The Nightingale Sisters

by Donna Douglas

  When they’d both gone off on their respective errands, Rose turned to Dora. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

  She glanced at Joe. ‘Jennie’s dad found out about the baby.’

  ‘And he did this to her?’ Rose stared back at the girl.

  Dora saw her mother’s faraway expression, and suddenly realised how hard it must be for her to face Alf’s other woman. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have come here, but I just panicked. We had nowhere else to take her. She was too frightened to go to hospital, and she couldn’t stay at home—’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ her mother said firmly. She turned back to face Dora, her smile fixed in place. ‘We’d better set about cleaning her up, hadn’t we?’

  ‘Take her into my room,’ Nanna said.

  Together, they helped Jennie into the front parlour where Nanna slept, and carefully took off her clothes. Her body was as badly bruised as her face, with livid purplish-black blotches covering her back, stomach and legs. But, amazingly, Dora couldn’t find any broken bones.

  ‘He really put the boot in, didn’t he, love?’ she said sympathetically, as she wrung out a cloth in the basin of warm water Josie had brought her. ‘Not to worry, we’ll soon have you feeling better.’ She glanced at her mother. Rose was standing by the bed, one hand to her mouth, her whole face creased with anxiety.

  It took a long time to wash off all the dried blood. Dora cleaned Jennie’s wounds as best she could, then put her into one of Josie’s old nightgowns and got her into bed. The girl fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.

  ‘I’m not surprised, after what she’s been through,’ Rose said. ‘Nanna can sleep in with me tonight, let her have this room to herself.’ She stared down at Jennie. Even cleaned up, she still looked a mess, her face a distorted patchwork of purple, red and indigo. ‘How could anyone do that to their own child?’ she said wonderingly.

  ‘I dunno, Mum.’

  Rose was silent for a long time, her eyes fixed on the sleeping girl. ‘So this is her, is it?’ she said at last. ‘She looks so young.’

  ‘She’s seventeen.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Rose’s brow creased. ‘That’s only a couple of years older than our Josie.’ She put her hands up to her face. ‘Imagine if that was your little sister lying there, going through everything she’s gone through. It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ It might have been, Dora thought. It was only by the grace of God that neither she nor Josie had fallen pregnant by Alf. She shuddered to think about what would have happened then.

  ‘And she got rid of it . . . the baby?’ Rose asked.

  Dora nodded. ‘Left her in a right mess, it did. She nearly died. The doctors had to perform a hysterectomy to save her life.’

  Rose frowned, trying to understand. ‘So she won’t have any more babies?’ She bit her lip. ‘That’s so cruel. Poor, poor kid. It makes you wonder what they’re thinking, doesn’t it? Going to places like that.’

  ‘She was desperate, Mum. You saw what her dad did to her. God only knows what he would have done if she’d still been pregnant. And with Alf – I mean, the father – doing a runner like that, what choice did she have?’

  She waited for her mother to respond, but Rose was silent. Dora glanced across at her, trying to read the thoughts behind her impassive expression, but it was impossible.

  They left Jennie sleeping and went back downstairs. Joe, who had been standing uncertainly by the back door, stepped forward eagerly.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’ll be all right. No bones broken, just a lot of bad bruising.’

  Joe let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God.’

  ‘She’ll need plenty of rest, though.’

  ‘She can stay here,’ Rose said. ‘We’ll make room for her somewhere.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Joe said humbly.

  Rose shot him a sharp look. ‘That doesn’t mean I believe a word she says. I still think she’s lying about my Alf. I know he wouldn’t do anything like that. But she’s a child, and she needs help. I don’t turn my back on anyone.’

  Joe nodded. ‘I understand. Thank you, anyway.’

  It had started to rain as Dora headed back to the hospital. Joe insisted on walking with her, even though she’d told him there was no need.

  ‘I want to,’ he said. ‘It’s the least I can do, after everything you’ve done for Jennie.’ He took off his jacket and draped it around Dora’s shoulders. The warmth of his body seeped into her chilled bones.

