The Nightingale Girls (41 page)

Dora’s stomach plummeted. ‘Josie?’

Bea glanced over her shoulder. ‘No use talking to her. She don’t want to play. Just sits there looking miserable. She’s hardly said a dickie bird since we left Auntie Brenda’s.’ She pulled a face, then turned to Dora, her green eyes brightening. ‘You’ll play with us, won’t you?’

‘Later on,’ Dora said, already heading across the street towards Josie.

Josie didn’t see her until Dora said her name. When she looked up, her face seemed thin and drawn, huge fearful dark eyes above jutting cheekbones.

‘What are you doing here?’ Josie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘I was just about to ask you the same question. I thought you were staying at Auntie Brenda’s?’

‘Auntie Brenda’s eldest has gone down with scarlet fever, so Mum thought I’d be safer at home.’

If only she knew, Dora thought. She sat down next to her on the kerb. ‘Are you all right, love?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’ Josie’s voice sounded hollow.

‘Why did you run away?’

‘I was just being daft.’ Josie hugged her knees tighter under her chin. Dora noticed how thin her arms were in her cotton summer dress. At fifteen, she was still no more than a child.

‘You must have had a reason . . .?’

‘I told you, I was being daft.’ Josie met her eye. ‘Don’t ask me any more,’ she pleaded.

‘But I’m your sister. I want to help.’

‘You can’t,’ Josie said. ‘You wouldn’t understand . . .’

Wouldn’t I, Dora thought. ‘Try me,’ she begged.

Josie shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she insisted stubbornly. But her wretched face told a different story.

‘Josie—’

‘Leave it, Dora, please. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.’

Dora stared at her sister’s profile, and knew she had to say something. She had kept her secret buried in a deep, dark place, somewhere she would never have to look at it or think about it. But now, for her sister’s sake, she had to bring her own shame back out into the light.

‘Josie,’ she began, already hating the words that came out of her mouth. ‘There’s something I need to tell you—’

But she didn’t have a chance to finish before they heard a yell from inside the house. Bea dropped her hoop with a clatter and started running, Dora and Josie on her heels.

They almost collided with their mother coming out of the back door.

‘Oh, Dora, thank God you’re here!’ She clutched her arm. ‘Fetch an ambulance, quickly. Your dad’s collapsed!’

‘APPENDICITIS,’ SISTER HOLMES
said.

She looked at the two women sitting opposite her in her office. One, a careworn, middle-aged woman in a blue coat, was trying desperately not to cry, her eyes fixed on her hands. By contrast, Doyle seemed unnaturally calm. Sister Holmes wondered if she’d really taken in the news.

‘Mr Dwyer the consultant is operating now,’ Sister Holmes went on.

‘My Alf will be all right, won’t he?’ Mrs Doyle looked up at her anxiously.

Sister Holmes glanced at Doyle. She looked unfamiliar in her faded summer dress, her abundant red curls framing her face. ‘He’s in the best possible hands,’ she replied blandly.

Doyle met her gaze steadily. At least she understood how serious the situation was. Sister Homes hoped she could explain it to her mother more gently.

‘When can I see him?’ Rose Doyle asked.

‘Not for some time, I’m afraid. Your husband will need time to recover after the operation. But we will let you know the outcome as soon as possible.’

Sister Homes stood up, indicating the meeting was at an end. Delivering bad news always made her feel uncomfortable. She felt so helpless in the face of people’s grief. She was far more at home on the ward, where she could make people feel better in a practical way.

As they left, she said quietly to Doyle, ‘Go home with your mother. I will find another nurse to cover the rest of your shift.’

‘If it’s all the same to you, Sister, I would like to come back on duty at five,’ Doyle replied.

Sister Holmes frowned. ‘Don’t you want to be with your family, under the circumstances?’

Doyle shook her head. ‘Mum will have my nan and the kids with her, she won’t need me. And I’d like to keep myself busy.’

‘Of course. I understand.’

As she looked into the girl’s calm green eyes, she wondered if Doyle really had taken in the news. Because if she didn’t know better, she could almost believe that Dora Doyle really didn’t care.

Outside on the front steps of the hospital, Josie was waiting for them. She jumped up as soon as she saw them.

‘Is he—?’

