The cold air outside was blessedly reviving. May took several deep breaths, sniffing the tang of salt from beyond the dock walls. Refreshed, she dashed across the courtyards and into the Nurses’ Home. Reaching the bathroom she turned on the taps on her way to her room; and was back, and in and out of her bath in minutes – regretfully remembering her plans for a long, hot soak. She dressed with care. Her most elaborate gowns had been left at Allingham, but she selected a dinner dress of the palest green miroir velvet, with a delicate froth of creamy lace around the low neckline, and hooked herself into it. Her hair took longer: she wanted to show it off to its best advantage, and was struggling with it when Minnie Emms, back from her half-day off, looked in and lent a helping hand. Minnie slid in the final pin.
‘My, May, you do look swish, where are you going?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’ May felt the beginnings of a blush. Minnie raised a pair of questioning eyebrows.
‘I’m dining with a family friend,’ May added quickly.
‘When is he picking you up?’ Minnie asked slyly.
‘At half-past seven – oh, you wretch, Minnie!’
‘Well, you’d better get a move on, it’s gone twenty-five past already.’
‘Oh, my cloak, my gloves – Minnie, do help me with the buttons.’
Minnie attacked May’s long white kid gloves, managing to fasten a piece of the skin of May’s wrist along with one of the tiny pearl buttons – but there was no time to put it right. May threw her cloak around her, checked her hat in the mirror and was off down the stairs, pursued by Minnie’s cries of, ‘Enjoy yourself, and don’t be late back!’
A smart carriage was parked outside the main entrance, looking out of place in the Dock Road; the glossy-coated horse tossed its head disdainfully. The liveried attendant jumped down and held the door open, and May tumbled in. The soft darkness of the interior was redolent of the upper class male: she caught the mingled aroma of shaving soap and good cigars, and the underlying tang of sweat. For a panicky moment May wondered whether she had jumped into the wrong carriage, then the deep tones of Harry Cussons’ voice broke the silence. He sounded amused.
‘You are always in such a rush, Miss Winton. What can you possibly have been doing all day to be in this flurry now?’
For a brief moment the vision of the surgeon’s knife poised above the blood-beaded incision flashed before her eyes, and the face of the shaking, vomiting wretch on the bed. She opened her mouth to tell him, then common sense reasserted itself. Lord Hindlesham might be interested in the details of a nurse’s daily life, but she knew Harry Cussons would not be – he expected entertainment from his companions.
‘Oh, we keep busy,’ her tone was light. ‘But I’m off duty now. Tell me, how is the Little Season?’
Harry Cussons’ gossip was lively, amusing, and tinged with a spice of malice. May was soon relaxed and laughing in the warm intimacy of the carriage. As they talked she tugged at her left glove, trying to ease the pinch, though she knew from past experience how difficult it was to put this right. Why did long gloves have to be so tight? But they always were; fashion and Lady Clarence decreed it so. As they passed under a street lamp her companion noticed her fidgeting. He reached across and picked up her hand.
‘What’s the matter? Ah, you have trapped your skin – how well I remember my younger sister doing the same thing when she first Came Out. You are a careless nymph, you know!’ He inspected her wrist in another passing light. ‘I’m afraid you won’t get this right without taking your glove off and starting again.’
‘I’ve got out of the habit of wearing these,’ May replied. ‘Bella, my maid, always used to put them on for me.’
‘Then let me be your lady’s maid for this evening.’
There was amusement in his voice, and an elusive him of something May could not recognise. His grasp on her wrist was firm, and she could not have broken free without a sharp tug; besides, she knew she did not want to break free.
Harry Cussons’ hand glided lightly up to her elbow, and with strong yet gentle fingers he began to undo the small loops, one by one. He lingered over each tiny button in turn, his touch caressing and intimate. May sat unprotesting, as though mesmerised. She gazed at his bony profile, a dark outline in the light of the passing lamps, and felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and delicately touch his face and gently push back the rebellious lock of hair which flopped forward over his forehead. But she did not.
Then the glove was drawn slowly off her hand, and the small red patch of skin disclosed. Harry Cussons touched it tenderly with his fingertip.
‘There is the cause of the mischief. Now I must do as my old Nanny always did when I fell and hurt myself.’ And before May could move he had bent his head and kissed her wrist, not once, but twice. With an effort May removed her hand from his grasp and recovering herself said, ‘But I have not yet fallen, Mr Cussons.’
