Dusk

by Edwards, Eve

  ‘Stop it, Flora! Don’t talk about yourself like that.’

  ‘You don’t understand me, Helen: I’m not as nice as you’d like to think. I landed myself in this ridiculous position and I’m getting myself out of it the best way I can. America will be a new start – no ties, no reputation dragging behind me.’

  ‘No ties? Does that include me then?’

  Flora’s face softened for a second before she forced herself to stick to her decision. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it does. I … I can’t be doing with the Sandfords any more. I’ll take a new name, be the person I want to be, not what others tell me I am.’ Her eyes fell on a honeycomb Chinese box on her dressing table. Folding it flat with a snap, squeezing the tigers away, she held it out. ‘Here, have this. I need my jewellery, you understand, but perhaps one day this will be a pleasant memento of the happy times at the Palace.’

  Helen took it automatically, twisting it in her fingers. ‘Can I write to you?’

  ‘I’ll wire to let you know I’ve arrived safely.’

  That wasn’t an answer. ‘Flora?’

  She sighed, then moved to put her arms round Helen, resting her cheek on the top of her head. ‘I’m sorry, Sandy, you deserve a better sister. I just don’t have enough in me to carry all this … with me. I’ve got to start afresh. Forgive me – if you can. I won’t hold it against you if you bear a grudge.’

  ‘A letter now and again wouldn’t hurt, would it?’

  ‘I suppose not. A letter. Now and again. I can cope with that.’

  ‘I wanted to be there, help you through this.’

  ‘I know, but you’ll be helping me best by letting me go without making me cry. I’ve wept buckets these last few weeks; it’s got to stop.’

  Helen brushed her wrist across her own wet cheeks. She tried to be strong for Flora. ‘I see – really, I do. You go. I love you, you do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I know – and I’m proud of you. You’ll do well, if you don’t make the same mistakes as me and keep away from our father.’ Flora grimaced. ‘I won’t be sorry not to see him again: he stifles the life out of me. I’ll let them know I’ve gone. Don’t worry about you having to do that.’ She dragged the closed case on to the floor. ‘I think that’s everything. I’ve a taxi coming to take me to the night train.’

  Helen drifted to the window, feeling bereft already. She tweaked the curtain back to look out on the outhouse roof that had proved her salvation in December. It was a grim view of brick houses and small backyards; men’s shirts flapped their surrender from swaying clotheslines. New York had to be better than this. ‘Have you decided on a name?’

  Flora paused in putting on her lightweight fawn-coloured coat. ‘Desmond for a boy, and I thought perhaps Helen for a girl.’

  Helen’s eyes watered again despite her resolution not to be weak. ‘That sounds lovely. I hope you’ll be happy.’

  Flora picked up her hat and pinned it to her hair. ‘I’m counting on it.’

  ‘Goodbye then.’

  ‘Goodbye. You’ll be all right, Helen; you’ll see.’

  On the way back to her own lodgings, Helen found the unopened bar of chocolate in her pocket when she reached for her keys. She held it in her lap and gave in to her sobs.

  13

  ETON COLLEGE, WINDSOR, 25 APRIL 1915

  ‘This was a good idea of yours to suggest we came out here.’ Helen rummaged in the picnic basket, looking for the paper bag of sandwiches she had made as her contribution to the feast. ‘I don’t think I realized how tired of the city I had become.’

  ‘You deserve a holiday. I’ve barely seen you smile since Flora left. You told me how much you love the countryside.’ Sebastian stretched out on the long grass of the riverbank, propped up on one elbow. Having come to visit his brother Steven, they were in the fields of Eton College just across the Thames from Windsor Castle so he had a good view of the battlements and the barrage balloon bobbing behind it. The round tower was the kind of castle a child would draw – a fairy-tale palace for a beautiful princess, not so suited to the bluff, bearded King George V who currently occupied the premises. Sebastian tossed a cricket ball thoughtfully in his hand, worn leather settling with a satisfying slap in his palm with each throw. A nugget. A little red sun. He had some news, but he was not sure how she would take it so soon after losing her sister to America.

