The Fog of War

by A. L. Lester

  She pondered all this and more on the drive down to Taunton, mind floating along with no real purpose. She loved to drive and for some reason it calmed her thoughts and allowed them to drift.

  It would be lovely to see Lucy again. As Walt had said, she was a charming little thing. Although Sylvia didn’t want to revisit the grim minutiae of some of the worst times at Royaumont, it would be splendid to reminisce about some of their happier moments of camaraderie. It had been four years of extreme stress and grim terror lightened with wonderful moments of laughter and fun. Working with a team of competent women all pulling together for one purpose had been extraordinary. She’d never experienced anything like it before and she doubted she would again. She was delighted some of the staff had set up a regular newsletter so they could all stay connected.

  And so what if Lucy was sweet on her. Sylvia wasn’t interested in that kind of complication anymore. She didn’t want to cause gossip in the village for a start…although she supposed people wouldn’t make any assumptions about two women living together these days after so many men hadn’t come home from France. But anyway, even if it wouldn’t cause gossip, she didn’t think about Lucy like that. And she doubted Lucy thought about Sylvia like that, despite Walter’s teasing. He was stirring the pot a little to see what bubbled up, that was all.

  Those musings took her to the station.

  The train was on time and was just pulling in as she got out of the car. She walked out onto the platform as the smoke was clearing and through the clouds, she made out Lucy.

  She was beside the guard’s van, directing the guard and porters to what seemed like an unnecessarily large pile of luggage. Despite the clement August weather, she was wearing an extremely smart velvet coat with a fur collar over a beautiful travelling suit that hung to mid calf, topped with an extraordinary confection of a hat.

  She looked competent and sophisticated and exceptionally beautiful. Not at all the slightly scapegrace young person of 1916 who had persuaded the hospital powers-that-be she was a suitable candidate for France, although she’d been only twenty-one and inexperienced as a nurse.

  Well. Gosh.

  Sylvia felt herself blushing. She pulled herself together and stepped forward. “Lucy! My dear! How delightful you look!” As they met, Sylvia put her hands on Lucy’s shoulders and held her at a distance, to better look her up and down. “Your coat! It’s wonderful! And your hat!” She was suddenly smiling like a lunatic, she was so pleased to see her. “You look so well!”

  “Sylvia!” Lucy put her hands on Sylvia’s waist and leaned forward to kiss her cheeks, one on each side and one for luck, French-style. Sylvia suddenly found herself with an armful of enthusiastic velvet-wrapped ex-orderly.

  Well. That was nice.

  Lucy drew back and smiled back at her, allowing a moment’s more inspection as she said, “It’s so nice to see you! And yes…I haven’t had much to do with my time other than visit the dressmaker and help Mama turn out the cupboards. I’m very much looking forward to doing something else! But I made the most of the dressmaker. It’s rather nice to have the opportunity again!”

  Sylvia concealed a wince at her statement about her Mama’s cupboards with a smile. The piles of clutter hadn’t got much better in the last few weeks. She let her hands drop from Lucy’s shoulders and said, “I’m so pleased you’ve arrived. The car is through the arch, this way…” She turned and linked her arm through Lucy’s to guide her out of the station, catching the attention of the porter with his trolley stacked high with Lucy’s trunks. “Is there anything you need to pick up in town? We’re a half-hour drive away from home and there’s only a few shops in the village.”

  Lucy shook her head. “No, I don’t need anything. Mama said I looked like I was never coming back, I’ve packed so much.” She waved a hand at her luggage.

  There was a considerable amount. Sylvia looked at it dubiously. “Perhaps…yes. I think we’ll have to get the carrier to bring it up later.” She turned to the porter. Could you arrange it? Courtfield House, Bradfield. Lucy dear, do you need access to anything immediately? There’s a back seat in the Austin.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Just the smallest one,” she said. “The others I can wait for.” Her eyes were already on the car. “This is beautiful, Sylv! It’s huge! May I drive?”

