Song of Songs

by Song of Songs (retail) (epub)

  That evening after dinner Gerald led me into the music room again. ‘Sing for me, Helena,’ he commanded. I went gladly to the piano and my fingers began to move over the keys. Without thinking I found myself playing the opening bars of ‘Gretchen am Spinnrad’. I sang as the girl enslaved by her love for Faust, whose peace had been destroyed because she cared only for him. And the passion, the burning desire of Gretchen swept through me as I sang of the touch of his hand, and his kiss. My eyes were fixed on the man sitting opposite me, my body was heavy with longing:

  ‘An seinen Kussen

  Vergehen sollt!’

  Under his kisses I should die. My heart beat hot in my breast as I sang the last stanza:

  ‘Mein Ruh ist hin,

  Mein Herz ist schwer

  Ich finde sie nimmer

  Und nimmermehr.’

  As I struck the last note I stood up and moved towards him, my hands outstretched. He was on his feet at once. He spoke lightly. ‘Dear me, Helena, how dramatic you are – we’ll have you singing Brunnhilde next!’

  I stopped, suddenly, feeling very foolish; my arms dropped to my sides. He circled round me towards the piano. ‘Perhaps I could persuade you to accompany me, now. Let’s see, have you the music for “Where’er you walk?”’

  I felt dull and heavy. ‘I can play that from memory.’

  ‘I think I would like the score, though – perhaps you would look?’

  I went to the shelves and began to search. I was glad my back was to him. When I found Handel’s ‘Semele’ I carried it over to the piano. ‘It’s my copy, for a soprano…’

  ‘That will do for me too.’ So he was a tenor. I had not known, but there were so many things about him I did not know. I began to play.

  As his light, pleasant tenor sang: ‘Where’er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glades,’ my own hot cheeks were cooled, and my heaviness began to ease a little. ‘And all things flourish, where’er you turn your eyes,’ and his own eyes seemed to smile at me in love and forgiveness.

  After I had played the final bars I let my hands drop to rest on my lap. ‘You sing well, Gerald.’

  ‘Thank you. Perhaps when we are married you could give me a few tips on how to improve my performance. Shall we rejoin the others?’ He came towards me.

  I slipped my hand through his arm and held it, lightly. ‘When we are married’, he had said; I was reassured: he was not angry with me. I sat watching him as he talked to Alice. How lucky I was – but I had behaved like a silly impulsive child – it was time I grew up.

  Early next morning I was woken by the familiar cramping pains in my stomach. I was too ill to go down to breakfast; I lay in bed clutching my hot-water bottle and wept with pain and frustration.

  It was late in the afternoon before I was well enough to get up, and I was still tired and dull at dinner that evening. Afterwards I sat in the drawing room listening as my brothers and Gerald discussed the coverts at Bessingdon, and the prospects for the shooting this season. I sat silently watching them, my twins dark-haired and dark-eyed, so different from my lover. The fine tracery of lines round his eyes was very noticeable tonight; he looked much older than my brothers. But of course, he was much older than they were. I realized with a sense of dismay that I did not even know his age, only that he had been old enough to fight in the South African War. The twins were wrangling a point between themselves so I asked abruptly, ‘Gerald, how old are you?’ As soon as I had spoken I was aghast at my temerity.

  His face was surprised as he looked at me. ‘I shall be thirty-seven next April, Helena. I suppose that must seem quite ancient to you.’

  ‘No, no – of course not…’ I stumbled over my denials, and looked desperately towards my brothers.

  Robbie came swiftly to my rescue. ‘By the way, sir, I was going to ask you what you thought about the Irish affair – is there any chance of Ulster being excluded from Home Rule? After that massive gun-smuggling exploit in April it certainly looks as if the Unionists mean business.’ Gerald answered, authoritatively; my brothers listened, their faces respectful. I stayed very quiet; my tongue was so clumsy tonight, I dared not trust it again.

