Dusk

by Edwards, Eve

  ‘Um, Seb old chap, I thought you ought to know – a telegram was delivered earlier. I put it under your door. Didn’t want you to miss it.’

  Sebastian’s heart squeezed, turning into a tight nut of anguish in his chest. He could anticipate no good reason for a telegram. ‘Thank you.’ He changed direction to go to his bedroom.

  ‘I’m here if you need anything,’ Sammy said softly.

  ‘Yes, thanks. Right.’ Could he do this? Could he mount those stairs or should he turn round and go back out and try his entry again? If he did so, perhaps there would be no Sammy, no message waiting for him.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Sammy had not moved.

  ‘No, no.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Probably nothing.’ They both knew that was a lie. He climbed to the first floor and opened his bedroom door. It was to the rear of the house, with a nice view over a small city garden. He had always liked going in before.

  The telegram. On the lino like a bitter pill he had to take. He picked it up and slid his finger under the flap.

  Neil lost at sea. Come home. Pa

  Helen did not go to Highbury as she had told Sebastian. Excited by her day, she gave in to the impulse to drop in on her sister at the theatre, thinking that she would be mightily unlucky to cross paths with her father on an unplanned visit like this. The doorman waved her in with a broad smile.

  ‘’Ow ’ave you been keepin’, Miss Sandford?’ he asked kindly.

  ‘Very well, thank you, Mr Jones. And yourself?’

  ‘All good, except for this blasted war. Too old to enlist myself, but my three boys ’ave gone. Proud of them, I am.’

  ‘And rightly so. No trouble for my sister over the last few months?’

  He shook his head. ‘Your dad has been up once or twice, but he’s always waited to be invited in, not like that first time.’

  ‘Good. And I suppose you haven’t seen him tonight?’

  ‘Not this evenin’, miss.’

  Her mind set at rest, she ducked inside. The performance was about to begin and she had high hopes of seeing all her old friends in the dressing rooms, perhaps even helping out like she used to do. Her entry into the chorus girls’ area was greeted with shrill exclamations of delight. Toots smudged lipstick on both her cheeks this time and a couple of others whisked off her hat and coat like magicians, making her relinquish them before she even thought to do so.

  Sitting at her mirror, Flora waited for Helen to approach. She scooted round, knees together, her body draped in a fetching rose-pink silk dressing gown. ‘Darling, lovely to see you. Is everything all right?’ She dropped the last cosmetics back in her vanity case. She looked beautiful as always, if a little flushed, fuller around the face than Helen remembered. The other girls tactfully made space around them so the two sisters could catch up.

  ‘Five minutes!’ called the assistant stage manager outside.

  ‘I haven’t timed this very well, have I?’ Helen kissed her sister on the cheek. ‘And yes, everything’s fine. I’ve just been to tea at the Ritz.’

  Flora’s squawk attracted the attention of the rest of the room. ‘The Ritz! My little sister!’

  ‘Oooh!’ groaned Toots, dipping into the conversation over Flora’s shoulder. ‘I’m green with envy.’ She fluttered an emerald spray of ostrich plumes at Helen. ‘How was it?’

  ‘Divine.’ Helen hugged herself.

  ‘And the company?’ Flora arched an eyebrow. ‘I take it a young gentleman took my sister there?’

  ‘He wasn’t half bad either.’ Helen perched on a stool and nudged Flora’s knee. ‘You remember him, Flora, Des’s friend?’

  ‘Oh yes, Soulful Sebastian. Des is very close to his brother; they serve on the same ship.’ She pressed Helen’s fingers. ‘Good for you!’

  ‘I say,’ giggled Toots. ‘If he can afford to take you to the Ritz, he’s worth a second glance. What does he do?’

  ‘Art student,’ Helen supplied.

  Toots’s face fell. ‘Oh well.’

  ‘From an American financier’s family,’ added Flora. ‘My sister is not a fool, Toots.’

