by Lily Graham
‘She was quite young to be a cook. I thought you had to work your way up in those old houses?’ said Angie.
‘You did,’ agreed Fran. ‘She worked for another family up in Plymouth, apparently, though not for very long. She didn’t have that much experience.’
I remember reading Tilly’s descriptions about boiled chicken and kept my mouth shut.
‘Then she was placed as the cook for the Aspreys, though she wasn’t all that qualified. That was on account of her family connections.’
‘She didn’t happen to be related to Michael Waters, did she?’
‘Yes,’ said Fran, looking at me as if to ask how I knew that. ‘Bertha’s sister was Michael Waters’ wife. I believe Jean Waters managed to secure Bertha Price’s job with the Aspreys because her husband had fought with John Asprey in the war.’
I nodded. I’d gathered that the connection between the men was why Bertha Price was given the cook’s job – I hadn’t realised that Mrs Waters had arranged it though. ‘Are you sure she was the one who secured Bertha’s post – not her husband?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I believe so. It was certainly her way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, that was one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. Put your mind at rest a bit. I mean, about all those silly rumours.’
‘Oh yes? I’ve heard a few people seem to think that John Asprey locked up Mr Waters in the cottage.’
She nodded. ‘I know, and it isn’t right.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘That the Aspreys took all the blame.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, because if it hadn’t been for Jean Waters, and what she did, well, maybe the Aspreys would still be there now.’
I sat back in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She set out to ruin them – and she succeeded.’
‘Ruin them?’ I repeated. ‘The Aspreys?’
She nodded. ‘Oh yes. Look, there are parts of it that I can understand – to a point, you know. I mean, she had cause in a way, but she took it too far – far too far – in the end. And it didn’t just ruin their lives, but everyone else’s too, hers included. No one was the same after that.’
Fran stood up and fetched a box from the kitchen. ‘A few years ago, I was working on the history of Tregollan. It’s a project that’s so close to my heart. I got my grandmother to put down her account of living here during the First World War. There’s all these stories that go untold when people die and I didn’t want our piece of history to go with her.’
Angie sat back and got herself comfortable. Evidently Fran was a bit of a storyteller.
‘Well, after the war broke out it changed everything, as you can imagine. But I think to really understand what happened, you have to go back to before the Great War, to a war that only ended twelve years before. You see, for the lives of the Aspreys and the Waters, these two wars were like bookends. There was the one that pulled them together, and the one that pulled them apart. The Boer War was the start.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I believe John Asprey and Michael Waters met during that time.’
Fran nodded. ‘Yes, they did. It was this connection that would bind them together, whether they wanted it or not, for the rest of their lives. So, from Jean Waters’ perspective, she married a tall, strapping bear of a man in Michael Waters. He was confident, and strong—’
‘The sort of bloke who could open a jar with his bicep?’ suggested Angie.
Fran laughed. ‘Exactly. Well, anyway, she loved him. Apparently he was quite a catch, and they were happy for a while. They had several children and their lives were pretty good. Then Michael was called off to fight in South Africa. When he came back afterwards and she fetched him from the station, she could barely recognise him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was so thin and frail. In time, he became quite unstable mentally. He used to have these fits, and had to be removed.’
‘It was post-traumatic stress disorder,’ I said. Adam and I had already guessed as much.
She nodded. ‘But of course no one knew about that then. After the First World War, people started to realise what had happened to some of these soldiers, but back then…’
‘How terrible.’
She nodded. ‘So she cared for him, and he trusted her and told her about what had happened to him. He was a prisoner of war, and had been beaten and tortured for months.’
I gasped.
‘That’s not the worst of it.’
‘There’s worse?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘He was captured because he’d been protecting John Asprey.’
‘During battle?’
‘No.’ Her eyes were huge. ‘He was a deserter.’
‘No!’ I said in shock.
‘He left the war. Michael Waters went after him to make him come back, and they were captured. When they were finally released he lied for him. He’d been through so much, had been brutally tortured, but he kept that secret. They became friends in the camp, I think.
‘Then, when they got back from the war, Jean had moved to Yorkshire, to be back with her parents. And he grew ill, and they lost children to consumption – TB. Jean blamed John Asprey for everything. If he hadn’t gone after John, he wouldn’t have been a prisoner of war for two years and wouldn’t have come back so damaged. Well, anyway, she wrote to John Asprey a few years later, telling him about Michael’s fits, how ill he was, how consumed with fear, and how he needed a place away from prying eyes. How he spoke every day about the daffodils…’
‘She wrote to John Asprey,’ I said in realisation.
‘Oh yes. She was letting him know, you see, that she knew. It’s why they built that house – she made him do it, and later it would be the reason she always seemed to get her way. I mean, even my grandmother got her post as the cook as a result.’
‘What did Michael Waters say about her blackmailing them?’
‘I couldn’t say. I should imagine he felt badly about it, but they still moved there. Then when things started to unfold between her son and John Asprey’s daughter—’
‘It was like having a gun over his head – he wanted to protect his friend but he also had the one son left and now he was in danger.’