  But as I watched them, I felt deeply grateful that my brothers were on such good terms with my betrothed. I wanted the twins to come and stay often when I was married: I would miss them so much. And I was frightened by the thought of Bessingdon; would I be able to run it to Gerald’s satisfaction? And he would surely want me to entertain big house parties as Mother did at Hatton. I thought of my mother, always so gracious and clever, arranging the day so skilfully for her guests, keeping the conversational ball bouncing lightly across her dinner table with deft pats of wit and charm – I knew I could never hope to be such a hostess. Gerald would be disappointed in me; I would fail him.

  He looked across at me. Then he excused himself politely from my brothers and came over to my chair. His voice was kind. ‘You look tired, Helena, perhaps you should have an early night.’

  I stood up obediently and went to Mother. She scarcely glanced up. ‘Yes, run along Helena, if you want to.’

  Gerald held the door open for me. ‘Goodnight, Helena my dear.’

  ‘Goodnight, Gerald.’ I slipped through and heard the door close firmly behind me. I trailed slowly up the stairs to my bedroom; I felt very tired and the pad between my legs was sodden.

  Next morning Mother told me that it was time we returned to Town for the remainder of the Season. She said we would travel down after the weekend, on Monday, when Gerald left. It was obvious he had already told her of his plans and I was hurt that he had not spoken to me first. But he smiled across the table. ‘Helena, your mama wishes to begin her preparations for the wedding, we shall have to discuss a date.’ My heart leapt.

  After breakfast we walked down to the lower terrace and sat together in the sun. He told me Mother had talked of September – I felt a flutter of excitement – but then he said, his face grave, that he felt himself to be still in mourning – and there was Moira. So he had suggested next year – my heart sank – but Mother had insisted on December, as she wished the wedding to be at St George’s, Hanover Square – so if I were agreeable?

  ‘Yes, Gerald.’

  ‘December it is then – that should give you a chance to get your fripperies together. Where would you like to go for the wedding journey? I wondered if you’d care to revisit Germany, since you spent so long there – Munich, even – what do you say?’

  ‘Oh, yes please, Gerald – I should like that.’

  ‘Good – that seems to be all settled then.’

  I asked, a little hesitantly, ‘Will you be returning to London, when we go?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, there’s too much to do at Bessingdon at present.’ I felt my face fall. He smiled at me kindly. ‘But perhaps if Moira wrote to Lady Pickering, you might run up for a few days in August – would you like that? It would be very quiet.’

  ‘Please – oh, yes please.’

  ‘I’ll speak to her then. I’ll leave you now, my dear. Lord Pickering promised to take me round the farms this morning – one or two points I want to discuss with him – I’m not much of a landlord, yet.’ He stood up to go; I held out my hand but he did not see it. I turned and watched him stride up the steps: at the top he paused for a moment and waved; I waved back, then I went to look for my brothers.

  The twins decided to stay in Cheshire; they said London was too hot and stuffy now. The last weekend passed very quickly. Mother had invited a party for a Saturday-to-Monday, so the house was full of guests, and she said she supposed it was time she paid off some of her arrears of hospitality to local worthies, so there were two big dinner parties. I hoped Gerald would suggest that we walked in the garden afterwards, but he did not. Mother was pleased with him, because on Saturday he gallantly engaged in conversation with the elderly vicar of Lostherne, and shouted patiently down his ear trumpet for most of the evening. On Sunday he was equally persevering with old Miss Porteous; as Gerald nodde
d and smiled her withered face became quite pink and animated. I loved him for his kindness, but I would have liked to walk in the garden with him again, alone.

  On Monday he left before we did, for Bessingdon. He bent down and kissed my cheek, then strode off to the waiting motor. We followed two hours later. On the train to London I was desolate and tears filled my eyes – but I dared not let them spill over, or Mother would have been annoyed. Then she began to talk about bridesmaids, and I felt a little more cheerful.

  Guy came round to see us at Cadogan Place that evening; I ran to him and he hugged me tightly. ‘Hearty congratters, Hellie old girl – if you couldn’t manage to fall for a Grenadier, then I suppose the Life Guards are the next best thing!’

