It might have been Christmas Day for the rest of the world, but for the district nurses it was business as usual. It was a blessed relief for everyone when breakfast was over and they could escape on their rounds.
Only Bess was left behind. As Miss Gale was away, she had to stand in as Superintendent, so she had divided her round up among the other nurses. Ellen Jarvis was to look after Henry Slater.
‘Do you want me to take over his case permanently, as he’s in my district anyway?’ Ellen asked.
Bess shook her head. ‘No, I’ll see him again in a couple of days.’ She liked the old man too much to abandon him, and besides, it wasn’t in her nature to back away from her responsibilities.
The house was empty, apart from the sound of Dottie cursing over the Christmas dinner in the kitchen. Bess was in the Superintendent’s office, trying to make sense of some of the paperwork Miss Gale had left her, when the telephone rang, shattering the peace.
Bess listened to Dottie’s footsteps scuttling up the hall, then the sound of murmuring. A moment later there was a knock on the door.
‘You’re wanted on the telephone,’ she said.
‘Who is it?’
‘Dunno.’ Dottie shrugged.
Bess gritted her teeth, biting back a comment. Miss Gale had spent endless hours teaching Dottie how to take a message on the telephone, but she still hadn’t fathomed it. ‘I’d best come and see then, hadn’t I?’
Bess stomped into the hall, muttering under her breath. If this was an emergency, and she was the only nurse available …
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Mrs Bradshaw?’ enquired a haughty voice on the other end of the line.
‘Yes, that’s right. Who’s speaking?’
‘This is Sister Mary Helena of St Jude’s. You wrote to me regarding Agnes Sheridan?’
It took a moment for Bess to place her name. So much had happened with Polly since she’d written the letter, she’d forgotten all about it.
‘I appreciate your taking the time to telephone me, but it really isn’t important now,’ she said. ‘I was just curious about Miss Sheridan’s background, that’s all.’
‘And what makes you ask about Miss Sheridan?’ The voice sharpened.
‘As I said, it isn’t important now. I was just wondering about her reference.’
‘Reference? Whatever do you mean?’
‘Miss Sheridan didn’t bring a reference with her when she came here to train. I wondered if there might be a reason for that?’
There was a long pause. Then Sister Mary Helena said, ‘I think there may have been a misunderstanding, Mrs Bradshaw. Are you under the impression that Miss Sheridan worked at St Jude’s?’
Bess frowned. She disliked the other woman’s tone. ‘She said she was there for six months. We assumed she did her midwifery training—’
‘Is that what she led you to believe? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Miss Sheridan always did have a rather devious streak.’ Bess could hear the smirk in Sister Mary Helena’s voice.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Mrs Bradshaw, Agnes Sheridan was never a nurse here. She was a patient.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was just past ten o’clock on a bright, frosty Christmas Day when Agnes finally arrived in St John’s Wood. She had slept fitfully on the night train from Leeds as it crawled down the country before depositing her early in the morning in a deserted King’s Cross station. In her haste to get home Agnes had forgotten that no local trains or buses ran on Christmas Day, so she had had to walk the three miles or so to her parents’ home.
She hadn’t been back in nearly a year. Her life had changed so completely in that time, she was surprised to find the tree-lined road still looked just the same as when she’d last been there. It was still the same broad avenue of large, affluent houses, with sparkling bay windows and well-kept front gardens. The crisp, cold air tasted sweet after the tainted smog of Leeds. Agnes was so used to the dirty smoke that belched from the factory chimneys, she had almost forgotten what it was like to look up into a clear blue sky.
But as she approached her parents’ house, she was in a state of complete terror. How had she ever thought this was a good idea? Her mother loathed surprises, and wouldn’t take kindly to her wayward daughter turning up unannounced.
Agnes stood at the gate for a moment, and it was all she could do to make herself lift the latch. She took a deep, steadying breath. It might be a bad plan but she was here now and she had to see it through.
The maid looked startled when she opened the door. ‘Miss Agnes!’
‘Hello, Martha.’ Agnes stepped past her into the hall. The house was in silence. ‘Where are my mother and father?’
