Millie thought briefly about what William had said. Helen didn’t want her brother to have anything to do with Millie. She couldn’t remember if she’d told Helen who she’d been with that night, but it wouldn’t take a genius to work it out . . .
No. Millie dismissed the thought. ‘Helen wouldn’t do it,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t deliberately set out to get me dismissed.’
‘Why not? It’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do. She’s done it before.’
Millie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Have you ever heard of a girl called Peggy Gibson?’ Millie shook her head. ‘She shared a room with Tremayne last year. She thought she could trust Tremayne too. Until she got thrown out.’
Amy reached across for Millie’s plate and scraped her leftovers on to her own plate.
‘What happened?’
‘Tremayne told tales. She went to her mother and told her Gibson had a bottle of gin hidden under her bed.’
‘And did she?’
‘Well, yes. We were planning a party and she’d bought a bottle of booze to share. But Tremayne found out about it and reported her. I suppose she was just annoyed she hadn’t been invited.’ Amy shovelled a forkful of food into her mouth. ‘And she was supposed to be Gibson’s friend. The rest of us never wanted anything to do with Tremayne because she was such a swot, but Gibson was always nice to her.’
Millie considered for a moment. ‘I can’t believe she’d do something like that.’
‘Can’t you? I can.’ Amy pointed her fork at Millie. ‘Ask anyone here. They’ll tell you Helen Tremayne is not to be trusted.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
HELEN SAT BLEARY-EYED behind her cramped desk, fighting sleep as Sister Parker described the anatomy of the colon. Night duty or not, all students were expected to attend lectures one day a week. But it was difficult to stay awake in the stuffy, airless classroom, with Sister Tutor’s voice droning on, punctuated only by the squeak of her chalk across the blackboard. Helen had to keep pinching the back of her hand to make sure she didn’t nod off.
Finally the lecture finished, and she escaped into the fresh air. After days of slate-grey skies the rain had finally cleared and spring sunshine had emerged, glinting in the puddles and making the rooftops shine. The patch of grass in front of the students’ block was fresh and green, studded with purple and white crocuses and yellow daffodils.
As she crossed the courtyard on her way back from her lecture, she noticed Millie sitting on the bench under the trees. Helen saw her pale, sombre face and smiled to herself, wondering if she was suffering from the after-effects of her night’s drinking. Even though she hadn’t been amused at the time, the thought of Millie wedged under Mrs Mortimer’s bed, only inches from the Night Sister’s shoes, had made Helen laugh all day. She wished she could be like her, so confident and fearless and always ready to take risks.
Millie caught her eye and waved her over.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said.
‘Me?’ Helen was surprised. ‘Why? Is everything all right?’
She could see immediately that it wasn’t. For once Millie wasn’t smiling. Her pretty face was tense, brows knotted under her starched cap.
‘Was it you who reported me to Matron?’ she asked. ‘No, don’t tell me, I know it must have been you.’ Millie looked up at her, her blue eyes full of reproach. ‘Why did you do it? I thought we were friends?’
Helen stared at her in confusion. ‘Why would I report you? You’re always coming in late and I’ve never said anything before, have I?’
‘I’ve never been out with your brother before.’
Helen felt her stomach lurch. ‘You were with William?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know!’ Millie stood up to face her. ‘I know you told him not to have anything to do with me. Is that why you reported me? Because you wanted to keep us apart?’ Her blue eyes were cold. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t want us to be together, but this was a nasty way of going about it. You could have got me thrown out of the hospital. Is that what you really wanted?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I didn’t report you. I wouldn’t do something like that to you.’
‘You did it to Peggy Gibson.’
Helen felt the blood drain out of her face. ‘Who told you about her?’
‘Does it matter? It’s true, isn’t it? I didn’t want to believe it, but I can see it in your face. You got her thrown out.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Helen said quietly.
‘Then what was it like?’
Helen looked into Benedict’s face. She wished she could tell her, make her understand. It would have been so nice just for once to stop everyone hating her so much. But she had sworn to Peggy that she would never tell.
