When she made to kiss him again he jerked his head away.
But Eliza simply uttered a soft laugh. ‘Anytime you want, pet!’ With a lingering caress, she was gone.
Waiting for her tea, trying to keep a wriggling Mims entertained, Grace wondered why she felt uneasy. Eliza was very friendly and generous-natured, but it was the way her eyes had run all over Probyn that unsettled his wife. There was a hint of the cat on heat about her, in the way she preened and sashayed, as if flicking her tail at him – why she might just as well have shoved her backside in his face, thought Grace. Concerned about her husband, she was glad when he reappeared from the cellar, though he looked very flushed.
‘I hope you haven’t been overdoing it,’ whispered Grace. ‘You’re all red.’
Probyn turned even redder, especially when Eliza came in bearing a tray laden with cake and tea and said, ‘That’s because he’s a red-blooded male, Mrs Kilmaster, a real man. He’s lifted all that heavy stuff as easily as if it were tissue paper. Eh, you’re so lucky to have him.’
‘I know.’ Grace was at once alert, her smile becoming frozen.
Offered a plate of cake, she politely declined, though allowed Mims to sample it, she herself taking swift little sips of tea, eager to empty the cup and get out of here.
But Eliza seemed keen to chat, asking all sorts of impertinent questions.
Annoyed at being manipulated by this woman and even angrier that she was trying to hoodwink Grace, Probyn did not finish his tea; this was one time when politeness was uncalled for. ‘I’m afraid we shall have to go now.’ He stood, indicating for his wife to do likewise.
Grace required no prompting and made a beeline for the door, carrying Mims with her.
Eliza’s voice held disappointment. ‘Oh well, I hope you’ll call again, the both of you.’
They were noncommittal.
Eliza showed them into the street. ‘Thank you for moving all that junk for me, Mr Kilmaster, and I hope you’ll allow me to return the favour one day.’
Ignoring the innuendo, Probyn took his wife’s arm and steered her home.
‘What the hell is she up to?’ Grace hissed at him when they were safe inside. ‘Don’t tell me, I know!’
‘You don’t know the half of it, love.’ Having learned the hard way many years ago that it was a mistake to keep secrets, Probyn revealed all.
‘The slut!’ cried Grace, her face depicting horror.
‘Not in front of the baby, dear.’
‘Sod the baby, I’ll bloody kill her, the bitch!’ Pressing a hand over her mouth, Grace flopped into a chair, eventually calming down, though she remained utterly aghast that anyone could stoop so low.
‘Gobbie—’
‘Don’t Gobbie me!’
‘Eh! You don’t think I encouraged her, do you?’
After an angry moment, Grace closed her eyes and shook her head. Probyn hated that type of woman as much as she did. She sagged in her chair, watching Mims playing on the rug but not really seeing her. ‘As if it isn’t bad enough there are Germans almost at our door I have to put up with a harridan lusting after my husband!’
He came to perch on the arm of her chair, reassuring her with a squeeze. ‘She can lust all she likes but it won’t do her any good. As if I’d look at an old trout like her when I’ve got a wife so much younger and prettier. You trust me, don’t you?’
Eventually, Grace gave him an affectionate bump with her head. ‘Of course I do. It’s not you I’m mad with. God, I still can’t believe the audacity of her!’
They shared the embrace for a few moments longer, before the children came in looking to be fed.
But even whilst organizing tea, it was obvious that Grace could not push the matter from her mind. Seeing her preoccupation, Probyn tried to jollify the atmosphere.
‘Well, children, only a couple of days to go until Christmas! I think we shall have to get the paper chains up after tea.’
‘Does Father Christmas know we’ve moved house?’ Beata whispered to her mother.
