A Nightingale Christmas Carol

by Donna Douglas

  Her silence seemed to unnerve him. As she went to move past him, he mumbled, ‘Anyway, I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.’

  ‘That’s big of you.’ The words were out before Kitty could stop them.

  ‘I mean it.’ His eyes were downcast. ‘I’ve had time to think about it, and I know I was wrong. So if you’d just give me another chance . . .?’

  Kitty was so amazed she nearly laughed out loud. ‘I don’t know how you can even ask me that.’

  ‘Why? We had a good time together, didn’t we? And you know I love you—’

  ‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it. Besides, why would you ever want me, when you can do so much better?’

  He had the grace to look embarrassed, colour flooding his face, mingling with the deep red of his battered jaw.

  ‘I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry . . .’ He looked up at her, his eyes appealing. ‘I wouldn’t have said those terrible things if I didn’t think so much about you—’

  He actually believed his twisted reasoning, Kitty thought. He’d insulted her, and abused her, and terrified her in a dark alley, and she was supposed to forgive him because it showed he cared.

  ‘Come on, Kitty,’ he coaxed. ‘I do like you, you know I do . . .’

  She looked him up and down. ‘No thanks,’ she said curtly. ‘You might not think you can do better, but I know I can.’

  She could see his mood changing before her eyes. She saw his face go taut with anger and she stepped away from him, terrified that he was going to hurt her again.

  ‘Fine,’ he bit out. ‘Suit yourself. But I’m going to tell everyone I finished it with you!’

  Suddenly she realised why he had taken the trouble to apologise, why he was so desperate to win her back. It was nothing to do with his feelings for her, it was because he didn’t want to be seen to lose. Everyone was probably mocking him because even the girl with the scarred face didn’t want him.

  He was so pathetic, he was barely worth her time.

  ‘Say what you like,’ she threw over her shoulder as she walked away. ‘I don’t care any more.’

  She felt surprisingly calm as she went to the cloakroom to hang up her cape. She had dreaded seeing Mal again, but now she felt stronger for it.

  The first person she saw when she stepped on to the ward was Miss Sloan.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness you’re here, my dear,’ she sighed, wringing her hands. ‘It’s been the most dreadful morning.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘I think Nurse Riley and Sister Dawson must have had a falling out. Nurse Riley didn’t speak to a soul until she went off duty, and now Sister Dawson’s just as bad.’

  Kitty looked down the ward, her heart sinking. She dreaded Sister being on the ward at the best of times. Her permanently dark mood seemed to hang like a cloud over them all.

  ‘Speak of the devil . . .’ Miss Sloan looked past Kitty’s shoulder to where Sister Dawson was approaching.

  ‘There you are, Nurse Jenkins.’ She made a great show of consulting the watch on her apron, even though Kitty knew she was a few minutes early. ‘Here is your work list for this afternoon . . .’

  Kitty waited patiently as Sister Dawson went through the list, explaining all the jobs she had to do. It was only when she’d finished that Sister said as an afterthought, ‘Oh yes, and the fractured femur is being discharged today. Make sure he’s prepared, will you? And pack up his belongings for him, if he has any.’

  ‘You mean Stefan Bauer?’

  One look at Sister Dawson’s frown and Kitty knew she had overstepped the mark. Kitty pressed her lips together to stop herself saying any more. Over Sister’s shoulder, she could see Miss Sloan’s look of dismay.

  ‘It’s such a shame, isn’t it?’ Miss Sloan whispered later, when they were washing bedpans in the sluice. ‘I’ve developed rather a soft spot for that young man, haven’t you?’

  ‘No more than any other patient,’ Kitty said crisply. ‘Anyway, it’s a good thing he’s leaving,’ she went on, her head down, rinsing a pan under the tap. ‘It means he’s recovered.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,’ Miss Sloan said, although it was plain from her expression that she did not agree. ‘And that’s entirely down to you, my dear,’ she added. ‘You’ve worked so hard to get him back on his feet. I wouldn’t be surprised if you received a commendation from Matron for your efforts, too.’

