She had just fixed the last pin in place when Night Sister appeared. By the time her soft tread was heard outside the ward doors, Amy and Helen had managed to get themselves into some kind of order. Helen could feel her cap slipping down over one ear, but fortunately Night Sister was summoned to an emergency in Female Surgical and didn’t stay long enough to notice.
Amy was even nicer to Helen for the rest of the shift. For once she helped pack the drums with dressings and swabs, ready for the porter to take off for sterilising when he came back on duty.
‘Are there any doctors you fancy?’ she asked, as they worked.
‘No.’
‘Surely there must be one you like?’
‘Can’t say I’ve noticed them.’
Amy sent her a shrewd look. ‘You’re not still pining over Charlie Denton?’
Helen ducked her head, blushing furiously. Three weeks after starting night duty, she had heard nothing from him. She hadn’t expected him to remember her, but she still felt a pang of disappointment.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped.
‘Pardon me for breathing, I’m sure.’
Helen wished she hadn’t been so sharp. She longed to say the right thing, to make Amy like her more. But she didn’t know how to gossip like the other girls.
There was a long pause. Helen could tell what was going through Amy’s mind long before she said, ever so casually, ‘Does your brother have a girlfriend?’
‘You’d have to ask him that.’
Another pause. ‘Do you think he likes me?’
Amy didn’t look up as she said it, but Helen could feel her anxiety. She suddenly felt sorry for the girl. She wanted to warn her that she was wasting her time, that William would get bored once the chase was over. ‘I’m sure he thinks very highly of you,’ she said tactfully.
Amy went off for her midnight meal shortly afterwards, leaving Helen alone on the ward again. She did a quick round with her torch to check on the patients, trying not to think about the story William had told about the ghostly woman who haunted Hyde. After she’d satisfied herself that the patients were sleeping peacefully – or as peacefully as they could in a ward full of whistles, groans and snoring – she went into the kitchen to slice and butter more bread for the patients’ breakfasts. If she knew William and the other junior doctors, they would have finished off the last lot.
Cockroaches scuttled for cover as she switched on the light. They’d frightened her the first time she saw them, but now she barely noticed them. She heard someone come into the kitchen behind her.
‘That was quick,’ she said, thinking it was Amy.
‘I didn’t know you were expecting me?’ She swung round. William lounged in the doorway.
‘Hollins has gone for her break,’ she told him. ‘You’ll have to come back if you want to see her.’
‘I didn’t come back to see her. I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Helen eyed him warily.
‘Why do you always look so suspicious when I say that?’
‘Because it usually means trouble.’ She slapped his hand away as he reached for a slice of bread.
‘This time I need your advice.’ He perched himself against the stove. ‘Do you know a pro who’s just started on Wren? Blonde, very pretty—’
‘You mean Benedict?’
His dark eyes lit up. ‘You do know her, then?’
‘I share a room with her. Why?’ Helen didn’t need to ask the question. One glance at his face told her all she needed to know. ‘Oh, Will,’ she sighed.
‘What? You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet,’ he protested.
‘I know that look on your face.’
He picked up a teacup and traced the pattern on it with his finger. ‘She seems like a nice girl,’ he said.
‘So are lots of other nurses in this hospital. So is Hollins. Why can’t you go out with her instead?’
‘I’m not interested in Hollins.’
‘Will, you promised.’ Helen put down the knife and looked at him appealingly. ‘After all that business with Peggy Gibson, you promised me you’d never get involved with one of my friends again.’
She saw him wince at the mention of Peggy’s name. ‘This is different,’ he said quietly. ‘Anyway, all that business with Peggy was a long time ago. Can’t you ever let me forget it?’
No one lets me forget it, she thought. She knew he felt guilty about what had happened with Peggy. But he didn’t have to face the other girls’ scorn every day. He didn’t have to endure everyone thinking she was to blame.
She picked up the knife again. ‘Sorry, William, I don’t want to get involved,’ she said.
Just at that moment Amy appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘What are you doing in here? Why aren’t you—’ She saw William and smiled. ‘Hello, are you looking for me?’ She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.
