‘Look what I’ve done, Mother,’ said Clem, proudly displaying his section of the rug.
Probyn’s eyes shot up to see Grace’s bedraggled, nightgowned figure in the doorway. Immediately he rose. ‘Come and sit down. Can I get you anything to eat?’
‘No, but a cup of cocoa would be nice.’ The children had obviously had theirs, each mouth encircled with brown. Grace smiled but this loving gesture was restricted to her children and now she looked concerned. ‘They shouldn’t be using those sharp pegs.’
Probyn had not thought of this. ‘They’re being careful.’
Coming to stand beside them Grace praised her offspring’s efforts with the rug.
‘Yes, they’re making a lovely job of it,’ agreed Probyn, ‘but it’s time for bed now. Fold it all away.’
Without argument they spent a few moments with their mother, then went off to bed, taking the little ones with them.
Grace was still ignoring him, sitting and staring into the fire. She looked gaunt and corpse-like; a twenty-eight-year-old crone.
‘We had a letter from Aunt Kit this morning.’ He took it from behind the mantel clock and held it to her. When she showed no interest, he told her the content. ‘She’s asked if we want to go for a little holiday at the farm.’ Still Grace did not respond. ‘I could request leave …’
Grace remained abstracted.
Assuming he was wasting his breath, Probyn tucked the letter back behind the clock, then sat down, not knowing what else to do.
An age seemed to pass. He sat rubbing at the blue coal scar between his thumb and forefinger.
Finally Grace’s lips parted. ‘You say you weren’t legally married …’
He came alive, eager to keep up the dialogue. ‘That was what I was told. This corporal threatened to report me, said it was against regulations.’
‘And you believed that to be the case?’ An edge of doubt competed with the need to believe him. ‘That you weren’t really married to her?’
‘I swear it, Grace.’ It was injected with the utmost integrity.
Not that this seemed to sway her. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever really know one way or the other, will we?’ She glanced at him then. Her eyes were filled with betrayal. Then she took a deep breath. ‘So I’ve got to make my mind up whether or not I want to stay with you.’
‘I want you to,’ he told her softly.
‘But I’m not sure if I do,’ she responded, her hooded eyes more lizard than seductress. ‘I’ve thought and thought about it, and thought again, I’ve thought of what it would do to the children, where would we live … I just don’t feel married to you any more. It’s as if I’m living with somebody else’s husband.’
Probyn clasped his hands, wrung them in quiet despair, bowed his head and stared at the floor between his khaki-clad knees. ‘I can only say again how sorry I am and that I never meant to deceive you. I genuinely thought you were my only wife – you are my only wife.’
She nodded slowly, as if accepting what he said.
Her attitude ignited hope. ‘Will you come with me to Aunt Kit’s?’
She spent a few moments deciding, staring into the embers, before nodding again.
He looked relieved. It was premature.
‘But I still don’t know if I can ever feel married to you again,’ Grace added ominously.
* * *
Telling his superiors only that he had family health problems, Colour- Sergeant Kilmaster acquired two weeks’ leave and scribbled off a letter to warn his aunt of their coming.
Reassured by the presence of their mother in the kitchen once again, the children were even more delighted to be told of the holiday.
‘Who’s Great-Aunt Kit?’ asked Clem.
‘She was here the other week,’ Probyn told him, hoping the child would not connect it with the violent scene.
‘The big fat lady?’
‘Don’t be rude!’ His father looked stern. ‘Or you’ll be made to sleep with the animals.’
Augusta wanted to know, ‘What sort of animals are they?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ said Probyn, seizing a suitcase and ushering his wife and children from the house. ‘Now jump to it or we’ll miss the train.’
The train journey in itself was exciting enough, although the two eldest had travelled this way before it had been a long time ago.
