A Nightingale Christmas Promise

by Donna Douglas

  And yet … perhaps he had a point. Keeping her guard up had not served her very well so far, had it? Perhaps it was time to try a different tack?

  She looked down at the sprig of mistletoe in her hand and smiled again at the thought of poor Charlie Latimer.

  That morning she was assisting Dr Werner with a post-mortem on a nephritis case. As usual, he took gleeful pleasure in pointing out the affected organs, in this case the shrunken glomeruli and the tubular degeneration.

  ‘Death would be inevitable with such a level of inflammation,’ he said, with a smile that Kate had come to realise had nothing to do with the patient’s demise. Dr Werner treated every PM as a kind of puzzle, and was always delighted when he could come up with a clear solution.

  The patient had been one of Dr Ormerod’s but it was Charlie Latimer who came down for the results. He stood sheepishly, clutching the patient’s notes, not meeting Kate’s eye as Dr Werner went through the results of the post-mortem.

  It wasn’t until Dr Werner left that Charlie whispered to her, ‘Miss Carlyle … May I have a word?’

  Kate turned to him. ‘What is it, Dr Latimer?’

  He blushed to the roots of his sandy hair. ‘It’s about last night.’

  ‘Oh, yes? What about it?’

  ‘I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself. I’m sorry if I caused you offence, I didn’t mean to, truly …’

  Kate looked at him in silence. She had never known him to be tongue-tied, but now he seemed to be tripping and stumbling over every word.

  ‘I feel terrible about it,’ he went on. ‘You’re the last person I would ever want to offend. You know, I hold you in very high regard …’

  He looked up at her, his green eyes meeting hers, full of contrition.

  ‘It’s all right, Dr Latimer,’ Kate said. ‘I understand. You were in rather – high spirits, as I recall.’

  ‘Do you mean drunk? Oh, Lord, yes, I was. Very drunk indeed.’

  ‘Dutch courage, you called it.’

  ‘Did I say that? Oh, dear.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Talk about in vino veritas.’ He looked at her ruefully. ‘I have to tell you, Miss Carlyle, that when I pay court to a young lady I usually do it with rather more decorum than I showed last night.’

  Kate stared at him. ‘Pay court?’

  His blush deepened. ‘Lord, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Put my foot in it, I mean.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What I’m trying to say, in my clumsy way, is that I like you. I like you very much. But surely you must have known that? You must have noticed me admiring you from afar, so to speak.’

  ‘No. Indeed, I – I put it down to a drunken escapade.’ She looked up at him. ‘It never occurred to me you might be serious?’

  ‘Well, I am. Very serious. Although I daresay you now think I’m a complete buffoon and will never want to speak to me again.’

  You know what they call you? The Ice Maiden. Kate opened her mouth, then closed it again as Rufus’ words came back to her.

  It’s called being friendly. You might try it sometime.

  ‘What’s this?’ Charlie Latimer looked down at the object Kate pressed into his hand.

  ‘Your mistletoe. You left it in the lab last night.’

  ‘Oh, Lord.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It would be a shame to let it go to waste.’

  He looked at her, baffled. ‘What? I don’t understand …’

  Give people a chance.

  She smiled at him. ‘I think you do, Dr Latimer.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anna’s mother rarely spoke about the house in Belgravia where she grew up. So Anna had no idea what to expect when they arrived at the house in Belgrave Square in the rain on Boxing Day morning.

  ‘It’s like a palace!’ Liesel whispered as they stood at the foot of the steps, looking up at the grand, white-painted Georgian façade. Elegant pillars framed the glossy black front door. ‘Did you really live here, Mother?’

  ‘Once. A long time ago.’ Dorothy was tight-lipped. Anna could see the tension on her mother’s face as she stood there, staring up at the door.

  For a moment none of them moved. ‘Should we knock?’ Liesel said, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. ‘I’m soaking wet.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Dorothy forced a smile.

