A Nightingale Christmas Promise

by Donna Douglas

  He turned back to her. ‘Yes?’

  His look of indifference infuriated Kate, pushing her to the limits of her self-control.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contradict me in front of the patients,’ she said.

  Rufus French straightened up, anger flaring in his eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said slowly. ‘Are you telling me I’m not to question you?’

  ‘Well, no, of course not, but—’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he cut her off abruptly. ‘Because, may I remind you, Miss Carlyle, I am the senior doctor here? And I am not about to take orders from a medical student. No matter who they are!’

  ‘I’m not giving—’ Kate started to say, but he was already walking away from her, striding down the ward. As she stared after him, she was suddenly aware that once again the nurses had all paused in their work to listen and to watch. Even the patients had fallen silent. At the far end of the ward she could see Miss Sutton monitoring the scene from the doorway to the private rooms, a forbidding expression on her face.

  Fortunately, Kate didn’t have to meet Rufus French again for the rest of the morning. Monaghan, the other Female Medical ward, was due to be given over to military patients, and Kate had the job of helping to decide which of the patients needed to be moved to another ward, and which were well enough to be discharged.

  Her last patient on the ward was another gastric ulcer.

  ‘She was only admitted yesterday,’ Staff Nurse Hanley, the acting ward sister, said. ‘She should really have gone to Everett, but they didn’t have a bed. I’ve already put her on the list to be moved …’

  Kate recognised Irene Hopkins the minute she pulled aside the screens. She was sitting up in bed in a freshly laundered nightgown, looking pleased with herself.

  But her face fell when she saw Kate.

  ‘Where’s the real doctor?’ she demanded, looking past Kate’s shoulder. ‘Isn’t he here?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Mrs Hopkins.’ Kate spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Now, what’s this about abdominal pains?’

  ‘Ooh, my belly’s playing me up something shocking.’ Mrs Hopkins remembered a little late in the day that she needed to look ill, and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. ‘Awful, it is.’

  ‘I see. Have you been sick?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Terribly.’

  ‘Any blood?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Mrs Hopkins nodded vigorously.

  ‘Hmm. We’d better have a look at you, then.’

  Kate performed a cursory examination, having already made up her mind. She could almost hear Rufus French’s mocking laughter.

  ‘Arrange for her to be discharged,’ she instructed Nurse Hanley.

  ‘But – but—’ Mrs Hopkins gasped. ‘My stomach pains!’

  ‘Your respiration, pulse rate and temperature are all perfectly normal,’ Kate said.

  Nurse Hanley looked anxious. ‘Are you quite sure? She only came in yesterday. Perhaps we should keep her in, just for a couple of days?

  ‘There’s no need,’ Kate said. ‘This woman is quite well.’

  ‘But I’ve been bringing up blood!’ Mrs Hopkins protested.

  ‘What colour is it?’

  Mrs Hopkins looked blankly at her. ‘Eh?’

  ‘The blood. What colour is it?’

  Mrs Hopkins eyed her suspiciously, sensing a trick. ‘Red, what else?’

  ‘There, you see?’ Kate turned to Nurse Hanley. ‘Blood from a gastric ulcer would be mixed with gastric fluids, giving it a darker colour.’

  Mrs Hopkins looked affronted. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hopkins, I am,’ Kate said.

  Nurse Hanley cleared her throat. ‘Miss Carlyle, I really think it would be safer to get a second opinion.’

  ‘We don’t need a second opinion,’ Kate cut in. ‘I know a gastric ulcer when I see one. And I know a malingerer when I see one, too.’

  ‘Well, of all the – I’ve never been so insulted in my life!’ Mrs Hopkins gaped at her. ‘And me an invalid.’

  ‘Mrs Hopkins, you’re as fit and well as I am.’ Kate turned to Nurse Hanley. ‘Please make arrangements to have this patient discharged.’

  Nurse Hanley did not move. She was a big woman, as tall and broad as a man, and she kept her large feet firmly planted. ‘I’m really not sure about this, Miss Carlyle,’ she said quietly. ‘Perhaps it might be better if Dr Ormerod or Dr French took a look?’

