But death didn’t come. Her mother did.
Polly had thought she was dreaming when she saw Bess at her bedside in her dark blue uniform. It must be the fever, she’d decided. She couldn’t imagine her mother nursing her so tenderly, sponging her forehead with cool, damp cloths, making her sip liquids to soothe her parched throat, waiting and waiting beside her bed.
By the time Polly was well again, Ellen Jarvis had taken over her care and Bess was nowhere to be seen. It was Miss Jarvis who helped Polly recover emotionally too. She was sympathetic and caring, and she listened to Polly in a way her brisk mother never would.
‘Was it she who suggested you should go back to nursing?’ Agnes asked.
Polly nodded. ‘I had to do something to earn a living, and nursing was the only thing I knew. I wasn’t sure how to go about it, but Miss Jarvis helped me write a letter to the Matron of the Leeds General Infirmary, where I’d started my training, and she was kind enough to allow me to go back.’
And it was Miss Jarvis who had sat at her side when she’d told her mother. Polly had hoped Bess might be pleased at the news, but all she’d got was a very dismissive, ‘And how long are you going to stick at it this time? I wonder.’
Her mother’s words haunted her once she had resumed her training. Even though Polly was grateful to be offered a second chance, it was still humiliating to walk back through the hospital doors and become a student again. Most of the set she’d started training with were now staff nurses, and Polly found herself in the difficult position of taking orders from her old friends.
But even when she felt like giving up, she still persevered, her mother’s words ringing in her ears.
‘Is that why you became a district nurse? To prove her wrong?’ Phil asked.
‘Or to redeem yourself,’ Agnes spoke up suddenly. Polly met her eyes in the mirror and a look of mute understanding passed between them. How did she know that? she wondered.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s exactly it.’
She’d wanted Bess to notice her, to respect her. Polly knew it shouldn’t matter, but still she longed for her mother’s approval. Wanted to show that even after all the mistakes she’d made, she could still be worthy of her mother’ love.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Well, don’t you look nice?’
Miss Jarvis beamed at them as they came downstairs. ‘Don’t they look lovely, Miss Goode?’
‘I hardly recognised them,’ the other nurse said dryly as she rearranged her hat in front of the hall mirror.
‘You should come with us,’ Polly said to Miss Jarvis.
‘Oh no, I’m far too old for all that,’ she laughed. ‘My dancing days are over, I’m afraid.’
‘And I already have plans to go out,’ Miss Goode put in, even though none of them had asked her.
‘Besides, I’m on emergency call this evening,’ Miss Jarvis went on. ‘I’m just on my way out, actually. One of my old chaps has had a fall.’
At that moment, Bess appeared from the Superintendent’s office. She stopped in her tracks when she saw them.
‘I was just saying how beautiful they all look, Bess,’ Ellen Jarvis prompted her. ‘Quite a picture, wouldn’t you say?’
Polly held her breath, waiting for her mother’s approval. But before Bess could say anything, the telephone rang, loud and shrill.
‘Saved by the bell,’ Phil murmured, as Bess bustled up the passage to answer it.
‘So where is this dance?’ Miss Jarvis asked.
‘At the church hall.’
‘St Martin’s?’
‘That’s right.’ But all the while she was talking, Polly was listening to her mother speaking on the telephone. As she listened, she could feel the chill foreboding uncurling itself inside her again. Something was going to happen; she could feel it like a cold breath on her skin.
Bess put the telephone down and returned to them. ‘Mrs Wendle has gone into labour,’ she announced. ‘Acorn Street.’
Polly recognised the name straight away. ‘She’s one of ours,’ she said. ‘But she isn’t due for another couple of weeks, surely?’
‘Well, I don’t suppose anyone’s thought to tell the bairn that,’ Bess snapped. ‘Her husband reckons it’s on its way now.’
‘That’s rather a nuisance,’ Miss Jarvis sighed. ‘She’ll have to hang on while I attend to Mr Fitch.’
‘I’ll go,’ Bess said. ‘From the way her old man was talking, I don’t think she can hang on that long.’ She turned to Polly. ‘You’ll have to come with me.’
