Donna Douglas lives in York with her husband and two cats. They have a grown-up daughter. When she is not busy writing, she is generally reading, watching Netflix or drinking cocktails. Sometimes all at the same time.
The Nightingale Series
The Nightingale Girls
The Nightingale Sisters
The Nightingale Nurses
Nightingales on Call
A Nightingale Christmas Wish
Nightingales at War
Nightingales Under the Mistletoe
A Nightingale Christmas Carol
The Nurses of Steeple Street Series
The Nurses of Steeple Street
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Epub ISBN: 9781473539037
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2017
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Copyright © Donna Douglas 2017
Cover photography by Jonathan Ring
except background © Alamy
Donna Douglas has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published in Great Britain by Arrow Books in 2017
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781784757151
This book almost never saw the light of day due to me being struck down by illness halfway through. I’d like to thank the following people for their patience and their persistence.
The team at Random House, especially Selina Walker, Susan Sandon, Cass Di Bello and my new editor Viola Hayden, who must have wondered at times what kind of author she had been landed with. I’d also like to thank the sales team for dealing so well with the ever-changing schedules and deadlines.
My agent Caroline Sheldon, for being so understanding and for dealing with all the difficult stuff. And there was a lot of difficult stuff.
My friends and family for rallying round me and bolstering my spirits. Plus, of course, the amazing people who helped me get well again, especially Dr Geddes and Dr Sinclair, Ranza, Amanda, Marji and a guy called John in Boots who will never know what his quick-thinking advice did for me.
To my very good friend June Smith-Sheppard,
for always being there
‘Well, here it is, my dear. Your new home.’
Philippa stopped the car on top of a ridge overlooking the valley and peered through the windscreen. ‘It doesn’t look very promising, I must say.’
Agnes Sheridan got out of the passenger seat, struggling against the chilly March wind that threatened to tear the cap from her head. She clamped it in place with one hand and pulled her navy blue overcoat more tightly around her with the other as she gazed down into the valley.
Phil was right, it wasn’t promising. The village of Bowden settled like grey sediment in the bottom of the shallow valley bowl, surrounded on all sides by the rolling bracken-covered Yorkshire moors. From her viewpoint, Agnes could make out a collection of solid-looking buildings in the centre of the village, a school, some shops and the spire of a church. But it was the colliery that drew her eye. It lay to the east of the village, a sprawl of yards, outbuildings, railway lines, black spoil heaps, and the tall, stark shapes of the winding machinery, towering over the tight grids of terraced cottages clustered in their shadow.
Bowden Main Colliery. The reason the village – and she – was here.
Behind her, she heard Phil get out of the car.
‘Just imagine,’ she said, coming to stand beside her. ‘You’re going to be responsible for all these people now. All those hacking coughs and sore eyes and injured limbs and bad chests. Coal miners aren’t known for their good health, are they? I expect most of them will be on their last legs.’ She lit up a cigarette. ‘And the children … malnourished and crawling with lice, I should imagine.’
‘It can’t be any worse than Quarry Hill,’ Agnes said.
Phil shuddered. ‘God, no. Nothing could be worse than Quarry Hill.’
As part of their district nursing training, they had both spent time in the rundown Leeds slums. At the time, Agnes couldn’t wait to get her badge and escape to a district of her own. Now she wished she was back there, still safe under the watchful eye of her mentor, Bess Bradshaw.
As if she could guess her thoughts, Phil suddenly turned to her and said, ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this, my dear?’
It was a question Agnes had asked herself several times over the past few weeks, ever since Miss Gale, the Nursing Superintendent at Steeple Street, had given her the news. Bowden was to be her first official placement as a Queen’s Nurse, and the responsibility lay heavy on Agnes’ shoulders. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all the previous night for thinking about it.
What if it was too much for her? What if she couldn’t cope?
But in the light of day she refused to give in to such fears.
‘Of course.’ She gathered her coat more tightly around herself and looked down at the village, nestling below. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
‘You always did like a challenge, didn’t you?’ Phil said. ‘Not like me. Give me my nice rural patch any day. Healthy farmers’ wives giving birth like shelling peas, and rosy-cheeked children, and nothing more serious than the occasional cow stamping on a milkmaid’s foot.’
Agnes smiled. ‘You never used to say that when you had to cycle thirty miles and back every day!’
‘That was before Veronica came along.’ Phil lovingly stroked the bonnet of her Ford. For as long as Agnes had known her, Phil had been pestering the District Association for a motorcycle, and finally – probably hoping to keep her quiet for good, Agnes thought wryly – they had given in and allocated her a car. Phil adored Veronica, but her driving left a lot to be desired. Agnes had kept her eyes closed all the way from Leeds, her fingers gripping the edge of the leather seat as they sped along the twisting country lanes.
‘Anyway, we’d best get going.’ Phil stubbed out her cigarette and started back to the car. ‘You want to make the right impression on your first day, don’t you?’
They headed downhill and soon the open farmland and fields gave way to a patch of straggly woodland before the road flattened into the village.
On closer inspection, Bowden wasn’t quite as bad as Agnes had thought. Away from the pit, and the tight knots of colliery cottages clustered around it, there were a couple of streets of larger, more well-to-do houses, a patchwork of neatly kept allotments, a recreation ground, a few plainly built chapels and a row of shops, all empty and locked up on this late Sunday afternoon.
Agnes gritted her teeth as Veronica bumped along the narrow, deeply rutted street.
‘Don’t you think we should go a little slower?’ she said.
