Nightingales on Call

by Donna Douglas

  And in the middle of it her mother sat on the floor, a scarf tied round her head, polishing silverware. There was another woman with her, hemming curtains. They were so deep in conversation they didn’t notice Lucy standing in the doorway.

  ‘Mother?’

  Clarissa looked up. ‘Lucy!’ She put down her duster and got to her feet. ‘What a delightful surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner.’ Lucy stared around her in a daze. ‘I see you’ve been busy.’

  ‘Well, I thought I should make the effort, rather than stare at those nasty brown walls for ever.’ Clarissa smiled. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It looks – wonderful.’

  ‘Such a transformation, isn’t it? Your mother has a wonderful eye,’ the other woman put in.

  ‘Have you met Lavinia?’ her mother introduced them. ‘Turns out she’s a distant cousin of mine. She and her husband live downstairs. They’re in straitened circumstances, too,’ she laughed gaily.

  ‘We’re absolute paupers!’ Lavinia grinned. ‘I ran off and married a disgraceful musician, and my stuffy brother cut me off without a penny. Like your mother, we are living on Cousin Antonia’s charity.’

  ‘How she must love it!’ Clarissa cackled. ‘I expect she’s told all her friends about it, bragging about the hordes of impoverished relations she’s rescued.’

  ‘Makes a change from cats, I suppose!’ Lavinia said, and they both snorted with laughter. Lucy watched them, open-mouthed with astonishment.

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’ her mother said. ‘Lavinia has taught me how to make the most marvellous Turkish coffee. Come with me.’

  She led the way into the kitchen. This also was transformed, with bright wallpaper and framed prints hanging on the walls.

  Lucy watched her mother boiling water and mixing up the coffee in a silver pot. If Lucy hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have believed it. Clarissa looked ten years younger then the last time she’d seen her. And much, much happier.

  For some reason, the sight of her made Lucy want to cry.

  Clarissa looked over her shoulder at her. ‘Lucy, what is it? Whatever’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I just can’t quite believe what I’m seeing, that’s all.’ She fumbled for a handkerchief. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. Last time I saw you, you seemed so utterly defeated . . . I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived,’ she confessed.

  ‘You thought I might be a drunken, sobbing mess on the carpet?’ Clarissa said. ‘Or that I’d starved because I didn’t know how to butter a slice of bread? I’m not quite that helpless, darling. Although I admit I have allowed myself to get a little – feeble since I married your father.’ She paused, holding a cup in her hand. ‘Bernard was always so strong, you see. He liked looking after us so much, I quite forgot what I was capable of.’

  ‘You’ve certainly remembered now,’ Lucy said, looking around the kitchen.

  Her mother smiled. ‘I just needed a little kick to get me started.’

  She carried the tray back into the sitting room, and the three of them chatted together. Lucy found out that, far from being a pauper, Lavinia’s husband was a respected band leader, and Lavinia herself was a talented singer. She made them laugh with outrageous stories about some of the places they’d played, and the people they’d met. Lucy was glad her mother had made a friend; she needed someone lively and vivacious to keep her spirits up.

  ‘I’ve been talking to your mother about going into business, decorating other people’s houses,’ Lavinia said.

  Clarissa waved her hand. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly.’

  ‘Why on earth not? You have such a flair for design. And, to be blunt, London is absolutely awash with wealthy Americans since dear old Wallis seduced our former king, all with lots of money and absolutely no taste at all. They’re desperate for someone like you to come along and give their new country homes some English refinement.’

  ‘Lavinia is right, Mother,’ Lucy agreed. ‘You could do that. You’re so good at design, and putting things together.’

  Her mother blushed. ‘And how would I find these wealthy Americans?’

  ‘You won’t have to find them, darling. Once they know about your talents, they’ll be beating a path to your door,’ Lavinia assured her.

  ‘What do you suggest I do, place an advertisement in Tatler?’

  Lucy put down her cup, her expression thoughtful. ‘I think I know a better way than that of spreading the word,’ she said.

