She knew she’d said the wrong thing as his head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers angrily. ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried?’ he said. ‘I’m always at the labour exchange or round the factory gates, looking for work. But as soon as I find summat, my wretched useless body lets me down again, and I’m back where I started.’ His face was bitter. ‘I tell you what, nurse. It might have been better for everybody if I’d been left to die in no-man’s-land,’ he muttered.
Agnes kept her head down, trying to concentre on the fomentation she kept pressed against his abdomen. She thought of Peter, her beloved brother. She didn’t know how he’d died because no one would ever tell her. But she was haunted by the idea that perhaps he’d lain injured too, in the cold mud, waiting for death. But unlike Norman Willis, no help had ever come for him.
‘You mustn’t say that,’ she murmured.
‘Why not? Nettie would have been free. Then she might have found a better man to look after her.’
‘She wouldn’t have wanted that, I’m sure.’
‘You don’t know that. You don’t have to look into her eyes like I do.’ He shook his head. ‘She hates the war for taking away the man she fell in love with, that’s why she never talks about it. She sent a man off to fight and all that came back was this.’ He gestured at his wasted body in disgust. ‘No, it would have been better for everyone if I’d been left face down in the mud where I lay after that German shell got me …’
His self-pitying whine pierced Agnes like a red-hot needle. The fomentation fell from her hand as she straightened up to face him.
‘How dare you!’ she hissed. ‘How dare you sit there and wish your life away!’
Shock registered on his face. ‘Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t say?’
‘My brother died in that war, Mr Willis. He was nineteen when he went off to fight, just like you. But he was killed at Cambrai. You complain about the state you’ve been in since you came back home. But at least you did come home!’
His face paled. ‘I – I didn’t realise.’
‘No, because you’re too deep in self-pity to worry about anyone else. You want to know why your wife won’t talk about the war? It’s because she wants you to get better. She wants you to leave it all behind and start afresh, but you won’t. You keep clinging on to it, growing more and more angry and bitter.’ She saw his face tighten but she was too furious to stop. ‘My brother would have given anything to come home from that war like you, injuries and all. And I would have given anything to have him home, too, because I loved him. So don’t you dare say your wife would have been better off either, because I’m telling you now … she wouldn’t!’
A shocked silence followed her outburst. Agnes reached for the fomentation, but her fingers were trembling so much she could hardly hold it still.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ Mr Willis said quietly. ‘I had no idea.’
Agnes didn’t reply. Now her anger had abated, she felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. She should never have lost her temper with a patient, especially not one as frail and damaged as Norman Willis. It was so unlike her. She prided herself on being self-possessed. But Mr Willis had touched a very raw nerve.
She was going to get into deep trouble for this, she thought. No doubt Nettie Willis would be banging down the door of the district nurses’ house before the day was out.
‘He was killed at Cambrai, you say?’ Mr Willis sounded tentative, humble.
Agnes nodded. ‘He was twenty-three.’
Willis was silent for a while, then he said, ‘My brother was killed too. Right by my side. One minute he was there, and the next—’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.’
‘What for?’
‘For it not being me.’ He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘My brother was the clever one, the one with all the prospects. He should have been the one who lived.’
Agnes paused. ‘I told you my father was a medic, didn’t I? Well, he was in the same regiment as my brother. Except he was on leave when Peter died. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself for that either. Wondering if he could have saved him, if he’d been there …’ She saw Mr Willis’ face change, go blank with shock at her revelation. ‘But it wasn’t his fault my brother died, any more than it was your fault that yours did. It was just – something that happened.’
She finished his treatment. It wasn’t until she was collecting everything together afterwards that he said, ‘Nurse?’
‘Yes?’
‘How does he live with summat like that? Your dad, I mean.’
Agnes thought about his nightmares, the agonised screams that rang through the house.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I suppose you just have to, don’t you? Either that or let it eat you up until there’s nothing left inside. But I think you owe it to the dead to make the most of your life.’
