‘It’s not that he minds going,’ he explained to Grace. ‘The silly sod’s just upset I won’t be with him. Isn’t that right, pal?’ He turned to Gordon, who nodded. ‘I’ve tried telling him, it’s not a place for the likes of us common folk!’ He grinned. ‘And it’s not like I won’t see you again, is it? I’ll come and visit you as soon as I’m up and about. I’ll come and play whist with you, how about that? That is, if you can take another beating!’
Gordon laughed, a strange, gurgling sound deep in his throat.
Just then, the orderly arrived with a wheelchair.
‘Look, your chariot awaits! Talk about travelling in style.’
As the orderly started to lift Gordon off the bed, Albie turned to Grace and said in a low voice, ‘You will take care of him for me, won’t you, Nurse?’
‘I wish I could, Corporal Sallis. But I’m afraid I won’t be moving to the new ward.’ Then, seeing his stricken face, she went on, ‘But I’m sure Dr Carlyle and Dr Logan will take good care of him. And I’ll try to pop in as much as I can to make sure he’s all right.’
‘Thanks, Nurse.’ Albie sent Gordon an affectionate look. ‘I’ll miss him, y’know. Still, at least I can get a good night’s sleep now, without him whooping and hollering all the time!’
Gordon was very subdued as the orderly helped him into the wheelchair. But when they went to wheel him away he broke into noisy sobs.
‘Aw, Jesus, will you look at the fuss he’s making?’ Sergeant McCray shouted out in exasperation. He had come in a week earlier, a loud-mouthed Scottish sergeant who had had his right leg amputated below the knee. ‘He ought to be ashamed of himself!’
‘Oi!’ Albie shouted back. ‘You watch what you’re saying. That’s my pal you’re talking about.’
‘Then you ought to be ashamed, too!’ Sergeant McCray called back. ‘Look at him, blubbering like a great baby. I didn’t make all that fuss when they were sawing my bloody leg off! You want to act like a man, son. Get out of that bloody wheelchair and walk!’
Grace saw Gordon’s shoulders stiffen, his head go down.
‘He can’t walk, in case you haven’t noticed,’ Albie said.
‘Can’t walk? Won’t walk, you mean! We all know he’s putting it on. Shell shock, indeed!’ Sergeant McCray shook his head, mouth curling in disgust. ‘A lot of fuss over nothing, I call it. Any of my men started sobbing like a lass, I’d give ’em a swift kick up the backside and tell them to get on with it. Look at him,’ he sneered, ‘hunched up in that wheelchair. You know what I’m saying is right, don’t you, Gordon? That’s why you can’t meet my eye. You might be able to fool your daft friend over there, but I’m not afraid to call you what you are – a bloody coward!’
Grace saw Albie start to throw back his bedclothes, and moved to stop him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Leave him, it’s not good for you to upset yourself.’
‘But he’s—’
‘I said, leave him.’ Grace turned away from him to face the Scottish sergeant. He was sitting up in bed, his angry face as red as a side of beef.
But Grace was angry too. She could feel it simmering inside her, bubbling through her veins. It was a rare feeling for her.
‘You can still feel your leg, can’t you, Sergeant McCray?’ she said.
He stared at her, blankly. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘It’s true, isn’t it? You’re convinced it’s still there. I’ve heard you telling Dr Carlyle how much it’s hurting you.’
A couple of the other men muttered in agreement. ‘I get that too,’ Corporal Bennett agreed. ‘I could swear my arm is still there sometimes. The doctor reckons it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.’
‘Exactly, Corporal,’ Grace said. ‘Your mind is a very powerful thing. It can make you believe all kinds of things, like your arm’s not missing, or there are German snipers hiding on the ward, or that you can’t walk …’
She was aware that a hush had fallen over the men. At first Grace thought it might be her impassioned speech that had stunned all of them into silence – until she turned round and saw Miss Sutton standing there, bristling in her grey uniform. Dr Carlyle was with her.
‘Nurse Duffield,’ Miss Sutton shook her head, jowls wobbling. ‘I might have known it would be you, causing a commotion as usual.’
