‘Are you saying you actually crossed the line into occupied Belgium?’
‘Yes. Once there, I had to move secretly at night. I spoke to several brave men and women. There’s a chap near Liège who watches train traffic for us, to track troop movements.’
Edmond stared at his brother. ‘Espionage – that’s dreadfully dangerous!’
‘I’ve always felt guilty for not taking a more significant part in the war – I welcomed the chance. But once I was there, I was terrified and longing to complete my mission. Then, when I was due to cross back, they had subsidence in the tunnel – hardly surprising, considering the weather. I had to wait a few days more, till they’d patched it up.’
‘Thank God you finally made it back safely.’ His brother’s movements amounted to one of the most dangerous missions he had ever heard about.
‘Let’s go back indoors before someone comes looking for us,’ said Peter. They joined the others in the drawing room and tried to chat normally.
Later that night, when Edmond was alone with Amy, she was curious.
‘Did Peter tell you anything more about why he didn’t write?’ she asked.
‘It was just as he said, they were on manoeuvres which went on longer than expected.’ He hated not telling her everything, but he had given his word to Peter.
* * *
On the day of the ball, Charles arrived for luncheon and Beatrice was unusually animated. Vicky had also come, and after lunch she sat with Edmond and Amy. At first she had been shocked at his coughing and occasional breathlessness, but she relaxed once Amy had assured her he was showing good signs of recovery.
Later Amy caught sight of Beatrice and Charles, talking together in the conservatory.
Most of the people who attended in the evening were middle-aged, or single women. Amy’s parents had come, though she suspected they would not stay till the end. Charles was handsome in evening dress and Beatrice gorgeous in a dress of peacock blue.
Amy was pleased that Florence came this year. She was delighted to find that Edmond’s breathing had improved since his setback at Wealdham. Her light brown hair was rather plainly arranged at the nape of her neck, but she had a new gown in cream-coloured satin.
‘Mother made it for me,’ she told Amy. ‘I told her to keep the style plain.’
Would she ever recover her spirits and resemble the lively young woman she had been before Bertie’s death, Amy wondered.
The pianist began playing jaunty airs and to begin with there was a kind of forced jollity. As Chambers took drinks round, the guests began to relax, determined to forget the situation across the Channel for a few hours.
Amy circulated with Edmond as he greeted the guests. The local families were glad to see him well enough after his ordeal to attend the gathering.
‘You’re out of it all now,’ Mr Leadbetter, the headmaster, congratulated him.
‘I can’t rejoice about that, knowing my comrades are still out there,’ he replied. Amy knew that his pleasure at seeing Charles was overshadowed by the awareness that his friend was merely experiencing a brief respite before returning to the Front.
Soon they were enjoying the festive meal. Amy’s mother complimented Mrs Derwent on the spread she had produced, in spite of the war.
‘I’ve been keeping an eye on the kitchen garden,’ Ma said. ‘Cook used surplus autumn vegetables to prepare the chutney, and lately Joe’s managed to produce some beetroot.’
Ma’s becoming more resourceful, Amy thought.
‘I shall retire soon after the dancing begins,’ she told her in-laws. Already, she felt tired.
‘I shall leave when you do,’ Edmond said. ‘I’ve been advised to get plenty of rest.’
‘Oh, please, don’t leave so soon!’ Beatrice begged. ‘Pa, Edmond wants to leave early! He won’t hear our announcement! Please stay, Edmond.'
From the way Charles was hovering beside Beatrice, Amy had a notion what might be coming.
‘I’ll announce it earlier than we planned,’ Mr Derwent told them.
Before long, guests began to go into the ballroom. When they were all there, Mr Derwent asked the pianist to play a few dramatic chords as he had an announcement to make.
The host and hostess stood with Beatrice and Charles. ‘I’m delighted to announce that Mr Charles Shenwood and my daughter have just become engaged,’ he told everyone, to cheers and clapping. Champagne was brought round for a toast to the happy couple.
Charles held Beatrice in his arms and kissed her. He brought a box from his pocket and produced a beautiful ring with a cluster of diamonds, and she blushed with delight as he placed it on her finger.
