That night Hope lay in her little bed listening to the rain hammering down on the hospital roof, and she felt so happy sleep was impossible.

At long last the breeze through the window was cool and fresh, driving out the rank odours and stale air that had been trapped in her tiny room. Bennett's words had had the same effect on her too, for now she had a goal to work towards.

She would become a first-cla.s.s nurse, not because it was the only work on offer to her, but because she truly wanted to help the sick. So maybe she didn't like the way things were at St Peter's, but perhaps she could make them better if she really put her mind to it.

But it was Bennett who had made her heart sing. It wasn't just admiration she felt for him, it was love. When he'd held her in his arms to comfort her, she'd wanted to stay there for ever. His lips on her forehead had made her shiver with delight, she'd wanted to turn her lips to his and kiss him. Even the touch of his hand on hers had sent little tingles down her spine.

They'd taken a little walk on the Downs later, and Bennett had taken her over to the edge of the gorge to show her the abandoned works of a bridge to cross it. 'Isambard Kingdom Brunel won a compet.i.tion for his bridge design,' he said, touching the huge squat tower which was intended to hold the metal cables of the bridge. 'I've seen sketches of it, a beautiful, delicate wonder, but they got as far as building this tower and the one on the opposite side, then abandoned it in '43. But maybe it will be completed one day.'

Hope couldn't really imagine anyone wanting to walk across a bridge that was so high up. Just peering over the edge of the gorge at the Avon so far below made her feel dizzy. She had pointed out where she had stayed in the woods on the far side, and told him about the pond she found to bathe in and the food she cooked on her fire.

'I'd like to camp out,' Bennett grinned. 'I knew boys in Exeter who used to do it, but my mother would never let me go with them.'

'We could do it together one day,' Hope said without thinking, and suddenly realizing that ladies weren't supposed to make suggestions like that to gentlemen, she blushed with embarra.s.sment.

Bennett just laughed. 'I'll hold you to that,' he said. 'I can't think of anything better than sitting by a campfire with you.'

Hope closed her eyes and imagined Bennett lying with his arms around her in the tiny shelter she'd made in the woods. Just thinking about it gave her the strangest twinges inside, and made her all hot. Amy had once told her that was the way she felt about Matt when they first started walking out together. She said she used to count the hours till the next time she saw him, and she knew right away he was the man she wanted to marry.

But a doctor wouldn't marry a girl like her, would he? Even if Bennett wanted to, his uncle wouldn't like it. He'd want him to marry a girl from a good family, someone like one of those girls she'd seen in Royal York Crescent. Cook had always said that gentlemen liked to bed kitchenmaids, but they married their own kind.

She had never been able to understand why some girls let men bed them without being married. But this feeling she had inside her for Bennett explained it now. And he hadn't even kissed her yet!

It rained almost constantly for fifteen days. Dirt paths that had been baked hard became quagmires, weeds deprived of water all summer sprang up in walls, cracks in pavements, anywhere they could. The river level rose alarmingly. It was said that many low-lying areas of Somerset were under water, and just as people had grumbled about the lack of rain, now they complained because it wouldn't stop.

In St Peter's rainwater found its way in through holes in the roof. The lying-in ward was the worst; the ceiling looked like a sieve and many of the new mothers had gone home because however bad their own homes were, they weren't in danger of being drowned there. There was one leak in Hope's ceiling, but fortunately it just missed her bed and she caught the water in a bucket. But the evil smells everywhere in the city lessened as the rain washed the filth away, and gradually the reported cases of cholera dropped.

'S'pose me and Doll will 'ave to go back to t'other side,' Sal remarked gloomily on the first day not one new patient was brought in.

Hope didn't know what to say to that remark. Sal and Doll didn't deserve any sympathy as they certainly hadn't shown the sick any. But just the same Hope felt a bit sorry for them, for she'd seen the old folk over in the other part of the hospital. They spent all their time in a crowded dormitory with no comforts; they couldn't make themselves tea as they could here, they wouldn't get an allowance of drink either.

'You'll be all right though,' Sal continued, a touch of venom in her voice. 'You sucks up to Sister Martha an' the doc. Watch out they don't make you look after the lunatics! You won't like that. They eat their own s.h.i.t, p.i.s.s all over the place and the last girl they put in there got strangled.'

Hope decided to ignore Sal. While it was true that some of the mad people did truly disgusting things, and a nurse had indeed been strangled a year ago, Sister Martha had promised she wouldn't make Hope work there. Anyway, they still had fifteen patients to look after in the isolation ward, and at least half of them were going to recover, for they hadn't sunk into the final stage of the disease.