At this he threw back his head and roared with laughter, and May felt uncertain and ill-at-ease; her companion, as if sensing this, picked up the glove, said, ‘Hold your hand out, we’re nearly there,’ and refastened the buttons swiftly and deftly.
‘There, now you are ready to face the world.’
May wondered where he had learnt to handle tiny buttons so skilfully, and could not resist saying as he finished, ‘Clearly you are an experienced lady’s maid, Mr Cussons’, and he looked at her sharply for a moment so that she felt she had scored a hit.
Then the carriage drew up and there was all the bustle of alighting. May recognised Claridge’s; she had never dined in an hotel before, and only lunched in the company of her parents. But she did not know the circumstances of Harry Cussons’ life in London, only that he had a place in the country. Since Lady Beddows had come up ahead of her family she was possibly staying here.
Having left her cloak May preceded Harry Cussons into the dining room, where a black-garbed manager escorted them to a small table in a secluded corner and drew back her chair. She gathered her skirts in her hand and was on the point of sitting down when she froze in mid-movement. The table was set for two. She glanced up at Harry. There was a look of smug confidence on his face, like a man who has seen his horse first past the post and now puts down his binoculars in anticipation of enjoying the fruits of his wager. May slowly straightened herself. She looked at the manager – his face was politely enquiring. She surveyed the public restaurant: there were several girls of her own age, but they were all with family parties. The women seated a deux were all older, or had that indefinable air of – May could not quite express it to herself but years of Lady Clarence’s tutelage had left her well able to recognise it. Her mind was made up. She turned to the manager.
‘How foolish of me. I have left my handkerchief in the pocket of my cloak. Mr Cussons, perhaps you would accompany me?’
Unsuspecting, Harry Cussons ushered her out, wearing the sleek assurance of a well-fed tom cat whose next meal is temporarily delayed, but who knows it will come, as surely as night follows day. As soon as the manager left them in the foyer May turned and faced her escort.
‘I thought Lady Beddows was to dine with us?’
He smiled. ‘Dear me, what gave you that impression, Miss Winton?’
‘You did, in your letter.’
‘I am sure I did not say that.’
May thought back to the well-perused letter – no, he had not said that. She, gullible fool, had made her own deduction. But her anger was rising now, and her confidence with it
‘You lied, by implication you lied.’
‘Oh, come now, that’s too strong.’
‘You know I would never have agreed to dine with you alone, in a public restaurant.’
He smiled engagingly. ‘Then I will cancel the table here. Come back to my rooms, my man will soon rustle something up for us. That would be much nicer.’
May felt her colour deepening. ‘I do not wish to dine with you alone – anywhere.’
‘Miss Winton, you’re a woman of the world now, you’re free of your duenna.’ His voice was coaxing. ‘Relax, enjoy your evening.’ His tone lowered. ‘You know, you look very beautiful when you’re angry.’
May had had enough. ‘I am leaving, now.’
She marched over to the cloakroom, retrieved her cloak and put it on with shaking hands. When she came out Harry Cussons was still waiting, his composure barely ruffled. She moved swiftly to the door; he followed rapidly behind. She ran down the steps and out onto the pavement. With several long strides he overtook her and barred her way.
‘Miss Winton, stop a minute. Now calm yourself,’ he spoke as though to a rather tiresome child.
May broke in through gritted teeth. ‘Will you get out of my way?’
‘No.’ He was becoming impatient. ‘You’re behaving like a spoilt child. I deserve a hearing.’
May erupted. ‘You deserve this!’ and raising her right hand she brought it with all her strength in a stinging slap across his face. ‘Now will you get out of my way?’
Involuntarily he stepped aside and she carried away a last glimpse of his sagging jaw and the look of stupefaction on his handsome face.
May pulled her cloak around her and ran. Fortunately there were few people about as the evening was cold, and she made good speed down the street and round the next corner.
She stopped, panting. There was no sound of pursuing footsteps. A blue-uniformed figure approached her.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’
May steadied her breathing. ‘Yes, thank you, Officer. But perhaps you could direct me to the nearest cab rank?’
‘Certainly, Miss. Just down there, on the right.’ And he pointed to the blessed sight of a row of hansoms, each behind its drooping horse.
‘Thank you so much.’
