‘Nay, lass.’ Bess shook her head, but there was a twinkle in her eye, and the hint of a smile on her lips. ‘Why would I do that? If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I can’t wait to see the back of you. But if I know you, you’ll probably stay to spite me. Won’t you?’
Chapter Forty
Bess was surprised to see Finn waiting for her when she arrived at Henry Slater’s cottage the following morning. Usually he took pains to make himself scarce during her thrice-daily visits.
But today he was standing outside the door as she came up the path, his faithful black dog by his side as usual. He was busy chiselling the crumbling mortar from around a loose brick, but Bess knew that he was waiting for her.
‘Good morning, Mr Slater,’ she greeted him politely.
Finn didn’t turn round. ‘Granddad’s had a bad night,’ he said in a low voice.
Would it really hurt you to say ‘good morning’? Bess thought. ‘You mean he couldn’t sleep?’
‘Not just that. He was raving. Not bad dreams or anything like that. He was wide awake but he was making no sense.’ Finn flicked a glance at her over his shoulder, and she saw the fear he was trying to hide. ‘That in’t right, is it?’
No, Bess thought with a sinking heart. It isn’t right. But she pasted her most professional smile on her face and said, ‘Let’s go and have a look at him, shall we?’
Even without examining him, Bess could see Henry’s condition had worsened. There was no smile of greeting for her when she walked into the bedroom. He lay there scowling, his face grey with exhaustion.
Finn followed her into the room. He kept himself to a corner, but she could feel him watching.
‘How are you today, Mr Slater?’ she asked Henry with a bright smile.
‘You’re the nurse, you tell me!’
‘Granddad!’ Finn muttered.
‘And you can be quiet an’ all,’ Henry turned on him. ‘What are you doing hanging about here anyway? In’t you got nothing else to do? There are bulbs to be planted tha knows. And those apples want getting in.’
‘It’s December, Granddad.’ Finn’s voice was patient. ‘There in’t no apples to get in, and the bulbs are already—’
‘Don’t argue with me! Don’t you think I know this land? I should do, I’ve been tending it for longer than you’ve been on this earth. Useless article!’ He turned back to Bess. ‘Have you got any children, nurse?’
Bess glanced at Finn, standing in the corner. His face was expressionless. ‘Let’s have a look at your legs, shall we?’ she said to Henry.
The oedema was much worse than before. His legs were shockingly swollen and engorged with fluid. The digitalis hadn’t worked; neither had the other diuretics the doctor had prescribed.
‘When am I going to be allowed to get up?’ Henry demanded.
‘Soon, Mr Slater.’ Bess pulled the covers back over him. ‘I’ll have a word with the doctor and we’ll see what is to be done, shall we?’
She took his temperature and pulse, and checked his respiration. It was very poor. The old man’s lips were tinged with blue and he fought for every breath. As Bess prepared his medication she was aware of Finn watching her closely. He wasn’t being hostile, she realised. He was afraid.
‘Right, that’s all done.’ She stepped back. ‘Now, have you had any breakfast this morning?’
‘No.’
‘I brought you tea and a bit of toast earlier,’ Finn reminded him.
‘Did you? I don’t remember it.’ A look of fear flashed into the old man’s eyes. ‘Are you sure, lad? Why can’t I remember?’
‘It’s all right, Granddad. Everyone gets a bit forgetful sometimes.’ Finn stepped forward. ‘Here, let me make you more comfortable.’ He moved to plump up the old man’s pillow, but Henry shrank back from him.
‘Don’t you touch me!’
‘But I only wanted to help …’
‘I don’t want any help from you!’ Henry lashed out and seized one of his grandson’s wrists, holding him fast. ‘You see these hands, nurse? These are killer’s hands!’
Finn flinched as if he’d been struck. He snatched his hand away and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
He was in the kitchen when Bess walked in a few minutes later. He stood at the window with his back to her, but she could see the dark crimson flush on the back of his neck.
She said nothing as she went over to the sink to wash her hands. She’d never thought she would feel pity for Finn Slater, but she did now.