  Toots looked at Helen with new appreciation. ‘You don’t say. Well, if he’s handsome, rich and good company, are you sure you don’t want to pass him on down the line to those less fortunate than yourself?’ She adjusted the bodice of her costume, pushing her perky breasts up a little higher.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Toots, I’ll keep him to myself just for the present, but I’ll bear your request in mind,’ Helen promised with mock solemnity. She had no intention of giving up Sebastian – not ever.

  A tap at the door. ‘Two minutes, ladies!’ thundered the assistant stage manager.

  Toots slipped off her wrapper with a sigh, revealing her costume in its full feathered glory. ‘I hope you stay around, Sandy.’

  ‘I think I might. What on earth are you doing tonight?’

  ‘Some silly piece called “Birds of a feather”,’ explained Flora, shimmying out of her dressing gown to expose her own outfit of blue. She resembled no bird Helen had ever studied. Grimacing at her sister’s reaction, Flora placed a kiss on the top of Helen’s head. ‘I know – it’s frightful. Do stay, Sandy. I’ve got something to tell you.’ Moving off, she brushed her fingers affectionately over where she had kissed.

  Catching sight of a flash, Helen grabbed her hand. ‘Oh my.’ Her sister was wearing a little diamond ring on her third finger. ‘Des?’

  ‘Who else? Are you pleased?’

  ‘Oh, it’s wonderful! I’m astonished … and delighted.’

  Flora frowned slightly. ‘Astonished? Why, didn’t you think he would come up to scratch for a girl like me?’

  Helen wondered how she had managed to offend her sister so easily. ‘No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m surprised because I hadn’t known that you’d had the time to get really serious with him.’

  Flora shrugged. ‘The war. It concentrates the mind.’

  ‘I suppose it would.’ The dressing room was now empty. ‘Hadn’t you better go?’

  ‘Yes, I must. Don’t leave – there’s more I need to tell you.’

  Helen passed the first number quietly going about her old duties, tidying up and straightening the dressing table. She allowed herself to imagine Flora’s wedding – a beautiful dress from some pre-war chest in the attic, a country church, a happy family. Blanking out her own parents, she guessed that Des’s own family would be tall blond Vikings like him. The children of such a marriage would be gorgeous – it all made perfect sense even if Flora was from a lower social bracket than her in-laws. They would no doubt fall in love with her when they met her just as their son had. Maybe they had been introduced already? She had seen so little of Flora of late that was entirely possible. The only drawback was that she might actually have to spend the day with her own parents, either that or miss her sister’s wedding. Still, that was a problem for tomorrow, not one to dwell on and take the shine off this wonderful news.

  For the second act, Helen watched from the side. It was then she noticed something odd about her sister. She was, well, to put it bluntly, spilling out of her costumes. Inches now sat on the bust and waist that had not been there when Helen last sewed for her. A suspicion began to form in Helen’s mind what the additional news might be. It would explain a lot.

  When the curtain fell, Helen helped Flora change. She had to pull strongly to release the hooks and eyes on the corset.

  ‘Would you like me to let out your costumes for you?’ she said quietly. ‘I noticed that they didn’t fit you well.’

  Flora bit her lip then nodded. ‘Thank you. I’d be gratef
ul.’ Checking no one was near, she held Helen’s gaze, deep blue meeting frank brown. ‘You know, don’t you?’

  ‘I … I guessed. When?’

  Flora blushed. ‘I think it will come in August. I’ll have to give up work soon before it becomes too obvious.’

  Helen folded up the costumes to take away for alteration. ‘I can get these back to you by Monday morning. Will that do?’ Her heart was pounding, but she managed to act as if the news were nothing too shattering.

  Nodding, Flora slipped into her gown. ‘I’ve written to Des. When he knows, I’m sure he’ll make it right.’

  That presented Helen with an unpalatable possibility. ‘The ring – it really is from him?’

