‘You needed to wed her in a hurry, did you?’ sniggered one of the men.
‘This is no laughing matter,’ snapped the captain.
‘No!’ Edmond cried indignantly. ‘It wasn’t that kind of wedding. But we deserved a brief honeymoon before I set off back to war.’
He thought he caught a sympathetic glance from the other man.
‘You can’t just please yourself when you return,’ retorted the captain. ‘Aren’t you ashamed to set these privates such a bad example?’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
‘It’ll be the devil’s own job, finding you all transport back to your units, when you’re not arriving at the planned time.’ When put like that, he could see his action had been irresponsible.
He sat up straight, anxious to conceal his embarrassment as the train travelled through the suburbs, and then through fields and woodland. He closed his eyes and thought of Amy. It had been agonising to have to break the news that his leave had been curtailed, and tear himself away. As soon as possible he must write and tell her again how he regretted having to interrupt their honeymoon, though he knew she was thankful he had contrived to spend one blissful night with her.
The sea crossing took much longer than last time, for there was talk of fresh minefields and they had to make an extended journey with a pilot on board to guide them through the most dangerous areas. Then he and the other miscreants were left in a room at the harbour station while Captain Purbright tried to find trains to convey them in the right directions. Dusk was falling. An orderly brought them tea and some lopsided sandwiches.
At last he and one of the others were marched along the platform and on to a grimy local train, where they were placed in the charge of a superior officer. It chugged off slowly through the night, calling at minor stops on the way.
It was still dark when they alighted at a small station. He huddled into his greatcoat and sat down on an uncomfortable bench near some milk churns while further transport was arranged. When daylight came, they left the station. Outside, a horse and cart were waiting to take them on the next stage of their irregular journey. He stared curiously at the small stone houses of the town, and its impressive bell tower. They crossed a canal with a barge approaching slowly in the distance. Then the fields of Flanders began to look familiar.
By the time they had marched the last few miles along an uneven road he was ravenously hungry and another short day was drawing to its end. By now he must be well over twenty-four hours late.
He hurried along the trench, the rank smell of mud greeting his nostrils, and back to the dugout he had last inhabited a week earlier.
‘What kept you?’
‘Wouldn’t she let you go?’
There were cries of derision and ribaldry from the men drinking their tea. Frank Bentley greeted him calmly, clearly trying not to draw attention to his late arrival.
Something was different. Their quarters were stripped down to the essentials, and some of their equipment was packed in crates.
‘Are we moving on?’
‘Yes – we’re advancing further east.’
He supposed it was good news. Someone brought him a bowl of steaming stew and a mug of watery tea.
‘Just as well you weren’t any later,’ Frank said as they withdrew to their officers’ quarters. ‘We’re moving on tomorrow. There’s another offensive planned, if the weather holds out.’
Edmond slumped wearily on to his bed.
‘And Major Saunders said that if you made it back today he wants to see you first thing tomorrow morning.’ Frank looked at him ruefully. ‘You’re in a lot of trouble.’
‘All I wanted was to spend the night with my new wife!’
Frank smiled momentarily and then turned serious again. ‘Better not tell the major why the marriage didn’t take place last time. It might make a bad impression.’ Few men in the military had sympathy for Suffragettes.
* * *
Edmond stood to attention in front of the makeshift desk. Major Saunders did not take kindly to insubordination.
‘I should have you put on a charge,’ he said, glowering at him. He had large features and streaks of grey in his hair and moustache. He sounded as though he was suffering from a cold, likely enough now they were spending winter in the trenches. ‘If I thought you were a coward I would have you court-martialled. What have you to say for yourself? Don’t tell me your connecting train ran late. We’re not accepting that as an excuse – it’s your responsibility to allow sufficient time to reach the London terminus.’
There was no point in pretending he had not received the telegram. ‘I was getting married, Sir.’
For a moment there was a faint flicker of understanding, but the stern look soon returned.
