‘I know,’ Agnes said miserably. Bess Bradshaw had said the same thing to her many times.
Miss Gale looked thoughtful. ‘I shall have to consider this matter very carefully,’ she said.
‘Perhaps if I went to see her again?’ Agnes suggested. ‘If I talked to her, it might—’
‘No,’ Miss Gale cut her off firmly. ‘No, I don’t think that would be a very good idea at all. Believe me, it would only make matters worse.’
In spite of Miss Gale’s dire warnings, Agnes decided to go to the Infirmary. It wasn’t just that she wanted to talk to Mrs Willis; little John Willis was one of her patients and she was genuinely concerned about him. It didn’t feel right to sit at the district nurses’ house waiting for Dr Branning to telephone with news, especially when she might be of some practical help.
It felt strange to be back in a hospital again, to breathe in the antiseptic smell that had once been so familiar to her. It seemed like so long since she had walked down a hospital corridor, her shoes squeaking on the polished floor.
A ward sister walked purposefully by, her chin up, immaculate in her starched uniform. Agnes averted her eyes out of habit, and almost walked into a pair of staff nurses hurrying along, doing the rapid heel-toe walk that all nurses perfected because they were forbidden to run.
Mr and Mrs Willis were sitting outside the double doors to the Children’s ward. Mrs Willis was crying in her husband’s arms.
Mr Willis saw Agnes first, turning his head at her approach. ‘Nurse?’ He frowned at her, his face pale with tension. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to ask after your son. Is there any news?’
Mrs Willis’ head shot up at the sound of Agnes’ voice. Tears had ravaged her features, making them blurred and puffy. ‘You!’ Her voice grated with loathing. ‘Come to gloat, have you?’
‘Nettie, calm down. You’re not helping matters, getting in a state.’ Mr Willis turned back to Agnes. ‘He’s holding on, nurse. But they’re worried about him. They reckon the next few hours will be touch and go.’
‘I came to see if there was anything I could do.’
‘You can go away and leave us alone. We don’t want you here.’
Agnes fought to control her rising temper. Mrs Willis was only lashing out because she was frightened, she told herself. ‘It isn’t my fault your son is ill, Mrs Willis.’
‘That’s right, rub it in! My son’s dying and all you can do is stand there and tell me it’s my fault!’
‘I didn’t say that—’
‘Nettie, stop it,’ Mr Willis joined in. ‘Don’t have a go at the nurse. She’s been kind enough to come all this way to see us …’
‘Kind? Kind, you say? That snotty cow hasn’t a kind bone in her body. She in’t even fit to call herself a nurse!’ Nettie’s lip curled as she addressed Agnes. ‘If you really want to help, you’ll clear off and leave us all alone. No one in Quarry Hill likes you. You’re best off going back where you came from!’
She slumped back in her chair, her rage spent. Mr Willis looked up at Agnes. ‘It might be best if you left us to it, nurse,’ he said quietly.
‘Are you sure? Perhaps I could have a word with the ward sister, see if I can find out anything for you? She might talk to me …’
‘Why? Because you’re so much better than the rest of us?’ Mrs Willis’ voice was raw with contempt.
Agnes glanced at Mr Willis. He shook his head. ‘Like I said, nurse, you’d best leave it for now.’ He gave her a sad smile.
‘Very well,’ she said quietly. ‘But you will let me know if there’s anything I can do?’
‘Just go, will you?’ Nettie spat. ‘How many times do we have to tell you, no one wants you here!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Miss Gale blinked at Agnes from behind her spectacles. ‘You want to do what?’
‘I want to resign, Miss Gale.’ Agnes held herself upright, staring out of the window beyond the Superintendent’s shoulder.
‘And may I ask what has brought this on?’
She in’t even fit to call herself a nurse, Nettie Willis’ voice hissed in her ear. It wasn’t just Nettie who thought that either. Agnes had heard the other nurses discussing it in the common room when she’d returned from the hospital the previous evening.
‘Can you imagine, not being allowed to see the poor bairn?’ she heard Miss McLeod saying as she passed the half-open door. ‘I wonder what she did to upset the family?’
