by Ellie Dean
‘Well, I’m glad you’re feeling a bit mollified,’ she said quietly. ‘But I have to say, I am intrigued by this society Bertie has joined. It must be very new for me not to have heard about it. Did you recognise any of the men Bertie was talking to? Perhaps they might give us a clue as to what it’s all about.’
‘Simpkins the town clerk, Mr Eade, that ghastly little solicitor, and Lord Cliffe’s nephew. There were one or two others I recognised, but couldn’t put a name to.’
‘Lord Cliffe’s nephew? I would have thought he had better things to do than hobnob with people like Eade and Simpkins.’
‘There’s no accounting for taste,’ said Cordelia. ‘And I never did like Jasper Cliffe anyway – far too pompous and pleased with himself – not at all like his uncle.’
‘Lord Cliffe is a lovely man, I agree,’ sighed Peggy, ‘and so approachable when it comes to doing good works in the town. It’s a shame his nephew failed his medical into the services. A dose of army training would have done that wastrel the world of good.’
Cordelia’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, no dear, he didn’t fail the medical. That was just an excuse so he could get a cushy desk job up in London.’
Peggy stared at her in utter amazement. ‘I can scarcely believe it,’ she gasped. ‘And after all the wonderful work his uncle has done for the war effort . . .’ She fell silent as her thoughts whirled. ‘Eade’s a slimy creep too. Do you think this society Bertie has joined is for that kind of man?’
Cordelia stared at her. ‘I shouldn’t think so for a minute,’ she said stoutly. ‘Bertie might be many things, but he’s a patriot to the core and has the medals he won from the last war to prove it. As for Eade and Jasper, Bertie has always been very scathing about them and others like them – calls them dishonourable cowards for cheating enlistment.’
‘But that didn’t stop him from accepting the society’s invitation to join,’ Peggy pointed out.
‘That’s as maybe. But I’m sure Bertie will give the two of them a very wide berth. After all, there are plenty of others in the society with whom he has more in common. I’ve seen them up at the golf club.’
‘It’s all very odd,’ murmured Peggy.
‘I shouldn’t let it bother you, dear,’ said Cordelia comfortably. She finished her cup of tea and wriggled out of the chair. ‘Men join these things to make them feel important, and I suspect making money is at the root of it all.’ She kissed Peggy’s cheek. ‘Now, I’m off to bed for an early night with my new library book. See you in the morning.’
Peggy made sure she negotiated the stairs safely and then returned to the kitchen where she sat and stared into the fire. Jasper Cliffe had always been a thorn in his uncle’s side, with his gambling and rather fast set of friends – and she could only imagine the humiliation poor Lord Cliffe must be going through now it seemed to be common knowledge that his nephew was an immoral coward hiding behind a desk.
But why would any society actively recruit men like Jasper and Eade, who were considered social pariahs? What was it other than money and position that linked them to Simpkins and Bertie Double-Barrelled, who’d fought so bravely in the First War and were patriots to the core? Could it be about making even more money, as Cordelia suspected? And who were the other men involved?
Peggy had never trusted secretive societies. She finally gave up trying to figure it all out and decided to ask Ron about it in the morning.
9
April’s eyes fluttered open to total darkness and air filled with dust and acrid smoke. She coughed and covered her mouth and nose with her hand, her eyes stinging, her sluggish thoughts struggling to identify where she was and what had happened.
As the moments passed and the strange, muffled silence was broken by a weak cry for help and whimpers of pain, she realised she was curled up – not on the couch, but on the concrete floor – and that the distant rumble was not enemy aircraft, but heavy-lifting machinery.
Dazed and disorientated, she coughed again and squeezed her eyes shut on the stinging dust that was drifting down on her. She tried to uncurl, but the movement sent a ferocious spear of agony from her wrist to her shoulder and into the back of her head. Gasping with pain and in rising panic, she cradled her arm against her chest for a moment and then tentatively explored her surroundings.
