The Nightingale Nurses (33 page)

‘Helen is not throwing away her future, Mrs Tremayne,’ Kathleen said, more gently. ‘I have already given her permission to stay on as a student here until after her State Finals.’

‘And after that?’ Mrs Tremayne snapped.

Kathleen stared down at the blotter in front of her. ‘I think we should worry about that when the time comes,’ she said gently.

Constance fumed. ‘I might have known! It was thanks to your lacksadaisical approach that this – unfortunate liaison was allowed to happen in the first place. You should keep a tighter rein on your nurses, Matron, and then such improper conduct wouldn’t occur.’

Kathleen forced herself to stay calm, but Mrs Tremayne had a way of getting under her skin. ‘I can see nothing improper about two young people wanting to be married in the eyes of God, can you?’ she said. ‘On the contrary, I think it’s wonderful that they are making such a commitment to each other.’

‘Wonderful? You think it’s wonderful, do you?’ Constance stared at her, her skin tightly drawn across the bones of her face. Her gloved hands gripped the clasp of her crocodile-skin handbag. Kathleen had no doubt Mrs Tremayne would have fixed them around her neck, if good manners hadn’t forbidden it. ‘I might have known you would take such a sentimental view. I daresay that’s why so many of the nurses here wander about with their heads in the clouds, instead of concentrating on their work!’ She glared across the desk. ‘I take it that’s your last word on the subject?’

‘I don’t think there’s much more to say, do you?’

‘Very well then, you leave me no choice.’ Constance rose stiffly to her feet, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘We will see what the Board of Trustees has to say about this!’

‘I do hope, Mrs Tremayne, you won’t make things difficult for your daughter,’ Kathleen advised. ‘I would hate to see your relationship with Helen suffer in any way.’ As if it hasn’t suffered enough already, she added silently.

‘I believe that is my business, Matron, not yours,’ Constance bit out.

As she reached the door, Kathleen couldn’t resist saying, ‘So I expect I’ll see you at the wedding?’

Every inch of Constance Tremayne seemed to quiver with rage. ‘I can assure you if this – travesty – does take place, I will not be there to see it!’

She marched out, slamming the door behind her so hard the heavy books trembled on the shelves.

Then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought you were, Kathleen thought.

‘Have you got a minute, Doyle?’

Dora looked up from her sewing. She was in the students’ sitting room, curled up in a corner of the battered Rexine sofa, letting down the hem of Helen’s dress and listening to Katie O’Hara and Lucy Lane bickering over tuning in the ancient wireless.

She was surprised to see Penny Willard. They had barely seen each other in the last month, not since the night of the ball. Since Dora had moved to Female Medical, their paths rarely crossed.

Nurses rarely ventured into the students’ home, either. Once they passed their State Finals, they moved into the nurses’ block where they had their own rooms and lived in grand style, and never gave the poor students a second thought.

But here she was, standing in the doorway, looking decidedly out of place.

Dora put down her sewing. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like a word with you. In private, if you don’t mind?’ Penny cast a quick glance at Katie and Lucy, who had stopped twiddling the knob on the wireless and were pretending not to listen.

Dora followed her outside. It was a warm August evening, with barely a breath of breeze whispering through the plane trees. But Penny still hugged herself as she stood on the gravel drive.

‘It’s about Joe,’ she said.

‘Oh, yes?’ Dora had a feeling she knew what was coming. It was written all over Penny’s guilty face.

‘The thing is, he’s asked me to go to the pictures with him on Friday. But I said I wanted to talk to you about it first.’ She scuffed the toe of her shoe in the gravel. ‘I really like him, but you and I are friends and I don’t want you to think I’d ever do anything behind your back . . .’ Her words came out in a rush.

Dora frowned at her. ‘Are you asking me if it’s all right for you to go out with Joe Armstrong?’

‘I suppose so.’ Penny looked up at her. ‘Is it?’

Dora shrugged. ‘It’s got nothing to do with me.’

‘But you were his girlfriend. I know I’d hate if it one of my so-called friends started courting one of my boyfriends, even if I wasn’t with him myself any more. It’s just not right, is it?’

‘I told you, it’s got nothing to do with me. If you want to go out with him, then you’ve got my blessing.’