‘Granddad’s dying, isn’t he?’ he said.
Bess went into her automatic response. ‘I’ll telephone the doctor, get him to come out and see him again,’ she started to say, but Finn cut her off.
‘Tell me the truth, nurse. Please?’
Finn turned to face her, and Bess saw the anguish he was trying so hard to conceal. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. He deserved her honesty.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Yes, I believe he is.’ She started to explain what was happening to Henry, how his failing heart was causing his other organs to struggle and fluids to build up in his body. Finn listened carefully, his face devoid of expression. But Bess could see him fighting to hold himself together.
‘How long has he got left?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘But he’s going downhill fast?’
‘Yes.’
‘So is it days or weeks, d’you reckon?’
‘I couldn’t …’ Once again, she saw Finn’s face and her professional response failed her. ‘Days,’ she said.
Finn nodded, taking it all in. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.
He was just a lad, Bess thought. He was doing his best to appear calm, but underneath his gruff exterior she could see a lost little boy. Her motherly instincts came rushing in and it was all she could do to stop herself from putting her arms around him.
He sat down at the table and pulled on his work boots.
‘Are you going out?’ Bess said.
‘Can’t stay here. Granddad’s right, there’s work to be done.’ His voice was hoarse.
Bess glanced out the window. Snow still laced the bare branches of the trees. She couldn’t imagine there was much to be done on the iron-hard ground, but she appreciated that Finn needed to keep himself busy.
‘There’s a patch of earth round the back, outside Granddad’s window,’ he went on. ‘I’ll tidy that up, make it nice. I want him to look out and see I’ve kept it looking like he would have wanted.’
He looked so determined to please the old man, a lump rose in Bess’ throat.
As Finn was letting himself out, she said, ‘Thank you.’
He paused. ‘What for?’
‘For what you did.’
She didn’t have to say any more. He knew what she meant. It was written in every rigid line of his body.
‘I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.’
‘I know.’
‘Like you said, I didn’t want to be the one who ruined her life.’
Bess flinched as he parroted her own words back at her. Had she really said that? She was horrified by her own cruelty.
She had thought she was protecting her daughter from harm, but now Bess realised she herself was the one who had ruined everything, not Finn. She was the one who had caused the rift.
‘I – I know you were fond of her …’ She wanted to speak, to explain why she had done what she had. She wanted Finn to understand, even if Polly didn’t.
‘It’s all right, nurse, you don’t have to say anything,’ Finn told her. His voice sounded surprisingly gentle. ‘You were right, I would never have been good enough for her. Polly deserves someone far better than me.’
He left the cottage, his dog at his heels, closing the door behind him. Bess made Henry a cup of tea and went back to check on him, then packed up her bag and let herself out.
As she trudged down the path, she looked back over her shoulder and saw two figures in the snow. F
inn was sitting on a white-shrouded tree trunk, slumped over, head down, shoulders shaking. His dog was close to him, black head pressed into his master’s chest, as if to comfort him.
Bess’ heart lurched. They said dogs were better judges of character than most people.
Better than she was, at any rate.
Chapter Forty-One
‘I knew I’d see you again sooner or later.’
Annie Pilcher’s smug tone made Christine cringe. The woman sat by the fire, her narrow face illuminated by the flickering flames. She didn’t seem quite so mousy and harmless in the dark, shadowy warmth of her own cottage, with its strange earthy smells and shelves lined with glass jars of herbs.
Christine wished she’d never come and yet she knew she had no choice.
‘So what can I do for you?’ Annie said.
Christine dropped her gaze to the skinny ginger cat that insinuated itself around her legs. Its lean, snaking body made her shudder, and she fought the urge to kick out at it. ‘You know,’ she murmured.
‘You want to get rid of it, then?’
Christine put a protective hand over her belly and felt a hard kick in response. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word, could only nod in response.
I’m sorry. She closed her eyes and let the apology fill her mind. If there was any other way …
‘It’ll cost you.’ Annie’s voice broke harshly into her thoughts.
