Touch the Silence

by Gloria Cook

  So melancholy was his tone she looked up from scanning the writing on the other letters; they all appeared to be on business. ‘She might, when she gets settled.’

  ‘She wouldn’t say where she was going. Do you think she’s gone to fight the war with Daddy?’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘Emilia…’

  ‘Yes, Jonny?’

  ‘I wish they were both here.’

  ‘I know, my love.’

  ‘My mummy’s gone, my daddy could be dead and Uncle Ben’s eye is hurt for ever. Why is everything so bad?’

  ‘It’s the war.’ She hugged him, needing his warmth as much as he needed her comfort.

  ‘If it’s ever over, will things get better, Em?’

  It sounded so much like Ben, as a boy, calling her ‘Em’ that she choked back her tears. ‘I hope so, Jonny. We must hope so.’

  * * *

  In the begrudging light of a cold silvery moon, Alec was sitting on Ben’s bed, his hand resting on the pillows. He was concentrating on Ben, willing him away from all harm and to come home safe. And repentant. He was hoping Ben would come to feel bad about the way he had unjustly and publicly ostracized him in Truro. It was terrible, what had happened to Ben, but it didn’t excuse his insolence, his reproach, his callousness. His vicious change of character. Ben had made him look more than a fool. It was going to be humiliating to face even his genuine business alliances again.

  God, he prayed, except for Tristan and Eugenie, am I fated never to find true acceptance for who and what I am? My parents were ashamed of me. Before Grandma became senile she wasn’t sure what to make of me. Henry was too interested in his books to notice me. Is there no one else? If only Emilia was free. She’s everything Lucy wasn’t, but even she might be horrified if she knew the truth about me.

  * * *

  A shawl over her nightdress, Emilia crept into Ben’s room. Sleep was futile and she needed to be where his things were. He was there on the bed! Her heart leapt in relief, then she saw it was the broader muscled outline of Alec in the semi-darkness. He had his back to her. She made to steal away.

  Alec detected the soft lavender fragrance she had bathed in. ‘Come in, Emilia,’ he said, looking over his shoulder, not feeling so wretchedly lonely now.

  She took half a dozen steps on to the mat, uncaring about the wrongfulness of remaining here alone with him. ‘I just wanted to…’

  ‘I understand. I used to go to Henry’s room like this before we received word that he’d been killed, willing him to live. I’d pray that if the worst happened it would be over quickly. At least I had the comfort of knowing he didn’t suffer. Ben cried when he read the letters from Henry’s commanding officer and his batman. There were letters too from the chaplain and the officers he had made friends with. Kind, informative letters, in which we could piece together Henry’s last moments. It didn’t need any imagination to realize he must have been terribly disfigured by the blast that killed him and his group of men. They were holding on to their position, enabling others to retreat safely. I can’t picture him dead like that, thank God. Thinking of Ben now, all I can see is his expressions of gentleness or his bravado, with two good eyes.’

  Alec shivered and Emilia went closer to him.

  ‘But the way he looked at me when we parted – it was as if he despised me. I think perhaps he has done for some time.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Alec. Ben holds nothing but the highest regard for you.’

  ‘Who knows what goes on inside another’s head? Ben will be looking for someone to blame for his pain and humiliation. It’s better that it’s me, I suppose.’

  ‘Blame? Why should he blame anyone at all? Losing his sight was an accident.’

  ‘I left the front door unlocked.’

  ‘But that was only a moment of forgetfulness. You might as well say he could blame your gran for wandering out through the door, or me for not checking on her earlier. Surely Ben will understand no one did anything to hurt him deliberately.’

  Alec got up. She could make out the way the strong angles of his face were steeped in hurt and sorrow. ‘People can think bitter and twisted thoughts when the thing they covet most is wrenched away from them, and then it can affect everything they do.’

  She could not make out if he was making a philosophical statement, admitting something personal or giving her a warning, but he was adding to her fears for Ben. ‘I’m scared he’ll do something reckless, like going off and trying to join up elsewhere.’

  ‘No regiment would consider him. I thank God it’s obvious he’s blind, at least he won’t get any accusations of being a coward.’