‘They’re at church, miss. They’ll be back presently.’ Agnes could see the maid’s puzzled expression reflected in the mirror as she took off her hat and coat. ‘Mrs Sheridan didn’t mention you were coming home, Miss Agnes.’
‘She doesn’t know. I thought I’d surprise her.’
‘Ah.’
Agnes caught Martha’s apprehensive look. She clearly didn’t think it was a good idea either.
But Agnes forced herself to smile as she handed the maid her hat and coat. ‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ she said, as brightly as she could manage.
‘Of course, miss. I’ll bring it in to you.’
Agnes went into the sitting room. It was a large, sunny room, with French windows at one end leading out to the garden. Her mother had decorated it beautifully. A welcoming fire crackled in the enormous fireplace, and the fragrance of burning logs mingled with the fresh resin pine scent of the Christmas tree.
Agnes sank down into the big, feather-filled cushions of the sofa, so soft and welcoming after the hard couches in the nurses’ common room, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was home at last.
Martha brought her tea and some home-made biscuits. Agnes took a few sips, but she was so tired after her long journey she must have dozed off next to the warmth of the fire. She snapped awake at the sound of the front door opening, and voices and laughter in the hallway.
Agnes sat up straight, smoothing down her hair. Her parents weren’t alone. Vanessa and her husband Leo were with them, and some other people too. A surge of panic ran through her. She hadn’t been expecting this.
‘Come into the sitting room, we’ll have a drink,’ her mother was saying. ‘I think we all need one after that interminable sermon. Martha!’ she called to the maid.
Agnes shot to her feet as the door opened. Her heart was racing in her chest and suddenly all she wanted to do was to run and hide …
And then it was too late. There was her mother, standing in front of her.
Elizabeth Sheridan stopped dead, her smile freezing on her face.
‘Hello, Mother,’ Agnes said.
‘Agnes?’ Her father came in. Agnes was shocked at how he’d aged in the time she’d been away. Once a tall, well-built man, now his jacket seemed to hang off his stooped shoulders.
When he saw her, a slight look of bewilderment crossed his face. ‘Good gracious, what are you doing here? I had no idea you were coming. Did you, Elizabeth?’
‘No, indeed.’ Her mother’s smile stretched wider. ‘Really, Agnes, you naughty girl. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’
‘I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Well, you certainly did that!’
Her mother moved forward stiffly, as if propelled against her will. She gave Agnes the briefest of embraces.
Over her mother’s shoulder, Agnes saw Vanessa’s face, a frozen mask of dislike. Behind her stood her husband Leo, his face turned to the window. He couldn’t even look at Agnes.
‘You remember Mr and Mrs Pearson, don’t you?’ Her father introduced the couple who stood in the doorway, watching the scene with interest. They were roughly the same age as Agnes’ parents, the man small and dapper with slicked-back hair and a round, smiling face, and his wife thin to the point of gauntness, wi
th a wiry thatch of dark red hair and watchful dark eyes.
‘Well, my goodness, she should remember us!’ Mrs Pearson laughed. ‘We’ve lived next door for the past ten years!’ Her voice was high-pitched and girlish. ‘How are you, my dear?’
‘Very well, thank you,’ Agnes replied politely.
‘We should leave,’ Mr Pearson said. ‘We don’t want to interrupt a family reunion.’
‘Oh no!’ Mrs Pearson looked disappointed. ‘Must we? I do so want to hear all Agnes’ news. I’m sure Elizabeth wouldn’t mind if we stayed … would you, dear?’
‘No. No, of course not.’ Agnes’ mother’s smile was so brittle, it looked as if her face might shatter like glass at any moment.
Mrs Pearson looked gratified. She was rather too made-up for church, Agnes thought. A bright crimson slash of lipstick looked clownish against her white-powdered face. Agnes couldn’t imagine why her mother had invited her. She had never heard Elizabeth Sheridan say a good word about the Pearsons in all the time they had been neighbours.
But then, her mother always put on a good show in public.
