by Maggie Holt
‘Did he know ye, Mabel, darlin’?’ asked Norah gently.
‘Yes, ’cause he tried to say “Mabel”, but it wouldn’t come out and he went into a sort o’ fit, shakin’ all over an’ – not exactly foamin’, but the spit oozed from the side o’ his mouth an’ dripped down his chin, like the poor imbeciles we get in here sometimes. Oh, it was awful!’
She clung to Norah who soothed her as well as she could. ‘What about his parents, Mabel?’
‘His mother tried to talk to him, but yer could see he wasn’t takin’ it in – an’ poor Major Drover was really sufferin’. Ruby was tryin’ to comfort them both.’
Mabel released herself from Norah’s arms, wiped her eyes on a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘If I could have him to meself, Norah, I might be able to bring him round. Aunt Kate says he’d be welcome at Pinehurst, and that’s where I’d like to take him. After all, me trainin’s finished now and I can take a bit o’ time off.’
‘B-but ye won’t be earnin’, Mabel, not if ye’re not workin’,’ Norah pointed out.
‘Aunt Kate’s always said I could count on her,’ Mabel replied. ‘I’ve never taken anythin’ from her before, but now I’ll accept her hospitality. I’ve got to put Harry first in me life now, Norah – it’s about time. As soon as he’s discharged from Church Lane, he’s goin’ to Belhampton and I’m goin’ with him!’
A drowsy hush hung over the land. Down in the shady hollow the grass was dry after a long sunny spell and in the hawthorn above the reclining couple the wild clematis flowers tumbled in a cascade over the thick hedge. It was a perfect bower for lovers, and the girl in the white dress and straw hat was a royal princess, to grant or withhold her favours. But her face was hidden by the straw hat, and the man was not sure how he should approach her. Time was fleeting . . .
She knew that he wanted her, he showed it in every lingering look. And yet he hesitated and she revelled in her sense of power over him. What happened next was for her to decide.
‘When do you have to leave?’ she asked in a low voice, breaking the silence.
‘I have to report at Brockwith on Monday,’ he replied quickly. ‘We’re flying to Cambrai, actually a place called Bapaume – my French was never up to much.’ He laughed briefly and took her hand. ‘It’ll be a baptism of fire by all accounts.’
She gave him a sidelong glance from under the hat. ‘I’ll be here, thinking about you.’ She smiled and lowered her face. His heart thudded in anticipation.
‘You know I shan’t be able to see you again before I go.’
So, it had to be now. She let him draw her down beneath the trailing feathery fronds of the wild clematis. She took off her hat and laid it aside. Which meant she was his for the taking.
‘Alice.’ His hands were upon her and she allowed him to do what he wished. The buttons of her light-green summer dress were undone, the drawstrings of her white underwear were untied. His breath was upon her face, his mouth was upon her lips, his hands were upon her lovely body, discovering secret places never before explored.
‘Alice, you beautiful girl.’ She shivered with delight at his passion: she gloried in his adoration of her body. At nineteen Alice Somerton had been admired by a number of men, but it was to this man that she yielded up her virgin womanhood. A sudden stab of pain, a sharp intake of breath, a long sigh. And his shuddering gasps as he claimed his pleasure from her. She could have laughed out loud as she lay beneath him, savouring her moment of triumph. She had given herself to Sir Guy Savage of Houghton Hall.
And she was completely unaware of the two girls staring down from the bracken-covered bank above them, open-mouthed and unbelieving.
‘I don’t believe it! How could they be so cruel – so wicked after all he’s been through – look what it’s done to him! How dare they!’
Mabel was as horrified as she was indignant when Ruby Swayne told her what the RAMC Colonel in charge at Church Lane had said to Major Drover. Court martial?
‘It’s ’cause of him not speakin’, yer see, Mabel – they think it’s to avoid answerin’ questions,’ said Ruby wretchedly. ‘And we know he blames himself for the loss of his platoon, poor boy.’
Colonel Tressider was a hard-faced, grey-haired man who had seen service in the Boer War, and he now questioned Corporal Drover’s conduct in the face of the enemy; there was an underlying accusation of cowardice, of deserting his post.
