‘For heaven’s sake, we’re not talking about hiring Billy Cotton!’
Kathleen hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud until she saw the startled looks on the faces of the other Trustees.
Mrs Tremayne faced her across the table, the light of battle gleaming in her eyes. ‘I beg your pardon, Matron? Did you say something?’
Kathleen glanced around the table. Philip Enright, Chairman of the Trustees, smiled sympathetically back at her. He was head of the local council and a successful businessman with a string of draper’s shops to his name. But faced with Mrs Tremayne with a bee in her bonnet, even he could do no more than shrug his shoulders.
The other trustees were little help either. Reginald Collins had his head down, busily pretending to add up a list of figures. He was an accountant and far too timid ever to challenge the formidable Mrs Tremayne. Lady Fenella Brake, the wife of an elderly peer, was too deaf and too dotty to know what was going on. And Gerald Munroe, the local MP, barely paid any attention during meetings, unless there was a chance of getting his name or his face in the newspapers.
The only person paying attention was the Chief Consultant, James Cooper. He met Kathleen’s eye and gave her an encouraging nod, silently urging her to go on.
‘I agree with you, Mrs Tremayne, patient care should come first,’ she began. ‘But the patients at the Nightingale Hospital are very well cared for, unlike many of the staff. Our nurses in particular work extremely long hours, often in harsh conditions. Surely it wouldn’t harm to reward them with a little entertainment at Christmas time?’
‘Bit of the old festive spirit, what?’ Gerald Munroe put in. Mrs Tremayne silenced him with a withering look.
‘Matron, may I remind you that we are running a hospital, not the Ritz? Yes, perhaps nurses do have to endure a little hardship at times,’ she conceded, ‘but that is no bad thing in my opinion. They should remember that they are also receiving some of the best nursing training in the country, and be grateful for it. A good nurse should be dedicated enough without needing to be rewarded by – entertainment.’ She fingered the gold cross around her neck, her only adornment against her sober fawn suit. ‘When I was training—’
‘My nurses are dedicated,’ Kathleen cut her off before she went into another long-winded story about the good old days. Irritation prickled up her spine. ‘But they are also young women. Most of them will be spending Christmas working on the wards, away from their loved ones. Your own daughter among them, I have to say.’
Mrs Tremayne’s jutting cheekbones were tinged with pink. ‘And I’m sure my daughter will be only too glad to do her duty,’ she said stiffly.
Kathleen caught the amused glint in James Cooper’s eyes. ‘I dare say she will, Mrs Tremayne. As will our other nurses,’ she agreed patiently. ‘But that is exactly my point. While you are sitting down to enjoy your Christmas dinner, they will be on their feet for fourteen hours, cheerfully changing beds, cleaning out sputum mugs and fetching bedpans, or trying to bring some comfort to a dying woman who knows she will never spend another Christmas with her children. Perhaps you would like to explain to them why you feel they do not deserve a little diversion?’
‘Hear hear,’ James Cooper muttered.
‘Indeed,’ Gerald Munroe agreed. ‘And I for one quite enjoy the Christmas Dance. A chance to see all the young ladies dressed up in their finery. Very pretty girls, some of them, I must say.’
He glanced around the table. Everyone stared back at him without commenting.
‘Shall we take a vote?’ Philip Enright suggested, with a touch of desperation.
In the end, Mrs Tremayne was defeated. Only Lady Fenella voted with her, although Kathleen suspected she didn’t quite understand what she was voting for.
‘Someone will not be getting a Christmas card from Mrs Tremayne,’ James Cooper observed when the meeting finally broke up and they were heading back to the wards.
‘I’m sure I can contain my disappointment.’ Kathleen looked rueful. ‘I really wish I knew why she disliked me so much,’ she sighed.
James Cooper’s brows rose. ‘I would have thought it was obvious. You stand up to her, unlike the rest of us. You must remember, Mrs T is accustomed to having her own way in these meetings. She certainly isn’t used to anyone leading a rebellion against her.’
‘I’m not interested in leading any kind of rebellion,’ Kathleen said. ‘I thought we were all supposed to be on the same side?’