  ‘And your brother is very sweet.’ Helen brushed a money spider from her sleeve, twirling it three times round his head for good luck before casting it away.

  Sebastian raised a brow at this. ‘Steven, sweet?’ He gestured across to his brother and two friends who were playing a game roughly based on rugby with Sebastian’s hat. If it came back wearable, he would be astonished.

  ‘Yes, he is. Very sweet.’ Helen smoothed back a strand that had dropped over her face from the loose knot of hair at her nape. She turned back to the basket. ‘He knows all about chemistry. I think he must be very clever.’

  Sebastian sat up. ‘When did you get a chance to discuss chemistry?’

  Helen gave a little hum of pleasure when she located the squashed bag she sought. He took absurd delight in learning her mannerisms – this was a new one for him. ‘While you were talking to his house master. I take it Steven is coping? It must be so hard to lose someone and not have anyone around him to share it with.’

  ‘Sadly, he’s not the only one to be mourning a brother.’ Sebastian plucked a blade of grass and twiddled it between his fingers. ‘Not that it helps. The masters at Eton aren’t very good at talking about feelings with the lads.’

  Helen huffed. ‘Men. You behave as if you are all machines. The poor boy.’

  What about me? Sebastian wanted to ask. If she was lavishing sympathy on a Trewby, he wanted it to be him. ‘I’ll talk to him later if his friends give us a moment.’

  Helen beamed at him. This had apparently been what she had been hoping, getting the promise from him in this roundabout manner. ‘I’ll distract them for you.’

  Sebastian wasn’t sure he wanted his girl ‘distracting’ two lively Etonians – it would be akin to putting a fresh meat pie in front of two hungry puppies and expecting them to behave. They would be flirting outrageously before his back was turned. ‘Only if you talk chemistry with them too; better yet, arithmetic.’

  She shook her head and laughed. ‘I left school at fourteen, Sebastian. What I know about mathematics can be written on the back of a very small postage stamp.’

  ‘Perfect chance for them to enlighten you then.’

  Shaking her head, she handed him the paper bag. ‘Here, take yours before I call the boys over. I’m afraid it’s only cheese. I couldn’t see any decent-looking ham at the butcher’s.’

  Sebastian wasn’t feeling very hungry, not for sandwiches at any rate. ‘Leave it for the moment, Helen. Let’s just lie back and enjoy the sunshine.’ He patted the blanket beside him. ‘That’s what holidays are for in my view.’

  With a sigh, she complied, one hand on her waist, the other shading her face. She looked quite lovely lying there in her pale blue Sunday skirt and white blouse. ‘Have you noticed that if you stare at the sky for long enough,’ she said, ‘you can also see a pattern on the surface of your eyes – veins, I suppose, or something.’

  Sebastian smiled at the sky. His girl was not known for her romantic sweet nothings. ‘No, I hadn’t noticed. Talking anatomy now?’

  ‘Don’t you find it fascinating?’

  He rolled over towards her, tickling her chin with the blade of grass. ‘Absolutely fascinating.’ He dipped down, replacing the seed head with his lips for a light kiss. ‘You look like Botticelli’s sp
ring goddess lying there. Don’t move.’

  But she had shifted her hand to touch her lips, tracing the ghost mark of the kiss. ‘Why did you do that?’

  He gently pushed her hand away and gave her a firmer kiss so there could be no doubt about it. ‘Because you are beautiful, full of the promise of the new season, and a spring goddess has to be kissed or the mortal perishes.’ He dug his notebook out of his jacket pocket. ‘Stay still. This is going to be a masterpiece.’ He quickly sketched her and made a little note underneath for himself. First kiss.

