The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,98
to the hospital. I’m back on duty at five.’
‘Those backsides won’t wipe themselves, will they?’ Georgina smirked.
Millie scowled back at her. She sincerely hoped she didn’t manage to ensnare Seb. Her friend deserved far better.
It was twenty to five when she hared through the hospital gates. She headed straight for the nurses’ home, praying Sister Sutton wasn’t around to delay her. But as she put her foot on the stairs, she heard Sparky yapping and a moment later the door to Sister Sutton’s room swung open.
‘Where do you think you’re going, Benedict?’
Millie’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m going to get changed, Sister.’
Sister Sutton gasped as if this were the greatest impertinence she had ever heard. ‘And where have you been? I hope you haven’t been out gallivanting?’ she said suspiciously.
Millie was about to point out that it was her afternoon off and she could gallivant if she wanted to, but thought better of it. She already had less than ten minutes to change and get back to the ward.
There was nothing she could do but to stand and submit to Sister Sutton’s scrutiny as she looked her up and down.
‘Your bed was a disgrace again this morning,’ was all she could finally find to say. ‘Make it properly before you go on duty.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ To hell with the bed, thought Millie as she raced up the stairs, already tearing off her coat. She was more afraid of Sister Wren than she was of Sister Sutton.
But it wasn’t just fear that made her hurry, clumsily pulling on her black stockings and ramming her feet into her shoes. She was anxious to keep her promise to Blanche, to be there with her lipstick, ready for when she woke up.
Mr Hopkins gave a disapproving shake of his head as she hurried past the porters’ lodge a few minutes later, still buttoning up her cuffs as she went. No one noticed her when she arrived breathless on to the ward. She slid past Sister Wren’s gaze and hurried to Blanche’s bed at the far end of the ward.
As she drew closer, her smile froze on her face. There was no sign of Blanche, and her bed had been stripped down to the mattress.
‘There you are.’ Sister Wren stood at her shoulder. ‘You do realise you are two minutes late?’
‘Where’s Blanche?’ Millie blurted out without thinking.
Sister Wren blinked. ‘I beg your pardon? Were you addressing me?’
‘I’m sorry, Sister.’ Millie lowered her gaze humbly. ‘I just wondered what had happened to Blanche – I mean, Miss Desmond?’
Sister Wren pulled herself up to her full height, which was still barely taller than a child’s.
‘Miss Desmond died earlier today,’ she said.
‘Died?’ Millie could hardly manage the word.
‘Yes, Nurse Benedict. Don’t look so surprised. This is a hospital. Regrettable as it may be, people do die here from time to time.’ Her face registered no more emotion than if she’d been talking about the leaf wilt on her aspidistra. ‘Now, when you’re ready, the bathrooms need cleaning.’
She turned on her heel and stalked off, hands clasped behind her back, leaving Millie numb with shock.
‘Hard-hearted cow,’ the woman in the bed next to Blanche’s muttered. ‘I know you’ve got to be in your job, but she really takes the biscuit. Poor woman.’ She turned her gaze to Blanche’s stripped bed. ‘It’s a real shame, I reckon. She didn’t deserve to go like that.’
How would you know? Millie felt like snapping back at her. You never had a kind word to say to her when she was here. Poor Blanche. She had often lain in bed, watching the other women and longing to join in their chat, but no one ever gave her a smile or the time of day. She never had any visitors, either. Millie was the only company she’d had.
Lucy Lane was in the bathroom, scrubbing out the bath with Vim. She sat back on her heels, brush in hand, when she saw Millie.
‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. I was supposed to go off duty ages ago. But Sister Wren said I wasn’t allowed to leave until you came back.’
‘Blanche is dead,’ Millie cut her off.
‘Who? Oh, you mean the prostitute? Yes, I heard she died during the op. Turned out she had some kind of heart defect, I think. Couldn’t cope with the anaesthetic.’ She dropped her scrubbing brush into the tin bucket and stood up, brushing down her knees.
‘Who did last offices?’ Millie asked urgently. ‘Did they remember her lipstick?’