Dora shook her head. ‘He’s still in theatre. We won’t know anything for a few hours.’

She saw the flare of disappointment in Josie’s face, quickly masked.

‘Thank God I was there,’ Rose Doyle said. ‘When I think about what might have happened if I’d still been away at our Brenda’s—’ She shuddered. ‘Poor Alf. He’s been complaining of those pains for weeks. I told him to go the doctor but he wouldn’t have it. He’s never trusted doctors and hospitals . . .’ she trailed off, choking back a sob. ‘What if anything happens to him?’

‘Shh, Mum. Don’t take on.’ Dora put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘Mr Dwyer is a top surgeon. He’ll look after Alf.’

‘I just wish there was something I could do . . .’ She
fumbled in her coat pocket for a crumpled handkerchief. ‘I s’pose all we can do now is pray.’

Dora caught Josie’s eye. She knew what her sister would be praying for. She’d prayed for the same thing herself, night after night, since she was fourteen years old.

‘You should go home,’ she said.

‘Oh no, I’m not going anywhere until my Alf is out of surgery and I know he’s all right.’

‘You heard what Sister Holmes said. It could be hours. You need to get some rest. I can let you know as soon as I hear anything.’

‘She’s right, Mum,’ Josie said. ‘We should let the others know what’s going on.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Rose looked at Dora beseechingly. ‘You will let me know, won’t you love? Whatever the news is, I’d rather hear it from you.’

After they’d gone, Dora went round to the patch of waste ground behind the nurses’ home, where the nurses hid out to smoke. She was glad the other nurses were still on duty and she had it to herself. She needed to be alone to think.

Her hand shook as she held the match to the tip of her cigarette. She couldn’t stop thinking of Alf, lying on that operating table. In her mind, she saw the surgeon opening him up and inspecting the damage to the abdominal cavity and peritoneum. If the appendix was intact, even if it was gangrenous, then it would be a relatively simple procedure to remove it. But if it had ruptured, or perforated during the operation, then it would spread poison all through the abdominal cavity which could kill Alf . . .

She exhaled, narrowing her eyes against the smoke from her cigarette. She felt guilty for even having such a thought. She was a nurse now. She was supposed to save lives, not pray for them to end.

She heard footsteps approaching and swung around to see Nick Riley heading down the narrow, overgrown pathway that led to the waste ground.

He stopped dead when he saw her, his expression darkening.

‘Sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

‘Nick, wait—’ Dora called out to him, but he turned and immediately started heading off back down the weed-covered track, his head down as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

She knew why Nick was avoiding her. It was the same reason he’d ignored her every day for the past week. She’d hurt his pride when she’d rejected him that night Josie went missing.

If only he knew how much she regretted what she’d done. She wished she could explain why she’d pushed him away, to make him understand how Alf had destroyed her trust in any man. But she knew she never would. Like Josie, her terrible secret would stay locked inside her forever.

And Nick would just have to go on hating her.

Nick cursed himself silently. He wished he hadn’t ignored Dora like that. But every time he saw her he remembered that night outside her house, and the frustration and humiliation boiled up inside him again.

He didn’t blame her for rejecting him. He only blamed himself being such a fool, trying to make a move on her when she wasn’t interested in him. When he thought about the look on her face that night he’d kissed her, he just wanted to run away and hide forever.

He could understand why she didn’t want to know. She was so too far out of his league now. She was a nurse in her smart uniform, destined for better things than a lowly porter with a shady past. She deserved far more than him.

But that night . . . Just for a moment, before he’d kissed her, he could have sworn she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her.

‘Aye aye,’ Percy Carson grinned when he got back to the Porters’ Lodge. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of lighting up in here? Mr Hopkins will have your guts for garters.’

‘Let him try,’ Nick growled, clamping a cigarette between his lips. He usually managed to keep on the right side of the Head Porter but he was just in the mood to give Edwin Hopkins or anyone else what for.

‘I’ll have one too, since you’re offering.’ Percy Carson helped himself from Nick’s packet. ‘I s’pose you’ve heard about your girlfriend?’ he said, picking up the box of matches.

‘What girlfriend’s that, then?’

‘You know. That ginger nurse who’s always hanging around you?’

Nick froze. ‘What about her?’

