Nightingales on Call

by Donna Douglas

  ‘Well, you are a fool.’ Katie stood up. ‘Now cheer up. Let’s get you into your uniform before Sister Sutton starts chasing you.’

  Effie was glad of Katie’s help then as she pulled it on. The dress felt thick and cumbersome, its calico lining scratching against her skin. And the starched collar and cuffs she had to attach were as hard as cardboard.

  ‘It’s so heavy,’ she complained. ‘I’ll be sweating like a pig if I have to wear this all day.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it. But you’ll need to be a bit quicker with those cuffs,’ Katie observed as she watched her sister fiddling with the studs. ‘You have to take them off when you’re doing any cleaning, or washing a patient. But you need to put them on again when you serve meals, or when the doctor is doing his rounds.’

  ‘Honestly, what difference does it make if a doctor sees me with my sleeves rolled up?’ Effie laughed, but Katie sent her a dark look.

  ‘Don’t you let the ward sisters hear you talking like that,’ she warned. ‘And it’s best to take a clean apron with you whenever you go on a ward,’ she went on. ‘You’re bound to need it, and the sisters are never pleased if you have to go off and fetch one.’

  Effie pulled a face. All Katie seemed to talk about was Sister this and Sister that. She was already fed up with hearing about them all. Surely no one could be that bad?

  She scrutinised her reflection in the mirror, not liking what she saw. The uniform couldn’t have been less alluring if it tried. Her dark hair was all hidden away underneath a monstrous starched cap, and the blue-striped dress covered every other inch of her, from the high collar down to just above her ankles. ‘Honest to God, Katie, the nuns at Saint Bernadette’s get away with more than this!’ she complained. ‘Surely it would look better if I just took it up a little—’

  She started to hitch the skirt up towards her knees, but Katie stopped her. ‘Don’t,’ she warned. ‘Sister Sutton will notice, believe me. She regularly measures our hems to make sure they’re no more than ten inches from the ground.’

  Effie sighed. ‘How am I ever going to get a handsome doctor to fall in love with me while I’m looking like this?’

  ‘Don’t let any of the sisters hear you talking like that, either!’ her sister laughed. ‘You’re there to care for the patients, Nurse O’Hara, not pursue your romantic interests,’ she mimicked a stern voice. ‘Besides, no doctor is going to look at you anyway when your apron’s covered in vomit and you’ve got a sputum mug in each hand!’

  As Effie glowered at her reflection, Katie explained what she could expect to be doing for the next few months. She would spend three months in Preliminary Training, or PTS, with the Sister Tutor, where she would learn all kinds of boring things like cleaning and cooking. From the way Katie described it, it sounded worse than being at home.

  Then, if she passed her test at the end of PTS, she would finally be allocated to a ward. Over the next three years she would work on each ward in the hospital for three months each so she could learn all the skills she needed, and then she would take her State Final exams.

  ‘But for the first year, you’ll mainly be cleaning and doing bedpans and all the filthy jobs no one else wants,’ Katie told her. ‘That’s why the probationers are called dirty pros.’

  Effie was hardly listening. She could hear voices and laughter outside in the corridor, and the scuffle of footsteps going from room to room. The other new girls were all settling in, getting to know each other. Effie longed to join them, but instead she was stuck listening to her sister’s dreary lecture.

  She’d thought it would be fun to share a room with Katie, but now she really wasn’t so sure.

  She looked up hopefully at the sound of a knock on the door. Perhaps it was one of her set coming to introduce herself?

  Katie opened the door. ‘Yes? What do you want?’ Her voice was cool and distant. Effie jumped up from the bed and hurried over. If it was one of the other girls, she didn’t want her sister to put them off.

  She grinned in delight to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway. ‘Jess!’

  Katie stared at her. ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Oh, yes, we’re friends. She found me when I was lost.’

  ‘That’s not all I’ve found,’ the other girl said. ‘I think this belongs to you?’

