Millie watched them arrive from the window of Holmes Ward. She was sad to miss the fun but their leave had been cancelled because they were far too busy. They had had several emergency admissions over the past few days, and there were extra beds arranged down the middle of the ward. On top of it all, their senior had gone down with glandular fever and there was no one to cover for her.
Not that that had stopped Sister Holmes and Staff Nurse Lund from sloping off to join the party. ‘I am trusting you and Doyle to look after the ward while we’re away,’ Sister instructed them. ‘You know where we are if there are any emergencies, although hopefully you should be able to manage.’ She sent Millie a severe look. ‘Please try not to lose any patients while we are away.’
‘It’s not fair,’ Millie complained to Dora when they had gone. ‘Now I know how Cinderella felt when she wasn’t allowed to go to the ball.’
‘No point moaning about it,’ Dora shrugged. ‘It’s your turn to change Mr Abbott’s dressing, by the way.’
Millie pulled a face. ‘Do I have to?’ She was rather afraid of Mr Abbott. He had been admitted the previous day with a mysterious leg wound. Rumour had it he was a notorious East End villain who had been shot by a rival gangster. Rumour also had it that the police were keeping guard outside the hospital to make sure he didn’t escape.
Sister Holmes had warned them to ignore the gossip. ‘It really should not concern us who or what he is,’ she told them firmly. ‘As far as we are concerned, he is just another patient who needs our care and attention.’
Mr Abbott, for his part, gave nothing away. He was polite and appreciative of the care he was given. But his craggy, scarred face still gave Millie the shivers.
‘I’ll swop with you, if you like?’ Dora offered. She had been in a very good mood since her stepfather had been discharged a week earlier. It must be the relief that he was fully recovered, Millie thought.
‘No, it’s all right. I mustn’t shirk my responsibilities.’
Be professional, she told herself as she washed her hands and took the sterilised swabs and dressings out of the drum. Remember, he’s just another patient.
Mr Abbott was sitting up in bed, reading Sporting Life.
‘All right, Nurse?’ he greeted her cheerfully. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Abbott.’ Millie desperately tried not to make eye contact as she carefully removed the dressing from his wound.
‘Quite a to-do outside today. What’s that all about, then?’
‘It’s Founder’s Day. They’re having a garden party in the courtyard.’ She examined the wound. It seemed to be healing nicely.
‘Are you not invited, then?’
‘I’m afraid not. We’re far too busy. Sister and Staff have gone, though.’
‘And they’ve left you and that other young nurse here to hold the fort by yourselves? Shame. That’s not right, is it?’
‘It’s the way of the world for us students, unfortunately.’ Millie worked as quickly as she could, applying the dressing pad and pinning the bandages in place. ‘There, that’s done. How does it feel?’
‘It feels fine, Nurse. You’ve done a good job there.’ As he smiled up at her, Millie tried to drag her gaze away from the faint silvery line running the length of his cheek. ‘And you can be sure I’ll be having words with that sister of yours about leaving you here on your own,’ he said, as Millie pushed back the curtains.
Five minutes later Dora followed her into the sluice room. ‘Shall I take those dressings down to the stoke hole for you?’ she offered.
She really was in a good mood, Millie decided. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged her down to the basement otherwise.
While Dora was gone, Millie went into the kitchen to prepare the drinks. The box of matches was damp, and she was struggling to light one when a voice behind her said, ‘Allow me.’
She turned around. William took a box of matches out of his pocket, struck one and lit the gas.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘I’ve brought you a present.’ He handed her a cake, delicately iced in pink. ‘I thought if you couldn’t go to the party, then the party should come to you.’
‘We’re not allowed to eat on the ward, remember?’ Millie turned away from him to fill the kettle under the tap. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t you give it to your girlfriend Hollins?’
She hadn’t spoken to William properly since the night of Sophia’s wedding, when she’d seen him kissing Amy Hollins. But it was common knowledge that they were stepping out together now. Amy hadn’t stopped bragging about it in the nurses’ home.
