The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Thirty-Nine



HELEN SAT IN the front pew during Evensong, watching the dust particles dance in the beams of jewel-coloured light from the stained-glass windows, and listened to her father preaching about sin.

She didn’t dare meet his eye because she was sure he would know she was the biggest sinner of all. Because she wasn’t thinking about how God sent His only son Jesus Christ to die for her; she was wondering how soon she could get back to London to meet Charlie Denton.

She had forgotten when she’d arranged to meet Charlie that she had the whole of Sunday off, and that meant going home to visit her parents. There was no question of getting out of it; her mother would want to know why Helen couldn’t come, and ask all sorts of questions, and Helen would end up having to tell her everything because she was such a hopeless liar in the face of Constance’s merciless questioning.

It had been hard enough keeping the truth from her all day. Helen had tried to keep as busy as she could: handing out prayer books before the morning service, staying behind to tidy up the church afterwards, and running errands around the parish. Anything to prevent her from having to be alone with her mother.

She was almost too nervous to eat her lunch. She sat at the big mahogany table in the dining room opposite William, ploughing her way steadily through her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, trying desperately not to make eye contact with anyone. And all the time her thoughts kept straying treacherously to that evening. What should she wear? Where would they go? Would Charlie even turn up? Even though he’d told her how much he was looking forward to it, she still couldn’t quite believe he really meant it.

‘What on earth are you smiling at, Helen?’

She looked up. Her mother was watching her from the other end of the table.

‘Nothing, Mother,’ she said quickly.

‘You seem rather giddy today. Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’ Constance’s sharp features creased in a frown. ‘You are keeping regular, I hope? I wonder if perhaps you need an aperient?’

‘I’m quite well, Mother, thank you.’ Helen caught William’s eye across the table and fought to conceal a smile. Only her mother would think happiness was an ailment that needed to be treated with a laxative.

Now William sat slumped in the pew beside her, his arms folded, eyes closed. Helen nudged him sharply.

‘Eh? What? Amen.’ He woke up with a start and snatched up his prayer book as it slid off his knee. ‘Is it finished?’ he mumbled.

‘No, and you could at least pretend to listen.’ Helen frowned at him. ‘What time are you going back to London?’

‘As soon as I can decently get away – why?’

‘Can I have a lift back with you?’

‘I thought you usually caught the later train?’

‘I can’t this evening. I’m – meeting someone,’ Helen replied evasively.

‘Oh, yes?’ William’s eyebrows rose. ‘And who is this someone exactly?’

‘Shhh!’ Before she could reply, her mother shot them a silencing look.

‘Never you mind,’ Helen whispered. ‘Now can I have a lift or can’t I?’

William nodded. ‘Bessie and I will be glad of your company. Especially if I have to push her all the way up Richmond Hill like last time. Let’s try and make ourselves scarce straight after the service, shall we?’

But no such luck. After Evensong, they had to join their parents in greeting the congregation as they filed out of the church.

Helen knew this was the part her mother enjoyed the most, dispensing goodwill to the parishioners who deserved it, and judgment on those who didn’t. Very few escaped Constance Tremayne’s sharp eye and even sharper tongue.

‘Ah, Mrs Ellis, how lovely to see you.’ She picked out a harassed-looking, middle-aged woman who was trying to shuffle past, avoiding her eye. ‘How are you? And how is young Margaret enjoying married life? Such a pity she couldn’t get married in church, but I suppose register offices are quick if nothing else. And under the circumstances speed was rather of the essence, wasn’t it?’ Constance’s voice dripped with sympathy and concern, oblivious to the other woman’s blushing face. ‘Hopefully once the baby is born we can look forward to arranging a christening?’

As the woman darted off, flustered, Constance turned to Helen. ‘Her daughter is a fast piece. Got herself pregnant by a park keeper, can you believe?’

‘At least he married her,’ Helen said mildly, then flinched as her mother pounced on her remark.

