The Lady and the Lamp Read online

  The lady with the lamp

  JANE SMITH

  Copyright © Jane Smith

  First published 2021

  Copyright remains the property of the authors and apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.

  All inquiries should be made to the publishers.

  Big Sky Publishing Pty Ltd

  PO Box 303, Newport, NSW 2106, Australia

  Phone:1300 364 611

  Fax:(61 2) 9918 2396

  Email:[email protected]

  Web:www.bigskypublishing.com.au

  Cover design and typesetting: Think Productions

  Printed by Jilin-GIGO International

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Creator: Smith, Jane Margaret, author.

  Title: The lady with the lamp / Jane Smith.

  ISBN: 9781922488220 (paperback).

  Series: Smith, Jane Margaret. Carly Mills, Pioneer Girl; bk 4.

  The lady with the lamp

  JANE SMITH

  Contents

  Chapter 1 Flying

  Chapter 2 Arrival

  Chapter 3 The Nightingales

  Chapter 4 The Burlington Hotel, 1853

  Chapter 5 Hyde Park

  Chapter 6 Tourists

  Chapter 7 Nurses

  Chapter 8 Adventure

  Chapter 9 The journey

  Chapter 10 The Vectis

  Chapter 11 The hospital

  Chapter 12 Work!

  Chapter 13 Just women

  Chapter 14 The clean-up

  Chapter 15 The diamond

  Chapter 16 Sick

  Chapter 17 The invalid

  Chapter 18 The graph

  Chapter 19 Together

  Historical note

  Q & A with Florence

  Famous quotes from Florence Nightingale

  About the Author

  ‘Look! Down there!’

  ‘What?’ Carly grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

  Beside her, Dora was pressing her freckled nose against the aeroplane window. ‘London!’ Dora squealed.

  ‘Ugghh,’ Simone grunted. ‘Keep it down, will you? You’re embarrassing.’

  Carly and Dora ignored her. Carly shifted in her seat and craned her neck to look through the tiny window. Dora leaned back to give her friend a better view. Carly gasped: there must be a million buildings down there!

  Carly and Dora watched with open mouths as the city’s dark, winding river, grey rooftops and spires came into closer view.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Carly said. ‘We’re actually here.’

  ‘Of course we are, you idiot,’ Simone scoffed. ‘What did you expect?’

  Carly knew it was best not to take any notice of Simone when she was grumpy, which was most of the time. Besides, she was too excited to be bothered about being called an idiot. She was just about to begin the biggest adventure of her life.

  She was hurtling through the sky in an aeroplane, bound for London. On her right, in the window seat, was her friend Dora, and on her left sat Simone, her ... well, what exactly was Simone? Her classmate? Her foe? Her friend?

  Carly stretched her legs and wiggled her toes. She was cramped from sitting upright all night in the narrow seat. She had left Brisbane more than twenty hours ago and was tired, stiff and smelly. Her eyes felt as if they had been sprinkled with salt, and her mouth was gluey. She was dying to stand up straight, clean her teeth and have a shower.

  Even more, she was dying to explore London!

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing at Heathrow in twenty minutes,’ a voice said over the sound system. ‘Please fasten your seatbelts, fold your trays and put the backs of your seats upright...’

  Dora gripped Carly’s arm and grinned. Dora’s red pigtails stood out in wild, frizzy bunches. Her cheeks were creased from sleeping against the airline blanket, and her breath smelled as if she had been eating roadkill, but Carly felt a rush of affection for her friend. To think that she would soon be sightseeing in London with her best friend ... and Simone.

  Simone didn’t look at all excited. In fact, her mouth was drooping and even her hair, which normally stood up in short, blonde spikes, was lying flat on her skull, as if standing up was too much effort.

  For the hundredth time, Carly decided she would try harder to be nice to Simone. After all, she and Dora were here only on Simone’s invitation. The problem was that Simone made it so very hard to be nice to her.

  Carly turned to her with the kindest smile she could muster. ‘Will your parents meet us at the airport?’ she asked.