‘Who else?’ William gave her a winning smile in return. Helen wrung out a teatowel, put it over the plate of bread and butter and left them to their flirting.
Whatever happened, she didn’t want to be part of it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘LET ME BE clear on this.’ Kathleen Fox struggled to control her rising temper as she looked at the rows of figures in front of her. ‘You are telling me there is no money available for new linen on the wards because you have decided to spend it all on a party?’
She fixed her gaze on Reginald Collins, Treasurer of the Hospital Trustees and the man responsible for drawing up the figures. He squirmed in his seat and examined the papers in front of him.
‘It’s not my doing,’ he huffed. ‘I simply present the facts. The other Trustees . . .’
He shot a quick, guilty look at Constance Tremayne, seated to the right of the Chairman, Philip Enright. Philip might as well not have been there, Kathleen decided. They all knew who was really in charge of the Nightingale.
‘Matron, you do make it sound so frivolous,’ Constance Tremayne observed. She was dressed for battle in a stiff tweed suit, her hair scraped back in its usual tight bun which drew her skin taut across her cheekbones, making it difficult for her to smile. Not that she ever did.
‘Isn’t it?’ Kathleen said coldly.
‘Of course it isn’t. The annual Founder’s Day celebration is a big event for the Nightingale Hospital. And as this year is our fiftieth anniversary, we wanted to make it even more special. All we’ve done is make a temporary allocation in the budget to cover expenses. I think we all agree that is reasonable?’
She looked around the table. No one spoke.
‘Mrs Tremayne is right,’ Gerald Munroe said finally. ‘The Nightingale Hospital is a very important aspect of the lives of the people in this area. It’s our duty to allow everyone to celebrate it.’
Kathleen stared at him. She might have known he’d vote for anything that involved him getting his face in the newspapers yet again.
‘And exactly how many people from this area will we be inviting to celebrate?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘I take it we’ll be throwing the gates open to everyone?’
There was some coughing and shuffling of feet around the table. ‘Of course we will have to restrict the guest list to local dignitaries, senior staff and their families,’ Mrs Tremayne said.
Of course, Kathleen thought. Constance Tremayne wouldn’t want any East End riff-raff at her grand garden party.
‘It will be a very prestigious event,’ she added.
‘I see. And while you’re enjoying this prestigious event of yours, our patients will be sleeping on thin sheets which the nurses are having to patch and mend constantly.’
‘You didn’t seem to mind spending money on the Christmas dance?’ Mrs Tremayne reminded her.
‘The Christmas dance cost next to nothing compared to this extravaganza you’re planning.’
All eyes turned to Constance Tremayne.
‘Then the nursing staff will just have to practise economy.’
Blo
od sang in Kathleen’s ears. ‘My staff are hardly spendthrift, Mrs Tremayne,’ she bit out. ‘They waste nothing. Dressings are boiled and re-used until they fall apart, everything that can be used again is kept and cleaned and mended. Go and ask any of the sisters here. They will tell you. And while you’re at it, perhaps you’d like to explain to them why you feel it necessary to spend this hospital’s money on champagne and canapés while they have no clean sheets to put on the patients’ beds? See if they understand this fur coat and no knickers approach of yours, because I certainly don’t!’
Mr Cooper gave a muffled snort of laughter from across the table. Mrs Tremayne turned white-faced with shock.
‘Did she say knickers?’ Lady Fenella asked, baffled.
‘Perhaps we should move to a vote?’ Philip Enright suggested quickly.
‘I think even Mrs Tremayne was lost for words in there!’ James Cooper fell into step beside Kathleen as she made her way back to her office ten minutes later. ‘You have a very lively turn of phrase, Matron. Very . . . vivid, shall we say?’
‘I didn’t intend to be vivid,’ Kathleen snapped back. Usually she enjoyed the few moments of banter she had with Mr Cooper as they left the Trustees meeting, but this morning she wasn’t in the mood. ‘I merely wanted everyone to see how perfectly ridiculous they were being. How on earth can they call this a prestigious hospital when our linen cupboards are empty? Can’t they see the irony?’
