She tapped softly on the door, and heard the sound of footsteps padding across the floorboards. A moment later Bess opened the door, pulling her old dressing gown around her. She looked much softer without the armour of her nurse’s uniform, her greying hair in loose wisps around her face. Softer, but also older and more tired.
‘Yes?’ she said. ‘What is it, lass? Are you ill?’
Polly shook her head. ‘No, but I need to speak to you.’
‘Can’t it wait until morning?’
Any other time and she might have been put off by her mother’s irritable tone. But Polly had made a promise.
‘No, it can’t,’ she said, calm in spite of the drumming of her heart against her ribs.
‘You’d best come in then.’ Bess stood aside to let her in.
Polly had rarely entered her mother’s room, and was surprised by how sparsely furnished it was. Just a single bed covered in a worn pink quilt, a small sink in one corner and a few pieces of dark wood furniture. Bess’ uniform hung from the wardrobe door, grey and formidable. There were no pictures on the walls or knick-knacks on the dresser, save for a small brown pot with ugly yellow squiggles on it that held a handful of hairpins.
A book lay open on the bed. Polly picked it up. ‘What’s this?’
‘Oh, just some nonsense Ellen Jarvis lent me,’ Bess dismissed it.
‘Close to My Heart?’ Polly read the title aloud. The cover depicted a woman in a revealing off-the-shoulder dress, apparently being ravished by a pirate. ‘I didn’t know you like romances?’
‘I don’t.’ Bess plucked the book out of her hands and threw it on to the bedside table. ‘As I said, it was just something Ellen Jarvis lent me. I wouldn’t have bothered with it, but I couldn’t sleep so …’ She glared at the lurid book cover. ‘It’s a lot of old nonsense.’
That was her mother’s attitude to romance generally, Polly thought. She remembered whenever her father had tried to kiss or cuddle her, Bess had always shrugged him off. What must it have been like, Polly wondered, being married to someone so cold and unloving?
‘Well?’ her mother said, sitting down on the bed. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’
Polly hesitated. Now she was here, her words were trapped in her throat.
She fixed her gaze on the ugly brown pot. It looked oddly familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she might have seen it before.
‘I suppose you’re going to tell me about the Slater boy?’ Bess interrupted her thoughts.
Polly looked up sharply. ‘How did you …’
Bess’ mouth twisted. ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the way the two of you carry on? Making eyes at each other, whispering behind my back. I’m not daft, y’know.’ She sent Polly a steady look. ‘So how long has it been going on?’
‘Not long,’ Polly said cautiously.
‘And did you know he’d been in prison?’
She felt as if she’d been slapped. ‘How did you know that?’ Polly gasped.
‘Oh, I know everything about young Mr Slater. Your friend the curate came to see me. He couldn’t wait to tell me how worried he was that my daughter had taken up with a criminal.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Polly muttered. She could just imagine Matthew Elliott telling her mother the whole tale, pretending to be so terribly concerned, when all he really wanted to do was make trouble.
‘And I had to sit there and listen to him,’ Bess went on bitterly. ‘Of course, I told him he must have got it wrong. My lass would never been daft enough to do something like that. She’s got more sense, I said. But then I realised you don’t, do you?’
Polly ignored her mother’s insult. She was under no illusions about what Bess thought of her. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that Polly make her understand.
‘You don’t know Finn,’ she said. ‘You don’t know what he’s like.’
‘I know he tried to kill a man,’ Bess said flatly.
‘But it wasn’t like that. He was only defending someone else.’
‘I don’t care why he did it. All I know is that he has it in him to go after someone and put a knife into them. He’s dangerous, Polly. He has a violent streak. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to you?’
The idea was so ridiculous Polly almost laughed. ‘He wouldn’t.’
‘You don’t know that. You can’t know what he’s like. You’ve not known him that long. When someone’s got that kind of violence in their heart, you truly don’t know what they might do.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Polly insisted. ‘Finn would never hurt me. He loves me.’
