Where was Alex, wondered Rose, as she picked some bits of shrapnel from the wound in Captain Russell’s shoulder. Somewhere east of Ypres? Somewhere in the valley of the Somme? A prisoner, wounded, dead?
She wrote to him to wish him well, hoping the letter would catch up with him, wherever he might be. Then she wrote a letter to Maria, saying she was safe.
She didn’t hear from Alex, but she did get a letter from Maria. ‘I was so relieved to hear from you,’ Maria said. ‘I was very anxious. But, my dear Rose, I have great faith in your resourcefulness, and I was almost sure you’d be all right.
‘I have a favour to ask you – yes, another one. I’ve been saving up my leave, and hope to get a chance to go to England. I want to look for Phoebe. I was wondering if you’d come?’
‘Of course I’ll come, if I can get some leave,’ wrote Rose that evening. She was curious about Phoebe, who had disappeared into the aether – and she owed Maria so much.
After swapping shifts and begging favours, she managed to get three days – not much, but just enough to make it worth her while going to England, if she could get a passage.
She had arranged to meet Maria at the station in Boulogne, but as she was about to leave she was summoned to the matron’s office. There was a stack of letters on her desk.
‘Please sit down, Miss Courtenay,’ said the matron. ‘I’m sorry to say I have bad news for you.’
Chapter Nineteen
The pile of letters told Rose everything. ‘W-what happened to him?’ she asked, determined not to cry.
‘I beg your pardon?’ The matron frowned, not understanding. ‘My dear, are you engaged? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’
‘I’m not engaged, but who–’
‘A lady. She has made you her executor. Miss Courtenay, I’m so sorry,’ said the matron. ‘The Germans bombed a train three days ago. Your friend Miss Gower was killed.’
‘Maria?’ Rose stared, incredulous. ‘I don’t believe you. Maria can’t be dead!’
‘Go and have half an hour by yourself,’ the matron added kindly, as she took the brandy glass from Rose’s shaking hand. ‘Walk in the gardens, if you wish. The air will do you good.’
Rose went to her room to weep. Sitting by the window, she gazed through a mist of tears at the summer flowers growing wild and straggling in untended beds.
She wondered if she was going to lose the only other person whom she loved. Or maybe she’d lost him already. She hadn’t heard from him for weeks. She knew he wouldn’t have time to write long letters, but he could have sent a Forces postcard, scribbled a line or two to tell her he was still alive.
‘Rose, try not to worry,’ said Elsie, who had come off shift and made Rose tell her everything. ‘I’m really sorry about your friend. But Captain Denham’s going to be all right.’
‘How do you know?’ Rose demanded fretfully. ‘Elsie, you don’t have a crystal ball, you’re not a seer.’
‘I’m willing it, like I will my George to live. We have to live in hope, or we would all die in despair.’
‘You sound just like that ghastly woman in the Daily Mail.’
‘Sorry. Rose, where are you going now?’
‘Back on the ward.’ Rose tied her apron. ‘There’s no point in sitting wailing, is there? It won’t bring poor Maria back, and I expect you want to go to bed.’
The hospital was full to overflowing. The fighting in the east meant convoys came in every day. The nurses all worked double shifts, but still they never finished. There were always more men coming in.
As well as the wounded, every day they took in more men who were sick or dying from a horrible new form of grippe or influenza that turned their bodies into putrid jelly. For these men the nurses could do nothing but give fluids and try to keep them comfortable. Most of them still died.
‘Sister Crowley’s got it too,’ said Elsie. ‘She’s in isolation, and they say she’s very ill. Rose, you don’t look too good – not sickening, are you?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ said Rose, who had long since realised that death came first for those who wanted desperately to live – not for those who didn’t care if they died.
In the middle of August Rose at last received a letter, but she was too tired to open it. She’d just worked round the clock, her mind and body were exhausted. She dropped it on her locker and then fell into bed.
She woke up four hours later, only minimally refreshed but due to go on shift again. As she dressed, she saw the letter and wondered about throwing it away. If she didn’t know what was inside, it couldn’t give her pain. But curiosity got the better of her and she slit it open. She steeled herself and read.
