In the Shadow of the Lamp (5 page)

The train’s whistle woke me. My back and neck ached. I wiped a little drool from the corners of my mouth and stretched, straightening my clothes. At least I was dry. And no one made off with my valise—which had nothing valuable in it anyway, but I’d seem even odder aboard a packet with no luggage.

I hurried to the station, arriving just in time to see the London train come steaming in, great puffs billowing from the smokestack in the front. The whistle blew again and again so loud I had to cover my ears.

As soon as the train screeched to a stop everyone flew into a tizzy. Porters and vendors bumped into me, all crowding up at once to help passengers with their luggage or sell them cockles and tea if they were continuing on to France. I wished I could make myself invisible in the crowd so I could watch for the group of women to get off the train. I assumed it would be a large number and easy to see. The newspaper said a hundred would go.

The first-class compartment emptied. Only eight people got out, dressed very fine and one lady carrying a small dog with a squashed-in face. At the same time, all manner of men and women tumbled out of the third-class carriages, some smoking pipes or carrying bundles tied up with paper and string on their shoulders. Still no one who looked anything like a nurse, and no Mrs. Bracebridge.

It was beginning to look like I would have to walk all the way back to London because I didn’t have enough for a coach when a second-class carriage door opened, and I recognized the gentleman who’d been introduced to me as Mr. Bracebridge getting down. He cast his eyes up and down the platform as if he was expecting someone. I turned away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me, but kept sight of the carriage door out of the corner of my eye.

Soon they streamed out, one by one. There were two different sorts. One had uniforms, or something like them, like the nuns we sometimes saw in the poor neighborhoods bringing food. The others were dressed in ordinary street clothes. I counted them. Twenty-eight, not a hundred. Was one of them Miss Nightingale? Then Mrs. Bracebridge stepped down from the train, and by the way they all queued up behind to follow her, it didn’t seem like any could be the lady herself. Perhaps she was one of the others I’d seen get down from the first-class compartment.

I stuck close to the nurses but out of sight, my only hope being I could somehow blend in with the lot and sneak aboard as if I was part of the group.

They all stopped at an inn, most likely for a bite to eat. Lucky for me, they didn’t stay long. In twos and threes they came out after a bit and gathered on the cobbled street where other people also stood round in groups. I kept my distance but followed them again to the docks.

Passengers already had their tickets out and were filing aboard the packet up the gangplank, all looking like they were on holiday. A man in a uniform, I guessed he was the purser, scowled at each ticket. He stopped people and looked carefully at their papers. My heart dropped like a stale roll to my stomach. How would I pass? There was no hope I’d get by unnoticed. After all this trouble, it looked as if I’d get no farther than Folkestone, and with not enough left over to make my way back to London either. I watched the nurses get their tickets out, ready to take their turn, wishing so I was one of them. I clenched my jaw to stop the tears I feared might start any moment.

Just as I was about to give up hope, a fat man wearing a sash like he was the mayor or something came bustling up to Mrs. Bracebridge with a handful of police officers scurrying behind to keep up. At first I thought the whole crowd of nurses would be arrested.

“Are you Mrs. Nightingale?” he asked Mrs. Bracebridge in a booming voice.

“No, I am afraid
Miss
Nightingale has gone ahead from Dover.”

The broad smile on the man’s face faded and he started to bow and turn away.

“But these are her nurses, whom I am to accompany to Turkey,” Mrs. Bracebridge added, touching his arm to stop him. His smile full of teeth returned and he kissed Mrs. Bracebridge’s hand.

By this time a small band had formed. A cornet, a clarinet, and an accordion. At a signal from the mayor—or whatever he was—they struck up “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Everyone watched the nurses. Even the sailors and dock workers stopped what they were doing and swayed a little to the music.

