The Victory Garden: A Novel

by Rhys Bowen

  One bright morning, she was walking up from the cottage, pleased to notice that her little cabbages and cauliflowers had turned into sturdy young plants and that the saucers of beer that Simpson had put out had taken care of the slugs, when she sensed someone watching her. A man was standing on the hillside above the garden, hands in his pockets and staring at her. At first, she took him for another tramp, but then she saw that he was clean-shaven, with short blond hair. He kept staring for a moment, then started to come down towards her. He was young, but his face was thin to the point of looking haggard, and his eyes were sunken as if he had been ill. The lower half of his face was hidden under a big blue woollen scarf and he was wearing a tweed jacket. She, in turn, walked up to the drystone wall that surrounded the property.

  “Hello. Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Are you the new owner or a servant here?” His voice was distinctly aristocratic, with that authoritative tone the upper class use when addressing inferiors.

  “I’m neither. There is no new owner, and I am currently staying in the cottage.”

  “So the old lady is still alive then?” he asked.

  “Yes. Hale and hearty.”

  “Good to hear.” He didn’t sound too enthusiastic. He was still frowning at her. “You’re not a relative, are you? I didn’t think . . .”

  “You seem remarkably interested in pigeonholing me,” she replied, feeling slightly annoyed by his questioning gaze now. “I am merely a friend who is helping Lady Charlton catalogue her library.”

  “I didn’t think she had any friends, and it’s not like her to want help,” he replied, almost bitterly.

  “You are acquainted with her then?”

  “Oh yes. Well acquainted. Too well acquainted.”

  “Would you like to come in and say hello? I believe she should be up and about by now. You could climb over the wall right here.”

  “No, thank you,” he said briskly. “I don’t think that would be wise. I should be going. I just wanted to have a look at the old place again. Just to see . . .” He gave an embarrassed little cough. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should be getting on my way.”

  As Emily watched him turn away, an impossible thought came to her. “Excuse me,” she called after him. He stopped and looked back.

  “You are not—you can’t be her grandson, Justin, can you?” she asked.

  He flashed her a look of surprise and wariness. “Oh, so you know of me then? I’m still famous in the neighbourhood. That’s nice to know.” Another bitter laugh.

  “But they all think you are dead!” she exclaimed. “They understood you’d been blown to pieces.”

  The arrogant look on his face faltered. “Then they don’t know? They didn’t hear?”

  “Didn’t hear what?”

  “My dear lady,” he said, “I have just returned from a German prisoner-of-war camp.”

  “How awful. I am so sorry.” She went to reach across the wall to touch him, but withdrew her hand at the last moment. “Nobody knew. Please, come up to the house now. Your grandmother will be overjoyed to see you. Everyone will. They’ll think it’s a miracle.”

  Still he hesitated. “You really think my grandmother will be overjoyed to see me?”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  He frowned. “I’m the coward. The disgrace to the family. Hasn’t she told you that?”

  “She said some heated words were exchanged because of your beliefs.”

  He gave a derisive snort. “It was she and my father who told me I was letting down my country when I said that I didn’t believe in fighting and was going to register as a conscientious objector. They called me a coward and no member of their family. My grandmother said everyone knew that war was wrong in principle, but if someone else starts it, they have to be stopped, and everyone has to do his duty. Actually, I was planning to volunteer as an ambulance driver, but my father got the enlistment board to refuse my request to register as a conscientious objector. I was drafted into the Devonshire regiment and sent straight to the front. That’s what they did with people like me. Get them killed off as quickly as possible.”

  “Your family only heard that your body was never found,” Emily said. “Your grandmother told me you’d either been blown to pieces or you’d deserted.”

  “Is that what they thought of me?” He gave a brittle laugh. “Knowing her, she would probably rather I’d been blown to pieces than a deserter.”

  Since this was exactly what the old woman had hinted, Emily said nothing. “But I’m sure she will be so happy to know you are alive.”

  “What about my father?” he asked. “Is he at home, too?”

  “Your father was killed at the front. You didn’t know that?”

  “No. I didn’t know.” For a second, the supercilious stare vanished, and he looked like a vulnerable boy. “I’ve known nothing for two years. I’ve been in a private hell.” A spasm of pain crossed his face. Then he collected himself. “He’s dead, you say? So the stupid, old fool re-enlisted and went off to fight.” He shook his head. “All this for-King-and-country nonsense that’s been ingrained in my family. He was too old, you know. He could have stayed quietly home and grown cabbages.”

  “So you are all that your grandmother has,” she said. “The one surviving relative. Won’t you please come in and see her?”

  She could see the agony of hesitation on his face. “Nobody even bothered to write all the while I was there,” he said. “No letters. No packages. Nothing.”

  “Nobody knew where you were,” she said, her patience now wearing thin. “So what happened to you? Why didn’t anyone hear news about you?”