‘Wait until Bess Bradshaw hears about this,’ Miss Goode said with relish. ‘I wouldn’t care to be in Miss Sheridan’s dainty shoes then!’
‘Well?’ Miss Gale’s sharp voice brought Agnes back to the present.
‘I don’t think I’m cut out for district nursing, Miss Gale.’
‘Well, I’ll admit you’ve had a few problems, but I thought you were beginning to get to grips with the work.’ Miss Gale paused and considered. ‘So what will you do?’ she asked.
Agnes looked at her blankly. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘What will you do if you leave district nursing? Will you go back to hospital work?’
‘I – I don’t know.’ Agnes hadn’t thought much beyond walking into Miss Gale’s office and handing over her letter of resignation. She was in such a deep fog of misery and self-recrimination, she couldn’t see what lay ahead of her.
But now she did think about it, she had no answers. Growing up, she had always had a plan, a clear path of goals she wanted to achieve. She would train as a nurse, gain her qualification, work as a staff nurse, then as a sister, and ultimately become a matron.
But becoming pregnant had thrown her carefully laid plans off course. She had been discreetly but humiliatingly dismissed from the Nightingale, and from that moment on her life had fallen apart.
Then, after St Jude’s, a new plan had been formed. It was mostly of her mother’s making, but Agnes could see another clear path laid out for her. Train as a district nurse, then qualify, and slowly but surely earn back the respect she had lost.
But now that plan had also crumbled, and once again Agnes was left standing in the rubble of her ruined life, with nowhere else to go.
And there was no one to help her this time. She couldn’t even go home, she realised.
Her utter despair must have shown on her face because Miss Gale said, ‘I don’t think I’ll accept your resignation just yet.’ She pushed Agnes’ letter back across the desk towards her. ‘I want you to go away and think about it. Sleep on it, if you will.’
‘But I’ve already made up my mind.’
‘Sleep on it,’ Miss Gale insisted. ‘And if you still want to resign in the morning, come back and see me and we will discuss it further.’
Agnes went to her room with a heavy heart. For only the second time in her life, she truly didn’t know what to do. She almost wished Miss Gale had accepted her resignation there and then, because at least some kind of decision would have been made.
Even if it was the wrong one.
Except it wasn’t the wrong one, Agnes told herself. She didn’t fit in here. Everyone – Bess Bradshaw, Lil Fairbrass, Nettie Willis – had been telling her so since the day she had arrived. But she had been too stubborn, too determined to do things her way, to listen.
But now all she could hear were their voices in her head, ringing out loud and clear, shutting out everything else.
You don’t belong here … You’ll never understand the people of Quarry Hill … You in’t even fit to be a nurse …
Her bag was still on the bed where she’d dumped it before she went to the Infirmary. Agnes wondered if she should even bother to unpack it. Perhaps she should pack the rest of her things, in anticipation of leaving?
She looked around the room. She would miss it, she realised. In a few short months this place had become home to her. She liked the other nurses, and Dottie’s hit-and-miss housekeeping. She liked the familiar routines and the lively conversations at mealtimes, gently teasing Miss Hook about her poetry
and Phil about her endless quest for a motorcycle. She liked sharing a room with Polly, even though she could be maddeningly untidy sometimes …
Agnes stopped short, suddenly noticing something. Polly’s belongings weren’t scattered all around the room as they usually were. Her bed was neatly made, too, as if it hadn’t been slept in.
And come to think of it, Agnes couldn’t remember setting eyes on her room mate since she’d returned.
She asked Phil about it when she wandered in a moment later. Agnes was still standing in front of her open bag, dithering over her unpacking.
‘Oh, you won’t have heard, will you?’ Phil said. ‘She and her mother had an almighty row. Shouting, screaming, smashing pottery … it was absolute mayhem.’
‘No!’ Agnes was horrified.
‘It’s true!’ Phil said. ‘You should have seen it. Talk about the worm that turned.’
‘Why did they argue?’
‘Why do you think?’ Phil looked worldly wise. ‘Man trouble, obviously.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘From what I can gather, Bess Bradshaw put her foot down about Polly courting some young man, and Polly didn’t like it.’
