by Jack Murray
‘I agree, with you Lady Mary,’ said Bright, ‘We’re long overdue a change in this and so many other areas related to women. I worked with countless nurses during the War who would’ve made very fine Doctors. I’m sure within our lifetime we’ll see this happen.’ He seemed in earnest and Mary nodded in agreement but added nothing more about her role, preferring to listen to Bright’s account of his time in France.
Not long after Lady Emily retired to her room but not before taking Cavendish aside and saying, ‘I believe Mr Curtis was inebriated.’
Cavendish merely shrugged and replied, ‘I believe you’re right Emily and I sincerely hope he was. A very Merry Christmas, indeed. I suspect he’s probably earned it – don’t you?’
As he said this, Cavendish felt a stab of remorse. Was he reopening old wounds? In fact, while his answer did not please Lady Emily nor did she seem angered by it. This, thought Cavendish, was a welcome surprise. Perhaps she recognized how the sins of the past had affected Curtis. Or perhaps the Snow Queen was beginning to thaw. He certainly hoped so.
Simmons and Kit were enjoying each other’s company immensely. They spent a good half hour in the period before Bright’s arrival, chatting about the noble art of boxing. Simmons was interested to hear about Kit’s own efforts in the ring when he was at school. This included the opportunity to share a ring with a ring legend, Jem Driscoll.
‘How on earth did you ever end up in the ring with Driscoll?’ Simmons exclaimed askance. The Cardiff man was one of the most accomplished fighters of the era to emerge from Britain. Notwithstanding the difference in size between the tall lord, who Simmons judged to be a light-heavyweight, and the diminutive Welshman, who fought at featherweight, Simmons would have considered it a great mismatch, and not in Kit’s favour either.
With beguiling modesty Kit agreed with this assessment.
‘A long story but it reflects no credit on myself as I believe I played truant from school in order to spar with him. He went very easy on me, which is more than I can say for my form master when he heard about my expedition. I think it was a day or two before I could sit with any degree of comfort,’ smiled Kit remorsefully. Simmons left soon afterwards mentioning the weather was, if anything, worsening. Kit was sad to see him leave.
-
Incredibly, Miller’s Christmas was going from bad to worse. He was stuck with an increasingly incoherent Curtis. Elsie had fallen asleep and had been helped to bed by Miss Buchan, who herself had also retired. Godfrey and Agnes were proving to be exceptionally dull company. They spent most of their time talking to one another. Miller wondered if there was something going on between them. Good luck to you both, he thought sardonically – you’re well matched.
Worst of all, unless his senses were failing him, and he knew they were not, it was very clear Devlin and Polly were sweethearts. A little light amour with Polly would have been an ideal way to pass a cold Christmas evening. Now it looked like the highlight of his Christmas would be a bottle of Scotch and the company of a pompous bore, who was recounting his life year by year. However, something finally cut through the fog for Miller. Did he hear right? Had Curtis just said he’d been married? It was difficult to make out much of what the sloshed servant had to say. Miller stopped trying. Boredom and whisky were now his companions. How he wished for something to liven things up.
He would not be waiting long.
-
Around ten o’clock, Cavendish announced he his intention to retire and bid them goodnight. About ten minutes later, Strangerson also decided to call it a night, possibly suspecting there was one male too many circling the females.
Kit felt a stab of guilt at being glad Strangerson was out of the way leaving him, Bright and the two sisters plus Sam, snoring lightly on Esther’s lap. For all his waggishness, Kit guessed Strangerson was no fool and could read the situation between he, Bright and the girls.
The remaining party looked down at the little Jack Russell. ‘He’s definitely a man for the ladies,’ observed Kit.’
‘So, I see,’ grinned Bright.
‘He’s probably not used to being treated with kindness and gentleness,’ kidded Esther.
‘Indeed, his life is one of walks on cold moors, hunting and goodness knows what else,’ chimed Mary looking to make mischief.
