Mayfair Rebel

by Mayfair Rebel (retail) (epub)

  Colonel Gerrard clicked shut his watch, and walked forward. He spoke directly to Matron.

  ‘We are going to have to alter the position of that bell, it’s useless where it is.’

  May realised the significance of his words and began to sag at the knees. Charles Wilson tightened his grip and whispered, ‘Brace up, it’s nearly over.’

  Matron was still not appeased. She turned to May. ‘I see that your position was difficult, Nurse Winton, but please remember that, as a result of your actions, a patient died.’ Her tone was frigid and May lowered her eyes. But at that moment Sister Abraham stepped forward. She pushed Fitton in front of her and quickly whisked the scarf from round her neck to expose the livid bruises. She spoke directly to Matron.

  ‘But as a result of Nurse Winton’s actions, one of my nurses is still alive.’ She turned to May. ‘I hope I would have had the courage and speed to act as you did, Nurse Winton.’ May gazed at the mountainous rolls of Sister Abraham’s wide body, but she felt no desire to laugh. She said simply, ‘Thank you, Sister.’ Then she went up to the House Governor and held out her hand. ‘I am grateful for your time and patience, Colonel Gerrard.’ The Colonel looked surprised, then he seized her hand and shook it heartily.

  ‘Sometimes a spot’s so tight you can only trust God and do your best, I learnt that in the army. There’s no easy way out.’ His voice was gruff, but kindly.

  Matron, as always, had the last word.

  ‘Come along, Nurses, what are you waiting for? You’re on duty tonight, remember. You should all have been in bed half an hour ago.’

  May whispered a quick word of thanks to Charles Wilson before they all trailed meekly out behind Matron. When the latter left them at the foot of the stairs May turned to the other two nurses and thanked them. They were all quiet and subdued, but Fitton’s exhausted face bore a look of satisfaction, and May was grateful for the older woman’s determination; it would have been so easy for her to have let matters take their course.

  Upstairs in her room May sat heavily down on the chair. She felt relief, but she was also aware that Matron was right: a man had died as a result of the actions she had chosen to follow, and she would have to live with that knowledge.

  Tired though she was she wrote a short note to Walter Lisle before she undressed, telling him of what had happened. Then she risked Home Sister’s anger by walking down the stairs to the post box, and dragged herself up again by the banister. She was sore and aching as she climbed into bed, but she fell asleep at once.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Stiff and bruised, with neck swollen, May went on duty as usual that evening, together with an exhausted Fitton. The pneumonias were better, but the nephritis took a turn for the worse, so the bronchitis kettle hissed steadily in the background throughout the long night. After breakfast May could only manage the briefest of walks; then she sat crouched in a chair in the Nurses’ Sitting Room until allowed to go to bed. On her way upstairs she glanced in the letter rack and found one waiting for her, addressed in an unfamiliar but obviously masculine handwriting. It had been delivered by hand, and was a short note from Walter Lisle, expressing his relief at the House Governor’s decision, and continuing concern for her in the distress she must still feel. She was grateful for his solicitude.

  The inquest was held several days later: it was brief and formal. Evidence of the dead man’s state of health and mental condition was given. The events of the night were related in flat, level tones, only the tram driver displaying any emotion: ‘Gawd’s truth, Yer ’Onour, ’e threw ’isself straight in front er me – nasty thing to ’appen on the Dock Road.’

  A verdict of Accidental Death was returned, and Colonel Gerrard immediately escorted his three nurses straight back to the hospital. May thought she caught a glimpse of black hair and a clerical collar among the small crowd at the inquest, but she was not sure.

  Before he left them she questioned Colonel Gerrard as to relatives of the dead man. He told her that the sister who had given evidence of identification had not seen her brother for some months. He had lived an itinerant life, picking up labouring work where and when he could, and, as far as anyone knew he had had no wife or other dependants. For that, at least, May was thankful; but in unguarded moments the scene flashed through her mind again and she agonised anew over the decisions she had made.

  She confided this to Wright one evening, on their way to the ward, and later that night Charles Wilson came and sat down with her on Abraham, and told her kindly but firmly that she must now put the matter out of her mind.

