Although Ellen, Ada and May were the best of friends there was one clear difference between them – dress. Ada, for all her suffragette convictions, had a keen interest in clothes: she invariably changed out of uniform for even the shortest of off-duty periods. May, despite her sense of relief when she arrived at the hospital and found she was at last somewhere where she did not have to change her clothing four or five times a day, still enjoyed dressing up for special occasions. She had spent too much of her life in fashionable dress-makers to be totally immune now. But Ellen was different: Ellen would not or could not care tuppence about her appearance. Her face was pretty, her figure slender, but she always looked dowdy. Indeed, May strongly suspected that she would have cheerfully gone out with buttons missing and hem dangling, had not the other two kept a sharp eye on her.
Matters reached a head in the New Year. Ellen’s parents, well aware of her failings, had sent the money for a new outfit, in good time for Christmas. By the third week in January Ellen had respected their wishes to the extent of having neither given it away nor bought books with it, but the sum remained unspent. In desperation May and Ada embarked on a concerted campaign of coaxing and bullying, and eventually extracted a promise that Ellen would go up to Town on her very next half day, and not come back without a purchase.
Ellen set off after dinner looking, as Ada reported to May, more like a candidate for rack and thumbscrew than a young woman about to enjoy a pleasant afternoon’s shopping. It was May, coming off duty at six, who caught her slinking into her room in her old shabby coat and hat, looking much more cheerful but with no sign of parcels or boxes. She gave a guilty gasp as May pounced, but insisted that she had an excuse. May felt she should be severe, but as she could not help noticing Ellen’s heightened colour, curiosity won the day and she made a pot of tea and settled down for a good gossip.
The explanation was all too typical of Ellen. ‘I went, just as I said I would, May, and I got off at Hyde Park Corner and I was going to go straight to Harrods – honestly May – but the sun was shining, and that’s so unusual in January, and I had to go past the Albert Gate, so I thought, well, a short walk in the Park, there’d still be plenty of time for shopping, it would have been criminal to waste the fine weather…’ Ellen’s story spilled out. Once in the Park who should she see but Lord Hindlesham, over the other side of the Row. ‘He was walking so slowly, and he looked so sad – not at all bouncy like he was when we met him in the House of Lords.’ Ellen, being Ellen, had rushed across in ready sympathy and introduced herself. ‘I thought for one awful moment he hadn’t recognised me out of uniform, then he realised who I was – he does have a nice smile, May.’ Ellen had admitted to playing truant whereupon Lord Hindlesham had claimed to be doing the same and suggested a further stroll round the Park. May tried to look stern.
‘Really, Ellen, he just aided and abetted you – I don’t know what Ada will say!’
Ellen looked momentarily horrified. ‘Oh, don’t tell her it was a man, May, she’d never forgive me!’
But May was far too intrigued to scold Ellen further. Her friend’s story had brought back to her a vivid picture of the drawing room at Stemhalton, and the gossip exchanged there in September. She exclaimed, ‘Why, Della’s baby must have been born by now – I wonder whether it was a boy or a girl?’
‘It was a girl.’
May was startled. ‘Surely he didn’t tell you that?’
‘Yes, he did.’ Ellen was pink but definite. ‘Obviously I didn’t ask him, May, but we were talking about Elizabeth Ward, and I told him of that poor little Mary Jones who came in with pneumonia, after her mother abandoned her under the railway bridge because she came from a respectable family and couldn’t face the shame of it, and Sister says she’ll be put in prison and I think that’s so wrong – anyway, after I’d told him he said he was acknowledging Della’s baby as his, as it wasn’t the child’s fault, and obviously there hadn’t been time for a divorce before the birth, so he’d not started proceedings until after. She wants one you see, and he’d written to Della and told her, and I think its very noble of him, May. But his mother is annoyed, and she never liked Della anyway.’
May said dryly, ‘I’m sure she’d have been even more annoyed if the child had been a boy.’
Ellen nodded. ‘Yes, he said it would have been more difficult then. I told him he was absolutely right and he’d quite restored my faith in the aristocracy, and he laughed. He seemed to cheer up after that, and we spent the rest of the time arguing about politics – you know he’s far too good to be a Tory, I do hope he realises he’s mistaken.’ Ellen added rather wistfully, ‘I must say, it was rather nice being escorted by someone so smart; I was glad I’d changed out of uniform.’
