The Nightingale Sisters (30 page)

‘So what do you think?’ Millie asked, when she’d finished telling her tale. She half expected Maud to tell her she’d done the right thing, that no man had the right to dictate how she lived her life. She had been a suffragette, after all.

But she didn’t say anything of the sort. ‘Why does it matter what I think?’ She seemed genuinely surprised by the question.

Millie looked at her, crestfallen. ‘I thought you might give me some advice,’ she said in a small voice.

‘It’s rather late for that, don’t you think?’

Millie stared down at the cup. ‘Do you think I’ve done the right thing?’ she asked again.

Maud sent her a wise look. ‘My dear, if you have to ask me that, then I wonder if you have.’

VIOLET HADN’T MEANT
to join the choir. But, as with everything else about the Nightingale, she found herself gradually drawn in, almost without realising it.

It began just after nine on a fine March evening. It was one of the three nights a month Violet was allowed to take off, and after putting Oliver to bed she had planned to spend the time reading. But no sooner had she opened her book than the electric light above her head flickered, and the next moment she was plunged into darkness.

Violet put down her book with a sigh. She went round trying all the lights in the flat, but none of them worked.

Almost immediately, she heard voices in the passageway outside.

‘What on earth has happened?’

‘Is the rest of the hospital in darkness?’

‘Where are the candles?’

‘I’m just looking for them now . . .’

‘Well, hurry up!’

‘Don’t fret, I’ve found them. Now I just need to find a match . . .’

Violet was more used to the dark than most. She quickly found the box of matches she kept on top of the kitchen cupboard and hurried out into the passageway, just in time to see a beam of torchlight at the other end.

‘Ah, Sister Tanner.’ Matron’s voice greeted her calmly. ‘This is quite a drama, isn’t it?’

‘What’s happened?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. I suspect it’s simply a problem with the fuses. Fortunately it only seems to have affected this building, but I’m going to have a word with Mr Hopkins and see what’s happening in the rest of the hospital.’

‘Shall I come with you?’

She caught Matron’s smile in the beam of the torch. ‘Bless you, but that won’t be necessary. I can see there are lights on in the other buildings, so I’m sure it’s all a fuss over nothing. I just need to make certain everyone is all right, and get some matches from Mr Hopkins for our candles.’

‘I have some here.’ Violet held up the box.

‘Then perhaps you could help the other sisters?’ Matron nodded towards the sitting room from whence she had come. Piano music drifted softly through the half-open door. ‘They’re currently cursing each other for the fact that none of them smokes!’

Matron glided off towards the main buildings, and Violet pushed open the door to the sitting room. Half a dozen faces turned towards her in the gloom.

‘Who’s there?’ a voice hissed. ‘Is that you, Matron?’

‘It’s me . . . Violet Tanner,’ she called back. ‘I’ve brought you some matches.’

‘Thank God! Give them to me.’ A hand snatched them from her in the darkness. A moment later there was the rasp of a match, and a flickering candle flame illuminated Sister Wren’s pinched face.

She looked even more small-boned and diminutive out of her uniform, her little face surrounded by limp brown curls. She barely came up to Violet’s shoulder.

As more candles were lit and handed around, Violet made out the faces of half a dozen sisters in the large sitting room. Sister Hyde was squeezed on to the end of the sofa on one side of Sister Sutton’s spreading bulk, with the Sister Tutor, Sister Parker, squeezed on to the other, like a pair of narrow bookends. Sister Parry lit the candles in a candelabra on top of the piano, where Sister Blake sat.

‘I quite like playing in this light. It’s rather evocative, don’t you think?’ Her fingers ran lightly and expertly over the keys. ‘I imagine Chopin composed his piano concertos by candlelight like this.’

She looked up at Violet and smiled. ‘Ah, I see you’ve discovered our little choir. Won’t you sit and listen for a moment? We so rarely have an audience.’

‘Which is probably just as well!’ Sister Parry put in.

Violet was about to refuse, when she caught the look of challenge in Sister Hyde’s eyes. ‘Well, all right . . . perhaps for a moment,’ she said. She perched herself on the edge of the armchair nearest to the door.

‘You’ll have to forgive us if we’re dreadful,’ Sister Blake continued. ‘We’ve only just started practising “Blow the Wind Southerly” so we’re still getting a feel for it.’