‘It’s my fault, Sister,’ Sergeant McCray spoke up, breaking the silence. ‘I was the one who started it.’
‘Be that as it may, Sergeant, Nurse Duffield should know better than to join in.’ Miss Sutton turned her beady eyes to Grace. ‘I’m surprised at you, Nurse.’ She shook her head. ‘What have I always told you about maintaining a calm, cheerful disposition?’
‘Sorry, Sister.’ Grace studied the toes of her stout black shoes. She had forgotten to polish them the previous night. She hoped Sister didn’t notice the scuff marks.
There was no point trying to defend herself. All Grace could do was stand there, cheeks burning with humiliation, and hope that the storm of Miss Sutton’s anger blew itself out sooner rather than later.
But the worst of it was that Dr Carlyle was watching her with those shrewd dark eyes of hers. God only knew what she made of it all.
Finally, after five minutes of hearing how incompetent, irresponsible and utterly unsuited to nursing she was, and with a few dark threats about sending her to Matron, Grace was allowed to escape.
To her relief, Miss Sutton dismissed her to the new ward to help settle the patients.
Private Gordon was still in his wheelchair, beside his freshly made bed. The orderly was trying to chat to him, but Gordon had turned his head away, staring listlessly out of the French windows.
‘What a lovely spot you have, Private Gordon. Talk about a room with a view!’ Grace went to the French windows and peered out. ‘And, look, you can see your old ward from here. You and Corporal Sallis can wave to each other.’
Gordon sent her a gloomy look, but said nothing. His eyes were still red-rimmed from crying.
‘He’s had a bit of an accident, Nurse.’ The orderly nodded towards the dark stain in the lap of Gordon’s hospital gown.
‘Oh. Well, never mind. You wait there, Private Gordon, and I’ll fetch some water to get you washed. We’ll soon have you nice and comfortable again.’
As Grace was returning with the washing trolley, she nearly collided with Kate Carlyle emerging from one of the side rooms. Fortunately, Grace just managed to pull the trolley to a stop before she mowed the doctor down.
‘Sorry, Doctor, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘No, Nurse, it was I who should have been paying attention.’ Dr Carlyle eyed the trolley. ‘Where are you off to with that?’
‘Private Gordon needs cleaning up, Doctor.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘He’s just a bit unsettled,’ Grace said.
‘Right. Yes.’
‘I’ll get on with it then …’
Grace had started to push the trolley away when Dr Carlyle called out, ‘I heard what you said to that patient – the amputee?’
Grace gave her an embarrassed smile. ‘You couldn’t really miss it, could you?’
‘Indeed. I had no idea you could shout so loud, Nurse Duffield.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised, Doctor. I grew up with eleven brothers and sisters. You have to be able to shout just to be heard among that lot!’
Dr Carlyle’s brows rose, and Grace wondered why she had spoken so freely to her. Most doctors barely knew the nurses’ names, they certainly wouldn’t care about their families.
‘Anyway, I’ve told Sister it won’t happen again,’ she mumbled.
‘I should hope not, Nurse. The last thing the men on a shell shock ward need is someone shouting at them like a sergeant major.’
Grace frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor, I don’t think I understand?’
‘It’s quite simple, Nurse.’ Kate Carlyle smiled at her. ‘I’m asking you if you would come and work with Dr Logan and me on Wilson ward
?’
Grace’s mouth fell open. ‘Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly!’
Dr Carlyle’s smile hardened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘After hearing what you said, I was under the impression you might enjoy the work …’
‘Oh, I would,’ Grace said in a rush. ‘I’d like nothing more. It’s just – I don’t think I’m up to the job.’
‘Why not?’
Grace felt herself blushing again. ‘You must have seen how clumsy and accident-prone I can be?’
‘I’ve also seen how compassionate you are,’ Kate Carlyle said. ‘That’s what we need on this ward, Nurse. Someone who will take the trouble to get to know the men, to understand them. I believe you would be perfect.’