She nodded. ‘Knowing this, it’s easy to see Jean finally pulling that trigger.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, she’d lost two boys and a girl to consumption, her husband had come back a broken man from the war, and now war had come into their lives again and her only son wanted to fight too, like his father. She thought he’d be safe, as there’d been an accident when he was young and he was permanently injured, but he was declared fit to go to battle anyway – because John Asprey signed a letter confirming it.’
‘What? Why would he do that when he’d been a deserter himself?’ asked Angie.
‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘ He was working on the farm at this point and I think they were friendly. But perhaps there were more incendiary reasons too.’
‘To get him out of the way?’ guessed Angie.
‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘Well, I’m sure that’s what Jean must have thought. It solved the problem about what to do regarding the blossoming romance between Matilda Asprey and young Waters. If he went to war and didn’t come back…’
‘So she told the War Office about John being a deserter,’ said Angie.
‘But couldn’t he have simply denied it?’ I asked.
Fran shook her head. ‘Apparently John had admitted as much in a letter to her husband, so she had proof. And at that time, when people were being handed white feathers left and right for not enlisting, it would have caused quite a scandal, as you can imagine. Before anyone could lay the claim, the Aspreys disappeared.’
‘But how come no one knows about this?’ I asked.
‘Well, it was hushed up. I think it was decided it was best to keep it quiet, and by then Mr Waters had passed away. Young Mic
hael was at war, and Mrs Waters was living in the village with the Prices. She was the reason that Bertha now didn’t have a job, and it was decided it would be best not to tell anyone why this had happened. Especially as she had a surprise herself, with a new child to look after. I don’t think she wanted that child to have to bear the mark of what she’d done, so she kept it to herself. As time passed, people filled in their own blanks about the story, and what they knew about Mr Waters’ fits in the cottage – his “episodes” got coloured with that of John Asprey and his rather austere reputation. People thought he’d used that cottage to keep someone locked up there, instead of what it was – a safe place for a friend.’
I shook my head. ‘But what happened to them, the Aspreys?’
Fran sighed sadly. ‘The rumour was that they fled to Switzerland, I believe. Though I’m not sure if that was confirmed, I just don’t know.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Cornwall and Dunkirk, 1914–15
Tilly
Two things happened that year that were to mark the turning point from bad to worse in my mother’s limited affection for me. The first was that I decided to become a volunteer nurse, joining the Red Cross as a VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment), and lying about my age in the process, as they only accepted girls of twenty-three or older.
I received my training and certificates several months later from a military hospital in Torquay, along with my friend, Alice McKibbon. We learned, amongst other things, basic first aid, how to properly roll up a bandage, make a medical bed and clean out bedpans. Most of all, we learned that real nurses saw us as something rather nasty that they had stepped on with their shoes.
The second incident to frustrate Mother was that I immediately volunteered to be stationed in Dunkirk, at a field hospital run by the Duchess of Sutherland, Millicent St Clair-Erskine – or ‘Meddlesome Millie’, as she was dubbed, for her interference in matters of bureaucracy and for daring to care enough to put her money, her time and her social conscience to good use.
‘You’ll make us a laughing stock by associating with her. We need you at home – there’s so much to do with the wedding. Now that Charles has volunteered, we’re going to have to move it forward,’ wrote Mother, in the week before I was dispatched.
When I told Alice, she sighed, straightening her starched white cap. ‘They’re all like that. They don’t hear what we hear, see what we see. For them, despite the rations, and the inches it takes up in their newspapers, it’s something happening someplace else.’
Not for me, and not for much longer. Not when we joined the No. 9 Red Cross Hospital, the tented unit at Bourbourg, in July 1915. Later it would become known as the ‘camp in the oatfield’.
On my first day, I was told to report to Nurse Hedgemond. ‘She’s sort of a dragon, I must warn you,’ said Susan, one of the other VADs. She was a girl with short brown hair, who managed to smile despite looking dead on her feet. ‘She’s French, bit of a stickler for the rules, but at least she won’t have you dusting the shelves or trying to make yourself useful someplace else. Here, if you’ve got a pair of hands, they’re going to be used. Hope you’re not squeamish. And that you got enough rest on the boat, because there’ll be little of that here. Anyway, we’re happy to have you, especially with your French – apparently it’s excellent.’
There was a dry laugh from behind. ‘Excellent French – I wouldn’t go that far.’
I turned around and my mouth fell open. ‘Celine?’
Susan looked from me to Celine. ‘Do you two know each other?’
Celine smiled.
‘Yes, from another life,’ I said with amazement.
It turned out that while Celine had been a rather mediocre teacher, she was a first-class nurse, and in time would become a first-class friend as well.
