Kathleen’s footsteps made a muffled crunch as she trudged through the snow. As she passed through the courtyard, she noticed several figures in the shadows. Miss Davis and the Major, Peggy Atkins and one of the porters, Violet and her mother, and Miss Trott— Kathleen stopped short. Was that really Miss Trott with a man? Things were strange indeed, she decided.
She paused by the post box, the letter in her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she tore it up and stuffed the pieces back in her pocket. Then she turned to head back to the warmth of the hospital, where welcoming lights blazed in the windows.
She had almost reached the sisters’ home when a figure separated itself from the shadows and stepped into her path.
‘Hello, Kath.’ James Cooper’s voice came from the darkness, deep and warm as a caress.
Kathleen stopped dead.
‘James?’ she whispered. She put out a hand to touch him, feeling the rough wool of his heavy overcoat. But even then she couldn’t quite believe it wasn’t her imagination playing cruel tricks on her. ‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on board the ship?’
‘Do you really think I could go without you, knowing how I feel about you?’
‘But Simone—’
‘Is currently enjoying herself to no end, if I know her.’ There was a cynical edge to his voice. ‘She’ll be settling in to her first-class cabin, ordering the staff about and enjoying a glass of champagne.’
‘She went without you?’
‘Of course. Between you and me, I think it was the idea of going to America that was the biggest attraction for her. I was only ever a means to an end. Once she realised I was still prepared to pay for her passage and keep her in style, she was as happy as a lamb.’
Kathleen winced. ‘Surely she must have been upset when you told her you weren’t going with her?’
James shook his head. ‘To be honest, I think she was relieved. She knows as well as I do that our marriage should have ended a long time ago. The only thing that kept us together was money and her pride.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’ He stepped closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath fanning her face. ‘Would you rather I’d gone with her?’
She wanted to do the right thing, to say something wise and sensible. But the pounding of her heart against her ribs was telling her otherwise.
‘No,’ she said.
‘That’s a relief.’ He took her hands in his. His fingers were warm and reassuring, wrapped around hers. ‘Oh God, Kath, I’ve missed you so much. I waited for you to come, but deep down I knew you wouldn’t. So I knew I had to come back for you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I wanted to come, I really did. But I didn’t want to ruin your new start –’
‘You still don’t understand, do you? The only new start I want is with you.’
She looked up at him. The dim light from the window of the sisters’ home illuminated the snowflakes sparkling in his dark hair.
‘So what happens now?’ she said.
‘Well …’ He pretended to think about it. ‘I could sweep you into my arms and then we could walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after?’
‘That sounds wonderful.’
‘So why do I hear the word ‘but’ at the end of the sentence?’
Kathleen smiled. How well he knew her! ‘I still have work to do here.’
His brows lowered in a frown. ‘I seem to remember you said that the last time you left me?’
‘I know,’ she sighed.
‘So did I do the wrong thing, coming back?’
‘No!’ Her hands gripped his, not wanting to let him go in case he disappeared forever. ‘No, not at all. I love you, and I want us to be together, truly I do. But I have a duty to this hospital to try to put it back together, restore it to the way it was.’ She looked up at him tentatively. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’
His mouth twisted. ‘I wish I didn’t, but – yes, of course I understand. It’s one of the things I love about you.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh well, I suppose if you won’t run away with me, I’ll just have to stay here with you.’
‘Really? You mean you’ll come back to the Nightingale?’
‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’ He did his best to sound long-suffering, but once again Kathleen could hear the smile in his voice. ‘I walked away from you once, Kathleen Fox. I have no intention of making the same mistake twice.’
They looked at each other for a long time. ‘I suppose this means we won’t be walking into the sunset?’ Kathleen said.
‘No, but I could still sweep you into my arms, couldn’t I?’
She grinned. ‘I’d like that very much.’
