‘What about the peace talks?’ Amy asked him.
He shrugged. ‘They’re not making much progress. It’s almost impossible to find a deal to satisfy both sides. The stakes are too high.’
Cook brought her some vegetable soup.
‘I expect you got my letter,’ Amy said to her mother-in-law, who had greeted her formally. ‘I do hope you don’t mind that I’ve arranged to go to my parents for Christmas lunch. This year will be so sad for them without Bertie, and I miss him dreadfully too, of course. It’s right for me to be with them.’ She took a welcome spoonful of the hot broth.
‘Very well,’ Mrs Derwent said.
‘I’ve arranged to go there too,’ Edmond told them. Amy was glad but suspected her mother-in-law had resented the arrangement. She looked the same as she had done in the summer, generally unsmiling, going round with an air of resignation.
‘Edmond has to return so soon afterwards,’ Mr Derwent said. ‘We’re holding our dance on Boxing Day this year, so he can be there.’
Cook cleared Amy’s plate and brought her a portion of pie with vegetables, all rather dried up. Edmond passed her the cruet.
‘I hope you’ll forgive me for not attending the dance this year,’ Amy said. ‘It wouldn’t be right while I’m mourning my brother.’
‘I believe I should be there, at least for a while,’ Edmond said, looking relaxed out of uniform. ‘There are a lot of people I haven’t seen for over a year.’
‘There won’t be so many guests this year, thanks to the war,’ his father said.
‘Food is so expensive now that it’s hard to provide the kind of spread we used to serve,’ Mrs Derwent complained.
Amy was weary from her journey and ate little of her dessert. She was thankful when she could say goodnight to the family and go upstairs with Edmond.
Soon they were in each other’s arms. ‘At last we’re here, together, in our own room,’ he said.
It was the very first time they were spending a night together there.
* * *
Amy awoke in the thin daylight of Christmas morning. Edmond was already awake, lying with his arm round her, smiling. ‘I love it when I wake up and you’re beside me,’ he told her. ‘And I love it even more when I know we’ll still be together tomorrow.’
The fire was flickering cheerfully in the grate. Someone must have lit it again that morning, either Edmond or Janet, the maid. She looked around the room. On the table beside the window there was a vase of holly, unmistakably arranged by Beatrice. The carved wooden cabinet stood against the wall.
‘Don’t you think that cabinet is lovely, the one that Peter brought us from India,’ Amy remarked. She had left it empty so that Edmond could decide its use; he was seeing it for the first time this leave.
He got out of bed and crossed the room. ‘It’s ideal for our records,’ Edmond said, opening it to reveal them carefully positioned inside. ‘I’ve arranged them there – what do you think?’
She went across to see. ‘Thank you, darling, it’s perfect for them.’ He had arranged them in composer order, so his and hers mingled together now.
She got up and put on her lavender wool dress, suitable for mourning. After breakfast, she and Edmond walked together into Larchbury to the church, leaving plenty of space for the others in the car. The church was less abundantly decorated than in previous years. As she went up the aisle towards the Derwent pew, she stopped to greet her parents and nod to Florence, standing wanly nearby.
She and Edmond took their seats. The memory of Bertie’s memorial service in the church just a few months before made this morning particularly hard to bear. There were other bereaved families there and now, with conscription, the whole congregation must be war-weary. Uncle Arthur led the service, recalling Christ’s birth, but there was a good deal of emphasis on prayers for a speedy conclusion to the war.
Afterwards, she said a few words to Uncle Arthur and James, who told them he expected to be sent to France soon in his capacity as medical orderly.
She and Edmond joined her parents and went back to Sebastopol Terrace. As they went in, she could smell the goose cooking. Christmas would never be the same without Bertie, but her parents seemed to gain some comfort from having her and Edmond there. She went into the familiar kitchen and began to help her mother with the vegetables.
