Angels at War

by Freda Lightfoot

  Angel’s Department Store now possessed its very own café, where ladies could meet their friends for coffee and a chat, just as Livia had once dreamt of them doing. Normally it served hot soup and rolls, salads and sandwiches, and glorious cream cakes which were immensely popular. Today it was awash with guests all sipping fine wine and nibbling locally produced ham and smoked salmon, and talking very loud. Ella had been waylaid by a whiskery lady who was extolling the benefits of rubbing a concoction of honey and carrot juice onto the gums of fractious children who might be teething. Her sister didn’t look at all convinced, but Livia left her to it. Having been handed a glass of sparkling wine, she obediently made a beeline for Mrs Dee and the rest of the staff, to congratulate them on their success with genuine affection and sincerity.

  ‘It would have been much more fun if you’d been there too,’ that good lady pointed out, but Livia brushed the compliment aside.

  ‘I can’t recall anyone’s opinion on lingerie ever bettering your own, dear Mrs Dee. You are the expert, not I.’

  Her erstwhile mentor’s cheeks turned rosy with pleasure. ‘It was certainly most satisfying. I enjoyed the challenge.’

  Livia turned next to congratulate Mercy, who was now very much a part of this small empire. She worked in the sport’s department selling racquets and hockey sticks to budding enthusiasts, and boots to an army of eager fell walkers. Staff living conditions were much improved and she rented one of the rooms Matthew had purchased in the adjoining building. To Livia, it was simply a relief that the pair of them were no longer obliged to live under the same roof, which had proved to be quite a strain.

  Kissing her on both cheeks, Livia said, ‘I thought you all did a marvellous job. The whole thing was splendid. I loved those tennis frocks, Mercy. I’m sure they’ll sell like hot cakes.’

  ‘You should have brought Jack. Why didn’t you?’

  Livia laughed. ‘You know my husband as well as I do. You’d never get Jack in a room full of women, particularly not when they’re parading about practically in their altogether, as he would describe it. Far too risqué.’

  ‘He would if you asked him properly.’

  Livia didn’t pursue the argument. Relations with her half-sister had improved exponentially since the time they’d spent in prison together, but there was still the odd prickly moment. This was clearly one of them. The way Livia conducted her marriage was a constant source of acrimony between them. However much Livia did for him, however many sacrifices she made, it was never enough to suit Mercy. The girl adored Jack, worshipped and idolised him, as she had done ever since she was a child, and could see no wrong in him.

  Fortunately, other guests were crowding round, eager to talk to the staff and ask about possible purchases, so Livia was able to slip away. She’d just found a quiet corner and taken a welcome sip of her wine when she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

  ‘I feared, for one terrible moment, that you’d run away again.’

  Livia turned to face him, a resolute smile firmly in place. ‘I never run away.’

  ‘Yes you do. You run away all the time. From me, from this business, from life.’

  Livia had heard this argument too many times to be cajoled into repeating it. Smiling, she said instead, ‘That was a splendid show, Matthew. You must be very proud. Everyone seemed to enjoy it.’

  ‘It was a nightmare to stage. I never needed you more, Livvy.’

  ‘Don’t. Please.’ She glanced desperately about her, seeking that escape she’d just denied she needed. ‘And how is your dear mother?’

  He put back his head and laughed in that easy way he had that made her heart contract. ‘In the pink, as always. Mother frequently enquires after you too. “When is that very ‘modern’ girl going to call again?” she’ll ask. She actually accused me of ungentlemanly conduct when I told her you’d resigned and sold the store to me. I think she rather admired you on the quiet.’ There was a deep sadness in his eyes now as he gazed down upon her. ‘You can come back at any time, in any position you choose. You have only to say the word.’

  Livia met his probing gaze with an open frankness that always disarmed him. ‘And you know what would happen if I did.’

  He grinned. ‘It might be fun. You can’t resist me for ever.’