  He had crossed a bridge he had been contemplating for some days. Now she had to know that he was interested in far more than friendship with her. They had clung together the last few weeks, both abandoned by loved ones in their different ways, Neil lost to death, Flora to distance, and he had been anxious that Helen thought he only sought her out for comfort. Nothing could be further from the truth. The comfortable choice would have been to separate himself from everyone, make no more emotional ties in anticipation of more loss to come, but he had been unable to help himself. She had become as essential to him as his art for she was the only one who allowed him to express his true self. He never had to hide what he was from her for fear that he would be thought unmanly or foolish.

  If only they could carry on as they were.

  ‘Helen, I have something to tell you.’ He tucked the notebook away in his breast pocket, folding the memory close to his heart.

  She looked up at him warily. ‘Nothing bad, I hope?’

  ‘Depends how you look at these things.’ Cut the prevaricating, he told himself. ‘My commission has come through: Second Lieutenant, 1st Somerset Infantry. I’m leaving tomorrow for training camp.’

  She sat up, happiness fading from her face. Her hair swung down, a fallen halo. ‘Oh. We knew it was coming.’ She tried a smile, but her eyes were sorrowful. ‘I’m pleased that you got a commission.’

  He shredded the seeds from the stalk and scattered them to the wind. By the time they sprouted he’d be in France. ‘Yes, they are getting harder to come by. In some ways, it’s good that I decided to sign up when I did. The men coming on behind will have to go into the ranks, I expect, unless they have experience.’

  ‘But you don’t.’

  He gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘I don’t. I expect my mother pulled strings, or got my grandfather to do so. I’m anticipating being the most useless officer the Somersets have ever known. I hope they can knock me into shape before I have to do the real business in the field.’

  Helen rubbed her arms. ‘I think you’ll be very good. You’re steady under pressure – considerate. Look how you handled Flora and Mr Packenham that day and how good you are with your brother and his friends. The men will respect you and follow your lead, you’ll see.’

  ‘Oh, I can marshal order among fourteen-year-olds, but give me a squad of battle-hardened men all older than me, all more experienced, and I imagine you would not be so easily impressed.’

  She got to her knees and rested her hands on his so they were face to face. ‘I believe in you, Sebastian. You are your own worst enemy.’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘I thought that was supposed to be Germany.’

  ‘Exactly. Save the attacks for the Kaiser’s army; spare yourself.’ She leaned just a little closer and kissed him, blushing at her own daring. ‘There. Remember that.’

  ‘The kiss?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘That I believe in you.’

  He pushed the stray hair away from her cheeks, framing her face with his hands. ‘I will.’

  THE SOMME, 1 JULY 1916, 10 P.M.

  The messenger arrived with the darkness. Sebastian opened the note, reading it with the faint light from a torch one of the men had salvaged from the abandoned possessions. At long last they were relieved and could fall back. This pitiful stretch of trench was now someone else’s problem. Shortly after the message, a group of sombre but as yet uninjured khaki-clad men dropped down the western side of the passageway. Sebastian knew his troops looked like the walking dead, with their bloodied and muddied uniforms and wild-eyed faces – no reassurance for the men taking over their positions. He saluted the captain who was leading them. He could tell from the new arrivals’ expressions that they now had a fair idea of what they faced from the carnage they had had to cross to get here.

  ‘You are relieved, lieutenant,’ said the captain, who had introduced himself as Johnson, from the South Midlands Division.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Sebastian could see his men already filing away, retreating down a German sap tunnel before emerging out in the open.

  ‘Report to HQ. They want to know what the hell happened out here.’ Sebastian’s face must have shown his distaste for the task because the captain patted him on the shoulder. ‘No need to be anxious. They think you’ve done well to get this far and hold it. The others haven’t done as much. Whole day has been a complete disaster. Probably a medal in it for you.’

  That was the very last thing on Sebastian’s mind at that moment. He wanted something hot to eat and drink, then a bath. ‘Good luck, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. I think we’ll need it.’