  ‘Does this mean I’m forgiven?’ Leo asked.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Lucy replied tartly. ‘But you said you wanted to help, and now I’m taking up your offer. Unless you’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d be happy to help. But what exactly do you want me to do?’

  He listened attentively as Lucy explained her plan.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said finally.

  ‘That’s very – enterprising,’ he said. Lucy’s heart sank.

  ‘You don’t think it will work?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be able to find some willing clients,’ Leo said. ‘I’m just not sure your mother is up to the job, that’s all. I get the impression Lady Clarissa isn’t used to getting her hands dirty.’

  Lucy thought about her mother sitting on the floor with the silverware, and smiled to herself.

  ‘I think you’ll find my mother’s attitude has changed somewhat since my father left,’ she said.

  ‘And what about you?’ Leo asked. ‘How are you coping since he’s been gone?’

  Lucy reflected on the question. She would never have believed it, but her father’s leaving had forced her to grow up, just like her mother. She had had to stop seeing the world from up on her cloud of wealth and privilege, and it had taught her a great deal.

  ‘My attitude has changed too,’ she admitted.

  ‘And yet you still can’t find it in your heart to forgive me?’ asked Leo.

  Lucy looked at him. It was very hard not to. As well as those blond, blue-eyed good looks, he had an irresistible boyish charm.

  But he also had a cold, conniving heart, she reminded herself.

  ‘You ruined my father and destroyed my family,’ she said. ‘That’s somewhat hard to forgive.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t write that story. I promised you I wouldn’t, and I kept my word.’

  There was no reason for her to believe him. And yet there was something about the way he looked at her, the frank appeal in those aquamarine eyes, that made her wonder.

  ‘Then why are you so keen to help me, if you don’t have a guilty conscience?’ she asked.

  ‘Maybe because I like you.’

  Lucy snorted dismissively. ‘I find that very hard to believe!’

  ‘That someone could like you? You don’t think much of yourself, do you?’

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. He was right, she thought. Everyone always imagined she was big-headed because she bragged about herself and everything she had. But really she was trying to convince herself as much as everyone else that she was worth knowing.

  ‘I hope you’re not after my money?’ she said, to cover her confusion. ‘You’re forgetting, Mr Alderson, I’m no longer a wealthy heiress.’

  ‘So? You think the only interesting thing about you is your money?’ He leaned closer. ‘You’re bright, clever, pretty – and you’ve got a hell of a lot of courage,’ he said. ‘How could anyone not like you, Miss Lane?’

  Chapter Forty

  ‘WELL, THIS IS a nice, ain’t it?’ said Alf. ‘Afternoon tea with my daughter. What could be better than that?’

  Dora sat rigid at the table, staring down at the cloth, unable to meet his eye. She wished she’d never asked to meet him. Just having him close to her, even in a public place like a café, made her feel sick.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about Katie O’Hara, and the way she’d tried to
take the blame for what went on at the ball, to save her sister.

  Everyone thought she was daft, but Katie was adamant it had been the right thing to do.

  ‘Effie’s my sister,’ she’d said simply. ‘You have to do what you can for your family, don’t you? Whatever it costs.’

  Her words had struck a chord with Dora, which was why she’d forced herself to meet Alf. She couldn’t allow Josie to go through all that heartache again. Whatever it cost.

  ‘How are you, love? Your mum and I were just saying the other day, we haven’t seen much of you lately.’

  The word ‘we’ made Dora wince. ‘You’ve been making yourself at home, then?’ she muttered.

  ‘Oh, yes, we’ve been getting on like a house on fire.’ Alf’s smile was bland, but Dora could see the glint in his eyes. ‘Your mum’s a very warm-hearted and forgiving woman, Dora. I don’t deserve the kindness she’s shown me, I really don’t.’

  ‘No,’ Dora said. ‘You don’t. Anyway, Mum would never take you back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Like I say, Rose is a very forgiving lady. And she appreciates that Bea and Little Alfie need their dad.’ Alf smiled up at the waitress who came to take their order. ‘I’ll have a cup of tea and a toasted teacake, please, love.’ He turned to Dora. ‘What are you having?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Go on, I’ll treat you.’