‘And that makes it acceptable, does it? Not in my book it doesn’t. And not in the Lord’s book either. A sin is a sin, Helen, no matter how it’s dressed up afterwards. And now that girl’s poor mother can’t hold her head up in her own church any more.’ She fixed Helen with such a look, she felt herself wilting with shame. It was all she could do not to fall on her knees and confess her own sin there and then.

Finally she and William managed to get away, and headed back towards London.

‘Who is he then?’ her brother asked as soon as they’d pulled out of the sweeping drive of the vicarage.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Helen said primly.

‘Oh, come on, Hels. You’ve been either as nervous as a cat or grinning like an idiot all day. And I saw the way you blushed when Mother started talking about Mrs Ellis’ fast daughter. So who is he? Do I know him?’ The colour drained from William’s face. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s a medical student? I’m not having my sister being led astray by one of those scoundrels.’

Helen laughed. ‘No, it isn’t a doctor or a medical student, so you needn’t worry about protecting my honour. His name’s Charlie.’ Even saying it made her smile.

‘Charlie, eh? And what does he do, this Charlie?’

‘He used to work in a factory. But now he’s just started at his uncle’s joinery business.’ She explained about Charlie’s accident, and how they’d met.

‘I can see why you didn’t want Mother to know about this new boyfriend of yours,’ William said, his eyes fixed on the road. ‘I don’t think she’d approve at all.’

‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ Helen pleaded. ‘I mean, he’s not even my boyfriend. It’s only one date. He probably won’t want to see me again after tonight. I just wanted to know what it was like – you know, to go out with someone.’

‘Don’t worry, Sis, your secret’s safe with me. God knows, you’ve kept enough of mine over the years.’ William reached out and patted her knee. ‘Anyway, who’s to say it’s just one night? You never know, this could be the beginning of a beautiful romance.’

‘I doubt it!’ Helen said ruefully. But at the same time, she couldn’t help wishing that were true.

They made good progress towards the city, and Helen stopped looking at her watch. But just as they reached the outskirts of Putney, the car began to slow ominously.

‘Come on, Bessie,’ William urged. ‘Come on, old girl. Don’t let me down now.’

Don’t let me down either, Helen prayed silently. But God had obviously decided to pay her back for daydreaming in church, because Bessie began to make an ominous grinding sound.

‘I’d better take a look,’ William said, pulling over to the side of the road.

Helen sat on the grass verge and watched as he examined the car.

‘It’s not as bad as I thought,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a puncture.’

‘And that’s not bad news?’ Helen asked.

‘No, because I can fix it. All we need to do is change the wheel.’

‘Is that all?’ Helen gave a hollow laugh.

‘I’ll have it done in a jiffy.’ William stripped down to his shirtsleeves. ‘Even less if you help me?’

Helen got wearily to her feet. ‘I might as well, I suppose. What do I have to do?’

She helped him jack the car up and unscrew the nuts holding the wheel in place. But anxiety made her all thumbs.

‘If you’re going to keep dropping everything this is going to take even longer,’ William snapped, as she dived to retrieve a nut that had rolled under the car. ‘Calm down, I’m sure your young man will wait for you.’

‘What if he doesn’t?’ Helen was already convinced Charlie was going to stand her up.

‘Hels, he’s been waiting for you for three months. Another ten minutes isn’t going to make any difference. On second thoughts, make that half an hour,’ he sighed, as Helen dropped another wheel nut.

As she helped him lift the heavy wheel into place and held it steady, she said, ‘How do you know if someone likes you?’

William grinned. ‘Are you asking me for advice? That’s a novelty.’

‘I won’t ask if you’re going to make fun of me.’

William paused for a moment to think. Then he said, ‘When the evening’s over and you’re walking away from him, take a look back. If he’s looking back at you, too, that means he likes you.’

‘Is that it?’ Helen laughed.

‘That’s it.’ William tightened the last nut and stood up, brushing down his trousers. ‘Come on, we’d better get going. I think you’re going to need to get changed before this date of yours.’

Helen looked down at her oil-streaked dress in dismay. ‘Oh, no! I won’t have time to change.’ Tears of frustration pricked her eyes. She’d planned this night so carefully, daydreamed about how Charlie would look at her when he saw her again. And now it was all ruined.

