The Nightingale Nurses (20 page)

The woman whimpered softly, her mouth moving in silent prayer as he examined her. She clung to Dora’s hand, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm so hard it was all Dora could do not to cry out.

‘It seems as if the baby’s brow presentation,’ Dr McKay said, when he’d finished. ‘We’re going to have to operate immediately.’

‘Noooo!’ The woman let out a wail that echoed around the consulting room. ‘My baby can’t be born now, it’s too soon!’

She struggled to get up, fighting Dora off as she tried to hold her down.

‘It’s our only chance, Mrs Edgar,’ Dr McKay said. ‘Your baby is on its way whether we like it or not. The best we can do is give it a helping hand.’ He forced lightness into his voice, but Dora could see from his face how serious the situation really was. ‘Prep her for surgery,’ he instructed in a low voice. ‘I’ll get Sister Percival to telephone down to Theatre.’

They rattled down the corridors to Theatre, Nick pushing the wheelchair, Dora at his side. Mrs Edgar sobbed all the way.

‘Will they save my baby?’ she begged Dora. ‘Please, Nurse, will they save him?’

‘They’ll do their best, Mrs Edgar.’ She gave the woman’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It felt inadequate in the face of such cataclysmic grief.

‘It’s our first,’ she sobbed. ‘We’ve been trying for so long, we started to think we couldn’t have kids. And then . . . it happened. We . . . we called it our little miracle—’

Dora shot a sidelong look at Nick. He was gritting his teeth so hard, she could see the muscles knotting in his jaw.

Helen emerged from the scrub room as they came through the double doors, very businesslike in her Theatre dress, her dark hair completely hidden by a cotton cap.

‘Has she been prepped?’ Dora nodded. ‘What about her stomach?’

‘She says she hasn’t eaten for at least five hours.’

‘Urine?’

‘I’ve already taken a sample.’

‘Very good.’ Helen gave Dora a warm smile, suddenly more like her room mate again. ‘I’ll take over now, thank you.’

The rattle of the empty wheelchair was muffled by the thick white-painted stone walls as they made their way back to the lift.

‘Will it be all right?’ Nick asked suddenly. ‘The baby, I mean. Will it survive?’

Dora glanced sideways at him. His knuckles were white as they gripped the handles of the wheelchair.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘There was a heartbeat, so hopefully if the baby is delivered soon . . .’

Nick took a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his brown overalls, shook one out and stuck it between his lips.

‘Ruby lost ours,’ he said flatly.

His words were like a punch in the stomach, knocking the air out of her. Dora swung round to face him. ‘When?’

‘Yesterday.’ His voice was calm but his hands were shaking so much he could hardly hold the lighted match still. ‘I thought you’d want to know, being her friend.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Dora whispered.

He nodded, blowing a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. His eyes were fixed on the lift doors.

‘She’s taken it hard.’

‘And what about you?’

He drew in a deep breath. ‘Ruby’s the one who matters, not me.’

The lift rattled above them, on its way down.

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d go and see her,’ Nick said. ‘She needs a friend.’

She’s not the only one, Dora thought, staring at his rigid profile. It looked as if it was taking him every ounce of his strength not to fall apart in front of her.

Seeing him hurting so much made her lose control. Before she knew what she was doing, Dora had reached out to touch him. ‘Nick—’

He jerked away from her, as if snatching his arm away from a flame. ‘No!’ He looked almost fearful. ‘I can’t,’ he said, his voice ragged with emotion. ‘I can’t do it to Ruby, not now . . .’

The loud ping of the lift doors broke the silence. Dora stole a glance at Nick’s grim profile as he stepped forward and wrenched open the grille.

They travelled up in the lift together, standing apart like strangers, not looking at each other. Dora ached to reach out to him, to kiss away his pain and wretchedness.

But Nick was right, she thought. They couldn’t do it to Ruby, not after what she’d been through.

HELEN WAS MAKING
sure the unconscious woman was positioned correctly on the table when Miss Feehan the Theatre Sister arrived. Helen waited tensely as she looked about her, searching for faults. Finally she seemed satisfied.

‘Very good,’ she said. ‘You’ll be assisting today, so get yourself ready.’

Helen glanced around to make sure it was really her who was being addressed. ‘Me, Sister?’

