by Terri Nixon
‘I work for the government, as you know, but what I’ve never told you, and probably shouldn’t be telling you now, is that the branch I work for is what was called the Secret Intelligence Service. I was approached shortly after returning from Africa, and recruited to the service, and that’s why I’m rarely home.’
‘Is that where you’ve been since Lizzy was sent down?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I was a political prisoner in Serbia.’
‘But what –’
‘Hush, Evie, please. I have to get this out now or I might never find the courage again.’
I subsided, my stomach churning with fear, and he carried on.
‘Before that, when I was in Africa, I was given a mission. There was a spy in the ranks. Someone who was passing our secrets to the Boers, giving them opportunities to fortify their defences, and worse, to attack our own least-defended lines. I identified him, and, as I already knew about him and was something of a crack shot, I was given the task of…well, of silencing him before he could pass information on our position. You must understand, I didn’t volunteer, but neither did I shirk in this; if the information got through, we would lose hundreds of men, there was no question.’
‘Of course there wasn’t!’ I wanted to say something else, to absolve him of the guilt he clearly felt at having to kill a man in cold blood, but his face forbade it and I fell back into silence. He described how he’d had to wait until the spy had been face-to-face with the Boer Kommandant before taking the shot, and that it had been quick and clean, over in an instant. He seemed particularly intent that I should understand that, and then he turned to me and, in a voice filled with the agony of the duty he’d been forced to fulfil, he ripped my heart in two.
‘It was your father, Evie.’
I sat in stunned silence, while his words rattled around in my head, and the pain that caught my chest gradually loosened enough for me to breathe. The two of us remained side by side without looking at each other, without speaking, with a past that I could never have imagined in my darkest nightmares forming a wall between us.
Eventually he reached a hand out to me, but I pulled mine away, and saw his fingers curl into a white-knuckled fist which he withdrew and replaced on his thigh. He seemed a stranger to me just then, and it was going to take time to absorb this awful new truth.
Part of that truth was that I barely remembered my father. What I did remember of him was a stern face, not unloving, but neither affectionate. Images flashed through my head of my earliest memories of Uncle Jack; his endless patience, his laughter, his friendship with parents Lawrence and I saw too little of, unless he was visiting. He seemed to soften them, somehow, and whenever he came to stay the house came alive, Mother and Father were more tolerant, quicker to smile and to gather us all together as a family.
When he had brought news of Father’s honourable death in service, he had been grief-stricken, that much was clearly true. He told us he’d promised Father he would take care of us should something happen, and he had. But that something had happened by his own hand! How could he have lied to us all like that? I’d only been eight, but I still remembered his white, pain-filled face, and Mother’s awful scream – the way he had held her while Lawrence and I looked at each other in mystified dismay at the sudden uproar in the house. And I remembered Uncle Jack sitting us both down in the morning room after Mother had been taken upstairs to bed, and telling us our father would not be coming home again.
‘You said he was a hero,’ I said now, sounding more like that eight year-old than ever.
‘I was at least able to get that much agreed with the Service,’ Jack said. ‘I couldn’t see what good it would do to destroy your family.’
My voice broke. ‘You did destroy it.’
He drew a ragged breath, and I looked around at him. He was nodding. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I turned away again and thought back to what he’d said, how I’d agreed without question that he’d done the right thing, before I’d known to whom he’d done it. Did that make me a hypocrite?
‘Why did he do it?’ I had to know how culpable Father had been.
‘He was recruited very young, by Samuel Wingfield. The tragedy was that he truly believed what he was told, that our government was corrupt and must be stopped, that our cause was the wrong one.’
‘So he chose his path.’
He hesitated. ‘I loved your father, Evie. He was my closest friend, you know that. He was an innocent though, and a little weak. Vulnerable, and Wingfield saw that.’
‘Vulnerable or not, he chose to betray and kill those he fought with. Friends. Including you.’
