May finished her spell on night duty at the beginning of July. She spent her three days off with her parents, in Town, but since she was making up her arrears of sleep there was only time for one social occasion: a small family dinner party on the day before her return to St Katharine’s. The party was in honour of Louise Dumer. Bertie had finally brought himself to the sticking point and proposed and Louise’s mother had accepted him with indecent haste. As Archie put it, a future Marquis in the hand was worth any number of Dukes in the bush. Besides, Duke’s heirs were in short supply that Season.
Mrs Dumer looked radiant, Louise rather dazed. May seized a few moments alone with her after dinner, and after wishing her well, murmured reassuringly that Bertie would be a very easygoing husband. Louise brightened slightly and agreed. Then she glanced round, lowered her voice and spoke confidentially.
‘There was this awful French Comte. Mamma said he was of a very old family,’ she shuddered. ‘He used to look at me as if he despised me, and there were rumours – boys, you know.’ May didn’t know and couldn’t imagine, but she tried to look comprehending. ‘He was quite broke, so I heard, and he approached Mamma… I was so relieved when Bertie proposed, you can’t imagine, May. Mamma said I’d had quite long enough, and if I didn’t bring it off this Season I’d just got to take the Comte. She’s so determined, and it is her money. Oh, I am grateful to Bertie!’
When May congratulated her cousin later, he shrugged.
‘Louise is a decent sort, you know. She won’t interfere with a chap too much, too relieved to get away from that awful mother of hers. We can have central heating at Stemhalton now; it was so cold last winter, but Father wouldn’t hear of it, spends all the money on the estate. We’re getting married next month, as soon as the lawyers have done their stuff – no point hanging about, is there?’
May agreed that there was not. She felt saddened by the exchanges – yet were Bertie’s and Louise’s chances of happiness any worse than most? At least neither was under any illusions about the other’s motives.
The next day May reported for duty in the Receiving Room. The enormous hall, with its high arched roof, seemed very alien after the warm cosiness of Elizabeth Ward, and it was odd to deal with patients in their outdoor clothes. Men and women were huddled on the hard wooden benches all day, waiting their turn. The endless procession of strange faces in and out of the treatment rooms was confusing and difficult to cope with after the wards, and it was sometimes hard for May to remember that she was dealing with individual human beings, rather than just numbers. But after a week or so a pattern began to emerge for her, and she tried to recognise, if not people, at least emotions, and so be able to respond.
Between the regular bouts of black eyes, crushed fingers and swallowed farthings there were the sudden, dramatic entrances of serious accidents. Sometimes the clattering hooves of a hard-driven ambulance gave warning, or a panting stevedore announced the imminent appearance of the creaking wheeled stretcher from the docks; but when the accident was nearby then shouting would be heard in the street, and May, sent to the doorway, would see the small crowd with the loaded shutter in their midst, the overhanging parts of the victim’s anatomy supported by those around while an escort of excited boys raced ahead or climbed railings to get a glimpse of the horrible spectacle. It was May’s job to separate the shutter bearers from the hangers-on and take them into an empty dressing room, where the full extent of the damage could be revealed. As soon as the reddened ends of bones poking through torn trousers appeared, or Sister uncovered the greasy, mangled flesh of an arm caught in a machine, then the medical students and nurses sprang into action, while a hovering policeman waited for the full story of what had happened.
On other days distraught mothers rushed in clutching scalded babies, whose skin came off as their wounds were dressed. Or two burly policemen would bring in a drunk who had fallen and laid his scalp open, and who now slumped between them, head dangling and legs dragging along the pavement, often laughing or singing, still impervious to pain.
The nurses had to think quickly and act fast; the rigid daily routine of the wards had no place here. At first May was exhausted when she came off-duty at the end of the day, but the constant variety began to exert its own fascination over her, and she was quite sorry when her time there came to an end in mid-September. Still, her holiday was due, and the thought of leaving dirty, stifling London for two full weeks was very attractive.
She spent the holiday period quietly at Allingham, feeling as though a lifetime had passed since she had been at her home before, rather than a mere two years. May and her step-mother had to share the rather clumsy services of one of the housemaids, since Lady Clarence had allowed Fenton time off to look after the children of her sister during the latter’s confinement, but May found that she scarcely knew how to make use of a maid these days.
In the second week of her holiday May decided to make the journey to see Bella, now living with her young husband on an estate some twenty miles away. When her former maid opened the door May was shocked at her appearance. Bella’s once pretty face was drawn and haggard, and her body already swollen with her second pregnancy.
‘Miss May – how nice to see you!’ Then her face fell. ‘But I’m all at sixes and sevens – and the baby just won’t stop crying.’ May, seeing her lips quivering and her eyes filling, acted quickly. She took Bella’s elbow, steered her inside, sat her down in a chair and, improvising a footstool, lifted the girl’s feet onto it, noticing the swollen ankles as she did so.