  ‘I thought your mum was going to slam the door in our faces,’ he admitted, as they trudged back along the darkened streets past Victoria Park. The shadowy shapes of trees loomed up at them on the other side of the railings.

  ‘You don’t know my mum,’ Dora told him. ‘She’d never turn away anyone in trouble.’

  ‘You must take after her, then?’ Joe smiled at her. Dora felt herself blushing in the darkness.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I do. You didn’t have to help us. You risked getting yourself into trouble, and I’m grateful for that. More than grateful.’

  She felt him reach for her hand in the darkness and panicked, stuffing them both in her pockets on the pretence of keeping them warm.

  ‘It’s a shame Jennie doesn’t have a mum looking out for her,’ she said, changing the subject.

  ‘I know, I’ve often thought that myself. I wonder if Dad might not have been so – over-protective.’

  ‘You call that over-protective?’ Dora couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice. ‘I don’t call half killing someone being over-protective. I call it being a brute!’

  ‘So do I, after what he did to her tonight,’ Joe said heavily. ‘He’s always led Jennie a dog’s life. When she hasn’t been working all hours, she’s been stuck in the house, looking after us. And God help her if she tried to get out and make friends, have a bit of fun.’ His mouth was a taut line. ‘I wish I’d done more to help her,’ he said. ‘Maybe if I’d taken an interest, persuaded Dad to let her have a bit of freedom, she wouldn’t have fallen for the first bloke to pay her some attention.’

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself.’

  ‘Who else is to blame? I should have been there, protected her from my dad—’

  ‘And Alf Doyle,’ Dora reminded him.

  He looked at her carefully. ‘You don’t think much of your stepdad, do you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Why? Was he a bully too?’

  ‘No, he was cleverer than that. Everyone thought he was the salt of the earth. A really good bloke,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘So why didn’t you like him?’

  ‘Let’s just say, I could see right through him.’

  ‘I wish I could get hold of him now,’ Joe muttered.

  So do I, Dora thought.

  They stopped a few yards short of the hospital gates, and Dora handed him his jacket back. ‘Best not come any further than this, someone might see you,’ she said.

  ‘How will you get in?’

  ‘Never you mind!’ She smiled, tapping the side of her nose.

  As she walked away, he called after her, ‘What shall I do about Jennie? Would it be all right to call on her tomorrow, do you think?’

  ‘Of course. Call whenever you like.’

  ‘Will you be there?’

  She grinned. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re scared of my mum?’

  ‘I dunno about your mum, but I wouldn’t reckon my chances against that nan of yours!’ He looked at her appealingly. ‘Please? It’s easier when you’re there.’

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll be allowed to go off duty tomorrow, but I’ll visit as soon as I can,’ she promised.

  As she tiptoed through the gates, he called after her, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Shh! You’ll get me caught.’ Dora held a warning finger to her lips. But as she turned around again,
she saw a figure watching her from the window of the Porters’ Lodge. Her heart leapt into her mouth, until she realised it was only Nick.

  Thank heavens for that, she thought, giving him a little wave as she crept past. If it had been Mr Hopkins she would have been in real trouble.

  Sister Wren woke up in a bad mood.

  Not even the spring sunshine outside, nor the cheery greeting of the maid bringing her breakfast in bed, could make her feel any better about what had happened at their second choir practice the previous night. Even her dreams had been tormented by Violet Tanner’s perfect soprano solo to ‘Blow the Wind Southerly’.

  It wasn’t that Sister Wren was jealous. As she would tell anyone who listened, she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. But it was rather much to find oneself so utterly usurped. And by someone whose vocal range was limited, to say the least.

  Not that the other sisters saw it that way. In the space of a week, Violet Tanner had become a firm favourite in the choir, with everyone wondering how they’d ever managed without her.

  And then last night . . . It wasn’t that Sister Wren wanted to push herself forward, not at all. But if Matron were suddenly going to decide that she didn’t want to sing solo any more, then surely it would have been fair to offer the chance to the person who had been there the longest? Especially since she knew the part back to front.

