Once she had assisted him at an operation, and now her mind was invaded by the memory of that patient’s ghastly raw wounds. But Mr Westholme had calmly stitched, staunching the bleeding and setting the young man on the road to recovery.
‘Very well, Nurse Derwent, you may have leave to go to him,’ Matron said. ‘I’ll give you twenty-four hours.’
‘Thank you so much.’
‘I’ll arrange transport for Mrs Derwent’s return,’ Mr Westholme said. ‘Amy, go and fetch a few overnight things but don’t be long, as I need to get back to Ypres.’
She got out of the chair as though in a dream. He must recover, she thought, tears coming to her eyes. I couldn’t bear to lose him.
Outside Matron’s room, Lavinia caught her in her arms. ‘Come on, Amy, let’s get your things ready.’ Lavinia took her by the hand and led her to her hut, where they filled a small bag with necessities.
‘Have you got a scarf?’ Lavinia asked. ‘You’ll probably be glad of it in the car to hold your hat on.’
‘I need some writing paper and envelopes,’ she realised suddenly. ‘I have to write to Edmond’s parents, and Peter at Headquarters.’
Scarcely aware of her surroundings, she let Lavinia lead her back to her father’s motor car in front of the hospital. Mr Westholme was waiting to drive off.
‘If there’s any trouble finding transport back I might offer to fetch you on my bike,’ Lavinia told her. She folded Amy in her arms again. ‘Seeing you will be exactly what Edmond needs,’ she said.
What if he’s dying? she thought. What if I’m too late?
Mr Westholme started the car.
‘How bad are his injuries?’ she pressed him as he slowed to go through the gate. ‘What chance does he have?’
He turned and looked at her, as though trying to decide how much to tell her.
‘Look, I’m a VAD. I’ve seen men come in with dreadful injuries. You can tell me what’s happened to him.’
‘The damage to the left lung was less severe but it was within two or three inches of his heart,’ he told her. ‘It just missed killing him outright. He was on the operating table for over an hour while we stitched up a blood vessel which needed attention, took out a large piece of shrapnel and dealt with the worst wounds to the right lung.’
‘Oh, heavens.’ She felt faint, thinking of the extent of his injuries.
He paused before turning out onto the road. ‘He’s been in good health up to now, I imagine.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then he may have enough strength to make a decent recovery.’
She had known all along he might be badly injured one day; she had dreaded it. ‘Please tell me he’ll pull through.’
‘I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can.’
He turned on to the road and the noise of the car’s engine made it almost impossible for them to talk. The wind rushed past her head, flipping the ends of her scarf around.
How can I bear it, now the worst has happened? she thought. But he’s still here. So long as he survives we can make a life together. If he’s handicapped, I’ll nurse him. We’ll manage just so long as he’s with me.
They headed north towards the distant sound of the artillery. The road was busy with traffic again and they were held up waiting to pass some slow-moving carts.
‘I’m expecting Edmond’s child,’ Amy confided. ‘He doesn’t even know yet.’ She had not told Lavinia. Only Emily had guessed so far.
‘You’re pregnant?’ He looked at her. ‘How many months along are you?’
‘About four.’
‘As much as that, and still working?’
‘I last saw Edmond at Easter. We hoped he’d get some leave this summer, and I meant to tell him then. I didn’t tell them at the hospital because I didn’t want to be sent home.’
He looked towards her, his eyes alert behind his glasses. ‘Listen, Amy, you can’t take chances like this. You need a check up to see that everything is all right with your pregnancy, and you must go back to England as soon as you’ve had the chance to see Edmond. If you don’t tell Matron, I will.’
‘I suppose I should do that.’
The delay was making her screw her hands with desperation. Was Edmond making progress? At last they were moving fast again.
‘Hold on tight, Amy,’ he told her. ‘I need to get back to Ypres quickly. There are bound to be fresh casualties to see. Sorry about the bumpy road.’
