Nightingale Wedding Bells

by Donna Douglas

  It was such a shame, Anna thought. Under that gawky exterior, Grace was the kindest, sweetest girl she knew.

  Then another thought occurred to her. ‘Does Dulcie Moore know that Saunders is engaged?’ she asked.

  Grace swung round so fast she knocked into a teetering pile of bedpans with her elbow. Anna dropped her broom and rushed to catch them before they crashed to the ground.

  ‘Oh, gosh, I never thought of that,’ Grace said, as they steadied the pans to stop them toppling over. ‘Poor girl. I wonder if she does know?’

  At that moment the doors to the sluice swung open and Dulcie Moore herself stalked in, her pretty face thunderous under her starched white cap. She thrust a cloth-covered bedpan into Grace’s hands and stomped out again, letting the door crash to behind her.

  Anna and Grace stared at each other.

  ‘I think that’s our answer, don’t you?’ Anna said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I was thinking about roses. I do love roses, especially pale pink ones, and they’re perfectly in season in June, aren’t they? Or perhaps a posy of violets? I love violets, too. Such a lovely fragrance …’

  Spare me! Sitting at the other end of the couch, Dulcie Moore took a long swig from the sherry bottle Hilda Wharton had just passed to her.

  Sylvia Saunders had only been engaged a matter of hours, and Dulcie was already sick and tired of hearing about it. To make matters worse, earlier on Sister had given them both the task of making up beds for the latest convoy of military patients. Dulcie had been stuck in the linen store with Sylvia as she bored on with the details of the family church where she intended to hold the service, and the hymns she had chosen. Then, as they made up the beds, Dulcie had been forced to listen to her pondering every detail of her dress, and whether or not she planned to have pearl trimming on the lace: ‘I know it’s pretty, but pearls can be rather old-fashioned, don’t you think?’

  At supper, Dulcie had positioned herself at the far end of the long dining-room table, but she could still hear Sylvia’s excited little squeaks over the clatter of plates and cutlery, talking about the reception party.

  And now, Dulcie found herself trapped in the common room at the nurses’ house, listening to the bride-to-be going on and on about flowers.

  ‘I mean, anemones are pretty too, I suppose. But they’re rather a showy flower, don’t you think?’

  ‘Lord help us.’

  Dulcie hadn’t realised she had uttered the words aloud until Miriam Trott, who was sitting next to her, turned and said, ‘Did you say something, Moore?’

  Her tone was innocent, but the malicious glint in those keen brown eyes told Dulcie she had heard every word.

  ‘I was just wondering if this is all Saunders is going to talk about for the next six months,’ she muttered.

  ‘I daresay she’s just excited,’ Miriam said. ‘Anyone would be. I’m sure you’d be excited too, if you’d just got engaged.’

  There was something about the way she said it that made Dulcie’s hackles rise. There had never been any love lost between her and Miriam Trott, from the day they started training together three years earlier. Miriam was a tiny, bird-like creature, with mouse-brown hair, beady eyes and a beaky nose she was always sticking where it didn’t belong. She had a very unkind streak and seemed to take pleasure in other people’s suffering.

  She was taking a lot of pleasure in the present situation, Dulcie thought.

  ‘Yes, but I wouldn’t bore everyone to tears with it,’ she replied, taking another swig from the sherry bottle.

  ‘That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?’ Miriam nodded towards the bottle. ‘Aren’t you going to pass that round?’

  Dulcie passed it to her, and glared as Miriam took a gulp.

  I hope it chokes you, she thought.

  ‘Anyway, I like hearing about Saunders’ wedding plans,’ Miriam said. ‘Although it must be rather difficult for you, I suppose,’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ Dulcie lied, snatching the bottle back from her.

  ‘Oh, come on! Everyone knows you expected to be the one walking down the aisle with Roger Wallace!’

  The whole room seemed to fall uncomfortably silent. Dulcie felt everyone’s eyes swivelling curiously in her direction.

  ‘It was a long time ago and it wasn’t serious,’ she dismissed.