‘You should be resting, Bella. Stay there, I’ll see to the baby and make us both a cup of tea.’
It was like being back on Elizabeth Ward as she picked up the squalling infant, changed and fed him and gently rubbed his painful gums until he hiccupped into silence with a look of surprise on his damp red face. Dirty dishes were piled in the stone sink in the scullery, and May dealt with them while waiting for the tea to draw. She laid the tray with a plate of the delicate almond biscuits sent by the Allingham cook and carried it through into the kitchen.
‘You must eat something, Bella, your face is far too thin. You’ll need to keep your strength up.’
Bella looked almost stunned, but she ate and drank obediently while May attended to the range. Then the baby began to make ominous noises so May lifted him out again and nursed him into contentment while she sipped her own tea. A little of Bella’s colour returned as she drank, and she began to tell May about her husband, and her bossy mother-in-law who lived in the village, becoming more like her old self. Then she suddenly broke off, and exclaimed:
‘Miss May, you have changed – you’ve changed so much!’
May smiled. ‘Well, I’m afraid living in London does dull the complexion.’
Bella shook her head. ‘No, Miss May, you look as well as ever, that’s not what I meant. When I maided you, you wouldn’t have known one end of a baby from the other, leave alone what to do with it – or make tea, or wash up, or anything.’
May had to laugh at Bella’s astonishment. ‘Matron would soon give me my marching orders if I hadn’t learnt something in two years. Anyway, I never complain about being bored, these days.’
May sent the Coachmen down to the village pub for their lunch and stayed the rest of the day. She enjoyed her gossip with Bella, who shed tears for Emily’s loss, and hugged her own son tightly as she did so. Even Harry Cussons came up for discussion, and it was clear that Bella had known all about his liaison with Della Hindlesham. It had been common gossip in the Servants’ Hall, where feelings had run high on Lord Hindlesham’s behalf. ‘That kind of thing is common enough among the gentry, we all know that, but it’s usually six of one and half a dozen of the other; but her husband, he wasn’t like that – so it didn’t seem fair, somehow.’ But May suspected the real reason for the partisanship was that George Hindlesham was a considerate and generous employer, while Della had been arrogant and thoughtless, except when restrained by her husband.
Bella continued, ‘I’m glad you didn’t marry that Mr Cussons, Miss May. We knew he had an eye for you, but Lady Hindlesham wasn’t the only one, not by a long chalk. It serves him right, it really does.’
All in all, May felt she had learnt more about the goings-on in Society that day than she had ever known when she was involved herself. She wished Bella had told her more at the time – but young ladies had to be blinkered, especially when they were the daughters of Lady Clarence Winton.
Before she left Bella, May extracted a promise that she would sink her pride and call upon her mother-in-law for help. ‘You must look after yourself, or the new baby will suffer.’ When it became clear that Bella’s worries extended beyond the next child May, blushing but determined, imparted Sister Dorcas’ advice on sponges and vinegar, and felt her embarrassment well worth it when she saw the dawning relief in Bella’s eyes.
The following day Lady Clarence was stricken with one of her sick headaches, and May found her hot and uncomfortable under the awkward ministrations of the young housemaid. Again May mentally reached for her cap and apron, and drew the curtains, remade the bed, produced cold compresses and administered medicines, until her step-mother relaxed against the pillows and fell asleep. Lady Clarence had recovered by the evening, but there was a subtle change in her manner towards May; May recognised it for what it was, respect.
Back in the East End the autumn passed in a rush. It was mid-December when Matron summoned May and told her she would be changing wards, and going to Martha. May was pleased. Martha was a large women’s surgical, taking in accidents and emergencies, and always busy, but she wondered why Matron was taking the trouble to tell her in person; then she saw them, on the desk, two white tapes. Her heart jumped. Matron picked up the tapes.
‘You will go to Martha as Probationer One, Nurse Winton. Here are your strings.’
‘Thank you, Matron.’ May’s reply was formal, but she almost skipped out of the office. Some nurses had to wait three full years for their strings, most at least two and a half – she had been given hers already!
The next day she presented herself before Sister Martha, with the absurd little bow tickling her chin. Sister Martha was elderly, and severe of expression. She looked May up and down, then sent her about her duties.
For the next few days May was on tenterhooks. Sister Martha did leave the ward from time to time, but only when Staff Nurse was present. Then, two days after Christmas, Staff went off at twelve, for her half-day. At two o’clock Sister Martha beckoned May to her table.
‘I am going off duty, now, until four. I leave you in charge, Head Nurse Winton.’ Sister got up and left the ward.
May stood still, shaking slightly. She looked down the long rows of beds, at the slowly moving patients and the briskly moving nurses, and felt a mixture of acute apprehension and pure joy. For two hours the ward was hers. No matter that Sister had chosen the quietest day of the week to leave her, and that she would certainly be no further than the Sisters’ Sitting Room. She, May, was in sole charge.