Grace's Story

by Jennie Walters

  ‘Let’s watch,’ she said, cradling the jug. It was just as well we did, because Captain Chadwick won by a head. He looked like the sort of person who was used to coming first, crutches or no, but very nice with it.

  ‘Hard at work, Nurse Jackson?’ said a sarcastic voice. The dark-haired girl I’d seen talking to Philip that day in the stable yard was strolling past, cocking an eyebrow in the most supercilious manner.

  ‘Now she is the worst one of all for looking down on people,’ Daisy whispered, glaring at her disappearing back. ‘Lydia Lovell, that’s her name. Apparently her father has some manor house in the next village, and she lords it over all of us. What makes her think she can be so narky with me? She’s about five years younger than I am, for a start, and she knows as much about nursing as a prairie dog. All she wants to do is sit by a man’s bedside and look tragic.’

  We watched Miss Lovell head into the distance, her white uniform dress pulled in tight around the waist and a nurse’s cap perched neatly on her glossy hair. ‘I’ll tell you something else,’ Daisy added. ‘She’s got her claws into Philip Hathaway. I’ve seen the way she cosies up to him, full of sweetness and light. You’d better look out, Grace.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with me. And thank you all the same, but I can manage now.’

  I took back the jug rather too hastily; a little of the lemonade slopped over its brim. Daisy couldn’t help not understanding the way things worked here, but sometimes it was irritating. How could I compete with some young lady who’d grown up in a manor house? Even if I wanted to …

  There was no escaping Miss Lovell. By the time I reached the cricket pitch, she was already there and deep in conversation with Philip. I should have been expecting to see him, but somehow it was a shock - maybe partly because he was wearing the white sweater he’d wrapped around my shoulders nearly a year before. That brought a few memories back. Philip must have been waiting for his turn to bat and the two of them were sitting on the grass, a little way apart from the others. I poured some glasses and took them around to everyone else, hoping I could slip back to the house without being noticed. No such luck; Miss Lovell waved me over just as I was about to leave.

  ‘What is the point in taking back a jug that’s half full?’ she asked me. Turning to Philip without even bothering to lower her voice, she added, ‘I know it’s hard to find decent staff these days, but really …’

  I was so angry and embarrassed that it must have made me clumsy. Somehow as I gave her the glass, my hand slipped and the lemonade ended up spilling all down her clean white front. She jumped up pretty quickly then, dabbing at herself with a handkerchief and spluttering with rage at me. ‘Stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!’

  ‘I’m so sorry, miss,’ I said, leaving her to it. ‘I seem to be all fingers and thumbs today.’

  Still, I managed to hand Philip a glass without any accident (without meeting his eyes, either), then I picked up the tray and stalked off. My head was held high, but underneath I felt so wretched I could have cried. All of a sudden, I hated Swallowcliffe Hall and everything about it. I had no business complaining about anything at times like these, but occasionally being ‘only a servant’ was a little hard to take.

  I ran into Ma on the way back. She must have guessed something had happened from the look on my face, because she drew me to one side. ‘Don’t upset yourself, Grace,’ she said quietly. ‘Just let things be. It’s for the best.’

  Perhaps she thought I was hurt to see Philip with Miss Lovell, although that didn’t bother me in the slightest. His choice of friends was nothing to do with me, however badly it reflected on him. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, avoiding her arm. ‘I’m hot, that’s all.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better go back to the stables, then.’ She drew away from me. ‘I think we can manage without you.’

  The day had gone wrong, all right, but it was about to get a good deal worse. As I walked into the yard, my father came out of the harness-room to meet me. The door was open and behind him I could see a stranger sitting at the table; an unshaven man of about thirty or so, twisting a cap in his hands.

  ‘Grace, hurry along and fetch your mother,’ Da said.

  ‘What, now? But she’s busy - the sports aren’t over yet.’

  ‘Tell her to come here as soon as she can,’ my father repeated, taking me by the shoulders and gripping them hard. ‘This is important. It’s about Tom.’

  And something in his voice made me run.