He got up speed and surged ahead now the road had less traffic. They passed a sign to Béthune and continued northwards. The noise of battle was closer now and the day was growing hot again. As they drove across a canal she remembered the time she and Edmond had looked across the countryside towards Belgium from Béthune belfry. We’re still quite a way from Ypres, she thought desperately.
After a while, there was a sign marking the border. After a few more miles, they began passing trees that had been reduced to stumps in some earlier battle. She stared about her at craters and houses reduced to piles of rubble. They were reaching the outskirts of Ypres.
‘This town has been fought over fiercely,’ he told her as they waited at a road junction. ‘The Germans seized it in 1914, then the British drove them out to the east. They fought over it again in 1915.’
She looked around at the scene of devastation.
‘It’s been under bombardment several times.’
Desolation was creeping into her soul; it was worse than at Arras. They were in Belgium now, where Madame Rousseau and the other refugees had come from. ‘Is it much further to the hospital?’ she asked.
* * *
At last, they drew up outside a substantial building. Casualties were being brought in from ambulances. Amy’s own hospital had seldom been so busy. Once inside the main entrance, Mr Westholme attracted the attention of a sister. ‘This is Mrs Derwent. How is Lieutenant Derwent this morning?’
‘He’s hanging on.’
‘I’ll look in on him when I’ve dealt with any critical admissions,’ he told them.
The sister looked at Amy’s VAD uniform with approval. ‘Your husband is a valued officer,’ she said. ‘We’ve had enquiries about his progress.’ She led Amy along a stuffy corridor towards the wards. This place looked like a normal hospital, rather than some other building hastily pressed into use.
They went into a ward that was more frantic with activity than any she had ever seen at her own hospital. There was the sickening smell of blood from fresh wounds. Medical staff were rushing from bed to bed and some casualties were still lying on stretchers on the floor awaiting a place.
‘Lieutenant Derwent is in a small room at the end,’ the sister said. Amy knew that a few smaller rooms were usually kept for critically ill patients. There was a hollow feeling in her stomach as she was forced to acknowledge that he fell into this category. How much was he suffering?
‘His breathing is a little better today,’ the sister went on.
Amy looked at the woman directly. ‘So what shape is he in?’ she demanded.
The sister seemed to form the opinion that as a VAD nurse she could be given more details. ‘They got the shrapnel out and the broken fragments of ribs.’
They went in and there he was, propped up with pillows. Amy was shocked at his pallor and the hurt and distress clear in his eyes, but he was still her darling Edmond.
He stared at her as though she were an apparition. ‘Is it really you?’
She rushed across, seized his hand and kissed his cheek. ‘I came as quickly as I could. Mr Westholme brought me in his car. How do you feel? It must be very painful.’
‘It hurts so much… when I breathe… but it’s not so bad… as when they brought me in.’
There were dark shadows under his eyes. He must have lost a good deal of blood to be so pale.
‘What day is it?’ he asked.
‘Friday. It was yesterday they brought you in.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Just after tw
o.’
‘It’s hard to tell.’ He groped for her hand and squeezed it. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you. Did you have a comfortable journey?’
‘It was fairly easy in the car. They’ve only given me twenty-four hours’ leave, though.’
‘I don’t know how— if— I’ll get better… if I’ll ever be fit again.’
‘Nothing matters so long as you recover. You mean everything to me.’
She leant across him and with her free hand she felt his forehead. He was a little hot, but not seriously feverish. She passed him the glass of water by his bed and helped him take a few gulps.
‘Edmond, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be a father! Isn’t that marvellous? Now there are two of us you need to get well for!’
‘A father? You’re expecting a baby?’ His blue eyes searched her face.
‘Yes! Those nights at Béthune – it must have happened then.’
His face relaxed into a contented smile. ‘That’s such wonderful news.’ Then he frowned. ‘Only, when I thought it might one day happen… I never imagined I’d be an invalid… Do you think I’ll ever be capable of work, after this?’ He stopped and for a minute, he gasped for breath.