  Effie gave a cry of surprise as her case was hauled into view. ‘My suitcase! Oh, that’s grand.’ She nudged past Katie into the hall and bent to run her hands over the battered leather. She had never been so pleased to see anything in her life. ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘It was . . . in the park. I was just passing the boating lake, and I saw something sticking out of the bushes.’

  ‘Really? Imagine that.’ Effie flung the case open and rifled through it. ‘And look, everything’s still here. My money, my watch . . . nothing’s been taken.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder why someone would steal my suitcase and then just leave it behind?’

  ‘It’s very odd, I must say.’

  Effie looked up at her sister. Katie was fixing Jess with one of her suspicious looks, the kind she used to give Effie when she accused her of helping herself to her belongings. Jess was staring back, her face expressionless.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve got my things back now, and that’s what matters.’ Effie fastened up the case and straightened up.

  ‘I’m glad,’ Jess said.

  As she turned to go, Effie remembered her manners. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘You must let me give you something for your trouble—’

  She looked around for her purse, but Jess shook her head.

  ‘I don’t want anything.’

  ‘But you deserve a reward—’

  ‘I said, I don’t want anything!’

  Effie started at the sound of Jess’ raised voice. Had she offended the girl in some way? she wondered. She wasn’t used to dealing with London people, perhaps they didn’t like being offered money.

  ‘Well, thank you anyway,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I’ll—’

  But she didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before Katie shut the door in Jess’ face.

  Effie stared at her. ‘Why did you have to be so rude to her?’

  ‘I don’t trust her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d stolen it herself.’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ Effie laughed. ‘I told you, it was a young lad who took it.’

  ‘They might have been working together.’

  ‘In that case, why would she bring it back? And why wouldn’t she have taken anything out of it? And—’

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’ Katie snapped. ‘I don’t have all the answers, Effie. I just think it’s a bit strange, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re too suspicious,’ Effie said.

  ‘And you’re too trusting,’ Katie shot back.

  Effie smiled. She had her suitcase back, and she’d made a new friend. Perhaps London was going to be fun after all.

  Chapter Nine

  THE BOY’S NAME was Ernest Pennington, and he had suspected rheumatic fever. He was to be specialized, which meant he had a private room and his own personal nurse assigned to him from the ward. But even that wasn’t good enough for his mother.

  ‘Is this it, then? Is this what we’re paying for?’ Rosa Pennington looked about her, mouth turned down.

  What did you expect, a suite at the Ritz? Dora gritted her teeth to stop the comment escaping as she set about making Ernest comfortable. He was a podgy, unattractive child, a cap of pale hair framing his fat, solemn face. He lay in bed looking mournfully about him while his mother found fault with everything.

  ‘Are you sure this locker’s clean? And is this water fresh?’ She peered dubiously into the jug. She was tall and thin, with cords of tension standing out in her long neck. Her dark hair was scraped back, showing off sharp cheekbones. She looked too old to be the mother of a ten-year-old boy.

  ‘I filled the jug myself, just before you arrived.’ Dora forced herself to smile sweetly. Rosa Pennington was just being a
protective mother, she decided.

  Dora moved to the boy’s side. ‘How are you feeling now, Ernest?’ She touched his forehead. His skin was clammy, slick with acid-smelling perspiration.

  ‘He doesn’t like to speak to strangers,’ Mrs Pennington put in.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll get used to me.’ Dora smiled down at him. ‘We’re going to be great friends, aren’t we?’

  Mrs Pennington shot her a doubtful look. ‘You must remember, Nurse, Ernest is not like other children. He is special.’

  ‘Every child is special on this ward, Mrs Pennington.’

  ‘You don’t understand, do you?’ Rosa Pennington insisted. ‘Ernest is special. You must have read about him in the newspapers?’

  ‘I can’t say I have,’ Dora admitted.

  Rosa Pennington gave a little ‘tsk’ of annoyance. ‘My son,’ she explained with exaggerated patience, ‘is one of the country’s top violinists. A musical genius. He has been called a young Paganini.’

  And who’s he when he’s at home? Dora wanted to ask. But she had already offended Mrs Pennington enough with her ignorance.

  ‘We care for all the children here the same, whoever they are or wherever they come from,’ she said.