The maid came in and served them all sherry. Mrs Pearson settled comfortably on the sofa beside Agnes. ‘It is lovely to see you, my dear,’ she said, patting her hand. ‘Goodness, hasn’t it been a long time? Where on earth have you been?’
‘I—’
‘Agnes has been in Leeds, training as a district nurse,’ her mother answered for her. She was perched tensely on the edge of the armchair opposite, like a cat ready to spring. ‘She’s doing very well, actually.’
‘A district nurse? How interesting.’ Mrs Pearson looked thoughtful. ‘What made you go all the way up to Leeds, I wonder? Don’t they have district nurses around here?’
‘The Superintendent in Leeds happens to be a friend of mine,’ Elizabeth Sheridan jumped in again. ‘So when Agnes said she wanted to train, it seemed the obvious place for her to go.’
She shrugged it off as if the matter was of no importance, but Mrs Pearson was like a bloodhound on the scent.
‘You disappeared so suddenly we wondered what on earth had happened to you, didn’t we?’ she said to her husband. ‘One minute you were here and the next you’d been spirited away. Very mysterious!’
Agnes glanced across at her mother. Elizabeth looked utterly mortified.
‘Well, I’m back now,’ said Agnes.
‘Yes,’ her mother said quickly. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? Although I do wish you’d told us you were coming. We’re hardly prepared for guests,’ she added in a low voice.
Mrs Pearson laughed. ‘Goodness, she’s not a guest, is she? She’s family. How long are you planning to stay, Agnes?’
She glanced at her mother. ‘Well …’
‘It’s probably just a flying visit,’ Elizabeth put in hastily. ‘She’s so busy with her training, she can scarcely spare us any time. Isn’t that right, Agnes?’
She caught her mother’s sharp stare. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Well, I suppose you’ll be looking forward to meeting your new niece?’ Mrs Pearson said. ‘You’ll adore her. She really is the sweetest little creature.’
Agnes looked at Vanessa. ‘Is she here?’
Her sister’s face was pinched with tension. ‘She’s upstairs.’
‘I’d love to see her.’
‘She’s asleep at the moment. I don’t want to disturb her.’
‘Perhaps I could just creep in and look at her?’ Agnes said. ‘I won’t wake her, I promise.’
‘I said she’s asleep!’ Vanessa snapped. ‘For goodness’ sake, Agnes, when will you learn to take no for an answer?’
A brief, shocked silence followed her outburst. Mr and Mrs Pearson exchanged looks. Elizabeth turned her face to the fire, but Agnes could see the tide of colour sweeping up from her throat. Even though it had been Vanessa who had snapped, Agnes still sensed she was the one her mother blamed.
She longed for the Pearsons to leave so she could talk to her parents alone. But they showed no sign of going anywhere. Indeed, Mrs Pearson had settled back against the sofa cushions, sherry glass in hand, ready to enjoy whatever show presented itself.
Agnes glanced across at her father. He looked pleased to see her, at any rate. But his appearance still worried her. His hair was quite white now. He looked so much older than his fifty-five years. That was what the war and the loss of his son had done to him.
And she hadn’t helped. All the troubles and heartache she had caused him over the past year must have contributed to his ill health. She noticed his hand trembling as he reached for his drink, and her heart went out to him.
‘And what about you, Agnes?’ She looked up to see Mrs Pearson’s penetrating gaze fixed on her. ‘When are you going to settle down and find a nice husband like your sister has?’
Agnes looked down into her glass. ‘I – don’t know,’ she murmured.
‘Oh, Agnes is far too busy for all that.’ Her mother dismissed briskly. ‘She has a vocation.’
‘But there was someone, wasn’t there?’ Mrs Pearson persisted. ‘I could have sworn there was a young man you were rather keen on?’ Agnes cringed. She dearly wished Mrs Pearson would choke on her sherry. ‘It was a doctor at the hospital, wasn’t it? Now, what was his name …?’
‘Daniel,’ Agnes murmured. ‘Daniel Edgerton.’
‘That was it! I distinctly remember your mother telling me you were practically engaged. What happened to him?’
