After a few moments Flora lifted her face. She was as pale as death, flinching every now and again in pain. She choked on her words as she said, 'I have to tell Andrew's mother.'
'Mrs Stewart is very ill,' Ruth said. 'She can’t have visitors. She is being nursed in isolation. I'm afraid this news would be too much for her to bear.'
Flora repeated, 'Andrew said I was to see his Ma...'
Ruth said, 'I have to tell you, Flora, that Andrew Stewart has given no end of trouble to his mother, and to me and the Commander.' Flora's face was paler than ever. She put her hand into the small of her back, clearly in a lot of pain even as Ruth said, 'Andrew will have to be told but in view of the punishment and the loss of his promotion, don't be surprised if he denies everything.'
It was too much. Flora clutched the table's edge wildly with her free hand, gave a cry of pain and crashed to the floor.
She came to in a dimly lit bedroom where a fire burned brightly in an iron and tile fireplace on the far wall from the bed. Shadows flickered over the beamed ceiling above her. She tried to sit up, but the pain that earlier had shot through her with such heat and force was now a dull numbness that had spread to her muscles, and she could not raise herself. She fell back against the lacy white pillows on the big, deep bed. Her head was thick and fuzzy and very, very heavy. She called for help.
The door opened, a light was turned on and now she saw that it was a big room with a sloping ceiling, filled with old fashioned, ornate mahogany furniture. In the wardrobe mirror she saw Lady Campbell approach, pull up a chair and sit down. 'You have strained your back, Flora. My doctor has seen you. He says you are not to be moved.'
'I feel peculiar.'
'The doctor gave you an injection of morphine,' Lady Campbell said. 'I don't want you to worry about a thing.'
'But - the baby?'
Lady Campbell put her finger to her lips and looked towards the door. 'It is all right. Don't mention your condition to anyone. Not until I've had a chance to speak to Mrs Stewart. Understand?’
'Yes.' Flora struggled to rise but could not. She caught her breath and fell back once more. 'Mr Davidson ... I have to look after him.'
'It's done. Nanny Taylor has been to Portobello. I told her to tell Mr Davidson that you have fallen and injured your back. You have to rest.'
'I can't just leave.'
'There can be no going back. Mr Davidson needs reliable. help. I rang the Institute for the Blind. They will send help to him tomorrow.'
'Mrs Stewart…?' Flora asked.
'I will see her this evening. If she's well enough I'll tell her. Tomorrow you will write to Andrew.'
'I don't want to get him into trouble.'
'You must tell him about the baby. Tell him you are with me here at Ingersley and he must come for you and marry you. Give the letter to me. I will post it,' Lady Campbell said. 'Can you lift your head just a little, so I can give you your medicine?'
She was holding a small glass of purple liquid. Flora hesitated, then, 'What is it?' she asked.
'A sedative plus tonic. Good for you. It doesn't taste nice, but will help you to rest.' Lady Campbell smiled. 'I have a boiled sweet for you to suck to take away the taste.'
Flora drank the dose and reached up for the sweet before the foul-tasting medicine could turn her stomach, make her sick. But such was her relief that she did not have to get out of bed that she closed her eyes for a few luxuriously drowsy seconds, then opened them. 'Why are you doing this for me?'
'Andrew Stewart has been very much the Commander's protegé. He was brought up on the estate. His mother is an old family retainer. I'm speaking for my husband as well as myself when I tell you that we both feel responsible for any wrongdoing of Andrew's.'
'Andrew hasn't done wrong,' Flora said. 'He wouldn't let down the Commander or his Ma.’
'Then consider that you are being offered a helping hand.'
Lady Campbell put a gentle hand on the counterpane but did not meet Flora's eyes. Instead she stared into the distance as she said, 'You do see that Mrs Stewart must be told first. She would not wish to be the subject of servants' gossip.
Flora whispered, 'Please. Tell her I’m sorry ...'
'Then you tell nobody about the pregnancy, especially Nanny Taylor, who will look after you. Not yet.' Lady Campbell smoothed the sheet. 'And whatever you do, don't try to get out of bed. The medicine will make you unsteady.'
