The Nurses of Steeple Street

by Donna Douglas

  She took her time, hoping Matthew might take the hint and leave. But when she finally straightened up, brushing the grass off her knees, he was still there, his head bowed in prayer.

  Finally, he murmured an ‘Amen’ and looked up at her. ‘I hope you don’t mind my saying a prayer for your husband?’

  ‘Not at all. Thank you.’ Polly smiled back, touched. Matthew meant well, she thought. Although she couldn’t imagine what Frank would have made of a curate praying over him. He was never one for going to church and the like.

  ‘May I walk you back to the gate?’ Matthew asked

  ‘I—’ Polly cast a quick glance about her, looking for Finn. There was no sign of him. Either he hadn’t followed her, or he was staying away because of the curate.

  She would have made an excuse to linger and wait for him, but she had the feeling Matthew wouldn’t leave her alone.

  ‘If you like,’ she said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  They made their way down the path together, and Matthew insisted on carrying her empty basket for her.

  ‘I was very much hoping to see you again,’ he said. Polly didn’t reply. ‘I wanted to ask your advice,’ he went on.

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘The church committee has been trying to think of ways to raise funds for the new roof. I’ve suggested we might have a dance in the church hall. But the vicar isn’t sure it’s a good idea. What do you think?’

  Polly frowned. ‘I’m not sure why you’re asking me.’

  ‘I’d value your opinion.’ His earnest gaze held hers.

  ‘I’m sure it would do very well,’ she said.

  ‘So am I.’ Matthew’s smile widened. ‘So you’d come, then?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Polly looked away, her attention caught by the sound of excited barking from the other side of the churchyard. Job had spotted her again, and this time he was determined to greet her. He reared up, his front legs pawing uselessly at the air, while Finn held him back by his collar.

  Matthew tutted. ‘Wretched beast! I can’t think why the vicar has allowed it to stay,’ he muttered.

  ‘He’s harmless.’

  ‘That’s what Reverend Turner says. But I’m not so sure.’ Matthew lowered his voice. ‘To be honest, if it were up to me I’d get rid of the dog and his master.’

  Polly turned to him in surprise. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Matthew replied. ‘There’s just something about that man, the insolent way he has about him … He’s trouble, I know it.’ He put his hand on her arm, guiding her in the opposite direction. ‘I’d stay away from him, if I were you.’

  Polly glanced back over her shoulder. Finn caught her eye for a moment, then looked away sharply.

  ‘It doesn’t seem as if I have much choice,’ she murmured.

  Henry Slater pushed back his cap to scratch his balding head. ‘Well, you’ve done it now,’ he said.

  ‘I dunno what you’re on about,’ Finn muttered, going back to his work.

  ‘You could at least have spoken to the lass. She’ll be wondering what she’s done to offend you.’

  ‘She probably won’t give me a second thought.’ Not when she had Matthew Elliott dancing attendance on her, Finn thought. The idiot curate was probably working his charm on her already. Finn took a savage swipe at a branch, bring down half the bush with it.

  ‘Steady on,’ his grandfather said, ducking out of the way. ‘It’s not that poor shrub’s fault you’re a fool, is it?’

  ‘I’m no fool,’ Finn growled.

  ‘You’re letting a lass like her slip through your fingers. I’d say that makes you a right fool. And there’s no need to look at me like that,’ he added, as Finn scowled at him. ‘You don’t frighten me, lad.’

  Even in his late sixties, Henry Slater was still a burly man, more than capable of giving Finn a hiding if he needed one. But Finn knew Henry would never do it, which was why he respected his grandfather so much. Henry would never give up on him, not like the rest of Finn’s family. ‘I’m just saying, she seems like a nice girl,’ Henry went on, going back to his work.

  ‘I told you, she’s too nice for me.’

  ‘You in’t such a bad lad.’

  ‘No? There’s some folk around here as would say different.’

  ‘You can’t let one mistake ruin your whole life.’