As it happened, they weren’t too dreadful at all. Although Sister Wren’s reedy soprano was no match for the booming alto voices of Sister Hyde, Sister Parry and Sister Sutton. Sister Parker wasn’t much help, since her spectacles kept slipping down her nose, making her lose her place in the sheet music.

Sister Blake stopped playing abruptly halfway through the second chorus.

‘This won’t do at all,’ she said. ‘The altos are drowning you out, Miriam. We really need another soprano.’

‘Then we will have to wait until Miss Fox comes back,’ Sister Wren said, putting down her music.

‘Unless Violet would like to join in?’

‘Oh, no!’ She and Sister Wren both spoke at the same time, both in agreement for once.

‘She doesn’t know the piece,’ Sister Wren argued.

‘Neither do we,’ Sister Parker pointed out in her soft Scottish voice, the candlelight glinting off her pebble glasses. ‘We only started on the music an hour ago. I’m sure Sister Tanner can pick it up.’ She beamed at Violet, who shook her head.

‘No, really, I’m a hopeless singer,’ she protested.

‘Come along, my dear. I’m sure you can’t be any worse than the rest of us,’ said Sister Hyde.

‘But Matron sings the soprano part with me,’ Sister Wren insisted stubbornly.

‘Yes, but Matron isn’t here, is she? And heaven knows how long she’ll be. Besides, we’re going to need a solo soprano for this piece, too. Perhaps Violet would like to take that part?’

‘I hardly think so!’ Sister Wren broke in before Violet could refuse. ‘If anyone sings solo, it should be me. I have been here the longest, after all.’

Even in the dim candlelight, Violet could see the stricken faces of the other sisters as they exchanged horrified looks.

‘But we need you where you are,’ Sister Blake stepped in smoothly. ‘You are a vital piece of the puzzle, Miriam. The glue that holds us together.’

‘If you were to sing solo, we would fall to pieces completely,’ Sister Parker agreed solemnly.

‘Well, I can see that,’ Sister Wren agreed, mollified. ‘But I think if I can’t do it, then Matron should sing the solo part,’ she added, with a glare at Violet.

‘Then that’s settled,’ Sister Blake said. ‘Violet can sing soprano.’

Violet was about to refuse again, but looking round at the other nurses’ faces, she realised defeatedly that it would be quicker just to agree and get it over with than to argue about it.

‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘But I warn you, I’m rather out of practice.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Sister Parry murmured to her with a smile as she took her place beside her.

Violet was so nervous she could hardly keep her sheet music still. But once she’d managed to get through the first few bars, it all began to come back to her. It had been so long since she’d sung, she had forgotten the sheer joy of letting the music flow out of her.

She was so carried away by it, she lost track of where she was until Sister Blake finished playing and she saw them all looking at her.

‘I’m sorry.’ Violet dropped her music and bent to pick it up, suddenly flustered by their attention. ‘I did warn you I was out of practice . . .’

‘Not at all. That was beautiful,’ Sister Blake said admiringly.

‘It was indeed.’ Miss Fox stood in the doorway, her torch in her hand. How long had she been there? Violet wondered. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you had such a fine voice?’

Violet stared at the floor, her face burning, as the others murmured their appreciation. All the while she kept asking herself why she’d ever got herself into this situation. The last thing she’d wanted was to be singled out in any way, good or bad.

‘I was just filling in for you, Matron,’ she said. ‘Now I’d best be going . . .’

‘Surely you can stay a bit longer?’ Miss Fox urged her, against a chorus of protests. ‘We can’t lose our star singer already, not when we’ve just found her!’

At that moment the lights flicked back on. The first thing Violet saw was Sister Wren’s face, taut with resentment.

‘No, really, I have a lot to do,’ she muttered. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

Putting down the sheet music, she fled before they had a chance to try and change her mind.

‘
HERE, LET ME
help you with that.’

Dora, bending over the bathtub to scrub a mackintosh sheet, looked around in surprise at Lettie Pike, standing behind her with a brush in her hand.

‘It’ll be quicker with two of us,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’

‘You don’t want to be here all night, do you? Not when you’re supposed to be getting off at five.’