‘You can’t allow your private life to interfere with your duty. I’ve been considering having you reduced to the ranks.’
Edmond gasped in horror at the prospect. What would Amy think? And how could his parents bear the disgrace?
He struggled to justify his actions in any way possible. ‘With respect, Sir, I set out for the station first thing in the morning, the day after we were married.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it, Derwent. But you can’t simply decide for yourself when you’re going to return.’
‘No, Sir. I very much regret the difficulties I’ve caused. I give you my word it won’t happen again.’
‘You’re damn right it won’t.’ The major rose to his feet. ‘Up till now you’ve been a valuable member of the unit, Derwent, good at keeping the men motivated. I wouldn’t want to lose you. I’m stopping all your leave for the next three months. And it’ll be another month before you get weekend leave. Don’t expect any home leave before next summer.’
With difficulty he suppressed his urge to protest at such severe punishment. ‘Very good, Sir.’ He saluted.
As he returned along the line of trenches to his quarters, his spirits sank at the injustice of it all. How could they expect him to rush off and leave his bride within a few hours of the ceremony? But now the punishment seemed even worse. Once more he was faced with not seeing Amy for months. How could he bear it?
* * *
Amy was sitting with her in-laws in the drawing room after dinner, with the deep blue velvet curtains drawn to shut out the chilly night. Beatrice was arranging sprigs of holly in several vases.
Amy had new nursing skills now, like preparing dressings and cleaning small wounds, and she had been taught a good deal about preventing infection. She was tired from her day’s work at the hospital but supposed she should offer to help Beatrice. She moved across to the table and began arranging shorter sprigs of holly in a smaller vase. She struggled to trim the ends. When she tried to position a sprig it was apt to fall in a different direction from the way she had planned.
She glanced across at her sister-in-law’s work. There in her vase was an elegant arrangement of holly, the red berries beautifully spaced. Beatrice paused thoughtfully and then positioned a slightly longer sprig right in the centre. Amy gasped. Beatrice’s arrangement was almost completely symmetrical.
‘How artistic you are!’ she cried. She herself had occasionally picked some of Mother’s marigolds or dahlias and arranged them in a vase, but without Beatrice’s skill.
‘I love to display them just so,’ she replied. ‘If you can trim any which have particularly long stalks, I’ll do the actual arranging. …Ouch!’ she said as she pricked her finger. She sucked it for a minute and then carried on.
For a moment Amy worked alongside her sister-in-law.
‘Remind me which day you’ve chosen for the party,’ Mr Derwent asked his wife from his armchair by the fireside.
‘I’m inviting guests for the thirtieth of December,’ she said. ‘Peter will be back from India by then.’
‘It’ll be wonderful to have him home,’ Beatrice said. ‘Too bad Edmond won’t be here.’ Her good humour dispelled and she glared at Amy, as though she still blamed her for his late return to
the Front.
‘I miss him dreadfully,’ Amy told her. She had expected they would punish him for his late return, but the extended loss of leave was harsh. The idea of him spending Christmas away in some distant trench made her wretched. ‘Even if they hadn’t stopped his leave it’s unlikely he’d have been allowed another week so soon,’ she said.
He had told her they had been fighting again, but the Front was relatively quiet now as the weather was poor. His reminders of their wedding night were tantalising. When would they ever find the chance to be together for more than a few hours?
He wrote regularly and she was adding to the pile of loving letters she had collected ever since he had joined up. She kept them wrapped in red ribbon in a drawer in their bedroom. His photograph smiled out at her from the top of the dressing table.
‘The party will be a quieter affair than last year,’ Mrs Derwent said. ‘For one thing, so many young men are away. For another, I’m struggling to manage without Mary.’
Their kitchen maid had given notice and left to work as a waitress at the inn. Mrs Derwent had immediately advertised for a replacement but it seemed other maids were leaving to fill vacancies once occupied by young men, and there was a shortage.