He gave her a maddening smile. ‘It’s not serious between us.’
That’s not what she thinks, Millie thought. ‘It’s of no consequence to me, I’m sure.’
She put the kettle on to boil and set about preparing the drinks, aware all the time of him watching her. Finally, she could stand it no longer.
‘Was there something else you wanted?’ she asked rudely.
He shrugged. ‘Not really.’
‘Then why are you still hanging around?’
‘Because I can’t stay away from you.’
She swung around to face him, ready to give him an angry mouthful. But he wasn’t smiling or flirting any more. His dark eyes were desolate.
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I know it’s wrong of me, and unfair on you and Amy, but I can’t help it. I just can’t seem to stop thinking about you.’
‘William—’ She took a step towards him but he backed away.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to be honourable and do the right thing, but if you come any nearer I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself kissing you.’
‘Who says I’d want you to stop?’
She took another step towards him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, just as Dora appeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said. ‘But have you seen Mr Abbott?’
Lucy Lane sat in the hospital dining room in her pretty new dress, eating her lunch as fast as she could and trying not to cry. This should have been the best day of her life, and it was turning out to be one of the worst.
Her award lay on the table beside her, a shiny plaque bearing the Nightingale crest, and underneath it her name and the words 1935 Best First Year Student engraved in curly copperplate.
It had been such a proud moment for her. She had thought of little else for days, imagining the applause ringing in her ears as she stepped forward, as graceful as a debutante, to collect her award from Mr Enright, the Chairman of the Trustees. She thought about how she would turn to face the onlookers and pick out her mother and father, sitting in the front row, watching her with pride. She would meet her father’s eye, and he would smile and nod approvingly.
Except it hadn’t happened like that. Her father had cancelled at the last minute, saying he had to fly to Paris for an important business meeting.
‘I’m sure there will be other prize givings, darling,’ he’d said, his rich, deep voice echoing down the telephone line. ‘And I’ll bring you something special home to make up for it. A gift from Cartier, perhaps?’
Lucy tried to sound enthusiastic, but she found it hard to speak through her utter disappointment. Even worse, when she’d called that morning to make sure her mother was still coming, Hemmings the butler had told her that Mrs Lane was indisposed.
Lucy stared at the plaque, her eyes misting. No prizes for guessing why her mother was unwell. She shuddered to think of the servants putting her to bed and then gossiping downstairs about all the empty bottles in the drawing room.
Katie O’Hara clattered into the dining room with some of the other first years, laughing and chattering together. They stopped dead when they saw Lucy.
‘Hello,’ Katie greeted her. ‘I thought you’d be out celebrating? Wasn’t your father supposed to be taking you to The Ritz?’
Lucy stared down at her plate. ‘He had to attend an important business meeting.�
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‘That’s strange. I thought you always said he’d drop everything for his precious little girl?’
‘He wanted to come but I insisted he had to go to his meeting,’ Lucy lied. ‘Sometimes work has to come first.’
‘So no one was there to see poor Lucy collect her prize.’ Katie seemed determined to make her suffer, her mouth turned down in a parody of pity.
‘At least I won a prize,’ Lucy snapped back.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t win one for showing off,’ Katie retorted.
‘I can’t help being the best, can I?’
‘No, but you can help bragging about it.’ Katie O’Hara was usually a mild-mannered kind of girl who seemed to take everything in her stride. But for some reason her Irish temper took over today. ‘We’re all just about sick of you, do you know that? You seem to think we’re all so impressed by who you are and what you’ve got, but we’re not. To tell you the truth, we’re tired of hearing about it.’
Lucy stared at her, shocked. She knew she laid it on a bit thick with the other girls sometimes, but she didn’t think they resented her for it so much. Seeing the spite in Katie O’Hara’s face shook her.
‘You give yourself all these airs and graces, but just because you’ve got this and that and your dad’s got a fancy title doesn’t make you better than us,’ Katie went on.
