The Nightingale Christmas Show

by Donna Douglas

  ‘Ah, there you are, Philips,’ Violet said. ‘Do put that down before you drop it. You found everything, then?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ The girl dropped the box and quickly straightened her cap and brushed the cobwebs off her apron, her fearful gaze still fixed on Kathleen.

  ‘You see? There was nothing to be afraid of, was there?’

  ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘Then go and put the box in the cupboard. We’ll start putting up the decorations later, when I can get a porter to bring a ladder.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ As the girl went off, still staggering under the weight of the box, Violet turned back to Kathleen. ‘She was terrified of going down to the basement. The nurses all reckon it’s haunted.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ Miss Davis snorted. ‘Everyone knows there are no such things as ghosts.’

  ‘I agree with you, Assistant Matron. But I must admit when I was Night Sister here I did hear some strange things in the dead of night. Creaks and bumps and faint moaning sounds, and the like.’

  ‘Probably the wind whistling through a loose roof tile,’ Miss Davis dismissed. ‘All old buildings make odd noises. Wouldn’t you say so, Matron?’

  ‘What?’ Kathleen turned to see her assistant looking at her expectantly. ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so.’

  But she was lying. She knew only too well that ghosts haunted the Nightingale. She had seen and heard them herself.

  They finished their rounds with a visit to Wren, the gynae ward, and the maternity ward next door. Kathleen always left Maternity until last because she knew it would lift her spirits.

  There were no sick people here, no tragedies waiting to unfold. It was full of new mothers, or women waiting to have their babies, which meant there was always an air of irrepressible anticipation, despite the ward’s tight regime.

  Miriam Trott, the sister of Wren ward, was waiting with her nurses. She lived up to the name of her ward. She looked exactly like a bird, with her tiny frame, beaked nose and dark, inquisitive eyes. The hair under her cap was a thin, dusty brown colour, like a sparrow’s wing.

  ‘Good morning, Matron, Assistant Matron,’ she greeted them. ‘Everything is ready for you.’

  Miriam Trott was even more of a stickler for order than the other ward sisters, and as Kathleen looked down the ward all she could see were two lines of freshly scrubbed faces, hands placed carefully on the top of their immaculate coverlets. Even the babies were silent in their nursery at the far end of the ward behind a firmly closed door.

  The ward was spotless too, the polished floor gleaming, reflecting the wintry light from the windows.

  Beside her, she heard Miss Davis’s sigh of approval. She and Sister Wren were much of the same mind. Kathleen felt sure the Assistant Matron would find no badly turned-down beds or dusty corners here.

  But nor would they find a great deal of laughter or fun. Miss Trott discouraged such things.

  Before they could begin their inspection, Miss Trott gave her report.

  ‘We have a new patient on the ward: Mrs Goodwood,’ she said. ‘She was admitted last night for observation due to high blood pressure and oedema.’ She paused, then said, ‘Perhaps you remember her, Matron? She was in charge of the local WVS during the war.’

  Kathleen nodded. ‘I do indeed.’

  ‘Mrs Goodwood helped to organise a mobile canteen here when our dining room was bombed,’ Miss Trott explained to Miss Davis. ‘Such a wonderful woman. I don’t know how we would have ever managed without her.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Kathleen said. But her memories of Mrs Goodwood were not as glowing as Miriam Trott’s. She recalled a very bossy woman, bustling around giving orders in her green uniform, thoroughly enjoying every moment of her new-found power.

  ‘We struck up quite a friendship during that time, actually,’ Sister Wren continued. ‘She’s such a refined woman, not like some of the types we get in here.’ Her thin mouth curled.

  Mrs Goodwood was sitting up in bed waiting for them, the coverlet smoothed over her wide bump. She was a no-nonsense woman in her thirties, straight brown hair cut practically short to frame her square face. Even in a flannel nightgown, she still gave off an air of self-importance. She was busy making notes in a book propped up in front of her, while her knitting lay half-finished on her bedside locker.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Goodwood,’ Kathleen greeted her. ‘You seem very busy?’