‘Yes, Nurse.’ Miss Feehan smiled at her bemused expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked, you’ve been here nearly three months, you’ve seen how things are done. It’s high time you put your training into action.’

‘But what if I get it wrong?’ Helen blurted out the words without thinking.

Miss Feehan lifted one eyebrow. ‘I hope you aren’t questioning me, Nurse?’

‘No, Sister. I apologise, Sister.’ Helen lowered her eyes. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t want to make a mistake . . .’

‘You won’t.’ There was a touch of warmth in Miss Feehan’s voice that Helen hadn’t heard before. ‘Just remember to stay within the sterile field, keep close to the surgeon and do as you’re told. And if you can do everything before you’re told to, all the better. Don’t look so terrified, Nurse Tremayne. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you were more than capable.’

Helen’s mind was still whirling as she headed off to scrub up. Surgeons generally preferred to work with scrubbed nurses they knew well. How would this one take to having a mere student thrust on him?

She realised the answer to that one when she found her brother William up to his elbows in carbolic soap. He was flanked by Alec Little and a nervous-looking junior houseman.

Suddenly it all made sense. If William were the senior doctor on duty then he would have to deal with any emergency surgery. Helen had no doubt he’d asked for her to assist him.

‘Ah, there you are, Nurse Tremayne.’ He greeted her with a grin. ‘I understand we’re working together today? Hurry up and get scrubbed, please. Dr Little has already put the patient to sleep and we don’t want to keep her waiting.’

Moments later she was at the operating table beside him, the tray of instruments in front of her. Helen had never been allowed so close to an operation before, and was terrified she might faint at the first sight of blood. She winced when William’s scalpel pierced the woman’s flesh, but after that everything happened quickly, and Helen was so intent on handing him the correct instruments at the right time she barely had time to register what was happening.

She stole a few nervous glances at him as he worked. He was so precise and calm and in control it was hard to remember he was her brother, once a gawky twelve year old who had built secret dens with her in the garden and skinned his knees while scrambling up trees.

‘Scissors.’ Remembering Sister’s words, Helen was ready with the instrument before he’d had time to put out his hand. ‘Right, here we go.’ William looked up, addressing his assistant. ‘I have cut the tissues down to the peritoneum, which I will now open with scissors. You’d better stand by with those towels,’ he instructed Helen.

A second later a geyser of warm blood gushed out of the hole in the woman’s abdomen, flowing over their hands and instruments and soaking the carefully placed sheets. As Helen made a grab for a handful of fresh towels to mop it up, William reached in and eased the baby out. A lump rose in Helen’s throat as he lifted the tiny creature, bluish-grey and blotched with blood, still attached by a thick, glistening rope.

‘A baby boy,’ William announced.

‘Is he all right?’ Helen whispered. ‘He seems so small . . .’

At that moment, the baby let out a thin, reedy cry, its tiny birdlike limbs flailing.

‘There’s your answer.’ William grinned at her, his eyes warm above his mask. He turned to Alec. ‘Do you think the grateful mother will name him after you or me?’

‘You,’ Alec sighed. ‘You always get the credit.’

‘Quite right, too.’

Helen watched through a blur of tears as he clamped and snipped the cord. She automatically reached for the baby then, but William shook his head. ‘Not you, Nurse Tremayne,’ he said, as one of the other nurses stepped forward with a towel to receive the child. ‘Have you forgotten, you still have work to do?’

She had forgotten, she was so used to being the one who did the fetching and carrying. But this time she could only watch as the runners washed the baby and wrapped him up in warm blankets. Meanwhile, William went to work to remove the placenta, delivering it with a heavy plop into the enamel receiving dish his assistant was holding out for him.

‘All done,’ he announced with satisfaction, then nodded to the junior doctor. ‘Close up for me, would you?’

Soon the operation was over, and mother and baby were on their way back up to the Maternity ward. William and Alec joined Helen as she was instructing the junior in the best way to clean and sterilise the instruments.

‘You did very well, Nurse Tremayne,’ William said.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ Helen replied, equally formal.

He reached over to turn on the tap over the sink. ‘So what’s this nonsense I hear about you not going to the Founder’s Day Ball?’

‘What’s this?’ Alec interrupted them. ‘You’re not going? Why not?’

Helen stared at her brother, taken aback. ‘Who told you?’