  Mrs Pennington pursed her lips. ‘I’m not paying a fortune for my son to be treated like any other child,’ she said. ‘I told you, Ernest has a unique ability. And he must not be allowed to mix with the other children,’ she added. ‘Who knows what nasty things he might pick up?’

  Dora bristled. ‘We are very careful about hygiene on this ward, Mrs Pennington. Besides, your son will be confined to bed for some time.’

  ‘You see that he is.’ Mrs Pennington cast one last, critical look about her, then hooked her handbag over her arm, ready to leave.

  ‘Mother?’ The whisper from the bed made them both turn round. Ernest was watching them, his eyes solemn under his pale fringe. ‘You . . . you’re not leaving me?’

  ‘I must go, Ernest. Your father and I have an important meeting this afternoon. We have been invited to play with the Concertgebouw Orchestra in Holland.’ She glanced at Dora, who did her best to look impressed.

  ‘But, Mother, I’m afraid—’

  ‘Don’t make such a silly fuss, Ernest. You know how important this is to your father.’ Mrs Pennington didn’t look at him as she pulled on her gloves.

  Ernest fixed his gaze on the turned-down bed sheet. ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘That’s my brave boy.’ Mrs Pennington leaned over to peck his forehead. ‘Besides, you’ll be quite all right with Nurse – with this person.’ She waved her hand vaguely in Dora’s direction.

  Another quick, disparaging glance around her and she was gone. Dora listened to the clack of her heels disappearing down the corridor, then turned to Ernest.

  ‘She’s right, love. We’ll take good care of you.’ She smiled. ‘Anything you need, or anything you’re worried about, you just call for one of us, all right?’

  Ernest lifted his head to look at her, grey eyes sullen in his podgy face. ‘Please don’t be over-familiar with me,’ he said, his timid manner gone, replaced by his mother’s frosty hauteur. ‘You may unpack my suitcase and then leave.’

  Being chosen as the special nurse in charge of a private patient was a real honour among the students, and usually the subject of much debate and speculation. But for once Dora didn’t mind that Sister Parry chose her favourite Lucy to special Ernest. As far as Dora was concerned, Lucy was welcome to him.

  Although Dora wasn’t so pleased when Sister told her she had to assist Lucy with her duties.

  ‘I daresay she’ll have me carrying bedpans back and forth like a dirty pro,’ she sighed to Daphne Anderson, another senior. ‘She and Ernest will probably get on like a house on fire. They both enjoy ordering people about!’

  Things hadn’t got any better between the two girls in the week they’d been sharing a room. If anything, they were even worse. Lucy had taken over more than her share of space, squeezing Dora’s few belongings aside to make room for all her dresses, hats and shoes, not to mention her jewellery collection. She made a real effort to be friendly to Millie but barely spared a word for Dora, who was beginning to feel like the outsider in her own room.

  Lucy stood outside the kitchen door, listening to Dora complaining. She felt like bursting in and telling her that she wasn’t exactly delighted at the idea of Dora assisting her either. This was Lucy’s first assignment as a special, and she was determined to do everything right and show Sister Parry she was worthy of the responsibility. The last thing she needed was Dora making mistakes and messing everything up for her.

  But Dora didn’t think of that, did she? She could never be wrong about anything. It made Lucy sick to see her sometimes, swanning around the ward, laughing and joking with the children, cuddling and playing with them even when she was behind with her worklist. She didn’t seem to care that Sister Parry despaired of her.

  She even managed to quieten the babies with colic, when their screaming drove Lucy to hide in the sluice. Only yesterday morning Staff Nurse Ryan had said that Dora had a magic touch.

  It frustrated Lucy that she didn’t have a magic touch, too. She was easily the cleverest student in their set, and was always being mentioned favourably in ward reports for her neatness and efficiency. But when it came to working with children, she was lost. She could make their beds and sponge them when they got too hot and treat their shaven heads for ringworm, but she didn’t know how to make them smile or how to dry their tears.