‘We’re giving them a hammering,’ wrote Alex. ‘We’ve broken through all their defences, taken thousands of them prisoner, captured all their guns.’
He described a battle he’d fought in east of Amiens. The third battalion of the Royal Dorsets had taken seven hundred men and forty German officers prisoner, but had not had a single casualty.
Best of all he ended with, ‘Look after yourself, my darling Rose,’ and sent her all his love.
‘Sister Temple reckons things are looking up,’ said Elsie, who’d just walked in yawning.
‘She’s absolutely right,’ smiled Rose.
Alex supposed it was elation that had made him write to Rose so freely and unguardedly, sending her his love and laying himself wide open to her scorn. He hardly dared to hope she would reply.
But she wrote back at once. ‘I’ve asked for leave,’ she said. ‘It’s difficult at present, with so many people sick and lots of nurses going down with influenza, too. I was due three days I didn’t take, so I’ve asked Sister Temple if I can have them now.’
As Alex’s train pulled into Rouen, he saw her waiting on the station platform. He had a chance to look at her before she noticed him.
She was still so pretty it almost took his breath away. But she wasn’t the girl he’d asked to dance, that evening in a long-forgotten spring. Then, she had been coltish, gawky, awkward. Now she was confident and self-assured. She was far too thin, of course, but almost all the nurses looked half-starved. He’d never seen a chubby one in France.
He watched her as she scanned the coaches, chewing her lower lip and – looking anxiously for him? She frowned – in disappointment? – as a captain from the Royal Sussex touched her arm then spoke to her, as she pointed to the Red Cross café, as the captain nodded, walked away.
He saw he had been right to take the risk. But, he told himself, he was a fool! Why had he ever doubted her? Why had he ever thought she didn’t love him?
Then she saw him, and the most glorious smile lit her face. In his haste to get to her he almost fell out of the carriage, but he managed to right himself in time. He caught her in his arms and spun her round, knocking off her hat and making everybody stare at him.
‘Do – do you remember Elsie Dennison?’ she gasped, when he finally let her go and she had got her breath back.
‘Of course I do,’ said Alex, holding out his hand. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Dennison.’
‘We came down together, but Elsie’s going shopping.’
‘I need some writing paper.’ Elsie blushed and dimpled and seemed inclined to linger, but then to his relief she walked away.
‘You look well,’ said Rose. ‘You’ve put on weight, they must be feeding you again. What’s this new ribbon on your tunic?’
‘Oh, nothing important.’ Alex shrugged. ‘It isn’t the Victoria Cross, or anything like that.’
‘Let me see – blue and red – the DSO?’
‘That’s it, but Rose–’
‘Why didn’t you tell me when you wrote?’
‘I’m not exactly proud of it,’ said Alex. ‘Actually, I thought I’d be court-martialled.’
‘Why, what did you do?’
‘I pulled a man out of a flooded crater, and carried him to safety. But we were in the middle of a battle, I was responsible for other people, and I should ha
ve left him to his fate. I don’t want to talk about it. We could find a café, if you like.’
‘Why don’t we go down here, then? It should bring us out on the main square.’
They walked along a narrow street that snaked between the high, blind walls of shops and warehouses. When they were half way down it, Alex stopped. ‘I don’t know how to say this,’ he began, ‘but I’m so very sorry–’
‘It can’t be helped.’ Rose had decided she’d be brave, that there was no reason why they should not stay friends, that she would not be bitter. ‘Come on, let’s find that café. You can tell me about it on the way.’
‘Rose, for heaven’s sake!’ He caught her arm. ‘I know I’ve been an idiot–’
‘We don’t arrange these things,’ said Rose. ‘Alex, it was lovely while it lasted. But–’
‘Oh, my God – you didn’t think that?’ Alex stared at her, his face a picture of amazement. ‘Rose, there’s no one else! There never was, there never will be!’ Now he held her by the shoulders, gripping her so tightly that she winced. ‘You must believe me!’
‘But–’
‘I’ve never lied to you. I’ve never been unfaithful to you, even in my dreams. Oh, Rose, my love – I’ve missed you!’