  As if a commendation from Matron would make up for the wretchedness she felt, Kitty thought as she headed back down the ward later. Hearing that Stefan was leaving had been like a punch in her stomach, and she’d carried the pain with her all day.

  She had known it was bound to happen. But somehow she had managed to turn her mind away from the prospect.

  She passed the door of his room several times as she went about her duties, and each time she had to stop herself going in to him. She was terribly torn. Part of her wanted to shut him out, to pretend he had already gone. Another part wanted to be with him for as long as she still could.

  In the end, Sister Dawson gave her no choice.

  ‘Haven’t you seen to the fractured femur yet, Jenkins?’ she said, waving his discharge paper in her face. ‘Attend to it, stat. The porter will be coming up to collect him in an hour.’

  Stefan was sitting up in bed, talking to Hans in German. Felix Frost lay in his bed in the corner, reading a letter.

  Stefan looked up when she came in, pushing her trolley of wash things. Kitty could see at once the wary look in his eyes. He seemed to be bracing himself.

  ‘I suppose you’ve heard the good news, Fraülein?’ he said.

  Kitty nodded ‘ That’s why I’m here, to get you smartened up before you leave.’

  She was aware of Felix watching them keenly from the next bed. She knew he spoke no English, but she still had the uneasy feeling he understood everything that was going on. She pulled the curtains around the bed, shutting him out.

  As usual, Stefan insisted on washing himself. Neither of them spoke as she watched him shaving, mesmerised by the long, smooth strokes of the razor on his chin. The clock on the wall ticked away, ponderously measuring out the minutes. Soon Stefan would be gone, and it would be too late to tell him how she felt.

  Kitty pressed her lips together to stop herself blurting out something foolish. Stefan plainly didn’t care about her, so she couldn’t allow herself to care either.

  ‘Do you know which camp they’re sending you to?’ she asked, for something to say.

  He shook his head. ‘But what does it matter?’ He dipped the razor in the bowl of water, rinsing off the soap. ‘I am still a prisoner wherever I am.’

  ‘I thought perhaps I could write to you.’

  His eyes met hers in the mirror. Kitty’s mouth went dry, and she found herself longing for him to say the words she could not. ‘I do not think that is a good idea, Fraülein,’ he said.

  As he finished washing, Kitty turned her attention to clearing out his locker. Stefan had brought few belongings with him. Other than his prison uniform, there was just a tattered photograph of him with his brother Emil, both of them grinning into the camera. Stefan had shown it to her reluctantly once, when she’d asked about Emil.

  She looked more closely at the photograph. She barely recognised Stefan as the smiling, carefree young man in the photograph.

  Stefan glanced over her shoulder then turned away. ‘Throw it away,’ he said. ‘I do not need it any more.’

  ‘Oh, but you can’t!’ Kitty protested. ‘Surely you’ll want to take it with you?’

  Stefan took the photograph from her. He studied it for a moment, then suddenly thrust it back into her hands. ‘What is the point of holding on to memories? We must leave the past where it belongs.’

  After he’d finished washing, Kitty retreated to the other side of the curtains while Stefan changed into his POW uniform. Once again, Felix stopped reading his letter and watched her with interest, his head cock
ed to one side, like a cat might watch a mouse. He called out something in German to Stefan, and got a terse reply in return that brought a nasty smile to his face.

  The curtains parted and Stefan emerged. It gave Kitty a shock to see him dressed in his uniform.

  ‘Well, I suppose this is goodbye,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  ‘I doubt if our paths will cross again.’

  A lump rose in her throat. ‘No,’ she said.

  For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of emotion in those dark russet eyes. ‘Thank you—’ he started to say, but she held up her hand to stop him.

  ‘I was only doing my job.’

  ‘Were you?’ His sudden, searching look took her by surprise, and for a moment she thought he was going to say something.

  But at that moment Arthur arrived, pushing an empty wheelchair, flanked by a guard Kitty didn’t recognise.

  ‘Time to go,’ he said.

  Stefan’s gaze dropped to the wheelchair. He shook his head. ‘Nein, I will not use it.’

