When the Dawn Breaks

by Emma Fraser

  It was clear to Jessie that he knew she had lied. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said. ‘Have you a girl back home?’

  ‘Aye, I do. Mairi’s her name. We’re to be wed on my next leave.’

  ‘Mairi’s a pretty name.’ Jessie’s throat felt as if there were pebbles in it.

  ‘Will you tell her, Sister – I mean, write to her? Tell her that it wasn’t too bad in the end and that I didn’t suffer.’ His hand squeezed hers again. ‘At least she won’t have to decide whether she could marry a man without legs and missing an eye.’

  ‘If she loves you, she’ll just be glad to have you home.’

  ‘But she won’t be having me home, will she?’

  No, Jessie thought wearily, she won’t. This damned war. ‘Why don’t I write a letter for you?’ she suggested.

  ‘What can I say?’

  Jessie thought for a moment. What would she have liked Tommy to say?

  ‘Tell her you love her, that you miss her and are looking forward to seeing her again.’

  ‘Even if I do leave here alive, there’s no chance I’m keeping her to her promise to marry me.’ At least he was calmer now and seemed to have some hope that he would survive. Hope was all Jessie had to give him.

  ‘I don’t think you should worry about that right now. Let’s just write her a letter and wait and see.’

  Jessie stood up. Her stomach growled. It had been a long time since she’d eaten but she couldn’t leave Donald. At least, not yet. ‘I’ll fetch a paper and pen, shall I? I won’t be a moment.’

  By the time she returned a few minutes later, Donald was sleeping. She felt for his pulse. It was weak and thready. It wouldn’t be long now. She settled herself into her chair to wait.

  An hour later, Donald stopped breathing. Jessie called one of the doctors to make out the death certificate. As she set about preparing Donald’s body, she became aware of someone standing behind her.

  ‘I’ve brought you some tea.’ It was Evans. After their chat, Jessie had gone straight to Matron and asked for the orderly to be transferred to her ward. Expecting an argument, she’d been relieved when she had acquiesced with a smile. ‘But,’ she’d warned, ‘don’t ask me again. We can’t have all the orderlies working on your ward, Sister Stuart.’ It was as near to a compliment as she’d had from the matron but it was enough. Evans had been thrilled to find herself with Jessie and, with her unfailing smile and willingness to turn her hand to anything Jessie asked of her, was a pleasure to work with.

  ‘Poor devil,’ Evans said softly. ‘Perhaps it’s better this way. At least he’ll be with God.’

  Jessie swung around. The night had taken its toll on her. ‘Better for whom?’ she said bitterly. ‘Better for the fiancée who won’t have to marry a man who could never work again? Better for the mother who waits for a letter, praying to God that her son is still alive? Better for his sisters?’ She gripped her hands together to stop them shaking. ‘This damned war. It takes our loved ones and keeps on taking them. Day after relentless day we nurse the poor things, only to see them die regardless of what we do. We don’t even have enough morphine to help those who are dying meet their Lord free of pain and with dignity. Oh, I can see it’s better for us. Every time one dies we have a bed to put another poor soul into. Every hopeless case means we have more morphine to spare for those who, one day, after we fix them up, might be returned to war. A war that shows no sign of ending.’ Her voice caught on a sob. She was so tired of seeing men die and she’d only been there for two months.

  When Evans’s face blanched, Jessie tried hard to regain her composure. The orderly didn’t need to see her anguish. Evans set the cup and saucer down on the bedside table and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Steady on, old girl. If we weren’t here, many more would die. That’s what we have to remember. Look, you must be exhausted. How long have you been on duty? Fifteen hours? Sixteen? No one can keep going like that. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll see to Corporal Stuart here?’

  Jessie shook her head, annoyed and embarrassed that she had lost control. All of them were in the same position. Most of the staff had at least one family member fighting and every death hit them all hard. But she was going to carry out her last duty to Corporal Stuart. She might be weak with hunger and fatigue but she was going to prepare his body. Apart from the letter to his fiancée, it was the last thing she could do for the young soldier. ‘Thank you, but no. I will see to him.’

  ‘Then I shall help you,’ Evans said firmly.