Rose looked hard at him and she could see he wasn’t lying – he was the sort of person whose every thought and feeling was written on his face, and he couldn’t have lied convincingly, even to save his life. ‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she said.
Then he kissed her with such sweetness and such tenderness that she couldn’t believe she’d ever doubted him, and she knew everything would be all right.
‘I must be going soon,’ she told him, as they drank their coffee. ‘I’m on duty again at eight tonight.’
‘I have to go, as well. We need horses now, so I offered to fetch some from the depot here in Rouen. Otherwise I’d have never got away.’
‘So you’ll be doing cavalry charges, will you?’
‘No, of course not, Rose. I’m in the infantry. But now we’ve left the trenches, everything is moving much more quickly. We company commanders have to get around our sectors, and to do that we need horses.’
‘You’re looking forward to going back.’ Rose could see the sparkle in his eyes, and didn’t fool herself that this was just because they’d reached a better understanding. ‘The soldiers in this town all look like you – as if they’ve won some sort of prize. But, Alex – how did we turn the tide?’
‘The Germans did it for us. They staked it all on one big push, and failed – but only just. If they’d held on a few more days, it would have been all up for us.’
‘But now they’re beaten?’
‘Maybe.’ Alex grimaced. ‘It’s up to us to finish it, so if we make a mess of this campaign, the whole damned business will grind on for yet another winter – or winters, possibly. I don’t want to think about it.’
‘It’s time I went to look for Elsie.’
‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘You have a job to do.’ Rose smiled at him. ‘So go and do it. Find your horses, catch your train back to the front, and try to stay alive.’
Alex meant to live. After years of skulking in a muddy, stinking ditch, he was more than ready for the proper battles in which he’d always longed to fight.
Today was going to be another Blenheim. He stood up on his stirrups and watched a khaki flood of Yorkshire infantry pour like cream into a breach, surround the German guns, then put a mass of bucket-helmeted, field-grey troops to flight. The Dorsets followed in a second wave, sinuously curving round a bluff and cutting off the enemy’s retreat.
As they completed this manoeuvre, trapping a thousand German infantry and forcing their surrender, Alex was afraid he’d start to cry. He’d drilled these men, rehearsed them, led them, and they’d done him proud.
Like so many sheepdogs, they crouched with guns trained on their captured enemies who sat disarmed and desolate. Grinning and smoking Woodbines, they looked very pleased with life.
But some men weren’t enjoying this at all. Some, including Michael Easton, were near breaking point. Every time a shell exploded, Michael winced and cowered, and the men in his platoon had long since ceased to take much heed of him, following their sergeant while their lieutenant dithered in the rear.
The following day the Dorsets took a village. They occupied the ruined houses, then checked these for booby traps and any Germans stragglers who might still be holding on and felt like dying hard.
Alex sent Michael’s men to check some barns. He watched as they approached. The men went forward cautiously, Lee Enfields at the ready and using walls for cover. But Michael Easton wandered aimlessly, as if he couldn’t give a damn – or was too scared to think.
‘What do you make of Mr Easton?’ Alex asked his company sergeant major, who crouched down beside him, watching the platoon advance.
‘He’s a liability, sir. You should get rid of him.’ The company sergeant major shook his head. ‘You should have done it months ago.’
‘I didn’t want to lose him. I think of all those snipers he’s picked off, and all those men he’s hit.’
‘Yes, but we’re not in the trenches these days. We’re not potting snipers now. This is something different, and he’s useless. Sir, just look at him. If there’s any Jerries in those barns, any minute now they’re going to turn him into carrion. Sergeant Black’s in charge of that platoon, not Mr Easton.’
Fortunately for Michael, except for starving cats and mournful dogs to which the men fed bully beef and biscuits, the village proved to be deserted. So Alex told his officers and NCOs to post sufficient sentries, then get the company settled for the night. He sent for Michael, who took his time to come.
‘Sit down, Mike.’ Alex had set up company headquarters in a ruined cottage, but for the moment the two men were by themselves. ‘Listen, I’ve been watching you today, and I’ve decided you’d be better out of it. So I’m going to send you down the line.’