She returned to the nurses’ home, exhausted. The emotionally draining experience of talking to Mr Willis, added to all the back-breaking physical work she’d done that day and the long haul back to Steeple Street from Quarry Hill, was almost too much for her. She could feel a dull, insistent pain in her temples and wondered if perhaps she had returned to work too early after her fever.
She let herself in. As she wiped her feet on the mat, her eyes flicked automatically to her pigeon hole. It was empty as usual.
She should stop looking, she thought. She shouldn’t allow herself to be so disappointed.
Dottie was listlessly dusting in the hall, flicking the dirt from one spot to another.
‘You’ve had a visitor,’ she said.
Agnes’ heart sank. Please, Lord, not another complaint! Nettie Willis had probably already come to report Agnes for upsetting her husband. ‘Who was it?’ she sighed.
Dottie made a half-hearted attempt to rub away a spot on the banisters then gave up.
‘She reckoned she was your sister.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Agnes felt the blood draining to her feet, leaving her light-headed. ‘Vanessa was here?’ She looked around, half expecting to see her sister appear from the sitting room. ‘Where is she now?’
‘Gone. But she left you this note.’
Dottie scrabbled in the depths of her apron pocket for what seemed like an agonisingly long time. It was all Agnes could do not to shake the girl until the note fell out.
Finally she retrieved it and handed it over. ‘Your sister’s very posh, isn’t she?’
‘I suppose so.’ Agnes’ fingers were trembling so much she could hardly unfold the paper.
‘And she doesn’t look much like you either. She’s tall and blonde and you’re …’ Dottie stopped for a moment, lost for a description. ‘You in’t,’ she said finally.
Agnes tuned out the girl’s voice as she scanned the note. Vanessa was staying in Leeds, at the Queen’s Hotel close to the station. She was catching the train back to London in the morning and was anxious to see Agnes before she left.
Agnes folded the note carefully to give herself time to think. If Vanessa was here, it must be because their mother had sent her. And that must surely be a good sign, after all this time.
She stuffed the note into her pocket and started for the stairs. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Could you let Miss Gale know where I’ve gone?’
‘I s’pose you’ll not be back for your tea then?’ Dottie called after her.
Agnes smiled to herself. If everything went as well as she hoped, she might not be back at all.
Half an hour later, Agnes sat in the lounge of the Queen’s Hotel, watching the people go by and scanning their faces for her sister.
She tugged nervously at the hem of her skirt, smoothing it over her knees. She wished she’d taken the time to choose her outfit more carefully. Vanessa was bound to see the darn in her stockings, and that her blouse needed ironing. She was like their mother; she noticed these things.
Agnes was sure her parents must have sent Vanessa. There was no
other reason her sister would have made the long journey to Leeds if not at their mother’s bidding. They were very close. If anyone knew what Elizabeth Sheridan was thinking, it was Vanessa. With any luck, she would have come to tell her that she could go home at last.
Agnes turned her gaze towards the window. It was nearly six o’clock and the darkened streets were filled with people heading to and from the station. She had done her best to make a life for herself in Leeds, but it wasn’t for her. She had grown used to the place, and to some of the people. But Bess Bradshaw was right, she didn’t fit in here.
Agnes’ mouth felt dry with anticipation, and she was about to ask the waiter for a glass of water when she saw Vanessa coming towards her. She recognised her sister straight away, tall and straight-backed and elegant as ever in a deep pink two-piece, a stylish cloche hat pulled low over her head.
Agnes felt an immediate rush of affection for her. She and Vanessa had never been close, but she forgot all their differences in the excitement of seeing a familiar face after being among nothing but strangers for so long.
‘Nessa!’ She shot to her feet, waving excitedly. Her sister turned and Agnes caught her slight frown. Straight away she knew she’d already made her first mistake.