  ‘Really?’ Miriam said. ‘I seem to remember you telling everyone you were practically engaged. You even chose your bridesmaids. You were so sure he was going to pop the question, and then—’ She shrugged. ‘But that’s just the way it seems to go with you, isn’t it? Men are only interested for five minutes.’

  Dulcie’s hand closed around the bottle; she was fighting the urge to throw its contents in Miriam’s smug little face.

  ‘At least they are interested in me,’ she murmured.

  Miriam turned a deep shade of scarlet. ‘And we all know why, don’t we?’ she hissed back.

  ‘May I see the ring again?’ Grace broke the uneasy silence. Sylvia was immediately distracted and smugly proffered her left hand for all to see.

  As Grace stepped forward eagerly to get a closer look, Miriam let out a yelp of pain.

  ‘Ow! Careful, you clumsy oaf, don’t trample me!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Grace mumbled.

  ‘I should think so, too.’ Miriam theatrically examined her stockinged foot. ‘You might have broken my toes.’

  ‘Pity she didn’t break your neck,’ Dulcie muttered.

  It was too much to hope Sylvia had not overheard her conversation with Miriam. Dulcie could see the bride-to-be watching her uncertainly throughout the rest of the evening. And when she finally decided she couldn’t bear any more wedding talk and got up to leave, Sylvia followed her into the hall.

  ‘May I have a word with you, Moore?’ she asked quietly.

  Dulcie’s gaze drifted towards the stairs. She was fighting the urge to run away. ‘What about?’ she said.

  As if I didn’t know.

  ‘About Roger and me.’

  Dulcie faced Sylvia. She was a few inches taller than her, slender and graceful-looking, her long, pale face framed with straight, silvery-blonde hair. Her eyes were a limpid grey colour.

  Roger had always told Dulcie he preferred brown eyes, like hers.

  ‘What about you and Roger?’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Why should I mind?’

  Sylvia’s cheeks flushed the palest of pinks and she averted her gaze delicately to the ring on her finger. ‘I know you were – fond of him once.’

  I was fond of him? Dulcie pressed her lips together to stop the words from spilling out. Roger had declared his love for her a million times, sworn she was the only girl for him as he kissed her and fumbled with her blouse in the back row of the Old Ford Picture Palace.

  And Dulcie had allowed him to do it because she was certain that this time was different, that he would be the one to keep his promise to her.

  She looked at Sylvia, so cool and perfect, her starched collar fastened tightly around her long, elegant throat. She didn’t look like the type of girl to allow any man liberties.

  Mustering all her pride, Dulcie managed a light laugh. ‘As I said to Trott, it was nothing serious. And it was a long time ago.’

  This time last year, a voice inside her head whispered. Last September they had walked hand in hand through the fallen leaves in Victoria Park, and made plans for their future.

  But by summer it was all over. And exactly four months later, he had chosen the very same spot to propose to Sylvia Saunders.

  ‘Anyway, I’m thrilled for you,’ Dulcie added with a forced smile.

  ‘Oh. Oh, well, that’s all right then.’ Sylvia’s face brightened. ‘I’m so glad there are no hard feelings. You know I’ve always thought of you as such a good friend. Which is why I wanted to ask you a very special favour …’

  ‘Me, a bridesmaid! Can you imagine? Honestly, th
e cheek of her.’

  Dulcie was still fuming about it when she sat down in Grace and Anna’s room later. She was trying to darn a pair of stockings but her hands were shaking with so much anger she could barely get the stitches in the black wool.

  ‘I mean, it’s bad enough that she’s stolen my boyfriend, without expecting me to trail up the aisle after them,’ Dulcie went on. ‘I’ve always thought of you as such a good friend,’ she mimicked Sylvia’s girlish voice. ‘Good friends don’t steal each other’s men, do they?’

  Anna and Grace looked at one another. Anna was getting ready to go out, pulling on her coat and winding a muffler around her neck. Dulcie could see the doubt in their faces. They didn’t understand what she and Roger had meant to each other before Sylvia had sneaked in.

  ‘Of course, I know she’s only doing it to be spiteful,’ Dulcie said.

  ‘Spiteful?’ Grace said.

