Then the carriage drew up and there was all the bustle of alighting. May recognised Claridge’s; she had never dined in an hotel before, and only lunched in the company of her parents. But she did not know the circumstances of Harry Cussons’ life in London, only that he had a place in the country. Since Lady Beddows had come up ahead of her family she was possibly staying here.
Having left her cloak May preceded Harry Cussons into the dining room, where a black-garbed manager escorted them to a small table in a secluded corner and drew back her chair. She gathered her skirts in her hand and was on the point of sitting down when she froze in mid-movement. The table was set for two. She glanced up at Harry. There was a look of smug confidence on his face, like a man who has seen his horse first past the post and now puts down his binoculars in anticipation of enjoying the fruits of his wager. May slowly straightened herself. She looked at the manager – his face was politely enquiring. She surveyed the public restaurant: there were several girls of her own age, but they were all with family parties. The women seated a deux were all older, or had that indefinable air of – May could not quite express it to herself but years of Lady Clarence’s tutelage had left her well able to recognise it. Her mind was made up. She turned to the manager.
‘How foolish of me. I have left my handkerchief in the pocket of my cloak. Mr Cussons, perhaps you would accompany me?’
Unsuspecting, Harry Cussons ushered her out, wearing the sleek assurance of a well-fed tom cat whose next meal is temporarily delayed, but who knows it will come, as surely as night follows day. As soon as the manager left them in the foyer May turned and faced her escort.
‘I thought Lady Beddows was to dine with us?’
He smiled. ‘Dear me, what gave you that impression, Miss Winton?’
‘You did, in your letter.’
‘I am sure I did not say that.’
May thought back to the well-perused letter – no, he had not said that. She, gullible fool, had made her own deduction. But her anger was rising now, and her confidence with it
‘You lied, by implication you lied.’
‘Oh, come now, that’s too strong.’
‘You know I would never have agreed to dine with you alone, in a public restaurant.’
He smiled engagingly. ‘Then I will cancel the table here. Come back to my rooms, my man will soon rustle something up for us. That would be much nicer.’
May felt her colour deepening. ‘I do not wish to dine with you alone – anywhere.’
‘Miss Winton, you’re a woman of the world now, you’re free of your duenna.’ His voice was coaxing. ‘Relax, enjoy your evening.’ His tone lowered. ‘You know, you look very beautiful when you’re angry.’
May had had enough. ‘I am leaving, now.’
She marched over to the cloakroom, retrieved her cloak and put it on with shaking hands. When she came out Harry Cussons was still waiting, his composure barely ruffled. She moved swiftly to the door; he followed rapidly behind. She ran down the steps and out onto the pavement. With several long strides he overtook her and barred her way.
‘Miss Winton, stop a minute. Now calm yourself,’ he spoke as though to a rather tiresome child.
May broke in through gritted teeth. ‘Will you get out of my way?’
‘No.’ He was becoming impatient. ‘You’re behaving like a spoilt child. I deserve a hearing.’
May erupted. ‘You deserve this!’ and raising her right hand she brought it with all her strength in a stinging slap across his face. ‘Now will you get out of my way?’
Involuntarily he stepped aside and she carried away a last glimpse of his sagging jaw and the look of stupefaction on his handsome face.
May pulled her cloak around her and ran. Fortunately there were few people about as the evening was cold, and she made good speed down the street and round the next corner.
She stopped, panting. There was no sound of pursuing footsteps. A blue-uniformed figure approached her.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’
May steadied her breathing. ‘Yes, thank you, Officer. But perhaps you could direct me to the nearest cab rank?’
‘Certainly, Miss. Just down there, on the right.’ And he pointed to the blessed sight of a row of hansoms, each behind its drooping horse.
‘Thank you so much.’
May stepped briskly forward. It was just as she reached the foremost horse that realisation hit her – she had no money! She had got used to carrying a purse when walking in the East End, but she never had taken money with her when going out to dine; it had never crossed her mind to bring any tonight.