  As she followed her mother up the steps, Anna thought she saw a lace curtain twitch in one of the front windows. But as soon as she looked round, the curtain dropped.

  At the top of the steps Dorothy paused for a moment to compose herself, brushing the rain from her borrowed coat. Anna felt for her. She would have liked her to be able to face her mother with more dignity, not in rough, ill-fitting clothes.

  Dorothy tugged on the bell pull, and waited.

  ‘There’s no one at home,’ Liesel whispered.

  ‘Wait. Someone will come.’ No sooner had her mother said it than the door opened and a man in butler’s livery poked his head out.

  ‘Hawkers are to use the servants’ entrance,’ he barked.

  Dorothy stood her ground. ‘We are not hawkers,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘My name is Dorothy Beck, Grey as was, and this is my mother’s house.’

  The butler stared at her for a moment, then closed the door in her face.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Liesel asked. ‘Why won’t he let us in?’

  ‘Be patient,’ Anna whispered back.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later the door opened again and this time the man stepped aside to let them in.

  He led the way down the hall and opened a door to their left. ‘Wait in the library while I speak to your mother,’ he instructed Anna and Liesel.

  Anna looked at her mother. Dorothy nodded, and the girls went in.

  The room was small and cold, with a fireplace that looked as if it had not been used in years. Thick velvet curtains shut out what meagre grey daylight there was. The book-lined walls gave off a smell of dust and damp.

  But Liesel was still impressed. She stood before a gilt-framed painting of a severe-looking old man who frowned down on them.

  ‘Do you think that’s our grandfather?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Anna shivered. She looked around for a lamp to light.

  ‘Look at all these ornaments on the mantelpiece. I’ve never seen so many lovely things.’

  ‘It’s like a museum.’ No wonder her mother had wanted to escape it.

  The door opened and her mother came in. Then the door closed again.

  ‘What’s happening, Mother?’ Anna asked.

  ‘We must wait for your grandmother to make up her mind whether she wishes to see us.’

  ‘But why wouldn’t she want to see us?’ Liesel asked. ‘We’re her family!’

  Her mother gave her a sad smile. ‘That is not your grandmother’s way.’

  After a few more minutes, the butler reappeared. ‘Mrs Grey will see you now,’ he said.

  He led them back down the passage and through another door, and suddenly Anna found herself in the presence of her grandmother.

  Hester Grey was like her house: stiff and formal, with no warmth. She was in her late sixties, as thin as a whip and fiercely elegant if old-fashioned in her heavily corseted Victorian dress. Anna searched her face to find some resemblance to her own mother’s, but even though they had the same blue eyes and high cheekbones, Hester shared none of Dorothy Beck’s warmth and kindness.

  She surveyed them all in silence. ‘Well,’ she said finally. ‘So here you are.’ Her voice was dry but as clear as crystal.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ Dorothy said.

  Hester turned on her. ‘I wonder you would still address me so, considering how long it is since I’ve seen you,’ she said coldly.

  Anna glanced nervously at her mother, but Dorothy only smiled.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It has been a long time, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Twenty three years. Twenty three years since you ran off in the middle of the
night.’ Hester’s thin mouth tightened. ‘And now Morton tells me you have nothing?’

  Dorothy lowered her gaze. ‘It’s true we have lost our home and all our possessions in a fire,’ she said.

  ‘And where is your husband? Surely he should be the one looking after you?’

  ‘They’ve taken him away to an internment camp.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Anna saw a flash of malice in her grandmother’s eyes. ‘And so you have come crawling back like a beggar? The proud girl who told me the man she loved was going to make a wonderful new life for her.’ Her mouth twisted mockingly. ‘How the mighty are fallen!’

  Anna waited for her mother to retaliate, but Dorothy hung her head humbly and said, ‘Will you help us?’