When Lady Campbell left the room, Flora lay back against the pillows as warm tears rolled down her face and under her chin to soak into the cotton nightdress someone had put on her. All she could remember was falling, then Lady Campbell ringing for help and the woman who had served lunch lifting her on to a sofa - then nothing.
Her limbs were heavy, the pain was less but she could not stop the tears that continued their relentless rolling down her cheeks. She had never been one for crying. Lately, everything brought her to the brink of tears and she could not help herself. Last week, in church, they had sung 'Eternal Father Strong to Save' and she'd blubbed throughout the service, thinking of Andrew in peril on the sea. Everything scared her. The very word 'pregnant' terrified her. It was an ugly word. She didn't want to be pregnant. But she was and she must tell Andrew. She'd write:
Dearest Andrew I am at Ingersley. Please come and save me. Help me.
I am expecting our baby. It was conceived under the weeping tree on the night we were married. I went to find your mother like you told me to do but she is in hospital. She has the flu and I have this terrible pain in my back. I collapsed outside. Lady Campbell is going to tell your mother about the baby. Please, please, Andrew you have got to come and get me. They will send me to a workhouse and the baby will be taken away. Nobody should do that to a girl -take her baby away.
Please. Help. I have nobody but you. I love you. Flora.
The Rutland docked late at night under a magnificent sky, lit from the horizon to the zenith by the waving curtain, pearly green, amber and red, of the aurora borealis. With the engines closed down, the ship's company had been at the rails or standing on the dock, marvelling at the calm, the quiet, the lights and the sheer relief of a safe harbour after months of war. Gordon left the bridge and went ashore to put in a call to Ingersley.
Ruth answered. 'You have only just docked, darling?' She sounded pleased to hear him, and his mood lightened. 'I'll be home the day after tomorrow,' he said. 'I can't take my leave in the first wave.'
'No. Stay where you are. I'll be with you as soon as I can. I'll book into an hotel in Inverness.'
'Will you really? That's good of you.' She must have missed him badly. 'I'll expect to hear from you tomorrow evening then.' Bemused, he put the receiver down.
Now, the following morning, with dawn breaking across the water, Gordon looked out from the bridge and saw that crew, sailors and a contingent of Royal Marines that the Rutland carried were crowded on deck, waiting at the rails for the bells to be piped before they could pour off the ship and make for the railway station, going home for three blessed days to family, wives and girlfriends. Only he, their captain, knew that they would be sailing for the Mediterranean as soon as the repairs were done. They would be gone for months. How many of them would see their loved ones again? The naval losses, conveyed to him with the sailing orders by coded wireless telegraphy message from the Admiralty, were grim. Three months into the war 114 ships had been sunk by V-boats.
Then, as he stood watching the men, he found himself staring in astonishment. Ruth was being escorted up the gangway by one of the senior officers. He blinked, closed his eyes for a moment in case he was imagining it and opened them. It was Ruth - Ruth, wearing a coat of jade green in the new wide-shoulder, swing-back style, over a matching costume, and both trimmed with black velvet at the stand-up collar and pockets. A black Cossack-style hat set off her golden hair, which swung with every movement and brought appreciative smiles and looks of admiration from the sailors and the Lieutenant-Commander who escorted her to him.
‘How on earth did you get here so soon?' he asked once they were alone together in his cabin and he had given her a warm kiss. Then, smiling, 'You look wonderful.' It was good to have a wife waiting for him. He felt a surge of gratitude at seeing her here. 'Let me look at you.
Jade-green boots of suede with black fur cuffs could not conceal her long, slender legs that swished, silk on silk, as she returned his kiss. She did it lightly, brushing her lips gently across his before she took out a lace handkerchief to dab away traces of scarlet lipstick. Her arm was bandaged. He said, 'Your wrist? What have you done?'
'Nothing much. A slight sprain. It hasn't prevented me from driving.'
'You drove the Armstrong Siddeley all this way to be with me?' He could scarcely believe it. His earlier gloomy mood was changing to one of gratitude and delight. 'You drove through the night, in this bitterly cold weather?'
'There was no snow. Patches of ice -but I was desperate for you, darling,' she said. He felt the familiar thrill of arousal and tried to draw her close but laughing she said, 'The Armstrong Siddeley is on the quay. Drive me to the hotel in Inverness. I can't wait.’