  ‘Good morning, Matron. Yes, well, I have things to do.’ Mrs Goodwood laid down her pen with the faint irritation of someone who resented the interruption. ‘I must say it’s rather a nuisance to find myself here when I have so much I could be getting on with.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re doing too much?’ Kathleen suggested. ‘Have you considered your raised blood pressure might be nature’s way of telling you to slow down?’

  ‘Well, it’s most inconvenient,’ Mrs Goodwood said briskly. ‘We’re supposed to be having a Christmas fête to raise funds for the church roof repair, and that won’t organise itself.’

  ‘I’m sure there are others who could help out,’ Kathleen said.

  ‘I hardly think so!’ Mrs Goodwood looked put out at the suggestion. ‘If you want something done properly, you should do it yourself, that’s what I always say.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’ Kathleen felt for the poor church roof committee. At least they might be able to breathe during Mrs Goodwood’s absence.

  ‘How long do you think I’ll be here? No one seems to be able to tell me.’

  ‘That’s really up to the doctor,’ Kathleen said. ‘When is your baby due?’ She went to pick up the notes hanging from the end of the bed.

  ‘Not until the end of January,’ Mrs Goodwood said.

  ‘Another two months?’ Kathleen consulted the notes.

  ‘You seem rather big for your dates.’ For once, Miss Davis said what Kathleen had been thinking.

  Mrs Goodwood shot her a dark look. ‘Yes, well, I can’t help that, can I? Big babies run in my family, so my mother says.’

  Miss Davis frowned. ‘Nevertheless, you do seem very large. Are you sure you’ve got the dates right?’

  Mrs Goodwood’s face reddened. ‘I should say I have! My husband didn’t come home until May.’ Two bright spots of colour stained her cheeks. ‘I do hope you’re not suggesting anything – improper?’

  Kathleen looked away to conceal her smile. The idea of Mrs Goodwood doing anything improper was too amusing for words.

  Miss Davis shook her head. ‘No, no, of course not … I wouldn’t suggest …’ She looked helplessly from Sister Wren to Mrs Goodwood and back again. Both women glared back at her, tight-lipped. ‘I was only saying—’

  ‘Perhaps it might be best if you didn’t, Miss Davis,’ Kathleen said politely. ‘Mrs Goodwood’s blood pressure is already high. We don’t want to push it up even further, do we?’

  ‘I—’ Miss Davis opened her mouth then closed it again.

  But she would not let the matter drop, even as they returned to Kathleen’s office after the inspection.

  ‘I still think that baby is too big for her dates,’ she muttered under her breath as they made their way back down the winding corridors.

  ‘I agree,’ Kathleen said. ‘But you heard what she said. The baby couldn’t possibly be due before January. And Miss Trott doesn’t seem to think that it’s anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  Kathleen stopped, so abruptly that the Assistant Matron cannoned into the back of her. ‘How many babies have you delivered, Miss Davis?’ she asked.

  Miss Davis blushed. ‘A few, when I was training,’ she mumbled.

  ‘And how many since then?’

  Miss Davis lowered her gaze. ‘None.’

  ‘Quite. Whereas Sister Wren has delivered more babies than you and I put together. So I think we should allow her to know best, don’t you?’

  Miss Davis’s blush deepened. ‘I’m sorry, Matron,’ she said stiffly.

  They walked back to Kathleen’
s office in silence. She was aware of Miss Davis quietly simmering beside her, but she ignored her.

  Of course she knew that Mrs Goodwood was too big for her dates. She was also fairly certain that the baby would be born well before January, possibly even before Christmas. But she chose to accept Miss Trott’s judgement, partly out of support for her ward sister, but mostly because it was another reason to disagree with her Assistant Matron.

  When had she become so petty? she wondered. It really wasn’t like her at all, but Miss Davis seemed to bring out the worst in her.

  But by the time they returned to Kathleen’s office the Assistant Matron had started up again, this time on the subject of the new linen supplies.

  ‘When will they arrive, Matron?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘I’m not sure. I ordered them last month.’

