by Emma Fraser
‘How do you do, Sister Stuart, Miss Evans?’ Simon replied. ‘Please ignore my sister. She tends to talk a load of tosh.’
‘You’re a pilot?’ Evans asked, looking more alert than Jessie had previously seen her. ‘Is it terrifying? Or thrilling?’
‘A bit of both,’ Simon said easily. He smiled at Jessie. ‘It’s you nurses who deserve the most thanks. We’re all so grateful that you’re here.’
Jessie blushed, feeling awkward. She didn’t know how to take part in the conversation without showing herself up. Worse, she felt such a fraud.
Lady Dorothea stood on tiptoe and waved. ‘There they are. Our American boys.’
Thankfully, Archie wasn’t among the group and Jessie was able to slip away, promising she’d return well before it was time to go back to the abbey. She left Evans in conversation with Simon, who had been joined by a dark-haired man also in the uniform of the Royal Flying Corps.
She found the American Hospital after getting lost several times. When she asked for Scotty she was shown into a small room and instructed to wait. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps and her brother flung open the door with a wide grin.
‘Jessie! I was beginning to think I’d have to go back to the abbey if I wanted to see you.’
She held up her face for his kiss. ‘You must promise me you’ll never go there again, Archie. Lady Dorothea and her brother are having lunch only a short walk away. Good grief, she even knows some of the American doctors. You must leave France. She could come across you at any time.’
‘If she does, she will know me only as Calum McPherson, or Scotty. You worry too much.’
‘And you worry too little,’ she retorted. ‘If they discover who you are, they could still arrest you and put you on trial.’
His expression darkened. ‘Then I shall make it my business that they don’t. I’ve no intention of being taken back to Scotland like a beast in chains. But, Jessie, let’s not quarrel. As luck would have it, I have a few hours free before I’m on duty again. Why don’t I show you Paris?’
Jessie knew the determined look on Archie’s face well enough to know that it didn’t matter what she said. Her brother would stay in France and nothing she could say would have the slightest effect. She sighed and took his hand. ‘Come on, then. I want to see everything.’
Jessie loved it all: the Champs-Élysées, with its frighteningly expensive shops, the river with the boats and finally the Eiffel Tower. They walked until her feet ached before taking tea at one of the little cafés. Archie told her more about his life in America.
‘If a man’s prepared to work, there’s nothing to stop him making a decent living or buying land, as long as he can raise the money to pay for it. Can you believe I own land, Jessie? Land that no man can take from me.’
‘How did you afford it? Is land that cheap in America?’
‘Not especially. I have a business partner and he puts up the funds. He’s rich and I know how to work hard. We will grow grapes or oranges. We might even build houses on it. One way or another, in a few years’ time I expect to be rich.’
‘Rich enough to take a wife?’
He shook his head. ‘There has only ever been, and will only ever be, one woman for me.’
Jessie clicked her tongue in exasperation. ‘Isabel MacKenzie! I thought after all this time you’d have forgotten her. Why won’t you accept she’s not for you?’
Archie toyed with his knife. ‘One day, as I always promised, I’ll be her equal.’
‘What then? Even if she comes to think of you the way you want her to, she’ll never leave Scotland for America – not for a man suspected of murder.’
She was exasperated. Couldn’t Archie get it into his head that hankering after Isabel MacKenzie was like hankering after the moon?
It seemed not. He looked her in the eye and grinned. ‘I’m a MacCorquodale, Jessie. And the MacCorquodales have always had a weakness for a lost cause.’
Chapter 36
As time passed, the abbey received increasing numbers of casualties and the women were rarely given sufficient time off to make the trip to Paris. Tempers were fraying and there had been the odd spat between doctor and nurse, nurse and orderly and even some tension between the MO and her doctors. Jessie didn’t let it worry her. With so many women living in close quarters with one another, it would have been a miracle had there been no fallings-out. She was making her way to her room when the cry ‘Post!’ rang through the abbey. The delivery of mail never failed to cause excitement. Unless it brought bad news it raised everyone’s spirits.
