Agnes flinched away. ‘I can assure you I won’t!’
‘You see you don’t.’ He stuck out his leg. ‘Now just get on with what you’re here to do.’
Agnes kept her head down and quietly set about dressing the wound. His leg was a mass of old scars and wasted muscle. No wonder it ulcerated so much, she thought. Exercise would have helped, but she decided not to suggest it. She could already feel Mr Willis’ resentment vibrating through him.
Instead, she asked quietly, ‘How did your leg get so badly damaged?’
‘How d’you think?’ he snapped back.
Agnes looked at him. According to his notes he was thirty years old, roughly the same age Peter would have been, had he lived. ‘The war?’
‘Ypres. A German shell caught me when I was, face down in the middle of no-man’s-land. Left me for dead in the mud.’
‘Lucky you survived.’
‘Lucky? Is that what you think?’ His bitterness shocked her.
‘How did you get back to safety?’ she asked.
‘A couple of medics found me and dragged me back to the trenches. Bloody fools!’ His mouth twisted. ‘They could have been killed themselves, with all those shells around waiting to explode.’
‘My father was a doctor at Ypres,’ Agnes said quietly.
Norman Willis lifted his head sharply, and looked as if he might say something, but Mrs Willis appeared in the doorway.
‘That’s enough war talk,’ she said shortly. ‘You know I don’t like hearing it in this house. It’s bad enough you had to go through it.’ Her mouth was set in a tight line. ‘It’s all over and done with now.’
‘Aye, you’re right. It’s all over and done with, thank God,’ Mr Willis muttered. He was smiling, but when Agnes glanced at him, she could see the pain in his eyes. It was the same hollow despair she had seen on her father’s face whenever he thought no one was watching.
The war would never be over and done with for either of them, thought Agnes.
It was a long, exhausting day. By the time Agnes returned to the district nurses’ house, every muscle in her body was aching from endlessly lifting patients in and out of beds and baths, bending to dress wounds and give injections. All she longed for was a long, hot soak.
She certainly wasn’t in the mood to go dancing. But tonight there was the dance at the church hall, and she and Phil had promised Polly they would go with her.
Agnes was trying to think up all kinds of excuses why she couldn’t go as she walked up the steps to the house. Before she had a chance to put her hand on the door latch, it swung open and Dottie greeted her. Agnes suspected the maid had been lurking behind the door, looking through the frosted glass for her to arrive.
‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Miss Gale wants you in her office. And she’s got the doctor with her,’ Dottie added ominously.
The first thing Agnes saw when she walked in was Bess standing in a corner of the room with a face like thunder. Beside Miss Gale at her desk was an elderly man Agnes took to be Dr Branning. He reminded her of her father, with his shock of silvery hair and warm, twinkling brown eyes.
‘Ah, Miss Sheridan,’ Miss Gale greeted her. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. Dr Branning has dropped in especially to see you.’ She made it sound as if it were a great honour.
Agnes flashed a glance at Bess. She must be enjoying every minute of this. If Dr Branning had come to give Agnes a dressing down in person, he must be very angry indeed.
Dr Branning rose to his feet to greet her. ‘So this is the young lady we need to thank, is it?’ he said.
Agnes looked up sharply, ‘Thank, sir?’
‘I went to see Mrs Franklin this morning. You were quite right, nurse. She had a very nasty duodenal ulcer.’
Agnes was so taken aback, she forgot her nerves. ‘How is she, sir?’
‘She is in hospital, and doing very well now she’s getting the treatment she needs. Poor woman, who knows how long she has been going on with it.’ He shook his head. ‘I must say, the diagnosis hadn’t occurred to me in all the times I’d seen her.’ He pursed his mouth. ‘You might have gathered, Miss Sheridan, that our Mrs Franklin has something of a reputation around here.’
‘The boy who cried wolf,’ Miss Gale put in.
‘Indeed, Miss Gale. Although this is a salutary lesson for us all never to ignore a patient’s symptoms, no matter how often they complain about them.’
Agnes risked another glance at Bess Bradshaw. She was staring at the wall, her expression fixed.
