‘Will you play draughts with me when you get back, Father?’ asked the boy.
Grace chuckled and patted him. ‘Your father’s an important man he hasn’t time to play.’
‘We’ll see what we can do.’ Probyn winked at his son and finally left.
Looking forward to having his father’s attention, Clem spent the next few hours running to the window at any sound of marching boots, though after countless reminders from his mother that his father would be ages yet, he had by the end of the week abandoned the process.
Now though, almost three weeks later he was once more happily running to the window at every sound.
‘Oh, do come back to the table, you little scallywag!’ begged Grace, trying to give the children their tea in order to have them all ready for bed by the time their father came in and so avoid the current commotion. ‘Why are boys never still?’ she asked her daughters with a sigh.
Clem finally came to stand at the table, allowing the meal to get underway. For a time things were quiet. Then a knock came at the door.
The spoon delivering milky rusks to nine-month-old Madeleine poised in mid air leaving the baby open-mouthed like a nestling awaiting its worm. Grace issued an even heavier sigh.
‘Is it Father?’ Nine-year-old Clem demanded with an expectant smile, ready to make a dash.
‘Stay where you are!’ said his mother with a scolding laugh. ‘He wouldn’t knock on his own door. Gussie dear, if you’ve finished your tea go answer it.’ The baby on her lap, she inserted another spoonful of rusk into its gaping maw.
Six-year-old Augusta left the table and ran to the door, auburn plaits flapping around her shoulders, returning to say, ‘It’s a brown lady.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought a gypsy would get past the gate.’ Puzzled, Grace plonked the baby on a cushion and went to check for herself, seeing not a gypsy but a well-dressed, middle-aged woman wearing an apologetic smile.
‘I am so sorry,’ began Emily in a tentative whisper. ‘I told dem at the gate I am looking for Lance-Corporal Kilmaster. Dey said there was a Colour-Sergeant Kilmaster at this house but I fear he might not be the person I seek.’ But as her eyes went once again to the small red-haired girl who stood clutching the edge of her mother’s apron, she knew in her heart that she was at the right address and a well of foreboding had begun to bubble up from the pit of her stomach.
Grace took in the row of large white teeth, then returned the woman’s smile, captivated by the strange but endearing accent. ‘Well, this is Colour-Sergeant Kilmaster’s house—’
‘Would his name be Probyn?’ enquired Emily.
Still smiling, Grace gave a puzzled frown. ‘Yes, do you know my husband, Mrs—’
‘Kilmaster,’ said the woman with the large teeth. ‘I am Emily Kilmaster. And I think that your husband may be my husband too.’
Grace’s hand shot out and grabbed the jamb, the other flying up to cover her mouth.
Suddenly afraid, Augusta lifted wide blue eyes to her mother. Grace did not respond, completely stunned into silence.
‘I am sorry,’ whispered Emily, not knowing what else to say, her own heart thudding with shock and disappointment.
Fearing that if she opened her mouth to speak she would vomit, a trembling Grace indicated for the woman to come in. When the visitor moved past her she remained clinging to the jamb for a second, then pushed herself from it and followed her into the living room, still too dumb to comment, but her eyes took quick stock. Now on a similar level, it became evident that the other woman was much taller than herself. Clad in a summery printed dress and white gloves, a navy fitted jacket and a straw hat laden with full-blown roses and ribbons, a handbag over her arm, she looked so very English … yet at the same time so very foreign.
Faced with the enquiring glances of three more red-headed youngsters, Emily smiled at them though her heart was breaking, then turned anxiously to the other Mrs Kilmaster.
Realizing that her children were looking to her for explanation, Grace found her voice. ‘Gus, take Maddie upstairs and change her nappy, Clem, Joe, go up to your room till I call you.’
Without argument, the children did as they were told.
‘You have excellently behaved children,’ commented Emily when there were only the two women left in the room.
Grace went to close the door, every nerve tingling.
Half way up the stairs carrying the baby, a worried Augusta turned around and sneaked back to sit on the bottom step, trying to hear what her mother was saying. Clem and Joe scampered down to squeeze beside her.
