‘Anna?’ His voice was a hoarse whisper.

‘Edward!’ Anna promptly forgot all Miss Sutton’s warnings about being gentle with him, and rushed into his arms. ‘Oh, Edward!’

He hissed with pain, and she pulled away. ‘I’m sorry, did I hurt you?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He held her at arms’ length. ‘Is it really you?’ he said. ‘Only I’ve had this dream so many times, and every time I wake up, you’re gone …’

‘It’s not a dream. I’m really here.’

‘So where am I?’ He looked around him, confused and disorientated.

‘The Nightingale Hospital, Bethnal Green.’

‘The Nightingale?’ His gaze flicked back to her. ‘I’m home, then?’

‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘Yes, you’re home.’

It was nothing short of a miracle that had brought him to her, she thought. Injured men were usually hospitalised as close to their homes as possible, but it was just as likely Edward could have ended up at one of the military hospitals on the coast, or out in a far-flung part of Essex.

And if it had been a day or two earlier, the wards would have been full and there would have been no room for him. It might have been weeks or months before she heard any news …

‘Thank God.’ He released her hand, and slid his fingers under his hospital gown, wincing as they found the dressing over his damaged skin. ‘Is it – very bad?’ he whispered.

‘You’re safe,’ Anna replied. ‘That’s all that matters.’

He managed the smallest of smiles. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s all that matters.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘I have considered your request, Nurse Moore, and the answer is no.’

Dulcie stared at Matron across her polished mahogany desk. She couldn’t look at her elaborate starched white headdress without thinking of a galleon in full sail.

‘But why, Matron? I don’t understand.’

Matron bristled, her mouth pursing in disapproval. Dulcie knew it wasn’t the done thing to question her judgement, but she couldn’t help herself.

Matron’s stiff grey uniform crackled as she pulled herself upright. ‘I have spoken to Sister and consulted the ward reports, and I do not believe you are cut out to work with the neurasthenia patients.’ Her eyes met Dulcie’s. ‘Quite frankly, Nurse, I am surprised you would even put yourself forward for such work.’

‘But I’m very interested in shell shock, Matron,’ Dulcie insisted.

‘Are you, Nurse? From what I’ve read in the ward reports, it seems to me you are hardly interested in the patients at all, shell shocked or otherwise.’

She opened the drawer on her left and drew out a heavy ledger, which she placed on the desk in front of her. Dulcie’s heart sank as she recognised the dreaded ward book, where the various ward sisters wrote all their comments about the nurses’ conduct and behaviour.

‘Let’s see, shall we?’ Matron opened the ledger and ran her finger down the page. ‘Ah, here we are. “Twenty-seventh of June, nineteen seventeen … Nurse Dulcie Moore left a patient unattended in the bathroom today. Sister has told her that she must not be so ready to make excuses for her mistakes.”’ She flicked over a few pages. ‘Or this one, from the seventh of July … “Sister found Nurse Dulcie Moore smoking in the sluice today, when she should have been with the patients outside. She has been warned.”’ She turned over more pages. ‘And here is one from the nineteenth of September. “Nurse Dulcie Moore requires keeping up to the mark, as she is inclined to get slack if left unsupervised …”’