When the Dawn Breaks

by Emma Fraser

  ‘I’m sorry, Sister Stuart. All we can do is try to make his last few hours as painless as possible. I’ll prescribe the morphia for him. Give him as much as you think he needs.’

  A little later, they finished walking the ward. After Maud had gone off duty, Evans passed round hot drinks and urine bottles, then dimmed the lights. She asked if they would like a cup of tea and Isabel accepted with a smile, and said, ‘Join me, Sister Stuart. Then I shall write Andreas’s letter for him before I go off to bed.’

  They took seats at the table at the end of the ward. Isabel closed her eyes briefly, but when she opened them again, the energy and vitality Jessie had always known were back. ‘How are you?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘I’m well. And you?’

  ‘The same.’

  Isabel picked up a pen and started to write her medical notes. ‘Did you see Archie when you were in France?’

  ‘He came to the abbey, and I saw him twice in Paris.’

  Isabel put her pen down and leaned forward. ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s well too.’

  Isabel sighed. ‘I suggested he stay away from the abbey. I heard that Charles Maxwell’s sister, Dorothea, was there.’

  ‘He came anyway.’

  Isabel smiled. ‘Archie has always done as he wishes. I doubt he’ll ever change. He wanted to see you so much I suspected that nothing would stop him.’

  ‘You could have knocked me over with a feather when I realised Lady Dorothea was one of the orderlies. At least, she was then. She’s a shover now.’

  ‘Didn’t she recognise you?’

  ‘No. Why should she? She’d never met me or Archie before. And I’m Sister Stuart. She has no reason to connect me with Archie MacCorquodale.’ Jessie hesitated. ‘Did you know they found Lord Maxwell’s body?’ She watched Isabel closely.

  ‘His body?’ Isabel gave a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. ‘So he is dead. Where did they find him?’

  ‘Buried in a shallow grave on Galtrigill.’ Jessie deliberately didn’t soften the words. ‘Now they know for certain Lord Maxwell was murdered, they’ll search for Archie harder than ever.’

  ‘Charles was buried?’ Isabel paled. ‘That means someone did kill him,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘I can’t say I cared for him but I wouldn’t wish him a violent death.’

  Jessie knew that she wasn’t lying. If Archie had killed Charles Maxwell, she genuinely didn’t know. ‘I can’t help but wonder what really happened,’ Jessie said, before she could stop herself. ‘Whether Archie had anything to do with it.’

  Isabel’s head snapped up. ‘No, Jessie! He told me he had nothing to do with whatever happened to Charles and I believe him. Surely you do too?’

  Jessie kept her face expressionless. She couldn’t possibly share her fear with anyone, particularly not with Isabel. Yet every instinct in her body was screaming that there was something Isabel was keeping from her. But what?

  ‘All I know is that neither Lady Dorothea nor her brother must ever find out who Archie is,’ Jessie managed.

  ‘His secret is safe with me,’ Isabel said. ‘I would never put harm his way. Now, here is Evans with our tea. Let’s talk about something else.’

  Chapter 40

  Serbia, May 1915

  Isabel peeled off her gloves and wiped a hand across her forehead. The small operating theatre was heating up in the midday sun. Her armpits were damp and a trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts. One more poor soldier would have to find a way of living without a leg. Sometimes she wondered if they were doing these young men a favour. What kind of work would this man, once a farm worker, find, now that he was so cruelly disabled?

  But it was futile to worry about what would happen to them once the war was over. Her job was to save as many lives as possible. She was busier than ever, particularly since typhus was still killing thousands.

  The nurse untied Isabel’s gown and tossed it into the laundry bin behind them. Then, with the help of two orderlies, they lifted their patient onto a stretcher so he could be taken to the ward. Isabel would look in on him that afternoon. But for now, with no more patients waiting to be operated on, she had time to herself. Not far away there was a lake. She’d find Maud and see if her friend would accompany her for a swim. Water to wash with was in short supply, and she longed to immerse herself. If there was one thing the women all looked forward to when this hellish war was over, it was a decent bath.

