A life was a life, no matter where the person came from. The Helen she knew would never do such a thing.

  Major Von Mundel was by the young man’s bedside when Dora returned later. He looked at the mustard poultice she had prepared, but said nothing.

  Dora couldn’t look at him as she set about administering the poultice. She knew all too well how inadequate her efforts were, and it filled her with shame.

  But she had to put on a brave face for her patient. ‘Guten tag, young man,’ she greeted him brightly. ‘Wie geht es ihnen heute?’

  ‘Mein Brust schmerzt, schwester.’

  ‘He says his chest hurts,’ Von Mundel translated for her tautly.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m not surprised about that. But this might make you feel better. Besser,’ she said. ‘I think that’s the word, isn’t it?’

  She could feel the Major’s gaze on her as she worked.

  ‘I didn’t know you had started speaking German?’ Von Mundel said.

  ‘I wouldn’t call it speaking!’ Dora replied. ‘But I got a dictionary out of the library and learnt a few words. I thought it might help the patients to settle down better?’

  Von Mundel was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘Thank you.’

  Dora shrugged it off. ‘It’s only a few words. Mind you, it caused a few raised eyebrows at the library. That lady behind the counter probably thinks I’m a spy now – ’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I mean thank you for what you said earlier. I heard you talking to the oberschwester.’

  Dora blushed. ‘Sister Dawson is in a difficult position,’ she said. ‘We can’t go against doctor’s orders. But I know she would help if she could . . .’

  ‘Would she? I wonder.’ Von Mundel sent her a shrewd look. ‘But thank you, Nurse Riley. I appreciate you trying.’

  Dora glanced at the young man in the bed. Just as she had known, the mustard poultice did nothing for him. He still struggled for breath, his lips blue with the lack of oxygen in his blood. ‘I just want him to get better.’

  Major Von Mundel sighed. ‘Sadly, Nurse Riley, I do not think that will happen,’ he said.

  Oberleutnant Stefan Bauer was fully awake and propped up in bed when Kitty went into his room to check his splint. His skin still had a greyish pallor where he’d lost so much blood, but, he didn’t look like a man who’d had a brush with death.

  Kitty pushed her wash trolley to his bedside and pulled the curtains around his bed.

  ‘Good morning,’ she greeted him. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘When can I leave?’

  His blunt question took her aback. Kitty stared at him. He looked back at her, his brown gaze frank and direct.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said, reaching for the thermometer. ‘You’ll have to ask the doctor – ’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  Kitty blinked at him. He was so rude, she almost snapped back at him. But there was something about the look in his eyes that stopped her.

  She thought about it for a moment. ‘We’ll have to keep a close eye on you for the next couple of weeks, make sure your wound doesn’t get infected. And then you’ll have to stay in this splint until your bones have knitted together . . .’

  ‘And how long will that take?’ he interrupted her impatiently.

  ‘I don’t know. A month or so, I suppose.’

  ‘And then I can go?’

  ‘Oh no. After that you’ll have to wear a walking calliper for at least four months, to strengthen your leg – ’

  ‘Four months!’ He looked aghast. ‘No, it is not possible. I can’t stay here that long.’

  His arrogance irked her. ‘You’re a prisoner. You don’t have any choice,’ she reminded him tartly. ‘Besides, you’re lucky to be alive. Everyone thought you were going to die.’

  His mouth curled at that, but Kitty could tell from the look in his eyes that she’d startled him.

  He remained silent as she checked his temperature and pulse rate, and noted the figures on his chart. It was only when she picked up the bottle of methylated spirits that he shied away from her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

  ‘Checking your splint, what does it look like?’ She pressed a swab to the open bottle and tipped it. ‘I have to keep your skin dry to stop pressure sores.’

  ‘I can do it myself,’ he muttered, holding on to the bedclothes to cover himself.

  ‘I don’t think you can, the state you’re in,’ Kitty said briskly. ‘Look at you, you can hardly move. Now come on, don’t be a baby. I’ve seen it all before, you know—’

  ‘Not you!’ he snapped. He nodded towards Miss Sloan, ‘Get her to do it. The old woman.’

  For a moment they glared at each other. Stefan Bauer’s rugged face was a mask of stubbornness, his jaw set rigid. He looked so like a petulant child, Kitty almost laughed.

  ‘Very well,’ she sighed, putting down the swab. ‘I’ll ask her. But I don’t think she’d app
reciate you calling her old!’

  Luckily Leonora Sloan didn’t mind taking over. ‘Poor man, I daresay he’s embarrassed at being vulnerable in front of a pretty young thing like you,’ she said, as they did the beds together later.

  ‘He doesn’t strike me as the vulnerable type,’ Kitty said.

  ‘No, he doesn’t, does he?’ Miss Sloan looked thoughtful. ‘I heard Major Von Mundel discussing him with one of the other soldiers earlier on. He’s quite the hero, from what I understand.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Oh yes. All his men look up to him, apparently. I gather he was quite a commander.’

  ‘Well, he needn’t think he’s going to be giving the orders around here!’ Kitty said firmly.

  Mal was on the doors with his friend Len as usual when Kitty went off for her break later. She could barely manage an embarrassed nod as she slid past.

  ‘Oh dear, pal. Looks like you’re in her bad books again!’ Len chuckled. ‘What have you done this time?’

  Kitty kept her eyes glued to the floor as she scuttled away. She knew Mal deserved more after the way he’d looked after her the previous evening, but she was too mortified to speak to him. What must he think of her? She could feel herself burning with shame whenever she remembered the pathetic way she’d clung to him and begged him not to leave her.

  She had a quick cup of tea and a much needed sit-down, but as she emerged from the basement canteen fifteen minutes later, she saw Mal waiting for her.

  Panic seized her. ‘I’m not supposed to speak to you while I’m on duty,’ she hissed, keeping her eyes averted. ‘If Matron sees—’

  ‘I just wanted to see if you got home all right last night,’ Mal interrupted her. ‘You seemed in such a state when I left . . .’

  A blush scalded her face. ‘I spent the night in the shelter,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Were you all right? I wanted to come back and check on you, but a bomb went off and they closed the road.’

  Her eyes flew to his, forgetting the rules for a minute. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m right as rain. But it brought a house down. There was a family trapped inside. We managed to get the three kids out, but their mum . . .’

  ‘Don’t,’ Kitty shuddered. ‘It’s too awful.’ She shook her head. ‘You must think I’m soft, making such a fuss when there are people like that suffering far worse.’