Nightingales at War (14 page)

‘NOT AGAIN!’

Dora put down her forceps as Jennifer Caldwell’s laughter shrieked down the ward. She had been trying to remove fragments of shattered glass from a wounded soldier’s face, and it wasn’t helped by the VAD flirting on the other side of the screens.

She stood up and pulled aside the curtain. ‘Caldwell?’

Jennifer jumped up from where she had been perched on the edge of a patient’s bed. She looked as if butter wouldn’t melt. ‘Yes, Staff?’

‘Go about your work quietly, please. Just because it’s Sister’s day off, that’s no reason to go wild.’

‘Yes, Staff. Sorry, Staff.’

There it was again, that look of wide-eyed innocence. Dora knew very well she would be sitting on the patient’s bed laughing again before she even had time to pull the screen closed.

‘Leave her be, Nurse,’ the soldier said, when she went back to her work. ‘She’s just having a bit of fun.’

‘She’s not here to have fun,’ Dora muttered.

‘She’s a tonic.’

‘She’s a nuisance.’ Only the previous night, Jennifer had managed to catch a blackout curtain on a gas boiler and nearly set fire to the ward.

The girl simply didn’t think. Well, not about her duties anyway. She was too busy flirting, or admiring herself. Dora had even caught her gazing at her own reflection in the bathroom taps.

‘The boys like her,’ the soldier said.

‘Only because she spends all her time flirting.’

‘Exactly. That’s what we need, especially the lads who’ve been badly injured. Having a pretty girl giving them the eye – well, it makes ’em feel more normal, if you see what I mean. She makes us feel like men, not circus freaks.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Dora was thoughtful. At least that was a point in Jennifer’s favour. Unlike Daisy Bushell, who wilted like a delicate flower at the first sight of an injury, Jennifer hardly seemed to notice. Probably because she was too preoccupied with her own appearance, Dora thought sourly.

She tried to take the soldier’s comments into account, but her temper snapped when she heard Jennifer’s voice coming from Mr Chandler’s room when she was supposed to be doing the beds and turning the patients with Daisy Bushell.

It was lucky Sister Holmes wasn’t here, Dora thought. She’d already reprimanded Jennifer three times for straying into Mr Chandler’s room. And those were only the times she’d caught her. Dora knew that in the month since Philip Chandler had regained consciousness, Jennifer had sneaked in to see him nearly every day.

She paused outside the door, listening. ‘Go on,’ she heard him say. ‘Tell me.’

‘Have a guess.’

‘Blonde?’

‘Wrong.’

‘Brunette, then. I thought so. You sound like a brunette.’

She heard Jennifer’s delighted laugh. ‘And how do brunettes sound?’

‘Like you. What colour are your eyes? No, don’t tell me – blue?’

Dora flung open the door and Jennifer started to her feet, so quickly she upset a glass on Mr Chandler’s locker.

‘What have you been told about coming in here?’ Dora demanded.

‘I—’ Jennifer started to say, but Philip Chandler spoke up for her.

‘Don’t be too hard on her, Nurse. I like a bit of company.’

Dora ignored him and turned to Jennifer. ‘I’ll speak to you outside,’ she said.

Jennifer followed her into the passageway and Dora closed the door behind them. ‘You know only trained nurses are allowed in the private rooms,’ she said.

‘You heard what he said, Staff. He likes me being there.’

‘And what’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I feel sorry for him. It must be lonely for him, lying there for all those weeks with no one to talk to. His parents hardly ever visit, and his fiancée’s stationed in Scotland so she can’t come to see him—’

‘That really isn’t your concern,’ Dora said. ‘You’re here to follow orders. Besides, there’s enough work to be done on the ward without you sneaking off, leaving it to everyone else.’

‘I wouldn’t have to sneak off if I was allowed to special him.’

Dora stared at her, and for a moment she wondered if she’d heard correctly. ‘What did you say?’

‘I was thinking – perhaps I should be allowed to help nurse him? He obviously likes me, and—’

‘Only qualified nurses are allowed to special private patients,’ Dora cut her off.

‘Yes, but I could learn, couldn’t I?’

There was no faulting the girl’s confidence, Dora thought. ‘You really think you could do the job of a trained nurse?’

