The Nurses of Steeple Street

by Donna Douglas

  ‘Finn Slater has been in prison. He stabbed a man.’

  The soap slipped from her hand and splashed into the bowl. She fished around for it, her hands shaking. All the time she could feel the rapid drum of her pulse crashing in her ears.

  You’re lying, she wanted to scream. You must be lying.

  ‘Cornered him in a dark alley and stuck a knife in his ribs.’ Matthew went on, his tone casual and unconcerned, as if he weren’t delivering the most dreadful and shocking news imaginable. ‘It was a local mill owner, so I suppose it must have been a robbery. Anyway, the vicar told me that’s why Slater was sent here, because his family in Huddersfield wanted nothing to do with him after he came out of prison. And I really can’t say I blame them,’ he added. ‘I’m only sorry we appear to be stuck with him now.’

  Polly gripped the edge of the stone sink. ‘Did the man die?’ she heard herself murmur.

  ‘No, by some miracle he survived, otherwise Slater would have been hanged. As it was he got seven years’ hard labour. Although I don’t know why they didn’t hang him anyway, since he obviously intended to murder the poor soul.’ Matthew peered at her closely. ‘Now do you see why I’m so concerned about you?’

  Polly pulled herself together enough to turn and face him. His pious expression made her want to scream.

  ‘I’m sure I have nothing to fear,’ she answered stiffly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient who needs my attention.’

  She started to usher the curate towards the door, but he stood his ground. ‘Just be careful, won’t you?’ he said. ‘I would never be able to forgive myself if anything bad happened to you.’

  ‘As I said, I have nothing to fear.’ Polly held herself rigid until she had closed the door behind him. Only then did she allow herself to collapse against it, the strength leaving her body until it was all she could do to hold herself upright.

  It took her a while to gather herself together enough to face Henry Slater. By the time she entered his room, she had splashed her face with cold water and managed to paste on the semblance of a smile.

  Henry was sitting up in bed, doing the newspaper crossword. ‘Has Mr Elliott gone?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good thing too. I know he thinks he’s doing me a kindness, coming up here to say prayers and the like, but I can’t help feeling as if I’m already dead and he’s practising my funeral service!’ Henry looked up at her. ‘Here, are you all right, lass? You look proper pale.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Polly picked up the doctor’s notes to read them, then put them down again when her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The GP had prescribed digitalis for Henry, which meant she would have to pay particular attention to his pulse rate.

  It took her a while to count the beats as her concentration kept slipping away, back to what the curate had said.

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

  ‘Finn will be sorry to have missed you,’ Henry said, as she slipped the thermometer out of his mouth. ‘He’s out digging a grave. In this weather, I ask you!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I told him it in’t needed till Thursday, but he would insist. Between you and me, I don’t think he’s that keen on the curate,’ he confided.

  Polly tried to smile, but her mouth felt tight.

  Henry frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, lass? You seem all of a fluster.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She held up the thermometer to check the reading, but it slipped through her fingers. She scrabbled around to pick it up. ‘I’m just in a bit of a hurry today, that’s all.’

  ‘Then you won’t wait for Finn?’

  ‘I – I can’t.’ She couldn’t look at Henry as she said it.

  ‘Just as you like. I’ll see you later on, shall I?’

  ‘Yes.’ But she had already made up her mind that she would ask Miss Jarvis to take over the old man’s care. She couldn’t do it any more, not after this.

  She’d reached the door when Henry said, ‘You know, don’t you?’

  She froze. She couldn’t think of anything to say, but she knew her silence gave her away.

  ‘It was him, wasn’t it? That ruddy curate!’ Henry’s voice was gruff with anger. ‘I wish the vicar hadn’t said anything to him, but I suppose he felt he had to be told.’ He shook his head. ‘I might have known he’d try to cause trouble. He’s got it in for Finn, interfering little beggar!’ He paused, and Polly could hear him fighting for breath.