‘Janet tells me your room is cluttered,’ Mrs Derwent told Amy. ‘It’s difficult for her to clean.’
Janet had to help in the kitchen now as well as performing her usual duties, and Amy supposed it would be a disaster if she left too.
‘Edmond encouraged me to bring my belongings here,’ she explained. ‘Might I bring down some more of my gramophone records to place with your collection?’ So far she had only added the ones she thought might suit their tastes. ‘And the books on the table are Edmond’s, because he took them out of the shelves to make room for mine. May we have a bookcase, or more shelves, for them?’ Up till now she had not ventured to ask.
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Mr Derwent asked. ‘This is your home now.’
‘Of course you may have more shelves,’ his wife said, milder now she recognised her difficulties. ‘Bring down your records and I’ll see what can be done about the books.’
* * *
When the guests began to arrive for the party, Beatrice was sitting at the piano, playing ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’, singing the words charmingly. Her fingers moved lightly across the keys as she performed the romantic tune. She was a gifted pianist and could play classical pieces creditably. Her soprano voice was fine, too. Amy sometimes regarded her as indolent but she was coming to realise that Beatrice had ladylike accomplishments.
Peter had arrived a few days earlier. It was years since Amy had seen him. He was in his mid-twenties, tall and good-humoured. His face was narrower than Edmond’s and his hair a lighter brown, though it may have been bleached to some extent by the hot Indian sun. He had greeted her warmly, regretting that he had missed the wedding.
‘But I’ve brought a present for you and Edmond,’ he told her.
She had exclaimed with delight at the intricately carved wooden cabinet that he had brought back on the ship. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘We’re short of storage space, and this is so exotic and unusual.’
He had also brought his family a small table with a circular brass top, which they had placed in the drawing room.
Now, for the evening of the party, he stood with his parents greeting their guests. Amy went to stand with her in-laws, trying to blend in with the family, hesitant without Edmond there to boost her confidence.
‘And how is Edmond?’ asked Mr Leadbetter. He was around thirty, the new headmaster at the school where Amy’s father taught.
‘Fine, thank you. I understand the Front is still quiet.’
‘Did his late return cause problems for him?’ The question came from Mrs Leadbetter, a thin woman with her dark hair in a severe bun.
‘Only minor ones,’ she said, concerned the news of his disobedience had spread. Having his leave restricted was far from minor: it was disastrous for them. She had to force herself to be as discreet as possible about his being disciplined. Somehow Miss Miller or one of the other gossips had heard about it. Many local families now had a relative at the Front. Might such news might slip past the censor if a soldier mentioned it in a letter home? How many of the guests here had heard about it?
Then Amy’s parents arrived, with Bertie, who was on leave. She rushed forward to greet them. Whoever had related Edmond’s questionable behaviour, she could trust her brother’s loyalty.
‘How lovely you look in that gown,’ Mother said.
‘I remembered just in time that I was short of smart clothes and the dressmaker made me a new one.’
‘That dusky pink colour suits you.’
She loved the flattering dress in crêpe de chine; if only her husband was there to see it.
‘I got a letter from Edmond today,’ she told her family. ‘He wrote it on Christmas Day. He and some of his comrades had received food parcels from home and they boiled up the Christmas puddings in German helmets.’ Being apart was made just a little more bearable by learning that he had enjoyed some jollity on the day.
She had spent the day after Christmas with her parents, glad to see Bertie again. His unit was not especially near Edmond’s one and they had not seen each other. Bertie had been less talkative than usual and unwilling to describe his experiences at the Front, sometimes staring ahead as though recalling disturbing events. He seemed more appreciative than usual of his home, though he had soon gone out to visit the Clifford family.
‘Is Florence here?’ he asked Amy now.
‘Not yet, but she and her family are definitely coming.’
She stuck by Bertie’s side, determined to make the most of his leave. The butler, whose name was Chambers, she had discovered, brought round drinks.