Jennifer stared straight back at her. ‘I’m sure I could if someone taught me,’ she said.

If she hadn’t looked so insolent Dora might not have done what she did next.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Since you’re so keen to learn, you can start by helping me to change Mr Chandler’s dressings. Please prepare the trolley.’

That shook her. Jennifer’s mouth fell open. ‘Me, Staff?’

‘Yes, you, Caldwell. You seem to think you’re capable of doing some real nursing, so let’s see, shall we?’

Dora saw the look of panic in Jennifer’s eyes, and felt a brief moment of triumph. That would teach her, she thought.

But then Jennifer squared her shoulders and lifted her head up. ‘Right away, Staff,’ she said.

Now it was Dora’s turn to be open-mouthed as she watched the girl walk off down the ward. What had she done? All she’d wanted was to shake her a little, take away some of her overconfidence. VADs weren’t supposed to change dressings. Especially not for the likes of Philip Chandler. His injuries were so horrific, even some of the trained nurses quailed at the prospect.

But Dora couldn’t back down now, and she suspected Jennifer wouldn’t either. It was as if they were locked in a terrible game of dare, and neither of them wanted to be the first to admit defeat.

Jennifer was shaking as she pushed the trolley towards Philip Chandler’s room.

You’ve done it now, my girl, she thought. You and your big mouth. Why had she had to answer Nurse Riley back like that? She was right, Jennifer had no business being in Philip Chandler’s room. She had been defiant, and she should be punished.

She’d only gone in because she felt sorry for him. The other nurses all passed him by. They didn’t think it hurt him, but Jennifer knew it did.

She couldn’t imagine what gory horrors lay under those bandages, and she didn’t want to know. But now, thanks to her own stupidity and cheek, she was going to find out.

Nurse Riley was waiting for her outside Philip Chandler’s room. For a moment, Jennifer thought she was going to say it was all a trick and Jennifer didn’t have to do it after all. But all Nurse Riley said was, ‘You took your time.’

‘Sorry, Sister.’

Jennifer met her eye. She could tell Nurse Riley was waiting for her to back down, to say she couldn’t do it. All she had to do was say the words. But she was determined not to give Nurse Riley the satisfaction of seeing how terrified she was.

They entered the room together, Jennifer pushing the trolley. As she took her place beside Nurse Riley, Philip Chandler’s head turned towards her.

‘Evening in Paris,’ he murmured.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Nurse Riley said.

‘Jen— Miss Caldwell’s perfume.’

‘Is that right?’ Nurse Riley’s eyebrows rose. ‘Miss Caldwell should know better than to wear scent on the ward,’ she said sternly.

‘Sorry, Staff,’ Jennifer mumbled.

‘I like it,’ Mr Chandler defended her. ‘It’s how I know she’s close by.’

Jennifer blushed, feeling the hardness of Nurse Riley’s stare. It seemed to bore right into the side of her head.

‘We have come to change your dressings, Mr Chandler,’ Nurse Riley told him.

‘Both of you?’

‘Miss Caldwell is going to assist me.’

Jennifer couldn’t see the airman’s face under the bandages, but she could sense his panic. ‘I don’t want her to see me,’ he said.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Jennifer reassured him, ignoring the stony look Nurse Riley sent her.

All the same, she had to steel herself as the staff nurse started to peel away the dressings. The last bandages came away, and Jennifer forced herself not to cry out at the sight of the hideous mass of swollen, burned flesh that had once been one side of Philip’s face. Bile rose in her throat and she wanted to turn away, but she knew if she did she would never find the courage to look at him again. So she forced herself to stare unblinking as she passed the instruments to Nurse Riley.

‘You’ve gone very quiet. Is it that bad?’ He was trying to sound light-hearted, but she could sense the desperation behind his words.

‘I’ve seen worse,’ she said, hoping she sounded just as light-hearted. She knew his sight hadn’t recovered enough for him to see her, but she also knew he was sensitive enough to read the slightest quaver in her voice. All the time her knees were pressed tight together to stop herself from swaying.

‘That’s a relief. I thought you’d fainted.’ He addressed himself to Nurse Riley. ‘She must have a strong stomach, eh, Nurse?’