The terror of discovering that she was surrounded on all sides by shifting, groaning rubble and rafters made her heart hammer, and she had to battle to keep her wits about her and stay calm. One false move and everything would bury her. She felt the throb in her injured arm being echoed in her head as she forced herself to breathe slowly, find calm and think. HMS Firefly had been hit. She and the others were trapped in the cellar. But the rescue services would come. Of course they would. It was just a matter of time.
And yet how much time did they have – and had the blast that had knocked her from the couch also destroyed the tiny living thing inside her? April waited anxiously to feel the flutter that would signal the baby’s survival, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil. She didn’t want it to be dead, but selfishly it would be an answer to all her problems if it was. And yet to wish harm on something that was innocent of blame was wicked and unforgivable, so it was with a deep sigh of genuine relief that she felt the baby move inside her.
She closed her eyes, the tears of remorse hot on her cheeks as she prayed for forgiveness and vowed she would never wish such a wicked thing again.
‘April? April, is that you?’
‘Paula?’ April wiped back her tears and listened hard, for her friend’s call had been close, but very faint. ‘Paula? Where are you?’
‘I’m here,’ she said weakly from the other side of what felt like a huge fallen rafter. ‘Help me, April. I’m frightened.’
April slid her good hand beneath it, searching for and finding her friend’s fingers. ‘Hold on to me, Paula. I can’t move, but help will be here soon.’
Paula’s grip was feeble. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked tremulously.
‘Yes. I’m fine,’ April said, despite the blinding headache and the awful stabs of pain shooting up her arm. She didn’t like the sound of her friend’s weak voice and could only pray that any injury she had suffered wasn’t too serious. ‘Keep talking to me, Paula,’ she urged. ‘You have to stay awake.’
‘I’m so tired,’ Paula sighed as they lay in the darkness, their fingers entwined beneath the rafter.
‘Fight it, Paula. There’ll be plenty of time to sleep once we’re out of here.’
‘I . . . I’m . . .’ Paula fell silent.
April tried to squeeze her fingers but they were slippery and unresponsive. ‘Wake up, Paula,’ she said urgently. ‘Paula? Paula?’
There was no reply, and April’s concern deepened, but there was absolutely nothing she could do but murmur soothing words in the hope her friend would hear them.
April was getting cramp in her legs and the concrete floor was digging into her hip. She tried to ease into a different position, but with every small movement something shifted and sent great clouds of dust over her. But she was alive, and apart from her wrist and the headache, she seemed to have come through reasonably unscathed. And yet what of Paula and the others who were trapped down here with her?
She became aware of groans and whimpers and a few muttered prayers, and beneath the muffled roar of heavy machinery overhead she could hear the encouraging sound of the petty officer trying to boost morale with a rousing burst of ‘God Save the King’.
There were a few takers for this show of bravado, but the voices petered out as the sound of drills and the shouts of men drifted down to them along with the thick dust. April could hear the debris shifting around her, the creak and groan of timbers under strain, and the drip, drip, drip of water hitting something metallic – probably a bit of guttering – and as it went on it seemed to resonate in her head like a ticking time bomb.
She continued to hold Paula’s hand, but there was no answering movement of her fingers and her breath
ing sounded too rough and rapid. It was a miracle that any of them were alive, but the cries of those nearby were becoming weaker, and she began to wonder how long any of them would last if the men above them didn’t get down here soon.
Her wrist felt as if it was on fire and the headache was making her feel sick. There were pinpricks of light darting before her eyes which felt like needles stabbing into her brain, her calf muscles were threatening to cramp, and her hip had gone numb against the unforgiving concrete floor. She kept a tight hold of Paula’s fingers as she closed her eyes and tried to bury her nose in the collar of her shirt to avoid the dust which was thickening by the minute.
She had no idea of how long she’d been lying there in the darkness, the distant sounds of the men above drifting in and out of her consciousness. She was very thirsty, her tongue dry and rasping over her dusty lips, and her head felt as if it had been divided by a cleaver.
‘Look out below!’
