Connie’s Courage Page 10

  ‘E started bleeding about six o’clock this morning. Nothing we could do could stop it and, in the end, Sister sent for Mr Clegg, but it was too late. Poor lad had died ‘afore he got there.’

  The young man’s death had cast a pall of sadness over the normally cheerful ward, and Connie could see the fear in the eyes of the other patients.

  Even after her shift had finished, Connie discovered that she could not forget about the young man and his sad death, and she said as much to Mavis, when Mavis joined her in their room after her own shift had finished.

  ‘It is sad, Connie. I felt the same way when we lost Mr Beddoes, the old man who Frank brought in so badly beaten.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘It reminded me of how my own dear father lost his life.’

  ‘What did happen to him, Mavis? I don’t want to pry, of course, if it’s too painful for you to talk about what happened.’

  Mavis shook her head.

  ‘It was dreadful, Connie. My father’s shop was broken into and my father was attacked – murdered.’ She gave a deep shudder. ‘I must admit, I still can’t bear to think about it. Not really. We were all so shocked, especially my mother. She and my father were devoted to one another. My father’s death left us virtually penniless, and we had to move from our lovely house to this horrible, horrible place.

  ‘Harry, my brother, said that he would take on some kind of clerking work, for a junior teacher does not get paid very well at all, but my mother begged him not to. You see, our father was so proud of Harry’s cleverness and scholarship, and the fact that he was to be a teacher. He talked of nothing else, and swore that one day Harry would be a headmaster!

  ‘And then father’s aunt, who is not very well, said that she would take us in, provided that Mother would run the house for her and look after her. Mother said it was the answer to her prayers, but Harry was not so pleased. He feels that our great-aunt puts on Mother and does not treat her at all kindly. But Mother says that it is just her way, and that she does not mind, and that all that matters to her is that we are happy.

  ‘I know that Harry does without himself so that he can send Mother money, even though he pretends that he does not. I try to save something from my wages to help out as well, although it is not easy when we are paid so little.

  ‘But there I am, speaking as though we have nothing to be grateful for, or happy about, and are very sorry for ourselves. But that is most certainly not true!

  ‘I could never think of you as someone who feels sorry for herself, Mavis, Connie assured her truthfully.

  Mavis smiled gratefully. ‘I am so glad that you are to come home with me next time, Connie. I have told my mother and my sister, Sophie, so much about you.

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting them! Connie smiled, her mood lightening. It was true that she was looking forward to going home with Mavis and being part of a proper family again, if only as an outsider.

  ‘And I’ve just learned that my brother will be home at the same time, so you will be able to meet him as well,’ Mavis said to her happily. ‘He is the dearest person, Connie.

  ‘Happy Christmas!’ Connie called out to the others as she hurried to get dressed, her glance resting briefly on Vera’s empty bed. ‘I’ve got to be on the ward for six,’ she added cheerfully. ‘See you both later.

  A large party for all the nurses who were on duty, was being held in the evening, and there was a buoyant, happy atmosphere in the nurses home.

  Morning prayers were longer than usual, and whilst she listened dutifully to them, Connie said a mental prayer of her own for her family. At home on Christmas morning, she had always been the first to wake up, scrambling out of bed and going to wake Ellie. No matter how early it was, the house had always smelled deliciously of the feast to come. And although she had grumbled, Ellie had always let Connie snuggle into bed with her whilst they delved into their stockings to see what Father Christmas had left them.

  Connie could still remember the thrill of discovering little pink and white sugar mice, and Ellie’s scream when Connie had pretended that they were real. Then there had been the fat, shiny nuts and a twirly stick of barley sugar; folded rolls of paper with jokes on them that John would collect later, and keep on repeating all day until they were heartily sick of him, and them.

  One year Connie remembered, John had received a wooden parrot on a stick that squawked and flapped its wings when one moved the string, a gift from Gideon Walker the young apprentice who had been courting Ellie. Their mother had threatened to confiscate the toy and banish John himself to his room, because of the noise it made.

