by Lesley Eames
Lizzie could imagine him being their favourite uncle. Thoughts of Harry’s happy family put her in mind of the Warrens.
Should she ask Harry the question that had been hovering in her mind?
‘What is it, Lizzie?’
‘I have a friend and I’m wondering if you know a way of finding out which regiment he’s serving in?’
‘A friend?’ Lizzie saw a touch of dismay flicker over Harry’s face at the thought of a rival. It was flattering. Exhilarating too.
‘I met Matt when I was a child of thirteen and haven’t seen him since,’ she explained, and Harry’s expression turned rueful. Embarrassed, even.
‘Sorry. It’s just… Well, I like you, Lizzie. Very much.’
Goodness. He was only confirming something she’d already guessed, but it was still quite a step forward for him to put it into words. Lizzie was beginning to see that it would be easy indeed to be swept away by romantic feelings despite the war. In fact, far from holding them back, the war might push those feelings forward on a tide of tender-hearted urgency, because who knew what the future might hold? Or even if there’d be a future?
‘I’m rushing you,’ Harry said.
‘A little.’
‘Then I’ll slow things down, because I don’t want you running away from me.’ There was understanding in his eyes. ‘What’s the name of this old friend?’
‘Matthew Warren from Staffordshire. I don’t have an address.’
‘You’re sure he’s in the army, rather than the navy or Royal Flying Corps?’
‘I thought I saw him in army uniform a few weeks ago but I’m not completely sure. He lent me some money once, but I lost his address and I’ve never been able to repay it. I’d like to find out how he is, too. Him and his family.’
Harry took a small notebook from his pocket and wrote the name down. ‘I can’t promise success, but I’ll do my best.’
‘Thank you.’
Harry grew thoughtful on the drive back to Highbury. He caught her glancing at him and sighed. ‘I’m thinking about what I said earlier. I really don’t want to rush you, but having only three more days of leave makes it difficult to go slowly. May I see you again?’
Lizzie hesitated. Tomorrow was Sunday and she wouldn’t leave Margaret alone for a third time no matter how much she wanted to say yes to Harry. Perhaps it would be sensible to spend a little time apart from him anyway. ‘I have to stay with my godmother tomorrow.’
‘The following day?’
‘I already have a commitment for Monday evening.’ Lizzie and Margaret were hosting a meeting of the women’s group. ‘But if you’d like to go for a walk in the morning…’
‘A walk will be terrific,’ Harry said, smiling.
The smile turned a little rueful when he realised Margaret was observing them from behind the curtain of the music room. He walked Lizzie to the door and left her with a bow rather than a kiss, calling, ‘Safely home again, Miss Penrose!’ as Margaret opened the door.
Lizzie was glad to be able to tell Margaret that she wouldn’t be seeing Harry again until Monday. Margaret nodded and looked relieved.
Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, however, and Lizzie’s thoughts turned to Harry often. There was so much more to him than dashing good looks. He was kind, generous, thoughtful, and fun. Thoroughly decent, in fact, based on what she’d seen of him so far. Who wouldn’t take pleasure in his company and the admiring glow in those dark eyes?
But their circumstances were different. While Lizzie would remain here in London Harry would soon be gone, and an attraction of just a few days’ duration – however promising it appeared now – might wither and be all-but forgotten once he was submerged back into fighting a war. This was especially the case if the attraction owed some of its intensity to a soldier’s need to seize every possible moment of joy from life while he could.
Lizzie liked Harry Benedict a lot. She could see how easy it would be to feel even more for him. But it would be sensible to proceed with caution, enjoying his company while remembering that nothing might come of it.
He duly called for her on Monday morning and they spent an hour walking in Highbury Fields. Lizzie saw nothing to change her opinion of him. In fact, her liking only grew when he chased after a puppy that had slipped its lead then restored the dog to its owner with a good-humoured smile and the comment, ‘Jolly little creature, isn’t he?’
