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  JESSIE’S PROMISE

  Rosie Clarke

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  About Jessie’s Promise

  DEVON 1918. When Jessie Hale loses her nursing job at the end of the First World War, she leaves London to become the nurse maid to the Kendle family in Devon.

  On arrival she finds the family in disarray. Captain Kendle is a loving father but is traumatised by the war and kept at arm’s length by his frosty wife. When their elderly Nanny suffers a bad fall, Jessie has to try to bring the household together. Gradually Jessie finds her place in their lives, becoming devoted to Captain Kendle's lively son Jack, his lovely, but quiet daughter Catherine, as well his invalid Mother.

  Jessie soon starts to love her life at Kendlebury Hall, but problems arise when her feelings for her employer start to change...

  Contents

  Cover

  Welcome Page

  About Jessie’s Promise

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Afterword

  About Rosie Clarke

  About the Workshop Girls Series

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Hearing the wind howling outside and the patter of rain against the small windowpanes Jessie shivered, trying not to think about what was coming. She’d been warned and now she was just going to have to take what was coming to her. She lifted her head proudly, looking straight at the woman sitting behind the imposing desk, determined to give no sign of the distress she was feeling.

  ‘I’m extremely sorry, Nurse Hale,’ Matron said, peering over the small gold rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was a small woman, thin and wiry, but carried all the weight of her authority. ‘However, I have been instructed to tell you that your services are no longer required by the board of St Joseph’s. You will be given a month’s severance pay and leave immediately.’

  ‘But that’s so unfair,’ Jessie said, a hint of anger in her normally soft brown eyes. The large, unflattering cap she wore over her reddish-brown hair made her features less attractive than they truly were, especially when her mouth was set in a stubborn line as now. ‘If anyone has to leave it ought to be him. I’ve done nothing wrong, Matron.’

  ‘I quite agree with you,’ Matron replied and made a steeple of her hands as she considered her reply. It was unfair that Jessie should be asked to leave, she thought, but Doctor Acrington had refused to continue working at St Joseph’s if the nurse was not dismissed. If it came to a choice between a senior doctor and an impertinent young woman, who had dared to complain of what the doctor had insisted was merely a silly misunderstanding, then the board was on the side of the man they both needed and admired.

  Matron paused before speaking again. This dismissal of one of her best nurses was against her own instincts but she must obey her instructions from the board. She did not look at Jessie as she continued: ‘Had you agreed to apologise to Doctor Acrington I might have been able to simply move you to another part of the hospital and let the whole thing blow over, but since you refused…’

  ‘Why should I apologise?’ Jessie demanded, indignant now. ‘I saw him with his hand on Nurse Rose’s breast and I heard her ask him to let her pass, to stop bothering her. I heard his reply, and it was disgusting language. Besides, it isn’t the first time this has happened. All the young nurses hate it when he’s on night duty. They know he can’t be trusted to keep his hands to himself.’

  Matron was unable to meet Jessie’s clear gaze because she knew that every word the girl had said was true. Acrington was a pest, but he had good family connections and donations had come the charity’s way because of his association with the hospital. Besides, Acrington was a respectable man and had been decorated for bravery on the Somme – so it was unlikely the board would take the word of a girl from London’s East End against his. ‘

  ‘Unfortunately Nurse Rose has refused to corroborate your story,’ Matron said. ‘She says that it was just an accident; the doctor bumped against her and she was just surprised, not upset.’

  ‘That’s because she’s frightened of losing her job.’

  Matron drew a sharp breath. The girl’s defiance was beginning to annoy her. It was time to make an end of this nonsense.

  ‘You came to us from the VADs after the end of the war and I know you have been at the front. You are a good nurse, but mistaken in your attitude towards this silly affair. As I said previously I regret this incident but I can do nothing more for you here. However, I have written an excellent reference for you. I believe you should be able to find another post quite easily.’

  The angry protest died unspoken on Jessie’s lips and she turned to leave. So that was that then, she thought, leaving Matron’s office with the reference in her pocket and Matron’s good wishes echoing hollowly in her ears. She had always known this could happen when she made her complaint. It was the way of things, as her aunt had warned her.

  ‘You can’t win against them,’ Aunt Elizabeth had told Jessie over their supper of cocoa and home-made seed cake only a few days earlier. ‘Believe me, the establishment have it all sewn up between them. Keep your mouth shut and make sure you’re not the one he catches off guard, that’s my advice to you.’

  Jessie had laughed. ‘Oh, he doesn’t bother with me. He likes them young. Besides, I’m too plain for Doctor Acrington – thank goodness!’

  ‘I’ve never thought you plain,’ her aunt had said considering her seriously. ‘You used to look attractive when you bothered, Jess. You’ve lovely hair if you didn’t scrape it back like that.’

  ‘I’m twenty-six, plain, and any interest I had in looking nice ended a long time ago,’ Jessie had replied. ‘I’m a good nurse and as long as I look clean and tidy that’s all that matters.’