  He shrugged. “Actually, I was captured by the Germans on our first offensive. I ran too far ahead of the others when we were told to go over the top, I suppose. I was a little more agile than the other men. It’s such chaos, explosions all around, men being blown up. You don’t have time to think. And suddenly I found myself amongst Germans. This bloke was coming at me with a bayonet when there was an explosion, and that’s the last thing I remember for some time. When I woke up, I was a prisoner. I had a bad head wound, amongst other things. And I suffered from amnesia for a while. I couldn’t even remember my own name. My identity tags had been blown off me. I had no idea who I was. I was going to be shot as a spy, but then I was shipped off to Germany and spent two miserable years in a prison camp. You have no idea how bad it was. Daily beatings, and singling out men to be killed if we did anything wrong. It was pretty much like hell. And not one word from my family.”

  “They would have written if they’d known,” she said. “Of course they would.”

  “Do you think so?” Again, for a second, he sounded hopeful. Then he shrugged, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. The wind whipped at the scarf around his neck, sending it streaming out behind him. “You people have no idea what it was like,” he said bitterly. “The front. The prison camp. And you sit at home, eating strawberries and cream.”

  “It hasn’t been easy for many of us,” she retorted, feeling the colour rising in her cheeks. “Almost every woman in this village has lost a husband or son. I lost the man I loved and am having a child he’ll never see. I have nothing and nobody, so don’t think it was all strawberries and cream.”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked at her with understanding for the first time. “That’s rough,” he said.

  “We all have to get through it somehow.” She found his gaze somehow unnerving. “Please come and see your grandmother. She thinks she has lost a husband, a son and a grandson. Seeing you would lift her spirits so much. She’s very lonely. And she has probably suffered with guilt all these years for driving you to what she thought was your death.”

  “If you really think that,” he said, giving her a withering look.

  “I do. I believe your grandmother has changed. When I first met her, she was cold and haughty, but she has been so kind to me—made me so welcome. I have come to be very fond of her.” />
  He stood like a statue, his hands resting on the top of the drystone wall, staring down at the house below them. Emily could sense the battle being waged inside him. He wanted to go home, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be welcome.

  “Well, what have I got to lose?” he said at last. “I suppose it’s the right thing to do, to let her know that I’m still alive. But I’m not raising my hopes too high . . .” And he started to climb over the wall.

  “So what are you doing here?” he asked as they walked up the path together. “Did she advertise for a companion or something?”

  “No, I came here as a member of the Women’s Land Army to help with her garden. Then when . . .” She had been going to say, “the man I was going to marry,” but couldn’t do it. “When the man I loved was shot down, I needed a place to be right away. I needed somewhere to adjust to life with a child, but no husband. Your grandmother took me in, and I’ve been trying to help her wherever I can.”

  “May one know your name?”

  “It’s . . .” She hesitated before going on. “It’s Mrs Kerr.” Instantly, she regretted lying to someone as haughty yet vulnerable as Justin Charlton.

  “It’s not easy being a war widow, I’m sure,” he said.

  “Most of the women in this village are.”

  “Really?”

  “Three men have come home so far. All labourers on the home farm. Mr Soper was killed.”

  “Really? Old Soper? He was as tough as nails. What about Ben Lacey?”

  “He’s still alive, but he’s in no fit state to leave the hospital.”

  “My God. How does she run the pub without him?”

  “One of my fellow land girls is helping her out. And another is learning to operate the forge.”

  “So you’ve provided a band of visiting angels, I see.” There was what she took for sarcasm in his voice.

  “We’ve all tried to do what we can,” she retorted angrily. “We are all hurting. It’s somehow easier when we all band together.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sure you’re doing a splendid job. Anyone who can stomach my grandmother for more than a few weeks must be headed for sainthood.”

  “I’ve found her extremely kind,” Emily said. “And she’s hurting, too. She thinks she’s lost everyone. You’ll make her so happy.”

  “That remains to be seen.” He was staring ahead, frowning. “But I’m willing to give it a try. It might be nice to see the old place, my old room . . .”

  Again, she noted the wistfulness in his voice. Of course she’ll welcome him home, Emily thought. Who wouldn’t? He seems so wounded. So much in need of his family.

  They reached the house, and Emily pushed open the front door. Again, Justin hesitated.

  “I’ll go and see if she’s in the sitting room, shall I?” she said. “Maybe prepare her a little?”

  “That would be wise.” He nodded, and followed her into the foyer. “Nothing has changed,” he said, looking around.

  “I think you’ll find a lot has changed,” Emily replied. “We are down to Mrs Trelawney and two other servants. Most of the rooms are shut off, covered in dust sheets. The only fire is in the drawing room. Coal is rationed, as is everything else, but that should get better now. Wait there.”

  Emily had only taken a few steps towards the sitting room door when Ethel came around the corner. She took one look at Justin and let out a scream. “A ghost! It’s a ghost! Mrs Trelawney, I’ve just seen a ghost!”

  “What is that abominable noise?” Lady Charlton appeared at the sitting room door.

  “It was Ethel. I’m afraid she saw—” Emily started to say, but Lady Charlton had spotted Justin. She stood, as if turned to stone.

  “It can’t be,” she said. “Is it really you?”

  “Hello, Grandmother,” Justin said. “The wanderer returns.”

  “But it’s not possible.” She put her hand to her heart. “We all thought . . .”