  That had been the year she and Ellie had received the gift of beautiful silk-lined sewing baskets from their parents, Ellie’s palest blue, and her own in pretty pink. Within a matter of weeks, hers had been a tangled mess of cottons, whilst Ellie’s had remained pin neat. Of the two of them though, she had been the better watercolourist, or so Ellie had always said, although Ellie definitely had a better ear for music.

  A tear splashed down onto Connie’s hand, followed by another. Quickly she shook them away, and reminded herself how fortunate she was to be here in the Infirmary, and how foolish it was of her to think of a past happiness that could never be re-created.

  By the time prayers were finally over, and they were able to sit down for breakfast, her stomach was rumbling with hunger.

  Every ward had put up Christmas decorations and a tree, and even the sickest of the patients seemed to have caught the mood of excitement and happiness.

  It was a long day with those on duty having to take on extra work, and Connie’s feet and back were aching by the time six o’clock came and she was able to leave the ward. In their room, the three of them tidied themselves up, and then hurried down to the dining room.

  ‘Ooh, just look at the Christmas tree!’ Josie exclaimed as they walked past the recreation room, and saw the huge present-laden tree in one corner.

  All week long, the nurses had been helping to decorate the large tree in their spare time. Connie, Mavis and Josie had made decorations for it themselves, and Connie sniffed the pine-scented air appreciatively.

  ‘One of the senior nurses told me that even Mr Raw, the Medical Superintendent, comes to the nurses Christmas day party, Josie exclaimed in an awed whisper.

  Certainly there was a much more relaxed atmosphere in the large dining room than was normally allowed, with nurses laughing and chattering as they sat down. Matron herself was seated at one of the tables, with, as Josie had predicted, the Medical Superintendent on one side of her, and Mr Cleaver, Clerk to the Board of Governors, on the other. The Sisters on duty were all seated lower down the table.

  The rich smell of roasted turkey filled the air, and, to Connie’s relief, Mr Cleaver kept his grace to a reasonably short fifteen minutes.

  Hungrily, Connie tucked in to her dinner, inwardly reflecting that whilst the turkey was welcome, it was not as moist or as succulent as those cooked by her mother. But then her mother, a butcher’s wife, had always had first pick of the very best of meat and fowl.

  The thought of her parents brought a shadow to her eyes. Ellie, of course, would be celebrating Christmas in her fine mansion, and, no doubt, John would be with her. Wistfully Connie wondered what they would be doing right now. Would they think of her at all? Connie bit her lip and fought back the lump in her throat.

  Dinner was over, and they were in the large recreation room where they had seen the Christmas tree. A huge log fire was burning in the grate, and Matron was seated in front of it flanked by Mr Raw and Mr Cleaver.

  ‘Pride, Matron wishes to see you!’

  Immediately Connie was filled with dread. Was Matron going to question her about Vera? Had she discovered that Vera had illicitly left the Infirmary? And, if so, did she think Connie had been involved in her leaving?

  Her legs trembling, Connie walked apprehensively toward the fire.

  Since Matron was in conversation with Mr Cleaver, Connie had to wait in silence for several minute
s until her presence was acknowledged.

  ‘Ah, Pride. Sister Jenkins has just reminded me that you can play the piano. Since Sister Biddy is not on duty this evening, you will have to stand in for her and play us some festive carols. Sister Jenkins will give you the music.

  Matron wanted her to play the piano! Connie went limp with relief, and then immediately became freshly anxious. She could play the piano it was true, but nothing like so well as Ellie … and she had certainly never played in public in front of so many people! It was one thing to lark about for a bit of fun, but quite another to do what Matron had instructed her to do.

  Connie could almost feel the silence as Sister Jenkins escorted her over to the piano and then gave her the music. Nervously Connie looked toward her friends. Josie was watching her round-eyed, and Mavis had her hand against her mouth in apprehension.

  The notes of the music score in front of her danced up and down. Fiercely Connie blinked and made herself focus. These were, after all, carols that her own Mama had played for them every Christmas as far back as Connie could remember.

  There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself firmly, as she lifted the piano lid and flexed her fingers.