‘Nonsense, there’s no one about,’ Phil dismissed, peering through the windscreen. ‘Now remind me again what we’re looking for?’
‘The Miners’ Welfare Institute. Miss Gale said it was just behind the Co-op.’
‘We must have passed it. I’ll turn round.’
‘Be careful,’ Agnes begged, as her friend wrestled with the gearstick, throwing Veronica into reverse.
‘Oh, do stop fussing, Agnes! Honestly, you’re starting to make me nervous, the way you go on—’
‘Look out!’ Agnes caught a flash of movement behind them as Veronica jerked backwards. A second later there was a bump and an almighty clatter.
Phil slammed on the brake pedal, her face ashen. ‘What was that?’
‘I think you hit something.’
‘Oh, Lord, no!’ Her friend’s face paled as she sat frozen behind the wheel. ‘What if I’ve damaged Veronica? The District Association will take her away for sure.’
‘Never mind Veronica!’ Agnes jumped out of the car and ran to the rear of it. A man lay sprawled on the pavement, tangled with a bicycle that was half hidden under Veronica’s back bumper.
She bent down beside him. ‘Oh, my goodness, are you all right?’
‘What do you reckon?’ A pair of snapping slate-grey eyes met hers. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at? You could have killed me.’
‘Yes, well, you shouldn’t have cycled behind me while I was reversing, should you?’ Phil said, getting out of the car.
The man glared at her. ‘Are you trying to say it were my fault?’
‘Well—’
‘Of course not.’ Agnes shot a warning look at Phil. ‘Now, can you move? Are you in any pain?’
‘I’ll live, no thanks to you.’ He started to extricate himself from under his bicycle. Agnes made a move to assist him, but he shrugged her off.
‘I only want to help you.’
‘I reckon you’ve done enough.’
He struggled to his feet and brushed himself down. His jacket was threadbare at the elbows, Agnes noticed, and his grubby collarless shirt had seen better days. He was in his thirties, with black hair and a lean, unsmiling face.
He reached down and started to disentangle the bicycle from under Veronica’s bumper.
‘Careful,’ Phil said. ‘Don’t scratch my paintwork.’
Agnes saw the man’s dark frown and stepped in again. ‘Is your bicycle damaged?’ she asked.
‘If it is, you’ll owe me for a new one.’
He took a long time to inspect his bicycle, spinning the wheels and testing the handlebars. Agnes looked at her watch and agonised over the time.
‘Will you be much longer?’ she asked finally. ‘Only I have an appointment.’
He gave her a grim look. ‘Aye, I could tell you were in a hurry.’
Finally, after what seemed like an unbearably long time, the man seemed to decide his bicycle was roadworthy after all.
‘I’m glad it’s all right,’ Agnes said, relieved.
‘Time will tell, won’t it?’
‘Are you sure you’re not injured? I’m a nurse, you see, and—’
‘You’re a ruddy menace, that’s what you are!’ He swung his leg over his bicycle and was gone.
Agnes watched him as he cycled off down the road, muttering to himself. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but something told her she wouldn’t have wanted to hear it.
‘What a charming man,’ Phil commented dryly. ‘I do hope for your sake they’re not all like him.’
‘You can’t really blame him, can you?’ Agnes sighed. ‘So much for making a good impression!’
Phil giggled. ‘We certainly made an impression on his bicycle!’
‘It’s not funny, Phil. I told you not to drive so fast. I’m supposed to be here to nurse people, not put them in hospital!’
‘It was an accident.’ Phil shrugged. ‘Anyway, you saw him. He was perfectly fine. Now, shall we go?’
‘I think I’d prefer to find my way to the Miners’ Welfare Institute by myself,’ Agnes said. ‘It might be easier on foot.’ And safer, she added silently.
‘But what about your things?’
‘It’s only one suitcase and my medical bag. I should be able to manage them on my bicycle.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ Phil opened the boot and helped Agnes unload her bicycle and suitcase. Then they stood for a moment, looking at each other awkwardly.
‘Well, cheerio, my dear.’ Phil lunged forward and hugged her fiercely. ‘I’ll miss you, old thing,’ she mumbled into her shoulder.
Agnes hesitated, too surprised to respond. Phil had always been an unsentimental type. In fact, she could be positively hard-faced at times.
‘Steady on!’ She tried to make light of it, disentangling herself from her friend’s embrace. ‘I’ll be coming back to Steeple Street soon. I have to report regularly to Miss Gale, remember?’
‘I know. But it won’t be the same, will it?’
No, Agnes thought a moment later as she watched Phil manoeuvring Veronica haphazardly back down the narrow high street. It won’t be the same at all.
After cycling around the deserted streets a few times, Agnes finally found the solid, red-brick building with a sign over the door reading ‘Miners’ Welfare Institute and Reading Room’.
There was an elderly man waiting on the step, his tall, thin frame stooped over a walking stick. He approached Agnes as she climbed off her bicycle.
‘Miss Sheridan? I’m Eric Wardle, from the Miners’ Welfare Committee. I’m the one who’s been in correspondence with your Miss Gale.’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Wardle. How do you do?’ As she went to shake his hand, Agnes found herself looking up into a pair of bright blue eyes and realised she had been wrong about Eric Wardle. In spite of his lined, weary face and bent frame, he was no older than his late forties. She wondered what terrible illness had aged him before his time. ‘I’m sorry I’m a little late. It took me a while to find this place.’
Eric Wardle waved away her words. ‘No matter, lass, tha’s here now. Come wi’ me, I’ll take you up to the committee room. They’re all waiting for thee.’
