‘At least Frederick is fighting in a proper, honourable war, not just a skirmish in a post office.’
‘Oh!’ cried Mary Ann, shocked into bitterness by Amelia’s words. ‘Honourable! Is that what you call it? What’s so honourable about crouching miserably in a muddy, lousy trench and taking potshots at other miserable, muddy, lousy soldiers, and all for what? To keep England powerful, that’s what for.’
‘It’s not!’ said Amelia passionately. ‘It’s to defend Europe against the Germans. It’s to safeguard the women and children of Belgium and France. That’s what it’s for, and it is honourable, it is!’ She stamped her foot, as she used to do when she was a child and was overcome with rage and indignation.
For a moment, neither girl spoke. They faced each other over Patrick’s prostrate body, Amelia white with anger, and Mary Ann’s face dark and glowering. At this point, Patrick opened his eyes and looked enquiringly from one to the other, but neither of them noticed. Silence crackled in the air between them.
Minutes passed, and Patrick woke up properly. He lay and watched the two girls, trying to piece together where he was, what was happening. He felt for his gun, and then remembered that he had ditched it.
‘I’m sorry, Amelia,’ said Mary Ann at last, looking her friend in the eye. ‘I’m sure whatever about the ould war, Frederick is honourable anyway.’
Amelia said nothing for another long moment. Then she relented and mumbled: ‘I’m sorry too, I suppose. I – I shouldn’t have called your precious Rising a skirmish in a post office.’
‘Well, I suppose you could call it that. But that doesn’t mean the men – and women too – who are fighting in it aren’t every bit as honourable as your Frederick. They’re willing to sacrifice their lives for their country, and you can’t do better than that.’
Amelia’s mother would have replied that you could do better – that you could live for your country instead, and strive to make it a better place, but Amelia didn’t say it. Instead, she just nodded and said:
‘Well, I’m sure they are all honourable men, whichever war they are in,’ said Amelia. Then a thought occurred to her: It’s war itself that is dishonourable. She turned this thought over in her mind. It was the first time she had been able to do what came naturally to Mama – make a clear distinction for herself between the war and Frederick’s part in it. Yes, it’s war itself that is dishonourable, she thought again.
‘Much good honour is to us all the same,’ said Mary Ann, her thoughts running on similar lines to Amelia’s. ‘Honour is all very well and fine for menfolk, but what are we going to do with your man here?’ – at this point she jerked her head in Patrick’s direction – ‘and what are we going to do about getting this blinking message through?’
‘My God, the message!’ moaned Patrick, now fully awake and struggling up onto his good elbow.
The two girls had been so earnestly engaged in their debate about war and honour that they hadn’t looked at Patrick for some time. They were both startled at the sound of his voice, and Amelia let out a little scream. Realising that she shouldn’t do that, she clapped her hand over her mouth.
‘Who’s this, Mary Ann?’ asked Patrick. ‘What’s she doing here? You were supposed to keep this a secret, Mary Ann.’ His voice was whispery, but his eyes were bright and Mary Ann could see that he was fully conscious now.
‘What’s she doing here? For goodness’ sake, Patrick, this is her house. She lives here.’
‘In the shed?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is Amelia Pim, daughter of the house, and you should be very grateful to her. She’s a bit of an expert at first aid and that sort of thing, and she’s after doing a great job on your wounded arm. She’s going to be a doctor.’
Patrick looked down at his sprucely bandaged arm and waved it cautiously in front of him.
‘By God, she’s an expert all right. Pleased to meet you, Miss Pim. A doctor, indeed.’ His voice was coming back to normal, though it was still low.
‘How do you do?’ said Amelia shyly.
‘Don’t swear, Patrick,’ said Mary Ann at the same time. ‘It’s not allowed in this house – or this shed.’
‘I beg your pardon, Miss,’ said Patrick, still leaning on one elbow.
He made to heave himself to his feet, but both Amelia and Mary Ann pushed him gently back onto the cushions, and Mary Ann tucked the blankets around him more tightly.
‘You have to sleep some more, now, Mr Maloney,’ said Amelia, touching his forehead again. ‘I think your fever is abating, but if you stood up now, you would probably faint. And you wouldn’t like to do that, now, would you.’
