Finally she bent closer to him and said, ‘You’re not enjoying this, are you?’
His mouth twisted. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘Shall we go somewhere else?’
‘I’d rather go home.’
‘That suits me.’ She was beginning to feel tired again anyway, as the exhaustion of the day caught up with her.
They took a taxi back to the hospital. Seb dropped her just before the gates.
‘It’s past midnight,’ he said. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘I’ll hop over the wall and up the drainpipe as usual,’ Millie said cheerfully.
She leant over to kiss him. For once his kiss was cool, almost offhand.
She drew away, puzzled. ‘Happy birthday, Seb.’
He looked at her bleakly. ‘If you say so.’
In the early hours of the morning, Violet Tanner made another round of the hospital, then headed to Hyde ward. She had been told in the ward report that one of the patients was unlikely to survive the night.
The nurse in charge was sitting at the central desk, writing her report by the dim light of the shaded green lamp. She looked up as Violet approached.
‘I’ve come to check on the Parkinson’s patient. I was told her condition was deteriorating?’
‘Mrs Little? She’s in bed seven. Sister is with her now.’
‘Sister Hyde is with her?’ Violet crept down the ward, her soft-soled shoes barely making a sound on the polished floor. Sure enough, Sister Hyde was sitting beside the patient’s bed, her tall, fleshless form bent towards her. As she drew closer, Violet saw that she was holding the old woman’s hand.
Sister Hyde looked up, smiling wearily. ‘Miss Tanner.’ She was in her uniform, as stiff and starched as ever despite it being four in the morning.
‘What are you doing here, Sister?’ Violet whispered.
‘I couldn’t sleep for thinking about poor Mrs Little.’ Sister Hyde looked down at the elderly woman, fast asleep against the snowy pillows. ‘I wasn’t sure if she would make it through the night, and I didn’t want her to die alone.’
Violet moved to the other side of the bed. ‘How is she?’
‘She has rallied a little. But they always do, just before the end. I don’t think it will be long now.’ She looked up at Violet. The dim light of the heavily shaded lamps threw deep shadows on her gaunt face. ‘I suppose you think it’s odd of me to want to be here?’ she said. ‘But when a patient is on this ward for so long, you grow to know them. And when you lose one of them . . . well, I suppose it’s almost like losing a member of your own family.’
Mrs Little stirred, her lips moving soundlessly. Sister Hyde grasped her hand. ‘There, my dear. You’re quite safe,’ she said softly.
Violet stared at her. She knew Sister Hyde had a fearsome reputation, even among the other sisters. She felt as if she was being allowed to glimpse a side of her character she kept well hidden. A side that perhaps only the patients were ever allowed to see.
‘Won’t you sit down for a moment?’ Sister Hyde invited. ‘I would welcome some company, if I’m not keeping you from your duties?’
Violet was about to excuse herself then she saw the beseeching look on the older sister’s face. ‘I’m sure a few minutes won’t hurt,’ she said.
‘Thank you. It can be a lonely business, sitting here waiting.’
Violet fetched another chair and they sat facing each other across the bed. Sister Hyde’s attention was still fixed on Mrs Little’s frail form, stroking her hand to let her know she was not alone.
‘I take it she has no family?’ Violet said.
Sister Hyde shook her head. ‘Her husband and both her sons were killed in the war.’ Her hand, resting on the bedcover, looked almost as old and wrinkled as Mrs Little’s. ‘She is quite alone, just like the rest of us.’
Her remark startled Violet. But before she could ask what she’d meant by it, Sister Hyde smiled and said pleasantly, ‘How are you settling into your new home, Sister?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
‘I often see your little boy running about the garden – Oliver, isn’t it?’
Violet was instantly on edge. ‘I hope he isn’t making a nuisance of himself? I do try to keep him quiet . . .’
‘Oh, no, not at all,’ Sister Hyde assured her. ‘On the contrary, it’s very pleasant to have the little chap about the place. It’s not often we hear a child’s laughter in our secluded community. I gather he has become a particularly firm favourite of Sister Sutton’s?’