I suppose you’ll have something to say about my decision? She thought as James gathered her to him for a kiss. But Miss Hanley’s voice was silent, and Kathleen had a feeling she would not be hearing it again. Her future was settled, she no longer needed the Assistant Matron’s guiding hand, and now Veronica Hanley could finally rest in peace.
Welcome to the district nurses’ home on Steeple Street, where everyone has a secret …
Ambitious young nurse Agnes Sheridan had a promising future ahead of her until a tragic mistake brought all her dreams crashing down and cost her the love and respect of everyone around her. Now she has come to Leeds for a fresh start as a trainee district nurse.
But Agnes finds herself facing unexpected challenges as she is assigned to Quarry Hill, one of the city’s most notorious slums. Before she can redeem herself in the eyes of her family, she must first win the trust and respect of her patients and fellow nurses.
Does Agnes have what it takes to stay the distance? Or will the tragedy of her past catch up with her?
Read on for an exclusive extract of Donna’s The Nurses of Steeple Street series
Chapter One
The District Nursing Superintendent was late for their meeting.
Agnes Sheridan sat straight-backed on a chair outside Miss Gale’s office, her feet tucked underneath to stop them from tapping impatiently on the tiled floor. On the other side of the hall, a large grandfather clock ponderously marked the passing minutes, reminding her how long she had been kept waiting.
It was really too bad, she thought. She had arrived precisely on time for their meeting at three o’clock, and had even gone to the trouble of taking a taxi she could ill afford from the station, just so she wouldn’t be late.
The skinny little maid appeared from the kitchen and scuttled towards her, head down, eyes averted. She never said a word, but had been patrolling the passageway at regular intervals ever since she’d opened the door to Agnes.
As the girl slid past, Agnes cleared her throat and said, ‘Excuse me. Do you know how much longer Miss Gale might be?’
The maid froze, her eyes bulging in her thin face. She looked like a terrified rabbit.
‘She’s gone to see t’Miners’ Welfare,’ she mumbled in a broad Yorkshire accent.
‘You’ve already told me that.’ Agnes did her best to be patient. ‘I just wondered how long—’
‘I’ve summat on the stove,’ the maid blurted out. And then she was gone, darting back the way she’d come, tripping over her own feet in her rush to get away.
‘Well, that’s nice, I must say!’ Agnes muttered as the kitchen door slammed shut at the far end of the passageway. She had come all the way from Manchester, and hadn’t even been offered a cup of tea.
She looked around, trying to get the measure of her surroundings. The passageway where she sat was long and narrow, with steps leading down to the kitchen at the far end. At the other, sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window above the front door, scattering brilliant diamonds of colour on the tiled floor. In front of Agnes was a door with an engraved brass plate reading ‘Susan Gale – District Nursing Superintendent’. There were other doors leading off from the hallway too. One of them stood open, and through the doorway Agnes could see settees and chairs ar
ranged around a fireplace, with bookshelves to either side and a piano in the corner. The nurses’ common room, she imagined.
There was a telephone on a small stand beside the front door, with a message book open beside it. Further along, the faded wallpaper was covered by a large noticeboard, to which various lists and rotas had been pinned. Below that was a set of a dozen pigeon holes, mostly empty but a few stuffed with uncollected post.
Agnes took some comfort from the familiarity of the scene. It reminded her of the nurses’ home at the hospital in London where she’d trained. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so different after all, she thought.
A crash came from beyond the kitchen door, shattering the silence and making Agnes jump to her feet. She was just wondering if she should investigate when a door closed on the floor above her and she heard the stomp of heavy footsteps.
Agnes looked up to see a woman coming down the stairs towards her. She was in her mid-forties, solid rather than fat, her large body enclosed in a fitted dark blue coat. Wisps of greying hair escaped from under her neat hat.
Before she could speak, there was another crash from the kitchen, followed by loud cursing. Agnes flinched but the woman barely seemed to notice.
‘Pay no attention,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s always the same when Dottie’s cooking. I s’pose you’re the new nurse? Miss Gale said you’d be coming today.’
