Nightingales on Call (15 page)

Dora flashed her a look. Ruby looked sincere enough, but Dora had never known a secret to be safe with her for more than five minutes. And just to make it worse, her mum Lettie was a ward maid at the Nightingale. She detested Dora, and would go to any lengths to cause trouble for her. Another reason why Dora and Nick had to be so secretive.

But she couldn’t afford to get on the wrong side of Ruby, either. Who knew what damage she could do if she chose? And Dora knew from bitter experience how capricious her friend could be.

‘At any rate, the sooner he gets that divorce sorted out, the better it will be for all of us, I reckon.’

‘If he can afford it,’ Dora said.

‘Is that why he’s taken this new job of his? I suppose it pays better than being a hospital porter, doesn’t it? Although it’s a funny way to make a living if you ask me, getting knocked about!’ Ruby giggled.

Dora stared at her. ‘What are you talking about? What new job?’

‘Don’t tell me he hasn’t told you? Oh, dear, have I let the cat out of the bag?’ A slow smile spread across Ruby’s face. ‘Nick’s going off with a travelling fair as a bare-knuckle boxer. Bit of a comedown for him if you ask me, but I suppose if he needs the money . . .’

‘You’re lying,’ Dora said flatly.

‘I’m only telling you what I heard.’ Ruby’s pretty face was the picture of injured innocence. ‘My dad heard it from the landlord of the Rose and Crown. He reckons Nick’s packing his job in today.’ Her blue eyes glinted with malice. ‘Fancy you not knowing that! Looks like your boyfriend’s planning to run off without telling you, Dora Doyle.’

Nick was heavy-hearted as he trudged back to his lodgings in Spitalfields.

He’d put off telling Mr Hopkins for as long as he could, but finally knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. In less than a week he would be on the road with Lew Smith’s travelling fair.

The Head Porter had taken it better than Nick could have hoped.

‘I can’t say I’m not disappointed, son,’ he’d said, reaching up to clap him on the shoulder. ‘You’re a good worker, one of the best I’ve had. And as you know, I don’t give out compliments lightly.’

‘Thank you, Mr Hopkins.’ Nick replied, his voice gruff with emotion.

‘I mean it, lad. I know we’ve had our differences in the past, and I used to wonder if I was right to take a chance on you, given your background. But I’m not afraid to say you’ve proved me wrong. You’re a decent, honest young man and you’re not afraid of hard work. I always had high hopes that one day you might take my job, when I retire.’ Mr Hopkins shook his head sadly. ‘I only hope you’re going somewhere that appreciates you. You deserve to do well.’

Nick could only nod, not trusting himself to speak. He hoped Mr Hopkins wouldn’t ask him where he was going. He couldn’t bear to see the respect disappear from the old man’s eyes when Nick told him he was going to travel with the fair as a bare-knuckle boxer. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself, he was too ashamed.

He didn’t want to admit it to Dora either. But he knew he had to tell her sometime. Although he wasn’t sure how she would take the news that he would be away from her over the summer.

It would be worth it, he told himself bracingly, as he walked home in the moonlight. Lew Smith had promised him a decent wedge for his trouble, and that was all that really mattered. With a bit of luck, by the time Nick returned he would be able to afford to march straight down to that solicitor’s and get those divorce papers sorted out.

As he turned the corner into Quaker Street he noticed someone was sitting on the kerb outside his building. Nick saw wild red curls illuminated in the silvery light from the streetlamp, and his heart lifted.

‘Dora?’ She stood up as he started towards her. She was out of uniform, huddled in her old blue coat. ‘What are you doing here? It’s nearly ten, you’ll get in trouble if you’re caught . . .’ Then he saw her face and realised she knew.

‘Is it true?’ she asked. ‘You’re going away?’

‘Who told you?’

‘Never mind who told me. It’s true, then?’

‘I was going to tell you—’

‘When? Tomorrow? Next week? Or were you just going to take the coward’s way out and write me a letter after you’d gone?’

Nick’s jaw tightened. ‘I’ve never been a coward in my life. You know that,’ he muttered.

‘No, but you’ve been a bloody fool more times than I can count!’ Dora looked up at him, with those eyes that seemed to see right into his soul. ‘Why, Nick?’ she whispered, more sorrowful than angry now. ‘Why would you give up your job to go off and fight in a travelling fair?’

He looked away, unable to meet her eye. The disgust in her face made him feel dirty. ‘We need the money.’