  ‘You mustn’t upset yourself,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I told the lad he should say something,’ Henry went on. ‘I warned him this would happen, but would he listen?’

  He drew in a deep breath. Polly turned to face him. ‘Please, Mr Slater, try not to upset yourself,’ she said.

  She tried to settle him but he fought against her, brushing off her hands, determined to be heard.

  ‘It in’t what it seems,’ he said. ‘Finn’s not a bad lad, truly he’s not.’

  But he stabbed a man. Polly pressed her lips together to hold on to the words. Henry was already getting himself in a state, and she didn’t want to upset him further.

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Of course it’s your business!’ Henry retorted. ‘The lad needs a friend, and he … trusts you. I know he might not show it,’ he let out a wheezing breath, ‘but that’s just Finn’s way. He’s had that many doors slammed in his face, he doesn’t … know how to show his feelings any more.’

  Polly reached across, plumping up his pillows and helping him to sit upright to save herself having to reply. But when she’d finished, the old man grabbed her hand, his gnarled fingers closing around hers, trapping her.

  ‘Talk to him, please,’ he begged. ‘Let him tell you his side of the story, then make up your mind.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t want to tell me?’

  A look of defeat came into the old man’s eyes. ‘Then Finn’s an even bigger fool than I think he is,’ he said wearily.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Finn braced his boots in the mud and thrust his spade into the sodden earth. He had been digging for the past hour, and every muscle in his body ached. What made it worse was that the pouring rain was already causing the mud to slide back into the hole. Tomorrow he would have to come out and do it all again.

  Job sat shivering on the rim of the grave, looking down at him with reproachful brown eyes. The dog’s black coat was slick with rain.

  Finn sighed. ‘You’re right,’ he said, putting down his spade. ‘It’s time we were heading back.’ He squinted up at the clock on the church tower. It was nearly ten. That wretched curate was bound to have gone by now.

  And perhaps Polly would still be there. Finn found himself smiling at the thought as he placed his hands square on the muddy ground above him and levered himself up and out of the hole. He was wiping the mud off his hands with his handkerchief when he saw her come out of the cottage.

  He lowered his gaze and told himself he wasn’t looking at her, but he couldn’t stop himself watching her as she picked her way gracefully down the path, her slender figure wrapped in her navy blue uniform coat, cap perched on her blonde hair.

  He was trying to work himself up to give her a casual wave when Job sat up, his tail thumping on the ground. Finn tensed, suddenly aware of footsteps coming across the wet ground towards him. And then she was there, close behind him, and he could smell her light flowery perfume. His heart drummed in his chest.

  But then another thought struck him. There could be only one reason why she would seek him out …

  He swung round, forgetting his shyness in his sudden panic. ‘Granddad …’ Finn glanced past her towards the house, muscles taut, ready to run. ‘Is he—’

  ‘Your grandfather is quite well,’ Polly said.

  He felt some of the tension leave him, but still couldn’t tear his gaze from the cottage. Mostly because it stopped him from having to look at her.

  Job brushed past Finn to approach her, and Pol
ly put her hand down to pat him. But she didn’t smile at the dog as she usually did, or dig in her pocket for some treat to give him. She looked tense, her face pale. If Finn didn’t know better, he would say she looked almost afraid …

  She knows.

  It was like a bolt of lightning in his brain, illuminating everything in a sudden, blinding flash. He didn’t even pause to question how she knew. He just understood that she did.

  He was surprised by how calm he felt. It was as if he had been waiting for the axe to fall, and now it had and he had nothing left to lose.

  For a moment they stood looking at each other, the rain streaming down their faces. It was as if they were speaking without words.

  Then Polly said, ‘Your grandfather said you’d explain everything.’

  Finn turned away. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he said brusquely. ‘I stabbed a man, I went to prison for it. I took my punishment, and here I am.’

  ‘There must be more to it than that.’

  ‘There isn’t.’ He wanted her to go away. He wanted her to hate him and shun the way everyone else did, because then it would be easier.

