The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,158

try to tell me how to bring up my own daughter.’ Constance Tremayne stood up and straightened her hat. ‘Anyway, this is not a matter for discussion,’ she said briskly. ‘I’ve made my decision, and that’s final.’

‘And what does Helen think?’

Constance Tremayne frowned, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘Helen will do as she’s told.’

‘For how long?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’ve seen the way you treat her, the way you talk to her.’ Kathleen could feel her anger rolling like a rock down a hill, gaining momentum. ‘You terrify and bully that poor girl until she doesn’t know which way to turn. One day she is going to stand up for herself, and when she does you’ll only have yourself to blame!’

The two women faced each other across the desk. Constance’s eyes were fixed on Kathleen’s face, coldly accusing. ‘I have made my decision,’ she repeated firmly. ‘And you can be sure the Board of Trustees will hear about the way you have spoken to me!’

‘It’s nothing compared to what I’d like to say,’ Kathleen muttered as the door closed. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. She was sure she hadn’t done herself or poor Helen any favours, but she couldn’t help flying off the handle. Constance Tremayne was simply insufferable.

Seized by a sudden fit of rage, she picked up a wooden paperweight and hurled it at the door, narrowly missing Miss Hanley as she opened it.

‘Don’t you ever knock?’ Kathleen snapped, for once too angry to be civil. She was tired of tiptoeing around her Assistant Matron while Miss Hanley seemed to do as she pleased.

‘Is there something wrong, Matron?’

‘You could say that.’ Kathleen stared across the desk at her. Miss Hanley stood erect and implacable, her immaculately starched uniform stretched over her broad shoulders, hands folded in front of her. Kathleen suddenly wished she had another paperweight to hurl.

‘We’ve had a visit from Mrs Tremayne,’ she said.

‘Oh, yes?’ The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Miss Hanley’s thin mouth. No doubt she was relishing the thought of the drubbing Kathleen would have received.

‘For once I wasn’t the one in trouble.’ She kept her voice deliberately light. ‘It seems someone has seen fit to inform Mrs Tremayne about her daughter’s recent reprimand. I wonder who that could have been?’ Miss Hanley’s broad face gave nothing away. ‘At any rate, the damage is done now. Mrs Tremayne is so appalled by the lack of discipline in this hospital that she intends to take Helen away.’

Kathleen had the small satisfaction of seeing Miss Hanley’s jaw drop. ‘But she can’t!’ she burst out. ‘Helen is one of the best students we have. The Nightingale needs girls like her.’

‘I agree. But apparently St Andrew’s in Aberdeen will be having the benefit of her excellent training from now on.’

Kathleen watched a mottled purple hue creep up from under Miss Hanley’s starched collar as she took in the news. She was pleased her assistant was so shaken. Perhaps now she could see the damage her meddling had done.

Kathleen only hoped she was proud of herself.

‘Are you quite well, Veronica? You’re very quiet this evening,’ Florence observed as they sat in the small patch of garden beside the nurses’ home. It was a warm, sunny evening, far too pleasant to be indoors, so the sisters had brought folding chairs out on to the lawn for their patchwork session.

But Veronica Hanley was barely aware of the warmth of the sun dappling through the chestnut trees, or of the sewing in her lap. Her thoughts were straying elsewhere.

‘I must confess, I’m a little dismayed by the news about Tremayne,’ she admitted finally.

‘Oh, yes. Poor Tremayne.’ Sister Parker shook her head. ‘Such a bright girl. And such a loss to this hospital.’

‘I don’t know why you’d say that, after what she did to me.’ Agatha Sutton’s chins wobbled with indignation.

Florence Parker restrained her smile. ‘I wonder how her mother found out?’ she mused

Veronica was aware of Florence’s eyes fixed on her. She kept her gaze on her sewing, which had become uneven and ugly through lack of attention. She sighed and began picking the stitches out.

‘I must say, I’m surprised at Mrs Tremayne’s reaction,’ she said.

‘Are you? I can’t say I am. She’s always struck me as a vindictive sort of woman,’ Florence said sharply.

‘Yes, but given her own background . . .’ Veronica shut her mouth like a trap, biting back the words.

Agatha went on stitching, blithely unaware, but it was