Dora straightened up and massaged the cramped muscles in her back as Lettie set to work, scrubbing enthusiastically. If anyone had told her a week ago that Lettie Pike would even be giving her the time of day, let alone lifting a finger to help her, she would have laughed.

But a lot had changed since she’d found that box of eggs in Lettie’s shopping basket. Dora had never intended to tell Sister Wren about her stealing – for all her faults, Lettie Pike was still a neighbour, and people in Griffin Street stuck by each other – but she had been so grateful she had been falling over herself to be nice to Dora ever since.

Dora wasn’t sure what made her smile more: the fact that Lettie had stopped spreading gossip about her family, or watching her making such a painful effort to be pleasant.

Working together, they finished scrubbing the sheet then wiped it dry and Lettie helped drape it over a roller to finish drying. Thanks to her, Dora managed to get off duty just half an hour after she was supposed to go – a record for her, since Sister Wren inevitably managed to find her ‘just one more thing’ to do before she would finally release her. But luck was on her side, as Sister Parker, the Sister Tutor, was visiting the ward to check up on her students, and Sister Wren clearly didn’t feel she could be her usual merciless self in front of her.

It was a fine spring evening, and the London plane trees in the centre of the courtyard were a fresh acid green in the early evening sunshine. Dora was smiling to herself as she crossed the courtyard, heading for the nurses’ home to get changed. But her smile disappeared as she saw her brother Peter emerging from the Porters’ Lodge, followed by Nick Riley.

Her heart jolted. Only one thing would bring Peter to the Nightingale, and that was trouble.

‘Pete?’ Ignoring the risk of being caught and sent to Matron, Dora hurried over to him.

He turned to face her, his freckled face splitting into a broad smile. He was only a little taller than her, strong and stocky, with the muddy green eyes and bright ginger hair they had both inherited from their father. Somehow they suited him better.

‘All right, Dor? I wasn’t sure if I’d see you. Nick thought you might still be on duty.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Look at you, in your uniform. Don’t you look a picture?’

But Dora hardly heard his compliment. ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’ The words came out in a rush, tripping over each other. ‘Has something happened to Mum or Nanna?’ All kinds of dreadful fears crowded into her mind. ‘Oh, God, it’s one of the kids, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t get in a flap, everyone’s all right. Blimey, and I thought you nurses were meant to be calm in a crisis!’ He put his hands on her arms, steadying her. ‘It’s good news, Dor. I’ve got a job!’

It took a moment for his words to sink in. She stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What? But how? Where?’

‘Right here. Nick heard there was a porter’s job going and put in a good word for me. I’ve just been to see Mr Hopkins, and he gave me the job on the spot.’ Peter grinned at her.

‘Oh, Pete, that’s smashing news.’ Dora put her hand to her racing heart. ‘I’m so glad for you.’

‘It means I’ll be able to start paying my way again, help Mum out a bit more,’ he said proudly.

Dora looked past him to where Nick stood behind them, hands thrust into his pockets, kicking at a loose cobble with the toe of his boot.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said. ‘They needed someone, that’s all.’ Their eyes met and held for a moment. Then he dragged his gaze away and said, ‘But you’ll have to keep your nose clean, Pete. Mr Hopkins don’t stand for no messing about.’

‘I will, don’t you worry.’

‘And I hope this means we won’t hear any more nonsense about the Blackshirts?’ Dora added.

Her brother’s face darkened. ‘It’s not nonsense,’ he muttered.

Dora caught Nick’s eye. He lifted his broad shoulders in a slight shrug.

‘It’s good news, anyway,’ she said, determined not to let anything spoil the moment.

They left Nick at the Porters’ Lodge and walked as far as the gates together, being careful to stay out of sight of anyone who might report her.

‘How’s Mum?’ Dora asked the question that had been troubling her ever since she’d last been home.

‘Oh, Dor, she’s not right.’ Peter shook his head. ‘Hasn’t been the same since that bloke Joe Armstrong came round. It’s proper upset her, but she won’t talk about it. Just tries to act like it didn’t happen. And she went mad the other day when Nanna mentioned it.’

‘I don’t blame her. Poor Mum.’

‘I know. I should have punched that sod when I had the chance, coming round upsetting everyone with his lies like that.’ Peter ground his fist into the palm of his hand.

Dora couldn’t look at him. ‘You really think they’re lies?’ she said cautiously.