‘Her little girl.’ Sadie smiled wanly.
But she didn’t have a chance to say any more because the next minute Belle was on her feet.
‘About bloody time you showed your face!’ she bellowed across the Casualty hall, ignoring the looks of the other people waiting on the benches. ‘I hope you’ve come to tell us you’ve found the bastard?’
Sadie looked around and saw Peter Machin coming towards them, his helmet tucked under his arm. His face was bright scarlet under his neatly combed hair.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got people out looking for him. We’ll find him, don’t you worry.’
‘You should never have let him out in the first place,’ Belle muttered, sitting down again.
Peter turned to Sadie. ‘How is your mother?’
She shook her head, tried to answer him, but the words wouldn’t come.
‘She’s still unconscious,’ Belle answered for her brusquely. ‘And she’s got three broken ribs, a fractured arm and internal bleeding where her organs ruptured.’
Peter’s colour deepened. ‘I’m sorry. Will she be all right?’
‘What do you think?’
‘We’re waiting for her to regain consciousness,’ Sadie managed to reply.
‘I see.’ Peter hesitated. ‘I wondered if you’d be able to answer some questions?’ he asked Sadie.
‘Her mother’s in there, fighting for her life, and you want her to answer questions?’ Belle turned on him, jabbing her finger in his face. ‘You should be out there looking for Jimmy Clyde, not in here waving your bloody notebook around!’
‘It’s all right, Belle. I don’t mind answering questions if it helps.’ Sadie turned to Peter. ‘Shall we go outside? It’ll be quieter out there.’ She glanced back at Belle. ‘I won’t be a minute. Let me know if –’ her voice faltered.
‘– there’s any news,’ Belle finished for her with a nod.
She followed Peter outside, into the sunshine. Beyond the Casualty block, she could see figures dotted on the terraces and balconies of the main building, patients enjoying the sunshine.
‘Are you all right?’ Peter asked her.
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Peter looked embarrassed. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘You can find the swine who did this to her.’
‘I meant as your friend, not as a policeman.’
Sadie looked into his soulful, puppy dog eyes. She didn’t need a friend. She needed Jimmy Clyde caught.
‘You said you had some questions for me?’ she said.
‘Yes – yes.’ Fumbling, he took out his notebook and pencil. ‘You say you were there when the attack happened?’
‘Do you think I’d stand and watch her getting beaten senseless if I’d been there?’ Sadie snapped, then took a deep breath. ‘No,’ she said more calmly. ‘Ma sent me away before he went for her.’
‘So you didn’t see Clyde actually attack her?’
Sadie narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you trying to make out he didn’t do it?’
‘I’m just trying to get the facts.’
Sadie watched his pencil scratching in his notebook and fought the urge to snatch it out of his hand.
‘He’s going to get away with it, ain’t he?’ she said.
Peter hesitated. ‘It’s your word against his that he was there.’
‘And Ma’s,’ Sadie said.
‘If she—’
‘If she lives,’ Sadie finished for him. ‘And if she dies, he’ll get away with murder. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘It’ll be difficult to prove.’
‘And you won’t try very hard, will you?’ Sadie said. ‘I daresay you’re not even bothering to look for him now, are you? I mean, why would you when he’s got Billy Willis protecting him? Half you coppers are in the Willis family’s pay anyway.’
‘Sadie—’
‘And besides, what does it really matter what he did to my mother?’ Emotion clogged her throat. ‘She’s only a dock dolly, an old brass. Her life don’t count for anything.’
‘Shut up, will you?’ Peter wasn’t listening to her anymore. He was staring towards the Casualty block.
Sadie followed his gaze. There, in the doorway, stood Belle. As soon as Sadie saw her face she knew what had happened.
‘The doctor’s here,’ she said. ‘He wants to talk to you.’
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Moore and Duffield, you will be doing beds and backs. Trott and Beck, you will be doing dressings. Copeland, you will be doing the massage round – Copeland? Are you listening to me?’
