by Maggie Hope
Ada was in a very good mood as she went up the drive of the Hall. As usually happened when she had been away for the day, her eyes were drawn to the hall table as soon as she opened the front door. Always her pulse quickened as she wondered if there was a letter from Johnny. Now she picked up the pile waiting for her and quickly flicked through them, but without seeing his beloved handwriting. Most of them were official letters, none private. The sharp disappointment lasted only for a minute: there was always tomorrow, she told herself. Johnny would write, he loved her, he couldn’t just forget her, she knew he couldn’t. ‘Matron?’
Ada turned as she heard the voice of Nurse Simpson, who was coming out of the main ward. ‘Yes, Nurse? Is something wrong?’
‘Dr Gray is here to see you, Matron, he came about half an hour ago. I told him you wouldn’t be long and he said he’d wait. He’s in your rooms now.’
‘Thank you, Nurse. I won’t be long, I’ll relieve you as soon as I’ve changed and had a word with Dr Gray,’ Ada answered, her happy mood disappearing altogether. What did Tom want now? Surely he had said all he had to say the last time he came?
‘There’s no hurry. I don’t mind staying on a little,’ Nurse Simpson said. She gave Ada a funny look as she turned back to the ward, but Ada didn’t see it. She went on up the stairs to her rooms.
She hesitated before opening the door, gathering her courage to face Tom. Then, lifting her chin, she went in. But it was not Tom who turned to greet her, it was his father.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Oh! I thought it was Tom when she said Dr –’ Ada broke off and moved forward; of course, she thought, Nurse Simpson would have said Captain Gray if it had been Tom.
Dr Gray stood by the fireplace looking at her. He didn’t say anything at first.
‘Won’t you sit down, Dr Gray?’ Ada kept her tone formal.
‘I think perhaps you should sit down, Ada. I have some bad news.’
And then Ada knew that something had happened to Tom. ‘Tom?’ she asked and Dr Gray nodded, his face working.
‘I came over as soon as I could. The telegram came for you and Sister rang me, she thought I’d better see it as you were away for the day.’
Ada nodded dumbly. Of course, as Tom’s wife it would be she who got the telegram. What a shock for his poor father to come out here to the Hall and receive such news! She sat down on the sofa, her legs suddenly very shaky.
‘But … I thought he was safe, I thought he was in a hospital away from the front,’ she said.
‘The hospital was a field hospital, Ada. It took a direct hit from a stray shell, or so it says here.’ Dr Gray held out the telegram and Ada took it, though her hands were shaking so much that at first she couldn’t read the words. She handed it back to Dr Gray but he shook his head.
‘It’s yours, Ada. You were his wife, no matter the trouble between you.’ He turned away from her and put out his hands to the mantelpiece, leaning forward and staring at the dead coals in the grate. His voice was harsh with both grief and something else. His shoulders were shaking and his head bent.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said; what else could she say? She would grieve for Tom, for the young life lost and the brilliant future gone to nothing. But she couldn’t pretend to the inconsolable grief of the bereaved wife, it would be altogether hypocritical of her. ‘I really am, Dr Gray, I’m so sorry.’
Dr Gray straightened up. He seemed to have gained some sort of control of his emotions as he turned to face her.
‘Yes. Well, I thought it only right that I wait for you to tell you myself. Now I will have to go and tell my wife.’ He picked up his hat, and walked to the door. ‘I think we will leave it at that now. I will of course get in touch with you later, there will be things to see to.’
Now he had told her, he seemed in a hurry to be gone. Ada rose and went with him to the door. ‘I’ll see you out,’ she said.
‘Don’t bother,’ he answered, turning to her before going down the stairs. He gave the appearance of having come to a decision about something. ‘I hope you will respect Tom’s good name in this town,’ he said.
Ada was taken aback. ‘Of course, doctor, I –’
But he interrupted her. ‘I mean, you will not talk about any estrangement between you and Tom and you will allow a decent interval before you see other men.’
Ada felt as if he had slapped her. She gazed up at his set face.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said again. ‘Whatever you say.’