  His last words were harsh and discordant. How he must be suffering for Ben. Such care and concern he lavished always on those dearest to him. ‘It must be hard for you. You’ve already lost so much and still have Tristan to fear for. Alec, if Ben’s not back first thing tomorrow, you will go and search for him? Or will you let me do it? You have a cousin living on the Newquay coast, don’t you? It’s possible Ben could have gone to her.’

  ‘If he’s not back by midday tomorrow, I’ll ride into town and track him down. I think it’s unlikely he’ll go to Winifred’s. She’s a war widow, and in his present, mood he’ll feel too disgraced to face her. You must stay here, Emilia. I know my young brother. He’ll be ashamed to have a woman, even you, come looking for him. He might not easily forgive such an event.’

  Alec went to the window and gazed up at the desolate sky. ‘They’re all out there somewhere. Ben, Tristan, Billy. If we try hard, perhaps in some way we’ll be able to reach them. Come here, Emilia, we’ll pray for their safe return.’

  She joined him, and as she closed her eyes he placed his arm over her shoulders. Instantly she felt his warmth and his strength and soon afterward their union of minds, as they pleaded through time, space and silence for protection of those they loved.

  Chapter Ten

  Ben was staggering along Malpas Road. He had slept in a hedge on the outskirts of the village of Malpas, not far from Truro’s town centre, which he was now heading back to, barely aware of the coming of the tidal Truro River, only yards away from him. He smelled of liquor, due to finding a pub where the landlord paid little vigilance to the stiff licensing laws. And he smelled of urine, having taken no care when fronting a tree on the bank minutes earlier. He tripped and fell, dangerously near the water’s edge.

  He stared down at the green estuary waters, high on a spring tide. One quick splash and he could put himself out of his misery. But he wasn’t a coward. Somehow, he would face life with only one good eye. At all costs he must keep his honour and self-respect, hold fast to the family’s good name. He must keep faith with Henry, not let Tristan down.

  His mind filled with thoughts of Alec and Emilia: the brother who owned the farm – who would own him for the rest of his life if he didn’t break out on his own; the girl he had intended to make his wife in between his officer training. Edwin wouldn’t give his consent after this, unless she was pregnant from their assignation in Tristan’s house. Emilia, the strong-minded, wise, resourceful, lovely girl he loved. But who, it had occurred to him during his tortured musings since leaving the infirmary, had advised Alec not to call in Dr Holloway to attend his grandmother, and if the doctor had come that day, his sight could have been saved. She had neglected to wash out his eyes until he’d had to beg her, and then, according to Mr Preston, had torn the grit out of his eye so clumsily it had created the lasting damage.

  Could Emilia have done it on purpose to keep him at home with her? No. He couldn’t believe that – she loved him, she knew how much doing his service had mattered to him. But perhaps… A tide of despair and depression dug their claws into him once more.

  There was a mysterious noise heading his way. A chugging, brum-brum sort of noise. A Zeppelin? His head fuzzy, he looked up. The sky was empty, only tainted by miserable dark grey clouds. Had the sky ever been blue? All life seemed to had lost its colour since
the war began – even he, in his hopes to lead daring raids against the German might, had seen everything in multiple shades of gloom. The chugging stopped. Perhaps it had been inside his head. That would figure with the way it was aching and pounding. Pounding, pounding, pounding; it was how Tris had described the noise of the artillery. What he would give now to be able to speak to his good-hearted brother.

  He heard approaching footsteps. ‘I say, you there! Have you had a mishap?’ It was a man’s voice, a young voice, a toff’s voice.

  ‘Bugger off!’ Ben bawled, adding another expletive with a threat in it. He did not bother to look up to see who had hailed him.

  ‘Come away, Julian. It’s only a tramp.’ A refined female voice.

  ‘No, Polly, look at his suit. He’s one of us. He might be ill.’ Ben felt a prod on his shoulder. ‘Are you in need of assistance, old chap?’