‘Who is that old brown woman?’ Clem demanded of his sister.
Looking anxious, Augusta cuddled the baby who played with her sister’s plaits. ‘She said she’s married to Father.’
Exchanging worried glances, the children strained to listen.
From outside could be heard the tramp of marching boots on the parade ground, the yell of a sergeant’s instruction, and birdsong. In here was deathly silence.
Pacing about the carpet, Grace took a long time to voice her anguish, and only then muttering abstractedly, ‘Oh God, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe it.’
It was left to Emily to explain. ‘Please, may I sit down?’ With Grace’s nod, she perched on the edge of a brown leatherette sofa, looking grave, and began to relate the details of her marriage, telling the other where she came from, how she and Probyn had met and how they had been forced apart on their wedding day. Grace remained standing throughout, hardly daring to breathe until Emily came to her soft conclusion. ‘I promised that I would find him somehow … I did not know it would take so long … nor that he would have found someone else.’
Still Grace clung to a shred of hope, studying the other and gauging from the amount of grey in her wavy hair that she was surely over fifty. ‘Are you certain that they share an identity? Why, the man you refer to must be considerably older than my husband.’
Though anguished, Emily emitted a self-conscious chuckle. ‘I know how old I must appear to you
‘I didn’t mean to be rude but—’
‘Probyn was much younger than I.’ To bring matters to a close, Emily furnished the other with his date of birth.
Grace was left in no doubt now. They were both married to the same man.
‘Oh God! What will I do? What will I do?’ The children heard their mother wail.
‘I am so, so sorry,’ whispered Emily, tears in her eyes.
Through a blur of salt water Grace stared back at her. Had Emily been a tart it would have been so much easier to rant, to condemn her as a slut and throw her from the house, but she wasn’t. She was lovely, serene and gentle. Finding herself in this situation must almost be as hard as it was for Grace; but not quite, for there were others to consider in this dreadful fiasco.
‘If you and Probyn were parted on your wedding day,’ distressed though she was, Grace thought how ridiculous it sounded discussing her husband’s wedding day, ‘I don’t suppose you’d have time for children?’
Emily was looking increasingly miserable. ‘No.’
‘Then the marriage wasn’t—’ Grace forced herself to say the word, ‘consummated?’
Emily beheld the other wearily, seeing the flicker of hope upon the face much younger than her own and feeling wretched at having to douse it. ‘Perhaps not after the ceremony, but we were lovers long before den.’
Grace blushed furiously at such detail.
‘Unfortunately I am unable to bear children,’ finished Emily.
‘Make way for the infantry!’ Both heads turned quickly to the door as Probyn came through the hall to make his cheery entrance. Emily shot to her feet.
Tired and sweaty, but exhilarated from manoeuvres, a smiling Probyn whipped off his field cap and strode into the room, preparing to dole out kisses to wife and children but stopping dead upon sight of the visitor.
For a second he stood there staring into that lovely tanned face that he had thought never to see again,
recalling the way he had felt about her, the passion that she had aroused in him.
Emily smiled back, watching the damp curl at his forehead slowly unfold from being compressed beneath his hat. ‘You still look the same, Dasher.’
‘Save for being … fifteen years older,’ he murmured. Fifteen years! This was like being in a dream.
Riveted by the look that passed between the former lovers, Grace fought her horror to issue tightly, ‘So you do know each other then?’
Stunned, he wrenched his eyes away from Emily to look upon his wife, or the one he regarded as his wife, but could not immediately recognize her, for Grace’s eyes held a coldness that he had never witnessed before. He knew then that Emily had revealed everything. ‘Grace, I never told you because I didn’t see the point. It would only have hurt you!’
Grace issued an outraged gasp. ‘You were right there! I might just have had second thoughts on becoming Mrs Kilmaster had I known there was another lurking about in your seedy past!’ Fresh tears welled.