Christine opened her eyes. ‘How much?’
Annie laughed. ‘Don’t look so shocked, lass. Did you think I’d do it for free?’ she mocked. She took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘Two quid,’ she said finally.
Christine gasped. ‘But I don’t have that kind of money!’
‘Reckon you’re in a bit of a pickle then, in’t you?’ Annie sent her an assessing look through the plume of smoke that escaped between her thin lips. ‘All right, a pound. But I’ll not do it for less than that. I’m robbing myself as it is. You don’t know the risks I have to take …’
Christine had ceased to listen, her ears ringing with panic. A pound was more money than she’d ever had in her life. Even her mother didn’t earn that much, nor any of her brothers come to that.
She felt tears spring to her eyes. She had been so sure that Annie Pilcher was the answer to her prayers.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered.
Annie sighed angrily. ‘It’s no use you turning on the waterworks, expecting me to feel sorry for you!’ she snapped. ‘You in’t the first lass who’s tried that wi’ me!’
‘I – I’m not trying anything.’ Christine rubbed away her tears with the heel of her hand.
There was a long pause. Then Annie said, ‘All right, what have you got?’
‘I don’t—’
‘If you in’t got money, you must have summat else. Jewellery? An old clock? A decent pair of shoes? Come on, lass, think. Even Lil Fairbrass must have summat I can take down the pawn shop.’
The pawn shop. A sudden image came to Christine’s mind of herself, standing with her nose pressed against the shop window, admiring a set of leather-bound encyclopaedias …
No. Her mind rejected it. She couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t. It would be the worst betrayal, her mother would never forgive her …
She won’t forgive you if you bring a bastard child into her house either.
Christine started, not sure if she’d spoken the words out loud.
‘Well?’ Annie said. ‘What’s it to be? You got anything or not?’ Christine nodded. ‘Good.’ Annie stuck another cigarette between her sharp little teeth and rubbed her hands together. ‘Then it looks like we’ve got a deal, doesn’t it?’
Against all odds, and the doctor’s predictions, within three days John Willis’ diphtheria had responded to the antitoxin therapy.
‘I thought you’d like to know.’ Bess delivered the good news as they prepared for their rounds in the district room. ‘Since you’ve taken such a personal interest.’
‘That was good of you.’ Agnes stood at the store cupboard, surveying the identical rows of bedpans. All she needed was to select one for Mrs Pinker to borrow, but for some reason suddenly she couldn’t seem to choose between them.
‘Is that it? I thought you’d be more pleased. You’ve been on pins these last three days, jumping every time the telephone rings.’
‘I am,’ Agnes said. ‘It’s just …’
‘Come on, out with it.’
Agnes sighed. ‘I can’t help blaming myself for the fact that the poor boy didn’t get treatment sooner. If only I’d insisted on seeing him, instead of letting Mrs Willis scare me away …’
Bess snorted. ‘Nettie Willis would scare anyone! You mustn’t blame yourself. You did what you could. Just be grateful the little lad is getting better.’
‘Yes, but if only—’
Bess cut her off. ‘We could all drive ourselves mad with if onlys,’ she said firmly.
The Assistant Superintendent looked thoughtful when she said it, and Agnes wondered if she was driving herself mad too. Polly was due to return soon from staying with her cousin, and Agnes could tell Bess was apprehensive about seeing her again.
How things change, she thought. A couple of days ago she would have had no sympathy with Bess Bradshaw. But ever since their heart-to-heart, they had built some kind of bond.
‘I think I might pay Mrs Willis a visit, just to clear the air,’ Agnes said.
Bess let out a low whistle. ‘I dunno if that’s such a good idea. I’d leave well alone if I were you.’ Then she looked at Agnes and said, ‘Although I dunno why I’m wasting my breath. You’ve already made up your mind to go, haven’t you?’
Agnes smiled. ‘May I borrow your bicycle, as it’s raining and you’re not going out?’