‘Her old man got brought in earlier. Appendicitis. I took him down to theatre myself.’ Percy paused a moment while he lit his cigarette. ‘In a right bad way he was. If you ask me, he’s already a goner . . . Here, where are you going? You’re meant to be in Casualty at half past, remember?’

But Nick was already out of the door, letting it crash shut behind him. All he could think of was Dora’s face, pale and distraught as she called his name. Why the hell hadn’t he stopped to talk to her? He ran straight to the patch of ground behind the nurses’ home, but Dora had gone. All that remained was the smouldering tip of a cigarette.

Dora’s heart was beating fast under the starched bib of her apron as she walked back to the ward. She
forced herself to go slowly, even though her mind was racing.

She wasn’t sure what she would find when she got back to Holmes. Alf must be out of theatre by now, she thought. Unless he was dead.

She felt wicked for thinking it, but at the same time she knew she was walking slowly because she wanted to savour the thought for as long as she could.

But as soon as she walked through the doors and saw Millie’s bright face she knew her hopes had been dashed.

‘There you are!’ She hurried up to her. ‘Your stepfather is in the recovery room. They’re bringing him up to the ward in a minute. I’m so glad you’re here. You can be the first to say hello. Won’t that be wonderful?’

Dora gritted her teeth and forced herself to smile.

‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more,’ she said.

THE SUN SHONE
brilliantly in a cloudless sky on the June day when Lady Sophia Rushton, only daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Claremont, married the Marquess of Trent at St Margaret’s, Westminster. People lined the street, kept back by policemen on horseback, all eager to catch a glimpse of the beautiful young bride as she arrived with her father.

‘It’s just like the Jubilee,’ Millie commented as she looked out of the window of the Rolls-Royce. Crammed inside the car with her were three other bridesmaids, while another car followed behind carrying two more and a brace of pageboys dressed as miniature guardsmen. She straightened the spray of cream roses in her hair. It was hot inside the car, and she could feel perspiration breaking out under her arms. She prayed it wouldn’t show on her apricot silk dress.

Inside the church, the cream of society waited. Sophia’s mother had spared no expense for her daughter’s wedding, and the vast, beautiful church was filled with the heavy, sweet scent of roses and gardenias. Millie joined the retinue of nervous bridesmaids, tweaking their flowers and adjusting their dresses as the bride arrived.

Sophia looked stunning in her dress of heavy silk embroidered lavishly with silver thread that sparkled in the sunshine. Her train was so long, it took all six of the bridesmaids to lay it out straight.

‘You look beautiful,’ Millie whispered. Even through
her veil she could see her friend’s eyes shining with joy.

‘I’m so nervous,’ she confessed, as the organ music swelled majestically in Wagner’s “Wedding Chorus”. ‘My hands are shaking so much I can’t hold my flowers still.’

‘No one will notice,’ Millie assured her. ‘They’ll all be too busy looking at me tripping over your train.’

But she didn’t. For once she managed to get through the occasion with no trips, slips or stumbles. She saw her grandmother watching her almost with approval as she filed out of the church after the bride, where a Guard of Honour stood waiting on the steps.

The wedding party was held at the Claremonts’ London residence, Claremont House, overlooking St James’ Park. Here too, the Duchess had spared no expense. The wedding breakfast was a lavish affair, and afterwards everyone danced to a band in the ballroom, which glittered under the light of the magnificent chandeliers. Millie danced with the best man, who showed no interest in her beyond his duty dance. She was much happier to partner her father, who looked very handsome in his morning dress and didn’t mind at all that she tripped over her own feet several times.

‘You do realise every eligible woman is watching you?’ Millie teased him, as they circled elegantly around the dance floor.

‘I dare say they’re wondering how an old crock like me can remember the steps!’ he joked.

‘I wonder if Granny is enjoying herself.’

‘I don’t know if your grandmother ever enjoys herself unless she’s running the show.’

Millie glanced over his shoulder to where Lady Rettingham was sitting with her old friend and bitter rival, the Dowager Duchess of Claremont. She could imagine
what they were talking about. The other dowager would most certainly not have missed the opportunity to be smug about her granddaughter’s successful marriage, while expressing all kinds of sympathy that Millie was not similarly blessed.