  ‘I can resist you quite easily, Matthew, and it wouldn’t be fun at all. This isn’t a game. There was nothing between us but a few meaningless kisses. No commitment, no long-lasting promises of devotion, nothing serious at all.’

  ‘Is that how you describe that delicious cataclysm of desire that erupts inside me every time I set eyes on you?’

  Livia ignored this remark with difficulty, doing her utmost to steady the tremor in her voice as she stoutly continued, ‘I have no intention of ruining my marriage for some silly fling. I’ve done enough damage to it already. Now I must go. Jack will be home soon and wanting his tea. Thank you for the invitation. It was a splendid show.’ If she didn’t escape soon, she might very well disgrace herself by falling into his arms and begging for more of those meaningless kisses.

  Matthew caught her arm as she turned away, reluctant, as always, to let her go. ‘You know I don’t feel half as flippant as I sound. It’s my way of dealing with this awful situation. I want you. I need you, Livvy.’

  ‘I know.’ Livia ached to reach out and stroke his cheek, to smooth away that bleak pain from his eyes, but aware of the bevy of gossiping ladies standing not too far away, she managed to hold herself firmly in check.

  ‘I wanted only to care for you. I would have married you like a shot, but you never gave me the chance.’ He was tenderly stroking each finger and for the life of her she couldn’t bring herself to withdraw her hand.

  ‘To take on another man’s child?’

  ‘Even so.’

  Livia’s heart felt as if it were bleeding, as if little pieces of it were breaking apart and falling into an abyss. ‘We mustn’t talk like this, Matthew. I made my decision long ago, and it was the right one, in the circumstances. As things turned out … well, such is fate. Now you must forget all about me and get on with your life.’

  ‘How can I when you are so plainly unhappy?’

  ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. I lead a very full life. I’m not at all unhappy.’

  ‘So what have you been doing with yourself since last I saw you, besides avoiding me, that is.’

  ‘I’m not avoiding you, I’ve been busy doing all manner of things. I’m working with the WSPU still, although no more rallies, I swear, and I’ve started a first aid course with the Red Cross.’

  His expression sobered instantly. ‘You think this talk of war is serious then?’

  ‘Dear God, I pray the pundits are wrong, but it is looking increasingly likely. We’re all aware there’s been unrest in the Balkans for some time, and now with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, I fear for our future.’

  ‘And I fear that you are right. Russia will side with Serbia. The Austrian-Hungarian government will look to Germany for support, who could well snatch any opportunity to increase her power.’

  ‘And Britain will not like that.’

  ‘She will not. I agree these are dangerous times.’

  ‘So I mean to be as prepared as I can be to do my bit.’

  Grey-green eyes softened with love for her. ‘I would expect nothing less from you, but don’t ask too much of yourself, Livvy. And don’t go on blaming yourself for what happened. You suffered a terrible tragedy, but you can’t allow it to dictate how you spend the rest of your life. You can’t tie yourself forever to a man you no longer like, let alone love.’

  ‘That’s unfair. Jack is a good man, even if he does have a few problems.’

  ‘A few?’ Matthew gave a bitter laugh. ‘Is he sober at the moment, this wonderful husband of yours?’

  ‘Good day to you,’ she snapped, and walked away without a backward glance, feeling his eyes upon her every step of the way.

  Livia knew instantly that J
ack was not at home as she let herself into the cottage, even though it was Saturday and supposedly his day off. He’d promised to distemper the walls of the kitchen but there was no sign the task had even been started.

  She sighed as she hung up her coat, not asking herself where he might be, for she knew only too well. He would be in one of his favourite watering holes, and would roll home when he ran out of money, or his friends stopped plying him with drinks.

  Livia passed through the living room into their bedroom and quickly changed out of her best summer frock into a plain blue cotton skirt and blouse. Casting a glance about her as she put it carefully away in the wardrobe, she felt a certain pride in her neat little home with its lace curtains which she’d made herself, the pegged rug on the linoleum covered floor, and pretty rose-patterned wallpaper. Livia had done her best to be the kind of wife Jack wanted, and he did love her, there was no doubt about that. So wasn’t her sacrifice worthwhile?