  But no, the minute Miss Fox had stepped aside, they had all clamoured around Violet Tanner, practically begging her to take the part.

  Violet had made a big pretence of being modest, saying she didn’t want to do it. But Sister Wren wasn’t fooled for a moment.

  ‘And how is she going to attend rehearsals, when she is on duty every evening?’ she’d pointed out.

  ‘Oh, well, that’s easy. We’ll just have to squeeze other rehearsals in during the day, when some of us are free,’ Sister Blake had replied, in that breezy way of hers. And then they’d planned their next rehearsal for the following Tuesday, knowing full well that Sister Wren would be busy with Mr Cooper’s ward round that day.

  ‘Lovely morning, Sister.’

  Sister Wren flinched as the maid yanked the curtains wide. ‘Must you make so much noise?’ she snapped. ‘I have a headache.’

  She massaged her temples delicately. Her resentment of Violet Tanner was like a tight hatband, constricting her head until she felt it would explode.

  And of course, Violet had to be the first person she met when she arrived on duty that morning. She almost bumped into Sister Wren as she emerged from a side room, fastening her cuffs back in place. Doyle followed her out, pushing a trolley laden with towels, soap, and a basin of water.

  ‘Good morning, Sister.’ Violet smiled a greeting. Sister Wren didn’t smile back.

  ‘What were you doing in there?’ she demanded.

  ‘One of Mr Cooper’s private patients was admitted early this morning. He is operating later and she needed to be prepared. And since your staff nurse was busy, I offered to help supervise the student.’

  Sister Wren stiffened, sensing a criticism. ‘Might I remind you, Sister, that this is my ward?’ she said, drawing herself upright.

  ‘Yes, of course, but—’

  ‘Surely, then, you shouldn’t be interfering unless I ask you to do so?’

  ‘Actually, I asked her.’

  James Cooper came out of the private room, shrugging on his jacket.

  ‘Mr Cooper! I didn’t realise you were there.’ Flustered, Sister Wren put up her hand to primp her hair.

  ‘I asked Miss Tanner to stay and assist me, and she very kindly agreed. I hope you don’t mind?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘No, not at all.’ Sister Wren felt the heat rising in her face and struggled to compose herself. ‘I’m very pleased Miss Tanner was able to step in,’ she added, with a tight smile in Violet’s direction.

  ‘So am I.’ The smile Mr Cooper gave Violet was a lot warmer than the one he’d given her, Sister Wren noticed.

  Mr Cooper left the ward, and Sister Wren expected Violet to do the same. But she lingered, hesitating, as if trying to make up her mind whether to speak.

  ‘Was there something else you wanted?’ Sister Wren asked.

  ‘Yes, there was.’ She took a deep breath and said, ‘It’s about last night. That business with the solo . . .’

  Sister Wren sent her a chilly look. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I just wanted you to understand it was nothing to do with me. I don’t even want to do it. I would be glad to step aside for you.’ Her face pleaded for understanding, but Sister Wren knew it was all pretence. Just like everything else about her.

  ‘Oh, no, it’s quite all right. I’m sure the other sisters wouldn’t hear of it,’ she dismissed this with a taut little laugh.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘I assure you, I am not in the least upset about it.’ She could hear her own voice growing shrill. ‘I’m hardly going to throw myself into a sulk over a silly little choral piece, am I?’

  Violet sent her a long, doubting look. ‘Well, if you’re certain?’

  ‘Please don’t give it another thought. I’m sure I shan’t.’

  She watched Violet walk away down the passageway. As she reached the doors, James Cooper stepped out and opened them for her. Had he been waiting for her? Sister Wren wondered. She strained her ears to try to catch what they were saying, but all she heard was Violet Tanner’s deep, husky laugh. The sound made her shudder, like nails drawn down a blackboard.

  Sister Wren burnt with inner rage. Mr Cooper had never laughed like that with her, or inclined his head so close to hers.

  She fumed her way through the morning’s duties, checking patients, linens, kitchen cutlery, and everything else that needed counting and ticking off. She handed out work lists and medicines, supervised cleaning and re-cleaning, and criticised the students’ efforts at changing dressings, taking pulses and making beds.