  Together they washed Donald Stuart’s body gently, as if he were still alive and too much pressure could still hurt him. When they’d finished, they wrapped him in a shroud and, with the help of the night nurse, got him onto a stretcher. Jessie wrote his name and regiment on a card and attached it to the shroud with a piece of string. In his locker she found a letter from his fiancée with a return address and slipped it into the pocket of her uniform. Donald’s commanding officer would write to his mother, but she would write to Donald’s Mairi, keeping her promise to tell her that he had died bravely and without pain.

  The mortuary was a fair distance from the ward, and Donald’s stiffening corpse was heavy, but somehow between them they managed to carry the stretcher through the moon-lit cloisters and down the stone steps where they laid his body next to those of the other men who had died during the night.

  The two women stood looking down at the neat line of the recently dead and bowed their heads as Jessie said a brief prayer. As she did so, a cool hand slipped into hers and squeezed. The unexpected gesture almost made her cry again.

  ‘Come on, Sister, time for bed,’ Evans whispered. ‘You’re on duty in a few hours’ time.’

  Jessie managed a small smile. ‘As are you.’

  Just then the sound of a horn blast tore through the room. More injured were on the way and sleep would have to wait.

  Chapter 35

  ‘You simply must come!’ Dorothea Maxwell insisted, stretching out her hands to the fire. It was mid-afternoon and they were in the sitting room with nurses and orderlies, seeking the miserly warmth from the log fire. As each took her turn to stand in front of it, Jessie was reminded of how her mother used to have a couple of irons in the embers. When one had cooled she had exchanged it for a hot one.

  Tomorrow would be her first day off. Some had already had a day free, venturing into Paris to have dinner at an Italian restaurant before the opera, while others had taken the opportunity to explore the trenches.

  ‘I’m tired,’ Jessie protested, hiding a yawn behind her hand. ‘I have my uniform to wash and a hundred other chores to catch up with.’ Anyway, she wanted to save her days off to see Archie. She’d had one letter from him since they’d met, asking her to come and see him last week, but as she’d been on duty she’d been unable to go.

  ‘You’ve been wretched since that soldier died, Sister. A good luncheon will buck you up,’ Evans interjected.

  If only her life could be made better by a good meal, Jessie thought. And why Donald’s death had shaken her more than all the others she didn’t know. Perhaps it was the Skye connection. Or because, in him, more than in any of the other injured soldiers, she’d seen what it might have been like for Tommy. Sometimes the only way to keep going was to try to forget that the wounded men were someone’s brother, husband or son.

  Lady Dorothea smiled beguilingly. ‘You can do your chores at some other time. We have only one day off a month so we should make the most of it. A whole day and an evening out in Paris – who could resist? Surely not even you, Sister Stuart. Besides, I told the Americans I’d bring as many of us as I could.’

  Jessie’s heart jolted. When Lady Dorothea had suggested a trip into Paris to spend time with a group of officers she’d met, she’d assumed she was talking about British men. ‘Americans?’

  ‘Yes, the doctors from the American Hospital and the Harvard Unit. We keep bumping into them when we fetch the patients from the station. They’re such darlings.’

  Ha
d Lady Dorothea met Archie, then? But, of course, even if she had, she would know him as Calum McPherson – or Scotty.

  ‘If it makes you feel better, think of it as your duty,’ she continued. ‘They need as much cheering up as anyone else. And…’ she dropped her voice, ‘…they’re so handsome and so much fun. Much less stuffy than our own officers, I have to say.’

  Dear God, Jessie thought wearily. Did Archie truly understand the risk he was running by staying close to Paris? The nurses and doctors from all of the units often bumped into one another. If he insisted on staying, there was a good chance that he and Lady Dorothea would meet. Now she had no choice. She would have to go with them. She had to warn him. His new name wouldn’t hold up for ever.

  ‘Very well. Count me in,’ Jessie said, as Evans vacated her spot at the fireplace for Jessie to take her turn. ‘What time are we leaving?’

  ‘Jolly good. I think we should plan to set out around nine o’clock to get there in time for luncheon. The roads are pretty crowded and we might get stuck behind army trucks.’ Lady Dorothea tapped her lip with her finger. ‘Now, what on earth are we going to wear?’