‘Poor Mrs Franklin might have had to endure a great deal more pain, if you hadn’t spotted her symptoms,’ Dr Branning went on. ‘Tell me, my dear, what made you think it might be an ulcer?’
‘It was just something I recalled from my nursing training, doctor. Unlike gastric ulcers, ulcers in the duodenum don’t cause pain until several hours after a meal, and then often in the early hours of the morning. Raw fruit and salads also aggravate them. And then there was considerable pain in the epigastrium—’
‘All right, all right,’ Bess muttered, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘We don’t need you showing off.’
‘Well, I for one am most impressed,’ Dr Branning declared, ignoring Bess. ‘Where did you train, Miss Sheridan?’
‘The Nightingale Hospital in London, sir.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Agnes saw Bess rolling her eyes.
‘Indeed? I’ve heard of it. Well, Miss Sheridan, your superior training has really proved its worth today.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Then I’m glad the matter has reached a satisfactory conclusion,’ Miss Gale said. ‘Now, Miss Sheridan, you’ll want to be excused. I understand you’re going to a dance with the other students this evening?’
‘Yes, Miss Gale.’
‘Have a nice time, but don’t be too late. Dottie locks the doors promptly at ten o’clock.’
‘Yes, Miss Gale.’ As she passed her, Agnes couldn’t help smiling to see Bess’ sulky expression.
Suddenly she thought she might be in the mood for dancing after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Polly was at the mirror, sorting out Phil’s hair for the dance, when Agnes came in, grinning from ear to ear. It made a startling change from her room mate’s usual beaten-down expression after the latest disagreement with her mother.
‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ Phil observed. ‘Don’t tell me they’ve found your bicycle?’
Agnes shook her head. ‘Better than that.’
‘They’ve bought you a new one!’ Phil looked outraged. ‘I knew it! I don’t suppose I’ll ever get my motorcycle now—’
‘Stay still!’ Polly tapped her on the shoulder with the hairbrush. It was difficult enough to untangle Phil’s thick thatch of brown hair without her wriggling about all the time.
‘It’s nothing to do with my bicycle.’ Agnes sat down on the bed. ‘I’ve just had a visit from Dr Branning.’
‘Why? Are you ill?’ Phil asked.
‘No!’ Agnes looked pleased with herself. ‘He came to thank me for my work.’
As she changed out of her uniform she told them the whole story. How Bess Bradshaw had forbidden her to go and visit a patient, but she’d gone anyway and somehow ended up saving their life.
All the while she was talking, Polly could feel a chill of foreboding uncurling in the pit of her stomach.
‘And you say Dr Branning came all this way just to thank you?’ Phil Fletcher said. Her voice was light, but Polly could see the set of her jaw. Phil had been used to getting all the praise until Agnes Sheridan came along. She was a nice girl but fiercely competitive, and Polly knew it wouldn’t sit well with her to have her position usurped.
‘I must say, I was surprised myself,’ Agnes said. ‘After the way Mrs Bradshaw went on about it, I was sure I was going to get into trouble.’
‘I’ll bet she was furious,’ Polly said quietly, her hands busy plaiting Phil’s hair.
‘She was completely beside her
self,’ Agnes confirmed. ‘And she looked as if she was about to explode when Dr Branning complimented me.’
Polly caught Phil’s eye in the mirror and knew they were both thinking the same thing.
Agnes caught it too. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Why are you looking at each other like that?’
Polly paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. ‘It doesn’t do to antagonise my mother, you know. She has a way of getting her revenge.’
Agnes rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t I know it! But I didn’t set out to antagonise her.’
‘All the same, you should watch your step.’
Agnes tilted her head arrogantly. ‘Bess Bradshaw can do her worst. I’m sure I’ll be able to cope with it.’
Polly opened her mouth to reply, but Phil said, ‘Oh, just let her enjoy her moment of triumph. Lord knows we students don’t get many of them. Have you finished?’
‘Nearly.’ Polly jammed the last pin in place. ‘There, all done.’