  And all the time a plan was fermenting in her head. A plan that she was sure would put a stop to Violet Tanner’s reign at the Nightingale for ever.

  Sister Wren couldn’t make such a personal call from the telephone on her desk in the middle of the ward so she had to wait until the middle of the morning, when she could escape to the pay telephone in the main hall of the hospital.

  Frustratingly, there was someone using it when she got there. A tearful young man was giving someone a blow by blow account of his wife’s tedious labour and delivery. Sister Wren tapped her foot on the mosaic-tiled floor and ostentatiously checked her watch as the hustle and bustle of hospital life went on around them. But all the time, her thoughts were in turmoil. Was this such a good idea? she wondered. Yes, she was angry, but she had the feeling that once she made this call she would be letting a genie out of the bottle that might destroy someone’s life.

  You don’t know that, she told herself impatiently, as the young man explained in a choked voice how he’d held his son for the first time. The solicitor’s message could bring good news. Perhaps someone had died and left Violet a lot of money. She might even be thankful for the intervention if she turned out to be heiress to a secret fortune.

  But deep down Sister Wren knew that there would be no fortune, no mysterious benefactor. There was something deep, dark and shadowy about that message, and all the others that had followed it in the newspaper every day since: ‘Would Violet Dangerfield, née Tanner, please contact immediately the office of Burrows, Burrows & Edgerton, Solicitors, 59 High Holborn, London WC2. Telephone Kingsway 4773’. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

  She felt her nerve failing, and was just about to walk away when a voice behind her said, ‘Excuse me? Miss?’

  Sister Wren turned around. The young man had ended his call and was holding the receiver out to her.

  ‘Do you want to make a call?’ he asked.

  Sister Wren looked from the telephone to him and back again. Then she thought about Violet, her perfect soprano voice and her husky laugh.

  ‘Yes
,’ she said. ‘Yes, I think I do.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  BEING GIVEN THE afternoon duty wasn’t a favourite with the students. They still had to get up and report to the ward by seven o’clock, only to be told by Sister at nine to go away, change out of their uniform and not report back until midday. And then they had to face nine hours on their feet without a break.

  But for once Dora was hoping for the afternoon shift so she could get back to Griffin Street first thing and make sure Jennie was all right. She stood with the other nurses, trying not to catch Sister Wren’s eye in case she read the desperation in her face and changed her duty out of spite. Luckily, Sister Wren seemed to have her mind on other things that morning, and handed out the off duty times in a quick, random fashion. As the other nurses went back to work, Dora rushed back to the nurses’ home, changed out of her uniform, slung on her old brown coat and beret, and made her way to Griffin Street, breaking into a run as soon as she was out of the hospital gates.

  In spite of what she’d said to Joe, she was worried. She knew her mother was a good, caring woman, but surely Dora had pushed her too far by bringing Jennie into the house? Last night she had been panicking too much to think of anything else, but now, in the cold light of a March morning, she realised she’d made a dreadful mistake.

  Nanna Winnie was sweeping the yard when Dora came bursting through the gate. Little Alfie was with her, pulling up the weeds that grew between the cracks in the paving slabs.

  ‘All right, love. Where’s the fire?’ she said, as Dora fought to get her breath back.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’

  ‘Inside.’ Nanna jerked her head in the direction of the house. ‘With her.’

  Dora felt her blood drain to her boots. ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘Having a chat, so Rose says. Although I’m not allowed a listen, even though it’s still my house.’ Nanna’s face was sullen as she pushed the broom viciously into the privy.

  Dora glanced up at the window, as if she almost expected to see fists flying. ‘I’d better go and see what’s going on.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother, you won’t be welcome. Why do you think I’m out here, even though this cold weather is playing merry hell with my lumbago?’ Nanna banged the privy door shut so hard it rattled on its rusty hinges. ‘I dunno why you brought that one here, Dora,’ she called after her as she headed into the house. ‘Don’t you think we’ve had enough trouble lately?’