A Nightingale Christmas Carol

by Donna Douglas

  Was this really Arthur speaking? Kitty barely recognised him. ‘But Arthur, that’s stealing. You have to put it back.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because it’s wrong. And you’ll get into trouble if you’re caught.’

  ‘I took it ages ago and haven’t got caught so far, have I?’

  Kitty’s mouth fell open. ‘You mean you’ve done it before?’

  ‘Once or twice,’ he shrugged. ‘But so has everyone else,’ he insisted. ‘Billy Parsons is always helping himself from the prisoners’ lockers. No one ever reports it.’ He nodded at the St Christopher in her hand. ‘He reckons that’s solid silver. Should be able to get a few bob for it at the pop shop.’

  For a moment Kitty couldn’t speak. This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. Her little brother might be a fool to himself sometimes, but he was no thief.

  And yet here he was, bragging about it as if it was nothing.

  ‘And what about when Sister finds out it’s stolen?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, she won’t even notice it’s missing. She hasn’t bothered to send the box of his belongings back, so that shows how much she cares. They’re prisoners, Kitty,’ he said, seeing her face. ‘No one cares about them. And I’m not going to get into any trouble. Not if you don’t say anything?’ He sent her a long look.

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t. But not for your sake,’ Kitty added. ‘Mum’s had enough worry, she doesn’t need any more.’ She looked at the charm dangling from her hand. ‘But this has got to go back.’

  ‘No!’ Arthur made to snatch it, but Kitty held it out of his grasp.

  ‘I mean it, Arthur. It doesn’t feel right, having it in the house.’

  ‘It won’t be here for much longer. I’ll take it to the pawn shop first thing—’

  ‘No, you won’t. I’m taking it back when I go on duty.’

  ‘But it’s mine!’

  ‘It doesn’t belong to you, Arthur.’ Kitty shook her head. ‘I don’t understand you, I really don’t. What on earth possessed you to take it in the first place?’

  ‘I told you, everyone—’

  ‘That’s no excuse, Arthur Jenkins, and you know it! Those porters get up to all sorts of tricks, but I’ve never known you to join in, let alone to steal. Our mum and dad certainly didn’t bring you up that way.’

  Arthur was mutinously silent for a moment. Then he suddenly blurted out, ‘I did it for Ray.’

  Kitty turned to face him. ‘You what?’

  ‘I wanted to get back at them – for what they did.’

  Kitty sighed. ‘And you think Ray would want you to turn into a thief?’ she said.

  ‘I had to do something!’ His face was mottled with angry colour. ‘I can’t stand it, Kit. I can’t stand having to run around after them like we’re their servants or something, knowing what they did to our brother . . . and I don’t know how you stand it either,’ he muttered.

  ‘I do it because it’s my job, just like it is yours.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Arthur glared at her. ‘Because it seems to me you’re taking their side.’ His gaze fixed on the St Christopher in her hand.

  ‘If you think that, then you’re even dafter than I thought!’ Kitty closed her fist around the charm. ‘I’m just trying to keep us both out of trouble,’ she said quietly.

  As she turned away, Arthur said, ‘So how will you return it?’

  ‘I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it. I suppose I’ll have to find a way to put it back in Sister’s office.’

  ‘And what if you get caught? They’ll think you nicked it.’

  She looked at him calmly. ‘That’s a chance I’ll have to take, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The charm was burning a hole in Kitty’s pocket when she went on duty the following morning. She felt sure everyone must be able to see the guilt written all over her face.

  She had hoped to be able to sneak the charm back into Sister’s office without anyone noticing, but unfortunately for her, this was one of the rare mornings when Sister Dawson was present on the ward. She spent most of the morning shut away in her office, so there was no chance for Kitty to creep in. She only hoped Sister hadn’t chosen this morning to return the young soldier’s belongings.

  As she waited for her chance, Kitty could barely concentrate on her tasks. She made poultices too hot, forgot to wrap hot water bottles so they scalded patients’ feet, and mixed up the morning urine samples so the results were all wrong. Her hands were shaking so much she managed to spill a cup of tea that was meant for Stefan Bauer all over herself.