Violet nodded. ‘He’s been helping her in the garden. Although I suspect he is probably more of a hindrance than a help!’ she added ruefully.
‘Indeed?’ Sister Hyde’s brows rose. ‘Then she must like him very much indeed. Sister Sutton guards those flowerbeds of hers jealously!’
‘Everyone has been very kind to us,’ Violet said.
That wasn’t strictly true. Miss Hanley was still disgruntled about the whole situation, and Sister Wren was openly hostile. But Violet didn’t mind too much. She had faced much worse over the years, and she knew how to deal with them.
No, it was the ones who were friendly to her that she found hardest to cope with. After so long on her own, she was wary about allowing anyone too close.
‘Yes, we are generally a nice group of women,’ Sister Hyde agreed. ‘Although, of course, we have our little foibles and our fallings-out, like any family.’
‘You think of them as family, then?’ Violet said.
‘They are the only family I have known for many years.’ There was a trace of sadness in her smile. ‘I came here to work the year Queen Victoria died, and I’ve been here ever since. My family, such as it was, are all dead now. If it weren’t for the Nightingale, I would be as alone as poor Mrs Little here.’ She looked up at Violet. ‘Do you have any family? Apart from your son, I mean?’
Violet tensed. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Then perhaps the Nightingale will become your family too?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t like to become too attached.’
‘Is that why you move from place to place so often?’
Violet looked up at her sharply. ‘How did you know that?’
Sister Hyde’s mouth curved. ‘A guess, my dear. But an accurate one, from the expression on your face.’ She looked at her assessingly. ‘Why are you so disturbed by the idea of putting down roots?’
Violet opened her mouth to tell her that it was none of her business, then changed her mind. ‘It’s easier that way.’
‘How can it be preferable to go through life without anyone to care for you?’
Her words cut Violet deeply. It isn’t, she wanted to say. There were times when she yearned for a friend, someone to share her burdens with. But sharing her burden meant putting her trust in someone.
‘I didn’t say it was preferable,’ she said shortly. ‘I said it was easier.’
‘It’s never easy to go through life alone, my dear. Perhaps if you gave us a chance—’
Mrs Little stirred again, distracting them. Sister Hyde bent over her, studying her face in the darkness. ‘It won’t be long now,’ she said.
‘How can you tell?’
‘You get a feeling for these things, after so many years nursing these women.’
‘Do you need me to stay?’ Violet was already on her feet, keen to escape Sister Hyde with her searching looks and even more searching questions.
Once again, the other woman seemed to read her thoughts. ‘No, my dear, it’s quite all right. I’ve already kept you from your duties for too long. I’m sure you have other things to get on with.’
But as Violet went to remove her chair, she added, ‘You’ll remember what I said, though, won’t you? Give the Nightingale a chance. You never know, we may surprise you.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘. . . AND THEN TAKE the catheter in the right hand, holding it away from the eye, and run the perchloride lotion over and through it – Doyl
e, are you listening? I’m doing this for your benefit, you know.’
‘Yes, Staff. I’m sorry.’ Dora dragged her attention back to the bedside, where Staff Nurse Cuthbert was demonstrating how to use a glass catheter. But she was still aware of Lettie Pike whispering to the new patient at the other end of the ward. From the way they both glanced her way, she had a good idea what they were talking about.
Cuthbert seemed to understand. ‘It’s five o’clock, Doyle. Go and have your tea, I’ll finish this,’ she sighed.
‘Thank you, Staff.’
‘And Doyle?’
‘Yes, Staff?’
Cuthbert glanced down the ward. ‘Don’t let it upset you too much. They’ll have something else to gossip about in a few days.’
‘Yes, Staff. Thank you.’ Dora forced a grateful smile, but deep down she knew this piece of gossip was too good for Lettie to let go. It had already been a week and she still hadn’t found anything else to talk about.
