The Nightingale Girls (10 page)

‘Anyway, if you ask me, it’s an outrage.’ Agatha Sutton brought the subject back to Dora Doyle. ‘The girl should never have been allowed to come in the first place if she can’t afford to be here.’

‘I do agree it seems rather cruel, to offer her this chance, knowing she won’t be able to see it through,’ Florence Parker sighed.

Veronica Hanley ducked her head and smiled down at her stitching. Another of Matron’s ridiculous ideas, she thought. Just like getting rid of the bath book.

NURSE TREMAYNE WAS
one of the few students of whom Head Porter Edwin Hopkins approved. He prided himself on his high standards, even if his raggle-taggle regiment of porters sometimes didn’t. Old habits died hard; he had been an officer’s batman in the 38th Welsh Division during the Great War, and sixteen years later he never turned out for duty looking less than parade-ground smart, with a shine on his shoes, his brown overalls pressed, moustache perfectly trimmed, and what was left of his hair slicked carefully into place with a generous dollop of Brylcreem.

He appreciated neatness, order and punctuality, and Nurse Tremayne had all those qualities. Every morning, rain or shine, he would see her heading across the courtyard towards his lodge to hand in a letter for posting. Regular as clockwork she was, while he was having his morning cup of tea and a look through the
Daily Sketch
. And every morning she would greet him with a very polite, ‘Good morning, Mr Hopkins.’

‘Good morning, Nurse,’ he would reply. ‘Another letter, is it? There’s lovely.’ Then he would look at the envelope, to check the stamp and the address. It was always the same. ‘I bet there’s a lot of mothers wish they had a daughter like you, writing every day. I’m sure she appreciates it.’

And Nurse Tremayne would always give him that same sad little smile.

‘I do hope so, Mr Hopkins,’ she’d say. And then she
was off, head down, walking briskly across the courtyard towards the ward block to begin her day.

Nurse Tremayne had manners. Very poised and ladylike and never a hair out of place, not like some of them he saw scuttling across the courtyard when they thought they wouldn’t be seen, pinning their caps into place and fastening up their collars and cuffs as they went. Unlike most of them, he had never caught Nurse Tremayne trying to sneak past his lodge after lights out or scrambling through a window someone had left open round the back of the nurses’ home. As far as he knew, she had never even asked for a late pass. And quite right too, in his opinion; girls who roamed the streets at that time of night were after getting themselves into serious trouble.

He’d caught another bunch of them the previous night, tipsy as you like, giggling as they tried to give each other a leg up the drainpipe. They were all up in front of Matron this morning, of course, but it could have been a lot worse. The state they were in, they could have broken their necks.

But not Nurse Tremayne. She wasn’t the type to gad about and get herself in a drunken state. He doubted if she even knew what a good time was. She always had that worried furrow between her brows, her shoulders hunched as if she had the weight of the world on them.

No wonder she didn’t turn heads the way the other students did. His porters would often hang about in the lodge just to watch the nurses go by and pass comments on their favourites. Hopkins didn’t hold with it, but some of these East End lads hadn’t been brought up to respect ladies the way he had. The saucier nurses even played up to it as they sauntered past, glancing over their shoulders to give them the eye.

But they never commented on Nurse Tremayne. Most
of them barely seemed to notice her as she slipped by, her head down, cloak pulled around her.

Mr Hopkins sighed to himself. As he often said to Mrs Hopkins, he did not hold with gadding about. But if ever there was a girl who deserved a bit of gadding, it was poor Nurse Tremayne.

Helen walked to Holmes, the Male Surgical ward, worrying about what she’d just done. She always panicked after she’d posted a letter to her mother, just in case she’d accidentally let anything slip. She tried to be careful, but it was difficult to think straight when she was tired after a long day on the wards.

Not that it really mattered what she wrote. Whether it was a few scribbled lines or several pages detailing all the medical procedures she had learnt and all the praise she’d received in the ward report for her hard work, her mother would still be bitterly disappointed in her.