The cab driver, sensing a fare, sat up straight and tugged at the slack reins. May lifted her chin in the air and walked past.
The events of the evening had left her mind in a whirl. She couldn’t think straight – she would walk back – but it was much too far, and her feet were already cold in her light evening slippers – besides, how could she walk through Poplar in a velvet cloak trimmed with Sables? Her thoughts raced. She was, after all, in the West End, she must know many people within a hundred yards of where she was now – but to whom could she go and ask for money, alone and unattended on a freezing night in December? Whatever would they think? What tale would go the rounds later?
A carriage drew up ahead of her and for a childish moment she believed that the stately, straight-backed woman alighting from it was Lady Clarence, and she broke into a run. Then the woman turned her head and she remembered that her step-mother was far away in Stemhalton, with all the rest of the Andover clan; her grandmother and uncle had left Town two days ago.
Tears spilled over and trickled down her face, but she clashed them away. She must calm down and think, at least find out where she was. If only she’d been more observant when Lady Clarence had taken her on those interminable calls. Then, all of a sudden, a memory reasserted itself: surely this was Grosvenor Square – she remembered coming here at the end of July to Lady Hindlesham’s ball. She looked along the terrace. There it was – and there were lights on in the front rooms.
May stopped, uncertain. How could she ask Della Hindlesham for help? Della of all people asked to lend her the fare to get home after she had walked out on Harry Cussons! In a tiny corner of her mind she began to unfreeze: he had looked so surprised – perhaps he’d never had his face slapped before, or at least, probably not with such force. But here she was, still stranded in the middle of London without the wherewithal to get back to St Katharine’s – perhaps she could manage to walk, after all.
Then, just as she was about to turn away, she saw a shadow pass across the blind of the window to the right of the front door. It was small and slight, yet unmistakably male. May paused; she would feel no compunction about begging her cab fare from Lord Hindlesham – were they not both the victims of Harry Cussons? Before she could lose her nerve she marched forward to the railings, reached into the window box for a handful of small gravel and threw it at the window. The shadow’s head rose for a moment, then bent again. May picked up more gravel, and threw a second time. The figure moved forward and the blind began to rise. May stood poised for flight in case the man should prove to be a stranger; but it was Lord Hindlesham.
He stared out into the darkness and she moved into the circle of light cast by the street lamp and waved. He nodded his head in comprehension and turned away from the window. May waited in an agony of impatience – suppose the butler came out? But as the door opened she heard a familiar voice.
‘It’s all right, Ellis, I’m just stepping outside for a moment for a breath of air.’ The door was firmly shut and the slight form came lightly down the steps.
‘Miss Winton! What on earth are you doing out alone? And on a night like this! Do come inside. Della is upstairs, I will send for her to come down.’
‘No!’ May’s voice was too quick, she slowed it down. ‘No. please don’t disturb Lady Hindlesham. I just want to borrow my cab fare home – back to St Katharine’s.’
Lord
Hindlesham did not reply at once. He took May by the elbow and propelled her gently round until the light from the lamp fell full on her face. May, conscious of her tear-stained cheeks stared fixedly over his shoulder.
‘I’ll take you back, now.’
‘No, please, it’s very kind, but if you’ll just lend me the fare I’ll be quite all right.’
His voice was firm. ‘Miss Winton, you are little older than my two daughters. You are not going back alone, not tonight.’ He checked her protest. ‘I often go out for a stroll before dinner, my absence will cause no comment – Della will not even notice.’ His tone was dry, and May said nothing further.
He walked her briskly round to the nearest cab rank – ‘A growler I think, you are cold enough already’ – and in a few minutes May was sitting with her feet in the musty straw, listening to the steady clip-clop in front. She felt totally miserable – whatever must Lord Hindlesham be thinking of her?
He broke the silence.
‘Have you been on duty today? Tell me what you have been doing, May.’