He was sitting on a bench outside the hospital gates when they pulled up, a sagging bunch of flowers in his hands. Helen lurched forward in her seat, craning her neck to look at him.

‘I take it that’s your swain?’ William was amused. ‘He looks as nervous as you are. Probably thinks you’ve stood him up, poor chap.’

He pulled up alongside Charlie. Helen barely waited for him to stop the car before she tumbled out, tongue-tied and flustered.

‘I – I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she stammered, fumbling with her shoe, which had got caught in the hem of her dress. ‘I know I look an awful mess, but I can explain . . .’

‘It’s entirely my fault, I’m afraid.’ William got out of the car. ‘We got a puncture on our way back from Richmond, and I made my sister help me change the wheel. I can assure you, she usually puts a lot more effort into her appearance.’

‘That’s all right. I’m just glad you’re here.’ He handed her the flowers. ‘For you,’ he said.

‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’

William stuck out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m William Tremayne, Helen’s brother.’

‘Charlie Denton.’ Charlie got up slowly, leaning on his stick for support. He looked rather dazed as he shook William’s hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Bessie, parked at the kerb. ‘Nice motor,’ he commented.

‘Meet Bessie, my pride and joy. When she’s not breaking down and leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere, that is.’

Helen left the pair of them discussing Bessie’s relative merits, and made a dash to the nurses’ home.

Millie was in their room, reading an anatomy textbook.

‘Can you believe there are so many bones in the human body?’ she sighed. ‘And why do they all have to have such stupid names?’ She looked up at Helen and her mouth fell open. ‘Crikey, what happened to you?’

‘Don’t ask.’ Helen frantically unbuttoned her dress. ‘I’m supposed to be going out with Charlie tonight, and I’ve got nothing to wear.’ She threw open the wardrobe and stared inside in despair. The few decent dresses she had were all at home in Richmond – her mother had decided very firmly that she would have no need of them while she was training. ‘After all, it’s not as if you’re going gallivanting around London, is it?’ she’d sniffed.

‘Let me see.’ Millie put down her book and stood up to look in Helen’s wardrobe. ‘You’re right, it’s not exactly inspiring, is it?’

‘I’ll just have to wear this one.’ Helen pulled out a pea green dress covered in tiny white spots. It was dull but serviceable. ‘It’ll do, won’t it?’

‘If you’re going off to visit his maiden aunt, I’m sure it will be very suitable.’

Helen blinked back tears. ‘You’re not helping!’

‘Then put that horrid frock back in your wardrobe and leave it to me.’ Millie flung open the other wardrobe where she kept her clothes. Dora and Helen shared a cupboard for their meagre assortment of dresses, skirts and blouses, but Millie’s lavish wardrobe of designer gowns had its own home.

‘What are you doing?’ Helen asked.

‘Finding something for you to wear.’ Millie rifled through the rail, pulling out and rejecting garments. ‘My grandmother ordered me far too many clothes when I did the Season, and insisted I brought them all with me when I came here. I knew they’d come in useful one day . . . ah, what about this one?’

She pulled out a dress in a deep burnt orange colour. ‘I could never wear it because the colour was far too strong for me. But you could carry it off beautifully with your dark colouring. Here, try it on.’

Helen wanted to argue, but she had no time to demur. And besides, she had never seen such a beautiful dress, let alone worn one.

It was even more beautiful when she’d slipped it on. Millie was right, the colour suited her perfectly. It was made from a soft, fluid fabric that flowed sensuously over her slim body in a way she had never thought possible in the stiff cottons and sensible wools her mother always made her wear.

‘Are you sure it’s quite decent?’ she whispered, unable to take her eyes off her reflection.

‘Of course it is. My grandmother would never let me wear anything that wasn’t the height of modesty,’ Millie said primly. ‘Now take it off again and go and wash your face. Then I’ll put some lipstick and powder on for you– don’t worry, I won’t make you look like a tart!’ She laughed at Helen’s fearful expression, and clapped her hands in joy. ‘Oh, this is so exciting, isn’t it? Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!’