On her return May was sent to Naomi, a women’s medical ward. The patients were ill and the nursing heavy, but Sister Naomi was elderly and experienced. Although strict with her nurses she was invariably fair, and she had endless patience with the sick women. Staff Nurse was a good teacher, so May, learning to deal with new problems and to carry out different treatments, felt a sense of discovery, and growing confidence. By the time Lady Clanence’s telegram announced her parents’ safe arrival in India she had settled back into the routine of St Katharine’s. She did not forget Harry Cussons’ snub, but it mattered less to her. After all, he was a man who had spent a lifetime getting exactly what he wanted, and she had had the temerity to refuse him – no wonder he had been angry and resentful.
One fine evening in late spring May and Ellen found themselves at Victoria Station, with three full hours ahead of them before the doors of the Nurses’ Home shut at ten. They had just waved goodbye to Ada, who was one of the lucky probationers whose parents lived near enough to London for her to get home on the evening before her monthly day off and so enjoy a whole twenty-eight hours of family life. The three of them had rushed off duty together and Ada had changed while the other two packed her bag; then they had hurried by train and underground to the terminus of the Brighton Line. Ada, festooned with an assortment of badly-wrapped parcels – it was her twin sisters’ birthday that week – had been bundled onto the Redhill train with seconds to spare, and May and Ellen, pleasantly conscious of having fulfilled their duty as friends, now had the evening in front of them.
‘Where shall we go now, May? It’s a lovely evening.’
May thought for a moment, then suggested, ‘I think we’re quite near St James’ Park – we could walk up past the Palace.’
Ellen was immediately interested. ‘Oh, do let’s – we might see the King and Queen!’
May laughed. ‘I must say, for someone who disapproves of inherited wealth you’re uncommonly interested in royalty and the aristocracy!’
Ellen grinned. ‘Well, you’re all such a novelty to a country bumpkin like me. Come on, let’s go and see what we can.’
As they neared the Palace the traffic began to slow down, then it stopped altogether. Beyond the cursing, swearing cab drivers they saw a long queue of private carriages. As they gazed at them May was transported back in time, to when she and Emily had sat, side by side and still as statues under the watchful eye of Lady Clarence, in just such a queue on just such a fine spring evening. She remembered the endless tiresome hours at the dressmaker, while a tuck had been taken here, or a seam altered there; Bella’s pride as she had carefully lifted the ostrich plumes to set them on their hair – three apiece and stiffly white; the strange sensation of the long unmanageable train fastened to her shoulders, dragging her back as she walked; the slow, stately procession down the stairs to where the servants waited in the hall, whispering in excited admiration. The whole scene was suddenly as bright and vivid before her eyes as though it were only yesterday. How pale and set Emily’s face had been in the carriage – May had begun to feel frightened herself, until she had looked up at her step-mother, so stern and imposing. The sight had given May immediate reassurance: nothing would go wrong because Lady Clarence would not allow it to go wrong. So they had waited in the coach, just as these young girls were waiting, grateful for once for Lady Clarence’s formal conversation and the formidable bearing which had driven away even the curious Cockneys who thronged the streets and pressed their noses against the very windows of the carriage.
‘What’s happening, May? What are they waiting for?’ Ellen’s fingers pressed her arm, and her voice was insistent.
‘It’s a Court. They’re waiting to be presented.’
Ellen’s face was alive with excitement. She tugged at May’s cloak, pulling her along. ‘Do let’s get closer, I want to see.’
Ellen, thin as a lath, pushed and wriggled her way through the crowd. May followed, unresisting. A friendly policeman saw them and cried, ‘Make way there, please, let the nurses through,’ and the crowd parted good-humouredly so that May and Ellen found themselves suddenly at the front, within inches of the rounded hindquarters of a glossy chestnut. They shifted slightly sideways and saw the face of the debutante, a pale blur through the misted glass, surrounded by the billowing white froth of dress and train.
The policeman turned his head. ‘Can you see them, ladies? Take a good look at how the nobs live, while you’ve got the chance. When you’re rushing around with your pills and potions first thing tomorrow they’ll still be lying abed, thinking what a busy time they’ve had this evening!’ He chuckled. ‘But we know better, don’t we? You and me, we have to work for our living.’ Imperturbable, but watchful, he paced off amongst the crowd.
