The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,103
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.
Chapter Thirty-Two
MILLIE WOKE UP the following morning with a pounding headache, dry mouth and a churning stomach, absolutely