‘How are you today, Hetty?’ May asked. ‘I’m afraid you’ll feel the pain in your side for a while et.’
‘I’m fine, Nurse, really I am. I feel so lazy just lying in bed here, with you all working so hard.’
‘It’s our job, Hetty.’ May’s reply was firm. ‘We’d soon get bored if all our patients were up and about, wouldn’t we, Nurse Pearson?’
Pearson, who had already broken one thermometer that day and been harangued by Sister for failing to remove every trace of fluff from the inside rim of a trolley wheel, agreed without much conviction. May, determined to set the girl a good example, continued.
‘Now, Hetty, if there’s anything at all we can do for you, don’t hesitate to tell us.’
Hetty’s thin face brightened, but she spoke haltingly.
‘Well, Nurse Winton, I were wondering… but I don’t like to ask…’
‘Anything, Hetty, now you just tell me. We can’t have our patients worrying, can we, Nurse?’
Hetty became more cheerful. ‘It’s like this, Nurse Winton. Me Gran, she do worry something awful; me being the only girl, we’ve always been close, especially since me Mum died. But she can’t get to see me, her legs are that bad. Mr Lisle, he’s been very kind, said he’d bring her in a cab, but it’s still a long way, across the yard and up all them stairs, she didn’t want to bother him. That’s why he came himself, to tell her I was all right, like. Well, she told him her mind were at rest, cause he’d taken the trouble, but Sid says she’s still fretting, him being a man, and Sid too, well she can’t really ask him, like, can she…’
Hetty’s voice trailed off, she was sweating with the effort of the long speech. By now May was heartily regretting her officiousness in insisting on hearing Hetty’s problem, but she smiled into the anxious eyes.
‘So you’d like me to call round and have a word with her?’
Hetty’s face lit up. ‘Oh, if you would, Nurse Winton, I’d be ever so grateful! You’ve told me how you go walking a lot, and you do know Mr Lisle don’t you? ’Cause you had quite a chat when he came to see me.’
Recalling the precise nature of that ‘chat’ May felt her colour rising.
‘I don’t know him well, Hetty. But that won’t matter as it’s your grandmother I’m going to see. Staff Nurse is glaring at us now, we’ll have to get on, but you can tell me exactly where the vicarage is later, and I’ll go this very afternoon. I’m off two till five.’
‘Thank you so much, I’m ever so grateful, I really am. I know you’ll cheer her up.’
Hetty’s relief was so transparent that May chided herself for her reluctance, and decided not to be silly. After all, it was highly unlikely that the vicar would be at home at that time of the day, and even if he were, there was no need for May to see him. Besides, they had achieved some sort of truce before she’d been called away to Mrs Green.
May kept her uniform on and set off immediately after dinner. As she walked up the Dock Road the sun came out again, and she felt her spirits rising at the thought of three hours off duty and a brisk walk ahead. She turned into St Leonard’s Road and it struck her how very at home she now felt in the streets of Poplar. When Hetty had given her directions she had been able to visualise the greater part of the route, though she went northwards less often.
‘Good afternoon, Nurse.’
The call broke into her thoughts. May turned, looked, and stepped quickly out into the street, jumping over a pile of horse dung to reach the huge dray drawn up on the other side. The driver beamed down at her.
‘Why, Mr Thomas, isn’t it? How’s your leg, these days?’
‘Almost as good as new, like you told me it would be, when I were on Simeon Ward. It’s good ter see you agin, Nurse. I bin workin’ over Whitechapel way, don’t often get over this side, but the reg’lar drayman’s sick. The wife’ll be pleased I sin you, she remembers you well, from visitin’ – that time you ’id the jug o’ beer fer us! Cor, that Sister were a Tartar, and no mistake! When yer kept on droppin’ things and gettin’ behind, didn’t she give yer wot for! And the way you used to look at ’er, all saucy like, an’ tappin’ yer foot – I didn’t think yer’d stick it, Nurse, an’ that’s a fact.’
‘Well, I’m still there, Mr Thomas – and not breaking quite as much, I hope.’
