‘And that reminds me,’ Ellie added. ‘Iris will be here soon. She telephoned to say that she would be coming over, and that she would like to call and see you, to see how you are progressing.’
‘There is no need for her to put herself out on my account,’ Connie insisted ungraciously. ‘I may not be a doctor, but I am a fully qualified nurse, Ellie, and I do not need Iris to tell me that a few bruises and scratches are healing.’
‘A few bruises and scratches! How can you say that? The cut on your head alone!’
Connie could feel her impatience growing. What was the point in trying to explain to Ellie the difference between the few small wounds she had received, and the wounds she had seen soldiers bear?
She should be counting her blessings, and thanking God for His and Ellie’s generosity, Connie admitted. But she could not relax when she knew that, sooner or later, she would be called upon to account for her past, if not by Ellie herself, then certainly by her husband Gideon, and even more certainly their Aunt Gibson.
The sudden sounds of an arrival downstairs in the hall had Ellie going to the door, exclaiming in relief, ‘That is sure to be Iris. I must go down and welcome her.’
Once her sister had gone, Connie paced the room restlessly. To her despair, against all the odds and contrary to her secret hopes, she was still carrying the Captain’s child.
There was a firm knock on the bedroom door and then, before she could call out in response, it opened and Iris came in.
‘I was at the Infirmary yesterday, Connie. Both Matron and Mr Clegg asked after your health, and asked me to convey their good wishes to you.
Connie almost flinched. ‘Does Matron know?’ Unable to go on, she turned away.
Behind her she heard Iris exhale.
‘That you are to have a child? Yes.
‘I wish I might not be having it, Connie burst out. ‘I wish that …
‘No. You must not say that, Iris stopped her firmly, coming over to her and grasping her shoulders. ‘I do understand how difficult this is for you, Connie. And if, as I suspect. I am right in guessing … Iris stopped and shook her head, whilst Connie tensed. ‘Those of us who experience at first hand the frailty of life and its shortness, especially when that life is a soldier’s life, can sometimes be forced to live by a different set of rules in wartime than those who do not have that experience. I can understand that there may not have been the time or the opportunity for you to marry the father of your child.
‘Is that why you told them at the Infirmary that I was a widow? Connie asked her.
‘I did what I thought was best, Iris told her. ‘My dear, she added gently, ‘you are far from being the only woman to find herself in such a situation, and I would be the last person to judge you harshly for it. Of course I may have guessed incorrectly, and if that is so then I apologise for any distress I might have caused you, Connie. However, if I am right, then please allow me to offer you some advice.’
Iris paused and gave Connie a very direct look.
‘I shall not mince my words, for I believe that both of us are women who prefer plain-speaking. Whilst there are those who will understand your situation, there are many, many, more who will not, and who indeed will take great pleasure in not doing so. They will condemn both you and your child, and through you all those who are closely connected to you. Your sister, Ellie, for instance. Do you understand what I am trying to say?’
Of course she did, how could she not, Connie reflected bitterly, as she acknowledged Iris’s statement with a brusque nod of her head.
‘I know this cannot be easy for you,’ Iris continued. ‘But for their sakes, and for the sake of your child, I would urge you to think carefully, and to look ahead to the future when this war is over, and the urgency and immediacy that governs our actions now is forgotten …’ Her glance fell to the rings Connie was wearing. ‘Life, society will be much kinder to you as a widow, Connie, than as a young woman with a child who has no legitimate father, especially when …’
‘Especially when that young woman is someone like me who has already brought disgrace on herself and her family?’ Connie challenged Iris sharply. ‘Is that what you were going to say?’
‘No. It wasn’t,’ Iris answered her evenly. ‘What I was going to say was, especially when that young woman is so highly thought of by her employers, and might one day want to return to her work, and to do so in the knowledge that she is … respected.
‘Respected or respectable?’ Connie challenged her.
‘Both, Iris told her coolly. Connie looked away from her. There was a certain truth, a good sense in what Iris was saying, she recognised.
‘So far as your baby’s father is concerned … Iris continued, more gently.
‘I do not wish to speak of him. I cannot bear to speak of him, Connie stopped her, shuddering violently.
‘So many brave young men have been lost to this War, Iris told her quietly. ‘So many children made fatherless, that as a widow you will be far from alone.
It was obvious to her that Iris thought her pregnancy was the result of a reckless passion for a man who either could not, or would not, return to her.
Dry-eyed, Connie looked at her. The Captain might not be dead, but she certainly wished he was. And she wished the child she was carrying inside her might die also.
The child she was carrying inside her! A furious anger seized her. A child created out of lust and brutality; out of bestiality; forced upon her. Connie wanted to scream out the truth and with it her own pain and anger. But who here, knowing her as she had been, would believe her? There was no point in telling Iris the truth. No point in telling anyone. She was condemned already by her own past.
She closed her eyes and protested passionately, ‘I do not want this. I do not want any of it.’ Her misery broke through her self-control and her voice trembled as she cried out, ‘I cannot bear it.’