  Oh, Connie, what a wonderful evening!’ Mavis exclaimed, as she smothered a tired yawn.

  ‘You say that every time we do something,’ Connie teased.

  ‘But it was wonderful,’ Josie insisted, adding happily, ‘what with you playing, and all of us singing, and then when Matron handed out presents to all of us. Just wait until Vera finds out what she’s missed!’

  It had been a good evening, Connie acknowledged. Once she had overcome her nervousness, she had realised that the enthusiastic singing led by Mr Cleaver was bound to drown out any occasional wrong notes she might play.

  The small gifts they had all been given had added to the pleasure of the evening. Josie had loved the gloves Connie had bought for her, and Mavis had chided her gently for her gift of silk stockings saying that Connie had been far too extravagant. But, as Connie had discovered when she opened her own presents, Mavis had been equally generous in her gift to her. Her eyes had sparkled with excited pleasure when she had seen the small bottle of scent she had so yearned for when they had been in George Henry Lee’s. Josie’s gift of matching soaps had made her guess that Mavis had had a hand in guiding Josie’s choice.

  And Connie knew that she would cherish Matron’s few sparse words of praise for her piano-playing, more than she would cherish the cheap handkerchief that had been her gift, from the Infirmary.

  As she undressed, she suppressed a deep yawn. She was back on duty at six, with another long day in front of her, but she didn’t mind. Sister had as good as told her that she expected her to get high marks in her Final Examination, and Connie certainly hoped that that might be so.

  She might work long hours, and she might receive poor pay in comparison to other hospital nurses, but as Connie slipped between the cold sheets of her narrow bed, she discovered that the feeling bubbling up inside her, despite her tiredness, was actually happiness. She was still smiling when she fell asleep.

  There was a large queue already waiting for the New Brighton ferry when Connie and Mavis got off the tram. Hurrying over, they tagged on to the end of it, huddling together against the icy cold, their breath forming white vapour puffs.

  The ferry to New Brighton was, in actual fact, more of a cattle boat, and used to ferry passengers trunks to and from the Pierhead on carts pulled by dray horses.

  In the crush of people on the boat, Connie and Mavis were squashed up against one of the drays, and Mavis gave a small nervous squeak when the huge, blinkered carthorse blew softly on her.

  ‘It’s all right, missie, Prince won’t hurt ye,’ the driver laughed, winking at them and spitting out a plug of tobacco. ‘'E’s just got a bit of an eye for a pretty lass.’

  ‘I wish we could stand somewhere else,’ Mavis told Connie nervously. ‘But there isn’t anywhere. The boat is full.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Connie told her, as the inquisitive animal started huffing down her own neck as well. ‘At least he’s keeping us warm!’

  Once off the ferry, the two girls hailed a hansom cab to take them to Mavis’s great-aunt’s house.

  ‘Harry won’t be home until later this afternoon,’ Mavis informed Connie, as they paid off the cab driver. ‘Otherwise, I know he would have come down to the terminal to meet us.’

  Mavis’s great-aunt’s home was much more imposing than Connie had expected, much larger than her parents’ home in Friargate, but, of course, nowhere near as big as Ellie’s mansion in Winckley Square.

  A pretty girl, who bore a close resemblance to Mavis, opened the door before they reached it, giving them both a beaming smile.

  ‘Oh, Sophie!’ Mavis exclaimed, hugging her and then saying, ‘Connie, this is my sister.’

  ‘You are very pretty!’ Sophie told Connie forth-rightly, Mavis said that you were.’

  Mavis blushed slightly as Connie looked at her. ‘Sophie begged me to tell her what you look like,’ she explained.

  ‘Girls, come inside and get warm.’

  ‘Oh, Mama, Mavis smiled, hurrying to embrace the small-boned woman urging them inside.

  ‘And you must be Connie. Mavis’s mother smiled gently. ‘Mavis has told us so much about you. I am so pleased that you were able to come home with her.

  Although Elsie Lawson didn’t hug Connie as exuberantly as her younger daughter had done, Connie could sense that she was warmly disposed toward her, and that the welcome was genuine.