  She stepped out into the bright sunshine, screwing up her eyes against the glare. In the distance the ever-present thud of shells continued, making the ground shudder beneath her feet. She hardly noticed it any more. Even at night, when it was at its worst, she slept deeply. It was hardly surprising after she’d spent hours on her feet.

  She walked down the narrow street, pausing to enjoy the sun on her face. As usual, at this time of day, the street was crowded with off-duty staff and soldiers. At the hospital, the nurses had brought outside any patient who was fit enough to be moved, sometimes still in their beds. It made an incongruous sight, but they took every opportunity to shower the men with fresh air. Sometimes Isabel wondered if they thought it could cure any ailment.

  A truck drew up in front of the army barracks and two men jumped out. They turned and Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. She stopped.

  Unbelievably, it was Andrew and Simon. She had written to Andrew many times but had received only one reply. She’d tried to tell herself that no news was good news, but now, seeing him alive and well, she knew she had been terrified for him.

  She hurried over to them and threw herself into her brother’s arms.

  ‘We thought you’d be surprised.’ Andrew grinned when she let him go. There were new lines around his eyes and mouth, but he was still her dear beautiful brother.

  Simon was standing a step or two behind, keeping a polite distance until brother and sister had greeted each other.

  ‘Lieutenant Maxwell, it’s good to see you again.’ She was surprised to find that she meant it.

  ‘You too, Isabel.’

  Isabel tucked her arm into Andrew’s. ‘Now, tell me, what are you doing here?’

  ‘We’re here to help the Serbian Air Force. We had a few days’ leave and we thought we’d spend it with you. We left our kites at headquarters in Nish and begged the use of a motor for a few days and room in a tent with the American Red Cross in Mladanovatz.’

  ‘You have a few days?’

  ‘Seventy-two hours. Not enough time to go home, but enough to come and see you. I always knew that being a pilot would come in useful one day.’

  Dr Bradshaw released Isabel from her duties while Andrew and Simon were there. When Isabel had tried to argue that she needed only a few hours, Dr Bradshaw had been adamant. ‘I need my doctors refreshed,’ she said. ‘You haven’t had any leave yet and you’re exhausted.’

  ‘We’re all exhausted,’ Isabel had protested. ‘And there’s so much to do with this latest typhus epidemic.’

  Dr Bradshaw smiled tiredly. ‘I know. This unit has been through a great deal and I wish I could send you all home for a couple of weeks’ rest. Sadly, that’s not possible.’

  ‘I could work in the mornings and take the afternoons off.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. You have seventy-two hours, Dr MacKenzie, and if I catch even a glimpse of you on the wards, I shall put you on report.’

  The two women shared a smile, knowing that Dr Bradshaw would do no such thing. She might try to run her unit along military lines, as Dr Inglis wanted it, but she had enough knowledge of her staff to realise that the best way to keep them happy was to allow them their independence – with the exception of becoming attached to one of the soldiers.

  And Isabel did want to spend every moment she could with Andrew.

  As the sun was shining, she coaxed a picnic from the cook. Andrew and Simon had brought cheese and cold meat from Paris, so they were well served.

  After they had picnicked, Andrew stripped
down to his long-johns and jumped into the lake. Simon shook his head when his friend tried to persuade him to come in.

  ‘How is he?’ Isabel asked. Although there were glimpses of the carefree young man Andrew had been, they seemed few and far between. Often when she glanced at him he was staring into the distance as if he were somewhere no one else could go.

  Simon gazed longingly at him and Isabel prayed, for his sake, that only she could see the naked love in his eyes.

  ‘He doesn’t sleep. Come to think of it, neither do any of us.’ Simon’s hands trembled as he shook out a French cigarette. ‘The Huns like to have a go at us when we fly over their trenches, and now that their engineers have found a way of mounting machine-guns on the front of their kites that can fire through the propellers, their damn pilots are having a go at us too.’

  ‘Is it very bad?’ Isabel whispered.

  ‘It’s not good. One poor chap was shot down yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Simon said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you. You mustn’t think the same thing will happen to us. He’d only had eight hours’ flying time. Andrew and I have much more experience. Your brother flies as if he were born to it. No one can catch him.’

