A Nightingale Christmas Carol

by Donna Douglas

  ‘You don’t think he would’ve—’

  ‘I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it.’ It was bad enough that she could still smell him on her skin. She couldn’t wait to get home and scrub herself clean.

  Even the nip of brandy Dora had given her couldn’t take away the taste of him from inside her mouth. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to face him at the hospital after this,’ she said.

  ‘It’s him who should be ashamed to show his face,’ Dora muttered.

  ‘Perhaps he won’t show his face,’ Bea said. ‘Especially not after the pasting Hank gave him. You should have seen him, Dora,’ she said proudly. ‘I thought he was going to break Mal’s jaw.’

  ‘He sounds a real hero.’

  ‘Oh, he was.’ Bea preened herself. She didn’t seem to notice the heavy irony in her sister’s voice, but Kitty did.

  Dora finished cleaning Kitty’s wound and put the stopper back in the bottle. ‘There, that should be all right.’

  ‘And I’ve finished these buttons,’ Rose Doyle put in, shaking out Kitty’s dress. ‘One was missing, but I’ve been through my box and I think I’ve managed to match it.’

  ‘That’s smashing, Mrs Doyle. Thank you.’ Kitty gave her a grateful smile.

  ‘It’s the least we could do, love.’ Rose rested her hand on Kitty’s shoulder. ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to stop the night? I could make you a bed up down here, by the fire—’

  ‘Thank you, but I’d best get home. Dad goes mad if I’m not home by eleven.’

  ‘Just as you like.’ Rose gave her shoulder a final squeeze, then headed off to bed. Dora went too, leaving Bea and Kitty alone to talk.

  ‘So you’re not going to tell your mum and dad, then?’ Bea said.

  Kitty shook her head. ‘Like I said, they’ve been through enough worry.’ She picked up Bea’s hand mirror from the table and inspected her face. At least all the bruises were on her arms and body. With any luck her parents wouldn’t notice anything.

  She put on the dress Bea’s mum had just mended for her. The fabric seemed to smell of Mal, too. It had once been one of her favourites, but Kitty knew she would never wear it again.

  ‘I just don’t understand what made him do it,’ Bea mused. ‘He always seemed so nice. To turn like that—’

  ‘I suppose I must have hurt his pride when I turned down his proposal,’ Kitty said.

  Bea gawped at her. ‘He proposed?’ Kitty nodded. ‘You didn’t tell me that! When? What happened?’

  She listened avidly, her chin propped on her hands, as Kitty told her the full story of that evening. She could see the growing astonishment on Bea’s face.

  ‘And you turned him down after he went to all that trouble?’ she said, when Kitty had finished.

  ‘Yes, and I’m glad I did now I’ve seen what he’s really like.’ She had felt sorry for him at first, but not any more.

  ‘Yes, I suppose we’ve seen a different side to him,’ Bea conceded. ‘But to think, you’ve had two proposals and I’m still waiting for one!’

  Kitty saw her friend’s mouth turn down at the corners and she knew she was thinking about Hank.

  ‘I’m sure you and Hank will end up together,’ she tried to console her.

  Bea shrugged. ‘Oh yes, I’m sure we will,’ she agreed, inspecting her nails. ‘After all, he’s met the family and they love him, so it’s only a matter of time—’

  She sounded so self-assured, Kitty envied her. She could never imagine her family loving Stefan.

  They would rather I married a vicious bully like Mal than a German, she thought bitterly.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I know.’ Bea looked pleased with herself. ‘But I still don’t understand why you turned Mal down. All right, I know he turned out to be a nasty piece of work. But I thought you were keen on him?’ She smiled. ‘Or have you got another man tucked away somewhere that I don’t know about?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Kitty looked away quickly, so Bea couldn’t see her blushing face. But she’d underestimated how sharp her friend could be.

  Bea stared at her. ‘You do! There’s someone else, isn’t there?’

  ‘No,’ Kitty muttered.

  ‘Don’t you dare lie to me, Kitty Jenkins, I know you too well. Who is he? Do I know him?’