When Hope looked round the ward now, she felt quite proud that it was as clean as a very old building could be. Her rough, reddened hands testified to the amount of scrubbing she'd done and she'd even cleaned the windows so that natural light came in during the day. She fully intended to browbeat Sister Martha to get the walls and floor limewashed once the epidemic was over, and to insist proper beds were put in here.

Her victories so far were tiny ones. No new patient was ever put down on dirty straw now; they were fed tea, soup and more substantial food if they could manage it. They were washed regularly, received what medicine was available, and no one ever died alone when Hope was on duty.

But she was all too aware that this wasn't nearly enough. A hospital should be a place where people came in sick and left well again.

In the middle of November, Hope said her goodbyes to the last patient on the cholera ward.

'Just remember to take good care of yourself, Mrs Hubert,' she said warningly, reaching forward to wrap the small, white-faced woman's shawl more securely around her, for it was very cold outside. 'We don't want you back in here, do we?'

Mrs Hubert was one patient Hope had never expected to survive the disease. She'd had seven children, three of whom had contracted the disease too and died. She had clearly been malnourished and worn out before she became sick, and with an out-of-work husband, who hadn't even bothered to come and collect her from the hospital, she clearly didn't have a great deal to live for. But she had lived, and Sister Martha put it down to the care Hope had given her.

'I'd come back just to see you,' Mrs Hubert said, her eyes glistening with emotional tears. 'It was your doing that I'm well again.'

'Nonsense, you're a fighter,' Hope insisted. 'Now, remember what I said, don't try to do too much straight away. You are still frail.'

Sometimes Hope wished she didn't know what patients like Mrs Hubert were going home to. The poor woman still had the grief of losing three of her children to deal with, and with a husband who only came home when he had no money to buy drink, she'd get little comfort from him.

'I hope you marry the doctor,' Mrs Hubert said.

Hope was so stunned that her mouth gaped open. 'There's nothing between us,' she said quickly.

Mrs Hubert smiled, her thin, pale face softer now. 'There is, my dear. I can see it,' she said. 'Even Sal, before she left, said I was lucky he had eyes for you or he'd never bother to come and see people like me.'

'That's not true,' Hope said indignantly. 'Dr Meadows is probably the most caring doctor in the whole of Bristol. He wouldn't ignore any sick person.'

'Well, now you've proved to me you feel the same about him,' Mrs Hubert chuckled. 'There shouldn't be anything to stop you getting wed then? But I'll be on my way now. If you're ever up round my way, you make sure you come and see me!'

Hope stood alone in the cold, empty ward for some minutes after Mrs Hubert had left, her heart singing because of what she'd said. If a sick woman could pick up that Bennett cared for her, then it must be true.

She had been at the hospital for three months now, and she'd seen him almost every day, but although they talked and laughed together, he hadn't invited her to Harley Place again, and he certainly hadn't given her any reason to think he returned her love.

Not that she had anguished over it; she did love him, but the greater part of her brain had already resigned herself to the fact that his interest in her was nothing more than as his protegee and friend. She was content enough being just that, though she suspected she would be exceedingly jealous if he was to tell her he had a sweetheart.

Footsteps out in the corridor alerted her that someone was coming, and she took the broom from the corner of the room to sweep up the remaining bits of straw from the floor.

The door opened and in came Bennett with Sanders, the burly, red-faced man who did odd jobs around St Peter's.

'I've just brought Sanders to show him what needs doing in here,' Bennett said. He looked flushed, and there were bloodstains on his cloth coat, as if he'd just finished an operation. 'I've already told him about limewashing the whole room. Is there anything else, Nurse Renton?' He winked at her as he used the formal address, and Hope stifled a giggle.

'The mouse and rat holes need blocking up in the wainscoting. And the chimney will need sweeping,' she said. 'We'll need to light a fire when we have patients in here again. Oh, and the sink in the back needs unblocking, it takes an age for the water to drain away.'

Sanders looked around him, sucking in his cheeks as if the job was an exceedingly difficult one. Hope had never liked this officious and crafty man. She realized he was going to ask for a great deal more money than the job was worth.

'I took the liberty of asking someone I know to come and give us a price for the job,' Hope lied. 'He said he'd do it for two pounds ten shillings.'

Bennett looked at her in surprise.

'I knew it had to be done quickly,' she said with a shrug. 'And I know Mr Sanders is usually quite busy.'

'I'll do it for two guineas,' Sanders growled. 'Out of the goodness of my heart.'

