Until the War is Over

by Until the War is Over (retail) (epub)

  Afterwards the men clapped and she and James congratulated him. James looked at his watch. ‘I hate to leave, but I simply have to catch my train back,’ he told them. The station was a mile away. ‘At least I managed to hear both of you perform.’

  ‘We’re nearly at the end of the programme,’ Cole told James as he left. ‘Thank you for your contribution.’

  ‘I wish I’d played better,’ Charles said to Cole. ‘I’ve spent too long without practice, and being on medication doesn’t help.’

  ‘Nonsense, you played it very well, Sir,’ Cole assured him. ‘How about a second piece?’

  ‘I’m not up to it at the moment.’

  ‘How about a duet? I’ve got Mozart’s Turkish March here, arranged for four hands. It’s relatively easy.’

  Charles wavered. ‘Have you ever played this, Lavinia? Didn’t I hear you once at a party, playing it with a friend?’

  ‘Oh – yes, I believe I did. But Orderly Cole will play it much better.’

  ‘I’ll only play it if you’ll join me,’ Charles insisted, with a coaxing smile she could not refuse.

  Cole positioned the music in front of them, and they agreed that Lavinia should play the primo part and Charles the secundo. Cole brought a chair across, which was not at a good height, but she sat next to Charles, determined to encourage him. Cole announced the encore. For a moment she panicked, worried that they had had no opportunity to practise together, but it was too late to escape performing. Cole brought down his arm as a signal to start them together.

  Lavinia launched into the piece with what confidence she could muster, and soon Charles was playing in an assured fashion. She was hardly breathing as she concentrated to avoid any mishap when the score brought their hands close together. She began to relax as they progressed through the piece. With his damaged legs he could not reach the pedals and she had to use them, especially for the loud conclusion. Now she was thrilled to have the opportunity to perform with him.

  As the applause broke out he turned to her, beaming. ‘I could never have done that without you,’ he said, kissing her hand gallantly.

  Orderly Cole helped him back into the invalid chair and returned him to his place to one side of the audience.

  Doctor Shaw came across. ‘I must congratulate you, Shenwood,’ he said, ‘though strictly you should have stayed quietly in bed.’

  Orderly Cole led the audience in ‘Roses of Picardy’ to end the concert. Then he sounded the opening bars of the national anthem. Lavinia reached over towards Charles, anxious he should not attempt to stand, but Doctor Shaw had already reached him with the same goal. Everyone who was able to stand got up respectfully.

  The men began to disperse, some of them needing help to return to their wards. ‘We must get you back in bed,’ Lavinia said to Charles urgently. Orderly Cole had the same idea and began steering his invalid chair as Lavinia accompanied them, opening doors. Charles was humming the conclusion to the Turkish March.

  It’s been a tremendous afternoon, she thought. But soon Charles will be off back to Blighty, and to Beatrice. How I’ll miss him when he’s gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Larchbury and Cambridge, September

  ‘You can leave Beth with us for the weekend when you visit Cambridge,’ Mother suggested one afternoon when Amy was visiting Sebastopol Terrace.

  ‘Are you sure she won’t be too much work for you?’ She looked at her lively daughter crawling across the carpet.

  ‘We’d simply love to look after her, now you’ve weaned her.’ Mother’s hair was whiter now; her ageing was more noticeable since they had lost Bertie.

  ‘How’s Aunt Louisa getting on, back in London?’ Amy’s aunt had been nervous of returning to her west London home for a while, before becoming convinced that the air raids were a horror of the past.

  ‘She seems very content in her letters. Now she’s made the move she’s seeing her London friends and settling back.’

  Amy was relieved, though she often shuddered at the memory of the terrifying night in February when they had experienced the raid which had killed Katherine.

  ‘Will there be the usual fête at The Beeches?’ Mother asked, for the Derwents traditionally held a charity fête in their grounds at the end of summer.

  ‘At first they weren’t going to hold it this year.’ Young men were abroad or fallen, and many families were disrupted or in mourning as the result of the war. ‘It was Edmond who persuaded his parents that it would help raise morale, and bring in money for the war effort. We decided we’d invite the school children to take part, and maybe the Scouts.’