Agnes recalled the conversation she’d had with her room mate, when Polly had confided that she’d fallen in love with Finn. She had predicted her mother might try to cause trouble for her, and it looked as if it had all come to a head.
It was a shame, Agnes thought. Polly had seemed so happy and in love. Why couldn’t her mother just be happy for her, instead of trying to ruin it?
‘Anyway, Polly has gone off to stay with a cousin for a few days, to give her a chance to cool down,’ Phil went on.
‘What about Bess?’
‘Oh, she’s still here, worse luck. And as you can imagine, all this has put her in the most marvellous of tempers. She’s even more like an enraged bull than usual.’
‘Careful, Miss Fletcher. That enraged bull might just charge in your direction.’
Bess Bradshaw stood in the doorway, arms folded across her bosom. She did look even more bad-tempered than usual, Agnes thought, her brows low over her flinty eyes.
Phil turned instantly to stone. ‘I – I—’
‘Oh, do stop trying to speak, lass. You look like a stranded goldfish!’ Bess dismissed her impatiently. ‘And don’t look so worried. It isn’t you I’m after this time. It’s Miss Sheridan here. Now make yourself scarce, if you please.’
Phil’s relief was palpable. She was out of the room before Agnes could say a word. Traitor, Agnes thought.
She turned to face Bess. She was leaving, and the Assistant Superintendent no longer held any fears for her. Within a couple of weeks she would be gone, and Bess Bradshaw would be nothing more than an unpleasant but distant memory.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’ Agnes said calmly.
Bess stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. ‘I’ve had a word with Miss Gale, but I just wanted to hear the good news for myself,’ she said. ‘Do my ears deceive me or is it true we’re finally getting rid of you?’
Agnes lifted her chin. Bess was trying to goad her, but she refused to rise to it. ‘It’s quite true,’ she said. ‘I handed my letter of resignation to Miss Gale an hour ago.’
‘And she refused to take it, is that right?’
‘She told me to wait until the morning and then reconsider.’
‘More fool her,’ Bess said grimly. ‘If it were me, I’d have you out of that door before you had a chance to change your mind.’
Anger pricked Agnes, but still she wouldn’t rise to the bait. ‘I’m sure you would,’ she said.
Bess prowled around the room. Agnes watched her out of the corner of her eye. Even though she told herself she had nothing to fear, the Assistant Superintendent still made her uneasy.
‘So what made you finally decide to go?’ Bess asked.
Agnes swallowed. ‘I realised I don’t belong here.’
‘It took you long enough to work that out!’
‘I’ll never understand the people of Quarry Hill,’ Agnes continued. ‘And they’ll never accept me either.’
‘Aye, you might be right.’ Bess picked up a comb Polly had left on her bedside table and stared at it for a moment. ‘I suppose this is to do with the Willis lad?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’ Bess turned to face her.
‘Not entirely,’ Agnes amended. She studied her hands. ‘I went to the Infirmary to see him.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I wanted to see if I could help.’
‘That was brave of you, to face Nettie Willis like that. A bit daft too. I’m surprised she didn’t rip your hair out by the roots.’
Agnes put up her hand to smooth her hair, reassuring herself it was still there. ‘She might have done, if her husband hadn’t been there.’
‘Oh yes, her husband.’ Bess looked thoughtful. ‘He’s a lot better, I hear?’
‘Yes.’ Agnes smiled in spite of herself. ‘He’s working again, doing some odd jobs. It’s done him the power of good.’
‘You had a little chat with him, I understand? About your brother and your dad.’
Agnes blushed. Was there anything Bess hadn’t heard? ‘We just talked about the war,’ she said quietly. ‘He needed to talk, but I don’t think anyone’s ever listened to him before.’
‘But you did.’
‘Yes.’
Agnes opened her drawer and took out some of her folded underclothes, then moved to put them in her bag. All the time she could feel Bess’ gaze on her.
‘I’ll tell you who else I saw recently. Little Mr Shapcott. Not that I recognised him,’ Bess said.