The Miners’ Welfare Institute had an unmistakably masculine air about it. The walls of the long passageway were lined with photographs of various sports teams, arms folded, posing proudly in football shorts or cricket whites, and groups of older men cradling pigeons outside their lofts. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air mingled with the musky scent of stale sweat. From a half-open doorway at the far end of the long passage, Agnes could hear the distant sound of a piano playing.
Eric Wardle hobbled ahead of her past a glass cabinet full of gleaming trophies, and up a narrow staircase to a door marked with a brass sign saying ‘Committee Room’. From beyond the door came the sound of men’s voices, raised in what sounded like a heated debate.
‘Here we are.’ He turned to smile at her as he pushed the door open. ‘No need to fear, lass. They won’t bite you. Well, most of ’em, anyway.’
‘Oh, I’m not afraid,’ Agnes assured him, adjusting her cap and squaring her shoulders.
Eric Wardle sent her a considering look. ‘Nay,’ he said. ‘Tha doesn’t strike me as the fearful type.’
Four men sat at a long table in front of the window. They stopped talking when Agnes walked in, and rose to their feet, but only three pairs of eyes turned to look at her. The man at the far end of the row kept his gaze fixed on the papers on the table in front of him, as if he had more important matters on his mind than greeting a lady.
‘Now then,’ Eric Wardle said. ‘This is Miss Sheridan, who’s to be our new district nurse.’ He pulled out the solitary chair on the opposite side of the table for Agnes to sit down, then shuffled slowly to join the other men, taking the seat that had been left for him in the centre of the row. Agnes noted the quietly respectful way the others moved aside to make room for him. ‘Miss Sheridan, this is Sam Maskell, one of the overmen at the pit, this is Reg Willis, Tom Chadwick – and this is Seth Stanhope, the union branch secretary.’
‘We’ve met.’ Seth Stanhope lifted his scowling grey gaze from his papers at last and Agnes felt an unpleasant jolt of recognition.
‘Now then,’ Eric Wardle continued, ‘as Chairman of the Welfare Committee, I’m calling this meeting to order. Let’s be as quick as we can, shall we? We’ve all got homes to go to, and I daresay Miss Sheridan will be worn out after her journey from Leeds.’
Agnes deliberately turned her attention from Seth Stanhope to the other men. They looked slightly uncomfortable, sitting at the table done up in their Sunday best suits. The small wiry man on the end, Reg Willis, kept running one finger around the inside of his starched shirt collar as if it was strangling him, while Tom Chadwick blushed furiously, as if he had never seen a woman before in his life. Only Sam Maskell seemed at ease, leaning back in his chair, his waistcoat straining over his portly belly.
‘Now then, Miss Sheridan,’ Eric Wardle said. ‘As Miss Gale has probably told you, we’ve never had a district nurse in Bowden before, and I must confess we’re at a bit of a loss as to what tha’ll be doing in the village. Perhaps you could tell us?’
Agnes considered the question for a moment. ‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘I suppose one of my duties will be to assist the doctor.’
‘Assist him?’ Sam Maskell laughed. ‘Then tha’ll have an easy life, since that lazy bugger niver does owt!’
‘Shh!’ Eric frowned at him. ‘We’ll have no pit talk in front of the lady, if you please. Go on, Miss Sheridan.’
‘But mainly I’ll be doing all I can to nurse the miners and their families, since my position is being funded by the Miners’ Welfare,’ Agnes continued. ‘I’ll be visiting the chronically ill patients, giving them whatever care is needed. I’ll dress wounds, give help with feeding and bathing. I’ll also be acting as a midwife, and advising mothers on the best way to care for their children—’
‘My missus wouldn’t thank you for that!’ Reg Willis interrupted. ‘She never takes advice from anybody.’
‘Nor mine,’ Sam Maskell agreed. ‘And they don’t need any advice on having babies, neither. They’ve been doing it for years.’
‘I reckon mine needs advice on how not to have ’em,’ Tom Chadwick said gloomily. ‘Then maybe we wouldn’t have so many mouths to feed.’
Sam slapped him on the shoulder. ‘If tha doesn’t know where all them bairns come from by now, Tom lad, then you’re beyond help, even from t’nurse!’
‘It’s part of the nurse’s job to prevent illness as well as treating it.’ Agnes raised her voice over their laughter. ‘That means giving advice and promoting good health and hygiene.’
‘Oh, Lord, listen to her!’ Sam Maskell guffawed again. ‘Tha’ll have a job on tha hands here, lass.’
‘Sam’s right,’ Eric nodded. ‘We don’t care much for change in Bowden.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I in’t sure how we’ll take to your new-fangled ideas.’
Agnes frowned. ‘Then may I ask why I’m here?’
‘Good question,’ Seth Stanhope muttered from the far end of the table.
‘The Miners’ Welfare Committee decided it were time we had a district nurse in the village,’ Eric Wardle said, glaring at Seth. ‘I didn’t say we didn’t need thee, Miss Sheridan. I just think tha’ll have a hard time winning people over.’
‘I’ll do my best to persuade them to my way of thinking,’ Agnes said.
‘I daresay tha’ll have a good try.’ Eric Wardle looked thoughtful. ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but I reckon we’ve heard enough. So if there are no more questions for Miss Sheridan …?’ He glanced quickly up and down the table. The other men shook their heads. ‘Good. Then I daresay you’ll be wanting to settle in to your new lodgings, Miss Sheridan. We’ve arranged for you to stay with t’doctor, since you’ll be working with him. Dr Rutherford is an elderly widower and his housekeeper Mrs Bannister lives in, so it’s all quite respectable. I hope that suits?’
