‘I don’t. But you lot say I was, and all I seem to hear is whispering about him. And then there’s this,’ She put her hand over her operation scar under its thick layer of dressing. ‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’
‘Oh, he’s a little pet, so I’m told. All the nurses adore him. They’ve called him Gabriel.’
‘Gabriel?’
‘Because he arrived at Christmas. And he’s an angel.’ Millie grinned. ‘But he’s not feeling particularly angelic at the moment, from what I hear. He has had a touch of colic.’
The woman stopped in the middle of drying herself, her dark brows drawing together in a frown. ‘Colic? What’s that? Is it serious?’
‘Not really. Just a few little pains, that’s all. The nurses are looking after him, so I’m sure he’ll soon get over it.’ Millie sent her a knowing smile. ‘You seem very concerned?’
The woman looked away. ‘I don’t like to think of any kiddie in pain.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go down and take a quick peep at him?’ she offered. ‘The consultant says you’re well enough to be up and about, and I could fetch a wheelchair for you…?’
‘No,’ the woman insisted, her mask back in place. ‘I’ve already said, I don’t remember him. He means nothing to me.’
Chapter 9
By that evening, baby Gabriel’s colic had begun to settle. But he was still fretful, howling in his cot after his feed, his little knees drawn up in pain.
‘Sister Parry said we should leave him if he cries,’ the worried student told Violet Tanner the Night Sister when she did her rounds. ‘She says babies get spoilt if they’re picked up too often.’
Violet held on to her temper. Sister Parry was an excellent, conscientious nurse who cared deeply for the children in her own way, but she had no motherly instincts at all.
‘Sister Parry is not in charge of this ward during the night – I am,’ she stated firmly. ‘And I want you to pick that baby up and comfort him until he goes to sleep. If you don’t, he will only scream the place down and wake up all the other children. And we don’t want that, do we?’
‘No, Sister. Thank you, Sister.’ The student bobbed her head.
‘If he doesn’t settle, try massaging his stomach for a while. Or call me and we will try some weak peppermint water. That may help him.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
As soon as the young girl picked the baby out of his cot, his crying subsided. No doubt Sister Parry would say that proved how spoilt he was, but to Violet it just meant he was more comfortable in a different position. Either way, at least he might go to sleep and give the poor exhausted student some rest, too.
She was leaving the ward when she saw a hunched shadow moving slowly at the far end of the corridor ahead of her.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’ She lifted her torch and its beam trapped a woman, barefoot and cowering in a hospital nightgown, at the foot of the stairs.
Violet recognised her at once. It was the mystery woman from Judd ward.
‘Gracious, what are you doing out of bed?’ she called out.
‘I got lost on my way to the toilet.’
‘You should have called the night nurse to help you.’ Violet approached her. She was hunched over, her hand across her abdomen, face twisted in pain. How she had made it down two flights of stairs after such a major operation, she didn’t know. She must have been very determined to get where she was going, Violet thought.
And then it dawned on her. ‘Were you looking for the nursery, by any chance?’
‘No!’ the woman replied, too quickly. ‘I told you, I wanted the toilet.’
‘There are two toilets on Judd ward. You must have walked right past them. Here, let me help you.’ Violet steered her towards the stairs and sat her down. ‘You wait there while I find a porter to bring a wheelchair for you. You can’t possibly walk back to the ward in your condition.’
‘I’m fine,’ the woman said through gritted teeth. Her face was pale in the torchlight.
‘Even so, I shall summon a porter.’ Violet hesitated. ‘But we can go to the nursery first, if you would prefer?’
The woman stared at the ground, her face stubborn. ‘No,’ she muttered.
The porter arrived shortly afterwards and helped her into a wheelchair. They headed back up to Female Surgical, where the terrified student was wandering the passageway looking for her.
Violet smiled. ‘You see? You give the nurses quite a fright when you wander off in the middle of the night.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ the woman grunted.