They could hardly believe their eyes upon being shown around the farm, small as it might be, and in the days that followed were to spend much of their time following Worthy and Toby from byre to sty to field, so lending their parents the time they needed to try and restore their ailing marriage. Kit, too, did all in her power to give Probyn and Grace the chance to be on their own, and was gratified to see towards the end of the first week the colour beginning to return to Grace’s cheeks.
But, ‘That brown does nowt for her,’ she complained to Worthy as they lay in bed that night. ‘She’s a pretty lass I don’t know why she wears such drab stuff. I’m going to make her a dress. I’m sure it’d help.’
‘I don’t think it’s her dress that’s the problem,’ came the low murmur from the large mound beside her in the dark.
Kit grimaced, trying to imagine what was occurring on the other side of the wall. ‘No, I suppose not, but it’d make her feel better in herself surely? Poor souls. I wonder how they’re going on.’ Wanting to ensure that everything ran smoothly, she had checked that the bed her visitors were in did not creak. ‘I know it’s nosy—’
‘Yes, it is.’ Worthy rolled his massive bulk towards her. ‘Instead of wondering, why don’t we just put our time to better use?’
In the room next door, Probyn heard Kit giggle and, recognizing the tone of it, was rather embarrassed to witness his aged aunt’s sexuality, but wondered too if he would ever again hear such laughter from his own wife. He and Grace were in the same bed but might as well be miles apart. He had not attempted to touch her, awaiting first the sign that would announce his forgiveness. But he was not sure if it would ever come.
* * *
Plied with good food and country air, Grace’s recovery was to continue into the second week, though it was evident that her mind was still in turmoil. Still, she was cogent enough now to volunteer help in the kitchen, even if Kit did refuse.
‘I feel awful leaving you with all this washing-up,’ objected Grace after another generous breakfast. ‘You’ve looked after six extra people all week, I should—’
‘I’ve told you,’ interrupted a smiling Kit. ‘I enjoy having the company. Just go for a walk with your husband. It’s a lovely morning. We’ll keep an eye on the children.’
Grace nodded thoughtfully. Last night, hearing Kit giggle, she had faced the truth. It was no good trying to soldier on in this half-hearted fashion, she must make her mind up one way or another. Did she want this marriage or not?
Probyn entered the kitchen then, asking if he, too, could help. Kit laughed and repeated the instruction she had given Grace. Whilst his wife momentarily disappeared, Probyn sought answer to that which had been troubling him. ‘Aunt, you haven’t told anyone else about … ?’
‘No! I haven’t told a soul,’ Kit lied effortlessly, her clear-blue eyes projecting the look of utter honesty that she had perfected in girlhood. But in truth this piece of family gossip was too momentous to keep to herself and she had disclosed it in a letter to her sister Amelia, telling her not to broadcast it further.
Probyn gave quiet thanks, then turned at Grace’s reappearance. Now wearing a navy cardigan over her high-necked blouse, she signalled to him and he joined her eagerly, both setting off along a path across the field towards distant woods.
As they walked she slipped her arm through his. He did not know whether to be encouraged or whether she had acted simply on reflex. But the birds were singing and the sky was blue, and the last week had seen a vast improvement in his wife’s health. It was enough to content him for the moment.
Grace lifted her face to the sky, showing a
spark of her old self. ‘What a day. As clear as a baby’s eyes.’
After he had smilingly agreed, she said as if plucking it from the blue firmament, ‘If we’re to continue, Probe, then we have to get married again.’
He was deliriously happy that she had decided to give him a second chance, but, ‘We already are legally married, we don’t need—’
‘I need,’ interrupted Grace.
‘I’m not sure it’s possible to go through the ceremony twice.’ The look she gave him told Probyn what a stupid thing that had been to say. His military bearing was shattered as he hung his head. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not just the legality of it all,’ explained Grace, strolling onwards, the hem of her gored navy skirt dappled with dew. ‘What I want is to feel married. I’ll only be able to do that if we have God’s blessing.’