  Not that she really cared, she told herself. She didn’t like children, they unnerved her. They seemed to sense it, too, which was why they were always so fretful around her. She couldn’t wait to be assigned to another ward, preferably one without Dora Doyle on it.

  The consultant, Mr Hobbs, came to see Ernest later that morning. Lucy felt very important as she stood at Sister Parry’s shoulder, listening to the great man in his pinstripe suit.

  Mr Hobbs confirmed the diagnosis of acute rheumatic fever and prescribed complete bed rest, a liquid diet, and an intensive course of salicylates for the first forty-eight hours: ‘One dose of thirty grams, followed by twenty grams every three hours until the temperature has subsided,’ he said, scribbling it down on Ernest’s notes.

  After he’d gone, Lucy administered the first dose watched by Sister Parry, then carefully wrapped Ernest’s swollen knees in warmed wool and erected a frame over his legs to keep the blankets off his painful joints.

  By the time she’d finished it was one o’clock, and Sister sent her off duty for the afternoon.

  ‘I will instruct Staff Nurse Ryan to take over until you return.’

  ‘Please, Sister, I thought Doyle was supposed to assist me?’ Lucy said.

  Sister Parry’s face took on a pinched look. ‘Assist you, yes,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid Doyle may not be up to specialing on her own. Not until she has learned to take orders, at any rate. Now get along with you, and I’ll explain to Staff Nurse Ryan.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ Lucy couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she sauntered from the ward. She passed Doyle, who was showing one of the new pros how to change a baby’s nappy. Lucy almost wished she could have told her what Sister Parry had said, just to see the look on her face.

  It was another bright, sunny May day, and Lucy was planning how to spend her afternoon off when Sister Sutton pounced on her in the doorway of the nurses’ home.

  ‘There you are, Lane. Thank heavens.’

  ‘Did you want me, Sister?’

  ‘Not I, Nurse. But your mother has telephoned six times since nine o’clock this morning.’ Sister looked put out. ‘I tried to explain that I didn’t know when you were off duty, but nevertheless she continues to telephone.’

  As if to prove her point, the hall telephone jangled, shattering the peace.

  ‘I daresay that will be her again.’ Sister Sutton shook her head, chins quivering. ‘Perhaps you could indicate to her, Lane, that I
am not your secretary?’

  ‘Yes, Sister. I’m sorry, Sister.’

  Lucy waited until Sister Sutton had bustled off, then answered the telephone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Lucy?’ Her mother’s voice sounded shaky on the other end of the line.

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Oh, thank God it’s you! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all morning.’

  ‘I know, Mother.’ Lucy stifled a sigh. Her mother’s voice was slurred, a sure sign she had been drinking again. ‘What is it you wanted?’

  ‘You must come home immediately. It – it’s your father.’ She burst into tears. Lucy tensed, gripping the receiver, fearing the worst.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered, her throat suddenly dry. ‘What’s happened to him? Mother?’

  ‘Oh, Lucy!’ her mother sobbed. ‘He – he’s disappeared!’

  Dora enjoyed helping with the babies. Staff Nurse Ryan was supposed to be in charge of their care, but when she had to go off and special Ernest Pennington, she allowed Dora to take over supervising the feeding and changing.

  Most of them were on the ward because they were underfed and not thriving. A couple, like little Bobby Turner, were suffering from more serious illnesses. Poor Bobby was in the late stages of infantile syphilis. He screamed constantly, his little limbs swollen, his skin turned coppery-brown by the rash that slowly ate away at him. Everyone knew his fate was sealed, but they went on feeding and cuddling him, trying to fill his last days with all the love his mother hadn’t given him.

  ‘He’s looking a little better today, don’t you think, Nurse?’ one of the pros, Clara Jessop, said as she changed his nappy. ‘I’m sure the rash is going down.’

  Dora smiled at her. Sister Parry would have been matter-of-fact about it, told her bluntly that the child was dying and there was nothing anyone could do. But looking at the soft-hearted girl’s face, Dora couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  ‘We must just hope for the best,’ was all she could manage.

  A cry of alarm from the far end of the ward made them jump. Dora looked up. ‘What the—’