Millie shook her head. ‘And to think I actually liked you. No wonder no one else does, if that’s the way you treat people.’ She looked more disappointed than angry. ‘Well, you’ve just lost another friend. Although I don’t suppose you really care, do you?’
Helen watched her walk away across the courtyard. You’re wrong, she thought. I do care.
Millie was counting the dirty sheets and towels before they went off to the laundry the following day when she was summoned back to the ward for Mr Cooper’s round.
She had been hoping to avoid William. But as she joined the other nurses at the doors of the ward to greet the consultant, she saw him trailing along with the other registrars, housemen and students behind the great man as usual.
Millie tried not to catch his eye as she tagged on to the end of the train that went from bed to bed. She was too mortified to face him. What on earth must he think of her, after the last time they’d met? Not a lot, apparently; everyone knew no girl was safe from William Tremayne, yet he’d turned her down flat.
At every bed Mr Cooper paused to study the notes as Sister Wren rushed around pulling the screens around the patient. He would then ask the patient how they were feeling, and question the registrars and housemen about their treatment. Occasionally he would pounce on an unsuspecting medical student and ask them how they would proceed with the treatment. If the patient’s condition were very serious, they would move discreetly away from the end of the bed to discuss it out of their earshot. Millie always wondered how this was any more reassuring than telling them the facts, since they immediately knew that they were doomed.
William sidled up to her while Mr Cooper was quizzing a medical student about the appropriate surgical treatment for fibroids.
‘Hello again,’ he whispered. ‘How are you feeling today? I don’t know about you, but I woke up yesterday with a hellish hangover.’
Millie ignored him, her eyes fixed on Mr Cooper.
‘And if the haemoglobin level is below forty per cent, would you still advise proceeding with surgery?’ he was asking the furiously blushing student.
‘Are you not speaking to me?’ William looked hurt.
‘I don’t want to get into any more trouble,’ she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.
‘I certainly wouldn’t want to get you into any,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘But, you see, I still have your shoes and I would like to return them to you.’
Millie shot him a panicked look as Mr Cooper turned to address the group. ‘Quite right,’ he said, his powerful voice carrying across the ward. ‘In such cases surgery would carry an increased risk of post-operative complications such as embolism or femoral thrombosis. But fortunately your haemoglobin levels are perfect, are they not, Mrs Chattis?’ He bestowed one of his dazzling movie star smiles on the patient, who simpered as if he’d just paid her a wonderful compliment.
‘Leave them at the porters’ lodge,’ Millie whispered.
‘And start the whole hospital gossiping about why I have them?’ William looked amused.
Millie thought about it for a moment. Perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea. ‘Meet me in the courtyard at six o’clock.’
He
was there waiting for her, sitting on a bench under the plane trees when she arrived a few minutes after her duty finished.
‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ he said.
‘Do you have my shoes?’
He handed them over, and she started to walk away.
‘Wait,’ he called after her. ‘Is that it?’ He sounded disappointed.
Millie looked back over her shoulder at him. ‘Was there something else you wanted?’
‘I don’t know . . .’ He looked awkward. ‘I thought you might . . . you know . . . want to talk about the other night?’
‘Definitely not.’ Millie stared at the shoes in her hand. ‘In fact, I would prefer it if that night hadn’t happened.’
‘Oh. Right. I see.’ William looked deflated.
‘You do know your sister reported me, don’t you?’
He frowned. ‘Helen wouldn’t do that.’
‘She told you to stay away from me, didn’t she?’
‘Only because she wanted to protect you from me.’ William smiled sheepishly.
‘And I suppose she was trying to protect Peggy Gibson, too?’
He went very still. He had the same blank look on his face that Helen had done when Millie mentioned the name. ‘What do you know about her?’ he asked quietly.
‘I know your sister got her dismissed from this hospital. Over a bottle of gin, wasn’t it?’ She curled her lip. ‘I bet Helen was very proud of herself for that.’