Helen was fourteen years old when her mother told her she was going to be a nurse. It didn’t occur to her to argue. Her mother chose her hairstyle, her clothes, friends, and everything else, so why should her future be any different? Like her mild-mannered father, Helen had understood early on in life that her mother did not appreciate anyone’s opinion but her own, and that the quickest way to stop any unpleasantness was just to give in straight away.

And having decided that her daughter was going to be a nurse, Constance Tremayne wouldn’t even consider the idea of her training anywhere but the Nightingale.

‘It has an excellent reputation,’ she’d said. ‘And since I’m on the Board of Trustees, I can keep an eye on you,’ she’d added sternly.

‘But what if I don’t get in?’ Helen had asked.

Her mother had stared at her as if this were the most
ridiculous question in the world. ‘Of course you’ll get in, you silly girl,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll see to that.’

And she had. Helen had sat mute during the interview as her mother made all kinds of promises on her behalf to be a good, upright, moral character. She sang her daughter’s praises so highly Helen almost didn’t recognise herself. She certainly didn’t sound like the same girl her mother was always criticising for being lazy, untidy or walking with hunched shoulders.

Her interview had happened before the old Matron left, which was just as well as Helen suspected that her mother didn’t have a great deal of time for the new one. She had been most put out when the rest of the Board of Trustees had overruled her and appointed Miss Fox. Helen wasn’t sure her mother would ever be able to forgive them or the new Matron for it.

But the old one had been cut from the same cloth as Constance Tremayne. Together they had shaken their heads and tutted over the dreadful state of young women these days, and Constance Tremayne had assured Matron that her daughter wasn’t like that at all, that she was an upright, God-fearing young woman who went to church every Sunday, worked hard at her school studies and had no social life at all.

When the interview was over Matron had said, ‘Well, Mrs Tremayne, I hope Helen becomes as excellent a nurse as her mother obviously was.’

And Constance Tremayne had simpered and preened and thanked her for her time. And then she had dragged Helen to Bentalls in Kingston and kitted her out with stout black shoes, a watch with a second timer, and half a dozen sets of dreadful combinations which she insisted Helen should wear even though she loathed the very sight of them.

She didn’t think she would ever be as good a nurse as her mother had been. Constance Tremayne was a woman of such energy and high moral character, her daughter was only ever going to be a disappointment by comparison.

From far away came the faint rumble of thunder. Helen looked up at the pewter-coloured sky, still dark and heavy with clouds. It was nearly seven o’clock on what promised to be a damp, grey November Sunday morning.

She wondered whether it was raining over in Richmond, and whether anyone would venture to church for her father’s service. She hated to think of him working so hard on his sermon and no one being there to appreciate it.

‘Helen, wait!’ She glanced over her shoulder at the young man hurrying towards her, his white coat flapping.

She suppressed a sigh of irritation as he fell into stride beside her. She was tall but he stood half a head above her, all lanky angles, his dark hair sticking up in untidy tufts, defying his attempts to comb it.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said.

‘What do you want, William?’

He looked hurt. ‘Can’t a chap show an interest in his sister without having an ulterior motive?’

‘Not in your case.’

Fat drops of rain began to spatter down on the cobbles. Helen quickened her pace but William pulled her into the shelter of the trees in the centre of the courtyard.

‘I can’t stand here, I’ll be late,’ she protested.

‘You’re not due on the ward for another ten minutes.’

‘We’re not supposed to talk to men.’

‘I’m your brother, I don’t count. Anyway, I want to ask you a favour.’

A couple of other nurses had also taken shelter under
the plane trees. Helen pretended not to notice as her brother gave them an appreciative once over. She tapped her foot and peered up at the sky. Another couple of minutes and she ran the risk of being late. What would Sister Holmes say then?

William, on the other hand, seemed in no hurry to go anywhere. He stood there whistling, his hands in the pockets of his white coat, unconcerned by the needs of his waiting patients. Such was the life of a senior houseman, Helen thought.

‘Heard from Mother?’ he asked.

‘I had a letter yesterday.’

He grinned. ‘Let me guess. Several pages of closely written script, warning you against everything from fraternising with medical students to not wearing your combinations?’

‘It’s not funny. Anyway, you’re the one she should have her eye on, not me. Why don’t
you
ever get letters from her?’