‘There’ve been thousands o’ men killed on that bloody Somme, an’ more dyin’ every day!’ cried Mabel. ‘Harry could’ve easily been one of ’em – he’s been shot in the back –’
She stopped speaking, flushed and defiant, as Ruby looked at her meaningly.
Shot in the back. The splintered shoulder blade was evidence of it. How had it happened? Could he have been running away, leaving his men to be mown down by enemy gunfire?
‘Never!’ she almost shouted and Ruby put her finger to her lips, as they walked together in the hospital grounds. ‘Never would he have turned his back on his platoon!’ She burst into angry tears. ‘Oh, Harry, Harry, my love, what’ve the buggers done to yer?’
Whatever happened had turned Harry Drover into a pasty-faced invalid, unable to speak, mysteriously separated from his loved ones. If he recognised his parents and sister, it gave him no pleasure, for he never smiled. When Mabel came to his bedside he sometimes held out his left hand, but if he tried to speak her name he could only slaver and grimace, at which she would soothe him gently, though her heart was breaking within her. ‘Ssh-ssh, Harry, don’t try to talk, just breathe in and out, nice an’ slow, that’s better – good boy.’
She thought of Timmy Baxter who was now much better and came trotting down Women’s II to greet her, his little face all smiles: ‘Maby, Maby!’ She prayed that Harry too would be cured and emerge from the black pit into which he had been thrown by the horrors of war.
The next they heard was that Harry was to be sent to the National Hospital for the Paralysed and Epileptic in Queen Square.
‘There are too many of these sort of cases and we have to sort out the genuine from the malingerers,’ said the Colonel with brutal frankness. ‘He’ll see a specialist who’s been getting good results by using electrical stimulation. They’ll make him talk, you’ll see!’
Ten miserable days passed in which Harry was allowed no visitors while under observation and treatment at Queen Square, at the end of which he was returned to Church Lane, Tooting, diagnosed as ‘war shock, due to repressed war experience’, and there would be no court martial. He could now talk a very little, with a stammer so severe that he seldom completed a sentence. It was recommended that he be transferred to the Royal Victoria Military Hospital at Netley, near Southampton, which had a special block for his kind of case.
Mabel at once made her wishes known, against Doris Drover’s vigorous protests.
‘I’ll take him to Pinehurst Convalescent Home at Belhampton,’ she declared. ‘It’s run by my aunt, an’ he’ll have peace an’ quiet in the country, an’ I’ll nurse him meself, round the clock.’
She was supported in this by Major Drover, who could see only too clearly that his wife would not be able to cope at home with Harry in his present state. It was therefore arranged with Miss Chalcott that Harry would travel down to Belhampton by train with Mabel in the last week of September, and meanwhile he was to take exercise and practise talking.
‘M – M – M – M – Mab – Mab – Ma-bel,’ he managed as he shuffled down the ward, clinging to her with his left arm. ‘M – m – my – an – an – an – an-gel. An-gel.’
‘Well done, Harry, dear. That’s very good,’ she told him, smiling at his pitiful attempts to recall their former closeness. She was the only person with whom he could make any contact.
‘It’s as if he’s cut off from the land of the livin’,’ said John Drover, unknowingly expressing his son’s own bleak experience.
Daisy had never know Alice to be so ‘twittery’. She jumped at every sound and snapped at
everybody, even Aunt Nell who had made her apologise to the laundrywoman for her bad temper.
‘I’m sorry, but I haven’t been sleeping well lately,’ muttered Alice and indeed, her usually blooming complexion had a muddy tinge, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
‘Is that why you were so late getting up this morning?’ asked Mrs Somerton. ‘I noticed that you didn’t take breakfast, which was very silly. You need to keep up your strength for working.’
‘I think I’ll take this afternoon off and walk up to Houghton Hall,’ said Alice suddenly. ‘Mrs Holt’s there visiting her mother, and I want a word with Georgina.’
‘Well, you might tell that young lady that she’s welcome to lend a hand at Pinehurst any time she likes,’ replied her aunt sharply. ‘So far it’s been all talk and no action on that front.’
After her niece had flounced out of the room Mrs Somerton sighed and told Daisy that she really didn’t know what to do about Alice. If only there was news of Gerald . . .