'Give me an hour.' He wanted her now. Ruth knew the power of her sex appeal. He dared not imagine the pleasures to come or he would be unable to work. 'Have something to eat while I do what has to be done.'
Two hours later, with the hotel bedroom door locked and the 'Do Not Disturb' notice hanging from the handle, he took her in his arms and found her so gentle and loving and eager for his caresses that he could forget the war for a few minutes and forgive the demanding side of her nature - the side that had always wanted to dominate and have power over him. He needed her body.
Afterwards he lay with an arm protectively around her while she rested her head over his heart, her injured arm loose across her stomach. He had told her all he could tell - that he was going to be away from her for months, possibly as long as a year -and she had cried a little and clung to him and whispered words of undying love. He was grateful and glad to be loved. He smiled when she begged him to flee from the enemy, not put himself in any danger. He traced his finger over her face, along the clean lines of her jaw, to her delicate ear, and then ran his hand through the fair tousled hair. He said, 'Ruth, why can't we always be like this? You make me so very, very happy.'
She smiled back at him, then eased herself into a sitting position so that he lay flat and she could look down at him. 'Gordon ...?'
'What?' He stretched contentedly and tried to pull her down on top of him.
'Come here. I didn't want to tell you before. I wasn't sure. I didn't want to disappoint you.'
'What are you talking about?'
'I'm having a baby. It was conceived on the last night you were ...'
His head lifted quickly, startled. 'Are you sure?' His face paled. 'Have you seen the doctor? Had it confirmed?'
'There's no need. I'm as certain as anyone, even a doctor, can be.'
He sat up. 'Oh, Ruth!' A flush of excitement and pride spread across his face even as he knew enormous fear - for Ruth, for his baby. He could not marshal his thoughts. He was going to be a father. After all this time, he was going to be a father. He held her close and kissed her gently, on the forehead, the cheeks, the throat. 'Should we have made love? Won't it disturb the baby?
She pushed him back a little way, reached for her nightgown and carefully slipped it on. 'It won't do any harm at this stage.' She smiled and added, 'Besides, if I were not already pregnant, I would certainly be after this morning.'
'No. No. Don't!' He hated it when she spoke that way. It was coarse.
'I was teasing,' she assured him. 'But in another couple of weeks I shall have to take care.' She swung her legs over the side of the bed and felt for her bedroom slippers with a long, delicate foot while he watched, fascinated. She turned and said gently, 'I didn't tell you before because I needed your love. Just as much as you needed me.'
Gordon kissed her then started to dress as elation lifted him. He had fathered a child. A son, perhaps - but what did it matter? A girl or a boy. His girl or boy. He turned to Ruth, who was now dressed and looked as chic and calm as any mannequin. He said, 'There are no signs. You are sure?'
'I am very healthy, darling. It is only the size of ...' She made a small space between her left thumb and forefinger and smiled at him.
He must not get over-anxious or excited. He'd been down this path before. He said, 'You will take great care? Your sister-'
'Elizabeth lost all of hers. I'll be careful. Nanny will look after me.'
'Nanny! Oh, goodness. Have you told her?'
'No. 1 wanted you to be the first to know,' she said. 'Besides,I hardly see her these days. She delivers babies, drives an ambulance and has volunteered her services as relief district nurse,' Ruth said. 'But this gives us a reason to keep the Armstrong Siddeley. We also get a bigger petrol ration.'
'We'll tell Nanny when we get home.' He would not have been able to contain himself if he'd been Ruth. He said, 'You will see a new side to Nanny once she has a baby to care for. She will overrule everyone.' He smiled, remembering Nanny, as protective as a mother hen. 'The baby always comes first with Nanny. Will you mind?'
'I'll probably be glad,' she laughed.
'Where will you go for the birth?' She must not take any risks. She should go to a cottage hospital in the Borders.
'Nanny will deliver it at Ingersley. I'll be perfectly all right there,' she said. 'It has been the birthplace of the Campbell family for generations.'
Gordon could barely keep still. He wanted to pace the room, to run outside and shout it from the rooftops. 'We’ll stay here overnight. I'll drive you back tomorrow and return the day after.'
'Darling?' She came to him with arms outstretched. 'I want to stay with you here until you sail.'
