Time for Silence

by Philippa Carr

  “She will be so happy for you. And you can continue to help in the hospital. Won’t that be marvelous! Mrs. Egerton!” I added slowly, savoring it.

  “You are quite ridiculous,” said Miss Carruthers happily. “But it does seem to have worked out very well.”

  She looked different. There was a radiance about her. Was it due to the fact that she was in love, or was it the happiness which came from the knowledge that her future was secure? A governess’s life was so precarious.

  I sat with her for a while and we talked about how she and Dr. Egerton had become good friends right from the beginning.

  “Of course, we met now and then in the hospital,” she said. “And often we would walk in the garden. It grew from that.”

  “I think it is wonderful,” I told her.

  “And when you realize that if this terrible war had not come upon us…if we had not had to leave the school in such a hurry…if I had left with some of the other teachers…”

  “But you did not. I remember you said you would not leave until all the English girls had got away.”

  “And your mother was so good. It was a chain of events with chance playing a big part.”

  “Doesn’t it show that things are not all bad? Something good can come out of the worst. Perhaps we should always remember that.”

  “I think it is something I shall remember all my life,” said Miss Carruthers.

  My mother was delighted to hear the news.

  “I have thought a lot about Miss Carruthers,” she said. “I knew she would be wondering how much longer you would need her. I was going to ask her to stay on and help in the hospital. I suppose she will do that now, Dr. Egerton being so closely involved. This is the best thing that could have happened for them both. I’ve always thought Dr. Egerton is one of those men who needs a wife. He has been a little lost since Mary went. So I am very pleased about this, and Miss Carruthers is like a different person. She always had that concern about the future. So many governesses do. And we don’t have to worry about you, now that you are just on seventeen. And Charles is all right going to the rectory for lessons every day. Of course, we shall have to think about his going away to school one day, but we can shelve that for a while. I don’t want him to go away while we’re at war. I want you all at hand. I don’t like it when your father is in London, but at least he is here most weekends.”

  About this time there was a subtle change in Marcus’s attitude toward me. At first I thought I had imagined it, but later it seemed more marked.

  Annabelinda was constantly in his company, and I hardly ever saw him alone. I could not blame her for this entirely, although she contributed to it considerably.

  If he went to sit on the seat under the sycamore tree, Annabelinda was always with him. At first I used to join them, until I had a distinct feeling that I was in the way. I must say that feeling was engendered by Annabelinda, never by him. He was as gracious and courtly as ever, except that I sensed a certain superficiality in his manner.

  During that August, my mother said, “It will be your birthday soon. I can’t believe it is seventeen years since you came into the world. What a wonderful day that was! I am determined to do something to celebrate. We’ll have a party. It will cheer everyone up. We need cheering up in these gloomy days. The news doesn’t get any better, does it?”

  She was right. Everyone was excited by the prospect of a party.

  At first we thought that if it were a fine day we would have it on the lawn. We would have a buffet for all those who were mobile, but we must not forget those who were not.

  This idea was abandoned, for so many would be too ill to be moved and we did not want to accentuate their disability by having two parties. Instead we would have them brought down to the main hall and there we would have a concert. We could use the dais at one end for a stage. It would be all local talent. Anyone of the staff and patients who were well enough should perform.

  “You are going to a good deal of trouble,” I told my mother.

  “My dear Lucinda, it is your birthday, and seventeen is like a milestone. It should be celebrated in style. Your father will have to be here for it. Everyone must know what a special occasion it is.”

  They were all talking about the birthday, the highlight of which was the concert. There were serious discussions about what the performers would do.

  “Anyone would think this was Drury Lane,” said Mrs. Grey, who, I was sure, had no idea what it was like at Drury Lane. But we all understood what she meant.

  The day arrived. There were well-wishers with gifts, and everyone behaved as though I had done something very clever in having lived for seventeen years.

  The concert was to start at two-thirty that afternoon.

  In the morning I escaped to the garden. I kept thinking of my conversation with Marcus and how he had continually referred to my seventeenth birthday. The fact was I had begun to believe he was in love with me and that thought had excited me tremendously. I had hardly admitted it to myself, but I had the idea firmly fixed in my mind that my seventeenth birthday would be some landmark in our relationship)—which after all was what he had implied.

  Lately I had begun to doubt this, but the thought would not go away.

  I blamed Annabelinda. She was so determined to be with him and exclude me. I told myself he did not wish it, but was too polite to tell her to go away. I clung to this belief and tried to stifle my doubts.

  I saw him in the garden then and I was happy because I had the impression that he was looking for me.

  He was walking more easily now. In fact, my mother had said only yesterday that Dr. Egerton had told her Marcus might well be released from the hospital in a week or so.

  He still used a cane but moved with apparent ease.

  “Hello, Marcus,” I called.

  He stopped. “Lucinda! The birthday lady. Congratulations! So, at last you have made it.”

  “It was rather inevitable.”

