'After all that fuss and bother . . . .'
'It's only a postponement, Dad. I can go back. I will go back. As soon as the war is over.'
Frankie swung around, tears of fear and frustration welling in his eyes.
'That's all very well, but what if you get sent over there? To France. Blimey, if you wanted to do something useful, my girl, I'm sure 'is Lordship could've got a job for a bright one like you. I've a mind to go up to that hospital and shop you for your tales--you must've said you were older than you are. I tell you, I never thought I'd see the day when my daughter told a lie.'
'Dad, please understand--'
'Oh, I understand all right. Just like your mother, and I've lost her. I can't lose you, Maisie.'
Maisie walked over to her father and put her hand on his shoulder.' You won't lose me Dad. You watch. You'll be proud of me.'
Frankie Dobbs dropped his head and leaned into his daughter's embrace.'I've always been proud of you, Maisie. That's not the point.'
As a member of the Voluntary Aid Detachment, Maisie's duties seemed to consist of daily round of mopping floors, lining up beds so that not one was out of place, and being at the beck and call of the senior nurses. She had obtained a deferment from Girton, and no sooner had the letter been posted, along with another to Priscilla, than Maisie put her dream behind her and with the same resolve that had taken her to university, she vowed to bring comfort to the men coming home from France.
Maisie became a VAD nurse at the London Hospital in May, amid the never-ending influx of casualties from the spring offensive of 1915. It was a hot summer, and one in which Maisie saw little rest and spent only a few hours at her lodgings in Whitechapel.
Sweeping a stray tendril of hair under her white cap, Maisie immersed her hands into a sinkful of scalding hot water, and scrubbed at an assortment of glass bottles, bowls, and measuring jugs with a bristle brush. It was not the first time in her life that her hands were raw or her legs and back ached. But it could be worse, she thought, as she drained the suds and began to rinse the glassware. For a moment she allowed her hands to remain in the water as it began to cool, and looked straight ahead through the window to the dusk-dusted rooftops beyond.
'Dobbs, I don't think you've got all day to rinse a few bottles, not when there are a dozen other jobs for you to do before you go off duty.'
Maisie jumped as her name was spoken, quickly rushing to apologize for her tardiness.
'Don't waste time, Dobbs. Finish this job quickly. Sister wants to see you now.'
The nurse who spoke to her was one of the regulars, not a volunteer, and Maisie immediately reverted to the bobbed curtsy of her days in service. The seniority of the regular nurses demanded respect, immediate attention, and complete deference.
Maisie finished her task, made sure that not a bottle or cloth was out of place, then went quickly to see Sister, checking her hair, cap, and apron as she trotted along the green-and-cream-tiled corridor.
'Nurses never run, Dobbs. They walk briskly.'
Maisie stopped, bit her bottom lip, and turned around, hands by her sides and balled into fists. Sister, the most senior nurse on the ward. And the most feared, even by the men who joked that she should be sent out to France--that would send the Hun running.
'I'm sorry, Sister.'
'My office, Dobbs.'
'Yes, Sister.'
Sister led the way into her office, with its green-tiled walls, dark wood floor, and equally dark wooden furniture, and walked around to the opposite side of her desk, sweeping her long blue dress and bright white apron aside to avoid their catching on the corner. A silver buckle shone at the front of her apron, and her scarflike cap was starched. Not a hair was out of place.
'I'll get quickly to the point. As you know we are losing many of our staff to join detachments in France. We therefore need to move our nurses and volunteers up through the ranks--and of course we need to keep many of our regular nurses here to keep up standards and direct care of the wounded. Your promotion today to Special Military Probationer means more responsibility in the ward, Dobbs. Along with Rigson, Dornhill, and White, you must be prepared to serve in military hospitals overseas if needed. That will be in one year, at the end of your training. Let me see . . .'
The austere woman shuffled papers in a file on the desk in front of her.
'Yes, you'll be twenty-three at the end of the year, according to your records. Eligible for duty abroad. Good.'
Sister looked up at Maisie again, then checked the time on the small watch pinned to her apron.'I have already spoken to the other VADs in question during their duty earlier today. Now then, from tomorrow you will join doctors' rounds each day to observe and assist, in addition to your other duties. Is that understood?'
'Yes, Sister.'
'Then you are dismissed, Dobbs.'
Maisie left the office and walked slowly toward the kitchen.
Yes, sooner than she had thought, she would be in France. Possibly this time next year. How she longed to see Maurice, how she ached to speak with him. For here was time again, the trickster, changing the circumstances of her life in an instant. Yet she knew that Maurice would ask her if she was not herself the trickster. She had lied about her age unashamedly to do this work, and now she was burdened by doubt. Could she do what was required of her? Could she live up to Enid's memory?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maisie pulled herself away from the side rail of the ship. She had never dreamed that seasickness could be this bad. A salty wind blew around her head and nipped at her ears as she struggled to keep the heavy woolen cape drawn across her aching body. Nothing in the
