by Emma Fraser
He opened his eyes briefly and closed them again. ‘Go away. I told you and them I didn’t want to see you.’
Jessie recalled the boy in France saying the same thing. Couldn’t these men believe that women who truly loved did so regardless? ‘Tommy, look at me,’ she said. When he shook his head, she repeated her words more firmly. He opened his eyes and she saw fear and shame. ‘I’m not going anywhere, husband, so you can put that notion out of your head.’
‘How can you say that?’ he asked bitterly. ‘I’m no use to anyone. Not now. I’ll never be able to work, never be able to look after a wife. If you stay with me, Jessie, you’ll be a pauper alongside me.’
‘I need you, Tommy. I can work. There’ll be enough money for us to live on.’
‘They won’t let you work if you’re married. You must divorce me. It’s the only way.’
‘I’m not going to divorce you, Tommy. The very idea is ridiculous.’ She knelt beside him, her hands covering his. ‘I love you. I prayed every day these last years that you’d come back to me, and God heard me. Do you think I’m going to let you go now?’
Something shifted in Tommy’s eyes. He gripped her hands so tightly she almost cried out. ‘You’ll never leave me? Because if I come home to you, I’ll never let you go. You have to believe I mean what I say. I’m not the man you married. I’m not much of a man any more. The only thing that kept me alive in the camp was that you were waiting for me. I wish I’d been killed instead of having my legs blown off, but maybe you’re right. Maybe God did have something in mind when He kept me alive.’
Jessie was crying now and she didn’t care who saw. Tommy reached out and pulled her against his chest. He was still Tommy. The feel of him – although he was thinner than he used to be – the smell of him, the warmth of him.
When she stopped crying, she looked up to find his eyes damp. ‘I’m not going to cry, Jessie. I’m already only half a man.’ But this time there was a smile. It was tentative, as if he’d forgotten how to do it, but it was there. She snuggled against him. ‘Funny how it was here we met and here that we should come together again.’
‘Only this time, when I leave, I’m never coming back.’
She smiled up at the only man she’d ever loved and would ever love. ‘Let’s start thinking about getting you home then, shall we?’
After she had left Tommy, with a promise to return every day until he was ready to be discharged, a nurse took her to see Isabel, who was waiting in the doctors’ room. Despite the bright sunshine outside, the room was chilly.
‘How did you find him?’ Isabel asked.
‘He’ll come home as soon as he can,’ Jessie replied.
Isabel nodded. ‘I knew if anyone could persuade him he still has a life, it would be you.’
‘It won’t be easy,’ Jessie said. ‘Our flat is on the second floor and I have no idea how I’m going to get him up and down the stairs. Then I’ll have to find work. I’ll see the matron here before I leave and ask if she’ll take me on. Perhaps she’ll find it in her to overlook the fact that I’m married.’
‘When the war is over I plan to open a small practice,’ Isabel said. ‘I’d be honoured if you’d be my nurse.’
‘Aye, well, perhaps. If I can’t find anything else.’ She smiled to take the sting from her words. ‘How’s the baby?’
‘Richard Calum Andrew Maxwell is well.’ Isabel paused as a shadow crossed her face. ‘He looks like his father – Archie, I mean. Lady Glendale keeps remarking that she’s surprised he doesn’t have Simon’s red hair.’
‘You called him Calum?’ It was her father’s name and the name Archie had gone by in France and Serbia.
‘I wanted him to have something that belonged to Archie.’ Isabel ran her tongue over her lips. ‘I … I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?’
Jessie swallowed. ‘You must prepare yourself.’
Isabel’s face lost its colour. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.
‘His letter only found me recently. He sent one to you, too, and asked me to let you have it.’ She brought the letter out of her pocket and laid it on the desk. Isabel made no move to pick it up.
‘As we suspected, he was captured by the Germans. He wasn’t wearing his armband.’
‘He gave it to me,’ Isabel said quietly.