‘Only if that side happens to be Mrs Tremayne’s.’
Kathleen massaged the tense muscles at the back of her neck. ‘At least she didn’t get her way over the Christmas Dance. I’m very glad about that. Apart from anything else, I think it’s an excellent way of improving relations between the staff.’
‘I think it’s the “relations” she’s worried about.’ Mr Cooper smiled as he opened a door for her. The expression ‘tall, dark and handsome’ could have been invented with him in mind, she decided. ‘Mrs Tremayne prides herself on being the hospital’s moral guardian, don’t forget. She thoroughly disapproves of anything that encourages fraternisation between the male and female staff. She believes all doctors are sex-crazed beasts in white coats. And the nurses aren’t much better, either.’
‘If doctors and nurses are going to fraternise at all, I would far rather it happened under the watchful eye of the senior staff than locked away in the basement by the stoke hole!’
‘By the stoke hole, eh?’ Mr Cooper looked amused. ‘I do hope that isn’t the voice of experience, Matron?’
‘That would be telling, Mr Cooper.’
‘I’m deeply shocked.’ His eyes were extraordinary, she thought. A clear, sapphire blue, fringed with very long dark lashes. She could imagine they had a devastating effect on his female patients.
They reached the other side of the courtyard and Mr Cooper turned to her. ‘This is where I have to leave you. I’m due in theatre, and thanks to Mrs Tremayne, I’m already at least two hysterectomies behind on my list.’
‘And I’m late for my ward round.’
‘I hope you make sure all those patients have had their baths, since you’ve wilfully done away with all the written records?’
‘Don’t.’ Kathleen shook her head. Mrs Tremayne couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d announced she was doing away with all the beds. Kathleen wasn’t sure how she’d found out but she suspected Miss Hanley might have had a hand in it. She’d already made it quite clear where her loyalties lay.
Kathleen tried to forget the unpleasantness of the meeting as she headed off to do her ward rounds. She knew the nursing staff dreaded her daily visit, but she enjoyed meeting the patients and satisfying herself that they were being cared for properly. She tried not to give the harassed nurses too hard a time. Unlike the former Matron, who she’d heard wasn’t averse to tossing poorly patients out of bed so she could lift the mattress and inspect the bedsprings for dust.
As she headed down the warren of corridors, she could hear a tide of whispering and scurrying feet going before her. She knew each ward would be ringing the others to warn them of her impending arrival. Even so, she usually managed to surprise a couple, and it amused her to see them all fluttering around like startled birds when she appeared in the doorway. Once she had found Sister Wren with her feet up in her sitting room, reading Peg’s Paper.
Matron started with Blake, the Male Orthopaedic ward. It was usually a cheerful place, filled with good-humoured patients who were more bored with being laid up than gravely ill. The sister who ran Blake, Frannie Wallace, was an old friend of hers. They had worked together in Leeds, and it was Frannie who had written encouraging her to apply for the position of Matron at the Nightingale. She was one of the few friendly faces who greeted Kathleen on the wards.
But as she entered Blake today, Frannie was nowhere to be seen. There was no expectant line of nurses either, apart from a solitary pro scurrying up the ward with a bedpan. When she saw Matron she gave a squeak of terror and abru
ptly fled. Kathleen watched her dive through the screens around one of the beds, then appear a moment later, followed by Frannie and her staff nurse, an Irish girl called Bridget O’Hara.
Frannie smiled when she saw Kathleen. ‘Matron, what a pleasant surprise,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve come to do the ward round, Sister Blake.’ Kathleen remembered to address her by her proper name. Sisters always took on the name of the ward they ran. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was in a meeting that went on for rather a long time.’
‘But I thought—’ O’Hara blurted, until Frannie silenced her with a look. Kathleen glanced from her to the pro, who stared down at her sensible black shoes and looked as if she might cry.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘No, Matron, nothing is wrong,’ Frannie said smoothly. ‘The patients are ready for you, if you’ll come this way?’
But Kathleen had an uneasy feeling as she followed Frannie to the first bed. As she talked to an elderly patient about his painful hip, she was aware of the pro whispering to Staff Nurse O’Hara behind her.