‘If a blessing is what you want you shall have it,’ murmured Probyn, and gripped her hand.
‘Right, then we’ll go to see Father Murphy today,’ she nodded resolutely. ‘He’s an obliging soul. He might do it straightaway.’
And arm in arm they continued into the bright morning.
* * *
After lunch, without divulging their intentions to Kit, they went to church, arriving to find confession in process.
‘I think I’ll go in too,’ whispered Grace. Apart from Charlotte she had not confided her troubles to anyone else, not even her sisters. But now she felt the need to talk.
Probyn sensed a question in her eyes. ‘I can’t, love,’ he murmured guiltily. ‘I know I should, but I can’t. I’m not made that way. I just don’t want anyone else knowing—’
‘It’s all right.’ She seemed to understand that what came as second nature to her was alien to him; no amount of Catholic instruction could make it otherwise. Her eyes recognized his guilt and sorrow, bestowing him with a merciful smile.
Whilst his wife was closeted with the priest, Probyn could not help a certain amount of anxiety, wondering what secrets she was divulging.
But when Father Murphy offered no recrimination and agreed to perform a blessing, he knew that his bigamous past remained a secret.
Absolved, blessed, and a great deal happier than he had seen her in weeks, Grace accompanied her husband back to Aunt Kit’s where, all smiles, they shyly announced what had occurred and were given a celebratory tea by a delighted Kit, the children not fully understanding anything other than their parents were laughing again.
And that night when they went to bed Grace allowed him to make love to her, and though the act might not have been infused with passion, it was at least a start.
22
An endorsement of her parents’ reconciliation, Beata Honoria Kilmaster was born the following summer, her birth doubly welcome after the period of mourning which marked the old King’s demise, the lengthy industrial disputes of miners and boilermakers and the news that the Boer nationalists had won the first parliamentary elections in the Union of South Africa.
Compared to his personal traumas, the latter was of insignificance to Probyn these days, his only dream being that life would get back to normal, and indeed with Beata’s arrival it seemed that this had come to pass, the one sticky moment coming when he was forced to absent himself for annual training, this coinciding with the anniversary of Emily’s visit, and though it was never mentioned it did tend to cast a shadow for several days afterwards.
But all in all, Probyn felt confident that their troubles were behind them and so was able to concentrate on his army career about which he was not nearly so assured. Having to wait for the rank of RSM to become vacant was like waiting for a blue moon. As each month passed the odds against him achieving his aim grew steeper. When 1910 came to an end taking him into the final stretch of his term he began to fear that it would ever come about.
Grace had fears of her own. Their marriage back on an even keel, Probyn had resumed his healthy appetite, this and the onset of middle-age settling a great deal of weight around his middle. He was more easily exerted, his face assuming a ruddy glow at the least effort, and he had developed varicose veins that caused him great discomfort. Even though he was not called upon to do the twenty-mile marches of his youth he had still to keep up to a certain extent with the recruits and she worried that one day he might collapse under the strain of yelling at them.
‘I wish you’d go and see the doctor,’ she begged him as, yet again tonight he enlisted Augusta’s help in rubbing the ache from his calves. ‘He might be able to give you something.’
‘Nay, all they need is a good rub.’ Under his daughter’s ministrations, he uttered a groan of pleasure. ‘Oh, that’s lovely, Gus!’
‘It wouldn’t harm to have an examination,’ pressed a worried Grace. Yes it would, thought Probyn. The last thing he wanted was a doctor telling him he was unfit to continue, not when he had come so far.
Her husband’s only response being one of those slow, deliberate nods that she had come to recognize as a sign that the debate was ended, Grace saw that it was hopeless to use his own deteriorating health as a reason to persuade him to give up the army. No matter how she pleaded, no matter the lack of argument on his part, she knew that Probe would dig in his heels and do as he liked
‘Eh, you’re a stubborn devil!’ Thank goodness, thought Grace, that his twenty-one years was almost served and he would have to leave, even if it would be a great wrench for him to abandon the life he loved and a challenge to find another job. With seven to support, it would also be hard for Grace to make ends meet for there were few jobs which came with free accommodation, and she was not the most economical housekeeper at the best of times. But if Probyn could get a desk job, perhaps in York near to her family, without having to be at the army’s beck and call, they would at last be able to call life their own.
