The Nightingale Sisters (9 page)

‘He’ll find out soon enough, surely?’

Jennie shook her head. ‘Not if I get back smartish. He works two till ten at the docks. He won’t know anything about it if I’m back before he gets home—’

She started to try and struggle upright, but Dora pinned her firmly back against the pillows by her shoulders. ‘Sorry, ducks, but you’re not going anywhere. The doctor will want you to stay in here for a couple of weeks.’

‘A couple of weeks?’ Jennie’s green eyes filled with panic. ‘But you don’t understand, I can’t stay here that long. My dad will kill me—’

‘You’ll kill yourself if you start getting upset. At least let me check you over.’ Dora took the thermometer from its stand beside the bed, shook it and placed it in Jennie’s mouth. ‘You’ve had an operation, and the doctor needs to make sure you’re well before you even think about leaving here.’

She took the thermometer out of the girl’s mouth, checked it and noted the temperature on the chart. Then she took her pulse and checked her dressing. ‘That seems all right,’ she smiled. ‘And you look as if you’re getting some colour back into your cheeks, which is good. Now do me a favour and try to get some rest.’

‘But I need to go home,’ Jennie whimpered. ‘My dad—’

‘I’m sure he would rather you stayed here and got well.’

Jennie turned fear-filled eyes to meet hers. ‘You don’t know my dad,’ she said.

Once she’d persuaded Jennie to go back to sleep, and finished making notes on her chart card. Dora went out to report to Sister Wren. But she was more concerned about the half-dozen eggs that had gone missing from the kitchen larder than she was about her newest patient.

‘They were here yesterday morning, I know they were,’ she insisted. ‘Someone must have taken them.’

Her gaze raked the nurses assembled around her desk, settling finally on Dora. ‘They belonged to a patient,’ she said. ‘Whoever has taken them is a thief. And I will be keeping a careful eye on you all until I find out who has been stealing.’

‘Why on earth does she think we’d want to steal her wretched eggs?’ another student, Katie O’Hara, whispered to Dora as they collected their work lists. ‘It’s not as if we can cook in the nurses’ home, is it? If you ask me, it’s more likely to be the night staff who took them, and left us to take the blame.’ She consulted her work list. ‘I’m doing beds, how about you?’

‘Laundry, just for a change.’ Dora looked down her list and sighed.

The morning was spent collecting and counting the soiled linen and entering the details in the laundry book, then packing it up in baskets to be sent off. Ennis brought in a couple of stained drawsheets, which Dora had to soak in cold water.

She worked as quickly and efficiently as she could, but even then Sister Wren wasn’t satisfied. ‘I hope you’re not going to put those damp sheets in with the rest of the laundry?’ She stood in the doorway to the sluice, watching Dora. ‘You’ll have the whole lot ruined with mildew.’

‘No, Sister.’

‘And when you’ve finished, clean the mackintoshes. And see you dry them properly, too. I don’t want to see them folded up and shoved in a drawer while they’re still damp.’

‘No, Sister.’ Dora gritted her teeth.

Fortunately she was saved from further nagging by Staff Nurse Cuthbert.

‘There’s a man in Emergency looking for his sister,’ she said. ‘Apparently she’s gone missing.’

‘And why are you telling me this?’ Sister Wren demanded.

‘They seem to think it might be the patient who was admitted during the night? Although we don’t know her name . . .’

‘Jennie,’ Dora put in. ‘It’s Jennie Armstrong.’

Sister Wren turned slowly to face her, her eyebrows rising. ‘I’m sorry, Doyle? Did anyone ask you to join in this conversation?’

‘That’s her! That’s the girl he was looking for,’ Staff Nurse Cuthbert said excitedly. ‘I’ll go and tell them, shall I?’

‘You certainly will not,’ Sister Wren retorted. ‘I shall go down and speak to this person myself. When I am ready.’

‘But, Sister, the poor man has been scouring the streets for her. He’s exhausted—’

‘And I shall go and talk to him in a moment,’ Sister Wren interrupted her. ‘Goodness gracious, Cuthbert, I have a ward to run. I can’t just drop everything and rush off willy-nilly, can I? Now, have you had any luck finding those missing eggs?’

Dora caught the flash of resentment in Staff Nurse Cuthbert’s eyes, and realised they were thinking exactly the same thing. Sister Wren had no trouble dropping everything when Mr Cooper called in, or when she wanted to put her feet up and read
Peg’s Paper
.