  ‘I know you loved Robert,’ her aunt had said and there had been sadness in her eyes as she’d looked across the scrubbed pine table at Jessie. She had witnessed her niece’s grief, listened to her sobbing in the night long after it was over. ‘But a lot of girls lost the men they loved out there, Jess. It doesn’t mean you have to stop living too, love. Robbie wouldn’t have wanted that for you, you know he wouldn’t.’

  Jessie had known her aunt meant well but she didn’t understand the way it had been between her and Robert Greening. It wasn’t just a case of her fancying the good-looking young soldier; it had been the real thing. Aunt Elizabeth wouldn’t know about that kind of love. She’d married to escape the slums she’d been born in, settling for an older man with a nice little business. Harold Pottersby had died after six years of marriage, which for him had been happy enough – his wife was a good cook and a kind woman – leaving Elizabeth with a worthwhile sum in the bank as well as the house and bakery.

  ‘Don’t you ever miss Harold?’ Jessie had asked suddenly as she’d sipped her hot drink. ‘You’ve never thought of marrying again, have you, Auntie?’

  ‘One man was good enough for me,’ Elizabeth had replied and then she’d laughed, realising she’d fallen into the trap. ‘But you’re still young, Jessie love. I was much older than you are when I married. You shouldn’t shut out the world. You could marry Archie Thistle tomorrow if you wanted – and then you wouldn’t have to work
at all.’

  ‘Oh, Auntie!’ Jessie cried and pulled a face. ‘Archie is a dear but fifty if he is a day. You know I would never think of marrying him. Besides, I don’t want to marry anyone. I’m quite happy being a nurse.’

  ‘That bookshop of his must be worth a tidy sum,’ her aunt had speculated shrewdly, unwilling to leave the subject of a man she considered highly suitable to be her niece’s husband. ‘It’s a prime site on that corner and if they ever develop this area he could sell that property for a fortune.’

  Now, collecting her possessions from her locker in the nurses’ rest area, Jessie recalled her thoughts to the present and frowned as she wondered what she was going to do next. Nursing had seemed the obvious thing after Robert was killed in Belgium. It was only her dedication to the patients that had kept her going after she’d received the telegram telling her that her darling Robbie was dead. He’d been just one of thousands killed out there, falling into the mud of the trenches but brought back to a field hospital, just like the one where Jessie had been nursing that day. He had probably been crying for her as the soldiers she’d helped to tend every day cried for their loved ones when the pain and fear became too much for them to bear.

  It was the fact that she hadn’t been with him when he’d needed her that hurt so much. She hadn’t been able to comfort him or kiss him, or tell him that she loved him. Because of a mix up she hadn’t even known he was wounded until it was too late. And it was that knowledge that still woke her with tears on her cheeks night after night even though he’d been dead for three years and the war over two. She wasn’t sure that the hurting would ever stop. If only she could have been there, just to hold his hand, to tell him she loved him.

  ‘Jessie – could I talk to you for a moment, please? I wanted to apologise.’

  A girl’s hesitant voice broke into Jessie’s thoughts. She frowned as she saw Mary Rose, the girl she had saved from an unpleasant mauling by the arrogant Doctor Acrington.

  ‘What for?’ Jessie asked, her tone harsher than she’d intended because her thoughts were elsewhere, too painful to be shared. ‘If you’d spoken out they would have given you the push too.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Nurse Rose bit her pretty bottom lip to stop it from trembling. She was fragile in appearance but tougher underneath than she looked, Jessie suspected. ‘I shall have to leave anyway as soon as I can find something, because Acrington will make me pay for this if I stop here. He won’t like what happened, even though they took his side and not yours.’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Jessie agreed. ‘I thought that with St Joseph’s being a charity hospital and run by the church they would listen to my story and support me, but I couldn’t win against someone like him; he has too much influence. My aunt told me what would happen and she was right. Sorry I’ve made it awkward for you, Mary. I should have kept my mouth shut.’

  ‘You did the right thing, but I was too scared to support you. I was told I would never work again as a nurse if I did – and nursing means a lot to me.’

  ‘It meant a lot to me too.’ Though she tried Jessie couldn’t quite keep the resentment out of her voice.

  ‘I know. I really am sorry.’ Nurse Rose took a scrap of paper from her uniform pocket and offered it to Jessie. ‘I’m not sure if this is of any use to you. I was told about this job and I went to see her – Mrs Kendle – but it’s not here in London; it’s in Devon. I had an interview and she seems nice enough but I couldn’t go all that way. Ma’s an invalid. She can’t get about much, and depends on me to shop and clean for her when I can manage it.’

  Jessie glanced at the scrap of paper. It was an advertisement from the Lady’s monthly magazine and was offering a post to a young woman with some nursing training to look after an invalid woman and help care for two children.

  ‘But this isn’t proper nursing,’ she said puzzled. ‘You wouldn’t think of taking a job like this?’

  ‘I might. At least I might if it had been in London,’ Nurse Rose said. ‘I’ve had enough of being told off by Sister and fumbled by bleedin’ doctors that ought to know better. Excuse my language!’ Her cheeks were flushed and defiant. ‘What I really want to do is nurse sick children. I’m hoping to find a job with one of the big hospitals where I can specialise – and I shan’t do that if I get thrown out of here.’