  ‘You ain’t got a choice, mate,’ Arthur said nastily.

  Stefan glared at him. ‘I said I will walk out of here on my own two feet, and that is what I will do,’ he growled.

  Arthur’s ears turned pink, and Kitty could tell he was going to lose his temper.

  ‘It’s all right, Arthur. Let him walk if he wants to.’

  ‘But—’ Her brother opened his mouth to argue, but the guard stepped in.

  ‘I don’t care if he wants to go on horseback, as long as we get going,’ he said.

  Stefan turned back to Kitty. ‘Auf Wiedersehen, Fraülein,’ he said solemnly. ‘I wish you well.’

  ‘You too, Oberleutnant Bauer.’

  And then he was gone. Kitty forced herself to watch him, walking tall and straight, barely needing the calliper’s help. Utterly determined to the end. She watched until the hot tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t see any more.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dora had managed to calm herself down by the time she went to visit Mrs Price in Griffin Street that night.

  ‘Thank you for coming round, my dear,’ the old lady said as Dora let herself in the back door. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you, after everything that’s happened.’

  Dora looked at her in surprise. It took her a moment to remember that Mrs Price had been sitting at their table enjoying Christmas dinner when the telegraph arrived.

  ‘I promised I’d drop in, didn’t I?’ Dora handed her a dish, carefully wrapped in cloth. ‘Mum made some potato pie and she had some left over, so she wondered if you’d like it?’

  ‘Oh, that’s very kind of her. She’s a diamond, your mum.’

  Mrs Price paused, and Dora felt a pang of dread, knowing what question was coming next.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’ she said quickly, hoping to divert the old lady’s attention.

  ‘No need, it’s just brewed. You sit down and take the weight off your feet while I pour it. I reckon you’ve done enough running around after people today.’

  Dora sat down in one of the old armchairs flanking the fireplace and tried to warm her hands at the feeble fire spluttering in the grate. Timmy the cat appeared and wound himself around her legs.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any more news?’ Mrs Price asked, as she carried the tray over.

  Dora’s heart sank at the question. ‘I won’t know anything until I get a letter.’

  ‘No, of course. I should have remembered that.’ Mrs Price set the tray down between them. ‘I hope you don’t have to wait too long. I remember what it was like, waiting for news about our boys . . .’ Her gaze strayed to the mantelpiece, where a photograph of Philip and Eric Price smiled down at them. They looked so proud in their uniforms.

  Dora concentrated on stroking Timmy’s scrawny neck. She wished Mrs Price wouldn’t talk about it as if Nick was already dead. ‘Missing,’ the telegram had said, and Dora clung to that word like a lifeline. While he was only missing, there was still hope, even if no one else seemed to believe it.

  Timmy sprang into her lap, nudging her hand.

  Mrs Price looked pleased. ‘You’ve made a friend there,’ she said, handing her a cup of tea. ‘You should be honoured. Timmy’s very particular about people.’

  ‘It’s taken a while for him to get used to me,’ Dora said, running her hand down his back. She could feel the knobbly bones of his spine through his thin ginger fur. ‘I remember when Nick and I first came to feed him, it took so long to find—’ She stopped abruptly. The memory was like a fragment of broken glass, too sharp-edged and painful to hold for long.

  She lifted her cup to her lips. The tea was hot and scalded her mouth, but at least she could hide her downcast face behind it.

  Mrs Price leaned over and patted her knee. ‘It will get easier, love,’ she promised. ‘I know it doesn’t seem like it at the moment, but it will.’

  But I don’t want it to get easier, Dora thought as she headed home later. Because then she would have to accept he was gone, and she couldn’t do that.

  Missing. She wouldn’t allow herself to think further than that. She would rather deal with the pain of not knowing, no matter how jagged and spiky it felt, than to try to find some peace without him.

  While Nick was only missing, there was still a shred of light and hope. And that was all Dora had to keep her going.

  She stayed with Mrs Price for another half an hour, then headed home.

