Hope

by Lesley Pearse

  *

  Hope waved until the ship was right out of the harbour, tears rolling down her cheeks unchecked as she caught her last glimpse of Bennett waving a red handkerchief and Angus beside him, resplendent in his blue and gold jacket. The Crimea had been the worst of times, yet this soiled little harbour, the grim hospital, the cliffs and the Heights would stay in her heart, as would all the people she’d met there.

  Her wish was that one day hospitals would be better places, that rank-and-file soldiers would be treated humanely, and nursing become an honoured profession. Maybe when she was old and grey with her children all grown-up, with children of their own, she’d tell her stories about this war, and they’d smile to humour her, thinking she was exaggerating the horror of it.

  Would future generations ever be able to believe that the vast number of men who died here, died for a cause they never really understood? Or that even more died of disease or infected wounds?

  Hope thought her grandchildren were more likely to want to hear about the Christmas when the bands had played on the quay, and she had danced with more men than was good for any girl, for that was a far prettier picture. If she kept her arm covered they would never see her scar, just as they would never see the hideous images printed indelibly on her mind.

  She pulled up her sleeve and looked at the ugly red puckered wound. To her it was a permanent reminder of how blessed she was to escape so lightly when so many others were disfigured or dead. She didn’t want it to fade.

  The sea breeze felt and smelled good and her spirits lifted, knowing that the sadness of goodbyes was finally over. The Marianne was reported to be a fast ship; she would only be putting in at Malta, and then sail straight back to Portsmouth. A great many of the other passengers were officers and staff sent home on sick reports but there was also a fair proportion of those who back in Balaclava had been called ‘tourists’: gentlemen and their ladies who had travelled out here to view the war.

  Her heart quickened a little at the prospect of teasing some of these ghoulish rich people who got their excitement from watching others die. It would be enjoyable to wait until they were eating their dinner and then relate a few choice tales about gangrene and cholera.

  She hoped she had let her pink dress out enough to look presentable at dinner.

  As the ship steamed into Portsmouth harbour in late August, Hope was beside herself with excitement. She had loved every minute of the voyage, and although she was so huge and slownow, she had never felt better. The food on the ship had been wonderful, her cabin comfortable and the weather in the main glorious, and she’d enjoyed having nothing more pressing to do than make herself a new dress, read a book, write a letter or chat to someone.

  Coming up the coast of Spain, some of the passengers had suffered from sea sickness, but Hope had resisted the urge to go and take care of them. It was such a joy to be entirely selfish, and to revel in her quite unexpected new status.

  She had never imagined back in the days of Lewins Mead and St Peter’s that the day would ever come when she’d be considered a lady, let alone a heroine. But one of the officers on the ship knew all about her, including her rescue of Robbie and how she’d been wounded herself, and had clearly passed it on. Each time she went into the dining room someone always begged her to sit next to them. The men were attentive and curious, telling her she must write her memoirs and get them published when she got home. And the women cooed over her courage at travelling so late in her pregnancy, and asked how she managed to keep her hair so beautifully shiny and her complexion so clear.

  She was completely bored with all that now, but it had been good to bask in a little limelight for a while. Bennett would have been very amused to see her hold court with the kind of people she had always been intimidated by in the past.

  All she wanted now was to go home. To sit with Nell and talk through all the things that had happened to them in the last seven years. She couldn’t wait to see Matt’s and Ruth’s children. To walk in fields and woods, to sit by streams and smell flowers. And wait for her baby to arrive.

  If the strength of his kicks was anything to go by, he would be a real Renton, tough and strong. But she hoped he’d also inherit his father’s sensitivity and intelligence.

  As the ship came in closer to berth, Hope scanned the waiting crowd for Uncle Abel. Excited as she was, she was also nervous because she realized that he was, to all intents and purposes, a stranger. In his letters to Bennett he always asked after her with warmth and interest, but she couldn’t quite forget that for a very long time he’d disapproved of her.