  ‘Really, Nurse Jenkins,’ Dora Riley scolded. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you this morning. I wonder if you stayed too late at the fair last night?’

  ‘Sorry, Staff.’

  ‘Now get yourself cleaned up, and fetch Miss Sloan to help you change the patient’s bed. These sheets will have to be soaked before they go down to the laundry.’

  ‘Yes, Staff. Sorry, Staff.’ Kitty glanced at Stefan Bauer. He watched her with narrowed eyes but said nothing.

  Finally, just as Kitty had given up all hope, Sister Dawson was called away to an emergency on the other ward. Shortly afterwards, Nurse Riley went off for her midday break.

  ‘Now, make sure you don’t cause any more havoc while I’m away,’ she warned Kitty.

  ‘I’ll do my best, Staff.’

  Her anxiety must have shown on her face because Dora Riley frowned and said, ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You’re very pale.’

  ‘I’m quite well, Staff,’ Kitty said, although her stomach was churning.

  Dora didn’t look convinced. ‘We’ll see how you are when I get back,’ she said. ‘If you’re still looking peaky I’ll send you straight to sick bay.’

  Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, she left. But before Kitty could sneak off to Sister’s office, Miss Sloan caught her.

  ‘Where are you going? We’ve got all the instruments to clean, remember, and you’re not leaving me alone with that steriliser. You know I can’t manage it by myself. Nasty, hissing, spitting thing. I swear it has a grudge against me.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute. I’ve just got to put something in Sister’s office.’

  ‘Well, don’t leave me too long,’ Miss Sloan warned.

  The door to Sister’s office was open. Kitty glanced around before she went inside. In the private room opposite, two of the young men were discussing something in German while Stefan lay silently between them, his eyes half closed.

  Kitty squared her shoulders and went into Sister’s office, trying to look as if she belonged there.

  She closed the door behind her and started searching hurriedly for the box. It wasn’t on any of the shelves. Her heart racing, she searched through Sister’s desk, terrified that at any moment the door would be flung open and she would be caught red-handed.

  Finally, she found the box in the bottom drawer, under some papers. Kitty’s hands were shaking so much she could scarcely manage to get the lid off.

  For a moment Kitty paused, looking at the young man’s belongings. There was little to show for his life, just a couple of letters and family photographs. Guilt stung her. How could Arthur have done something so cruel?

  She quickly laid the St Christopher back in the box and was trying to get the lid on the box when she heard Sister’s voice in the corridor.

  Kitty froze, every nerve and muscle suddenly paralysed by fear. She knew she should move, or hide, but all she could do was stand there, listening to Sister’s footsteps coming up the corridor towards her.

  She stared at the doorknob, turning slowly. Another moment and everything would be over . . .

  Then, suddenly, she heard Stefan’s voice.

  ‘Oberschwester? May I speak to you for a moment?’

  Kitty’s heart was in her throat, stopping her breath. A second later, the doorknob stopped turning.

  ‘Yes? What is it?’ Sister Dawson said with a fa
int note of irritation.

  The sound of her footsteps moving away from the door galvanised Kitty into life. She quickly put the lid on the box and stuffed it back in the drawer.

  She hurried to the door, opened it a crack and looked out. Sister Dawson was in the private room opposite, her back to the door, standing at Stefan’s bedside. Kitty quietly closed the door to Sister’s office and scuttled off down the passageway. She was so busy looking over her shoulder she didn’t see Miss Sloan until she had slammed straight into her.

  ‘There you are!’ the VAD boomed at her. ‘Well might you look guilty, Nurse, leaving me alone with that wretched steriliser.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kitty said. ‘I’ll help you now – ’

  ‘No need.’ Miss Sloan looked huffy. ‘I did it all by myself. And I have the scars to prove it. But you’ll have to do it next time,’ she warned.

  ‘I will,’ Kitty promised. She was so relieved and grateful, she would have sterilised every instrument in the hospital.