‘I – I didn’t say I was,’ Lucy stammered.
‘Not much, you don’t! You never miss a chance to tell us how grand you are, what a great life you have. You’re always looking down on us, making out we’re all peasants, not fit to clean your boots! What makes you so special?’
Lucy thought about her father, who barely remembered she existed, and her mother, too preoccupied with her own misery to spare any thought for her daughter. The last thing she ever felt was special.
‘This is pointless,’ Dora said, when they’d searched the ward and all the side rooms for the third time. ‘He’s hardly going to be hiding under a bed, is he? He’s probably legged it by now.’
‘You’re right,’ Millie said. ‘We should spread out and search the whole building.’
‘What about the patients?’
They looked back down the ward. Fortunately none of the men seemed to have noticed that someone had escaped from their midst as they snoozed or read their newspapers.
‘You stay and keep an eye on everyone. I’ll go and search for Mr Abbott,’ Millie said. She already felt guilty enough that it was her fault he was on the loose.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said William. ‘I’m not having you tackle a desperate criminal by yourself.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I want to.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, just get going, will you?’ Dora snapped.
‘And make sure you’re back before Sister Holmes!’
They hurried along the corridors, checking all the side rooms and store cupboards.
‘This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t kept me talking in the kitchen,’ Millie accused William as they puffed and panted up a flight of stairs to the roof.
‘It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t told Mr Abbott you and Amy were in charge of the ward alone.’
They reached the roof and stopped for breath. ‘There’s no sign of him up here,’ William said, looking around as Millie doubled over, holding her side.
‘Where else could he be? We’ve searched everywhere else.’
‘There’s one place we haven’t looked.’
Millie followed William’s gaze down to the garden party below.
‘He might be mingling with the guests, waiting for his chance to escape. We’re going to have to go down there and look for him.’
‘Can’t you go on your own?’ Millie pleaded. ‘If Sister or Staff see me at the party they’ll have my guts for garters.’
‘That might be a bit difficult, since I have no idea what this Mr Abbott looks like.’
‘What will we do if we find him?’ Millie asked, as they joined the other party guests. She kept her head down, fearful that she would be spotted by Sister Holmes at any moment. ‘We can’t very well apprehend him in front of everyone, can we?’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ William replied. ‘You have to find him first.’
Millie spotted Staff Nurse Lund in the crowd, beat a hasty retreat – and crashed straight into Helen, coming the other way with a plate of sandwiches.
‘Why are you sneaking around?’ She saw William standing behind Millie and her frown deepened. ‘Oh, it’s you. I might have known you’d be involved.’
‘We’re looking for someone,’ he told her.
‘Oh, yes? Who?’
They glanced at each other. ‘I suppose we should tell her,’ William said. ‘You never know, she might be able to help.’
Helen looked from one to the other, her eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me what?’
‘We’ve lost a patient,’ Millie blurted out.
‘A dangerous convict,’ William added.
‘But he probably won’t get far, because he has a gunshot wound in his leg,’ Millie said.
Helen’s mouth fell open. ‘But why haven’t you told the police? You must warn them at once.’
She thrust the plate of sandwiches into Millie’s hands and started off towards the gate. William held on to her wrist.
‘Don’t,’ he begged. ‘We’re in enough trouble as it is.’
‘You’ll be in a lot more trouble if you allow a wanted man to slip past the police.’ Helen looked around. ‘He could be anywhere!’
‘I know,’ Millie said miserably. ‘You’re right, we should tell the police.’
‘You’ll get fired if you tell them,’ William reminded her.
‘People could get hurt if we don’t,’ Millie said.
Helen looked from one to the other. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Wait here. And don’t say a word to anyone until I get back.’
They watched her head off towards the porters’ lodge. ‘What do you think she’s doing?’ Millie asked.
William shrugged. ‘Maybe she’s going to ask Mr Hopkins for help?’
