The Wartime Singers

by Lesley Eames

  ‘How exciting!’ Polly said. ‘Are you going to do it?’

  ‘I can’t plan anything until Harry returns.’

  Instantly Polly set aside her own concerns to give Lizzie a hug. ‘Hopefully that’ll be soon.’

  ‘Well,’ Margaret said, when she heard about Polly’s reaction. ‘I hope we’ll have her with us for a while longer, but we should prepare to do the show without her just in case she leaves soon.’

  It was a sensible suggestion but Lizzie was going to miss Polly badly.

  Margaret was practising a piece for the show a few days later when she made an unaccustomed mistake. She tutted, and tried again only to make another mistake. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.’

  ‘You do look flushed.’ Lizzie stepped closer. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’

  ‘It’s just a headache.’

  ‘Then go and lie down. Sleep it off.’

  ‘Perhaps I will.’

  Margaret went up to her room and Lizzie took a glass of water into her. ‘You’re sure it’s nothing more serious?’

  ‘People are saying the worst of the influenza has passed now, thank goodness.’

  But by morning Margaret was worse and Lizzie asked the doctor to call. ‘It’s the influenza all right,’ he pronounced.

  38

  Lizzie felt the cutting edge of fear. The influenza had killed thousands. ‘What can I do to help?’

  The doctor gave instructions and Lizzie wrote them down with trembling fingers but also with determination to nurse Margaret back to health.

  ‘You need to look after yourself too,’ the doctor advised.

  ‘I’m strong.’

  ‘This flu has taken many a strong person. I can have Miss Penrose moved to a hospital so—’

  ‘No! I mean no, thank you. My godmother would hate to be in hospital.’

  She’d be mortified to find herself on a ward full of strangers, with more strangers tending to her bodily needs. It would affront her sense of dignity. Besides, Lizzie could give her total devotion while hospital nurses would be stretched in several directions.

  ‘As you will, but if you change your mind…’

  ‘I’ll let you know. You’ll call in again to see how Miss Penrose does?’

  ‘I’ll call in daily, and don’t hesitate to fetch me if she takes a turn for the worse.’

  Several times through the afternoon pupils called for lessons and Lizzie sent them away with her apologies. Eventually she tied a note to the door knocker.

  Due to illness, lessons are cancelled for the time being. Kindly bear with us and we’ll be in touch as soon as lessons can resume.

  Miss L Kellaway.

  Margaret’s room was at the front of the house so Lizzie could hear voices outside when people came to the door. She was relieved that they sounded concerned rather than annoyed.

  All through the night Lizzie sat with poor Margaret who was at times delirious and at other times able to speak a little. She hated to be a nuisance, she said. She was sure she could get up if only her limbs would stop aching… Lizzie should rest instead of tending to an old woman…

  ‘You’re hardly old.’ Margaret was far too young to die now.

  When morning arrived – greyness seeping into the darkness then lightening it to pearly white – Lizzie stood and stretched her cramped back. Margaret was sleeping so Lizzie went down to make tea and prepare a fresh bowl of cool water for soothing Margaret’s face.

  Three envelopes lay on the doormat. Lizzie was touched to find they contained letters from pupils and their parents, all expressing concern. Opening the door to bring the milk in, she was moved again to see flowers had been left outside.

  Lizzie put them in a vase of water and took them into Margaret’s room in the hope that they’d cheer her up.

  ‘She’s no worse,’ the doctor said when he called, and with that Lizzie had to be content.

  She was seeing him out when Polly arrived. ‘What’s going on?’ Polly asked, as the doctor walked away.

  Lizzie explained.

  ‘You must let me help.’ Polly moved forward to enter the house but Lizzie barred the way.

  ‘If you catch the influenza, you could infect Mrs Bishop. She’s old and frail. It could kill her. You might infect Davie too. He couldn’t fight it either, being so weak.’

  Polly hesitated, clearly not liking Lizzie’s argument but acknowledging the truth of it. Davie was due back in London that afternoon. ‘All right. I won’t come in, but you must let me help another way. Do you need any shopping?’