‘I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable there,’ Agnes said.
‘I wouldn’t bet on that, not with that baggage Mrs Bannister in charge!’ Sam Maskell grinned, showing several gaps where his teeth had once been. ‘Stay on the right side of her, miss, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Now then, Sam. Don’t you go putting the poor lass off.’ Eric turned to Agnes, his smile back in place. ‘The doctor lives a fair distance away, and it’s easy to get lost. One of us should go with you, show you the way. Perhaps Seth—’
Agnes caught his eye. It was hard to tell which of them was more dismayed at the suggestion. ‘There’s no need,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sure I can find it if you give me directions.’
‘Are you certain, miss? As I said, it’s a fair distance.’
‘I’ve got my bicycle.’ Agnes ignored the dark look Seth sent her. ‘And I’m quite good at finding my way around, once I’ve got my bearings.’
Eric Wardle rose to his feet slowly, and once again Agnes noticed how heavily he leaned on his stick. Pott’s disease, she guessed, judging by the unnatural curve of his spine. He held himself so rigidly, she was sure he must be wearing a brace underneath his shirt.
‘Tha can’t miss it,’ he said. ‘It’s right on t’edge of village, on t’opposite side to the pit. Tha, will have come in that way, I expect? The road from Leeds passes through that end of Bowden.’
‘All the best people live out there,’ Reg Willis said. ‘As far away from t’pit as they can get. They don’t like the smoke and the smell, y’see.’
‘The doctor’s house stands by itself, as the hill rises,’ Eric continued. ‘Just before the lane that goes up to t’big house.’
‘The big house?’ Agnes queried.
‘Where the Haverstocks live,’ Reg Willis put in. ‘The pit owners,’ he explained, as Agnes looked puzzled.
‘They live up on t’hill. So they can look down on us all,’ Tom Chadwick said, and the other men laughed. Except for Seth Stanhope, who once again failed to crack a smile.
Eric Wardle watched from the window as Agnes Sheridan cycled off up the road, then turned to his fellow committee members. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What did you think of our new district nurse?’
‘I didn’t expect her to be so young. Or so pretty.’ Reg Willis leered. ‘Might almost be worth getting sick to find her at my bedside.’
‘She wouldn’t get anywhere near you,’ Sam Maskell said. ‘Your missus would see her off with a rolling pin long before she caught sight of you in your combinations!’
‘True,’ Reg agreed gloomily.
‘I don’t suppose your missus will be the only one,’ Tom Chadwick said. ‘I can’t see anyone in Bowden taking to her. She seems like a sharp little madam to me.’
‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’ Eric looked down the table at Seth Stanhope. ‘What do you reckon, Seth? You’ve been very quiet on the subject.’
Seth gathered up his papers. ‘You know what I think.’
‘He doesn’t like her,’ Reg said, grinning. ‘He’s taken agin’ her, I can tell.’
‘It’s nowt to do wi’ her. I just think the money could be better spent elsewhere, that’s all. Especially when there’s trouble coming.’
The other men shook their heads. ‘Here he goes again,’ Tom sighed.
‘Anyone would think he were looking for trouble,’ Reg muttered.
‘You think I want another strike like the last one?’ Seth turned on him. ‘This colliery nearly went to the wall five year ago, and the rest of us with it. You think I want that to happen?’
‘It won’t come to that, lad,’ Sam said patiently. ‘There’s no strike coming.’
‘No strike? Have you been paying attention to what’s going on? The government have said they want the mine owners to increase our shifts and cut our pay by thirteen per cent. Thirteen per cent! You think the miners will stand for it? Because I certainly won’t.’ Seth shook his head. ‘I’m telling you, there’s trouble coming whether we want it or not. And we should be putting the Miners’ Welfare contributions towards that, not wasting it on bloody nurses!’
The other men fell silent. Everyone was wary of Seth Stanhope’s quick temper, which never seemed too far from the surface these days. But Eric recognised the passion – and the fear – behind his angry words.
‘Happen you’re right, Seth lad,’ he said. ‘But it’s all been decided now, and the money’s been set aside, so there’s nothing more to be said. Anyway, it’s not as if we can’t change our mind, if needs be. Miss Gale was very clear on that.’
‘I’d be surprised if she don’t turn tail and run herself, once she sees this place,’ Tom said.
‘I in’t so sure.’ Eric thought about the look of fearless determination in Agnes Sheridan’s brown eyes. ‘I don’t think she’s one to give in easily. She knows her own mind, that’s for sure.’
‘Aye, God help us,’ Seth Stanhope muttered.
Eric smiled to himself. Agnes Sheridan had only been in Bowden for five minutes, and she’d already rattled Seth Stanhope’s cage. He wondered how many more people she would manage to rattle.
It was late afternoon by the time Agnes reached Dr Rutherford’s house. As Mr Wardle had directed, it was right on the edge of the village, hidden from the lane by a high, ivy-covered wall. Dr Rutherford was a man who liked his privacy, Agnes decided, as she pushed her bicycle through the tall, wrought-iron gates.
The house was beautiful, big and rambling, with mullioned windows and mellow grey brickwork. Agnes propped her bicycle against the porch, brushed down her coat, straightened her cap and tugged on the bell pull. A moment later she heard a woman’s voice from inside.