  ‘She wants to make a fool of me. She wants everyone to see that she got the man and I didn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps she just wants to be nice?’

  Dulcie glared at Grace. Duffield drove her mad sometimes, she was always so determined to see the good in everyone.

  She wished she had someone else to talk to about it. Her best friend Sadie Sedgewick would have understood, but Sadie had decided to do her district nurse training, so now she was living out in one of the district houses in Mile End.

  Since she had gone, Dulcie had grown closer to Grace, mainly because she had fallen out with most of the other girls. Either she had been catty to them, or they had been spiteful to her. But it was impossible to offend Grace.

  ‘Nice? I doubt it,’ Dulcie scoffed. ‘No, she’s got a plan, I know she has.’ She considered for a moment. ‘She’ll probably make me wear a horrible dress. Although I daresay I’ll still look better than her … I’ve a good mind to do it, just so I can outshine her.’

  ‘I’m going now,’ Anna interrupted her.

  Grace went to the window and peered out. ‘It’s still raining hard,’ she said. ‘And the gutter’s overflowing again. That drainpipe will be treacherous to climb—’

  ‘Stop worrying,’ Anna said. ‘It’s not as if I haven’t done it before.’

  She put on her hat, tucking her dark hair under the brim then reaching for her gloves. ‘Don’t forget to leave the window open a bit for me, will you?’

  Grace nodded. ‘I’ll listen out. And I’ll be sure to leave the lamp on so you can see where you’re going.’

  ‘Say hello to your fancy man for me,’ Dulcie called after her as she clambered through the window. Anna shot her a dark look but said nothing.

  A moment later she was gone. Grace leaned out, watching her until they heard the crunch of feet landing on the gravel path below. Then she ducked back inside, brushing the rain off her light brown hair.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,’ she reproached Dulcie. ‘You know she doesn’t have a fancy man. She has to go off and help her mother run the bakery. She’s managing it all on her own, and Beck’s worried that it’s too much for her.’ She pressed her face to the glass, peering into the darkness. ‘If you ask me, it’s too much for Beck, too, working here all day and at the bakery all night.’

  ‘She should close the place down, in that case.’ Dulcie stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

  ‘She’d never do that!’ Grace looked shocked. ‘You know how devoted she is to that place. Her father built it up from nothing, she wants to keep it going for him. Besides, she wants something for Edward when he comes home.’

  ‘That’s her problem, isn’t it?’ Dulcie shrugged, already bored with the subject. ‘So, do you think I should do it?’ she asked.

  ‘Do what?’ Grace said absently, still looking out of the window.

  Dulcie sighed. ‘Be a bridesmaid, silly! Actually, I don’t think I will,’ she answered her own question.

  ‘Won’t Saunders be disappointed?’

  ‘Hardly. She won’t even notice, I’m sure, since she’s asked practically everyone in the set to be a bridesmaid. Honestly, there’ll be more bridesmaids than there will be congregation.’

  ‘She hasn’t asked me.’

  Dulcie felt a brief stab of guilt. There she was, going on and on, not realising that poor Grace had been left out yet again.

  ‘You can take my place if you like,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, no, Saunders wouldn’t want that. Can you imagine it? I’d probably step on her dress and rip it, or drop my flowers or something!’

  Dulcie looked at her friend’s open, smiling face. ‘You’re not that bad,’ she said. ‘I’d let you be my bridesmaid.’

  A blush rose in Grace’s cheeks. ‘Gosh, thanks.’

  ‘Don’t get too excited. I’ll have to find someone to marry me first. And the way I’m going, I’ll probably be the last in our set to get engaged.’ Dulcie shuddered. ‘God, imagine if Trott got married before me. She’d be utterly unbearable, wouldn’t she? Even worse than she is already.’

  She could hardly bear the thought of Trott’s smug face, grinning at her from under a wedding veil.

  It was so galling, Dulcie thought. The only reason she had come to train as a nurse at the Nightingale was to find herself a wealthy doctor to marry. She had announced as much to the rest of the set the day she arrived.

  And yet here she was three years later, with a nursing qualification but no ring on her finger.

