by Mary Wood
She closed her eyes against the accusations she knew he was forming in his mind. A tear squeezed through her eyelids. It ran down her cheek, leaving a cold trail, but she wouldn’t let others follow it. That would mean an avalanche of them, so she swallowed hard and told herself that it didn’t matter what folk thought. What did anything matter, any more?
But this changed to a deep anxiety as the doctor said, ‘Nurse, go and fetch one of the policemen here.’ Then turned to Joe and said, ‘This looks serious – he could die. I advise you to stay here until the policeman arrives, which shouldn’t be long, as the hospital is crawling with them. They are dealing with the aftermath of the explosion. I am sure they will want to talk to you.’
As they left the room with Paddy on a stretcher, Joe sat down heavily in the chair he’d vacated. Ada didn’t know what to think or feel, and even less what to say. All that had happened in the last twenty-four hours had left her stunned. Now Paddy, her husband of twenty-odd years, could die! God, what next? What next?
‘I’m sorry, Ada. I only acted in self-defence. I – I didn’t mean to hurt him badly. It was just one of me throws that I’d learned. You see, I often get called names for being here and not over in France, and on occasions it gets nasty and someone will attack me. If it’s a bloke – say one in middle age that hasn’t been called up, and they look strong enough – I defend meself by throwing them and then, when they are disabled, I tell them why I can’t go and what I am doing instead. That seems to sort things out. I promise, I never meant—’
‘I know. I saw what happened.’
‘I doubt anyone will take your word. You only have a small amount of vision in the one eye. And it is well known that I am sweet on you, Ada. They will say I attacked your husband because of that!’
‘It’s alreet, Joe. Nothing can happen – it was self-defence. Paddy’s strong; he’ll come through. It’ll take more than a blow on the head to do my Paddy in.’
‘You said “my Paddy”. I thought you didn’t have any feelings for him, lass, I thought . . .’
‘I do have feelings for him, but nothing like I have for—’
The ward door opened and a policeman marched in. ‘You. What is your name?’
‘Joe Grinsdale, sir.’
Turning to her, the policeman said, ‘Ada O’Flynn?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I understand the man attacked in here just a few minutes ago is Paddy O’Flynn, your husband?’
Something in his voice frightened her. She could only nod her head.
‘Well, I’m sorry to say he died of his injuries as they were carrying him to the emergency station.’ A painful gasp choked Ada. Her ears wouldn’t give her the truth of the words the policeman was saying. But the reality of it hit her as she heard him say, ‘Joe Grinsdale, I am arresting you for the murder of Paddy O’Flynn . . .’
Murder! Paddy dead! Naw – naw! Her voice took on a mind of its own as, following a low, agonizing moan, she said, ‘Naw, he didn’t do it. Paddy swung at him. Joe just threw him in self-defence!’
‘More concerned for your lover than your husband, eh? Sounds like the poor chap had a reason for taking a swing. Anyway we’ll let the judge and jury decide whether he’s guilty or not. All we know is that we have one dead man, and standing in front of me is the man who is responsible for his death.’
The clink of the handcuffs resounded around the room. Joe looked at her. His expression showed both fear and sorrow.
‘It’ll be alreet, Joe. I’ll tell them it was self-defence, I’ll tell them!’ But before she had finished saying it, the policeman had manhandled Joe out of the door.
Resting her head back, Ada looked upwards and cursed God. Why? Why? What have I ever done to deserve all you throw at me? Well, you can take this as me last prayer, ’cause all me others have fallen on your deaf ears. From now on, it’s me. Me, on me own, but I’ll show you. You’ll not beat me!
Her tears, and the desperate feelings inside her, didn’t go with these words, but she meant every one of them. God had taken the last of her family, and in circumstances that meant the man she loved had gone as well. She dared not think about how she would face the future, if Joe hanged.
Without Paddy? Oh, aye, I’ll feel his loss, but he deserved what came to him. Now he’ll be with the boys. This thought gave her more pain. All of them together. A deep loneliness settled inside her and brought forth a cry of, ‘Naw . . . naw. I can’t bear it, I can’t!’