‘We’ve always just wanted to be together. We’ll find a way to manage.’
‘Are you keeping well, darling?’
‘I get tired sometimes, that’s all.’
‘When will you be having the baby?’
‘Round about the new year, I think.’
‘Ever since Béthune you’ve been expecting… That’s quite a long time, isn’t it?’
‘At first I wasn’t sure, then I thought I’d tell you when you had leave – only you didn’t get any. And I kept quiet at the hospital because I didn’t want to be sent back home. But Mr Westholme knows about it now so they’ll send me to England very soon.’
‘Our own child…’ He was smiling again. He leant back on to the pillow and began to doze.
With those injuries my poor darling must be exhausted, she thought. She pulled down his blanket far enough to see the dressings extending over much of his chest, professionally applied, though the wound had seeped slightly. She pulled up the blanket again. His breathing was strained and not quite regular but she could hardly expect more.
A nurse looked in and came across to check Edmond’s pulse.
‘Do you know if anyone’s written to notify his parents?’ Amy asked her. ‘Or his brother, who’s with High Command?’
‘I’m not sure if Sister or one of the others contacted them this morning,’ she said. ‘As his wife you’re next of kin, and we knew Mr Westholme was going to tell you. We may not have had addresses for his other relatives.’
Amy took her writing paper from her bag and balanced it on her knee. Soon, there were brief letters for his parents and Peter, enough to tell them he had been injured and was making progress.
I can’t tell them he’ll definitely recover, she thought, a chill passing down her spine. I can’t be certain he’ll pull through.
The sister came in. ‘Why don’t you take a break while he’s sleeping?’ she said. ‘I’ll look in every few minutes. Go and get a drink. Did you have any lunch?’
‘No – we were in a hurry to get here.’
‘They’ll give you something to eat in the dining room.’ She told Amy where to find it. The baby ̶ he ̶ or she ̶ needs me to eat regular meals, she realised, and she tore herself away from Edmond’s side.
In the large ward they had got most of the casualties into beds now, she found, as she slipped through between the busy staff.
She went and made sure her letters would go in the post. She found the dining room, realising how thirsty and ravenous she was, though she was scarcely aware what she was eating.
* * *
She could not keep away for long. When she returned, Edmond was stirring and she sat with her arm round him, chatting.
‘Your photograph is still with me,’ he told her, pointing to it on the bedside table. It was slightly torn at one edge, she noticed. ‘It was in my pocket when I was hit… and I was afraid it might have been damaged… but it’s almost untouched by fragments from the shell.’ He paused for breath. ‘I made them put it on my left hand side… so I can reach it easily. I kept picking it up to look at this morning. I wanted to see you so much.’
Mr Westholme arrived with a nurse. He checked Edmond’s pulse while the nurse took his temperature. ‘You’ve made some progress,’ he told him. ‘Let’s take a look at the wound. Would you wait outside, Amy?’
‘I’m a VAD. I’m used to seeing wounds.’
He looked dubious. ‘At least stay sitting down,’ he said.
He pulled back the blanket while the nurse removed layers of bandage until there was only a large pad above the right lung. Amy winced at the dark violet bruising and lines of stitches already visible.
He released the edge of the pad at the opposite side to where she was sitting. ‘There’s inflammation, of course, but no sign of infection,’ he observed. ‘We won’t disturb the wound tonight. We’ll change the dressing tomorrow.’
Amy took Edmond’s hand again. ‘Darling, how dreadfully painful that must be!’
‘I can’t sleep for long without waking up.’
‘We give him a little morphia, of course.’
She knew it could be dangerous to administer too much.
The nurse was bandaging him again. ‘I’ll bring you a light supper soon,’ she said.