‘Really?’ Penny smiled hopefully. ‘Only I really do like him. Not that I was ever interested in him while you two were still courting,’ she added hastily.

‘Heaven forbid.’ Dora did her best to look serious. Did Penny not think she had eyes in her head? She’d seen the way the other girls had always looked at him, like a dog panting after the butcher’s bike.

‘I hope the two of you will be very happy,’ Dora said sincerely.

Katie O’Hara was waiting for her in the hall when she came back inside.

‘What a cow!’ she hissed.

Dora laughed. ‘You were listening, then? It was meant to be private.’

‘I’ve got four sisters, I don’t even know what private means!’ Katie followed her into the sitting room. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t scratch her eyes out for her.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Well, it’s obvious why she came round, isn’t it? She came to crow. She wanted to rub it in that Joe had ditched you and asked her out.’

‘That’s not what it sounded like to me.’ Dora settled herself back down on the sofa and picked up her sewing. ‘Besides, he didn’t ditch me, remember? I ditched him.’

‘Yes, and look what a big mistake that was!’ Katie flopped down on the settee next to her, upsetting her box of pins. ‘Didn’t I tell you he’d get snapped up by someone else if you weren’t careful?’

‘Yes, and I’m glad.’ Dora bent down to pick her stray pins off the floor.

Katie stared at her. ‘You really mean it, don’t you? Jesus, I don’t understand you, Doyle. I’d be beside myself if someone started courting my Tom.’

‘That’s because you’re in love with your Tom, ain’t it?’

All Dora could feel was relief that Joe was happy with someone else.

‘
ARE YOU SURE
you won’t change your mind, my dear?’ Timothy Tremayne stood at the mirror, adjusting his collar. ‘It seems such a shame that you won’t be at your own daughter’s wedding.’

‘Someone has to take a stand against this travesty.’ Constance sniffed, looking down at her sewing. ‘It’s bad enough that she insists on going through with this wedding, without me having to witness it. And I thought you might have supported me, Timothy,’ she added, shooting him a quick look. She had certainly done her best to persuade him over the past couple of days, but for once he would not be budged.

‘I’m sorry, Constance, but I have no intention of missing my daughter’s wedding,’ he said.

‘Yes, well, Helen always has been a daddy’s girl,’ Constance replied tartly. ‘She had you twisted around her little finger from the moment she was born. It was left to me to discipline her, make sure she stayed on the right path.’ She pursed her lips. No wonder she and Helen had such a difficult relationship. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll even notice I’m not there,’ she sighed.

‘Don’t be silly, my dear. Every girl wants her mother at her wedding. And you want to be there too, surely?’

Constance hesitated. ‘I would if I approved of this match. But I simply can’t allow myself to be party to something that is against my principles.’

Her husband turned away from the mirror and gave her an almost pitying look.

‘You know, I’ve always admired your principles, Constance, but it must be very lonely up there sometimes, on that high horse of yours,’ he sighed. ‘I’m sure you would find life far more to your liking if you just allowed yourself to unbend a little occasionally.’

‘Well, that’s a fine thing for a vicar to say!’ Constance retorted. ‘I hope you don’t tell that to your congregation on a Sunday morning.’

She pretended to dead head an urn of petunias as she watched him driving off in a taxi to the station. She felt a sudden, absurd urge to go after him. It was only the thought of what Mary the maid would say that stopped her from running down the drive.

But no. She had made her decision, and she was satisfied it was the right one, under the circumstances. Let Timothy do as he wished and indulge his daughter as usual; she would have nothing to do with such a farce.

It was a relief to have the house to herself, she decided as she returned to the drawing room. She could catch up with some sewing or some reading, listen to some soothing music. She might even go out into the garden later, if the weather stayed fine. The garden was starting to take on the burnished gold and russet colours of autumn, and she wanted to make sure Morley wasn’t helping himself to all the early apples from their tree.

She ordered the maid to bring her tea, and settled down to read in her favourite chair by the French window. But she couldn’t settle. Her eyes kept straying to the grandfather clock. The wedding was due to happen at three o’clock, and she could imagine Helen’s growing excitement as she got ready . . .

Constance put down her book with a gesture of impatience. Really, this would not do at all! She prided herself on her single-mindedness, her ability to concentrate, but now her thoughts seemed to be scattered all over the place.