‘I’m sorry it’s a bit loose, darling,’ he told her. ‘It was my grandmother’s, and she didn’t have such dainty fingers.’
‘It’s so lovely – we can get it fitted better, can’t we?’ she said.
Everyone was watching. ‘What an attractive couple they make,’ said Florence.
‘It’s wonderful to hear some good news,’ Amy’s father said.
Edmond took Amy by the hand and thrust his way through the guests. ‘Congratulations!’ he told Charles, seizing him by the arm. ‘I’m overjoyed to welcome you into the family.’
‘I’m a lucky man, finding such a beautiful young woman for my bride,’ he said. Vicky joined them, followed by Peter, to add their congratulations.
‘We’ll get married next time Charles has leave,’ Beatrice said, her eyes shining.
‘Have you met Charles’ family yet?’ Amy asked her.
‘I was introduced to them at a party once,’ she replied. ‘They’re charming people.’
‘I only asked Beatrice this afternoon,’ Charles told them, ‘but I’d mentioned my intentions to my family, and come prepared with the ring.’
‘I’ll never get used to these sudden wartime engagements!’ Ma said, though she was clearly delighted with the news.
The pianist started playing a waltz and Edmond’s parents began to dance. The newly engaged couple soon joined them. How well they both dance, Amy thought, moving almost as one, and Beatrice looking especially refined. She’s chosen an excellent husband. Beatrice and I have never had much in common, but with her ladylike accomplishments she will make an admirable wife for a well-off man.
‘Good old Bea, I needn’t have worried about her remaining single,’ Edmond said. He took Amy into his arms. ‘Come on, we can at least have one dance together.’ He held her firmly.
‘Are you sure you can manage a dance?’ Amy’s mother looked at her, concerned.
‘Lean on me if you’re not entirely steady on your feet,’ Edmond said. She was determined to do no such thing, mindful of his impaired fitness. Her increased size made it harder for him to hold her close and her injured leg hampered her progress, but they travelled round the room as best they could. At first she was anxious she might look ungainly, but soon the thrill of joining in the dance with him drove out other thoughts. When the music ended, they continued holding each other close, content with their achievement.
‘I really should go to bed now,’ she told him. She said goodbye to her parents and Florence, and went upstairs with Edmond. As they reached their bedroom they could still hear the music from below, but soon they were drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.
* * *
Next morning on her way down to breakfast, Amy passed Charles, in his uniform. He was gathering together his luggage, for he had to go to London that morning on the first stage of his journey back to Flanders. Peter would be leaving the following day.
Beatrice was at the table finishing a cup of tea. ‘You managed to have one dance,’ she remarked to Amy. ‘You can’t waltz very well now, can you?’
Amy knew she would never be as graceful as Beatrice, and hoped she had not made an exhibition of herself in her present situation. She suspected her sister-in-law would have been less scornful if one of the others had been there. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I can’t dance well at the moment, because
I’m soon to have a child.’ If I sounded reproachful I don’t care, she thought: I’ve had quite enough criticism from her.
‘Suppose the baby had chosen last night to arrive!’ Beatrice said, fixing her green eyes on Amy. She looked genuinely concerned. Was she anxious Amy should not do anything else embarrassing in public, or did she actually care for her, after all?
‘I’d have had time to withdraw to my room,’ Amy told her. Perhaps, after all, she had been taking a chance, with her baby around full term now, but the prospect of dancing with Edmond had been irresistible.
He joined them, and by the time he had finished his meal, Charles was ready to set off for the station. Amy wished him well, trying not to think of the perils he might face. Edmond and Beatrice went in the car to see Charles on to the train.
When they returned, Beatrice was subdued and Edmond looked strained. However Beatrice was beginning to recover by lunchtime and soon after was huddled with her mother planning a stylish wedding.
* * *
As the family ate dinner on the last evening of the year, Chambers poured them some of the best wine from the cellar, though Amy would only take a few sips. It was understood that she and Edmond would not stay up till midnight.