‘Whoa, boys! I better git on, these lads is gettin’ restive, an’ I wouldn’t want anuvver accident. But I’m glad I sin you agin, Nurse. Soon as I sees that yeller ’air and blue cloak I says ter meself, “Sure as I’m sittin’ be’ind these ’osses it’s Nurse Winton!”’
He flicked his whip, and May stood back. ‘Please give my best wishes to Mrs Thomas.’
‘I will, Nurse, I will.’ The dray lumbered off.
May pressed on, looking for the spire of St Barnabas’ Church. There it was: an ugly, new yellow-brick building, squatting too close to the road. Close behind it was a sizeable private house, which in this part of London could only mean the home of a doctor, or a vicarage. May slowed down and surveyed the scene. She had intended going to the back door, but there was a stout brick wall around the house, with apparently only one pair of gates, now standing open. The driver of a growler, waiting further up the road, was eyeing her with interest, so she stopped her uncharacteristic dithering and marched boldly in. There had to be a path round the side of the house for tradesmen: annoyingly there were two, one in each direction. May stood, irresolute. Should she choose the route of the grimy laurels, or pass between the sooty rhododendrons? Really, she thought, the man might at least keep his shrubs clean! The hesitation proved her undoing. Before she could set out on the laurel path, chosen for no better reason than that she never had cared for rhododendrons, due to an early weakness in spelling, she was arrested by a tapping from inside the bay window. May saw the unmistakable flash of a clerical collar. She felt annoyed at being spotted, but moved at once towards the front door. It would have been exceedingly undignified to try and make her escape at this juncture. She rang the bell and awaited the arrival of the maid, determined to insist that her business was with the cook, and the cook alone. Her resolution was thrown into disarray when the master of the house opened the door in person.
‘Miss Winton – what a pleasant surprise! How good of you to call.’
To be fair, thought May, as she walked into a dark and musty hall, he did look both surprised and pleased: a much warmer reception than she might have expected in the light of their previous exchanges.
She turned to explain her business, but before she could speak a ginger tornado launched itself from the floor straight at May’s chest. She caught it instinctively, and found herself with a large cat in her arms; it began a thunderous purring.
‘Miss Winton, I’m so sorry! Shadrak, get down.’
Shadrak opened one yellow eye in his direction, then rubbed his head against May. She took off her glove and began to stroke him. The purring intensified.
‘It’s quite all right, Mr Lisle, I like cats.’
‘I’m afraid he’s in a temper because he’s been banished from the drawing room fire.’
‘With a name like his he has every right to be,’ May said with a smile.
The vicar looked at her and chuckled. ‘I suppose so.’
May gently touched the ragged ear. ‘I can see you’ve been in a fight recently.’
‘Yes, he’s descended on the neighbouring felines like Attila the Hun, and it’s a rather one-sided war – he’s twice their size.’
‘Then you must stop sharing your breakfast kippers with him.’ May saw from the young man’s expression that she had scored a hit. Then he smiled.
‘But Miss Winton, I’m forgetting my manners – do let me take your cloak.’
He lifted Shadrak from her arms and pushed him, protesting, through a door on the left. Unthinking, May slipped her cloak from her shoulders, then remembered where she was and twitched it quickly away from his outstretched hand.
‘No, thank you Mr Lisle. I’m not paying a social c
all – not on you, at least. My business is with your cook. I have a message for her, from her granddaughter.’ He looked quite crestfallen at her words, so May, deciding she had been too abrupt, relented, and smiled directly at him. ‘After all, it would scarcely be proper for me to call on a young unmarried man in his own house without a chaperon, now would it?’
Mr Lisle seemed considerably cheered by this remark. His face broke into a broad answering grin.
‘A very natural sentiment, Miss Winton. But then, your sense of propriety is so acute! However, as it happens, today there is no problem. We have a chaperon.’
May looked at him doubtfully. ‘We do?’
‘Why yes, an old friend of my mother’s, the widow of the Bishop of Ludlow, has called on me, with her daughter.’
Mr Lisle looked rather conscious at the mention of the Bishop’s daughter, and May was at once intrigued. So Mamma was match-making, was she, on behalf of her handsome bachelor son? May squared her shoulders, flicked back a loose tendril of hair, and allowed herself to be ushered into a gloomy plush drawing room.
‘Mrs Tranter, may I present Miss Winton, who nurses at St Katharine’s hospital, in the East India Dock Road.’