She rang the bell. After a moment Mary appeared, looking irritated. No doubt the wretched girl had supposed she might have the place to herself this afternoon, Constance thought.

‘I want you to go up into the attic and fetch me down a box,’ she instructed her.

‘The attic, Madam?’ Mary looked dismayed.

‘Yes, Mary. The attic. You’ll find the box in the far corner. It’s clearly labelled with the date – May 1906. You should be able to find it easily enough.’

‘Yes, Madam.’ The girl didn’t move.

‘Well, get along with you!’

‘Please, Madam, I’m scared of the dark.’

‘Don’t be absurd, girl!’ Constance dismissed this. ‘Go up there at once. Don’t make a mess and see you don’t break anything,’ she called after her. ‘I shall be up in five minutes and I expect you to have found my box by then.’

As she went up the stairs precisely five minutes later, she winced at the sound of crashing overhead. It sounded as if a wild boar had got loose among her belongings.

‘I hope you didn’t break anything?’ she said, when Mary appeared down the ladder, her legs buckling under the weight of the box. She was pale-faced, her hair grey with dust.

‘No, Madam.’ She went to hand over the box, but Constance stepped back.

‘Don’t give it to me, girl. It’s far too heavy, and dusty too. Put it down over there, in the bedroom.’ She pointed towards the doorway. ‘Then go and get cleaned up.’ She frowned towards the small hatch that led to the attic. ‘In fact, it might be a good idea for you to go up there for a day and give it a thorough cleaning,’ she mused.

Mary’s face drained of what little colour it had left. ‘Go up there? For a whole day?’ she blurted out.

‘Oh, good gracious, girl. Don’t make such a fuss!’ Constance tutted. ‘Now, I’m going to spend some time going through this box. I don’t wish to be disturbed, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Madam.’

Alone in her bedroom, Constance’s hands trembled as she opened the box. On top lay a photograph. She paused for a moment to look at it. She was twenty-six years old when she married Timothy Tremayne, but she still looked absurdly young. She clung to her new husband’s arm, smiling shyly, eyes lowered modestly behind her veil.

She put the photograph to one side and took a deep breath as she carefully peeled away the layers of tissue paper, until she finally found what she was looking for.

Her wedding gown. Nothing showy or elaborate, she had deliberately chosen a very simple unadorned cream chiffon dress as if she wanted to prove to everyone how chaste and modest she was.

She held up the dress, running her hands over the soft fabric. She had always dreamed of Helen wearing it one day. She had imagined helping her to dress, fastening up the row of tiny pearl buttons at the back, helping to pin on her veil . . .

How dare Timothy suggest she didn’t want to see her daughter getting married! It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, seeing Helen safely wed to a respectable man, someone who would be able to look after her. It would be the pinnacle of her achievement, the proof that she had succeeded as a mother.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock struck three. Constance kneeled down on the floor of her bedroom, her unwanted wedding dress draped across her knees, and wept.

‘I want you to have this.’

Helen hardly knew what she was seeing at first as Brenda Bevan stood before her in the doorway, her arms full of ivory silk and lace. And then it dawned on her.

‘Your wedding dress?’ She stared down at it, then up at Brenda. ‘But I don’t understand?’

‘Hollins told me you didn’t have time to find a dress for yourself, so I got my mother to bring it for you.’

Helen glanced at Amy, who was busy packing away her comb and pins after doing Helen’s hair, then at Millie and Dora, her bridesmaids. ‘I had planned to wear one of Benedict’s old dresses,’ she said. ‘She was kind enough to lend it to me, and Doyle has spent ages altering it to fit . . .’

‘Oh, never mind that,’ Millie dismissed. ‘This is far more beautiful than my old cast-off. And I’m sure Doyle doesn’t mind, do you?’

‘Not at all,’ Dora agreed. ‘I’d rather see you in a proper wedding dress.’

Helen gazed longingly at the dress. She had never seen anything so beautiful. It was so lovely she longed to reach out and touch it.

‘I couldn’t,’ she said, drawing her hand back. ‘It’s your dress, Bevan. You haven’t even worn it to your own wedding yet.’

‘My wedding isn’t for months. Honestly, I’d like you to wear it. Call it something borrowed, if you like?’ She proffered the dress. ‘At least try it on,’ she said.