  ‘I don’t see why I should when you have ignored me for so many years. Ten years I’ve lived alone since your father died, and not once have I heard a word from you.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Anna protested. ‘Mother wrote to you after our grandfather died. She begged you to let her come to the funeral but you refused. And Papa sent you a Christmas cake every year …’

  She caught her mother’s stricken expression and closed her mouth, but it was too late. Her grandmother turned slowly to face her.

  ‘And who are you?’

  ‘This is Anna,’ her mother answered for her.

  ‘And I’m Liesel,’ her sister joined in, determined not to be left out as usual.

  ‘You are impertinent!’ her grandmother snapped. She lifted the pince-nez that dangled from a chain around her neck and peered at her younger granddaughter. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘She looks like you did at her age,’ Hester commented to her daughter. She turned to Anna then, her mouth turning down. ‘I suppose you must take after him,’ she said shortly.

  Anna pressed her lips together to stop herself from speaking out again. She let her gaze wander around the room, taking in the dark, old-fashioned furnishings. It was dimly lit, with crimson walls and dark wood and the heavy, cloying scent of violets in the air.

  Her grandmother lowered herself on to the couch. ‘Of course I knew it would happen eventually,’ she said. ‘The day you ran away with him, I knew one day he would let you down and you would have to come home.’

  ‘He hasn’t let us down!’ Anna protested, but Hester ignored her.

  ‘Come closer.’ She held out her hands to Dorothy. ‘Let me look at you.’

  Dorothy approached cautiously and stood still as Hester looked her over.

  ‘How he has dragged you down!’ she murmured. She seized her daughter’s hands and examined them. ‘And look! My kitchen maid has prettier hands than yours.’ She shook her head in sorrow. ‘You have aged so much, but that is not surprising. I daresay you’ve led a hard life. Much harder than the one your father and I had hoped you might lead.’

  Anna waited for her mother to say something, but Dorothy merely hung her head, the picture of contrition.

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  Hester released her hands. ‘I should turn you away, you know, after the cruel way you treated your father and me.’ She sighed. ‘But you are still my daughter, and I know my duty even if you don’t. So I must find it in my heart to take you in.’

  What heart? Anna thought. She was sure Hester had nothing more than a piece of flint under that stiff, high-necked gown.

  She rang a small bell on the table beside her and almost immediately the door opened and the butler appeared.

  ‘Morton, prepare some rooms for my daughter and her –’ she waved her hand vaguely in the direction of Anna and Liesel ‘– to stay, if you please. And we must find you some clothes,’ she added in an undertone. ‘You cannot be allowed to live under my roof dressed as ragamuffins.’

  ‘It’s quite all right, you don’t have to find a place for me,’ Anna said. ‘I have a room at the hospital.’

  ‘Anna is a nurse,’ Dorothy explained.

  ‘Is she, indeed?’ Hester stared at Anna over her pince-nez, her long nose wrinkling. ‘How very modern.’

  She took off her spectacles. ‘Wait in the library until Morton has arranged some suitable accommodation for you,’ she said.

  The suitable accommodation turned out to be two narrow rooms up in the attic, just along the passage from the maids’ quarters.

  Anna was outraged. ‘You’d think in a house as big as this she would be able to find you a decent room!’ she said.

  ‘Hush, we mustn’t complain,’ her mother said. ‘At least we have a roof over our heads, which is more than we had this morning. I wasn’t certain we would be allowed to stay at all.’

  ‘How could she turn us away?’ Liesel said.

  Anna looked at her mother, but neither of them said anything.

  ‘Besides, it’s quite cosy,’ Dorothy went on brightly. ‘And it isn’t as if we have to find space for any belongings.’ She looked away, her lips trembling.

  Anna went to the tiny dormer window and peered down to the street below. On the other side of the road was a large, leafy square, surrounded by wrought-iron fencing. Governesses and nannies pushed prams or walked their charges. She could hear squeals of childish laughter.

  ‘I wish there were somewhere else we could go,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ Liesel piped up. ‘I like it here.’

