The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Thirty



BLANCHE DESMOND WENT down to surgery on a trolley, like Cleopatra going down the Nile on her barge.

‘Well, this is it.’ She winked at Millie. ‘I’m glad you’re coming with me, love.’

‘So am I.’ Usually it was a senior’s job to accompany patients down to Theatre, but Blanche had insisted she wanted Millie with her.

‘A lot of those other nurses walk by with their noses in the air and won’t give me the time of day. But our Millie’s different,’ she’d told Sister Wren.

Sister was outraged – she was the one who gave orders on her ward – but as it happened one of the seniors had been taken to the sick room with a fever and they were short-staffed, so it suited her to give Millie the job.

‘But I’ll be having words with you later about allowing patients to call you by your Christian name,’ she’d warned ominously.

They made their way through the grey-painted corridors, a porter pushing the trolley, Millie walking beside Blanche. She felt terribly important in her uniform. It helped her walk with her head held high, in a way that Madame Vacani’s deportment lessons had never managed to teach her.

‘Hold my hand, would you, love?’

Blanche reached out to her. Millie took her hand and curled her fingers around it.

‘Silly, isn’t it? But I can’t help feeling a bit nervous now it’s all happening,’ she whispered.

Millie squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll be fine, Blanche,’ she reassured her.

‘I hope so, love. Funny thing is, I had a dream last night that I wasn’t going to make it. A what do you call it? Premonition.’

‘Everyone feels nervous before an operation,’ Millie said.

‘Let’s hope the surgeon doesn’t!’ Blanche managed a wobbly smile. She looked so vulnerable without her usual mask of powder and scarlet lipstick.

‘You’ve got nothing to worry about,’ Millie reassured her. ‘This is a routine operation, and Mr Cooper knows what he’s doing. You’ll be as right as rain when he’s finished with you.’

‘I hope so, love. It’s not been much of a life, but I’d be sorry if this was my lot.’

‘It won’t be,’ Millie said. ‘Just think, in a few weeks’ time you’ll be chasing chickens around your sister’s farmyard and wondering what you were ever worrying about!’

Blanche smiled, and this time her smile reached her eyes. It crinkled the skin at the corners, showing her age.

‘I’ll have a good send off before then, I hope,’ she said. ‘A party in the King’s Arms, and you can all drink to my good health. You’ll come, won’t you, love?’

‘I’d love to,’ Millie said. ‘I’ve never been to a pub before.’

Blanche’s mouth fell open. ‘You what? How old are you?’

‘Nineteen. Nearly twenty, actually.’

‘Blimey, love, by the time I was your age, I was – well, never mind what I was,’ said Blanche hastily. ‘Let’s just say I’d seen the inside of a fair few pubs by then. Next you’ll be telling me you’ve never had a port and lemon?’

Millie shook her head. ‘I haven’t. But I’ll try anything once.’

‘Don’t be saying that, girl. You don’t know what trouble you’ll end up in!’

They both laughed. Then Millie remembered the porter was listening, and started to blush.

Blanche gazed at her fondly. ‘You’re a lovely girl, do you know that? You’ve been very good to me while I’ve been here. And you’re a bloody good nurse, too.’

‘I don’t think Sister Wren would agree with you!’

‘Sister Wren doesn’t know her arse from her elbow, if you’ll pardon my French.’

‘Let’s hope the surgeon does, or you’ll be in trouble,’ the porter said cheekily.

Blanche stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. She suddenly seemed more like her old self again, her hearty, wheezing laughter ringing out down the corridor.

William was waiting for them on the other side of the double doors to the theatre.

‘There you are, Miss Desmond,’ he greeted her with a smile. ‘We were wondering what had happened to you. We thought you might have changed your mind and stood us up?’

‘Stand up Mr Cooper? Not a chance. Although I feel a bit strange, seeing him without my lipstick on. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could . . .’

‘Sorry, Blanche, it’s against the rules,’ Millie said. ‘But I’ll make sure you’re wearing it when you come round.’

‘Promise? I feel naked without my lipstick.’

‘I promise,’ Millie said.

‘You look beautiful without it anyway,’ William put in gallantly.

‘Ooh, listen to you!’ Blanche chuckled. ‘You’d better watch out, Millie love. Looks like your young man’s got his eye on me now!’

Millie couldn’t bring herself to look at William as colour scalded her face. ‘This is where I have to leave you,’ she said.

‘Don’t.’ Blanche was suddenly serious, her fingers tightening around Millie’s. ‘Stay with me,’ she pleaded.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m not allowed.’ Millie felt suddenly flustered. ‘But I’ll be waiting with a nice cup of tea when you wake up.’