May began to speak, slowly at first, then the words tumbled out as she told him about Sister Simeon and Bates and the new Pro Five and the boy she’d spoken sharply to and the man who was dying from drink, delirious in the end bed, screaming for his morphia with a high-pitched keening sound that only Sister Simeon could stop. And for a short time she forgot Harry Cussons and the débâcle of her evening.
Aware of the sympathetic concern of her companion she spoke more slowly of the all too apparent poverty and distress of so many of their patients, and of her own inadequacy in coping with these. Lord Hindlesham’s voice was serious as he replied, saying that at least the evils she grappled with were openly recognisable and could be battled with directly, and as he compared the two Societies, the one May had now entered with the one she had left, she wondered if his wife were in his thoughts.
Then the cab drew up at the hospital gates. Lord Hindlesham helped her down.
‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you, May. Give my best wishes to Miss Carter, and tell her I think the election may go her way, rather than mine. I will wait until you are inside.’
May thanked him then walked through the archway. She looked back and waved to the slim figure which raised its hat in reply, muttering under her breath as she turned away, in the language of the East End: ‘Della is a bitch!’
Ada and Ellen burst in as she was sitting at her table, trying to distract herself by writing to Emily.
‘We saw your light on, you’re back early,’ then, ‘May, what’s the matter?’
May bent her head and put her hands to her eyes to stop the telltale tears. Ellen came quickly across and put her arm round May. She spoke back over her shoulder, ‘Ada, go and make us all some cocoa,’ and the door closed. May poured out her tale to Ellen, who murmured, ‘The beast – how thoughtless – oh, I hope you hit him hard May!’
‘I think I did,’ May said with simple pride – telling her story was cheering her up.
She felt Ellen’s arm stiffen slightly, then relax again as she explained how she had recognised Lord Hindlesham’s house – ‘How fortunate he was in, May, he was quite right to bring you back,’ and May, now hiccuping gently, was imparting Lord Hindlesham’s message when Ada returned, bearing three cups on a tray and a face of thunder.
‘Really, those Second Years have gone too far, they’d taken all the milk – I had to go right down to the kitchen and abase myself before the cook to get some more. I wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for you being in such a state, May. Now tell me, what did this brute do to you?’
Ellen related the story, omitting, May noticed with interest, precise reference to Lord Hindlesham – he was translated simply to ‘a friend’. Ada was loud in her commendations of May’s attack on Harry Cussons, though she seemed rather sorry that she had not gone further – ‘Only one slap, May? Still, I’m glad to hear it, I’ve always thought of you as rather soft with men.’
‘But Ada, all the men here are patients, I couldn’t hurt them.’
‘They still need to be kept in their places. Sister Simeon lets them roam around far too much – flat on their backs in bed, that’s where men should be!’
At this Ellen gave a little gasp, and put her hand to her lips, then started laughing. May began to giggle weakly, and even Ada gave a reluctant chuckle.
‘Well, when they’re ill, I meant. But seriously, May, I don’t know why you got so hot under the collar at the idea of dining with him. After all, you were in a public place. I suppose he was a bit deceitful, but it is a ridiculous convention whereby an adult man and woman can’t enjoy a meal together on their own. I’ve certainly spent the evening out without a chaperon, not with just one man, admittedly, but in a mixed group of my own age.’
‘And so have I,’ said Ellen softly. ‘But we come from backgrounds where this is accepted, May doesn’t.’
‘But that doesn’t stop her changing now. She doesn’t live at home any longer,’ Ada argued.
Ellen shook her head. ‘That would be true if, say, young Dr Wade and his ginger-haired friend asked us to accompany them out for a meal,’ – ‘We’d be thrown out if we went!’ Ada interjected forcefully – ‘Well, two doctors from a different hospital, then. But you see what I mean, it would be natural for them to do so, because they wouldn’t see it as improper – but this Mr Cussons, he knew that May would never normally dine alone in a public restaurant without a chaperon – so I think he was wrong. He tried to take advantage of her being younger and less experienced than himself to bluff her into doing something she would be unhappy about later.’
‘Well, he won’t try again in a hurry,’ said Ada in a tone of satisfaction.