This was so unlike her normal demanding behaviour that Gordon was taken aback. 'But the drive? You hate driving. And in your condition ...'
She put an arm round his waist, clutched tight and murmured, 'I won't go home, Gordon.I’m quite capable of driving myself back when you are gone. I’ll take the journey slowly.'
He placed his hands on her shoulders and buried his face in her hair. 'Oh, Ruth ... Oh, Ruth!'
What once he had thought of as a calculating expression in the back of her eyes today he saw as concern for him as she asked, 'You won't miss Ingersley if you don't see it this leave?'
'No. Not with you here.'
'You promise you won't think of selling? You will want your son to have an inheritance?'
He felt tears pricking the back of his eyes. 'Of course I do. I shall do all I can to save the estate.' He felt her relax, with an outrush of breath like a sigh of contentment. He was so lucky. He said, 'Speaking of Ingersley, darling, young Andrew Stewart is going to officer training at Portsmouth. He's done us all proud.'
He felt her stiffen then suddenly pull away to say, 'How long for? Where is he now?' in a hard, shrill voice.
'Aren't you proud of him?' he asked, and when she repeated her question, 'The course normally lasts six months. These days it could be as short as five weeks.'
She interrupted, 'But where is he?'
'I saw him on deck when you arrived. He has a weekend leave, forty-eight hours, then he has to report to Portsmouth.'
'So he won't be coming back to the Rutland?'
'No. He will be given another posting. They don't return new officers to ships where their old shipmates are still serving as lower ranks.' He smiled. She did not normally show any interest in the boy he had guided. 'His mother will be as proud of him as I am.'
'I delivered a letter for Andrew,' she said. 'I left it at the office. It will be given to him? Do they ever make mistakes?'
He pulled her close and kissed her again. 'You are becoming very maternal, dear. Worrying about young Andrew Stewart. He'd have been given his mail when he collected his rail warrants. He's a brave and courageous sailor. He will make a fine officer.'
The 9.30 tr
ain, crowded with sailors, had taken five hours to travel from Inverness to Edinburgh with delays all along the way. But at last it was pulling in to the capital. 'See any signs of battle?' Andrew asked Greg as he dragged his kit bag off the luggage rack.
Greg opened the compartment door and went ahead into the corridor. 'No. Auld Reekie's just the same as every place we've passed through,' he called over his shoulder. 'No wonder they call it the Phoney War.'
'It's all happening at sea, then.' Andrew came to stand beside Greg as the train entered the tunnel. 'And you'll be back in the thick of it ...'
Greg hauled his kit bag up on to his shoulder. 'Staying the night at my place?'
'Yes. I'll come up with you now, to dump this.' Andrew lifted his case. His fore and aft peaked cap tipped forward. He grinned and put it straight. At Invergordon he'd been kitted out in petty officer's uniform and given a green ATB bag for his luggage. He had what was left of today free. Tomorrow he would travel down to Portsmouth to join the course, which started on Monday morning. 'I'll be late back tonight,' he said as the train came to a stop at Waverley station.
Greg leaned out of the window and unlatched the door. 'So will I,' he laughed. 'But I have three nights. You've only one.'
Andrew followed him down the platform. And now they saw the difference. It was still light outside but here, where the glass roof that covered the great station had been covered and protected, it was almost dark, lit only by flickering lamps which created a pool of light here and there, briefly revealing the faces of those who searched for friends or family in the steamy, sooty gloom. There was a bank of sandbags in front of the waiting room and ticket office. Greg went striding ahead with only the round naval cap to distinguish him from the crowd. The station clock was lit and showed the time to be 2.30.
Greg stopped and said, 'I'll take your kit. Meet me in the Black Bull at nine o'clock tonight.' He slapped Andrew hard on the shoulder. 'Make the most of it. You might not see her again for a while.'
Andrew returned the comradely punch, waved Greg off then found his way to the WVS canteen, where uniformed lady volunteers served the servicemen and women who were joshing and hailing complete strangers like long-lost friends. He queued for tea, took it to a corner table, and there, ignoring the sailors who shared the table with him, he took out the only letter that had been waiting for him at the regulating office in Invergordon.
The Weeping Tree Page 17