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.’
Florence fixed Lottie with a piercing gaze, from which there was no escape. ‘You’re very young. How old are you?’
‘I’m twenty, Miss Nightingale. I’ll be twenty-one in January.’
‘I don’t consider anyone under twenty-three. If you want to be a nurse, you must train in a hospital here, at home. Now, allow me to go on my way.’
‘Is this person bothering you, Miss Nightingale?’ A uniformed porter hurried up to them, glaring at Lottie.
‘No, she was just making enquiries.’ Florence’s stern expression lightened into what was almost a smile. ‘What is your name, young lady?’
‘Charlotte Lane, ma’am.’
‘Good luck, Charlotte.’ Florence nodded to the porter and he held the door open for her.
Lottie watched spellbound as the small figure climbed into a waiting carriage.
‘You was lucky,’ the porter said tersely. ‘She could have had you thrown out.’
‘Yes, but she turned me down. I just wanted to do something useful.’
‘Go home, miss. It’s getting late and a young person like yourself shouldn’t be roaming the streets unaccompanied.’
Lottie was about to tell him she was quite capable of looking after herself, when she heard footsteps approaching. She turned to see Lieutenant Gillingham striding towards them.
‘It’s Lottie, isn’t it?’ He came to a halt beside her. ‘I thought I recognised you.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She bobbed a curtsey, out of habit rather than necessity. Even this far from the inn she had a sneaking feeling that Mrs Filby might be hiding around the next corner, watching her.
‘What are you doing here on your own?’
The porter cleared his throat noisily. ‘I told her it was late for a young lady to be wandering the streets, sir.’
‘Yes, thank you. I know this lady and I’ll see her safely home.’
The porter muttered something as he stalked off to deal with a drunk who was swearing and threatening to punch a young doctor.
A sudden thought occurred to Lottie and she shivered. ‘It’s not Private Ellis, is it, sir? He hasn’t taken a turn for the worse?’
Gillingham smiled and shook his head. ‘As far as I know, Ellis is already back on duty and doing well. I was visiting a patient: my old nanny, God bless her. She’s very frail, but determined to make a full recovery, and she’s the only family I have left now.’ He proffered his arm. ‘Anyway, you must allow me to escort you home.’
‘I can find my own way back to Gresham Street, thank you all the same,’ Lottie said with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘I dare say you could, but I am headed that way, and we could share a cab.’
‘You’re going to The Swan?’
‘My colonel’s lady is arriving on the mail coach from Bath, and I’ve been detailed to meet her, which is why I took the opportunity to visit the hospital. I’ve booked two rooms for us at The Swan and we will travel on to Chatham in the morning.’
‘Oh, well, in that case, thank you.’ Lottie had been prepared to walk, but it was a hot night and there was a sense of unrest in the humid, foul-smelling air. A ride home would be more than welcome.
Gillingham ushered her outside onto the forecourt where a cab had just dropped off a fare. ‘The Swan with Two Necks, Gresham Street, cabby.’ He handed Lottie into the vehicle and climbed in after her. ‘Were you visiting someone in the hospital? It’s not the best place to be during a cholera epidemic.’
‘I