‘You must bear it, Connie,’ Iris chided her firmly. ‘You must bear it as you will bear your child, with fortitude and strength. Believe me, there is no other way for you, and hard though it must seem now, one day your child will thank you for what you have done. For the respectability you have given it. The plain truth is that a bastard child must always carry a slur on its name, and so must its mother.’
Connie looked down at the rings she was wearing. ‘You have already taken the decision out of my hands.’
‘For your own good.’
Connie gave a small sigh. ‘I understand that, of course Iris. I know it is better for everyone’s sake including my own.’ There was no point in her arguing the matter any further.
‘I am trying to help you, Connie, although it may not seem so to you now,’ Iris told her firmly, as though she had guessed what she was thinking.
‘If you really want to help me, then will you please tell Ellie that I do not need to spend any more time in bed,’ Connie asked her ruefully. ‘I
am used to working, Iris, not being mollycoddled, and besides …
She stopped, reluctant to admit to Iris that without the busyness of her work to keep her occupied, the time seemed to drag, her days filled with too many hours in which to brood on her own misery. Too many hours in which to dwell helplessly and hopelessly, on impossible might-have-beens, and her even more impossible love for Harry.
‘Of course, but you must not overtax yourself. Oh, and I nearly forgot, I have brought some letters and notes that have been left at the Infirmary for you.
Connie took them eagerly, immediately looking for Mavis’s familiar handwriting.
There were two letters from her friend; one which Mavis had obviously written in great anxiety having heard of Connie’s accident, and then another written later which was far more formal and stilted. It offered her condolences on Connie’s loss of her husband. Connie knew immediately on reading it, that Mavis was as shocked and hurt as she would have been herself, to receive such news of a close friend at second hand. And, of course, Connie could not write back and explain.
>
A tear squeezed its way into Connie’s eye and rolled down her face to land on the letter. More than ever right now she longed for Mavis’s friendship and understanding, but her condition meant that she had forfeited her right to them.
‘I understand that you have left Liverpool and returned to your family in Preston, to await the birth of your child. Oh, Connie, how can it be that so much has happened to you, and I have not known? You were my dearest friend.’
Were … Connie closed her hand over the letter and gulped back a sob. There was no point in her writing back, other than to acknowledge Mavis’s good wishes for her future. No point at all. If she were ever to see Mavis again, she would be afraid that she might blurt out the truth to her and she could not do that!
‘There will be plenty of room in the nursery for the new little one, Connie,’ Ellie gave a small sigh. ‘I own that I had hoped that Gideon and I would have more children of our own, but it seems it is not to be. I can’t wait for term to end and Philip to be home. He takes more after Mother than Father, Connie. We were so worried that Aunt Jepson would not allow him to come to live with us permanently, but Gideon was so wonderful, he finally managed to gain her consent.’
Connie frowned as she struggled with a sharp spear of jealousy. It hurt hearing Ellie talk of Philip, their youngest brother, who she herself had not seen since he had been a baby.
Our aunts had no right to separate us all the way they did,’ she told Ellie fiercely.
It was mother’s wish,’ Ellie reminded her. But I have so much wished that I might have been older and braver so that we might have stayed together. She gave a small sigh, which Connie deliberately ignored. ‘You will be astonished when you see John. He is a man now, and our father all over again, only larger.
‘And what of Father? You have said very little of him, Connie pointed out.
‘He is not in the best of health, Connie, but I hesitate to interfere or say too much. He has married Maggie after all, and she and I do not see eye to eye. John sees more of him than I do. Our Aunt Gibson has been asking after you by the way.
‘And what exactly has she been asking, or can I guess?
Ellie’s face flushed slightly, and she looked up at Connie. They were in her pretty parlour where she had suggested that she and Connie might spend the blustery, wet, late April day stitching clothes for the coming baby.
Helpless and dependent though she sometimes felt living under Ellie’s anxious care, Connie knew in reality how fortunate she was that Ellie had been so willing to take her in. Knowing that though, and being able to feel grateful for it, were two very different things!
‘There are matters appertaining to your coming child that need to be discussed, Connie, Ellie told her quietly, adding reassuringly, ‘it is nothing very much, Connie, only what I know Iris has already discussed with you. She broke off and looked at Connie before continuing gently, I don’t want to distress you and I understand how painful … That is … but dearest, I am concerned that people will gossip … and … well, I thought that it would be best if everything were to be made clear at the outset … so that when you and the baby do go out amongst our family and friends, their questions …’
Connie kept her head bent over her stitching, whilst guilt and humiliation flooded through her.
‘Oh, Connie, I am distressing you and that is the last thing …’ She heard Ellie sigh. What I am trying to say, is that for your own sake, Connie, it would be better if a little more is known about your past life and your husband.’
Connie shuddered wretchedly, her needle slipping and pricking into her finger leaving a small drop of blood on the tiny white garment.
Immediately Ellie put down her own sewing and went to her, sitting at her side and putting her arms around her.
Oh, my poor sister, you must have loved him so! If you were married to him, my love …’ Ellie paused hesitantly.
‘And if I were not?’ Connie asked her angrily.
She could hear Ellie making a small sound of protest.
What was happening to her? Connie wondered miserably. She was behaving, reacting, more like the Connie of old than the sensible woman she now prided herself on being.