  ‘Jenkins?’ Sister Dawson’s voice rang out behind her. ‘Come here, will you?’

  Every sinew in Kitty’s body instantly stiffened. Had she spoken too soon?

  But Sister Dawson was summoning her into the private room.

  ‘This patient has been complaining of pain,’ she said, pointing at Stefan. ‘I’ve adjusted the straps on his splint and I can’t find any sign of a sore, but I want you to treat it just in case.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  Kitty returned with the trolley, and set about working a strip of soaped bandage around the metal rings. She didn’t look at Stefan as she worked, but she was aware of him watching her.

  ‘Did you manage to accomplish your mission?’ he said in a low voice.

  Kitty paused for a fraction of a second, then carried on. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she muttered.

  ‘In Sister’s office? I saw you creeping in there earlier on.’

  Kitty managed a light laugh. ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t creeping anywhere. I had a laundry order for her to sign, that’s all – ’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘A laundry order. I thought you might be returning the trinket your brother stole last week.’

  Kitty felt the colour draining from her face, leaving her light-headed.

  ‘That is your brother, isn’t it? The tall, thin boy?’ Stefan went on.

  Kitty stared at him, then at Felix and Hans on either side of him. Hans was sleeping, but Felix was wide awake, writing a letter.

  ‘They can’t understand what I’m saying,’ Stefan said, an amused smile curving his lips. ‘Your secret is safe with me, Fraülein.’

  Kitty quickly finished what she was doing and darted off. She knew it would make her look guilty but she was too flustered to think clearly.

  She would have liked to avoid him for the rest of the day, but a couple of hours later she was sent back to the private room to adjust Stefan’s splint again.

  Hans, the young man in the bed next to Stefan, was thrashing restlessly under his covers, sobbing and shaking in his sleep. Neither Stefan nor Felix seemed to be paying him any attention.

  ‘A bad dream,’ Stefan said. ‘He has them from time to time.’

  Kitty looked at him. ‘Should I do something?’

  Stefan shook his head. ‘He will go back to sleep soon.’

  ‘Does this happen often?’

  ‘Most nights,’ Stefan shrugged. ‘But now he has started to have them during the day, too.’ He looked at Hans. ‘I am not surprised. He has seen too much for his young age.’

  Kitty saw the flicker of sympathy in his hard eyes. It was the first real emotion she had ever seen in him.

  Felix, the young man with the gunshot wound, muttered something. Stefan growled back at him. Felix made another remark, lay down and pulled the covers up over his head, shutting them all out. Kitty didn’t understand any of what was said, but she gathered there was no love lost between the two men.

  A moment later, Hans’ panic seemed to subside, and he sank back to sleep.

  ‘You see?’ Stefan said.

  Their eyes met briefly. Kitty looked away first. ‘It’s time to move you,’ she said.

  As she bent over his bed, Kitty could feel her body prickling with sweat inside her heavy uniform. She kept her movements stiff, afraid if she moved too close he would see the sheen of perspiration on her brow.

  But in spite of her efforts, she had the feeling he was aware of her discomfort. Nothing seemed to get past Stefan Bauer’s keen eye.

  She knew she had to say something, to clear the air between them. She took a deep breath. ‘What happened earlier – ’

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ Stefan said flatly.

  ‘Yes, but I just wanted you to know Arthur – my brother – he’s not really a thief – ’ He sent her a long look but said nothing. ‘He’s just got these ideas in his head . . .’

  ‘Fraülein, you don’t have to tell me anything. I understand all about brothers and their foolish ideas,’ Stefan murmured.

  Kitty was curious. ‘You have a brother?’

  A brief look of pain crossed his face, quickly masked. ‘I did,’ he said. ‘But Emil is dead now.’

  Emil. Kitty knew she’d heard the name before, but she couldn’t think where.

  ‘I just don’t want you to think badly of Arthur,’ Kitty pleaded. ‘When he took that St Christopher – he did it for our brother Raymond.’

  Stefan frowned. ‘I do not understand? You have another brother?’