‘And we’ll get it. We don’t need you traipsing up and down the country in a sideshow!’

‘So how do you think we’re going to get it otherwise? I can’t save it on my wages, I’m no good in the ring any more . . .’ He heard his voice crack, betraying the emotion he tried so hard to hide. ‘You said yourself we ain’t going to save that much in a month of Sundays. What are we going to do?’

‘I dunno, do I?’ Dora considered it for a moment. ‘We could ask Ruby’s boyfriend? She says he’s got a bob or two. Maybe he could help.’

Nick shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I ain’t going cap in hand to him. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I got my pride, Dora.’

‘Pride?’ Her mouth curled over the word. ‘You’re planning to join a travelling fair, and you tell me you got pride?’ She shook her head, her face full of reproach and disappointment. ‘I would never have thought it of you, Nick. I never thought you’d stoop so low. To do something like that for money.’

‘I’m doing it for us!’ he snapped. ‘For you and me, so we can be together.’

Dora looked up at him, her green eyes as cold as the rain that dripped down his collar. ‘Oh, no, Nick Riley. You ain’t doing this for my sake,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you now, I don’t want you going off and fighting on street corners. If you want to go and get killed in some back alley, then you ain’t doing it in my name!’

‘I ain’t going to get killed.’

‘You don’t know that, do you? You don’t know how vicious some of these fighters can be.’

‘I can handle myself, don’t you worry.’

‘Oh, I know. I grew up with you, remember. I know all about your reputation – and your temper. What if you lose it one night? What if some stranger gets a bit lairy with you and you end up half killing him? You could be locked up.’ She stepped away from him, out of his reach. ‘I mean it, Nick. I’d rather not marry you.’

‘You don’t want to marry me?’ He reeled back as if she’d struck him.

‘Not if it means you lowering yourself like this. You’re worth more than that, Nick.’

He stared at her. She looked so prim and proper, standing there in the lamplight. Suddenly she didn’t look like his Dora any more, the scruffy girl from Griffin Street. She looked like those other nurses, the ones who stared straight through him when he passed them on the wards or in the passageways, as if he was worth nothing more than the rubbish cart he was pushing.

He was losing her. All his long buried insecurities rose up, choking him. He wanted to explode, to drive his fist into the nearest wall just so he could scream out the pain. She was too good for him, and she’d finally realised it.

‘You’re worth more, you mean,’ he bit out.

‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’

‘I mean perhaps I’m not good enough for you any more. Perhaps that’s the real reason you don’t want to marry me?’

‘Don’t talk daft.’ The proud toss of her head was like a slap in the face.

‘What’s daft about it? Why should you want to waste your time with someone like me, when you could find yourself a nice, rich doctor instead?’

‘I don’t want a doctor!’

‘Well, you don’t want me, that’s for sure!’

‘I just want you to use your brains instead of your fists for once!’ she flashed back.

‘Well, I’m sorry I ain’t as clever as you.’

Dora sighed angrily. ‘I didn’t mean that—’

‘I’d do anything for you, Dora. Anything in the world. Even if that meant getting a stranger’s blood on my hands or never knowing another moment’s peace in my life, I’d do it for you. And if that’s lowering myself then I’d be proud to do it!’

‘Nick . . .’

‘But you don’t care that much, do you? All you’re interested in is me not making a fool of you. Well, you needn’t worry. I ain’t going to make a fool of you for much longer!’

He forced himself to walk away from her towards his lodgings.

‘Nick! Nick, wait, I didn’t mean . . .’

He heard her call out his name but he kept on walking, putting one foot in front of the other, every muscle in his body held rigid, determined not to fall apart until he’d closed the front door on her.

EFFIE STARED AT
the mess in her pan. It was supposed to be calf’s foot jelly, but it didn’t look anything like the one Sister Parker had produced.

She looked around the classroom kitchen in despair. The other girls didn’t seem to be having any trouble; Anna Padgett was already straining her mixture through a flannel bag.

Effie looked back into her pan. She could hardly get her spoon in it, let alone strain it.

‘Any clue what I should do with this?’ she hissed to Prudence Mulhearn, who stood beside her. Prudence looked over into Effie’s pan, steam fogging her spectacles.