  ‘A mistake! Is that what you’d call it?’

  Once again, his grandfather couldn’t meet Finn’s eye. ‘As I said, you can’t let it ruin your whole life.’

  Finn managed a rueful smile. ‘Bit too late for that, don’t you reckon?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cedar House

  Steeple Street

  Leeds

  15th October 1925

  Dear Mother

  How are you? I haven’t heard from you since I arrived here, so I am hoping this finds you well. I think about you and Father all the time. I would love to hear your news. I miss you all.

  Things are working out well for me here in Leeds. Very well, in fact. You’ll be pleased to hear I have passed my first month’s probation, so I will be going out on the district by myself from tomorrow. I must say, I’m looking forward to it. Up until now it has been rather frustrating, having to do things the way my supervisor Mrs Bradshaw has always done them. I’m already thinking about the changes I would like to make. There is a great deal of work to do, but I really feel as if I can make a difference.

  But I would still dearly love to come home and be with you all again. I just wanted you to know that I am doing all I can to fit in and to make the best of my situation, as you said I should.

  I am trying so hard, Mother. I know I have made mistakes and disappointed you and Father, and I long to make it up to you, and for you to be proud of me again. I promise you, I am trying very hard.

  When do you think I might come back to London? It would be wonderful to see you all again. I am especially looking forward to meeting my new niece!

  Please write back to me as soon as you can. I am longing to hear all your news.

  Your loving daughter,

  Agnes

  Agnes read the letter through to herself again. She had written and rewritten it several times, but no matter how hard she tried, she could still hear the wheedling tone of her own voice coming through the lines.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t send it at all, she thought. Her mother disliked self-pity, and the last thing Agnes wanted was to antagonise her further.

  Or perhaps she simply wouldn’t read it. The thought lingered in Agnes’ mind, tormenting her. Elizabeth Sheridan hadn’t replied to a single letter from Agnes since she’d left St Jude’s. It was as if she had ceased to exist for her.

  Agnes tried to tell herself her mother wasn’t a reliable correspondent at the best of times; she had only written a handful of letters during the six months Agnes was in Manchester. But it was unlike her not to write at all.

  ‘Miss Sheridan, are you about?’

  The sound of Bess Bradshaw’s voice booming from downstairs startled Agnes out of her gloom. She hastily stuffed the letter in an envelope and dropped it in her apron pocket before she had a chance to change her mind.

  Bess was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Come on, we need to be off.’

  Usually, the sight of the Assistant Superintendent’s truculent face was enough to plunge Agnes into despair for the rest of the day. But today even Bess Bradshaw couldn’t dampen her spirits.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Bradshaw.’ Agnes beamed at her.

  Bess’ beady eyes narrowed. ‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ she commented.

  ‘This is my last day on probation.’ It was all Agnes could do not to skip over to fetch her coat from the peg.

  ‘Surely it should be me who’s smiling, in that case, since I won’t have to put up with you any more.’

  And I won’t have to put up with you either, Agnes thought. ‘Th
en we both have reason to celebrate, don’t we?’ she said sweetly.

  Agnes still couldn’t get over her surprise that she had survived her probation period. Not because she wasn’t capable, but because Bess Bradshaw had seemed determined to trip her up at every opportunity.

  Bess had never allowed her to relax for a moment. As Polly had predicted, she was always watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake so she could pounce on her.

  Agnes had returned to the district nurses’ home exhausted and close to tears nearly every evening, but she was determined not to allow Bess to get the better of her. She had applied herself to her books, and if there was something she didn’t know she would make a point of swotting up on it so she could do better the next day.

  Not that she ever received a word of praise or encouragement from the Assistant Superintendent, of course. The only time she heard anything was when she made a mistake.

  But in spite of her efforts, she still expected Bess to try and trip her up. So Agnes could hardly believe it when Miss Gale had summoned her after breakfast that morning and informed her that she had passed.