‘But I don’t understand. Miss Hanley—’
‘Shut up!’ O’Hara hissed back. ‘Just get down to bed four and pray to God that enema hasn’t worked yet!’
Kathleen watched her hurry away. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ she hissed to Frannie out of the corner of her mouth as they moved together to the next bed.
‘Miss Hanley came and did your rounds earlier. She said you’d asked her to do it.’ Frannie paused at the foot of the next bed. ‘This is Mr Fletcher, who really should be in bed,’ she announced, giving a mock severe look to the man who sat in the chair beside it, reading his newspaper.
‘But, Sister, I’m much more comfortable here,’ he protested.
‘That’s as may be, but you’re not doing that arthritis any good in the long run.’ Frannie plumped up his pillows, the crisp starched cotton crackling in her hands. ‘Nurse O’Hara, please see that Mr Fletcher gets back into bed. After he’s finished his newspaper,’ she added, with a little smile in his direction.
‘Thanks, Sister,’ Mr Fletcher said gratefully. ‘You’re a sport.’
‘Now, Mr Fletcher. I don’t want nasty rumours like that getting around to the other patients.’ As she walked away from the bed, she said to Kathleen, ‘I don’t blame him. It must be very painful to lie flat in his condition.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ But Kathleen could barely hear what Frannie was saying for the angry buzzing inside her head.
How dare Miss Hanley take it upon herself to do her rounds for her! No wonder the nurses had been so perplexed to see her. Now she was wasting their time forcing them to accompany her around the ward again. Either that or admit she’d got it wrong and make herself look foolish.
Either option made her blood boil.
Frannie must have noticed her silently fuming. When the round was over she said quietly, ‘I wonder, Matron, if you could spare me a moment in private? There’s a matter I wish to discuss with you.’
‘Of course.’
Kathleen followed her into her sitting room, a comfortable little area just off the ward. She waited until Frannie had closed the door, then sank down into one of the armchairs that flanked the fireplace.
‘Would you like some brandy? I keep it locked away in the kitchen for emergencies.’ Her dark eyes were full of merriment as usual. ‘On second thoughts, perhaps tea might be a safer bet.’ She summoned the ward maid and asked for a tray to be brought in. Then she sat down opposite Kathleen. ‘I take it you didn’t know Miss Hanley was doing your rounds?’
‘Indeed I didn’t!’ Kathleen replied. ‘That woman really is the living end.’
‘Perhaps she was trying to be helpful?’ Frannie suggested.
Kathleen glared at her. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
‘I suppose not,’ Frannie conceded. ‘Miss Hanley hasn’t exactly been helpful to you so far, I must admit.’
There was a tap on the door and the ward maid entered with the tray. They both waited until she’d gone before Kathleen went on.
‘I could cope with her being less than helpful. But it’s the deliberate attempts to trip me up I can’t stand. That and the constant bleating to Mrs Tremayne.’
‘Ah, yes. Mrs Tremayne.’ Frannie poured them both a cup of tea. ‘They do seem to be as thick as thieves at the moment.’
‘I’m sure she has Miss Hanley spying on me,’ Kathleen said. ‘She knew all about me getting rid of the ward bath book. That could only have come from Miss Hanley.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Frannie sipped her tea. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Mrs Tremayne to have spies all over the hospital. Any one of the sisters could have told her.’
‘Well, that’s just marvellous, isn’t it?’ Kathleen’s china cup rattled in its saucer as she put it down. ‘So you’re saying I have enemies everywhere?’
‘Not enemies, Kath.’ Frannie’s voice was soothing, as if she was talking to a patient. ‘But you’re in charge, and not everyone is going to approve of all your decisions.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t try to make any changes?’ Kathleen said gloomily. ‘Maybe I should just allow this place to go on the way it always has. That would please everyone, including Mrs Tremayne.’
‘It wouldn’t please you, though, would it? And it wouldn’t do this place any good, either.’ Frannie sighed impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake, Kath, why do you think I talked you into applying for this job?’
Kathleen smiled wanly. ‘Because you have some long-held grudge against me?’
