The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Thirty-One



‘I DON’T UNDERSTAND it,’ Lucy Lane said. ‘Why do you want to go to some old tart’s funeral?’

‘Blanche wasn’t an old tart. She was kind, generous, warm-hearted . . . ’ Everything you’re not, Millie almost added.

‘I don’t think your family would approve of you going to the funeral of an East End prostitute,’ Lucy said. ‘And I doubt Matron would like it either.’

‘It’s my day off, and I can do as I please,’ Millie retorted. ‘If I want to pay my respects at someone’s funeral, I can.’

But it was about more than paying her respects. She still felt guiltily that she’d somehow let Blanche down.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Dora offered. ‘I’m on a split shift today. I don’t have to be back on the ward until five.’ She glared at Lucy, defying her to argue.

‘Thanks,’ Millie said gratefully. ‘I was a bit nervous about going, actually. I’ve never been to a funeral before.’

‘You’ve never seen anything like an East End funeral,’ Dora promised her. ‘It’s a big occasion round here. Bigger than weddings, sometimes. People who don’t have two halfpennies to rub together get into debt so they can give their nearest and dearest a good send off. Carriages drawn by horses decked out in black feathers, strings of mourners in top hats, the lot. And then there’s the big party afterwards!’ she said.

But there was no horse-drawn carriage at Blanche’s funeral, nor any black feathers, nor mourners in top hats. Only a handful of people were gathered around her graveside in the damp, grey afternoon. There was Blanche’s sister Elsie and her five children, and a couple of tired-looking women Millie guessed must be Blanche’s old friends from the docks. A young man stood with them, looking smart in his dark suit, head bowed at the graveside. Millie felt a jolt of recognition.

‘That’s Tremayne’s brother, isn’t it?’ Dora whispered as they approached the grave. ‘What’s he doing here? I wonder.’

‘Same as us, I suppose.’ Millie avoided William’s eye as she and Dora took their places beside the grave.

The service was short and to the point. Even the vicar seemed impatient to get it over with, rushing through the formalities as the drizzle dampened his cassock.

Millie kept her gaze fixed on the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. She wondered what Blanche looked like. She hoped someone had dressed her up nicely in her favourite bright colours. Blanche wouldn’t have liked to go into the hereafter looking less than her best.

She thought about the lipstick, and a lump rose in her throat. She took a deep breath, sniffing back tears. Immediately she felt a handkerchief pressed into her hand.

‘Here,’ William whispered.

‘Thanks.’ She took it, feeling foolish. No one else seemed to be crying, not even Blanche’s sister. Why did she have to be so sentimental?

Afterwards, her sister approached them. ‘Excuse me, I’m Mrs Wilkins. Were you friends of my sister?’ she asked. She was nowhere near as showy as Blanche in her plain black coat, her mousy hair tucked into a limp felt hat. Her eyes, green like Blanche’s, were full of suspicion.

‘Yes. I mean no . . . not friends exactly . . .’

‘We’re from the Nightingale Hospital,’ Dora explained, as Millie scrabbled for the right words. ‘My friend nursed Miss Desmond.’

Mrs Wilkins’ eyes lit up, and suddenly she looked more like Blanche. ‘Are you Millie? Blanche wrote to me about you. She told me there was a nice young nurse on her ward she’d made friends with. She thought a lot of you.’

‘Did she?’

‘Oh, yes. Reckoned you were the best of the lot. Treated her right, she said.’ Mrs Wilkins lowered her voice. ‘There weren’t many who did that to my sister, her being what she was.’

Millie lowered her gaze, embarrassed by the hot tears that sprang to her eyes.

‘Bless you.’ Mrs Wilkins smiled fondly at her. ‘My Blanche told me you had a soft heart.’

Please stop it, Millie begged silently. She didn’t want to hear any more about what Blanche thought of her. Not when she’d let her down so badly.

William joined them. Elsie Wilkins was most impressed when he introduced himself.

‘A doctor, eh? Blimey, Blanche had some friends in high places, didn’t she? Do you lot always turn out for patients’ funerals?’

William shot Millie a sidelong look. ‘Blanche was very special,’ he said.

‘Well, she’ll be pleased you came.’ Mrs Wilkins started looking around for her children, who had wandered off to explore the churchyard. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d best be going. We’ve got a train to catch.’

‘You’re not having a send-off then?’ Dora frowned.

Mrs Wilkins shot her a guilty look. ‘I didn’t think I’d bother with all that,’ she said. ‘My sister didn’t have many friends – not the kind I’d want to associate with anyway. Besides, funerals cost money, and it’s not as if Blanche left us anything for the expenses.’ Her chin lifted defensively. ‘It’s been very hard on me, you know. I only lost my husband a few months back. I’ve had to get someone to look after the farm while I came all the way up here, and that costs money too . . .’