‘Oh, dear.’ Her tone was not promising. ‘How on earth did it get stuck to the pan like that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Effie sighed. ‘I haven’t taken my eyes off it for a minute—’ She caught Prudence’s knowing look. ‘All right, maybe for a few seconds. But not long enough for this to happen.’

‘Well, you’d better do something about it quick. Sister’s on her way.’ Prudence glanced over Effie’s shoulder. ‘Put some boiling water on it, and hope for the best.’

Effie grabbed the kettle and splashed water into her pan. It sent up an evil-smelling, hissing cloud of steam that enveloped Sister Parker as she approached.

Effie heard her long-suffering sigh through the fog. ‘What are you doing, O’Hara?’

‘I – I don’t know, Sister,’ Effie admitted helplessly. ‘I’ve made rather a mess of it.’

Sister Tutor flapped her hand to clear away the steam. ‘Let me see what you’ve done.’ She peered into the pan. ‘Ah. Yes, I can see you were not exaggerating, O’Hara. That is rather a mess.’

‘I’m sorry, Sister.’

‘These dishes are supposed to entice a patient who is off their food.’ She waved the pan under Effie’s nose. The acrid smell made her recoil. ‘This is hardly appetising, is it?’

‘No, Sister,’ Effie agreed gloomily.

Sister Tutor put the pan down with a sigh. ‘I think this is beyond rescue. You had better find a clean pan and start again.’

‘But I can’t!’ Effie blurted out, then regretted it instantly as the Sister Tutor’s icy blue eyes turned towards her.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.

Effie caught Prudence’s horrified look from behind the Sister Tutor’s shoulder. On the other side of the classroom, one or two of the other girls were shaking their heads. But she had started, and so she had to finish.

‘It’s nearly five o’clock, Sister,’ she mumbled.

‘And?’

‘I won’t be finished by the time the class ends, Sister. And . . . and some of the girls are going to the pictures.’

‘I see,’ Sister Parker looked as if she was considering the matter. ‘And your social life is important, is it?’

What social life? Effie wanted to reply. It had taken a month for her to persuade the other girls to leave their books and venture out.

Sister Parker drew in a deep breath, a sure sign she was building up to one of her lectures. ‘May I remind you, O’Hara, that a good nurse doesn’t watch the clock? Do you think if a dangerously ill patient needs your care you can just drop everything and go off duty?’

‘No, Sister.’

‘No, indeed. And you must learn that by staying late and finishing what you are doing.’

‘Yes, Sister.’

‘And while you’re waiting for your jelly to cool, you can set about getting this clean.’ Sister thrust the pan at her. ‘I want to be able to see my face in it by the time you leave, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sister.’

As Sister Parker moved on, Prudence swung round to face Effie. ‘Now you’ve done it,’ she hissed. ‘Why did you have to go and answer her back? You’ll be cooking and cleaning all night!’

‘It won’t take very long,’ Effie replied, without conviction. ‘You will wait for me, won’t you?’

Prudence looked doubtful. ‘I would, but Padgett says we have to leave by seven. And you know what she’s like.’

‘But it’s not fair!’ Effie threw the pan into the sink and turned on the tap. ‘This night out was my idea, and now I’m going to be the only one to miss it!’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Prudence sent her a sympathetic glance. ‘Look, shall I help cut up your calf’s feet for you? That might save you a bit of time.’

It was nearly seven o’clock by the time Effie had turned out an acceptable calf’s foot jelly and cleaned the pan to Sister Parker’s satisfaction. Effie watched, her fingers crossed in the folds of her apron, as Sister Tutor held it up to the light, peering closely into its depths.

‘That seems acceptable,’ she said finally. ‘Well, O’Hara, I hope this will make you think twice about watching the clock so closely in future?’

I’ll think twice about letting you catch me! Effie thought. ‘Yes, Sister,’ she replied meekly.

She had just finished wiping down the sink in the practice room kitchen when a flash of movement outside the window caught her eye. Out in the garden, something was billowing in the breeze, ghostly white in the fading evening light. Effie yelped, thinking it was a ghost, until she realised it was attached to the ash tree at the far end of the garden. She peered closer, unsure of what she was seeing. It was no phantom, that was for sure. But it did look suspiciously like a pair of . . .

‘Bloomers!’ she cried out.

Sister Parker looked up sharply from her desk in the corner of the practice room. ‘I beg your pardon, Nurse O’Hara?’

Effie looked over her shoulder. ‘There’s a pair of bloomers hanging from that tree, Sister,’ she said.