Mayfair Rebel

by Mayfair Rebel (retail) (epub)

  Chapter Nine

  As she awoke the following morning May was aware of a sense of bubbling excitement: new places, new people, a totally different way of life lay in front of her. She jumped out of bed and seized her watch from the top of the chest of drawers – twenty minutes to six. She threw her dressing gown around her and set off in the direction of the baths and lavatories. The long, straight corridor was empty, every door tightly closed. Back in her room she was drawn irresistibly towards the window, but the bottom pane of frosted glass defied all her efforts to see out. After a moment’s hesitation she dragged the single, straight-backed chair into position and climbed onto it, looking out of the open top. Below the window was an enclosed courtyard: a smell of bacon and wisps of steam indicated the presence of the kitchen on the far side, and May heard the distinctive clatter of cutlery. By leaning to the right and peering along the lefthand wall she could just see the entrance to the court, wide enough for delivery vans, and the row of milk churns alongside a door opposite showed that one had already been and gone. Otherwise there was nothing but windows, row upon blank row: some, all frosted and framed with pipes, indicated the bathrooms at the righthand corner of each floor, others were identical with May’s own. These differed markedly in their degrees of openness. Some were set as wide as they would go, like hers; others, the majority, appeared fixed at a standard aperture, a neat one quarter of an inch. A few made a bare concession to fresh air; and one, yes, low down in the lefthand corner there was one completely closed, with curtains tightly drawn. Who was daring to disobey Home Sister’s vigorously expressed command of the previous evening? ‘Remember, Nurses, fresh air is essential in our profession. You will sleep with an open window.’

  As May craned further out, one of her thick plaits falling forward, staring in fascination at the blank, firmly-closed window, she gradually became conscious of a persistent rapping sound. From one of the lower windows opposite a white hand was waving; May waved back. The window then opened to its fullest extent with a bang. It now became clear that the hand was not waving at all, but gesturing indignantly; a narrow, angry face was mouthing what May rapidly recognised as, ‘Get back in, Nurse, at once!’

  She jumped back so quickly that she nearly missed her footing, and the chair swayed perilously. As she regained her balance the harsh clamour of the rising bell assaulted her ears. May blinked, and climbed carefully down, noticing as she did so that the front of her nightdress now bore a black, sooty mark down one side, where she had leant against the outer window frame. She tried to brush it off, but it only smeared further, so she took it off and folded it carefully so that the mark was inside; she had no idea how frequently personal linen was sent to the laundry: she would have to try and get the mark off later.

  May was soon into her underclothes and corset, but the full-skirted dress of blue-striped galatea took longer. the material was stiff and unyielding and the sleeves were unfashionably full at the shoulder. The bodice was close-fitting and she just could not get the buttons at the back done up; she missed Bella’s deft fingers. She managed to get the cuffs on and fastened, and then turned to her hair. Thank goodness she had practised a simple style at home; but it did not seem so easy now. The mirror was awkwardly placed for a girl of May’s height, and the heavy twisted rope of hair began to slip and slide before all the pins were in position. At last it held, and she reached for the carefully made-up cap: of white starched muslin, with a very narrow edging of lace on the two goffered frills, it looked to May like nothing so much as the housemaid’s second-best, early-morning, bring-the-hot-water version. She found herself wondering whether she would ever attain the lofty heights of Home Sister’s white cambric with its four frills of Valenciennes – just the thing for a parlourmaid in a good house where no footmen were kept. May giggled at the incongruous picture of the hawk-nosed, grim-faced woman opening the door and dropping a polite bob in the hallway. But the time – breakfast was at six-thirty and she wasn’t dressed yet! She took a deep breath and was in the act of positioning the still cap when there was a tap at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ May called. A girl in striped blue entered the room, smiling.

  ‘Good morning, Nurse Winton. Home Sister asked me to show you the way to the dining room. I’m Taylor.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been up for hours, and I’m still not properly dressed. Would you do up my buttons for me?’

