‘I’m planning to make good use of my time in London,’ he went on. ‘I might see The Maid of the Mountains, or Chu Chin Chow. I’ve missed the theatre so much while I’ve been in Flanders.’
Pa was gulping down his cheese and port, and any minute now he would suggest returning to their rooms, realising she was in no mood for social niceties.
A waiter approached their table. ‘Mr Derwent, Sir? There’s a telephone call for you.’
He hesitated, then got up to take the call. ‘Please excuse me,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be long,’ he told Beatrice.
She looked at the officer, smart in his uniform. ‘I believe you were already in the army when the war began,’ she said.
He sat down in the chair her father had vacated. ‘That’s right. I’ve been through the whole campaign – well, almost – and I’ve been promoted to Major.’
‘Congratulations!’ If she had not been so downcast at Charles’s news she would have noticed his impressive rank. ‘Your father must be proud of you. You seem to have escaped being badly injured,’ she said, wondering at his good fortune.
‘I got a bullet through my shoulder on the Somme,’ he told her. ‘Luckily it wasn’t a severe wound. It was just enough to keep me out of the fighting for the rest of the year. Apart from that I’ve been very fortunate.’
‘You have.’ There could not be many men who had survived the whole war so far relatively unscathed.
‘I say, Beatrice, would you come to the theatre with me one night this week?’
‘I can’t possibly!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t you know I’m engaged to Charles Shenwood?’
‘Beatrice, please forgive me.’ He looked at her hand. ‘I’m sure I should have known, but I’m afraid I’d forgotten. I should have noticed your lovely ring… Let’s see, Shenwood was badly injured, wasn’t he? Is he recovering well?’
‘It’s a slow process,’ she managed. If only Pa would come back.
‘Would you write to me at the Front, Beatrice? It would brighten my days.’
She considered. ‘I don’t think that would be appropriate.’ All the same, it was flattering that he was interested in her.
‘It’s so wonderful to have news from home.’ He scribbled his details on a piece of paper and thrust it into her hand. She sat awkwardly for a moment, then put it hurriedly into her bag as she saw Pa returning. Wilfrid stood up to make way for him.
‘That was your mother,’ Pa said. ‘She was anxious for news of Charles. Well now, Captain Fairlawn—’
‘Wilfrid is a major now,’ she said.
‘Excuse me, Major Fairlawn – would you excuse us if we retire now? It’s been quite a hectic day.’
* * *
Beatrice tossed and turned all night, trying to accept the new situation.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ Pa asked as she joined him for breakfast. ‘You look wretched.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ The hotel was well supplied, in spite of the war. Waiters were rushing around bringing guests eggs and bacon, or kippers. ‘I don’t feel much like breakfast – I’ll just have some toast.’
‘Very well. I expect you’re planning to see Charles again? Try to keep cheerful for him.’
She fiddled with her napkin. ‘Pa, I’ve decided, I simply can’t marry him. I’m going to call it off.’
He stared at her from the other side of the table. ‘Don’t be foolish, Beatrice. You can’t let him down now!’
‘I can’t face marrying him, Pa. Please don’t try to make me.’
There was a stern expression in his blue eyes. ‘Come, now, Beatrice – I’d expect better of you. Think of how you care for him. Stay with him, help him recover. Adjust to the new circumstances – plenty of other women do.’
As she delayed her reply his expression grew more angry. It was much worse than the way he looked at her if she explained that she had spent her allowance and needed more money.
The waiter set a dish of kippers in front of him, but he left it untouched.
‘Listen, Pa, Charles accepts that he’s no longer the man I said I’d marry.’ Her voice trembled as she explained. ‘He’s willing to release me from the engagement. He actually urged me to consider breaking it off.’
‘Please don’t do anything hasty. Go to see him again, but be sympathetic. Think how he’s suffered…’
‘I’m not going to visit him again.’ She felt certain it was the only way ahead.
‘You mean you intend to just drop him?’ His voice had risen.