  As usual, she could hear voices coming from the kitchen as she climbed the stairs to the top part of the house where the Doyles lived. But her mother’s voice sounded slightly strained, the way it always did when she was putting on airs and graces.

  No sooner had she opened the door than Rose Doyle pounced on her.

  ‘There you are!’ Her smile was fixed as she dried her hands on her pinny. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting a visitor?’

  Dora frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘She wasn’t expecting me, Mrs Doyle.’

  Rose stood aside, giving Dora a clear view of the kitchen. Helen Dawson knelt on the rug in front of the fire, playing with the twins and Mabel as if it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be there.

  She looked up, and their eyes met. ‘Hello, Dora,’ she said.

  ‘Helen’s been teaching us draughts, but we keep beating her!’ Walter crowed to his mother.

  Dora ignored her son, her gaze still fixed on Helen. Laughing, with her long dark hair falling about her face, she looked more like the girl Dora had once known.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  Helen sat back on her heels. ‘You left a package in my office. I thought I’d bring it round—’ She nodded towards the box on the table. It was the one Von Mundel had brought her two days before.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ Winnie put in. ‘Can we open it, Mum?’

  ‘I didn’t give it to the children,’ Helen said quietly. ‘I thought you’d want to do that.’

  ‘Can we open it, Mum? Can we?’ The twins were on their feet, clamouring around her.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  She watched them opening the box, taking out the ark and oohing and aahing over each of the little wooden animals.

  ‘Ain’t it smashing, Mum?’ Walter said. ‘Look, it’s got lions and elephants and monkeys and everything!’ He held one of the tiny beasts up for her to look at.

  ‘It’s lovely, ducks,’ Dora said without enthusiasm. She had so looked forward to giving the children their present, but somehow having Helen here had taken all the joy from her.

  ‘There are enough little monkeys in this house, I reckon!’ Rose stepped forward, ruffling Walter’s hair. ‘Come on, kids, let’s take your toy into the bedroom, and leave your mum to talk to her friend, shall we?’ She gathered up the wooden animals and ushered the children out of the room. ‘You too, Mum,’ she said to Nanna Winnie, who sat in her old rocking chair, watching Dora and H
elen keenly.

  ‘I’m all right where I am, ta.’ Nanna looked at Dora, smacking her toothless gums in anticipation of a good old argument.

  ‘Mum!’ Rose shot her a warning glance.

  Nanna sighed. ‘Oh, all right, then. If I must.’ She raised herself out of her chair with a loud groan. ‘I always miss the fun,’ she muttered, as she shambled off.

  And then they were alone. Helen got to her feet, brushing her skirt down. ‘I can’t believe how much the children have grown,’ she said. ‘They were just babies the last time I saw them. And this house is new, too.’ She looked around her. ‘You’ve made it look really homely—’

  ‘What do you want, Helen?’ Dora cut her off. ‘I know you didn’t just come to bring the children their toy, especially since you don’t approve of them having it.’

  Helen looked shamefaced. ‘You’re right,’ she said. Then she lifted her gaze to meet Dora’s. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Nick?’ she asked.

  The question startled Dora. Now it was her turn to look away. ‘You didn’t give me a chance,’ she said. ‘You were too busy accusing me of carrying on with Major Von Mundel!’ Her voice caught. Even now, her anger nearly choked her.

  Helen’s face coloured. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should never have said those things. It was very wrong of me—’

  ‘You were only saying what you believed.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Helen said quickly. ‘I know you’d never – I’m so sorry,’ she repeated miserably.

  ‘Then there’s nothing more to say, is there?’ The twins’ clothes were hanging on a clothes horse around the fire to dry. Dora picked a vest up and started to fold it. All the while, she could feel Helen standing behind her.

  ‘Have they told you what happened?’ she asked.

  Dora shook her head. She picked up another vest and folded it, adding it to the pile.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Helen stepped forward. ‘Let me help with that—’ She went to pick up another vest from the clothes horse, but Dora snatched it out of her hands.

  ‘I don’t need any help, thanks,’ she snapped.

  Helen drew back. Dora could sense her helplessness, but she was too hurt and angry to be forgiving.