  ‘No—’ Kitty said. She could have bitten off her tongue when she saw Bea’s triumphant expression.

  ‘So there is someone? I knew it! Come on, spill the beans.’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not? Is he married? Oh Kitty, please tell me he hasn’t got a wife tucked away somewhere.’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘No, he isn’t married.’

  ‘Then why can’t you—’ Bea broke off, realisation dawning. ‘Oh my God. He’s a German, isn’t he? One of your patients?’

  Kitty looked down at her hands. She knew she was better not telling anyone her secret. But there was another part of her that wanted to talk about him, to say his name out loud just once . . .

  ‘Well, there is someone I like . . .’ she admitted slowly.

  ‘I knew it!’ Bea’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Oh, this is so romantic. It’s just like Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it? You’re a dark horse, Kitty Jenkins! Tell me all about him, I want to hear everything.’

  ‘First you must swear not to tell anyone,’ Kitty warned.

  Bea drew her finger across her mouth. ‘My lips are sealed,’ she promised.

  Chapter Thirty

  The wooden ark was still on the desk in Sister’s office, where Dora had abandoned it. Someone had lined up the tiny carved animals two by two. They snaked across the surface of the desk, waiting to board the miniature gangplank.

  Dora picked up the monkey and held it up by its long curling tail. She hadn’t really taken in how beautifully made it was, from its cleverly curved feet to its cheeky little face. Someone had taken a great deal of care over it.

  She was sorry she hadn’t thanked Major Von Mundel properly for the thoughtful gift. She had never expected such kindness from him.

  And not just for the toys, either.

  A flush rose in her cheeks at the thought of how she’d behaved. It was so unlike her, she had shocked herself. She was a tough East End girl, she kept her feelings to herself. Even at home, in front of her own family, she pasted a grim smile on her face and insisted she was coping. And thankfully no one questioned her, even though she was sure none of them believed it.

  But here, in front of Major Von Mundel of all people, she had allowed herself to break down and give in to the horrible, bottomless despair she had been holding in ever since that wretched telegram arrived.

  It seemed incredible when she thought about it. Dora never allowed anyone to see her cry, and yet she had sobbed like a child in a stranger’s arms.

  Or perhaps it was because he was a stranger that she had felt she could allow her grief to spill out? She barely knew him, and he expected nothing of her. She didn’t have to put on a front for him the way she had to for her mother, or her children.

  ‘I thought you had forgotten about them?’

  She swung round at the sound of Major Von Mundel’s voice. He stood in the doorway, watching her. Looking at that haughty, high-cheekboned face and those icy blue eyes, Dora wondered how she had ever succumbed to her moment of madness. He was the last person in the world she would have imagined she would seek solace from.

  And yet . . .

  She looked back at the monkey in her hand, aware that she was blushing furiously.

  ‘They’re smashing,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I never got the chance to thank you last night.’

  ‘Oh, it is nothing.’ He brushed it off lightly. ‘The men pass the time by making toys and trinkets from the scraps they are given at the camp. I am glad they will have a good home.’ He stepped forward and picked up the lion.

  ‘But perhaps your daughter might have preferred something a little less fierce. Eine Pu
ppe, perhaps? A doll?’

  Dora smiled. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you met my Winnie! She’s a real tomboy, always getting into mischief. She takes after her—’ She stopped, her mouth shutting like a trap to hold in the word.

  She fixed her gaze on the monkey, praying that Major Von Mundel wouldn’t ask her any more. She could feel the tears clogging her throat and knew she couldn’t trust herself to speak without crying again.

  Thankfully Major Von Mundel seemed to understand.

  ‘The reason I came to find you, Nurse Riley, is Gefreiter Gruber – the gunshot wound that was admitted two nights ago? I have just spoken to him and he still seems to be in great pain.’

  ‘Is he? I noticed when I read his chart this morning that Dr Abbott had increased his medication. I’ll mention it to Sister Dawson when we do the drugs round.’