  Fourteen

  Full of wretchedness and suspense as the last few days have been, I have enjoyed them. They have been intensely interesting. They have been wonderfully inspiring. That they have been so is due to the men with whom I have been. I always was an optimist, I have never lost faith in human nature. Now I know, now I know I was right.

  From a letter by Lieutenant John Allen to his family from Gallipoli, 31 May 1915. He was killed six days later, aged 28.

  ‘I know your Tommy’s not a coward,’ the man said. (I never did find out his name; he was just another private soldier from Tom’s company, home on leave.) ‘I’ve seen him carry a pal half a mile under fire, and it takes a brave man to do that. This officer’s got it in for him. He wants to make an example out of your son to keep the rest of us on our toes, and it’s not right. That’s why I looked you up, to tell you what’s happening. Tommy was always talking about this place and my folks live in Kent so it wasn’t too far to come.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ my father said automatically.

  ‘If the worst should happen,’ the man went on, looking earnestly at him and Ma, their faces ashen, ‘you mustn’t ever feel ashamed of him. These generals snug at brigade headquarters with their bloomin’ hampers from Harrods have no idea what it’s like for us - sitting out there in some muddy ditch, waiting for a bomb to drop on your head or a bullet with your name on to wing its way over. It’s the waiting that does you in, not knowing when it’s going to come. Plays merry hell with any man’s nerves, if you’ll excuse my language.’

  ‘What is the worst that could happen?’ I was almost too frightened to ask.

  The stranger hesitated for a moment. ‘They’ve charged him with casting away arms in the presence of the enemy, and he’ll be tried by court-martial. If he’s found guilty, it’s the death penalty.’

  I felt a chill run through my body, as if every drop of blood in my veins had turned to iced water. The death penalty! Surely there must have been some mistake? Tom wasn’t the type to cave in. What could have happened to him?

  My mother buried her head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry to upset you, ma’am,’ the man said. ‘That’s how serious it is. He’s allowed an officer to speak up for him, but I’ve come across the chap they’ve chosen and he’s not up to much, truth be told. It’s not right,’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘Your Tom ought to have someone on his side with a bit of clout. I don’t hold with the way he’s being treated.’

  He took up his cap to leave. Da shook his hand and thanked him again for coming in a flat, empty voice. Ma was crying now and my father put an arm around her shoulders, looking at her as if waiting to be told what to do next.

  I walked the man out through the stable yard, this stranger who had appeared from another world and dropped a bombshell into ours. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to come or not,’ he told me, his eyes troubled. ‘But in the end I thought it was better you should know.’

  Being in such a state, I almost forgot to thank him for his efforts, but I remembered my manners just in time and did so from the bottom of my heart. If this kind, decent man hadn’t given up part of his precious leave to find us, we’d have had no idea what was happening to Tom until it was too late. (I couldn’t bear to think that moment might have already come.)

  As he raised his cap to bid me goodbye, he added, ‘This is a grand old place. There might be someone in the family here who could pull a few strings for Tommy. That’s how these things work, isn’t it? And anything’s worth a try.’

>   At that very moment, a picture flashed into my head of exactly the sort of person he meant. A man with connections high up in the army, who had once said that I should let him know if there was anything he could ever do for me. Well, there certainly was now.

  Ma wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I’m not having you blabbing our business to anyone, least of all him,’ she said vehemently. ‘He wouldn’t put himself out for us and there’s nothing he could do anyway. Whatever trouble Tom’s got himself into, we’ll have to let the army sort it out in their own way. They won’t listen to people like us.’

  ‘They’ll listen to Colonel Vye, though,’ I protested. ‘He’s known Tom all his life and he’s won the Victoria Cross. He’s a hero! If he says Tom’s being treated unfairly, they’ll have to pay attention.’

  ‘No!’ My mother banged her fist on the table, sending a stirrup iron clattering to the ground. ‘I’m not having Colonel Vye meddling in our family affairs. He’s no hero in my eyes, and you’re not to breathe a word of this business to him or anyone else. You know what people are like for gossip round here. I’m not having them saying Tom’s a coward.’