‘Now then, Amy,’ Mr Westholme said, ‘there’s a hostel for the nurses and I’ve arranged for you to have a room there tonight. From the hospital you just turn left, walk along for a couple of hundred yards, and go down the first turning on that side. It’s not far, but make sure you go while it’s still daylight. If you wait by the main entrance you’ll probably find another nurse heading that way.’
‘Thank you for arranging it – but I’d like to stay here with Edmond. I’ve only got till tomorrow morning.’
‘In your condition I insist you get some rest,’ he said. ‘Stay a little longer, then go to the hostel.’
‘Very well.’ The journey had been less comfortable than she had told Edmond and she felt tired.
‘I’ve got to perform an urgent operation shortly. I’ll send you a message when I’ve arranged some transport back for you. Lavinia had some idea of collecting you on her bike but that’s out of the question in your condition.’
After he had left, a nurse brought some tea and a bowl of mashed up food. Edmond struggled to try to sit up better and they helped prop him up with the pillows.
The nurse had a spoon to help him feed.
‘I can give him his meal,’ Amy said. The nurse seemed relieved to get back to her other duties while Amy patiently spooned food into Edmond’s mouth, though he could not manage to eat much, and helped him take the tea.
Afterwards she wiped his mouth, then cleaned his face and combed his thick dark hair.
‘Thank you, darling. You’re so gentle.’
She was used to performing these tasks for sick and injured patients but it seemed now that it had all been preparation for this time when he needed her care.
She sat with her arm about him. ‘If only I didn’t need to go back tomorrow,’ she said, as the room became less bright. ‘I’ve written to your parents, and to Peter. I expect he’ll manage to visit you.’
I must write to James as well, she thought, trying to remember where he was based. Does he sometimes work at this hospital? He’ll find time to visit.
‘You look exhausted, darling,’ Edmond said. ‘You should go… and find your room. You must take care of yourself. Think of our baby.’
‘Yes.’ She got up and kissed him. ‘I hope you sleep better tonight, my darling.’
She went to the door, and turned and waved before leaving.
Will I get time for a quick visit tomorrow morning? she wondered as she passed through the ward outside, still noisy
though the light was growing dim. As she made her way down the corridor she could not hold back the tears.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ypres, August 1917
Amy set off alone from the hospital, for there was no sign of another nurse coming off duty. For early evening it was darker than she expected. It was still sultry, as though a storm might be brewing. She took off her cloak and crammed it into her bag. Along the dim street there were shattered houses between the surviving stone ones, and rubble overflowing on to the narrow pavement. On the other side of the road there was a side street from which came sounds of merriment, probably from a bar.
She walked along, deep in thought. Seeing Edmond had been a relief at first, but the extent of his wounds had horrified her. He might not even survive – the thought was unbearable. If he did, he faced an arduous path to recovery. Enfeebled casualties were also prone to all the infections around.
Loud voices came from the right and two officers, the worse for drink, lurched out of the side street.
‘Hello, there, Nurse!’ cried one of them. Where had she seen that lofty figure before? Now she was nearer the side street there was light from the nearby bar and she recognised Wilfrid Fairlawn. She hurried on but he crossed the road and continued towards her. His friend sniggered and went off in the opposite direction.
‘Amy Fletcher!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is it you?’ He caught hold of her arm.
‘Amy Derwent,’ she snapped. ‘Leave me alone – I just want to get to the hostel – my husband’s been wounded…’
Nothing else figured in her mind but that.
He caught hold of her other arm. ‘Come and spend the evening with me,’ he said, leering at her. ‘We can have a lot of fun!’
How could this be happening? ‘Please take your hands off me!’ she cried.
She tried unsuccessfully to struggle free, horrified at his strength as his hands pressed into her flesh. ‘Just let me go!’ she cried. Surely he would not force himself on her?
His hot beery lips found hers. Incredulous, she tried to wriggle free. Distracted with worry about Edmond, her mind could not seem to grasp what was going on.
Until We Meet Again Page 21