Polly heard the other girls gasp, but she wasn’t surprised. She had known from the moment her mother picked up the telephone that something would happen to spoil tonight.
‘But she can’t!’ Miss Jarvis protested. ‘It’s her night off.’
‘Night off or not, I’ll need her. Mrs Wendle knows her, and that’ll be a comfort.’
‘She knows me too,’ Miss Jarvis said firmly. ‘Why don’t you go and see to Mr Fitch while I attend to Mrs Wendle?’
Bess didn’t reply, her beady gaze still fixed on Polly. ‘I thought you were keen to learn midwifery?’ she said.
Polly read the mute challenge in her mother’s eyes. Prove yourself, her look said.
‘I’ll get changed,’ she said quietly.
She turned to Phil and Agnes. ‘You two go without me,’ she said. ‘I’ll try and come along later, if I can.’
‘But—’ Phil started to protest, but Agnes took her arm.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘No point in everyone’s evening being ruined, is there?’ She glared at Bess when she said it.
As Polly went upstairs, she could hear Miss Jarvis still arguing with her mother.
‘Honestly, Bess,’ she was saying. ‘Can’t you allow the girl to enjoy herself for once?’
‘She’s here to learn.’ Her mother’s voice was implacable.
‘Good Lord, it’s not as if she’ll never have another chance to see a baby being born!’ Miss Jarvis sounded exasperated. ‘They arrive more often than buses around here, as you well know.’
Polly closed the door to her room, shutting out her mother’s reply. She didn’t need to hear what Bess had to say.
She paused in front of the mirror, taking a moment to admire her own reflection. She was wearing her favourite dress, in a silky eau de Nil fabric. It was the latest fashion, falling in a straight line from her shoulders, skimming over her slender hips to just above her ankles. Polly had made a band from matching ribbon to put around her hair, and stuck a brooch just above her ear. It was only paste, but it caught the light beautifully, illuminating her face. She looked just like a flapper from a fashion magazine.
It was a shame no one would see it, she thought sadly, as the dress slid into a silky pool around her feet.
But then, perhaps it was for the best. She shouldn’t really be going to the dance at all because she knew there was a chance she might see Finn there.
Not that he was the type for dancing, as he’d already told her. But she’d had the feeling she would see him anyway. The attraction between them was so strong, they had a way of finding each other, like magnets pulled from opposite ends of the earth.
So far Polly had managed to resist it. Much as she was drawn to him, to the point where she couldn’t think of anything else when she was with him, the fear of not pleasing her mother was even stronger. Polly couldn’t disappoint her again, because she knew there would be no going back this time if she did.
Bess was already waiting by the door when Polly returned downstairs. She had swapped her leather Gladstone bag for the metal midwifery case that was always used for deliveries.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘She’ll have had it by the time we get there.’
They cycled to Burmantofts in the east of the city in silence. As they passed the church, Polly gave it a sideways glance. The dance was in full swing. The church hall was lit up, and the sounds of music and laughter drifted through the open doors.
It was for the best, she told herself. She could feel her mother’s questioning gaze on her and looked away, afraid her longing was written all over her face.
Mr Wendle was pacing up and down the street waiting for them as they turned the corner from Great Garden Street. It was a wild, windy night, but he was in his shirtsleeves.
He saw them and rushed over. He barely gave Bess a chance to get off her bicycle before he seized her hands, half dragging her towards the house.
‘Oh, thank God!’ he kept saying. ‘Thank God you’re here, nurse. She’s having a terrible time of it. Joyce, the midwife’s here!’ he shouted.
‘About bloody time!’ came the answering scream.
‘Sorry about that.’ Mr Wendle blushed. ‘My Joyce in’t usually one for cursing.’
‘She’s having a baby, love,’ Bess said grimly. ‘That would make a saint curse.’
By the time they’d scrubbed their hands, changed into clean caps and aprons and put the instruments on to boil, they found Joyce Wendle on her hands and knees amid a tangle of sheets, hanging on to the bedpost for dear life.
‘I want to puuush!’ she screeched.