  ‘Our uniforms, surely,’ Evans said. Although they had dispensation to wear their own clothes when they were off duty, most chose not to. Uniform brought too many advantages, such as free train travel.

  ‘Not this time.’ Lady Dorothea looked horrified. ‘I’ve had enough of this dreadful grey. We should dress up for once.’

  Jessie thought of the only good dress she’d brought, the one she kept for church, although it was showing signs of wear. She would look like Lady Dorothea’s maid if she wore it, and although she shouldn’t have minded, she found she did. Here at Royaumont, with everyone doing the same job and wearing the same uniform, it wasn’t always easy to tell who was a lady and who wasn’t. ‘I like my uniform. The MO prefers that we wear it when we’re out.’

  ‘Poppycock!’ Lady Dorothea said. ‘Our esteemed MO can say what she likes when we’re on duty but I simply refuse to go into town looking like a partridge. And,’ she leaned forward, a sparkle in her blue eyes, ‘come to think of it, I have just the thing for you. You’re a little shorter than I, but it should fit. It’s a russet skirt with the sweetest little jacket that would go with your colouring perfectly. I don’t know why I even brought it. It clashes dreadfully with my red hair.’

  Jessie didn’t want to wear one of her cast-offs, no matter how kindly meant the offer was. ‘Thank you, but I’d still rather stick with my uniform.’ Reluctantly, she left her position near the fire. ‘If I’m to come with you, I should go and find some water to do my laundry.’

  The next day, Jessie found herself squashed into the front of the truck between Lady Dorothea, who was driving, and Evans. She was anxious. Although it was unlikely that Archie would be one of the party they were meeting for lunch, it was possible that the American doctors would know him. Last night she’d decided to make her excuses as soon as they arrived in Paris and find Archie before there was a chance of them meeting unexpectedly. She had to try to persuade him to leave France.

  ‘I hope you won’t mind if I don’t join you for lunch,’ she said, grabbing the front of the truck as it gave a particularly sickening lurch to the left, ‘but I need to do some shopping.’

  Lady Dorothea waited until the vehicle was straight once more. ‘Shopping? What a wonderful idea. If the boys haven’t arrived I’ll come with you, although I don’t think Evans will be up for it.’

  The last thing Jessie wanted was to go shopping and particularly not with Lady Dorothea. ‘Evans sleeps like the dead,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  The orderly was slumped against the passenger door and not even the erratic progress of their journey had made her do more than protest mildly in her sleep. It was hardly surprising that she was dead to the world: they’d all been dragged out of bed at four in the morning to help with a new influx of injured. Lady Dorothea and Jessie had been summoned too but, unlike Evans, they seemed to manage better without sleep.

  ‘Poor darling,’ Lady Dorothea said. ‘She’s such a trouper.’

  They shared a smile that turned into a shriek as they headed into a pothole that threw them up in the air.

  ‘I think it’s better if I go shopping alone. You won’t want to miss your friends.’

  Lady Dorothea looked at her curiously. ‘My darling girl, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s you, I’d swear you’re trying to shake me.’

  For all her apparent flightiness, she was sharp. How could Jessie get rid of her without making her more suspicious? ‘Where are you meeting everyone?’ she asked.

  ‘At Pierre’s Café. It’s really the only place left to get something decent to eat.’

  ‘Is that close to the American Hospital?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘About half a mile, I think. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered,’ Jessie said. She could walk that distance easily.

  ‘Ah, I know why you’re trying to shake me. It’s the man who came to see you at the abbey. He was wearing the insignia of the American unit. I remember now! You never did tell me who he was. A bit of a dish, I thought. So, do tell, where did you meet him?’

  Jessie thought quickly. ‘At the Gare du Nord the day we arrived. When all of you went for a walk, I stayed with the luggage. I – er – I went over on my ankle and he stopped to help. When he came to the abbey to see me, he didn’t know I was married. I told him not to come again.’

  How many more lies would she have to tell?

  ‘But, Jessie…’ Whatever Lady Dorothea saw in her face seemed to change her mind. ‘Perhaps he’ll be at luncheon.’

  ‘I doubt it. He’s an ambulance driver. Didn’t you say it was the doctors we were meeting?’