  And as Miriam Trott had so unkindly pointed out, it wasn’t for want of trying. Dulcie had no trouble getting men interested. It was keeping them that was the real problem.

  In her agitation she jabbed herself in the finger with her darning needle and cursed under her breath.

  ‘It’s no good, I can’t mend these wretched things anymore.’ She threw down her sewing in defeat. ‘They’re already more darn than stocking!’

  ‘Why don’t you buy yourself a new pair?’

  ‘I would if I had the money, but I don’t have a bean until the end of the week.’ Dulcie picked up her sewing again reluctantly and stabbed at it with the needle. ‘I hate being poor,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll bet Saunders will never have to mend her stockings once she’s married to Roger Wallace.’

  Not that she needed to mend them anyway, Dulcie thought. Sylvia Saunders’ father managed a bank, and the family lived in great comfort in a leafy London suburb. Sylvia had gone to boarding school and rode ponies and played tennis and all kinds of other things that wealthy, well-bred young women did. She had certainly never had to travel around in her father’s cart at harvest time, looking for work, or sleep in a hay loft in the middle of winter.

  No, Sylvia probably threw out her stockings at the first sign of a hole.

  ‘Why do you think Roger chose her?’ She asked the question that had been bothering her ever since she had heard the news.

  ‘What?’ Grace looked startled. ‘Goodness, I don’t know. He fell in love with her, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, but why? She’s not even pretty.’

  ‘I think she is.’

  Dulcie frowned. Grace was a loyal friend, but she didn’t always say the things friends should say.

  ‘All right, I suppose she is, in an insipid sort of way.’ She put her hand up and touched the brown curls that framed her own face. No one could ever call her insipid.

  Roger used to love her curls. He used to try and count them, winding them around his fingers. She couldn’t imagine him doing that with Sylvia’s fine, silvery hair.

  ‘I wonder if it’s because she’s rich?’ Dulcie mused. Sylvia seemed to have that self-satisfied sheen about her, the kind that people with money always had.

  Roger Wallace had it too, which was what had first attracted Dulcie to him.

  ‘I don’t know why people fall in love with each other,’ Grace said. ‘They just do, don’t they? They can’t help themselves.’

  ‘What utter nonsense,’ Dulcie said, attacking her sewing more vigorously. She had already made up her mind that she was goin
g to make Roger fall in love with her.

  Now all she had to do was win him back from Sylvia Saunders.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Anna reached Chambord Street just as the pubs were turning out. Men spilled onto the pavement, laughing and jostling each other and complaining about the rain. They loomed out of the darkness towards her, but Anna wasn’t afraid. She had grown up in Bethnal Green, she knew every cobbled alleyway and gas-lit street.

  She knew most of the people, too. As she turned the corner, Anna saw Mr Hudson, who owned the butcher’s next door to their shop, leaning against a lamp post outside the Angel and Crown. He was trying to light a cigarette but seemed to be having a lot of trouble finding his mouth with the match. Anna watched him struggling for a moment, then she approached him.

  ‘All right, Mr Hudson? Can I help you with that?’ She took the matchbox from him and lit another one, shielding it from the rain with her hand as she held it steady. Mr Hudson took a long drag on it until the tip glowed. Then he took a step back, staggering slightly to regain his balance.

  ‘Ta, love.’ He exhaled slowly and squinted at her through the stream of smoke. ‘What you doing out on a filthy night like this?’

  ‘I’ve come to see my mother, Mr Hudson.’

  ‘At this hour? Bit late to go visiting, ain’t it?’

  Anna said nothing. The neighbours knew enough about their business, without her telling them any more.

  Finally, Mr Hudson said, ‘I’ll walk with you, shall I? Make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘If you like.’ They started down Chambord Street, Mr Hudson weaving unsteadily beside her. After he’d veered off the kerb and into the gutter twice, Anna took his arm.

  ‘How’s your dad, then?’ Mr Hudson asked as they walked. ‘Seen him lately?’

  ‘I visited him at the internment camp last month. He seemed very well.’

  Mr Hudson shook his head. ‘Such a bad business. You’d think they would have let him out by now, wouldn’t you? How long has it been?’