Dilly Court - The Swan Maid

‘Do you think you’ll be leaving for the Crimea very soon? They’re talking about nothing else in the taproom.’

‘I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think it will be long.’ He dropped the spoon into the empty bowl. ‘There, are you satisfied now? It’s all gone.’

‘I’m not your mother, Gideon,’ she said, laughing. ‘But I will be sorry to see you go.’

‘Will you?’ His smile faded and he reached out to clasp her hand. ‘I wish I could say that we’ll meet again, Lottie, but I’m afraid this really is goodbye.’

She was struck by a sudden and almost overwhelming desire to cry. She had known him for only a few days, but it seemed that he had become a part of her life, and now he was about to leave and she would never see him again.

‘You’ll be back, Gideon,’ she said, forcing herself to sound more cheerful than she was feeling. ‘You’ll return covered in glory.’

‘Will you be waiting for me?’ He dropped his hand to his side and his expression was bleak. ‘I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I couldn’t ask that of anyone, least of all you. I’ll be going into battle, even if we’re just digging saps or laying wires for the telegraph. The chances are I won’t return.’

Acting on impulse, Lottie flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You will survive, Gideon. I know you will.’ She backed away, blushing. ‘I just wanted to wish you good luck.’

Gideon’s cheeks flamed and his eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘I’ll take that kiss with me to the Crimea, and if I get downhearted I’ll remember how it felt to be embraced by the beautiful girl who saved my life.’

Lottie was momentarily lost for words, but the door burst open and May erupted into the room. ‘You’re wanted in the kitchen, Lottie. Mrs Filby’s been looking for you and she ain’t best pleased.’ She gave Gideon a cursory glance. ‘There don’t seem to be much wrong with you, mister. Anyway, there’s someone waiting for you in the stable yard. He says he’s come to take you to Chatham, and he’s in a tearing hurry, so you’d better not keep him waiting.’

Gideon grabbed his cap and rammed it on his head, wincing as it touched the tender part of his scalp. ‘I’ll be off then. Take care of yourself, Lottie.’

‘You, too.’ Lottie turned away, and began stripping the bed. Her first instinct had been to rush out onto the balcony and wave to Gideon, but May was already suspicious, and she was a terrible gossip.

‘Give me a hand, May,’ she said casually. ‘I’d better get the room ready for the next occupant.’

‘He’s sweet on you.’ May pursed her lips. ‘I bet you’ll miss him something chronic. You’ve spent every spare moment up here.’

‘He was sick. I looked after him as best I could. That’s all.’

‘Maybe you think you’re a touch above us chambermaids now. Perhaps you should sign up with Miss Nightingale and her nurses. You’d have lots of injured soldiers to look after then.’

Lottie recognised the signs of jealousy. May could be very mean when she thought someone was getting preferential treatment. ‘Maybe I will. It would be better than slaving all day, and sometimes all night, in this place.’

Lottie stood outside the Institute for the Care of Sick Gentlewomen in Upper Harley Street, trying to pluck up courage to knock on the door. She had dressed in her Sunday best, which she realised now was sadly lacking in style, and was shabby compared to the attire of the well-dressed ladies who frequented this part of London. She had walked from Gresham Street and the hem of her skirt was caked with dirt and bits of straw, but there was little she could do about that now. Taking a deep breath she knocked on the door, but she was seized by a moment of panic when she heard approaching footsteps and the turn of the key in the lock.

The door was opened by a parlourmaid wearing a neat black dress with a spotless white cap and apron. She looked Lottie up and down. ‘The tradesmen’s entrance is round the back, miss.’

‘I came to see Miss Nightingale,’ Lottie said boldly. ‘I understand she is interviewing nurses to travel with her to the Crimea.’

‘Miss Nightingale is at the Middlesex Hospital at present. She’s nursing cholera victims from the East End. You might catch her there, although I doubt if she’ll have time to see you.’

Lottie opened her mouth to speak, but the door was slammed in her face. She stood for a few moments, shocked by her reception, but not really surprised. She had not expected it to be easy, and she had not told anyone at The Swan where she was going. They would think her quite insane, and perhaps she was, but helping Gideon back to health and strength had given her a new purpose in life. It seemed quite natural to want to follow the young man who had made such an impression on her, and to be of service where it was desperately needed. She was now even more determined to see Miss Nightingale. She was familiar with the Middlesex Hospital, having been taken there with a suspected broken arm when she was much younger. It had turned out to be a bad sprain, needing no further treatment, but the grand building had made an indelible impression upon her. She set off for Mortimer Street.

It was a hot day and the stench from the Thames hung in a pall over the city. The river was said to be little more than an open sewer, and as London suffocated in the sweltering heat of August, the outbreak of cholera in Soho had caused many people to flee for safety. Lottie covered her nose and mouth with her hanky and quickened her pace.

The hospital waiting area was crowded, and the desk clerk was overworked and impatient. Despite Lottie’s entreaties, she was told that Miss Nightingale was too busy to see anyone, and the wards were closed to visitors, but Lottie was not prepared to give up easily. Her one day off a month was too precious to waste in a futile exercise, and she decided to wait. She did not have a plan in mind, but she had not come this far to give in at the first setback, or even the second.

She took a seat at the end of a row where she had a good view of the comings and goings. She was hot and thirsty, and as the hours went by her stomach cramped with hunger pains, but she had set her mind on having a word with the illustrious lady, although whether she would be able to pick her out amongst the nurses who flitted around like so many pale moths, was another matter. Somehow, Lottie was convinced that she would know Miss Nightingale the moment she saw her.

It was getting late. Even so, the seats in the waiting room were crowded with victims of accidents and muggings, and anxious mothers holding small children who were limp with fever. She knew she ought to be getting back to Gresham Street, and yet she was reluctant to give up. Then, she saw her. The slight woman, pale-faced with exhaustion, walked with her head held high, looking neither to her left nor her right.

Lottie leaped to her feet. ‘Miss Nightingale. It is you, isn’t it?’

‘If you’re unwell you must wait your turn. I’m off duty.’ The voice was cultured, but the tone was clipped and impatient.

‘No, I’m not ill.’ Lottie hurried after her. ‘Please could you spare me a moment of your time? I’ve waited here all day for a chance to speak to you.’

Florence stopped just short of the street door. She turned slowly, her face a pale oval in the light of a gas lamp. ‘What do you want of me?’

‘I’d dearly love to accompany you to the Crimea, Miss Nightingale.’

‘Are you a trained nurse?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you.’ Florence was about to leave the building, but Lottie caught her by the sleeve.

‘Please give me a chance.’