by Adele Geras
The children said goodbye to their new friend and Hugh promised that they would return and see him on another occasion.
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Hocking. “Now that I know about the walnut, I must be kept informed of its progress.”
While the family had been at Kew Gardens, and even on the drive back to Chelsea, Lizzie had managed not to think too much about her mother and what could possibly account for the fact that no letters had been delivered to the house recently. Once they reached home, however, and particularly once everyone had eaten supper and Lizzie was in the schoolroom with Lucy and Hugh, every kind of worrying thought began to come into her mind.
She wondered whether to speak of her fears. Lucy asked her to join in a game of Beggar my Neighbour, but Lizzie had no taste for games. “I’m sorry, Lucy,” she said. “I don’t feel very much like playing tonight.”
“Why?” said Lucy. “Are you ill? I shall tell Mama if you are.”
“No, I’m well enough. Perhaps a little tired after our trip to Kew.”
Hugh looked up from his chair. He was reading a book about the animals of the African continent, but he put it down at once. “I’m not tired,” he said. “Even Lucy isn’t tired. I think you’re keeping something from us. You look most peculiar, as if you’re about to burst into tears. You’re not, are you? I can’t bear it when girls just blub and blub.”
“I never cry,” said Lucy, complacently. “I haven’t cried since I was six.”
“Yes, you have,” said Hugh. “You cried when Mama sent you to your room for disobedience, just the other day.”
“I was angry, that’s all. Angry tears don’t count. They’re not real tears, are they? Not like sad tears.”
“I’m not sad,” Lizzie said. “But I am a little worried. I don’t know if I’m right to be, but I can’t help it.”
“Can’t help what?” said Clara. She had come into the schoolroom to see whether the others were ready to prepare for bed.
“Lizzie’s worried,” said Lucy. “She won’t tell us why.”
Clara came and put her arm around Lizzie’s shoulders at once.
“Oh, Lizzie dear, you really ought to tell! I’m sure that if you do, we can make you feel better.”
“But I don’t know whether I have good reason. If I told you what the matter was, you’d think I was a fool.”
“Tell us and let us decide for ourselves,” Clara said. “I promise I shan’t think any such thing.”
Lizzie took a deep breath. “I write to Mama every day, as you know, and she has always written back at once. But for the last few days, there’s been no word and I can’t help thinking something must be very wrong. Perhaps Mama has been taken ill. Or perhaps there’s been an accident…the baby…”
Talking about her deepest fears, putting them into words for the first time, made Lizzie feel even worse. Tears were standing in her eyes when she finished speaking, and she blinked them away.
“I’m sorry…I don’t know why I’m crying exactly. Only I can’t bear to think of what may be happening at home.”
“I think that’s quite understandable,” said Clara. “Come with me now and we’ll see what Mama and Papa say about it.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t bother them with my concerns. They’ve been so kind to me already,” said Lizzie.
“Nonsense,” said Clara. “They undertook to look after you while your mother is indisposed. Papa would be mortified if you did not confide in him. Come with me, Lizzie. I’m sure there’s something that can be done to reassure you.”
Chapter Seven
In which Uncle William speaks his mind
Aunt Victoria, Uncle Percy and Grandmama had finished their dinner and were sitting in the lamplight when Clara and Lizzie came into the drawing room. Hugh and Lucy remained outside the open door. They were, Lizzie knew, going to listen as best they could from there, for if all four children had erupted into the presence of their elders, they would certainly have been sent up to get ready for bed. Even Clara and Lizzie on their own were met with raised eyebrows from Aunt Victoria. The children were not permitted to come downstairs after dinner, except on very special occasions. Uncle Percy made a harrumphing noise, as though clearing his throat, and said, “Well now, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visitation? Lizzie, my dear, I should have thought it was nearly time for you to be thinking of readying yourself for slumber.”