  Flora looked annoyed now. ‘Of course! What do you take me for? We made plans, promises, but it was to wait until he came back from the war. Mother Nature had other ideas. He’ll be pleased.’ She said the latter more as if to convince herself than Helen.

  Dread settled on Helen like a cloud taking the warmth of the sun on a spring day. She could foresee so many possible problems, but that was not what her sister needed to hear now. ‘Well, I’m delighted for you.’ She squeezed Flora in a hug. ‘Really thrilled. All will be made fine and dandy with a little visit to the vicar on Des’s next leave and then you can enjoy the rest of it.’ She felt like an actress mouthing lines she did not believe.

  Flora let her forehead drop on Helen’s shoulder for a second, before regaining the steel in her spine. ‘Exactly. This is good news. Lord knows what I’ll do with a screaming infant, but I’m sure, like millions of women before me, I’ll find out soon enough.’

  Helen could not imagine her beautiful butterfly sister with a baby either. She was made to flutter free of such nets. ‘It will be easier to love when you hold it.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Just at the moment I’m finding it damned inconvenient, if you must know.’ The bitter undertone was unmistakable; she was making the best of it, but inside Flora was terrified. Helen wished she could do more to help, but this was one journey Flora would have to take on her own. At least she would have Des to help her.

  They both put on their coats and said their farewells to the other girls.

  ‘Come back soon, Sandy!’ called Toots as she draped a fur stole round her shoulders. For all her teasing about suitors, it looked as if her own luck in that department had changed.

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘And only if your handsome, rich artist hasn’t spirited you off to his bower of bliss.’

  ‘I’ll still try and fit you in between bliss and bedpans, don’t you worry.’

  Toots laughed. ‘If I had a wealthy suitor on my line, I wouldn’t be working my fingers to the bone in a hospital.’

  ‘You’re counting the chickens before they hatch, Toots. See you soon.’

  ‘Make sure you get some rest tomorrow, Flora,’ Toots added in a gentler tone. ‘It’s been a bit of a week for us.’

  She knows, thought Helen.

  ‘Yes, you too.’ Flora proudly straightened her shoulders and left, trailing some of her usual confidence.

  ‘Look after her,’ Toots muttered as Helen passed.

  Helen nodded and closed the door.

  10

  WHITE TOWERS, NEAR TAUNTON, 21 MARCH 1915

  Sebastian emerged from the family parlour, leaving the sobbing women behind for a moment while he caught his breath. He leaned forward, facing the wall, head hanging between his arms. His mother was inconsolable, his Aunt Hermione almost as bad. Mrs Glanville, their near neighbour and mother of Jilly, the girl Neil had loved so much and for so long, had not been much help. Coming over to show her support, she had rapidly succumbed to tears, mourning the loss of the match she had worked so hard to sponsor as well as the lost boy. The three women, all friends from the same generation of debutantes, perhaps found some solace in each other, but Sebastian was finding the display of their distress too much to witness. He did not disapprove of their way of grieving; he just struggled to be left on the outside. Men were supposed to be stern, keep their emotions locked down, but how to do that when his best friend of childhood, his big brother, had been snatched away?

  The house was silent elsewhere, the staff going about their business like ghosts. They tried to make up for the gaping hole left in the family by performing their duties with renewed diligence. The parquet floor was beeswaxed, the surfaces dust free, the stair carpet brushed to velvet smoothness. It was all so bloody pointless. Sebastian did not know what to do with the ugly emotions swirling inside him. His father had escaped to take a solitary walk on the Quantock Hills, his grief too deep for words or even company. Steven was at school and only expected home later that week for the memorial service; he had to be feeling wretched, but it might be better for him to be spared the first few raw days. As for himself, Sebastian wanted to howl and rage and smash things, but instead he found himself passing round tea and making absolutely stupid small talk that circled the same few facts. Neil’s ship, the HMS Irresistible, had sunk in the Mediterranean two days ago while taking part in the Gallipoli expedition. It struck a mine near the narrows of the Dardanelles. The crew transferred to the Ocean, which then met the same fate. Between the mines and the shelling from a nearby Turkish fort, it was a miracle that most of the crew from the two ships had been rescued. Except, that was, for Neil and Des who had both perished in the first explosion. Their CO had sent a message that they died instantly – that was some comfort. Not much, but some.

