The Nurses of Steeple Street

by Donna Douglas

  But nothing was said as Dottie went around them all, dishing up steaming platefuls of stew and dumplings. Gradually the hum of voices lifted again, but Agnes still kept her gaze fixed on her plate, afraid to meet anyone’s eye.

  Then the conversation turned to Miss Gale’s meeting with the District Association the previous day.

  ‘I don’t suppose the Association said anything about giving Miss Fletcher and me our motorcycles?’ Miss Templeton asked hopefully.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Miss Gale said. ‘Or rather, they did mention it but not in the way we might have hoped. Apparently there are insufficient funds available at present.’

  Phil groaned loudly. ‘I knew it!’

  ‘Miss Templeton, you should go and address the Association yourself, tell them the trials you and Miss Fletcher have to face every day,’ Miss McLeod said.

  ‘Or better yet, send Miss Sheridan,’ Miss Goode put in mischievously. ‘She likes a good row!’

  Everyone laughed. ‘Nurses, please!’ Miss Gale admonished them mildly, but even she was smiling when she spoke.

  Agnes did her best to ignore them, but humiliation washed over her in a scalding wave.

  ‘I think Miss Hook should write another poem for the Queen’s Nurse magazine, all about your exploits,’ Miss Goode continued, warming to her theme. ‘What do you say, Miss Hook?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ The elderly nurse looked up vaguely from her meal. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I said you should write a poem about our Miss Sheridan.’ Miss Goode grinned. ‘Now, how would it go? “There was a young student called Aggie …” ’

  Luckily Agnes was spared the next line by a sharp rap on the front door. It was so loud, Dottie nearly dropped the tray of cups and saucers she was carrying.

  Miss Gale looked up. ‘Who on earth could that be? Go and answer it, please, Dottie.’

  The maid dumped the tray on the sideboard and scuttled off. All around the table the nurses fell silent, listening. There was the sound of Dottie’s footsteps pattering on the tiled floor, then the creak of the front door, followed a second later by a bellow of rage.

  ‘Where is she?’

  Agnes recognised the voice straight away. Her heart sank.

  ‘Where’s that stuck-up, interfering cow? You send her out here now! Send her out and let her face me!’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Miss Gale went to stand up, but Bess was already on her feet.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘I know her. It’s Mrs Willis, from Quarry Hill.’

  Bess left, and all eyes turned once again to Agnes. ‘That’s your area, isn’t it, Miss Sheridan?’ Miss Goode spoke the words they were all thinking.

  ‘Let’s get on with our meal, shall we?’ Miss Gale said. ‘I’m sure Mrs Bradshaw has the matter in hand.’

  They all picked up their knives and forks as Bess’ coaxing voice drifted in from the hallway.

  ‘Now then, Nettie lass, calm down and tell me what’s going on. You’re not making sense.’

  There was more indignant squawking, which no one could make out. Agnes sat very still as the other nurses stirred around her, trying to work out what was going on.

  Polly leaned across. ‘Do you know anything about this?’ she whispered.

  Agnes opened her mouth to speak, but then Bess appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Miss Sheridan, could you come with me?’ she said.

  Agnes was aware of everyone watching her as she got to her feet.

  ‘Not again!’ Miss Goode murmured, clearly enjoying every minute. ‘What’s she done this time?’

  Miss Gale said nothing, but her eyes were full of reproach.

  Nettie Willis was in the hallway, clutching a scrap of paper in her hand. She seemed calm, but when Agnes appeared she flew at her like a snarling tiger. Agnes shrank back as Bess put herself between them, blocking the woman’s path.

  ‘Calm down, love. Remember what I said?’ she warned quietly. ‘You’ll get nowhere by shouting and carrying on.’

  But Nettie didn’t seem to be in the mood to listen.

  ‘Did you do this?’ She waved the piece of paper at Agnes over Bess’ shoulder. ‘Is this right, that you’ve been going round the place, settling our bills for us?’

  ‘I—’ Agnes lost her voice, helpless in the face of Nettie’s anger.

  ‘Well?’ Bess said. ‘Is it true or isn’t it?’

  Agnes rallied, pulling herself together. ‘I was only trying to help,’ she said. ‘Mr Franklin wanted to thank me for helping his wife, and I thought it would be a good idea—’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Nettie’s face was mottled with rage. ‘You thought you’d throw a few scraps my way, like I was some beggar?’