‘You’ve worked a miracle, my dear.’ But Phil hardly bothered to check her reflection. She was the least vain girl Polly had ever met, at least as far as her appearance went.
Phil stood up. ‘Now it’s your turn to be transformed,’ she said to Agnes.
Agnes shook her head. ‘There’s no need—’ she started to say, but Phil interrupted her.
‘Oh, go on. I had to endure it, and so should you.’
‘Charming!’ Polly said. ‘And after all my hard work too.’ She turned to Agnes. ‘Come on, it’ll only take a minute,’ she coaxed. ‘I’ll just brush it out for you.’
Agnes slid into the chair reluctantly, and Polly got to work with her brush. Released from the pins that held it in place, Agnes’ hair flowed over her shoulders in glossy waves. It was a rich chestnut colour and felt like silk rippling through Polly’s fingers, especially after Phil’s coarse brown curls.
‘You have the most beautiful hair,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ Agnes lowered her eyes, blushing at the compliment. She was a lovely-looking girl, Polly thought, but like Phil she was careless about her appearance. Polly was certain they didn’t own a lipstick or a bottle of scent between them.
‘So what’s this dance you’re dragging us to?’ Phil asked.
‘It’s a fund-raiser for the church. I just thought it might be fun.’ Polly didn’t add that she needed them there with her to keep Matthew Elliott at bay.
‘I can’t say I feel much like dancing,’ Phil said. ‘A pig stood on my foot today.’
Polly caught Agnes’ eye and laughed. ‘And we thought we had it tough!’
‘Don’t!’ Phil grimaced, massaging her bruised toes. ‘It’s too much, what with the perils of the farmyard and all that walking and cycling too. If the Association doesn’t give me a motorcycle soon, I think I might give up the job completely.’
Polly smiled at Agnes. Phil must have said those words at least twice a day.
‘I couldn’t imagine Miss Templeton on a motorcycle,’ Agnes said.
‘Oh, I’ve told her she can ride in the sidecar,’ Phil replied carelessly. ‘She’s quite happy about it.’
She went off to her room to change and returned less than a minute later, wearing a dowdy-looking dress at least two sizes too big for her and in an unflattering shade of green.
Polly eyed it dubiously. ‘Is that what you’re wearing?’
‘Yes, why? What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s …’ Polly opened her mouth, then closed it again. Phil clearly didn’t think there was anything wrong with the way she looked, and Polly didn’t want to offend her. ‘It’s very nice,’ she said finally.
‘So will your young man be at the dance?’ Phil asked.
Polly froze for a second as a sudden vision of Finn Slater flashed into her mind. Then she carried on brushing. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she mumbled.
‘Oh, come on! You can’t fool us. We’ve seen you going out all dressed up on your afternoons off!’
Polly kept her head down. ‘I always dress up to go and visit my husband’s grave,’ she said, but she could feel herself blushing.
‘Yes, but you’ve been even more dressed up than usual recently.’ Phil smiled archly. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? It’s written all over your face.’
‘There isn’t anyone, honestly.’ Polly turned her worried gaze towards the door as she said it. She wouldn’t put it past her mother to lurk on the landing, listening to their conversation.
‘Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us,’ Phil whispered conspiratorially. ‘Although really, I do think it’s too bad that you’re not even allowed to have an admirer at your age. Is your mother worried you’re going to elope again?’
Agnes looked up, startled. ‘You eloped?’
‘You mean you’ve been sharing a room all these weeks and you haven’t told her?’ Phil stared at Polly accusingly.
‘She hasn’t asked,’ Polly replied quietly. She was grateful that Agnes Sheridan kept herself to herself and didn’t pry. She wasn’t sure she could have put up with a gossipy chatterbox.
‘Oh, but you must tell her now!’ Phil insisted.
Polly felt her blush deepening. ‘I’m sure Agnes doesn’t want to hear about—’
‘I’m sure she does,’ Phil said. ‘You want to hear it, don’t you?’
Agnes caught her eye in the mirror, her expression sympathetic. ‘Not if Polly doesn’t want to tell me …’
‘You see? She’s all ears. Go on, Polly.’