  Sebastian turned to follow his men. Only Bentley and Norton had waited for him. No need for words, they made the exhausting journey down the sap tunnel, stepping on the bodies of dead friends and foe, too exhausted to be shocked by the necessity. Sebastian felt hardly human – a scarecrow man stumbling back, lurching from plank to plank.

  ‘We have to go up here.’ Norton gestured to the wooden rungs in the wall of the sap where the tunnel petered out.

  Sebastian nodded, the weight of the pack cutting into his shoulders, so heavy that it made each step up feel like the dead hands of the casualties were clinging to his ankles. He fantasized that he could just slip it from his back, throw away his rifle and float up into the sky like a barrage balloon. Instead, bent over like a snail, he slithered out of the sap on to the cursed ground they had crossed that morning.

  He looked for familiar landmarks, but there was none. No lights to mark the British trenches as this would be a beacon attracting artillery fire, only the occasional burst of a shell high overhead or Very flare to light up what had become in a matter of hours an unimaginable killing ground. Bodies had been left where they had fallen, with arms flung out or folded to one side as if the soldiers had just decided to lie down and have a kip. Some had been so battered by shell and sniper that they were barely recognizable as human, just lumps of meat no butcher would touch.

  ‘Lord have mercy,’ muttered Bentley.

  They staggered forward, boots catching on wire and debris. It was like being caught in some devil’s maze, a perverted fairground amusement for the damned. The white tape that marked the passage through the churned wire lied more often than it led to safety, a new shell burst having destroyed what had briefly been a way through.

  ‘This is insane,’ remarked Norton, catching Bentley’s arm as he was about to slide down into a deep shell hole. No one wanted to join the bodies heaped at the bottom, pits that would now be their graves.

  ‘Tot of rum, a smoke and bacon,’ chanted Bentley, giving them all something to look forward to when they got back. ‘Tot of rum, a smoke and bacon.’

  They picked up their pace, walking in time to that little bit of doggerel, until Sebastian stumbled over what he thought had to be a bit of British wire. He fell on his hands and knees. A burst of machine-gun fire. Only when the pain caught up with him did he realize he had been hit.

  Norton gave a gurgling cry and crumpled over him, pushing his face down on the tangle of wire.

  ‘Jesus Christ, you stupid bastards, we’re English!’ y
elled Bentley, screaming again as a bullet ripped through his pack.

  The gunfire stopped. Sebastian lay crushed against the ground, cheek burning as if red-hot pincers were pushing into flesh, hand mangled, leg throbbing. It took him a moment to realize that he had survived the first day of the Somme only to be mown down by an overzealous sentry on his own side.

  Then darkness swept him away.

  14

  We don’t want to lose you, but we think you ought to go …

  Hold on, sir.

  ‘How long do you think you’ll be gone?’

  ‘There’s training camp to survive first. They’re cutting back the time we spend in that, sending us off to France to Etaples or maybe Le Havre.’

  ‘Then to the front.’

  ‘Yes. That is the point after all.’

  ‘Sebastian, I really don’t want this – don’t want to lose you.’

  ‘I know, darling. I don’t want to go either. If it weren’t for Neil, for everything, I’d say “hang it all” and go draw South Sea Islanders.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘What fun would Tahiti be without you? I can just imagine you in a hammock under a palm tree, flowers in your hair, dressed in a grass skirt.’

  ‘Stop teasing!’

  ‘Ouch! I’m joking – well, sort of. It’s very tempting.’

  ‘If you come back safely, I’ll consider it.’

  ‘Well now: there’s a reason for a chap to live if ever I heard one!’

  Bring him over here. Sorry, no stretchers left. Grab that sheet of corrugated iron – it’ll have to do. Lay him on that.

  How’s my pal, sir?

  Sorry, soldier: he’s gone.

  What do we have here? He’s lost a lot of blood: it’ll be touch and go. So careful of the type she seems, so careless of the single life … Nurse Henderson, put this man on the next train if he lives that long. The doctors on-board can deal with him. The next one now. God’s sake, men, lift him carefully!