‘Of course.’ William switched on the easy charm that worked so well on his patients. ‘We understand, Mrs Wilkins. You need to get your children home. It’s been a long day for all of you.’

‘That it has.’ The woman looked mollified. ‘I would have done something for Blanche,’ she said to Millie and Dora. ‘But I have to put my family first.’

‘Blanche was family too,’ Millie muttered, as they watched Mrs Wilkins head off towards the gates of the churchyard, leading her string of children.

‘I’ve known families pawn everything they had to give someone a decent funeral,’ Dora agreed.

‘And there’s no reason why we can’t do the same.’ William looked at them both. ‘We don’t need Blanche’s sister to give her a good send-off. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to the King’s Arms to drink to her. Would you care to join me?’

Millie glanced at Dora.

‘Don’t look at me,’ she said. ‘I have to be back on duty at five. Sister Blake might be a nice woman, but I doubt she’d understand if I went back stinking of drink!’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Millie told William.

‘Are you sure?’ Dora frowned. ‘East End pubs can be a bit rough at the best of times, and the King’s Arms has a bad reputation . . .’

‘I’m sure William will protect me.’

Dora shot him a look, as if to say that idea was no comfort at all. ‘Just see that you do,’ she warned him.

They didn’t mean to stay quite so long. The afternoon turned into evening and the pub became crowded with dockers, filling the hot, stuffy bar with laughter, raised voices and cigarette smoke. Over in the corner, someone was banging out a tune on an old piano.

‘If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy . . .’

William smiled. ‘I can just imagine Blanche sitting at the bar, giving all the men the eye, can’t you?’

‘She’d be laughing and singing louder than anyone,’ Millie agreed. ‘No wonder she loved this place so much.’ She raised her glass again. ‘To Blanche.’

‘To Blanche.’ William’s hand shook as he raised his glass to his lips. He’d lost count of how many times they’d toasted her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was dimly aware that it was getting late and he should think about getting Millie back to the nurses’ home. But he was enjoying himself too much to want the evening to end.

Millie sipped her drink. ‘Do you know, I rather like port and lemon,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘You should, you’ve had enough of them!’

She squinted at him. ‘Do you think I’m squiffy?’

‘I don’t know. I’m too drunk myself to tell.’

She giggled. ‘Oh, dear, we’re behaving rather badly, aren’t we? I’m sure Blanche would approve.’

William studied her. She was unbelievably pretty, with her soft lips, small, slightly upturned nose and the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

But it wasn’t just the way she looked. Millie was also the sweetest, gentlest girl he had ever met. She didn’t flirt and giggle about nothing the way other girls did. She seemed genuinely interested, asking about his work and his family. For once William didn’t feel as if he needed to impress her. He wanted her to know everything about him, good and bad. He even found himself telling her all about growing up in the vicarage with his gentle, henpecked father and fearsome mother.

‘She watches us all like hawks,’ he told her. ‘No one dares put a foot wrong.’

‘Even you?’ Millie smiled teasingly at him.

‘It’s true, I get away with a lot,’ William admitted, shame-faced. ‘But only because I’ve learnt to tell her what she wants to hear. And Helen covers for me too. Poor Helen,’ he sighed. ‘She gets far worse treatment than me. My mother seems to set particularly high standards for her daughter. Helen works so hard to please her yet she’s barely allowed to breathe without Mother’s say-so. I’m sure she thinks Helen’s going to run wild.’

‘Perhaps your mother worries Helen will meet someone like you?’ Millie suggested.

William smiled. ‘I see my reputation precedes me. I’m surprised you allowed yourself to be alone with me?’

‘I never listen to gossip,’ Millie said firmly. ‘I prefer to make up my own mind about people.’

‘And have you made up your mind about me?’

She gazed at him for a long time, her blue eyes searching his face. Then she pushed her glass towards him.

‘Buy me another drink and I’ll tell you.’

Two drinks later, they were still talking. It came as a shock when the bell for last orders rang.

‘I didn’t realise it was that late. You do have a late pass, don’t you?’ William asked. Millie shook her head.

‘I never do. But I’ll find a way back in, don’t worry.’

They left the pub. William knew he was slightly drunk, but Millie was worse. She wobbled like a baby gazelle, stumbling against him. He put his arm around her, and kept it there as they walked back along the river. The Thames snaked like an oily black ribbon ahead of them, its cranes, docks and factories shadowy shapes looming through the darkness around them.

‘I think Blanche would have enjoyed this evening,’ Millie declared.

‘So do I. I bet she’s looking down at the two of us now and laughing.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she always thought we should get together.’

He waited for Millie to pull away from him, but she didn’t. ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘She kept telling me I should give you a chance.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘I’m still considering it.’ William felt the yielding warmth of her body against his, and longing hit him like a punch in the stomach.