  A shiver ran down Isabel’s spine. She couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to Andrew. ‘Have you seen Dorothea recently? Is she well?’ she asked.

  ‘We see her whenever we have time. Sometimes in Paris, sometimes at the abbey.’ Simon’s eyes were bleak. ‘Of course, I saw her at Charles’s funeral. Mama and Papa didn’t want her to leave again. They worry about us.’

  Isabel’s mouth went dry. ‘Are you any closer to discovering what happened to your brother?’

  ‘We found his remains buried on Skye.’

  Isabel swallowed the nausea that had risen to her throat. ‘I’d heard,’ she said. ‘One of the nurses in the unit was with Dorothea when she received the news.’

  ‘Until we can find the MacCorquodale fellow and are able to question him, then, no, we don’t know for certain what happened. But Papa is convinced MacCorquodale killed Charles. He spends much of his time trying to get Scotland Yard to hunt for him, but with the war on, there’s not much appetite for conducting a search. Papa has a private detective on it and I doubt he’ll give up until he has MacCorquodale in his hands.’

  Apart from Andrew’s splashing and the call of the birds, there was silence. All of the joy went out of the day. Would Charles haunt her for the rest of her life?

  ‘Come on, Simon,’ Andrew called from the water. ‘Don’t be a sissy.’

  Simon gave Isabel a smile of apology. He removed his jacket and boots, then jumped into the lake.

  The remainder of Andrew’s leave rushed by. Isabel found that the more time she spent with Simon, the more she appreciated his dry sense of humour, and his love for Andrew comforted her. Thankfully, Charles wasn’t mentioned again and neither was the war. Instead the three of them, occasionally joined by Maud, Evans or some of others, talked only of happier times. However, as Isabel watched Simon and Andrew playing cricket with the nurses, she kept having to push away the foreboding sense of doom that clung to her like a shroud.

  When, finally, it was time for them to leave, she thought her heart would break. ‘Come back soon, Andrew,’ she said, as he flung an arm around her.

  ‘As often as I can. Chin up, old girl. I don’t intend to let the Huns get me.’

  But as he leaped into the lorry alongside Simon, she wondered if she would ever see either of them again.

  Chapter 41

  The weeks passed quickly and Jessie found the work no harder in Serbia than it had been at Royaumont, although the patients they were dealing with were different. Andreas had come through his latest bout of fever and, although he still said little, he was heartbreakingly appreciative to Jessie and the other nurses for any small task they did for him. Milo, to everyone’s relief, had died a few days after Jessie arrived. At least with the morphia his passing had been peaceful.

  She saw little of Isabel, who roomed with the other doctors, and for that she was grateful. She was pleased to find she had been billeted alongside Maud, who ran a tight ward and was always cheerful and ready for a chat when they found themselves off duty at the same time.

  As the days grew warmer, the flood of patients with typhus eased. Soon there was less to do on the wards and more time for relaxing. They filled the days with games and dances, the recuperating patients joining in while those who were too sick to leave their beds were wheeled out to watch from the shade. The women adored the Serbs and one in particular sought out Jessie whenever he could. Although she did her best to discourage him, telling him she was married, he smiled, pretending not to understand.

  She hadn’t given up hope of coming across someone who could tell her what had happened to Tommy. Every week she wrote to Captain Steel, his commanding officer, asking if there was any news of her husband, and every week she received a letter back telling her that he was sorry but there was still no information. She wrote to Archie, too, telling him as much as she could about Serbia while staying on the right side of the censors. She hadn’t heard from him recently and fretted.

  She dabbed at her throat. All day she had been feeling seedy. She’d tried to ignore it, but it was getting worse.

  Evans, who had been darting concerned looks her way, came to ask her to look at a dressing. Although Jessie longed to go to her room to rest, there were still two hours left of her shift. If only she could make it to the end, a good night’s sleep would sort her out.

  But as she fumbled with the dressing, she was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

  ‘Are you perfectly well, Sister?’ Evans asked. ‘You look a little flushed.’