My blood of a sudden rushed into my fingers and toes. Here was my chance! Before I lost my nerve, I slipped up the gangplank, all the while sure the whole crowd would see me and I’d be stopped and thrown in gaol. But I made it to the deck. Then, instead of hiding like I would have done when I was younger, I sauntered past the other passengers like I belonged there, forcing myself to move slowly. I even leaned on the rail looking down at the fuss on the dock. I had to be calm, but my heart thumped. I gripped the rail so no one would see how my hands shook.

The mayor made a short speech—time was getting on and the boat had to sail—and then all the nurses and the Bracebridges climbed aboard.

What next? I had got on the packet, but the hardest part was still ahead of me. How would I convince Mrs. Bracebridge to let me go along with them as if it was always the plan?

As soon as we were far enough away from the shore, and the wind picked up and the waves began to rock us, I looked for her, hoping she’d not gone below with so many of the others to escape the bitter cold.

I found Mrs. Bracebridge sitting toward the stern in a sheltered place, her eyes closed. She looked very tired. I felt bad that I was going to trouble her but I had no choice, now I’d got this far. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bracebridge.” I hoped my voice didn’t quake too much.

She looked up, startled. She shaded her eyes from the sun and narrowed them before talking. “Do I know you?”

“We met at Mrs. Stanley’s house. My name is Molly Fraser.”

“Molly Fraser … yes, I remember. You weren’t qualified. How do you come to be on this boat?”

“The truth is, I was waiting for you, ma’am. See, I don’t half want to be a nurse and go with your lot to Turkey.” Now that I’d got it out, everything was in her hands. She had a kind face. I kept my eyes fixed on her, hoping she’d see how desperate I was and how much I meant what I said.

The frown on her brow creased deeper. “But I explained to you that Miss Nightingale requested only trained, mature nurses.”

I’d practiced what I was going to say to her over and over to myself, but now that it came out it all sounded hollow and flat. “I learn things fast. I know I can prove myself. I know about healing. Please just give me a chance.” I talked too fast. My lips felt like India rubber.

“It’s not my decision to make,” she said.

“But Miss Nightingale trusted you to choose the other nurses, didn’t she?”

She let out a short laugh. “Yes, but if I bring her an inexperienced girl, what will she think then?”

“If you don’t tell her, she won’t know. I’m here now and I went to a great deal of trouble to get here. Won’t you please just let me try?” I was afraid I might cry if I went on. I was so tired after my night on the docks and all the planning and hoping of the last few weeks.

She sat silent for a moment, looking out over the water. I could almost hear her tossing the idea back and forth in her mind. What would she decide?

“Do you realize that you have taken a terrible risk? I could have you arrested by the purser as a stowaway—unless you have a ticket? Not to mention that you need a passport once we arrive in France.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t have neither one of them.”

She was silent again. She put two fingers to her forehead and rubbed it a little, like it would help her think. At last she folded her hands in her lap. She looked steadily at me. “All right, Molly. I won’t turn you over to the authorities. But this deception does not add to your scanty recommendations. You will have to prove yourself or you will be sent home. We shall have to see to the passport in Paris. But it will be up to Miss Nightingale whether you may continue with us to Turkey. And you must obey me and Miss Nightingale in everything. This is not a pleasure trip. I doubt you can truly know what you are signing up for. Not a wisp of that beautiful hair must show beneath your cap. If you so much as look at a wounded soldier with those big gray eyes, I’ll send you packing even if Miss Nightingale doesn’t notice. And if she agrees to keep you, you mustn’t expect the same wages the trained nurses will receive.”

She meant to discourage me. But I was so happy I could’ve thrown my arms around her. I didn’t though. I didn’t want to do anything that might make her doubt me. Instead I tried to keep a straight face and control the trembling that I thought might overpower me at any time. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.” I put out my hand to shake hers. She took it and smiled.

C
hapter 7

I don’t know what Mrs. Bracebridge said to the others, but they accepted me quickly enough. Most of them were older, well past the age of marrying. Except one.