  Agnes couldn’t wait. She was already thinking about what she was going to do when she had her own rounds. There would be no more pandering to patients, or wasting time. There would be no more endless cups of tea, or idle chatter. She would bring some efficiency to her district.

  ‘We’ve still got one more day together though,’ Bess’ voice broke into her thoughts ominously. ‘Let’s see if we can both manage to get through it, shall we?’

  That morning they had been invited by the headmistress of the local grammar school to give a talk on health and hygiene to the third-year girls.

  ‘I expect you’ll enjoy it since they’re all posh like you,’ Bess said, as they left the house.

  Agnes smiled back beatifically. The Assistant Superintendent was trying so desperately to provoke an argument, it was almost amusing. ‘I’m sure it will be very interesting,’ she replied evenly.

  ‘I thought you’d like it,’ Bess said. ‘Seeing as how you enjoy telling people what to do.’

  I’d like to tell you what to do! Agnes thought. ‘Will I be giving the talk too?’ she asked.

  ‘Gracious, no! You just stay in the medical room and keep out of trouble,’ Bess said. ‘Think you can manage that?’

  ‘I’ll certainly do my best,’ Agnes replied sweetly.

  She waited for Bess to fetch her bicycle from the back of the house as usual. Her own bicycle had still not turned up, so Bess insisted Agnes had to walk everywhere while she cycled ahead. It caused a great deal of amusement for their patients and also Bess herself.

  But to her surprise, Bess headed straight down the path.

  ‘Aren’t you cycling to the school?’ Agnes asked.

  Bess shook her head. ‘It’s a fine day and not too far to walk. I thought you’d like the company, since we’re not going to be seeing much of each other after today.’

  Agnes gritted her teeth. ‘How thoughtful of you.’

  Even on foot, Bess moved surprisingly fast, and it was all Agnes could do to keep up with her.

  ‘I suppose the Association will have to give me a new bicycle now?’ she panted, as she trotted at Bess’ heels.

  ‘Whatever makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, surely they won’t expect me to walk, now I’ve got my own rounds to do?’

  ‘You’ll only be helping me out in Quarry Hill. You managed that perfectly well on foot before.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘The Association doesn’t have money to waste on replacing bicycles, Miss Sheridan. Not when you were careless enough to lose yours in the first place.’

  Bess marched on, leaving Agnes indignant in her wake.

  As they passed a pillar box, she slid the letter she had written out of her pocket. She had hoped to post it quickly, but of course nothing escaped Bess Bradshaw’s notice. Even walking ahead, she still managed to see Agnes slip the letter into the slot.

  ‘What’s that?’ she demanded.

  Agnes fought the urge to tell her to mind her own business. ‘Just a letter to my mother.’

  Bess’ brows lifted. ‘Do you write to her often?’

  ‘Quite often.’

  ‘You never talk about your family,’ Bess observed. ‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’

  ‘I have one sister, Vanessa. My brother was killed in the war.’

  Bess paused. ‘Is your sister older or younger than you?’

  ‘Older.’

  ‘Is she married?’

  Agnes nodded.

  ‘And what about your father? What does he do?’ Bess asked.

  ‘He’s a GP.’

  ‘Ah,’ Bess said, as if that explained everything. ‘And I suppose you wanted to follow in his footsteps?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Bess looked at her curiously. ‘You don’t like talking about your family, do you?’

  Agnes forced herself to meet Bess’ eye. ‘Do you like talking about yours?’

  She felt a brief flare of satisfaction as Bess’ mouth tightened with anger. It made a change for her to score a point over the Assistant Superintendent.

  Serves you right, she thought.

  ‘ “He who would valiant be, ’gainst all disaster …” ’

  It was morning assembly, and Christine stood at the back of the hall with the other upper-school girls. The high rafters rang with the sound of three hundred girls’ voices joined in song, but Christine kept her mouth tightly closed, afraid to open it in case she was sick.