  ‘No…’ Jessie wondered uneasily if she might find it difficult to get the sort of job she wanted after being sacked from St Joseph’s. ‘Well, thanks for this. I have to get home. Good luck for the future.’

  ‘Good luck, Jessie – and I’m sorry I got you the push.’

  ‘Not your fault. I dare say I shall get by.’

  Emerging into the cool night air, Jessie pulled her short nursing cape up around her throat. Autumn had started early this year and the nip in the air warned of winter just around the corner. She shivered and it wasn’t just the chill wind that was making her feel cold. She hadn’t thought that being asked to leave St Joseph’s would seriously affect her chances of finding another job. After all, she had done nothing wrong, merely reported a doctor for making sexual advances towards a young nurse who hadn’t welcomed them. Everyone, including Matron, was aware that she had been telling the truth, but somehow it was Jessie who was out of a job. Yet she had a good reference from Matron in her pocket. Surely that should count for something.

  Jessie noticed the match seller as she approached the queue for the tram that would take her most of the way to her aunt’s home. He was an old soldier, she was sure, and pity stirred deep inside her. He had given everything for king and country, including his health if that dreadful cough was anything to go by, but what had his country given him in return? Nothing; not even a decent job, or he wouldn’t be standing here on a cold evening. So why should she have expected any better?

  Jessie approached him, dropping half a crown into his tray and taking one tiny matchbox in return.

  ‘Gawd bless you, luv,’ he said and grinned at her. ‘Not sure I’ve got enough change fer yer. Trade ain’t that brisk ternight.’

  ‘I don’t want any change,’ Jessie said. ‘I reckon we owe you that, Tommy, and a lot more.’

  ‘Pity there ain’t a few more like you, luv,’ he called after her as she walked away. ‘Bleedin’ government’s forgot we’re alive.’

  Jessie had to run to catch her tram. She shoved the matches deep into her skirt pocket as she took out the money for her fare. She wouldn’t be able to do things like that very often if she couldn’t find herself a job pretty sharpish.

  At least she wasn’t desperate for the moment. Aunt Elizabeth had taken her in after her much-loved mother had died of diphtheria. There had been a lot of that kind of infectious disease about in the dirty little back streets around Bermondsey where Jessie had grown up, and that year it had been particularly bad. Jessie’s neighbour had taken it first and Ma had nursed her. Then it had been her turn to go down with the dreaded infection and the doctor said it was hopeless from the start. Ma had taken it bad and she wasn’t strong, too much work and worry after being left a widow with a small child to rear.

  ‘Your mother was always the soft one,’ her aunt said when she’d fetched the twelve-year-old Jessie to the house off Kensington High Street. It was a good address to have, Jessie had found when she’d applied to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment – even if it was in one of the less posh areas of the borough. The VADs, as she’d come to call it, had come into being with the aid of the Red Cross and the Order of St John, and was set up to ease the situation of over-worked military hospitals ‘If Nell had looked after herself instead of others you wouldn’t be here with me. Not that I mind, Jessie. I’ve no children of my own and I can do with a bit of company now my Harold has gone.’

  Aunt Elizabeth wasn’t one to fuss over things and she didn’t tell jokes or sing the way Ma had done when she was happy, but her house was clean, comfortable and warm, and there was always enough to eat. They hadn’t gone short during the war because Elizabeth Pottersby had her head
screwed on the right way and had managed to scrounge extra food on the black market. Jessie had known she was lucky to be given a good home, because she might have gone to the orphanage if her aunt hadn’t been so quick to claim her. She missed Ma; she would have given anything to be back in the slum house with damp coming through the walls and often only an empty, aching belly to take to bed, if only her lovely, gentle Ma had been there to laugh and kiss her goodnight. Yet she had accepted that her aunt was right: life had to move on, tears got you nothing.

  Gazing out of the tram window, Jessie looked at the lights in the expensive shops they passed. At least things were beginning to get back to normal now that the war was over. There were more goods to buy for those who had the money and not so many queues for everything, but remembering the match seller she felt sad. How many more were there like him, and how long would it be before the government got round to solving the problem? Unions were making ominous grumbling noises these days, but it was going to take more than that to make the kind of changes that were needed in the poorest parts of the city.

  What must it be like to live like the other half did? Jessie wondered as she saw people arriving at a theatre dressed in smart clothes and looking as if they’d never known what it was like to go without their supper. But maybe she was just feeling this way because she hadn’t liked being given the push over that rotten business with Doctor Acrington. She was feeling sorry for herself and there was no sense in that!

  ‘You pick yourself up and start over when you’ve had a knock,’ Aunt Elizabeth had always maintained, and that was what Jessie intended to do now. She’d lost her job because she’d spoken out honestly but she was a trained nurse and it ought to be easy enough to get another job. At least she had a home to go to and a few pounds in her pocket. She was better off than a good many.

  *

  Jessie took the pins from her hair, letting it tumble onto her shoulders with a sigh of relief that the day was finally over. She looked at herself in the mirror on the dressing table; the glass was a bit dull and the frame ugly dark mahogany, but she could see that her hair shone with health.