‘Love!’ Bess rolled her eyes. ‘I might have known you’d say summat like that. You sound like one of t’lasses in that silly book, thinking love will conquer all.’ Her lip curled. ‘You say he loves you. How many girls have said the same thing as you, d’you reckon? How many poor lasses do you see around here, nursing black eyes and broken ribs and still insisting their husband loves them? Love is just a word, Polly. It means nowt.’ Bess jabbed an accusing finger at Polly. ‘I’m disappointed in you, I really am. I thought you’d learned your lesson after last time. I really believed you were going to buckle down and make something of yourself.’
‘I am,’ Polly said. ‘I want to finish my qualifications.’
‘Why? So you can throw it all away again? Why waste your time, lass? You might as well just go off and abandon it all.’ Bess stood up and crossed to the window, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her. ‘Anyway, I’m surprised you’re even telling me,’ she said, staring out of the window at the night sky. ‘I dunno why you haven’t just run off with him, like you did the last time.’
Bess was angry, but Polly could still hear the edge of hurt in her mother’s voice.
‘I know what I did was wrong,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s why I wanted to tell you now. I – we – want your blessing.’
‘My blessing?’ Bess snorted. ‘Well, you’re not going to get it. I’m sorry to disappoint you, lass, but I’m not going to let you throw your life away on another wastrel!’
Polly flinched. ‘Finn isn’t a wastrel, and neither was Frank,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry you feel like that about it, but there isn’t much you can do to stop us. I’m over twenty-one and I can do as I please.’
‘No, you’re right,’ Bess agreed heavily, her back still turned. ‘But I don’t have to stand by and watch you make another mistake.’
‘What do you mean?’
Bess turned slowly to face her. ‘I mean, if you’re set on going off with this – man, then you’ll have to leave this place.’
‘No!’ Polly gaped at her. ‘That’s not fair! You can’t do that—’
‘Can’t I?’ Bess’ face was implacable. ‘I’m sure Miss Gale can find you somewhere else to finish your training – if that’s what you really want.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘But I’m warning you, there’ll be no going back. No more second chances. Not this time.’
‘You’re making me choose between Finn and my job here?’ Polly said, appalled.
Bess’ heavy jaw lifted. ‘That’s right,’ she said.
‘But that’s not fair! Why are you being like this?’
‘Because I want you to see sense. I want you to think with your head for once, and not your heart.’
‘At least I’ve got a heart!’ Any trepidation Polly might have felt about facing her mother had been replaced by cold anger, as hard as a diamond. She had no right to do this to her, to try to ruin her life. ‘You want to control everything, don’t you? Everything has to be done your way, and even then you’re never satisfied.’ Her breathing was fast and shallow, but she couldn’t control it. It was as if a dam had broken inside her, releasing a torrent of pent-up emotion. ‘Do you know how hard I’ve worked, to try to please you? But I’ve never had a good word out of you. You’re a beast, that’s what you are. A hard, heartless monster!’
Polly stopped talking, fighting for breath. Bess stared at her. There was no tr
ace of emotion in her face.
‘Then I suppose you’ve made your choice, haven’t you?’ she said stonily.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘I think I’ve got dry rot.’
Agnes looked up absently into the face of Queenie Gawtrey. ‘Hmm? I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said, I think I’ve got dry rot. In my legs. You see how they’ve swelled up? Same thing happened to the roof joists last winter. Landlord reckoned there was nothing to be done about it. I daresay it’s the same for my legs,’ she said mournfully.
‘Yes,’ Agnes replied, continuing with her massage.
‘What do you reckon, then? Will it spread all over, like?’
‘Hmm?’
Agnes jerked back as Queenie kicked out sharply, knocking her off balance. ‘What’s the matter with you, lass? I don’t think you’ve listened to a word I’ve said since you got here. Fine nurse you are!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Agnes said, pulling herself together.
Queenie sent her a shrewd look. ‘You’ve got troubles, haven’t you? I can tell.’