'But can you start tomorrowand have it finished in two days?' Hope asked.

Sanders glanced from her to the doctor. He looked deflated; clearly he'd hoped not only to make a big profit on this job, but to do it in his own time. 'Two days ain't long nuff!' he exclaimed.

'The other man said it was,' Hope replied. 'And anyway, that's all the time we have, the new beds are coming then and if it isn't ready there will be now here to put them.'

'Then two days it will have to be,' he said, his tone sullen. 'Of course, there's them that wouldn't want to work in here after the cholera. But someone's got to make it usable again.'

'What a brave, good man you are,' Hope said sweetly. 'I'm sure you'll make a lovely job of it.'

Sanders left, and once the door had closed behind him Hope giggled.

'I'll wager he was planning on asking for five or six pounds,' she said.

'How lucky then that you had someone else lined up,' Bennett said. 'But how do you know men who do such work?'

'I don't,' she said. 'I made him up.'

Bennett roared with laughter. 'You little minx! Who taught you such tricks?'

'Gussie and Betsy, I suppose.' Hope grinned. 'They were great bargainers; they said you should never look too keen to buy anything, that way the price always comes down.'

'I'll remember that,' he said, still chuckling. He looked around the bare room, taking in the old splatters of blood, squashed insects, and other stains on the walls. 'How strange it looks now. It's difficult to believe that for the past three months it was the scene of so much pain and misery; it's so quiet and still now.'

'Let us pray we never see another epidemic like it,' she said, suddenly serious. It was appalling to think over two hundred had died in here, and a similar number in their own homes. 'But I didn't expect to see you today. I was just going to sweep up in here, and then go and ask Sister Martha where she wants me next.'

'You will have two days off before doing anything,' he said. 'And I rather hoped you might spend them with me?'

'With you?' she exclaimed in surprise.

'Is that so terrible a prospect?'

'No, of course not,' Hope laughed. 'But where did you plan to go?'

'Will you promise to come wherever it is?'

'I think I might,' she said. Excitement was bubbling up inside her, and though she wanted to pretend to be offhand, she was giving the game away by grinning from ear to ear. 'Unless of course you were planning sailing a raft down the Avon, or camping in the woods. November isn't a good month for such things.'

Bennett laughed. 'I can promise you it will be less chilly than that. Alice's sister lives in the village of Pill. I often go there with her for it is a peaceful, pretty place by the mouth of the Avon. I usually take long walks and leave her and her sister to chatter. Alice suggested that you should come with us this time.'

Hope's heart leapt. 'I'd love to,' she said.

'Then we'll come by in the carriage tomorrow morning at eight-thirty,' he smiled. 'The cottage is very small, but Alice will sleep with Violet and you will have the little room. I shall sleep on the couch. But be sure to bring warm clothes for there is often a raw wind coming off the Bristol Channel.'

Mrs Violet Charlsworth, Alice's sister, reminded Hope of an apple dumpling, short and fat but with a very sweet nature. Her husband had been the pilot of a tugboat that helped big ships up the river to the docks, but he had died of pneumonia three years earlier. Violet's tiny but cosy cottage reflected her husband's pa.s.sion for ships. Water-colours of them, ships in bottles, some bra.s.s and some carved from bone, a collection of old navigational instruments and a ship's bell decorated the walls. There were other exotic items too, brought from sailors back across the seas: frightening-looking African statues, fans, snuff boxes and daggers. Every one of them was carefully arranged and dusted.

The roaring fire was most welcome as it was very cold outside, and Violet's welcome had been equally warm. She said there was nothing she liked better than a houseful of guests.

Over tea and toasted buns, which she held out to the fire on a long toasting fork, she fired questions at Alice and Bennett, her bright blue eyes sparkling with delight at having company.

'So Hope is your young lady,' she said pointedly to Bennett. 'No wonder you haven't been down to see me in six months!'

Hope blushed furiously, and attempted to explain she was only a friend.

Violet just chuckled. 'He wouldn't bring you here unless he had plans for you, my dear,' she said and laughed so much her many chins wobbled.

'Mrs Charlsworth!' Bennett said reprovingly, but he didn't deny what she said and Hope sank back in the comfortable chair feeling extraordinarily happy.

The chair and the warmth of the room made her feel sleepy, and though she tried to fight it off as her three companions chattered, she lost the battle and must have nodded off for a while. Maybe it was the sound of her name being mentioned that brought her round, for suddenly she became aware they were talking about her.