‘He was to be tried as a spy.’ Jessie leaned across the table and took Isabel’s hands in hers. ‘I’m afraid, my dear, they planned to execute him.’
Isabel closed her eyes. There was a long silence. Outside, Jessie heard the sound of the tea trolley. Isabel pushed herself away from the desk, stood up and walked to the window, where she remained with her back to Jessie.
‘If he hadn’t given me his armband…’
Aye, well. Archie had done so much for this woman. He must have loved her greatly. ‘He did what he had to. He always wanted to protect you. My brother was a man of honour. He couldn’t have acted differently.’
‘Can you be certain he was executed?’
‘My dear, it’s more than four months since the war ended. Do you not think if Archie was alive he would have found his way back to you? And to me?’
‘Yes,’ Isabel whispered.
When she turned again, her face was composed although her lips were white. She picked up the letter and held it to her breast before placing it in her pocket. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be alone when I read it.’
‘I understand.’
Isabel sat down. ‘Tell me what happened after we parted.’
‘I was sent back to the abbey. You heard that Dr Inglis and everyone was captured by the Austrians after we left them in Serbia?’
Isabel nodded.
‘After three months the news came that they had been released unharmed. It turned out they hadn’t been treated too badly. They had the same horrible journey as we did, but they all survived – you’ll know that much.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘What news of Lady Dorothea?’
‘She recovered well, although she limps when she’s fatigued. She intends to train as a lawyer when the war is over.’ Isabel smiled faintly. ‘She has done with Lord Livingston and claims she’ll marry whomever she pleases. If she pleases.’
‘What did she have to say about your marrying her brother?’
Isabel fiddled with the cuffs of her dress before answering. ‘She was surprised, of course, but I don’t think she minded.’
‘Did she suspect it wasn’t her brother’s baby you were carrying?’
‘If she did, she never said. Too well bred. She adores her nephew.’
‘And did she ever tell anyone about Archie?’
Isabel shook her head. ‘She remembers nothing of that day.’
Jessie hadn’t been aware she’d been holding her breath until it came out in a long sigh. At least Archie’s memory would not be tarnished further.
‘Forgive me,’ Isabel said, after another long silence. ‘Would you like some tea?’
‘No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I have a lot to do before I can take Tommy home.’
Isabel reached out a hand. ‘Please don’t go just yet. Tell me more of what happened after we parted.’
Jessie blinked. She hadn’t planned to leave without making some arrangement to see Archie’s son.
‘After I returned to Royaumont we had a pretty hard time of it. There were a few familiar faces. Maud was there. She’s going to marry her Serbian doctor, by the way.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Later, near the end, we were at Villers-Cotterêts, another hospital close to the front. We were there when the Germans advanced again, but we stayed until the last moment. They’re calling it the Scottish Women’s Hospitals’ finest hour. That’s where I got this.’ Jessie fingered the medal.
‘Your father would have been proud to know his daughter followed in his footsteps.’
‘You know about him and the other Martyrs?’
‘Archie told me. He would have been proud of you too.’
Je
ssie kept quiet. Her father would spin in his grave if he knew his only son had been thought a murderer. But, then, if he was with God and Mam in Heaven, he would know the truth.
Jessie leaned towards Isabel. ‘Did you make the right choice, Isabel? Are you happy?’
‘Happy? I suppose so. As happy as I have the right to be. Happier even. I have my son – a part of Archie no one can take from me – my work, and a husband who is loving and generous.’ She stood too. ‘Would you like to see the baby?’
‘There’s nothing I would like more, but won’t your husband wonder? The war has changed us all, but for Lady Maxwell to invite a crofter’s daughter to her home?’
Isabel lifted her chin in the way Jessie had come to know. ‘You’re not just a crofter’s daughter, Jessie. You’re the finest woman I know and the bravest. If I can never be your sister, I’d be honoured if you would consider me your friend.’