‘Now, now, you have to keep calm. Crying will give you more pain and may exacerbate your condition.’ The posh voice of the nurse held kindness, but what she said next sounded judgemental. ‘I have heard it said, up here in the North, that you can’t have your chips and have a pie, too. I don’t know your circumstances, but from what is being said . . .’
‘I didn’t have naw pie, and I had very few chips, come to that. All I’ve ever had since this war broke out has been heartache. You don’t know me, lass. When you’ve given three sons to your King and country, been beaten from pillar to post and raped by your husband, been blown up, and dared to seek a little happiness from the man that loves you, then – and only then – can you stand in judgement of me!’
The nurse was quiet for a moment. When she spoke her voice sounded shocked. ‘I – I’m sorry. Oh, that is awful. I have never had anything like that happen to me. I – I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I had no right. My name is Irene, but I am called Rene. I hope you will forgive me, and if there is anything that I can do to help you, I will’
‘There is: take care of me. Make me better. And then I can cope and can help me Joe to cope. It ain’t that I am saying I’m not sorry about me husband – I am. I feel his loss, though it pales on top of the loss of me lads. A body and soul can only take so much. I have no reserves. But, even if I had, I wouldn’t waste them on Paddy, but use them to help me free Joe.’
Rene patted her gently. ‘Tell me all about it. Then I will see what I can do.’
Though the telling caused pain, it also helped. Rene had that air about her that made you want to trust her and confide in her. And, though it seemed unlikely as they were worlds apart, Ada felt as though she had found a friend, someone who would be on her side. ‘Where are you from, Rene? You ain’t from round here.’
‘No, Leeds is a long way from my home. I’m from London. I came to work here, as this is a training hospital. I want to go to France to help, but as a fully qualified nurse. I didn’t want to be a VAD.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s short for Voluntary Aid Detachment. There are some spiffing girls working for them – some of my friends are attached to hospitals over in France. They try their best, but they told me in their letters that more often than not they are ridiculed by the real nurses. I wouldn’t be able to take that. I am a fiery person. Besides, the war has given me a chance to show that I am really talented at something, and I have found that I love being a nurse. My parents would never have agreed to me training as a nurse in other circumstances. They just wanted to marry me off.’
‘Well, I think you will be an asset to them out there and will save many lives. And you will do so brilliantly, without causing pain or suffering, which is how you’ve just treated me. Ta, love. And while I’m on, you’ve a good bedside manner, as they call it, as you’ve soothed me. Though I could still scream and scream at the injustice of it all.’
‘Well, you just do that, if you have to. I will make sure everyone knows that you should be allowed to, and they should just offer you quiet comfort, not words of chastisement or anger. I won’t tell them your story – it is yours to tell – but I will say that you have been to hell and back, and that you deserve our respect, not derision.’
‘I can’t say as I’m back from hell, Rene, as I am still living it! Every day I’m seared with a hotter and more intense pain than any hellfire could inflict on me. But I turn the pain into strength. I draw from it to sustain me, so that I can carry on.’
�
�You are a remarkable woman, Ada. And an inspiration.’
Aw, I don’t know about that. But ta, lass. Do one thing for me, will you? Will you try to find out what happens to Joe? I need to know.’
‘I’ll try. Now I’m going to give you something to make you rest. The doctor prescribed it for you. Here, take these.’
With Rene’s help, Ada swallowed the tablets. After a while she found it difficult to keep awake.
As she drifted off she noticed the moment when Rene left her bedside, but somehow she thought Rene would never leave her, not really. Because, even if she never saw her again, she would never forget the slim, pretty girl with the beautiful dark, kind eyes.
13
Eloise
London, beginning of September 1916
Everyone’s shoulder to lean on
Leaving her Aunt Muriel’s side wasn’t easy for Eloise as her dear aunt was distraught. It had been seven weeks since Edith had gone missing, and still no news of her had filtered through. Coping with her aunt’s constant breakdowns was difficult, not least because she didn’t seem to register that Eloise herself was grieving – and for Edith as well as Andrina. And now she carried the burden of Jay’s birthright, too.