  While she was speaking Father came in, looking weary from weeding the garden. It was the last day of his summer holidays. ‘What are the children supposed to do for the fête?’ he asked her, slumping down into an easy chair. Mother poured him a cup of tea from the pot she had made a few minutes earlier. ‘I met the headmaster yesterday and heard about it.’

  ‘Singing folk songs would be fine, or something patriotic,’ she said.

  ‘Right. We must start practising. We haven’t long to prepare.’ He considered. ‘There’s lots of garden produce in September. Villagers can bring in their spare fruit and vegetables to sell cheaply to raise funds.’

  Soon he was talking about the school again. ‘I hope young Florence will settle to teaching again after exploring France,’ he said. Amy’s parents had been intrigued to hear of Florence’s trip there. They understood why she had not been able to visit Bertie’s grave. It seemed she had cheered up James by visiting him, and the pair were exchanging letters regularly.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll soon get back into her routine,’ Amy said, though she had noticed a difference in her friend since her audacious trip. She seemed more confident and less apt to sit quietly at home with her parents.

  Amy could not resist talking about their house. ‘I’m longing to see it,’ she told them. Edmond had found it on a visit to Cambridge with his father, and the coming weekend they were taking her to approve it before completing the arrangements.

  Father looked at her in a serious fashion, his grey eyes probing hers. ‘Will Edmond have enough money to support the three of you at Cambridge?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, of course!’

  ‘Look, darling, we know he means well,’ Mother said, drinking the last of her cup of tea, ‘and you’re used to hard work, but with Beth to care for and a husband who’s not fully fit you should have a maid to help.’

  ‘We mean to get one, at least for a couple of days a week,’ she reassured them.

  ‘I’m going to give you both a sum of money to help you set up home,’ Father said.

  ‘Oh – that’s so sweet of you – but you should keep it for when you retire.’ She was moved by their generosity.

  ‘We want you to have the money,’ Mother said. It was clear they had discussed the matter. ‘Look, to be honest, darling, we put money aside in case Bertie needed help in buying a house one day…’

  ‘Oh, I see…’ She often thought of her brother, and he was never far from her mind when she visited her parents.

  ‘We can’t bring Bertie back, but we’d be delighted for you and Edmond to make good use of the money.’

  ‘If that’s what you want it’ll be wonderful,’ she said, thankful as ever for their constant support. Beth was examining the fire irons enthusiastically, and Amy picked her up and placed her on her lap.

  ‘Edmond will be very grateful, too,’ she told them. ‘At first we thought it would be hard to live well with only his army pension, but his father’s giving him an allowance, and he has a small inheritance from his grandfather. It turns out we’ll be well provided for after all!’

  Outside the shadows were beginning to lengthen. ‘I’d better start back,’ Amy said.

  ‘Let me come with you and help push the pram,’ Father said, getting up.

  He still looks tired, Amy thought. ‘There’s no need, honestly.’

  * * *

  It was stil
l mild outside as she set off back towards The Beeches. A few villagers were wandering home, including the two red-headed Watson girls, looking weary as they wandered down the road on their way back from working on a nearby farm. Besides milking the cows they had been helping with the harvest. Their faces lit up as they stopped to peer into the pram at Beth, sleeping contentedly.

  ‘Your skin is less burnt now,’ Amy told the younger girl.

  ‘Yes, Miss – er, Mrs Derwent. It’s not been so hot lately. And my arms got better when I put that cream on them.’

  ‘Thank you for giving it to us,’ the older one said.

  They were only twelve and ten, and Amy wished they had not needed to work all through their summer holidays to help keep the family fed. She waved to them as they continued towards their cottage.

  She turned off towards The Beeches. It was the hardest part of her journey, where the lane began to rise. Her bad ankle still hampered her progress. She paused to admire the view of the sheaves of corn in a field, in the reddish glow of the sun.

