girls had just run down.
‘So you’re saying it’s me that’s clumsy!’ Lydia barred the way aggressively, standing with hands on jutting hips. ‘That’s pretty good coming from someone who breaks everything in sight. You can’t have earned a penny since you’ve been here with all the stuff you’ve had to pay for.’
Willa stood her ground. ‘I may have broken a syringe or two, but I didn’t push you.’
‘A syringe or two!’ Lydia snorted. ‘The factory can’t keep up with you, Jenkins, and I distinctly felt your fat little hands in the small of my back.’
For once Willa was proving obstinate. She shook her head, refusing to take the blame.
‘I’m not arguing with rubbish like you,’ Lydia flung at her. ‘You can pick up everything you made me drop.’
When the girl made no move to comply, her tormentor came right up to her and shouted in her face, ‘NOW!’
Even then Willa didn’t immediately do as she’d been ordered and Daisy could see her trying to summon the courage to resist. She knew that feeling. How many times in the orphanage had she tried to fight back and failed? And it was the same for Willa. The girl’s shoulders sagged and she knelt down on the landing and obediently began to heave books and papers into the briefcase.
‘Do it neatly,’ Lydia almost screeched. ‘In the right order. In the order I had them.’
‘I don’t know what that was,’ the girl said miserably.
She was still picking up books when Sister Phillips’ head appeared over the bannister. ‘Get a move on nurses, the raid is almost on us. And that means you, too, Driscoll,’ she scolded, catching sight of Daisy in the doorway.
‘I’m coming, Sister.’ Mrs Phillips was not a woman you disobeyed lightly. She did her job dourly and any nurse who stepped out of line knew she would face a sarcasm that could wither.
But tonight Daisy was willing to risk it. When the senior nurse had disappeared down the stairs followed by her two acolytes, she crept back into her room and shut the door behind her. Tonight she could not bear to be in the company of her fellows, to share the basement’s windowless prison, to lie and listen to the sniffs, the coughs, the fidgeting limbs of a score of bodies, while she longed for forgetfulness. She would stay above ground and hope to sleep once the bombers had passed.
But not yet. The sound of approaching aircraft grew louder. A mad cacophony of guns and bombs burst through the night and assailed the dark, empty streets. With care she lifted the corner of the blackout curtain and squinted through the small square she’d uncovered. She saw immediately that it was another big raid. The sky was laced with light: the beams of searchlight batteries, the stars from bursting shells. A rainbow of colours—green, red, yellow, white—tumbled one over another in endless profusion. Coloured tracers like giant strings of beads winged their way through the sky in search of planes which had no right to be there. Planes that brought death and destruction. Whichever way she looked, from east to west, the night was aglow. Flashes from hundreds of incendiary bombs split the darkness and on the horizon dozens of fires burned, as though they were giant open air furnaces. All around Charterhouse Square, the stone of the buildings was lit with a white glare. Wearily, she let the curtain fall and climbed into bed. She would stay here and take her chances.
It was not until early afternoon that she climbed aboard one of the specially adapted Green Line buses travelling to Hill End. Last night’s raid had wreaked enormous destruction and casualties had been pouring into the hospital from the moment she’d walked on to the ward at seven that morning. As civil defence teams continued to dig people from the rubble, a trickle became a stream and, very quickly, a river. Medical staff had been working through the night and Daisy and her new shift were met by nurses and doctors near to collapse. The official handover was brief; time was short and they could barely hear each other above the jangle of ambulance bells and the sobs of hurt and shocked people. She was set to work immediately, bathing newly admitted casualties, a lengthy business since the wounded were covered from head to foot in brick dust and blood. The nurses worked tirelessly and at great speed, their aprons bloodstained, their young faces marked by fatigue. There was no time to eat. A snatched slice of bread and dripping and a large mug of tea were all Daisy managed before the ward sister called her over.
‘You should go, Driscoll. The escort party is waiting and we can spare you now. The ward is running well.’ Sister Elton gave the glimmer of a smile. It was the nearest she would ever get to giving praise.
Daisy made her way down the two flights of stairs to the street. Her head was aching and her legs hardly felt her own, but there was no possibility of rest. There was always more work to do. A nurse helping to load patients into one of the makeshift ambulances scrambled down to greet her.
‘Where did you get to last night?’ As she spoke, the girl tried unsuccessfully to tuck the straggling ends of her bright red hair into the starched cap.
‘I’m sorry I missed you, Connie, but I worked on. Sister needed extra help and by the time I got back, I was too tired even to speak and went straight to bed. I didn’t even make it to the basement.’
Connie Telford was her closest friend. Their rooms were next door to each other and in the last few months they’d often been rostered to work on the same ward. It was rare for them to miss an evening drink together, but Daisy had been too shocked last night to go in search of her friend and certainly in no mood to exchange confidences.
‘I can’t see us getting this lot settled before midnight.’ Her friend gestured to the line of buses waiting to leave. ‘Looks like we’ll be taking our cocoa at Hill End tonight.’
Daisy smiled a little wanly. If only cocoa was her sole concern. Today had been so hectic that even the reappearance of Gerald in her life had been pushed from her mind. But now he’d returned and was looming large. She would have to sleep at Hill End and would not be back in London until the following morning. There would be no opportunity to send the message he’d demanded. Perhaps if she didn’t respond, he would go away and leave her in peace. If only he would. She could see he was in a dreadful predicament, but there was no way she could help, and meeting him was pointless. All it would achieve would be to bring back the terror and grief of those last days in Jasirapur. It already had, she thought angrily. He demanded loyalty as his right, yet he’d explained nothing. How had he reached England, how had he travelled those thousands of miles alone and without money or support? His rescue by the villagers she could just about understand, but even that was extraordinary. The power of the water had been immense. Had she not faced it herself, standing on that riverbank, ready for the blow that would send her to her death? It was Grayson who’d arrived to rescue her, but too late to save her husband.
Yet somehow Gerald had survived. Survived to be a deserter. He hadn’t returned to his regiment in Jasirapur, hadn’t confessed his wrongdoing. Instead he’d gone into hiding. But he’d be discovered sooner or later, that was certain, so why did he not give himself up and face just punishment? Running and hiding could only be done for so long. And it was cowardly. She, and everyone she knew, was working tirelessly for their country, fighting for its very existence. Should she really be helping a man—husband or not—to abandon his homeland and make a bolt to safety?
Today the journey to Hill End seemed longer than ever and, once they’d arrived, there were hours of work ahead of them. For the rest of the day while her hands bandaged,