‘I have to go. I have to deliver …’
‘Yes, yes, we know about the message, but really, you can’t move for the moment. You need rest, and then you need to eat. Would you like a cup of tea now before you sleep, or some warm milk?’
‘Or a sup of sherry?’ chipped in Mary Ann.
‘Sherry!’ said Patrick with a laugh in his voice, still struggling weakly against the girls to sit up.
‘Oh, I don’t think alcohol would be a good idea now,’ said Amelia in a worried voice, ‘not on an empty stomach and with a fever. We just had it for emergencies, while I was fixing your arm up.’
‘No, no. I didn’t mean I wanted the sherry. I was just laughing at the idea of it. Warm milk sounds perfect, thanks. Atin’ and drinkin’ in it, as they say.’
Patrick lay back gratefully.
‘Right so,’ Mary Ann jumped up, delighted to be able to do something positive.
While she was gone, Amelia and Patrick sat and lay, respectively, in an awkward silence for some time. Amelia wrapped her arms around her knees and watched a woodlouse scuttling across the floor, waving its antennae as it went, as if in hectic greeting.
‘A doctor, indeed,’ repeated Patrick at last, when he had got his breath back. ‘Are ladies allowed to be doctors?’
Amelia had had conversations like this before, and so she was ready with the answers. And she was glad he had said something, for she was beginning to be embarrassed by the silence. The woodlouse had disappeared under a block of firewood and there was nothing else to look at.
‘Yes, they’re allowed. But it’s difficult, and of course the men don’t like it.’
‘No. I wouldn’t think they’d be too keen.’
‘They have had control over medicine for so long, they don’t like to think of us getting involved. They don’t want to share it with us. They like to keep women in ignorance. I suppose that makes them feel they’re the great fellows. It’s the same with the vote. They don’t want us to have the vote, because then we’d have a share in their power. But we’re going to get the vote, wait till you see, as soon as this war in Europe is over.’
‘Hah!’ said Patrick. ‘They say the same about Home Rule.’
‘And do you not believe them?’
‘I do not. But anyway, at this stage, Home Rule is too little, too late. We want more than just Home Rule now.’
‘What do you want, then?’
‘Our country back. That’s all. And it’s a fair enough request really.’
Amelia didn’t reply.
Patrick mistook her silence for disagreement.
‘But I suppose you’re an Orangewoman,’ he said. ‘All Protestants are Orangemen.’
‘No. I’m a Quaker.’
‘Isn’t that a sort of Protestant?’
‘Yes and no. It’s very different really. And we are neither nationalists nor unionists. We are pacifists.’
Patrick gave her a long, considering look, from his slate-grey eyes. She smiled at him, and then looked away in confusion.
‘Anti-war?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah, sure, aren’t we all anti-war at heart! I mean, none of us likes fighting and killing.’
‘It’s not enough to be anti-war at heart,’ said Amelia virtuously.
‘What does that mean, now?’ asked Patrick, in a rather patronisin
g tone that Amelia didn’t like.
‘It means,’ she said firmly, ‘that you have to work for peace, not just have a distaste for war.’
Amelia surprised herself. She hadn’t given much thought to what it meant to be a pacifist recently. She felt somehow that it might be disloyal to Frederick. But the arrival of Patrick, ill and wounded, in her own backyard, quite literally, had given her a new and less glamorous perspective on war.
Patrick moved his position and gave a little moan as he jostled his bad arm.
‘You shouldn’t be waving that arm of yours about,’ she said after a bit. ‘Your old sling was pretty well done for, though, and the strips of sheeting Mary Ann brought for bandages aren’t long enough. Have you a scarf?’
Gingerly, Patrick felt inside his jacket with his good hand.
‘No scarf,’ he said.
‘Here, we’ll have to use this so,’ said Amelia, and took off her shawl.
He sat up and inclined his body forward, and Amelia knotted the shawl around his neck, to form a sling. Then she eased the wounded arm into it.
‘Now, you’re as snug as a bug in a rug,’ she said, in a satisfied voice.
Mary Ann came skipping back to the shed with a steaming mug of milk and a slice of bread and honey for Patrick.
