‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be all right,’ replied Grace. So saying, she hefted the baby onto the crook of her arm and bade the children follow her. ‘In fact I don’t feel well at all. Don’t pour a cup for me, Aunt Kit, the children and I are going to bed. You’ll be all right to fend for yourself?’
‘’Course I will!’ Feeling utterly wretched, Probyn watched her leave the room.
‘Don’t worry I’ll see to him,’ vouched Kit, though she sensed Grace did not care and, when there was only her husband and nephew in the room, she added, ‘Poor little lass, I didn’t have the heart to tell her she hasn’t got any cups, smashed the lot.’ She had swept up most of the mess, but the room was in a sorry state, broken pictures lying on the sideboard.
‘I’ll go borrow some from Mrs Mackenzie.’ Probyn was gone for little over a minute.
When he set out the borrowed cups, Kit poured tea into them, saying, ‘Tell me to mind my own business—’
‘No, I know you’re only trying to help, Aunt, and you might be able to tell me how to make things up to her.’ And, sitting down, he began to relate to her and Worthy every detail.
‘By heck,’ breathed Kit when he had done. ‘And I thought I’d had a colourful life.’ Though deeply shocked and feeling great sympathy for the wronged wife, she tried not to sound judgemental, for it was the last thing Probyn needed. To cover her discomfiture she took a sip of tea, trying to envisage her nephew in a torrid embrace with some black woman; to her he would always be the three-year-old who had presented a dead chaffinch to wear on her hat. ‘I don’t know what to suggest, Probe. I don’t really know Grace that well.’ She rather regretted her laxity in this field now.
The soldier raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. ‘Neither do I, at least not the Grace I’ve just witnessed. She was like a … like a little savage. If you hadn’t come I think she might have killed me. I don’t know where to start in making it up to her.’
Kit put down her cup and began to rise. ‘Well, you’d better make some sort of effort and you’ll not get much done with us here.’
He discerned a hint of censure. ‘I know how you must feel but please don’t think badly of me, I was only a lad when—’
‘Nay! I’m not one to cast stones … well, maybe I’ve chucked a few pebbles in the past, haven’t we all?’ She smiled to reassure him that they were not leaving for the reason he thought. ‘No, this was only intended as a flying visit. We’ve been to Doncaster and we thought as we’d be coming right past your door we might as well pop in.’ In spite of her disapproval of his behaviour she made a joke of it, nudging her nephew as she put on her coat. ‘Good job we did or you might have been mincemeat.’
Somehow he managed to sound amused.
‘Toby’s looking after the farm and we don’t like to leave him too long.’
Probyn raised a smile. ‘For a second I got the image of this little lad being left in charge but he must be … what, nineteen now?’
‘Aye, he’ll be the next to marry,’ laughed Kit.
Worthy winked at Probyn. ‘She’ll never let him marry, wants to keep him at home all to herself!’
Probyn saw them to the door and waved them off. Once alone in the room he discarded his manufactured smile, flopped into a chair and unwound his puttees, then sat rubbing his calves for a moment, before finally bracing himself and venturing upstairs.
Lying fully clothed on the bed, Grace heard him open the door but kept her back to him.
Probyn came and sat on the edge of the mattress. ‘I’m sorry, dear, I really am. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’
Grace said nothing.
Tentatively, he stroked her hair. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Can you legitimize our children?’
He moaned. ‘They are legitimate! I’ve told you, you won’t find another marriage certificate with my name on it.’
She sat up suddenly. Probyn shrank back in alarm. ‘Don’t worry!’ scoffed Grace, ‘I’m not going to start again.’ Instead, she leaned against the bedhead, hugging her knees, forming a barrier between them. ‘I may not find a certificate no, but I’ve had all the evidence I need.’
He leaned over to cup her face. ‘Grace, if I could turn back the clock I would!’
‘But you can’t,’ she said. Then, utterly betrayed, she wept again.