April cringed and curled into a tighter ball as debris clattered down and the dust rose in a great, choking wave.
‘Nearly there!’ shouted someone above her. ‘Hold on, girls. We’ll have you out in a tick.’
The man’s shout revived the spirits, and the cries around April were suddenly stronger and full of hope – but there was still no response from Paula. ‘Paula,’ she urged. ‘Paula, wake up. The men are coming. We’ll be out of here very soon now.’
Paula gave a groan and April prayed the men would hurry. The shifting, creaking debris sounded louder now, and the drip of water had become a downpour, soaking her to the skin.
And then, suddenly, there was glorious light piercing the surrounding blackness, and a blast of fresh, salty air laced with rain. She blinked in its brilliance despite the agony in her head, and lifted her face as if to capture the heat of that light and taste the life-giving rainwater that came with it. ‘They’re here, Paula. They’re here,’ she said, gripping her friend’s hand, trying desperately to get some sort of reaction from her. ‘Come on, Paula, wake up. Please wake up.’
‘Stay still, all of you,’ said the man sternly from above. ‘We have to move this lot slowly or it’ll come down on top of you. Don’t be alarmed, girls. We know what we’re doing.’
The cries of the other survivors fell silent as bit by bit the heavy wooden rafters and lumps of concrete and brick were lifted away. The long shaft of the emergency light never wavered as the dark, elongated shadows of their rescuers moved eerily above them.
April finally realised how she’d been so lucky in surviving the blast, for one of the armchairs had been knocked sideways, and she’d landed within its sheltering, padded interior – it was indeed a miracle. The huge beam that separated her from Paula had missed them both by inches, and was holding up great chunks of concrete and brick interlaced with lead guttering and bits of the staircase.
‘Paula, open your eyes,’ she said. ‘They’ll be here any minute now. You’ve got to hang on.’
Paula remained silent and April didn’t want to imagine what had happened to her friend on the other side of that beam. She tried to quell her panic and turned her face again to the rain which was now teeming through the hole above her, feeling its clean, life-giving coolness on her skin and revelling in the taste of it on her lips.
‘Give me a shout if you think you can walk,’ shouted one of the firemen.
‘Over here,’ called the petty officer. ‘But I’ve got three badly injured with me.’
Other cries came from all corners of the shelter. April shouted up, ‘I’m all right, but my friend is injured and I can’t get her to respond. She needs help, and quickly.’
It felt like a lifetime as, with aching slowness, their rescuers finally managed to get down to them on rope ladders. April watched as girls began to climb up the ladders while the medics carefully examined the wounded.
‘Come on, love. Your turn next.’
April looked up at the brawny fireman and shook her head. ‘I think my wrist is broken, and I want you to see to my friend first.’
‘The medics will look after her,’ he said, reaching for her good hand and gently drawing her to her feet. ‘It’s the bosun’s chair for you, I think.’
‘I’m not going anywhere until I know Paula’s all right,’ she said determinedly.
‘That’s not up to you, Wilton,’ said the petty officer sternly. ‘Do as you’re told.’
Chastened, April bit down on any further argument and let the fireman help her over the rubble. She couldn’t see Paula, who was hidden by the rafter and a great pile of broken bricks and concrete, but at least the men were starting to clear it away so the medic could get to her.
Her wrist was agony, making her feel quite faint, and her legs were cramping so badly she could barely walk.
The fireman lifted her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the bosun’s chair. ‘Hold on tight with your good hand,’ he said kindly. ‘Someone up top will look at that wrist.’
The chair swayed and twisted as it was hauled up through the gaping hole and April clung to the rope, desperately trying to control the swirling, debilitating nausea and the darkness in her head which threatened to overcome her. The rain was needle sharp and icy cold as strong hands steadied the chair and brought her safely to firm ground, but her legs refused to support her and she crumpled against the fireman in a dead faint.