‘That was a good idea, Mary Ann,’ said Amelia scientifically. ‘Honey. For energy.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mary Ann, ‘but listen, you two, I’ve had an idea. A great idea! I’m delighted with myself. Here, take this, Patrick, before I spill it, I’m that excited.’
‘Well?’ said Amelia, taking the mug and handing it down to Patrick.
‘It’s Tommy O’Rourke, the milkman. He works for Lucan Dairies, the crowd that deliver the milk around here. But he comes from the Ward, out in north County Dublin. Isn’t that on the way to Ashbourne?’
‘Well, it’s in the right direction, I think, anyway,’ said Amelia, beginning to follow Mary Ann’s thinking.
‘Well, Tommy and myself are great pals, you know. He often has a cup of tea with me in the morning. This road is near the end of his rounds, so it’s late enough when he gets here, maybe half-seven, and I’m often up at that time.’
‘Are you really, Mary Ann?’ said Amelia. ‘That’s terribly early.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind. A cup of tea now with Tommy is a grand way to start my day. And I can safely say that Tommy would be willing to do me a favour. He’d certainly carry the message to Ashbourne for us, no trouble. The only thing is, he’d have to finish his rounds first and then report back to the depot. By the time he’d be ready to leave for home it’d be getting on for half-eight or nine. Would that be time enough, Patrick?’
‘Well, I would prefer to get through with it tonight, but it’s time enough in the morning, I suppose. It’s tomorrow the surrender is to be anyway.’
‘Right, so. That’s that fixed.’
‘Would he take me with him?’ asked Patrick.
‘I didn’t think of that. Would he be able to travel in the morning, Amelia?’
Amelia thought for a moment, then she spoke carefully: ‘It probably wouldn’t be advisable. On the other hand, he can’t stay here either. He would be better off going to a hospital, but I know he’ll never agree to that. The next best thing would be to get him to a safe house, where he can be warm and have a proper bed and good food. That’s more important than not moving him, I’d say.’
‘And we’ll be rid of him too,’ said Mary Ann half-playfully, but with real relief in her voice. ‘And without having to get your parents involved, Amelia.’
‘Just when I was getting to like it here,’ said Patrick, with a flirtatious look at Amelia that made her blush.
So it was settled that Patrick would try to snatch a few hours more sleep, and in the morning would finish the milk round with Tommy O’Rourke, and then travel with him to Ashbourne. Amelia insisted that he take her father’s second best greatcoat, to keep him warm and to hide his sling. She went and got it from the hallstand there and then, and threw it over Patrick as an extra blanket. After that, she said she would get off to bed, and she advised Mary Ann and Patrick to try to get some sleep too.
‘Goodbye, Patrick,’ she said then, offering him her small, cold hand.
He propped himself up on one elbow again, and took the proferred hand gingerly in the hand of his bad arm. Instead of shaking Amelia’s hand, to her great astonishment he brought it carefully to his lips, and kissed the backs of her fingers with a little feathery kiss.
‘Oh!’ she said, and drew her hand away quickly.
His eyes laughed at her.
‘Goodbye,’ he said. ‘And thank you very much, Dr Pim.’
The Man in the Moon
Amelia didn’t get back to sleep for a long time that night. She was chilled right through after the episode in the shed, and her thoughts were racing. When she finally drifted off, it was a pale face set with smiling eyes of cloudy grey that hovered behind her own closed eyelids and accompanied her dreamily into sleep, not the light-flecked caramel-brown eyes she usually conjured up on the brink of her dreams.
But when she did sleep, she slept heavily, and she didn’t hear the clatter of the milk-cart in the road in the early morning, or the hurried, whispered conversation on the doorstep, or the shuffling threesome footsteps as Mary Ann and Tommy O’Rourke supported and encouraged Patrick quickly through the house and settled him on the wooden seat beside the carter, his back against a milkchurn, nor yet again the rapid clanking and spanking as Tommy wheeled the cart swiftly in the roadway and set off at a brisk trot, the empty milk-churns making a merry racket behind him and his silent, muffled companion.
