They were cuddled up together on the old couch in the cottage Jack and Livia shared. Mercy had set out that evening with every intention of going to the WSPU meeting, but had met Jack on Nether Bridge and once he’d told her his news, she’d been devastated and they’d ended up here while he consoled her. They knew it was risky but couldn’t seem to help themselves.
‘Does she have any idea at all about us?’
‘God, no!’
Mercy gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Coward. Do you want me to tell her?’
‘Don’t you dare. Now isn’t the time. I will get round to it, I promise, but this war has changed everything. We’ll just have to be careful for a bit longer. But you’re still my special girl.’ Jack folded Mercy into his arms, stroking her hair as Mercy again began to weep. ‘Now don’t take on, everything is going to be all right, I swear.’
He began to kiss her brow, her eyes, her mouth, and as their passion intensified she helped him to undo the buttons on her dress, tugged it urgently away so that he could caress her breasts. Mercy felt as if her heart was bursting, her love for him was so great. It astonished her that this thing had happened between them, that she could forget George so easily. But then these emotions for Jack must have been there all along, growing through all the long years she’d known him. She felt no guilt that they were here together like this, in the home he shared with Livia. Nor did she feel any need to remain loyal to a husband who had surely lost the right to her love when he’d betrayed her with Tom Mounsey. Oh, but she did want Jack all to herself and not to share him with anyone, particularly her posh half-sister. Despite all Livia’s kindness towards her, and the reality of their marriage, Mercy deeply resented her closeness to the man she loved, for whom Livia had a prior claim.
‘It’s a bit awkward on this old couch. Why don’t we go in there?’ She jerked her head in the direction of the bedroom, not noticing how Jack paled at the suggestion.
‘I’m not sure.’
Mercy stood up, kicking her frock aside as it fell to her feet, then drew off her petticoat, standing brazenly before him in nothing more than her French knickers. She’d bought these from Mrs Dee specially to please him. Oh, and they certainly had pleased him. Jack had been very keen to help her take them off on more than one occasion. But she still didn’t feel entirely certain of him, and was terrified that he might forget her. Mercy meant to be the one he dreamt of when he was out there fighting in the trenches, not his posh wife. And it would be such a delicious revenge to seduce him in Livia’s own bed.
Mercy lifted her arms, stretching herself before him like a cat, purring with pleasure as she rubbed her hands down over her pert breasts, her flat stomach, smiling as she saw how his eyes burnt with the heat of his desire. ‘Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to give me something special to remember you by before you go off and fight? I know it won’t be the first time, but it might well be the last for some months.’ She pouted her lips, a tremble of tears on her lids.
Seconds later they were in his bed, saying goodbye in the only way they knew how.
* * *
When the meeting was over, Livia chatted with her friends for a while, finalising a few details. Then she walked home in high spirits, eager to relate to Jack how positive everyone had been. Organising it all would certainly keep her fully occupied in the coming weeks. Perhaps he might even approve of this latest project.
Livia had seen very little of Jack recently and even when they were together, conversation between them was stilted and difficult. Things had been bad enough between them since she lost the baby in prison, but from that dreadful day when she’d gently broken the news that there would be no more babies, he’d barely spoken a word to her, nor laid a finger on her. He’d become withdrawn and depressed, as if all the life had gone out of him. Even though they lived in the same house, ate together, and still shared the same bed, he was somehow distant, remaining just beyond her reach, locked in a world of his own. Livia felt desperately sorry for him, but really didn’t know what to do for the best.
There were times when she felt as if she’d sacrificed her own happiness in a bid to save his, and now had failed even in that quest. She was at her wits’ end to know how to put things right.
The August evening was dark by the time she crossed Nether Bridge, hurried along Kirkland and up into the maze of yards beyond the parish church. Livia was sliding the key into the lock when the cottage door burst open and she found herself face to face with Mercy.
‘Goodness, you startled me. What are you doing here?’