As she watched her heading off towards the ward doors, accompanied by the student, Violet suddenly called out to her, ‘By the way?’
The woman turned around slowly. ‘What?’
‘Gabriel’s colic isn’t too serious. Just a bit uncomfortable for the poor lamb, that’s all. In case you were wondering?’
The woman didn’t answer. But in the darkness, Violet thought she saw the slightest nod of her head.
Chapter 10
Visiting day on the Male Orthopaedic ward was usually a happy time. But Dora noticed that one of the patients was looking miserable as Sister Blake opened the ward doors and the visitors began to file in, two by two.
She watched him, his eyes fixed expectantly on the doors, only to see his face fall as the last of the visitors arrived and made their way to the other beds.
She made him a cup of tea to cheer him up. ‘Here you are, Mr Shinwell. Nice and strong, the way you like it.’
‘Thanks, Nurse.’ But he didn’t give her his usual smile or even look up as she placed the cup down on his bedside locker.
She frowned at him, concerned. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Shinwell?’
‘Not really.’ His gaze strayed past her to the double doors. ‘I thought my missus might come today, but there’s no sign of her.’
Dora searched for something reassuring to say, but the words deserted her. There had been no sign of Mr Shinwell’s wife since he was brought in four days earlier. He was one of the passengers injured on the trolley bus on Christmas Eve. That night they had been besieged on the ward by worried relatives, anxious for news of their loved ones. But no one seemed to be worried about poor Mr Shinwell and his fractured ankle.
It was a shame, she thought. He was such a lovely man. Never any trouble, and so grateful for all the attention the nurses gave him, even though they assured him a dozen times a day that they were only doing their job.
‘There must be some explanation, I’m sure,’ she said briskly as she plumped up his pillows. But Mr Shinwell didn’t look convinced.
‘I think she’s left me,’ he said.
Dora stared down at him, the pillow still in her hands. ‘Surely not?’
‘I’ve seen it coming for a while.’ He ran his hand through his thinning dark hair. ‘We’ve been having a few troubles, y’see. Maia always said I put my business before her, and maybe I did. But I only did it for her,’ he added, his dark brown eyes pleading for understanding. ‘We arrived here with nothing, and I’ve been doing my best to build up my furniture-making business. I want to give her a good life, you see. The kind of life she’s always wanted.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that, surely,’ Dora said.
‘Except I could never seem to give her what she wanted. That’s why she’s left me.’ He looked downcast, his heavy-lidded eyes full of sadness. ‘I’ve lost her for ever, I know I have. She’s gone off and found someone who can make her happy.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Dora murmured.
Mr Shinwell looked up at her, suddenly hopeful. ‘Will you do something for me, Nurse?’ he pleaded. ‘Go round to my house, see if she really has gone?’
Dora shook her head. ‘I don’t think I should get involved, Mr Shinwell. That’s a job for the police—’
He shook his head impatiently. ‘They’ve already been round. Reckon they couldn’t get an answer when they knocked. But I need to know for sure, you see
. I need to know if my Maia has really left me.’
He reached into his locker drawer and pulled out a set of keys. ‘Here, you can let yourself in. It’s number seven, Pikestaff Street. Near Stepney Green.’
He tried to give her the keys, but Dora tucked her hands behind her back. ‘I really can’t, Mr Shinwell. I’d get into terrible trouble if anyone found out—’
‘They won’t. Please, Nurse?’ he begged. ‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.’
Dora hesitated. She knew it was against the rules, but Mr Shinwell was obviously going mad with worry. He wasn’t eating or sleeping, and even though his injuries weren’t too serious, he didn’t seem to be recovering as quickly as he should. It was as if he’d lost the will to get better.
Perhaps if he knew his wife was waiting for him at home, it might encourage him. And even if she wasn’t, at least his mind might be at rest.
She checked up and down the ward. Luckily, Sister Blake was busy talking to a group of junior students around the ward table, so she couldn’t see her.