Her father was the only person she could talk to. For him, Jay’s story had been a confirmation of his suspicions. Father had told her that he remembered an incident that had taken place at Hastleford Hall when he was a young man.
Father had visited Hastleford Hall, Aunt Muriel’s home, with his brother Christopher and his parents since a young boy, as their ancestral homes were in nearby villages. Their families had socialized a great deal. Father had been very vague in his knowledge, but said that what Eloise had told him fitted with what he had always suspected, even though it shocked him to the core.
‘You see, Eloise,’ he’d said, ‘we all knew that your Aunt Muriel’s father, Lord Daverly, was carrying on with Lady Amelia, though we were all surprised when she went off to India not long after Lady Daverly died. Some said it was to give propriety to them marrying when she returned, as there would be a suitable lapse in time and, being apart, they couldn’t be accused of acting improperly during the mourning period. But a few months after Lady Daverly’s death I was visiting my father on our estate in the next village and went for a walk. I was a week off marrying your mama and I wanted to have a little space to myself. Your Aunt Muriel and Uncle Christopher were already married and had their three children. I was late in meeting the love of my life. I walked over to Hastleford Hall and went into the grounds through the back gate near the river. It was dusk by the time I reached there. Not expecting to see anyone but the servants, I was surprised to see a lady walking across the lawn. She was heavily pregnant, and I thought it was Lady Amelia. I was shocked rigid for a moment, but then got my wits about me and made myself scarce.’
Father had gone on to tell her that, a few weeks after their wedding, he and Mama had spent time in the country, and had heard that a baby had been left on the step of the butcher’s shop, and that the butcher and his wife were of a mind to keep the child. It was talked about by everyone – the vicar, the gentry and the peasants – as all things that happen out of the ordinary are, in such tiny villages as Stanford, where Hastleford Hall is, and Market Bosworth, where their own ancestral home was. Father even knew the tale about the gypsies being the culprits.
Father’s suspicions had eventually led him to give Jay a position on his estate, but not to speak out or do anything further.
This lack of action made Eloise feel angry and frustrated. Nevertheless, her father had reasoned that he couldn’t prove Jay’s parentage one way or the other, and he hadn’t been able to challenge anyone about it, because such accusations would have been deemed scandalous.
These thoughts went round and round Eloise’s mind as she walked the five hundred yards along Holland Park from her aunt’s house to her own. As she reached the gate she had a sudden urge not to go inside and instead instructed her maid, who accompanied her, ‘Dorothy, follow me. I’m going for a walk, but please don’t attempt to engage my attention in any way, or stop me from anything I may be doing.’
‘No, M’lady,’ said Dorothy, which made Eloise feel a little pang of guilt. Having once been her nanny, Dorothy loved to recall stories from walks out when Eloise was a child. These would always be to the park, as they were now, and so Dorothy had a lot of memories to convey. But Eloise just needed to be alone with her thoughts today.
The afternoon was a pleasant one. The flowers and trees were still in their summer bloom as the two of them walked towards the Earls Court gates of Holland Park itself.
Passing through the gates, it only took a few minutes’ walk to bring them to the fountain at the back of Aunt Muriel’s house. Cousin Edith loved this fountain and, by being near to it, Eloise felt as if Edith was close to her. She was certain Edith was still alive. She would have known if she hadn’t been. Something would have told her; besides, she had to keep hoping that Edith would soon be found.
Poor Edith; apart from what might be happening to her now, when she returned she had a lot to face. Things Eloise couldn’t visit at the moment. If she allowed herself to, she would lose the purpose of this time to herself. She did wonder, though, what Edith would think of her now, because just a few short months ago Edith had seen her as a silly girl, and that is what she had been. How she would love Edith to know that she had changed, and that she shouldered everyone’s problems and stood strong for them all. Edith would never believe such a transformation could happen.