Agnes smiled again. ‘He’s quite transformed, isn’t he?’
‘Transformed? He’s a different man altogether.’ Bess tilted her head consideringly. ‘How did you manage it I wonder. How did you succeed where the rest of us failed?’
Agnes shrugged. ‘It wasn’t difficult, once I found out what he was scared of.’
‘And there we all were, thinking he was just a dirty little beggar!’ Bess marvelled. ‘You’ve got a way of getting people to tell you their troubles, haven’t you?’
Agnes sent her a sideways look. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘What I’m trying to say is that you’re not as bad a nurse as you might think. Don’t get me wrong, you’re not perfect,’ she said. ‘You put your foot in it more times than a drunken dairyman in a cow field. But you’ve also got a knack for getting in here.’ She tapped her temple. ‘You can fathom out what’s really troubling people, beyond all their aches and pains. And that’s a good thing in a nurse.’
Agnes stared at her. She didn’t think she had ever heard a word of praise fall from Bess Bradshaw’s lips before. Agnes hadn’t thought her capable of giving anything but criticism.
But even Bess’ approval wasn’t enough. ‘People still don’t like me. Nettie Willis said I was stuck-up.’
‘Nettie Willis doesn’t know everything. I’ll let you into a little secret, shall I?’ Bess said. ‘When I took over your round while you were ill, all anyone wanted to know was where the real nurse was.’
‘Really?’
Bess nodded. ‘Right got on my nerves, I can tell you! But it just goes to show, you’re not as bad as you thought.’
The bubble of hope that rose inside Agnes quickly burst again. ‘Tell that to Nettie Willis and Lil Fairbrass,’ she said miserably.
‘Nettie and Lil are mothers, fearful for their bairns. Of course they’re going to lash out. You get between a mother and her child, Miss Sheridan, and you’ll know about it!’
Agnes flinched from the fierce fire in Bess’ eyes. Was that the root of the problem with Finn Slater, she wondered.
‘But they’ll come round,’ Bess went on. ‘They’ll accept you in time, just like Mr Willis and Mr Shapcott and all the other people you’ve won round. You’ve just got to earn their respect.’
‘I don’t think I can,’ Agn
es said wearily.
‘Then you’re not the lass I thought you were.’ Bess planted her hands on her hips. ‘You disappoint me, Miss Sheridan. I had you down as a fighter. You’ve certainly given me a run for my money a few times!’ She smiled grimly.
‘Perhaps I’m just not up to this fight?’
‘This? This is nothing compared to what you’ve been through already. Anyone who can get through six months at St Jude’s is made of sterner stuff than that, I reckon.’
Agnes felt the blood drain from her, leaving her light-headed with panic. ‘I don’t know what you mean …’
‘I think you do.’
Agnes caught Bess’ frank gaze and her throat dried. ‘How – did you—?’
‘I made it my business to find out. Nay, lass, don’t look so afeared, no one else knows. And they won’t neither. Not from me, at any rate.’ Bess’ eyes were suddenly gentle, the gleam of combat gone. ‘We all have our secrets, and what happened in your past is your business and no one else’s. All I’m saying is that if you can get through what you’ve had to face, then I reckon Quarry Hill should hold no fears for you.’
Agnes stared at her. Her secret was out, and to Bess Bradshaw of all people. She should have been afraid, but somehow she knew Bess could be trusted to take this one to the grave. The Assistant Superintendant wasn’t looking at her with contempt, either. There was almost a grudging respect in her expression.
One day, thought Agnes, she might tell her everything that had happened. But now was not the time. She wasn’t ready to share it with anyone.
‘So you really think I have what it takes to be a district nurse?’ she ventured.
Bess grimaced, all her tenderness suddenly gone. ‘You’re too posh, too impatient, and you never do as you’re told,’ she said. ‘But I daresay we can knock that out of you in time. And let’s face it, who else would have you?’
Agnes smiled. Bess might have meant it as a joke, but she really had nowhere else to go. Steeple Street was her last chance, and she had no choice but to stay and fight.
‘Anyone would think you were trying to persuade me to stay.’ she said.
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 31