  I couldn’t believe my ears. What did it matter what people said? Did that mean more to Ma than whether Tom lived or died? ‘But –’

  ‘That’s enough, Grace,’ Da interrupted, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that the conversation was over.

  ‘This is nobody’s business but ours.’ My mother stood up, tidying her hair and her frock. ‘I’m going back to work now, and I suggest you do the same. I’ll pray for Tom and that’s as much as we can do. If you tell a soul about this, Grace, I shall never forgive you.’

  How could we possibly go about our duties as though everything was the same as usual? Horses pick up your mood in an instant, and Moonlight must have sensed my feelings from the way I was grooming him, although I tried to be gentle; he put his ears back and twitched away from my touch. I had to walk up and down the stable block a few times to try and calm down. Every instinct in my head screamed out that Ma was wrong. We couldn’t stand back in the hope that things would turn out all right, because they weren’t going to. Somehow Tom had got himself into the most dreadful trouble and we should have been moving heaven and earth to help him. What hope did we have, apart from Colonel Vye? I didn’t know why my mother thought so little of him and just then, I didn’t really care. I had never deliberately disobeyed her before but I would now, for Tom’s sake; if she held that against me for the rest of my life, then so be it.

  The only question was how? How could I get the Colonel on his own, to start with? I had hardly any contact with him. He spent most weekends at the Hall and would usually go out riding in the early evening with Her Ladyship or Mrs Hathaway, but my father always attended to him whenever he came to the stables. I would sometimes bring his horse round to the front of the house, but he’d be up in the saddle and away with only a brief nod to me. Well, somehow I’d have to contrive it, because Colonel Vye would be back up to London the next afternoon and I’d have lost my chance for another week. We didn’t know when Tom’s court-martial was to be held, but surely there wasn’t a day to spare.

  That evening, Bella and Moonlight were ready tacked up at six and I was ready, too, when the Colonel and Mrs Hathaway walked into the stable yard (she liked to use the mounting block, being on the stout side). If only my father wasn’t hovering around so closely!

  Da wouldn’t go away, though; instead, he took Moonlight’s reins from me. ‘You can have ten minutes with Colonel Vye in the harness-room,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ll keep Mrs Hathaway busy.’ Then he gave me a slip of paper. ‘This is the number of Tom’s company, and the name of his commanding officer, and the place he’s being held. That chap wrote it all out for me.’

  I only had time to thank him with a look because here was the Colonel, very smart and soldierly in his chestnut leather riding boots. Now my courage nearly failed me. Did I really expect him to go all the way to France, just to speak up for my brother? He’d probably laugh in my face. Yet the thought of Tom alone in some field prison forced me to try.

  Colonel Vye didn’t laugh, but he certainly looked pretty surprised when I asked him for a private interview and told him the whole story - or at least, as much of it as we knew. ‘I’m sure Tom’s no coward,’ I finished. ‘There must be some terrible mistake. Please, Colonel Vye, I know it’s probably too much to ask, but could you try and sort things out for us? You know how things are done in the army, and you could make sure Tom gets a fair hearing.’

  I passed him the piece of paper with all the details on that my father had given me. Colonel Vye looked at it for what seemed a long time. Then he laid it down on the table and looked at me, scratching his head. ‘It is a lot to ask,’ he said, ‘and I have to warn you - even if I did go, I’m not sure how much good it’d do. These courts-martial are often carried out pretty swiftly and it may be too late already for me to get to your brother in time, let alone gather any evidence that’ll help him.’ He hesitated for a moment, before adding, ‘Casting away arms is a serious offence, and I can’t believe he’d be accused for no reason. Have you thought about that?’

  ‘I don’t care what they say he’s meant to have done. I know Tom better than anyone, and you couldn’t find a braver, finer man in the whole world. If they shoot him, they might as well shoot me too.’ By now I was nearly crying, and down on my knees. ‘Please, Colonel Vye, please won’t you help us? We’ve no one else to ask.’