  ‘Actually, yes.’ Lizzie asked for bread and a few other things that sprang into her mind. ‘Could you also tell Cordelia what’s happened and ask her to pass the news on to our other friends?’

  ‘Of course.’ Polly returned with the shopping half an hour later. ‘I’ll come again tomorrow. Look after yourself, Lizzie. I’m worried about you as well as Margaret.’

  Lizzie was tired but also thankful because Margaret was hanging on, managing to breathe and showing no sign of the blueness around the lips that signalled imminent danger. Not yet anyway. Knowing she needed to snatch rest where she could, Lizzie wrapped herself in a blanket and settled in the chair next to Margaret’s bed.

  The light was fading when Lizzie walked to the window to pull the curtains across. How gloomy these late November days could be.

  She frowned suddenly, her heart beating faster because she thought she’d caught a glimpse of a figure in the passage again. But no, there were only shadows. Lizzie still had no news of Matt’s return and it was preying on her mind.

  She went downstairs for fresh water and cloths. More notes had been pushed through the door and more flowers left outside including a bouquet of late dahlias and an even larger bouquet of magnificent chrysanthemums that Lizzie supposed must be from Cordelia as she’d left a note to say she hoped her flowers would cheer Margaret a little.

  The doctor came again in the morning. Margaret was still no worse but neither was she better. Polly came to the door too. ‘I’m sorry to drag you away from Davie.’ Lizzie said. ‘Assuming he arrived safely yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, I saw him last night and Mrs Bishop has kindly given me the afternoon off so I can see him again.’

  ‘You’ll give him my regards? My apologies too?’

  ‘I’ll pass on your regards but apologies aren’t needed. Davie understands the situation. He wishes you and Margaret well.’

  ‘I’ve another shopping list if you’ve time to fetch a few things for me?’ Yesterday’s list had been rushed and items had been missed from it.

  ‘I’ll make the time.’

  Polly dropped the shopping off soon afterwards, so Lizzie was surprised to find her back on the doorstep in the afternoon. ‘Poll, it’s kind of you to call but you should be with Davie.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t.’

  Lizzie was tired. She didn’t understand.

  ‘Davie and I had a long talk earlier. He’s been saying he made a mistake when he broke off our engagement, but I came to realise that he hadn’t.’

  What? Surely Polly couldn’t mean…

  ‘The war and that awful prisoner of war camp made him long for the old days, and I was a part of that life,’ Polly explained. ‘But the fact is that Davie was changing before he went to the war. And since then… Well, I’ve been changing too.’

  Lizzie hadn’t expected this.

  ‘Change happens whether we choose it or not,’ Polly continued. ‘I still want the same things I’ve always wanted – a loving husband, children, a comfortable home – but I want other things alongside them. I suppose I’ve caught your sense of adventure at last, because I enjoy the excitement of stretching myself in unexpected ways. Like performing. I’ll never be a lion like you, Lizzie. But I’m no longer such a passive little mouse.’

  ‘Goodness, you’ve taken me by surprise.’ But even as she spoke Lizzie realised Polly had indeed changed. Her confidence had grown. ‘What does Davie think?’


  ‘He argued at first, but finally… He understood, Lizzie. We parted as friends.’

  ‘I’m glad about that.’

  ‘There’s something else. Someone else, I should say.’

  ‘Someone else?’ Suddenly the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. ‘Jack?’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me I’ve been an idiot where Jack’s concerned. I was a fool not to realise that he was falling for me when we first met, and I was an even bigger fool not to realise how deeply I was falling for him.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘Certainly he knows. I went to his lodgings to tell him.’

  ‘You did what?’ Lizzie was shocked at Polly’s brazenness.

  Polly only looked smug. ‘Terribly forward of me, but I’d wasted enough time.’

  ‘You really have changed.’

  ‘Mmm. I still need to protect old Mrs Bishop from the influenza, but Jack doesn’t.’

  Polly half-turned and waved. When Jack appeared, Lizzie guessed he’d been waiting further down the street. His grin was wider than ever. ‘I hope you’re happy for us, Lizzie?’