“Papa, Lizzie has something she wants to say to you. To ask you.” Clara took Lizzie by the hand and led her to a spot on the carpet directly in front of Uncle Percy’s chair. To Lizzie she said, “Go on. Tell Papa what you told me.”
Lizzie wondered what everyone would say if she turned and ran from the room. Grandmama in particular was looking at her from behind the spectacles that she wore for reading with a rather disapproving expression. She was a great believer in proper bedtimes and she was frowning quite severely. If Uncle Percy hadn’t taken Lizzie by the hand and said, “Come, come child. No one here is going to be angry with you, you know. Tell us what’s worrying you, do,” she would have made her escape at once.
Instead, she took a deep breath. “I have not had a letter from Mama for several days, and it’s not like her at all,” she whispered. “I fear that something may have happened to her. Or perhaps to the baby, and she doesn’t know how to tell me in a way which won’t distress me.”
“Cecily has always been a very conscientious letter-writer, it’s true,” said Grandmama to Lizzie, “but it is also true that someone during the late stages of your mother’s condition may be indisposed and therefore unable to write.”
“I’m sure that Mama would put a few words on paper however ill she was,” said Lizzie. “That is exactly why I…why I fear for her.”
“I’m sure there’s no reason to be frightened,” said Uncle Percy. “I shall write to her myself and enquire. In a few days, we will know more, I feel certain. Go to bed now, my dear, and don’t let it trouble you any longer.”
Lizzie stood staring at Uncle Percy’s feet, not knowing what to do. Only now, when she saw that there was to be still more waiting, did she realize how much she’d been hoping for immediate comfort. She felt so disappointed that her eyes filled with tears and she turned away to hide them.
Uncle William, who had been sitting silently up to that moment, suddenly stood up and strode over to Lizzie. She flinched a little and then immediately felt sorry, and wished she could have smiled welcomingly at her uncle instead. It wasn’t Uncle William’s fault that he looked so frightening, but it was difficult not to be somewhat scared of him. She had never, it was true, seen him lose his temper, but Lucy had told her stories of smashed crockery and curtains pulled from the window.
Uncle William wasn’t interested in her, however. He came right up to Uncle Percy’s chair and began to shout.
“You have no scrap of imagination, Percy. Can’t you see the child is at her wits’ end? What’s the use of writing yet more letters and waiting and waiting? Don’t you understand how endless the hours will be for Lizzie? Clearly, you don’t. I refuse to stand here and let her go on and on being unhappy. I shall take the carriage as soon as possible…tomorrow morning…and drive Lizzie down to the country to visit her mama. I hope you all agree.”
He glared round at the others. Grandmama looked as though she were about to say something, and Uncle William noticed this.
“Well, Mama? Do you wish to object?”
“No, no, my dear. I would only suggest that you wait until next Sunday, perhaps. After all, there is school to consider, is there not? We wouldn’t wish Lizzie to miss her lessons, I’m sure.”
“I don’t care a fig for school and lessons and I have no intention of letting this child wait for nearly a week. She’ll be worn out by the end of that time. No, tomorrow it is. Percy, I may take the carriage, I presume?”
“I suppose you may, William,” Uncle Percy said. “Are you sure you feel well enough for such a journey?”
“Well enough?” Now Uncle
William was shouting again, even more loudly, and waving his arms in the air in a very alarming manner. “There’s nothing wrong with me, except for the fact that I have lost an eye. I’m as strong as I ever was and I’ll knock to the ground anyone who says different, that I will!”
“No one’s suggesting that there’s anything wrong with your health, my dear,” said Grandmama, who seemed to be the only person in the family who could speak to William in a normal tone of voice. “I think Percy wonders whether you’ll be able to remain calm enough when you arrive at Cecily’s and make sure that you do not make any situation you find there even more…difficult.”
Uncle William was suddenly silent. He looked crestfallen, and for a moment, Lizzie thought he might begin to weep from his one eye. He did not shed any tears, however, but instead sighed deeply and said, much more quietly, “I shall be as gentle as a lamb, never fear, Mama. I’m sure I shouldn’t like to frighten poor Cecily. Nor you, Lizzie,” he added, addressing Lizzie directly for the very first time since her arrival in London.