She sat on a bench near the fountain. The spray from the tumbling water sent little droplets to wet her hair, cooling her after her walk and clearing her mind. Only for it to start clouding over the next minute with her worries. What will happen if Jay changes his mind and wants his inheritance, as surely he will? How will Lady Muriel take that? Will she be able to stand it? So much hung in the air.
Her initial feelings about Jay had changed, and now she wondered if the nice young man she’d found him to be wouldn’t want to take away her Aunt Muriel’s inheritance; and if he did, then, as Aunt Muriel’s half-brother, he would surely look after her, perhaps even make her a generous allowance. But still, that wouldn’t help matters, as it wouldn’t be the loss of the money so much as the shame of losing her standing that would injure poor Aunt Muriel the most.
Eloise shrugged and resigned herself to deal with each thing as it happened, rather than worrying about them all now. She had her own future to think of and, with this thought, she remembered Rene’s letter. It had arrived in the late-morning post. The scrawling handwriting and the postmark had made it easy to identify. Tucking it into her bag, she’d wanted to wait until after her visit to her aunt to read it, desiring a moment to herself when she could absorb and savour the news and snippets of Rene’s life that she always wrote to her about. A free life, and one Eloise longed to live for herself.
She and Rene – Irene, really, but she hated that name – had been friends since birth. Rene’s father, the wealthy industrialist Thomas Cooper, and Eloise’s father had been at Eton together, and the two families were very close.
Eloise had written to Rene for advice about the kinds of war work available, and what she should do to get accepted for it. Not that Rene’s advice would be much use now! It just wasn’t possible for her to leave home as things were at the moment. But she did want to do something to help the war effort.
Some of Rene’s news was the usual chit-chat about her colleagues’ antics and her own progress towards her final exam. But a part of it concerned a patient, and it moved Eloise almost to tears as she read: ‘Oh, Eloise, I have met the most courageous woman. Her name is Ada O’Flynn.’
Letting the letter fall to her lap, Eloise found that Ada’s story had greatly affected her. Oh God, there is so much pain-in the world – how are we to bear it? A lump constricted her throat. I must not give way.
Dorothy’s voice broke into her thoughts and helped her to control her em
otions. ‘I’m sorry, Lady Eloise, but I can’t sit silent when I see you troubled. Is there anything I can do?’
‘I wish there was, Dorothy, but who can mend the world? Will it ever be as it was?’
‘I don’t know. Have you had more bad news? Is Miss Rene all right? I recognized the handwriting and knew the letter was from her.’
‘It is. Yes, she is fine and sends her love to you.’ Rene loved Dorothy as much as she herself did; many times when they had been children Dorothy had been in charge of them both. ‘It is the pain and suffering she is witnessing that is upsetting.’
As she finished telling Dorothy about Ada, Dorothy said, ‘Poor woman. Sadly, she is just one of many, many grieving families, M’lady. Some, like this Ada, have lost more than one loved one, and others have lost their only breadwinner and are facing the workhouse. Then there are those young men who have come back maimed and unable to work, reduced to begging in the streets . . .’
‘That’s it! I – I mean, you’ve given me an idea, Dorothy. Something that I can do to help, whilst still remaining at home to be a support to Mama. I will set up a charity to help anyone who has been damaged in any way by this war. I’ll provide funds to feed and house them, and help the maimed to make their life more bearable! Dorothy, I have no need for the advice given by Rene, which is advice I couldn’t follow anyway after . . . Well, we won’t talk of that. My new venture will help me to bear that, too. Come on, Dorothy, we have work to do!’
‘Oh, Lady Eloise, it would be wonderful if you could help, but what use can I be? And have you considered your father? He won’t allow this – you know he won’t. He doesn’t like the thought of you working, unless it is something genteel like sewing cushions or knitting socks.’
‘You can be my right-hand man. I know no one better. And together we will tackle Father. But first I must plan it all, so that he can see we know what we are doing. Our first case will be Ada. We’ll visit her and bring her some money, so that she can engage a lawyer to help save her new love. I can’t bear to think of him hanging. Rene has said that although she didn’t witness the fracas, she believes Ada’s account of it. And if she does, then I do too, so we have to do something to help.’