  Simone drew in a deep breath and replied through clenched teeth. ‘I told you that already. No! They’ll send their staff. They’re far too important to waste time on a bunch of kids.’

  ‘Still,’ Dora said quickly, ‘they did invite us to stay. They wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t want to meet us.’

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Simone said with a snort. ‘They just invited you so they wouldn’t have to bother with me.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Carly said uncertainly.

  ‘You don’t know my parents,’ Simone muttered.

  Just then, Carly’s stomach rose up as the plane dropped steeply towards land. There was a clunk and a roar as it raced along the runway, and then Carly’s heart thumped while the plane slowed to a halt.

  Nothing else mattered. They had arrived.

  London!

  The excitement turned to impatience as the girls inched their way through the crowds and queues in the airport. With the help of a kind flight attendant, the girls showed their passports, shuffled through security gates, fetched their bags, and emerged into the vast and noisy Heathrow Airport.

  They huddled together, waiting. Dora pushed her red-rimmed glasses nervously up on her nose and wrinkled her brow. Simone was flicking through her phone, doing her best to look bored. Carly tried to ignore the sudden hollow feeling that had opened in her stomach. It was a mixture of homesickness, fear and loneliness. But also, not too far below the surface, there was a spark of joy.

  Simone looked up and groaned. ‘There she is,’ she said, pointing with her phone.

  Carly followed her gaze and saw a tall, thin woman in a smart grey business suit. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a bun, and a stiff smile was fixed across her lips. She was holding a sign that said: ‘Simone, Carly, Dora’.

  Seeing the girls, she bared her teeth more widely and clattered towards them on two-inch heels. ‘Simone, dear,’ the woman said. ‘Welcome to London.’

  ‘Hi, Bianca,’ Simone replied, stiffening while the woman planted air-kisses beside each of her ears. ‘These are my ... friends. Carly and Dora. Bianca.’

  Carly stepped back from Bianca’s awkward hug. She was confused. She was pretty sure Simone’s mother’s name wasn’t Bianca, and besides, this woman looked too young to be her mother. ‘You’re not Simone’s mum, then?’ she asked.

  Bianca gave a high, tinny laugh. ‘Heavens, no. I’m Simone’s father’s personal assistant. Her parents would have loved to meet you here, but sadly Mr Shaw wasn’t able to get away from work, and Mrs Shaw is at a very important charity afternoon tea.’

  ‘Told you so,’ Simone muttered.

  Bianca ignored her. ‘Right-o,’ she said with obviously fake enthusiasm. ‘Let’s get your bags onto a trolley and find a taxi to take us to your apartment.’

  The girls did as they were told. They fetched a trolley and piled it high with their bags. They followed Bianca’s clacking heels towards the exit, Simone trailing behind with a face like a thunderst
orm.

  Soon they were settled in the back of a big, black taxi. Carly felt a little thrill; she was really in London, in a car that looked as if it belonged in a scene from a movie!

  The thrill soon turned to boredom as they crawled through the city traffic. Carly, weary from the long flight, nodded off to sleep.

  The slam of a car door woke her. Her head snapped up and her eyes sprang open. ‘What’s going on?’ she mumbled.

  Dora handed her a tissue and whispered, ‘You’re drooling.’

  Carly blushed, wiped her mouth and looked around. The cab was parked outside a tall apartment building in a tree-lined street. It looked like a very posh neighbourhood, full of elegant old buildings. The taxi driver was tapping impatient fingers on his steering wheel. Bianca stood outside on the footpath, talking into her phone and pinching the bridge of her nose with her long, painted fingernails.

  Simone sat rigidly beside Carly, with a clenched jaw and a deep frown.

  ‘Where are we?’ Carly asked, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

  ‘We’re at Simone’s parents’ flat,’ Dora said, when it became clear that Simone wasn’t going to speak.

  ‘Why aren’t we getting out?’

  ‘Will you shut UP?’ Simone barked, turning to Carly with fierce eyes. Then she fumbled with the door handle, flung the door open, and spilled out onto the footpath.