‘Yes,’ Nurse Riley replied. ‘Yes, I suppose she must.’ Then, just as Jennifer was feeling proud of herself, she snapped, ‘The tulle-grass dressing, if you please, Caldwell.’

It took about twenty minutes to change Mr Chandler’s dressings, although it seemed like a lifetime to Jennifer. But at last it was over, and Nurse Riley told her to clear up the trolley.

‘And then make a cup of tea for both of us and bring it to the office,’ she added. ‘I think you’ve earned it, don’t you?’

That was it. There was no praise, no thank you for the twenty minutes of gut-churning terror Jennifer had endured. But she still found herself smiling with pride as she headed for the kitchen.

If it was a test, she had a feeling she might have passed.

IT WAS A
quiet Thursday morning in the Casualty Hall, and Eve and Cissy had been left in charge. Sister Dawson was in the Treatment Room, helping Dr McKay stitch up a man who’d fallen off his bicycle, while Nurse Kowalski was in Outpatients with Mr Cooper.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to be too busy enjoying the warm late July weather to come in with their various aches and pains. The rows of wooden benches were empty, except for a middle-aged man dozing in the corner. Eve sat at a table, checking a pile of surgical gloves for holes, while Cissy perched behind the booking-in desk, telling her all about a film she and Jennifer had been to see the previous night.

‘It’s about a woman who marries a mysterious widower and goes to live in his big house in the country,’ she said. ‘But there’s a horrible old housekeeper who wants to get rid of her, because she’s obsessed with his first wife.’

‘What happens then?’ Eve asked, blowing into a glove and holding it up.

‘Oh, all sorts of things. The housekeeper – Mrs Danvers – makes the girl’s life an utter misery, and the poor wretch just takes it. If it was me, I would have told the old witch to pack her bags and get out the minute I arrived – oh, look, here’s the conchie,’ Cissy groaned. ‘What does he want, I wonder?’

Eve glanced up to see Oliver making his way towards them.

‘I’m looking for Dr Jameson,’ he said.

‘Well, you won’t find him here.’

‘Do you know where he is? I have a message for him.’

‘How should I know? I’m not his social secretary.’

Eve cleared her throat. ‘I think he’s doing his rounds,’ she said quietly. ‘He should be back in the next half an hour.’

‘Thanks.’ Oliver shot Cissy a dirty look then left, slamming the door behind him.

‘You didn’t have to be so rude to him,’ Eve protested mildly.

Cissy shrugged. ‘I’ve got no time for cowards.’

‘You don’t know he’s a coward.’

‘Then why isn’t he fighting with the rest of our boys?’

Eve was silent. She’d been reading up about conscientious objectors in the library, and even though she knew now there was more to it than cowardice, she didn’t want to start debating it with Cissy. Eve didn’t want to antagonise her, especially when she probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

‘I hope you’re not sticking up for him?’ Cissy’s eyes narrowed accusingly.

‘Of course not,’ Eve mumbled.

‘I’m glad to hear it. Because I’m not sure I could be friends with someone who sticks up for his sort.’

Eve picked up the next glove. The truth was, she felt desperately sorry for Oliver. He always looked so forlorn, and she knew from listening to Cissy that he was having a hard time settling in at the hospital. Eve of all people knew how hard it was to be an outsider.

But at the same time, she couldn’t risk her own position. Cissy might not be her friend, but she was the closest Eve had ever had to one, and she didn’t want to risk that. Even if it did make her uneasy to see Oliver treated so badly.

‘Anyway,’ Cissy continued, ‘as I was saying, about this film. It turns out the so-called perfect first wife was actually . . .’

Eve never found out, because at that moment a roar went up from the far side of the Casualty Hall. The man in the corner went suddenly rigid, shot to his feet, then promptly collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Cissy let out a scream. By the time Eve had got to him, he was jerking and twitching like a puppet tugged by invisible strings. His eyes were rolling in their sockets, and flecks of spittle were forming at the corners of his mouth.

‘He’s having a fit,’ she said to Cissy, who hovered anxiously over her.

‘What shall we do?’