Her friend? The years rolled past as she remembered the first time she had seen Isabel, at school, then the day they had toiled together over Flora McPhee’s baby, the patients they had battled to save, the long trek on which they had kept each other alive, Archie telling her he was carrying the blame for a killing Isabel had committed, the night Isabel told her she was pregnant with Archie’s child and then that she was marrying Simon Maxwell. She was bound to this woman in so many ways, but could they ever be friends?
She doubted it. The shadow of Archie and Charles Maxwell would always lie between them. She could never look at this woman without remembering how Archie had suffered for her. That he had chosen to do so, willingly and clear-sightedly, did not make it easier.
But she could not turn away from Archie’s son. She longed to see him, wanted to protect and watch over him, as Archie would have done, had he lived.
‘Although, of course, you can never be acknowledged as my son’s aunt,’ Isabel continued. ‘You do see that?’
Even now her last link to Archie was to be denied. As always, Isabel was to be protected.
‘Please,’ Isabel implored. ‘I want Richard to know you.’
The choice was simple. If Jessie wished to see Richard it would be as a friend of his mother’s, not as his aunt.
She stood and held out her hand. ‘It’s been interesting knowing you, and I wish you well. I would very much like to meet my nephew. Perhaps in the park one day.’
Isabel smiled sadly, understanding what Jessie was saying. ‘I should like that very much.’
As the door closed behind Jessie, she turned her mind back to Tommy. A Thighearna, she had a lot to do. She realised she was smiling. The years ahead would be hard, very hard, but she had her Tommy and her work. It was enough.
Isabel sat in her garden at Charlotte Square in the dying light of the afternoon. Richard was examining some bushes with the same fierce intensity his father had had.
The letter Jessie had given her lay on her lap, her name written on the envelope in a bold, confident hand. Odd to think she had never seen his writing before. Summoning her courage, she opened it.
My darling,
I write to tell you that I have been captured and will be tried as a spy. If I am found guilty, I will be shot. But I’m not afraid. My only regret is that I will never see you again – never see you smile, never see the stubborn lift of your chin when you’re cross but, most of all, never again will I hold you in my arms.
But at least I knew your love. Many men will die never knowing what it is to be loved the way I know you love me, and it gives me the strength I need to face my death with honour.
Be brave, my Isabel. Live your life the way only you can. Be the finest doctor you can be.
Despite what I have written I have not given up hope. My darling, whatever happens, I know one day we will meet again. Remember the words in the Song of Solomon? ‘When the dawn breaks and the shadows flee.’
Until then, my love,
I love you.
Archie
While she’d been reading, Richard had come over to her. He tugged as her skirt. ‘Mama, why are you crying?’
His face was so like Archie’s, his eyes the same shade of cobalt blue, his too-long hair, which she hadn’t the heart to cut, like his father’s, dark and wild.
‘I’m crying because I’m sad.’ She held out her arms and lifted her child onto her lap, holding him close to her. If only Archie could have known he had a child. If only …
But there could be no more thinking about the if-onlys.
Richard pulled away from her and took her face between his two small hands. ‘I don’t like it when you’re sad. Papa says it’s better to be brave.’
His papa. Simon. The only father he’d ever known or would know. If only she could tell him about his real father: ‘Your papa was a brave man, a fine and honourable man.’
She wanted to do something to honour him. He had urged her to be the best doctor she could be. It had been her plan when the remaining soldiers were finally discharged from Craigleith to set up in private practice. But another idea was forming in her mind.
A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Simon standing beside her. He was a good husband, kind and loving, but he wasn’t Archie.
‘My dear? Whatever is the matter?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘You know that sometimes I get a little sad.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘I should like to visit our house on Skye for a while.’ If she couldn’t tell her son about Archie, she could show him the place his father had loved.
‘Of course,’ Simon said. ‘It’s always kept ready.’
‘I have another favour to ask. How would you feel about your wife starting her own small hospital for the poor? Here in Edinburgh. It would take money. A substantial sum.’