Eleanor looked up sharply. Miss Parker was staring back at her, blue eyes beady behind her spectacles.
‘Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister.’
‘What did I just tell you to do?’
Eleanor glanced around at the other probationers. They all looked back at her sympathetically.
‘Beds and backs, Sister?’ she said hopefully.
Miss Parker shook her head. ‘Really, Copeland, I’m surprised at you. You used to be such a hard-working, conscientious nurse, but lately you’ve really slipped. Any more of this behaviour and I will be mentioning your name in my ward report.’ She sighed. ‘You will be doing the massage round with Duffield. You will be doing the left-hand side, beds one to fifteen, and Duffield can do beds sixteen to thirty. Is that clear enough for you?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Good. And when you’ve all finished the work you’ve been allotted, I expect you to make a start on cleaning. Visiting time is two o’clock, and I want this ward spotless.’
Eleanor’s heart sank in her chest. As if she didn’t know. The date had been marked in her diary for days now.
It was the date her parents were due to visit Harry.
Miss Parker finished handing out the work lists. As the probationers dispersed, Grace said, ‘I’ll swop with you, if you like?’
‘Why?’ Eleanor looked back at her blankly.
‘Your brother’s name is on my list, and I know you like to nurse him yourself.’
‘No!’ Eleanor hadn’t realised she had spoken so sharply until she saw the look of surprise on Grace’s face. ‘Better not,’ she said. ‘I’m already in Sister’s bad books. I don’t think she’d take kindly to me chopping and changing!’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Grace agreed.
Eleanor watched her heading off towards the sink room to prepare her trolley for the massage round. The truth was, she was glad Sister had not assigned her to look after Harry. She had been doing her best to avoid him, ever since he had dropped his bombshell.
Eleanor was still in a state of shock over his confession. It felt as if her world had been tipped on its axis, everything she trusted and believed in had been turned upside down by a few simple words.
I did this to myself.
At first she didn’t believe him. It was simply too bizarre, the idea that anyone would turn a gun on themselves. Especially not her brother Harry, who never ran away from anything.
She had a sudden mental picture of him, marching at the head of his column of khaki-clad young men, so proud to be going off to war.
And those letters he had sent from France, full of stories about the miles they had marched, the villages they had passed through and the warm welcome they had received wherever they went. Even in the thick of the Front line he’d managed to make light of it all, joking about life in the cramped trenches, and the near misses they’d had.
But then his letters had stopped. At the time Eleanor had assumed Harry was simply too busy to write to her. Now she knew it was because he could no longer bring himself to lie to his sister.
And yet he had done. He had come home wounded, and allowed everyone to think he was a hero. He’d concocted a story about being hit by a sniper in no-man’s-land, when really the only shot was from his own gun.
Harry had tried to explain to her, but Eleanor couldn’t bear to listen. She could hardly look
at him anymore, let alone speak to him. She knew how much her silence hurt him, but she didn’t care. He had hurt her, too. He had taken away from her everything she trusted, everything she believed in. Where once she had been so certain of everything, now she was filled with confusion.
She couldn’t hate him. He was still her brother, even if she barely recognised him anymore. And besides, she had seen enough cases of shell shock on the ward to understand that the battlefield could do strange things to a man.
But she couldn’t respect him, either. Just being his sister gave her a deep sense of shame and guilt. Sometimes she could scarcely face the other wounded soldiers on the ward, knowing what her brother had done.
She couldn’t even speak to anyone about it, because Harry had made her promise not to say a word. Eleanor knew only too well that if his secret was to come out then he would have to face a court martial, might even be shot for his cowardice.
But she had insisted that he should tell their parents. And today was the day he had to do it.
He had pleaded with Eleanor but she had stood firm.
‘You must tell them,’ she said. ‘They deserve to know.’
‘I can’t. You know what they’re like. Don’t make me do it, Ellie, please!’
‘Oh, stop it. Don’t be such a—’
A coward. The word hung unspoken in the air between them.
