Suffragette Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘What Sister Blackstock will say when she hears, I dread to think,’ Sister Carey went on. ‘She has always thought so highly of you. You’ll be a sad disappointment to her.’

  The words were so reminiscent of her father. This, and worse, would be what would happen at home.

  ‘You must see a doctor at once,’ the sister said, turning her mind to practicalities. ‘You must both be checked.’

  ‘Oh but—’ Florrie’s heart beat faster. She wanted baby Jacques to be attended to, but as for herself, well, the secret would be out at once if she allowed a doctor to examine her. There was only one person she could trust. ‘I’ll see Dr Hartmann. He’ll see to him – to us,’ she said firmly, turning away at once as if to find him. ‘Where is he? Is he here?’

  ‘He’s back at the Chateau handing over to the new doctor. Sister Blackstock’s there too.’

  ‘Then I must go back there.’

  Sister Carey gave her a strange look. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? Perhaps it would be better if Dr Johnson saw you—’

  ‘I need to see Dr Hartmann,’ Florrie said firmly.

  Sister Carey sighed. ‘Very well. You’ll need to collect your belongings anyway, though I hardly think you’ll be coming with us now. I expect you’ll be sent home.’ She glanced at the watch pinned to her left breast. ‘I’ll find someone to take you. In the meantime, get yourself something to eat and feed the child.’ Beneath her breath the sister muttered, ‘He’s the innocent in all this.’

  How true that was, Florrie thought bitterly.

  Forty

  She was driven back to the house. The soldier beside her, not knowing what to say, kept silent.

  As she walked into the kitchen, carrying the child, Sister Blackstock’s mouth dropped open. Florrie stood before her brazenly and offered no explanation. Let them think what they wanted. She wouldn’t tell deliberate lies, but neither would she do anything to deny their assumptions.

  ‘So, that was what was so very urgent, was it? I must say, you’ve kept it well hidden. Not one of us suspected you’d been foolish enough to get yourself pregnant.’

  Florrie pressed her lips together to stop the truth bursting out. There was only one person in whom she was prepared to confide. She was sure she could trust him to allow her to take the child back to England. But she wasn’t sure about the others. Sister Blackstock – rigid in her rule-keeping – might see it as her duty to report the matter to the French authorities. Perhaps, even though she had the precious piece of paper in her pocket giving her full parental rights, they would not allow the child to leave French soil.

  ‘I must see Dr Hartmann.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be appropriate,’ the sister glared at her reproachfully. ‘Do you? We all know you’ve been – seeing each other. Oh, I know you think you’ve both been very careful, but there aren’t any secrets round here. And by the look of it,’ she nodded towards the child in Florrie’s arms, ‘you haven’t been careful enough, in more ways than one.’

  Florrie gasped, horrified that their love affair appeared to be common knowledge. The very thing that Ernst had been so concerned about: that his reputation would be tarnished. But even worse than that, if he were to be thought the father of her child . . .

  Her daring plan seemed to be faltering at the first hurdle. She bit her lip. She must see Ernst and tell him everything. He would know what to do.

  Florrie lifted her head and stared defiantly at the sister. ‘Where is Dr Hartmann?’

  ‘I’ve told you—’

  ‘And I’m telling you, Sister Blackstock, I need to see him,’ Florrie said with steely determination. ‘Now.’

  The sister shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’ve got some nerve, Maltby, I’ll grant you that.’ She sighed. ‘But then I suppose if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here in this hell-hole. Still, it’s a pity it’s turned out this way. You’ve been one of our best nurses – despite being only a VAD – and I’ll be sorry to lose you.’

  ‘Lose me? But – but why? I don’t want to leave.’

  Sister Blackstock laughed wryly. ‘My dear girl, you can’t stay here now. What would you do with your child? I’m sorry, you’ll have to be sent home at once.’

  ‘But I can come back. Once I’ve taken him home—’

  ‘That’s out of the question.’

  Florrie swallowed her disappointment at having to abandon the job she loved, where she felt she was being of real service. And what of Ernst and their love for each other?