‘Connie, this is painful for both of us I know, but it has to be said. If you were not, then for your own sake you must at all times, in public at least, behave as though you were!
‘What you are saying, Ellie, is that I should claim the sanctity of widowhood, and a husband killed fighting for his country, whether or not I have a right to it. Connie’s mouth twisted painfully, as she thought to herself how she wished that that might be so: that the Captain might be killed, for that way she would know that she would never have to bear the humiliation of seeing him again.
‘Connie, please let us not quarrel over this, Ellie pleaded anxiously. ‘I know that Iris has already spoken of this matter with you, and with the Infirmary as well.’
Connie couldn’t bear any more! The weight of her shame already weighed so heavily on her, and she didn’t think she could endure having to live a lie for the rest of her life!
Ignoring Ellie’s plea to her to stay, she ran to the door and pulled it open, heading for the sanctuary of her bedroom to throw herself on the bed and give way to her tears. She felt as though her shame and her grief were burned into her, and would brand her for ever.
She heard a soft knock on the bedroom door and just had time to dry her eyes and sit up before Ellie came in, her own eyes bright with tears. ‘Connie, please don’t be upset.
‘How can I not be? You all want the eyes of the world to see me as a respectable widow. But what if I am not, Ellie? What will you do then? Throw me out of doors … leave me to the fate you must think I deserve?’
Connie, you must not think such a thing!’ Ellie protested in distress. No matter what, I shall never part with you. Never!’ Emotionally Ellie reached for her hand. You are my sister, and I know you. I know your loving, impulsive heart, I know that, whilst you may sometimes act without thinking of all the consequences, you would never give any part of yourself where you did not love.’
A huge lump of unexpected emotion had lodged in Connie’s throat. She hadn’t known that Ellie knew her so well, nor judged her so lovingly. For a heartbeat of time she longed, ached, to unburden herself to her sister and reveal her pain, but the caution life had taught her, stopped her.
All I am trying to say to you is that if we were to offer a little information about your … about your situation in an open and natural way – if we were to say, for instance, that you have been widowed by the War, perhaps that your husband was a soldier whom you nursed and whose family live in another part of the country, then you and your child will be treated as we would want you to be treated.
You are to be a mother soon, Connie, and when you are, I promise you, you will want to do things for your child that you would not do for yourself. You will want to protect and guard it with a passion and a fierceness that will be greater than anything you have ever known. There will be no sacrifice you will not want to make.’
‘No!’ White-faced, Connie stopped her, her vehemence shocking Ellie into silence. ‘No,’ she repeated fiercely. ‘I have made all the sacrifices – and more –
that any woman could make for this … this …
‘Say whatever you want to about me, Ellie, she told her sister wearily a moment later. ‘Tell the world and our Aunt Gibson, that I am a poor widow whose husband died bravely on the field of battle, if that is what makes you happy, but make sure that you tell them as well not to pry into my pain, or my past!
‘So Connie, Ellie says that your late husband was a soldier. Presumably, he did not hold any rank, but what of his family? According to what I have heard, when Iris chanced to find you you were working as a nurse!
Their Aunt Gibson could not have made either her distaste or her disbelief clearer, Connie reflected, as she sat in the stuffy parlour of her Winckley Square house, forced to endure Amelia Gibson’s questions.
> As Connie had quickly discovered, despite all Ellie’s kindnesses to her, and her attempts to spoil her with small treats and draw her into her own busy social life, Connie desperately missed the hospital and her work.
It seemed impossible to her now that she had ever desperately craved and wanted the kind of life her elder sister and their cousins lived. Morning calls, afternoon calls, the ordering of what few servants the War had left them, and all the other activities that went to make that life, chafed now at Connie as though they were a hair shirt.
She had already extracted a promise from Iris that, on her next visit, she would take Connie with her to the Preston hospital where she did some of her work.
‘But why would you want to do such a thing?’ Ellie had asked perplexed and slightly horrified.
Professional curiosity,’ Connie had replied immediately.
Ellie had promptly taken hold of her hand as though she thought Connie in need of comfort and reassurance, telling her, But dearest, you have no need to concern yourself with any of that any more. Your home is here with us now.’
Ellie, you don’t understand,’ Connie had had to protest. ‘I miss my work … and the Infirmary.’
A small frown had crinkled Ellie’s smooth forehead, and she had looked upset and slightly disapproving. Connie, you are soon to be a mother!’
‘Does that mean I can’t be anything else? Thousands of mothers are working, Ellie.’
Because they have to. You will not have to, and besides … Well, it wouldn’t be fitting for you to return to nursing, Connie.’
‘Why on earth not?’
Ellie had given her a reproachful look, Gideon is a wealthy man, and I … both of us, want you to have every comfort you need.’
Bored with listening to their aunt’s hectoring pronouncements, Connie looked across to where Ellie was in conversation with their cousin Cecily on the other side of the room.
Like her, Ellie was shrouded in head-to-toe black, as befitted the sister of a newly-widowed woman, Ellie having made it public, bearing in mind Connie’s pregnancy, that her husband was only recently deceased.
Connie’s Courage Page 26