‘It wasn’t Helen’s fault. Peggy broke the rules—’
‘Everyone breaks the rules sometimes. But we don’t tell on each other. We’re supposed to help each other, not stab one another in the back.’
‘Helen tried to help Peggy.’
‘Gosh, she’s terribly helpful, isn’t she? She tried to help Peggy and she gets thrown out, then she tries to protect me and I almost get dismissed too. She’s all heart, I’d say.’
William stood up, towering over her. His dark hair still sprouted upwards, defying his attempts to flatten it. ‘Look, it wasn’t like that. Helen really did care for Peggy. And it wasn’t just a bottle of gin that got her thrown out, it was . . .’
‘Go on,’ Millie said quietly.
William paused for a long time. Millie could almost see his mind working, searching for the right words.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’ve already said too much. Helen would kill me if I told you.’ He sounded wretched. ‘All I can tell you is, you mustn’t blame Helen for what happened to Peggy. They were good friends. It was because she was a good friend that Helen – did what she did.’
Millie stared at him. There was a longing in his dark eyes, just as she’d seen in his sister’s. As if there was something he wanted to tell her, a secret he was desperate to share.
‘You have to trust me.’ He held on to her hands, gripping them tighter as she tried to pull away. ‘If Helen says she didn’t report you, then I’d bet my life on it that she didn’t. My sister is no sneak, Millie. And she doesn’t set out to hurt people either.’
‘But Peggy—’
‘For God’s sake, stop talking about her!’ William cut her off impatiently, startling her. ‘Helen didn’t get her into trouble. She saved her life!’
‘What do you mean?’ Millie asked softly.
William paused for a moment. Millie could see all kinds of conflicting emotions battling in his face. Then, finally, he took a deep breath and said, ‘Peggy was a very – emotional girl. She got herself very upset about something and tried to take her own life. Helen found her just in time. She begged Peggy to get help, but she refused. Helen was desperately worried she would try to kill herself again and next time she wouldn’t be there to save her. So she did the only thing she could, and told our mother.’
‘But I heard—’
‘You heard she was found smuggling in a bottle of booze?’ William finished for her. ‘That was the story everyone came up with. Her parents were very upset, you see. They didn’t want anyone to know the truth about their daughter’s – distress – so everyone decided it would be best to come up with the gin story. And Helen went along with it.’
‘Even though she knew everyone would think she was a sneak?’ Millie could hardly believe it. Poor Helen, the other girls were so cruel to her. If it was her, she was sure she would be tempted to clear her name and tell them the truth.
William seemed to guess her thoughts. ‘Now do you believe my sister can be trusted?’ he said. ‘Believe me, Helen knows how to keep secrets.’
There was something about the way he said it that made Millie look at him. ‘What was it that upset her so much that she tried to kill herself?’ she asked.
He was silent for a long time, his lips pressed together as if he was trying to hold the words in.
‘She fell for the wrong man and he let her down badly,’ he said.
One look at his eyes, so dark and intense, and Millie knew his sister wasn’t the only one who guarded their secrets.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘WHO’S THERE? IS that you, Gwen?’
The old lady’s opaque, sightless eyes searched for Helen in the darkness as she sat beside the bed, holding her hand. It felt like a child’s, fragile bones under papery skin.
‘It’s me, Mrs Rodgers. Nurse Tremayne.’
Not that it mattered now. Mrs Rodgers was nearly eighty and beyond knowing anyone, even herself. The end was very near.
Mrs Rodgers turned her head away restlessly. In the dim light her scalp gleamed through sparse tufts of white hair. Helen was relieved she was quiet at last. All night she had been thrashing around, crying out in a panic, calling out for Gwen. Whether it was a sister or a daughter, Helen didn’t know. She had done her best to calm her fears, sitting with her and holding her hand, even though Amy Hollins complained bitterly at the extra work she’d had to do.
‘I don’t know why you’re making so much fuss,’ she’d said. ‘It’s not as if the old girl even knows you’re there.’