Vanessa’s cool smile was back in place by the time she had come over. She looked like an ice queen, with her pale blue eyes and silvery-blonde hair.
‘Really, darling, I see you still haven’t learned how to conduct yourself in public!’ she chided her gently.
Agnes lowered her gaze, feeling at once like a misbehaving child. ‘I was just pleased to see you, that’s all,’ she murmured.
‘Likewise, I’m sure.’ Vanessa presented the side of her face for Agnes to kiss; Guerlain perfume wafted from her. Agnes couldn’t remember the last time she’d smelled anything so expensive.
They sat down. Agnes pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the torrent of words that threatened to burst from her. She didn’t want to do or say anything that might offend or alarm her sister, or give her another bad impression.
‘I’m pleased you could come all this way,’ Agnes said finally.
‘Yes, well, I had to, didn’t I?’ Vanessa said quietly, pulling off her gloves and arranging them neatly in her lap. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Without waiting for a reply, she summoned the waiter and ordered.
‘You look very well,’ Agnes remarked, then added, ‘How is the baby?’
Vanessa paused for a moment, still fussing with her gloves. ‘She’s very well,’ she said finally.
‘What did you call her?’
‘Grace Elizabeth.’
Agnes smiled. ‘Such pretty names. Mother must be pleased?’
‘Yes. Yes, she is.’
‘I wish you could have brought her with you,’ she said.
‘All the way up here? I hardly think so!’ Vanessa looked horrified. ‘I don’t think the air would have been good for her at all. Besides, she’s only four months old. Far too young to travel.’
‘I suppose you’re right. But I’m looking forward to meeting her soon.’
Vanessa didn’t reply. ‘Where on earth is that waiter with the tea?’ she said, looking around. ‘One could die of thirst.’
‘Is she a good baby?’ Agnes asked.
‘Of course.’ Vanessa looked slightly puzzled, as if there could be no question of any offspring of hers being anything less than perfect. ‘She’s very content. And she’s growing up so fast. She’s already trying to make sounds, and she loves nursery rhymes—’
She stopped, her lips tightening, as if she had suddenly remembered what she was saying. Agnes understood her reticence. She leaned forward and patted her sister’s hand reassuringly. ‘I’m so pleased for you, Nessa,’ she said. ‘Motherhood suits you.’
It was true. Vanessa’s face softened when she talked about her daughter. Agnes had never thought of her sister as maternal, but it seemed the baby had melted her heart.
Vanessa stared down at Agnes’ hand covering hers, and a deep blush rose in her face. ‘Yes, well—’ she started to say, but before she could add anything else their tea arrived. Vanessa drew her hand away and busied herself examining the cups.
‘They’re rather stained, but at least there are no cracks,’ she pronounced. Her mask of composure was back in place and suddenly she resembled their mother again, cool and critical.
Agnes smiled to herself. If she thought these cups were bad, she was glad her sister would never lay eyes on Nettie Willis’ best china.
As Vanessa poured the tea, Agnes changed the subject and asked after their father.
‘Oh, you know Father.’ Vanessa shook her head. ‘He’s still busy with his practice, but might have to retire soon if his health doesn’t recover.’
‘Poor Father,’ Agnes said. ‘His patients will miss him.’
‘Goodness, you sound just like him!’ Vanessa snapped. ‘He has to think of himself, not his patients!’
‘Of course,’ Agnes agreed, taken aback by her sister’s outburst. Then she added, ‘And how is Mother?’
Vanessa’s face clouded. ‘As well as can be expected, considering everything she’s had to go through over the past few months.’ She sent her sister a meaningful look.
‘Does she ever talk about me?’
‘She says you’ve written to her.’
‘So she’s read my letters?’
Vanessa didn’t reply. Instead, she held the sugar tongs to the light. ‘Oh, look, these haven’t been polished properly. That simply won’t do.’ She summoned the waiter with an imperious wave of her hand.