Agnes smiled. ‘I forgot you had the gift.’
‘Gift be buggered!’ Queenie chuckled. ‘You don’t need second sight to see what’s going on in your head, love. You only have to look at your face. It’s as long as a fiddle.’ She settled back in her chair, looking speculatively at Agnes. ‘Go on, then. What’s troubling you?’
Agnes shook her head. Even if she wanted to tell Queenie what was on her mind, she wouldn’t know where to start. Ever since Vanessa’s visit Agnes’ thoughts had been all over the place.
Was Vanessa lying to her, or was she telling the truth when she said their mother never wanted to see her again? Every time Agnes tried to comfort herself with the notion that her sister was acting out of spite and jealousy, she would see those unopened letters lying on the table and her heart would sink.
She kept trying to tell herself nothing had changed, that she was no better or worse off than she had been before Vanessa came to visit. Life still went on at Steeple Street, a simple steady routine of breakfast, rounds, dinner, writing up notes, then more rounds before returning for tea.
But it was different now. Vanessa’s visit had changed everything. When she’d left, she had taken Agnes’ hope with her. Before her sister came, Agnes had gone through each day with a sense of purpose. She’d truly believed that if she worked hard enough, did well enough, one day she would be able to go home.
But now that sense of purpose was gone. Vanessa had made it very clear that no matter what she did, Agnes would never be able to redeem herself in her mother’s eyes.
As far as she is concerned, you are dead to her.
Her sister’s words rang in her ears, keeping her awake long into the night. What was the point in trying any more, if she was never going to get anywhere?
‘Do you want me to read your tealeaves for you?’
Agnes came back to the present to find Queenie looking at her, her eyes shrewd in her wrinkled face. She asked the same question every time. It was her answer to everything. No matter what problems life presented, the answer always lay in the tealeaves.
‘The leaves don’t lie,’ she would say.
Agnes smiled and was about to refuse as usual. Then a mad impulse struck her and she heard herself saying, ‘Why not?’
It wasn’t what Queenie had been expecting to hear either. ‘Truly? You want me to do a reading for you?’
‘If you like.’ Agnes had nothing to lose any more. She sat back on her heels and reached for a cloth to wipe the lotion off her hands. ‘How do we start?’
Queenie rolled her eyes. ‘Why, you have to go and make a brew o’ tea first! Can’t read tealeaves without the tea, can we? Besides, I’m parched,’ she added.
Agnes went off to wash her hands. After she’d cleaned all her equipment and packed it away in her bag, she made the tea as Queenie instructed.
‘I hope you’ve made it strong enough?’ the old woman said when Agnes brought it in.
‘I’m not sure.’ She peered anxiously into the pot. ‘Does it need to be strong for you to do a reading?’
Queenie sent her an old-fashioned look. ‘No, I just can’t be doing with weak tea. It makes me bilious.’
She had Agnes pour the tea and then they had to sit and drink it. ‘Hold the cup in your left hand, since you’re right-handed,’ Queenie instructed. As she carefully sipped the hot brew, Agnes could feel the old lady watching her eagerly over the rim of her cup. Agnes could tell what she was thinking. For the past few weeks Queenie had been plaguing her to have her fortune told. Now she must be wondering how dire Agnes’ life had become for her actually to give in.
Agnes herself didn’t even know why she was doing it, but she was desperate enough to try anything.
Queenie drained her cup and smacked her lips. ‘Finished? Good. Make sure you leave a bit of tea at the bottom of the cup. Now swill it round three times and turn it upside down in the saucer, then pass the cup to me.’ She held out a clawed hand.
Agnes watched the old lady peering into the depths of the cup and began to feel rather foolish. How could she possibly think anyone could see her future in the bottom of an old teacup? A none too clean one at that …
Suddenly Queenie said, ‘I see a jealous person in your life. Someone close to you, who doesn’t want you to succeed.’
Agnes instantly thought of Bess Bradshaw. She certainly didn’t want Agnes to succeed. But then Queenie said, ‘I see a broken necklace. That means there’s a bond that needs to be mended.’