Mercy was equally surprised by the encounter but quickly recovered. ‘Oh, I came to call for you – for the meeting – and then Jack told me his news. We got talking, and then I realised it was too late to bother. We’ve been having a cup of tea while he told me all about it.’
‘All about what?’ Smiling, Livia took off her hat and coat, then went to the stove to make herself a brew. The kettle felt cold but she shrugged that aside, thinking it probably would be if they’d been talking for some time. ‘So what news is this?’ She turned to Jack as he appeared beside her, then took a backward step as she noted his changed appearance. ‘Good heavens, what have you done to yourself?’
‘I’ve had my hair cut. Nowt wrong with that, is there?’
‘No, of course not. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Why? Why would you choose to cut it off after all these years?’
‘Because I’ve taken the King’s shilling.’
The words hung between them for several heartbeats before Livia finally found her voice. ‘Oh, Jack, my love.’ Then she put her arms about him and pulled him to her. ‘I never thought … but of course you would want to volunteer … You’re so brave … when do you leave? Oh, Jack, stay safe, my darling …’ Her words sounded choked with tears.
‘It’s all right, love, don’t upset yourself, I’ll be back before you know it.’
Mercy watched them, hot-eyed with jealousy. She saw how Jack’s arms slipped easily about Livia, how he held her against him. She could see his face over her rival’s shoulder as they stood there in a loving embrace, his eyes closed, as if in ecstasy. He seemed to be breathing in the scent of her, reminding himself not only of his wife’s sweet fragrance but the pleasure of holding her in his arms. Unable to witness their intimacy, Mercy turned from them, and when the pair finally drew apart, they found they were alone in the kitchen.
Livia smiled. ‘Dearest Mercy will be fearful, too, for your safety, but it was tactful of her to leave just now. I shall miss you, Jack. I have missed you for many long months, wishing things could be as they once were between us.’
Livia kissed him then, a tender, loving kiss which told him she still cared, yet it held all the regret and apology she felt for the tragedy she’d brought upon them.
Later, in bed, they came together for the first time in months. It seemed to Livia to be a fitting farewell.
‘Livia has decided not to go with you to the station.’ Mercy made this announcement to Jack as he finished packing his kit bag. It was a lie, of course. Livia had said no such thing, but Mercy was betting on the fact that he wouldn’t bother to check. Jack never was one for a fuss. But he looked not only annoyed but disappointed, which troubled her slightly.
Pausing in his folding of shirts, he frowned. ‘Did she say why?’
‘Maybe she’s too busy with the suffragettes and their war work.’ Mercy gave a careless shrug, not wanting it to appear important. ‘And she’s doing this first aid course too. But then we all are.’ Making the point very nicely that she was willing to spare the time to see him off even if his wife wasn’t.
There was a bitterness in the tone of his response. ‘That’s our Livvy, always busy working for others. Right little do-gooder, she is. Anyway, why would I need her when I have you?’
‘Why indeed?’ Mercy agreed, and was thrilled when he pulled her into his arms to kiss her.
But there was still the chance that he might change his mind and ask Livia
to come. She was still his wife, after all. Mercy would have dearly liked to have done something about that, too – edged her half-sister out of Jack’s life altogether. But that was going to take time, and the outbreak of war had spoilt everything. She took the precaution of putting Livia off even considering the possibility.
‘I don’t know how to say this but Jack has decided that he doesn’t want you at the station with him, saying your goodbyes in public. Maybe he feels it will be too painful or something, but he’s asked me to see him off instead. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, someone should be there to see him off.’
Livia was thoughtful for a moment, but managed a philosophical smile. ‘Of course I don’t mind. That’s very thoughtful of you, Mercy. The last thing I want to do is to upset or embarrass him, and, as you say, someone should see him off. He might be in France next week. I shudder to think of it but the British Expeditionary Forces have already landed on French soil, just two weeks into the war. It doesn’t seem quite real, does it, with the sun still shining, that men are being cut down and slaughtered?’
