Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (18 page)

Before Grace could reply, Alice Freeman burst into tears beside her.

‘Why, Nurse Freeman, whatever is the matter?' Miss Wallace asked.

Alice looked up at her with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. ‘Oh Sister, my mother telephoned this morning. My father's in hospital.'

‘Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that. Is it very serious?' Miss Wallace asked.

Alice nodded, fishing for a tissue in her pocket. ‘It's his heart. The doctors have told my mother they don't know if he'll recover, or …'

‘Then you must go to him at once,' Miss Wallace said, interrupting her. ‘Go and see Matron, and tell her you need to leave immediately.'

‘I – I did, Sister. She … she said I had to stay and work a week's notice.'

Miss Wallace's eyes narrowed to dark slits. Grace didn't think she'd ever seen her so angry.

‘Nurse Freeman, may I remind you that you are a Nightingale girl, and as such you are under Miss Fox's control, not Miss Jenkins's.' Sister's voice shook as she spoke. ‘I will telephone Miss Fox immediately and inform her what's happened.' She patted Alice's arm. ‘Don't worry, my dear. You will be able to go back to London and see your father.'

Alice was still subdued, but a bit more cheerful as they went about their morning's work. At noon, it was time for Christmas dinner. All the men were excited as the turkey was brought on to the ward and set down in the middle of the table with great ceremony.

All except Tommo. ‘Is that it?' he mocked. ‘I've seen bigger pigeons in Trafalgar Square!'

He jeered at Dr Pearson when he came to carve the bird, too. ‘Blimey, look at him, hacking about with that knife!' he whispered, loud enough for the whole table to hear. ‘And he calls himself a surgeon!'

No one laughed. ‘If it wasn't for Dr Pearson, half the blokes on this ward wouldn't be here, so shut your trap!' someone growled at him.

When the rest of the men were tucking into their Christmas dinner, Miss Wallace gave Grace a plate of food to take to Alan Jones.

‘He probably won't manage all of it, but see what you can do,' she said. ‘And if he wants a drink, make sure you measure it carefully and mark off the amount on his chart. It's very important he doesn't have more than twenty fluid ounces in a twenty-four-hour period, otherwise it could be very harmful to him.'

Grace took her position at Mr Jones's bedside. But as Miss Wallace had predicted, he didn't want to eat. He ignored her attempts, even though she cut the turkey and vegetables into the tiniest pieces. No matter how hard Grace tried to coax him, he wouldn't take a single mouthful.

She sat back in her seat, the fork still in her hand, and stared at him in despair. ‘Oh, Mr Jones. What am I going to do with you?' she sighed.

‘Can I have a go?'

She looked around. There was Tommo, watching them as usual.

‘You?' Grace frowned.

‘I dunno, he might take it better from me than from you.' He shrugged diffidently. ‘Us both being soldiers, and that.'

Grace hesitated, then said, ‘I'll ask Sister.'

Miss Wallace was surprised, but she said, ‘I don't see why not. Anything's worth a try, I suppose.'

Tommo pulled up a chair and Grace handed him the tray and showed him what to do.

He brushed her off irritably. ‘It's all right,' he said. ‘I know I'm from Bermondsey but I have used a fork before.'

‘Suit yourself.' Grace walked away and left him to it. But she stayed close by, plumping up pillows and straightening bedclothes, so she could check what was going on.

‘Go on, mate,' she heard Tommo urging softly. ‘Get it down you. You heard what the nurse said – the sooner we get better, the sooner we can get out of here.'

Alan rolled his single good eye to look at Tommo. Then, to Grace's astonishment, his lips parted a fraction, just enough for Tommo to put the fork in.

Tommo grinned. ‘That's it, mate. You've got the idea. Let's try another one, shall we?'

‘Will you look at that?' Sergeant Jefferson said. ‘Now there's a Christmas miracle if ever I saw one.'

‘Isn't it?' Grace stared at the unlikely pair. Miss Wallace came up behind her.

‘It looks as if our Mr Thompson might have found one friend at least,' she observed.

After Christmas dinner had been cleared up and the dishes washed and tidied away, Miss Wallace sent Grace home.

‘Good gracious, you're already late as it is,' she said. ‘You should have reminded me of the time.'