  ‘I have felt better,’ Jessie admitted. ‘Perhaps I should sit down for a moment.’ The floor seemed to be shifting under her feet and she was grateful for the discreet support of Evans’s arm.

  ‘I’ll fetch a doctor,’ Evans said.

  ‘No! They have enough to do. I’m just a little tired. That’s all. A glass of water will keep me going.’

  As Evans hurried away, Jessie lowered her lids. A few minutes’ rest and she’d be able to carry on.

  When she opened her eyes, she was in bed on the staff sick bay, with Isabel bending over her, looking concerned. Evans was hovering behind, peering over the doctor’s shoulder.

  Jessie tried to toss aside the blankets but she was too weak. The room was far too hot.

  ‘Lie still, Jessie,’ Isabel said softly. ‘You’re ill. You need to rest.’ A cold cloth was placed on her forehead. ‘Stay with her, Evans. I’ll look in again as soon as I can, but in the meantime keep her as cool as possible.’

  It was ridiculous her lying in bed when there were patients who needed looking after. Jessie attempted to push away Isabel’s hand but found she could barely lift her arm. She closed her eyes. A little sleep, and then she would get up.

  When she came to, Archie was in a chair by the bed. She must be dreaming. It was impossible that he could be here. Hadn’t he gone to America?

  ‘Archie? Is it really you?’

  Archie’s eyes were red, as if he’d been bending over a sooty fire. Didn’t he know better? ‘Hush, Jess. You have to rest.’

  ‘Rest? Don’t be silly. Not when there’s baking to do and Daisy to milk.’

  ‘Jessie, you’re not at home in Skye. You’re in Serbia. But I’m really here and I’m not going to leave you until you’re better.’

  A figure bent over her, blocking him from her view. Cool hands felt for her pulse and laid a cold wet towel across her head. It felt so good, but she wanted to see Archie. She needed to know she hadn’t dreamed him.

  Thankfully, the figure moved away. It looked awfully like the doctor’s daughter. What was she doing here? But her head was pounding and thinking was too much effort.

  ‘I’ll go and get Evans, Archie.’ It was definitely the doctor’s daughter’s voice
. ‘I expect her fever to break soon.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t?’ Archie’s voice was ragged. He reached out and grabbed Isabel’s wrist. ‘For God’s sake, Isabel, don’t let her die.’

  Die? Who was going to die? Jessie struggled to open her eyes. If someone was dying, she needed to help them. There was a click as the door closed. Even though she summoned all her strength, she couldn’t move. But somebody was dead. ‘Ah, Lord Maxwell is dead,’ she said. There was something about those words that troubled her. ‘Somebody killed him.’

  Archie, if indeed it was him and not an apparition, spoke softly in Gaelic: ‘You have to fight this, Jessie. I need you. You’re all I have left.’ His voice caught on the last word and he cleared his throat. ‘Please, Jessie, you have to live. I can’t let you die thinking your brother might be guilty of murder.’

  Jessie couldn’t think who or what he was talking about. Of course she didn’t think Archie was a murderer. Archie was her brother, the son of a Martyr of Glendale, and if he’d killed anyone, he would have had good reason. There was a war on, after all. She remembered that now. She was trying to stay conscious so that she could make sense of what he was saying, but she was so tired. It was as if she were being pulled into a dark hole as deep as Dunvegan Loch and she was powerless to resist.

  ‘You see, Jessie, I didn’t kill Lord Maxwell. He was already dead when I found him.’

  When she next woke, Isabel was there and Archie was in the chair with his elbows propped on his knees. He looked almost happy.

  ‘How are you feeling, Jessie?’ Isabel asked.

  Jessie tried to speak but her tongue was dry and her throat raw.

  Archie came behind her and lifted her into a sitting position while Isabel held a cup of water to her lips. Never had anything tasted so good.

  When she’d had enough she lay back, exhausted. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘You’ve had typhus,’ Isabel said, ‘but you’re better now.’ Fragments were coming back to her. Evans sitting next to her holding her hand, Isabel bending over her looking worried, Archie talking to her in Gaelic, his voice low and reassuring, making her think once or twice that he was Dad.