When she next opened her eyes she discovered she was lying on a bed which was surrounded by curtains, her arm in a sling, her wrist tightly bandaged. It took a moment to gather her wits before she realised she must be in hospital, for she could hear hurrying feet on the other side of the curtain and the distant ringing of ambulance and fire-engine bells. She tried to remember how she’d got here, but everything was a blank from the moment that fireman had lifted her out of the bosun’s chair.
‘Paula,’ she breathed. ‘Where’s Paula?’ She sat up, fighting the dizziness and nausea this caused, pushed back the light blanket that was covering her and gasped in alarm. She’d been stripped of everything but her filthy underwear and was covered in scrapes, lumps and bruises. Her head swam as her gaze fell on the incriminating corset and the tattered remains of her sodden overalls which were lying on a chair. Her secret was out.
She froze momentarily, her thoughts spinning. Would the doctor tell her superiors? Was this the naval hospital or the Portsmouth General? If it was the latter, then she stood a chance of keeping her condition under wraps, for patient confidentiality was key. But if it was the naval hospital . . .
She pushed aside her own terrors and concentrated on finding Paula. She still felt light-headed and unsteady on her feet, and the sling was making it difficult to wrap the blanket around her, but it stood to reason Paula must be somewhere in this hospital, and she was determined to find her.
As she reached to draw back the curtain she came face to face with a harassed-looking doctor and hope fled. He was in a white coat, but the nurse beside him was in naval nursing uniform. ‘I have to find Wren Paula Simms 99254,’ she said quickly. ‘Was she brought in here? How bad are her injuries?’
He looked down at her, his expression softening. ‘I’m sorry, but the name isn’t familiar. I’ll get nurse to check for you, but we’ve had a lot of casualties tonight and some have had to go to other hospitals.’
As the nurse hurried off to check, he pressed April back onto the bed and closed the curtain. ‘That wrist will need a plaster, but we’re a bit busy right now as you can imagine, so I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit,’ he said. ‘Other than that, you’ve been a very lucky sailor. The abrasions and bruises will heal quickly, and that lump on your head will go down soon enough.’
April waited, knowing what was coming and although dreading it, felt strangely relieved that her subterfuge was over. She saw his gaze drift to the discarded, filthy corset and then to the swell of her stomach which she hadn’t quite covered with the blanket.
His grey eyes met her blue ones. ‘Unfortunately there is nothi
ng I can do about keeping that quiet,’ he said. ‘You know the rules, Wren Wilton.’
‘But I’m still quite capable of working and doing my bit,’ she protested. ‘I’m only four months gone and in good health. It would be an awful waste of all that training and . . .’ She fell silent beneath his unwavering gaze, knowing that all the protests in the world wouldn’t save her now.
‘The navy has rules for a reason, and now you must face up to the consequences,’ he said sternly. ‘Foolish girls like you should know better, and make use of the family planning clinics. It’s what they’re there for, for goodness’ sake.’
April went scarlet and dipped her chin in shame as she pulled the blanket more closely around her body.
‘I’ll get the nurse to find you something to wear and then you can go to the fracture clinic and wait there until they’re ready for you.’ He turned on his heel, swished through the curtain and was gone.
April blinked back her tears, rattled by his ticking-off and his scorn, and ashamed that she had indeed been very foolish.
The nurse came back armed with clean overalls, a shirt, sweater, bell-bottoms and navy issue underwear. ‘Your petty officer got stores to send them over for the casualties,’ she explained, putting the neat pile on the bed. ‘You won’t be expected to pay for them as this is an emergency.’
‘Did you find out what happened to Paula?’
The nurse shifted her gaze momentarily and then reached for April’s hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘But Wren Paula Simms died on the operating table a few minutes ago.’
April stared at her, unable to take in what she was hearing. ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘No, that can’t be right. She was talking to me while we were waiting to be rescued.’
‘She was very badly injured,’ said the nurse, perching on the bed beside her and squeezing April’s hand. ‘Both her legs were horribly crushed by the falling masonry, and there was some internal bleeding. The doctors here are marvellous and I know they did everything they could, but the blood loss was too great and she couldn’t withstand the shock of such drastic surgery.’