‘God help us that Jack isn’t one of them,’ Mercy said, unable to stop her sudden gush of tears.
Livia took the girl in her arms. ‘I’m sure he won’t be. Your devoted and difficult honorary brother will be back home with us, safe and sound, in no time at all. You can count on it.’
‘That’s what he says,’ Mercy sniffed, bridling slightly at the description of Jack as her ‘honorary brother’. She’d stopped thinking of him in those terms a long time ago.
‘Then it must be right. When is Jack ever wrong about anything?’ And they both managed a laugh, of sorts.
For all her bravado, Livia’s spirits were low. She would have liked to have accompanied Jack to the station and seen him off, exactly as the other wives and girlfriends were doing. She was still his wife, after all, still fond of him, despite everything. But she hid her disappointment beneath a brave façade of smiles, and was grateful that he’d have Mercy there. She understood that Jack Flint was his own man, an individual who rarely ran with the crowd. He liked to do things in his own way, and they had already made their farewells in a very private, special manner. It was a great consolation to Livia that they would part as friends, even lovers again.
‘You go with him, Mercy dear, with my blessing.’
They had to be a bit circumspect at the station as there were so many people on the platform at Oxenholme who knew them. The train was already packed, the entire station thronged with weeping women and gaunt-faced young soldiers. Jack had been given a railway pass, a parcel of food, and instructed to report to the Manchester depot for training.
‘I’ll write to you every day,’ Mercy promised, wishing she could kiss him and be swept up in his arms as a girl in a pretty blue dress was by her young man, her hat flying off in the process. But Mercy could see Stella with her boyfriend further along the platform, so daren’t take the risk.
Jack squeezed her hand, understanding her painful dilemma. ‘Me too. I shall think of you every night before I go to sleep, and first thing every morning when I wake up. You won’t forget me, will you, Mercy? You won’t go off with some other chap, not now that I’ve found you, that we’ve found each other properly, that is?’
Mercy’s gaze burnt into his. ‘Never. I am yours for all time, Jack Flint. For ever. Always have been.’
Someone had started to sing ‘Rule Britannia’, which quickly changed to ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, and all the recruits, packed into the train like sardines, joined in. Morale was so high anyone would think these boys were off on a Sunday school jaunt, and not to fight a war.
Jack laughed, then hugged her hard to his chest. ‘I’m entitled to do this at least, as your alleged honorary brother. I shall do my duty bravely, Fear God and Honour the King, as Kitchener has asked. You must be brave too, little one.’
‘I will do my best. Oh, but I shall miss you.’
‘Don’t cry, my love. I had enough tears from me mam when I went to Staveley to say goodbye to the family at the weekend. I can’t take any more from you. Just as well Livia isn’t here as well, or I’d have been drowned in women’s tears.’ Yet he looked over her head towards the station entrance, as if checking his wife wasn’t going to come running at the last minute.
Mercy felt suddenly awkward, a sense of guilt for the lies she’d told creeping over her for the first time. She was relieved when the train whistle blew and Jack brushed a light kiss on her cheek. Hoping no one was watching at that precise moment, Mercy returned the kiss full on his lips. Then Jack swung his kit bag onto his shoulder and jumped onto the train, and Mercy waved to him, tears rolling down her cheeks. Doors banged, steam billowed and the train started moving, shunting slowly at first before picking up speed. Mercy ran along the platform beside it, as everyone else was doing.
‘Take care,’ Jack called to her through the open window, but then spoilt it by adding, ‘And look after Livia for me.’