  Anna glanced at her mother. Dorothy Beck looked even more wretched than she had this morning, if that was possible.

  ‘How will you bear it here?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ Her mother smiled wearily. ‘We don’t have any other choice.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Christmas truce was on the front page of all the newspapers.

  Eleanor heard the soldiers discussing it as she changed the dressing on a patient’s shoulder wound. On the other side of the screen, one of the men was reading the story aloud.

  ‘It says here they shook hands through the barbed wire in the middle of no-man’s-land,’ he said to his friend in the next bed. ‘Can you believe it?’

  ‘I’m surprised they didn’t break their necks getting there,’ one of the men said.

  ‘Or drown,’ another joined in. ‘Some of those shell holes are sodding deep.’

  ‘Our side heard the Germans singing carols from their trenches, so they joined in,’ the first man read on. ‘They started shouting to each other, then the next thing they’d gone over the top to meet.’

  ‘I wonder who went over first?’ one of the men mused.

  ‘It wouldn’t be me!’ The man whose shoulder Eleanor was dressing muttered under his breath. ‘You can’t trust a bloody Hun further than you can throw him. Pardon my language, Nurse.’

  The men on the other side of the screen were still discussing the matter.

  ‘You know, something similar happened to me,’ one of them was saying. ‘The Germans stopped firing so the medics could collect our wounded from no-man’s-land. Then we did the same for them. I reckon I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for them doing that.’

  ‘Listen to him!’ Eleanor’s patient rolled his eyes. He was in his thirties, a tough-looking man with a square, scarred face. ‘They sound like bloody collaborators.’

  ‘That’s what the newspapers call them,’ Eleanor said. Her father had not been impressed with the stories about the truce, either.

  ‘Those men are there to fight for their country, not hold hands with the Hun!’ he had said. ‘I hope I never hear of your brother doing anything of that sort.’

  She had managed to get a couple of days off to go home to Hampshire over Christmas. Her father had read out Harry’s latest letter to them as they gathered around the fire. He told them how he had marched into France from Belgium, and people had come from their houses to greet the British troops, waving and cheering as if they were heroes.

  Then they had all raised a glass of sherry to him, but still Eleanor had felt his absence keenly. Her brother was always so full of life, the house had seemed quiet
and empty without him.

  She finished what she was doing and gathered up the soiled dressings on the trolley, ready for burning. As she headed for the sluice room she crashed straight into a second trolley, piled high with more dressings awaiting disposal.

  She stormed into the sluice to find Anna standing at the sink, her face turned up towards the high metal grille. Seeing her standing there daydreaming made Eleanor’s already fraying temper snap.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘Did you leave that trolley outside?’

  Anna turned slowly to face her, a dazed expression on her face.

  ‘What if Sister had found it?’ Eleanor cut her off before she had time to open her mouth. ‘We would both have been in trouble then. You need to get it down to the stoke hole, stat.’

  Anna didn’t move.

  ‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ Eleanor sighed impatiently. ‘I’m not going to end up with a black mark in the ward book because you’re too lazy to—’

  ‘Leave her alone.’

  Eleanor swung round. Miriam Trott stood in the passageway. She looked past Eleanor at Anna.

  ‘I’ll take it down to the stoke hole for you,’ she said.

  Eleanor stared at her. ‘But it’s her job.’

  ‘I said I’ll do it,’ Miriam cut her off firmly. She took hold of the trolley and marched off. Eleanor followed her, pushing her own trolley.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said. ‘Why are you sticking up for her all of a sudden?’ It wasn’t like Trott to do anyone a favour.

  Miriam looked back at her. ‘Oh, I forgot, you’ve been away. You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Her father’s bakery burnt down.’

  Eleanor gasped. ‘No! When did it happen?’

  ‘Three days ago, on Christmas night. They were all there, Beck and her sister and mother. They could have died in their beds.’

  ‘How awful.’ Eleanor shuddered. ‘Are they all right?’