  “And there are such celebrations! You must be very proud.”

  “Oh…that is all due to my mother. She is determined that all shall be aware of my great age.”

  “And rightly so.”

  “My mother was saying that you might be discharged from the hospital soon.”

  “I cannot malinger much longer.”

  “You know very well you have not been malingering.”

  “Well, perhaps not. But I am a bit of an old crock, you know.”

  “They won’t send you…?”

  “To the front line? Not for some time. Actually, I am going to the War Office for a while. It will be something for me to do.”

  “That will be interesting.”

  He grimaced. We passed the seat and I said, “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Doctor’s orders that I should exercise. Actually, I should be rehearsing.”

  “Oh, are you performing this afternoon?”

  “Yes, I’ve been roped in.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “ ‘On the Road to Mandalay.’ ”

  “Do you add a good voice to your many accomplishments?”

  “I am not sure of the accomplishments. I think some would question that I have any. The voice is, well…just a voice. It makes a noise. That’s all.”

  “How modest you are!”

  “Not at all. I should never have allowed myself to be persuaded. You wait until you hear my performance. It’s a very popular song, so perhaps I’ll get by.”

  I guessed it would not be long before Annabelinda discovered that we were together—and I was right.

  She came hurrying out.

  “Oh, there you are, Marcus. Dr. Egerton told you not to tire yourself.”

  “On the contrary, he told me to take exercise.”

  “He meant in moderation.”

  “I have been very moderate.”

  “Isn’t it exciting about the concert? I am longing to hear ‘Mandalay.’ ”

  “I think I shall plead stage
fright.”

  “Nobody would believe you,” I said. “I am sure it will be a great success. They are not expecting Caruso.”

  “I imagine,” added Annabelinda, “that the rest of them will be very amateurish. You will be the star turn, Marcus.”

  “My stage fright increases with every moment. You must not have too high an opinion of me, my dear Annabelinda.”

  “I shall form my own opinions, Marcus.”

  “You are a strong-minded young lady, I know. But please do not expect too much. I can make myself heard, and that is about all.”

  “I am longing to hear you,” said Annabelinda.

  “I think I shall go in,” I told them. “There is a good deal to do.”

  “We will see you later,” said Annabelinda blithely.

  So I left them and went in, feeling deflated. He was not going to say anything special to me. He had talked so earnestly about my birthday, indicating that he was waiting for it, and then all he talked about was “On the Road to Mandalay.”

  The concert was a success, though more remarkable for the weakness of the performances than the discovery of talent. But it was greatly enjoyed and the more mishaps there were the more appreciative the merriment.

  Marcus’s “Mandalay” was a great success. He performed with aplomb rather than genius, but he had an agreeable voice that was strong enough to be heard all over the hall. It was his impersonation of a temperamental opera star which amused the audience and was without doubt the success of the show.

  There were other songs, several from the beginning of the century. “Soldiers of the Queen” was very well received, though not applicable to the times; then there was “Goodbye, Dolly, I must leave you,” another favorite. And someone recited Gunga Din. All were vociferously applauded and everyone agreed it had been a memorable day.

  I would always remember it, too, and when I did I would think of Marcus, making light conversation in the garden, declining my unspoken invitation to talk. I could not help feeling a certain humiliation.

  I had been foolish in imagining what was not there.

  Three weeks later Marcus left. My father was with us on his last weekend and Marcus dined with us.

  He said how much he had enjoyed his stay with us and that my mother deserved the Victoria Cross for all she had done.

  It was all very merry. Annabelinda looked especially attractive. She sat next to Marcus and I felt there was a certain understanding between them.

  How could I have been so vain as to think he was in love with me? He was a man of the world and I had temporarily amused him because I was young and innocent. Had he not stressed my innocence? He had wanted me to retain it when I grew up. Why should he? What could it matter to him? It was just idle talk and I had been naive enough to take it seriously.

  He talked to my father at dinner, explaining that he would be at the War Office.

  “You will have to be in London,” said my father. “Where will you stay?”

  “I’ll see if I can get a small place…a pied-à-terre. I shall go down to the family at weekends. If invited, I might come to Marchlands to see how you are all getting on without me.”

  “You will be welcome at any time,” my mother told him. “But I must warn you. Guests often get pressed into service.”

  “That would be interesting. But I must warn you. I should be an awful dud.”

  “We’d teach you,” replied my mother.

  “Then that’s a promise.”

  “It’s wonderful to see you recovered.”

  “Well, yes…but not fit enough to go out there again.”

  “I can’t say that greatly grieves me.”

  “The War Office will be interesting,” said my father.

  “All the red tape and that.”

  “But quite an experience.”

  “How are things getting on in the House?”

  “Something has to happen,” my father said. “We’ve got to win this war soon. It’s been going on too long.”

  “You mean Asquith will go.”

  “Lloyd George is waiting in the wings. There’ll be a change soon. I’d say before Christmas. L.G. will be going to the Palace to kiss hands.”