  ‘Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll find him myself.’ Still carrying the child, who was whimpering once more, she turned away.

  ‘Wait!’

  Florrie hesitated and looked back over her shoulder.

  Sister Blackstock’s expression softened as she held out her arms. It was miraculous, Florrie thought, what the sight of a tiny new being did to the hardest of hearts. Her disgust at Florrie did not extend to the innocent child. ‘I suppose you had better see Dr Hartmann. I’m sure you have things to discuss.’ She nodded meaningfully. ‘Give the poor little mite to me. I’ll try to pacify it until you get back to feed it.’

  ‘I’m not feeding him myself. I – I can’t. There’s some milk in this container . . .’

  ‘Not feeding him yourself?’ The woman was scandalized. ‘I expect you haven’t tried hard enough. The little chap’ll starve in this place. Oh, we’d better get you both to civilization as quickly as possible.’

  Florrie was just about to place the child in the sister’s arms, when Ernst walked in.

  ‘What on earth is the noise?’ he began irritably and then, as his glance took in the child, his agitation turned to horror. He stared at Florrie, who pushed the child into Sister Blackstock’s arms and cried, ‘Ernst, I can explain . . .’

  But Ernst Hartmann turned on his heel and walked out again.

  Sister Blackstock sighed heavily. ‘Go after him, Florrie.’

  Ernst hurried back down the steps to the cellars as if he wished to put as much distance as possible between them. Florrie picked up her skirts and followed him.

  ‘Dr Hartmann, I can explain. Please – wait.’

  But Ernst did not wait for her or look back.

  She caught up with him in the room set aside for operations and the emergency treatment of the badly injured. He was leaning against the table where so many had bled their life away, his arms folded across his chest, his face a mask of anger.

  ‘So that’s why you’ve kept away from me just lately? Why we haven’t made love? You were afraid I would feel the size of your belly and guess?’

  ‘I haven’t been keeping away from you. If only you knew how I’ve longed to be with you – but it’s difficult here, with so many people about. You know it is. And – you’ve seemed so distant recently. You’ve never suggested me going with you when you’ve been doing the rounds of the first-aid posts. At least we could have been alone then.’

  ‘I couldn’t risk anyone suspecting. It would have looked too obvious. But how could you do this to me – how could you stay here? Why didn’t you plead illness – think of some excuse – and go home? My reputation will be in shreds – my career ruined. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have arranged for you to get rid of it.’

  Florrie gaped at him in shock and disappointment. But still, she wanted him to hear her out. ‘Please, listen to me, Ernst,’ she pleaded. She wanted to tell him everything: about James and Colette, about the girl’s death and Florrie’s efforts to find her family. She’d even put her hand into her pocket to bring out the piece of paper to confirm her story, when a perverse stubbornness flooded through her.

  His attitude appalled her. She couldn’t believe that he was speaking to her so harshly, so cruelly. The truth was that he cared nothing for her or for the child that he believed was his. All Ernst Hartmann cared about was what this would do to his precious reputation. She couldn’t believe the words that were issuing from his mouth. After all his words of love to her – all his promises
– that he could talk like this to her shocked her to the core of her being. He believed the child to be his, and yet he was talking as if he would have arranged a termination for her. An abortion. An illegal act.

  Well, let him keep his good name; hers was in tatters anyway. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was her beloved brother’s son. At his next words, Florrie froze.

  ‘If this gets back to Switzerland, my fiancee will break off the engagement and I shall lose my position at the Schatzalp. The sanatorium her father helped to build.’

  ‘Fiancee?’ she breathed. ‘You – you never told me you were engaged to be – to be married.’

  He shrugged and glanced away. ‘We live in dreadful danger – day after day. We live for the moment, because we don’t know if there’s ever going to be a tomorrow.’

  ‘So—’ She felt betrayed, used. ‘You never intended that there should be a tomorrow for us?’