'She's been carefully brought up, I knew that as soon as I sawher,' Alice said. 'She might have been wearing rags, but she wore them like a d.u.c.h.ess. And look at that face, will you! When did you ever see such beauty before?'

Hope knew she ought to show she was awake again, but as their conversation about her appeared to be so complimentary she couldn't resist hearing more.

'She's exhausted,' Bennett said, and his voice was as soft and tender as a caress. 'If you could see the way she works, no job too tough or dirty. She was born to nurse, and I can only think she dropped out of heaven at our greatest hour of need.'

'But what does Dr Cunningham think about your friendship?' Violet asked.

'He doesn't approve,' Bennett said sadly.

Suddenly Hope didn't want to hear any more. She stirred and made a pretend yawn. 'I'm so sorry, Mrs Charlsworth,' she said. 'How rude of me to fall asleep, it was the warmth of the fire and the comfortable chair.'

'We were glad to see you dozing,' Alice said. 'Bennett was just saying how hard you've been working at the hospital. I should think you're worn out.'

'I'm fine,' Hope said, feeling awkward and wishing she hadn't woken until they'd finished discussing her. 'Perhaps I need a walk to blow the cobwebs away.'

'There's a path beside the river which is always pleasant even on a cold day,' Bennett said. 'Would you like me to show you?'

'That's right, you two take a walk and work up an appet.i.te,' Violet said. 'I've got an oxtail stew simmering on the stove, but it won't be ready for a couple of hours.'

It felt very cold outside after the warm cottage and Hope pulled her cloak tighter. She had left the hospital full of confidence that morning, as she had a new red plaid wool dress that she'd bought in one of the second-hand dress shops in the Pithay, and a jaunty red hat trimmed with feathers. But her grey cloak was the same old one she'd left Briargate with, worn so thin now that the wind went straight through it. As they walked down through the tiny village with its straggle of small stone cottages, the cloak which had been made by Nell was a timely reminder that although Hope's circ.u.mstances had improved dramatically since she first met Bennett in Lamb Lane, some things would never change.

No one but Bennett thought much of nurses. Like soldiers and constables, they were considered the dregs of society, only valued in times of trouble.

Bennett talked animatedly as they walked. He had heard the Corporation were calling an emergency meeting to discuss health and sanitation in the city, and he hoped this might mean they would pull down places like Lewins Mead and build new houses with piped water and sewers.

'And I suppose that will mean that they'll throw all my old neighbours out on to the street,' Hope retorted. 'Will they ask anyone along to this meeting who actually knows and cares anything for those who will become homeless? I think not. It will be a meeting of only those who will profit from the new houses.'

Bennett looked surprised by the venom in her voice. 'I'm sure that won't be so,' he replied. 'What's got into you, Hope? I thought you'd be glad to hear that a place that harbours so much disease will be swept away.'

'Not if it means people will have to be swept away too,' she snapped. 'They should build new houses first, at rents those people can afford. If they don't, the problem will just shift to Bedminster, St Philips, Montpelier, or, heaven help your uncle, to Clifton! I bet he won't be overjoyed if tens of thousands of guttersnipes like me end up as his neighbours!'

'Why do you mention my uncle?' Bennett asked, facing her and taking hold of both her arms. He had that stern look he always wore when he was concerned. 'And why do you call yourself a guttersnipe?'

'That's how he sees me, doesn't he?' she said. 'He wouldn't like it if he knew you had brought me here, would he?'

'No, he wouldn't,' Bennett admitted. 'But he is not my keeper. I am my own person, I don't allow him to control me.'

'But you live in his house, and therefore you must be beholden to him.'

'To a certain extent, yes. But only as far as deferring to his greater experience in the practice he built up, and treating his home with respect. I do not allow him to choose my friends.'

'But you have to hide ones like me away. You couldn't invite me to Harley Place if he were there, could you?'

Bennett neither denied nor acknowledged that was true. He continued walking, saying nothing. Hope trotted after him, aware she'd already said too much, and not in a manner that would endear her to him.

When they got to the banks of the river, Bennett stopped, staring out at the water which was just a sluggish strip between vast swathes of greasy-looking mud. With the leaden sky above and the few trees growing along the riverside bare of leaves, looking skeletal and grim, the scene had none of the beauty it would have at high tide in sunshine.

'I haven't hidden you away,' he suddenly burst out. 'The epidemic was so bad there were no opportunities to do anything more than try to fight it. My first thought as the last cases either died or went home was about you, in particular your future and my feelings for you. That's exactly why I asked you to come here with me.'