May whispered, ‘I feel rather warm – shall we step back a little, Ellen?’
Ellen obediently stepped back, until they stood alone on the grass, still gazing at the line of carriages, stretching all the way to the Palace gates.
‘What do they do when they get inside, May?’
May said slowly, ‘You sit down on little gold chairs and you wait. It seems to be nothing but waiting, the whole evening. Then, when they tell you to, you have to join another long queue and move forward, oh, so slowly, through endless big rooms until you get to the ballroom – where the lights are dazzling and you want to blink but you know you mustn’t – then suddenly it all goes deathly quiet and you hear your name, sounding very loud in the silence, as you walk forward. and you realise you’re directly in front of Their Majesties.’ May paused, remembering the total isolation of that moment.
‘Then what do you do, May?’ Ellen prompted.
‘Then you curtsey, once to the King and once to the Queen.’
‘What next?’
‘Nothing, that’s it.’
‘All this, just for a curtsey!’ Ellen’s voice was stunned as she stared at the long procession of carriages, each with its liveried attendants. ‘It’s incredible.’
‘Two curtseys, Ellen,’ May corrected. Then she began to laugh, and Ellen joined her, until they were doubled up and gasping for breath.
Slowly the line crept forward, then stopped again. Ellen, still giggling a little, said, ‘All the same, I’d like to go in, just once, and see it all happening. If only Lord Hindlesham would jump out of a cab and whisk us inside!’
‘He can’t, Ellen, he’s in Italy. My grandmother told me when I had lunch with her last week. He’ll be away the whole of the Season, she said.’
Ellen made no reply, but her expression was questioning, so May explained.
‘His younger daughter married an Italian Duke, or Marchese, or something, and she’s been very homesick, so her father’s gone out there until after the baby is born.’
‘So there will be no dazzling balls at Hindlesham House this year, like the one where you met Mr Cussons?’
May retorted swiftly, ‘Oh, I’m sure there will be! Lady Hindlesham hasn’t gone, she’s in London as usual.’
Ellen sounded surprised. ‘But if her daughter…’
May’s tone was cold. ‘Dear Della would never, but never, miss the Season. Besides, the last thing she wants is to be reminded that her daughters are grown up. Archie had quite a penchant for Helen Hindlesham, the younger girl, and I remember him saying how amusing it was to watch them. Helen is the image of her mother, only twenty years younger, of course, and apparently Della could hardly bear to be seen in the same room as her. Lord Hindlesham’s sister virtually brought the two girls out, with her own three – except for the Presentation, of course, she’d have to do that.’
Ellen was still upset. ‘But fancy not going to visit her own daughter if she’s unhappy! Italy’s not that far away, and your step-mother’s gone right to India – whatever must the poor girl feel?’
May grimaced at the very idea of comparing two such different women as Della Hindlesham and Lady Clarence Winton. She reassured Ellen. ‘Don’t worry about Helen, Archie said she idolised her father; he took them everywhere as children. I’m sure she’d rather see him, any day. And I’ve no doubt it suits Della very well indeed – with her husband away she can amuse herself how she pleases.’ May recognised the leaven of bitterness in her own voice, and so did Ellen. The latter spoke firmly.
‘You were absolutely right to reject that man, May. You at least, are free of the whole miserable tangle. But Lord Hindlesham – why ever did he marry a woman like her? He seems so kind – and so honest.’
‘Ada’s right, all men are fools at heart, even the best of them.’ May spoke almost savagely.
‘But he was very young, May.’ Ellen’s voice was soft, and May, glancing quickly at her, saw the tell-tale glint under her eyelashes. Dear Ellen, with her ready sympathy: May felt ashamed of her harshness. After all, Lord Hindlesham had been so kind to her, and why should she expend her anger on Harry Cussons now? She had made her own choice.
She took Ellen’s arm. ‘Come, it’s a lovely evening, and we’ve got plenty of time before we have to start back. Let’s stroll in the Park like ladies of leisure, and think of Ada. She’ll be home by now, tying her fingers in knots to get those parcels open, with her sisters shouting and squealing and falling over the dog and teasing the cat – weren’t they little horrors!’
Ellen smiled, and they began to chat about other things as they sauntered across the grass in the balmy evening air.