The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Twenty-Seven



‘LET ME BE clear on this.’ Kathleen Fox struggled to control her rising temper as she looked at the rows of figures in front of her. ‘You are telling me there is no money available for new linen on the wards because you have decided to spend it all on a party?’

She fixed her gaze on Reginald Collins, Treasurer of the Hospital Trustees and the man responsible for drawing up the figures. He squirmed in his seat and examined the papers in front of him.

‘It’s not my doing,’ he huffed. ‘I simply present the facts. The other Trustees . . .’

He shot a quick, guilty look at Constance Tremayne, seated to the right of the Chairman, Philip Enright. Philip might as well not have been there, Kathleen decided. They all knew who was really in charge of the Nightingale.

‘Matron, you do make it sound so frivolous,’ Constance Tremayne observed. She was dressed for battle in a stiff tweed suit, her hair scraped back in its usual tight bun which drew her skin taut across her cheekbones, making it difficult for her to smile. Not that she ever did.

‘Isn’t it?’ Kathleen said coldly.

‘Of course it isn’t. The annual Founder’s Day celebration is a big event for the Nightingale Hospital. And as this year is our fiftieth anniversary, we wanted to make it even more special. All we’ve done is make a temporary allocation in the budget to cover expenses. I think we all agree that is reasonable?’

She looked around the table. No one spoke.

‘Mrs Tremayne is right,’ Gerald Munroe said finally. ‘The Nightingale Hospital is a very important aspect of the lives of the people in this area. It’s our duty to allow everyone to celebrate it.’

Kathleen stared at him. She might have known he’d vote for anything that involved him getting his face in the newspapers yet again.

‘And exactly how many people from this area will we be inviting to celebrate?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘I take it we’ll be throwing the gates open to everyone?’

There was some coughing and shuffling of feet around the table. ‘Of course we will have to restrict the guest list to local dignitaries, senior staff and their families,’ Mrs Tremayne said.

Of course, Kathleen thought. Constance Tremayne wouldn’t want any East End riff-raff at her grand garden party.

‘It will be a very prestigious event,’ she added.

‘I see. And while you’re enjoying this prestigious event of yours, our patients will be sleeping on thin sheets which the nurses are having to patch and mend constantly.’

‘You didn’t seem to mind spending money on the Christmas dance?’ Mrs Tremayne reminded her.

‘The Christmas dance cost next to nothing compared to this extravaganza you’re planning.’

All eyes turned to Constance Tremayne.

‘Then the nursing staff will just have to practise economy.’

Blood sang in Kathleen’s ears. ‘My staff are hardly spendthrift, Mrs Tremayne,’ she bit out. ‘They waste nothing. Dressings are boiled and re-used until they fall apart, everything that can be used again is kept and cleaned and mended. Go and ask any of the sisters here. They will tell you. And while you’re at it, perhaps you’d like to explain to them why you feel it necessary to spend this hospital’s money on champagne and canapés while they have no clean sheets to put on the patients’ beds? See if they understand this fur coat and no knickers approach of yours, because I certainly don’t!’

Mr Cooper gave a muffled snort of laughter from across the table. Mrs Tremayne turned white-faced with shock.

‘Did she say knickers?’ Lady Fenella asked, baffled.

‘Perhaps we should move to a vote?’ Philip Enright suggested quickly.

‘I think even Mrs Tremayne was lost for words in there!’ James Cooper fell into step beside Kathleen as she made her way back to her office ten minutes later. ‘You have a very lively turn of phrase, Matron. Very . . . vivid, shall we say?’

‘I didn’t intend to be vivid,’ Kathleen snapped back. Usually she enjoyed the few moments of banter she had with Mr Cooper as they left the Trustees meeting, but this morning she wasn’t in the mood. ‘I merely wanted everyone to see how perfectly ridiculous they were being. How on earth can they call this a prestigious hospital when our linen cupboards are empty? Can’t they see the irony?’

‘I don’t think irony is Mrs Tremayne’s strong point.’ James Cooper pulled a wry face. ‘Look, you did your best,’ he said. ‘You can’t expect to win every fight.’

‘But I should have won this one!’ She swung round to face him. ‘This was important. My nurses were relying on me to argue their case for them.’

‘And you did. Admirably.’

‘I still failed though, didn’t I?’

‘There is one consolation.’

‘Which is?’

‘I’m sure you’ll get an invitation to the party.’

Kathleen’s mouth tightened. ‘I can’t wait.’

There was a student waiting outside her office with a broken thermometer. Under normal circumstances, Kathleen would have put it down to an accident and given her a small fine to cover the cost. But this time she harangued her about carelessness and waste until she was hoarse and the poor girl was close to tears.

She was mindlessly shuffling papers on her desk, still trying to calm herself down, when Miss Hanley came in. Kathleen groaned inwardly. The last thing she needed in her present mood was the Assistant Matron’s oppressive presence.