  Agnes stared at her. ‘But I don’t understand. I thought you’d be pleased …’

  ‘Pleased? Pleased?’ Nettie’s voice was shrill with outrage. ‘I in’t a charity case, you know. We pay our bills. I was going to pay this one, until you decided to take matters into your own hands!’

  ‘The lass never meant any harm by it, Nettie.’ Surprisingly, it was Bess who stepped in to defend her. ‘She doesn’t understand the way we go about things around here, that’s all.’

  ‘Nay, she doesn’t.’ Nettie glared at Agnes. ‘She thinks she’s above the rest of us, that’s her trouble. But you listen here, madam. I might not speak posh like you or have your education, but there’s no reason to treat me like I in’t good enough to clean your boots!’

  ‘But I didn’t …’

  ‘All right, Nettie, you’ve said your piece.’ Bess was already ushering her towards the door. ‘You’ve told the lass what you think, and we’ll leave it at that, shall we?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t even started to tell her what I think!’ Nettie flared back. ‘She don’t belong here, nurse, I could see that the minute I set eyes on her. And the sooner she goes back where she came from, the better!’

  ‘Aye, well, you might be right about that.’ Bess glanced at Agnes. ‘Wait in the district room,’ she ordered Agnes. ‘I’ll be with you presently.’

  Agnes closed the door to the district room and leaned against it, weak with relief. Outside, she could see Bess guiding Nettie down the front path, patting her arm and talking quietly to her. By the time they’d reached the front gate, Nettie Willis was calm again, and even managed a smile for Bess as she left. She had never done anything but scowl at Agnes.

  She braced herself as the door to the district room opened and Bess walked in.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘You’ve managed to upset two people in one day. Who else will be knocking on our door, I wonder.’

  ‘I was only trying to help,’ Agnes pleaded.

  ‘You don’t understand, do you? Help is the last thing Nettie Willis needs. Not your kind of help anyway. All the poor woman had left was her pride, and now you’ve taken even that away from her.’

  ‘I – I didn’t know.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ Bess said. ‘That’s the trouble with you. You don’t understand anything about the people around here, or how they live.’

  ‘I’m trying to.’

  ‘Are you? I haven’t seen it. From what I’ve seen, Mrs Willis is right. You swan in like Lady Bountiful and act as if you’re doing them a favour by being there.’

  Agnes opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. There was no point, she thought. Trying to fight her corner would only land her in more trouble. Better to humbly accept her fate.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll make more of an effort, I promise.’

  ‘You can make all the effort you like, but I don’t believe you’ll ever understand the people of Quarry Hill,’ Bess said shortly. ‘Because to be honest, Miss Sheridan, you don’t belong here.’

  Agnes felt tears sting the back of her eyes. ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘Your place is back in your fancy London hospital, not here. I wonder if it’s even worth finishing your training.’

  Agnes stared at Bess. ‘I want to fini
sh,’ she insisted quietly. I have no choice, a small voice added.

  ‘Very well,’ Bess sighed. ‘But from now on, I’ll be coming out on your rounds with you again.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No arguments, Miss Sheridan. You clearly can’t be trusted on your own. We don’t want a riot on our hands, do we?’

  Agnes stared down at the toes of her shoes. Bess must be enjoying this, she thought. The Assistant Superintendent had been looking for a reason to humiliate her, and now Agnes had given it to her.

  And all she could do was accept the consequences.

  ‘No, Mrs Bradshaw,’ she said quietly.

  ‘We’ll start this afternoon. And you can be sure I will be watching you very carefully, Miss Sheridan. Very carefully indeed.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Agnes woke up with a start from a nightmare. She had dreamed that she was in a courtroom, standing in the dock. The jury was made up of Lil Fairbrass, Nettie Willis and some of her other patients from Quarry Hill, and Bess Bradshaw was the prosecuting counsel. She strode around the court in her wig and gown, jabbing her finger at Agnes and telling everyone what an utter failure she was, while Miss Gale looked on solemnly from the judge’s seat, nodding along to every word.

  Agnes fumbled for her alarm clock. It was just after four in the morning. She was about to turn over and pull the covers back over her when Bess Bradshaw’s voice pierced her consciousness, jolting her awake.