Jessie hesitated with her hand on the banister before turning to join the crowd of chattering women surrounding the postman. Perhaps this time there would be a letter with news of Tommy.
She hung back, unwilling to join the scrum. As the names were called out, the women fell upon their letters and retreated either to their rooms or to the courtyard to read them in solitude. There was nothing for her. Disappointed, she turned away. Lady Dorothea, she noticed, had been one of the lucky ones and had taken a seat next to the fountain. Jessie smiled at the look of happy anticipation on her face. Then, to her dismay, the woman’s hands fell to her lap and sadness replaced delight.
Quickly Jessie crossed to her and crouched by her side. ‘What is it, Maxwell?’
She shook her head. The hand holding the letter was trembling and her eyes were wet with unshed tears.
Her alarm growing, Jessie asked again. ‘What is it? Is it bad news?’
Over the last two months, three of the women in the unit had received the letters everyone dreaded, informing them that loved ones had been killed.
‘It’s a letter from my papa,’ Lady Dorothea said quietly. ‘He writes to tell me that the body of my eldest brother Charles has been found.’
Shock jolted down Jessie’s spine.
‘Charles went missing years ago, and although we suspected he must be dead, I confess I hadn’t given up hope that he was alive.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She gripped her hands together lest Lady Dorothea noticed they were shaking.
‘It’s even worse than we expected. It seems that Papa was right all along and that he was murdered.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Jessie’s voice sounded odd even to her own ears but it seemed Lady Dorothea was too distraught to notice.
‘Poor Charles had been buried. There was a storm on Skye last week. A wild one. It blew part of a cliff away near Galtrigill and one of the crofters discovered what remained of Charles. He must have been buried there all this time. I can hardly bear to think of it. Poor Mama.’ Apart from the tremor in her voice she appeared calm, almost unnaturally so. ‘Papa won’t rest until he has brought my brother’s murderer to justice.’
Dear God. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ Jessie whispered. She took one of Lady Dorothea’s cold hands in hers. ‘Come, let me take you to your room. You should lie down.’ She looked into Dorothea’s blue eyes and sucked in a breath at the emptiness she saw there.
‘I can’t rest. I’m due to go on duty.’
‘Don’t be a goose,’ Jessie said. ‘No one will expect you to work today. Not after such news.’
Lady Dorothea rose to her feet. ‘What use would it be for me to lie in my room? I’ll only have too much time to brood. Besides, there are only three of us who can drive the ambulances, and if I don’t help, what of the men on the battlefield who are waiting for someone to bring them here? I can’t help Charles, but I can help save others.’ She smoothed the folds of her grey dress and smiled wanly. ‘I ask you to say nothing of this to anyone. At least, not until I come back off duty.’
‘But—’
‘Please, don’t argue with me, Sister.’ She raised her chin, and, once again, Jessie was reminded that behind the easy-going manner was a woman who was used to having her way. And even more used to doing her duty.
Jessie squeezed her hand. ‘You know where to find me if you need a friend,’ she said simply.
Lady Dor
othea nodded and, head held high, walked away.
Jessie waited until she was out of sight before she buried her head in her hands. Lord Maxwell had been killed and his body buried on Galtrigill. If Archie hadn’t killed him, who had? Now the Glendales had evidence that their son had been murdered, they would never rest until they found Archie and brought him back for questioning.
She had to warn him. Surely now he would see that he had to return to America.
Chapter 37
Serbia, February 1915
Isabel and Maud, for once off duty at the same time, met to go for a walk. The day was fine and mild, the weak sunlight doing its best to dry the slush that still lay on the street.
They stepped over a muddy stream, then followed the road upwards, lifting their skirts, which, to keep the hems free of the incessant mud, they had shortened daringly above their ankles. After days spent in sour-smelling, stuffy wards the fresh air was balm for Isabel’s soul. At the top of the hill they paused to look down. Close to the town, the hills were brown and barren but as they rose higher they turned a lush blue.
It might have been Skye, Isabel thought, realising that, for the first time since Charles’s attack, she could remember the island with longing rather than distaste.