Simon smiled. ‘Then it’s fortunate that I’m a very rich man.’ He lifted Richard from her lap and held out his hand to her. ‘It’s getting cold. Shall we go in?’
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the garden. ‘You go. I’ll be along in a moment.’ She smiled back at him.
Left alone again, she sat, remembering Archie. She reached into her pocket for her handkerchief and removed the petals of a wild rose from between its folds. She brought them to her lips before placing them in the envelope containing Archie’s letter. Suddenly a cloud cleared from the setting sun and the rays shone directly on her, bathing her in light.
She closed her eyes. Yes, my darling love. Until the dawn breaks and the shadows flee. In the meantime I’ll do my best to make you and your son proud.
She stood up and smoothed her dress.
There was work to do and a life yet to live.
Author’s Note
Quite early on I knew I wanted to write about a Scottish woman doctor in the early twentieth century but when I started to research medical training at this time, I stumbled on the story of Dr Elsie Inglis and the Scottish Women’s Hospitals (SWH).
As an ex-nurse, the name Elsie Inglis was familiar to me. I trained in Edinburgh and at that time the Elsie Inglis Memorial Hospital was still taking patients.
What I didn’t know, however, was that at the outbreak of the First World War, Dr Elsie Inglis had gone to the British Army to offer her services abroad. She was promptly told ‘to go home and sit still.’ This however, wasn’t in the Scotswoman’s nature. Undeterred, she immediately approached the French and Serbian governments who accepted her offer with alacrity.
Within weeks she had recruited doctors, nurses, orderlies, cooks and chauffeurs for her women-only unit and by December the SWH units were in France and setting up a hospital at Royaumont Abbey. This was followed by units in Serbia until, at the end of the war, the Scottish Women’s Hospital had fourteen units in total. They weren’t the only all-women units, nor were they staffed only by Scotswomen. The SWH units included women from across the commonwealth and even working guests from the USA.
Although many know the story of the women’s units in France, less is known about
their work in Serbia. Following the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the Austrians declared war on Serbia and by early December had occupied Belgrade. Two weeks later, the Serbian capital had been regained by the Serbian army and forty thousand Austrian soldiers captured. Many Austrian prisoners-of-war, particularly those who spoke Serbian, had no heart for the conflict and were content to live out the war as orderlies in Serbian hospitals. At that time, Serbian hospitals were over-crowded, badly run and had few, if any, trained nurses and welcomed the Scottish Women’s Hospitals and other female units with open arms.
By October 1915, the Austrian and German armies had invaded Serbia and two weeks later, Bulgaria attacked from the east. The women, along with those from the Serbian Relief Fund, were forced to retreat across the Montenegrin mountains, along with thousands of refugees and soldiers, many of whom died along the way. Miraculously only one of the nurses died when her cart slipped down the mountainside.
The women who remained behind in Serbia, Dr Inglis included, were captured by the Germans and when they were eventually released they were forced to retreat too. (In fact Dr Inglis was captured a second time during the war, this time in Russia.)
No feat I describe in my book does justice to the resilience and courage of these women. There are however other facts I have changed slightly to fit with my story. In Part One, I describe the village of Galtrigill on Skye as being a cleared village. In fact it was Borreraig, the village next to it, that was cleared. Evidence of the clearances can still be seen all over the Highlands and Islands of Scotland.
Dunvegan Castle (Sir Walter Scott was really a guest) is still the home of the MacLeods. However, it was empty for a time. The 25th Chief, having given away a substantial part of his wealth to provide work and food for his people, was forced to take a job as a clerk in London and no chief resided at the castle again until 1929. The Maxwells are of course fictitious although there were many landowners just like them in Skye at that time. The story of the Glendale Martyrs is true.
The Americans were doing blood transfusions during the First World War – but it was still experimental and risky and therefore not widely used until much later. Antibiotics did not exist at this time. Infection killed more soldiers than bullets, bombs or shrapnel.