  The sound of Dr French’s name sent a fresh wave of rage through Kate. He would have a field day if she called him in to give a second opinion on Mrs Hopkins.

  ‘Nurse Hanley, I am giving you an order,’ she snapped. ‘We are stretched to capacity as it is, with military patients coming in every day and not enough doctors and nurses to look after them. The last thing we need is to waste our time nursing someone who doesn’t need our care.’ Kate glared at Mrs Hopkins. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, taking up a bed that could be used by a wounded soldier!’

  She walked away, still simmering.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dear Mother,

  I hope this letter finds you well. How is the Christmas Fundraising Drive going? I’m sure you and the committee have managed to make up lots of boxes to send out to our boys. I enclose some socks I’ve just finished knitting. Sorry they took such a long time, but the first pair I did was full of holes, so I doubt they would have kept anyone warm! I also enclose some chocolate. I hope it will make a more cheerful Christmas for our brave boys.

  Speaking of which, have you heard from Harry recently? I’ve written to him three times in the past month and I have yet to get a letter back from him. I know he was never the most dedicated of correspondents. Do you remember how you used to have to go on at him to write his thank you letters at Christmas? When he does write to you, please tell him to spare a thought for his poor sister. I do so long to hear from him.

  You’ll be pleased to learn I’ve finally been assigned to a military ward! Yesterday we spent the day moving the female medical patients out of Monaghan ward, and getting it ready for the soldiers to arrive. We had to take down all the beds, scrub the ward from top to bottom, clean the windows and polish the floors, then make up the beds again. We’ve had to line extra beds down the corridor that leads to the private rooms, as we’re expecting so many casualties. Sister says we won’t know what kind of injuries the men have until they arrive, so we’ve had to put in several fracture beds just in case.

  She warned us the soldiers would be in a terrible state. I wasn’t surprised, after what Father told us about the monstrous things the Huns have been doing to the poor people of Belgium. From what Sister said, it sounds as if Mr Bottomley was right about the special bullets they use, that tear the flesh and don’t leave a clean wound like our guns. I daresay I shall find out soon enough. A few of the other girls looked rather nervous at the prospect of what was to come, but I don’t mind. I’m very proud to be able to do something for the war effort at last. This is what I trained for, and I can’t wait to get started.

  On the other side of the room, Anna stirred in her sleep. Eleanor shielded the lamp with her hand and stayed very still, hoping the other girl wouldn’t wake up. Outside the thin curtains, she could hear the world stirring into life in the darkness, the sound of footsteps on gravel, the voices of weary porters and delivery men. It must be nearly time to get up, she thought.

  Anna turned over, pulling the covers close around her shoulders. Eleanor waited until she could hear the slow rhythmic breathing of sleep, then continued with her letter writing.

  The only infuriating thing is that Beck is going to be on the ward, too. Personally, I think it’s wrong that the daughter of a German should be allowed to nurse our boys, but Sister says we need all the help we can get. Working with her is bad enough, but it’s intolerable that I have to go on sharing a room with her. I keep asking if I can move, but Sedgewick still refuses to change places with me, and the Home Sister says the
re’s no space anywhere else.

  Eleanor paused before continuing, her pen poised, looking across at Anna’s slight, sleeping form.

  I’ve taken to ignoring her, as Father said I should. She still tries to talk to me, but I simply cut her dead. The only time I speak to her is when we’re on the ward, because I know Sister would not approve if I ignored her. She takes a dim view of ‘silly spats’, as she calls them. As if there is anything silly about this!

  ‘Six o’clock, Nurses. Time to get up.’

  Miss Westcombe’s voice rang out from downstairs, followed by the sound of her stout shoes on the stairs.

  ‘Come along now, girls. You’ll be wanted on the wards in an hour.’

  Anna rose sleepily from her bed, swinging her feet to the floor, still bleary-eyed.

  ‘Good morning,’ she mumbled, pushing the hair from her eyes.

  Eleanor turned her face away to stare at the wall. She heard Anna sigh, then her slippered footsteps padded across the floor and the door closed behind her.