  But Matthew’s comments were dangerously close to the truth. She stayed with Jack more from a sense of responsibility, and pity, rather than love. Yet she still held an affection for him, if not the all-consuming passion she felt for Matthew. Livia shook away the sudden pang of longing, smoothed the covers on the bed, which were already pristine, and headed back to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

  Poor, troubled Jack had quickly fallen back into his old ways after their tragic loss, worsened as two miscarriages had quickly followed.

  Weariness settled over her like a black cloud as Livia knew she had to tell him even worse news as a result of this third miss. She was recovering, slowly, but the doctor had made it clear that it was unlikely there would be any more babies. His words had hurt badly, killing the last of her hopes, seeming to echo the awful emptiness she felt inside, her complete sense of failure.

  Livia had passionately pleaded that she was willing to try again. Her main concern was for Jack, not her own health, knowing how important it was to her husband for him to have a family of his own. But the doctor had been adamant that was no longer an option.

  How she would break this new disaster to him, she dare not even contemplate. They were barely speaking as it was. She dreaded the sulks and accusations and arguments that would surely follow. Livia reminded herself to be strong, that she was at least trying to fill her life with other things, as she had just explained to Matthew. Unfortunately, Jack did not approve of her doing even paperwork for the WSPU.

  Livia set the kettle on the stove and reached for her apron. She’d bought sliced tongue for tea, and would make a nice salad to go with it, perhaps bake Jack an apple pie, his favourite sweet.

  As she measured out the flour and rubbed in the fat, Livia replayed the conversation in her head that she’d just had with Matthew. Her longing for him could never be assuaged, but she made a private vow to do all in her power to keep well away from Angel’s Department Store and resist his charms, no matter how strong the temptation to succumb to her love for him.

  Livia did not now deny that she loved him, nor that he truly loved her. Not any more. Had she understood his feelings earlier, maybe none of this would have happened. She might have left Jack before ever she’d got pregnant and felt obliged to marry him.

  But they had married. Jack was now her husband, and he deserved more than she was able to give him. Firming her lips with a new resolve, Livia began to slice apples into the pie dish. She would break this latest bad news gently, perhaps suggest they adopt a child. There must be plenty in need of a loving home. Hadn’t she hurt him beyond endurance? And if Jack had a weakness for the bottle, so what? Drunkenness turned him maudlin not aggressive. He’d never used his fists on her, never done anything to hurt her. She must do something to please him by way of reparation for her failure, everything she could to make him happy.

  As Livia set the apple pie in the oven to bake, Mercy slid the key into the lock and quietly opened the door of her single room. It contained little more than a bed, a chair and a chest of drawers, but she viewed it as her very own private sanctuary, a place that was entirely hers, safe from the prying eyes of the world. The other girls never intruded, never asked questions about what she did with her time there, nor expected to be invited inside. Mercy had made these rules clear from the very first day.

  She didn’t switch on the light, although the curtains were drawn and the afternoon light was already fading. She shrugged out of her coat, unbuttoned her new uniform dress, a pleasant grey with a burgundy bow at the collar, and stepping out of it, slid into bed in just her pink petticoat and French drawers.

  ‘Goodness, I thought that performance would never end.’

  ‘No matter, I would have waited,’ Jack said, as he pulled her to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  War was declared and mobilisation began immediately on 4th August. Events had moved fast. Following the assassination in June, Austria had declared war on Serbia. Russia mobilised in Serbia’s defence, which caused Germany to declare war on Russia as they were on Austria’s side. France, bound by a treaty to Russia, thus came to be at war with Germany, and when the German army invaded neutral Belgium, England too declared war. There seemed no end to it.

  The very next day Livia called an emergency meeting of the local WSPU, of which she was secretary. Emmeline Pankhurst had ordered a suspension of all activity until the international crisis was over, calling on men to fight and women to take on war work. This had apparently created some dissension in the ranks, and even raised some dispute in Westmorland.