May gazed at Ellen’s small figure and thought of her old coat and battered felt hat and wondered what on earth George Hindlesham must have thought of her after the beautifully groomed, Junoesque Della, but she thrust the disloyal comparison to one side – Ellen was worth a thousand Dellas – and stated firmly, ‘But there was still time to buy your new outfit.’
‘No, there wasn’t, because you know I disapprove of shopping after five-thirty, I think it’s so unfair on the assistants, whatever the law says.’
May’s curiosity was further aroused. ‘But you weren’t walking in the Park until then – not in January?’
Ellen said no, she’d invited him to tea in the Corner House, and May gasped at the thought of Lord Hindlesham’s fine palate being subjected to those bright yellow rock buns and the stewed Indian tea; but Ellen was more concerned by the fact that he had refused to let her pay the bill, and then insisted on sending her home in a cab. ‘Ada will be furious with me about that, too, only it would have been discourteous to keep on refusing – but it was me who’d invited him to tea, and I did want to treat him.’
May laughed. ‘Ellen, the Hindlesham estates are enormous! Besides, with your principles you should have been glad to relieve him of some of his inherited wealth.’
Ellen gave a mischievous grin. ‘Actually, that’s exactly what he said, so I gave in. Then he gave me ten pounds for Sister Elizabeth’s Take Home Blanket and Baby Food Fund – she will be pleased. Did I tell you she’s got some special cot blankets with stripes on now, and she’s been round all the local pawnshops and they’ve agreed not to accept them, so they’ll have to be used for the babies.’
Ellen had obviously said all she was going to about her meeting with Lord Hindlesham, so May picked up her cue and they turned to discussing hospital matters.
Lord and Lady Clarence came back to England in the early spring. William had been given a new posting, to a healthier area, and would be able to be more with his wife, so her mother felt it was time to return. But Lady Clarence’s plans for taking her step-daughter more into Society in the coming Season were thwarted by Matron, who transferred May to nights on Elizabeth Ward. Apart from hurried trips to the West End for a second breakfast before going to bed May saw little of her parents, and less of the Season. Ellen was on nights as well, and May often invited her out to breakfast, and was surprised at how much more tolerant Lady Clarence was of Ellen’s directness of speech than she ever had been of her own daughters. India seemed to have mellowed her a little.
May had been dreading the recurrence of nights, but Ellen being off duty at the same time helped, and May made a resolution to visit the Bath Club twice a week, to encourage sleep in the daytime. The main difference, however, was in the ward. Isaiah had been hard work and unrelentingly gloomy; Elizabeth was sometimes heart-breaking, but never ever gloomy. May became involved with her small patients. She laughed with the lively ones, cuddled the unhappy and played with the restless. Her deep sense of satisfaction was intensified by the fact that she was left in virtual charge at night, since her nominal superior was kept busy on the adjoining Obadaiah Ward.
Nevertheless, there was a fly in the ointment: House Surgeon O’Halloran. From their very first evening at the hospital, when Matron had implied that association with the medical staff was a crime on a par with the wilful neglect of patients, May had behaved towards the doctors with a circumspection which would have gladdened the heart of Lady Clarence. Not, she had to admit to herself, that this had been difficult, since the rules of conduct for nurses were drawn up with this express end in view. On days, only Sisters, Staff Nurses and Head Nurses ever spoke to the doctors and medical students, and Head Nurses only on sufferance. As Minnie Emms frequently pointed out, by the time you were senior enough to even pass the time of day, you were past it anyway. May had had looks cast in her direction, but frigid non-recognition had been adequate to repel approaches. But nights were rather different – not down in the septic ward, for there was only minimal medical supervision there at night since the best hope for the patients lay in good nursing care and the only regular male visitors there were the porters with the mortuary trolley. On Elizabeth, however, May found a rather different situation. It was accepted unofficially that house surgeons and physicians called out during the night should be fortified with cocoa and a sandwich in a convenient ward kitchen. Night Sister did not approve, but she and her assistants did not go out of their way to detect lurking males behind the door, providing that the ward probationer was clearly on the ward, being chaperoned by her patients. Certain wards were more popular ports of call than others, and Elizabeth was one such. The babies ensured the availability of milk in the kitchen, while the presence of the children made for a more homely, domestic atmosphere, with the firelight glinting through the tall mesh guard and the pleasant gurgles of toddlers asleep.
The House Physician responsible for Elizabeth was a quiet, soft-spoken Scot. Devoted to the study of medicine and engrossed in his job he held long, whispered discussions with May on the progress of each child, and May looked forward to his visits and questioned him eagerly. He, in his turn, was pleased by her interest, and once told her she should have trained as a doctor – ‘There are a guid few women students at Edinburgh, ye ken.’