‘But –’
‘No! No more, not now. I need time to think, and I don’t know how I feel, not really. But Will’s the important one now.’
I slumped against him, drained, and felt him twitch in pain. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly, moving away, but he pulled me closer again. ‘It’s all right, it’s nothing compared to what…to…’ He couldn’t finish, I heard the way his voice caught the words and refused to let them out.
‘Maybe not, but it’s worse than you’ve been telling her, isn’t it?’
‘It’s all right,’ he repeated. And that’s all he would say, but when we began to walk I noticed how his hand crept beneath his coat, and the way his breathing sharpened when he moved too quickly. Every muscle was taut, and his face reflected the deep, bruising ache that had not had time to subside. He must have been struggling so hard not to worry Lizzy, and he was still doing it, but with me it wasn’t necessary and I wished I could make him understand that.
He misinterpreted my worried expression, and took my hand as we walked down the corridor. ‘Archie should be ready to bring Will across by tomorrow.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘They’ll have to go straight to London.’
A fresh band of terror tightened around my chest. ‘You mean he’s still being court-martialled?’
‘I’m afraid he’ll have to be.’ His face was drawn, and now it wasn’t simply his pain that caused it. There was a dark apprehension there too. ‘All I can do is make sure they hear his evidence.’ Seeing my face he went on quickly, ‘But it will make a difference, Evie, believe me.’
‘And what evidence will that be?’
‘He’ll be thoroughly checked by a medical officer, evaluated by his commanding officer, and I’ll draft a supportive statement as a government official.’ Uncle Jack looked uncomfortable for a moment. ‘It’s probably best if you don’t see him until after it’s all over.’
I stopped, appalled. ‘What?’
‘It’s for his own good, love,’ Jack said. ‘If Will is suffering from some kind of amnesia, as we think he is, that will help his case. But if he sees you it might all come back to him. He won’t be able to give a convincing performance, and if they think he’s lying he’ll be found guilty.’
‘But it was true!’
‘They won’t know that. All they’ll see is a young man who left his unit, and hid on a farm, scavenging for food. A soldier who clearly remembers everything, but is pretending he doesn’t.’ He drew me around to face him. ‘Evie, promise me you won’t try to see him?’
My heart turned over, but his words made a horrible sort of sense at least. ‘I promise.’ It was no more than a whisper, but he let out the breath he’d been holding.
‘Good girl,’ he said, and hugged me. We walked in silence for a while, everything that had happened twisting and turning in our minds, and I found the other bright part, quite apart from Will’s safety, that had come out of this strange, cold day.
‘I’m so happy for you and Lizzy,’ I said quietly, and saw him tense, then relax.
‘Are you sure? I’m so much older, and she’s such a sweet, trusting girl. You must be wondering what on earth she sees in me.’
I smiled, feeling my own tension fade a little. ‘I think those are your worries, Uncle Jack, not mine.’ looked at him and saw that, beneath the tiredness and the pain, pushing it
away, there was contentment – just to be talking about Lizzy was clearly all the medicine he needed at the moment. But, despite how deeply I loved him, she was my closest friend and he had put her at risk. It wasn’t something that sat easily with me.
‘I’ve made my promise, now you make one.’
‘Anything,’ he said.
I looked at him seriously. ‘Promise me you won’t put her in any more danger.’
His eyes rested on mine and I saw complete honesty there. ‘I promise you I would die before letting any more harm come to her. Just the thought of what happened, what might have happened…’ He broke off, but I needed no further convincing; his hand shook, a mixture of exhaustion and emotion, and he let go of mine, but he kept looking at me and I believed him. His own injuries might heal quickly, but Lizzy’s would hurt him for the rest of his life.
‘Tell me more about Will,’ he said, fighting to sound normal. ‘I only knew him as the butcher’s boy, and you know I didn’t get any of your letters. So, tell me how you met. All of it.’