The smell of his fish was making her feel nauseous. ‘I thought I’d write him a letter. You can deliver it, if you like.’
He shook his head. ‘Beatrice, I can’t force you to marry Charles, but please consider carefully before you end the engagement. We could stay here a few more days – Ross and Walter can look after the forest.’
‘No – there’s no point. I’ve made up my mind.’ The more he argued the more determined she became.
‘I want you to spend some time thinking about the implications, and try to find the strength to support him.’
How could she stop him pestering her to set aside her resolution? ‘I’ll think about it some more for the rest of this morning,’ she said. ‘I won’t change my mind, though.’
She went to her room and fiddled with the perfume bottle, powder compact and other trinkets on the dressing table, reviewing her decision, but could see nothing else to be done. A life spent tending an invalid, remembering the bright dreams I once had – how could I bear it? she thought. The sooner the better, there’s no point in prolonging the situation. She stared out of the window at the multi-storeyed houses along the sunlit street. I meant to do some shopping, she thought, though I won’t be needing a trousseau now. But while I’m in London I should use the opportunity to visit some good shops.
She put on her coat and hat without telling her father, and asked a man in reception to call her a cab. Her heart beat a little faster at the sight of fashionably dressed women in the street. Visiting town was part of the life she loved, shopping, visiting West End theatres, strolling through the parks, and eating in restaurants, especially ones where there was dancing. She was longing to be part of it again, with Charles by her side. Except now it can’t happen, she thought. He’d be too handicapped by his injuries.
Swarming carts and cars and omnibuses impeded her progress to Harrods. The store was not as flourishing as it had been before the war, and the selection of gowns was not as tempting as it had once been. She looked around the departments unenthusiastically, still sick at heart. If only Charles was still the captivating man he had once been, instead of a pitiful invalid.
She could not settle to her task and left the store with a velvet scarf her only purchase. On her way back by cab she leant back against the slightly dingy upholstery, turning over in her mind what she should write in her letter to Charles.
* * *
Amy and Edmond left the veranda as the late afternoon grew cooler. She gave Beth her meal, prepared by Cook, and put her to bed.
Amy joined Edmond and Mrs Derwent in the drawing room, where a fragrant bowl of pink roses adorned the side table.
Almost immediately they heard Beatrice and her father arriving home.
‘You’re in good time for dinner,’ Mrs Derwent approved as they joined them.
The new arrivals both looked tense.
‘What’s the matter?’ Edmond demanded. ‘How’s Charles?’
Beatrice sniffed and fiddled with her hair. She sat down on the edge of the sofa.
‘He’s lost his right leg halfway to the knee, and part of his left foot,’ Mr Derwent said bleakly.
‘Oh, Heavens!’ said his wife. ‘You told me on the phone last night that he’d needed another operation, but I hadn’t grasped the extent of his disabilities.’
‘Poor Charles.’ Edmond’s face was frozen with dismay. ‘At first they hoped his left leg would hardly be affected.’
Amy’s mind dwelt on some of the
severe leg injuries she had seen, and the men who had endured repeated operations to try to halt the advance of gangrene.
‘If he’s otherwise fit he’ll be resolute enough to learn to walk with artificial limbs,’ Edmond went on.
Beatrice and her father remained silent and Amy detected an uneasy atmosphere between them.
‘I shall not be marrying Charles now,’ Beatrice announced. She took off her gloves and Amy noticed the diamond ring was missing from her finger.
‘What?’ Edmond cried angrily.
‘When I went to see him in the hospital he explained the extent of his injuries,’ Beatrice said. ‘He said that he was no longer the man I’d agreed to marry and offered to release me from my engagement.’ She looked down, avoiding their gaze.
Edmond stiffened. ‘Charles is the most noble of men,’ he said forcefully, ‘but if you ever really loved him you would stick by him now and help him make the best of his life.’
‘My dreams have been ruined as well as his,’ Beatrice said.
