A week later, Patty was on the children’s ward as a patient. It had not been nearly as hard as she had supposed to gain admittance to the hospital. First she had complained of stomach ache, and then, after Miss Briggs had dosed her with syrup of figs, she had really had stomach ache. After that, she had gone quietly into the sick bay and abstracted a large bottle of the hated purgative, dosing herself with it each night until she was so weak and so ill that she had felt it safe to convincingly collapse almost on the doorstep of the hospital. She was picked up by two porters – her skin had crept with horror as they took hold of her, for she could not forget that it was men, possibly just like these, who had attacked Selina – and carried into the hospital, ending up, as she had hoped, on the children’s ward. What she had not bargained for was that they would leap to a totally wrong conclusion, so that she woke up, two days after her admission, to find herself without an appendix and in a good deal more pain than she had experienced after her generous doses of purgative.
Laura, who had been in on the secret, had been shocked to hear that her friend had actually had an operation, but when she came visiting had been overcome by giggles, much to Patty’s annoyance. ‘Just you stop laughing, you nasty girl,’ Patty had commanded. ‘And don’t you go having your appendix out because it hurts something horrid. I almost wish I’d never started the whole business. Whose idea was it, anyway?’
‘It was my idea that you got into the hospital by fakin’ it,’ Laura admitted. ‘But it was your own silly idea to go guzzling all that syrup of figs. You poor thing! But Miss O’Dowd’s back, large as life and twice as nasty, so you’ll not be regretting you aren’t at the Durrant.’
‘No, and I’m to go to a convalescent home for three weeks, when I’m well enough to be moved,’ Patty said, trying to hitch herself up in bed and sinking back on her pillows with a groan. ‘It’s a place in the country. The nurses say it’s lovely, so that’s a sort of special treat for losing my appendix. Or that’s how I look at it, at any rate.’
‘What did the surgeon say when he found your appendix was right as rain?’ Laura asked curiously. ‘Good thing he didn’t decide to whip out something else while he were about it – good thing he didn’t fancy liver for his lunch!’
‘Shut up, you horrible girl!’ Patty said. ‘I told you, laughing hurts. As for what the surgeon thought, I’ve not got the faintest idea. They don’t tell you
anything
in here; they won’t even tell me how long I’ll be on this ward before I go off to be convalesced.’
The ward was a busy one but Patty was the oldest inhabitant at the moment, most of the beds and cots being filled with very much younger children. So Laura did not scruple to lean forward, having checked that there were no nurses around, and ask Patty how her search for her mother was going on.
‘Better than I thought,’ Patty said, lowering her voice. ‘It was a piece of luck that Nurse Cummings was sent to the ward the night after my operation. I was dreadfully uncomfortable and so thirsty, and the day nurses wouldn’t give me a drink in case I was sick. Then Nurse Cummings came along because one of the other nurses had contracted the ’flu and she was ever so kind. At about two in the morning, she made herself a cup of tea in the little kitchen place over there and asked if I’d like a cup. My tongue was hanging out like an Abraham’s carpet, so of course I said I’d love one and she came and sat on my bed while I drank it. We chatted a bit and although I felt pretty horrible I suddenly realised that she might know something. I said I believed my mother had worked in the hospital eleven or twelve years ago, and asked Nurse Cummings if she remembered a girl with very pale hair like mine.’
‘Didn’t she ask you what her name was?’ Laura asked. ‘That would have been my first question.’
‘Well it wasn’t hers,’ Patty said aggrievedly. ‘Do
listen
, Laura, and stop chattering. I guess she thought her name was Peel, the same as mine, because after some thought she said she
did
remember someone, though she couldn’t be sure of when, exactly, the girl worked on the ward. She said she was ever so pretty and had the makings of a really good nurse, but then she thinks she may have got ill or taken a job away, because when Nurse Cummings was next seconded to the children’s ward the fair-haired girl had gone.’
‘And you think that the fair-haired girl might have been your mother?’ Laura said, her voice rising to a squeak. ‘Oh, if that isn’t the most romantic thing … did she say whether the girl had a feller? Come to that, did she give her a name? It would help you a good deal if you knew the name, queen.’