  ‘I constantly have to make decisions – sometimes they’re right, sometimes I can never be sure, and sometimes, God help me, they’ve definitely been wrong. But it wouldn’t do the patients any good if I gave up and did nothing for fear of the consequences. In any case, I honestly believe delay could have cost Fitton her life, and you didn’t know Mary was going to appear like Lady Macbeth, knife in hand – without that your being at his heels might have been the only thing…’ He shuddered, then smiled at May. ‘So I have no doubts about the correctness of your decision, and I, for one, am damned grateful to you.’ He pushed his chair back and left, with a quick wave of the hand. May knew he was right, and made herself stop wincing as she passed the far bed.

  A week later there was a summons from Matron, who grudgingly informed May that her holiday would start in the second week of September. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, ‘On your return, Nurse Winton, you will report to Matthias Ward, as Staff Nurse.’

  May had never worked on Matthias, but she knew of it from Ellen, who had. Staffing on Matthias was a plum job – it was a large men’s surgical, dealing only with serious cases. The work was interesting and rewarding and Sister Matthias, though strict, was fair, and the possessor of a keen sense of humour. The treble bonus of an end to nights, a holiday at Allingham to be looked forward to, and a return to a coveted position put the spring back into May’s step as she left the office.

  She needed the prospect of peace and fresh country air to keep her spirits up over the next few weeks. Even in the early morning the East End stank. The normal smells of the city in summer – ammonia and horse dung – were overlaid by the reek of industry: rotting horseflesh, the chemicals of the paintworks and the sulphurous stench of the large gasworks on the Lea Marshes. On the streets, hot, unwashed bodies gave off their own pungent odour, so May occasionally took a tram to Victoria Park – it was a relief to see an expanse of green, however dried up and dusty. But often she lacked the energy and merely sought out the quieter side streets to the north for her morning walks.

  One hot day in early September she was dawdling, peering idly into the doorways of small shops and watching the antics of the almost naked urchins in the gutter when a voice hailed her. She looked up, and there, pedalling towards her on an ancient bicycle, was Walter Lisle. He swerved dangerously across the road and juddered to a halt just as he seemed about to mount the pavement in front of her. The surprise of his appearance made her heart jump against her ribs, and it was a moment or two before she was able to return his smile.

  He dismounted and came forward, hand outstretched, and they touched sweaty palms, and stood for an instant looking at each other. Then he said, ‘I’m so glad I’ve met you, Miss Winton – I was about to write to you. I wonder if by any chance you will be free next Saturday? You told me once you spent three months on night duty, and then had some free time – isn’t this due soon?’

  His expression was so anxiously hopeful that May did not have the heart to tell him that her three nights off were being added to the start of her holiday – instead she heard herself saying that yes, she was free on Saturday, knowing full well that she had notified Lady Clarence of her arrival the previous evening.

  He smiled warmly at her, then hesitated. ‘Perhaps I should have explained first – I’m not offering you a very restful day. It’s our annual Sunday School outing to Southend. Extra adults are a great help, and the youngsters
often fall and hurt themselves – but it really is tremendous fun, and one of my lady church workers will be accompanying us, so you would have congenial company.’

  May laughed. ‘I shall look forward to it. I’ve never been to Southend, but I’ve heard a lot about it from patients – they talk of it as a paradise on earth, a veritable Garden of Eden!’

  Walter Lisle burst out laughing. ‘That’s not quite how I’d describe it, Miss Winton – but it’s certainly an experience. Mrs Lewis will be preparing a picnic hamper for the helpers, so you don’t need to supply anything. I’m afraid I must bid you goodbye now – I have an appointment with a colleague – but I’m so glad you can come.’ He turned back to his bicycle.

  May said quickly, ‘I’ll bring some first aid equipment, Mr Lisle, and perhaps some fruit; it’s always pleasant in this weather.’

  ‘Splendid!’ Then as he put his foot on the pedal, he leant forward and said, softly, ‘But, perhaps, no apples?’ He winked at her and wobbled as he waved goodbye.

  It took a moment for May, her brain dulled by night duty, to understand the allusion. Then her cheeks burned in the hot air – but after a moment she began to laugh.