‘Because I knew you could make a difference. God knows the Nightingale needs shaking up, even if no one here would ever want to admit it. And you’re just the one to do it.’
‘Am I?’ Kathleen allowed her gaze to drift towards the window. A nurse hurried past, her hand pressed against her cap to stop it blowing off. ‘I’m not so sure any more.’
‘Stop being so wet. It doesn’t suit you.’ Anyone outside on the ward would have been utterly shocked to hear a sister address the Matron in such a sharp and disrespectful way. But Frannie was one of Kathleen’s oldest friends.
Frannie refilled her cup and stirred it thoughtfully. ‘Do you remember the Matron back in Leeds?’ she said after a moment.
‘You mean The Monster?’ Kathleen shuddered. ‘She was utterly terrifying, wasn’t she? I hope I never end up like her.’
‘But that’s just it. You’ve got to be. What do you think she would have done if she’d found Miss Hanley had done her rounds for her?’
‘Crushed her to dust, probably.’
‘She would make sure she didn’t do it again, that’s for certain. And that’s what you’ve got to do, Kath. Show them all who’s boss. Including Constance Tremayne.’
Kathleen stared down into her empty teacup. It wasn’t that simple, she thought. The Monster had been so old and wise. Sometimes when Kathleen saw the nurses’ expectant faces looking to her for guidance, she felt as if she knew no more than they did. ‘I’m scared, Fran,’ she said.
‘I know you are, ducks. But you can’t let anyone see that.’ Frannie smiled sympathetically and refilled her cup. ‘Like it or not, you’re The Monster now.’
Kathleen returned to her office ten minutes later to find Miss Hanley sitting at her desk, rifling through some papers.
‘Find anything interesting, Miss Hanley?’
A mottled flush crept up her flabby cheeks. ‘I was – um – looking for the laundry order. It needs to be signed off, and since you were so late back from your meeting—’
‘I did it yesterday.’
‘Ah. Of course. That explains why I couldn’t find it.’ Miss Hanley shifted awkwardly from Kathleen’s seat.
‘I think you’ll find the laundry orders are usually filed in there.’ Kathleen nodded towards the filing cabinet on the other side of the room. ‘In the drawer marked “Laundry Orders”.’
&nb
sp; Miss Hanley pursed her lips. ‘I will try to remember that.’
As she headed for the door, Kathleen called after her, ‘Thank you for doing the ward rounds for me, by the way. It was very thoughtful of you.’
‘I was only doing my job,’ she replied stiffly.
‘Actually, Miss Hanley, you were doing my job. And I would appreciate it in future if you could let me know beforehand when you intend to take over any of my duties. If you don’t mind?’
Miss Hanley’s broad, square face twitched. ‘I’ll remember that,’ she snorted. And I’ll make sure you do, Kathleen thought as the door banged behind her.
Chapter Twelve
IT WAS THE Saturday before Christmas, and Millie had been looking forward to going up to Oxford Street with some of the other students after they’d finished their morning lectures. But at the last moment Lucy Lane had been beastly to Jennifer Bradley, and both Jennifer and Dora had refused to go on the outing.
Millie would have refused to go too, but it was Katie O’Hara’s first Christmas in London and Millie knew how much she was looking forward to seeing the festive lights in all the big shops.
‘You’ve got to come with me,’ Katie had pleaded with her. ‘Please don’t leave me with Lane! I don’t think I could stand her bragging if you weren’t there.’
It was bitingly cold and a thick yellow fog was curling off the river as they hurried to catch their bus. Millie and the others jammed their hats down over their ears and pulled up their scarves so they didn’t have to breathe in the cloying, metallic-tasting air.
‘I expect we’ll have a lot of bronchitis cases turning up after this,’ Katie predicted, her voice muffled through thick layers of wool. ‘My sister says they have chest infections queuing up outside the gates once the winter fog comes down.’
The air was clearer in Oxford Street, which bustled with Christmas shoppers. On the corner with Regent Street a brass band was playing Christmas carols, and the smell of the roasting chestnuts offered by street vendors filled the air.
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