He nodded curtly and went down the stairs. Ada walked slowly back into her rooms. She sat on the sofa for a few minutes, remembering Tom, feeling guilty, sad and all mixed up about him. Then, mechanically, she went into the bedroom and changed into her uniform, ready to go down and relieve Nurse Simpson.
Ada left the Hall as soon as she could next day and walked down to the river. She had a couple of hours to spare before she had to go back on duty and she felt the need for fresh air and solitude to get her mixed-up emotions under control. She found a quiet seat and sat looking out over the waters of the Wear. It was a cold day, dry but with heavy, sullen clouds in the sky and a cold, relentless wind blowing. But down there by the water, with the towering green cliff behind her crowned by the ancient stonework of the cathedral and castle, she was sheltered from the wind.
She was a horrible woman, she told herself. Today, with Tom dead such a short while, she had woken up to the realisation that she was free now, free to marry Johnny and go with him to Canada, if he still wanted her after the row they had had last time they met. But he would, he surely would, he couldn’t just forget her, could he? There had been a swift rush of delight at the thought, she couldn’t help it. Then the memory of Tom had returned, the way he had looked on the day he had asked her to marry him, his bright, intelligent face and warm nature. My God, she thought, distressed that she should even think of her freedom or Johnny at such a time.
Ada watched the water as it rushed downstream, grey and leaden as it reflected the sky above it. A few drops of rain fell, spotting her brown coat but she sat on, hating herself. And all of a sudden she began to mourn for Tom, forgetting everything else but her sorrow at his untimely death. The rain was coming down in earnest now, great sheets of it, blown across the waters of the Wear in drifts which rippled with the wind. But it was a while before Ada noticed it; she sat on, her hands clasped together and the tears streaming down her face and mixing with the rain.
When at last she rose to her feet and climbed the steep path to North Bailey, she was soaked to the skin. On impulse she turned into Palace Green and crossed over to the cathedral. She went in, took a seat near the back and just sat there, letting the atmosphere of the ancient church of St Cuthbert soak into her as she had the rain. And at last she came to a sort of peace with herself.
Shivering suddenly as she became aware of how wet and cold she was, Ada hurried out and went down the hill to the marketplace, where she caught a cab back to the Hall.
The following Monday there was a letter awaiting her on the hall table, a letter from Virginia, Ada recognised the handwriting. She opened it during her mid-morning break, reading it through carefully, deliberately keeping her emotions under control.
It was vitriolic. Virginia blamed her for Tom’s death, and all the old accusations which she had thrown at Ada before were now repeated, this time in black and white. It was Ada’s fault, Tom would never have gone to the war if he had had a proper wife, there had been no need for it, he was needed at home, Ada might as well have killed him herself. Ada was an ungrateful wretch, she had killed Tom and ruined the lives of his parents. And all for what she could get out of it.
Ada read it through, almost as a penance. Then she put it back in the envelope and put it on the fire, watching it burn to a black sheet which crumbled into nothing. It was simply Virginia’s grief for her brother, she told herself. She was sorry that Tom’s sister felt the way she did, and she was even sorrier if his parents felt that way too. But it was done; there
was nothing she, Ada, could do about it.
The convalescent home was full to bursting. Besides having the usual maimed limbs and injuries caused by shrapnel, the patients coming in were often burned, blind or coughing up their lungs, or sometimes a combination of all three. For the victims of gas attacks were now seeping through to the convalescent homes.
Ada was fully occupied both mentally and physically, coping with the victims, and at night she fell into bed and into a deep sleep immediately. The staff were forgoing the little off-duty time they were due, and Ada didn’t have any time to visit her mother and auntie for a few weeks. For a while the Hall had to take patients at an earlier stage in their recovery as the acute hospitals overflowed.
So Ada was feeling ready for a rest by the time she managed to get a couple of hours free and visited the two old ladies.
‘And about time, our Ada.’ Auntie Doris stood back for her to go into the house. ‘We were beginning to think you had forgotten about us altogether.’
‘Hello, Auntie Doris,’ Ada answered. ‘No, I didn’t forget. I’ve been busy, that’s all.’