From where they were standing they could see the red roofs of Kragujevatz beneath them and, almost hidden in the hollows of the valleys, other smaller towns and villages.
Maud stopped to pick some primroses. ‘I might give some to Milan,’ she said slowly. ‘I doubt he finds much opportunity to go walking.’
‘How is your Dr Popović?’ Isabel asked.
Maud blushed. ‘He’s not my Dr Popović.’
But Isabel guessed that Maud cared more for the young man than she liked to admit. It wasn’t difficult to see why. Milan was tall and powerfully built, with expressive, dark eyes and a beautiful smile. He’d come for tea twice since she’d been there and had spent the whole time sneaking glances at Maud with his soft brown eyes.
‘Would it be so bad if he were?’ Isabel asked.
Maud turned away to look over the valley. ‘I know it’s an awful cheek to ask, but have you ever been in love?’
Isabel hesitated. ‘No. At least, I don’t think so.’
‘Then you couldn’t have been.’
Perhaps Maud was right. If she had truly cared for Maximilian, she would have given up everything to be with him. To her surprise she realised that she had hardly thought of him over the last few weeks.
‘I think I might love Milan,’ Maud continued. ‘Whenever I see him, I feel light inside, as if someone has lit a candle in my heart.’
Isabel smiled.
‘Have you ever kissed someone?’ Maud continued.
‘My mama and my brother,’ Isabel replied wryly. At that moment the memory of Archie’s lips on hers came back so sharply she could almost feel the imprint, almost taste his mouth, almost smell the sea in his hair. ‘There was someone once…’
Maud spun around. ‘Who? A lover? Oh, my goodness, where? When? What was it like?’
Isabel laughed, wishing now that she’d lied. Somehow, out here, among all the death and suffering, things that once seemed so important appeared less so. ‘It was a very quick kiss, but I have to admit I liked it. Of course, I shouldn’t have been kissing anyone, but I can’t regret it.’
The clatter of oxen hoofs on cobbles in the town below filtered up to them on the cold winter air. Maud came to stand beside Isabel and wound her arm around her waist. ‘Do you think it will be different when we go home? Now we’ve been out here on our own, they can’t expect us to go back and be the way we were. Perhaps Mama and Papa might come to accept a Serbian son-in-law.’
‘So you’re serious about him.’
‘Yes,’ Maud dropped her arm and faced Isabel, ‘I rather think I am. But please,’ her grey eyes were anxious, ‘don’t tell anyone. They would send me straight home.’
One girl had already been sent packing for becoming engaged to a Serbian officer, and Dr Bradshaw had warned them all that the same fate awaited anyone who was even seen out alone with a man.
‘Don’t worry.’ Isabel squeezed her shoulder. ‘You can trust me to keep a secret.’ If only Maud knew.
‘There’s never an opportunity for us to meet privately – unless,’ she glanced at Isabel from under her lashes, ‘you’d agree to chaperone us.’
‘I’d be happy to, if you could arrange it for when I’m free.’
Maud’s smile lit her face. ‘I’m thinking of writing to Mama about him.’
‘Perhaps that would be wise.’
They lingered for a few more minutes, but it was cold without the shelter of the hills so they took a different route down to the village. They stopped at a cake shop for some pastries and walked through the market, Maud carrying her flowers and Isabel their purchases. They had to step out of the way as bearded Serbs, wearing brown sheepskin hats shaped like beehives, drove bullock carts down the street.
‘When we first arrived, there were so many of those carts,’ Maud said softly, ‘all carrying dead soldiers. We called them the death-carts.’
‘They’re still dying,’ Isabel replied, ‘but not nearly so many.’ Her thoughts turned to Alexandrovitch, who had recovered from his operation and showed no sign of septicaemia. Since she’d amputated his leg, she had spent most of her working day in theatre.
Maud smiled sadly. ‘We’re helping to make a difference, even if it feels like too little.’ They stopped outside the entrance to the Serbian Military Hospital. ‘Have you met Dr Ross?’