21
He was awake an hour before the bugle sounded. In fact he had barely slept at all. Turning his weary face, he examined the back of Grace’s head for a few seconds, wondering if she had been similarly afflicted. Odd, how the back of someone’s head could be so expressive. She said not a word and he knew better than to speak to her, had been surprised that she had let him into their bed at all. Causing as little disruption as possible, he rolled onto the edge of the mattress and straight onto his feet, then crept from the room.
Downstairs, he lit a fire and got everything ready as for a normal morning, wondering if life would ever be normal again.
Should he take Grace a cup of tea or let her lie? Deciding to leave the gesture until it was time for him to depart for duty, he instead got the children up and gave them breakfast.
Clem bit into his bread and marmalade. ‘Where’s Mother?’
‘She’s having a lie-in,’ replied his father smartly. ‘She’s a bit poorly.’ .
Clem looked at his six-year-old sister who sat with wide eyes, saying nothing as she fed Maddie her rusks.
‘So!’ Their father showed them a list he had compiled. ‘I think you’re old enough now to help her around the house. Every morning you’ll find one of these lists pinned to the wall. That’s Battalion Orders and it will tell you what jobs you have to do before you go to school. Clem, today yours is to clean the range, Gussie, you wash the window sills and the front step.’ The other children were dealt only a smile. ‘I think Joe and Maddie are a bit young yet, but they’ll take their turn in time.’
He pinned the list at a suitably low point on the wall. ‘Don’t forget now, every day before you’ve done anything else.’ He turned back to them. ‘Now, I’ll just take your mother a cup of tea then I’m going on duty. When you’ve got yourselves ready for school take Joseph and Madeleine next door and ask Mrs Mackenzie if she’d mind looking after them today as your mother is ill. Think you can remember that?’ At their nods he buttered some bread for his wife, poured her a cup of tea, then somewhat apprehensively went upstairs.
She hardly responded when he placed the offering on the bedside table, nor when he told her that he had organized everything and she need not worry about the children. Only when he bent to kiss her did she come alive, the look in her eyes telling him not to try that again.
‘I’ll be off then.’ Miserably, he left her and went off to perform his duties.
* * *
It was a substantial relief that no soldier questioned him as to the identity of the black woman who had presented herself at the gate yesterday. He had been ready for it, having concocted a story that Emily was looking for a mutual acquaintance, but no one asked. Naturally, his subordinates would not dare, but neither had there been query from an officer. Nor did there appear to be any gossip nor any telling looks. Thinking about it, he was reassured by the fact that those who knew the story, Wedlock and John Goodwill were somewhere far away. There was little danger from that quarter. However, Grace was another matter.
When he came home that lunch time to see how she was he found her still in bed, the bread and butter untouched, though she had taken a few sips from the teacup. His offer to make her a sandwich rebuffed, he removed the cup and the plate of stale bread and replaced it with freshly made tea, then went back to his duties.
The evening found her much the same, except that by now the room stank of urine. Discovering a chamberpot that was full to the brim, he emptied it first before taking her food. Again it was ignored.
‘Grace, you’ve got to eat,’ he begged the despondent figure.
‘Why?’ Her pale heartbroken face looked up
from the pillow.
‘Well …’ He spread helpless hands.
‘I don’t want anything. Leave me alone,’ she told him.
So he did.
Collecting his two younger children from next door, he asked if Mrs Mackenzie would mind looking after them indefinitely.
‘I’d do anything for Grace,’ came the rather accusing answer. ‘They can sleep here if you like.’
‘Thank you but I think they’ll be happier coming home and seeing their mother for a while. It’s just the daytime I need help.’ Granted this, he thanked Mrs Mackenzie and returned to his own house.
Things were all right whilst they were eating tea, but afterwards there was a hiatus before bedtime and to avoid awkward questions from the older ones he set them more tasks. ‘I thought we’d make Mother a rug for when she’s better. I’ll map out a pattern for it but first what I want you to do is cut up these old garments into strips. Here, like this.’ Taking up some scissors he showed them what size to make the pieces. Satisfied that this would keep them busy for ages, he got the two younger ones ready for bed.