At the Hall Alice found Lady Savage deep in conversation with Mrs Holt, now three months into her first pregnancy, and Georgina had a friend with her, a Miss Delmont. The talk seemed to be all of maternity matters, from suitable clothing and diet to the relative merits of local midwives.
‘It must be so exciting to be an expectant mother for the first time!’ gushed Miss Delmont.
The words sent a shiver down Alice’s spine. Oh, please, God, please, let it not be – but there was no doubt about it, she had missed her September period. Was the queasiness she felt due to worry, or was it – oh, no, let it not be – she’d heard that it couldn’t happen the first time. Her heart was pounding and she could keep silent no longer, so without being invited to speak, she broke in on the ladies’ talk to ask the question foremost in her mind.
‘Er – has there been any news from G— Sir Guy yet, Your Ladyship?’
Lady Savage looked up in surprise at being interrupted while talking with her daughter. ‘What? Oh, just a card to say that he’d arrived at – what’s the name of the place, Georgina?’
‘Bapaume, Mamma.’
‘Well, whatever it is, these French towns with their difficult names. And he’s made his first flight out over the German lines. He says it’s frightfully exciting, but there’s very little time to rest, let alone write letters.’
The lady smiled at her daughters, and poured out another cup of tea for the young mother-to-be.’ And how is the morning sickness now, Rosamund? Are you able to take a little tea and toast at breakfast time?’
A wave of faintness passed over Alice, and she fanned herself with a parish magazine that lay beside her, hoping that the others would not notice her discomfiture. She need not have worried on that score, for they were not paying her any attention. After taking a few breaths, she looked at the French clock on the mantelpiece and rose to her feet.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Your Ladyship – Mrs Holt – Miss D-Delmont – Georgina – I’d better be getting back. I’m on duty at Pinehurst this evening.’
Lady Savage looked up briefly. ‘Very well, Miss Somerton. Good afternoon.’
No invitation to call again. No offer to get out the pony trap to take her back to Belhampton. By inviting herself up to the Hall, poor Alice realised that she had made a social blunder.
But if her suspicions were correct, that was the least of her worries. Whatever would she do if . . . but it didn’t bear thinking about.
At Pear Tree cottage Daisy’s heart rejoiced at the latest news from Mabel. Harry was improving and would be coming to convalesce at Pinehurst as soon as he was discharged from Church Lane – and Mabel was coming with him!
Miss Chalcott and Mrs Somerton were happy, too. ‘This time Mabel will stay at Pinehurst, to be on hand for him,’ said Aunt Kate with satisfaction. ‘After all, she’s his fiancée.’
‘Oh, heavens, I suppose there’s going to be the most enormous fuss over them now,’ muttered Alice when the aunts had left the breakfast room.
‘What d’ye mean, fuss?’ demanded Daisy. ‘Aren’t you glad to know that Harry’s home and getting better?’
Alice’s pale cheek flushed crimson. ‘Of course I am, but there are plenty of men still out there fighting a war.’
‘Can I ask you a question, Alice? Are you going to marry Gerald Westhouse? Or Sir Guy Savage?’
‘What?’ Alice rounded on her young sister. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Well, seeing as you ask, I’m talking about you – and Guy Savage down in the hollow below Parr’s Wood on the first day o’ corn-cutting.’
Alice’s stomach seemed to turn over. ‘W-what? What did you say, Daisy?’ she whispered, her hand on her throat.
‘You heard what I said, Alice. Lucy Drummond and I saw you. I know what he was doing.’
‘Lucy Drummond? Oh, my God. Oh, merciful heaven.’
‘It’s all right, Alice. She said she wouldn’t tell anybody and neither have I.’
‘You must never breathe a word to a soul, Daisy. Not a word. Promise me you never will.’
‘I promise. Only – won’t you have to marry Sir Guy now, and live up at the Hall with that old lady, instead of marrying Gerald?’
‘I – I don’t know, it’s very difficult for me – you’re only a child, Daisy, you don’t understand. It’s this hateful war, it makes it so much harder to – to know what to do.’ Alice closed her eyes and held her head between her hands, her elbows on the table. ‘For heaven’s sake, you mustn’t tell a soul, Daisy – not ever.’