‘I do get letters from her. All the time. But I can’t help it if I’m too busy saving lives to answer them, can I?’ His expression of mock innocence made Helen smile in spite of herself. William could charm the birds out of the trees. He was certainly doing a good job on the nurses, who were smiling at him through the dripping branches of the plane trees.

He did an equally good job with their mother. He charmed and flattered her so much, Constance Tremayne was as blind to her son’s true nature as she was suspicious of Helen’s.

‘And she believes that, does she?’

‘She’s very impressed with my dedication,’ William said piously.

‘I wish I was as good a liar as you.’ Helen even felt
guilty when she was telling her mother the truth. Constance Tremayne had a way of looking at her that made Helen feel as if her head was made of glass and all her thoughts were visible for her mother to probe and pick over.

She turned to face him. ‘So what favour do you want? Money? Or have you accidentally killed a patient and need my help covering it up?’

‘Helen! I haven’t killed anyone in months and you know it.’ William’s thickly fringed dark brown eyes twinkled. ‘But now you mention it, I am rather strapped for cash. If you’re offering?’

‘I wasn’t.’ She peered out from under the dripping branches at the rain hammering off the cobbles and wondered if she should make a run for it.

‘Please, Hels. Just a few bob till payday? I wouldn’t ask, but I am in great need. You know I get paid a pittance.’

‘You get paid more than me.’

‘Yes, well, you’re so much better at managing money than I am. Come on, Hels,’ he wheedled. ‘I know you’ve got it all stashed away in a Post Office account somewhere. I mean, it’s not as if you go anywhere to spend it, do you?’

‘Unlike you.’ William spent every penny he earnt, and more besides.

‘Actually, the money’s not for me. It’s for Bessie.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m afraid she’s very sick.’

Helen sighed. ‘What is it this time? Blown gasket? Exhaust pipe dropped off? Honestly, Will, why don’t you just get rid of the wretched car?’

William reeled back. ‘How can you even say that? Bessie means everything to me. And I’ll have you know there’s plenty of life in the old girl.’

‘If she’s got such a long and happy life ahead of her, it
won’t hurt her to stay off the road for a couple of weeks until you get paid, will it?’

‘Ah, well, yes. That might be possible, except—’ He smoothed down a cowlick of dark hair, which sprang straight back up again. ‘I sort of promised someone a trip to the coast next weekend.’

Helen rolled her eyes. ‘How did I know there would be a girl involved?’

‘She’s not just any girl. I’ve been trying to get her to agree to go out with me for weeks. I think she may be the love of my life,’ he confided.

‘You said that about the last one. And the one before that.’

‘I can’t help it if I lose my heart easily, can I?’

‘It’s not
your
heart I’m worried about.’ She glanced at the two nurses, still smiling shyly at William. They might feel flattered, but what they didn’t realise was that William was as fickle and easily bored as he was charming. There were many casualties of his affections among the nurses of Nightingale’s.

‘I suppose she knows what she’s letting herself in for?’ Helen sighed.

‘I’m not that bad, Hels.’

‘I know exactly what you’re like. You might be able to fool Mother and half the nurses in this hospital, but you can’t fool me, remember?’

William’s confident smile slipped a fraction, and Helen knew he was thinking about all the times she’d got him out of a mess in the past. It was hard to be annoyed with him for long, she thought. Underneath all that charm, William had a good heart. It was a pity no girl had managed to reach it yet.

Helen sighed. ‘I can spare two pounds. But I want it back.’

‘You’ll get it back, Sis, I promise. Every penny. With interest.’ William’s brown eyes sparkled. ‘You’re the best sister a chap ever had.’

‘And you’re the worst brother!’

As he walked jauntily away, hands thrust into the pockets of his white coat, she called out to him.

‘William? You will be careful, won’t you?’

Her grinned back. ‘You know me, Hels.’

Yes, I do, she thought. That’s the trouble.

HELEN HAD BEEN
assigned to Holmes, the Male Surgical ward, for the next three months of her training. Another senior student, Amy Hollins, had been assigned with her. Helen had hoped that by working together they might become better friends. But no matter how friendly she tried to be, Amy treated her with the same mistrust as all the other girls did.