by Mary Wood
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, but it was a reaction to your filthy insinuations. And how dare you call Lady Andrina a whore? Get back to your work, and leave me alone. I’m not going to look at you now, so I won’t know what you’re saying – just go!’
Oh God, the servants are gossiping! How long before Mama and Daddy hear of what I am up to?
The gate gave its usual creak as she opened it. As if sensing her presence, Jay looked towards her. ‘Lady Andrina?’
‘Yes, Jay, it’s me.’
‘Oh God, you didn’t hear, did you?’
‘Yes. It is very worrying. If Father finds out . . .’
‘Well, you may not have to worry about that. I have news. I’ve learned something about the truth of my birth—’
His voice went into a moan as his body slumped to the ground. Florrie stood over him, wielding a bloodied spade, as if about to hit him again. Andrina’s scream stopped her.
As she turned on Andrina, spittle sprayed from Florrie’s mouth. Her blackened teeth ground together in a snarl. ‘You stole me man! You’re nothing but a whore. He’s nothing to you. Well, if I can’t have him, neither can you!’
The spade came down on Jay’s head once more. Blood squirted in Andrina’s direction and splattered her frock. Lunging at Florrie, Andrina thwarted her attempt to land another blow, but the movement unbalanced them both. As she fell backwards, Andrina was unable to stop the full force of her body hitting the ground; a jolt thudded through her, taking her breath from her.
Florrie was quicker than Andrina to recover, and was up and standing over her before she could draw the air back into her lungs. Glancing up, she saw the sun reflect off the spade held high above Florrie’s head. Venom spewed from the maid’s frothing mouth. ‘I hate you. I hate the stinking lot of you!’
Andrina knew that she’d screamed, but didn’t hear her own voice, as darkness descended on her and all sound went into the black hole that swallowed her.
From her position in the hall just outside her father’s study, Eloise listened with horror to what her father related to Mama. ‘Sixty thousand casualties! Oh, my dear, what will happen, what will happen? They say that, of the sixty thousand, twenty thousand were fatal. And this all happened on the first day of the new offensive.’
As she heard him outline the battles that were taking place in Albert, Longueval and Bazentin, Eloise found it difficult to imagine the horror erupting in these towns with such nice-sounding names. She wondered how Edith was coping, and if she and her brothers were safe. These thoughts were ended suddenly as her father’s voice rose in anger. ‘What the blazes does that idiot Haig think he is playing at? He is responsible for the lives of our boys!’
The sound of the gentle weeping of her mama compounded her fears. But then Father’s next words put a dampener on her own plans and further upset her. ‘Felicity, whatever you do, you must dissuade Eloise from going. I would prefer her to see the error of her plans to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment, but if you cannot get such a result, then I will strictly forbid her and refuse to sign the papers.’
‘But, mon cher, you cannot do this. Eloise is a young woman with a mind of her own.’
‘I can, and I will. Women do not have minds of their own! It isn’t like in France, my dear. Women here have to obey their father until they are married, and then they obey their husband.’
‘Ha! I abhor that stupid rule. I never obey you!’
Time to go, Eloise thought, as her father’s voice became soft and held loving amusement. ‘I know you don’t, you little minx. Come here and give me some comfort, for I am out of sorts today . . . Aah! I thought you would obey that order.’
Before Eloise had taken many steps away from the door a shout halted her. ‘Your Lordship, come quickly.’ Eloise turned back round towards the study, only to see the astonishing sight of Jorrington, their usually sedate butler, running and hollering at the top of his voice.
‘What has happened?’ she asked, shouting louder than him.
‘In the kitchen garden, M’lady. Hurry, hurry!’
Lifting the hem of her day-frock, Eloise fled, knowing that her father and Mama were only a few steps behind her.
‘Eloise? Where is Andrina – why isn’t she with you?’
Eloise’s blood ran cold as a scream took the space around them and stopped her from answering her father.
Maggie, the downstairs maid, appeared at that moment as if from nowhere. ‘They’re in the kitchen garden. Oh my God, she’s murdered him!’