  ‘Then surely they should be here by now?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say. The suppliers were making parachutes until six months ago. I daresay it will take a while for them to get back into the swing of things.’

  ‘Yes, but the supplies we have are running low, and they’re already in such bad condition. We need new linen urgently.’

  ‘I am well aware of that, Miss Davis,’ Kathleen replied tightly. ‘But as I said, we must just be patient.’

  Miss Davis paused for a moment, and Kathleen could almost see the words ticking around in her brain before they finally came out.

  ‘Perhaps I should telephone them and find out when—’

  ‘You will do no such thing!’ Kathleen cut her off. ‘I told you I had placed the order, and the linen supplies will arrive when they arrive. Now, I’m sure you have other things you can be getting on with, besides chasing after me and making sure I’m doing my job properly!’

  ‘I’m sure I didn’t mean to suggest—’

  Kathleen closed the door on the Assistant Matron before she could say another word.

  She leaned against the door, breathing out a deep sigh. Just being with Miss Davis exhausted her. It wasn’t the young woman’s energy that drained her, but the effort of controlling her temper.

  How dare she question her? Did she really not think that Kathleen was well aware of the woeful state of the linen cupboards? She and her nurses had been struggling with the inadequate supplies for years, trying to make ends meet throughout the war, when everything was scarce.

  And now Charlotte Davis had turned up, so fresh and smart and full of ideas, and acted as if she was the only one in the world who had ever noticed the problem.

  You mustn’t be too hard on the girl, you know, Matron. She is doing her best.

  Kathleen looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. ‘I might have known you’d be on her side!’

  She turned to look into the shadows in the corner of her office, but there was nothing there.

  I really don’t understand why you’ve taken against her so much, Veronica Hanley’s voice came into her head again, as clearly as if she had been standing at Kathleen’s shoulder. If you want to know what I think—

  ‘I don’t,’ Kathleen said out loud. ‘But as usual, I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

  I think you’re resentful because you didn’t choose her yourself.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Kathleen conceded. ‘I certainly would have preferred to be consulted about it. We do have to work together, after all.’ But as it was, the Board of Trustees had appointed Charlotte Davis without a by your leave to Kathleen about it. By all accounts Major Hugh McLaren, one of the six board members, had pulled some strings to secure the position for Miss Davis.

  ‘If it had been up to me I’d have chosen one of the senior nurses. Someone who knows the hospital well.’ Although there weren’t many left to choose from. Kathleen recalled all the senior nurses who had not returned to the Nightingale for one reason or another. Some, like Sister Blake, had got married when the war ended; others, like the Home Sister Agatha Sutton and Sister Tutor Miss Parker, had decided to retire.

  And then there were the casualties of war, like Veronica Hanley herself. Kathleen had clashed so many times with the former Assistant Matron when they worked together, but she could never have imagined how much she would miss her.

  But it would have taken more than death to keep the formidable Miss Hanley from her duties.

  Kathleen couldn’t remember when she had first become aware of her presence. Almost from the moment she died, Kathleen seemed to hear Miss Hanley’s voice, see her shadow moving out of the corner of her eye. At first she thought she must be imagining it, but she knew the words that came into her head were not of her own making. Miss Hanley gave her advice freely, just as she had in life. And more often than not, they clashed with Kathleen’s own opinions.

  I suppose you would have chosen your friend, Miss Tanner?

  ‘Yes, I think I would. She would have made an excellent Assistant Matron.’

  She makes an even better ward sister. Such a waste to have her chasing linen orders and drawing up work rosters when she should be nursing.

  ‘Whereas Miss Davis is so good at that sort of thing,’ Kathleen said, tight-lipped.

  Miss Davis has many excellent qualities. She’s hard-working, efficient, sensible –

  ‘You’re only saying that because she reminds you of yourself!’

  No, indeed, Matron. She reminds me of you.

  Kathleen swung round to look at the wall behind her. The curtain shivered in a draught from the window. ‘Nonsense. She’s full of rules and regulations. I was never like that.’