But here Patty had to shake her head regretfully. ‘No, and I couldn’t very well ask, could I? But I’ll find out, don’t you fret. I’ve not gone to all the trouble of sticking meself in hospital and losing me appendix just to give up when I’ve scarcely started. Oh aye, I’ll find out whatever there is to find out, you may be sure of that!’
Patty was on the children’s ward for a full week, but she made no further discoveries. Indeed, when she saw the night nurses coming on to the ward, standing in a neat line, heads cocked, expressions intelligent, she looked hopefully for Nurse Cummings, but did not see her. And though she looked every night, the middle-aged nurse did not return to the ward whilst Patty was there and no one else evinced the slightest interest in a fair-haired girl who might have nursed on the ward a dozen or so years before.
‘I were scarcely out of leading reins twelve years ago,’ the youngest probationer told Patty. ‘What was her name, chuck, this blonde you’re so interested in? Why not ask Sister? Or Matron, come to that – they’re both old as the bleedin’ hills.’
Patty hastily disclaimed any particular interest and changed the subject. She told herself she did not want any trouble and decided that despite her efforts she would learn no more from the staff of the children’s ward. But she did make casual enquiries about the red blankets and was told, proudly, that they had been a gift from a rich benefactor to ‘cheer up’ the children’s cots.
‘It were a Mr and Mrs O’Grady, what brought their little kid over from Dublin for special treatment,’ one of the nurses told Patty. ‘The kid were cured – it were all of twenty years ago, mind – and he bought the blankets and left a sum o’ money so’s they could be replaced when they got worn. Kind of him, weren’t it?’
‘Very kind,’ Patty said solemnly, thinking that this, at least, was no more than the truth. As a tiny baby she herself had been wrapped in a warm red blanket – and speedily found because it was so noticeable, according to Selina. And when at last she left the hospital and was taken, in a big, old-fashioned wagon, to the convalescent home just outside the city limits, she felt that she had not done too badly. She had discovered that a fair-haired girl had worked on the children’s ward around the time of her birth and might well have been in a position to have prigged one of the red blankets. And best of all, she had conquered the sick fear of the hospital which had attacked her the first time she had entered the premises after Selina’s death. Now, the hospital was once more the place in which she wanted to work when she grew up, especially since she was now almost certain that her mother had once been, if not a nurse, at least a worker in that same hospital.
Laura visited her in the convalescent home and so did Miss Briggs. The older woman came with a bag of broken biscuits for Patty and sat rather stiffly in the big, sunny visitors’ room, telling Patty all about her fellow orphans, how the teachers were managing and what Miss O’Dowd thought of the way they had coped during the crisis.
‘Because we’ve lost so many staff, the matron is having to be a little more flexible,’ she told Patty. ‘To own the truth, my dear, I don’t think she’ll stay at Durrant House for very much longer.’ She glanced sideways at the younger girl. ‘She isn’t cut out to take care of little children and I think some members of the Board of Governors actually realise it. I don’t think for one moment that they will appoint a member of the existing staff since we are not qualified nurses, but I’m sure they will choose someone not quite so – so unbending this time.’
And so it proved. The new matron was younger, a plump woman in her forties, with frizzy brown hair forever escaping from her cap and a good deal more sympathy with her staff and charges than Miss O’Dowd had ever shown.
So the next few years passed pleasantly for Patty and Laura. They had both decided on a nursing career, and worked grimly towards that end. Together, they studied hard and often popped in to the hospital to chat with the nurses and listen to their grumbles about life there, and how the senior staff treated them little better than slaves. But the two girls were not to be discouraged. They wanted to nurse the sick and were determined to do so.