  A through breeze blew the door ajar.

  ‘Why did it have to be my boy?’ his mother asked for the hundredth time.

  Yes, why him when others had been saved? But Sebastian knew war did not play favourites.

  ‘It’s too cruel, too cruel,’ murmured Aunt Hermione.

  The family’s butler, Pennington, slipped out of the door leading to the servants’ quarters, bearing yet another tray of tea. His usually lugubrious face had sagged into even graver lines. He had known and loved Sebastian and his brothers in his own way since they were born, having served Lady Mabel, their mother, all her life, first as an under butler at the family pile, Bewley House, then as butler at White Towers when she returned here from America. He stopped when he spotted Sebastian.

  ‘Can I get you anything, sir?’ he asked.

  A day of oblivion would be welcome. ‘No, thank you, Pennington.’ Sebastian opened the front of the silver carriage clock that sat on the hallway table and stilled the little pendulum, not really sure why he was doing so except that the frantic ticking was driving him insane.

  ‘I’ll just take the tea to her ladyship then.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Perhaps you could tell my mother that I will return in an hour. I’m just going out to the stables.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  In the refuge of the humble red-brick stable block hidden behind the arrogant honey stone frontage of the main house, Sebastian sank down in the stall that held the motorbike. It made a strange companion to the two carriage horses, brought back out of retirement since fuel was hard to obtain for their Packard – a beautiful limousine that his father had had shipped over from America in 1913. That was now mouldering under a tarpaulin, waiting for more favourable days. They had a few fuel cans in reserve for the bike so Des had given permission for it to be housed in Somerset for the year while he served in the Mediterranean, little thinking that he would not be coming personally to reclaim it. Sebastian wondered what he should do with it now. It was an open-frame Douglas drop-handlebar racing bike that was worth at least fifty pounds; Des’s family would have to be asked. Perhaps he should go down to the memorial service for Des, see if the right moment arose to make enquiri
es. He could even ride it there. He would like to attend as Neil’s representative.

  My God, realized Sebastian, does Flora even know?

  He could not bear to think of Helen’s sister left in ignorance, to read about Des’s demise in the newspapers. He would send a telegram to Helen; the news would be better coming from her than from a stranger. Kicking the bike off its stand, he started it up and roared out of the stable, straw flying from under the wheels.

  At the telegraph desk in the post office in Taunton, Sebastian struggled to find the right words to put on the blank form he had been given. In the end he settled for Bad news. Des gone down with Neil in Med. Helen would know he intended her to tell her sister so there was no need to add that. He pushed it across the counter.

  The clerk’s eyes softened as he calculated the cost of the message by counting the words. ‘That’ll be sixpence, sir.’

  Sebastian dropped the coins on top of the message and turned to leave. He finally knew what he wanted to do: he was enlisting. The Germans and their allies had taken his brother; he was going to see what he could do to even the score.

  THE SOMME, 1 JULY 1916, 4.30 P.M.

  ‘I think Jerry’s realized we’re ’ere,’ Cook said laconically as a shell exploded near their position in the dugout. It was followed by three more in rapid succession. The battery-powered light flickered as earth trickled from the ceiling.

  They had only advanced a few hundred yards since the morning and already their new territory was being contested. The hope of the decisive break through the German lines was fast dissipating.

  Cook passed Sebastian a tin cup of the petrol-smelling tea he had brewed from the supplies left behind by the last occupants. ‘’Ere you go, sir, tray bone, as the Frenchies say. ’Ow long do you reckon we’re gonna be here?’

  Sebastian picked a clod of earth out of his mug, too exhausted to feel revulsion, but God knows what that soil contained after so much fighting. ‘We have to wait for the relief.’