  That evening May wrote to her parents, explaining that she would be coming down on the Sunday, after all. She knew her step-mother had scruples about travelling on the Sabbath, but she would assume that May’s duties made this inevitable. May felt rather guilty, but then told herself that she had been invited to Southend as a nurse – in any case, it was a Sunday School outing.

  The next morning brought a note from Walter Lisle, giving details of the rendezvous, and in the evening May had to confess to Ellen and Ada, both off from six, what she had agreed to do. Ada told May she was a fool to delay her annual holiday for a trip to Southend of all places, saying bluntly, ‘Tell me honestly, May, would you be so ready to go if that clergyman was short, fat, and fifty?’

  But Ellen jumped in with a red-hot piece of gossip about eccentric Sister Timothy: ‘On a motor-bicycle – truly – bouncing all over the Commercial Road, Adams said, and hanging on for dear life!’

  May’s blushes subsided under cover of Ada’s exclamations of disbelief. She did not want to have to answer Ada’s question, even to herself.

  Saturday morning was warm and fine and it looked as though the sky would be clear beyond the industrial haze of the East End. May had slept most of the previous day, and all through the night, and when she woke, early, she felt surprisingly refreshed. She was excited, but firmly ascribed this to the nearness of her holiday – although, curiously, the charms of Allingham seemed to have receded somewhat from her mind. She almost regretted leaving Poplar tomorrow – almost, but not quite; the rotten eggs smell of the gas works had definitely gained the ascendancy this morning.

  The good weather decided her choice of outfit. The lightweight costume of pale blue linen had hung unworn in her wardrobe all summer – she had scarcely changed out of uniform since her night duty had begun. She hesitated over her choice of blouse, then settled for a fine spotted muslin, with narrow frills at neck, yoke and wrist. Her straw sailor had been re-trimmed with blue ribbon the evening before, so she was soon ready. She had packed her handbag with lint and strapping; now she slipped in a small bottle of weak disinfectant, wrapped in some old cloths begged off Sister Abraham. The latter had proved very knowledgeable on the subject of Sunday School trips, though claiming that a wagon was much nicer than a train. May knew that Sister’s father had been vicar of a country parish; she couldn’t help feeling relieved that she was not riding through the streets of Poplar in a borrowed wagon – besides, it would take an awfully long while to reach Southend!

  May was ready in good time, but in view of her pale-coloured suit and clean shoes she asked the tortoise to summon a cab, and rode northwards at her ease.

  The wider area of road outside the church was overflowing when May arrived: there was a crowd of youngsters of all ages milling around. The driver reined in.

  ‘Will this do, Miss? Nearest I can get.’ He added cynically, ‘Pawnshops round ’ere must be empty today.’

  May, looking at the boys in their best suits and polished boots and with caps on their heads, and the girls, in Sunday dresses and clean pinafores, was inclined to agree.

  As she jumped down she spotted Walter Lisle’s dark head, in the middle of the throng, and felt suddenly shy. She paid the driver and then hung back. But as she stood, hesitating, there was a violent eruption in one corner of the crowd and a small figure pushed and pummelled its way through. There was a piercing cry of, ‘Nurse, Nurse Winton – are you coming with us?’

  It was Louie Brown, her left cheek and neck still showing only too clearly the scars of her accident, but her exuberance was undimmed. She jabbed the toe of her boot smartly into an obstructing shin, burst through and launched herself into May’s arms. May dropped her bag and swung the girl round and round, laughing as Louie squealed ecstatically. As she set the excited child down she saw Walter Lisle moving through the crowd towards her, smiling.

  Louie jumped up and down. ‘I come wiv me cousins – I don’t go ter this Sunday School, but me cousins asked Mr Lisle, and ’e says I could come – on account o’ bein’ so ill. Our ’Arry’s an altar boy – ’e’s the posh one o’ the family!’

  Walter Lisle held out his hand. ‘So you know one of our party already – good.’ He grinned down at Louie and gently tweaked her one stubby plait. ‘I’m going to take Miss Winton to meet the curates and Miss Parkes – all right, Louie?’