Frantic now, he took a step towards her but stopped upon seeing that he was to be rebuffed. ‘No, you don’t understand! I meant what would have been the point of telling you when it wasn’t a proper marriage?’ He caught the look of distress on Emily’s face and quickly apologized, ‘I’m sorry, Em, but you know as well as I that it was hopeless. It wasn’t legal.’
‘To me it was, and you believed the same then.’ Emily was deeply hurt, though she did not disport it in the same near hysterical manner of Grace who moaned and paced about, chewing her knuckles.
Probyn bowed his head and sighed. ‘Yes, I did, I have to admit that, Grace – I’m sorry!’ he cried as she turned away in despair. ‘But I can’t discount what I felt for Emily or it would make me a bounder. I was attached to her, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked her to marry me.’ Looking back at Emily, he made a lame gesture with his hands. ‘But you must understand, Em. I never expected you to turn up after all these years.’
‘Did I not promise I would find you wherever you might be, no matter how long it took?’ Emily reminded him.
‘You did,’ he confirmed softly, feeling himself suffocating in the brown pools of agony that were her eyes. ‘I can’t tell you how deeply I regret having let you down.’
Watching this exchange, it became obvious to Grace that her husband held strong affection for this woman and suddenly she became more afraid than angry. This was not just a case of a brief infidelity, Probyn had loved Emily enough to marry her – perhaps he would go back to her now! Her heart began to thud even more quickly, setting up a pounding in her head and a lump to her throat, she wanted to vomit, felt herself on the point of collapse.
‘So,’ Emily took a deep breath, ‘what are we to do about the situation?’ The question was not a plea for him to choose; he had already chosen. ‘How does one undo an inconvenient marriage?’
Looking at the two women, both equally certain that they were his wife, Probyn felt tormented. He had loved Emily deeply, the pain he had felt upon losing her had been horrendous. Even though he no longer felt that way, had he been free there would be no question that he would do his duty by her.
But he was not free. He looked at little Grace and saw absolute terror in her eyes, terror that he was about to leave her, and at that point more than any other in their marriage he was made aware of the overwhelming love he had for her. How could she think he would abandon her and the children? He felt desperate to put his arms around her, but knew she would not suffer his attentions until he had voiced his decision.
‘I’m sorry, Emily,’ was all he had to contribute. ‘I can only reiterate that the authorities didn’t look upon our marriage as valid and that was sufficient for me. Of course, if you want to pursue it legally …’ Even dreading that she might take him up on the offer, he had to appear fair. However, he felt anything but fair upon looking at the expression he had created; he felt an out and out blackguard.
With barely a hint of the devastation she was feeling, Emily merely shook her head, lips pressed together not in anger but to contain her sadness. Without another word, and holding herself with the great dignity he had witnessed so many times before, she inserted a gloved hand through the handle of her bag, and made for the door.
‘At least let me escort you back to – where was it you landed in England?’ Even the offer of help sounded callous, as if he couldn’t wait to get her back on the boat.
Emily obviously thought so too, turning to look deep in his eyes. ‘No. I have been a long time on my own. I will not die for want of a companion.’
There was the air of a survivor about her exit, but it was no consolation to Probyn. For a moment after she had gone, neither he nor Grace said a word, the former merely rubbing a hand over his face, his wife staring at the door through which the woman had passed. But Emily still impregnated the room, the smell of cooking from her clothes, the coconut oil upon her skin.
Grace spoke first. ‘My God, this is rich,’ she breathed. ‘All that rot about black people not being fit to vote and here you are married to one!’
He reacted with disbelief that she could equate the lovely Emily with the savages who killed Greatrix. But the colour of one’s skin was not the main issue here. Coming up to his wife he attempted to touch her arm. ‘Don’t you want to hear my side?’
She pulled away. ‘It might have been nice to hear it before you inflicted four illegitimate children on me!’
‘Don’t be daft, they’re not—’
‘Don’t you dare call me daft!’ In the confidence that he was not going to leave her Grace’s anger had been slowly building again and now it emerged in full fury. She punched him again and again in the chest.