‘I don’t think irony is Mrs Tremayne’s strong point.’ James Cooper pulled a wry face. ‘Look, you did your best,’ he said. ‘You can’t expect to win every fight.’
‘But I should have won this one!’ She swung round to face him. ‘This was important. My nurses were relying on me to argue their case for them.’
‘And you did. Admirably.’
‘I still failed though, didn’t I?’
‘There is one consolation.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’m sure you’ll get an invitation to the party.’
Kathleen’s mouth tightened. ‘I can’t wait.’
There was a student waiting outside her office with a broken thermometer. Under normal circumstances, Kathleen would have put it down to an accident and given her a small fine to cover the cost. But this time she harangued her about carelessness and waste until she was hoarse and the poor girl was close to tears.
She was mindlessly shuffling papers on her desk, still trying to calm herself down, when Miss Hanley came in. Kathleen groaned inwardly. The last thing she needed in her present mood was the Assistant Matron’s oppressive presence.
‘Did you have a good meeting?’ she asked politely.
Kathleen looked up at Miss Hanley, towering over her, as solid and unyielding as a block of granite. Usually she would have made some anodyne reply, but for once she was too angry to lie.
‘No, since you ask,’ she snapped.
‘Oh?’ Miss Hanley did her best to mould her features into an expression of concern.
‘I’m afraid we will not be getting the new requisition of linen we ordered. You will have to go and tell the sisters they’re to go on making do and mending.’
‘Oh.’ This time Miss Hanley’s concern seemed genuine. ‘But our linen stock is very low, Matron. Last time I checked—’
‘Then perhaps you’d better tell Mrs Tremayne that?’ Kathleen cut her off abruptly. ‘She’s the one who’s put her foot down. She thinks the money would be better spent showing off to the local dignitaries at a Founder’s Day garden party.’
She could see Miss Hanley’s features twisting in confusion as she struggled to justify her friend’s actions.
‘Well, I suppose Founder’s Day is an important occasion . . .’ she began doubtfully.
‘More important than looking after our patients?’
‘Of course not.’ For once Miss Hanley wasn’t wearing her usual look of self-assurance. ‘I’d better go and talk to the sisters,’ she said.
‘You do that, Miss Hanley.’ And good luck, Kathleen added silently.
Veronica Hanley caught up with Constance Tremayne just as she was leaving.
‘May I have a word, Mrs Tremayne?’ she asked.
‘Of course, Miss Hanley.’ Mrs Tremayne gave her a charming smile. ‘I would have come and said hello but I had no wish to see Miss Fox again. One meeting with her was more than enough for today.’ She shuddered delicately. ‘I can’t tell you how rude and insulting she was to me this morning. Even the other Trustees were shocked. Between you and me, I think they’re beginning to see our new Matron’s true colours.’ She laid a delicate hand on Veronica’s arm. ‘How I wish you were Matron, Miss Hanley. I’m sure we could conduct business in a far more civilised way if we were working together.’
Miss Hanley blushed. For a moment she was too sidetracked by Constance’s flattery to continue. But then she remembered why she’d sought her out.
‘I have to admit, for once Miss Fox has a point,’ she said, trying not to meet Mrs Tremayne’s eye. She couldn’t bear to see that warmth replaced by a look of frosty disapproval. ‘We really do desperately need more linen . . .’
‘And you’ll get it, of course,’ Mrs Tremayne assured her. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer, that’s all.’ She looked disappointed. ‘You know how much I care about this hospital, Miss Hanley. It means as much to me as it does to you. Do you think I would do anything to damage the Nightingale’s excellent reputation?’
‘Well, no. But . . .’
‘I want everyone to look at this hospital and see it for what it is: a shining beacon of excellence. That’s why I so want this Founder’s Day celebration to be a success. So we can make the Nightingale a hospital to be proud of. You want that too, don’t you, Miss Hanley?’ Her fingers tightened on Veronica’s arm, her eyes glittering with fervour.