When Harry seemed unaware of the admiring glances that were sent his way by two young women who were walking arm in arm, Lizzie added modest to her list of his personal qualities and her liking for him deepened still further.
They moved into a tea room to warm themselves, as the day was cold. Harry didn’t mention Matt and, not wanting him to feel bad if he’d forgotten all about her favour, Lizzie kept quiet too. She wouldn’t see Harry again before he left for the front and, though he was as charming as ever, she noticed signs of strain in his eyes.
‘I hope you won’t mind if I write to you?’ he said.
‘Not at all. I might even reply.’
Harry smiled at the joke but his smile bore a wisp of sadness. ‘You’ve made the last few days special, Lizzie. In other circumstances, we’d have time to get to know each other properly. Unfortunately, we don’t have time, but I hope we can pick up where we’re leaving off one day, and keep in touch in the meantime.’
He took the notebook from his pocket and tore out a sheet of paper on which he’d already written an address. ‘This is where you can write to me. And this,’ he tore out another sheet, ‘is where you can reach a corporal called Matthew Warren who’s serving with the West Staffordshire Regiment.’
Lizzie was thrilled. ‘I’m so grateful,’ she told him, tucking the notes into her bag.
They returned to Marchmont Row slowly as though to spin out their time together. Harry stopped her with a touch on her arm while the house was still some yards away. ‘I’ll walk you to your door but I’ll say goodbye here.’
Lizzie felt herself blush as he bent to kiss her. It was a chaste kiss – on her cheek instead of her mouth – but it was delivered with a sigh that suggested Harry would have much preferred to kiss her lips. Rather thoroughly.
Lizzie wouldn’t have been ready for that sort of kiss, so this was perfect, full of affection without being full of rushed commitment.
‘I hope I wasn’t taking a liberty?’ Harry asked afterwards.
‘Not at all.’
‘One day I’ll kiss you properly,’ he said, smiling, and Lizzie hid a blush by continuing towards the house.
Once there Harry called in to bid goodbye to Margaret then left again. Lizzie saw him to the door and watched him walk away. He reached the corner and looked back, his expression wistful.
‘Please write!’ he called.
‘I will!’
With that he was gone.
Davie, Matt and now Harry. Lizzie’s stake in the war had deepened further. She’d be scouring the casualty lists with even more sick dread from now on, searching for three names and praying she wouldn’t find any of them.
19
I hope you’re the Matt Warren who helped a girl called Lizzie Kellaway in 1909 when she needed rescuing from an awful man called Amos Bradley, Lizzie wrote that night.
If you’re not that man, I apologise for troubling you. But if you are him, I’d like to explain why, despite all your kindness in taking me to your farm to recover then accompanying me to my godmother’s house in London, you’re only hearing from me years later. There was an unfortunate accident, I’m afraid. With the best of intentions my godmother washed my dress while your address was in the pocket and the ink on your note ran so badly that I couldn’t read it.
I’ve spent many hours since then poring over maps in the hope of locating Bee Corner Farm but I’ve never found a mention of it. I even wrote to you at what must have been a hundred villages around Staffordshire in the hope that I’d hit upon the right one, but either none of the letters reached you or you were
too disgusted by my behaviour to write back.
I’m very sorry for losing your address, even though it was unintentional. I hope you’ll forgive me and write back now you know what happened as I want so much to know how you are. Edith and the others too. How is Bee Corner?
I haven’t forgotten that I owe you money. I’d have sent it with this letter but thought it best to wait until you confirm you’re the Matt Warren I once called my friend.
In the meantime, I send my best wishes to you and the family.
Lizzie Kellaway.
PS If you’re wondering how I know you’re in the army, it’s because I saw you catching a train at Waterloo station. At least I think I did. A friend gave me your service address.
*
She posted the letter the following morning. Returning home, she found to her surprise that a letter had already come from Harry.