  Sylvia looked at her neat, pleated suit-skirt swirling below her knees as she twisted and turned, examining the vehicle, and laughed aloud. Things were certainly going to become more interesting.

  “What?” Lucy said, slightly annoyed at her lack of immediate response. “I can drive! You’ve seen me.”

  Sylvia nodded. “It wasn’t that. I’m pleased you’re here, Lucille. I’m incredibly pleased you’re here. And yes, you can drive.”

  She turned to the porter. “Thank you,” she said. “Put the smallest one in the back. The carrier can bring the rest.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he hefted it in. “Smart motor, she is.”

  “She is indeed,” Sylvia said. “Drives like a dream.” She glanced over at Lucy. “Unless she’s weighed down with a tonne of luggage, of course.”

  Lucy huffed a laugh as Sylvia tipped the man. “Sorry,” she said, unapologetically. “I got a bit carried away. I’m still not used to having everything I want at my fingertips all the time.”

  Sylvia nodded. “No, I know what you mean. And why not bring it, anyway? There’s not a limit on space.” She gestured. “Come on. You can drive. But if my hat comes off, we’re swapping.”

  She turned away from the sniggering porter and went to crank the starting handle. “I’ll do that, ma’am. You get in,” he said.

  She did as he bid, and he turned the crank. It caught first time and Lucy laughed beside her. “Let’s go!” she said, putting it into gear. And they were off.

  Chapter 8

  “Now tell me,” Lucy said, settling back into the settee with her cup of tea and taking an ambrosial mouthful, “How are you? Really?”

  Sylvia looked a little worn around the edges, she thought. More so than Lucy had expected when she’d accepted her standing invitation to visit. She was a tall woman, thin, with a classically handsome face and the most expressive brown eyes Lucy had ever seen. She’d never carried any excess weight and had always tended to drop it off when she was under pressure. Lucy had expected her to look less strained than she currently did. They had both been back from France for more than six months now and the constant stresses they had been living under, especially in those last dreadful months before the Armistice when they were all so tired, patching tired soldiers up, the constant churn of wounded men in and damaged men out, should surely have abated a little by now?

  Sylvia finished pouring her own cup of tea and sat back on the opposite settee. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s a little odd to be back, still. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night in a flurry, thinking someone called for me. And I dream…”

  Lucy nodded. She dreamt too.

  “But nevertheless. I’m well, I think. Overall.”

  She didn’t sound as if that were all there was to it, but Lucy was going to be here for a while, and she’d soon ferret it out of her. They’d become good friends during their time in France. Lucy had admired Sylvia a great deal and she knew Sylvia had come to like and trust her in return. They had a solid friendship. Sylvia would confide in her if there was anything to confide.

  There was a comfortable pause whilst they both drank their tea.

  “The house is overwhelming me,” Sylvia said, putting her teacup down on the table between the two settees and taking a biscuit from the plate. It had the air of a confession. “Papa was a hoarder. And so was his Papa. And I suspect his Papa, too. Possibly no-one has ever lived here who was not a hoarder since the house was built. The housekeeper has retired, and the other staff found other employment or joined up when he died.” She took another biscuit. “I feel like I’m drowning in other people’s lives.”

  Lucy laughed. “I
have been reduced to turning out the cupboards at Magenford, like I said. I found, things in the nursery that I remembered hiding when I was tiny. You’ve rescued me from the attics though.”

  Sylvia poured herself more tea and pulled a glum face. “I haven’t even looked in the attics here. Not for about two decades, anyway. They were a paradise when I was a girl, and they weren’t my responsibility. Now though…if I go up there, I’ll have to address things, and I don’t want to do that!”

  Lucy laughed again and helped herself to more tea. “Has your family always lived here, then?” she asked.

  “Yes. It was built two hundred years ago…by a Marks come back from campaigning with Marlborough. We’ve always been doctors. He was a field surgeon. There’s a portrait upstairs. It’s not a huge house, comparatively speaking. But it’s full of history.” She sighed. “And now it’s mine to deal with.”