‘He went up to Scotland to become a GP.’
‘Really? What a shame. Is that why you broke it off? Or did he? I can’t say I blame you if you did. I must say, I wouldn’t fancy the idea of being a doctor’s wife in the Highlands. Nothing for miles around except sheep!’ Mrs Pearson’s trilling laughter pierced like a drill.
Agnes put down her glass, unable to stand it any longer. ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ she said as politely as she could.
As she went up the stairs, she heard Mrs Pearson say loudly, ‘Oh dear, I hope I haven’t touched a nerve?’
Agnes locked herself in the bathroom and pressed her forehead against the mirror. The glass felt cool against her heated skin.
She shouldn’t have come. She had thought it would be a good idea, but now she was here, all the bad memories were pressing in on her, enveloping her like a dark fog.
It wasn’t just the talk of Daniel. Every room in the house seemed to open the door to another memory, like the pages in the book of her life, unfolding …
Even this bathroom, she thought. This was where she had locked herself when the storm was raging downstairs. She had stood in this very spot, staring at herself in the mirror as she listened to her parents arguing about what was to be done with her. She remembered looking at her mother’s various bottles of pills lined up on the shelf and wondering if it would be easier on everyone if she just took them all, there and then …
She let herself out of the bathroom and crept across the landing to her old room. Her sanctuary, as it had been.
But not any longer. It was still her room, with its small cast-iron fireplace and a window overlooking the garden. But it had been transformed into a nursery, with pale pink walls and delicate white-painted furniture. And in the centre of it stood a cot, a confection of carved wood and frothy lace canopy, like something from a fairy tale.
Agnes started at the sight of it. As she stepped backwards, she collided with a lamp, knocking it off balance. She made a grab for it, but it fell to the floor with a crash.
Luckily it wasn’t broken, but the noise was enough to wake the baby. Agnes froze, listening as the baby stirred. She waited for her to settle but she went on shifting restlessly, making strange gurgling, snuffling sounds that gradually changed into a little hiccupping cry.
Agnes set the lamp back down and edged forward to peer into the cot where baby Grace lay amid more frothy white lace. She looked so pink and plump and perfect, with her velvety dark hair and her tiny fists punching at the air.
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Without thinking, Agnes reached down and gathered her up, breathing in the warm, milky smell of her.
The baby stopped crying immediately. She lifted her head to look straight at Agnes with serious dark eyes, focusing on her face as if she already had the measure of her.
‘Put her down!’
Agnes swung round, startled. Vanessa stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed, hissing like a cat.
‘She just woke up. I didn’t know what else to do …’
Vanessa pounced and grabbed the baby out of her sister’s hands, clutching the child so tightly to her own chest that the infant let out a wail of protest.
‘I wasn’t going to hurt her,’ Agnes said, bewildered.
‘How could you?’ Vanessa spat, her voice rising above the baby’s cries. ‘I told you not to come. I said you weren’t wanted here. But you had to come anyway, didn’t you? Typical Agnes, always wanting to make trouble!’
‘Shh, you’re upsetting the baby,’ Agnes pointed out quietly, but Vanessa was too angry to listen.
‘Do you know how much embarrassment you’ve caused? Poor Mother is absolutely mortified. And in front of the Pearsons too. You know this will be all over St John’s Wood by tomorrow!’
‘I don’t care,’ Agnes said.
‘Well, that’s obvious. You don’t care about anything or anyone but yourself, or you wouldn’t be here!’
Grace’s wails turned to screams of fear. ‘Now see what you’ve done.’ Vanessa sent Agnes an accusing look over the top of the baby’s head. She turned away, shushing the child, crooning softly to quieten her.
‘Can I help?’ Agnes offered, but Vanessa backed away from her, colliding with the doorframe.
‘Don’t you come anywhere near her,’ she warned.
Agnes stared at her, bewildered. ‘Nessa, please. I won’t hurt her …’
‘I’m her mother. I’ll look after her.’
There was something about the way she said it that hit Agnes like a dart to her heart. But before she could respond, their mother appeared on the landing behind them.
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 29