But Helen did it anyway, holding on to her hand and trying to reassure her. No one deserved to die alone.
Although she didn’t seem to be alone. All through the night, Mrs Rodgers had talked to the invisible souls who gathered around her bedside.
‘I’m not ready to go,’ she insisted over and over again, her voice blurred and mumbling. ‘Not until I’ve seen Gwen.’
Finally, as the pink light of dawn was beginning to creep around the drawn blinds, she lifted her head off the pillow and looked at Helen with such intensity that for a moment it was as if she could really see her.
Her gaping, toothless mouth broke into a smile. ‘Gwen,’ she said. ‘You’ve come at last.’
She gave a sigh of contentment, turned her face away, and was gone.
Helen put her fingers to Mrs Rodgers’ throat to satisfy herself there was no pulse. Then she calmly got up and pulled the screens around the bed.
Amy was very put out when she emerged from the kitchen, where she had been buttering bread for breakfast.
‘Typical!’ she snorted. ‘Why couldn’t she have hung on an hour longer? Now we’re going to have to deal with it ourselves before the day staff come on.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Helen said.
‘Really?’ Amy looked relieved. ‘If you’re sure?’ she said, although it was obvious she wasn’t going to volunteer to help.
Helen sent the runner to fetch the Night Sister, who in turn informed the Duty Registrar. He arrived, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and declared what everyone already knew, that cancer had eaten its way into Mrs Rodgers’ bones, brain and every organ in her body. The porters arrived and transferred her body to the side room while Helen gathered everything she needed on the trolley, washed her hands and donned gloves and a clean apron.
She took her time, washing the old lady with care and respect. Mrs Rodgers was no bigger than a child, her wrinkled skin hanging loosely from thin bones. Helen was astonished she had managed to keep death at bay for as long as she had,
when there was no strength left in her frail, emaciated body.
Sister Hyde came in as Helen was fastening the shroud. She was the most fearsome of all the sisters at the Nightingale, bristling efficiency in her immaculate grey uniform, her cap fastened in a crisp bow under her square chin. Helen fought the urge to jump to attention.
‘Good gracious, Nurse, what are you doing here? Hollins went off duty fifteen minutes ago.’
‘I wanted to finish preparing Mrs Rodgers before I left, Sister. Hollins offered to stay and help me,’ she lied quickly.
‘Did she indeed? That hardly sounds like Hollins.’ Sister Hyde looked down at Mrs Rodgers’ face, encircled by the white shroud. ‘So she’s gone at last. I hope it was peaceful?’
‘Yes, Sister. Quite peaceful.’
‘I’m glad. She suffered quite dreadfully towards the end.’ Sister Hyde sighed, and for a moment her face lost its severe expression. Then she recollected herself and said, ‘Tonight is your last night on this ward, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Do you know where you will be sent next?’
‘Wren, Sister.’
‘Gynae? That will make a change for you. Rather a lively ward, so I’m told.’ Sister Hyde looked thoughtful. ‘It’s very commendable that you should want to stay and do this. I wish all students were as conscientious as you. I shall certainly mention you in the ward report.’
‘Thank you, Sister.’
It was almost half-past eight when the porter came to escort Mrs Rodgers down to the mortuary. Helen had missed breakfast, so she headed straight to bed in the night corridor. But it wasn’t easy to sleep with the maid clattering noisily outside the door with her broom, and Miss Hanley stomping to and fro down the corridor to the staff linen room.
She slept fitfully, haunted by dreams of Mrs Rodgers clawing at her hands and calling out to her. She woke up at midday, stiff and aching, foggy-headed with lack of sleep. Wearily she got up and dragged on her dressing gown.
Opening her door, she didn’t see the figure sitting on the floor outside her room until she fell over them.
‘Oops, sorry, I didn’t – Benedict?’ Helen rubbed her gritty eyes. ‘What are you doing down there?’
The Nightingale Girls Page 27