‘She came to tea once,’ Isabel said. ‘She’s a remarkable woman.’ Dr Ross had left her private practice to come to Serbia. Everyone had heard her tales of daring adventures, once being captured by brigands. Now she was working in the Serbian hospital with a number of Greek doctors. There were more than a thousand patients and often three men with different infectious diseases had to share a bed. The death toll was enormous.
‘Shall we go in? Take her some cake?’ Maud asked. ‘It must be horrible for her to be on her own so much.’
They stepped into the hall, gagging as the smell of unwashed bodies and disease flooded their nostrils. An Austrian orderly went to let Dr Ross know they were there.
Isabel was shocked when she appeared. Since she’d last seen her, she had lost more weight from her already too-thin frame and there were dark shadows under her eyes. Isabel could have sworn her hair had turned grey in the last two weeks.
‘Dr MacKenzie, Sister Tully, how lovely to see you. Unfortunately I don’t have time to entertain you.’
‘You must stop for a few minutes and have tea and cake, Dr Ross,’ Maud said. Isabel could tell that her friend was as taken aback as she herself had been at Dr Ross’s altered appearance.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Dr Ross replied. ‘I’d blame myself if either of you came down with an infection.’
‘It’s a risk we run even in our hospital,’ Isabel protested.
‘No, it is not. Your hospital is clean and you have proper sanitary arrangements. None of that exists here.’
‘Come back with us, then,’ Maud pleaded. ‘Dr Bradshaw would be happy to have you in the unit.’
Dr Ross drew a hand across her face. ‘Would you leave your patients to die?’
‘Of course not,’ Isabel replied. It was unthinkable.
‘Then, my dears, you will understand. Neither can I.’
It was only a week after their visit to Dr Ross that news came that typhus was rampaging through Serbia again, wiping out whole villages and large tranches of the Serbian Army.
And not just the Serbs. Two doctors and three nurses from their own unit had been placed in isolation. The atmosphere in the unit was grim, and became grimmer still when they heard that Dr Ross had died from the disease. It was even worse among the Serbian medical staff. News trickled in that the Serbian doctors, working in overcrowded hospitals and with no way to isolate infected patients, were dying almost as r
apidly as their patients. Milan was sent to help at the military hospital in Belgrade, and Maud admitted that, although she hated to be parted from him, she was relieved to see him moved away from the typhus raging in and around Kragujevatz.
Dr Bradshaw called the staff together. Her face was drawn and she had deep shadows under her eyes. ‘We need help,’ she said. ‘You will be aware that we’re in the throes of a typhus epidemic. I understand that there are around five thousand cases in Serbia alone – not just among the soldiers but the civilian population too. People are dying at a rate of almost two hundred a day. Dear Dr Ross isn’t the only doctor who has died. In the last three weeks the Serbians have lost twenty-one doctors in Valjevo alone. I’ve written to Dr Inglis asking for more nurses and doctors but, as we have to deal with the epidemic now, I’m going to establish a new typhus hospital in one of the old barracks. I need an experienced nurse to take charge of it.’
The women looked at one another. They all knew what running a hospital of typhus patients could mean.
Dr Bradshaw’s eyes came to rest on Sister Guthrie. ‘Sister Guthrie has volunteered to take charge. I’m sure you will all join me in wishing her the best of luck.’
The women filed out in hushed silence. Isabel went up to Sister Guthrie and took her chilled hands in hers. ‘Are you sure about this, Margaret?’
The older woman shivered. ‘No, but what else can I do? None of us can turn our backs now.’
Chapter 38
France, March 1915
Jessie knew she had to return to Paris to warn Archie that Lord Maxwell’s body had been found, but her request for a day off was denied. There was great excitement at the abbey: Dr Inglis, the founder and chief medical officer of the Scottish Women’s Hospital, was expected and everyone was needed to get the unit looking its best for her.
In addition, they were kept busy day and night with the unremitting flow of casualties from the front, and when patients weren’t taking up their time, the nurses and orderlies scrubbed, then scrubbed again.