It had been too much to hope that news of Joe’s visit wouldn’t get out. The walls of Griffin Street were too paper-thin, and Lettie Pike’s ears far too sharp for that. The morning after it had happened she had sidled up to Dora and said, ‘So what’s all this I hear about your dad carrying on with another woman?’
The gossip had just blossomed from there, until Dora heard whispers everywhere she went.
Her stepfather had got another woman pregnant. Not just any woman, but a girl young enough to be his daughter.
And the fact that Jennie Armstrong had been a patient on the ward only added to the drama.
‘The poor girl, you should have seen the state she was in,’ Dora had heard Lettie telling one of the patients. ‘Butchered, she was. She lost so much blood, it was a miracle she didn’t die. ’Course, she can’t ever have kids now. I know, it’s a terrible shame, isn’t it? Poor lamb.’ She’d shaken her head, conveniently forgetting that she hadn’t had a good word to say about Jennie when she’d been on the ward.
She was drinking her tea in the kitchen later when Lettie come scurrying in. She stopped dead when she saw Dora.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she demanded.
‘Having my tea break, what does it look like?’
‘Does Sister know?’
Dora put down her cup. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than stick your nose into my business?’
‘I’m not sticking my nose into anything!’ Lettie picked up her basket from behind the door and took out her outdoor shoes. Then, in the next breath, she added, ‘Has that girl’s brother been round again?’
‘I daresay you’d know that better than me, wouldn’t you?’
‘He’s not going to let it lie, you know. I don’t reckon he’ll be happy till he’s found Alf.’
Dora said nothing as she watched the woman change out of her slippers.
‘I expect your mum’s in a right two and eight,’ Lettie went on, her eyes gleaming. ‘Can’t be nice, can it, knowing your old man’s been putting it about? But as I always say, if a man’s happy at home he doesn’t go out looking elsewhere.’
‘Is that why your Len’s always propping up the bar at the Rose and Crown?’ Dora asked.
Lettie glared at her. ‘And with a young girl, too,’ she went on, ignoring the comment. ‘That’s not right, is it? Makes you wonder what kind of man he is.’
A chill ran through Dora. She watched Lettie stuffing her slippers into her basket and willed her to hurry up and go.
‘You know what?’ the woman continued. ‘If I was your mum, I reckon I’d be asking a few questions about what else he’d been up to. I’d be worried about my own kids.’ She looked closely at Dora, a thought occurring to her. ‘You don’t suppose he had a go at your Josie, do you? I mean, you hear of these things . . .’
‘Let me help you with that bag.’ Dora got to her feet, unable to stand it any longer, and went to pick up the basket.
‘I can manage.’ In her agitation to wrestle it back, Lettie’s slippers fell out. As Dora went to pick them up for her, she noticed something nestling in the bottom of the basket.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’ Lettie gathered up the slippers and stuffed them back in hastily.
‘Let me have a look.’
‘No! It’s none of your business what I’ve got.’
‘It’s those eggs, isn’t it?’ Another box of eggs had gone missing from the ward larder that morning. Sister Wren had once again had them turning out all the cupboards and lockers, looking for it.
‘Did you take all those other things that went missing, too?’ Dora asked her.
‘I dunno what you mean.’ Lettie tried to front it out, but the beads of perspiration on her upper lip gave her away.
‘Oh, Lettie.’ Dora shook her head, savouring the moment. ‘What have you been up to?’
Lettie folded her arms in a last gesture of defiance. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell Sister?’
‘Why not? It’s what you’d do, isn’t it?’
No sooner had the words left her lips than the door flew open and Sister Wren bustled in, her copy of The Times stuffed under one arm.
She looked askance at Dora. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Staff Nurse Cuthbert sent me on my break, Sister.’
Sister Wren tutted. ‘It’s nothing but breaks for you young nurses, isn’t it?’ She turned to Lettie. ‘I’m going to my sitting room to catch up on some private correspondence,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be a dear and make me a pot of tea before you go, would you, Lettie?’
Lettie didn’t reply but stood rooted to the spot, staring at Dora.
‘Lettie?’ Sister Wren raised her voice.