  ‘Miss Sheridan? Get up, we’ve got a call to make.’

  Agnes sat upright, not sure for a moment whether or not she was still dreaming. But there was Bess, solid and all too real, standing at the foot of her bed.

  Agnes pushed back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. The floorboards felt chilly under her bare feet. She was so befuddled with sleep, it didn’t even occur to her to wonder why Bess was summoning her.

  ‘We don’t have time to waste,’ she said, as Agnes rubbed sleep out of her eyes. ‘We’re needed at Mrs Rankin’s. Her mother’s just called to say she’s gone into labour.’

  That was enough to shock Agnes awake. She remembered Maggie Rankin’s name from her list, but she had never met her. According to her records, Mrs Rankin already had six children, and was expecting the seventh. Agnes was guiltily aware she should have visited her before the birth, but she had never managed to make the time.

  Bess was waiting for Agnes in the hall when she came downstairs, still pinning up her hair. ‘Come on, you can borrow one of the other nurses’ bicycles. I daresay we’ll be back by the time they need it.’

  Agnes felt as if she were still in a terrible dream as she followed Bess through the darkened streets. Fear wrapped itself around her ribcage like a snake, making it hard for her to breathe.

  ‘It should be a fairly straightforward birth,’ Bess said over her shoulder as they pedalled along. ‘Mrs Rankin’s in good health, and she’s never had any trouble before. But I daresay you’ll know that already, won’t you?’

  Agnes looked down, grateful that the darkness hid her blushing face.

  It will be all right, she told herself over and over again, her thoughts chiming with the rhythmic circling of the pedals. This time it will be all right.

  The Rankins’ house was blazing with light. They were met by a cheerful middle-aged woman in a pinny.

  ‘’Ello, nurses. Thank you for coming out so early,’ she greeted them with a broad smile.

  ‘Not at all, Mrs Irvine.’ Bess turned to Agnes. ‘This is Mrs Rankin’s mother,’ she explained.

  ‘It’s a good thing I only live next door,’ Mrs Irvine chuckled. ‘Maggie sent one of the bairns to wake me up about an hour since. Their dad’s on the night shift, y’see. He won’t be home while six. He’s going to get a surprise, in’t he?’ She patted Agnes’ arm. ‘Eeh, you’re all of a tremble, lass. Is it your first time?’ She looked sympathetic.

  ‘I should think not,’ Bess said. ‘Miss Sheridan worked in a maternity home before she came to us.’

  ‘It’s just the cold,’ Agnes said, her teeth clenched.

  ‘It is a bit nithering, in’t it? Let’s get indoors before you freeze. I shouldn’t keep you chatting anyway, or my Maggie will have had the baby before you get up the stairs!’

  Maggie Rankin was sitting up in bed, knitting. She looked surprisingly composed for a woman in the throes of labour, with her fair hair neatly combed over the shoulders of her lacy bed jacket. She had the same sort of bright, pleasant face as her mother, her cheeks pink and glowing.

  ‘Excuse my knitting,’ she said, her needles clicking busily. ‘I was hoping to get this matinee jacket finished before the baby arrived. I didn’t think it would be while next week.’

  ‘I’ve put clean sheets on and laid newspaper and got everything ready for you, just how you like it,’ Mrs Irvine said to Bess.

  ‘So you have.’ Bess smiled. ‘Thank you, Mrs Irvine, you’ve saved Miss Sheridan here a job. In’t that right, Miss Sheridan?’

  ‘What? Sorry.’ Agnes started at the sound of her name. She had been leaning in the doorway, fighting the feeling of faintness that washed over her.

  ‘Don’t drift off to sleep, Miss Sheridan. I’ll have need of you later on!’ Bess’ voice was light, but there was a warning look in her eyes. ‘Now, let’s get changed and see what’s to do, shall we?’

  ‘My waters broke at teatime,’ Mrs Rankin told them matter-of-factly, as Agnes finished washing and shaving her. ‘But I wasn’t in any pain, so I didn’t see the point in troubling you and spoiling your evening. I wouldn’t have asked Mum to fetch you now, but I’ve had a few twinges.’

  ‘Let’s have a look, shall we? Do you want to do the examination, Miss Sheridan?’ Bess asked.