  Lance came round the next day with Pansy and their mother. While Pansy and Mrs Benson were talking to Mother he said to me quietly, ‘I hope you’ll be very happy, Helena.’

  ‘Thank you, Lance.’ I did not know what else to say. Then Guy joined us and they began to talk about the worsening situation in Ireland.

  ‘I hope we don’t get sent over there, Lance old boy – it’s going to be a nasty business. I’ve got some good friends among the Unionists – I don’t fancy having to order an attack on the streets of Belfast.’

  Lance looked serious. ‘Yes, civil war’s the worst kind – they say the King’s suggesting a conference at the Palace – let’s hope it comes off.’

  My thoughts drifted back to Gerald. I jumped when Lance got up to go – I had forgotten he was there.

  Moira Staveley wrote to me; her words were formal, but she said she had also written to Mother, inviting us both to visit Bessingdon in August. Mother’s jaw dropped a little as she read her letter. ‘How terribly old-fashioned – luckily I’ve already made a previous engagement – Maud will think of something. I’ll write the usual platitudes and send you by yourself with Liliane. Gerald will be a pleasant enough son-in-law, but he’s not the most exciting of men. Besides, I’ve got better things to do with my time than watch you mooning round over him, Helena. Still, you’ll come to your senses soon enough once you’re married – one man’s much the same as another as a husband – providing he’s got money of course, and there’s no doubt on that score. By the way Helena, it’s time I gave you some advice. Don’t go hunting the first winter, Gerald will want an heir as soon as possible, and jumping will only joggle your insides. Besides, I’ve always held that any woman worth her salt should give her husband at least two sons before she begins to relax and enjoy herself. Remember that, Helena – I don’t want a daughter of mine to fail in her duty.’ She swept out of the room. I glared at her retreating back – how could she speak so cynically about our marriage? I loved Gerald, and I always would. And he had pledged to be faithful to me; his vow in the garden at Hatton would live in my memory for ever.

  When I had calmed down I went up to my bedroom and composed a careful reply to Moira Staveley.

  At the end of the week I received a letter from Gerald. I slipped it inside the breast of my blouse, and did not open it until I was alone, but it was very matter of fact. He described what he had done each day at Bessingdon; Moira had ridden round the estate with him every morning – I felt a sharp stab of jealousy, then I remembered poor Stavey and was overcome with guilt. I wrapped his letter in tissue paper and tied it up with ribbon, together with the others I had had from him. I wrote back and told him of the dinner parties and dances Mother had taken me to – I wanted to tell him I cared nothing for them, and could only think of how I loved him – but I was too shy.

  Then one day Guy came round to lunch and he and Papa started to talk about the Balkans again. Apparently Austria was determined to teach Serbia a lesson after all. They became excited and forgot their lamb cutlets and began to talk of fighting. But of course Serbia was much too small to take on the Austro-Hungarian Empire – even I knew that – she would have to give in. In the afternoon Mother took me to look at monograms for my trousseau linen.

  But that Sunday, Guy arrived at breakfast time, waving a copy of The Times. ‘War’s broken out in the Serb states!’ Papa was at his elbow, I heard their excited voices: ‘Russia’, ‘France’, ‘Berchtold’, ‘Von Bulow’, ‘Luxembourg – the Germans are invading Luxembourg!’

  I said stupidly, ‘But the war’s in Serbia – why should the Germans invade Luxembourg?’

  Guy began a long tirade about allies – Russia – the Kaiser – France. I listened bewildered as strong fingers stabbed at the maps in the newspaper.

  On Bank Holiday Monday the Regatta was abandoned at Cowes, and Parliament met in the afternoon. The headlines screamed: ‘France Invaded’, ‘Germany’s Ultimatum to Belgium’. France, Belgium – but they were so near!

  On Tuesday morning I was playing the piano in the morning room when the footman threw open the door: ‘Lord Staveley, my lady.’ It was Gerald. I jumped up and ran to him. He caught me to him in a quick hug, then set me to one side and began to stride up and down the room; his eyes were shining, his face glowing – I had never seen him so excited.