Mr Derwent rose to his feet. ‘Let’s drink to 1918!’ he proposed.
‘I hope it’s an improvement on this year,’ his wife said.
‘But it’s bound to be! I’m marrying Charles!’ Beatrice said.
‘Of course you are, darling,’ her father said, ‘and Edmond and Amy will have their baby.’
‘May Edmond grow fitter!’ Mrs Derwent said, as they toasted the future.
‘I’m making progress every day,’ he insisted.
Amy had to agree. Back in August things were desperate, she thought. Edmond was mortally ill, I was in danger of being assaulted and even the baby was threatened when I fell over in the street. Then we had that dreadful setback in the autumn. But we’ve come a long way since then.
‘We’re together, and that’s what matters,’ she said. All she needed now was for their baby to arrive safely.
She still worried what lay ahead for Florence and Lavinia, but so long as she was with Edmond, she was content for herself.
As they completed their meal, Amy found her back was aching. She rose to leave the table and felt the kind of sharp pain she had been led to expect. ‘I think the baby might be coming,’ she told them.
‘Come up to our room at once!’ said Edmond, taking her arm.
When the burst of pain subsided, Amy was overcome with excitement. She sat down on their bed and he sat beside her, his arm around her. Subdued light came from the lamp and the fire.
‘Now we’re about to be parents, we should take more care, avoid doing anything impulsive,’ she said.
Edmond grinned. ‘Must we? Let’s stay as we are!’ he told her.
He telephoned Mrs Phelps, the local midwife, and sent for Doctor Stanhope too, as a precaution.
‘He’s dealing with an emergency in Wealdham,’ he told Amy. ‘I managed to speak to him on the hospital phone and he promised to come as soon as he could.’
Soon Mrs Phelps arrived, hurrying breathlessly into the room. ‘How are you doing, Mrs Derwent?’
She examined Amy briefly. ‘You’ve a while to go yet,’ she told them. ‘I’ll come back later.’ She had just delivered a baby in Larchbury, it turned out, and was concerned about the mother, who had lost a lot of blood. ‘I must see how she’s progressing, but I’ll come back in an hour or so,’ she said. She reminded them of the preparations they needed to make.
‘You’re young, healthy and full term,’ she told Amy. ‘It should be an easy birth.’ She went off to return to Larchbury on her bicycle.
When the pains were closer together, Amy took to her bed. ‘You’d better wait outside now,’ she told Edmond. ‘Mrs Phelps will be back soon.’
Suddenly she felt uneasy and wished she had asked her mother to come.
‘Must I go?’ Edmond said.
‘Yes,’ she said unwillingly. She knew he would have stayed with her, given any encouragement.
‘I’ll be waiting next door, in the nursery.’
Now she was alone. The glow from the fire flickered on the ceiling of their room. Between contractions, she concentrated on the prospect of giving Edmond his child. The minutes passed as she waited for Mrs Phelps to return. The clock chimed half past nine.
Ma looked into the room and asked if she was all right. Amy told her all was well, then asked her for a glass of water. Once Ma had supplied that, she hovered awkwardly. ‘Cook has offered to sit with you until the midwife comes,’ she told Amy. ‘Would you like that?’
‘Yes, please.’
Ma went out and Amy was grateful to see Cook arriving, with her calm smile.
The contractions were still coming, without getting much closer together, and Cook held her hand. Amy was perspiring as she began to tire.
Gently, Cook mopped Amy’s brow. ‘The baby might take a while longer,’ she said.
There’s no need to panic, she told herself. I’m not in any danger. After my accident my leg was agony for days, so I’m not afraid of pain.
The clock struck ten, then eleven.
‘Are you sure everything is progressing properly?’ she asked Cook. She had learnt several important medical skills as a VAD nurse, but of course there had been no call for midwifery.
‘Your labour is a little slower than some but nothing to worry about. Just lie back and relax.’
Edmond knocked at the door and burst in without waiting for her to answer. ‘Mrs Phelps telephoned: she thinks she’ll be nearly another hour,’ he said.