‘Certainly not!’ Bess said. ‘You’re not having anyone’s bicycle until you’ve learned not to be so careless with your own.’
‘But I don’t have one of my own, do I?’ Agnes pulled a bedpan from the shelf with a clatter. ‘And I don’t know when I’m going to get one, either.’
‘Then you’ll just have to be patient, won’t you?’ Bess replied maddeningly. ‘In the meantime, the walk will do you good.’
If it doesn’t give me pneumonia! Agnes thought as she hurried down to Quarry Hill, rain dripping off her hat. She’d never have guessed how much she’d miss her old boneshaker of a bicycle until it was gone. She still didn’t know who had stolen it, but she had seen a couple of kids towing a cart made out of an old orange box and a couple of wheels that looked very familiar.
On the way, she stopped off at the newsagent’s and bought a couple of comics for John. He would be in hospital for some time, and she knew from her nursing experience how boring it could be for children isolated on the fever wards with no friends to play with.
Norman Willis opened the door to her. He was wearing an old pair of overalls, and his face and hands were stained black with oil. But he looked more cheerful than Agnes had seen him in a long time.
‘Hello, nurse. We weren’t expecting you. Come in.’ He stood aside to let her in to the kitchen. ‘Nasty weather, in’t it? Take off your coat. I’d hang it up for you, but I don’t want to get oil all over it.’
Agnes took off her wet coat and put it on a chair, folded round so the lining faced out.
‘Who was that at the—’ Nettie came out of the scullery and stopped short when she saw Agnes. ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d show your face sooner or later.’
Norman shot his wife a warning glare, then said, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, nurse?’
‘I—’ Agnes started to reply but Nettie cut in.
‘It’s no use offering her one, she’ll not drink it. She thinks we’re too dirty and ignorant for her to drink out of our cups.’
Norman Willis turned to his wife. ‘Will you give over sniping, Nettie?’ He looked back at Agnes. ‘What can we do for you, nurse?’
‘I just came to see how John is getting on – and to give hi
m these.’ She proffered the comics, but Nettie stepped in again.
‘We don’t want your handouts!’ she snapped. ‘We can buy our own comics, thank you very much!’
‘Nettie!’ Norman Willis raised his voice, shocking them both. ‘Will you give the poor lass a chance?’
‘No.’ His wife looked mutinous.
‘I’m telling you, Nettie, and you will listen. Miss Sheridan has come all this way in the rain. The least you can do is stop shouting the odds and hear what she has to say. Or she won’t be the only one as thinks you’re ignorant!’
Nettie and Agnes both stared at him. Agnes didn’t think she’d ever heard Mr Willis raise his voice above a murmur before.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m off to the workshop to finish that job I’m doing. And I want you two to sit down and settle your differences. I mean it, Nettie,’ he warned his wife, as she opened her mouth to speak. ‘I won’t be responsible for my actions if I find out you’ve chased Miss Sheridan off again. Remember what happened last time. Our John nearly paid for it wi’ his life.’
He left. Nettie stood as still as a statue, staring at the back door, her mouth closed like a steel trap.
Agnes realised Mrs Willis wasn’t going to utter another word, so she made a start at conversation.
‘I hear John is getting better. You must be relieved?’
Nettie swung round to face her. ‘Is that why you’ve come? I might have known!’ She plonked herself down at the kitchen table. ‘Come on then, let’s get it over with.’
Agnes frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, don’t act the innocent wi’ me. I bet you couldn’t wait to come here, could you? As I said, I’m surprised you in’t shown your face before. Want to rub it in, do you? Tell me how I nearly killed my own son because I didn’t listen to you?’
‘No, not at all.’ Agnes stared at her. ‘Actually, I came to say I was sorry.’
Nettie stopped talking, her brow creasing in a frown. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said slowly.
‘I’m sorry I let you down. The only reason you didn’t let me see your son was because you didn’t have any trust in me. And if you didn’t trust me, it’s because I haven’t done a very good job of earning it. So I’m very sorry for that.’
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 32