At first Eleanor had insisted out of spite, wanting to punish Harry for what he had done. But as the time of their parents’ visit drew nearer and her brother grew ever more withdrawn and desolate, she began to pity him.
‘What if they report me?’ he said.
‘They won’t,’ she tried to reassure him. ‘You’re their son, they’d never let anything happen to you. Of course they’re bound to be angry at first, but they’ll understand in the end.’
In spite of her assurances, her heart was in her mouth when visiting time came. Eleanor spotted her parents straight away among the throng of visitors that poured through the double doors. Her father stood tall and upright, holding himself proudly as he gazed around the ward. Her mother seemed more subdued as she looked from one bed to the next, taking in all the splints and heavily bandaged wounds and missing limbs.
Then she spotted Eleanor and gave her a little wave.
Eleanor went over to them. ‘Hello, Mother. Father,’ she greeted them.
‘Hello, darling.’ Her mother moved in to kiss her cheek. She smelt of powder and flowery perfume.
‘Well? Where is he?’ Her father scanned the ward eagerly. ‘Where is my boy?’
‘He’s out on the terrace.’
Her mother frowned. ‘In this weather? Surely he’ll catch a chill.’
‘He’s well wrapped up,’ Eleanor said. ‘Besides, he likes it out there.’ On his own, she added silently.
‘Do stop fussing, Muriel!’ Her father laughed. ‘Harry’s a soldier now. He’s used to tougher conditions than this, I assure you.’
‘How is he?’ her mother asked.
‘He’s recovering well. His shoulder has healed very nicely.’
‘You see? Tough as old boots. Even a Hun sniper couldn’t stop him in his tracks.’
‘But he’s still very troubled,’ Eleanor finished.
Her mother looked at her blankly. ‘Troubled?’
‘He finds it difficult to sleep.’ Eleanor searched for the right words. ‘And he can get – depressed – sometimes.’
‘I’m not surprised, being in here!’ Her father’s confident smile reasserted itself. ‘You know what Harry’s like, Muriel. He always has to be up and doing, never likes to sit still. Being cooped up in bed for weeks on end is enough to drive any sane man to despair.’
Eleanor looked at her father and apprehension began to snake its way up her spine. ‘I think you’d better see him for yourself,’ she said.
She busied herself about the ward, making tea for the patients and their families. But all the time she kept craning her neck towards the terrace, trying to see what was going on.
Miss Parker must have noticed because she said, ‘You may join your family if you wish, Copeland?’
‘No! I mean, thank you, Sister. But I’d best leave them to it if you don’t mind?’
‘As you wish.’ The ward sister sent her a puzzled look.
She was in the kitchen refilling the tea urn when Miriam Trott came in with a trolley laden with empty cups for washing.
‘I say, Copeland, your father just nearly knocked me flying. And he didn’t even bother to say excuse me!’
Eleanor looked back over her shoulder. ‘Are you sure it was my father?’
Miriam nodded. ‘Positive. He came in from the terrace and marched out of the ward without a by your leave. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the doors slam. Sister was not impressed, I can tell you!’ She smiled slyly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a word with you about it – where are you going? What about this washing up?’
‘You do it.’ Eleanor thrust the dishtowel into her hands and hurried out of the kitchen, just in time to see her mother coming towards her up the ward, her face pale and taut.
‘Where is your father?’ she asked.
‘Gone, I think. What’s happened, Mother?’
Muriel Copeland gave a slight shake of her head and hurried out of the ward. Eleanor followed her.
Once safely outside the double doors her mother took out a neatly folded handkerchief from her bag and dabbed her eyes.
‘Oh, Eleanor, it was simply dreadful,’ she whispered. ‘The things Harry said, I could hardly believe it …’
‘I know,’ she said quietly.
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘You knew? And you didn’t think to tell us?’
‘I – I didn’t know what to do for the best.’