  ‘No! No, you can do it,’ Agnes said quickly. Too quickly, judging by the questioning look Bess shot her.

  ‘Right, where are we?’ Bess examined Mrs Rankin in silence for a moment, then stepped back. ‘Well, I dunno what you’d call a little twinge, lass, but I reckon you’re just about ready to push!’ she grinned.

  ‘I thought so,’ Mrs Rankin said. ‘I’ll just finish this row and we’ll get started, shall we?’

  ‘I’ve never known anyone give birth so easily,’ Mrs Irvine told Agnes proudly. ‘Honest to God, it’s like shelling peas. I s’pose it must run in the family. I’ve had seven kids myself, and none of them gave me any trouble.’

  Agnes smiled weakly. In the back of her mind she still hoped she was asleep and that at any moment she would wake up and find herself back in her room, with Polly groping for the alarm clock.

  As Bess opened her bag and set out her forceps and catheters and receiving dishes, Agnes shrank into the corner. She shouldn’t be here. The heat of the room, the smell of disinfectant, the sight of that neat line of implements gleaming … it was all too much for her.

  She drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. It would be all right, she told herself. All would be well. Mrs Rankin gave birth like shelling peas, her mother had said so. There was no oppressive shadow of fear hanging over the room, just a happy feeling of anticipation as the mother-to-be looked forward to welcoming her new baby into the world.

  This time all would be well, and the light would at last blot out all those dark memories of the last time Agnes had been in a birthing room …

  ‘You’re doing very well,’ Bess said, and for a moment Agnes thought the remark was meant for her her, until she realised Bess was encouraging Mrs Rankin.

  Not that she needed much encouragement. In what seemed like no time at all, the baby’s head crowned, then a shoulder, and the infant slithered easily into the world.

  ‘Is it a girl?’ Mrs Rankin craned forward to look. ‘I’d love another little girl.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a girl. Well done, lass.’

  ‘Told you it was like shelling peas, didn’t I?’ Mrs Irvine said triumphantly.

  Bess clamped and cut the cord. But as she gathered the baby in the warmed towel Mrs Irvine had prepared, A
gnes noticed something that made her scalp prickle with fear.

  ‘She’s quiet, in’t she?’ Mrs Rankin voiced the thought that ran through Agnes’ mind.

  ‘It takes a moment for babies to catch their breath sometimes,’ Bess said. But Agnes saw the rigid look on her face as she rubbed briskly at the baby’s tiny chest.

  Luckily Mrs Rankin hadn’t noticed anything amiss. ‘That makes a change!’ she laughed. ‘All my others have been screaming from the moment they arrived. Eh, Mum?

  ‘Aye, love, so they have.’ Mrs Irvine was sharper than her daughter. She looked from Agnes to Bess and back again. ‘Is summat wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Baby’s taking a bit longer to get her breath back.’ Bess’ smile was strained. ‘I’ll just sit with her for a minute, see if I can’t give her a bit of help.’ She turned to Agnes, gesturing with a slight lift of the chin for her to follow.

  They retreated to the warmth of the kitchen and Agnes closed the door behind her. ‘What is it?’ she asked. What’s wrong?’

  ‘She isn’t breathing,’ Bess said in a low voice.

  Agnes jerked her gaze away, towards the fire. Her knees weakened under her and suddenly she wanted to fall down and curl up into a ball on the rug.

  Not again. She couldn’t go through it a second time …

  ‘She – she’s not—’

  Bess shook her head. ‘No, her heart’s still beating, but she’s gone into shock. It’s called white asphyxia. You must have come across it during your midwifery training?’

  ‘I—’

  We’ve got to try and revive her,’ Bess went on before Agnes could reply. ‘Miss Sheridan? Agnes? Are you listening to me?’

  ‘I – I can’t …’ The words came out as a low moan from deep in her throat.

  ‘Of course you can. You must. Now pull yourself together!’

  The sharp words were like a slap in the face, bringing Agnes back to her senses. She turned slowly towards Bess, eyes fixed on her face. She didn’t dare look at the baby in her arms. ‘What – do you want me to do?’

  ‘Lay the baby down by the fire and hold on to her by the ankles while I try to open up her chest. Keep her covered up with that blanket, mind, we don’t want her to get cold.’