  And now, suddenly, she knew what she had to do. Her resolve hardened, her course of action sealed by his callous words. She’d promised James she would care for Colette and their child. But Colette was gone and only their son remained. But now he would be hers. Hers completely. It would be as if she really had given birth to him.

  She lifted her head and faced Ernst squarely. ‘You can tell everyone he’s not yours,’ she said. The tremble in her voice had nothing to do with her bold resolve, but with the heartbreak she was suffering from seeing Ernst in his true light.

  ‘And do you really think they’re going to believe that?’ Suddenly, his anger died. He groaned and closed his eyes. ‘When Dr Johnson came here yesterday, he told me that there are rumours circulating about us. People are talking.’

  ‘And that would never do, would it?’ Her tone was laced with sarcasm.

  He raised his shoulders. ‘Well, now the gossip is confirmed, isn’t it? They have the proof, haven’t they?’ There was a pause as they looked at each other, and she saw the love in his eyes once more. The sudden change in his manner startled her as much as his anger had a few moments earlier. Now he was holding out his arms to her. ‘Forgive me,’ he said gently. ‘It was such a shock. It’s my fault too. I’ll help you. We’ll think of something.’

  ‘Something to keep your reputation intact, you mean,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Please, Florence darling, I’ve said I’m sorry . . .’

  Now her anger died too, yet the hurt he’d inflicted would not go away. She doubted it ever would. But for the sake of the love they’d shared, there was something she could do. She lifted her head with a new defiance. Already she felt as if little Jacques really was her child. She would defend the child, lie, cheat, even steal for him, just like any natural mother would do. She’d been on the point of confiding the truth in the man in front of her. The man she’d believed was the one true love of her life. But now, she couldn’t trust him – not with this secret. To carry this deception through, she must tell no one. Not her parents – especially not her parents. If she did, she knew her father would never accept James’s son. Not after the disgrace of her brother’s execution. She wouldn’t even be able to tell her grandmother or – Gervase. But there was a chance – though perhaps it was a forlorn one – that she’d be allowed to stay at Candlethorpe Hall. Augusta, though disappointed in her, would never see her great-grandson turned away, Florrie was sure.

  But she knew now that she could not confide in Ernst Hartmann. He’d have no compunction in telling the world in order to prove his own innocence. And she dare not risk anyone here learning the truth. They might take the child from her.

  Florrie moved closer to him. ‘Ernst,’ she said on a sigh, ‘I shall tell everyone that the child isn’t yours. And you can do the same.’

  ‘You – you’d do that? For me?’

  For a moment, her resolution wavered. She felt mean and deceitful and that was not in her nature. But the revelation a few moments ago that he had a fiancee had hurt her beyond belief. She’d never forgive him for his deceit. Let him think that the child was his, she thought bitterly. Let him carry that burden for the rest of his life. That somewhere in the world he had a son that he’d disowned.

  She smiled bitterly at his pathetic gratitude. He took her hands in his and kissed her on the mouth. ‘Oh, Florence, you are a brave and wonderful girl,’ he murmured. ‘To lose your reputation to save mine. To do that for me. I do love you so, Florence, but. . .’

  She stared at him and, suddenly, she could feel compassion for him. Reputation was everything to him – just as it was for her father. Even if she were to tell Ernst the truth, could he even begin to understand the power of her love for her disgraced brother? She would willingly have given her own life to save James, if it had been possible. And now she would sacrifice anything for his son. The loss of her good name was little or nothing to her in comparison to what she would be prepared to give for this tiny, helpless baby.

  When she returned to find the child, Sister Blackstock was still holding him, pacing up and down and trying to still his cries.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do to quieten him,’ she said, her face harassed and anxious. ‘If you take my advice, Maltby, you’ll try again to feed him yourself. Mother’s milk is the best, you know.’

  ‘Sister Blackstock, please, there’s something I have to tell you, and I want you to believe me.’ Florrie’s cheeks burned with shame, but not for the reason that the sister would think. ‘The baby is not Doctor Hartmann’s.’