On her way to the table with a stack of plates, Grace smiled sympathetically. ‘Yes, but don’t expect him to bring too much this year.’ Oranges had become far too expensive for Christmas stockings. ‘What with those horrible Germans, he’s having as difficult a time as the rest of us finding stuff to put on his sleigh. There’s hardly anything at all in the shops.’ Absent now were the gorgeous window displays of peacetime yuletides. Perhaps it was as well, for few could afford to be extravagant in these lean times, even at this festive period. Moreover, with the carnage in Europe set to bleed into yet another year, it seemed indecent to celebrate. ‘We must just be grateful that we still have each other.’ Laying down the plates, she glanced across the table and locked eyes with her husband, both knowing that she did not merely refer to the risk from a foreign enemy.
Probyn maintained his level gaze and tried to convey, through the warmth of his smile, that he would never allow anyone or anything to destroy their marriage.
12
Whilst the Kilmasters’ marriage stood firm, other alliances began to crumble, the year coming to an end on the dreadful news that the Bolsheviks, who had overthrown the Russian throne, were now entering peace talks with Germany. The feeling of disgust and betrayal that swept the country was compounded by the knowledge that these former allies were probably on their way to reinforce German troops on the Western Front. Every sign was that this was to be the worst year yet.
‘Nineteen eighteen,’ marvelled Grace, taking down the last paper chain and storing it away in the cupboard. ‘Who could have predicted a war would last this long?’
Behind the evening newspaper her husband was deeply meditative, his eyes touring the columns of dead. ‘This is a war like no other, Gobbie.’
Knowing him so well, his wife read the pain beneath that remark but his children did not, regarding this as an opening to ask questions, Madeleine being first to sidle respectfully to his chair. ‘Tell us what the war’s really like, Father.’
‘Noisy,’ came the simple reply.
‘Oh, please tell us, Father!’ Joe, the would-be soldier, was quick to add his voice. ‘How many Germans did you kill? Did you see anybody get shot?’
Beata too was keen to hear, though Duke hung back.
Lowering the newspaper, Probyn surveyed the row of expectant little faces, then crooked his finger summoning all to gather round him, which they did eagerly as he bent his head to confide some very important announcement. ‘When you’re old enough … I’ll tell you how many beans make five.’
There was a collective ‘Aw!’ and the disappointed children fell away in accompaniment to their eldest brother’s laughter.
‘Leave your father alone now,’ Grace bade them. ‘And get ready for bed.’
Joe risked a final question. ‘Will the war be over this year?’
‘We’d all like the answer to that,’ murmured his father, whilst Mother offered more encouraging response.
‘If you pray extra hard I’m sure Our Lord will take pity on us,’ she told her children.
Joe followed his siblings to the stairs. ‘I’ll do me best but I can’t promise owt.’
Probyn suppressed a chuckle. ‘Well, if you can’t persuade the Lord to end the war could you just ask Him for some better weather? My rheumatism’s giving me gyp.’
On his way out to the lavatory, Clem added his own jocular requirement. ‘And ask Him for a couple of slices of that pink stuff that comes off pigs. Sorry I can’t remember the name of it, it’s been so long since I had any.’
‘You’re not supposed to ask for things for yourself,’ Joe reproved his big brother before disappearing.
Clem grinned and, with a chesty cough, went out into the yard.
‘Then I suppose it’s a waste of time asking Him to make the Merry Widow vanish in a puff of smoke,’ muttered Grace with all her offspring out of earshot. Undaunted by the cool reception, Eliza had wheedled and connived to make friends with her and to
infiltrate the Kilmaster household along with other neighbours, but, aware that she was only out to ensnare Probyn, this was one person towards whom Grace refused to be charitable.
‘I’m doing my utmost to evade capture.’ That was certainly true. It had become most comical to watch Probyn’s avoidance of Mrs Crump. Before leaving the house he would peer cautiously around the jamb to check if she was in the street. If she was, he would wait a while until she had finished scrubbing her doorstep or sweeping the pavement or whatever she was affecting to be doing whilst lying in ambush for him. He had even varied his times of departure just to outfox her. ‘She’ll get fed up in the end.’