‘All right, give me the keys,’ she murmured in a low voice, holding out her hand.
‘Thanks, Nurse.’ He handed them to her and Dora slipped them into her pocket. ‘I’m grateful to you, I really am.’
‘I only hope I don’t live to regret it,’ Dora said.
Chapter 11
‘I wish you nurses would pick up your post more often,’ the Head Porter Mr Hopkins grumbled. ‘This has been waiting for you for two days now. If this continues, I will have to talk to Matron about it.’ He pulled himself up to his full five foot six and puffed out his chest. ‘I can’t have things cluttering up my cubby holes.’
But Jennifer Ryan wasn’t listening. She was too busy staring at the parcel, wrapped in flowery paper and topped off with a flamboyant bow, that Mr Hopkins had just set before her in the hatch of the Porters’ Lodge.
‘There’s a letter with it.’ Mr Hopkins slapped a plain white envelope on top of the parcel. ‘Most insistent you should read it, he was. As if it’s any of my business what you nurses do with your post. As long as you don’t leave it here.’ His neatly trimmed moustache bristled.
Given the chance, Jennifer would have abandoned the parcel and walked away. But with Mr Hopkins’ steely gaze on her, she had no choice but to carry the box back to her room.
Even then, she had no intention of opening it. Just because her father had delivered it, that didn’t mean she had to take any notice. His persistence irritated her. Why couldn’t he respect her wish to be left alone?
But in the end her curiosity got the better of her. Sitting on her bed, leaving the parcel on the floor by her feet, she tore open the letter and read it.
Dear Jenny, it said, in her father’s neat, precise handwriting. I tried to give this to you on Christmas Day, but you wouldn’t take it. However, I feel it’s very important you have it, so I am leaving it here for you.
You asked for the truth, and so I am giving it to you. Inside this parcel is a box containing everything your mother and I ever knew about your birth. It doesn’t amount to a great deal – just your birth certificate, and a couple of photographs taken when you were a baby, presumably with your mother. We never met her, but the adoption agency said she was a respectable young woman. Your mother and I prayed for her happiness every day, and never stopped thanking her for the wonderful child she had given us.
As I have said, it may not be much, but it may be enough for you to start looking for your real parents. If that’s what you want.
Jenny, I am so sorry you feel we let you down and lied to you. Perhaps we should have told you, but in our defence all I can say is that from the moment we brought you into our home, we genuinely felt you were our baby. There was never any question in our mind that we didn’t love you as our own, and we always have.
What you do next is your decision. You are a wonderful, wise young woman, and I daresay you will do what is best. But whatever happens, I want you to know that I will always love you, and I will always, always think of you as my dearest daughter.
I wish you every happiness, my darling. From your loving father, Geoffrey Ryan.
It was seeing his name, written in neat cursive script, that lanced her heart with pain. By the end of the letter, she could hardly make out the words through a blur of hot tears.
She heard footsteps approaching down the passageway towards her room, and quickly tried to wipe her eyes, just as Helen walked in.
It was midday, and she must have just woken up after her night duty. She came in bleary-eyed, still half asleep. But she snapped awake as soon as she saw the box.
‘What’s that?’
‘A present from – my father.’
‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
Jennifer shook her head. ‘I already know what’s in it.’
Helen frowned. ‘You don’t seem very excited. Is it something awful?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jennifer sighed.
She looked up at Helen. She had been so preoccupied with her own misery, she hadn’t really given the other girl a fair chance since she’d moved in. But Helen wasn’t like the other nurses, always scrabbling around for the latest gossip they could pass around the wards. Her face was so full of sympathy and kindness; Jennifer knew she could trust her. Besides, she had to share her thoughts with someone. They had been buzzing around inside her head like angry flies for so long, they were in danger of sending her mad if she didn’t let them out soon.
‘If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it a secret?’ she said.
Helen frowned. ‘That depends what it is,’ she replied. ‘If keeping your secret means hurting someone else or putting them in danger, then I can’t promise anything.’