May recognised the truth of this and winced. Had she been too proper? After all, Harry Cussons was used to experienced women of the world, perhaps she had been rather childish. She remembered the caressing touch of his hands in the carriage and shivered – was Ada right? Had she made a terrible mistake? And yet there was good sense in Ellen’s words – he should not have taken her alone to a public restaurant.
Ellen, noticing the shiver, stood up.
‘Come along May, it’s time you went to bed. I’ll fill your hot water bottle for you. It’s a busy day tomorrow.’
Ada retorted, ‘It’s always a busy day tomorrow,’ and collected up the empty cups.
Chapter Fifteen
The rising bell jarred May into wakefulness the next morning. She pushed herself heavily out of bed and began slowly to dress. As she did her hair, her reflection in the mirror stared back, strained and heavy-eyed. She went over the scene with Harry Cussons again in her mind, and now that her anger had evaporated she felt wretchedly depressed. Had he really meant to be so careless of her reputation? And, if he had, was not the fault at least partly hers? – Lady Clarence would certainly say so. After this debacle, would she ever see him again? Did she want to? The unanswered questions chased round her brain until there was a brisk tattoo on the door, and Ada’s voice said, ‘May, you’ll be late – I can’t wait for you.’
May forced herself into a burst of feverish activity and rushed out, bed left unstripped, down the endless stairs to the dining room.
When Sister Simeon arrived, after the morning routine of breakfast dishes and bed-making had been completed, she called May to her table. May waited, hands clasped behind her back, to be told her latest faults.
‘Don’t look so chastened, Nurse Winton, I am not going to chide you – though I am not completely certain you are paying adequate attention to my prize aspidistra. Now, as soon as Christmas is over you will be moved from this ward, probably to a medical one, so I think that before you go you should take sole charge of a patient’s daily dressings.’ May’s head jerked up. ‘The appendectomy whom you took down to the theatre yesterday – Mr Tyrrell – his case was without complications, and he looks quite well this morning, so you shall do all his dressings yourself.’
May’s depression began
to lift. She knew this was a sign that Sister Simeon was satisfied with her work, and she felt a stirring of pride.
The pleasant faced, blue-eyed young man in the bed looked very different from the shivering creature of the day before. As soon as May approached with the dressing trolley he smiled broadly at her.
‘Feelin’ a bit more meself, today, Nurse. Cor, I thought I were a gonner yesterday, keep throwin’ up like that – don’t know ’ow you nurses stand this job, straight I don’t.’
‘Oh, it’s all in a day’s work, Mr Tyrrell. Now, I’m just going to change your dressing. It will feel a little sore, but I’ll try not to hurt you too much.’ May kept her voice firm and level, and hoped that her nervousness was not showing in her face. It seemed strange to be acting without Sister or Staff Nurse standing by to supervise. But as soon as she began unwinding the binder her confidence returned. As Sister had said, the dressing was uncomplicated, and apart from the occasional gasp or flinch Mr Tyrrell chatted gamely on, telling May about his wife and small son, and how they were hoping for a daughter in the New Year – ‘As pretty as ’er mother, she’ll be, that’s what I tells my Betty.’ As he talked May recalled Sister Tutor’s words: ‘Remember, Nurses, that worrying about his family will often impede a patient’s recovery. The Lady Almoner has access to some limited charitable help, a tactful enquiry may sometimes be in order.’
Now May said, her voice level, ‘It must be difficult for your wife at the moment, without you.
‘Cried ’er eyes out when the old Doc says I ’ad to come in ’ere,’ Mr Tyrrell replied with simple pride. ‘But I told ’er not to be so silly. They carves ’em up by the ’undreds in St Katharine’s, I says. You just cut along the Friendly Society and claim me sick benefit and ’ave a rest while I’m out the way. At least I’ll not be dragging ’orse muck into the ’ouse every day for you to clean up, I says. Anyway, me old Mum lives just round the corner, ’er’ll keep an eye on Betty for me. Thursday visiting, ennit, Nurse?’
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