* * *
Soon, though, there came much more to worry about than the predatory Eliza Crump. Three months into the new year, using reinforcements acquired from Russia, von Ludendorff launched a massive offensive that threatened to smash through the Allied line. Thousands more casualties came flocking home to swell the already overcrowded military hospitals. Furthermore, out of the night sky came a noise that they had not heard for years.
Unable to get to sleep despite his exhaustion, Probyn was immediately alert at the faint whirring of an engine, and, within seconds of his hearing this the whole world erupted into a barrage of hate.
‘It’s a blasted airship!’ He jumped out of bed, having no need to rouse Grace, for she was already rushing to the landing where they encountered Clem.
Hearing a wail from the children’s room, Probyn spoke calmly, ordering his eldest son, ‘Go back in and sit with them, Clem.’
An anxious, indecisive Grace pinched her chin. ‘Shouldn’t we get everyone out?’
‘They’re safer in bed.’ Probyn remained calm. ‘It’s not overhead yet. If it comes any nearer we’ll get them down then.’ He led the way to the yard.
The dark sky was a network of searchlights, but the enemy was obviously flying at immense height, for he remained invisible as he committed his dastardly work.
Woken by the din, though not knowing what it was, the girls lifted their heads from the pillow as Clem entered their bedroom.
‘It’s all right.’ Speaking softly, comfortingly, their brother hurried to the bedside and tugged the covers up under the row of chins. ‘It’s only thunder and lightning. Shut your eyes and it’ll all be over by morning.’
Reassured and still muzzy from sleep, the girls allowed their heads to drop, and, with their big brother standing guard, soon drifted back to oblivion.
Pacifying the younger boys with the same excuse, Clem remained at hand, making periodic checks on all his siblings lest they should wake and be afraid.
Grace and Probyn too remained watchful until the noise decreased to a threatening rumble and finally faded away, though they did not sleep for the rest of the night.
Deceived into believing the cacophony had been an electric storm, the children were to discover the truth in the morning through a schoolfriend. Hence, when the rumbling came again on a second night, they were not so easily duped, and though daylight was to reveal little damage to the town and none at all to the Kilmaster house, it was still frightening to hear that nine people had been killed. The Zeppelins did not come again, but the fear was to remain.
On the Western Front the situation was becoming dire. By midsummer the enemy had forced the Allies back across the Marne and was once again threatening Paris. The demand for troops became all encompassing to those responsible for providing them, and Probyn was almost dead on his feet from trying to fulfil the urgent appeal. The strain of having constantly to ensure that his high standards were upheld was an extra drain on an already exhausted system. Certainly he was too worn out to care about Eliza Crump’s sexual overtures. This being so, he hardly noticed when she gave up.
Grace noticed, though, and enjoyed a little smile of triumph. But there was no time to gloat with all that was going on, for the beleaguered nation had been assailed by yet another foe: an outbreak of influenza so virulent that the obituaries of those who had lost their lives in the trenches were in danger of being equalled by those who died at home.
The deaths were swift and cruel, victims drowning in their own blood within hours, and the disease so contagious that all places of entertainment were out of bounds to soldiers, the latter obviously responsible for conveying it from the trenches where it had been in evidence for weeks. Too poor to rely on any outside source for their entertainment, the closures did not greatly concern the Kilmasters. None the less, Grace worried for her brood, assiduously going through their handkerchief pockets to apply disinfectant, mixing up solutions that everyone was made to sniff before leaving the house.
Despite all this, throughout the duration of the epidemic, she was to remain worried, and when the normally stoical Probyn confessed to feeling unwell one morning, she was on him in a trice, dosing and disinfecting.
Cupping a puddle of Condy’s Fluid in his palm, Probyn held it to his somewhat grey face and dutifully inhaled – but within seconds his knees had folded under him and he had collapsed upon the floor, apparently unconscious. Grace squeaked, pressed a hand to her mouth, then ran to him.
‘Fetch the doctor, one of you!’
Normally Gussie would be first to respond but she was out on her milk round. Beata jumped into action; the doctor being a regular visitor to her mother, she knew where to find him.