Agnes sat up straighter. ‘Go on,’ she said.
‘You’ll need to be the one to mend it,’ Queenie said, turning the teacup slowly in her hands. ‘The other person won’t come to you. If you want to sort it out, you need to be the one to do it.’
She turned the cup again, holding it at arm’s length. ‘I see a pair of scissors as well,’ she said. ‘That means you might have to remove yourself from a situation, cut all ties …’
Agnes frowned. ‘So which am I supposed to do, mend the bond or cut all ties?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Queenie snapped back irritably. ‘Happen it means you have to do one or the other.’
Agnes thought about it. Perhaps she needed to cut all ties with district nursing and go home to mend the bond with her family? That would make sense.
Or perhaps it was all nonsense, a small voice in her head said.
‘Hang on a sec, I’ve been looking at it the wrong way round. It’s not scissors, it’s a letter V … or happen it’s a letter L. It’s someone who means you harm, at any rate.’
The hairs on the back of Agnes’ neck prickled, as if a sudden draught had come from nowhere.
‘And there’s a baby,’ Queenie said.
‘My sister has just had a baby,’ Agnes said.
Queenie looked up at her with eyes that had taken on a strange, opaque look. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘The baby is in your arms.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘It didn’t cry, did it? But it’s crying now …’
‘That’s enough!’ Agnes snatched the cup out of the old woman’s hands.
‘But I haven’t finished!’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Gawtrey, but I don’t have time.’ Agnes was already scrambling to her feet, brushing down her skirt. ‘Thank you, that was very – entertaining.’
As she went to leave, Queenie cleared her throat and said, ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’
Agnes frowned. ‘What?’
‘It’s customary to cross a gypsy’s palm with silver.’ She held out her bony hand expectantly.
Agnes burrowed in her pocket and dug out a farthing. ‘Here, will this do?’
‘I s’pose it’ll have to.’ Queenie gazed at the coin in her palm mournfully. ‘Anyway, I hope you’ve got the answers you were looking for?’
Agnes smiled politely. But in truth, the only conclusion she had come to was that she was utterly foolish for agreeing to it in the first place.
<
br /> It was a lot of superstitious nonsense, she told herself. But at the same time she couldn’t get Queenie’s words out of her mind.
A broken necklace … Someone who meant her harm … The initial V – or L …
Agnes kept telling herself it was all nonsense. But it still haunted her all through the day as she went through her routine of changing dressings, giving injections and hauling patients in and out of beds and baths.
If you want to mend it, you’ll have to do it yourself.
Vanessa had certainly made that much clear when she came to Leeds. Agnes needn’t expect any further visits from her or the rest of the family. If Agnes wanted to see them again, she would have to go back to London herself.
The idea filled her with apprehension. And yet …
She was so preoccupied that she barely noticed Mr Willis sitting on an old orange box outside his cottage. She would have walked straight past him if he hadn’t called out to her.
‘Looking for me, nurse?’
Agnes swung round. ‘Mr Willis! What are you doing out of bed?’
‘Thought I’d get a bit of fresh air, since the weather’s turned fine.’ He winked at her. ‘Surprised to see me up and about, I’ll bet?’
‘I am.’ Agnes stepped across the cobbles towards him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just straightening this out.’ He held up a buckled bicycle wheel. ‘I’ve been doing a bit of fixing and mending lately. Odd jobs, like. Mr Gardner down at the bicycle shop on Vicar Lane’s been kind enough to pass a bit of work my way too.’
‘Kind my foot! You’re doing him a favour.’ Nettie’s voice came from the doorway. ‘He reckons you’ve got a real talent for it.’
Mr Willis smiled shyly. ‘I dunno about that. But it pays a few bob.’
Quiet pride shone out of him. Being able to contribute to the household expenses, feeling needed and valued, had worked far better than any amount of dressings and medication she could have given him. It had given him the confidence he needed to face the world.
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 26