Patty, Ellen and their companions made their way to a cluster of chairs which they reserved by putting their handbags on the seats. Patty looked a little doubtful. She would have had no fear of anyone’s stealing her usual handbag since it was an elderly and battered object which she had owned – and treated harshly – for many years. But Mrs Clarke had insisted on lending her an evening bag made of blue-grey velvet, and though it contained little beside a few pennies and a handkerchief, Patty thought it a very desirable object. Ellen, however, assured her that it would be safe as houses left on the chair seat. ‘Everyone bagses their seat with a handbag and there’d be a rare outcry if folk at dances couldn’t trust one another,’ she said airily. ‘Besides, there’s nearly always someone left out when the dancing starts and they’ll give an eye to the handbags while we’re on the floor.’
One of the other nurses gave an admiring whistle. ‘I say, Peel, wherever did you get that dress?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve never seen you here before and I thought you didn’t go to dances, but that dress is just the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Did you buy it specially?’
Patty shook her head ruefully. ‘It isn’t really mine at all. I borrowed it from a friend,’ she explained. ‘You were quite right; I don’t go to dances but my friend is a dressmaker and makes most of her own clothes, so she lent me this.’
The other girl reached forward and ran a hand along the soft silk of Patty’s full skirt. ‘Wish I had a friend who could sew like that,’ she said wistfully. ‘Well, Ellen said we was to come early so we could teach you the steps of the most popular dances, so we’d better get on and do it.’ The music struck up what Ellen told Patty was a waltz, and very soon she began to thoroughly enjoy herself. She had never realised that dancing was so easy – or perhaps it was because Ellen and the other girls were good teachers. At any rate, by the time the hall began to fill up – with young men as well as young women – Patty felt herself quite capable of dancing the waltz and quickstep, though some of the more modern dances, such as the Charleston and the black bottom, had yet to be conquered. When a couple danced an exhibition tango, Patty was really impressed, though she had no desire to follow their example. ‘I’m surprised the poor woman’s backbone is still intact,’ she said to Ellen as they watched the couple, both thin as sticks, circling the floor. ‘If you find that girl lying in a bed on Women’s Surgical tomorrow morning, then she’ll only have herself to blame.’
When Mrs Knight had told her son that she was giving an eye to the kids next door since Patty had gone to the Daulby Hall with a group of nurses, he had shrugged his indifference and turned away, but inwardly he was interested. He had never known Patty to go out anywhere except in the course of her work as a midwife and had often wondered at this. Most girls went to the cinema, the theatre or a dance hall at least a couple of times a month before they were married, but Patty had never once asked his mother to keep an eye on the kids except when she was working. ‘Your tea’s on the table,’ Mrs Knight said presently. ‘It’s boiled bacon and mash, one of your favourites.’
‘Thanks, Mam,’ Darky said, taking his seat at the table. He did not want his mother to think he was interested in Patty – it would give her quite the wrong idea – but he did want to know just why their sober and reclusive neighbour had suddenly decided to go dancing. With his mouthful of potato, he said thickly: ‘What’s special about tonight, Mam? That Peel never goes anywhere, not to my knowledge. Don’t say she’s trapped some poor fellow at last!’
Mrs Knight sat herself down opposite her son and picked up her knife and fork, then paused. ‘The feller what gets young Patty Peel will do awright,’ she said severely. ‘But she ain’t gone with a feller, she’s gone with a group of nurses. Not that you’re interested,’ she added sarcastically.
‘No, I’m not interested,’ Darky said instantly. ‘Only it seems kind o’ strange. Pass the salt, Mam.’
Mrs Knight shoved the tin of Cerebos across the table and snorted. ‘If you think a pretty young gal going to a dance is strange, then it’s you ought to ha’ his head examined. And where’s “please” gone, may I ask? I’ve brought you up to know better than to miss out the magic word, young feller.’
Darky laughed at this and relaxed perceptibly. When he had been a small boy, the mere mention of ‘the magic word’ had brought a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ to his lips and now he grinned at his mother and asked her how she had spent her day. Very soon, Patty and the dance had been forgotten – he hoped – and by the time Mrs Knight had served treacle pudding and custard, harmony had been restored.