“My name’s Emma. Emma Bigelow. I’m not half glad to see someone who isn’t a sour old puss or spends her time on her knees praying.”

Emma was pretty—or she would’ve been if there wasn’t a scar across her upper lip, a white line that cut from the outside of her nose to the corner of her mouth, which kept her from smiling on that side. But she had big eyes that were a nice, golden brown color and went with her light brown hair. Almost the color Mavis’s was, only with threads of blond in it.

“I’m Molly Fraser,” I said, leaving it up to her if she wanted to keep talking.

“Still, you’re young to be a nurse. Where was you nursing?”

I wished I didn’t have to answer her, because it’d be a lie. I made like I just wanted to stroll along a little, leading us away from the other nurses.

“I’ve only done a little nursing,” I said quietly.

“Oh! Well, then …” A spark of interest lit up her eyes. “I can tell you some about nursing in an hospital. It’s easy, but you got to have a strong stomach.” She looped her arm through mine and nattered on in my ear all the way across the channel.

When we got on the train to Paris in Boulogne, she sat next to me like we were old friends. She kept telling me stories about assisting with operations in the hospital she worked in up north, she didn’t say exactly where.

“There was this doctor, see, he was too drunk to stitch up the poor old fella, so I took the needle myself and did it. And it was a neater job than ever he would’ve done, you can be sure!”

Something told me I should take everything Emma said to me with a pinch of salt. I noticed she told her stories when the others weren’t listening, when they were belowdecks on the packet or asleep in their seats on the train. And her London accent was as thick as mine, so she couldn’t have been in the north for long. I didn’t question her close, though. I had my own secrets to keep, so I figured it wouldn’t do much harm to let her have hers.

We didn’t clap eyes on Miss Nightingale until we arrived in Paris. We were to stay one day there, in a convent on an island in the middle of the Seine—a river not half as big as the Thames, not even deep enough for ships, so everything had to come in by barge. And it was green and stinking too.

There were ten nurses already there, Catholic nuns, Mrs. Bracebridge said, who would go on to Turkey with us. Their leader was called Mother Bermondsey.

“Let’s bunk next to each other,” Emma said, putting her arm through mine as if we’d been friends for ever such a long time.

“Put your bags down and come into the chapel,” Mrs. Bracebridge said to all of us. “Miss Nightingale would like to speak to you.”

I should’ve been shaking in my shoes about meeting Miss Nightingale, but by then I was so curious to see this famous lady that I put on my bravest face and decided to take whatever was coming. I didn’t have a choice, after all. I hoped Mrs. Bracebridge wouldn’t say anything about how I came to be among them. Still, I stayed near the back, which wasn’t hard with all the others trying to get as near as possible to Miss Nightingale, probably to impress her or make her notice them at least.

You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when she came in. She was beautiful. And young. And tall! Taller than I was by an inch or two at least. Unlike the other nurses, she didn’t wear a plain dress but had on silk and full petticoats, with ruffles and lace. I guessed she was a proper lady. She looked nothing like someone who was about to be up to her elbows in blood and stench. The only difference betwixt her and any other rich lady was her hair: it was simpler, just pulled back with no curls or loops of braids.

“She could’ve married, they say,” Emma whispered, giving me a little pinch.

“Why didn’t she?” I asked. But Miss Nightingale began to speak, so we all quieted down.

“Nurses and sisters, I thank you for undertaking this hazardous task, for leaving the comfort of your homes or convents in England to become a part of this noble group, who will do much to enhance the comfort of our sick and wounded soldiers.

“But we must all tread very, very carefully. Mrs. Bracebridge will give each of you a paper to sign with strict rules of conduct. I am glad to see that most of you are of a steady age and disposition. However …”

I could’ve sworn she looked directly at me and Emma. I tried to shrink back into myself, make myself invisible.

“… I will not tolerate any flirtation or inappropriate behavior around the men, who will be frightened and lonely and much in need of comfort.”