  All at once she spotted him, looking the picture of a tubby English gentleman in a grey top hat, tail coat and a high wing-collar. But as she waved, she saw him incline his head to a woman beside him and point towards the ship.

  Hope’s heart leapt, for it was not Alice beside him but Nell, wearing a white bonnet trimmed with blue flowers.

  She forgot the ladylike demeanour she’d taken such pains to preserve on the voyage and jumped up and down, waving with both hands.

  A band on the quay struck up a lively welcoming tune, and now she could only see the waiting crowd through a mist of emotional tears.

  Hope was one of the first to go down the gangplank. She had pushed and elbowed her way to the front of the queue in a way that would have appalled Bennett. But it thrilled her to see Nell was every bit as eager, dodging through the crowd like a street urchin.

  Hope was almost blinded by her tears now, and Nell’s round, sweet face was just a blur, but she saw the outstretched arms and ran full tilt to them. She was home at last!

  ‘Are you two going to stop that caterwauling and come and get in the carriage?’ Abel said gruffly.

  Hope and Nell released each other from their tight embrace and dabbed at their eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Dr Cunningham,’ Hope said. ‘It’s just been so long.’

  ‘I understand that,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I’d like to embrace you too, you know! And I think it’s high time you addressed me as Uncle Abel.’

  As the carriage bowled along through the countryside towards Bristol, Hope tried to remember to keep to topics which would not exclude Uncle Abel, but her excitement at being with Nell again made it almost impossible. She was very aware that they sounded like a pair of chattering monkeys, leaping from one subject to another, gasping, giggling, and often crying too.

  Nell had changed a great deal from how she’d been when Hope last sawher. Even though Angus had reported she was far more confident, in both her dress and her manner, Hope had still expected to find her greying, slower and stouter. She did have a peppering of grey hair, but she moved as fast as she ever did, she was shapely, not fat, and her face was as unlined as when she was a bride. But it wasn’t the physical changes that were so notable.

  Nell had been so biddable before, a sweet and pliant person who never stepped out of what she considered to be ‘her place’. Hope couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone to order her around now. She had an air of authority, and she seemed far sharper and more worldly. Some of her remarks about people had been quite caustic. Her clothes, too, illustrated her knowledge of self-worth. She wore an elegant blue and white striped dress which enhanced her curvy body rather than concealing it. Her white bonnet with its blue trimming was youthful, not matronly. In all, Hope thought her sister had steered exactly the right path. She wasn’t aping gentry, but nor was she defining herself as a servant.

  When they stopped to water the horses, Hope felt she must apologize to Uncle Abel for her and Nell’s constant prattle. She explained that they were overexcited and that it must be very dull and wearing for him.

  ‘Not a bit of it, my dear,’ he chuckled, and patted her hand. ‘But maybe I’ll take my revenge when Bennett comes home!’

  It wasn’t until the evening of the following day, when Hope and Nell were finally alone at Willow End, that calm settled. They had stayed overnight at a coaching inn, and as they had to share a bed, which Nell was convinced
was full of bugs, they had talked nearly all night.

  Hope had dozed off for the last few miles of the journey and it was a surprise to have Nell wake her and tell her they were there.

  The sun was setting, turning the grey stone walls of the cottage pink as they walked to the front door. Hope brushed against the lavender bushes, and the sweet, pungent smell took her straight back to her childhood, when she used to pick lavender from the garden and tie it into bunches for her mother to hang from the cottage beams.

  It was something of a surprise to find Angus lived so simply. The picture she’d had of Willow End in her head while out in the Crimea was of something grander. Yet she was pleased rather than disappointed, for it was yet more evidence that Angus had a soul.

  She loved the low-beamed ceilings and the comfortable, slightly battered old furniture. It was a real home, and she could see Nell’s hand everywhere, from the smell of polish and the sparkling windows to a large vase of Michaelmas daisies on the hall table.

  ‘I often think that a woman who had the Captain’s love and this house to live in would be the happiest woman in the world,’ Nell said as Hope darted around, inspecting everything with exclamations of glee.