Her father and brother were anxious to renew their acquaintance with Peter. ‘I suppose you’ll train as an officer,’ Father asked. Amy knew he had liked Peter when he had been his tutor, though he had found him less hardworking than Edmond.
‘Yes, I begin in the new year. Then I might take up an administrative post at the War Office,’ Peter said. ‘My work in India has prepared me for that kind of position.’ He was immaculately dressed, his hair and moustache finely trimmed.
‘If I were a few years younger I might think of joining up myself,’ said Mr Derwent, ‘but I suppose my work running the forestry business is valuable in its way.’
‘Certainly,’ her father agreed.
Amy knew that Mr Derwent hoped that in the future one of his sons might work with him managing their forest, to take over when he retired, but neither showed any inclination at present.
‘It’s too bad I missed attending Edmond’s wedding,’ Peter began telling Amy’s parents. ‘I was on my way in November. It seems strange, my younger brother having a wife already, but I’m sure Amy will fill the role very well.’ He smiled at her. He had admired the wedding photos, expressing surprise that Beatrice was not there. He had previously heard only the vaguest account of their wedding not taking place as planned in June. To explain why Vicky had stood in for Beatrice in November she had had to reveal all the details of the disaster on her first intended wedding day, though he did not seem to hold what happened against her.
‘This time last year we weren’t even engaged,’ she said, remembering the delight of their courtship.
Charles Shenwood joined Peter and the two of them were soon discussing the recent hunt on Boxing Day, the Monday, as Christmas Day had been a Saturday.
Beatrice joined them. ‘How fortunate you were granted Christmas leave,’ she told Charles, for it was not long since he had been Edmond’s best man. ‘How many more days do you have?’
‘I need to set off back the day after tomorrow,’ he told her.
Uncle Arthur and Aunt Sophie arrived with James and they renewed their acquaintance with Peter.
Then Florence arrived with her family. She was pretty in a fashionable gown with a
lacy bodice that extended below her sash and over the top of her skirt. Bertie rushed to greet her and her face dimpled with delight. When they moved into the next room for the buffet Amy was relieved Colonel Fairlawn and his son had not arrived. She stood with her mother, who was congratulating her hostess on the meal.
‘It’s been a trial managing this year,’ Mrs Derwent confided, her deep blue gown set off with a dainty platinum necklace. ‘I’m short of a maid.’ The Derwents were generally courteous to her parents, if a little reserved.
‘I wonder if I can help?’ Amy’s mother said. ‘My Mrs Johnson comes twice a week, but I don’t really need her so much now Amy has left and Bertie is away such a lot. I could spare her on one of her days if she might be useful to you. Her daughter Elsie is fourteen now and she’s looking for a place too.’
‘I suppose I might see if they can be of service,’ Mrs Derwent said.
‘Mrs Johnson is very capable.’
‘Thank you for recommending her.’ Edmond’s mother seemed reluctant to give work to their maid, probably doubting she would be suitable for a smarter household, but in her present plight she would consider her.
After the meal the dancing began and Bertie was soon enthusiastically partnering Florence. Sometimes talking or laughing, sometimes quiet, they seemed wrapped up in each other.
Vicky was there and had persuaded her aunt to let her enjoy the first hour of the ball.
‘I don’t remember ever meeting your parents,’ Amy said.
‘Mother has poor health,’ Vicky told her. ‘Father doesn’t much enjoy social events, so I’m very grateful when Auntie invites me here. The chauffeur drives me over.’
James invited the young girl to be his partner for a waltz. He was an awkward dancer but she seemed thrilled simply to be taking part.
Between dances, Bertie looked at James anxiously. ‘There’ll be conscription soon,’ he told Amy.
‘He’s still determined not to fight, isn’t he?’ she said. James would be eighteen in the summer. He looked very like Bertie around the eyes, but his face was broader, with a turned up nose. He seemed reluctant to talk to the fighting men present.
Until We Meet Again Page 12