‘Jinny? Jinny, there’s someone at the door.’ There was a pause, then, more impatiently, ‘Jinny? Are you there? Oh, for heaven’s sake! Where is that girl?’
Agnes waited, her hand hovering over the bell. She was just wondering whether to give it another tug when she heard footsteps approaching. A moment later the front door swung open and a woman stood before her.
Agnes’ gaze travelled up to her unsmiling face. The woman was in her fifties, tall and upright. Her carefully curled light brown hair did nothing to soften her hard-boned, masculine features.
‘Yes?’ she snapped.
Agnes straightened her shoulders. ‘My name is Agnes Sheridan. I’m the new nurse.’
The corners of the woman’s mouth turned down even further. ‘Oh, is it today you’re supposed to arrive? No one mentioned it to me.’ She let out a heavy sigh, then said, ‘Well, in that case I suppose you had better come in.’
Agnes carried her suitcase over the threshold and stepped into the large, airy hall.
‘You must be Mrs Bannister?’ she said.
The woman’s glacial eyes narrowed. ‘Who told you that?’
She looked so put out about it, Agnes was slightly flustered, wondering if she had made a mistake. ‘Mr Wardle at the Welfare Committee.’
‘Oh, the Welfare Committee.’ The woman’s mouth tightened in disdain. ‘Don’t talk to me about them. Making free with people’s houses, imposing on their good nature—’
Before Agnes had a chance to reply, a flustered-looking girl came rushing up the kitchen steps, wiping her hands on her oversized white apron.
‘Were you calling me, ma’am?’ she asked breathlessly.
Mrs Bannister turned to her, frowning. ‘It’s too late now, you silly girl, I’ve opened the door myself. But you must come the minute I call in future.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.’
Agnes looked at the maid with sympathy. She was a child, barely more than twelve or thirteen. A skinny little thing, with pale eyes and a narrow, washed-out face framed by a white linen cap. Agnes wondered what Dottie, the maid at Steeple Street, would have done if anyone had spoken to her like that. Taken off her apron and marched straight out of the front door, she suspected.
‘Yes, well, never mind. Take Miss Sheridan’s bag up to her room, if you please. And bring us some tea in the drawing room. And some sandwiches, too. I suppose you’ll be wanting something to eat?’ She made it sound like an accusation.
‘That would be very nice, if it’s not too much trouble?’ Agnes replied politely.
‘Too much trouble, she says!’ Mrs Bannister rolled her eyes. ‘Well, don’t just stand there gawping, Jinny!’ She clapped her hands and the girl instantly jumped to attention, grabbing Agnes’ suitcase and hauling it towards the curving staircase. The case was heavy and Agnes could hardly bear to watch her skinny arms struggling to lift it.
Mrs Bannister peered out of the glass panel beside the front door. ‘Is that your bicycle out there? It’ll have to go round the back of the house. We can’t have it cluttering up the porch like that. Dr Rutherford likes everything kept nice.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll move it at once.’
‘No need. I’ll get Jinny to do it later, before the doctor gets home.’
‘Oh. Is Dr Rutherford on his rounds?’
‘On a Sunday? I should think not.’ Mrs Bannister looked scandalised. ‘Dr Rutherford has gone fishing with Sir Edward this afternoon. I am not expecting him home until later. Now, I’ll show you into the drawing room.’
Agnes would have preferred to go up to her own room, but Mrs Bannister seemed so put out about everything, she didn’t want to antagonise her further.
The drawing room, with its crackling fire and leather Chesterfield sofas, was almost too perfect to be homely. Everything was immaculately arranged, from the Indian rugs on the polished wooden floor, to the artful vase of chrysanthemums on the console table.
It reminded Agnes of the large, comfortable house in leafy North London where she had grown up. Her mother had always had such a sense of style and eye for detail, nothing was ever allowed to be out of place.
At one end of the room was a pair of French doors leading out to the garden. Agnes went over to look out of them. The garden too was perfect, with manicured lawns, flowering shrubs and trees, and an ornamental pond in the centre.
‘Your garden is very beautiful,’ she commented.
‘It is, isn’t it? The doctor is very particular about it.’
‘We had a big garden at the district nurses’ house in Leeds, but it was nowhere near as well kept as this.’ Agnes thought of Steeple Street, with its overgrown grass, shrubs and roses allowed to run wild, and the wasps getting drunk on drifts of fallen apples and plums.
She turned away from the window, an unexpected lump rising in her throat.
The door opened and Jinny the maid came in, struggling with a silver tea tray. Mrs Bannister greeted her with a sour look.
‘Ah, there you are, Jinny. You took your time, I must say. Well, don’t just stand there, girl. Put it on the table before you drop the lot.’
Agnes bit her lip, hardly daring to watch as the tray wobbled dangerously in Jinny’s hands. Miraculously, she managed to set it down without spilling anything.
Mrs Bannister took the lid off the pot and peered into it. ‘How much tea did you put in?’
Jinny’s gaze dropped to the rug. ‘I – I can’t remember, ma’am,’ she mumbled.
‘Can’t remember? Good gracious, girl, it’s a simple enough question! I suppose you were daydreaming again? How on earth can you hope to make a pot of tea correctly if you don’t think about these things?’ She put the lid back on the pot and scanned the tray. ‘And where is the tea strainer?’
‘I—’ Jinny gulped. The poor girl looked near to tears.