Any other girl and he would have taken her in his arms, but not Millie. He felt protective of her in a way he couldn’t have imagined possible. And he’d made that promise to Helen, too. Although out here, walking together under the stars with his arm around her, he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep it.

‘You’re quite right to be cautious,’ he said. ‘In fact, you should probably stay well away from me.’

‘Because of your reputation? I told you, I don’t listen to gossip.’

‘But it’s true in my case. I’m nothing but trouble. Just ask my sister.’

Millie laughed. William wished he could have laughed with her. But for once he wasn’t joking.

He usually enjoyed this part of the game, the teasing to and fro before he moved in to claim his prize. But not this time. Millie deserved more than a few days of flirtation.

And that was all he could offer. William wasn’t the type to lose his heart to anyone. Most girls understood it was just a game and were happy to play along. But then there were girls like Peggy Gibson, who didn’t understand the rules. They were the ones who got badly hurt.

The memory of what had happened to Peggy still weighed heavy on him. He didn’t want to put anyone through that again. Especially not someone as sweet and adorable as Millie.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You’re far too good for me.’

‘I’ll make my own mind up, thank you very much.’ Millie stopped and turned to face him. She was so close he could smell her flowery perfume. ‘Kiss me,’ she said.

William looked down at her upturned face, her innocent eyes, and felt a jolt of desire so powerful he could barely control it.

‘I can’t,’ he said.

Her face fell. ‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’

‘Of course I do. More than anything. But we’re both extremely drunk, we’re on a lonely stretch of river on a dark night, and it’s all a bit too compromising.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘No, but I do.’ Any other girl and he might have taken advantage. No, he knew he would. He’d done it before. But Millie Benedict was too special. ‘Besides, I made a promise to Helen.’

Millie squinted at him in confusion. ‘What has your sister got to do with this?’

‘She asked me to stay away from you.’ William glanced down at the cobbles. ‘I – I had a bit of an entanglement with a girl she used to share a room with, and poor Helen caught the flak. I don’t think she wants to go through that again.’

‘This is nothing to do with Helen!’

‘You don’t know what it was like for her. You mustn’t blame her . . .’

He reached for Millie, but she pulled away, stiff with indignation. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she said. ‘Your sister might not like it.’

She turned and tottered off up the street. William caught up with her and tried to put his arm around her to steady her again, but she shrugged him off. They crept in through the hospital gates. Millie slipped past the porters’ lodge and headed purposefully around the side of the nurses’ block.

‘How are you going to get in?’ William whispered in the darkness.

‘How do you think?’

She tried the drainpipe, but William stopped her. ‘You can’t climb up there!’ he said, appalled.

‘Why not? I’ve done it before lots of times.’ She was already taking off her shoes.

‘Not after half a dozen port and lemons, you haven’t. You’ll break your neck . . .’

Regardless, she put her hands around the drainpipe and tried to wedge her foot into a piece of loose brickwork. It slipped, sending a brick rolling noisily across the path. They both tensed, waiting for a light to go on. It didn’t.

He put his hand on her arm. ‘Come on, we’ll find another way in.’

They headed around the back of the block, trying windows. ‘Everything’s locked up,’ Millie said mournfully. She gazed at the windows on the first floor. ‘I wonder if I should throw a stone up and try to wake someone?’

‘You might not get the right window.’

‘Then it’ll have to be the drainpipe.’

‘I’m not letting you break your neck.’

‘I didn’t think you cared,’ Millie said huffily.

‘Of course I care.’ Their eyes met in the darkness, and once again William felt the powerful jolt of desire.

This time it was too strong to fight. As he lowered his face to kiss her, Millie suddenly said, ‘I have an idea. Come on.’

She led the way to the other side of the block. ‘There’s a corridor that joins the nurses’ block to the rest of the hospital,’ she explained. ‘We’re not allowed to use it, it’s only for sisters. But if I could somehow get into one of the wards on the ground floor, I might be able to sneak in that way.’

William laughed. ‘Break into a ward? That’s even riskier than climbing up a drainpipe!’ But Millie was already heading towards the courtyard, inching her way around in the shadows. He followed her.

‘Millie, this is ridiculous . . .’

‘Shhh!’ she hissed at him. ‘Do you want me to get caught?’

She edged round a corner and stopped beside a window. ‘This will do,’ she said.

‘Which ward is it?’

‘I can’t tell.’ Millie craned over and tried to peer through the window.

William counted the windows. ‘I think it might be Hyde.’ He judged it with narrowed eyes. ‘Yes, definitely Hyde.’

Millie tested the window. ‘It’s unlocked. I can climb in and sneak through.’

‘What if you’re caught?’

‘Honestly, William, where’s your sense of adventure?’ She smiled at him, a smile that melted his heart and made his head spin.