At about nine o’clock, Darky took his jacket from the hook on the door and told his mother he was going down to the pub. ‘And mebbe I’ll go down to the Pier Head after that to get a breath of fresh air, because it’s been such a stiflingly hot day,’ he told her. ‘So don’t sit up for me.’
‘As if I ever did,’ Mrs Knight said, laughing. ‘I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air meself, but of course I’ve gorra keep me eye on next door. Still, I reckon I’ll take a chair on to the landing for a while; I can hear Maggie just as well from there if she shouts me.’
‘Right,’ Darky said, swinging open the door. ‘See you at breakfast then, Mam.’
Mrs Knight watched her son striding off down Ashfield Place and smiled grimly to herself. He couldn’t fool her! She knew her son had been interested in young Patty Peel from the first moment he had set eyes on her and she considered it a very good thing. Darky had taken no notice of any woman, save herself, since his young wife had died, so even though he made no secret of the fact that he disliked Patty, his mother thought it a good deal healthier than the sort of indifference with which he had regarded other young women.
She remembered her son as he had been before his marriage: going off to dances, taking girls to the cinema or the theatre, going down to the pub with a crowd of his pals. There had been outings of every description, many of them organised by Levers, and Darky had missed none. He had been popular with everyone, fellers and girls alike, and had seldom spent an evening at home.
All this had changed, of course, after his marriage. Alison was not a gregarious girl but meek and compliant, far too anxious, Mrs Knight considered, to please her new husband. Darky had joined a group doing amateur theatricals, helping the electrician to light the stage and making scenery, but Alison had chosen to stay at home and await Darky’s return.
With Alison’s death, however, all such activities had ceased and now Darky seldom went anywhere, save to work and to the pub, where he rarely drank more than a pint and consequently returned home, after no more than an hour, as sober as he had left. Mrs Knight had no desire to see her son drunk, but she would have enjoyed seeing him more relaxed, easy once more with his fellow men. Old friends had come round to the house when he had first moved back to Ashfield Place but most of them were married by now and even those who were still single failed to persuade Darky to join them. He was always polite; he was grateful for their efforts, but preferred, he said, to remain at home.
But unless I’m much mistaken, me laddo will end up at the Daulby Hall this evening, Mrs Knight told herself, as she dragged her chair on to the landing and sank gratefully into it, fanning her face with the copy of the
Echo
which Darky had brought home, for even out here it was breathlessly hot. I don’t suppose he’ll ask her to dance – or anyone else for that matter – but at least he’ll be in a ballroom amongst young people his own age. And maybe, who knows, he might meet someone who takes his fancy. Or he might even realise he’s misjudged young Patty and begin to act a bit more friendly. A little breeze lifted the hair off Mrs Knight’s hot forehead and she wondered how Patty was enjoying her first dance. She had looked downright beautiful in Mrs Clarke’s lovely dress. Surely, when Darky saw her all dressed up, with that wonderful hair tumbling in loose waves across her shoulders, he would be impressed. Mrs Knight heaved a sigh. She knew her son too well to think he would change his opinion just because of a pretty dress, but she could not help hoping. Now that she was looking after the children for Patty and Ada, it would make life very much simpler if Darky was not antagonistic towards Patty. Darky got on well with Ada Clarke and seemed carelessly fond both of little Christopher and of Merrell. This attitude contrasted so strongly with the way he treated Patty that it made his mother uneasy.
By now, it was growing dark, and Mrs Knight decided she might as well go back indoors and begin to get ready for bed. She would open her bedroom window as wide as it would go and lie on top of the covers, hoping that the heat would dissipate as night drew on. The heat wave had lasted most of the month but surely it would pass soon? This was England, after all, though it might as well have been tropical Africa, she thought as she re-entered the stuffy house.
Presently, in her cool cotton nightdress, she lay down upon her bed, intending to listen for the return of Patty and her son, but the day had been a long and tiring one, and soon she slept.