  “Well, that’s definitely something I can help with. I can organise staff if you’d like? And I can tidy cupboards. This room is perfectly fine, though.” She looked around. “Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “No. I’ve been trying to keep this one dusted and tidy. Walter and I sit in here in the evenings. It’s nice to have somewhere that’s tidy and peaceful.”

  “How is Mr Kennett?” Lucy put her cup down.

  “He’s very well, he says. He’s enjoying being out of the army and being the village gossip. They’re all agog at the idea of a man as a nurse. More so than a woman as a doctor, even.” She laughed as she snagged another biscuit. “We’ve been taking it in turns to cook, so you’ll have to either go on the rota or we’ll have to find someone to help out.”

  Lucy smiled. “Well, whoever made these biscuits is doing an excellent job—I can go on the rota until we find someone. It’s not going to be cordon bleu though.”

  “We don’t need cordon bleu. Just something to keep body and soul together, you’ll be fine.”

  At that moment, the door opened, and Orderly Kennett came in. Lucy didn’t think she’d seen him in mufti before. He was a small man with nut-brown hair a little greyer at the temples than she remembered, but his dark eyes held the same warmth they always did.

  “Mr Kennett,” she said. “It’s so lovely to see you again!” They’d worked together quite a bit at Royaumont. He’d apparently been seconded from the Royal Army Medical Corps to help set up the hospital and had never been un-seconded. Lucy had appreciated his experience—he must be about forty by now, she thought—and had some hair-raising tales of life as a young medical orderly during the Boer War that made her glad to have missed it.

  “Miss Hall-Bridges!” He took her proffered hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Very nice to see you! You’re looking well!” His London accent hadn’t changed.

  “Thank you! You are too. Country life clearly suits you.”

  “It’s a bit different, I’ll admit.” He peered into the teapot. “I’ll refill this, shall I? And I see you’ve enjoyed the biscuits, Dr Marks.” He looked pointedly at Sylvia, who was reaching for another one.

  “Are you sure they were your first try? They’re exceptionally good,” Sylvia said, unapologetically.

  He nodded and she continued, “Lucy is going to try and sort out our staffing issues. Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts,” she added hastily. “You’re so much better than me.”

  “Yes, I notice that you didn’t offer her any of that cake you made,” he said.

  Sylvia winced. “Well, no,” she said. “I like her.”

  Mr Kennett laughed. “Well yes, that’s reasonable,” he said. “Give me that tray, I’ll refill the pot for you while you chatter.”

  He exited with the tea and Lucy smiled at Sylvia. “Such a nice man,” she said. “He was so helpful to me when I first arrived out there. He found me being sick in the sluice room on my second day on the ward after I’d helped re-dress a bad wound and was so kind.”

  Sylvia smiled back. “I’m pleased you like him. Although he’s billeted above the garage, he’s in and out of the house and we eat together and often sit in here in the evenings as I said. We don’t stand on ceremony. We’ve been through too much together for that.”

  Kennett had been Sylvia’s frequent right-hand man at the hospital, Lucy remembered. “It’s not like there are any conventions anymore,” she said. “Or at least, none that I feel bound by. All that’s gone by the board. I just want to be happy and safe and have the people I love happy and safe, too.”

  Sylvia nodded and at that point Kennett arrived back in with the tea-tray.

  Chapter 9

  It was wonderful to see some different people, Lucy thought, absently, following Sylvia up the stairs to her room. Even to look out of the window and see some different scenery.

  She loved her parents dearly but staying at home with them had felt very constricting after her time in France.

  “Here you are,” Sylvia said, opening one of the half dozen doors along the wide corridor. “I’ve taken Papa’s old quarters over the front door so that I can hear if anyone calls in the night, needing me. I’ve put you in my old room.”

  It was a beautiful, spacious room, lit with the last weak light of the January sun. It deepened the rose-petal-pink of the wallpaper and bedding and illuminated the dust on the carpet. It smelled unused.