  Nurse Taylor quickly fastened them. ‘Now your collar.’ High and stiffly starched it encircled May’s throat like an iron band. ‘You’ll have to learn you know. I suppose you’re like me, brought up with lots of sisters who always helped each other.’

  May decided it would be undiplomatic to mention personal maids; she remembered Matron’s warning words at her interview.

  ‘Just one sister. Please, how does this cap stay on?’

  More pins went swiftly into place.

  ‘That’s something else you will have to practise. Now, quickly, your apron, there’s the breakfast bell.’

  May fastened the waistband and Taylor pulled up the bib, crossed the broad straps and, with a tug, buttoned them into the band at the back. The bib strained tightly over May’s breasts, so that the apron band showed above the wide linen belt she was buckling into position.

  ‘You’ll have to get busy with your needle tonight, Winton. Take in the waistband, it’s far too loose, and then move the buttons down on the straps, to give you room to breathe.’

  May’s face fell. ‘Oh, I hate sewing.’

  Nurse Taylor laughed. ‘Come on, Winton, most of us would be delighted to have to make alterations like that!’

  May blushed, then gave a wry smile. ‘That’s not the way my step-mother regarded it: she thought unmarried girls should be flat-chested and the same shape all the way down!’

  Nurse Taylor shooed her through the door. ‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty of Sisters here who feel the same way; you’ll have to keep well clear of the doctors if you want a quiet life. Now, quickly, we get a black mark if we’re more than five minutes late for breakfast.’

  In the corridor Taylor rushed ahead; May scampered after her, panting, ‘And what then?’

  ‘What when?’ Taylor called back over her shoulder.

  ‘What happens if we get a black mark?’

  ‘Five in a fortnight and you lose your half-day off.’

  May was temporarily silenced.

  At the entrance to the dining room sat Home Sister, back like a ramrod. On a table in front of her were a long list of names. ‘Good morning, Sister,’ said Taylor, ‘Good morning, Sister,’ echoed May; two neat ticks were duly entered.

  The long dining room was a white sea of gently bobbing caps as May hesitated in the doorway. Her companion pointed to an empty chair at the table nearest the far wall.

  ‘Sit there, with the other new pros.’ She was off down the room to her own place.

  As May sat down she recognised her five companions of the previous evening. Opposite was Alice Rydal, her brown curly hair now pulled tightly back from a pale face; she smiled fleetingly at May, then stared down at the table. For the first time that morning May felt apprehensive.

  A maid placed a plate in front of May; on it was one rasher of bacon. May turned to her neighbour.

  ‘Is this all, do you think?’

  A murmur came from the left, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’

  May studied the table and noticed, to her relief, plates piled high with thick slices of bread and butter. She leant towards the girl on her left.

  ‘Shall we have some bread?’

  Her neighbour’s pale face turned to gaze at her; the big brown eyes were full of tears, and small white teeth were fastened over her lower lip. She handed the plate of bread to May with a shaky whisper.

  ‘You have some, I couldn’t eat a thing.’ A sharp-featured woman at the head of the table glared down at her.

  ‘All breakfasts must be eaten, or Home Sister will be angry.’

  Tw
o tears splashed onto the plate; the girl’s shoulders quivered.

  ‘I’ll eat it for you, if you like,’ offered May.

  ‘Oh, please.’ With a deft flick of her fork May had the bacon on her own plate; three mouthfuls and both portions had vanished. But as she put down her fork and picked up another slice of bread she became conscious of a cold silence emanating from the head of the table. The sharp-featured woman, who, May noted, bore a distinct resemblance to a ferret, was glaring at her now. The woman bent her head to a crony on her right and gave vent to an audible rebuke.

  ‘There’s someone who thinks she can do as she pleases. Matron will soon see to that!’ Ferret-face then leant forward and looked at May directly. ‘And wasn’t it you I saw making a disgraceful exhibition of yourself this morning?’ May froze with her fourth piece of bread halfway to her mouth; before she could reply her accuser had turned to her neighbour again. ‘She was hanging right out of the window, in her nightgown! Sister Elijah saw her and was very annoyed, I could tell.’