Eve unfastened the collar stud at his throat, trying to remember what they’d learned at their First Aid class. ‘Fetch a pencil or something,’ she said. ‘We need to stop him biting his tongue.’

Cissy handed her a pencil, and Eve jammed it between the man’s teeth.

‘Go and get help,’ she ordered. Cissy didn’t move. She stood over them, her hands clasped in front of her ashen face, rigid with anxiety. ‘Now!’ Eve shouted.

The sound of her voice was enough to shock Cissy out of her stupor. She jerked into life and rushed off.

By the time she had returned a few minutes later with Dr McKay, the man had stopped twitching and fallen into a deep sleep. It was so deep, Eve feared he might be dead. But when she slipped her hand against his chest she could feel the steady thud of his heart under his shirt.

Dr McKay kneeled down to examine him. As he worked, he asked Eve lots of questions about what had happened.

‘How long did the fit last?’

‘A couple of minutes.’ But it had felt like a lot longer. Almost a lifetime.

‘Did he go completely rigid, or twitch? Was it all over his body?’

Eve tried to think clearly. ‘It was mainly his legs,’ she recalled slowly.

‘And he cried out,’ Cissy put in, still standing at a safe distance. ‘Really frightened us, it did.’

‘I’m sure it must have been a very nasty shock.’ Dr McKay finished examining him and strung his stethoscope around his neck. ‘We’ll have him admitted and see what we can find. Can you sort out the paperwork?’ he asked Cissy.

Eve stared down at the man and chewed her lip. Now the emergency had passed, delayed shock began to settle in as she realised what she’d done.

Dr McKay seemed to guess her thoughts. ‘You did the right thing, Miss Ainsley,’ he said. ‘Your prompt action may have helped save his life.’

Sister Dawson said something similar to her when she found out about it later. Eve was still in a state of trembling nerves as she tried to go about her duties, but Sister Dawson called her into her office and made her a cup of tea. Eve was so overwhelmed she could barely manage to drink it.

‘Dr McKay tells me your quick thinking saved the day,’ she said. ‘Tell me, how did you know what to do?’

‘We learned it at the First Aid class,’ Eve said. Although she had never imagined putting her knowledge to any use.

‘You clearly have an aptitude for it. And I’ve noticed you’re very good with the patients, too.’ Sister Dawson put down her teacup. ‘I wonder, have you ever considered training as a nurse?’

Eve blinked at her. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand—’

‘I think you should consider studying for the State Examination,’ Helen Dawson said. ‘Matron has just announced that official training is going to start again at the hospital, and I would like to recommend you as a student. It would mean joining us full-time and training for three years, but I believe it would be worth it. You have the makings of an excellent nurse, just the kind of girl the Nightingale needs. I could talk to Matron about it, if you’d like?’

Eve stared at her, dazed. She had never dared to imagine that anyone would offer her such a chance. It was like a dream come true. ‘I – I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured.

‘You like working here, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course.’ More than she had ever thought possible. She looked forward to the three days a week she could escape from her aunt’s shop and come to work at the hospital. She enjoyed the work and loved meeting the people there so much, it was even worth all the extra hours she had to put in slaving over her sewing in the workshop. The idea of being allowed to come every day, of actually training and passing exams, was almost too wonderful to contemplate. It was as if someone had suddenly taken all her dearest wishes, wrapped them up in a parcel and presented them to her with a big bow on top.

But even in her joy, Eve could picture her aunt, sour as a crab apple, grasping fingers reaching out to snatch her wonderful gift away from her.

‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ she said. ‘I can’t. My aunt needs me at the shop.’

Sister Dawson frowned. ‘But surely she could find someone else to help her? I can’t imagine she would refuse you the chance to better yourself.’

There was no point even asking Aunt Freda if she could train. Freda Ainsley would never have been able to countenance the idea of her niece pursuing anything that gave her pleasure.

But even Aunt Freda couldn’t spoil the fact that Sister Dawson had thought Eve worthy of anything.

Have you ever considered training as a nurse . . . you’re just the kind of girl the Nightingale needs.

The words reached deep inside her, warming a frozen part of Eve’s heart. It was rare that anyone ever called her anything but hopeless, shameful or useless, and it was all she could do not to cry.