* * *
After lunch, they lingered as Mother played the piano and sang some of the old familiar songs they had enjoyed on previous Christmases, only avoiding the exuberant ones. Occasionally they all fell silent. The armchair nearest the window was the one where Bertie used to sit, and now it was empty. Amy tried to imagine him, somewhere in the hereafter, watching them as though part of their gathering.
‘I’ve got the music for one of those new songs,’ Mother said. She began playing ‘Roses of Picardy’, and Amy and Edmond joined in.
They had arranged that he would return to The Beeches mid-afternoon, while she called on Florence.
‘Shall I send the car for you in an hour or two?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t mind walking.’ The day was cold but it was not actually snowing.
Florence smiled as Amy arrived, but she could not maintain her happy expression for long, and Amy thought she had lost weight. After a few more moments she collected herself and asked about Amy’s experiences in the hospital. She was also curious about how she and Edmond contrived to meet.
Mrs Clifford brought them refreshments, but as Florence poured their tea, Amy found her subdued.
‘I’ll never get over losing Bertie,’ she admitted.
‘Neither will I,’ Amy said, but she at least had Edmond to cheer her.
‘It’s fortunate I have my vocation,’ Florence said. ‘And I’m still doing war work, making comforts for the troops, in the school holidays. Even your mother-in-law and Beatrice have joined our group.’
‘Beatrice? Doing war work? Is she any use?’
‘Perhaps not so much as the others,’ Florence said.
Amy struggled to imagine her rolling up her sleeves and preparing packages for the men at the Front.
‘In time perhaps you’ll find another young man,’ she said to Florence presently. ‘I’m sure Bertie would want you to be happy.’
‘I can’t imagine finding anyone else. And they say our generation will be short of marriage partners. Lavinia and I were talking about it, last time she came on leave. She and I are probably destined to remain single.’
‘Who knows what the future will bring?’ Amy said, realising her own good fortune. She tried never to contemplate the possibility of losing Edmond.
The clock chimed three. ‘It’ll begin to get dark soon,’ Florence said. ‘If you’re determined to walk back, you’d better leave soon.’
They hugged each other before she left.
* * *
Edmond had not meant to spend Christmas afternoon talking seriously with his father and brother, but there was so little time before he had to return to France. He knew that the following day they would be absorbed with the dance, and that some of the guests were to arrive earlier in the day.
‘I need to be sure Amy will be well cared for if I don’t return,’ he said to them as they sat smoking in his father’s study. They could hear Beatrice playing the piano and singing for her mother in the drawing room across the passage.
‘Don’t talk like that, Son.’
‘I have to, in these times.’ He was reluctant to ask favours of his relatives. ‘It’s not just Amy. Suppose she had a child? Ma and Beatrice have been slow to accept her into the family and I can’t face the future with any kind of confidence unless I know that my wife will be secure.’ He had never spoken to them so solemnly before.
‘I’ve always respected Amy,’ his father said without hesitation, lighting up another cigar. The small room was becoming smoky.
‘She’s an admirable young woman doing valuable war work,’ Peter said. Edmond could see he had engaged his attention.
&nb
sp; ‘Your mother is coming round to accepting her, and Bea will eventually,’ his father said. ‘I promise you she’ll always be part of the family, she and any children.’
‘The same goes for me,’ Peter assured him.
‘Thank you.’ His spirit was eased a little.
‘I’m proud of your bravery in fighting for your country,’ his father said.
* * *
Next day Vicky arrived mid-morning, looking more grown up than she had when she had been their bridesmaid. Charles rode over on his horse, for he was on leave. How pleased Edmond was to see him. While the women were chatting, the young men went out for a ride. Wanderer shared a stable with horses they had once used for their carriage. They had kept the two young, strong carriage horses to join the teams they used for working on their forestry land. Edmond climbed eagerly into the saddle of the aged chestnut.
The day was overcast and the overnight frost barely showed any sign of melting. He and Charles began exchanging accounts of some of the action they had seen in France. It was so much easier for Edmond to talk of these experiences alone with his friend than in front of his family.