  “Here, hold on to me.” Emily rushed forwards, as the old woman looked as if she might faint.

  “I’m perfectly all right, Emily. Don’t fuss.” The old lady brushed her hand away. “It was a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

  She continued to stand, staring at her grandson.

  “How about inviting me in?” Justin said. “And how about some coffee? I’ve walked from the main road, and it’s freezing cold out there.”

  Lady Charlton nodded abruptly. “Emily, dear, please tell Mrs Trelawney that we would like . . .” There was no need to finish the sentence. Mrs Trelawney and Ethel had both come out of the kitchen and were clinging on to each other, staring, mouths open.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, woman,” Lady Charlton said. “Go and get us some coffee. Mr Justin needs warming up.”

  Lady Charlton took Emily’s arm this time and allowed Emily to ease her into her favourite chair. Still Justin hesitated, standing and looking about him, before following them into the sitting room. “I used to dream about this place.”

  “Where were you? What happened to you? Why did we hear nothing?” Her voice was sharp.

  “He was in a German prisoner-of-war camp, Lady Charlton,” Emily said.

  “So that was it, was it?” Her voice was still haughty and cold. “You gave yourself up. Surrendered to them?”

  “Is that what you think?” he asked quietly.

  “You made it quite clear that you did not want to fight.”

  “No, I did not surrender. I went over the top with the rest of my unit, bayonets drawn as we charged against the tanks and the big guns. It was suicide. Chaps around me being blown up with every step.”

  “So how did you manage to survive then?” Again, there was a note of harsh suspicion in her voice.

  “I am a fast runner. I outran the rest of them and found myself amongst Germans. A chap was coming at me with a bayonet, and then a shell exploded right next to us, and when I woke up, I was in a German prison cell.”

  “Then why did we hear nothing? All this time?”

  He is still standing at attention, the prisoner being interrogated, Emily thought. She wanted to intervene for him, to tell the old lady to stop acting like this, to get up and hug him.

  “I had a bad head wound and suffered from amnesia. I couldn’t remember who I was, where I came from. And my identity tags had been destroyed. I was going to be shot, but then they had to move out in a hurry, and so they changed their minds and I was sent to a camp. My memory gradually returned, and I gave them my name, but I could never remember my serial number. I did tell them the name of my regiment, but I suppose they couldn’t be bothered to pass it along.”

  The old lady was still frowning. “An interesting tale.”

  “You don’t believe me?” he demanded.

  She shrugged. “You always were a good storyteller. I remember as a child you fabricated the most amazing tales to get yourself out of trouble.”

  “Then what do you think happened to me such that you heard nothing for two whole years?”

  “Frankly, I wondered if you’d deserted. When your body wasn’t found, I thought you’d managed to slip away and hide out in France. You do speak good French, after all.”

  “If you think so poorly of me”—his voice was bitter—“then there is nothing more to be said. I suspected it would be a mistake to come back here.” He started towards the door.

  “Wait. This is now officially your house, I suppose. You realize you have inherited the title. You are now Viscount Charlton. You have every right to stay here.”

  Justin shook his head. “Viscount Charlton? How ridiculous. And how could I stay where I am not wanted? Goodbye, Grandmother. You don’t have to worry that I’ll turn you out of my house. I’d rather be with people who enjoy my company.” He strode out of the room.

  Emily stood watching the drama play out. She glared at the old woman. “Don’t let him go!” she shouted. “Say something.” She ran after him and grabbed at his sleeve as he reached the front door. “Please don’
t go. She didn’t mean those things.”

  “Of course she did. She hasn’t changed one bit. She and my father happily sent me to my death, and now she’s rather annoyed that I’ve turned up alive.”

  “But this is your home.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “She just said you had inherited it.”

  He gave her a withering look. “Obviously, I’m not going to turn her out, and there is no way I’d want to live under the same roof as her.”

  “Where will you go?” she asked. “What will you do?”

  “I wasn’t planning to come back here anyway,” he said. “I’m staying with some pals in London. I’m going to write. About the war. To let people know what it was like.” He managed a little smile. “You shouldn’t stay here. You’re too good for her. Too kind. She’ll let you down in the end, too.”

  Then he ran down the steps and along the drive.

  Emily stood watching him, feeling sick and scared. She fought the urge to run after him, to beg him to stay. Then she turned and went back into the sitting room. The old lady hadn’t moved.

  “I can’t believe you said those things,” Emily blurted out. “That was your grandson. He’d come from a prison camp. Did you see how thin and gaunt he looked? He has suffered, and now you’ve driven him away.”

  “You are forgetting yourself, Miss Bryce,” Lady Charlton said stiffly. “You have no right to speak to me like that.”

  “I have the right to stand up to injustice. Justin hesitated to come in to see you because he thought he’d get this kind of reception. I persuaded him because I thought that you’d be overjoyed. Instead of that, you didn’t even believe him. And now he’s gone, and it’s your own fault.”

  “I said you were forgetting yourself,” Lady Charlton snapped. “May I remind you that you are here at my grace and favour?”

  Emily took a deep breath. “In that case, if you no longer welcome my company, I’ll leave right away.”