  ‘I couldn’t be happier.’

  ‘I’ve waited a long time for my darling.’ He put his arm around Polly, drew her close and kissed her. ‘We’ll be getting married just as soon as possible. But until then I’m here to help. I know I can’t do anything of a personal nature for Miss Penrose, but I can keep an eye on her so you can get some rest.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Lizzie was overwhelmed.

  ‘Say, “Come along in, Jack,” and point me towards the kettle. I may be a man, but I can make a half-decent cup of tea.’

  Polly blew kisses to both of them and left.

  Jack proved he could indeed make a half-decent cup of tea. Unfortunately, it was also half-revolting, but Lizzie didn’t mind because having Jack in the house was enormously comforting. Promising he wouldn’t budge an inch from Margaret’s side, he insisted that Lizzie should lie down in her bed and she felt much better for it.

  Later in the evening when Margaret was still holding steady, Lizzie went out for a short walk, making a circuit of the terraces on the opposite side of the road. Frost shimmered on the pavements like scattered diamonds and the night-time air was crisp after the oppressiveness of Margaret’s sickroom. Heaving the freshness into her lungs, Lizzie gave thanks for Margaret’s survival so far and prayed for her recovery.

  She was approaching the house again when she came to an abrupt halt. A tall man really was standing in the opening to the passage across the road and peering towards Margaret’s house. Lizzie’s imagination hadn’t been playing tricks after all. ‘Matt!’ she called.

  The man whirled around and she saw that he was a stranger, much older than Matt. The passage must be where he paused to catch his breath while out on a regular evening walk.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lizzie said. ‘I mistook you for someone else.’

  But she must have alarmed him because he hastened away at speed.

  She’d let herself into the house and taken off her hat when a thought struck her. Running out again, she raced up the road in the direction the stranger had taken but he was nowhere to be seen. Vexed, she returned to the house.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jack asked. ‘I thought I heard you come in twice.’

  ‘Yes, I… dropped a glove and went back to find it.’

  It was a fib, but Lizzie needed to think before sharing her thoughts.

  39

  Lizzie insisted that Jack should go home to sleep but she was grateful for his promise to return in the morning. Having slept earlier, she wasn’t tired as she sat through the night with Margaret, though she knew a moment of fear when the delirium worsened. Lizzie mopped Margaret’s brow and eventually she subsided into sleep.

  Margaret had a lucid moment towards morning. ‘I’m sorry to be such a burden,’ she croaked between sips of water.

  ‘You’re not a burden,’ Lizzie insisted, then went on to explain that Jack would be coming. ‘He sat with you for some time yesterday. Do you mind if he sits with you again?’

  ‘Oh, dear. I must look such a fright. Illness is so undignified!’

  Lizzie smiled. Margaret’s body might be unwell but her personality hadn’t changed. ‘He won’t sit with you if it makes you uncomfortable.’

  ‘No, let him come. You need a break.’ She paused then added, ‘It was a happy day for me when you turned up at my door all those years ago.’

  Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears at the unexpected compliment but the fever soon reclaimed Margaret.

  Jack duly arrived. Polly called too but didn’t come in. ‘I just want you to know I’m thinking of you.’

  The doctor pronounced that there was still no change in Margaret’s condition. ‘But you’re doing a good job of nursing her, young lady,’ he said.

  Once again, Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears because there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her beloved godmother.

  More notes and gifts were left. Flowers, soup, and a basket of fruit. How kind people were.

  Later in the afternoon, as twilight was casting its shroud of darkness over the day, Lizzie told Jack she was popping outside. ‘A breath of fresh air will do you good,’ Jack said.

  It wasn’t fresh air that Lizzie had in mind. Outside, she crossed the road to the passage where she’d seen the stranger and tied an envelope to the drainpipe. Surely anyone standing here would notice the white paper against the red brickwork, even in shadow?

  They’d just finished dinner, eating in Margaret’s room so she wouldn’t be left alone, when a knock sounded on the door. ‘I’ll go,’ Lizzie said.