  Soon the path forked. To the left it rose steeply towards the forest, just outside the Derwents’ land, while Amy needed to take the right fork towards the drive to the house. A young couple were approaching down the hill from the forest. The girl was Elsie, bright-eyed as she walked along beside a young soldier. Now, who was that private? Amy had the feeling she knew him. Ah, yes, of course, it was Henry Smith, one of the family who had been gardeners at The Beeches. Henry was the middle one, between George and Joe in age. He was slimmer than George, with a merry, freckled face. He greeted Amy, asking after Edmond, before continuing towards Larchbury. He had his arm around Elsie, whose fair hair glowed in the sunshine. Amy took the turning for The Beeches.

  Becoming tired, she slowed for a moment and looked around. The couple were entwined in an embrace, exchanging kisses. Amy went on her way, a little uneasy. Elsie did not strike her as a sensible girl and she hoped she was not allowing the soldier too many liberties, even if he would soon be returning to the Front at the end of his leave.

  * * *

  ‘This will make a fine home while you’re at university,’ Amy told Edmond that weekend. Pa had driven them to Cambridge. The little terraced house Edmond proposed renting was built of red brick with ivy climbing up one side of the façade.

  ‘It’s near enough to Edmond’s College for him to walk there easily,’ Pa approved.

  ‘With three bedrooms we can use the smallest for the nursery and still have a spare room for visitors,’ she said, glad she would be able to invite her parents. It would be good to welcome Florence for a weekend too.

  She looked out of a front bedroom window into the quiet street as a young man cycled past. ‘This is a lovely town,’ she said, ‘but I suppose it gets much busier in term time.’

  ‘It can get hectic,’ Edmond told her, grinning, ‘but some parts are so ancient they seldom lose their dignified atmosphere.’

  They went back downstairs, to the sitting room, empty apart from three upright chairs, for the agreement was that they would supply most of their own furniture. The rooms were smaller than in her parents’ home, but would surely be large enough for their basic needs. ‘So the landlord is leaving the curtains and carpets?’ Amy checked.

  ‘Yes,’ Edmond said. ‘Thank goodness we needn’t spend time searching for fabrics and rugs.’

  She knew they were short of time to complete all the arrangements, and tried to suppress her dislike of the dark, heavy curtains.

  He seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Unless there’s anything you particularly want to replace,’ he told her kindly.

  ‘I’ll consider making some fresh curtains once we’re settled,’ she said.

  They spent the rest of the early autumn Saturday in visiting a store and choosing a few basic items of furniture. ‘Let’s buy a new cot for the house here, and keep the present one at The Beeches,’ Edmond said. ‘Then Beth will have somewhere to sleep when we visit my family.’

  At length they returned wearily to the hotel where they were booked to stay overnight, and continued making plans over dinner that evening. They discussed with Pa which of the furniture from their room at The Beeches would be suitable for their house and would need to be brought from Larchbury, along with clothes and their favourite books and gramophone records.

  Next morning they wandered down to the river to enjoy the mild weather. She liked Edmond to take a short walk each day; but even now he tired easily and needed to sit on a bench for a while before they went back. Her own walking was still laboured too.

  ‘It’s over a year now since I was wounded,’ he told her. ‘I’m far less breathless than I used to be.’

  ‘Yes, I can see you’re improving,’ she said. She hoped he would not find life at university too demanding. It would be tempting for him to participate fully in the activities, but she must not allow him to become exhausted.

  Along the banks willows trailed their branches towards the water. The few students there before the start of term were eagerly plunging poles into the Cam as they surged along in punts.

  ‘One day when I’m a little fitter I’m taking you out in a punt,’ Edmond promised her. It looked a delightful way to spend the day.

  Meanwhile there remained important questions to discuss. ‘We must advertise for a maid,’ Edmond said. ‘I’ve taken down the address for a local paper and I’ll send them an advertisement to publish.’

  ‘We couldn’t have managed without all your help,’ Amy told Pa as they began the journey back. ‘We’re so grateful for all the driving you’ve done, and the allowance you’re giving us.’