‘She’s wasting her time then. Mr Hopkins is a miserable old man. He’ll report us all to Matron as soon as look at us.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said William. ‘Old Hopkins has a soft spot for Helen. She’s like the daughter he never had.’
Sure enough, a moment later she returned from the porters’ lodge. ‘It’s all sorted,’ she said. ‘Mr Hopkins has got his porters on red alert, searching the building. If anyone can find him, they can.’
‘What about us? What should we do?’ Millie asked.
Helen sent her a stern look. ‘Go back to the ward and keep your head down, if you know what’s good for you,’ she advised. ‘And for heaven’s sake, try to stay calm!’
It wasn’t easy. Millie tried to keep her mind on looking after the patients, but she couldn’t stop pacing to the window and looking out over the courtyard.
‘The party’s breaking up,’ she said gloomily. Any minute now Sister Holmes would be returning to the ward. Then all hell would break loose.
‘I don’t know why you’re looking so sorry for yourself, I’ll be in just as much trouble as you,’ Dora reminded her. ‘I went off to the stoke hole and left you by yourself, remember?’
Millie chewed her lip. ‘How bad do you think it will be?’
Dora stared at her. ‘Benedict, we both left the ward and allowed a wanted criminal to escape. You tell me.’
They jumped as the double doors flew open. But instead of Sister Holmes and Staff Nurse Lund, two porters came in, pushing a patient on a trolley. He was covered from head to toe by a thin white sheet.
‘Blimey, he doesn’t look well,’ one of the patients observed, glancing up from his crossword.
‘I know Mr Dwyer’s a good surgeon, but I didn’t think he could raise ’em from the dead,’ said another.
‘There’
s been a mistake,’ Millie started to say, ‘we can’t possibly . . .’ Then she saw William bringing up the rear.
‘Take him to bed seven,’ he instructed.
Millie and Dora followed them to where the screens were still pulled around Mr Abbott’s bed. It was only when they were safely concealed that William whisked the sheet off to reveal the craggy-faced criminal sleeping peacefully.
‘But I don’t understand,’ Millie said, as the porters lifted him gently back into bed. ‘How . . .? Where . . .?’
‘Two of the porters found him hiding out in the basement,’ William said. ‘I had to give him a sedative to get him to come quietly.’
Millie clapped her hands with joy. ‘You are brilliant!’
‘It’s Helen you should thank,’ he said. ‘If she hadn’t mobilised the porters to help, I doubt we would have found him.’
‘When you’ve quite finished, I think I can hear Sister Holmes coming up the corridor,’ Dora interrupted them.
They had barely managed to get rid of William and the porters with their trolley when Sister Holmes came through the doors with Staff Nurse Lund at her heels. Her face was grave.
‘Benedict. My office, immediately,’ she said.
Millie and Dora exchanged anguished looks.
‘Do you think she knows?’ Millie whispered. Dora could only shrug helplessly in reply.
‘Benedict!’ Sister Holmes called from her office doorway.
Millie trailed in miserably, already preparing her excuses.
‘Sit down, Benedict.’ Millie did as she was told, still mystified. Reprimands were usually delivered standing toe to toe, bellowed at a level deafening enough to make your ears ring. But Sister Holmes’ voice was softer, almost as if she were talking to a patient.
‘Is there something wrong, Sister?’ Millie asked.
Sister Holmes sat down opposite her, her eyes full of compassion.
‘It’s about your father,’ she said. ‘There’s been an accident . . .’
Chapter Forty-Seven
IT WAS A miracle Henry Rettingham had survived, the doctors said.
Millie had helped comfort many distraught families on the wards. She had ushered them to a side room, plied them with hot sweet tea while the consultant delivered his bad news, and listened to them weeping behind the screens around their loved one’s bed. And yet no matter how desperately sad she felt for them, she had never really understood the depth of their despair until now, when she herself sat with her grandmother in a consultant’s office, listening to him tell her she might lose her precious father.
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