The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,85

patients needs anything.’

‘The only thing this lot need is a good undertaker,’ Amy said. ‘Don’t look at me like that, they’re all at death’s door anyway. Although I hope none of them decides to die before tomorrow morning. If I’m late going off duty because I have to lay someone out, I won’t be very happy about it.’

‘I’m sure none of them will be that inconsiderate,’ Helen murmured.

Once Amy had gone, she started on the list of jobs Sister Hyde had left for them to do. She had just started mending the linen when she saw three housemen creep past. Her brother William was one of them. He smiled and gave her a sheepish wave as he followed the others into the kitchen.

Helen settled down to her stitching by the dull light of the shaded desk lamp. All around her was the creak and rattle of bedsprings, mingled with the noises made by the patients. Many of the elderly women on Hyde were disturbed, their minds gone with age and illness. At night they became even more restless and agitated. While other wards slept on peacefully, Female Chronics rang with the sound of whooping, sobbing, wailing and groaning, at least until the effects of their bedtime sedatives took over and an uneasy peace descended for a few hours. Helen was used to the noise. She didn’t find it nearly so disturbing as the muffled shrieks and whoops that came from the kitchen.

‘Nurse?’ Mrs Mortimer’s voice startled her, coming out of the darkness. Helen hurried over.

‘What can I do for you, Mrs Mortimer?’

‘You can tell that rabble to keep their voices down. It’s difficult enough to sleep in this madhouse, without being disturbed by that racket,’ she grumbled.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Mortimer. I’ll tell them immediately.’

She walked into the kitchen to find them all drinking cocoa and listening to William telling a lurid ghost story about a former patient who haunted Hyde ward.

‘And they say that on dark, still nights you can still see her in her blood-stained nightgown, wandering up the ward,’ he intoned in a grave voice.

‘Do you mind?’ Helen interrupted him sternly. ‘You’re disturbing the patients. And you can put that down, too.’ She snatched a slice of bread out of her brother’s hand. ‘That’s supposed to be for the patients’ breakfast.’

‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Tremayne,’ Amy said sulkily.

‘She’s right,’ William said. ‘We’ll keep the noise down,’ he promised.

As she left, Helen heard Amy saying, ‘Honestly, Will, I can’t believe she’s your sister. She’s nowhere near as much fun as you.’

Back on the ward, Helen found one of the women had wet her bed and was busy dragging off the sopping sheets, draping them like washing over the sides of her cot. As Helen went to stop her, the woman grabbed her cap, ripping it off her head and sending pins scattering everywhere. Helen was still desperately groping around in the dark, trying to gather them up, when the runner scuttled into the ward to tell her Night Sister was on her way to do her round.

‘Oh, Lord, she’s early.’ Helen retrieved the last pin from under the patient’s bed and got to her feet. ‘You’d better warn Hollins.’

The next minute was a desperate scramble as Amy smuggled the doctors out and tidied the kitchen while Helen tried to refasten her cap as best she could.

She had just fixed the last pin in place when Night Sister appeared. By the time her soft tread was heard outside the ward doors, Amy and Helen had managed to get themselves into some kind of order. Helen could feel her cap slipping down over one ear, but fortunately Night Sister was summoned to an emergency in Female Surgical and didn’t stay long enough to notice.

Amy was even nicer to Helen for the rest of the shift. For once she helped pack the drums with dressings and swabs, ready for the porter to take off for sterilising when he came back on duty.

‘Are there any doctors you fancy?’ she asked, as they worked.

‘No.’

‘Surely there must be one you like?’

‘Can’t say I’ve noticed them.’

Amy sent her a shrewd look. ‘You’re not still pining over Charlie Denton?’

Helen ducked her head, blushing furiously. Three weeks after starting night duty, she had heard nothing from him. She hadn’t expected him to remember her, but she still felt a pang of disappointment.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped.

‘Pardon me for breathing, I’m sure.’

Helen wished she hadn’t been so sharp. She longed to say the right thing, to make Amy