‘I can assure you, Mary, quite apart from being one of the most well looked after pets in this country, he is, as you can see, profoundly untroubled by any kind of work ethic,’ joked Kit. ‘Don’t be taken in by this display. It starts like this, then he wants you to feed him, then it’s short walks and before you know it, you’re doing all the walking and he’s curled up in your arms enjoying the view.’ The group laughed affectionately.
Mary stood up from her place beside Bright and looked out the window. ‘My goodness look at the snow now. It really is getting worse. I think we shall be snowed in. How beautiful it looks though, and deadly. It wouldn’t do to be out tonight.’
‘I really am most grateful for your hospitality. It was getting rather cold out there.’
‘Really Doctor Bright, it’s nothing. No more please,’ smiled Esther.
‘I promise,’ smiled Bright.
Kit felt his stomach tighten a little as he watched the two of them smile at one another. Stop it, he almost shouted, but more for himself than to Esther or Mary. The thing was, he quite liked this fellow himself. He had clearly done his duty, as so many had, which made him a stout fellow. On top of this he had an easy charm, perhaps too much if the girls’ reactions to him were anything to go by. As much as he had enjoyed the day and as much as he was enjoying the evening the correct thing to do now, with Cavendish gone, was to retire. However, there was no question of Kit leaving the field free for Bright: he resolved to wait until either the girls or the Doctor decided to turn in.
As it happened, they did not stay a great deal longer in the drawing room. The sisters, perhaps intuitively understanding that by staying they were prolonging a primal contest in which they had complete power of choice, ended Christmas Day. It was a day when romance and jealousy danced their strange tango and death was just around the corner.
Chapter 14
Easter, 1916: A British Prison
The prisoner woke with a start. The cell was beginning to let in light, but the gloom would not give up its hold over the cell. He guessed sleep was over for the moment. Rising from the bunk, he listened to the noises outside the door. There were muffled shouts and the rattling of keys being put in doors. His corridor remained empty so there was nothing else to do but return to the bed.
And wait.
How much time passed he could not tell, maybe half an hour. The crash of keys in the door told him they had come. No welcoming smile or cup of tea. No please or thank you. Why should he expect to receive anything? He was the lowest of the low, a dirty prisoner. A man without rights, a man without hopes. A man who had fought for his country.
Of course, there had not been much choice about joining. You had to, didn’t you? Everyone around you was getting involved. They would all see if you didn’t join. It was a just cause with a clear enemy who had to be defeated. It was for your family, for your country: for freedom. Yet they were losing. There was no glimmering prospect of victory to lighten the heart of those who fought on.
‘Up! Move!’ shouted the guard.
‘A “please” wouldn’t hurt,’ responded the prisoner.
This was greeted with a shove out of the cell. ‘You won’t be laughing soon.’
‘I’m not laughing now, trust me.’
The guard recognized that trying to bully with words was probably not going to work with this prisoner. Instead, he resorted, inevitably, to his one and only weapon. He struck the handcuffed prisoner across the back of his head.
‘Temper, temper,’ responded the prisoner but his head was spinning.
Another guard saw what was happening and shouted down the corridor, ‘Leave it. They won’t be happy if they see he’s been beaten.’
The two guards and the prisoner made their way into the open air. The prisoner drank in the sweetness of the air. How had he never realized its beauty before? The honeyed, rain-washed fragrance caressed his senses. The cold moistness bathed his skin, cleansing him of weeks locked and chained in the dank, depressing dungeon.
It was dawn. The sky was a tender pink mixed with another colour. He stared up at the sky as he was marched along trying to decide what the colour was. Yellow, he thought. Yes, it’s a soft yellow.
All around him he could see army men, like him. They were not looking at him. He tried to make eye contact with one of them. Nobody took him up on the offer. Shame, he guessed. Utter shame for what they had to do. Every one of them was tending to their weapon or chatting to a friend. He noticed the guard was no longer shoving him. Perhaps it would be unacceptable, in front of these men. They would know what he’d been through. He was like them. At this moment, he felt his power returning. Stopping he turned to the guard who had been his tormentor for the last two weeks.