  Eleanor slid her unfinished letter into the drawer of her bedside cupboard. It was so tiresome of Anna to continue trying to speak to her when she had made it obvious that she did not wish to talk.

  By seven o’clock they were back on Monaghan ward, preparing dressings, padding splints and checking the linen and china cupboards were properly stocked. Just before midday, Miriam Trott and Sadie Sedgewick arrived from their wards to lend a hand.

  ‘I hope Sister lets me stay here,’ Miriam said. ‘I’d much rather nurse wounded soldiers than women with ulcers.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder if any of them will be handsome?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said Sadie, who had been standing at the window looking out. ‘The first ambulances are just arriving.’

  The next hour was chaotic. As the men were brought in all the medical staff were darting about, the nurses hurrying to get the patients settled as quickly as they could, while Dr Latimer, Dr French and three medical students rushed from bed to bed, assessing their injuries and giving orders about the treatment to be administered.

  In the middle of it, Eleanor stood rooted to the spot, taking it all in. She thought she had prepared herself, but the scene still came as a terrible shock. It almost felt as if she was in the middle of a battlefield herself, surrounded by the stench of cordite and unwashed bodies, everything a blur of dirt and filth and torn uniforms, blood caked on hands and faces and limbs, or seeping through bandages, staining them dull brown.

  And the noise … many boys, grown men, screaming out in agony, while others whimpered and sobbed like babies, and others still lay in absolute silence, already half-dead.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, Copeland. You’re needed!’ A brisk voice shook Eleanor from her reverie. The new ward sister Miss Parker was a small woman, whip-thin, a no-nonsense Scot with bright blue eyes that missed nothing.

  They worked quickly: kneeling beside stretchers, carefully peeling blood-caked uniforms from wounded, shattered limbs, sponging the dirt from frightened faces. The doctors worked around them, examining the men, sending some straight down to the operating theatre and ordering treatment for others. Eleanor noticed how the medical students’ hands shook as they wrote up their notes, their faces pale and tense. She knew what they were thinking; these boys, with their broken bodies, crying out for their mothers, could so easily be them.

  Eleanor moved to help a young man. Both his legs were missing, bloodied stumps wrapped in stained dressings. As she wiped away the dirt from his face, he clutched her arm tightly.

  ‘Where am I?’ he whispered urgently, the whites of his eyes bright against his blackened face.

  Eleanor looked down at his hand gripping her arm, fingers biting through her sleeve. ‘You’re at the Nightingale Hospital.’

  ‘In England?’

  ‘Yes. London.’

  ‘Thank God!’ He released his grip and fell back against the pillows. Eleanor reached down to rinse out her flannel, but when she turned back he was lying very still, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

  Eleanor cried out and jumped to her feet, just as Miss Parker came along. She took one look at the young man and said, ‘Call an orderly and have him moved to one of the side rooms, then finish washing him. I’ll help you perform last offices.’

  It took a long time for Eleanor to finish washing the young man. At first she could hardly bring herself to touch the pale flesh, already cooling and so strangely heavy and inert. She could scarcely believe that the life could have gone out of him so suddenly and completely.

  She told Sister about the question he had asked before he died. Miss Parker did not seem at all surprised by it.

  ‘I’ve seen this before,’ she said. ‘They hold on and hold on until they reach home. Then, once they know they’re safe, the life just goes out of them.’ She looked across the bed at Eleanor. ‘For goodness’ sake, girl, get the blood from underneath his fingernails. I know it’s difficult, but this is our last act of respect for this young man. Don’t you think he deserves it?’

  Within a couple of hours, peace and order had been restored. All the men had been cleaned up and put to bed, their wounds dressed and broken limbs carefully splinted. Most were already asleep, lulled by the morphine they had been given.

  Eleanor took the last lot of soiled dressings down to the basement for burning. She stood for a moment beside the stoke hole, feeling its heat on her face. She knew she should return to the ward as quickly as she could, but her limbs were too heavy with weariness to move.