Agnes watched in frustration, fighting the urge to snatch the wretched tongs out of her sister’s grasp and fling them across the room. It seemed like an age before Vanessa had finished fussing about the cutlery and was finally satisfied.
‘What has she said about me?’ Agnes wanted to know, as soon as the waiter had gone.
Vanessa considered the question carefully. ‘She is pleased you seem to be doing so well,’ she said at last.
‘Is she? Is she really?’
‘Of course,’ Vanessa said, then added, ‘She only wants the best for you, Agnes. We all do.’ Agnes caught the note of reproof in her voice. ‘Anyway,’ Vanessa went on, ‘you seem to be settling in here very nicely. We’re all very relieved you’ve found a place that suits you.’
If only you knew, Agnes wanted to shout. It was her own fault for trying to present such a positive view of her life. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, trying to stay calm. ‘But I would rather come home,’ she said quietly.
‘Would you?’ Vanessa looked mildly startled. ‘But you sound happy enough in your letters. Don’t you want to stay here and finish your training?’
The thought of enduring Bess Bradshaw for another three months was almost too much for her. But Agnes was determined not to be difficult.
‘Perhaps,’ she agreed carefully. ‘But what about after that? I’d like to come home then. Perhaps I could transfer to another area … somewhere closer to home?’
Vanessa looked pained. ‘We were rather under the impression that you would settle here,’ she said, toying with her teaspoon.
Panic started to rise inside Agnes. ‘But why would I want to settle here? I want to come home,’ she repeated. ‘I’ve been away for so long. Surely I’ve been punished long enough?’
‘No one is trying to punish you,’ Vanessa said.
‘Aren’t they? That’s what it feels like. I was sent away, no one has replied to my letters … I feel as if you’ve all forgotten about me!’
‘For heaven’s sake, calm down!’ Vanessa hissed, casting a wary look over her shoulder. ‘Why do you always have to make such a display of yourself, Agnes?’
‘I can’t help it. I’m trying to make you understand that I want to come home, and you don’t seem to want to listen!’
Vanessa sighed. ‘I don’t think your coming home would be a very good idea,’ she said.
‘Why not?�
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‘You know very well why not. Surely I don’t have to explain?’ She sent Agnes a scathing look.
Agnes tried to collect herself. She didn’t want Vanessa reporting back to their mother that she was as stubborn or difficult as ever.
‘But I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘I’ve done everything Mother asked of me.’
‘Mother didn’t send you away to punish you,’ Vanessa said. ‘She sent you away because she thought it would be best for you to make a new start. And it has worked out for the best, hasn’t it? You’ve settled in here—’
‘I wish you’d stop saying that!’ Agnes cut her off angrily. ‘I don’t want a new start, or a new life. I want my old one back!’
‘Yes, well, you should have thought of that before you caused so much trouble, shouldn’t you?’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Agnes muttered.
‘Then whose fault was it? You did it, Agnes. You were the one who brought disgrace on the family. And you’re the one who has to pay the price.’ Vanessa sent her a look that was almost pitying. ‘You didn’t really think this was going to be temporary, did you?’
Agnes stared at her tea, cooling untouched in her cup. Her throat was closed so tightly she didn’t think she would be able to swallow a drop.
Yes, of course she had thought it was going to be a temporary exile. She truly believed she had been sent away only until she had found a way to redeem herself for her past mistakes, and her family had found it in their hearts to forgive her. If she’d known it would be for ever she would never have agreed to it.
‘Could I come home for a visit, at least?’ she pleaded. ‘I miss everyone so much.’
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
Why did she have to keep saying that? It was all right for Vanessa, she wasn’t the one stuck up here, so far from home. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?’
‘Because everything is settled now, and no one wants you stirring it up again.’
‘I wouldn’t—’
‘Yes, you would. You know how it would be. Your presence alone would stir things up.’
Her heart felt like a stone inside her chest. ‘So I’m never to see my family again, is that it?’
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 24