‘Not so tough, now, are you?’ said the prisoner.
The guard said nothing. This made the prisoner laugh and he began to walk again. His back straightened. It was almost funny. He was leading the way but was not sure where he was supposed to be going exactly. They rounded a corner and then the destination became all too apparent. He saw for the first time the wall where it would happen. Bullet holes pockmarked a section in the middle. The thought of some soldiers deliberately missing amused him. There were some signs of blood on the ground. Someone had kicked over the traces. They couldn’t even do this properly.
They led him to the wall. Their hands on his arm irritated him because he hadn’t intended making a scene. His stomach rumbled. No breakfast even for the condemned man. Are they so hard up? Execution on an empty stomach seemed positively barbaric.
Behind him he could sense the army men filing in to do their ghastly duty. A quick glance confirmed this. There were other onlookers standing looking sombre. The weight of justice on their shoulders; all were army, clearly senior. One or two of them looked familiar. In truth, it was difficult to see without his glasses. The clergyman who had come to him the night before was there too; he was not difficult to recognize. The prisoner nodded to him. But the clergyman looked away, taking refuge in his prayer book.
At the wall, he was brusquely turned around. He refused the offer of a cigarette but thanked the guard anyway. Manners are so important. There was no choice regarding the blindfold, and he did not bother to argue. Perhaps because he had displayed good manners or possibly out of a hitherto unrevealed sympathy, the guard put his blindfold on less roughly than he was expecting. Gently the guard made sure he was unable to see the firing squad, or perhaps they, him.
The sound of their footsteps walking away told him it would be over soon. As they crunched through the gravel, the sound grew fainter. In the last few moments, he examined his own feelings: to his surprise, he felt calm. His fate was decided. There would be no last-minute reprieve. But what did it matter anyway? Since he began to witness the slaughter of war, a part of him had never expected to survive. Perhaps there was a relief that the end would be quick; it would not be the slow lingering agony he’d always feared, gargling blood, or drowning in gas.
A voice he did not recognize called the firing squad to make ready. There was a collective clacking sound as the weapons were loaded. He wondered how many of the bullets were blank. They were ordered to aim.
They shot him as he made a silent prayer to a God.
Chapter 15
Boxing Day 1919: Cavendish Hall
Curtis awoke slowly. As his eyes cleared, he realized a number of things rapidly. His head felt like it contained a fifty-piece orchestra comprised solely of energetic child percussionists. In addition, he became conscious that he was still dressed in his livery. Also, the kitchen table had, somewhat surprisingly, been his pillow last night. Finally, and perhaps most seriously, the rest of the domestic staff were having their breakfast around him.
There are times in life when one should lose it. Properly and irrevocably lose it. People need to understand when you’re not only displeased but actually pretty miffed. Looking around the table at everyone suppressing smirks, Curtis felt his temperature gauge rise to dangerous levels. Everyone, that is, except Miss Buchan. When he finally caught her eye, the true nature of anger was revealed unto him, although she spoke not.
There are also times in life when it is important to recognize, both privately and publicly, when you have erred. One look at Miss Buchan was enough to confirm to Curtis, this time had arrived. Rising with great care, he straightened his coat. Regarding each member of the staff in turn he said, with as much dignity as was possible to fashion in such disadvantageous circumstances, ‘I believe that I was somewhat inebriated last night.’ A final realization began to dawn on him as he spoke. He felt ill, very ill. His mea culpa would, of necessity, have to combine sincerity with brevity.
‘I recognize I have let everyone down. Forgive me.’ He bowed his head at the end more by instinct than calculation.
This was greeted with assurances from everyone that this was not the case and they were glad he had enjoyed himself.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I shall make myself ready for the day. Please continue.’ This speech ended with Curtis leaving the kitchen slowly before sprinting to his room as quietly as he possibly could.
The suppressed smiles were on the point of erupting into outright hilarity, but it was clear as Miss Buchan rose with what could only be described as having a face on her, this would not be appreciated.