‘Thank God Amy has stuck beside me!’ Edmond said. ‘I’m sure her support has hastened my recovery.’
‘It’s very different for you,’ Beatrice retorted. ‘For one thing, you were already married when you got wounded. I haven’t taken my vows. And besides, Amy is a trained nurse. She’s used to tending the wounded. I’m not sure I could bear to even see Charles’s injuries.’
‘Why do these terrible things keep happening?’ asked her mother, wringing her hands.
Beatrice looked around at them, finding little sympathy. ‘I’m going to my room,’ she said, picking up her gloves. ‘Ma, would you ask Cook to bring me a light supper there?’ Her usual elegant comportment was scarcely diminished as she walked out.
Mr Derwent shrugged and sat down. ‘Yesterday, when Beatrice saw Charles, and heard about his injuries, she said at first that she’d stick by him. She was very upset, though. By this morning she’d decided she couldn’t go through with the marriage. I tried very hard to persuade her otherwise. She wrote Charles a letter and I had the unhappy task of delivering it. Charles looked devastated but was very understanding. I’d have been proud to have him as a son-in-law.’
Soon dinner was ready. They ate their meal, mainly in silence. Edmond reminded them of a young woman living nearby who had faced a similar dilemma when her fiancé was badly wounded and who had gone ahead with the wedding, determined to stick by him.
‘Beatrice may receive some censure for this,’ Pa said.
Edmond and Amy went to their room soon afterwards. Amy had seldom seen him so angry. While she sat on the sofa he paced up and down.
‘Perhaps it’s better that Beatrice realises her limitations now,’ she ventured, ‘rather than marrying Charles and them both being unhappy afterwards.’
There was a tortured look on Edmond’s face. ‘Charles was wounded while doing his duty,’ he said forcibly. ‘If he had decided he’d prefer not to fight he’d have faced a court martial for cowardice. Now my pathetic sister can’t see she has any kind of obligation to support him.’
‘You think she should marry him from a sense of duty?’ Amy asked, unusually questioning his opinion.
‘I suppose, when you put it like that, it’s a great deal to ask.’ He sat down on the bed, his head in his hands. She went and put her arms around him. She remembered Katherine, long before her tragic death, when they had first worked together at the London hospital. Her friend had come from a privileged background and had found the work extremely gruelling to start with, but had summoned the resources to fulfil a valuable role in the hospital. But Beatrice isn’t Katherine, she thought.
‘I keep wondering if you would have a better life, married to a man who’s whole.’ The words seemed to be dragged from Edmond.
‘Don’t say that! You know I could never imagine being married to anyone else. You make me happier than I could ever have dreamt!’
Chapter Fourteen
London and Larchbury, September to October
Charles was sitting in a chair beside his bed, with a blanket over his ravaged legs, when Edmond arrived. ‘The doctors here have done what they can for me now,’ he said, managing to summon a smile. ‘They’re talking of sending me to a hospital for convalescents, only they’re short of places.’ At least that meant they had finally stopped any further risk of gangrene.
‘I imagine you’re still in a lot of pain,’ Edmond said.
‘Less than at first. I’m managing to come off the morphia gradually. We wounded have to challenge fate, don’t we, and live as best we can. You’ve been my inspiration.’
‘I don’t think I can ever forgive Beatrice for abandoning you.’ Edmond’s voice was harsh.
Charles could hardly sleep since her father had brought him her letter. He had been thrilled when she had visited him, almost more beautiful than he remembered, and at first she had still seemed prepared to welcome him as her future life companion. When she had left, one of the other officers in the room had congratulated him on his good fortune. But of course, Beatrice deserved a healthy husband.
‘You mustn’t blame her. Releasing her was the only decent thing I could do,’ Charles said. ‘She’s from a good family, gently brought up and ladylike. She’s never faced anything disturbing like war wounds. Most young women from her background would be the same, unless they’ve taken an active part in the war.’ He did not want Edmond to realise how broken he felt inside and blame his sister. ‘Let me give you her letters and photos to return to her. I’ve got some at my parents’ house as well, which I’ll send on later.’