May moved forward, and waited for Mrs Tranter to extend her hand. She did not. Instead, her pale, prominent eyes slowly raked May from her windblown hair to her muddy boots.
‘Does your Matron allow you to tramp the streets unaccompanied?’
The young vicar went rigid with embarrassment. May moved rapidly onto the offensive.
‘In my profession it is essential to obtain regular exercise.’
‘The dear Bishop always firmly believed that young women should stay at home, under the care of their mothers.’
‘How, then, did he propose to staff the great hospitals?’ May’s voice was silky, but Mrs Tranter ignored the question.
‘It is not fitting for young women to take responsibility for their own behaviour.’
May’s reply was icy. ‘Since as nurses, we regularly take responsibility for the lives of others, it would be strange indeed if we were not considered fit to conduct our own.’
Mrs Tranter drew a deep, angry breath, but before she could exhale it in speech Mr Lisle broke in, turning hastily to her daughter.
‘Miss Tranter, Miss Winton.’
May turned to the young woman. She was about the same age as herself, with a pretty face spoiled by red-rimmed eyes and pale lashes. Miss Tranter’s smile was uncertain. She was obviously torn between her desire to be friendly to any acquaintance of Mr Lisle, at whom she gazed adoringly, and her natural reluctance to do anything which would upset her formidable mother.
May felt sorry for the girl and asked her whether she had been in the East End of London before. Miss Tranter said she had not, found it very dirty and noisy and preferred the country, did not Miss Winton agree? Miss Winton agreed that she did agree, and the conversation then languished, despite the heroic attempts of Mr Lisle to divert the frigid glares Mrs Tranter was casting in May’s direction.
May, deciding that she had done her duty socially, rose to her feet and announced that as her original intention had been to visit Mr Lisle’s cook she would now like to be shown to the kitchen, if Mr Lisle would be so kind. Mr Lisle, looking both relieved and regretful, escorted her out of the drawing room, to an audible ‘Humph!’ from Mrs Tranter’s corner.
As soon as they reached the hall they were greeted by a loud wail and the vicar released an indignant Shadrak from his captivity, with a ‘Sorry, old man, but the lady in there doesn’t like cats.’
May bent and stroked the arched back, murmuring, ‘That’s two of us beyond the pale, chum.’ The ginger tom purred a loud agreement.
Mr Lisle took May to the top of the basement stairs, and then stopped.
‘Miss Winton, I’m awfully sorry about that, that experience – I’m afraid Mrs Tranter has old-fashioned views.’
He looked upset, and May was sorry for him. He could hardly have expected such a broadside to be fired by his guest. In any case, May felt she had kept her flag flying in the encounter and could afford to be magnanimous.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Lisle, I quite understand. My step-mother can be just as freezing when she wishes.’ Privately May knew this was a slander against Lady Clarence, who, unlike Mrs Tranter, understood the art of being frigid without descending into rudeness. But since the young vicar was unlikely ever to meet Lady Clarence Winton the white lie seemed immaterial.
He looked relieved and took her down the stairs and into the kitchen, explaining that it was the housemaid’s afternoon off, and Mrs Lewis would be on her own. Hetty’s grandmother was a thin, careworn woman, with a surprising shock of white hair, and a worried expression. She was obviously pleased to see May, and soon had her sitting in a chair in front of the glowing range, a cup of hot strong tea in her hand and a satisfied Shadrak on her lap.
Chapter Twenty Seven
May passed a peaceful half hour in the kitchen with Mrs Lewis. Both the atmosphere and the temperature was noticeably warmer than upstairs. As she took her leave she edged towards the scullery, determined to slip out through the servants’ door, but Mrs Lewis, realising her intention, hauled herself out of her basket chair and shuffled forward.
‘No, no, Miss Winton, you musn’t leave by the back door – the Vicar would never forgive me!’
‘Now, Mrs Lewis, it will be much quicker. He has visitors, I wouldn’t dream of disturbing him.’
May moved forward, but Mrs Lewis, her face puckered with distress, barred her way. Realising the old lady was genuinely upset, May gave in and turned instead towards the door leading to the hall stairs.