‘You have no authority,’ said Michael. ‘It’s up to Major Whelan to decide.’
‘I make recommendations, all the same.’ Alex was tired, he had a lot to do before tomorrow, and he didn’t want an argument. ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault. Some men don’t adjust as well as others to battle situations, and nobody’s to blame.’ Alex stood up, stretching. ‘Mike, I know we’ve had our differences–’
‘You keep away from me!’ As Alex’s shadow fell upon him, Michael shrank away. ‘God, I hate you! You’ve always taken everything that’s mine, you’ve always spoiled it all for me, you bastard, son of a filthy whore–’
Then he was suddenly on his feet, and as Alex came towards him, Michael raised his fist as if to strike.
‘I wouldn’t hit a senior officer, Mike,’ said Alex softly. ‘If you do, you know you’ll be court-martialled, and then they’ll lock you up. In any case, if you hit me, I’ll damned well hit you back, and twice as hard.’
Michael dropped his fist, but he glared at Alex with such mad, wild eyes that Alex shuddered, for he’d never seen such hatred, even in the eyes of men he’d wounded, even in the gaze of men he’d killed.
‘Sit,’ he rapped, as if he were talking to a disobedient dog.
Michael sat down on the broken chair.
‘Stay there for at least an hour, do you hear me? If you move an inch, I’ll throw the book at you, I swear.’
Alex went outside. He took a few deep breaths, then went to find an NCO.
‘Lieutenant Easton is unwell,’ he told the corporal he found brewing up some coffee in a can. ‘I’ve left him resting in that cottage. Go and get a couple of your mates, and then take turns to stay outside.’
‘You mean he’s under arrest, sir?’ asked the puzzled NCO.
‘I don’t mean anything of the sort.’ Alex met the corporal’s curious gaze. ‘He needs a bit of peace and quiet, that’s all.’
‘Then, sir, if you will pardon me, he ought not to be here.’
> ‘I know,’ said Alex testily.
‘Lieutenant Easton, sir.’ Alex had not wanted to involve his senior officer, but he had no choice. ‘He’s lost his nerve, he should be out of it.’
‘You think so?’ Major Whelan sniffed ‘Why, has he started shitting himself or something? Or frightening the horses, and setting a bad example to the men?’
‘Michael Easton’s scared of his own shadow. He should be on the general staff, or in a training camp – at any rate, somewhere behind the lines. Sir, you know he’s never been a very effective officer.’
‘He’s no worse than any civilian halfwit playing soldiers,’ said the major curtly. ‘You regular army men expect too much of some poor chaps.’
‘Sir, Lieutenant Easton is a danger to himself, and to his men – or he would be, if they heeded him.’
‘You mean it, don’t you?’ Major Whelan tossed his pen across the grimy table. ‘All right, Alex,’ he conceded, sighing. ‘Send him in to see me.’
‘I interviewed young Easton.’ Major Whelan shook his head. ‘The chap seems rational enough to me. I agree he’s always been a windy blighter, but he’s not alone in that. Actually, I used to know his father – Tom Easton was a prefect in my house, a thoroughly decent sort.’
‘Maybe, but with respect I think his son should see a doctor.’
‘I don’t know if it’s necessary.’ Major Whelan fiddled with a pencil. ‘He’s been through quite a lot. Been in it from the first, I understand.’
‘Yes, but now he’s done his bit and ought to be sent home.’
‘He seemed quite sound to me.’ The major frowned. ‘I’ve noticed there’s a bit of friction between young Mike Easton and yourself. A clash of personalities, or whatever those trick cyclist fellows call it these days.’
‘That’s beside the point.’ Alex would not back down. ‘Easton’s ill, he ought to be discharged. I’d like you to put that down in writing, and I’ll sign it.’
‘You’re making something out of nothing, man! Alex, you’re a splendid officer. But you’ve had a damned long war yourself. You’ve been badly wounded several times, and I know about that business with your memory, when you got yourself hit on the head. It might be you who needs to be discharged.’
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