Later, congratulating Clem and Augusta for their little pile of colourful strips, he sent them to bed too, remaining downstairs himself to get things ready for morning and to have a mug of cocoa.
Reluctant to go to bed, he did everything possible to keep him from it. Taking his dress tunic, he slid his button stick behind one of the brass buttons and proceeded to apply polish. It was madness. He had a servant to do this, a servant who had already cleaned it perfectly well. He was just making excuses. Sighing, he abandoned the task and finally turned out the lights.
It was horrible getting into a bed that had not been properly made, even more so when the other person in it emitted such mute hostility.
As if the domestic situation was not enough, he could not get to sleep for worrying that news of this was going to reach higher order, that it was going to blight his dream. After the hiccups of those early years he had managed to control his boyish streak, had acquired the exemplary character that was mandatory for the role he prized. Was one youthful misdemeanour destined to ruin everything?
For days the anxiety was to continue, days in which Grace hardly set foot out of bed apart from to answer the call of nature, receiving no visitors except for her children who came to bestow kisses at morning and night.
After almost a week in which she neglected her health to a dangerous level, taking nothing except cups of tea and looking like a scarecrow, Probyn was forced to bring in the doctor.
But, faced with a mystifying complaint, the doctor could only prescribe a tonic, give her powders to help her sleep and tell her to get plenty of fresh air, advice that both Grace and Probyn knew would not bring about a cure.
Racking his brain for who to go to for advice, he did think about writing to Charlotte, but dreading her condemnation of his behaviour he postponed it. However, as if she had received a mental telegram, Charlotte turned up that Saturday afternoon.
At first her big square face beheld him gladly, tiny eyes scrunched up even smaller within her friendly beam. But when he told her Grace was ill, she went straightaway upstairs.
Upon seeing her Grace immediately burst into sobs. Rushing to her, thinking her friend was in the grip of some dreadful life-threatening malady, Charlotte was perhaps even more horrified to learn the true cause. She covered her mouth and said nothing until a tearful Grace had related the whole sordid episode, listening aghast until at the end of it she enfolded her friend in a supportive hug.
‘Oh, I could kill him for hurting you – I never thought Probe capable of such a thing!’
‘That poor bloody woman, Lottie!’ Grace wiped her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. ‘I can still see the look on her face.’ Her own face mirrored the grief she had witnessed on Emily’s. ‘I hate her for being his wife, for landing us in this mess, but it wasn’t really her fault was it?’
Charlotte was still stricken with disbelief, her tiny emerald eyes poring over the other’s tear-stained face searching for answers. ‘What happened to her? Where did she go?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Probyn offered to take her—’
‘He didn’t! Talk about rubbing your nose in it!’
‘Oh well, I suppose he felt obliged. She didn’t accept, just went. I was just so relieved to see the back of her … but I can’t rid myself of her face.’
Holding onto Grace’s hand and stroking it, Charlotte frowned. ‘I hate to ask, I know how dreadfully hurt you are already, but … does this mean you’re not legally married?’
Grace bit her lip which was blood-red from constant chewing. ‘I don’t know that either! I’m too frightened to ask officially. If he’s really married to her where would that leave me and the children? No, I can’t risk anyone finding out, Lottie. I’d rather not know.’
Charlotte nodded in agreement. ‘But what are you going to do about Probyn, dear?’ she asked gently.
Again came the anguished wail. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’
‘Well I know what I’d do!’ said an angry Charlotte, ‘I’d go and tell his commanding officer, get him a dressing down.’
‘No you wouldn’t.’ Grace shook her head.
‘No, you’re right I wouldn’t.’ All vindictiveness banished, Charlotte laughed softly at herself. ‘I’m as daft as you.’
‘Oh, it’s not that I mind him getting into trouble, I just don’t want anybody to know what he’s done.’
‘But you’ve nothing to be ashamed of, dear.’
Grace’s bloodshot eyes looked away. ‘I would if the truth came out; my children might be illegitimate.’