  ‘You both look frozen, but, don’t worry, I have some hot broth waiting on the stove for you. Mavis, why don’t you take Connie up to your room, to freshen up. Then you can both come down and have something to eat, and tell me all about what you have been doing.

  ‘Where is your great-aunt?’ Connie asked Mavis curiously, when Mavis took her up two flights of stairs to a large attic bedroom with two prettily-covered beds.

  ‘Aunt Martha has her own part of the house, Mavis explained. ‘The best parlour; a bedroom, and a bathroom on the first floor.’

  No further mention was made of Mavis’s greataunt, but Connie realised what the real situation was when, no sooner had they sat down to drink the soup Elsie Lawson had prepared for them, a bell clanged noisily.

  Immediately Mavis’s mother stood up, looking apprehensive. ‘Oh dear, I wonder what’s wrong. I’d better go and see.’

  ‘Mother, finish your soup first,’ Mavis urged, but Connie could see how uneasy the older woman was looking.

  As soon as she had scurried out of the room, Sophie announced angrily, ‘Poor Mother, Great Aunt Martha treats her like a servant! Just because she’s rich and we’re poor, that doesn’t mean …’

  ‘Shush, Sophie,’ Mavis urged her sister worriedly. ‘You know how upset mother would be if she were to hear you speaking like that!’

  ‘That’s only because she’s afraid that Great Aunt Martha will tell us to leave. She only lets us live here because Mother looks after her, we all know that! She promised that she would pay my school fees, but it’s Harry who has to pay them! I hate her. She’s horrid!’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Mavis apologised to Connie later when they were upstairs unpacking. ‘Sophie is still too young to understand that she should not be so outspoken.’

  ‘It must be very worrying for all of you,’ Connie tried to comfort her friend.

  ‘It is Mother I worry about the most,’ Mavis confessed. ‘Since my father died, things have been so difficult for her. And Sophie is right, Great Aunt Martha does not value Mother, as she should. And certainly no servant would ever look after her as Mother does,’ Mavis burst out angrily. ‘But Mama says that she prefers to be here with a sound roof over her head, and Sophie attending a good school, rather than having to struggle to manage in rented accommodation and worry about bills.

  There was no sign of any unhappiness on Elsie Lawson’s face, or in her manner, when later
in the day, she did everything she could to make Connie feel welcome and a part of her family.

  Connie soon felt completely at home, joining in a game of snakes and ladders with Sophie, and then giggling with her over the jokes she and Mavis had saved from their Christmas dinner crackers.

  It had grown dark, and the heavy, velvet curtains had been drawn over the windows and the fire stoked up, before a tattoo of knocks on the door heralded the arrival of Mavis’s brother.

  ‘That’s Harry’s knock! Sophie exclaimed excitedly, springing up from her chair and rushing to the door.

  From the hallway, Connie could hear male laughter. The parlour door opened and Sophie danced in. Connie looked up, poised to smile politely, and then paled as shocked recognition ran through her body seizing her in its stranglehold. She could neither move nor speak, as she stared into the face of the young man she had last seen looking at her with such embarrassed pity in Back Court, the day Bill Connolly had attacked her and she had miscarried her child!

  By what appalling and cruel mischance of fate could such a thing have happened?

  Her head was swimming, her heart, thudding erratically inside her chest. If only she could close her eyes, and then discover when she opened them again she had been mistaken, and that Mavis’s brother was not the same young man who had witnessed her shame.

  ‘Oh, Harry, do come and meet my friend, Connie,’ Mavis was demanding excitedly. ‘I have already told her what a wonderful brother you are.’

  Connie couldn’t look at him. She could barely even speak, although she managed to stammer some kind of response, as he came over and shook her hand. His grip was cool, and firm, but Connie withdrew from it as though it was fire. His acknowledgement of their introduction, like her own was a jumble of words, which could not penetrate her shocked fear.

  ‘Connie has been playing snakes and ladders with me,’ Sophie was telling him importantly. ‘And she’s better than you, Harry.’

  ‘Harry, my love, you must be cold and hungry! We have waited supper for you, though.’