  ‘Your generation are the unfortunate ones who’ve had to endure this terrible conflict,’ Pa said. ‘All I’ve done is look after the forest. The very least I can do for you two is help you make a fresh start now.’

  Amy nestled up to Edmond contentedly. At last they would have their own home. Their room at The Beeches was comfortable, if cluttered, but under that roof she was always aware of critical gazes from Ma and Beatrice, who still seemed to regard her as a disappointment.

  As they approached London they stopped for lunch at an inn.

  ‘So it’s still science you’re studying,’ Pa asked Edmond, when the waitress had taken their orders, ‘but what’s this particular branch you’re interested in, metallurgy, is it?’

  ‘It’s the study of metals,’ Edmond said. ‘It’s a subject that interested me when I first went to Cambridge, before the war. But now, lately, I’ve heard they’re doing pioneering work on lightweight artificial limbs, for the war-wounded.’ He still wrote to some of his friends who were fighting and met local serving men when they came on leave.

  ‘It sounds as though Charles will be needing an artificial limb,’ Amy said.

  ‘Exactly. It’s made me realise how valuable the work can be.’

  ‘It does sound worthwhile,’ Pa said.

  ‘At the start of the war, there were only clumsy artificial limbs, unless men could afford to buy their own higher quality ones,’ Edmond told him.

  ‘That’s right,’ Amy said. ‘Someone Father knows, whose son is in the school, preferred to use crutches than the awkward artificial limb they offered him.’

  ‘There’s the new hospital at Roehampton, in south London, now,’ Edmond said. ‘They’re planning a lot of research and development there. I aim to work there after university.’

  ‘I’m proud of you for having such a fine ambition,’ Amy said. If only he stays fit enough to follow his chosen career, she thought.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when they arrived back at Larchbury and collected Beth from Sebastopol Terrace. As they motored up the drive to The Beeches Amy recognised a familiar figure walking ahead of them. ‘It’s James!’ she said, delightedly.

  ‘Are you fully recovered now?’ she asked as she got out of the car.

  ‘Yes, I’m back at work. I’ve been escorting some wounded back on the ship and train,’ he told them. ‘One of th
e nurses who came with the group is your friend, Lavinia… I’ve got leave till Wednesday morning.’

  ‘I’m so glad you and Florence are close now,’ Amy said.

  ‘She sent me a cake last week,’ he said brightly. ‘It’s tremendous, getting gifts from home.’

  Amy was glad, remembering earlier days when she had sent cakes to Edmond and Bertie.

  ‘How’s the offensive progressing?’ Edmond asked. Each day he scanned the paper and he and Amy were encouraged by the consistent advance that seemed to be taking place. There were reports of chaotic scenes in German cities now.

  ‘We’ve moved a long way further east,’ James said.

  ‘Can you join us for dinner?’ asked Mr Derwent. ‘I’m sure Cook will have plenty for a guest.’

  ‘That’s very kind but I promised my parents I’d be home for dinner,’ he told them as they went into the hallway. ‘And I’m hoping to see Florence too. I’ve news for Beatrice, though. One of the officers who arrived back was Captain Shenwood.’

  ‘How is he?’ Edmond asked.

  ‘He’s had a few setbacks with his recovery,’ James told them.

  Amy was frightened by his words, remembering the gangrenous wounds she had seen while nursing.

  They could hear the mellow notes of the piano as Beatrice played a piece of light music by Sullivan. They all followed the sound into the drawing room. Mrs Derwent sent for tea and cake.

  Beatrice had met James before but he was not the kind of impressive young man who she might welcome enthusiastically. She only showed an interest in his arrival when he mentioned Charles.

  ‘So he’s back at last!’ she exclaimed, packing up her sheets of music. ‘But he’s in a hospital, you say.’

  James gave them details of where he was being treated in London. ‘I think he’ll be staying there for a few weeks,’ he told them.

  ‘And then he’ll be discharged, and we can get married?’

  ‘They might want to send him to a hospital for convalescents first.’ James seemed to be considering his words carefully. ‘Captain Shenwood’s wounds have not healed as well as they first hoped.’