  ‘I thought we women were supposed to be peace-makers?’ Connie asked.

  ‘Gaining the right to vote isn’t enough. We have to prove ourselves worthy,’ Livia told her. ‘It’s true that even Mrs Pankhurst’s own daughter disagrees with this decision. Apparently, Sylvia considers her mother’s support for the war to be a betrayal of the principles upheld by our movement. But though I can understand that point of view, how can we stand by and do nothing?’

  ‘But with everyone caught up in the war, they’ll forget all about the women’s cause.’

  ‘We must make sure they don’t forget by showing we can do our bit. If our men have the pluck to risk death for their country, then we must do all we can to help too. Mrs Pankhurst says we must “prove ourselves worthy of citizenship”.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Stella agreed. ‘But what kind of war work? What can humble folk like us do?’

  ‘A great deal, I’m sure,’ Livia reassured her.

  Women in the hall began to make suggestions. ‘We could offer support to those young women whose men have gone off to fight,’ one woman said. ‘They might need help with the children, for instance.’

  ‘Or just a shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘Sadly, there are bound to be casualties,’ said another. ‘We could roll bandages for the hospital.’

  ‘Good idea. We can all search out linen we no longer need which could be cut up.’

  ‘I could knit socks,’ Dolly offered.

  ‘Well done, Dolly, yes, we must all do that. It will be cold out at the front when winter comes. Let’s make them thick and warm. And I’ll try to remember to turn the heel and not drop stitches,’ Livia laughed, looking about the hall in search of Mercy, who would be able to share the joke. She usually attended these meetings, but wasn’t present today for some reason.

  ‘Where would we get the wool from, though?’ Dolly asked, basking in the praise. She couldn’t help liking Livia enormously, and still nursed a certain amount of guilt over just how friendly she’d once been with her handsome husband. Fortunately, she’d had the sense to put an end to the little fling before things had got quite out of hand. Perhaps out of loyalty to Livia, who had always been so kind to her, particularly in prison that time. Jack hadn’t seemed too put out by her decision, and had soon been seen buying drinks for other shop girls. Dolly sometimes wondered how much Livia knew about her husband’s leisure activities.

  ‘We’ve no money to buy wool,’ Stella was saying, and Dolly
struggled to bring her thoughts back to these more important issues, anxious to make up for her transgression.

  ‘I’m sure most of us have some old woollens in the cupboard we could unpick and pull back,’ she suggested.

  Livia smiled. ‘Excellent idea, Dolly. And we could raise money by holding rummage sales and coffee mornings to fund the campaign. Food, too, is bound to be in short supply. People have already started panic buying. Those with gardens could grow vegetables, keep chickens and pigs.’

  ‘And those without gardens can offer to work for those who have.’

  ‘We could also make up food parcels for the troops. Show they’re not forgotten.’

  Gripped by the fervour of patriotism, the ideas came thick and fast, some women declaring their intention to do something far more daring, such as get a job in a munitions factory, or drive an ambulance. None of these feisty ladies intended to sit back and do nothing.

  ‘Have you told Livia yet?’

  ‘No, I wanted to tell you first.’

  Mercy was in Jack’s arms, weeping, but felt a burst of joy at these words. Maybe he did love her a little then, if he’d come to her first. ‘Oh, Jack, please don’t go, not till you’re actually called up. Please don’t volunteer.’

  ‘I have to, love, it’s my duty. The King needs us.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you.’

  ‘You won’t lose me, sweetheart. It’ll all be over by Christmas and I’ll be back here in your arms, large as life and just as handsome as ever.’

  Mercy didn’t smile at his joke. ‘At least let me be with you from now until you leave. Why should she have first call on your time, on you, just because she’s your wife? I’m the one who loves you. She doesn’t care about you.’

  ‘It’s not quite so simple, love. You know it isn’t.’