Mercy only stopped running when she reached the end of the platform, still waving frantically as the train curved around the bend, disappearing into the unknown. But his words echoed in her head as she walked soberly back to the bus stop. If only his last thoughts hadn’t been for Livia.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the weeks after Jack left, Livia was often to be found sitting in her kitchen, feeling at a complete loss. She would do her chores and her paperwork for the WSPU. She’d organise parcels for the troops, packed with useful things like socks or mufflers, handkerchiefs or fingerless gloves, plus a few Oxo cubes or malted milk tablets. But she needed to do more. She felt filled with frustration, as well as a creeping sense of loneliness. Jack’s first letter spoke of a crowded ship crossing the Channel to France, of digging trenches and first shots being fired, some of them by mistake at Allies, which didn’t sound too reassuring.
‘Now we’re in the thick of it good and proper and got the enemy in our sights. Losing our own men too. At least the French seem to understand the English word for beer, so not all bad news.’
Still the same old Jack, although she doubted he’d have quite as many opportunities for carousing as he did at home.
She felt so proud of him. His bravery shone off the page, but Livia’s own efforts at war work appeared less successful. She was finding a complete indifference to their efforts. Women were volunteering by the score, since they were not to be conscripted as were the men. But politicians, the war office, employers, unions, even their own husbands, either disapproved of their being involved or laughed at the very idea.
Livia believed it to be pride on their part, the sensitive male ego that Mrs Dee had once talked to her about. Men were for some reason ashamed of the fact that their wives wanted to work, as if it reflected in some way upon their own ability to protect and provide. What nonsense, Livia thought. Women were not the stay-at-home Victorian housewives they had once been. Many of them were learning to drive the new automobiles, had turned up their skirts to ankle-length, and were dancing the Turkey Trot, let alone trying out new careers.
She’d heard there were even women doctors now, although they too were fighting prejudice in order to get accepted.
And there was a war on! Men believed they could win it in just a few months, and wouldn’t need any help from women, save to entertain them as Marie Lloyd and Vesta Tilley were doing. Those two were a recruitment campaign all on their own. But amusing as those naughty ladies might be with their ‘I’m willing if you’ll only take the shilling, to make a man of any one of you’, Livia believed women to be capable of much more than singing and dancing, and being outrageous.
To prove they were serious, the local WSPU ladies of Westmorland took part in a demonstration of solidarity on behalf of all working women wanting to do their bit in the war. It was the first event of its kind Livia had attended since the day she’d been thrown into prison. The intention was to persuade the unions to drop their objections to women taking over men’s jobs, albeit temporarily.
Fortunately it passed off without incident, and Livia was glad she’d been a part of it and helped to make their mark. Similar demonstrations were held right across the country, sadly to very little effect. Sighing, she went back to her kitchen table and her paperwork.
Ella was busier than ever, working to produce as much food as she and Amos possibly could on their small farm. Mercy was fully engaged with her job at the store but Livia continued to question her own role. She couldn’t help regretting having given up her position at the store. What purpose did she have in life now? Was this all she was capable of doing: paperwork, sending out letters, booking appointments, finding work for other women to do? Worthy as this might be, was it what she was best qualified for? Should she ask Matthew for a job at the store? Dare she risk being close to him every day, still feeling for him as she did? Or was there some other task she could take up?
She certainly couldn’t go on like this. Livia felt bored out of her mind sitting alone at home in her own kitchen.
Livia read in the newspaper about the Battle of Mons and the thought of all those boys in France, some of them dreadfully young and many severely injured, haunted her for the rest of that day. The first aid course she’d recently completed had been most thorough and challenging. And although she could not in any way be described as a qualified nurse, Livia wondered if there might be some way in which she could use those skills. How dare she not use them, or the time she now had on her hands, when their boys in khaki were dying in such numbers?
On a sudden whim she grabbed her coat and went that very minute back to the Red Cross to ask for their advice on the matter. By the time she returned home two hours later, Livia had volunteered for the Voluntary Aid Detachment, more familiarly known as the VAD.
The woman who had signed her up had promised her sore feet, an aching back, hard work, and precious little time off.
Angels at War Page 22