The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,28

girl needs a career.’

‘I must say, I was surprised to see her return,’ Florence agreed. ‘Perhaps she has more spirit than we give her credit for? She certainly tries hard enough. Although she does tend to lack concentration.’

‘Not what we want on the wards,’ Veronica said firmly.

‘I thought putting her in a room with Tremayne would calm her down, but it doesn’t seem to have worked,’ said Agatha.

Veronica smiled approvingly. Helen Tremayne would be a good influence on anyone. Her mother must be so proud of her. ‘I’m surprised Matron allowed her a second chance,’ she said.

Florence sent her a sharp look. ‘I dare say she had her reasons.’

‘I’m sure you’re right. But I must say, she has made some rather odd decisions with this new set.’ Veronica paused. ‘Speaking of which, how is that other girl getting on? The one with the ginger hair?’

‘You mean Doyle? She’s very bright.’

‘Really?’ It wasn’t the reply Veronica had been expecting. She’d thought Florence Parker would roll her eyes and despair of Matron’s poor judgement. ‘We are talking about the same girl, aren’t we? The common one? Rather plain?’

Florence frowned. ‘Really, Veronica, you seem to have formed a very poor opinion of her. But I can assure you, Doyle is extremely hard-working, and shows a great deal of natural ability. I would go as far as to say she is a born nurse.’ She sighed. ‘Unfortunately, though, it may be that she won’t make it beyond preliminary training.’

‘Why not?’

‘She has no books. She makes all kinds of excuses, but it’s plain she can’t afford to buy them. I have offered her secondhand books, I have even wondered about providing some kind of bursary for her, with Matron’s approval, but she won’t have it. Absolutely refuses anything approaching charity. She has a stubborn East End pride that I’m afraid will be the undoing of her.’

‘I hardly think the people of the East End have anything to be proud about.’ Veronica’s lip curled. She caught the reproachful look Florence gave her. ‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘You know as well as I do how these people live. How many years have you spent, washing grimy bodies that have never seen hot water, shaving and sulphur-bathing children crawling with lice, scabies and ringworm? Not to mention patching up tarts riddled with disgusting venereal diseases?’ She shuddered.

‘If you dislike them so much, I wonder why you’ve stayed here so long?’ Florence Parker said, her eyes back on her sewing. ‘I would have thought a comfortable convalescent home with nice, clean patients and respectable diseases would have suited you much better?’

Veronica felt Agatha’s tiny raisin-black eyes swivel towards her. ‘I felt it was my duty to stay here,’ she said stiffly. ‘After all, Miss Nightingale herself worked hard to establish excellent standards amid filth and hardship.’

Florence’s mouth curved. ‘I hope you’re not comparing Nightingale’s to the field hospital at Scutari?’

Veronica flushed. She respected Florence Parker, but sometimes felt she could be rather mischievous. ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘I’m merely saying Miss Nightingale didn’t shirk from her duty, and neither do I.’

But it was more than duty that kept her at the Nightingale Hospital. It was the only home and family she had known for more than thirty years.

‘Anyway, if you ask me, it’s an outrage.’ Agatha Sutton brought the subject back to Dora Doyle. ‘The girl should never have been allowed to come in the first place if she can’t afford to be here.’

‘I do agree it seems rather cruel, to offer her this chance, knowing she won’t be able to see it through,’ Florence Parker sighed.

Veronica Hanley ducked her head and smiled down at her stitching. Another of Matron’s ridiculous ideas, she thought. Just like getting rid of the bath book.

Chapter Nine

NURSE TREMAYNE WAS one of the few students of whom Head Porter Edwin Hopkins approved. He prided himself on his high standards, even if his raggle-taggle regiment of porters sometimes didn’t. Old habits died hard; he had been an officer’s batman in the 38th Welsh Division during the Great War, and sixteen years later he never turned out for duty looking less than parade-ground smart, with a shine on his shoes, his brown overalls pressed, moustache perfectly trimmed, and what was left of his hair slicked carefully into place with a generous dollop of Brylcreem.

He appreciated neatness, order and punctuality, and Nurse Tremayne had all those qualities. Every morning, rain or shine, he would see her heading across the courtyard towards his lodge to hand in