  ‘Not just them. Didn’t I tell you?’ Lady Dorothea looked at her – Jessie would have preferred her to keep her eyes on the road. ‘My brother Simon’s stationed at Marne and he’s been given forty-eight hours’ leave to spend in Paris, so he’ll be there too with his friend.’

  Her words did nothing to dampen Jessie’s anxiety.

  Lady Dorothea pouted. ‘I did ask the MO if I could have a couple of days’ leave but the battleaxe refused point-blank.’

  Jessie knew she didn’t mean it. Everyone adored Dr Ludlow. She was a tough disciplinarian, but worked as hard, if not harder, than anyone else.

  ‘You must be looking forward to seeing your brother,’ Jessie said casually.

  ‘Why don’t you join us when you’ve finished your shopping?’ She stopped talking as she manoeuvred the truck past a line of refugees trudging along the road. ‘Poor things,’ she said. ‘Rotten Huns forcing people out of their homes.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Jessie’s heart was racing. She hated deceiving Lady Dorothea by not admitting who she really was. ‘But won’t you want some time alone with your brother?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. His friend will be there, so it isn’t as if we were going to have lunch on our own in the first place.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not sure Simon would know what to say to me after the first ten minutes anyway. Except to tick me off for coming to France. I have no doubt Mama and Papa will have asked him to persuade me to go home. They think I’m mad not to have stayed in London and married Lord Livingston.’

  ‘What’s he like, your Lord Livingston?’ Jessie asked, seizing on the chance to change the subject.

  Lady Dorothea shuddered. ‘He’s not too bad, if you can ignore his squint and the moustache that curls at the ends in the most peculiar fashion. But I dare say I could have got around those if he wasn’t so utterly boring.’

  Jessie laughed. She liked Lady Dorothea. She said exactly what was on her mind and, unlike some of the others, had no airs and graces. ‘They can’t make you marry him, surely,’ she said.

  Dorothea turned to stare at her, her eyes off the road for so long Jessie feared that this time they would certainly end up in a ditch.

  ‘My dear Sister Stuart, don’t you
see? I have to marry someone.’

  It was almost eleven when they pulled up outside a grand-looking hotel.

  ‘I can’t imagine the doorman is going to be best pleased to have our truck parked here,’ Jessie said.

  ‘I don’t care a fig what he thinks,’ Lady Dorothea replied, with a lift of her chin. It was at times like this that Jessie was most reminded of the aristocrat she was.

  She shook Evans awake while Lady Dorothea pinned on her hat, an elaborate concoction with an ostrich feather, then the three of them clambered out. Lady Dorothea tossed the doorman a smile. ‘Keep an eye on our motor vehicle, please. Don’t let anyone go near it. There’s many a unit who would steal it if they had half a chance.’

  If the doorman was surprised to see a woman in an afternoon dress of deep green silk and an elaborate hat emerge from the dusty truck he gave no sign of it.

  ‘I’ll leave you here,’ Jessie said, glad that she’d worn her uniform, as had Evans. If she hadn’t, she would have felt like a pigeon next to Dorothea’s peacock.

  ‘Do come and meet Simon and his friend first.’ Before Jessie could protest, Lady Dorothea had linked arms with her and Evans and steered them up the grand staircase. Although the last person Jessie wanted to meet was another member of the Maxwell family, it appeared she had no choice.

  Inside, the grand salon was crowded with Allied soldiers and women either in uniform or dressed, like Lady Dorothea, in sweeping skirts and tight-fitting jackets. Laughter and the sound of tinkling glass filled the smoky room. Lady Dorothea stopped behind a tall man with red hair, who was surrounded by glamorous women, some of whom were holding long cigarette holders, and tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Simon!’

  The officer spun around. ‘Dorothea! Darling sis, how well you look!’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Andrew’s here too. Somewhere.’ He looked around but, whoever Andrew was, he had been swallowed by the mass of bodies.

  ‘Sister Stuart, Evans, may I introduce my brother, the Honourable Simon Maxwell.’ She gave him a teasing smile. ‘Although I don’t know how honourable he’s managing to be around all these charming French women. I hear they love a pilot.’