Eloise sped across the lawn, desperate to find out what had happened and to shake the mounting fear inside her. Flinging open the garden gate gave witness to a scene of horror: Florrie wielded a spade, while Jay lay unconscious on the ground, and next to him . . .
‘No, no!’ was all she could utter as she looked at her beautiful sister. Andrina lay unmoving, her face covered in blood, her eyes staring into space. Empty eyes. Dead eyes.
‘She stole me man! I had to kill her. I had to kill them both!’
Eloise drew in a deep breath as she stared at the demented Florrie. With this, a pain seared her, burning her lungs and clenching her heart till it felt as though it would snap in two.
‘Stop it! Stop it now!’ Her father’s command stayed Florrie’s hand, just as she was about to bring the shovel down once more on Andrina. Turning towards them, Florrie’s eyes flared as she stared at them in turn.
Mama stood like a statue; Father was angry and shaking with fear; several maids were crying, their bodies quivering with shock; and the butler, dear Jorrington, looked back at her with tears running down his cheeks. None of them moved or made a sound. An animal-like noise broke the silence as Florrie charged forward, dashing between the wall of people and out of the gate.
An anguished cry of ‘Mon bébé, mon bébé!’ brought reality back to Eloise. Mama flung herself down next to Andrina and held her lifeless body, muttering over and over, ‘Mon bébé.’
Father moved forward. Taking Mama in his arms and prising her away from Andrina, he said, ‘Come inside, my darling. Jorrington will see to things.’
This grated on Eloise. ‘How can he? How can anyone see to things! Oh, Daddy. Andrina, Andrina!’ Her father rose and was by her side in a flash. His strong arms grasped her just as her legs buckled. ‘Make it right, Daddy, make everything right again.’
The tears raining down his cheeks mingled with those on hers, as he whispered, ‘I cannot, my darling. Oh God!’
A stillness had descended on this beautiful house that Eloise had loved. A stillness that held the cloying sadness of the death of Andrina. It was a sadness that Eloise thought would never lift.
Rossworth Hall had been her sanctuary, the place she loved most in the world. It would never be the same again. Nor would she ever look on the magnificent parkland and find the peace it had always given her.
Life was unfair. Why should Jay live and Andrina die? At this moment she hated Jay and wanted him dead, too. He was just as responsible for Andrina’s death as Florrie was. He had lured Andrina, played on her silly fantasies. He should hang, just as surely as Florrie would.
This thought had hardly died in her when the door of the drawing room opened. Her eyes hurt as she took them away from what she’d always thought of as a calming view across the lawns with their beautifully trimmed bushes and trees, but which now she’d stared at without registering. Her father, aged by many years in the few hours since the shocking event, entered the room.
‘Are you all right, my dear? Your mama has been given something to make her sleep. The doctor is still here and wonders if you want anything to help you?’
‘I will never be all right again, Father. But no, I don’t want anything, thank you. I want to think, I want to imagine . . . Oh, Daddy, help me!’
He crossed over to her and she went into his arms. Snuggling into the smooth cloth of his evening jacket, it struck her as odd that he should have bothered to change his clothes, but then he must have felt that ke
eping things normal would help.
‘There, there, my dear, try to be brave for Mama.’
‘I will, Daddy. I will.’
‘It will take us a long time to come to terms with it all, but if we help each other, we will get through this. Now, my dear, I want to talk to you. Are you up to it? There is further news on Jay. The doctor says he is still unconscious, but that he is improving. He can be moved now, and will be taken to hospital. His mother has been informed and she is naturally very distressed. I have arranged for her to be taken to him.’
Eloise made no reply to this. Her father gave a little cough that she knew meant he had more to say. She cringed at what it might be.
‘Eloise, I have to ask: what was going on, do you know? Andrina wasn’t . . . No, she wouldn’t. Florrie was demented. We cannot take any notice of what she said. Andrina wouldn’t look at someone like Jay, I . . .’
‘She did, Daddy. Andrina had a silly fascination for Jay, but I hadn’t wanted to worry you, as I thought it would pass. He is responsible, Father. Jay lured Andrina. He played on her infatuation.’
‘Good God! And you didn’t think to tell me or your mother this was going on? That a servant and your sister—’
A knock at the door stopped him from going on. Jorrington announced that the police would like a word.