‘Busy doing what, like?’
Ada sighed. ‘We’ve had a lot of extra patients at the Hall,’ she said, keeping her voice mild. ‘Where’s Mam?’
‘She’s just gone out to deliver some sewing she’s been doing. She won’t be long. I dare say she would have put it off if she’d known you were coming.’ Auntie Doris sniffed. ‘If it wasn’t for me hands being so twisted I could help her with that, we’d make a tidy sum, I can tell you. But being held as I am – do you fancy a cup of tea? I’ll just put the kettle on, there’s fresh scones just out of the oven. Better than those ones from the shop, I can tell you.’
‘Why don’t I go to meet Mam and we can all have some tea together when we get back?’ Ada suggested. ‘It’s early yet.’
Auntie Doris’s face fell. ‘But I thought we could have a natter about old times, just me and you,’ she said, smiling at Ada as though she was offering a treat.
Bye, thought Ada, Auntie Doris must certainly have a short memory if she thought her niece wanted to reminisce about old times in Auckland. But she didn’t say so, there was no point.
‘I could do with the fresh air and we can talk later. Like I said, it’s still early,’ she replied, trying to be diplomatic. She had to catch her mother on her own, for she had finally decided to tell her about the death of James Johnson.
‘Aw, gan on then, if that’s how you feel!’ Auntie Doris snapped, her smile slipping and a waspish expression taking its place. ‘She went up to John Street if you want to know.’
‘We won’t be long,’ Ada promised as she made her escape, thinking she would have to do a lot of treading on eggshells if she wanted to get on all right with both her mother and Auntie Doris. She gave a rueful grin as she set off, keeping on the lookout for her mother coming.
She was almost to John Street when she saw her mother walking slowly towards her, swinging her empty basket.
‘Eeh, hello, our Lorinda, I didn’t expect to see you. Where are you off to then?’
‘I was coming to meet you, Mam. I called to see you and Auntie Doris said where you were so I thought I would catch you on the way back. You’re doing a bit of business, then? That’s good, isn’t it?’ Ada fell into step with her mother.
‘Aye, I’ve got a few orders, like.’
Ada glanced at her mother. There was no doubt she was looking better and there was no trace of gin on her breath. She was more self-assured, too; being able to earn a little money for herself must have helped her self-esteem, Ada reckoned.
‘Our Doris wouldn’t like you coming out to meet me and leaving her,’ Mrs Carr commented, not without a little satisfaction in her voice. ‘You know, she thinks you should think more of her than you do of me, like.’ She looked sideways at Ada as though she was wondering herself if that was how Ada felt, but her daughter was not to be drawn.
‘I wanted to see you on your own, that was why I came to meet you, Mam,’ Ada said. ‘I have something to tell you.’ She paused for a moment and turned to face her mother.
‘Mam, Mr Johnson died a short while ago.’ Ada couldn’t think of any way to say it differently.
‘Mr Johnson?’
Ada saw by the mystified expression on her mother’s face that she couldn’t think who it was Ada meant. ‘You know, Mam,’ she prompted, ‘you told me once. James Johnson was my father, you said.’
‘Eeh, our Lorinda, I never! I never said anything of the sort.’
‘You did, Mam, you told me one night when you’d been drinking.’
Mrs Carr leaned against a house wall, her jauntiness all gone now. ‘Did I, pet? Eeh, the drink’ll be the ruin of me. I always swore I would never let on. I’m sorry, Lorinda.’
‘Sorry you told me or sorry about him dying?’ Ada asked, baldly.
Mrs Carr stood up straight and started to walk down the street. ‘Howay, let’s be going, I’m fair dying for a cup of tea,’ she said and Ada followed her.
After a few minutes, Mrs Carr said, ‘I’m sorry I told you. I didn’t mean to tell you. I’m not sorry he’s dead, I thought he was, any road, long ago.’ They rounded another corner and went on quietly, both lost in thought, until something struck Mrs Carr.
‘How did you find out, Lorinda? I mean about him dying, like.’