‘Did you have a good meeting?’ she asked politely.

Kathleen looked up at Miss Hanley, towering over her, as solid and unyielding as a block of granite. Usually she would have made some anodyne reply, but for once she was too angry to lie.

‘No, since you ask,’ she snapped.

‘Oh?’ Miss Hanley did her best to mould her features into an expression of concern.

‘I’m afraid we will not be getting the new requisition of linen we ordered. You will have to go and tell the sisters they’re to go on making do and mending.’

‘Oh.’ This time Miss Hanley’s concern seemed genuine. ‘But our linen stock is very low, Matron. Last time I checked—’

‘Then perhaps you’d better tell Mrs Tremayne that?’ Kathleen cut her off abruptly. ‘She’s the one who’s put her foot down. She thinks the money would be better spent showing off to the local dignitaries at a Founder’s Day garden party.’

She could see Miss Hanley’s features twisting in confusion as she struggled to justify her friend’s actions.

‘Well, I suppose Founder’s Day is an important occasion . . .’ she began doubtfully.

‘More important than looking after our patients?’

‘Of course not.’ For once Miss Hanley wasn’t wearing her usual look of self-assurance. ‘I’d better go and talk to the sisters,’ she said.

‘You do that, Miss Hanley.’ And good luck, Kathleen added silently.

Veronica Hanley caught up with Constance Tremayne just as she was leaving.

‘May I have a word, Mrs Tremayne?’ she asked.

‘Of course, Miss Hanley.’ Mrs Tremayne gave her a charming smile. ‘I would have come and said hello but I had no wish to see Miss Fox again. One meeting with her was more than enough for today.’ She shuddered delicately. ‘I can’t tell you how rude and insulting she was to me this morning. Even the other Trustees were shocked. Between you and me, I think they’re beginning to see our new Matron’s true colours.’ She laid a delicate hand on Veronica’s arm. ‘How I wish you were Matron, Miss Hanley. I’m sure we could conduct business in a far more civilised way if we were working together.’

Miss Hanley blushed. For a moment she was too sidetracked by Constance’s flattery to continue. But then she remembered why she’d sought her out.

‘I have to admit, for once Miss Fox has a point,’ she said, trying not to meet Mrs Tremayne’s eye. She couldn’t bear to see that warmth replaced by a look of frosty disapproval. ‘We really do desperately need more linen . . .’

‘And you’ll get it, of course,’ Mrs Tremayne assured her. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer, that’s all.’ She looked disappointed. ‘You know how much I care about this hospital, Miss Hanley. It means as much to me as it does to you. Do you think I would do anything to damage the Nightingale’s excellent reputation?’

‘Well, no. But . . .’

‘I want everyone to look at this hospital and see it for what it is: a shining beacon of excellence. That’s why I so want this Founder’s Day celebration to be a success. So we can make the Nightingale a hospital to be proud of. You want that too, don’t you, Miss Hanley?’ Her fingers tightened on Veronica’s arm, her eyes glittering with fervour.

‘Of course,’ Veronica agreed cautiously. ‘But I must insist . . .’

‘You must insist that patients’ welfare comes first,’ Mrs Tremayne finished for her. ‘I do agree with you, Miss Hanley, I really do. And I have to say, this problem with the linen is not entirely of the Trustees’ making. In fact, you could have had your order before Christmas, if only . . .’ She let her voice trail away.

‘If only what, Mrs Tremayne?’

She glanced one way and then the other before leaning forward and whispering, ‘I’m not sure I should tell you. It is a matter for the Trustees, after all. And everyone else agreed with it at the time. Apart from myself, of course,’ she added.

‘Agreed with what, Mrs Tremayne?’ Miss Hanley’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is there something we are not being told? If it concerns the running of this hospital and the welfare of the patients, then we have a right to know.’

Mrs Tremayne paused for a moment. ‘There was money for the linen requisition before Christmas,’ she said. ‘I was all for putting it through – the patients’ comfort is paramount, after all. But Matron insisted the funds must go instead on providing some kind of – entertainment – for the nursing staff.’

‘What kind of entertainment?’

‘The Christmas dance. I made my feelings very clear at the time, warned her that funds were low and questioned the wisdom of frittering money away on such a frivolous activity. But Matron would have her way. Which is why we find ourselves in such a perilous financial situation now.’ She looked up at Miss Hanley, her face full of regret. ‘We mustn’t blame Miss Fox,’ she said with every appearance of sincerity. ‘She is new and inexperienced. She has no idea of our values, the way we do things at the Nightingale. If she chooses to spend hospital funds on allowing the nurses to get tipsy and cavort with the junior doctors, while vital stocks run low, well . . . what can we do?’

What indeed? Miss Hanley thought.