  For once May managed to control her tongue; what could she have replied anyway? She had indeed committed the crime, since crime it evidently was. She picked up her cup of dark-brown liquid and forced it down. The girl on her left reached for her handkerchief and began to dab at her eyes. Ferret-face, baulked of one victim, turned in her direction.

  ‘You’re not going to last long here, I can see that. Pull yourself together!’

  May had had enough; she put down her tea cup and leaned towards the head of the table.

  ‘May I ask,’ every word was bitingly clear, ‘who exactly you are to judge what we should or should not do?’

  There was an appalled silence. Ferret-face was submerged in an angry tide of red: she drew breath, but the impending verbal massacre was averted. Suddenly all the nurses began to get to their feet simultaneously, with a subdued scraping of chairs. May looked round, bewildered, and saw that Home Sister had risen from her seat. Nurses with cups halfway to their lips had returned them to their saucers. May’s neighbour made a faint moaning noise and began to tremble.

  ‘For the good food we have received, we give thanks to the Lord,’ was intoned from the dais. Still no one moved.

  ‘New probationer nurses will go to the following wards: Nurse Allen, Athanasius Ward; Nurse Carter, Martha Ward; Nurse Emms, Matthew Ward; Nurse Farrar, Rachel Ward; Nurse Rydal, Miriam Ward; Nurse Winton, Simeon Ward. You may go now, Nurses.’

  Home Sister sat down and the nurses began to file out. A particularly violent shudder from May’s left at the words ‘Nurse Carter’ had alerted May to the identity of her neighbour; she almost felt inclined to follow Nurse Carter’s example, for excitement was giving way to anxiety. Anxiety gave way to downright dismay as she realised that Ferret-face was waiting for her.

  ‘Are you Winton?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, Nurse,’ through gritted teeth. ‘You’re Simeon Pro Five, I’m Simeon Pro Four. Well, don’t shilly-shally, look sharp.’

  Pro Four was halfway down the corridor before May realised that the older girl must be her guide. She rushed forward, pushing past fast-moving groups of nurses.

  ‘Would you be so kind – I am so sorry – please forgive me – thank you.’

  May fastened her eyes grimly on the narrow shoulders and sandy bun ahead; after what seemed like endless corridors and steps they came out into the open air, and began to crunch their way along a gravel path. The shoulders halted at the door of what appeared to be a small church; other nurses were streaming in. Bewildered, May risked a question.

  ‘Is this Simeon Ward, Nurse?’

  ‘Don’t try to be clever with me, of course it’s not!’ The voice was by now in a state of barely controlled fury. ‘Be quiet and follow me.’

  May followed, into a stained glass interior and onto a narrow pew. A hymn book was thrust in front of her, and the assembled nurses began to sing. The minute the hymn ended they were all down on their knees, May scrambling down last of all, and a man’s voice began intoning prayers. May, feeling by this stage that she needed all the help she could get, prayed with fervour. At the words ‘That it may please Thee to forgive our enemies, persecutors and slanderers, and to turn their hearts,’ May risked a glance through her fingers at Simeon Pro Four; the rigid posture showed no signs of a turning heart so, with a sigh, May redoubled her own pleas for divine intervention. As suddenly as it had begun the service was over: out into the sunlight again. Some nurses were standing in groups, chatting to each other, but Simeon Pro Four was off, and May renewed her pursuit.

  They cantered into a high, looming building, up a flight of stone steps, down a passageway, and in through a pair of imposing, half-glass doors with gleaming brass knobs. Four other nurses were ahead, one more brought up the rear as they hastened down the corridor and into a high, long room. May had a confused impression of seemingly endless rows of red-check covered beds and a bright fire surprisingly burning in a central pillar before a voice hissed: ‘Into line, face Sister,’ and she was prodded round. A woman in the distinctive four-tiered, lace-frilled cap and dark blue dress was sitting behind a large table, writing. A nurse leant across and pulled May’s hands behind her back, not ungently, but firmly. For half a minute they stood to attention, then the woman looked up.

  ‘Good morning, Nurses.’

  ‘Good morning, Sister.’ May managed to join the chorus, albeit belatedly.