  Bianca spun around, startled.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Dora muttered. ‘Well ... Simone’s mum’s on the phone to Bianca. Simone’s parents won’t be home tonight. They want Bianca to mind us instead.’

  ‘What?’ Carly was puzzled. ‘Why?’

  ‘They’ve got some social thing on,’ Dora said with a frown. ‘Some party. Simone’s upset and I don’t blame her. She hasn’t seen her parents for six months and they’d rather go to a party than see her.’

  Carly looked out the window. ‘Bianca doesn’t look thrilled about it either.’

  The two girls scrambled from the back seat out onto the footpath just in time to watch Simone tearing the phone from Bianca’s hand.

  ‘It’s Simone here.’ They heard her shout into the phone. ‘Your daughter. Remember me? Don’t even bother coming home at all because we won’t be HERE!’ She tossed the phone back to Bianca, who nearly fell off her high heels as she fumbled to catch it. Simone turned back to the taxi, reached into the back seat and pulled out the girls’ three overnight bags. She threw them onto the footpath and turned to Bianca with her hands on her hips. ‘Pay the taxi driver and have our suitcases taken inside,’ she ordered rudely. ‘My friends and I will go out and find something fun to do tonight.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ Bianca said with a snarl. ‘You can go into your flat. I’ll stay with you till your parents get home if necessary.’

  ‘Not necessary,’ Simone snapped, rummaging through her overnight bag.

  Carly and Dora stood with open mouths.

  ‘... um ...’ Dora began.

  ‘Well, come on then,’ Simone barked. ‘Get your shawls.’

  Carly and Dora exchanged worried glances. They knew exactly what Simone had in mind. The two friends had matching olden-day shawls with special powers. They had packed them in their overnight bags, just in case ...

  ‘A-ha!’ Simone cried, pulling a piece of lace from her bag. ‘Here it is!’

  ‘But Simone—’ Carly began, as Simone lifted the lace up to her neck. A flutter of excitement flipped around in Carly’s stomach. Simone’s lace had the same powers as the shawls. They all meant one thing: adventure. Or two things, Carly corrected herself. The other was: danger.

  ‘Are you coming or not?’ Simone growled at Carly and Dora.

  Dora dived into her overnight bag and dragged out a rumpled old shawl. It was rusty orange, faded with age and trimmed with lace. Dora’s gap-toothed grin was so wide that her eyes almost disappeared behind her glasses.

  ‘Olden-day London!’ she whispered to Carly. ‘What could be more fun?’

  Carly glanced at Bianca, who had turned her back and was babbling into her phone again.

  ‘While she’s not looking...’ Dora urged.

  ‘But—’ Carly hesitated. She hadn’t even seen modern-day London yet; she wasn’t ready for olden times. What if we end up in the middle of some horrible plague? Or an ancient war? What then?

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Simone shrugged. ‘I’ll see you ’round.’

  ‘Wait!’ Carly cried as Simone tied the lace around her neck. She thrust a hand into her bag and drew out her shawl.

  Dora grinned and nodded.

  Then the two girls flung the shawls around their shoulders and followed Simone into the unknown.

  ‘Good grief, what is that smell?’

  Carly opened her eyes and took a moment to focus.

  The buildings before her had not changed greatly. There were still rows of tall, grandlooking apartments in the tree-lined street, just as before. But everything else was different. The hum of traffic had vanished and been replaced by the clopping of horses’ hooves and the rattling of carriage wheels. On the footpaths, crowds of people ambled about: men in old-fashioned suits and top hats, and ladies in huge, bell-shaped skirts and bonnets.

  And the smell ... the smell!

  Carly looked at Dora, who was holding a gloved hand to her nose. ‘That smell!’ Dora repeated. ‘Carly, what is it?’

  ‘It’s poo,’ Carly replied. ‘Horse poo, and ... smoke ... and ... worse.’ She sniffed deeply and immediately regretted it – partly because the smell itself nearly knocked her out, and partly because it was painful to breathe deeply with a corset crushing her ribs. She looked down at herself and sighed. Here we go again, she thought.