  ‘It’s war, Helena – it must come. We can’t stand aside now, our very honour is at stake. I’ve seen old Birch – I’ll be back in uniform this afternoon.’ He threw back his head and laughed with joy.

  I was in a turmoil. I saw Gerald, Gerald in his red tunic and gleaming breastplate, thundering into battle with the white plume on his helmet streaming out in the wind, his sword shining in the sun – and excitement coursed through me. But then, from long ago came the words: ‘Hellie – Jem’s dead’, and fear closed my throat. And as I stood dumb he bent down and kissed me quickly and turned away, calling his farewells as he left.

  All day I waited apprehensively – surely something would be done, somebody would act? But it was too late; by the afternoon the newsboys were shouting in the streets: ‘British Ultimatum to Germany – War at Midnight!’

  I went to bed early that night, and hid my head under the covers. First thing next morning I sent Liliane down for the paper. I opened it with shaking hands and read the stark black capitals:

  WAR DECLARED

  I handed the paper back to Liliane and went over to the little heap of elegant embroidered monogram patterns on my bureau. I carefully wrapped them in tissue paper before I put them in the back of the drawer and pushed it shut. It closed with a soft decisive click.

  Part III

  AUGUST 1914 to SEPTEMBER 1916

  Chapter One

  Gerald and Guy went first.

  Gerald came round to Cadogan Place in the morning; a strange Gerald in khaki and gleaming riding boots – a soldier now. His blue eyes were sparkling, his face alive. As he talked quickly and confidently to my parents my gaze dropped to his breast, to the scarlet and blue ribbon of the medal he had won in an earlier war. Now his sword hung again by his hip and he was going to war once more.

  He stood up – he was making his farewells – and I had said nothing. The words of love and longing stayed glued to my tongue in the formal drawing room before my parents. He came forward and took my hand; I held my face up to him and he kissed me quickly, then turned to go. I called after him, ‘Take care – oh Gerald, do take care!’ He looked back and smiled, his face amused, and I realized how stupid I had sounded – how could a soldier take care?

  I went upstairs and wept until Liliane came to tell me that Guy had come to say goodbye. I ran down, the tears still damp on my cheeks; and now the khaki-clad officer in the drawing room was tall and dark – my brother. He smiled and caught me to him. ‘I haven’t got long, Hellie – we’re off this evening. What luck I’m attached to the Second Battalion – the First are still kicking their heels in the barracks at Warley. There’ll be nobody left for them to fight by the time they get over to France!’

  My parents came in; I sat down quickly, close to my brother, and gazed at his beloved face, so happy and excited. And as they all talked of the war I realized with a shock that he was already wearing a leather holster – here, in Mother’s elegan
t drawing room, he was carrying a revolver.

  I was still downstairs at the piano when yet another man in khaki came to bid me farewell: Lance Benson. He came towards me shyly, his fair face flushed; there was no light in his eyes – only a stoic determination. ‘So it’s come, I’m glad it’s not Ireland, at least – if I have to fight I’d rather fight foreigners – but, Helena, I wish I didn’t have to fight at all.’ And as I heard him, for a moment I felt contempt; then it was swallowed up in a rush of affection. Dear Lance, my partner so often at the piano and on the dance floor, who once had even asked me to marry him; Lance who had never wanted to be a soldier, and who now was going to war.

  I jumped up and ran forward and flung my arms round his neck and pressed my cheek against his. ‘Oh Lance, take care, do take care!’

  I felt his arms tighten round me and the brush of his kiss on my ear, then he released me, gently. ‘Thank you, Helena. Goodbye.’ He turned and walked quickly out, a thin scholarly figure, but a soldier now.

  Pansy came round the next morning and burst into tears. I knew I should try to comfort her, but I did not know how. I sat looking at her helplessly while she held my hand and whispered in broken sobs her fears for Lance and Guy.

  A couple of days later the twins arrived from Hatton before dinner. They were in tearing spirits; they had pulled all the strings they knew how, and would soon be in receipt of two temporary commissions in the Lancashire and Cheshire Light Infantry. I said, ‘But you’re not soldiers!’