The Nightingale Sisters

by Donna Douglas

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Donna Douglas

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Copyright

  About the Book

  To the student nurses at The Nightingale hospital, the ward sisters are heartless and frightening, with impossibly high standards. But the sisters have troubles of their own...

  Violet

  The new night sister is not all that she seems. Who is she and what dark secret is she hiding? As the mystery deepens, Sister Wren is determined to find out the truth.

  Dora

  The student nurse is struggling with her own secret, and with her heartbreak over Nick, the man who got away. A new arrival on the ward brings the chance to put a smile back on her face. But can she really get over Nick so easily?

  Millie

  Dora’s fellow student is also torn between the two men in her life. But then an unexpected friendship with an elderly patient makes her question where her heart – and her future – really lies.

  As the nation mourns the death of King George V, it seems as if nothing is ever going to be the same again, especially for the women at the Nightingale.

  About the Author

  Donna Douglas was born and brought up as a Londoner, but now lives in York with her husband. You can find out more about her and her books from her website – www.donnadouglas.co.uk, or follow her blog – donnadouglasauthor.wordpress.com.

  Also by Donna Douglas

  The Nightingale Girls

  The Nightingale Sisters

  Donna Douglas

  Chapter One

  IT WAS A bitterly cold December evening in 1935 when Violet Tanner arrived at the Nightingale Hospital in Bethnal Green.

  Fires were lit in every ward, as the biting snow-laden wind howled like a wild beast, flinging fistfuls of sleet at the windows. Babies cried in fear on the Children’s ward, and even the patients in Male Orthopaedics, usually so full of jokes and bravado, stared fearfully at the branches swaying close to the glass and agreed they’d never known a night like it.

  Outside, nurses on their way to supper clutched their thick navy cloaks around them as they hurried across the courtyard, heads bent, hands clapping on their starched caps as best they could.

  Sister Wren saw her first. She usually liked to arrive early to supper, but had stopped to reprimand a student she’d found taking a shortcut down the passageway that was reserved for sisters.

  The girl had complained that she couldn’t go outside because she’d forgotten her cloak. But Sister Wren was having none of it.

  ‘And whose fault is that? It doesn’t give you the right to wander down the sisters’ corridors, does it?’ she had snapped.

  ‘No, Sister.’ The girl, a second year called Benedict, was just the kind Sister Wren most despised, with that perky blonde prettiness which drew medical students like wasps around a jam jar.

  ‘No, indeed. Now go back the way you came and cross the courtyard like all the other nurses.’

  Benedict glanced apprehensively at the sleet thrashing against the window, then back at Sister Wren. Her round blue eyes were full of appeal. No doubt if Sister Wren had been a man she would be falling over herself by now, offering to carry her across the wind-swept courtyard.

  ‘No, Sister,’ she sighed.

  Sister Wren watched her walk back down the passageway, head bowed in defeat. She smiled to think what a bedraggled state the girl would be in when she returned from supper. With any luck, her ward sister would be utterly furious.

  She turned, saw the woman standing at the far end of the passageway, and hurried towards her.

  ‘You there!’ she called out bossily. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m looking for Matron’s office.’ Her voice was low and husky, with the slightest trace of a country accent. Sister Wren had to draw close to hear her.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘My name is Violet Tanner. I’m the new Night Sister.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sister Wren appraised the woman with a glance. In her early-thirties, very tall – although most people towered over Sister Wren, diminutive as she was – and dark. The hair that curled out from under her hat had the blue-black sheen of a magpie’s wing. Sister Wren always jealously noticed hair because hers was so thin and poor, no matter how many miracle permanent waves she had. The woman’s coat looked expensive, but was not the latest fashion. Sister Wren read Vogue and knew quality when she saw it, even if she couldn’t afford it herself.

  In short, someone worth knowing, she decided.

  ‘You’ve taken a wrong turning, I’m afraid. I’ll walk with you and show you the way,’ she offered.

  ‘There’s no need. If you just tell me where to go—’

  ‘It’s no trouble. I’m going that way myself.’

  She was actually heading in the opposite direction, but there was no chance she was going to miss being the first to find out everything about the new Night Sister.

  ‘My name is Miriam Trott, and I’m Sister on Gynae,’ she introduced herself as they set off. ‘You’ll call me Sister Wren, as that is the name of my ward.’

  Violet Tanner nodded, but didn’t make any further reply. In fact, she didn’t offer much conversation as Sister Wren led the way through a warren of passageways back to Matron’s office.

  ‘It’s rather a maze, isn’t it?’ she tried again. ‘So easy to get lost, with all these buildings stuck together in such a higgledy-piggledy fashion. But you’ll get used to it in time.’ She glanced sidelong at the new sister. ‘Was your last hospital a large place, too?’

  ‘I was nursing a private patient.’

  ‘Oh, and where was that?’