  Carly was wearing a grey gown that wrapped in a tight band around her middle and then bulged like an upside-down cup to the ground. Her dress had long sleeves that flared out below the elbow, and beneath them another layer of white sleeves extended to her wrists. She put a hand to her head and felt a little piece of lacy cloth pinned to her hair. ‘How many layers do you think we’ve got on?’ she asked. She looked at Dora and giggled.

  Dora was dressed just like her, and she wore little wire-framed glasses upon her freckled nose. Simone was in gloomy black, with an expression to match.

  ‘I hate these old clothes,’ Simone grumbled.

  ‘Hey,’ Carly said, ‘this was your idea.’

  Just then a door in the building behind them burst open and a group of chattering people came out: two young women, followed by an older man and lady. One of the younger women was smiling and the other wore a frown.

  ‘Don’t be such a sourpuss, Flo,’ said the smiling woman.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ replied the frowner. ‘You know I hate parties.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ snapped the older woman, who Carly guessed was their mother. ‘You just need to try harder.’

  ‘I don’t see why I should,’ said the stubborn Flo. ‘They’re so pointless. How can I enjoy the luxury of a party when so many...’ She stopped when she saw Carly and her friends. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said, eyeing them curiously. ‘You look lost. Can I help you?’

  ‘Er, no,’ said Carly, feeling a little frightened of this fierce-looking young woman. ‘We’re... we’re—’

  ‘We’re visiting from the country,’ Dora interrupted. ‘And ... and we can’t find our hotel ...’

  ‘Oh dear,’ the stranger said, her frown deepening. ‘Where is your luggage?’

  ‘We ... we lost it,’ Simone said.

  ‘You poor dears.’ Flo smiled. The smile took ten years off her age and banished Carly’s fears.

  Feeling braver, Carly looked at her more closely. She was about thirty, Carly guessed, with dark hair that was parted in the centre and circled by a white, lacy cap. Her eyebrows arched steeply, pointing down to her nose and framing her intense gaze.

  ‘You must come with us,’ the woman said, in a voice warm but firm. ‘You must stay at our place.’

  ‘But Flo—’ the other you
ng woman protested.

  ‘But—’ Carly began at the same time.

  ‘I insist,’ Flo said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Dora, grinning.

  The dark-haired stranger turned her warm smile to Dora and held out her hand. ‘My name is Florence Nightingale.’

  Simone gasped. Florence glanced at her in surprise, and Simone turned her gasp into a cough.

  Florence Nightingale. Where have I heard that name? Carly wondered.

  ‘You must let me see to that cough,’ Florence said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Simone said quickly.

  She didn’t look fine. Her eyes were bulging and her face was a violent shade of purple that was obviously from some kind of excitement that Carly couldn’t understand.

  The young woman beside Florence rolled her eyes. ‘Do her a favour,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Let her nurse you. There’s nothing she likes better than fussing over sick people.’

  ‘This is my sister, Parthenope,’ Florence said coldly. She pronounced it Par-thenn-o-pee. ‘And these are my parents, Mr and Mrs Nightingale.’

  Carly introduced herself and her friends.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ the Nightingales said, one by one. They were very polite.

  ‘Oh look, here’s our carriage,’ said Florence, as a pair of horses pulling a shiny, black carriage with enormous wheels came to a halt on the road beside them.

  Mr Nightingale told the girls to climb up first. It wasn’t easy. When Carly lifted her foot to the step, it got caught on all the layers of petticoat under her skirt. Mr Nightingale grabbed her arm just in time to stop her from falling facedown into the gutter. Dora went next; she hoisted her skirt up to clear it away from her foot, and Carly heard Mrs Nightingale gasp in horror as Dora exposed her ankle. Apparently, ankles were indecent in the nineteenth century. Dora blushed and stumbled into the carriage. Simone climbed in next, and then the Nightingale family followed.