  Hope looked at her sharply, suspecting her sister of wishing for his love. But Nell laughed at her expression. ‘You misunderstand me. I only meant that this is what most women hope for. I count my blessings every day, Hope. I have his respect, and this house to live in. And now you back too! That’s more than enough for me.’

  As Nell got cold meat, pickles and bread from the pantry for their supper she explained that she had a maid who came in each day. ‘I really couldn’t imagine what I’d give her to do each day when the Captain first said I must have help,’ she said. ‘But Dora is a good girl, and I’m glad of her company and the hard work she does. She is looking forward to meeting you tomorrowbecause I’ve told her so much about you.’

  After supper, they sat in the two chairs by the stove and it was only then that Hope asked what news there was of Albert.

  ‘None,’ Nell said, and a flicker of anxiety crossed her face. ‘I’m sure he’ll return to Briargate one day, but Matt says I’m foolish to think such things.’

  Hope privately thought that neither of them would have complete peace of mind until he was caught and tried for his crimes. But she didn’t voice this and asked about Lady Harvey and Rufus instead.

  ‘Rufus is doing well with the farm, he had a real good harvest this year,’ Nell said with some pride. ‘But Lady Harvey!’

  Nell had mentioned her several times in the last two days, but always with a kind of exclamation mark, as people did when mentioning a wayward child.

  ‘She hasn’t settled at the gatehouse then?’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll ever settle anywhere,’ Nell sighed. ‘And she’s so full of regrets.’

  ‘I suppose she would be bitter at losing her home,’ Hope said, a little surprised that Nell seemed so impatient with the woman she’d once adored.

  ‘She’s not bitter,’ Nell frowned. ‘Oh, but you must go and see it for yourself. I can’t explain. But both she and Rufus were so happy to hear you were coming home and so impressed by that piece about you in The Times. Did I tell you that Matt said Reverend Gosling read it out in church?’

  Hope suppressed a giggle, for Nell had not only told her this several times already, but carried the newspaper cutting around with her. It was mainly about her getting shot at while rescuing Robbie, but also about her work at the hospital in Balaclava. The crumpled state of the cutting suggested Nell had been showing it to everyone for several weeks.

  ‘I’d better go and see Rufus soon,’ Hope replied, looking down at her large belly. ‘While I still can.’

  ‘On Sunday everyone’s coming here,’ Nell said excitedly. ‘Alice and Toby are coming over from Bath with Ruth, John and their family. Matt and Amy with their little ones, and Joe and Henry will be here too. We’ll have a full house then and no mistake. It’s a pity it’s too far for James to come as well.’

  ‘So we’ll be busy cooking for the next few days?’

  ‘That we will,’ Nell chuckled. ‘I just hope the weather holds; it’s easier when the children can be outside for there’s so many of them now.’

  For the first two days at Willow End, Hope felt she was wrapped in a beautiful dream from which she didn’t ever want to wake. Apart from her honeymoon, she’d never had the kind of comfort and ease she was experiencing now. A spacious, pretty bedroom with a soft bed, leisurely meals, and her clothes washed and pressed for her. She could watch carriages going past the cottage, or amble down to the river at Saltford and revel in the tranquillity and beauty of the countryside.

  All the anxiety about her family during the long years of separation had been wiped out the moment Nell had embraced her at Portsmouth harbour, and as a result of their talks together Hope had a clear picture of everything that had happened to all of them during these years.

  It wasn’t until Sunday, when the rest of the family arrived to see her, that Hope experienced an awakening from the blissful cocoon she felt she’d been wrapped in since her arrival.

  Everything began so well. It was a warm, sunny day, Nell and Dora had produced a veritable feast, and the family arrived with what seemed a flock of children. It was glorious to be enveloped by their excitement and love. She marvelled how Joe and Henry had grown into men while she’d been away; that Matt was now a replica of her father, and there was a sense of comradeship in sharing Amy’s and Ruth’s childbirth stories. Yet even as they all milled around her, faces glowing with delight at having her back in their midst, Hope found herself feeling strangely isolated and different.