  Louie nodded, but hung back a moment against May’s skirts. She touched her ravaged face gently. ‘It’s lookin’ better, ain’t it, Nurse?’ Her voice was studiedly casual, her eyes shadowed.

  May knew the girl was too bright to be fooled by a lie. ‘It is less noticeable, Louie, and I think I could show you a way of arranging your hair, now it’s grown a bit, so it fluffs out at the sides. I’ve got a comb and some pins in my bag – I could do it today, if you wish.’

  Louie said seriously, ‘Yes please. You can do it on the beach.’ She raised her voice. ‘You go wiv the Vicar now, Nurse.’ She dismissed them both with a lordly wave. As they began to skirt round the crowd May heard her saying to another girl who’d just come up. ‘’Andsome feller, yer vicar, ain’t ’e?’ May smiled as Walter Lisle’s ears went pink, but then blushed in turn as the girl replied, ‘An’ your nurse is a smasher, ain’t she Louie?’ Walter turned and laughed at her.

  The three curates were at the Church gate: one tall and broad, one short and broad, and a long, thin, bearded figure who looked much older than Walter – but May supposed there were late recruits to the Church, just as there were to nursing. May shook each hand in turn and there were murmured greetings, then Walter Lisle looked up with a pleased expression.

  ‘Ah, there’s Miss Parkes, punctual as always.’

  May looked in the direction of his gaze and blinked in surprise. She had vaguely imagined Miss Parkes to be an elderly, spinsterish church worker, but the woman coming towards her was no older than herself and, despite her plain grey costume and unadorned hat, she was very good looking. Her hair was a dark glossy brown, parted in the middle and drawn back into a neat bun which suited her classically regular features set in a pale, almost translucent, skin. She clearly intended her complexion to remain at its best since in one hand she carried the least frivolous parasol that May had ever seen.

  Walter Lisle smiled. ‘Good morning, Miss Parkes, may I introduce you both? Miss May Winton, Miss Edith Parkes.’

  The girl extended grey-gloved fingertips to May, who was immediately conscious of her bare hand – she had thrust her gloves into her bag on Louie’s approach, and not yet retrieved them. There was no time to fumble with them now so she stepped forward to shake hands regardless. Miss Parkes barely touched May’s fingers then moved back with a cool, appraising gaze. May smiled, the other woman moved her lips fractionally, then turned to Walter Lisle and said, in low, but very clear tones, ‘Is it not time we
left, Mr Lisle? It would not do to miss the train.’

  ‘Er, no, no – of course not.’ Walter Lisle seemed momentarily nonplussed, then he obediently jumped up on the porch steps and called the crowd to order in a stentorian voice.

  Silence descended rapidly, and May was very impressed as the jostle resolved itself into orderly columns, each with several older lads as escort, while a number of mothers, some with babies and toddlers, brought up the rear. Obviously some careful preliminary planning had been done.

  Walter jumped down and prepared to lead the first column, while the curates took one apiece. Edith Parkes indicated that she and May were to bring up the rear with the mothers.

  May said cheerfully, ‘So we’re to be the camp followers.’ She was rewarded with a silent look of distaste. May spoke more formally. ‘Mr Lisle has organised matters most efficiently, has he not, Miss Parkes?’

  There was a slight thaw beside her. ‘Mr Lisle is an excellent organiser. So important in a clergyman, don’t you think, Miss Winton?’

  May felt privately that, though no doubt useful in a clergyman, there were plenty of other professions where organising ability mattered more – for an army officer, for instance? – but she decided that diplomacy would have to be the order of the day, and agreed politely. She had noticed Walter Lisle’s cook among the mothers, looking much more spry on her legs now, but although Mrs Lewis had beamed in her direction and waved, she had then glanced at May’s grey-clad companion and stayed where she was. May decided she could hardly rush off and join her, since Walter Lisle had clearly seen the two girls as being congenial company for each other.

  When they reached Bromley station Louie appeared again and flew up and down like a dervish. May placed a restraining hand over hers until the train was safely in, when the crowd surged forward and an older girl, obviously one of Louie’s cousins, seized her and hauled her off flashing a quick smile in May’s direction as she went.