Agnes straightened her shoulders. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I’m Agnes Sheridan.’
‘Agnes, eh? Does everyone call you Aggie?’
Agnes winced. ‘I prefer Agnes, if you don’t mind,’ she said.
‘Do you now?’ The other woman looked her up and down, an amused twinkle in her beady dark eyes. ‘Well, Agnes, or whatever you want to call yourself, I’m Bess Bradshaw, the Assistant Superintendent. Miss Gale says I’m to take charge of you while she’s away. So you’d best come with me.’
She led the way down the passage and pushed open a door marked ‘District Room’. Agnes followed her into a large, sunny room lined with cupboards and shelves containing various items of medical equipment. She looked around, taking it all in.
‘This is where we keep our supplies,’ Bess Bradshaw answered the question before Agnes had a chance to ask it. She picked up a large black leather Gladstone bag, set it on the wooden counter and undid the clasp. ‘Each time you go out on your rounds, you’ll need to check your bag to make sure you’ve everything you need.’ Her Yorkshire accent wasn’t as broad as the maid’s, but it was definitely there.
As Agnes watched her holding up a bottle to the light to check its contents, realisation slowly dawned.
‘Surely we’re not going out to see a patient now?’ she asked.
Bess looked at Agnes, the same mocking twinkle as before in her eyes. ‘Where did you think we were going, down the park to feed t’ducks? Pass me the boracic powder, will you? It’s up there, on the top shelf.’
Agnes reached for the glass bottle and put it in Bess’ outstretched hand, her mind racing.
This wasn’t right. At her old hospital a new staff nurse would have to undergo a thorough interview with Matron and be fitted for her uniform before she was allowed anywhere near the wards. And yet here Agnes was, barely over the doorstep before she was being let loose on the patients. It seemed a very haphazard way of going about things.
Was this what district nursing was all about? she wondered.
‘Shouldn’t I wait for the Superintendent?’ she ventured.
‘The Superintendent is in Wakefield, having a meeting with the Miners’ Welfare Committee. She’ll not be back while teatime, and I daresay she won’t be in any mood to see you when she does get back. Miners’ Welfare always puts her in a bad mood.’ Bess Bradshaw checked another bottle, then put it back. ‘And I’m to look after you, and I’ve got a call to make, so you’ll have to come with me.’
‘But—’
‘You’ve come here to train as a Queen’s Nurse, haven’t you?’ Bess cut her off.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Well, there’s no time like the present to start, is there?’
Agnes looked down at herself. ‘But I haven’t even got a uniform.’
‘Oh, stop fretting, lass! It’s a willing pair of hands I’m after, not a starched collar. Now, frame yourself and let’s get going.’
Perhaps this isn’t such a bad thing, Agnes tried to tell herself as she followed the Assistant Superintendent out of the house. Bess Bradshaw was quite right. She had come to train as a district nurse, and the sooner she got started, the better.
After all, she reasoned, it wasn’t as if working on the district was likely to be too difficult. She was a qualified nurse from one of the best hospitals in the country. She could certainly manage to give a few bed baths and change dressings.
But her nerve almost failed when Bess disappeared around the side of the house, only to emerge a moment later wheeling two bicycles. She propped one against the wall and nodded towards it. ‘There you are, lass. Your chariot awaits.’
Agnes stared, appalled. ‘You want me to ride that?’
‘Well, you could walk, but it’ll take you a fair while.’ Bess was already walking away, wheeling her bicycle up the front path. She stopped at the gate and looked back over her shoulder. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’ve never ridden one before?’
‘Well, yes, but …’ Agnes examined it suspiciously. The bike must have been at least thirty years old, a real old boneshaker, rusting and ramshackle.
‘Then get on it and start pedalling! There’s work to be done.’