  “As soon as that! Poor old Asquith!”

  “Another Christmas,” said my mother, “and we are still at war.”

  “It has got to end soon,” said my father. “If the Americans come in, I’d say the end was in sight.”

  “And will they?”

  “It seems possible.”

  “I just long for it to be over,” said my mother.

  “It will be…in time.”

  A week after Marcus left, Annabelinda announced that her mother needed her at home and she thought she ought to go to her.

  “You’ll manage very well without me,” she said.

  I could not resist saying, “As you devoted yourself almost entirely to Major Merrivale and he is no longer with us, I daresay we shall manage very well.”

  She smirked. “Poor Lucinda,” she said.

  I was glad to see her go. She reminded me too bitterly of my humiliation over Marcus.

  At the end of October, Miss Carruthers was married to Dr. Egerton. It was a simple ceremony and there was a small reception at Marchlands afterward.

  I was very pleased to see Miss Carruthers so happy. Her cousin came for the ceremony, and I could see immediately why Miss Carruthers had not been eager to share her home. She was a formidable lady, but at this time quite affable and clearly not displeased by the marriage. So all was extremely satisfactory in that respect.

  The new Mrs. Egerton made herself useful in the hospital every afternoon, just as she had when teaching me.

  “It is very comforting that all has turned out so well,” said my mother. “I wonder what will happen to Andrée.”

  “We wouldn’t want her to leave us,” I replied. “She is so good with Edward. Were you thinking of a husband for her?”

  “I do often think of people who are working as she does and Miss Carruthers did. Think of the care Andrée gives to Edward…as most nannies do give to the children they look after. In time they have to face the fact that those children do not belong to them. I wonder what she will want to do when the war is over? Perhaps go back to Belgium.”

  “She was very anxious to get away,” I said.

  “There is that brother of hers. I suppose she doesn’t hear anything of him. It must be very sad for her.”

  “She is sure he is with the French army.”

  “Anything might have happened to him. She’s a strange girl.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “She seems so…contented.”

  “Does that make her strange? She was glad to get away; she did not want to go to her aunt; and she loves Edward dearly. He is such a darling. I can see why she feels contented.”

  “But she must worry about her brother.”

  “I believe she was not very close to any of her family.”

  “I wonder what will happen to her?”

  “Who knows what will happen to anyone?”

  My mother looked at me sharply. I think she had an inkling of my feelings for Marcus. I was beginning to realize I was rather naive. I had probably betrayed them.

  The days passed—one very like another. I spent more time in the hospital now as I had greater leisure without Miss Carruthers’s lessons. I walked a good deal in the forest and I felt very melancholy during those days.

  It was December. As my father had prophesied, Lloyd George had taken over the Government. Marcus had not come to Marchlands, in spite of his promise to do so.

  I told myself I should have known by now that he did not mean half of what he said. Had he not admitted that to me on one occasion? He had said he told people what they wanted to hear.

  We celebrated Christmas at the hospital, and then it was a new year, 1917. And the war was still with us, showing no more sign of ending than it had two years ago.

  The days passed slowly. How I misse
d Marcus! I think many people did. He had added a gaiety to the place. He was right, of course. He said the things people wanted to hear and made them laugh and be happy—as long as they remembered he did not really mean them. He joked about most things and that made life pleasant.

  I thought of him continually during those long and dreary winter days.

  News filtered through—mostly gloomy and bringing little hope of an imminent victory. There was a gleam of hope with the coming of April when America declared war on Germany. Soon they would be coming to stand beside us.

  Everyone was saying that this must be the beginning of the end.

  It was late April when news arrived to cheer me. My mother came to me in great excitement.

  “What do you think? I’ve heard from Gerald. Robert’s coming here.”

  My first thought was, he’s been wounded.

  “Is he badly hurt?” I asked.

  “It’s his leg. He’s been in hospital in London for about two weeks, Gerald said. He’s well enough to come here to convalesce. Gerald said it will do him good to have a spell with us.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

  My mother smiled. “Yes, it will be. You’ll enjoy his being here. You two were always special friends, weren’t you? Gerald said Robert can’t wait to get here. He’ll be coming tomorrow.”

  My mother was looking at me with that expression of apprehension which I had known over the years. She understood my feelings for Marcus, for I had been simple enough to betray them. So she was delighted that my good friend Robert would be here to cheer me up.

  I rose early the next morning. We had discussed where we would put him. “In one of the four-bed wards,” said my mother. “Dear Robert! We must do the best possible for him.”

  “As if we don’t for everyone!” I replied.

  “Oh, but there is something special about Robert.”

  He arrived in the early afternoon. When I saw him standing there with his crutches, I felt overcome with emotion. He had the same grin, but was thinner, which accentuated what Annabelinda had called his disjointed look. He was paler and somehow he looked vulnerable.

  I ran to him and threw my arms around him.

  “It’s so good to see you, Robert,” I said.