  He bent down to retrieve his spade from the hole, but she didn’t move. He didn’t turn round but he knew she was still standing there, not moving. She must be soaked to the skin, he thought.

  ‘You’ll catch pneumonia,’ he muttered.

  ‘I don’t care.’

  He shot her a sideways glance. ‘You’re very stubborn.’

  ‘That makes two of us, doesn’t it?’ Polly tilted her head to one side. She didn’t look angry, or frightened. Her lovely face was calm and composed, her gaze fixed on his. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Are you going to tell me or not?’

  He paused for a moment. He wanted to deny everything, to run, to hide, to do anything but allow her to see what was in his heart. But then he looked into her face, saw the raindrops sparkling on her lashes, and he knew he couldn’t lie to her.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said.

  He led her to a distant corner of the churchyard, a place she had never been before. There was a grave there, with a small headstone.

  ‘Granddad insisted they buried her here,’ Finn said. ‘He said he wanted to look after her. God knows my parents never did,’ he muttered bitterly.

  Polly peered at the name on the inscription. Amy Ann Slater. According to the dates below it, she was fifteen when she died, six years previously.

  ‘Your sister?’ she said. He nodded. ‘How did she …?’

  ‘She drowned.’ Finn’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. But she could see a muscle working angrily in his jaw. ‘Suicide, or so they said.’

  Polly swung round to face him. ‘But you don’t believe that?’

  ‘Oh, I believe she took her own life all right. But he drove her to it.’

  ‘You mean the man you—’

  ‘The man I stabbed.’ Finn’s voice was low. ‘He killed her, as surely as if he’d pushed her into that river himself.’

  Polly stared into Finn’s hard, angry face. Slowly, very slowly, things were beginning to fall into place.

  ‘What did he do to her?’ she asked, although she was sure she already knew the answer.

  Finn didn’t reply, and she knew he couldn’t. Even now, years later, he couldn’t seem to find the words.

  ‘Ruined her,’ he said finally. His voice was faint, as if it was coming from a long-distant memory. ‘Amy was just a little girl, playing out with her mates after dark. She was on her way home when he grabbed her and dragged her down an alleyway.’ Finn took a deep, ragged breath, and his hands balled into fists. Polly looked down at them, and thought about the damage they could do. Even Job whimpered in the face of his master’s raw anger.

  And yet he’d chosen a knife.

  ‘I was out all night, looking for her,’ he went on. ‘It wasn’t like Amy not to come home. She was such a good girl …’ He swallowed, and Polly could see him fighting for control. ‘I was the one who found her, left like a sack of old rubbish in that alleyway. I hardly recognised her, she’d been so badly beaten. And her clothes were all torn …’ He braced himself. ‘I’m glad I was the one who found her,’ he said in a hollow voice. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted a stranger to see her like that.’

  Polly clutched her hands together to stop herself from reaching out to him. ‘What happened then?’ she whispered.

  ‘I carried her home in my arms, and my mam washed her and put her to bed.’ His voice was flat again, all emotion gone. ‘She wanted that to be the end of it. All washed away.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because she didn’t want any trouble, and neither did my dad.’ He flicked a look at Polly. ‘The man who did this – we all knew him, you see. He owned the mill in town. The mill where my dad and all my uncles worked. No one wanted to cause trouble, not for him.’

  ‘But surely the police …?’

  Finn gave a derisive snort. ‘Didn’t you hear what I just said? They didn’t want to go to the police. My dad made out it was for Amy’s own good. He said if it all went to court, she’d be dragged up as a witness and publicly shamed. It would be her word against the boss’, Dad said, and he didn’t want our family to be disgraced, and everyone to know what had happened to Amy.’ Finn’s face was a mask of contempt. ‘Dad said he was doing it for her, but really he was doing it for himself. He betrayed his own daughter because he didn’t want to make trouble. Perhaps if they’d stood up for her, she wouldn’t have been so ashamed. Then she wouldn’t have done what she did.’