  It was stiflingly hot in the hall, and she could feel perspiration trickling down inside her shirt. When she put up her hand to wipe her brow, her skin felt damp and clammy.

  She glanced to one side, where the row of teachers stood, and caught Miss Jennings’ sharply disapproving look. Christine stared down at the hymn book in her hands, but the tiny print blurred in front of her eyes.

  She tried to focus instead on the headmistress, Miss Marchmane, who stood on a dais at the front of the hall. A beam of sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her as if God Himself were shining a spotlight on her.

  ‘ “Who so beset him round, with dismal stories …’ ” The sound rose up, engulfing her. Sweat was running down Christine’s face. At the other end of the hall, Miss Marchmane seemed to be receding into the distance, as if Christine were watching her through the wrong end of a telescope. She blinked hard, but somehow she couldn’t make the picture right again.

  ‘Christine Fairbrass?’ She heard her name, pronounced quietly but insistently. She turned her head to see Miss Jennings standing beside her. She looked more worried than stern now. Christine stared at the faint smattering of freckles over her tiny turned-up nose. The teacher had never been close enough for her to notice them before. ‘Are you quite all right?’ Miss Jennings enquired.

  Christine shook her head, still not trusting herself to speak. All around, girls were beginning to look at her, shifting to get a better view.

  ‘You look rather unwell. Perhaps you should go outside for a breath of fresh air?’

  She did her best to get out, sidling past the other girls, but failed to reach the end of the row before the sickness that had been roiling inside her rose up without warning and burst out in a vile torrent, splattering Miss Jennings’ shoes.

  Suddenly there was panic, with girls squealing and shoving to get away.

  ‘What is it? What is going on back there?’ The piano music died away and Miss Marchmane’s voice rang out from the front of the hall. Christine found herself standing in the middle of a small, empty circle, surrounded by a ring of appalled-looking faces.

  It was the last thing she saw before her knees buckled and she slid to the floor.

  Bess Bradshaw had gone off to the science room to prepare for her talk to the third years. Agnes was alone in the sick bay, trying to make herself useful by checking the contents of the medical cupboard, when there was a knock on the doo
r and a prefect entered, hauling a limp Christine Fairbrass by the arm.

  ‘Please, miss, this girl fainted in the middle of assembly,’ the prefect announced. ‘And she was sick,’ she added, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

  Agnes looked at the girl. ‘Christine?’

  She looked dreadful. Her coppery hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail, revealing red-rimmed eyes in a ghastly greenish face.

  Agnes gathered herself together. ‘Get her on to the bed,’ she ordered the other girl, while she herself hurried to the cupboard to fetch a receiving dish, which she placed next to Christine.

  The prefect looked uneasy. ‘Do you think she’s going to be sick again?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it?’ Agnes replied briskly as she loosened Christine’s tie and unfastened the top button of her blouse.

  ‘Should I fetch Nurse Bradshaw?’ The prefect fixed her gaze uncertainly on Christine.

  Agnes bristled. ‘I can manage perfectly well,’ she said. ‘You may go back to your classroom.’

  ‘I’m all right, really,’ Christine whispered when they were alone.

  ‘Girls don’t collapse for no reason,’ Agnes replied. She checked Christine’s pulse and her temperature. ‘Now, do you have a headache?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Any visual disturbance? Blurred vision, spots before the eyes, anything like that?’ Christine shook her head. ‘And you haven’t had a bump to your head?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘When was the last time you had anything to eat?’

  Her words seemed to trigger a strange response in Christine. Her face puckered and Agnes managed to grab the receiving dish seconds before her patient was sick again.

  Agnes pushed a stray red curl back from the girl’s face. A feeling of unease began to stir in the back of her mind.

  ‘Have you felt like this for long?’ she asked when Christine had finally finished retching.

  She wiped her mouth with the damp cloth Agnes had handed to her. ‘I really couldn’t say, miss.’