It was a long time since Agnes had ridden a bicycle, and then it had been along leafy country lanes with her brother and sister when they were children. Nothing had prepared her for the narrow streets of Leeds. She clung on grimly as her bicycle juddered over the cobbles, convinced it was going to break apart at any moment. She could feel her hat slipping down over one eye, but she didn’t dare let go of the handlebars to straighten it.
She tried to keep the Assistant Superintendent’s broad backside in sight, while at the same time dodging the carts that seemed to swerve towards them out of nowhere. With everything else going on around her, it was impossible for Agnes to get her bearings. They seemed to be going south, but nowhere near the wide, busy thoroughfare lined with smart-looking shops that she had glimpsed from the taxi window. The streets Bess Bradshaw led her down were mean and dismal, with scruffy little corner shops on the end of each terrace. There was a poulterer’s, a gentlemen’s hairdressers, a dusty-looking tailor’s workshop, as well as a shop advertising ‘Marine Goods’ that seemed to be filled with nothing more than junk.
As the streets grew narrower, Agnes could feel her spirits starting to fail her. She followed Bess Bradshaw across Hope Street – a misnomer if ever Agnes had seen one – and plunged into a dark warren of alleyways and yards, the houses packed so closely together there was scarcely any daylight to be seen.
A group of women stood on the corner. They nodded briefly to Bess as she passed, then turned blank, hostile stares to Agnes. She could feel their eyes following her as she pedalled harder to catch up with the Assistant Superintendent.
‘Where are we?’ Agnes called out to her.
‘Quarry Hill. It’s one of the poorest areas of the city. The council keep trying to pull it down but the locals don’t want to go.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because it’s their home.’
Bess turned sharply and led the way down a dirty, narrow alley. As they passed along, Agnes glimpsed various openings in the high wall, leading to what seemed to be tiny yards, each crammed with a haphazard arrangement of terraced houses. The pungent smell of sewage mingled with dirt and stale sweat and factory smoke, which hung in the still warmth of the late-summer air.
Agnes shuddered. ‘I don’t know how they bear it,’ she muttered. She risked lifting a hand to brush away a fly that buzzed around her face, then grabbed the handlebars again as the bicycle
veered sideways into the wall.
Bess sent her a mocking look. ‘Don’t you have poor people in London?’
Agnes didn’t reply. Of course she knew all about poverty. She had trained at the Nightingale Hospital in Bethnal Green, one of the poorest areas of the city. But by the time the local people were admitted to hospital, they had generally been scrubbed clean and deloused, their filthy clothes sent off to the incinerator. Agnes had never had to visit the patients in their homes or witness their poverty at such close quarters.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Bess said. ‘Although I daresay some of the sights you’ll see on your rounds will make your hair curl.’
Agnes pulled herself together. She knew she was making a bad impression, and she didn’t want the Assistant Superintendent to think she couldn’t manage.
‘I’m sure it won’t be that bad,’ she said bracingly. ‘Besides, I’ve been well trained. I think I can cope with anything.’
‘You think so, do you?’
‘Of course,’ Agnes declared, then added, ‘The Nightingale is one of the best teaching hospitals in the country.’
She hadn’t meant to sound arrogant. But as soon as she saw Bess Bradshaw’s frown she knew she’d said the wrong thing.
‘Is that right? Happen you think you could teach us a thing or two, in that case?’ she said, with a disparaging sniff.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ Agnes murmured. But Bess had already cycled off ahead and she had no choice but to follow lamely behind. This wasn’t what she’d been hoping for. District nursing was supposed to be a new start for her, and she had already managed to upset the Assistant Superintendent.
But deep down Agnes still had a sneaking feeling she probably could teach the other nurses a thing or two. After all, district nursing couldn’t possibly be as difficult as working on a ward. Changing dressings and giving baths was the kind of work probationer nurses did at the Nightingale. It was hardly what Agnes would call proper nursing.
Although she was probably better off keeping those opinions to herself, she realised.
The Nightingale Christmas Show Page 25