She slept through it all, and only woke when Mary Ann drew her curtains and the morning flooded her room. The sunshine bounded over the floor and leapt onto her body, like an over-excited puppy licking and making a fuss of its beloved owner. She beat off the puppy sunlight with one arm held defensively across her face, and squinted out of one eye at Mary Ann, who stood fully dressed, just as Amelia had last seen her at midnight, and outlined fuzzily against the window, a cup of coffee in her hand.
It took Amelia a second or two to remember, and when she did, she sat up with a jerk.
‘Did he get away, Mary Ann?’
‘He did.’
‘Thank goodness.’
‘And thank you, Amelia, for all you did for him. Here, I brought you a cup of coffee to wake you up.’
Amelia would have been quite happy not to wake up just yet, but Mary Ann was taut with excitement and clearly needed her company, so she took the coffee and patted the edge of the bed comfortably.
‘Sit down, Mary Ann, and tell me all about it.’
Mary Ann sat down gratefully and told Amelia how Tommy had been only too willing to take Patrick and his precious message with him and had helped her to bundle him up and make him comfortable.
‘Did you get to bed at all, Mary Ann?’
‘Well, I just took my dress off and lay down for a few hours, but I didn’t get much sleep, I have to say. I was terrified I would sleep through the milk delivery, and then our only chance to get rid of Pat would be gone.’
‘Oh, don’t say “get rid of”. It sounds unkind.’
‘I don’t care how it sounds. It’s a weight off my mind to have him out of this house, and if he ever comes next, nigh or near darkening its door again I’ll kill him stone dead within an inch of his life and I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
Amelia started to smile at the piled-up illogicalities of Mary Ann’s threats, but she quickly realised that Mary Ann was not in any state to share her amusement. In fact, Mary Ann leant her elbows on her knees at this point, and her head on her knuckles, and burst into tears of relief and anger and gratitude, the strain of the night finally breaking in her.
‘There, there,’ said Amelia, soothingly, leaning awkwardly forward and patting Mary Ann’s spiky shoulders. At Amelia’s touch, or perhaps at the sound of her voice, Mary Ann’s so
bs intensified, and she picked up the hem of her apron and pressed it hard against her eyes, as if to stanch the flow of tears.
‘There, there, it’s all over now, it’s all over, he’s all right, now, he’s gone,’ Amelia repeated several times, still patting Mary Ann with one hand and trying not to spill the coffee, which she hadn’t sipped yet.
Gradually Mary Ann stopped crying, her sobs coming only in occasional and sudden waves, like breakers on the shore, and she dabbed at her face and fingered strands of damp hair off her forehead.
‘Here,’ said Amelia, ‘you have the coffee. You need it more than I do.’
‘Thanks, I will,’ sniffed Mary Ann. ‘A hot drink is always a great comfort in a crisis, isn’t it?’
Amelia nodded. ‘Better than cooking sherry anyway,’ she said with a smile.
At this, Mary Ann’s sobs turned to choked giggles and she had to put the cup she had taken from Amelia down on the bedside locker.
‘Will you ever forget the look on his face when we offered him sherry?’ she squeezed out between sobs of laughter. ‘He must have thought we were three ha’pence short of the full shilling. I bet he thinks the gentry all sit around sipping sherry in their drawing rooms and shaking their heads over the doings of the natives.’
‘Is that what we are – gentry?’ asked Amelia, turning the word over in her mouth. She rather liked the sound of it.
‘Well, in comparison to us you are, anyway,’ said Mary Ann, drinking the coffee, ‘And now, my lady, it’s time your ladyship got up for school. Lucky Saturday is a short schoolday – I don’t think you’d make it through an ordinary weekday.’
Indeed it was no ordinary weekday, but not only because it was a Saturday. When Amelia arrived, late and breathless, there was a simmering excitement in the classroom, but since class was already in progress, she couldn’t ask what it was all about. Several of the girls threw her sidelong looks, which made her quite uneasy. It felt almost as if they knew what she had been up to in the dark of night, consorting with a rebel and conspiring to help a traitor escape. When she put it to herself like that, she began to feel quite nervous. What would happen if anyone did find out? Would she be slapped in handcuffs and thrown into gaol? It sounded dramatic, but Amelia knew that even good people could get into trouble with the law very easily, through no fault, or at least, very little fault, of their own, just for doing what they thought right and for the best.
No Peace for Amelia Page 12