  ‘I don’t want anything from you!’ she snapped.

  The waitress looked taken aback, and Alf grinned appealingly at her. ‘Looks like someone’s lost their appetite,’ he said.

  ‘And their manners,’ the waitress murmured.

  Dora fumed quietly. How did Alf manage to do that? she wondered. How did he manage to fool and charm people so much they were blind to his true nature? Or was she the only one who could see it?

  ‘Why did you come back?’ she hissed at him. ‘We were doing all right without you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I got tired of travelling, I suppose. I missed my family. And I missed you, my girl.’ He put his hand across the table towards her. Dora stared down at his thick, coarse fingers and a shudder of revulsion went through her.

  She clutched the edge of the tablecloth, not wanting him to see how much she was shaking.

  ‘I want you to go,’ she said. ‘Go, and never come back.’

  Alf looked hurt. ‘But I want to be with my family.’

  ‘We don’t need you.’

  ‘That’s not what your mum reckons.’ He smiled at Dora across the table. ‘Between you and me, I reckon it won’t be long before she asks me to move back in. Won’t that be nice?’

  The waitress returned with his order, and Dora fought to compose herself. She watched as Alf spooned sugar into his tea.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, after what happened in the past. But I’ve told you, I’m a changed man. I’ve got my family back, and now I want to make a new start. Ain’t there any chance we can start again, too?’

  Dora stared across the table at him. His gaze was fixed on her, full of appeal.

  But she could see in his eyes he hadn’t changed. Alf Doyle was trying to charm her, just like he charmed everyone else.

  ‘I don’t care if you have changed,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’ll never, ever forgive you for what you did. That’s why I want you away from here. Away from me, and away from Josie.’

  ‘That’s charming, that is. So you’d see me back on the streets, would you? Your own dad.’

  Her mouth curled with contempt. ‘You’re not my dad. You’re nothing to me.’

  ‘But you mean the world to me, love. You and the other kids. I love my family. Being with them again has made me realise how much I’ve missed them all this time.’ His expression grew wistful. ‘It would take a lot for me to leave them again . . .’

  Dora saw the calculation in his eyes and suddenly realised the meaning behind his words. ‘How much?’ she said.

  ‘What, love?’

  ‘How much would it cost for you to leave us and never come back?’

  He didn’t even pretend to be shocked. ‘Well, let’s see.’ Alf considered it for a moment. ‘It’s going to break my heart to go, and it’s going to break the kids’ hearts, too. I dunno if I should really . . . but I suppose I could make a new start for twenty quid?’

  ‘Twenty? I ain’t got that sort of money, and you know it!’

  ‘Well, then, looks like you’re stuck with me, doesn’t it?’ Alf shrugged. ‘You and your sister,’ he added meaningfully.

  Dora stared at him, hatred and revulsion building up inside her. He no longer scared her, but she couldn’t stand to think of him under the same roof as Josie, and the terror her sister would have to go through every day.

  Katie O’Hara’s words came back to her. You have to do what you can for your family, don’t you? Whatever it costs.

  ‘You’ll get your money,’ she said.

  For someone who had spent their whole life caring for others, Sister Sutton was not a very good patient.

  ‘Are they ever going to allow me to go home?’ she snapped, when Jess came to visit her. ‘I’m getting rather tired of all the prodding and poking.’

  ‘Perhaps they think you just need a nice rest?’ Jess said.

  ‘A rest?’ Sister Sutton’s tiny eyes glittered feverishly. ‘Why should I need a rest? Does Matron think I’m not up to the job any more? Is that it?’

  ‘No, I don’t think . . .’

  ‘Because no one is putting me out to grass until I’m ready. Rest, indeed! I don’t need a rest. I need to be up and sorting out those lazy students. I daresay they’re causing mayhem in my absence.’