  She’s also full of energy and purpose, just like you were when you first arrived. Do you remember, Matron? You had no respect for traditions. You were never interested in the way things ‘had always been done’, only in how the hospital could do them better.

  Kathleen smiled reluctantly. ‘Goodness, I sound quite insufferable.’ No wonder Veronica Hanley hadn’t liked her very much to begin with!

  Over time, however, they had adjusted to one another, and as the war went on Kathleen had come to appreciate her Assistant Matron’s loyalty and courage. They might have made a good team, if only …

  Now is not the time for self-pity, Matron. Miss Hanley’s voice was brisk in her head. Especially when there is so much work to be done. The Nightingale needs to be rebuilt, restored to its former glory.

  But am I the one to do it? Kathleen thought. Her gaze moved to the top drawer of her desk, where the letter she had received last week was concealed.

  You’re still thinking of taking the job, then?

  ‘Why not?’ It was perfect for her. A country hospital in Lancashire, close to where she had grown up. An idyllic little market town, largely untouched by the ravages of war. Not like the East End, which still bore its scars in every bombed-out building and empty space where a street had once been. ‘I’d be closer to my sister and her family, too.’

  And what about the Nightingale?

  ‘What about it?’ Kathleen said defensively. ‘I’ve been here for nearly twelve years. I saw the hospital through the war, during the times when the building was falling down around our ears and no one else thought we could go on …’ She stopped, pulling her emotions back together. ‘I gave everything to this hospital, and now it’s time I started thinking about myself.’

  I seem to remember you saying those words before, and yet you stayed.

  ‘Only because you talked me out of leaving!’

  And do you regret your decision?

  ‘Sometimes.’ In fact, she often wondered what would have happened if she had followed her heart and run away with James Cooper. The war had thrown her together with the handsome consultant, and they had fallen in love. Their affair was as passionate as it was forbidden. They had made plans; he was going to leave his loveless marriage and they were going to start a new life together. But after Miss Hanley’s death, Kathleen had decided the Nightingale needed her. The last thing the Assistant Matron ever did was to persuade her to stay. ‘But it’s different now. It’s the right ti
me to go.’

  Then why haven’t you written your letter of resignation yet?

  ‘I – I haven’t got round to it.’ But that wasn’t strictly true. She’d heard from the hospital over a week ago but had told them she needed time to think about the offer, and they’d given her until Christmas to decide. Now, even though she’d already made up her mind and was set on leaving the Nightingale behind, putting pen to paper was proving more challenging than she’d first thought.

  Why don’t you write the letter now, if you’re so set on leaving?

  ‘All right, then, I will!’ She flung open her desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of notepaper, then picked up her fountain pen. Miss Hanley’s voice fell silent, and Kathleen could almost sense the Assistant Matron holding her breath, waiting for her.

  ‘You don’t think I’m serious, do you?’ Kathleen said, just as the door opened and Charlotte Davis walked in.

  Kathleen looked up at her sharply. ‘Don’t you ever knock?’ she snapped.

  Miss Davis’s pale blue eyes widened in shock. ‘I did,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me? You seemed to be talking to someone?’ Her eyes scanned the empty room.

  ‘I was speaking on the telephone,’ Kathleen said. ‘Was there something you wanted?’ she added, before the Assistant Matron could argue.

  ‘Um, yes.’ Miss Davis dragged her quizzical gaze away from the telephone and back to Kathleen’s face. ‘I wondered if you had managed to look at the duty rosters I wrote out yesterday?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Do you have any idea when they might be done?’

  ‘I’ll get to them as soon as I can.’

  ‘It’s just I promised to take them up to the wards this afternoon, and—’

  ‘I said I’d do them as soon as I can!’ Kathleen saw Miss Davis flinch. ‘I’m not going to achieve anything with you bothering me every five minutes, am I?’

  ‘No, Matron. I’m sorry.’ Miss Davis retreated, subdued.

  Seeing her face gave Kathleen a pang of guilt. ‘Miss Davis, wait—’ she started to say, but the Assistant Matron had already closed the door.