  ‘Suffolk.’ She bit out the word, as if reluctant to allow a single syllable to escape her lips.

  ‘Really? I have family in Suffolk.’ Sister Wren seized eagerly on the titbit. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘A small village. Very rural. I doubt you’d know it.’

  ‘Well, I might—’ Sister Wren took one look at Miss Tanner’s forbidding expression and did not
dare go on.

  She tried another tack. ‘I suppose you’ll be moving into the sisters’ block, if you haven’t already? Miss Filcher – the old Night Sister, that was – had the room across the hall from mine. Not that she died in that room,’ she added hastily. ‘No, she dropped dead on duty. Can you imagine it? She made sure she gave her report to all the ward sisters first, though. Typical Miss Filcher, always so conscientious.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, her room is very nice. It’s on the corner, so it’s double aspect. And it looks over the gardens . . .’

  ‘I won’t be living in.’

  Sister Wren stared at her. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I have made other arrangements.’

  ‘But all the sisters—’

  ‘Ah, I see where I am now. Matron’s office is at the end of this corridor, isn’t it?’ Miss Tanner cut her off bluntly. ‘I won’t keep you any longer, I’m sure you have a great deal to do.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Thank you very much for your help, Sister Wren.’

  ‘Wait . . . ,’ Sister Wren called after her. But Miss Tanner had already gone.

  The fact that Miss Tanner had been so infuriatingly vague didn’t stop Sister Wren being desperate to share all the gossip in the dining room.

  ‘I’ve seen her,’ she announced as she arrived, late and breathless, at the sisters’ table. Their corner of the dining room was an oasis of order and calm, their long table presided over by maids scuttling to and from the serving hatch. The rest of the vast dining room echoed to the clatter of plates, the scraping of chairs and the chatter of young women’s voices.

  ‘There you are, Miriam.’ Sister Blake looked up with a smile. ‘We were beginning to worry about you. We thought there might be an emergency on your ward.’

  ‘As if that would make her miss her supper,’ Sister Holmes muttered under her breath. Sister Wren glared at her as a maid quietly set a plate in front of her.

  ‘If you must know, I was taking our new Night Sister to Matron’s office.’ She looked around at them all in triumph. It wasn’t often she could command attention at the table. They were usually too busy discussing patients or listening to one of Sister Blake’s amusing stories.

  She waited for them to bombard her with eager questions. But all she got were a couple of interested nods before they went back to discussing the students’ new ward allocation.

  ‘Did you hear what I just said? I’ve met the new Night Sister,’ she prompted them.

  ‘And?’ Sister Hyde said. ‘Did she have two heads?’

  Sister Wren sent her a sour look but said nothing. Not even the other sisters spoke up to the Sister in charge of Female Chronics. Sister Hyde was in her sixties, tall, gaunt-framed and utterly fearsome. Sister Wren had been afraid of her since her own days as a student at the Nightingale.

  ‘I daresay we’ll all meet her soon enough,’ Sister Holmes observed, helping herself to vegetables from the serving dish.

  ‘Really, ladies, you could show a bit more interest,’ Sister Blake rebuked them mildly. ‘Sister Wren is desperate to share her gossip, and no one is listening to her.’ She turned to Sister Wren, her dark eyes sparkling. ‘You can tell me. I’m utterly agog.’

  ‘It’s hardly gossip,’ Sister Wren replied sullenly. She could never tell if Sister Blake was making fun of her or not. She always had a smile on her face, as if the whole world was some kind of private joke. ‘I’ve just seen her, that’s all.’

  ‘And what was she like?’

  ‘If you must know, I thought there was something rather odd about her.’

  ‘You were right, Sister Hyde. She does have two heads!’ Sister Blake laughed.

  ‘There’s something odd about all Night Sisters, if you ask me,’ Sister Parry chimed in from the far end of the table. ‘I’ve never understood what kind of nurse chooses to work a permanent night shift, prowling the corridors when everyone else is asleep.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ Sister Hyde said. ‘Patients tend to be very restless at night. That’s when they feel most frightened and alone. They need someone to reassure them.’

  ‘So do the nurses,’ Sister Holmes agreed. ‘It’s a big responsibility for a young student, finding herself in charge of a ward all night. They need someone reliable they can call on if there’s an emergency.’

  ‘I used to be more afraid of the Night Sister than glad to see her when I was a pro,’ Sister Blake confessed merrily. ‘I was always worried she’d come across us having a midnight tea party with the medical students in the ward kitchen.’

  The other sisters laughed, and even Sister Hyde looked slightly amused as she tutted and shook her head.

  ‘It’s not just that,’ Sister Wren insisted over their laughter. ‘There was something peculiar about Miss Tanner. Something . . . mysterious.’

  ‘Dear me, have you been reading those lurid detective magazines of yours again?’ Sister Holmes said. ‘You really shouldn’t, you know. They only give you nightmares.’