  She couldn’t work out why this was, for apart from Matt, Joe and Henry who still led a very similar life to the one she’d grown up in, they’d all changed. Ruth and her family were relatively well-off and living in Bath. Alice and Toby were still in service and could talk of little else but the goings-on in their household. And Nell, too, had gone up in the world. Yet changed or not, they all reacted with one another just the same as they always had. Only she was different, as if she didn’t belong.

  Later, when everyone had gone home, Hope tried to talk about how she felt to Nell, but she’d just got cross and impatient. ‘Of course you belong,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of this foolishness.’

  Two weeks after her arrival home, Hope set off in the morning with Mr Tremble, the local carter, to see Rufus and Lady Harvey at the gatehouse. It had been something she’d wanted to do since she’d first returned, but although Nell had seemed keen for her to go at first, today she appeared to have had second thoughts about it.

  Hope could quite understand Nell’s sudden change of heart. The gatehouse had bad memories for both of them, and it was terrible to think of Albert burning Briargate down and killing Sir William. But Hope knew she had to go back there; she had ghosts to put to rest.

  Matt had told her how worried Rufus had been after she left, how he’d helped on the farm during his holidays, and what a fine young man he’d turned into. Hope felt she owed it to him to show she valued their childhood friendship still.

  But perhaps Nell’s fears about this visit were because she was afraid her younger sister would forget her place and say something disrespectful to Lady Harvey?

  That riled Hope, for she didn’t have ‘a place’ any longer. She was neither a servant nor gentry. She was just an army surgeon’s wife who knew far more about Sir William and Lady Harvey’s personal lives than she felt comfortable with, and far more about Albert than Nell knew. Sometimes she wished she could tell Nell it all, then perhaps she’d stop treating her as if she were a child.

  ‘So you’ll be the Renton what ran off?’

  Hope looked askance at Mr Tremble. He hadn’t said a word since she climbed on the cart beside him, and then had suddenly come out with this very pointed question. With his small head, long nose and no neck to speak of, just a thick muffler where
it should have been, the man made her think of a mole.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. ‘But I’d rather not talk about that.’

  ‘They said that Albert killed you,’ he said, totally ignoring her reply. ‘But my missus reckoned he done sommat else to you.’

  Hope gulped. She could guess what that was!

  ‘Mr Tremble,’ she said in the stern voice she had always used with patients, ‘it was all a long time ago and I wish to forget I ever met Albert Scott. Now, that is all I’m going to say on the subject.’

  The carter was quiet for some little while. ‘Rum do that they can’t find him though,’ he suddenly burst out. ‘’E could’ve joined the army, ’e might have been out where you was.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Hope agreed. Several people had put forward that same suggestion already, and she wondered what she would have done if he’d been brought into the hospital wounded. She quite liked the idea of strapping him down to have a limb amputated without chloroform.

  ‘When’s the little ’un due?’

  Hope smiled, relieved to be asked something she didn’t mind talking about. ‘Two weeks or so,’ she said. ‘So don’t go hitting any ruts in the road or I might have it today.’

  Strangely, that shut him up, and Hope was able to sit back and enjoy the ride.

  She had almost forgotten how beautiful England was in September. The sun was no longer too hot, the harvest was in, and the leaves on the trees were just beginning to change colour. She loved the undulating quality of the landscape and the small fields surrounded by hedging, which from her view point high up on the cart looked like a plump patchwork quilt. How good it was to see cows and sheep grazing, and the neat rows of vegetables in gardens! She would have given a king’s ransom last winter for a carrot or a cabbage.

  ‘What’s the Crimea like then?’ Mr Tremble asked, almost as if he’d read her thoughts.

  ‘Barren and bleak,’ she said. ‘Nothing like this.’

  He nodded, seemingly satisfied with that sparse description. ‘D’you want me to pick you up on me way back?’ he asked.