‘And I’ll take good care of you in the meantime,’ William put in.

As the porter wheeled her away, Blanche called back, ‘You will make sure I’ve got my lipstick on when I come round, won’t you? I don’t feel right without it.’

They were the last words Millie ever heard her say.

Millie was due to take her break from three until five. She had arranged to meet Sophia at the dressmaker’s for a fitting that afternoon, but was determined to be back on the ward in time to keep her promise to Blanche.

She changed out of her uniform and ran to catch the bus up to Piccadilly. By the time she arrived, puffing for breath at the top of the stairs to the dressmaker’s atelier, Sophia’s cousin Margaret was already standing in the middle of the room wearing a calico toile of her bridesmaid’s dress while two of the dressmaker’s assistants knelt at her feet, busily pinning and adjusting.

Millie was surprised to see Georgina Farsley was also there.

‘She invited herself,’ Sophia whispered as she kissed Millie in greeting. ‘Thank God you turned up – I think she was about to offer to take your place.’

The dressmaker’s studio was a large, sunny, white-painted room looking out over Green Park. Millie gazed out over the well-dressed people strolling in the park and sighed happily. It felt almost decadent to be somewhere that didn’t smell of disinfectant, where there wasn’t always someone calling for her, or watching for her every mistake.

It felt just like old times, laughing and gossiping with Sophia as the dressmakers fitted her dress. Her friend, as she’d expected, was full of chatter about the plans for her forthcoming wedding.

‘We’re having it at St Margaret’s, of course. Mother’s already tying herself in knots, trying to make sure it’s the biggest and grandest wedding they’ve ever seen. I think she’d even try to outdo Princess Marina if she could!’

‘Oh, but she looked beautiful on her wedding day, didn’t she?’ Georgina sighed. ‘Edward Molyneux really did her proud with that design. So simple, but so stunning. Are you having a tiara like her, or flowers?’ she asked Sophia.

‘Flowers, I think. Although I dare say Mother has it all planned.’ Sophia smiled wistfully. ‘I don’t really care what I wear or where I get married, as long as I’m marrying David.’

‘And becoming the next Duchess of Cleveland,’ Georgina said eagerly.

The other girls looked at each other uneasily. ‘I’m not marrying him because of his title,’ Sophia said.

‘Of course you’re not,’ Georgina said quickly. ‘But it doesn’t hurt to have people referring to you as “Your Grace”, does it?’ She saw their expressions. ‘Oh, come on! What girl doesn’t want to marry a man with a title?’

‘Poor Seb,’ Millie whispered to Sophia as the dressmaker’s maid arrived with more tea. ‘He really doesn’t stand a chance, does he?’

‘She’s certainly determined,’ Sophia agreed.

‘I’m surprised she hasn’t set her sights on marrying Richard, if she’s so keen to marry into a title?’

‘She did, at first. But he made it clear he wasn’t interested, so she had to turn her attention to poor Seb instead. I think she’s secretly hoping a terrible accident will befall Richard once she and Seb are safely married.’

Millie was scandalised, until she remembered her grandmother would probably think in exactly the same way.

The conversation turned to Millie. Sophia and Margaret were horrified and fascinated when she told them all about her work on the Gynae ward.

Georgina looked repelled. ‘And you actually have to touch these women? With all those nasty diseases and things?’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

‘How else are we supposed to nurse them?’ Millie asked. ‘They’re just people, like the rest of us.’

‘Maybe, but I wouldn’t want to clean up after them. Can you imagine?’ Georgina shuddered.

Millie saw the looks of revulsion on her friends’ faces and realised they probably couldn’t imagine anything like it. Much as they enjoyed squirming and giggling over all the gruesome details, she knew they would never feel anything but horror at the idea of cleaning toilets or mopping up someone’s vomit.

Once she would have felt the same, but now, after a couple of months on the ward, she barely thought about it. It was only seeing her friends’ expressions that made her realise how distant she had grown from them. She had seen and experienced things they could never imagine in their worst nightmares.

And it worked the other way, too. As they gossiped about the latest scandal in their circle, and excitedly planned what they were going to wear to the next country house weekend, Millie couldn’t help feeling how trivial and tedious their lives were. She missed her old life back at Billinghurst, but she knew she would miss being a nurse even more.

After the fitting, the other girls were going for tea at Fortnum and Mason’s.

‘Why don’t you come with us?’ Sophia asked.