Mrs Bannister tutted. ‘Take it away,’ she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘And come back when you’ve managed to do it properly. I don’t know,’ she sighed, as Jinny stumbled off with the tray. ‘That girl doesn’t seem to be able to do the simplest tasks. You would have thought she would pay attention and try to improve herself, wouldn’t you? But I suppose coming from a family like hers …’ She shook her head, her expression sorrowful.
Agnes stared at Mrs Bannister’s haughty profile and suddenly realised it wasn’t just the house that reminded her of her mother. Agnes had seen the same curl of disdain on Elizabeth Sheridan’s lips when something wasn’t quite up to her standards. Nothing was ever right for her.
Including you. The thought flashed through Agnes’ mind, the pain catching her unawares before she had time to steel herself against it.
She forced herself to think of something else. ‘What time did you say Dr Rutherford would be home?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t,’ Mrs Bannister replied. ‘But I daresay he will be invited to dine at Haverstock Hall, and then he and Sir Edward are bound to end up playing cards until well into the evening.’
‘What a pity,’ Agnes said. ‘I had hoped he might be here to meet me.’
‘Yes, well, I expect he forgot you were coming, just as I did.’ Mrs Bannister sent her a scathing look. ‘I suppose you think you are very important, Miss Sheridan, but I assure you the doctor and I have other matters to think about besides your arrival.’
At that moment Jinny returned with a fresh pot of tea, which mercifully passed Mrs Bannister’s critical examination. Agnes found herself holding her breath as much as poor Jinny, until the housekeeper waved the girl away.
‘So you’ve come from Leeds?’ Mrs Bannister said as she passed Agnes her cup. ‘You don’t sound local.’
‘I’m not. I’m from London originally.’ Agnes avoided her gaze as she stirred her tea.
‘London?’ Mrs Bannister perked up, setting down her cup. ‘Then you must know the Hollister-Bennetts?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘Are you sure? They’re terribly well known in society. How about the Duvalls? Or Lord and Lady Penhaven?’
Agnes shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of them.’
‘Well, I must say, I am surprised. I thought everyone had heard of Lord Penhaven.’ Mrs Bannister looked unimpressed. Agnes realised she had been found as wanting as poor Jinny.
‘I myself spent a great deal of time with the aristocracy when I worked for the Charteris family,’ Mrs Bannister went on. ‘Their family seat was in North Yorkshire, but they kept a house in London so their daughters could do the Season. We met so many interesting people. Such wonderful parties.’ She smiled fondly at the memory. ‘So what kind of family do you come from, Miss Sheridan?’
Agnes’ stomach sank at the question. ‘Well, my father is a doctor. ‘
‘What kind of doctor?’ Mrs Bannister pounced.
‘A GP. But he’s retired now.’ The Great War had seen to that. Charles Sheridan had returned from France a changed man. Unable to forget the horrors that he had witnessed in the trenches, he had withdrawn from his beloved practice, and from his family.
‘And your mother? I suppose she does a great deal of work for charity?’
‘I suppose so.’ Agnes felt a chill in her heart, thinking about Elizabeth Sheridan.
‘Suppose? You mean, you don’t know?’
Agnes stared into her cup, afraid to allow Mrs Bannister to look into her eyes in case she gave herself away. She couldn’t imagine what the housekeeper would say if she told her she hadn’t seen or spoken to her mother in months.
‘It’s difficult to keep up with her … she’s always so busy,’ Agnes said vaguely.
‘Hmm.’ Mrs Bannister paused for a moment. Then she said, ‘Are you courting, Miss Sheridan?’
Agnes looked at her, taken aback. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘It’s a simple enough question, surely? Do you have a young man?’
Agnes looked down at her left hand, where she had once worn Daniel’s engagement ring. The imprint had faded long ago. ‘No,’ she said.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Mrs Bannister helped herself to another cup of tea. ‘We have a certain position to maintain here, Miss Sheridan. I wouldn’t want Dr Rutherford’s good name being put at risk in any way.’
‘Put at risk?’
‘Oh, you know. This isn’t London or Leeds, Miss Sheridan. Everyone knows everyone else’s business here. If you were to have all sorts of gentlemen callers, it might cause people to gossip.’
‘I think you’ll find I’m quite respectable,’ Agnes replied, tight-lipped. But even as she said it, she could see her mother’s look of scorn.
You have disgraced this family, Agnes.
’We shall see, won’t we? Although I must say, I am still not happy about the lodging arrangements. I can’t think why Dr Rutherford agreed to it without consulting me first. Aside from all the extra work, it hardly seems proper to have a young unmarried girl living under the same roof as a widower.’
Agnes glanced at the display of silver-framed photographs on the side table. Several of them seemed to feature an elderly, white-haired man, whom she took to be the mysterious doctor. Could Mrs Bannister seriously believe she might have designs on him?
‘I’m sure Dr Rutherford and I can maintain a perfectly respectable working relationship,’ she said, trying to stop herself laughing out loud.
‘Nevertheless, I would prefer it if we could establish certain rules from the start,’ Mrs Bannister said.
‘Such as?’
After five minutes, Agnes began to feel sorry she had asked the question. The housekeeper’s list of rules and regulations made her head spin. At what hours she could use the bathroom, which rooms downstairs she could occupy and which she couldn’t, which visitors to the house were considered suitable and when they could call.
Agnes listened carefully, but she could barely take it all in. Once again, she longed for Steeple Street, where Miss Gale had managed to keep a house full of district nurses in order with little more than mutual trust and good sense.