‘Do you have cases of shell shock in your battalion?’ Charles asked.
‘Yes – I’ve seen it. I try to encourage the men to control their fears.’
‘I struggle sometimes when I lead them out into danger,’ Charles said. ‘I share their fears but have to try to conceal it.’
‘Me too.’
‘One of our men went to pieces last week,’ Charles went on. ‘He’s awaiting court-martial now.’
Edmond shuddered. If a soldier had refused to advance he could be sentenced to death for cowardice and shot at dawn.
They returned from their ride a little comforted by the opportunity to unburden themselves of their disturbing memories.
* * *
At luncheon there was a cheerful atmosphere. Beatrice was sitting next to Charles, talking a little superficially of her admiration for the men who went to fight. For many months now she had been starved of young men to entertain her.
‘I’m doing war work now,’ she was telling Charles proudly. ‘I join the others in the village hall to knit gloves for them.’
Edmond found it hard to imagine her helping. He supposed she and Ma might feel obliged to set an example by joining the war effort.
Ma had contrived to produce a fine array of food. Mrs Johnson, who still worked one day a week for the Fletchers, was helping to serve. Amy greeted her and asked after her numerous family. Beatrice stared at her for being so friendly to a domestic.
Anticipation rose as the evening approached, but Edmond was sad to leave Amy to her own devices in her room while he put on evening dress and went to join the party. Were it not for Peter and Charles and a couple of other old school friends who had managed to get leave he would have skipped the evening entertainment to be with Amy.
Compared with previous years, there were a lot of absentees. He circulated to greet the local families. As they moved into the large dining room to eat, a pianist was playing popular tunes for background music.
‘She’s going to play for the dancing as well,’ Beatrice told him as guests began to return to the ballroom. ‘They’ve called up two members of our usual quartet. It’s so vexing.’
‘I shan’t stay for the dancing,’ Edmond told her.
‘Oh – I wish you’d stay and dance with me,’ Vicky said, skipping along beside him in a new white gown.
‘Very well; you and I will join in the first dance.’
His parents launched the first waltz and Edmond seized the hand of his pretty cousin to twirl her happily round the room. Charles was soon dancing with Beatrice, seeming captivated with her.
The music came to an end. ‘I suppose you must go now,’ Vicky said. ‘Will you take Amy some supper?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m just going to prepare a tray for her.’ She followed him back into the other room and helped him select portions of the tastiest dishes.
‘What about some wine?’ she asked.
He approached Chambers and secured a bottle which was half full and a pair of glasses.
‘Thanks for helping me choose, Vicky. Now off you go, back to the ball.’
He was glad he had introduced her to a decent young officer friend who could be relied upon to give her a dance or two.
He hurried upstairs to their room. Amy got up to greet him from where she had been sitting in a chair beside the flickering fire.
‘Darling! Is the ball going well? It’s sweet of you to come and join me.’
He encouraged her to eat and drink. They could hear the piano music from downstairs.
‘If only you didn’t have to return tomorrow.’
He put his arm around her: how precious she was to him. ‘Listen, Amy, if I get killed in France…’
‘No! Don’t talk of such a thing!’ Her blue eyes were large and pleading.
‘I have to. It happens. I don’t know why our generation is so unfortunate but we have to face the possibility. Listen, I wouldn’t want you to spend your life mourning. I'd want you to find another young man and be happy.’
‘I simply can’t imagine being with anyone but you.’
‘Well, in case it ever comes about, remember that’s what I want for you.’
She held him, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘One day all this will be over,’ she told him firmly. ‘We’ll have our own little house and we’ll be together, day after day.’
Chapter Seventeen
Larchbury, December 1916 and France, January to April 1917
The day after the dance Amy went to the station with Edmond’s family to see him off on the first stage of his journey back to France. She tried to hide her anxiety for him, and they talked of arranging a meeting as soon as possible. The train arrived and they enjoyed a final lingering embrace before she had to let him board.