  ‘So you took matters into your own hands?’ Polly said.

  ‘I couldn’t let that man get away with it. I didn’t care what my parents said, I wanted to make him pay. So one night I stole a knife out of the kitchen and went looking for him.’

  ‘You meant to kill him?’

  ‘I was nineteen years old, I didn’t know what I was doing. But I knew I had to do something – for Amy. He couldn’t be allowed to get away with it, not after what he’d done to her.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I tracked him down to one of his drinking places, then followed him home.’ Finn’s voice was devoid of emotion, as if he was telling a story about someone else. ‘I waited for him in a dark alley. I wanted him to feel the same fear my sister had.’

  ‘But you didn’t kill him?’

  ‘Only by sheer luck. It was dark, I didn’t know what I was doing. All I know is there was a lot of blood.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘I stood over him until the police came.’

  Polly jerked back as if he’d slapped her. ‘Why didn’t you run away?’

  ‘Because I wanted everyone to know what I’d done.’ Finn lifted his chin. ‘I wasn’t a coward like him, attacking little girls in the dark and then hiding. I wanted him to look me in the eye and remember my face for ever. And I wanted people to know the truth about him.’

  ‘And did they?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Finn shook his head. ‘No charges were brought against him, because no one would come forward with any evidence.’

  ‘Not even your parents?’

  ‘Not even them.’ His face was bitter. ‘They would rather have saved face than stand up for their own children.’

  Polly stared at him. What he had done was truly terrible, but she couldn’t comprehend the thought of his own family not standing up for him, especially under the circumstances. ‘So he got away with it?’ she murmured.

  ‘As far as I know, he’s still running the mill. And my father and uncles are still bowing and scraping to him. But I couldn’t have gone back there. Even if my mother and father had wanted me to, I couldn’t have walked the same streets as him, knowing what he’d done. And neither could poor Amy. After I’d been sent to prison she did away with herself.’ Finn gazed down at the grave, lost in thought for a moment, then turned to face Polly. ‘So now you know the whole story,’ he said. ‘Now you know the kind of man I really am.’

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

  ‘I suppose you’ll want to walk away from me while you’ve still got the chance?’

  She looked at him. His eyes glinted with the light of challenge, but there was something else there too. A spark of vulnerability. He was waiting for her to reject him, to turn her back on him the way everyone else, including his own parents, had.

  And if she was wise, perhaps she should. She thought briefly about her mother. Bess had loathed Frank, believing he had ruined Polly’s life by marrying her and putting paid to her nursing career. What she would make of Finn Polly could only imagine.

  She had worked so hard for the past two years to win back her mother’s respect. Did she really want to throw it all away again?

  ‘Why would I want to walk away?’ said Polly.

  That surprised Finn. His brows drew together over stormy grey eyes. ‘I don’t understand,’ he murmured.

  ‘I’ve seen the way you are with your grandfather, and even with Job here.’ She patted the dog’s damp head. ‘I know you pretend you don’t have a heart, but I’ve seen it. And what you did … I can’t say I approve, but I understand why you did it, and that’s something. And I don’t believe you set out to kill that man, no matter what you say.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you believe that?’

  ‘Because if you’d really meant to kill him, you would have had plenty of chance to finish the job while you were waiting for the police.’ Polly shook her head. ‘You’re no murderer, Finn Slater.’

  He stared at her, eyes fixed on hers, so hard she thought for a moment she might have read it all wrong.

  Then she saw a tiny spark of warmth light up the darkness of his eyes, kindling into the faintest of smiles around the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Aye,’ he muttered. ‘Happen you’re right about that.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Please come out, Mr Shapcott.’

  ‘Bugger off!’

  Agnes suppressed a sigh of irritation and looked at her watch. He had been shut in the cupboard for nearly half an hour now, and she was running late. But she was determined that today would be the day Isaiah Shapcott had his bath.