The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,27

Veronica’s cheeks, and not just from the warmth of the fire. It was only a mild rebuke, but it hit home.

‘Mrs Tremayne would want to know,’ she insisted stubbornly. Constance Tremayne had confided as much herself, when she had graciously invited Miss Hanley out for tea shortly after Miss Fox had been appointed.

‘I can assure you, Miss Hanley, that had the decision been left to me it would be you at the helm,’ she had said, as she poured tea into delicate china cups. She was so gracious, so elegant, with her fine bones like a ballerina.

They had first met when Veronica Hanley was a young girl. Before she’d started her training at the Nightingale, she had spent two years as a cadet nurse in a small hospital in Ipswich, where Constance Tremayne was a young staff nurse.

Not that Mrs Tremayne remembered her. Veronica hadn’t liked to mention their earlier acquaintance. She guessed Constance would have no interest in remembering those early days.

‘I daresay Nightingale’s is in for a rather bumpy voyage with Miss Fox,’ Mrs Tremayne had continued. ‘But I hope I can rely on you to help keep our little ship on an even keel. And if you should ever find something amiss, you know you can always bring it to my attention . . .’

Veronica knew exactly what she meant. She didn’t hold with spying, or any other underhand behaviour. But she didn’t believe there was anything underhand about Constance Tremayne’s request. She knew Nightingale’s meant as much to Mrs Tremayne as it did to her. She was only asking this for the good of the hospital.

‘I will do my best, Mrs Tremayne,’ she had promised solemnly.

Constance Tremayne had laughed lightly. ‘Constance, please. We are friends, after all.’

Veronica was so flattered and flustered she had slopped tea into her saucer. She’d thought about reminding her just how far back their acquaintance went, but had a feeling Mrs Tremayne wouldn’t want to know.

‘Quite right, too,’ Agatha said now, sucking the end of her thread. ‘Really, Florence, I am most surprised at you. Veronica understands how things should be done. She has dedicated her whole life to the Nightingale. We don’t want some chit of a girl coming in and ruining everything.’ She squinted up at the light as she tried to thread the needle with her short, fat fingers. ‘Where is she from, anyway? Does anyone know anything about her? She’s Irish, isn’t she?’

‘I believe she’s from somewhere in the north,’ Veronica said. ‘Lancashire, I think.’

‘Well, that’s just as bad,’ Agatha Sutton said. ‘She doesn’t know how we do things here. Whereas Veronica—’

She suddenly broke off, threw down her sewing and hauled herself to her feet. Veronica and Florence exchanged wry looks as she trundled across the room, Sparky at her heels, threw open the door and bellowed, ‘You! Yes, you girl. Did I hear you running just then? Don’t argue with me, I trust my own hearing more than I trust you. No, I don’t want to hear your feeble excuses. I’m not interested in them. If I catch you running one more time, I will send you to Matron. And I dare say you won’t be in such a hurry to get to her office.’

She slammed the door shut, bustled back to her armchair, lowered herself into it and picked up her sewing as if nothing had happened.

‘Nothing gets past you, does it, Agatha?’ Florence Parker said, amused.

‘Indeed it doesn’t. One has to be absolutely firm with these girls. Heaven knows, some of them need it. You can’t imagine the lack of discipline when they arrive here. Some of them are little better than savages. It makes me wonder what their mothers have been doing all these years.’ She went back to trying to thread her needle, until Veronica took it from her.

‘I have to agree,’ Florence said. ‘It’s very difficult getting them to concentrate in the classroom. It’s taken this past two weeks to get the silliness out of them. And some of them still haven’t lost it.’

‘What are they like, the new set?’ Veronica asked, handing the threaded needle back to Agatha.

‘A rather mixed bag, I’m afraid. Some are very bright, but there are one or two others who leave me rather despairing.’

‘Let me guess – Benedict?’ Agatha Sutton shook her head. ‘She is simply the most frivolous girl I have ever met. I rather thought she might have gone home after failing preliminary training first time. After all, it’s not as if the