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the ward doors, sobbing and wailing and leaving sticky, smudged fingerprints on the glass.
    Mrs Patterson was one of Sister Wren’s least-favourite patients. And the feeling was mutual; she had overheard the patient telling her husband that the ward sister was ‘a right snotty cow’.
    Sister Wren stormed over to them.
    ‘Doyle, I thought I told you to clean the bathrooms?’
    She was used to students snapping to attention the moment she spoke to them. But Doyle faced her with an almost insolent calm.
    ‘I finished them an hour ago, Sister. I’ve done everything on the work list you gave me.’ She had a rough way of speaking that made Sister Wren wince. Common girls like Doyle shouldn’t be allowed to train as nurses, in her opinion. Only respectable, well brought up women like herself should ever be considered for a career in such a caring profession.
    ‘Then why didn’t you ask for more work?’
    ‘I did, Sister. But Staff Nurse Cuthbert told me I could go for dinner when you came back. I should have gone an hour ago.’
    Sister Wren’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you complaining, Doyle?’
    ‘No, Sister.’ Her freckled face was bland, her muddy green eyes giving nothing away. But there was something about the way she faced Sister Wren that made her think Doyle wasn’t nearly as afraid of her as she should have been.
    ‘It’s my fault, Sister,’ Mrs Patterson interrupted. ‘I’ve been feeling a bit down, what with being away from the kids, so I asked Nurse Doyle for a bit of company. I hope I haven’t got her into trouble?’ She looked anxiously from one to the other.
    Sister Wren ignored her, her gaze fixed on Dora.
    ‘Are you sure you don’t have any complaints about the way I run my ward? Because I’m sure Matron would be happy to discuss them with you.’
    Do it, Sister Wren urged her silently. Answer me back if you dare. All she needed was one word, a sideways look, and she could send Doyle straight to Matron.
    She looked like the type who could fly off the handle, with that square obstinate jaw and fiery red hair of hers. Common, uneducated types like her were notoriously bad at keeping their temper in check.
    But somehow she managed it. ‘No, Sister,’ she said.
    Sister Wren would have liked to try and provoke her further, but they were distracted by the arrival of the new patient. Sister Wren busied herself supervising the porter and making sure the woman, whose name was Mrs Venables, was made comfortable. At least she seemed a cut above their usual rabble of patients, Sister Wren thought. She was well spoken, and her suitcase was made from good-quality leather.
    ‘Shall I have Ennis wash her and get her ready?’ Staff Nurse Cuthbert asked.
    Sister Wren considered the matter for a moment. ‘No, have Doyle do it,’ she said finally.
    Cuthbert frowned in confusion. ‘But Doyle is the only one who hasn’t been for dinner yet. If she doesn’t go soon, she’ll miss it—’
    ‘Who is running this ward, you or me?’ Sister Wren interrupted her.
    ‘You are, of course, but—’
    ‘And I say Doyle has to prepare Mrs Venables. If she misses her dinner, then so be it. A good nurse should put her patients before everything,’ Sister Wren said piously.
    ‘Yes, Sister.’ Cuthbert bobbed her head in agreement and went off to deliver the bad news to Doyle. She looked so grim, Sister Wren observed, anyone would think she was the one who was faced with the prospect of missing her dinner.
    Mrs Venables was a very nice lady, and extremely apologetic when she found out she was keeping Dora from her dinner.
    ‘Oh, that’s no good at all, is it?’ she tutted. ‘It’s such a shame. Why couldn’t one of the other nurses do this?’
    Because Sister doesn’t have it in for the other nurses like she does for me, Dora thought. But as moaning to patients simply wasn’t done, she smiled and said, ‘I really don’t mind. Now let’s get you into your nightdress, shall we? Then you’ll be all ready to