Ann’s neighbour, Mrs Wilson, leaned forward listening eagerly.
‘Never!’ she was saying. ‘Go on, what else does it say?’
‘It says you’ll soon be coming into money,’ Mary Ann Lovell intoned gravely, drawing Mrs Penning’s palm closer to her face.
‘Ooh, did you hear that? Coming into money, eh? Maybe you’ll come up on the football pools.’
‘If my husband don’t get his hands on it and spend it all before I get home!’ Mrs Penning said gloomily.
Millie glanced around the ward. Amy Hollins and Sheila Walsh had sneaked off to the kitchen for a gossip, while Sister and Staff Nurse Crockett were tending to a patient behind some screens at the far end of the ward. All hell would break loose if they found patients wandering about.
‘What are you doing? Get back into bed at once.’ Millie tried to give her voice the right note of stern authority. None of the women took any notice of her. ‘You’ll catch a chill,’ she tried again. ‘And you know Sister doesn’t like you out of bed.’
‘Oh, never mind Sister. She’s not here, is she?’ said Mrs Penning carelessly over her shoulder.
‘Have you had your palm read yet, Nurse?’ Mrs Wilson asked, turning to her.
Millie caught Mary Ann’s challenging gaze. She looked every inch a gypsy, her grey-streaked hair framing a weatherbeaten face.
She held out her hand. ‘How about it, my wench?’ she invited.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Go on, where’s the harm?’ Her voice was as low as a man’s, throaty from too many cigarettes.
‘She’s right,’ Mrs Wilson said. ‘It’s only a laugh. Gawd knows we could do with it in this place!’
Mary Ann trapped Millie in her gaze. ‘You never know, I might have good news for you,’ she rasped. ‘Here, let me look—’
‘What on earth is going on here?’
Millie froze at the sound of Sister Everett’s footsteps advancing briskly towards them.
‘Why are these women out of bed, Benedict?’ she demanded. ‘Did you give them permission to wander around the ward?’
‘No, Sister.’ Millie studied the polished toes of her shoes.
‘I’m surprised at you,’ Sister Everett scolded. ‘I turn my back for five minutes, and you allow my ward to descend into chaos. Explain yourself, Nurse!’
‘I – I—’
‘It wasn’t her fault, Sister,’ Mrs Penning broke in. ‘I wanted to get my palm read, that’s all.’
‘Not this nonsense again?’ Sister Everett turned to Mary Ann. ‘Does this look like a fairground? Do you see any gypsy caravans? Any sideshows?’
‘No, but—’
‘No, this is a hospital ward, full of sick patients. And I’ll thank you to treat it as such. I will not have you reading palms or consulting tea leaves or gazing into crystal balls, or whatever other mumbo-jumbo nonsense it is you carry out. Is that quite clear?’
She and Mary Ann glared at each other for a moment.
‘Ain’t my fault if they want my dukkering,’ the gypsy mumbled, her expression truculent. ‘I got the gift, see.’
‘Well, I’d rather you didn’t use it on my ward.’ Sister turned to Millie. ‘Get Mrs Penning back into bed at once. And then you can go and give Mrs Allen her liniment.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Mary Ann said carelessly, examining her fingernails. ‘She’ll be dead before sunrise.’
There was a shocked silence, broken only by the distant sound of a pro rattling bedpans about in the sluice.
Sister Everett recovered her composure first. ‘What utter codswallop! This has gone too far. It’s bad enough that you persist in this silly fortune-telling, but to upset my patients . . .’
‘I know what I know,’ Mary Ann insisted stubbornly. ‘The fates don’t lie.’
‘I don’t know about the fates, but our consultant seems to think she is doing very well,’ Sister Everett retorted. ‘And I would put modern medicine over your hocus-pocus any day of the week.’ She turned to Millie. ‘Well? What are you standing there for? Stop gawping and go and fetch
‘Never!’ she was saying. ‘Go on, what else does it say?’
‘It says you’ll soon be coming into money,’ Mary Ann Lovell intoned gravely, drawing Mrs Penning’s palm closer to her face.
‘Ooh, did you hear that? Coming into money, eh? Maybe you’ll come up on the football pools.’
‘If my husband don’t get his hands on it and spend it all before I get home!’ Mrs Penning said gloomily.
Millie glanced around the ward. Amy Hollins and Sheila Walsh had sneaked off to the kitchen for a gossip, while Sister and Staff Nurse Crockett were tending to a patient behind some screens at the far end of the ward. All hell would break loose if they found patients wandering about.
‘What are you doing? Get back into bed at once.’ Millie tried to give her voice the right note of stern authority. None of the women took any notice of her. ‘You’ll catch a chill,’ she tried again. ‘And you know Sister doesn’t like you out of bed.’
‘Oh, never mind Sister. She’s not here, is she?’ said Mrs Penning carelessly over her shoulder.
‘Have you had your palm read yet, Nurse?’ Mrs Wilson asked, turning to her.
Millie caught Mary Ann’s challenging gaze. She looked every inch a gypsy, her grey-streaked hair framing a weatherbeaten face.
She held out her hand. ‘How about it, my wench?’ she invited.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Go on, where’s the harm?’ Her voice was as low as a man’s, throaty from too many cigarettes.
‘She’s right,’ Mrs Wilson said. ‘It’s only a laugh. Gawd knows we could do with it in this place!’
Mary Ann trapped Millie in her gaze. ‘You never know, I might have good news for you,’ she rasped. ‘Here, let me look—’
‘What on earth is going on here?’
Millie froze at the sound of Sister Everett’s footsteps advancing briskly towards them.
‘Why are these women out of bed, Benedict?’ she demanded. ‘Did you give them permission to wander around the ward?’
‘No, Sister.’ Millie studied the polished toes of her shoes.
‘I’m surprised at you,’ Sister Everett scolded. ‘I turn my back for five minutes, and you allow my ward to descend into chaos. Explain yourself, Nurse!’
‘I – I—’
‘It wasn’t her fault, Sister,’ Mrs Penning broke in. ‘I wanted to get my palm read, that’s all.’
‘Not this nonsense again?’ Sister Everett turned to Mary Ann. ‘Does this look like a fairground? Do you see any gypsy caravans? Any sideshows?’
‘No, but—’
‘No, this is a hospital ward, full of sick patients. And I’ll thank you to treat it as such. I will not have you reading palms or consulting tea leaves or gazing into crystal balls, or whatever other mumbo-jumbo nonsense it is you carry out. Is that quite clear?’
She and Mary Ann glared at each other for a moment.
‘Ain’t my fault if they want my dukkering,’ the gypsy mumbled, her expression truculent. ‘I got the gift, see.’
‘Well, I’d rather you didn’t use it on my ward.’ Sister turned to Millie. ‘Get Mrs Penning back into bed at once. And then you can go and give Mrs Allen her liniment.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Mary Ann said carelessly, examining her fingernails. ‘She’ll be dead before sunrise.’
There was a shocked silence, broken only by the distant sound of a pro rattling bedpans about in the sluice.
Sister Everett recovered her composure first. ‘What utter codswallop! This has gone too far. It’s bad enough that you persist in this silly fortune-telling, but to upset my patients . . .’
‘I know what I know,’ Mary Ann insisted stubbornly. ‘The fates don’t lie.’
‘I don’t know about the fates, but our consultant seems to think she is doing very well,’ Sister Everett retorted. ‘And I would put modern medicine over your hocus-pocus any day of the week.’ She turned to Millie. ‘Well? What are you standing there for? Stop gawping and go and fetch
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