‘That's all right, Sister,' Grace said. ‘Besides, I don't like to leave while there's work to be done.'

‘Then you'll never leave this place!' Miss Wallace smiled wryly.

It wasn't that bad, Grace reflected as she hurried home. Cleaning a ward and looking after the patients wasn't nearly as hard work as cleaning out grates, setting fires and hauling buckets of coal up endless flights of stairs. And she enjoyed her work, too. At Billinghurst Manor she wasn't supposed to be seen by the family, let alone speak to them. She'd had to sneak around the house, using the back stairs and hidden doorways and praying that she wouldn't accidentally come face to face with anyone. Lady Amelia had always been kind and polite, but the Dowager Countess treated her as if she was part of the furniture, no more human than the coal scuttle.

But at the hospital Grace could chat and be friendly, and she felt appreciated.

Even though it was only mid-afternoon, dirty grey clouds were gathering ominously overhead, heavy with the promise of snow. The wind had a bite to it, and Grace wound her new knitted scarf tightly around her neck to keep it out.

At least she was going home to a nice warm home, and her Christmas dinner cooked for her. And what a Christmas dinner it would be! She had spent every spare moment she had queuing at the grocer's and carefully hoarding whatever food she could find. Yesterday she had managed to buy a goose from Mr Sulley. It had cost every penny of her savings, and she didn't dare ask the old man where it had come from. But it meant she wouldn't have to kill one of the chickens. Grace hadn't been looking forward to the prospect.

And Daisy had the day off, so Grace had given her strict instructions to put the bird in the oven that morning, so that it would be ready for when she got home. All she would have to do was prepare the vegetables and cook the potatoes, and …

‘Sorry I'm late,' she called out as she let herself in through the back door. ‘I hope you've put that goose in the oven, Daisy?'

She sniffed the air. There was no delicious smell of roast bird. Still in her coat, she bent down and opened the oven door. It was empty.

‘Daisy Maynard!' Grace thrust aside the curtain that led to the kitchen. ‘I thought I asked you to—'

She stopped dead. They had a visitor.

‘THIS IS MAX,'
Daisy said.

He had been sitting at the table, playing cards with Walter and Ann. But he rose to his feet instantly and came to greet Grace. He was so tall, his fair head almost touched the low-beamed ceiling.

‘Max McLennan. How do you do, ma'am?' he greeted her in a deep Canadian accent, extending his hand. ‘Thank you for inviting me to your home.'

Grace looked sharply at Daisy. She stood there, wearing her best butter-wouldn't-melt expression. ‘I'm sorry, Mr McLennan, but I wasn't aware I had invited you,' she said.

She would never have said it if she hadn't been so tired. But she'd been working hard all morning, and she wasn't in the mood for her sister's nonsense. Especially as Daisy hadn't even laid the table or put the dinner in the oven.

Max's smile faltered. ‘I don't understand … I thought it was all arranged?' He glanced at Daisy, who in turn looked back at Grace.

‘I thought I'd told you?' she said. Faint colour crept up her throat. Daisy always blushed when she was lying.

‘Perhaps it's best if I go?' Max broke the tense silence.

‘No!' Daisy protested. ‘You mustn't go. Tell him, Grace. Tell him it's all right if he stays?'

‘If it's not convenient …'

‘It is! Tell him, Gracie!'

Grace looked from her sister's pleading face to Max's crestfallen expression. Poor man, it wasn't his fault her sister was so thoughtless.

‘Of course,' she said, forcing a smile. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound ungracious. You just caught me unawares, that's all.' She glared at her sister.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Honestly, I'd like you to stay. Besides, I don't think Walter would forgive me if I turned a real-life airman out of the house!' She ruffled her brother's hair affectionately. ‘Anyway, I'd better get that goose in the oven or none of us will be eating until Boxing Day!'

She went into the back yard, and Daisy followed. ‘Don't be cross, Grace,' she pleaded.

‘Do you blame me? How could you invite a stranger and not tell me?'

‘I was going to ask you, but I thought you might say no.'

‘So you thought you'd just bring him anyway?' Grace stared at her sister, dumbfounded by her logic. ‘What if we didn't have enough food to go round? There is a war on, you know!'

‘But you always have enough for visitors! Besides, he's brought his own rations,' Daisy said. ‘And he's brought some chocolate, and a tin of ham.'