‘Well, really, Eleanor, I think anything would have been better than being – ambushed in such a way.’ Muriel Copeland blew her nose delicately. ‘Your poor father, he was utterly beside himself.’
‘I’m sorry, Mother.’
‘Well, it’s done now, I suppose.’ She sniffed back her tears. ‘I must find him,’ she said, looking about her distractedly. ‘He was so upset.’
She tucked her handkerchief back into her bag and closed it with a resolute snap.
‘And how is Harry?’ Eleanor asked.
Her mother sent her a look of pure ice. ‘I don’t know,’ she snapped. ‘And after what I’ve heard, I can’t say that I care!’
Eleanor stared at her in shock. ‘You can’t mean that?’
‘Can’t I?’ Her mother’s voice was hard. ‘Your brother has just confessed to us that he is a coward.’
‘He’s not a coward! He was scared—’
‘You think all those other men weren’t scared?’ Her mother pointed a shaking finger towards the ward doors. ‘Those boys, younger than him some of them, who’ve never been away from home in their lives? They’re separated from their families and their loved ones, and sent off to a foreign country and given a gun and told to fight. You think they’re not frightened out of their wits? But you don’t see them turning a gun on themselves so they can be sent home, do you? No, they put their shoulders to the wheel and get on with it, like the real men they are.’ She lifted her chin. ‘They’re the ones who make me proud. But Harry …’ She glanced back towards the ward doors. ‘I barely know him anymore. And I don’t think I want to, either.’
‘But he’s your son!’
‘Not any more. I’m ashamed to think about him.’
As she turned to walk away, Eleanor said, ‘You won’t tell anyone what happened, will you?’
Her mother looked back at her, stony-faced. ‘Tell anyone? You think I’m going to go around boasting that my son is a coward?’
‘I mean the authorities.’ Eleanor swallowed hard. ‘It could be bad for Harry if they find out what really happened.’
Muriel Copeland stared at her, tight-lipped. ‘I don’t know what your father will do,’ she said. ‘But whatever it is, you
can be sure it will be no more than Harry deserves!’
Chapter Forty-Five
A week after Lily’s death, Sadie returned to her mother’s lodgings for the first time.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ Belle said, as they climbed the narrow, gloomy staircase. ‘I don’t mind sorting the place out by myself.’
‘No, I need to do it,’ Sadie said. ‘I owe it to Ma.’ She looked sideways at Belle. ‘I’ll be all right, honestly.’
But in spite of what she had said, Sadie’s heart was in her mouth as she turned the doorknob. And as soon as she stepped into the room, her knees began to buckle under her.
Belle swept in, hooking Sadie’s arm through hers. ‘Come on,’ she said, taking charge. ‘Let’s make a start, shall we? You’ll feel better if you keep busy.’
She was right. For the next hour, Sadie didn’t have to think as she swept and scrubbed and polished. They took down the curtains and stripped the bed, hung the rugs out of the window to shake the dust off, and cleaned out the ashes from the fireplace. All the time Sadie kept her eyes averted from the kettle on the stove, and tried not to think about the last time she had seen her mother standing there.
The only time her resolve nearly gave way was when she found a jagged fragment of pottery under the kitchen dresser. It bore the word ‘South’ in curly gold script.
‘What’s that?’ Belle said, looking over her shoulder.
‘It’s a bit of old jug. It got smashed when—’ Sadie stopped talking. Suddenly her chest felt very tight.
‘Not that one Lily got from Southend?’ Belle took the fragment and turned it over in her hand. ‘She loved that ugly old pot. I remember the day she bought it. The three of us went on a charabanc trip to the coast. I daresay you won’t remember, you can’t have been more than four or five.’
‘I do remember. You and Ma went paddling with your skirts up around your knees.’
‘So we did!’ Sadie chuckled. ‘And your ma spotted a crab in the water. I’ve never seen her run so fast! Shot up that beach like the devil himself was after her! I don’t think she went near the water again after that.’ She shook her head. ‘They were happy days.’
A Nightingale Christmas Promise Page 33