  Ben had a peculiar urge to giggle and he did just that, not caring how offensive it sounded. Finally, he faced his Good Samaritan. The man was of weedy build, with skin as white and as thin as paper. His lips were bluish and dark shadows formed rings under his eyes. A ghoulish sort of face, only there was nothing threatening about it. ‘Yes, friend, you can fetch me a bloody good drink.’

  ‘Ben Harvey! Haven’t seen you in ages. It’s Julian Andrews, don’t you remember me?’

  Ben’s head was spinning and he tried to focus on the other youth’s face. ‘Andrews? There was a chap in my class called Andrews. He had a heart condition. Good heavens, it is you! Help me up, Andrews.’ Ben remembered his soiled state and was flooded with horror and shame. ‘Oh, damn it, I’m afraid I’m far from being at my best. Had a drop too much yesterday. I’ll understand if you leave me here.’

  ‘Wouldn’t hear of it.’ Ben detected the awed note in Julian Andrews’s voice. His escapades at school had always rendered this effect on his weakling former classmate. ‘You must have a good reason to be like this. I’m with my sister, Mrs Polly Hetherton. Come along with us, Harvey. We’ll take you to our house at Kenwyn and have you sorted out in a jiffy.’

  Galvanized into hope of regaining his composure and restoring some of his honour, Ben got upright under his own strength. Julian Andrews was in dinner dress and he explained that he and his sister were returning from an overnight stay at a residence in Malpas. As Julian introduced him to his sister, who was looking out of the back window of a convertible bespoke motor car, Ben stood at a respectful distance, swearing he’d never allow himself to get in this sort of disgraceful condition again. Mrs Polly Hetherton was a marble-skinned, fair-haired lady of grace, clad in chic black, about a decade older than Julian. She was gazing at him as if faintly amused.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for stopping, Mrs Hetherton.’ Ben was blushing in embarrassment and misery, for he was in the company of a distinguished war widow. He had seen Mrs Hetherton’s photograph both in The Western Morning News and The Times, taken after her husband’s memorial service in Truro Cathedral. Captain Hugh Hetherton had died of wounds received at Monchy-le-Preux. Ben would never get a posthumous Victoria Cross like the captain, or a similar epitaph. The county pays tribute to a valiant hero. ‘I’m like this because I learned only yesterday that my eye has been blinded to a degree that denies me my right to fight in the war.’

  Polly Hetherton inclined her velvet and feathered head. ‘You have something in common with Julian then, Mr Harvey. I fully understand your grief, the knowledge is worse than the debilitation. Would you mind cranking the handle before hopping in next to Vosper?’

  The chauffeur, tiny in a buff uniform, appeared as old as the river, squinting inside horn-rimmed spectacles. Ben glanced at Julian. Of course, his weak heart prevented him from this simple task. Julian accepted this with dignity and got in beside his sister. Turning round on the plush upholstery of the front passenger seat, answering his saviours’ questions politely, Ben noted how, despite his scrawny build, Julian keep his demeanour upright. He was holding on to his self-esteem. He had been like this throughout every wretched year at school, even though he had been mocked and bullied over his disability, and even though he knew he wasn’t expected to live far beyond thirty. Julian Andrews was a truly brave man.

  Ben vowed he would do his utmost to emulate the boy whose bullies he himself had taken to task more than once. He must do something immediately. Putting on a confident expression, he spoke of the farm. ‘We’re terribly understaffed. I think after I’ve freshened up and eaten the meal you’ve so kindly offered me, I’ll scour the streets for some suitable unemployed men. It’s something I’ve been intending to do for some time, but I rarely get the chance to leave the property.’ It was something Alec had done occasionally with no results; he must better that.

  ‘Good for you, Harvey. Polly and I will put our thinking caps on. We might know of someone, eh, old girl?

  ‘Yes, Julian, dear.’ Polly Hetherton answered her brother’s excited suggestion as they motored up Pydar Street.

  ‘A day of new opportunity,’ Ben said, trying to work up a little of Julian’s enthusiasm.

  A unit of soldiers was marching down the hill. Polly ordered Vosper to slow the car down and she and Julian waved and shouted patriotic encouragements to them. Ben sat up straight and saluted until they were out of sight. Then he crumpled in a heap and wept the most wretched tears of his life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emilia’s continuing vigil was rewarded with a sight that turned her blood to ice, even though the boy approaching the house might be the bearer of good news. She met him halfway down the gravel path.