Unmarried, Charlotte had been slow to comprehend and now put her hand to her cheek. ‘Oh, God! Oh, if only I could change things for you, Grace. It shouldn’t happen to somebody as sweet as you, after the way you’ve devoted your life to him, followed him all over the country.’ Toying with one of the frizzy dark-blonde curls that framed her face, she asked thoughtfully, ‘So what will you do, carry on as if it hadn’t happened?’
‘It has happened hasn’t it? Sweet God in heaven, I feel as if it’s sending me mad!’ Grace clutched her head, rubbing hard as if to drive away the torturous thought. ‘That bloody song keeps going round and round in my head – you know, the one,’ she gave an angry rendition, her voice emerging as a thin pathetic warble, ‘Can’t get away to marry you today, my wife won’t let me! I don’t know if I can ever forgive him, Lottie.’ Grace would have cried again, but she had no more tears to give.
Charlotte stayed for as long as she could, tending her stricken friend as best she was able, brushing her hair, washing her face, plumping her pillows to make her more comfortable. ‘I don’t like leaving you. I’m going to ask for an afternoon off during the week so I can come and see you again.’
The fact that Probyn was thoughtful enough to bring up a tray of tea and jam sandwiches for them, did not sufficiently raise him in her esteem and, upon leaving she gave him a piece of her mind.
He did not retaliate nor try to give excuse, merely hanging his head when she asked what he had to say for himself.
‘No, you can’t say anything can you!’ demanded Charlotte, quietly so as not to upset the children, but forcefully enough for her message to get through. ‘You’ve broken that girl’s heart. God help you if her sisters find out.’
He felt sick. ‘Are you going to tell them?’
‘No! But not for your sake. That’s up to Grace.’ She hooked her bag over her wrist and made for the door. ‘I’ll be back next week to see how she is. Make sure you take better care of her!’
* * *
Unable to get an afternoon off, Charlotte was to return on an evening a few days later to check on her friend’s health, and finding Grace still in bed, suggested that she might feel better if she got up.
Instead of being tearful, Grace had plunged into lethargy now, replying that she might later, but privately thinking that there was nothing to
get up for. And although she enjoyed Charlotte’s visit, when her friend went downstairs she curled up into a ball and pulled the sheets over her head.
About to leave, Charlotte spoke to Probyn more civilly, telling him how worried she was about Grace. ‘We can’t allow her to go on neglecting herself.’
‘Short of dragging her out of bed, I can’t force her to get up. I’ve tried telling her how sorry I am but …’ he shrugged helplessly.
Charlotte set her prim little mouth in a decisive line, then turned on her heel and instead of leaving went back upstairs. Grace was surprised to see her, but was not appreciative of the scolding that followed.
‘I know you’ve been deeply hurt, Grace,’ Charlotte, normally as gentle a soul as her friend, tried to sound firm. ‘But it isn’t going to do you any good at all wasting away up here. Even if you feel angry at Probyn, and quite rightly, you shouldn’t neglect your children.’ Knowing it would not have any effect telling Grace to look after her own health she chose to rouse her with guilt. ‘They’re only little, they need you and they haven’t done anything wrong.’
Grace was offended to be so accused. She opened her mouth to retort … but then she saw that Charlotte was quite right, and she closed it again, merely nodding in answer, tears in her eyes.
Equally emotional, Charlotte came and pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek then. ‘I know you’d never hurt them. Goodbye, dear. I’ll come again when I can.’
Not expecting much to come of Charlotte’s parting declaration that she had talked some sense into Grace, Probyn closed the door on her and went back to seat himself amongst his children.
By cutting up old garments for over a week they had a large pile of strips and were now shown how to insert them into the piece of hessian that their father had stretched onto a frame, using sharp pegs of iron. And as Probyn shoved the peg in and out he remembered that it had been his father who had taught him how to do this, and thoughts of Monty led him to think of Emily, wondering what had happened to her. Despite her rebuttal he should have insisted on helping her get home, if only from simple courtesy, his father had always taught him to be courteous. From having two wives it appeared that he had no marriage of any kind now, might not even have a future in the army either.
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