‘Sorry, I have to catch my bus back to the hospital. I’m back on duty at five.’

‘Those backsides won’t wipe themselves, will they?’ Georgina smirked.

Millie scowled back at her. She sincerely hoped she didn’t manage to ensnare Seb. Her friend deserved far better.

It was twenty to five when she hared through the hospital gates. She headed straight for the nurses’ home, praying Sister Sutton wasn’t around to delay her. But as she put her foot on the stairs, she heard Sparky yapping and a moment later the door to Sister Sutton’s room swung open.

‘Where do you think you’re going, Benedict?’

Millie’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m going to get changed, Sister.’

Sister Sutton gasped as if this were the greatest impertinence she had ever heard. ‘And where have you been? I hope you haven’t been out gallivanting?’ she said suspiciously.

Millie was about to point out that it was her afternoon off and she could gallivant if she wanted to, but thought better of it. She already had less than ten minutes to change and get back to the ward.

There was nothing she could do but to stand and submit to Sister Sutton’s scrutiny as she looked her up and down.

‘Your bed was a disgrace again this morning,’ was all she could finally find to say. ‘Make it properly before you go on duty.’

‘Yes, Sister.’ To hell with the bed, thought Millie as she raced up the stairs, already tearing off her coat. She was more afraid of Sister Wren than she was of Sister Sutton.

But it wasn’t just fear that made her hurry, clumsily pulling on her black stockings and ramming her feet into her shoes. She was anxious to keep her promise to Blanche, to be there with her lipstick, ready for when she woke up.

Mr Hopkins gave a disapproving shake of his head as she hurried past the porters’ lodge a few minutes later, still buttoning up her cuffs as she went. No one noticed her when she arrived breathless on to the ward. She slid past Sister Wren’s gaze and hurried to Blanche’s bed at the far end of the ward.

As she drew closer, her smile froze on her face. There was no sign of Blanche, and her bed had been stripped down to the mattress.

‘There you are.’ Sister Wren stood at her shoulder. ‘You do realise you are two minutes late?’

‘Where’s Blanche?’ Millie blurted out without thinking.

Sister Wren blinked. ‘I beg your pardon? Were you addressing me?’

‘I’m sorry, Sister.’ Millie lowered her gaze humbly. ‘I just wondered what had happened to Blanche – I mean, Miss Desmond?’

Sister Wren pulled herself up to her full height, which was still barely taller than a child’s.

‘Miss Desmond died earlier today,’ she said.

‘Died?’ Millie could hardly manage the word.

‘Yes, Nurse Benedict. Don’t look so surprised. This is a hospital. Regrettable as it may be, people do die here from time to time.’ Her face registered no more emotion than if she’d been talking about the leaf wilt on her aspidistra. ‘Now, when you’re ready, the bathrooms need cleaning.’

She turned on her heel and stalked off, hands clasped behind her back, leaving Millie numb with shock.

‘Hard-hearted cow,’ the woman in the bed next to Blanche’s muttered. ‘I know you’ve got to be in your job, but she really takes the biscuit. Poor woman.’ She turned her gaze to Blanche’s stripped bed. ‘It’s a real shame, I reckon. She didn’t deserve to go like that.’

How would you know? Millie felt like snapping back at her. You never had a kind word to say to her when she was here. Poor Blanche. She had often lain in bed, watching the other women and longing to join in their chat, but no one ever gave her a smile or the time of day. She never had any visitors, either. Millie was the only company she’d had.

Lucy Lane was in the bathroom, scrubbing out the bath with Vim. She sat back on her heels, brush in hand, when she saw Millie.

‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. I was supposed to go off duty ages ago. But Sister Wren said I wasn’t allowed to leave until you came back.’

‘Blanche is dead,’ Millie cut her off.

‘Who? Oh, you mean the prostitute? Yes, I heard she died during the op. Turned out she had some kind of heart defect, I think. Couldn’t cope with the anaesthetic.’ She dropped her scrubbing brush into the tin bucket and stood up, brushing down her knees.

‘Who did last offices?’ Millie asked urgently. ‘Did they remember her lipstick?’

‘As far as I know, she was taken straight down to the mortuary. What are you talking about, anyway? What lipstick?’

‘I promised her . . . I promised I’d put her lipstick on for her.’

‘I don’t suppose she’s in any position to hold you to your promise.’ Lucy shrugged. She picked up her bucket and handed it to Millie. ‘Anyway, you need to take over. I’m off. And do try to cheer up,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Sister Wren will have a fit if you go around with a face like a wet weekend.’