  Sister Wren felt her cheeks burn as the other sisters laughed. She thought about Miss Tanner’s clipped, abrupt manner and those dark eyes that never quite met hers.

  ‘You can laugh,’ she said. ‘But I’m telling you, there’s something about that woman that isn’t right.’

  Just before midnight, Violet Tanner made another round. The howling of the wild wind seemed more menacing in the darkness of the sleeping hospital, and the swaying tree branches clawed at the windows as if they would smash the glass. With all the noise outside, Violet barely had need of the soft-soled shoes she wore to move soundlessly down the winding corridors.

  The cluster of buildings, connected by a warren of passageways and staircases that had been so difficult for her to navigate during the day, was already beginning to seem familiar to her, even in the darkness.

  She turned a corner and found herself in an office corridor so long that the end was swallowed in impenetrable blackness. Violet held her torch higher, making the shadows leap and dance around her.

  As she passed the first door, a frightened squeal made her jump.

  ‘Who’s there?’ a voice squeaked. The next minute a woman’s face loomed out of the shadows, eyes bulging with terror. She brandished a broom like a weapon.

  Violet recognised her as one of the cleaners she had taken on earlier. As Night Sister, her first duty had been to go down to the Porters’ Lodge and choose from the women who gathered there every evening, hoping for a night’s work cleaning the offices. As it was so foul outside, only a few of the most desperate had come. Violet was glad she hadn’t had to turn anyone away.

  ‘Beg your pardon, Sister, I thought you was a ghost.’ The woman lowered her broom, her hand moving to press against her fluttering heart. ‘I got lost, and I’ve been wandering around here in the dark. Now I dunno where I am . . .’ Her voice trembled. ‘And the lights aren’t working. I reckon there’s been a power cut or summat.’

  The woman’s eyes were round with fear. ‘On a terrible night like this and with everything so dark – well, you imagine all sorts, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re quite safe here.’

  The woman looked at her admiringly. ‘I bet you’re not frightened of anything, are you, Miss?’

  Violet smiled to herself. If only you knew, she thought. ‘Here, you’d best have this.’ She handed her the torch.

  ‘You’re sure you don’t need it?’ the cleaner called after her as she walked away.

  ‘Quite sure.’ Darkness held no fears for Violet Tanner. She felt safer in the shadows.

  The bad weather had unsettled many of the patients. On Female Chronics, the harassed young student nurses seemed close to tears as they rushed around, desperately trying to soothe the old ladies, who wailed and sobbed and rattled at the bars of their cots. It was the same on the Children’s ward, where frightened babies, woken by the shrieking wind, screamed without stopping.

  ‘Sister Parry says we’re to leave them,’ the young student told Violet briskly as she appr
oached the nearest cot where a toddler was standing up, red-faced and screaming.

  ‘Sister Parry isn’t here, is she? I am.’ Violet moved past her. The baby, sensing a sympathetic presence, held out his chubby arms.

  ‘But Sister Parry says they’ll get spoilt if we go to them,’ the girl insisted. ‘She says if we ignore them they’ll exhaust themselves and go to sleep.’

  ‘What is your name, Nurse?’

  ‘Hollins, Sister.’

  ‘Well, Hollins, how would you like it if everyone ignored you when you were upset and frightened?’

  As the girl struggled, open-mouthed, for an answer, Violet scooped the toddler up into her arms. She could feel the sobs shuddering through him as he buried his face in her neck. His warm skin smelt of baby powder.

  ‘Shhh, sweetheart. It’s all right, it’s only the silly wind making a noise, that’s all.’ She swayed gently, rocking him in her arms as she whispered words of comfort. His soft curls tickled her cheek.

  Gradually she felt the sobs subside, and his heavy weight against her shoulder told her he was asleep.

  ‘And if he cries again, Hollins, I want you to comfort him,’ Violet instructed the student as she lowered him gently back into his cot. ‘The same goes for the other babies. And if Sister Parry doesn’t like it, she can speak to me,’ she added, as the girl opened her mouth to protest.

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ Hollins bobbed her head, but her face was pinched.

  Two hours later, Violet finished her rounds and went back to the small office assigned to the Night Sister. On her way, she slipped into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. According to Matron, Night Sisters were allowed the luxury of a maid to bring them tea and see to their comforts, but Violet didn’t want to trouble her. The fewer people who noticed her, the fewer questions they would ask. Violet didn’t like questions.

  But she liked the Nightingale. She hadn’t been too sure about it at first, but after old Mr Mannion died she didn’t have anywhere else to go. And then the advertisement for the Night Sister’s job had appeared in the Nursing Mirror, and it seemed as if providence was pointing the way for her.

  She was probably safer here, anyway. A busy hospital in the East End of London was the last place anyone would think of looking for her.