  ‘I did. But he was killed in the North Atlantic.’

  Stefan was silent for a moment. ‘So he thought that by stealing a dead boy’s belongings he would be getting revenge for his brother’s death, is that what you are saying?’

  Kitty felt herself blushing. ‘I know it sounds daft – ’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It does.’

  ‘You won’t tell anyone?’ She hated herself for asking the question, but she had to know.

  Stefan shrugged. ‘What is there to tell? It’s over now.’

  ‘Yes, but – ’

  His eyes met hers. ‘Nein, Fraülein, I am not one to give away other people’s secrets,’ he said wearily. ‘I have too many of my own.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘It is worrying, I must admit.’

  Dora sent Dr Abbott a sideways look. Things must be bad indeed if even he was looking troubled.

  They were gathered in Sister’s office, although as usual Helen had absented herself to deal with a new admission on the other ward. It was left to Dora to deal with Dr Abbott. He had come to see Stefan Bauer, the patient with the fractured femur. After more than a month in a splint, the X-rays had shown that the broken bones in his leg had still not knitted together.

  ‘I would have expected to see some kind of union by now,’ Dr Abbott was saying with a frown. ‘The man seems to be in good health otherwise, so there’s no reason for those bones not to heal. And you’re certain the limb has been kept perfectly immobile in all this time?’ he said to Dora.

  She bristled at the implied criticism. ‘His splint has been checked every day, Doctor.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Dr Abbott looked thoughtful. ‘Well, I suppose it’s possible that there may have been some kind of infection early on, leading to loss of bone. After all, we have no idea what happened when the fracture was set at the field hospital.’

  It was a statement, not a question. Dora remained silent, her fingers locked behind her back. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Major Von Mundel’s impassive face, listening carefully to every word.

  ‘Will he need another operation, Doctor?’ she ventured.

  Dr Abbott shook his head. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ he said. ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we? You never know, sometimes bones can take ages to mend, and then all of a sudden –’

  ‘You are not going to operate?’ Major Von Mundel interrupted him.

>   Dr Abbott barely glanced at him, addressing himself to Dora. ‘As I said, we should wait and see.’

  ‘Wait and see.’ Major Von Mundel repeated the words slowly and carefully, as if feeling the weight of each one.

  Dora read his meaning. Wait and see. Just like they had with the poor young man who’d died of pleurisy.

  Dr Abbott turned to look at him at last. ‘You sound as if you disagree?’

  Von Mundel stared straight back at him. ‘As you have made perfectly clear, Herr Doctor, my opinion counts for nothing. So perhaps you will excuse me?’ He nodded briefly to Dora and then left.

  Dora watched him striding off down the ward. Over the past few weeks she had come to understand his body language. His tall, straight spine was stiff with suppressed rage and frustration.

  But Dr Abbott remained clueless. ‘What’s wrong with him, I wonder?’ he said.

  Dora was just about to shake her head and plead ig-norance, but then she stopped herself. ‘I reckon he thinks you should operate,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, well, as he said himself, his opinion counts for nothing.’

  Dora stared at Jimmy Abbott, with his sleep-ruffled hair and faded brown stain on the lapel of his white coat. She couldn’t help seeing him through Major Von Mundel’s eyes. ‘He is an experienced surgeon,’ she said quietly.

  ‘He’s a prisoner!’ Dr Abbott retorted. ‘And no matter how much he might throw his weight about on this ward, he has no real authority in this hospital.’

  ‘I think he knows that, Doctor.’

  ‘Well, he’d do well to remember it!’ Dr Abbott looked petulant. ‘Anyway, about this fractured femur . . . I want to start him on a daily course of passive hyperaemia, along with calcium, parathyroid and vitamin therapy. Let’s see if we can’t stimulate those wretched bones to start mending, shall we?’

  Dora pushed herself to get on with her chores for the rest of the morning, giving enemas and injections, checking temperatures and pulses, preparing poultices and massaging liniment into limbs. In between, she served tea and made beds, handed out bedpans, and scrubbed the bathrooms from top to bottom.