‘Of course,’ Veronica agreed cautiously. ‘But I must insist . . .’
‘You must insist that patients’ welfare comes first,’ Mrs Tremayne finished for her. ‘I do agree with you, Miss Hanley, I really do. And I have to say, this problem with the linen is not entirely of the Trustees’ making. In fact, you could have had your order before Christmas, if only . . .’ She let her voice trail away.
‘If only what, Mrs Tremayne?’
She glanced one way and then the other before leaning forward and whispering, ‘I’m not sure I should tell you. It is a matter for the Trustees, after all. And everyone else agreed with it at the time. Apart from myself, of course,’ she added.
‘Agreed with what, Mrs Tremayne?’ Miss Hanley’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is there something we are not being told? If it concerns the running of this hospital and the welfare of the patients, then we have a right to know.’
Mrs Tremayne paused for a moment. ‘There was money for the linen requisition before Christmas,’ she said. ‘I was all for putting it through – the patients’ comfort is paramount, after all. But Matron insisted the funds must go instead on providing some kind of – entertainment – for the nursing staff.’
‘What kind of entertainment?’
‘The Christmas dance. I made my feelings very clear at the time, warned her that funds were low and questioned the wisdom of frittering money away on such a frivolous activity. But Matron would have her way. Which is why we find ourselves in such a perilous financial situation now.’ She looked up at Miss Hanley, her face full of regret. ‘We mustn’t blame Miss Fox,’ she said with every appearance of sincerity. ‘She is new and inexperienced. She has no idea of our values, the way we do things at the Nightingale. If she chooses to spend hospital funds on allowing the nurses to get tipsy and cavort with the junior doctors, while vital stocks run low, well . . . what can we do?’
What indeed? Miss Hanley thought.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘DON’T LOOK NOW, duchess, but your young man’s got his eye on you again.’
Millie looked over her shoulder to where William stood hovering by the end of a patient’s bed at the far end of
the ward, pretending to check their notes. He had taken to turning up at different times of the day, ostensibly checking on patients, taking an unusual interest in their welfare.
‘He’s persistent, I’ll say that for him,’ Blanche commented. ‘That’s the third time today he’s been to see Mrs Ruddock. The poor woman will start thinking she’s for the high jump if he keeps frowning at her notes like that.’
‘I do wish he’d go away,’ Millie sighed.
‘Go on, you must have a soft spot for him? He’s a handsome lad. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, that’s for sure. Mind you,’ added Blanche, ‘I wouldn’t kick anyone out of bed, would I? I’d be skint otherwise!’
She cackled with laughter, and Millie joined in. In the six weeks she’d been on Wren she had learnt a lot from the women on the ward. And not just medical knowledge, either. Her grandmother would be shocked by some of the ideas she’d picked up.
William turned at the sound of their laughter, and smiled. Millie hurriedly went back to her polishing, in case the ward maid reported her again. The ward maids were the eyes and ears of the sisters, and Sister Wren’s maid Lettie Pike was especially vigilant.
‘Poor Dr Tremayne,’ Blanche said. ‘I s’pose you’ll be after marrying a lord or summat, won’t you, love?’
Blanche had been fascinated to find out about Millie’s family background. She’d laughed out loud at the idea of having methylated spirit rubbed into her backside by an Earl’s daughter.
Millie kept her entertained with stories about the balls and parties she had been to, and the grand families she mixed with. She was worried it might seem like bragging, but Blanche reckoned that listening to her was better than the films.
‘I’m not sure I want to marry anyone just yet,’ Millie said, rubbing hard at a tarnished spot on the brass plate beside Blanche’s bed. If only the local dignitaries who donated to the hospital knew how long the poor pros spent polishing their blessed name plaques, she thought, they might think twice about handing over the money.
‘Quite right, too,’ Blanche said, checking her lipstick in her mirror compact. ‘You should play hard to get. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, love. Not that there’s much chance of that, you being a real lady and everything.’ She smiled wryly.
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