Daisy promised again with her hand on her heart. It was strange to see Miss high-and-mighty Alice reduced to pleading. And she looked so scared that Daisy felt a little scared, too.
Alice now felt herself to be in the grip of a nightmare. Was it possible that Lucy Drummond might say something at the Rectory? She could never be quite certain, whatever Daisy said . . .
Two events took place before Harry was transferred from Church Lane to Pinehurst. Mrs Ada Hodges was delivered of a little girl she called Anne, and when Mabel and Norah went to visit they found that childbirth had been a turning point for her, setting her upon a journey of recovery. Arthur and Jenny were once again gathered up into her maternal arms and, although she remained a sad-eyed widow who vowed that she would never recover from the loss of her husband, she began to take an interest in people again. She even went with Mabel to visit Harry at Church Lane and, seeing his useless arm and hearing his mumbling stammer, she actually put her arms around his neck and whispered that he must get better for Mabel who loved him as she had loved Arthur. Maudie Ling came visiting, too, with a bottle of port wine and fruit for the invalid.
‘Chu Chin Chow’s a winner!’ she told them happily. ‘Make sure yer come an’ see it some time – it’s goin’ to run an’ run ‘til after the end o’ the bloody war!’
‘Then I’ll wait to see it wid me future husband.’ Norah laughed. ‘When the Galway Castle comes home!’
The other event was a tragic one. Gerald Westhouse was shot down over France and, although he managed to bail out of the blazing craft, he suffered burns over the left side of his face, neck and shoulder, with the loss of the left eye. He was taken to a base hospital and from there across the Channel and by train to a special surgical unit at Aldershot, not so far from Belhampton.
His parents at once offered to take Alice Somerton to visit him there, showing her all the kindness and consideration due to a future daughter-in-law.
The country night was darker and more silent than anything Harry Drover had ever known. Apart from the occasional call of a night bird or the distant yelp of a fox, the only sounds were occasional grunts and moans as his three companions stirred and snorted in their sleep. The door was ajar and a lamp burned beside the night-sitter dozing in her armchair. He longed for a cigarette, but could not light up with only one hand; if Mabel was here she would light it for him and sit beside him while he smoked it, but she was asleep somewhere else in the house. Mum and Dad would b
e surprised to see him smoking, not to mention drinking his daily pint of porter, the dark, sweet ale that the doctor said was strengthening for invalids. It was directly against Salvation Army rules, but the war had changed him as it had changed everything.
It was calm and quiet here. Everybody was kind. He didn’t have to think about that specialist doctor in London who’d put a metal rod in his mouth and sent an electric shock through him.
‘Say ah.’ His whole body had jumped each time the doctor touched him with it: ‘Ah! Ah! Ah!’
‘What is your name? You are to answer me.’ Ah! the electric shock again.
‘D – D – D – D – Dro – Dro – Dro – Dro-ver. Dro-ver. Ah! Ah!’
Only the thought of Mabel, his own sweet guardian angel, had kept him from breaking down under the torture. In his dreams he held her in his arms, curled around the soft warmth of her, his face buried against her beautiful breasts: two bodies one, closer than close – safe, safe . . .
Miss White was a rather nervous, fidgety woman in her forties, who wanted to do something useful for the war effort, which was why she had volunteered to help out at Pinehurst. Tonight it was her turn to ‘sit up’ and she accordingly settled herself in the armchair on the landing between the three dormitories. She had a copy of Woman’s Weekly, but by one o’clock her eyelids were beginning to droop. Her head nodded and the magazine fell to the floor.
She did not know what time it was when she felt something touch her shoulder, and a clammy hand groped around her head: it seemed to Miss White that it was over her face, stopping her breath. She rose up from the chair with a shriek of terror.
By the light of the oil lamp on the oak chest against the wall, Miss White saw the figure of a man standing in front of her, ‘barring her way’, as she said later. And he was completely naked. He was leaning over her, touching her with stone-cold fingers like a dead man’s, and making hideous noises in his throat: ‘M – M – M – M – Ma – Ma – Mab – Mab –’
He was pinning her down! He was about to ravish her!
Miss White’s blood-curdling screams raised the whole house. Men sat up in their beds with shouts and oaths. ‘Who’s there?’ – ‘What the bloody hell’s going on?’ – ‘Blimey!’