This is how Boxing Day started at Cavendish Hall. A day none would ever forget.
-
The flare. He was being given a piggyback ride. An explosion nearby, the man carrying him collapsed to the ground. He collapsed on top of the man. Ahead he saw the British trench. It was so close. He could see some men climbing out of the trench. The fools! Gunfire.
This isn’t right. Why isn’t it right? Kit was no longer lying on top of the man as they tried to pull them into the trench. He was an observer now. Something was wrong, and yet this is what had happened. Now he was floating around the scene. Nobody was moving, only he. It was all clear, but nothing made sense. He knew he was going to wake up any second. One more moment, I need a little more time, please.
Then he woke.
This time he was not sweating nor screaming. He was thinking about the question that had woken him. Why was the scene wrong? The dream had not changed in substance. The dream was just how it happened. He remained sitting up in the bed for a few more minutes repeating the word ‘think’ over and over again. It would not become apparent for some time, but the fear had diminished.
The dream would never return.
Replacing it was sorrow, anger, and frustration. Not about what had happened to him. Sorrow for those who had died; anger and frustration at himself for not understanding what was wrong about his memory. Rolling out of bed he rubbed his eyes and looked for his pocket watch. Another day ahead with the sisters to look forward to but now with a complicating factor in the shape of Doctor Richard Bright. He dismissed the thought quickly and set about dressing for breakfast.
-
All of the guests were in the dining room breakfasting when the Cavendish girls arrived. They served themselves some tea and toast and sat down. Esther turned to Polly who was waiting at table, ‘Where is grandpapa? Is he having breakfast in his room?’
‘He’s not come down yet ma’am,’ said Polly
‘Has Curtis not been to him yet?’ continued Esther.
‘Mr Curtis is a feeling a little indisposed this morning,’ responded Polly.
This brought a snort from Lady Emily. ‘I think we can guess why.’ Polly made no comment, but she could not dis
guise the hint of a smile. This caused grins around the table with all except Lady Emily and Henry, who was not listening.
‘All the same, I think someone should get him up,’ said Lady Emily somewhat sniffily. ‘He has guests to entertain.’
‘I think we can manage for a morning, Lady Emily,’ spoke up Kit. ‘If he wishes to rest then I would feel much happier if we let him.’
‘I’m inclined to agree, Lady Emily,’ added Strangerson.
Nothing more was said on the subject and soon the guests went outside to see how much snow had fallen overnight. It had been extensive.
‘I’m not sure you will be moving too far today, Bright old fellow,’ said Strangerson.
‘Looks like it,’ agreed Bright. Kit could not help but notice how Bright seemed far from disappointed at this prospect. ‘Is this normal for the time of year?’
‘I’ve never seen it so bad,’ admitted Esther. ‘I hope the people in the village aren’t too inconvenienced.’
‘I’m sure they are used to it Essie, don’t worry,’ reassured Mary. ‘It’s still freezing, though. I’m not sure it will melt any time soon. You could be here for a day or two yet Doctor Bright.’ The smile on her face when she said this also wounded Kit enough to make him smile at his own discomfort. These girls certainly know how to twist a man’s senses hither and thither, he thought.
Kit went back inside to look for Miller and Sam. It was time the little terrier had a walk, although how practicable it would be for him in the deep snow remained to be seen.
He heard Miller before he saw him. He was having his daily argument with Sam. Upon seeing Kit, the dog ran happily to his master. Kit knelt, and Sam pounced, giving Kit’s face one almighty licking. Miller laughed, ‘I think we’re definitely getting on better.’
‘So, I heard,’ grinned Kit. ‘Shall we go for a walk? Come on boy.’
The three of them walked out via the kitchen. The back yard had been relatively shielded from the snow. However, as they reached the main gardens they had to wade through the drifts and Sam was being ferried by Kit. They took the same route from two days previously. It was the same and yet so different. A blanket of snow clung to the house and the land. The air made their faces numb. Smoke still came from Edmund’s cottage, but it was now enveloped up to the windows by a drift.