May stepped briskly forward. It was just as she reached the foremost horse that realisation hit her – she had no money! She had got used to carrying a purse when walking in the East End, but she never had taken money with her when going out to dine; it had never crossed her mind to bring any tonight.
The cab driver, sensing a fare, sat up straight and tugged at the slack reins. May lifted her chin in the air and walked past.
The events of the evening had left her mind in a whirl. She couldn’t think straight – she would walk back – but it was much too far, and her feet were already cold in her light evening slippers – besides, how could she walk through Poplar in a velvet cloak trimmed with Sables? Her thoughts raced. She was, after all, in the West End, she must know many people within a hundred yards of where she was now – but to whom could she go and ask for money, alone and unattended on a freezing night in December? Whatever would they think? What tale would go the rounds later?
A carriage drew up ahead of her and for a childish moment she believed that the stately, straight-backed woman alighting from it was Lady Clarence, and she broke into a run. Then the woman turned her head and she remembered that her step-mother was far away in Stemhalton, with all the rest of the Andover clan; her grandmother and uncle had left Town two days ago.
Tears spilled over and trickled down her face, but she clashed them away. She must calm down and think, at least find out where she was. If only she’d been more observant when Lady Clarence had taken her on those interminable calls. Then, all of a sudden, a memory reasserted itself: surely this was Grosvenor Square – she remembered coming here at the end of July to Lady Hindlesham’s ball. She looked along the terrace. There it was – and there were lights on in the front rooms.
May stopped, uncertain. How could she ask Della Hindlesham for help? Della of all people asked to lend her the fare to get home after she had walked out on Harry Cussons! In a tiny corner of her mind she began to unfreeze: he had looked so surprised – perhaps he’d never had his face slapped before, or at least, probably not with such force. But here she was, still stranded in the middle of London without the wherewithal to get back to St Katharine’s – perhaps she could manage to walk, after all.
Then, just as she was about to turn away, she saw a shadow pass across the blind of the window to the right of the front door. It was small and slight, yet unmistakably male. May paused; she would feel no compunction about begging her cab fare from Lord Hindlesham – were they not both the victims of Harry Cussons? Before she could lose her nerve she marched forward to the railings, reached into the window box for a handful of small gravel and threw it at the window. The shadow’s head rose for a moment, then bent again. May picked up more gravel, and threw a second time. The figure moved forward and the blind began to rise. May stood poised for flight in case the man should prove to be a stranger; but it was Lord Hindlesham.
He stared out into the darkness and she moved into the circle of light cast by the street lamp and waved. He nodded his head in comprehension and turned away from the window. May waited in an agony of impatience – suppose the butler came out? But as the door opened she heard a familiar voice.
‘It’s all right, Ellis, I’m just stepping outside for a moment for a breath of air.’ The door was firmly shut and the slight form came lightly down the steps.
‘Miss Winton! What on earth are you doing out alone? And on a night like this! Do come inside. Della is upstairs, I will send for her to come down.’
‘No!’ May’s voice was too quick, she slowed it down. ‘No. please don’t disturb Lady Hindlesham. I just want to borrow my cab fare home – back to St Katharine’s.’
Lord Hindlesham did not reply at once. He took May by the elbow and propelled her gently round until the light from the lamp fell full on her face. May, conscious of her tear-stained cheeks stared fixedly over his shoulder.
‘I’ll take you back, now.’
‘No, please, it’s very kind, but if you’ll just lend me the fare I’ll be quite all right.’
His voice was firm. ‘Miss Winton, you are little older than my two daughters. You are not going back alone, not tonight.’ He checked her protest. ‘I often go out for a stroll before dinner, my absence will cause no comment – Della will not even notice.’ His tone was dry, and May said nothing further.
He walked her briskly round to the nearest cab rank – ‘A growler I think, you are cold enough already’ – and in a few minutes May was sitting with her feet in the musty straw, listening to the steady clip-clop in front. She felt totally miserable – whatever must Lord Hindlesham be thinking of her?
He broke the silence.
‘Have you been on duty today? Tell me what you have been doing, May.’
May began to speak, slowly at first, then the words tumbled out as she told him about Sister Simeon and Bates and the new Pro Five and the boy she’d spoken sharply to and the man who was dying from drink, delirious in the end bed, screaming for his morphia with a high-pitched keening sound that only Sister Simeon could stop. And for a short time she forgot Harry Cussons and the débâcle of her evening.