  Sister Blackstock stared at her. ‘You – you mean you’ve – you’ve . . . ?’ The woman could say no more. She shook her head in disbelief. Then disgust came to the fore and her mouth curled. ‘One of the soldiers helping us, I suppose. I should never have let you drive about the countryside on your own. Maltby, you’re no better than a common – whore.’ She thrust the howling baby at Florrie. ‘Here, get out of my sight and take your little bastard with you.’ She turned and hurried away.

  Florrie cradled the child and laid her cheek against his head. ‘There, there, little one.’

  At once the cries died down to a whimper and then stopped. The baby slept. Florrie smiled as she looked down at him. ‘We’re going home,’ she whispered. ‘Home to England and to Candlethorpe Hall.’

  But the thought merely brought new fears.

  Forty-One

  Back at Base Camp she braved the disapproving looks and sought out Dr Johnson.

  ‘Now, my dear, what’s all this?’ His kind face was solemn, but compassion was still in his eyes.

  ‘Would you examine the baby for me? Please? I think the umbilical cord needs attention and – and I want to make sure he’s all right. We – we have a long way to travel.’

  ‘Of course I will. But what about you, my dear? Has a doctor seen you?’

  Florrie gave a wan smile. ‘I’m fine, Doctor. Honestly.’ To placate him, she added, ‘I promise I’ll see my own doctor when I get back to England.’

  ‘Very well. I can’t make you let me examine you, but I just hope you know what you’re doing. Now, let’s have a look at this little chap.’

  He smiled down at the baby, who kicked and gurgled happily, blithely unaware of all the trouble his arrival was causing.

  ‘Oh, Florrie,’ Grace wept on her shoulder. ‘You should have told us. Me and Hetty. We’d’ve stood by you.’

  Florrie hugged the girl. Touched by her understanding, she was almost tempted to confide in Grace. But her resolution held. No one must know. Only the Mussets knew, and it was very unlikely they’d ever speak of it to anyone.

  ‘We’ll be fine, though I’m sorry to be leaving you all.’

  Grace sobbed afresh. ‘What’ll happen to you? Will your family stand by you?’

  Florrie’s answering smile was a little uncertain now. ‘I hope so.’

  The journey home was not as arduous as she might have expected. Even the authorities let her pass unhindered. She travelled on a hospital ship and, despite a few strange looks at the child in her arms, the doctor and nurses
on board were soon glad to make use of her nursing skills. Some less seriously injured soldiers cared for the baby, handing him round from one to another and acting like surrogate fathers. They didn’t judge or condemn her, but took delight in the child. No doubt many of them had children of their own whom they hadn’t seen for many months, and now they were counting the hours to a tender reunion with their families.

  On her journey by train back to Lincolnshire, she encountered similar kindness and – accepted as the mother and possibly a war widow – no one censured or questioned her.

  It was only as she drew nearer and nearer Candlethorpe that her resolve began to falter.

  She’d known full well what her ‘welcome’ at the Hall would be, but she was unprepared for the vitriol spewing from her father’s mouth as she stood before him in his study, the infant in her arms. Jacques was whimpering, almost as if he felt the tension in the room and was frightened by it.

  ‘First James – and now this.’ He flung out his arm towards her. ‘Who’s the father? Will he marry you?’

  ‘No,’ Florrie said, determined to tell the truth as much as possible. ‘His father is dead.’

  ‘And what nationality was he?’ Edgar spat out the question.

  Florrie chose her words carefully. ‘The baby is half-French, Father.’

  Edgar glared at her with fresh rage. ‘Not – even – British?’

  He turned and went to stand near the long window with his back to her, looking out over the slope of the lawn. An elderly man – Ben’s replacement – was mowing the grass.

  I must go and see Mrs Atkinson, Florrie thought, irrationally at such a moment. I must tell her about Ben, and how his last thoughts were for her. But I must remember to tell her that we kept him out of pain . . .

  Edgar was silent for a long time. At last, he turned round and walked stiffly back to his desk. He pulled open a drawer and took out a piece of paper. He threw it down onto the desk in front of her. ‘Here – you’d better read this.’