It was an hour later when Eloise discovered that Florrie had been found. She’d hanged herself. Eloise wasn’t sure how to deal with this news. Everything seemed so unreal. Changed forever. How could a normal day end in such shocking tragedy? Oh, Andrina, my darling sister . . . how can I live without you?
8
Albert and Jimmy
Abbeville Camp and Stores, mid-July 1916
A thread holds us to life: Jimmy’s breaks
‘I don’t believe it was an accident. Had you not come across James O’Flynn when you did, he would have done this deed anyway.’
For a moment Albert couldn’t think who this James was, then realized that the officer was referring to young Jimmy. This was a formal hearing, so they would use his proper name. ‘No, sir, it wasn’t like that. The lad was shaking, but not with fear; he was shaking with the ’orror of what he’d seen and realizing that ’is friends hadn’t made it. We all do that. Sometimes it lasts a while, and at other times it goes as we get on with ’elping the wounded. Young Jimmy ain’t a coward. He’s one of the bravest lads I’ve fought alongside.’
‘So how come his gun was loaded and ready to fire? What was he going to fire at, if not himself, to inflict an injury that would get him out of here? The battle was over, so he’d no need to be prepared for attack.’
‘He must ’ave forgotten to unload, sir. He would ’ave come round. He was in a bad way mentally, but he . . .’
‘Exactly! Afraid, and wanting to take the coward’s way out.’
‘No!’
‘Yes, I think so, Corporal. It is admirable that you want to protect him, but where would we be, if we let these cowards off? All the men would be doing the same – shooting themselves just to get home.’
“Ow the fuck dare you—’
‘Corporal, I would remind you who you are speaking to!’
‘And I would remind you, Captain Blakley, that you are out of order speaking of the ranks in that manner.’ General Ickmey’s voice resounded around the wooden barrack room that was being used for young Jimmy’s court martial. It was one of a dozen huts not far from the hospital tents, which were mostly used for stores, although some were used as rest rooms for the men and officers when they took a short break from the front. This one in particular was used as an officers’ mess.
General Ickmey presided over the proceedings and was known as a fair man when dealing with the ranks, though Albert doubted that would make a difference to Jimmy’s fate. But now as the general continued, his voice booming, his words made Albert feel pride – a pride that nudged the hopelessness of Jimmy’s case to one side, just for a moment. . . ‘And might I say that to address such a callous remark to Corporal Price, who has seen so many heroes from the ranks die and has been mentioned in Dispatches, is beyond the pale. Yes, there are cowards amongst the men, but to put them all under the same heading is an insult to the thousands of brave men who have lost their lives and to those still willing to fight for their country.’ After a moment’s pause he turned to Albert and said, ‘However, Corporal Price, this is a court martial, and I will not allow such language, or indeed outbursts of any kind.’
‘I beg your pardon, General Ickmey, sir. Thank you for what you said.’
‘Very well, let us proceed. Captain Blakley, I think we have heard enough evidence now to come to a conclusion. Please round up your questioning.’
Standing and clicking his heels, the captain narrowed his eyes. ‘No more questions for this witness, sir.’
Albert rose and went to sit behind Jimmy. It had only been four days since the incident and the lad looked drained. His eyes were glazed and a dreadful trembling shook his body. Couldn’t they see the lad wasn’t right?
Albert wanted to say something to Jimmy, but knew that if he did he might be removed from the room and he wanted to listen to the summing-up of the evidence given when he hadn’t been in the courtroom. Evidence that gave no hope. Evidence taken from the lad who had told Albert about seeing Jimmy in the trench. His testimony alone – relating that he’d seen Jimmy cowering in a corner, sweating and shaking and then reloading his gun – must have sealed the boy’s fate. Then came a summary of the evidence from the medical staff who had treated Jimmy. Edith, his own Edith, had said that the injury could have been self-inflicted, though he guessed she would have tried to qualify that, by saying that she believed the circumstances under which she was told it had happened. But then even if that was so (and he hadn’t been present during her stand, so didn’t know for sure), no such possibility was permitted in this one-sided summing-up. As the officer’s voice droned on, his tone mocking any idea of Jimmy’s innocence, Albert listened with a sinking heart to the final nail in Jimmy’s coffin being hammered home, as he heard what had been told to the court by the VAD who had worked with Jimmy. She had said that Jimmy told her he had intended suicide.
