The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Thirty-Four



‘WHO’S THERE? IS that you, Gwen?’

The old lady’s opaque, sightless eyes searched for Helen in the darkness as she sat beside the bed, holding her hand. It felt like a child’s, fragile bones under papery skin.

‘It’s me, Mrs Rodgers. Nurse Tremayne.’

Not that it mattered now. Mrs Rodgers was nearly eighty and beyond knowing anyone, even herself. The end was very near.

Mrs Rodgers turned her head away restlessly. In the dim light her scalp gleamed through sparse tufts of white hair. Helen was relieved she was quiet at last. All night she had been thrashing around, crying out in a panic, calling out for Gwen. Whether it was a sister or a daughter, Helen didn’t know. She had done her best to calm her fears, sitting with her and holding her hand, even though Amy Hollins complained bitterly at the extra work she’d had to do.

‘I don’t know why you’re making so much fuss,’ she’d said. ‘It’s not as if the old girl even knows you’re there.’

But Helen did it anyway, holding on to her hand and trying to reassure her. No one deserved to die alone.

Although she didn’t seem to be alone. All through the night, Mrs Rodgers had talked to the invisible souls who gathered around her bedside.

‘I’m not ready to go,’ she insisted over and over again, her voice blurred and mumbling. ‘Not until I’ve seen Gwen.’

Finally, as the pink light of dawn was beginning to creep around the drawn blinds, she lifted her head off the pillow and looked at Helen with such intensity that for a moment it was as if she could really see her.

Her gaping, toothless mouth broke into a smile. ‘Gwen,’ she said. ‘You’ve come at last.’

She gave a sigh of contentment, turned her face away, and was gone.

Helen put her fingers to Mrs Rodgers’ throat to satisfy herself there was no pulse. Then she calmly got up and pulled the screens around the bed.

Amy was very put out when she emerged from the kitchen, where she had been buttering bread for breakfast.

‘Typical!’ she snorted. ‘Why couldn’t she have hung on an hour longer? Now we’re going to have to deal with it ourselves before the day staff come on.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Helen said.

‘Really?’ Amy looked relieved. ‘If you’re sure?’ she said, although it was obvious she wasn’t going to volunteer to help.

Helen sent the runner to fetch the Night Sister, who in turn informed the Duty Registrar. He arrived, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and declared what everyone already knew, that cancer had eaten its way into Mrs Rodgers’ bones, brain and every organ in her body. The porters arrived and transferred her body to the side room while Helen gathered everything she needed on the trolley, washed her hands and donned gloves and a clean apron.

She took her time, washing the old lady with care and respect. Mrs Rodgers was no bigger than a child, her wrinkled skin hanging loosely from thin bones. Helen was astonished she had managed to keep death at bay for as long as she had, when there was no strength left in her frail, emaciated body.

Sister Hyde came in as Helen was fastening the shroud. She was the most fearsome of all the sisters at the Nightingale, bristling efficiency in her immaculate grey uniform, her cap fastened in a crisp bow under her square chin. Helen fought the urge to jump to attention.

‘Good gracious, Nurse, what are you doing here? Hollins went off duty fifteen minutes ago.’

‘I wanted to finish preparing Mrs Rodgers before I left, Sister. Hollins offered to stay and help me,’ she lied quickly.

‘Did she indeed? That hardly sounds like Hollins.’ Sister Hyde looked down at Mrs Rodgers’ face, encircled by the white shroud. ‘So she’s gone at last. I hope it was peaceful?’

‘Yes, Sister. Quite peaceful.’

‘I’m glad. She suffered quite dreadfully towards the end.’ Sister Hyde sighed, and for a moment her face lost its severe expression. Then she recollected herself and said, ‘Tonight is your last night on this ward, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Sister.’

‘Do you know where you will be sent next?’

‘Wren, Sister.’

‘Gynae? That will make a change for you. Rather a lively ward, so I’m told.’ Sister Hyde looked thoughtful. ‘It’s very commendable that you should want to stay and do this. I wish all students were as conscientious as you. I shall certainly mention you in the ward report.’

‘Thank you, Sister.’

It was almost half-past eight when the porter came to escort Mrs Rodgers down to the mortuary. Helen had missed breakfast, so she headed straight to bed in the night corridor. But it wasn’t easy to sleep with the maid clattering noisily outside the door with her broom, and Miss Hanley stomping to and fro down the corridor to the staff linen room.

She slept fitfully, haunted by dreams of Mrs Rodgers clawing at her hands and calling out to her. She woke up at midday, stiff and aching, foggy-headed with lack of sleep. Wearily she got up and dragged on her dressing gown.

Opening her door, she didn’t see the figure sitting on the floor outside her room until she fell over them.

‘Oops, sorry, I didn’t – Benedict?’ Helen rubbed her gritty eyes. ‘What are you doing down there?’