Grace stared at her. No one had ever called her perfect before.
‘In that case, I would very much like to work here,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’
‘That’s settled then. Now, I’ll leave you to get on with Private Gordon.’
As Dr Carlyle walked away, Grace looked down at her hands, gripping the handle of the washing trolley.
‘Dr Carlyle?’
Kate Carlyle stopped and turned to face her. ‘Yes?’
‘About Private Gordon … I wonder, would it be possible for Corporal Sallis to move to Wilson ward, too? I know his injuries are only physical,’ she went on in a rush, ‘but I really think it would do Private Gordon the world of good to have him here. They’ve become such good friends …’
Her voice trailed off. Kate Carlyle was staring at her with that inscrutable dark gaze, and for a terrible moment Grace felt sure she was going to tell her that she had made a mistake and would not be moving her to Wilson ward after all.
But then, suddenly, she smiled. ‘I knew there was a reason why I chose you for this work, Nurse. Yes, I do believe transferring Corporal Sallis would be an excellent idea. I’ll talk to Sister and make the arrangements.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
As Grace had imagined, finding out that he was to be reunited with his friend did wonders for Private Gordon’s sagging spirits, and he seemed quite happy once she had washed him and got him into a fresh gown.
She left the orderly to get him into bed, and hurried back to the other ward. It was already dark outside, and there were still several men to be transferred before teatime.
She had barely got through the double doors before Miss Sutton bore down angrily on her.
‘Nurse Duffield?’
I am not going to miss that voice, Grace thought as she turned around, pinning a smile to her face.
‘Yes, Sister?’ Even the carping ward sister could not destroy her sunny mood.
‘Where have you been all this time?’
‘One of the patients on Wilson needed cleaning up, Sister.’
Miss Sutton’s mouth pursed. ‘Dr Carlyle has informed me you’re moving,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see you go.’
I can’t say I will, either, Grace thought.
‘But you’re still here now, and there is work to be done.’ The ward sister’s beady eyes were narrowed under the doughy folds of her face. ‘There is a new patient on their way up from Admissions. See to him, please, and put him in Private Gordon’s old bed.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘And do stop smiling, Nurse. It’s one thing for a nurse to look cheerful, but you seem positively manic.’
I don’t care, Grace thought, as Miss Sutton plodded away. Dr Carlyle’s warm praise still glowed inside her, and not even Sister could take that away from her.
The double doors swung open and two orderlies appeared, bearing a stretcher with a hunched shape covered in a blanket. Grace went over to them.
‘He’s to go over there, bed three,’ she instructed. She picked up his notes. ‘It’s all right, we’ll soon have you nice and comfortable, Private—’ She saw the name on the notes, and the words died on her lips.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dear Tom,
Thank you for your letter. As you can see, my knitting has not improved since the last pair of socks I sent you! But they will help keep your feet nice and dry, and that is the main thing. It has barely stopped raining here, and every time I see it, I think about you and Edward and all the poor men out there in your trenches. I do hope the weather will improve for you soon.
It was so nice of you to remember Papa, and to include a letter for him. I’m sure he will appreciate it. As it happens, I received a letter from Mother only this morning, giving their new address. She says she and Papa are settling in well in Germany. They are staying with some distant cousins, but are hoping to find a place of their own soon. Mother says everyone has been very kind to them, but I fear she’s putting on a brave face for my sake. As she says, we must make the best of the situation. But I do miss her and Papa dreadfully, even though it has only been a couple of weeks since they left. I can still scarcely allow myself to think that I might never see them again …
A tear splashed on to the paper, and Anna blotted it carefully to stop it smudging the writing. She wished she could stop crying. Sister had commented on her red-rimmed eyes that morning.
‘Really, Nurse Beck, don’t you think the men have enough problems of their own without seeing your long face?’ she had scolded. ‘Cheerfulness is what they need.’
Anna wiped her running nose on her handkerchief and continued writing.