Jennifer nodded. At least she was honest about it. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ she said. ‘But it’s personal.’
Helen slipped off her shoes and sat down on her bed, tucking her feet under her. ‘Then tell me,’ she said.
Jennifer told her. She explained everything, from that dreadful moment at her mother’s funeral, when a well-meaning distant cousin had accidentally let slip the shocking revelation, to her latest argument with her father.
All the while, Helen said nothing. She listened intently, her head cocked to one side, her dark eyes thoughtful.
Finally, Jennifer finished her story. ‘Well?’ she said.
Helen remained silent for a moment, taking it all in. Then she looked at the parcel. ‘What are you going to do about that?’ she asked.
They both stared at the box, sitting like a malevolent presence between them. ‘I don’t know,’ Jennifer replied with a sigh.
‘But it’s what you want, isn’t it? To find out the truth?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Then I’m surprised you haven’t ripped it open by now, to see what’s inside.’
‘I probably should.’ Jennifer eyed the box, with its silly silk bow on top. She had the dreadful feeling that once she opened the parcel, that would be it. There would be no going back.
She pushed the parcel under her bed with her foot until it was out of sight.
‘I’ll think about it later,’ she said.
Chapter 12
Pikestaff Street was a narrow cobbled alley close to Stepney Green station. On one side was a row of terraced houses, on the other a high brick wall with a warren of factories, workshops and warehouses beyond. It teemed with sound and life – dogs barking, babies crying and gangs of children chasing each other noisily in the street, heedless of the cold December weather.
The area might be scruffy but, as Dora expected, each house was well kept, with a red polished doorstep, shining windows and gleaming brasswork on the door.
Number seven was the best-kept of all. Dora knocked on the Japanned front door and waited. There was no answer. She went to the window and tried to peer in through the net curtains.
‘You won’t find anyone at home.’
She looked round. Next door, a
woman stood on the doorstep, arms folded across the bosom of her pinnie. Her hair was caught up in a scarf and a cigarette hung slackly from her lips.
‘Not been sight nor sound of either of ’em since Christmas Eve. If you ask me, they’ve done a flit. And they’ve left their bleedin’ cat behind. I’ve been having to feed the poor little sod scraps just to stop it yowling all night!’ She pulled a face. ‘I’ve been a right good neighbour, considering I hardly know ’em.’
‘They haven’t lived here long, then?’
‘Oh no, they’ve been here years. But they keep themselves to themselves, don’t see fit to mix with the rest of us. He’s always out working and as for her … well, she walks around with her nose in the air like she’s too good for everyone. Foreigners!’ She gave Dora a knowing nod, as if that explained everything. ‘You from the Corporation?’ she asked, as Dora took out the key Mr Shinwell had given her.
‘No.’
‘Friend of theirs, then?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘I thought not. They don’t have many friends.’ Dora managed to get the door open and the woman went to follow her. ‘So how come you’ve got a—’
Dora closed the door on her before she had a chance to finish her question. Poor Mr Shinwell had enough on his plate, without nosey neighbours gossiping about his problems.
The house smelled of polish and pine. The Shinwells didn’t have much to their name – their furniture was old, but well kept and lovingly polished. Paper chains hung limply across the tiled fireplace in the cosy kitchen, and a small, stiff-looking Christmas tree stood in the corner. As Dora brushed past it towards the scullery, its branches shivered and let loose a rain of dried-out pine needles.
Dora winced. Sweeping them up would be a devil of a job for someone. ‘Sorry, Mrs Shinwell,’ she murmured as she pushed aside the curtain that separated the main room from the scullery.
Once again, there was nothing out of place. The sink and draining board were empty, any crockery put neatly away in the tiny dresser. Dora felt the dishcloth hanging over the tap. It was dry and stiff, as if it hadn’t been used in days. She frowned. Someone as house-proud as Mrs Shinwell obviously was would have been wiping up several times a day.
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