‘I—I—’ Lettie opened and closed her mouth, still looking at Dora. Dora gazed back blandly.
Sister Wren peered at her. ‘You’ve gone very pale all of a sudden. Is something wrong?’
‘No, Sister.’ Lettie found her voice at last. She set down her basket and picked up the teapot.
‘I’d like a fresh pot, please, Lettie. And make sure it’s not stewed. I can’t abide stewed tea.’ Sister Wren turned to Dora. ‘What are you still doing here? Your break is over now, surely?’
‘Yes, Sister.’ Dora picked up her cup and took it over to the sink.
As she washed it, she cast Lettie a sidelong glance. Her hands were shaking so much she could barely spoon the tea into the pot.
Dora smiled to herself. She didn’t have to say anything to Sister Wren about Lettie’s crime. It was enough that she knew.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE NEW LONDON home of the Marquess and Marchioness of Trent was a tall, elegant Georgian house in Smith Square, just north of the Thames in Westminster.
Sophia, Lady Trent, received her guests in the drawing room, defiantly resplendent in a burnt orange Fortuny gown of fine pleated silk that clung lovingly to her eight-month bump, topped off by a sweeping shawl embroidered with a Chinese dragon.
‘You make every other woman in this room invisible!’ Millie laughed as she greeted her. Sophia certainly made her feel pale and insipid in her blossom-pink crêpe dress.
‘Only if she stands in front of them!’ Seb teased.
‘Oh, do be quiet!’ Sophia poked her brother playfully. ‘I did it to shock,’ she admitted to Millie. ‘This is going to be my last public foray before I finally do as Mother says and retire from public life to await my happy event. So I wanted to make it a memorable one.’
‘Well, it’s worked. You look glorious,’ Millie said.
‘I wish I felt it.’ Sophia grimaced. ‘Carrying this huge weight around is giving me the most awful backache.’
‘You should rest.’
‘Don’t! You sound just like David. He’s completely changed his mind about our having this party. He agrees with Mother, thinks I should be lying in a darkened room or something, just because I’ve been having a few silly aches and pains.’
‘What kind of aches and pains?�
� Millie asked.
‘Oh, nothing to worry about,’ Sophia said dismissively. ‘Sir Charles Ingham came to see me this morning – on David’s insistence, not mine – and he seems to think I’ve got ages yet. Anyway, I get so terribly bored doing nothing. I’d far rather be having fun. And it’s not as if a housewarming party is exactly strenuous, is it?’ She glanced past them and switched on a smile. ‘Ah, look, there’s Gordon. You must meet him, Seb. He’s a publisher, frightfully well connected. I’m sure he’d be useful to you.’
There were a lot of well-connected people at the party. Ever the perfect hostess, Sophia had made sure she’d invited an interesting mix of the rich and powerful, with a judicious splash of the avant-garde. Politicians rubbed shoulders with writers, industrialists with minor royals. Over in the corner, a French artist, who’d just caused a stir in London with his rather shocking surrealist exhibition, was flirting with a well-known actress, who’d recently caused an even bigger stir by having an affair with her sister’s husband. And, of course, there was the usual smattering of achingly fashionable Americans, without whom no social gathering seemed to be complete these days.
‘I don’t know how she does it.’ Millie gave a despairing sigh. ‘I really wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where to start organising a party like this.’
‘It’s in her blood,’ Seb said. ‘Mother has been training her for this from the moment she was old enough to word an invitation.’
Millie sipped her Martini and wondered if perhaps she should have listened to her grandmother more when she’d tried to educate her in such matters, instead of always looking out of the window and planning her escape.
‘You do realise we probably won’t have parties like this when we’re married?’ she told Seb.
‘I’m glad to hear it. I can’t imagine anything worse than filling our house with these dreadful people.’
‘But we’ll be social outcasts!’
‘Good.’ He smiled at her, his blue eyes full of warmth. ‘Then I won’t have to think of anything to say to that French chap who rolls himself in yellow paint and calls it art.’
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