So I did: while he struggled to regain control, while Lizzy slept somewhere behind us, while Will was, maybe at this very moment, being brought out into the sunlight by Jack’s friend ready for his journey home, I talked of warmer, brighter times, and about hope and determination. And when I talked about two racing hearts, and the added excitement at the impropriety of their meeting, Jack smiled at last, and I could see the memories echoed in his own.
Two days later Will came home.
Jack had gone back to London to be further de-briefed about the disappearance of Samuel Wingfield, and to give his evidence at Will’s trial, and Lizzy remained in hospital in Shrewford. Mother had insisted I come home while I waited for news, and I was glad to go, especially after the way we had parted. It was comforting to hear her express genuine relief that Will had been found, and while I realised it was more for my benefit than for his, she sat willingly to listen while I finally told her everything about the way we had found each other. By the end of my telling she had softened still further, and the sense of betrayal at the way I had excluded her had faded into the understanding I had recognised before.
It was those memories that led me to find her on the day of the court-martial. She was writing a letter, and slid it out of sight beneath her blotter as I came into her favourite room; the morning room.
‘Evangeline. Hello, my dear.’ She sounded extra bright and I eyed the blotter, wondering what she had been so eager to hide. But Will’s plight drove the questions from my mind, and I found myself unable to sit still in even the most comfortable of the room’s chairs long enough for conversation.
Mother watched me stalking the room, picking things up and replacing them, and repeatedly looking out of the window for the arrival a telegram. ‘Jack will put everything right,’ she said at last, quite gently. ‘He has influence in the military.’
‘Limited, he said so himself.’
‘But still more than most young men in Will’s position are lucky enough to have,’ she pointed out. ‘And how is Lizzy?’ I heard genuine concern in her voice, which shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.
‘She appears to be gaining strength,’ I said. ‘Mary says she has asked to be moved out of the private room and onto the main ward, which is typical of her.’
‘She’s a courageous girl,’ Mother said. ‘I hope she will find a good position when she recovers.’
‘But you fired her!’
‘I had to, you know that. I just feel terrible that I wasn’t able to offer her work when she came out of prison. If I had, she wouldn’t have had to go to Shrewford for that interview in the first place.’
‘Mother, I think it’s time I told you –’
A discreet knock at the door cut my words off and Dodsworth the butler entered; the moment I saw the telegram in his hand my heart froze. He held it out to me, expressionless as usual, and I plucked it from his hand with trembling fingers.
W exonerated stop Returning Breckenhall on 14:15 tomorrow.
Mother saw the colour drain from my face and grew instantly alarmed, but I shook my head; it was relief that was making me feel faint now. I hadn’t realised how big a part of me had been convinced of the worst, but now Will would be coming home. I sat down before my shaking legs could pitch me to the floor, and, with a bemused kind of gratitude I heard Mother get out of her own chair and come around to put her arm around me. It wasn’t until she spoke that I remembered she had been through the worst herself. But she hadn’t had the happy ending that now lay within my reach, and her voice, hardly more than a whisper, was drenched in her own memories of that unspeakably terrible time when Uncle Jack had come to Oaklands with the news that had torn her life apart.
‘When he comes home, darling, don’t let him go again. Ever.’
Chapter Nine
He was thinner. That much I had expected. He was ghost-pale and I had expected that too, but what came as a shock was his reaction to me. The train chuffed quietly as it sat in Breckenhall Station, and as Will stepped down from the carriage he looked around at his companion and nodded. It seemed he remembered some things, after all, and I felt a rush of relief, but since I had been cautioned against moving to embrace him I remained behind the fence, and breathed slowly to get my thundering heart under control. The officer he was with, Jack’s friend Archie, placed a hand on Will’s back and guided him to the exit. I took barely any notice of him but felt deep gratitude, nevertheless, for his presence; he hadn’t known Will long, and, although merely performing a duty, there was patience and gentleness in his manner.