‘I would like you to eat in the kitchen as Dr Rutherford prefers to dine alone,’ Mrs Bannister was saying. ‘Meals are included in your board and lodging, as is cleaning your room, but if you want Jinny to do your laundry for you, then you’ll have to come to a separate arrangement with her. Please be clear, Miss Sheridan, that we are employed by Dr Rutherford. We are not here to skivvy for you.’
‘I wouldn’t expect it,’ Agnes replied, stifling a yawn. She longed to escape and retire to her room.
Sam Maskell’s words came back to her. Stay on the right side of her, miss, that’s all I’m saying.
‘I’m glad we understand each other,’ Mrs Bannister said. ‘Another sandwich, Miss Sheridan?’
Agnes looked at the plate that was waved under her nose. Are you sure I don’t have to pay for it? she was tempted to ask, but was saved by the sound of the front doorbell.
Agnes looked up hopefully. ‘Perhaps that’s the doctor?’ she said.
‘I very much doubt he would be ringing on his own front door,’ Mrs Bannister replied, nibbling at the corner of a potted meat sandwich.
The doorbell rang again.
‘I don’t mind waiting, if you need to go and answer it?’ Agnes said, but the housekeeper shook her head.
‘It is not my place to answer the door like a common maid,’ she dismissed. ‘Do calm yourself, Miss Sheridan. You’re as jumpy as a cat.’
A moment later they heard the sound of Jinny’s footsteps scuttling across the hall. Mrs Bannister was in the middle of instructing Agnes about when it was acceptable to speak to the doctor outside surgery hours, but her attention was tuned to the sound of the voices coming from the hall.
She could hear a child, high-pitched and agitated, and Jinny, sounding as if she was trying to calm him. Agnes longed to go and find out for herself what was wrong, but she was pinned in her seat by Mrs Bannister’s steely, forbidding gaze.
Finally there was a knock on the door and Jinny appeared in the doorway.
‘Laurie Toller’s here, Mrs Bannister,’ she said, looking anxious. ‘He says his father’s having another one of his coughing fits and can’t breathe. He needs the doctor.’
‘Yes, well, the doctor isn’t here, is he?’ Mrs Bannister looked annoyed. ‘Besides, he should know Dr Rutherford never makes house calls on a Sunday.’
‘But he says his dad’s right bad—’
‘Perhaps I could go and see him?’ Agnes said, putting down her plate.
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Mrs Bannister snapped. ‘Dr Rutherford wouldn’t like that at all, I’m sure.’ She turned back to Jinny. ‘Tell the child his father will have to come to the surgery tomorrow morning.’
‘But—’
‘You heard me, girl.’
The maid bobbed her head and left. Agnes tried to listen to what was going on outside, but she couldn’t hear for the sound of Mrs Bannister going on, complaining about people turning up unannounced outside surgery hours.
Finally, Agnes could bear it no longer. ‘Are you sure I shouldn’t go and see this man?’
Mrs Bannister’s lip curled. ‘Good heavens, no! If you do it for one, then the next thing you know we’ll have people lining up at our door at all hours, expecting to be seen. And without a penny in their pockets, half the time!’
‘As Queen’s Nurses, we are told never to withhold treatment from a patient in need, just because they can’t afford to pay us,’ Agnes said.
‘Then more fool you.’ Mrs Bannister sent her a narrow-eyed, assessing look. ‘I suppose you’re one of those modern women, full of ideas about how the world should be,’ she said. ‘If you are, I can tell you now you won’t get on very well in this village. The people here are cunning. They’ll take advantage of you as soon as look at you.’ She proffered the plate. ‘Are you sure you won’t have another sandwich? You’ve hardly eaten a thing.’
‘I’m not hungry.’ In truth, her stomach was gnawing, but Agnes would rather have starved than spend another moment in the housekeeper’s company. ‘I think I would like to go to my room, if you don’t mind?’
‘Already? But it’s barely six o’clock.’ Mrs Bannister frowned at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Oh, well, I suppose if that’s what you want … We’ll have to finish going through the rules in the morning,’ she said, putting down her plate. ‘Now please remember, breakfast is at eight o’clock sharp, and yours will be served in the kitchen. Morning surgery is at nine, and the doctor can’t be disturbed before then …’
Agnes left her talking, and went up to her room. She couldn’t hope to remember all the rules, so why listen to them?
At least her room seemed pleasant enough. Agnes took her time unpacking her suitcase. Most of her case was taken up with her medical equipment and supplies, with little space given over to her few personal belongings.
How her old room mate Polly would envy all the empty cupboards in her new room, Agnes thought as she hung up her clothes. But even with endless amounts of space, Polly would probably still have her things strewn all over the place as usual …
Agnes stopped, tensing herself against the painful memory. She had only been gone for a few hours, but she already missed Steeple Street dreadfully. The district nurses’ house had become her home during the six months of her training. She longed for the steady routine of daily life there, the shared mealtimes gathered around the big dining table with the other nurses, telling stories about their rounds. No matter how badly the day had gone, there would always be sympathy and advice and someone to make her laugh off her troubles. The other nurses had become her family – Phil, Polly, old Miss Hook and her terrible poetry, and the entirely misnamed Miss Goode, the most spiteful gossip Agnes had ever known.
And then there was Bess Bradshaw, the Assistant Nursing Superintendent. She and Agnes had got off to the worst possible start, but over the months Agnes had come to appreciate her wisdom and her kindness.
It was at Steeple Street that Agnes had managed to rebuild her shattered life after her family abandoned her. She had made friends and found hope for a future she never thought she would have.