Darky entered the ballroom in company with a group of young men who had arrived at the same time as he and took up a position in a dark corner of the large room. He spotted Patty almost at once, recognising the gleam of her blonde hair immediately, and was surprised at how different she looked. He had never seen her wearing anything but uniform, with her hair coiled into a bun on the nape of her neck, but now she was in a smoke-blue dress and her hair, pale as moonlight, fell in loose waves well past her shoulders.
The girls she was with were not known to him, but he thought them a pleasant enough crowd. He had no intention of approaching them – in fact he had no idea what his intentions were – but when a chair became vacant near him he sat down, deciding that, since he had paid for admittance, he might as well at least take a look at the talent on offer.
He was still watching the girls when the orchestra struck up a waltz and the young men began to move across the dance floor to where the girls were sitting. A fair young man in a shiny blue suit looked as though he were heading for the nurses and Darky stiffened, but when he reached them the fair-haired one paired off with a little redhead and Darky relaxed once more. It was not that he cared whether Patty danced or not, he told himself virtuously, but he did not like to think of some innocent young man getting involved with her before he knew of her circumstances. Why those circumstances should prevent her from dancing, Darky could not have said. His whole attitude towards Patty was confused and irrational, but his disapproval was so strong that it coloured everything. Even his mother’s championship of the girl annoyed him. He wanted nothing to do with Patty, was not interested in her, did not care what she did, or with whom … yet he seldom took his eyes off her.
Presently, his fears were realised. A tall, dark-haired young man approached the group, singling Patty out. He bent towards her, clearly asking her to dance, and led her on to the floor. Propelled by he knew not what instinct, Darky promptly jumped to his feet, crossed the floor and found himself standing in front of a very young girl in a very bright pink dress. She had thin, frizzy hair and her eyes, when she glanced up at him, stared fixedly at each other, but Darky had already blurted out: ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, miss?’ before he realised that the last thing he wanted to do was take to the floor with a partner so young and so extremely plain.
However, the deed was done. The young girl got to her feet and proved to be almost as tall as he, which was an advantage since, what with her height and breadth, she almost hid Darky from view. She was clearly delighted to be asked to dance and said breathily, as soon as they were on the floor, ‘Thanks ever so much, mister! I been sittin’ there wi’out anyone so much as glancin’ at me for half an hour an’ it’s bleedin’ borin’ when everyone else is havin’ a good time. Me name’s Annie Halligan; what’s yours?’
Darky quashed a craven desire to tell her he was Charlie Chaplin. How his pals would jeer if they could see him now! But he was not a cruel person and knew that the girl could not be more than fifteen, if that, so he said, ‘I’m Derek Knight. How do you do, Miss Halligan?’
‘I’m doin’ fine
now
,’ the girl said. Darky felt that this was a very inaccurate remark since Miss Halligan had trodden on his toes twice and was clutching his hand so tightly that he was sure sweat was pouring off their palms on to the floor. ‘I say, mister, ain’t it hot? My old feller – that’s me dad – was in India before he married me mam and he says it’s as hot here as it were there. You ever bin in the army, mister?’
Oh, God; plain, sweaty, and now chatty as well, Darky thought mournfully, guiding his large partner round in a circle so that they might follow Patty and the dark young man at a safe distance. However, as Miss Halligan got over her awkwardness, she began to relax a little and proved to be quite a good dancer. Darky did not go in for the twiddly bits but he and Alison had attended dancing classes for a year before they married, so he was reasonably competent and managed to keep Patty in sight without making his partner suspicious.
Having taken Miss Halligan back to her seat when the waltz ended, Darky had not intended to dance again, but Miss Halligan’s small crossed eyes were pleading when he thanked her for the dance. ‘You’ll axe me again, won’t you, chuck?’ she said baldly, before he could escape. ‘It’s been grand, having someone to dance with. I were beginning to wish I’d not come because me cousin, her what brought me, went off wi’ some of her pals to sit at t’other end of the room, and when I tried to folley her she telled me to clear orf and not meddle wi’ me betters. She di’n’t want to bring me at all,’ she added dolefully, ‘but I’m stayin’ wi’ me auntie and she made her. Auntie’s gone orf to visit another sister and di’n’t want me along,’ she finished.