No, I wasn’t really surprised when Papa told me he was giving me the bakery. He knows I love the place as much as he does, and that I will take care of it. I look forward to the day Edward comes home, when we can run the place together, just like Mother and Papa did for all those years. We’ll fill the place with love and laughter and happiness again, just as they did.
She paused for a moment, her pen hovering over the paper. Writing Edward’s name brought a rush of guilt.
What would he say if he knew she was writing to Tom Franklin? There had been no love lost between Tom and Edward when they’d worked together at the bakery. As far as Edward was concerned, the Franklins were criminal scum.
He was right, too. All the Franklin boys, including Tom, had spent their lives in and out of jail. But unlike his brothers, Tom had managed to turn his back on a life of crime, thanks to Anna’s father giving him a job and the chance to go straight. He had changed his life, but Edward would never give him credit for it.
‘Once a Franklin, always a Franklin,’ he would say. ‘Your father doesn’t know what kind of a viper he’s invited into his nest.’
But Tom had proved himself when he saved Anna and her family from the fire that had swept through the bakery and the rooms above. And he had been a loyal friend ever since, helping to rebuild their home and business for them.
Not that Edward would ever understand that. Anna had tried to explain everything that Tom had done for them, but Edward had made it clear he didn’t even like to hear his name mentioned, so in the end she had given up.
It was strange that Edward wouldn’t give Tom a chance, she thought, especially when the paths of their lives had been so similar. As an orphan, straight out of the children’s home, Edward had fallen in with the Franklin boys and nearly ended up in prison himself. Like Tom, her father had been Edward’s salvation, taking him on as an apprentice and giving him a fresh start in life.
But for some reason, Edward seemed to resent Tom being given the same opportunity. It was something Anna could never understand.
Tom seemed just as antagonistic towards Edward, too. Anna was usually careful not to mention the other’s name in her letters to both men. But Tom knew that Edward was her fiancé, so why shouldn’t she mention their future together?
She put pen to paper again, and went on writing.
In the meantime, I have taken on someone to help in the kitchen. His name is Charlie, and he’s Mrs Church’s nephew. He trained at another bakery in Hackney before he enlisted, but since he was discharged he’s been looking for work. He seems to know what he’s doing, and he’s b
right and willing enough, so I hope he’ll do.
Not that he would ever have met her father’s standards, Anna thought. But at least the bread was getting made every morning, and he was willing to work for the pittance she could afford to pay him. All the same, she wished Papa or Edward could be there to keep an eye on him. A day under Friedrich Beck’s watchful eye would have knocked him into shape.
She finished her letter to Tom, then tucked it carefully inside the parcel of chocolate and cigarettes she had wrapped for him. She placed it on the mantelpiece next to the identical package she had prepared for Edward.
She sat back and stretched out her arms, then glanced at the clock. It was twenty-five-past four, and she was due on duty at five o’clock. She was already dreading the thought of heading out in the rain again. She had barely dried out from her last soaking.
She was in the common room, trying to dry her shoes out in front of the fire, when she heard the front door open. The next moment she caught sight of a flurry of navy blue cap through the open common-room doorway as Grace rushed past, heading for the stairs.
‘I hope you’re not running, Duffield?’ Anna laughed. ‘You know what Sister says. Only in the case of fire or haemorrhage—’
She broke off at the sight of Grace turning round to stand in the common-room doorway. She looked even more dishevelled than usual. Most of her hair had managed to escape its restraining pins and now hung in damp strands around her face. There were holes in both knees of her black woollen stockings, exposing grazed, dirty skin. She had tripped and fallen again. It was nothing unusual for Duffield. The knees of her stockings were permanently darned.
But it was her ashen face that stopped Anna in her tracks.
‘Duffield, what is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
She saw the sympathy in her friend’s hazel eyes and dread settled in her stomach like a cold, hard stone.
‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Tell me!’
‘Oh, Anna,’ Grace whispered. ‘It’s Edward …’
Gas poisoning.
They were the only two words Anna heard. She saw Miss Sutton’s mouth moving, but didn’t take in the rest of what she said.
Nightingale Wedding Bells Page 8