  ‘I would be most grateful if you could. But I was wondering, if he is in so much pain, perhaps his wound is infected?’

  ‘I’ll go and check it now.’

  ‘Thank you, Nurse Riley.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles. Looking at him, Dora wondered if he was as embarrassed about the previous evening as she was.

  She started to put the wooden animals back into the ark. ‘I’ll put these up on the shelf, so they won’t get lost,’ she said.

  ‘Allow me,’ Major Von Mundel said, stepping in to help her.

  ‘It’s all right, I can manage—’

  They were both holding on to the toy, their fingers touching, when the door swung open and Helen walked in.

  She looked from one to the other, her expression icy. ‘What is going on here?’

  ‘Pardon me, Oberschwester, I was just leaving.’ Major Von Mundel turned back to Dora. ‘You will attend to the matter we discussed, Nurse Riley?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll see to it straight away.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He turned back to Helen, gave her a curt nod, then left.

  Helen looked at the door, then at Dora. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘The patient in bed eight is complaining of pain. I promised the Major I’d check the wound for infection.’

  ‘And you jump to do his bidding, I suppose?’ Helen’s brows rose. ‘Since when does Major Von Mundel give the orders around here?’

  ‘He doesn’t,’ Dora said. ‘But if a patient is in pain—’

  ‘What’s that?’ Helen cut her off, staring at the wooden toy in Dora’s hands.

  ‘It’s a Noah’s Ark. Major Von Mundel thought I might like it for the twins. The POWs made it – isn’t it beautiful?’ She held up the boat to show her, but Helen hardly looked at it.

  ‘So he’s bringing you presents now, is he?’ she said in a low voice.

  Dora frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter,’ Helen dismissed it with a shake of her head. ‘I want you to prepare a patient for discharge.’

  ‘Oh? Which patient is that?’

  Helen consulted the piece of paper in her hands. ‘Stefan Bauer. He’s being transferred to the camp later today.’

  Dora’s first thought was Kitty Jenkins. She wasn’t due on duty until that afternoon. She would be so disappointed if she missed the chance to say goodbye, after all the hard work she’d put in helping him to recover.

  ‘Surely he’s not ready to be discharged, Sister?’ she said. ‘He still hasn’t got all the movement back in his leg yet—’

  ‘He can walk, can’t he?’

  ‘Well yes, but—’

  ‘Then he’s well enough to leave. Dr Abbott doesn’t believe it serves any useful purpose keeping him here when he’s unlikely to recover fully, and I agree with him,’ Helen said tartly.

  ‘He certainly won’t recover if he’s sent to the POW camp,’ Dora murmured.

  ‘That’s none of our concern.’ Helen frowned. ‘Really, you must stop yourself getting so close to these people. They can’t be trusted.’

  Dora gazed down at the toy in her hands. ‘You make them sound like wild animals.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what they are.’

  The cold way she said it shocked Dora. And then there was that bleak look in her eyes. It was the look of someone haunted by a memory she could never escape.

  Something began to stir in Dora’s mind, a dark memory of her own she had kept long buried.

  ‘Helen—’ she started to say, but Helen cut her off.

  ‘At any rate, you should stay away from Major Von Mundel,’ she said briskly.

  ‘But why?’ Dora stared at her. ‘He brought a toy for my children. He’s been very kind to me—’

  ‘How kind?’

  Something in her tone made Dora’s hackles rise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He brings you presents, you run to do his bidding the moment he snaps his fingers, and as for all that nonsense over the Christmas decorations—’

  ‘That was for the patients!’

  ‘And then I walk in to my office and find you practically holding hands!’ Helen went on, ignoring her. ‘Tell me, what am I supposed to think?’

  It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over her, shocking her so much she forgot how to breathe.

  ‘You don’t think I would do something like that—’

  ‘No, of course I don’t,’ Helen said impatiently. ‘But you need to be careful, Dora. You don’t know how it looks to other people. You know how they like to gossip. I’d hate for anything to get back to Nick . . .’