When they emerged from the station into the little parking area where I waited next to the car, Will caught sight of me. His eyes widened, not with the recognition of a man for his wife, but with the dismay and guilt of someone caught out, and he looked frantically around to make sure no one else had seen us together. His hands rose to cup his elbows, then dropped, then rose again, this time to run his hands through his hair – the movements were quick and nervous, and he seemed unaware of them.
The captain urged him forward but he wouldn’t take another step. There was nothing I could do, although his reluctance to even meet my eyes hurt terribly. There was a narrow cut along his jaw that was healing well, but it looked as though it had been made by something extremely sharp, and was perilously close to his throat. I shuddered at how close he had come.
‘Will,’ I managed at last, and my voice broke on even that short word.
He looked at me, but his eyes skittered quickly away. ‘Miss Creswell.’
‘Mrs Davies,’ I corrected with a little smile, but my heart splintered and I smiled distractedly at the officer, through the tears that turned everything into a blur. ‘Captain Buchanan, I’m so grateful. It must have been awfully dangerous for you.’
‘Don’t give it another thought,’ he said, shaking my hand, and his voice was as warm and gentle as his touch. His Scots accent was not as thick as Mrs Cavendish’s, who hailed from Glasgow, but instead had a gentle Highlands tone. ‘I hope the day finds you well, Mrs Davies.’
‘Very, thank you. And please, call me Evie.’
‘And I’m Archie.’
I turned back to Will, who was looking around and seemed to relax the more he saw.
‘Do you remember this place?’ I said. I ached to touch him but he looked as though he would break away and run if I did.
‘Yes, Miss. I worked in town. Before.’
That word again. Only in Will’s case, “before” meant everything up until the moment he had joined up and left his old life behind. Before his orders arrived. Before we had married. All that had happened between then and his rescue was locked away. The naïve part of me had hoped the sight of me might, as Uncle Jack had warned, be enough to reach him, but now I could see the extent of his distress I wondered if anything ever could.
I looked at Archie, troubled, but he gave a slight shake of his head. ‘We can talk later,’ he said. ‘I think it’d be best jus
t to take Will home for now.’
It occurred to me I hadn’t even wondered if Will would be happy coming back to Oaklands, but at least his belongings were still there, including all those years’ worth of exquisite sculptures. ‘Perhaps looking at some of your things might help with your memory,’ I said, and now, unable to hold back any longer I stepped forward and took his hand. He immediately pulled it away, but not before I’d felt his fingers tighten on mine, and I took heart from that instinctive response.
Standing so close to him, after these months of fearing him dead, I felt a physical pain at not being able to hold him, and see his eyes resting on mine with the spark of passion that had lit them almost since the day we had met. Instead I curled my fingers against the urge to reach out for his constantly moving hands again, and turned to Archie. ‘I do hope you can stay a while,’ I said, stiffly polite in the effort to control myself.
He nodded. ‘I’d like to help as much as I can, but I have to leave the day after tomorrow. I’ve already had to rely on Jack’s influence too much, and it’s not fair on the lads. Not to mention the COs resent it, and quite rightly.’
‘I understand, and thank you for everything.’ I glanced at Will again. ‘I think you’ve been of more help than you realise.’
I drove us back to Oaklands, and the journey, though short, was a strange one. Archie kept up polite conversation, and I answered his questions, but both of us were hopelessly aware of Will’s silence, and willing something to reach into that locked box in his mind and break it open. Nothing did.
I stopped the car outside the front door. ‘We don’t have a footman any more, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘Would you mind bringing your own bag, Archie?’ I myself picked up the small bag Archie had packed for Will, it contained very little; most of his things were still in France.
Inside, Dodsworth was his usual, impeccably-mannered self, and nodded without comment to both Will and Archie before taking their bags upstairs. I led them both into the sitting room, relieved to find it empty; Mother was either in her bedroom or the morning room and it would give the three of us a chance to talk. Archie sat opposite me, but Will remained on his feet, his exhaustion not acute enough to overcome his embarrassment and discomfort.