She walked back to The Beeches with Peter, allowing his parents and Beatrice to travel in the car. ‘At least you spent Christmas with him,’ Peter said.
She realised she had been trudging along the chilly streets silently, wrapped in her own thoughts. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I suppose I’m fortunate. And we’ll get the chance to meet in France.’
The loss of Bertie still weighed heavily, partly from the absence of his merry presence, but also because it reminded her of the fragility of life in these days when the fabric of normality was lacking. Even Edmond, usually so cheerful and optimistic, was recognising the dangers he faced and urging her to find some future for herself in the event of his death.
Amy passed a few more days at The Beeches. Edmond’s family, her own parents and Florence all seemed regularly to sink into dejection. Peter was smoking and drinking more than usual, but encouraged her in her attempts at forced cheerfulness. At least she knew her nursing skills would be put to worthwhile use in France.
Before the new year, she was back at the hospital near Arras. There were few casualties because the Front had gone quiet. Now the wards were half empty, she noticed the fancy plasterwork on the coving, a relic of grander days.
There was frost on the ground every morning and sometimes it did not melt all day. By the second week there were heavy snowstorms. The nurses wore extra woollies beneath their uniforms and went to bed early in the evenings to keep warm.
‘They’re billeting Edmond and some of the others in houses in the nearest town,’ she told Emily when she got a letter from him. ‘You can imagine how cold it must be in the trenches.’ But at least they were not fighting.
Then she received another letter. I can only manage a day’s leave at the end of the month, Edmond had written. It would be another rushed rendezvous.
One day, as she ventured outside the hospital at lunchtime she saw a motorbike being ridden through the gate, though it was not Edmond’s. She gasped at the sight of a figure in a skirt riding the bike. The bike came to a halt nearby and a tall woman alighted, rearranging her skirt which had been folded up ro
und her legs.
‘Lavinia!’ she gasped.
Her friend smiled. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘Isn’t it dangerous, riding through snow and ice?’
‘It’s a little milder today, though I needed to be careful. It’s just wonderful to have the freedom to go out when I’m off duty.’ She took a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and offered one to Amy, who declined. More women were smoking now, but the habit did not appeal to her. Lavinia lit a cigarette and drew on it.
A senior nurse who was passing stared in their direction.
‘Has Matron said anything?’
‘Not much. I suspect if any other VAD had started riding a motorbike they’d have been in trouble, but my father is influential here, and I’m hoping it will help other women do the same.’
Amy followed her as she wheeled her vehicle over to the area where ambulances and a few cars were lined up.
‘I’m determined that now we’re part of the war effort we suffer fewer restrictions,’ Lavinia said, drawing on her cigarette again. ‘It’s all part of our struggle. So many women are helping now. Our former parlour maid works in a munitions factory.’ She grinned at Amy. ‘You should get a motorbike!’
For a moment she considered the idea, but she could not afford it, even if she found the courage to ride one. Should she think of getting a bicycle, at least, in the summer?
‘We must go out for a meal in the village when it gets warmer,’ Lavinia said.
Next day, it began snowing again and two days later another letter came from Edmond. He was reluctantly calling off their meeting. With the weather so poor he dared not travel, for a sudden storm might leave him stranded.
One cloudy lunchtime when Amy and Emily went off duty, a small group of convalescent Germans were waiting outside for transport. She had heard they were to be transferred to a prisoner of war camp. A British lieutenant and handful of soldiers were standing guard.
As the women approached, a German with a roguish expression, despite an arm in a sling, bent to the ground and scooped up a ball of snow, rolling it against his leg with his good hand and compressing the snow. Then he flung it at one of the guards. It splattered against his coat. There was a moment of silence. Amy watched nervously as the lieutenant and the victim pointed their rifles towards the insubordinate prisoner.
Until We Meet Again Page 18