  ‘I have no idea what I said,’ Helen told Clare later. ‘All I did was try to give her some friendly advice. I never expected her to react like that.’

  ‘Did she lose her temper?’ Clare leaned forward, her eyes eager for details. ‘I bet she did, didn’t she? I knew as soon as I saw her she’d be trouble. It’s the red hair. They just can’t control themselves—’

  ‘No, she didn’t. That’s the odd thing.’ Helen knew better than anyone that Dora had a quick temper. But if anything she’d almost seen the emotion draining from her, along with all the colour in her face, leaving a deathly, unnerving stillness. ‘She just walked out,’ she said.

  ‘And you haven’t seen her since?’ Clare asked.

  ‘I haven’t been back to the ward since then.’ A new load of patients had been brought in to the military ward shortly afterwards, and Helen had been busy settling them in.

  She had to admit she was rather relieved of the chance to escape. She sensed Dora was like a steaming kettle, about to explode.

  ‘At any rate, she is off duty this afternoon,’ she said. ‘With any luck I can avoid her until then, give her a chance to calm down.’

  ‘I don’t know why you should be afraid of her,’ Clare said with asperity. ‘You’re the ward sister, after all. Besides, you were only giving her some friendly advice.’

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have interfered,’ Helen said.

  ‘Or maybe she has a guilty conscience?’ Clare suggested. ‘Perhaps you touched a nerve and she didn’t like it?’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ Helen shook her head. ‘Dora would never do anything like that. She’s devoted to Nick.’

  ‘Well, something’s got her stirred up,’ Clare said. She patted Helen’s arm. ‘You did all you could, love. If she can’t see that then she’s even more foolish than I think she is.’

  But Helen was still troubled when she returned to the POWs’ ward after lunch. Dora had already gone, and Helen didn’t know whether to be relieved or apprehensive. It might have been better if they’d had a chance to clear the air, she thought.

  She had just returned to her office when Major Von Mundel strode in without knocking.

  ‘What did you say to Nurse Riley?’ he demanded.

  Helen looked up sharply. She was about to reprimand him when she saw the look of tight-lipped anger on his face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.

  ‘I think you do, Oberschwester. What did you say to make her so upset?’

  Helen rallied, her chi
n lifting. ‘If you must know, I told her I was worried about her getting too involved with you. I reminded her she was a married woman, and—’

  ‘You said what?’

  Helen straightened her shoulders. ‘Don’t you dare take that tone with me—’

  ‘Oberschwester, you do know that Nurse Riley’s husband is dead?’

  Now it was Helen’s turn to feel the blood draining from her in an icy rush to her feet. ‘What?’

  ‘He is missing, presumed dead. The telegram arrived on Christmas Day.’

  ‘But I don’t understand – why didn’t she tell me?’ she stammered.

  Major Von Mundel sent her a chilling look. ‘Perhaps, Oberschwester, she no longer considers you a friend. And I wouldn’t blame her for that, would you?’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mal was in his usual place by the double doors when Kitty arrived for work just after lunch. For once his friend Len wasn’t with him.

  Anxiety gnawed at the pit of Kitty’s stomach and it was all she could do to push her feet in his direction. She had been dreading coming face-to-face with him after what had happened.

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,’ Bea had told her the previous night. ‘He should be the one who’s ashamed, not you.’

  She was right, Kitty thought, lifting her head as she approached him. As she drew nearer, she could see the sheepish look on Mal’s battered face. Kitty forced herself to meet his eye, and was pleased when he looked away.

  He was in a bad way. One eye was almost closed up and shrouded in bruises, and she could see the tracks of her nails down his swollen jaw.

  As she moved towards him he said, ‘Had a good look? This is all your fault!’

  She gasped at the unfairness, but said nothing. He was trying to goad her, but she had already made up her mind not to speak to him.

  ‘You didn’t have to bring your mate into it, y’know,’ he went on in an injured tone. ‘I wouldn’t have hurt you. I was only having a bit of fun.’

  Kitty stared at him. Without the dark alley to hide him, he seemed smaller, less threatening.