Along with the distraught Grace, Clem attended his father, who was now coming round, the pair of them hauling him into a sitting position and dragging up a chair to use as a prop.
However, to everyone’s great relief, the physician had only been in the house seconds before dispelling initial fears, his stethoscope applied to Probyn’s broad chest as his patient slowly came to. ‘I can tell you right away it’s not influenza. Hello, Mr Kilmaster, are you with us?’
Still groggy, Probyn looked from one to the other, totally bemused. ‘I just went all dizzy…’
Clem went immediately to open the window, shooing the children outside. ‘Let’s give Father some air.’
The doctor asked if there was any brandy and Grace hurried to fetch it, curling her arm around Probyn’s broad shoulders whilst holding the glass to his lips. Having almost wept with gratitude to find it was not the deadly plague, she remained concerned. ‘What do you think caused it, doctor?’
‘Impossible to say without making deeper examination.’ The physician replaced his stethoscope in his bag, addressing himself gravely to Probyn. ‘Though it’s quite obvious you’re suffering from exhaustion.’
‘Isn’t everyone?’ Probyn was a dreadful colour.
‘Quite so.’ The doctor too wore a look of deep fatigue. ‘But I strongly recommend you have a thorough check from your own medical officer.’
After giving further advice he left, his grave comportment lending no reason for optimism, though Probyn continued to dismiss his wife’s fears. ‘Nay, it’s summat nor nowt, Gobbie.’
Grace showed annoyance. ‘Do you want me to speak to your MO myself?’
There was no arguing with her when she had that look on her face. Besides, Probyn felt too ill to put up a fight. ‘All right, I’ll go see him,’ he muttered.
And, however unwillingly, he did submit himself for examination.
The diagnosis was to devastate him. That he was suffering from exhaustion came as no surprise, but this camouflaged a much more sinister malady, one that could spell the end of his career in the army. Barely was he able to convey the words to Grace when, upon his homecoming, she demanded an explanation for his tormented visage.
‘They say I’ve got heart trouble, Gobbie.’ Looking into her eyes, he was obviously shattered.
Grace was equally affected. ‘Good grief! Oh, Probe…’
‘Arteriosclerosis as well.’
Her horror grew. ‘What’s that?’
‘Hardening of the arteries. They’re arranging for me to go into hospital.’
‘Oh, love!’ She flew to him and hugged him. It was fortunate that the children were not around to hea
r this. ‘When do you have to go?’
‘Right away.’ His own disbelief at hearing the news was still upon his face. ‘They’ve only let me come home to tell you.’ He held his barrel chest as if afraid that his vital organ would suddenly give out.
Grace’s own heart had begun to throb. Her eyes filled with tears.
He tried to be brave and covered her hand with his, though the gesture lacked its normal strength. ‘Nay, don’t have me dead yet. I’ll be all right after a few weeks’ rest.’ There came limp instruction. ‘Be a good lass and pack my things for me.’
Fighting to stay calm, Grace delivered a last supportive grip of his hand before going to gather his requisites, and, after this was done, she accompanied him back to the barracks where they were to take their leave of each other for many days.
* * *
During the head of the family’s stay in hospital, as if this were not bad enough, more disaster was to strike the Kilmasters. Examining the letter that had arrived as he was on his way to work, Clem murmured to his mother, ‘It’s from York.’
Shown the envelope, Grace recognized the handwriting as Kit’s and, as she was up to her elbows in flour, said, ‘You open it, Clem, the rest of you get out in the fresh air while you can. Beat, look after Mims.’
‘Aw, we can’t play properly with her hanging on!’
Clem warned Joe. ‘You heard what your mother said.’
There was a mass exodus, Beata reluctantly dragging the three-year-old by the hand
On unfolding the letter, Clem groaned and allowed his chin to drop to his chest, his eyes closed in despair. ‘Oh, Mam … Uncle Worthy’s died.’
There was an intake of breath. Dismayed, Grace stopped working, floury hands clamped to her cheeks. ‘Oh, poor Kit. Was it the flu?’
A Different Kind of Love Page 23