Aware of the sympathetic concern of her companion she spoke more slowly of the all too apparent poverty and distress of so many of their patients, and of her own inadequacy in coping with these. Lord Hindlesham’s voice was serious as he replied, saying that at least the evils she grappled with were openly recognisable and could be battled with directly, and as he compared the two Societies, the one May had now entered with the one she had left, she wondered if his wife were in his thoughts.
Then the cab drew up at the hospital gates. Lord Hindlesham helped her down.
‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you, May. Give my best wishes to Miss Carter, and tell her I think the election may go her way, rather than mine. I will wait until you are inside.’
May thanked him then walked through the archway. She looked back and waved to the slim figure which raised its hat in reply, muttering under her breath as she turned away, in the language of the East End: ‘Della is a bitch!’
Ada and Ellen burst in as she was sitting at her table, trying to distract herself by writing to Emily.
‘We saw your light on, you’re back early,’ then, ‘May, what’s the matter?’
May bent her head and put her hands to her eyes to stop the telltale tears. Ellen came quickly across and put her arm round May. She spoke back over her shoulder, ‘Ada, go and make us all some cocoa,’ and the door closed. May poured out her tale to Ellen, who murmured, ‘The beast – how thoughtless – oh, I hope you hit him hard May!’
‘I think I did,’ May said with simple pride – telling her story was cheering her up.
She felt Ellen’s arm stiffen slightly, then relax again as she explained how she had recognised Lord Hindlesham’s house – ‘How fortunate he was in, May, he was quite right to bring you back,’ and May, now hiccuping gently, was imparting Lord Hindlesham’s message when Ada returned, bearing three cups on a tray and a face of thunder.
‘Really, those Second Years have gone too far, they’d taken all the milk – I had to go right down to the kitchen and abase myself before the cook to get some more. I wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for you being in such a state, May. Now tell me, what did this brute do to you?’
Ellen related the story, omitting, May noticed with interest, precise reference to Lord Hindlesham – he was translated simply to ‘a friend’. Ada was loud in her commendations of May’s attack on Harry Cussons, though she seemed rather sorry that she had not gone further – ‘Only one slap, May? Still, I’m glad to hear it, I’ve always thought of you as rather soft with men.’
‘But Ada, all the men here are patients, I couldn’t hurt them.’
‘They still need to be kept in their places. Sister Simeon lets them roam around far too much – flat on their backs in bed, that’s where men should be!’
At this Ellen gave a little gasp, and put her hand to her lips, then started laughing. May began to giggle weakly, and even Ada gave a reluctant chuckle.
‘Well, when they’re ill, I meant. But seriously, May, I don’t know why you got so hot under the collar at the idea of dining with him. After all, you were in a public place. I suppose he was a bit deceitful, but it is a ridiculous convention whereby an adult man and woman can’t enjoy a meal together on their own. I’ve certainly spent the evening out without a chaperon, not with just one man, admittedly, but in a mixed group of my own age.’
‘And so have I,’ said Ellen softly. ‘But we come from backgrounds where this is accepted, May doesn’t.’
‘But that doesn’t stop her changing now. She doesn’t live at home any longer,’ Ada argued.
Ellen shook her head. ‘That would be true if, say, young Dr Wade and his ginger-haired friend asked us to accompany them out for a meal,’ – ‘We’d be thrown out if we went!’ Ada interjected forcefully – ‘Well, two doctors from a different hospital, then. But you see what I mean, it would be natural for them to do so, because they wouldn’t see it as improper – but this Mr Cussons, he knew that May would never normally dine alone in a public restaurant without a chaperon – so I think he was wrong. He tried to take advantage of her being younger and less experienced than himself to bluff her into doing something she would be unhappy about later.’
‘Well, he won’t try again in a hurry,’ said Ada in a tone of satisfaction.
May recognised the truth of this and winced. Had she been too proper? After all, Harry Cussons was used to experienced women of the world, perhaps she had been rather childish. She remembered the caressing touch of his hands in the carriage and shivered – was Ada right? Had she made a terrible mistake? And yet there was good sense in Ellen’s words – he should not have taken her alone to a public restaurant.
Ellen, noticing the shiver, stood up.
‘Come along May, it’s time you went to bed. I’ll fill your hot water bottle for you. It’s a busy day tomorrow.’
Ada retorted, ‘It’s always a busy day tomorrow,’ and collected up the empty cups.