“No, sir,” said Lizzie, trying to compose herself and hide her fears. “I’m sure I won’t be frightened at all. And it’s most kind of you to take me to visit Mama. I will be ready in the morning. Thank you.”
She bobbed a curtsy at everyone and fled from the room. Hugh and Lucy stood back to let her pass, and the three younger children ran upstairs together. When they arrived breathless on the landing outside their bedrooms, Elsie the maid was just coming downstairs from the attic to prepare the crockery and cutlery for the next day’s breakfast.
“You’re very late to bed, children,” she said, smiling at them. “It’ll be hard for you to rise and shine tomorrow.”
“I’ll be up at dawn, Elsie,” said Lizzie. “I’m going to visit my mama in the country.” She did not tell Elsie how nervous she felt at the prospect of being alone with Uncle William for the whole journey.
“I wish Uncle William would take me too,” said Lucy. “I’d like to see the country. I’ve been to the seaside.”
“I’m sure Uncle William has enough to worry about without having to deal with you too,” Hugh said. “It’s not going to be an outing, you know.”
“I’m going to bed. You are the rudest brother that ever was!” said Lucy, flouncing into the bedroom. Lizzie followed her.
“Goodnight, Lizzie,” said Hugh. “Wasn’t it fun in the glasshouse today?”
“Yes,” said Lizzie. “It was. I’d almost forgotten about it, what with all that’s happened since we returned home. Goodnight.”
Lizzie lay in bed, wide awake and listening to Lucy, who was snuffling a little through her nose as she slumbered. What she had said to Hugh was quite true. She had almost forgotten about Mr. Hocking and the wonderful plants he was in charge of. Hugh had pointed out to her the banks of rhododendrons, which came from the highest mountains in the world, called the Himalayas. Captain Hardwicke had first brought them to England in 1799, and more recently, Sir Joseph Hooker had added many other varieties from India. Hugh had also told her about the tulips they would see in the spring and how once, long ago, the bulbs were worth as much as jewels. How pleasant it would be to work in a glasshouse like a palace and care for growing things! Or even dig in the earth in the flowerbeds outdoors. How wonderful it would be to be a lady gardener! Thinking about this distracted Lizzie from what was really keeping her awake: a dread of the long journey to Mama’s cottage (and back!) with only Uncle William for company. What on earth would they find to say to one another? She hadn’t been telling Uncle William the truth. She found that she was more than a little frightened having no one but him to speak to for hours and hours together.
Chapter Eight
In which Uncle William converses with Lizzie
“Are you comfortable, Lizzie?” said Uncle William, and Lizzie nodded. She was perched beside him on the high seat of the family carriage, because the day was fine, and she would have felt awkward sitting behind him as a passenger all by herself. Besides, she liked to look at the glossy chestnut backs of the horses. She wished that these beautiful creatures might live at the house, like Mrs. Tibbs, the cat, but she supposed that having horses grazing in the back garden would scandalize the neighbours. London was different from the country. There, everyone had fields near their houses where their horses could enjoy the open air, and the animals slept in stables nearby. But of course there was no room in London for every house to have a stable attached to it.
“Looking at the horses, are you?” said Uncle William, as he flicked the reins and they moved off. “Are you certain you are sitting comfortably, Lizzie? It can take time to get used to the motion. Fine creatures, horses. Understand every word you say to them. That’s what I found, out in the Crimea.”
Lizzie thought for a moment and then ventured a question. “Were you in the Cavalry?” She didn’t know much about the Army, but she did know that the Cavalry rode horses and the Infantry had to march.
“No, not me. I had to walk across the battlefield. It made no difference, mark you. Bullets and swords find you wherever you are. But I did feel sorry for the poor horses, all the same. They never thought, did they, that they’d end up in a battle. They didn’t know what was happening. Pitiful. It was enough to break your heart, seeing the unfortunate creatures with blood all over them, dead in the dirt.”