She noticed concern in his expression. I must look a sight, she thought. Probably my hair is sticking together in clumps. ‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘Childbirth is a perfectly normal process. It’s taking a while, that’s all.’ She could not bear to cause him worry.
He fetched her another glass of water and took his turn at holding her hand while another contraction came. He was beginning to look pale and strained as he sensed her discomfort. However hard she tried she could seldom help crying out.
‘You’d better leave, Mr Edmond,’ Cook told him. ‘Wait outside.’
He kissed Amy’s damp face and left reluctantly.
She lay there tensely. Edmond has been through so much, she thought. I’ve had problems to deal with as well, and I simply can’t let this defeat me. All I want is to give him a healthy baby.
She was feeling increasingly exhausted. She could not hear any sound at all from outside and wondered if Edmond was still there or in the next room. When will Mrs Phelps reach me, or Dr Stanhope? she thought.
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs – more than one person, she thought. The door opened and in rushed Edmond, followed by her mother.
‘Oh, thank you for coming!’ Amy exclaimed as Mother put her arms round her.
‘Edmond came over with his father to fetch me in his car,’ Mother told her. ‘Now, run along, Edmond, and wait outside. I don’t want to risk you fainting if things begin to happen.’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen worse at the Front Line,’ Edmond told her, but he did as she asked.
Amy felt a wave of relief. Mother was a reassuring presence: there was no-one she would rather have with her at this time. They allowed Cook to take a break and Mother sat by the bed, holding her hand as the contractions came.
Surely they’re getting a little more frequent now, she thought.
Soon Mother told her that the birth would not be much longer.
There were fresh footsteps and Mrs Phelps arrived. ‘Sorry I was so long,’ she said, ‘but the other young mother is making better progress now.’ She examined Amy. ‘I can see baby’s head now,’ she said. ‘You’re doing fine.’
By the time Dr Stanhope arrived, a quarter of an hour later, he could see that the birth was imminent.
Soon after one in the morning, her daughter
was born. When the midwife called Edmond into the room he embraced Amy, scarcely able to take his eyes off them both.
‘Are you all right, darling? I was getting so worried,’ he said.
‘I’m very tired, but every moment was worth it for this.’
Edmond held his soft, sleepy child for the first time. ‘Little Beth,’ he said, ‘our new year baby.’ He looked truly serene.
Amy gazed at the tiny pink bundle, wrapped in a white shawl. Her blue eyes opened briefly and then closed again.
His parents arrived and joined the congratulations. Mrs Derwent embraced her as well as Edmond.
Beatrice arrived, wearing an Indian shawl over her nightdress. ‘Oh! What a sweet baby,’ she approved. ‘She looks like you, Edmond, but her eyes are more like Amy’s.’ Her smile seemed genuine as she kissed both of them, and little Beth. ‘You look tired, Amy. Can I fetch you a drink or anything?’
‘Thank you for offering, Beatrice, but I can’t think of anything. I believe I have everything I want here!’
‘Let me drive you home,’ Pa said to Amy’s mother. ‘It’s getting late.’
It was Mother’s turn to embrace them all.
At last, Edmond and Amy were left alone with their precious new-born.
‘Together we can make our future,’ Amy assured Edmond.
He reached out to enclose her and Beth in his embrace. ‘We’ll manage, as a proper family,’ he said. ‘I promise you, one day soon we’ll have a home of our own.’
A LETTER FROM ROSEMARY
It’s wonderful to see Until We Meet Again published. I’m thrilled to have the backing of Hera Books, and that you have chosen my historical romance to read.
Over the last few years we have seen the centenary of World War I and have been reminded of the sacrifices the soldiers made and the horrors they faced. Their families at home also faced anxiety, hardship and sometimes bereavement.
It was a challenge to set a story in this era without making it unbearably grim, but I was inspired by accounts of soldiers enjoying songs and jokes even in the trenches. My hero and heroine needed to be special people. Edmond and Amy are resourceful and brave, and deeply in love; together they are determined to overcome the trials they face.
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