  “Everything needs cleaning,” Sylvia said, glumly. “I’m so sorry. I did dust and change the sheets, honestly. And I bought a Hoover.”

  “A Hoover! How exciting! Have you used it yet?” Lucy perked up. She loved gadgets.

  Sylvia shot her a sideways look. “Not as such, no. You seem overly excited about it, have you suddenly decided to make a career of domesticity?”

  Lucy laughed. “No! But our housekeeper at home persuaded Mama that it would be useful, and I was allowed to play with it when it arrived. It’s fascinating! And so easy!”

  She’d got over her fear of arduous work at the hospital. Not that she’d ever really had one, but spending a couple of years scrubbing floors and bedpans had changed her perception of appropriate occupation for young ladies of her station for good.

  “I can sort this out in a jiffy, don’t worry,” she said, grinning at Sylvia helplessly. She couldn’t stop smiling. It was so good to see her again. “And I can deal with your rooms as well.” She looked at Sylvia appraisingly. “I don’t expect you’ve done much with them, have you?”

  Sylvia looked down at the floor, blushing slightly and shuffling her feet. “They’re fine. Perfectly fine,” she said, tracing the pattern of roses on the floor with the toe of her brogue.

  “Hmm.” Lucy looked at her. “Of course they are. Perfectly fine. Oh Sylvia!” She stepped closer and took her friend’s hands in her own, tugging gently to encourage her to raise her head. “Sylvia, thank you so much for allowing me to come and stay! I know I rather invited myself. But I am so grateful. I’m so pleased to be here, and I’m certain I can make myself useful and get the house in order.”

  Sylvia looked up at her and smiled. “Lucy, you’d be welcome even if you did nothing but lounge on a settee and read all day, my dear. It’s really lovely to see you.” She squeezed Lucy’s hands before she dropped them and stepped away toward the door, looking embarrassed at her display of emotion. “Now. Let me show you the bathrooms. There are two on this floor, dreadfully decadent, I know. Here we are.”

  She opened the door with a flourish. “I use the one next door to my rooms that Papa converted from the smallest bedroom, so we can bag one each as there’s only us here.”

  It was a huge affair like the ones at home, with a bath raised up on a pedestal at one end and a water closet and a sink on the other wall. It smelled of dust in the same way as the bedroom, although not as badly, presumably because there were polished floorboards and a couple of small rugs rather than one large one.

  “The hot water takes an age to run through the pipes, but the tank is huge,” Sylvia said, gesticulating vaguely.

  “Ex
cellent,” Lucy said. “Hot water is my fatal flaw.”

  Sylvia smiled at her. “Mine too,” she said. “I’ll leave you to get settled, shall I? I expect the carrier will be up with your things before supper, but we do tend to eat early.” She pulled a face. “And it’s my turn to cook tonight, so I’d better get started.”

  Lucy laughed at her. “I’ll get changed out of these travelling clothes and then come back down and help,” she said. “What are we having?”

  “Sausages,” Sylvia said. “I can manage sausages. I need to peel potatoes and carrots. And I think there’s a turnip.”

  “That sounds marvellous,” Lucy said. “I’ll be down in a sec.”

  Sylvia closed the door gently behind her and Lucy turned to her bags.

  She had a change of clothes in her hand luggage. Her travelling suit was wonderfully comfortable, but she felt grimy and smoke-soiled from the train and it was nice to have a wash in the bathroom and comb her hair and put on something else. She shook the folds of the skirt and blouse and cardigan out onto the bed and scowled at the creases. Well. She didn’t think anyone here would mind.

  How lovely it was to be here! Her heart had beat double-time when she saw Sylvia on the platform. She’d missed her. She knew that friendships formed under pressure didn’t necessarily carry on once the pressure was removed. But they’d been corresponding since they’d both come home last winter, and it seemed as if they were as easy together as they’d always been.