When she’d finished putting the mackintoshes on to rollers to dry, Dora went to Jennie Armstrong’s room to check on her. She was still sleeping peacefully. It almost seemed a shame to wake her, but she needed to take her pulse and inspect her dressing.

Dora straightened the bedclothes and was tucking a towel around Jennie’s neck in case of vomiting when Dr Tremayne came in.

He was as tall and good-looking as his sister, Dora’s room mate Helen. But while she exuded an air of unruffled calm, William Tremayne was endearingly scruffy, with a lanky build and flopping dark hair. But he was still a senior houseman, and far out of Dora’s orbit. She froze, not sure whether to speak to him or not.

Dr Tremayne smiled at her. ‘How’s our mystery patient?’ he asked.

‘She came round just after eight o’clock Doctor. And her name’s Jennie Armstrong,’ Dora added.

‘Jennie Armstrong, eh?’

Dora watched him scanning the chart at the end of Jennie’s bed. ‘The patient was very anxious to go home, Doctor,’ she ventured.

‘She won’t be going anywhere for a while yet.’ He hung the chart back in its place. ‘Any vomiting?’

‘Only when she first came round.’

‘Have you checked her dressing?’

‘I was just about to check it again.’

‘And her colour was good? She was talking?’ Dora nodded. ‘That’s a relief. I really thought we were going to lose her.’ He stood over her. ‘Well, Miss Armstrong, you’ve had a very lucky escape, I reckon.’ He ran his hand through his dark hair. ‘Poor kid. It’s a hellish business. She left it so late, too. She must have been a good few months pregnant, by my reckoning. It must have been agony for her.’ His face was bleak. ‘Whoever did this to her must have known what was going to happen. I bet they couldn’t wait to get rid of her, in case she died there and then.’

Dora hesitated, her eyes darting towards the door. If Sister Wren came in and saw her talking to a doctor . . .

‘I’d like to string these women up for what they do to young girls,’ he said suddenly. ‘Burning their insides with carbolic and mutilating them so they develop septicaemia. It’s barbaric . . .’ He saw Dora’s look of dismay and stopped. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to go on. But when you’ve stitched up as many of these girls as I have, you start to hate the women who do this to them. And make a good living from it, too.’

‘They don’t all do it for the money,’ Dora said without thinking. ‘Sometimes it’s a friend or relative, doing it to help out.’

‘Help out?’ Dr Tremayne’s mouth curled. ‘You call this helping out?’

‘It’s better than the shame of having a baby and no husband.’ Dora knew she was talking out of turn, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘I bet that’s what drove this one to it. She’s terrified of her dad finding out what’s happened. I expect she’s worried he’ll beat her black and blue, or kick her out on to the streets.’

‘Are you trying to tell me this girl is more afraid of her father than she is of dying?’

Dora looked at him steadily. ‘You don’t know what it’s like where I come from.’

‘Perhaps I don’t,’ Dr Tremayne agreed. He paused for a moment, considering. Then he said, ‘I’d like you to keep an eye on her. Regular TPRs, make sure she’s eating and drinking, and let me know if there are any symptoms you think I should know about.’

‘I’ll fetch Sister—’ Dora started for the door, but Dr Tremayne stopped her.

‘No, I’d like you to do it.’

‘But I’m just a student.’

‘You have compassion,’ he said. ‘Our Miss Armstrong is going to need that as much as good nursing.’ He smiled at her. ‘My sister told me you were a good nurse, Doyle. Between us, you and I are going to pull this young lady through.’

Dora was still feeling quietly proud of herself when she went down for her dinner break. Even when Sister Wren accused her of being slapdash with the laundry it couldn’t take away the glow of pride she felt after Dr Tremayne’s praise.

But as she crossed the courtyard towards the dining room, something was troubling her.

Sister Wren had forgotten all about Jennie’s brother. She was still preoccupied with searching for her missing eggs. Either that or she simply couldn’t be bothered.

It’s none of your business, Dora told herself firmly, hurrying her steps across the courtyard. These things should be left to Sister. You’ll only get into trouble if you start sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.

But then she remembered what Dr Tremayne had said about her having compassion. Surely Jennie’s brother deserved a little compassion too?

She had almost reached the safety of the dining room when her conscience got the better of her and she found herself doing an about turn towards the main building.

She spotted him straight away, standing at the desk in the Emergency department.