May had swelled with pride, and held her chin very high for the next couple of hours, until young Elsie woke up screaming, and after being sick all down May’s apron refused to go back to sleep until May had nursed her for an hour, as she sat by the fire sewing tiny shrouds with her free hand. Robert MacDougall was a joy to work with, and May felt that his sweet-faced fiancée, whose photograph she was privileged to view one night, would have a devoted husband one day – if he could only spare her some time from his patients.
No, the drawback was Jack O’Halloran. From what the theatre nurses told her he was a swift and competent surgeon, but the sight of his handsome face and knowing smile as he walked onto the ward at night sent May’s heart down to the very tips of her soft-soled leather shoes. O’Halloran was a big, goodlooking man, and he knew it, and expected others to know it to, especially any young nurse who caught his roving eye. It was clear that May had caught his eye, as he set out to lay siege to her.
There was something attractive about his very confidence in his own charm, and at first May laughed with him, and half-unwillingly responded to his jokes, delivered in a soft brogue and with immaculate timing. But then she saw the predatory look in his eye, and began to feel uneasy when alone with him in the kitchen, and turned the gas up high to hurry the milk for his cocoa. When she overdid it, and the milk boiled over, he insisted on helping her clean up the mess and trapped her against the heavy cast iron stove, so that she had to thrust him aside. But whereas the men she had known would have apologised, and retreated abashed, O’Halloran seemed to derive pleasure from her anger. He moved towards her with a determined glint in his eye so that May had to leap to the door and run to the ward, where she prodded little Albert Ferris awake. His howls gave her an excuse to refuse to boil up a second panful of milk. She felt guilty about Albert, but he was almost well, and had disturbed her often enough on previous nights, so she considered he owed her his protection now.
For the next few nights May felt like a mouse with a large cat sitting outside its hole, but she did manage to avoid being alone with Jack O’Halloran. Then, inevitably, he arrived as she was making a hot drink for a fractious child, just after the pro she shared with Obadaiah had left. O’Halloran advanced with a grin on his face. May was brisk.
‘I have to attend to a patient.’ She began to edge around the room, but he had positioned himself near the door, and cut off her escape.
His grin broadened. ‘Ah, sure now, you can spare me a minute, a pretty girl like you!’ He lunged in her direction.
May threw the mug of milk straight at him and dodged behind the table. He dashed the milk from his face, but her action seemed to have excited rather than angered him.
Murmuring, ‘I like a girl with spirit,’ he began to advance purposefully again. May wanted to slap his face, hard, but something in his expression made her hesitate. Harry Cussons had been stopped in his tracks by a slap, but Harry, for all his faults, was a gentleman. It was clear that O’Halloran was not, and he was bigger and stronger than her. As these thoughts were passing through her mind May continued to sidestep round the room, keeping the table between her and her assailant. The table! O’Halloran was at the other side, with his back to the stove. May called, ‘Careful, that gas is alight!’ and as he turned, momentarily distracted, she gripped the edge of the table and sent the whole heavy piece of furniture hurtling towards him. There was a loud thud followed by a volley of Irish curses, but May was through the door – and cannoning straight into an astounded Night Sister! May jumped back, pulled her cap straight and waited, speechless.
‘Whatever is going on in this kitchen?’
May had no intention of telling her. She gulped, then managed a reply.
‘Dr O’Halloran fell against the table, Sister.’
Night Sister stared at the heavy table, pinning the furious O’Halloran to the stove, then at May, hot and panting. She turned to the house surgeon.
‘Dr O’Halloran, your presence is required on Simeon Ward, please go there at once. I trust you have sustained no permanent damage?’
O’Halloran, red-faced now, extricated himself, muttered, ‘No, thank you, Sister,’ and limped out of the kitchen without even a glance in May’s direction.
May waited for the wrath to descend on her hapless shoulders.
‘Really, Nurse, how careless of you – you might have broken Dr O’Halloran’s leg! We’re desperately short of house surgeons already, with Dr Simpson off sick.’
May bent her head. ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’
‘Why on earth did you have to throw the table at him? You’re far too headstrong, Nurse Winton, I’ve noticed it before. A good clout with the large saucepan would have been quite adequate. If that table is damaged Matron will be annoyed, very annoyed.’
She marched into the ward, and May meekly followed.