‘Very well, Mrs Lewis, but I can’t let you climb these steps, with your leg in the state it is. I’ll say goodbye to Mr Lisle, and he’ll see me out.’
May had no intention of doing any such thing. Shutting the kitchen door firmly but quietly behind her she stepped lightly up the drugget and into the back of the hall, intending to make a rush for the front door and to slip through it before either her host or his visitors were aware of her departure. But just before she reached the drawing room door on her left her attention was caught by the strident tones of Mrs Tranter, carrying through the ill-fitting panels. When she heard what she was saying May froze.
‘Agnes, my dear, let that be an object lesson to you! The dreadful consequences of young women trying to be independent! That girl – so pert! The way she tried to answer me back! And her looks – red-faced, blowsy – did you see the state of her hands?’ There was an assenting murmur from her daughter. May stood riveted, barely conscious of the click of a door opening across the hallway. Mrs Tranter’s voice boomed out again. ‘Agnes, I could scarcely believe my eyes, an unmarried girl,’ the tone was lowered, but still clearly audible, ‘her, her chest! So unrestrained, so prominent!’
May was transfixed. Then, as her anger rose, she became aware of a muffled snort to her right. Mr Lisle, his hand clasped over his mouth, was draped against the newel post, overcome by a paroxysm of suppressed laughter. May felt a wave of pure fury wash over her as she looked at his shaking shoulders. She marched across, seized his arm and wrenched it away from his face, hissing, ‘How dare you – how dare you!’
He straightened up and made an obvious effort to pull himself together, then his glance fell on her heaving bosom; his lips began to curve again and, leaning forward, eyes alight with mischief, he whispered to her: ‘But Miss Winton, she’s right! Your, your… it is – but it’s quite superb!’
May was too angry for speech. She seized his quivering shoulders, glared up into his face and shook him, hard. But he was stronger than she was. He put his hands to her waist and held her at arms length.
‘Come now, Miss Winton, no violence, please, remember, I am a man of peace! ‘ He smiled down into her infuriated eyes. Held fast, May was suddenly very conscious of her flushed face and disordered hair, but before she could break free from his restraining grasp she heard the door
behind her open. Mrs Tranter, made suspicious by her host’s overlong absence, was coming in quest of her prey. May stood paralysed.
‘Walter, how could you! And you, you shameless hussy, take your hands off him, this instant!’
Her words broke the spell. May sprang back, collided with the outraged bosom of the bishop’s relict and was summarily bounced to one side. There was a howl of anguish from Shadrak as she landed on his tail. Mrs Tranter ignored them both. She turned the full force of her fury onto the young vicar, on whose face May saw the dawning realisation of what their tableau must have looked like.
‘Mrs Tranter, please, let me explain…’
But she would have none of it. ‘When I see your poor dear mother, tomorrow, at the earliest opportunity,’ each word was slowly and deliberately enunciated, ‘I shall tell her,’ there was a dramatic pause, ‘All! Come, Agnes.’ Then she turned back to Walter Lisle. ‘We shall see you again, Sir, when you have come to your senses.’ She swept out of the door. Agnes, pink rabbit nose aquiver and china blue eyes brimming with tears, darted a last agonised look at the young clergyman.
Walter Lisle gazed after them, his expression appalled. Then he suddenly remembered May’s presence. ‘Miss Winton’ – May cut his words short.
‘Goodbye, Mr Lisle.’ She pulled the tattered remnants of her dignity around her together with her cloak and almost ran out of the open door and down the gravel path, her eyes stinging, her face burning.
She came out of the vicarage gate and turned instinctively away from the cab into which Mrs Tranter was climbing. Soon she was adrift in unfamiliar streets, all of which looked confusingly alike: she lost her sense of direction. The sun had gone in, and a damp, clammy fog was beginning to rise from the greasy pavements. She felt very alone. The emotions roused by the scene in the Vicarage hall were taking their toll: a wave of nausea swept over her. She stopped and clutched her side, looking about her. She was completely lost.
She walked forward onto a bridge and looked down. It spanned a foul-smelling canal which she did not recognise at all. The road was deserted. While she stood hesitating a dark, bent figure appeared from a side alley beyond the bridge. May ran forward.
Mayfair Rebel Page 24