  Gently, he helped me up. ‘Of course I will, my dear, there’s no need for all this. How long have I known your family? I seem to remember you putting yourself out for me in the past, besides, and one good turn deserves another. I just wanted you to realise that it’ll be a long shot. I’ll certainly try my hardest for your brother, but I may not succeed.’

  He put the piece of paper in his pocket. I could have kissed him. In fact, I did - well, his hand, anyway. Ma would have had forty fits.

  So it was back to the endless waiting. For the next few days, I went about my work as if in a trance. Tom was the last thing I thought about at night and first on my mind in the morning, and I dreamed about him endlessly in between. I knew it was the same for Da, too, although we didn’t talk much. Perhaps he felt that he’d been disloyal to my mother, encouraging me to appeal to the Colonel, and didn’t want to face up to what we’d done. It was the right thing, though, I kept telling myself. If Colonel Vye managed to save Tom, Ma would have to change her mind about him - and if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter whether or not she found out that I’d asked for his help. Nothing would matter then.

  I wasn’t tempted to share the secret with anyone else. Not Florrie, somehow, with Alf apparently getting along so well in France, and not Daisy, either, who only had room in her head for thoughts of Captain Chadwick. He’d been brought up not far from the Hall, it turned out; his father having been the vicar of a nearby village, and had promised to show Daisy his old home when he was quite better. ‘He’s lost both his parents, too, same as me,’ she said, ‘but their house is still standing. So it’s almost like he’s taking me to meet them, don’t you think?’

  ‘Almost,’ I agreed, since that was the easiest thing to do.

  It felt as though I was standing at the end of a long tunnel. I could see other people and hear them, but their voices seemed to come from very far away. Somehow I managed to keep hold of myself - until one afternoon, when Colonel Vye had been gone almost a week. My father had taken Bella out for a gallop, and the other horses were grazing in the paddock. I’d swept and hosed the stalls, washed down the gig, soaped and polished umpteen saddles and bridles, and then found myself sitting at the harness-room table with my fingernails digging so deep into the palms of my hands they’d drawn blood. My head was throbbing with the effort of not thinking and I knew that I had to get outside in a hurry or end up screaming.

  Snatching up a hat, I ran out of the yard and through the gate towards the park; anywhere, really, just to escap
e. On and on across the grass, my feet pounding and my breath coming in ragged gasps, up the hill, a stitch in my side by now, until there were the woods ahead of me. Shaded, and cool, and quiet. I pressed my forehead against the papery bark of a silver birch, feeling the blood rush through my veins and my heart thump like a drum in my chest. What was Tom doing now? Was he listening to his own heartbeat too, and wondering about the moment it might stop for ever? I remembered all the times he had carried me on his back when I was a little girl, all the stories he had told me when I couldn’t sleep, all the times he had let me tag along behind when it would have been easier to send me home, and then I gathered up every scrap of my love and sent it flying out to him, wherever he was.

  Feeling somewhat calmer, I walked on up through the trees, not paying much attention to where my legs were taking me. The path wound around to that point where it opened out to give a view of the Hall - and there was Philip, sitting on a tree stump and looking down at the house. I’d have backed away, but a twig cracked underfoot and he turned around. Well, I didn’t particularly care whether he saw me or not. All that business seemed very unimportant now.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, a little out of breath still. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘No, I’m glad you did,’ he replied. ‘I’ve had enough of my own company. Won’t you have a seat? It’s more comfortable than you might think.’ He got up from the stump and leaned against a tree trunk instead, his hands in his pockets. ‘At least now we’ll have the chance to say goodbye.’

  ‘So you’re going off to the war, then?’ I sat down in his place, since it would have seemed rude not to.

  ‘Yes. Not straight away, but soon. I’m to be an orderly in my father’s hospital.’

  ‘Good luck.’ I couldn’t help remembering the moment when he had asked me to write to him and, for a fleeting second, I surprised myself by wishing he would ask again. But why? Would my answer be any different this time?