‘Even so, you should have warned me, instead of embarrassing us all,' Grace said, heading for the shed. ‘The poor man didn't know where to put himself, and neither did I. And why didn't you put the bird in the oven, as I asked?'

‘I forgot.'

‘Too busy making eyes at your boyfriend, I suppose? Honestly, it's going to take hours to cook it. We'll be lucky if—' Grace went to lift the latch on the shed door and realised it was already undone. ‘Who's left this open?'

‘Not me,' Daisy said. ‘Walter was the last one in there, I think.'

‘I thought I said to keep it—'

As she opened the door, there was a loud crash from inside and a streak of red flashed past her.

Daisy screamed, and the chickens started squawking in their coop. A second later Max and Walter came running out of the house, with Ann on their heels.

‘What is it?' Max said, as Daisy launched herself into his arms. ‘What's happened?'

‘I'll tell you what's happened!' Grace emerged from the shed with the savaged remains of their goose in her hands. ‘A bloody fox has had our Christmas dinner!'

‘Oh, Max, it was horrible!' Daisy buried her face in his broad chest.

‘How did it get in there, that's what I want to know?' Grace glared at Walter.

He shuffled his feet. ‘I only went in to get my bike. I'm sorry, Grace.'

She sighed. ‘It's a bit late for that, now.'

She looked down at the shredded carcass in her hands. It was such a beautiful bird too, so plump and rounded. They could have feasted on it for days.

‘Can't we cook what's left?' Walter asked hopefully.

Daisy lifted her face from Max's chest. ‘Ugh, no! I'm not eating a fox's leftovers, thank you very much!'

‘She's right,' Grace sighed. ‘All we can do now is give it a decent burial.'

Anger and disappointment welled up inside her, and suddenly all she wanted to do was cry. She caught Max's gaze over her sister's head. His face was straight, but there was a glint of mirth in his blue eyes.

‘It's not funny,' she muttered. But as Grace said it, she felt her lips begin to twitch. She looked down at the remains of the goose and laughter bubbled out of her.

Max started laughing too, as did Walter and Ann. Soon they were all roaring.

All except Daisy, who looked blankly from one to the other. ‘Well, I don't see what's so funny,' she retorted. ‘A fox has had our Christmas dinner, and all you can do is laugh!' She turned to Grace. ‘You'll have to kill one of the chickens,' she declared.

Grace sobered instantly. ‘I can't.'

‘Why not? That's what we were going to do before we got the goose, isn't it?'

‘I know, but …' She looked towards the coop. ‘I don't think I'd have the heart,' she said.

‘I'll do it, if you want?' Max offered. He moved towards the coop but Grace stepped in front of him, still nursing the goose's remains to her chest.

‘You can't,' she said. ‘I wouldn't know which one to choose. They've all got names, you see. I'm attached to them.'

Daisy tutted. ‘Oh, for heaven's sake! What are we going to eat, in that case?'

They all looked at one other for a moment. Then Max said, ‘I have an idea. There's a British restaurant in Tunbridge Wells. I'm sure it'll be open today.'

Ann and Walter looked excited, but Grace said, ‘How would we get there?'

‘I could borrow a jeep from the base?'

Walter looked fit to burst. ‘Can we go, Gracie? Please?'

‘Well, I'm going, even if you lot aren't,' Daisy declared.

Grace shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, kids, we don't have the money.'

‘It doesn't cost much. And I'd be happy to treat you,' Max said.

‘Oh, no, I couldn't let you do that …'

‘Please?' His eyes met hers. ‘It's the least I can do. I feel as if I ruined your Christmas.'

Grace smiled reluctantly. ‘Why? Was it you who sneaked into our shed and stole our goose?'

‘Well, no, but I'm sure my presence didn't help. Please?'

Grace looked at Walter and Ann's pleading faces. ‘Well, I suppose it'll be better than a tin of ham for our Christmas dinner. If you don't mind us all joining you?'

‘It'll be my pleasure,' Max said. Daisy didn't reply.

Grace had never been to a British restaurant before, and she was entranced. It was little more than a basic, self-service canteen, but it was clean and they managed to get a full Christmas dinner, with pudding to follow, for just ninepence each.