‘Nonsense, lass, I expect you’ve got ages yet,’ Bess said briskly, taking charge of the situation. She turned to Polly. ‘Now, I want you to put some paper down on this floor, while I get a mackintosh and a clean draw sheet on the bed …’
‘Never mind the sodding sheets!’ Mrs Wendle stared at them through a tangle of sweat-dampened hair. ‘I – noooo!’ Her final words were lost in a drawn out wail of agony.
Mr Wendle hovered in the doorway, wringing his hands.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked, looking fearful.
‘Bugger off, you’ve done enough!’ his wife screamed.
Bess sighed. ‘My goodness, what a fuss,’ she tutted. ‘Come on, then, let’s have a look at you. But I daresay you’ve got a way to go before—’ She stopped talking.
‘What is it?’ Polly looked up from laying out the sheets of newspaper.
‘What is it?’ Mr Wendle echoed from the doorway.
Bess straightened her shoulders. ‘Better go and fetch those instruments,’ she said to Polly. ‘I can see the head!’
After half an hour of pushing, screaming, encouragement, and whimpering from Mr Wendle, the baby slithered into the world, puce-faced and screaming in outrage.
‘It’s a boy,’ Bess said. Polly watched her mother as she deftly cut the cord, then wrapped the infant up and plonked him on the scales. ‘Six pounds three ounces.’
‘A boy!’ Mr Wendle whispered from the doorway, his voice full of wonder. ‘Our Archibald.’
Archibald! Polly almost laughed out loud. And it seemed her mother was just as amused, judging from the twinkle in her eyes.
‘Archibald, is it?’ Bess’ brows rose above her mask. ‘That’s a big name for a tiny lad.’ She turned to Polly. ‘Keep mother nice and warm and well covered, and let me know when the placenta is coming. I’m going to give little – Archibald – a wash.’
‘It still hurts,’ Mrs Wendle complained when Bess had gone. She shifted restlessly against the pillows, her face screwed up in pain.
‘I suppose that’s to be expected,’ Polly replied, trying to comfort her. ‘You’ve just given birth to a baby, and it’s bound to—’
‘Nay, nurse, tha doesn’t understand – I want to push again!’
Polly shot to her feet. ‘Ma?’ she called out, without thinking. ‘Ma, I think the placenta’s coming!’ She turned back to Mrs Wendle, who was thrashing around, trying to scramble back on to her hands and knees. ‘Try to lie still,’ pleaded Polly.
‘Lie still, be buggered!’ Joyce Wendle shot back. ‘Bloody hell, I didn’t think it was supposed to hurt like this!’
‘It isn’t.’ Polly looked around for her mother, but Bess had gone downstairs with Mr Wendle. She lifted the sheet gingerly and peered into the gloom.
‘Can tha see owt?’ Mrs Wendle panted. ‘Is the afterbirth coming?’
‘No,’ Polly murmured. ‘But something else is.’
‘What?’
‘Mrs Wendle, I think you’re having twins!’
‘Twins! Oh, f—’ Thankfully Mrs Wendle never finished her sentence before another contraction seized her. Polly caught a glimpse of a small, blood-smeared pink dome appearing between the woman’s legs.
‘Ma!’ she yelled out, her scream almost matching Mrs Wendle’s. A moment later she heard her mother’s footsteps thudding up the stairs, but it was already too late. By the time Bess had burst into the room, another baby had slithered into the world.
Polly held it in her hands, feeling dazed. ‘Another boy,’ she whispered.
‘Well, I never!’ Bess shook her head. ‘Two for the price of one, eh?’
It was another hour before they left the Wendles’ house.
‘Well, you don’t see that every day,’ Bess said as they stepped out into the damp November night.
‘They seemed very happy,’ Polly said. They had left both parents cradling a child in their arms, looking at each other in happy bewilderment.
‘Aye, they did. Once they’d got over the shock!’ Bess shook her head. ‘When I think of poor Mr Wendle’s face as he came in, holding his son, and found he had another one waiting for him. Talk about surprised!’
‘Not half as surprised as you were!’ Polly reminded her.