Removed from public life, those in the Kilmaster household continued their comfortable existence in the barracks while those outside the garrison walls were to suffer the consequences of the perpetual violent unrest that marred the Coronation year. A constitutional crisis had produced a dead heat in last December’s general election. The Liberals remained in government but only with the help of Labour and the Irish Nationalists. There were strikes by seamen and transport workers, disputes on the railways and in the cotton mills, fifty thousand armed troops being prepared to quell the nation-wide unrest that had brought the country to a standstill. Grown mightier in recent years, the Trades Union Congress condemned the use of troops against fellow citizens, a sentiment with which Probyn wholeheartedly agreed for he dreaded a repetition of his involvement in the strike of ’ninety-three. And as if all these things were not sufficient to concern one, there was speculation over the Kaiser’s motives in sending a gunboat to Morocco; rumour had it that the Germans were seeking a naval base there.
Notwithstanding this, most of the population managed to find cause for celebration during the summer, much of which was taken up with parties in honour of the King, not only at the barracks but also one at Aunt Kit’s which they were forced to miss as Probyn was involved with annual training.
But during August, to make it up to Grace he took her to celebrate with her sisters and brother. It was as they and their tribe were on the way home from here that they bumped into a familiar personage.
‘Mick!’ Recalling their last meeting at the hospital, Probyn felt rather guilty now at having told his friend he could see a lump when he in fact could see nothing. ‘I’m glad to see you’re still alive.’
‘I am, and in glorious spirits!’ Whipping off his cap, Mick turned to the extremely pretty woman whose arm was threaded possessively through his, gazing upon her fondly. ‘May I present Mrs Mick.’
Probyn bared his own head to the semi-tropical sunshine and grinned at the woman with the heart-shaped face. ‘Oh, somebody’s finally took him in hand. Congratulations to you both!’
Grace offered her own best wishes, taking her turn to shake hands with the pair, and noting that Mrs Mick was heavily pr
egnant, her face glowing not just with happiness but from the current ninety-degree heatwave.
‘We were married last year,’ Mick was beaming at his spouse, and she at him, it was quite obvious they were devoted to each other. ‘Got a house just off Walmgate. You’re welcome to call at any time. I’m a civilian now, ye know.’
‘So I see!’ Probyn examined the smart navy-blue suit and gleaming white collar, the air of fulfilment. Without an ounce of fat, not a grey hair in sight, Mick was a man in his prime.
The Irishman found it hard not to remark on the change in his friend in only a couple of years. From being a stocky youth Pa now cut a bullish figure, with barrelled chest and wide shoulders, his determined jaw quite florid. But Mick kept this to himself and instead poured admiration upon the Colour-Sergeant’s insignia and asked teasingly, ‘And will it be RSM the next time we meet?’
‘I think I might have left it too late.’ Using a handkerchief to mop his brow, Probyn gave a regretful smile. ‘I’ve only a short time left.’
‘Ah, get away with yese! An ambitious sort like yourself will have a field-marshal’s baton under your arm before the year’s out – though I hardly know where you find the time, God love us, are all these yours?’ He was looking with amazement at Probyn’s children who stood in their Coronation attire, a Union Jack in every hand. ‘Sure, we’ll have a lot of catching up to do, Louie.’ And at this he passed his wife a fond grin.
Wafting her face, Louisa made a contribution, saying it did not take much guessing to tell that the family had been to a Coronation party and asking the rather frazzled children if they had enjoyed themselves, before saying to Grace, ‘That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing.’
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