  Sister Simeon began to speak to the nurse at the end of the row who was wearing a dress of purple stripes and a wide black belt. Although she listened intently, the conversation meant little to May, consisting as it did of unfamiliar names and terms. The sister appeared to be quite young: her hair was still brown and her unsmiling face barely lined; a handsome woman. It was the tone of her voice which struck May: it was firm, incisive and rather loud; definitely not the voice of a woman who spent her life in a drawing room murmuring social pleasantries and indulging in flattering chitchat.

  ‘You may go, Nurses; not you, Nurse Winton. Staff, remain please.’

  May stood straight while Sister Simeon looked her up and down; she felt ridiculously like a scullery maid applying for a new position.

  ‘Your first day, Nurse Winton.’

  It was a statement, but Sister Simeon appeared to be waiting for a reply, so May ventured a response.

  ‘Yes, I arrived yesterday, – Sister.’

  She felt as if her individuality was being stripped away. Miss May Winton, granddaughter of the Marquis of Andover, heiress and débutante, was being inexorably reduced to Probationer Five under the considering gaze of this formidable woman.

  ‘Have you any previous nursing experience?’

  ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘You have helped your mother with her household duties?’

  ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘Can you cook?’

  ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘Have you ever visited a hospital before?’

  ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘Do you know how to scrub mackintoshes?’

  May, whose feelings of inadequacy had been mounting with every negative she uttered, noticed a very faint curve in Sister Simeon’s lips as she asked this last question.

  ‘No, Sister, but I’m sure I will soon learn how to.’

  Sister’s lips curved slightly more.

  ‘Indeed you will, Nurse Winton; this very day. Now, Nurse,’ the lips set in a firm line again, ‘There is one thing you must understand. I expect obedience, total obedience, from all my nurses.’

  For once in her life May felt absolutely no inclination to argue.

  ‘Yes, Sister. Please may I ask a question?’

  Sister Simeon looked surprised, but answered politely. ‘If you are quick, Nurse.’

  ‘Why are there mackintoshes to be cleaned? I thought the patients stayed in all day.’

  Sister raised her eyebrows, and glanced quickly at Staff Nurse; May saw a faint flicker pass between them.

  ‘I think, Nurse Winto
n, that the nature of their usage will become quite apparent to you once you start your task. You may go now.’

  Staff Nurse, who was tall and dark, whisked May along the corridor with a flurry of purple stripes and ushered her into a white-tiled room. It smelt strongly of carbolic, and of something else rather unpleasant. Pro Four was at the sink.

  ‘Winton will take over from you here, Bates. Show her what to do, and then start making the beds with Evans. As soon as you’ve finished these, Winton, you must sweep the ward and dust all surfaces. Fetch the broom and dusters from the kitchen.’

  Bates directed a look of dislike at May. ‘There’s the brush, there’s the soap. Get a move on.’ She whisked through the door.

  May picked up the first red mackintosh sheet from the pile. She sniffed; the meaning of Sister Simeon’s reply was now all too apparent. There was a large table in the centre of the room so May spread the mackintosh out on it. Then she found a bowl on the draining board, filled it with hot water, picked up the brush, soaped it and began to pull it towards her over the sheet. Both the sheet and May’s apron were soon covered with a film of soapy water, but the dark stain in the centre of the mackintosh was unchanged. May pushed harder; there was a faint blurring round the edges of the stain. She gripped the brush and began to force it backwards and forwards with all her strength; at last the dark patch began to lighten. Within minutes May, in her tight bodice and high collar, was hot and panting, and she felt the damp trickles of sweat run from her armpits; but the mackintosh was noticeably cleaner. She hauled it off the table and onto the floor and started on the next one. As she worked she felt her skirt dampen and cling to her legs and realised that her apron was soaking from neck to hem. Doggedly, she started on the third sheet.

  ‘Nurse, what are you doing? You’re soaking wet – and just look at the floor?’

  A dark haired girl in a blue-striped dress stood in the doorway. May recognised her from the morning’s parade in front of Sister.

  ‘I’m scrubbing mackintoshes.’