‘I’ll give you three guesses.’ His mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Mother is terribly upset.’

‘And I expect you’ve been asked to try and change my mind?’

‘Something like that. Although I would probably say “instructed” rather than asked.’

‘How typical of her.’ Helen tightened her lips.

William regarded his sister consideringly, his head on one side. ‘I know Mother can be an old battleaxe sometimes, but this ball is terribly important to her. I think she’s rather nervous about it, to be honest.’

‘Our mother, nervous? Never!’ Helen said scornfully. ‘Mother has never been nervous of anything in her life.’

‘All the same, she’s anxious the evening should go well. Couldn’t you just come along for half an hour? Let her know we’re all behind her? It would mean so much to her.’

Helen saw the appeal in her brother’s brown eyes, and hesitated. With Charlie and William both urging her to go, she wasn’t sure how long she could refuse. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m not promising anything.’

‘Good girl!’ William’s face broke into a grin. ‘Mother will be delighted.’

‘I told you, I’m not promising anything . . .’ Helen called after him, but he was already sauntering out of the room.

‘Typical William, never takes no for an answer,’ Alec remarked.

‘I think it’s the secret of his success,’ Helen agreed with a sigh.

Alec turned to her, his expression serious. ‘I hope you do decide to come to the Founder’s Day Ball. I was looking forward to our first dance.’

Helen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Didn’t your mother tell you? She asked if I would partner you. Not that I needed to be asked,’ he added hastily, his cheeks turning pink. ‘As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you anyway—’

Helen stared at him, shocked. ‘When did this happen?’

‘About a week ago. Why?’

‘I’d already told her I wasn’t going by then.’ Helen’s mouth firmed. How typical of her mother, to take no notice of her wishes.

Alec looked confused. ‘I’m sorry, have I put my foot in it?’

Helen saw his bemused expression and felt sorry for him. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she assured him. ‘But for your information, I have a boyfriend.’

‘Oh!’ He blinked owlishly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Your mother didn’t mention it.’

‘I’m sure she didn’t.’ Helen picked up a towel to dry her hands.

Alec watched her carefully. ‘I take it this means you don’t need a partner for the ball?’

‘No, Dr Little, I don’t.’ She threw down the towel. ‘I don’t need a partner because I’m not going.’

‘Oh! But I thought you told William—’

‘I told William I would think about it,’ she said. ‘Now I have thought about it. And wild horses wouldn’t drag me to that ball!’

‘What about this one?’

Hundreds of tiny mint green pleats fanned out from Lucy Lane’s narrow hips as she did a neat little pirouette in front of them.

‘It’s Fortuny,’ she said. ‘Mummy ordered it from Paris.’

Dora stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. She and Millie were supposed to be helping Katie O’Hara with her dress for the ball, but Katie’s room mate Lucy Lane had taken over. She’d spent the last half hour parading around their room, showing off her latest couture gowns. Every time Dora thought her wardrobe couldn’t possibly hold any more, another came out, more expensive and extravagant than the last.

The only one who seemed remotely impressed was Katie.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she sighed enviously. ‘We’re all going to look like carthorses next to you in all your finery.’

Lucy Lane smirked. ‘It’s so hard to choose, isn’t it? I have so many gowns I could wear, it’s difficult to pick one.’

‘You’re lucky,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve only got one, and I’m not sure even that will do. Mammy didn’t think to pack a ballgown when she sent me over from Ireland!’

‘I can’t think why not,’ Lucy sniffed, her nose turned up to the ceiling. ‘Every sophisticated woman needs at least one ballgown.’

Or in your case, a dozen, Dora thought. ‘Let’s see your dress,’ she encouraged Katie.

She hesitated. ‘I’m really not sure it will do . . .’

‘We won’t know till we see it, will we?’ Millie joined in. ‘Go on, show us.’

‘All right. If you promise not to laugh?’

It took ten minutes for Katie to inch the pink satin over her wide hips. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘Well . . .’ Dora searched for something tactful to say. It was hardly the most flattering dress she’d ever seen. The short puffy sleeves cut into the plump white flesh of Katie’s upper arms, while the thick shiny fabric clung unforgivingly to every bulge.

‘I think I must have put a bit of weight on since I last wore it,’ Katie sighed.