And Ada confessed that she had known him for years, though not as her father. She told her mother about his befriending her when she had first returned to Durham City, and helping her with her education so that she could enter nursing. And she told her about the day he had taken his first seizure when the telegram came informing him of his son’s death.
‘Aye, lass, I knew he had a son but he was always away at school when I knew James,’ Mrs Carr said thoughtfully. ‘Mind,’ she continued as Ada looked at her, ‘I wasn’t carrying on with a married man, I wasn’t. His wife was dead by then, long before I met him. So you see, there was no reason at all why he couldn’t marry me, none at all.’ Lifting her head in a gesture which Ada recognised as almost one of her own, she carried on walking. ‘I’m glad he’s dead, and that’s a fact,’ she said defiantly. ‘Howay, now, let’s have that tea.’
The following week, Ada received a letter from a solicitor requesting her to make an appointment to see him, ‘with regard to the estate of the late James Johnson’.
Ada found herself the chief legatee in her father’s will. When she came out of the solicitor’s office, she was in possession of two houses: the one in Hallgarth Street which had belonged to her and Tom, and Mr Johnson’s cottage overlooking the racecourse, or cricket ground as it was now. Mr Johnson, as she called him still in her mind, for she had difficulty in thinking of him as her father, had also left her the surprising sum of £8,000. She almost went back into the solicitor’s office to ask him again how much, for she couldn’t believe she had heard him aright.
Before she went back to Crossgate Hall, Ada went down the hill to the cottage and looked around it. It smelled a little damp since it had been empty for so long, and she opened all the doors to let in the cold but dry air.
Sooty came in and wound himself round her ankles, purring softly. Ada bent and picked him up, holding his glossy fur against her cheek.
‘What are we going to do with you, Sooty?’ she said softly to the cat. Sooty purred even louder in reply, sounding like a miniature engine in his pleasure at seeing her. She carried him out to the back door and saw Mr Johnson’s neighbour peering over the hedge.
‘Sooty still likes to sleep in the shed,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what he’ll do now the poor old man has gone. I suppose the house will be sold?’
‘No,’ Ada answered slowly as an idea came into her head. She owed it to Mr Johnson that his cat came to no harm, and Sooty had shown he didn’t intend to move away, not even next door. The chances of any new owner keeping him were poor – you couldn’t sell a house with the stipulation that the buyers kept the cat, now could you?
/> ‘No, it won’t be sold,’ she said. ‘My mother and her sister are going to come to live here and I’m sure they will be delighted to have Sooty. If you don’t mind keeping him until then? It will only be for a week or two now.’
After all, Ada told herself, what could be more fitting than that her mother should benefit from her father’s will?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ada was in the main ward when she looked out of the window and saw the postman coming up the drive on his bicycle. Once again she felt the familiar quickening of her pulsebeat – surely there would be a letter from Johnny today? It was so long since there had been a letter, so many days and weeks and months. She refused to believe that Johnny was finished with her, it just wasn’t possible. No, there had to be a good reason, she knew there had.
‘Take over for me here, please, Nurse,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll just attend to the post.’
‘Yes, Matron.’ Nurse Young, a seasoned VAD by now with two years of service behind her, left her bedmaking and took over bandaging the leg of a soldier with a shrapnel wound in his calf.
Ada went into the hall and met the postman as he was about to place the letters on the table.
‘Afternoon, Matron,’ he said cheerfully. ‘A nice lot you’ve got today.’
‘Good afternoon,’ Ada replied, taking the bundle from him. She could hardly bear to wait to skim through the bundle but she forced herself to smile at him. ‘It’s hot today, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘If you’d like a cup of tea or a cold drink of lemonade, I believe Cook has some freshly made in the kitchen.’
‘Grand. Thank you, Matron, I will. Just go through, should I?’
As he shut the baize door at the end of the hall, Ada quickly went through the letters. There were quite a few for the patients and these she put aside to give out later. And there was one official envelope – the lists of the new intake, she supposed. Ada picked up the bundle of letters that were addressed to the patients and looked again – maybe she had missed Johnny’s letter.