Polly took a deep breath. She knew Phil would only keep going on about it until she told her story.
‘I met Frank when I was working at the Infirmary,’ she began the story slowly. ‘I was training on the Orthopaedic ward, and he’d fallen off a roof and broken his leg.’
Typical Frank, she thought, always getting into scrapes, daring to do what no one else would. The ward sister used to shake her head and say there was never a dull moment with Mr Malone around, and she was right. His devil-may-care attitude was part of the attraction for Polly, that and his fair good looks. He reminded her of her father, with his lively sense of humour and ready laugh that seemed to echo down the ward. No wonder she fell for him so quickly. By the time Frank was discharged three months later, they were deeply in love and planning to marry.
‘But your mother didn’t approve?’ Agnes guessed.
Polly shook her head. ‘She didn’t think he was good enough for me. I knew she’d be disappointed that I wanted to give up my studies and get married, but I hoped in the end she’d understand and be happy for me. I couldn’t have been more wrong,’ she said bitterly.
She remembered the argument vividly. Frank Malone was a bad lot, her mother had said. He would break her heart and ruin her life.
‘But you don’t know him!’ Polly had protested.
‘I know his type,’ Bess had replied grimly. ‘You mark my words, my girl. He’ll bring you nothing but misery.’
‘But—’
‘Do as you’re told, lass. Stick to your studies and get that qualification under your belt. And we’ll have no more nonsense about marriage,’ Bess had declared firmly.
It was typical of her, Polly had decided mutinously. Her mother had to have the last word on everything. She had done it to Polly’s father, and she was doing it again to her.
‘So you decided to elope,’ Phil jumped in.
‘I had no choice. I wasn’t going to let her ruin my life the way she’d—’ The way she’d ruined my father’s, Polly was going to say, but stopped herself. There were some things no one else needed to know.
Agnes shuddered. ‘I can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for you, having to come back and tell her you’d married in secret. I’m scared enough telling her when I’ve broken a thermometer!’
‘It was terrifying,’ Polly agreed. ‘It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.’
But not just because she feared her mother’s wrath. Bess might not have been the most loving mother
in the world, but she had been the guiding light in Polly’s life since her father died. Polly couldn’t stop thinking about how hard her mother had worked, and all the sacrifices she’d made. Running away and getting married against her wishes felt like a terrible betrayal.
Polly didn’t think she would ever forget the look of utter devastation on Bess’ face.
‘What did she say?’ Agnes asked.
‘ “God help you.” ’ Polly remembered her mother’s words as clearly as if they’d been spoken yesterday. ‘That was the last thing she said to me for two years.’
Frank had been confident that Bess would come round in the end, but Polly knew her mother better than that.
They moved into rented rooms. Polly was happy being a bride, but she missed her old life too. She missed the hospital, and the friends she’d made there.
Most of all she missed her mother. As luck would have it, Bess was the district nurse for the Bank, the area where they lived, and most days Polly would stand at the window with her nose pressed to the glass, watching out for her the way she had watched out for her father when she was a small child.
Sometimes she would see Bess cycling down the street with her Gladstone bag in the front basket. Whenever she saw her, Polly would hold her breath and hope that Bess might come through the yard or at least glance her daughter’s way, but she never did.
Once Polly had even plucked up the courage to go to Steeple Street and visit her mother, in an effort to make the peace. Bess was out on an emergency call, but Miss Jarvis had invited her in for a cup of tea. They had talked, and Miss Jarvis had promised to get her mother to call, but Bess never did.
‘When was the next time you spoke to her?’ Agnes asked.
‘Not until after my husband’s funeral.’
‘How did he die?’
‘Influenza. There was an epidemic in the city that winter, almost as bad as the Spanish Flu after the war. It nearly took me too.’
Not that Polly would have cared. She’d wanted to die, to be with Frank. They had been married barely a year, but she couldn’t imagine going on without him. She had curled up in bed, under the old patchwork quilt she had shared with Frank, and prayed for death to come for her.
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 17