  She looked at the watch on her bib. It was past three o’clock, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning.

  As she returned to the ward, the first thing she heard was Miriam Trott’s voice, coming from the kitchen.

  ‘It’s delicious … what did you say it was called?’

  ‘Stollen,’ Anna said. ‘We make it every Christmas.’

  Eleanor went to the doorway and looked in. ‘What’s going on?’

  Miriam turned round to face her guiltily, a piece of cake in her hand.

  ‘Beck has brought in some special Christmas cake for us to try,’ Miriam explained, her mouth full. ‘Here, have some. It’s heavenly.’

  Eleanor ignored the plate she was offered. ‘Why have you brought that in?’

  Anna’s chin lifted. ‘It’s St Nicholas’ Day.’

  ‘In Germany the children don’t put stockings out on Christmas Eve. They put boots outside their doors on the evening of the fifth of December,’ Miriam said. ‘Isn’t that odd?’

  Eleanor went on staring at Anna. ‘Does Sister know about this?’

  ‘Does Sister know about what?’

  Eleanor swung round to face Miss Parker, who stood behind her.

  ‘Beck has brought in cake, Sister,’ she managed to find her voice.

  ‘Has she? Let’s see …’ The girls fell silent as Eleanor stood aside to let Miss Parker into the kitchen. Eleanor caught sight of Anna’s tense expression. Now she’s for it, she thought.

  Miss Parker examined the slices of cake on the place. ‘It’s Stollen, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  ‘I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never tried it. May I?’

  ‘Of course, Sister.’ Anna proffered the plate. Eleanor saw the smug glint in her eye as Miss Parker took a piece and tasted it.

  ‘Very nice,’ she declared. ‘Tell me, is there much to go round? Perhaps the men might like to try some with their tea?’

  Eleanor gasped. ‘But – but it’s German, Sister!’

  Miss Parker turned to face her, her blue eyes sharp. ‘So are Christmas trees, and carols, and nearly every other festive tradition we have,’ she said. ‘Are you proposing we should do away with those, too?’

  Eleanor felt scalding colour flooding her face. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other girls looking at her. She could only imagine how Anna Beck must be enjoying this moment.

  ‘I thought not.’ Miss Parker drew h
erself up to her full height. ‘Now, go back to work and stop talking so much nonsense. There is more than enough misery in the world at the moment without you going around trying to stir up more. And change your apron, it’s filthy,’ she added.

  Eleanor stood rooted to the spot as Miss Parker walked away. She could feel her ears burning with humiliation. The silence in the kitchen felt heavy with meaning.

  What was Sister thinking? Eleanor wondered. She could only imagine what her father would say about this. He would think Miss Parker a traitor, she was sure of it.

  ‘You don’t have to help handing it out.’ Anna’s voice was soft. Eleanor swung round to look at her. Her expression was carefully neutral, but Eleanor fancied she could see the glint of triumph in those brown eyes.

  ‘I have no intention of touching your wretched cake,’ she said haughtily. ‘If Sister wants it handed out she can do it herself!’

  She turned on her heel and marched back to the ward. She expected the other girls to follow, but a moment later saw Anna pushing the tea trolley down the length of the ward while Sadie handed out cake to the men.

  ‘I’m sure she meant well,’ Miriam said quietly. ‘It was meant as an act of kindness.’

  ‘Kindness?’ Eleanor turned on her. ‘Do you think it’s kind what the Germans have done to our boys?’ She pointed a shaking finger towards the door. ‘You’ve seen them, you’ve dressed their wounds. Does that look like an act of kindness to you?’

  ‘Just because we’re at war—’ Miriam started to say, but Eleanor cut her off.

  ‘They’re monsters,’ she said. ‘All of them. You have no idea what they’re doing out there – destroying villages and killing innocent people. My father told me they burnt down a convent last week, and laughed when the nuns were burning to death—’

  She saw the startled look on Miriam’s face and stopped speaking. What was the point? Eleanor thought. Miriam would never understand, because she didn’t know what it was like to have someone she loved at the Front. She didn’t know what it was like to lie awake at night, worrying …