  ‘As a matter of fact—’ Jess was about to tell her that she and Miss Hanley were managing to run the home very well between them, but she had a feeling that wasn’t what Sister Sutton wanted to hear. ‘We do need you back,’ she said.

  ‘Just as I thought.’ Sister Sutton looked grimly satisfied. ‘I expect I’ll have a great deal to do when I return.’

  She lay back against the pillows, exhausted by her outburst. Her face was flushed, and perspiration gleamed on her brow. She might not believe she was ill, but Jess could see it a mile off.

  Dr McKay could see it, too. Whatever he’d diagnosed from the tests had worried him enough to demand that Sister should stay in bed for a few more days.

  ‘Well, if I’m to stay in here then I suppose I might as well make myself comfortable.’ Sister Sutton gave a martyred sigh. ‘Perhaps you could bring me a clean nightgown next time you come. And my spectacles. I can’t read my book without them.’

  ‘I’ll bring them tonight,’ Jess promised.

  ‘There’s no need to put yourself out and make a special journey.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ she said cheerfully. The fact was, she missed the Home Sister’s presence in the house. Even though she generally lived in dread of her heavy tread down the hall or her voice rapping out instructions, Jess still felt better when Sister Sutton was there.

  Sparky missed her, too. He had taken to sleeping on the end of Jess’ bed, cuddling close to her for comfort in his mistress’ absence.

  Jess went back to the nurses’ home and let herself straight into Sister Sutton’s flat to pick up the things she’d asked for. It felt strange, being in the Home Sister’s private quarters on her own. Sparky trotted around proprietorially, inspecting the furniture and sniffing at all the ornaments and knick-knacks to make sure everything was present and correct.

  She went into Sister Sutton’s bedroom. Jess came in here every morning to bring the Home Sister’s breakfast in bed, but it still seemed odd to see it empty, the pillows perfectly plumped, sheet turned down neatly and the pink satin eiderdown spread out so it draped exactly the same amount on each side. Jess smiled to herself. Old habits must die hard when you were a nurse, she thought.

  The last of the summer’s roses were blooming outside the bedroom window. Jess decided to pick some later
to take to cheer up Sister Sutton’s sick room. They were her pride and joy, and she would be furious to miss a single day of their blooming period.

  She found the spectacles in their case on the bedside table, and then opened the chest of drawers to find the nightgown. A smell of lily-of-the-valley talcum powder and dried lavender drifted up to greet her as she rifled through Sister Sutton’s nightgowns, all neatly folded in rows.

  Jess took out the top one, and was just about to close the drawer when a glint caught her eye. Curious, she opened it again and looked inside. There was something at the bottom of the drawer, half hidden under the pile of nightgowns. Something small, shiny – and cat-shaped.

  Jess recognised it immediately as the brooch Anna Padgett had complained of losing. And there were other things, too, lurking between the nightgowns. A string of pearls, a letter addressed to one of the second-year students, a single earring, a half-empty perfume bottle . . .

  Jess sniffed it. Midnight In Paris.

  Guiltily, she stuffed the things back into the drawer and closed it. Sister Sutton must have a very good reason for keeping them here, she told herself. Even if she couldn’t quite imagine what it was.

  Sister Sutton was looking much better when Jess arrived to see her that evening.

  ‘I’ve seen Matron,’ she announced. ‘She’s said I can go back to my own room as long as I have sufficient rest. She quite rightly thinks I will be far more comfortable in familiar surroundings.’ She gave Jess a superior smile. ‘So I’ll be able to keep an eye on you again, young lady!’

  Jess smiled back, but her mind was racing. She wanted to ask Sister Sutton about the missing items, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  As usual, Sister Sutton didn’t miss a thing. ‘What?’ she demanded impatiently. ‘You’re positively twitching, child. Either you have a bad case of worms or you have something you want to say. Well? Spit it out.’

  Jess hesitated. ‘It’s about Nurse Padgett’s brooch,’ she began uncertainly.

  Sister Sutton looked blank. ‘What brooch?’

  ‘The one that went missing a few weeks ago. Do you remember, she searched high and low for it, but she never found it?’