  The spotty-faced, gawky youth pulled off his cap. ‘I’ve brought a letter for a Mr Alec Harvey.’

  Emilia took the white envelope from him and glanced at the elegant script that spelled out Alec’s name. ‘Who’s it from?’

  ‘A lady, Mrs Bawden. I deliver groceries to her in Truro, she asked me to bring it out here.’

  Her heart quickened in hope. Ben had mentioned a Mrs Bawden before as ‘a very close friend of Alec’s’. She might be sending news about Ben. ‘Just a minute.’ Emilia raced into Alec’s den and snatched up a coin from a pile on the desk; Alec had a habit of leaving loose change on its comer. All of yesterday’s correspondence was there too, unopened. She gave the threepenny piece to the delivery boy and she was soon racing to Long Meadow, where Alec was clearing ditches.

  He saw her haring towards him. She must be bringing news about Ben, but for a moment, he imagined she was hurrying to be with him. She looked so lovely and vital, with that wonderful touch of primitiveness that was hers. He wanted to hold out his arms and have her ran into them.

  He rushed to meet her. She thrust the letter into his hand. ‘This has just come, from a Mrs Bawden. It could be about Ben. Read it!’

  Alec shied away from the letter. He had two reasons not to want to open the envelope in front of Emilia. The contents might be intimate, and he’d hate for her to discover his weakness. ‘It might not be about Ben.’

  ‘But you have to read it to find out.’ His reaction was inexplicable and frustrating. Didn’t he care about Ben in the way he confessed he did? ‘Open it, Alec, please.’

  Alec glanced at his hands. It was not unlikely Ben had gone to Eugenie for shelter and this was to inform him he was there. ‘I’ve got muck all over them. You open it.’

  Emilia tore the envelope open and pulled out the sheet of white paper inside. There was half a page of scrupulously fine writing. She held it up to his eyes. ‘Does it say anything about Ben?’

  ‘I—it’s… I…’

  ‘What’s the matter? Is it bad news? Has something happened to him?’ The police would have come to the house if something tragic had happened to Ben, but was he in some kind of trouble? Why had Alec turned scarlet? She had never seen him looking so distraught. She felt near to hysteria. ‘What is it, Alec? For goodness sake, tell me!’

  ‘I… don’t know. You read it, Emilia.’ He drove the letter back at her.

  ‘What?’


  ‘Just read it!’ He turned away with an angry tortured sigh. ‘I can’t.’

  She didn’t wait for further explanation. ‘It’s an address in Falmouth Road. It says, “My dear Alec, I do hope you have changed your mind by now. Please come and see me again soon. With fondest regards, Eugenie.’”

  Emilia’s disappointment that there was no news about Ben gave her no time to wonder about the brief contents. Alec kept his back to her. She walked round him. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve come on a false errand but I had to know.’

  His fierce, dark expression, while staring into nothing, took her unawares. He seemed to be harbouring all kinds of fury. She reached out and touched him. ‘Alec, are you all right?’

  He did not answer, just looked at her, keeping that same dreadful stare.

  ‘You are going to look for Ben after lunch? Alec, why don’t you answer me? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He snatched the letter out of her hand, making her leap away from him. ‘Go back, Emilia.’

  ‘I don’t understand. I’ve upset you in some way. I was worried about Ben. Well, if that’s how you feel!’

  She stalked off, but he caught hold of her. He wasn’t hurting her arm but it was a tight, relentless grip. She put her hand over his to prise his fingers off her. Their eyes clashed. She had no idea why he was behaving in such a peculiar way, but she’d smack his face if necessary to get away from him. The man she loved, his vulnerable younger brother, was wandering about, the Lord only knew where, feeling the worst wretchedness of his life, and Alec was behaving as if he was incensed about the whole matter.

  He tossed the letter away as if it was something deadly, and the hurt and despair in his action made her understand the reason. ‘Oh, Alec, you can’t read, can you?’