Never had he seen any woman so angry not even his mother who had possessed the most foul temper. He staggered under her blows. ‘I only meant to say that our marriage is legal!’
‘How can it be legal when you were already married to another?’ screamed Grace.
‘But it was that marriage which wasn’t legal! Wedlock stopped it before anything was signed
‘But you went through the full ceremony, she said so!’
‘Yes, but there was nothing written down, nobody else knows about—’
‘I know!’ shrieked Grace. ‘I know that for ten years I’ve been living a life of sin! I’m not even legally entitled to be in married quarters! And what’s the Colonel going to say when he finds out you’re a bigamist?’ He experienced a thrill of alarm that this was going to ruin his army career when the prize of RSM was just within his grasp.
‘Grace, listen to me!’ He tried to take her by the arms but she kept struggling. ‘It was not bigamy! I’ve told you I didn’t have permission to marry Emily that’s why it was stopped, please don’t mention it to anybody, the army takes a very dim view of such matters.’
Grace was momentarily pulled up by the utter thoughtlessness of this remark, before yelling, ‘Wives take a very dim view of such things too!’ And she laid into him again, her clenched fist hammering and thumping at his khaki uniform, lashing out at his head, slapping and screeching in absolute abandon. ‘No wonder you didn’t want me to call our daughter Emily! You pig, you bloody shite!’
Lurching away from him she began to seize things, ornaments, cups, plates, pictures, anything that came to hand, hurling them one after another at him whilst he ducked and swerved and did his best to dodge them though one or two found their mark and drew blood.
The door burst open and in ran Clem. ‘Stop hurting my mother!’ And he too began to flail at Probyn, whilst Augusta, Joe and the baby simply wailed.
‘I’m not hurting your mam, Clemmie, I’m not!’ Probyn tried to cuddle his son but the little boy had a temper on him too.
Unable to stem the disturbance, Probyn had no option but to remove himself from the room. Hoping that his absence would halt the violence, he opened the outer door, intending to call upon his neighbour for help but there stood Aunt Kit looking most bemused at all the noise.
Probyn had no sooner spoken, than his neighbour Sergeant Mackenzie and his wife emerged. ‘We were just coming to see what all the racket was about!’
Urging both women to enter, he asked breathlessly, ‘Can you do owt with our Grace? She’s gone doolally with me – I deserved it mindst – but the kids are upset and I’m frightened she might damage herself. I don’t know what the hell to do!’
‘Eh, dear, men!’ Kit signalled for him to come out of the way. ‘Come out and let me past!’
‘Take him into our house,’ Mrs Mackenzie told her husband, then flew after Kit.
Almost demented himself, Probyn gave a helpless shrug at his Uncle Worthy who looked equally at a loss, then both went into the house next door with Sergeant Mackenzie where they were to remain for the next few minutes, waiting until the noise died down.
Only when told to do so by Mrs Mackenzie, did Probyn attempt to gain re-entry to his home, though he paused on the threshold to enquire tentatively, ‘Did Grace tell you what all that was about?’
Mrs Mackenzie nodded her disapproval. ‘Another woman.’
‘It was a long, long time ago when I were only a lad,’ said Probyn quickly. ‘Years before I was married to Grace. I’d be much obliged if you didn’t broadcast it.’
Mrs Mackenzie gave a sharp laugh. ‘I doubt there’s anyone on the camp who didn’t hear that commotion.’ But on seeing the seriousness of Probyn’s face she added, ‘No, I won’t say anything. Grace didn’t give me the details anyway.’
He nodded relief. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’d go to her now if I were you. The lass is still right upset. Your aunt’s making her a pot of tea.’
‘Is it safe for me to go an’ all?’ enquired Worthy, and was granted permission.
Upon entering, the men found Grace cuddling her children who were somewhat recovered now, though Clem beheld his father sullenly.
‘Are you all right, love?’ asked Probyn.
There was no answer.
Kit came out of the scullery bearing a tea pot. ‘Yes, she’s all right, aren’t you, lass?’
Family of the Empire Page 55