‘Waiting for you.’ Millie clambered to her feet, brushing herself down. ‘I’m supposed to be at dinner but I wanted to see you before I went back on duty.’

Helen’s heart sank. ‘I’m not in the mood for another argument,’ she sighed, shouldering past her.

‘I don’t want to argue. I just wanted to say I was sorry,’ Millie said.

Helen stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face her.

‘I know you didn’t sneak to Matron about me really. And even if you did, I probably deserved it.’ Millie was gabbling on, the words tumbling out so fast Helen could hardly keep up with them. ‘After all, I did break just about every rule in the book, stumbling around the ward like a drunken maniac . . .’

‘I didn’t report you,’ Helen said.

‘I know you didn’t. That’s what I’m trying to say although I know I’m making a frightful hash of it. I spoke to William, you see, and he told me about what happened with Peggy Gibson. He said there was no chance you would ever—’

‘What did he tell you about Peggy Gibson?’ Helen cut in, panic beating in her chest.

‘He told me the real reason she had to leave.’

‘He had no right to do that. It was supposed to be a secret.’

‘It’s all right, I won’t tell anyone else,’ Millie said solemnly. ‘Don’t be angry with him, he only did it for your sake.’

‘Even so, he had no right to say anything,’ Helen fumed. ‘I made a promise to Peggy . . .’

‘Your secret is safe with me, I swear. It’s the least I can do, after the horrible way I spoke to you.’ Millie looked up at Helen sheepishly from under her fair curls. ‘Can you ever forgive me? I’d like us to be friends.’

It was a long time since anyone had wanted anything to do with her. Helen smiled warily. ‘I’d like that too.’

‘I’m so pleased!’ Millie’s pretty face lit up. ‘And I’d really like to make it up to you, if I can. Doyle and I are planning a trip up west to have tea at the Lyons’ Corner house in The Strand as soon as we have time off on the same day. Doyle’s never been, can you imagine? I’d like you to come with us.’

Helen shook her head, immediately ready to refuse. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’

‘Nonsense, it will be fun.’

Helen’s mind raced. Surely even her mother couldn’t object to her going out for tea with a couple of other students? ‘If you’re sure I won’t be in the way?’ she said.

‘Absolutely not. It wouldn’t be the same without you.’

Helen was still smiling to herself as she washed and dressed later. It was strange to think she might actually have a friend. She had become so used to being on her own, she hadn’t realised how lonely she was.

It had been that way ever since Peggy Gibson left. Poor Peggy, she had been the closest to a friend Helen had had at the Nightingale. They didn’t exactly have a lot in common – Peggy was as bubbly, vivacious and popular as Helen was serious, thoughtful and solitary. But like Millie Benedict, she was kind-hearted and persevered in trying to make friends with Helen.

‘I don’t care what you say, I’m not letting you study a minute longer,’ she would say, tugging away Helen’s books. ‘Come on, even you can spare a few minutes to listen to music in the sitting room?’

With her being young and pretty, it was only a matter of time before William made a play for Peggy. Helen was happy for them at first, and even hoped that Peggy might be the one to make her brother settle down. But it soon became clear that Peggy was taking their romance a lot more seriously than William was. After a matter of weeks it was all over, and William was flirting with a staff nurse on Female Surgical while poor Peggy cried herself to sleep every night.

And then one evening she came home from her shift and found Peggy slumped on her bed sobbing, a bottle of Lysol in her hand.

‘I – I can’t do it,’ she’d wept. ‘I want to kill myself, but I’m not brave enough. Help me, Helen,’ she’d begged. ‘Please help me take the pain away.’

Helen had sat up with her all night, holding her while she cried, one minute raging, the next inconsolable with grief. All she could do was cling to her and pray she would calm down.

By the morning Peggy was subdued, but still chillingly determined to end her life. Helen tried to plead with her, to convince her that no man was worth so much misery, especially not her brother. But Peggy just shook her head and told her she wouldn’t understand.

‘There’s nothing left for me,’ she’d said. ‘It’s not just William. I’m so unhappy, I can’t bear it any more. And if you don’t help me, I’ll find some other way to do it. You might have managed to stop me last night but you can’t watch me for ever.’

It was that fear that kept Helen awake, watching over her as she slept night after night. But just as Peggy had said, Helen soon realised she couldn’t keep an eye on her for ever. She needed to do something to make sure her friend stayed safe.

And so she did the only thing she could. She told her mother. Peggy was diagnosed with a nervous breakdown and taken away for treatment.

She had been careful to keep William’s name out of it to protect him. No one else at the Nightingale ever guessed he was part of the reason Peggy had gone.

And now he had chosen to tell Millie about her. Helen had never known him confide in anyone else before. It made her wonder if perhaps Millie meant more to him than either of them realised.