Uncle William turned to Lizzie and added, “D’you know the poem by Lord Tennyson?
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.”
“The Charge of the Light Brigade…yes, we had to learn it at school.”
“Lot of rot,” said Uncle William. “Well, some of it is. Not the jaws of Death part. That’s true enough. And the mouth of Hell, well, I hope I never have to see the real Hell, because if it’s anything like the Crimea, then even the worst of sinners doesn’t deserve such a fate.”
“It must have been terrible,” said Lizzie, partly hoping Uncle William would change the subject and partly fascinated to hear more. She had never met a real soldier before and she couldn’t deny that however terrifying it was to think of dead men and horses covered in blood, however chilling it was to imagine the bullets whistling past your head and the swords slicing down all around you, there was also something exciting about the fact that the events Uncle William had witnessed were now part of History and there were even poems written about it, by famous poets like Lord Tennyson.
“Trouble with war is,” Uncle William went on, “that people need to have heroes to worship. They need to hear stories about bravery and daring and victory. The other army needs to be thoroughly defeated and then everyone’s happy. But I tell you, the real killer in the Crimea was disease. Disease and dirt. Cholera and dysentery killed more poor fellows than died in battle, I shouldn’t wonder. But no one wants to read about sickness and dirt in their morning paper. No, they want glory!”
Uncle William sounded furious as he spoke. Lizzie wondered whether she dared to ask him about his missing eye. She plucked up her courage. “Uncle William, how did you come to lose your eye? It must have been so painful! I can’t even think about it without tears springing to my eyes.”
“Painful?” Uncle William fell silent for a moment. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked me about that. Oh, don’t mistake me. They’re full of care and fussing around, but no one has asked me about the pain before. When my mother first saw me, when I came home from the war, she burst into tears, and Victoria fainted dead away. Dead away. Even Percy was silenced by the sight of me. I had a bandage round my head then, of course, and I was as thin as a skeleton after not eating properly for months. But I was alive. That was the thing that I clung to, through the pain. I was alive. So many others were lying dead in that wilderness. But the pain. I don’t know how to describe it. As though fire and rocks and biting creatures have taken up residence in your head. A tearing and a throb
bing and a burning. Impossible to tell anyone what it’s like, in truth. I don’t have the words. Lord Tennyson would find it hard to describe, I’d warrant.”
“How did it happen?” Lizzie wanted to know everything, now that Uncle William had started telling her about it.
“A bayonet wound. I suppose I can’t complain, for the man I was attacking came off worse. I killed the poor fellow.” Uncle William grunted.
Lizzie couldn’t help it. She covered her face with her hands and shivered.
“Next thing I know,” Uncle William continued, “I’m on a stretcher and being taken off to the hospital. And that I am glad of. She cared for me, you know. The Lady with the Lamp. Florence Nightingale herself. I’d be dead if it weren’t for her. Everyone thinks of her as a gentle soul, an angel. Well, she was angelic and no mistake, but as tough as the most battle-hardened general as well. No one dared to disobey her. Woe betide you if she found dirt where it shouldn’t have been. Cleanliness, that was the secret. Keeping everything clean, she insisted on that. She wiped my forehead. With her own hands. I had a fever, you see. For days and days I didn’t know where I was, or who I was and she didn’t give up. She wiped my brow and dressed my eye and held my hand and all the while I was having such dreams. You would not believe the strangeness of fever dreams. I saw monsters. Horses with tails made of fire. Fish with a woman’s eyes. Men with their heads growing at the ends of their hands… Oh, I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s not fit for a young girl to hear.”
“No, it’s as good as any story, Uncle William. Really. No one’s ever told me anything like this before.” A thought occurred to her. “Do you still have bad dreams?” she said. She felt shaken by what she’d been told, but didn’t want to speak of her feelings.