Dear Lizzie,
For someone who said he wouldn’t push, I’m afraid I’m pushing again. Perhaps not pushing exactly, as by the time you receive this, I’ll be on my way overseas. I just want to say again how much I appreciated your company during my leave. You’ve given me lovely memories to treasure.
Please write soon.
Fond regards, Harry.
The letter bore the address of his parents’ house in Surrey – Ashlyn, Beechfield Green. Lizzie supposed he must have written it soon after parting from her yesterday. She glowed warmly at the thought of him taking the trouble to write when he must have been preparing to leave as well as spending precious time with his family.
But perhaps his imminent departure had made the need to grab every moment of joy from life feel even more urgent. Happy as she was to receive it, Lizzie wouldn’t read too much significance into the letter. In fact, she decided to wait several days before replying, thinking that slowing things down might spare them both from awkwardness if time and distance made Harry feel that their time together had been a pleasant interlude but not something that had a future.
Much as Lizzie liked Harry, Margaret was right. It would be unwise for Lizzie to let her feelings run away with her.
Four days passed before she allowed herself to write, and she took care to couch the letter in friendly rather than romantic terms.
Dear Harry,
I hope your journey was safe and as comfortable as it could be on a troop ship.
I too enjoyed the time we spent together, and it was touching to hear from you so quickly. I imagine you want letters from home to be entertaining so I’ll do my best to oblige, but please bear in mind that the life of a piano teacher tends to lack both glamour and adventure. Luckily, there was an incident yesterday that ruffled the sedateness of lesson time slightly – just in time for me to write about it. One of my pupils, Percy, smuggled his pet mouse into his lesson by hiding him in a pocket. Unfortunately, Albert Mouse grew bored with his owner’s heavy-fingered rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and escaped.
Percy panicked when he realised what had happened. By then Albert was long gone and I was beginning to fear my godmother’s house would suffer a mouse infestation when in she marched, holding the mouse and demanding to know if Percy had any knowledge of the creature. I’m not sure what overset Percy more – horror at almost losing his pet, or awe that my godmother should have scooped the creature up so calmly. He told me his female relations would have screamed and fled at the sight of a mouse…
Lizzie wrote a little more then signed off by writing, Fond regards as he’d done.
It was a nice way of ending a letter. Friendly without being intimate.
Two weeks passed and brought another lovely letter from Harry. If his feelings had cooled, it wasn’t apparent from his letter, which told her how much he missed her.
Once again Lizzie wrote back in friendly terms that still kept the door open for him to withdraw from the correspondence without embarrassment.
No letter came from Matt. Perhaps she’d written to the wrong Matthew Warren, or perhaps he’d decided not to forgive her. Either of those options was better than a third possibility – that he’d fallen in battle.
But there were other alternatives. Matt might have lacked the time to write or his letter might have been caught up in the postal system. Post from the front could be erratic. Lizzie wouldn’t give up hope.
Three weeks after she’d first written to him, she had her reward when a letter finally arrived. Lizzie tore into the envelope where she stood in the hall.
Dear Lizzie,
How surprised I was to receive your letter but how delighted too.
And how happy Lizzie was to know that she’d made contact at last and Matt was well disposed towards her.
I never thought badly of you and neither did the others. We took it as a sign that you were busy with your new life and were glad for you.
I’m sorry you spent so much time – and so many stamps – on writing to us at Bee Corner Farm. I was puzzled when I read that – until I remembered that Edith gave that name to a section of garden where lavender attracted whole hosts of bees. Perhaps you saw the sign I made for her birthday one year. The farm is actually called Sorrel’s Patch but I suppose we never mentioned the name in your hearing. There’s a sign on one of the gateposts but it’s often overgrown by bushes so is easily missed.
Please don’t worry about the money you feel you owe. It was a pleasure to help you and we don’t begrudge a penny.
You don’t mention how you are, but I can assure you that we’re all well. Edith is married now and her husband, Peter, is helping to run the farm alongside Joe and Mikey. Molly is still at home, of course, and Edith has a child of her own to add to the liveliness, a little boy called Thomas.