‘Please, Nurse, I’ve been here for hours,’ she heard him saying. ‘Surely someone must know if my sister’s here? I’ve looked everywhere else.’

‘I’ve told you, Mr Armstrong, someone will be here to talk to you shortly. In the meantime, please take a seat.’

‘But that patient, the one you said they brought in during the night . . . That could be her, couldn’t it? For God’s sake, all you have to do is tell me!’

‘It is her,’ Dora blurted out.

They both turned to look at her. She saw the nurse roll her eyes with exasperation. ‘At last!’ she mouthed, and went back to her paperwork.

The young man stepped forward. He had fair hair like his sister and the same amber flecks in his green eyes. But he was as tall and muscular as Jennie Armstrong was slight and delicate.

‘Jennie’s here?’ he said. ‘Please, Miss, is she all right? Has she had an accident?’

Dora bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but the poor man looked so sick with worry she couldn’t leave him in such a state.

‘Your sister is doing well,’ she replied, choosing her words carefully. ‘She’s had to have an operation, but she is receiving excellent treatment so we expect her to make a full recovery.’

She parroted the words she had heard Sister use when talking to patients’ relatives. But Mr Armstrong wasn’t satisfied.

‘An operation? I don’t understand. What kind of an operation? What’s wrong with her?’

Dora stared down at her shoes. ‘Jennie has had a hysterectomy,’ she revealed reluctantly.

‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

Dora was suddenly acutely aware that she shouldn’t be having this conversation. There was a reason why this was best left to senior nurses. But now she’d blundered right in and it was too late to change her mind.

‘Perhaps it’s best you talk to Sister—’

‘I’m asking you.’

‘It’s really not for me to say—’ she began, but the young man cut her off.

‘Tell me, Nurse, or so help me, I’ll tear this place down brick by brick!’ He closed his eyes briefly, and Dora could see he was forcing himself to calm down. ‘She’s my little sister,’ he said, his voice shaking with the effort of controlling himself. ‘I was out working all night, and when I came home there was blood everywhere and she was gone. For Christ’s sake, nothing you tell me can be as bad as what’s been going through my head!’

He looked so desperate, Dora couldn’t help herself. ‘It was – a miscarriage,’ she said.

The blood drained from his face. ‘A miscarriage?’ He shook his head. ‘No, that can’t be right. There must be a mistake. Our Jennie wasn’t pregnant. For God’s sake, she’s never even had a boyfriend.’

He ran his hand through his blond hair. He looked so pole-axed by the news, Dora’s heart went out to him.

‘You really should talk to Sister,’ she said, an edge of desperation in her voice. ‘If you stay here, I’m sure someone will be down soon.’

She turned and hurried away before he could ask any more. She was painfully aware she’d already said too much.

At the door she allowed herself a quick, guilty look back at him over her shoulder. He was still standing there, staring into space, trying to take in what she’d told him.

Poor man, she thought. Why had she interfered and made matters worse? Sister or a doctor would have taken him to one side, explained everything gently and in a way he could understand. They certainly wouldn’t have blurted out the bad news in the middle of a busy emergency department and then abandoned him.

She’d thought she might spare him pain, but instead she’d blundered in and made him feel even worse.

A PORTRAIT OF
Charlotte, Countess of Rettingham, dominated the great hall of Billinghurst. She smiled down serenely, captured for ever in her youthful beauty, her gown draped off her shoulders, blonde hair upswept to show off her fine features and swan-like neck.

It was the closest Millie had ever got to her mother; Charlotte Rettingham had died of puerperal fever two days after her daughter was born.

‘Do you think I look like her?’ Millie asked.

‘You have her blue eyes,’ Seb replied.

She grinned. ‘How tactful! What you really mean is I’m not remotely beautiful or graceful.’

‘What I really mean is, you’re utterly enchanting and I adore you.’ Sebastian put his arm around her waist and kissed her neck tenderly. ‘Even if you aren’t remotely beautiful or graceful,’ he murmured against her skin.

Millie pushed him away, her eyes still fixed on her mother’s portrait. ‘I wonder if she’d be proud of me, becoming a nurse?’ she mused.

‘Why wouldn’t she be proud? We’re all proud of you, Mil. Apart from your grandmother, of course, who thinks you’re an utter disgrace.’

‘Don’t!’ The dowager countess had done nothing but criticise Millie since they’d arrived the day before. Millie had been given a few days’ holiday, and they were spending some time at Billinghurst before going on to a weekend house party at Seb’s family home.