The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Twenty-Three



‘SEE ANYTHING YOU like, young lady?’

Mr Solomon crept from behind the curtained-off area at the back of the shop, his tread so soft Dora hadn’t heard him approach. ‘Or perhaps you have something you wish to offer me?’ he suggested

‘I’m looking for something . . .’ She peered into the glass-fronted case, crammed full of watches, rings, brooches and trinkets, each with its own sad story to tell. How desperate did a woman have to be to part with her wedding ring, or a man to hand over his precious war medals, knowing they might never see them again?

‘So you have something special in mind?’ He took a jingling ring of keys out of his pocket and selected one. ‘A ring, perhaps? Or a bracelet? I have one here that might suit you . . .’

‘A necklace,’ Dora said. ‘A – friend – brought it in last month. You gave him money for it.’

‘And now you want it back?’ He opened up the case. ‘A necklace, you say? What does it look like?’

‘It’s silver, shaped like a little hand. But I don’t see it here . . .’

‘Ah, you mean the hamsa?’ Mr Solomon smiled. ‘I remember it now. That Riley boy brought it in a few weeks ago.’

Dora nodded eagerly. ‘That’s it. Do you have it?’

‘I’m afraid not, young lady. I made young Nick an offer for it, but he turned me down. Seemed to think it was worth more than I was offering. Cheeky little ganef thought he could swindle me in my own shop.’ He cleared his throat in disgust and spat into a grubby handkerchief.

Dora began to panic. ‘So where is it now?’

‘How should I know? Knowing that boy, he probably flogged it down the Rose and Crown.’ Mr Solomon shrugged. ‘You’ll have a job getting it back, I reckon. He should have sold it to me,’ he called after her, as she rushed out of the shop. ‘At least I would have kept it safe for you.’

Dora was seething as she stomped back through the market. It was a Saturday afternoon, and the street was busy. On one side, people picked and argued over secondhand clothes spread out on canvas sheets across the pavement. On the other side were stalls selling fruit and veg and seafood. The sharp, salty smell mingled with the tang of fried onions and the tempting aroma of freshly baked bread. Usually Dora loved the sights, sounds and smells of the market, but today she was too furious to notice them.

Mr Solomon was right, she stood no chance of getting her hamsa back. It could be anywhere. The thought of it hanging round the neck of one of Nick Riley’s tarty girlfriends made her feel sick. I should never have trusted him, she thought. Now she’d lost her precious hamsa and let Esther Gold down, and it was all his fault.

Back at the Nightingale, she headed straight for the porters’ lodge.

Mr Hopkins was very put out when she marched in. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he spluttered. ‘You can’t come barging in here . . .’

‘I’m looking for Nick Riley. Where is he?’

‘Having his tea break. But you can’t go in there!’ he shouted after her as she marched past him. ‘I’ll tell Matron. This area is restricted to porters only, not nurses. You have to go through the proper channels . . .’

Nick was in the back room, playing cards around an upturned tea chest with a few of the other porters.

‘I want a word with you,’ Dora said.

‘All right, Nick? What you been up to then?’ one of the other porters cackled.

‘Hope you haven’t been a naughty boy?’ another laughed.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time if he was, would it?’

Nick threw down his cards, rose to his feet and followed Dora out, to a chorus of cat calls from the other porters.

Outside it was cold, damp and already growing dark even though it wasn’t yet four o’clock. Nick lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Where’s my necklace? And don’t bother lying to me, I’ve been down to Solomon’s and he says he hasn’t got it. So where is it?’

He stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. ‘It’s safe.’

‘Why didn’t you pawn it like I asked you to?’

‘Because he offered me next to nothing for it.’

‘So you thought you’d sell it to one of your mates instead?’

He didn’t meet her eye. ‘What do you care? You got the money for your books, didn’t you? More than old Solomon would have given you.’

‘That’s not the point. You knew what it meant to me, and you knew I’d want it back. How am I supposed to get it if you sold it?’

‘Who said I sold it?’

‘Don’t be clever with me, Nick Riley. I don’t want to hear any of your lies.’ Dora stared at his rigid profile. He couldn’t even look her in the eye. ‘You really don’t care, do you? You knew how much that necklace meant to me, and you just handed it over to any old Tom, Dick or Harry,’ she raged.

‘I got you the money, didn’t I?’ he growled.

‘So you say. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d sold it and kept some for yourself!’

He turned slowly to look at her. ‘Are you calling me a thief?’

Anyone else might have been put off by his icy anger, but Dora was too furious to care.

‘I wouldn’t put anything past you, Nick Riley. I was wrong about you, wasn’t I? Everyone said you weren’t to be trusted, but I didn’t believe them. I thought you wouldn’t let me down—’

There was a jingling sound at her feet. Dora looked down. The hamsa lay glinting in a dirty puddle of water.

‘I do know what it meant to you,’ Nick said gruffly. ‘Why else do you think I kept hold of it?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No, you don’t, do you? Looks like I was wrong about you, too.’ As his eyes met hers, Dora caught the flash of hurt.

‘Nick . . .’ she began to say, but he was already walking back towards the porters’ lodge, hands thrust in his pockets, head down.

The first ward allocations went up that night. Dora and the rest of her set gathered eagerly around the noticeboard outside the dining room to find out where they would be spending their first three months as probationers.

‘Not that it really matters,’ Katie O’Hara said, as they all crowded around the list of names. ‘Wherever we are, all we’ll be doing is cleaning. Junior pros get all the dirty jobs no one else wants to do.’

‘I don’t care so long as I don’t get Female Chronics,’ Millie whispered, her hands clasped together in fervent prayer. Female Chronics was presided over by Sister Hyde, the sister Millie had soaked with enema solution.

‘I don’t care where I am, so long as I’m not teamed up with Lane,’ Dora said.

‘It’s all right, she’s on Gynae with you, Benedict.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Millie sighed. ‘I wonder if I wouldn’t have been better off with Sister Hyde?’

‘Where am I?’ Dora craned her neck to look.

‘Let’s have a look . . . stop shoving, you lot!’ Katie ran her finger down the list. ‘Ah, here we are. Doyle, Dora . . . Blake. That’s Male Orthopaedics. That’s Bridget’s ward!’ She laughed. ‘Good luck, Doyle. You’ll need it, being ordered about by my big sister for the next three months.’

‘I won’t be the only one,’ Dora said. ‘Look who’s down for Blake with me.’

She could hardly stop herself from smiling as she watched Katie peer at the list, her expression changing from puzzlement to complete horror.

‘No!’ She shook her head. ‘There must be a mistake. I can’t be going to Blake . . . I can’t be. Lord, Bridget’s going to love that,’ she sighed.