It was the knowledge that I was leaving Sorrel’s Patch in excellent hands that enabled me to enlist. I’ve fared pretty well and have an advantage over many chaps as I’ve always lived an outdoor life. Wind, rain, snow, ice, mud… they don’t trouble me unduly, though I’m as grateful as the next man for a bath and a hot meal. Apart from a small shrapnel scar (and I’ve had worse injuries on the farm), I’ve stayed whole as well as healthy.
I’m sure Edith would be happy indeed to receive a letter from you if you have time to write to her so I’m adding her address to the bottom of this letter. She’s Mrs Foster now. I’d love to hear more about you and your new life too.
With fond memories of a spirited little girl who’s doubtless become a spirited young woman.
Matt Warren
The letter thrilled Lizzie – warmed her through and through, in fact – though she was sure Matt must be suffering more than he was admitting, and missing the farm too. She read it several times, lingering on his description of her as a spirited little girl. Lizzie supposed she had been spirited, but she’d also been afraid. Meeting Matt all those years ago had made her feel she’d reached safe harbour. Even the memory of the time she’d spent with him wrapped her in softness. Matt had not only been kind to her. He’d understood her.
Lizzie wrote back and told Matt all about her early life with Margaret, being careful to paint Margaret’s eccentricities in a generous light. She also told him about how she was living now – teaching piano, attending the women’s group and, of course, performing as one half of the Penrose Players. Her pen flew over several pages before it occurred to her that she might be overwhelming him. She finished by urging him to write again.
She also wrote to Edith, explaining her silence over the last years, congratulating Edith on her marriage and family, and begging for more news of all the Warrens. Edith wrote back to say she was delighted to hear from Lizzie and assured her that everyone on the farm was well. We’re all so proud of Matt, she added, but worried for him too. He enlisted as a private but has already been promoted to corporal. I hope his promotion doesn’t mean he takes more risks…
Exchanging letters with Harry, Polly, Matt and Edith kept Lizzie busy over the last months of 1915. She had much to report about life in London, her teaching, the concerts and the characters s
he met at them.
She also made a special effort to note funny incidents when she was out and about or reading newspapers. The dressing-down a rather hoity-toity woman gave to a carter when his horse snatched her handbag went into Lizzie’s letters. So did the gentleman who embraced a stranger in the street in the mistaken belief that she was his wife after his spectacles broke and he could barely see. Then there was the newspaper report of a fight between two drunk men who were arguing about the best beer in London, another report on a woman who’d reached the age of one hundred and put her longevity down to eating mint imperials, and the time a pupil confided that a chimney sweep had accidentally caught his mother in her underwear.
To Matt’s letters she added the sort of observations of nature she thought would appeal to him. The dazzle of winter sun as it set behind leafless trees, the jewelled appearance of a spider’s web after rain, clouds surging across the sky like mighty galleons…
To Harry’s letters she added comments about the London bustle and mood. She also began throwing caution to the wind by telling him that she missed him. It was true, and he said it to her every time he wrote, his letters suggesting his interest in her hadn’t cooled at all.
Not that Lizzie was in love with Harry. Not yet, though perhaps the wind was set fair for it. After all, it wasn’t only his handsomeness she remembered whenever she thought of him. There was something open, honest and eager about him. Caring and generous too. And it was those qualities that warmed her affection for him. But they’d met in person only five times in total, and love… It was just too soon.
*
Christmas approached and Lizzie sent parcels for Harry and Matt containing warm socks, soap, tinned ham, sardines, cocoa, and – partly as a joke – packets of lice killer. To Edith she sent a basket of nuts and also a jacket and bonnet she’d knitted for Edith’s new baby, a little girl called Rose.
To Polly, Lizzie sent a pretty enamel brooch with a set of teaspoons for her bottom drawer, while for Margaret she bought another blouse. Just a new grey blouse to replace an old grey blouse, but at least this one had a white collar and thin white stripes to liven it up.