‘Aye, that’s true. It caught me out, all right,’ Bess chuckled. It was a strange sound, one Polly wasn’t used to hearing. ‘And their names!’
‘Archibald – and Joe. I feel a bit sorry for poor little Joe, don’t you? His name is a bit of an afterthought.’
‘I feel more sorry for poor Archibald!’ Bess replied. They both laughed, and then stopped abruptly as they realised what was happening.
‘You did a good job,’ Bess said quietly.
It was so unexpected, it took Polly a moment to speak. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’
There was a long pause. Then Bess said, ‘Why don’t you get off to your dance?’
Polly shook her head. ‘It’s too late.’
‘It’s not nine o’clock yet. You’ve still got a while. I’ll tell Dottie not to lock the door while half-past ten,’ Bess added conspiratorially.
Polly stared at her. Was this really her mother speaking? ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m hardly dressed for it.’
‘You look fine,’ Bess said.
It wasn’t much of a compliment, but Polly was so used to being criticised she hardly knew what to do with herself.
‘Go on,’ Bess said. ‘I reckon you’ve earned an hour off.’
Suddenly Polly understood. This evening had been another test, to find out if she was as committed as she claimed to be.
And she had passed. The thought filled her with relief, but also annoyance. Would her mother ever trust her? Polly wondered.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The dance was still in full swing at the church hall when Polly arrived. Some couples were whirling around the floor in each other’s arms while others attempted a very daring Charleston, waving their hands and kicking their legs about in time to the music.
Polly pushed her way through the throng, looking for Agnes and Phil, and found them lingering beside the punch bowl.
Phil laughed when she saw her. ‘Good heavens, look at the state of you! Cinderella has decided to come to the ball without the help of her Fairy Godmother, I see!’
‘How did it go?’ Agnes asked. ‘Did the baby arrive safely?’
‘Babies,’ Polly said. ‘Twin boys.’
‘Twins!’ Phil laughed. ‘Imagine that.’
‘Are they all right?’ Agnes asked. ‘They’re both well?’
‘Very well,’ Polly said, looking over her shoulder. She knew Finn wouldn’t be in the hall, but at the same time she couldn’t help hoping to see him.
As if she could read her thoughts, Phil said, ‘There was someone looki
ng for you earlier.’
Polly’s heart jolted. ‘Oh yes?’
‘He’s been badgering us all evening, asking where you were. He seemed quite disconsolate when we said you might not come. And you tried to tell us you didn’t have an admirer!’
Polly smiled archly. ‘I—’
‘Oh, here he is now,’ Phil nodded in the direction of the dance floor before Polly could reply.
She turned to find herself staring into the blandly handsome face of Matthew Elliott.
‘Hello,’ he greeted her. ‘I didn’t think you were coming.’
‘I nearly didn’t.’ Polly forced herself to smile back, ignoring the surge of disappointment she felt. ‘I’m afraid I’m hardly dressed for the occasion!’ she said ruefully.
‘You look beautiful to me.’
Polly glanced around for Phil and Agnes, but they had melted into the crowd.
‘Would you like to dance?’ Matthew asked. ‘I’m afraid I’m not really one for this modern lark, since the old war injury.’ He indicated his stick. ‘But I’m sure if we hang on to each other in the old-fashioned way, I could just about manage a turn around the floor …’
‘Thank you, but I’m rather tired. It’s been a long evening.’
‘In that case, can I get you a drink? Or perhaps something to eat? There was a good spread earlier, but I’m not sure how much is left.’
He was being so kind, Polly thought. Almost too kind. She could feel his eagerness pressing on her, stifling her.
‘Thank you, but I really think I should go and find my friends. I don’t want them to think I’ve abandoned them,’ she said.
Matthew’s smile dropped a fraction. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could meet up later?’
‘I’ll come and find you,’ she promised, but she knew she wouldn’t.
Agnes and Phil had both found partners and were on the dance floor, so Polly slipped past them and out into the cold night air.
The events of the evening were finally beginning to catch up with her, overwhelming her. Her muscles ached with weariness, and all she really wanted to do was go home.
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 18