‘This is where we say goodbye,’ she said.

‘Yes.’ He didn’t want to. His legs wouldn’t move.

‘Thank you for a very enjoyable evening.’

Before he had a chance to reply, Millie bobbed up and in one swift movement threw open the window and slithered through. It wasn’t until she had disappeared that he realised he was still holding her shoes in his hand.

Millie landed with a soft thud in the narrow space between two beds. She crouched for a moment in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to get used to the gloom. All around her, bedsprings creaked and the air was filled with the sound of low moans and sobbing. They sounded like souls in purgatory. Millie shuddered. What an awful place to have to be.

She finally got her bearings and started to inch forward on her hands and knees to peer around the end of the bed. The doors seemed to be a hundred miles away, at the far end of the ward. She was still working out how she could crawl down the length of it when she heard the muffled squeak of rubber-soled shoes approaching. She turned around, just in time to see a tall, slender figure emerge from behind a screen, a bedpan in her hands.

Before Millie could duck back into the shadows the nurse saw her. She jumped, let out a startled cry and dropped the bedpan with a clatter. It crashed like noisy cymbals around the ward, setting all the women off in an unearthly chorus of screaming and wailing.

Millie recognised the nurse in the middle of all the chaos. ‘Tremayne? It’s me.’

Helen peered at her in the darkness. ‘Benedict? What are you doing here?’ she hissed.

Before Millie had a chance to answer, more footsteps approached.

‘What’s the meaning of all this noise?’ Millie heard the Night Sister’s voice and dived for cover under the nearest bed. She lay there, hardly daring to breathe. She could see the Night Sister’s sensible shoes, just inches from her face.

‘Well?’

‘I . . . I . . .’ she heard Helen floundering desperately. Shock seemed to have paralysed her vocal chords.

‘Speak up, girl.’

‘Sister, there is a young woman under my bed,’ a voice announced, clear and high, from just above Millie’s head. She froze.

She heard the Night Sister’s heavy sigh. ‘Mrs Mortimer, there is not a young woman under your bed, just as there are no fairies prancing every night on top of Miss Fletcher’s bedside locker, or men playing the bagpipes down the middle of the ward. It’s all just the effect of your medication.’

‘But—’

‘Please, Mrs Mortimer, I don’t have time for this,’ the Night Sister said impatiently. She turned to Helen. ‘Get this mess cleaned up immediately,’ she said. ‘And please quieten the patients. This ward gets more like a menagerie every night. I’m sure Sister Hyde would not approve.’

She walked away, her tread as light and soft as a dancer’s.

Millie waited until she was sure the coast was clear, then stuck her head out.

‘It’s all right, you can come out now.’ Helen squatted down to pick up the bedpan, her face stony.

She looked so furious, Millie couldn’t help giggling. ‘It’s not funny,’ Helen snapped. ‘You could have got both of us sent to Matron. Honestly, it’s bad enough that you come in through the window at all hours without . . .’ She sniffed, suddenly alert. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No. Yes. A little,’ Millie admitted.

‘Oh, for God’s sake! This is too much. First you stay out late, then you break into a ward drunk as a lord. I’ll be amazed if they don’t throw you out on your ear.’

‘They’ll have to catch me first.’ Millie wriggled out from under the bed and stood up, dusting off her dress. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said to the woman in the bed, who was watching her through narrowed eyes.

‘I should think so too,’ snapped Mrs Mortimer. ‘Thanks to you, that wretched woman now thinks I’m as demented as the rest of them. This nurse is quite right, you should be thrown out. I will write to the Board of Trustees in the morning.’

Millie looked at Helen and another giggle escaped her.

‘Just go to bed,’ Helen said wearily. ‘And try not to get caught.’

Lucy Lane shuffled along the darkened corridor to the toilet, still half asleep. She jumped when she heard the stairs creak and saw a dark shape appear on the landing.

‘What the—’ she started to say. But the shape stumbled past her and continued up the stairs to the attic. It tripped on the top step and Lucy heard a high-pitched giggle.

Millie. Lucy listened to her clattering about on the top landing, taut with resentment. No matter how hard she’d tried, Lady Amelia Benedict showed no interest in being her friend. She seemed to prefer to hang around with that awful common Dora Doyle. It sickened Lucy to see them together all the time, laughing and joking.

They should both stick to their own kind, she decided. She had far more in common with Millie, but most of the time the other girl ignored her.

And she had led such a charmed life, too. Everyone adored Millie, and everything came so easily to her. Lucy couldn’t imagine her losing sleep over whether her parents were fighting, or whether she was rich or popular or clever enough. Millie had never known a moment’s real anxiety in her life.

Lucy smiled to herself in the darkness. Well, it was about time she learnt what it felt like.