  The stranger was outside. Only he wasn’t quite a stranger. He held up the envelope which Lizzie had addressed to Mr George G Grafton, and the note she’d placed inside it saying:

  Dear Mr Grafton,

  You may have seen the notice on our front door advising callers that there’s illness in the house. It’s my godmother, Margaret Penrose, who is ill, but please ignore the notice and call if you wish to hear more.

  Yours sincerely,

  Lizzie Kellaway.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Grafton.’

  He nodded but looked too agitated to linger on social niceties. ‘Your godmother is seriously ill?’

  ‘She has influenza, but the doctor says she’s holding her own.’

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat like a boat on choppy water. ‘I’ve no wish to intrude, but—’

  ‘Come in, Mr Grafton. You’re not intruding.’

  She showed him into the music room. ‘Please sit down. I’ll make tea.’

  She ran down to the kitchen to set the kettle on the stove then ran upstairs to Margaret’s room. ‘We have a visitor,’ she told Jack. ‘I’ll explain later.’

  Mr Grafton stood politely as she returned to the music room with the tea tray.

  Now he was under the gaslight Lizzie could see that he was a handful of years older than Margaret, tall, thin, and going grey. His face was lean but intelligent, and Lizzie liked the kindness in his eyes. ‘You knew my godmother many years ago,’ Lizzie began, sitting down and pouring the tea.

  He sat too and accepted a cup. ‘With Miss Penrose ill, it feels too urgent a time to be dancing with words, Miss Kellaway. I fell in love with your godmother when we were young. She loved me too and would have married me, had it not been for her father. I was a musician but a poor one. Mr Penrose didn’t admire my style of musical composition and thought I had no future. He was a stern man and doubtless he put his daughter under pressure to reject me on the grounds that to accept me would be to fail in her duty to him and bring disgrace to the Penrose name.’

  Lizzie had guessed that something of the sort must have happened.

  ‘When I realised my case was hopeless, I went to America where I proved to be rather more successful than Mr Penrose had anticipated. I tried hard to forget your godmother. I met other women and I hope you’ll forgive me when I say t
hat many of them were prettier than Margaret. More graceful and charming too, with a real sense of style in their dress. However, love may not be blind, Miss Kellaway, but it lifts a person above such considerations as appearance. For all their beauty and elegance none of those women were Margaret so none of them would do for me. So here I am, still yearning for a woman I haven’t seen in more than twenty years.’

  ‘It isn’t for me to speak for my godmother, especially as she hasn’t confided in me about your… romance. But she never married either and she kept some music you wrote for her. “The Girl—’

  ‘—With Grey Eyes”,’ he finished, pleasure warming his eyes and bringing a whimsical smile to his lips.

  ‘The reason I know you exist is because I stumbled upon that music when I was a child,’ Lizzie explained. ‘I never forgot it, and began making enquiries about you in music shops. That’s how I learnt the address of your publishers.’

  ‘And wrote to me care of those publishers.’

  ‘To be honest, I thought my letter had gone astray as I lost it in the street.’

  ‘Some kind soul must have picked it up and posted it. I’m very glad they did, though I had to wait until the end of the war before settling my affairs in New York and sailing across the Atlantic.’

  ‘Why don’t you play the song for her?’

  ‘Now?’ The suggestion surprised him.

  ‘She sleeps for much of the time, but she has lucid moments and the music might reach through to her. I have the music here if you don’t remember it.’

  ‘Oh, I remember it.’

  He moved to the piano and lifted the lid. Then he sat down and ran his fingers over the keys. ‘It’s well tuned.’

  ‘Would you expect anything else from my godmother?’

  ‘She was always fastidious.’

  ‘Allow me two minutes to get upstairs. I’d like to be with her when you play.’

  Jack gave her a curious look when she entered Margaret’s bedroom, but Lizzie hadn’t time to give him an explanation now. ‘Later,’ she promised.

  She sat beside Margaret’s bed and soon the strains of ‘The Girl With Grey Eyes’ were floating through the house. It was a beautiful melody.