For us, the war wasn’t against bombs or gas or even the Germans, it was against the cold and the dirt and the spread of disease. During those first few weeks I learned that on days when I thought I was so tired I might faint, I could carry on. I learned that after the initial shock of seeing an open wound, touching a dead body or having to hear the screams of someone being operated upon, you can almost get used to anything.
Except death. It was the one thing that I never got used to. Each one felt like a personal affront.
I learned important truths, like the value of laughter. How vital it was to say a little joke. To put on your pearls and dress up at midnight and dance beneath the stars while a phonograph played just so the soldiers could for a second think that they were somewhere, anywhere else.
I learned how to lie, how to school my face so that I didn’t give anything away. How to smile and laugh even though the bottom had just fallen out of the sky.
I’d joined as a VAD in an attempt not to think of Fen, but all I did, every minute of the day, as I administered to an endless stream of wounded men, was think of him.
Chapter Fifty
France, 1915
Dearest Tilly,
You’d think that you couldn’t sleep in a trench with the sound of the men and the guns, not to mention the smell. It’s so bad it could detach itself and form into its own assailant, I swear. You’d think that you’d want to keep your eyes open just to keep them on the rats – they’re enormous, Goose, you wouldn’t believe, like cats, and I hate to think what makes them so big.
But despite all this, I can sleep.
It’s a mixed blessing, because when I do, I see you. Sometimes you’re collecting sea glass, or you’re climbing Old Tom. Sometimes we’re children again in my da’s potting shed. But it’s always you and me, and when I wake up, sometimes it hurts enough that I have to check that I haven’t been an idiot and stood up.
Yours,
Fen
Chapter Fifty-One
Present day
‘John Asprey was a deserter? Are you serious?’ asked Adam, taking a seat opposite me in the Harbour Cafe where we’d decided to meet after he finished work.
I filled him in on the details.
‘Oh man, I’m so bummed I had to work. I’d suspected there might be blackmail involved, but I never thought it was Mrs Waters.’
‘Me neither.’
We’d taken one of the tables outside on the cobbled street, which gave us the best view of the leisure boats in the harbour. People were walking past in shorts and sleeveless vests, with the kind of smiles that said ‘Summer’s here!’
‘I mean, I knew there had to be some big secret, but I never suspected that,’ I said. ‘Can you imagine?’
Adam shook his head and took a sip of his beer. ‘No – I mean the way Tilly described her father, I would never have imagined that.’
I nodded.
‘But still, you don’t know how you’ll react until you’re in these situations yourself,’ said Adam. ‘I have a friend who joined the army, fought in the war in Afghanistan and went AWOL. One of their assignments went wrong, civilians were killed, and he just lost it, he said. When his teammates were heading back, he stayed behind in some broken-down apartment. Took him a full day before he walked back into camp. He quit after that. You’d think, in today’s age, people would be more understanding, but you’d be surprised. His dad still won’t talk to him.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s rough.’
‘Yeah. He’s good though; did therapy, think it helped a lot. It’s not as bad now as it was back then. Honour was everything in those days.’
I nodded. ‘It’s so sad. I mean, as a result, John Asprey lost the thing he loved the most anyway – his farm.’
Adam’s mobile started to beep, and he looked at it and grinned.
When he saw me looking, he just shrugged. ‘Nothing important,’ he said, putting it on the table. ‘I’ll just settle up.’
When he was gone, his phoned beeped again, the message lighting up the screen.
‘Speak soon,’ it said. Followed by several little X’s.
It was from Jenna.
I tried to forget about it. Tr
ust was important in a new relationship. There could be a hundred reasons why she was texting him. Though I was trying very hard to see why he’d smile like that.
When he came back, I decided, with a heroic effort, to push it out of my mind.
He winked, and gave my hand a squeeze. ‘We gonna go?’
I nodded. We’d promised Jason and Derron we’d go past the pub tonight and hear them play. It was the first time I’d see The Piston Rings perform a gig that wasn’t on their houseboat.
Angie had already secured us a table, along with Dave and the Bishop, who was, as usual, wearing his Russian hat, despite the heat.
I sat back against Adam while the boys launched into their set, soothed by Derron’s haunting voice.
We’d just ordered our second round of drinks when I saw Jenna in the doorway, looking every bit as beautiful as she had the first time I’d seen her. I tensed slightly as Adam moved, but it was just to raise an arm.
She waved, looked at us for some time, and then left.
He whispered in my ear, ‘She’s going home tonight.’
I turned around and looked at him. ‘She is?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘Why now?’ I whispered. ‘She told me that you were just on the rebound. Said she wasn’t going to give up on you, she was going to wait me out.’
He nodded. ‘She told me the same thing.’
‘She did?’ I might have known.
‘Yeah, but I told her that she’d have to wait for a very long time.’
‘Why’s that?’ I said, his voice sending shivers down my spine.
‘Because I’ve been falling for you since the first day I saw you, and every day it just gets worse.’
I bit my lip and looked into his eyes. ‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘I love you.’
I closed my eyes, and in front of everyone, kissed him. There were cheers and whoops all round.