She pushed the thoughts from her mind. Bowden was her home now, and she had to start thinking of it that way. Once again, she had to put the past behind her and look to the future.
The insistent clang of a bell woke Agnes up with a start.
At first she thought she must be dreaming. She had heard the pit hooter sound at ten, calling the men to the night shift, just as she had put away her book to settle down for the night. But the sound of the bell was different, an urgent clamour that had Agnes springing out of bed before she even knew what was happening.
She hurried to the window and looked out. Dr Rutherford’s house was on the other side of the village, but she could see a stream of bobbing lights heading off up the lane towards the colliery.
Agnes pulled on her dressing gown and hurried downstairs to find Mrs Bannister closing the front door. Even though it was well past midnight, the housekeeper was fully dressed, not a hair out of place, as if she hadn’t been to bed.
She turned to face Agnes, her brows rising. ‘Why, Miss Sheridan, what on earth are you doing up at this hour?’ she asked.
‘The noise woke me. What’s going on?’
‘It’s the calamity bell. It rings when there’s been an accident at the pit.’ She looked Agnes up and down, her mouth tightening in disapproval. ‘I must say, Miss Sheridan, I did mention in my rules that you shouldn’t wander around the house in your night attire. What if Dr Rutherford were to see you?’
‘I’m sure Dr Rutherford must have seen a woman in a nightgown before!’ Agnes snapped back. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Why, he’s gone down to the colliery, of course. I’ve just seen him off a minute ago. And I’m sure he has seen many women in their nightgowns, but not under this roof – Miss Sheridan? Are you listening to me?’ Her voice followed Agnes as she ran back upstairs to her room.
She dressed quickly, pulling on her blue dress and apron and jamming her feet into her stout black shoes. She hurried back downstairs a minute later, clutching her leather Gladstone bag in one hand and pushing her chestnut curls under her cap with the other.
Mrs Bannister was still in the hall, stiff with disapproval. Agnes hurried past her to fetch her coat from the hook.
‘Where did you put my bicycle?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘In the shed at the back of the house. Why? Where do you think you’re going?’
‘To the colliery, of course. Dr Rutherford might need me.’
The housekeeper sneered. ‘I very much doubt that. What on earth could you do?’
‘I won’t know that until I get there, will I?’ Agnes moved to the front door, but Mrs Bannister stepped in front of her, barring her path.
‘You’ll only be in the way,’ she said. ‘If Dr Rutherford had wanted you there he would have taken you with him.’
Agnes sidestepped her and hurried outside into the cold, windy night. It took her a while to find the shed, stumbling around in the darkness, and even longer to unearth her bicycle from where Mrs Bannister had buried it deep under a load of gardening equipment. Agnes’ hands were scratched and filthy by the time she had dragged it out from underneath a wheelbarrow.
She didn’t need directions. All she had to do was follow the people streaming down the lane. In the distance, the stark shape of the pit winding tower was illuminated eerily against the night sky by the glow of dozens of lanterns.
A crowd of people had gathered around the pit gates when she arrived: mostly they were women with children and babies in their arms, wrapped up against the biting March wind. Some were talking quietly amongst themselves while others were silent, their attention fixed on what was happening in the pit yard. The light from the lanterns showed their pinched, anxious faces. All the while the bell clanged, filling the air with its discordant, ominous sound.
Agnes shouldered her way through the crowd and approached the stocky man who stood watch by the gates. As he turned around, she saw it was Sam Maskell.
He frowned when he saw her. ‘Now then, Nurse? What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see if I could help. What’s happened?’ she asked.
He glanced back at the men milling around in the pit yard, his face impassive. ‘Been an accident. The rescue team’s just gone down there. Fire damp, they reckon.’
‘Fire damp?’
‘Build-up of methane gas in t’pit. It only needs a single spark and the whole lot goes up.’
‘Is anyone injured?’
‘No one knows. There’s still a few men not accounted for. T’doctor’s down there now.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Not until they start bringing them up. Could be a while yet.’
‘Should I go down too?’
He shook his head. ‘The mine’s no place for you, lass.’
‘But I might be able to help.’
‘Nay,’ he said kindly. ‘If tha wants to help, go over there and see to t’women. There might be bad news for some of ’em before too long,’ he said grimly.
Agnes looked past him. Beyond the gates, she could see men going to and fro, the light from their lanterns bobbing in the darkness. She had seldom felt so helpless.
‘Let me know if you need me,’ she said, her voice lost over the clanging of the bell.
‘Aye,’ Sam said. But he had already turned away from her.
She returned to where the women were standing, more of them now, pressed close to the gates, shoulder to shoulder. Babies were crying, the sound mingling with the toll of the bell.
Suddenly she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Dr Rutherford’s maid, Jinny, was standing by the gates with an older woman who had a baby wrapped up in her arms and three more small children clinging to her coat. But she barely seemed to notice them as her anxious gaze scanned the yard beyond the gates.
Agnes pressed her way through the crowd towards them, calling to the girl. Jinny swung round.
‘Miss? What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see if I could help.’ Agnes nodded past her to where the other woman stood. Close to, she could see that they must be related. They had the same narrow, colourless faces and pale eyes. Even bundled under a thick coat and layers of shawls, Agnes could see the woman was as thin as the girl. ‘Is that your mother?’
‘Aye, miss. My dad and two of my brothers are down there.’
Agnes looked at her closely. Jinny’s face was as impassive as her mother’s. ‘I’m sure they’ll be all right,’ she said.
‘Yes, miss.’