Edmond took the package from him grimly.
‘Thanks, Edmond. How are you now? Did you come to London by train?’
‘I told Pa I could manage to travel alone, but he insisted on driving me up here. We’ll stay in our usual hotel and go back tomorrow.’
Compared with the thin, often breathless, man Charles had seen at Christmas, Edmond looked almost fit again, but it was not clear how much he would continue to be affected by the damage to his lung. ‘Are you off back to Cambridge soon?’ Charles asked.
Edmond’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes – the weekend after this coming one we’re setting off, the three of us. Amy’s thrilled that we’ll have our own home at last.’ He told Charles about the little house they had found.
Charles related good news from France, for on the eve of his return to London the advance eastwards had been progressing well. Edmond stayed talking for over an hour but then noticed that Charles looked tired, and took his leave.
Charles closed his eyes, no longer obliged to look resigned to the loss of Beatrice. During his worst moments in the French hospital he had looked forward to choosing a home with her. How comfortable they would make it, he had thought, and what a delight it would be to see his beautiful wife installed there, and hear her accomplished playing of the piano. He longed to think of their tender moments together, which would surely be possible in spite of his injuries. Sometimes when he awoke now he imagined for a few moments that they were still planning their marriage, then he would remember the visit from Mr Derwent and the sudden dashing of his dreams.
His bleak mood oppressed him again. Once, when he had considered all he had lost, he had found himself wishing James Fletcher had not been there to rescue him, and he had bled to death on the bank of the Lys canal. Since then he had managed to quell his very darkest emotions. He was determined not to allow his injuries to crush him, but now he could only rely on his own resources.
* * *
Edmond was still anxious about Charles. He visited him again the following day and left him whisky, cigarettes and a John Buchan novel to read. He promised to be in touch regularly, especially in his university vacations.
It was just over a week now till he and Amy moved. They had already engaged a maid to come to their house twice a week when they had moved in. Grace, the middle-aged woman, had good references.
When he reached The Beeches, Amy greeted him happily, anxious for n
ews of Charles. She looked a little pale.
‘Are you tired, darling?’ he asked her.
‘A bit. I’ve been making lists of things to take and doing some more packing.’ He knew Beth needed a good deal of her attention, too.
Beatrice accepted the bundle of letters and photographs that Charles had returned. For a moment he thought he noticed a glimmer of unease in her manner. Then she said she was relieved that he was being brave, but she did not waver from her decision to end her engagement. She was restless and ready to complain of the blow fate had dealt her.
His mother was out of sorts, partly on account of Beatrice and partly from her domestic problems. After dinner Amy began mending some clothes, including one of Ma’s dresses.
‘Dearest, you shouldn’t have to do that,’ Edmond told her.
‘Nonsense, I’m used to mending.’
His mother refrained from commenting, probably reasoning that her dress would otherwise go neglected.
* * *
A few evenings later, Edmond spent time alone with his father, drinking port and discussing recent newspaper accounts of the war. The Germans were finally joining peace negotiations.
Soon they went to the drawing room to join the others. ‘Where’s Amy?’ he asked. ‘Is she taking an early night?’
‘I believe she’s ironing in the kitchen,’ his mother told him.
‘You shouldn’t let her do that!’ his father exclaimed. ‘This morning I found her cleaning the silverware.’
‘Mrs Johnson wasn’t here today,’ his wife said.
‘This has got to stop,’ Edmond said angrily. He went to the kitchen and found Amy diligently ironing a blouse.
‘You look worn out,’ he said. ‘Stop doing that and come and sit down.’
‘I’ll just finish this garment,’ she said.
When they joined the others his father shared his concern. ‘You’re not a servant,’ Pa told her firmly. ‘We’ll manage somehow till we can find a new maid.’
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