The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,90
never know, I might meet a nice farmhand and settle down.’ Blanche opened her bedside drawer and took out a brown paper cone. ‘Humbug, love?’ She proffered the bag to Millie.
She eyed the bag longingly. ‘I can’t.’
‘Go on. One won’t hurt.’
‘We’re not supposed to eat on the ward.’
‘I won’t tell.’
Millie quickly took the humbug before Sister Wren noticed. It tasted divine. It was so strange – not so long ago she would have taken such pleasures for granted. But now a sweet or a piece of toffee or just the chance to sit down for a minute in her long day was a real pleasure to be savoured.
‘Benedict!’
No sooner had she put the sweet in her mouth than Sister Wren’s voice rang out from the other end of the ward, summoning her. Millie made her way as slowly as she could down the length of the ward, desperately trying to finish the humbug before she got to Sister Wren. But somehow it seemed to have swelled to giant proportions, and her throat was so dry she couldn’t swallow it.
‘Hurry up, Nurse. I don’t have all day!’
As she approached, she could see Sister Wren’s eyes narrowing on her. Matron’s office, here I come, she thought miserably.
Just at that moment William stepped out in front of her, so quickly she almost collided with him.
‘Sister,’ he said. ‘May I ask you something?’
Sister Wren tutted. ‘What is it now, Dr Tremayne?’
‘I wonder if I might take a look at Miss Fletcher’s wound?’
‘Must you? We’ve only just put on a new dressing.’
‘I am rather worried about it.’
‘Mr Cooper seemed perfectly satisfied when he did his rounds yesterday.’
‘All the same, I would like to take another look.’
‘Very well, then.’ As Sister Wren turned away, Millie quickly spat the humbug into her hand and looked around desperately for somewhere to deposit it.
The only place she would find was Sister Wren’s prize aspidistra. She had just dropped her sweet into the pot when Sister Wren swung round again.
‘Benedict, perhaps you could assist Dr Tremayne? I’m far too busy.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
As they walked away together, Millie whispered, ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ William replied innocently. ‘Although if it puts you forever in my debt, then I’m happy to accept your thanks.’
‘How will I ever repay you?’ Millie smiled.
‘You could have dinner with me tonight?’
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I already have plans.’
‘Then cancel them.’
‘I can’t.’
‘But you would if you could?’ His dark eyes teased her.
‘I certainly wouldn’t.’ They reached Miss Fletcher’s bed, and Millie pulled the screens around it.
‘Then we’ll just have to make it another night,’ he said in a low voice.
‘What makes you think I’ll say yes another night?’
‘Because you find my charm irresistible. And if you don’t, I’ll tell Sister Wren who buried a humbug in her aspidistra.’
Helen hurried across the courtyard towards the porters’ lodge with her head down, her cloak pulled around her against the cold March wind. It was five o’clock and darkness was gathering. The shivering plane trees stood stark against the purple-grey sky. Lights from the ward windows above her cast long shadows across the wet cobbles.
‘Good evening, Nurse Tremayne. Nasty cold one, isn’t it?’ Mr Hopkins greeted her in his sing-song Welsh accent. The porters’ lodge seemed warm and welcoming after the cold darkness. A hearty fire burned in the grate and the kettle sang on the gas ring. In the room beyond, Helen could see a few of the porters reading their newspapers and playing cards. ‘I still can’t get used to seeing you in the evenings and not the mornings. Throws my routine right out, so it does.’
‘I’m sorry about that, Mr Hopkins.’ Helen pulled her letter out from under her cloak and handed it over.
‘It’s nice, though, that you still find time to write to your mother, even when you’re on night duty.’
I don’t have much choice, Helen thought. If she didn’t, her mother would be up at the hospital gates in no time, demanding to know why.
She was just about to turn away when Mr Hopkins said, ‘Hold on, Nurse. I’ve got one for you, too.’
Helen frowned. Her mother was usually far too busy to write letters in return. And she couldn’t imagine why her father would want to write to her.
But it wasn’t from either of her parents. Her heart leapt as she studied the spidery, unfamiliar scrawl. She didn’t dare hope who it might be from.
‘Everything all right, Nurse?’ Mr Hopkins was watching her carefully.