Albert’s fears deepened with every word uttered by the prosecuting officer.
Once the officer came to the end of his summing-up, every man to the last one knew the outcome. There could be no other, but when Albert heard the general say the words, the bile rose in his stomach.
‘James O’Flynn, you are stripped of the honour of being a member of His Majesty’s Forces and have been found to be a coward. Punishment for this offence is death. You will be taken out at dawn and shot. May God have mercy on your soul.’
A sob came into the silence that followed. It was a weak sob, but the sound cut a deep pain into Albert’s heart. He had to do something – anything – to save Jimmy.
As he walked back to the soldiers’ rest room from the officers’ mess hut Albert’s heart felt heavy with dread. The decision to end Jimmy’s life had been cut-and-dried for the officers. You fought or you were a coward, and that was that. Well, Jimmy had fought; he’d gone over the top without protest and had charged gallantly into the fray, not faltering. And now, for a moment of madness, he was going to die at the hands of his own comrades. Well, here’s one who isn’t going to fire a bullet at him. Nothing is as sure as that. I’ll be called upon, no doubt, but I won’t fire, and I don’t care what happens to me as a consequence!
The summons came within the hour. Albert spat on the ground in disgust. Twelve of them had received the order. Besides himself, the lad who’d testified and hadn’t stopped sniffling since had also been charged to be one of the line-up to fire at Jimmy. They were in the mess hut when it came: a written instruction to fall in for firing-squad duty at 3 a.m. the next morning.
None of them spoke for a full ten minutes. To Albert, it had been settled. How come these particular men were here, ready? Some had given evidence, but not all, and not all had been due a re
st break either.
The sound of the battle raging in the distance took the space around them. Albert wondered how many would die today, and knew all would be classed as heroes. Jimmy deserved that accolade. Jimmy is a hero – he is! ‘Damn it, ’e is!’
‘Did you say sommat, Corp?’
He hadn’t realized that he had, but now he knew he’d sworn out loud. ‘Look, lads, it’s odds-on that all of us will be dead sometime in the near future. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want yet another one of our comrades’ blood on me ’ands before I die. As Corporal, I’ll be the one to prepare the guns. I’m going to make sure that I’m one of the ones with the live bullet in me gun, and I’m firing above Jimmy’s ’ead.’
‘But, Corporal, sir, you’ll end up shot yourself!’
‘I don’t care, Brigsy. I’m not shooting young Jimmy, are any of yer with me? You all know the score, some live bullets, some blank. A daft system that’s meant to ’elp us believe that we didn’t shoot the deadly bullet. But we all know if we did or didn’t because the live bullets give a kick-back and the blanks don’t.’
‘What’s your thinking, Corp?’ Brigsy asked.
‘If you’re with me I could make sure who gets the live bullets, and them as do will ’ave to agree to fire above Jimmy’s head. Then he won’t die. And, if that is so, then surely no one could be so inhuman as to make a lad face the firing squad twice, so I see it as a way to try to save ’im.’
‘Aye, I’m with you on that, Corp. I’m not for shooting a fellow northerner, especially one who has shown the courage that Jimmy has. I’ll take a live bullet and fire it above Jimmy’s head, and I’ll take the consequences.’
‘But you’ll be court-martialled.’ This, from Gates, got short shrift from Brigsy: ‘Aye, we knows that. But seeing as the Corp is willing to face that, then the least we can all do is to support him.’ Brigsy looked around at all those called upon.
One by one they agreed. Names were put into a hat and those to have live ammunition didn’t falter on their decision. The talk went to the spark of hope Albert’s plan had given, as they all felt the hopelessness of their lives. And all said words to the effect that if a bullet had their name on it in the near future, they would have a better passing, knowing they had saved Jimmy. Better than dying at the top of the trench and dropping face-down into the mud, having advanced no more than ten yards in a bloody killing field.