‘I’m simply not going to listen to any more of this,’ Beatrice said, packing up her music sheets and slamming down the piano lid. ‘You’ve ruined my morning.’
‘I meant well, Beatrice.’
‘You’ve never liked me. You don’t want me to be happy. I’ll never allow you to influence the company I keep.’ She swept out of the room.
She says I’ve never liked her, Amy thought, but the complete reverse is true. I’ve always wanted to be closer to her but she generally keeps me at a distance. But I’m partly to blame because of that stupid incident at the cricket pavilion, and being sent to prison for it. I’ll never live that down and it’s poisoned my relationship with Beatrice.
* * *
Two days later Beatrice went to London, to Amy’s relief. She would spend some days with Harriet, her old school friend. By now Beth’s cough was getting better, though she was sometimes fretful from teething. Amy was hoping once more to join Edmond soon.
Then one morning Pa came down to breakfast looking agitated and asking Amy to take a look at his wife. ‘She’s ill,’ he told her. ‘She looks quite dreadful.’
Mrs Johnson was there that morning and Amy left Beth with her while she went to her in-laws’ bedroom, with its faint aroma of Ma’s favourite perfume. Mrs Derwent was breathing rapidly and there was a sunken look around her eyes. Amy touched her forehead and it was alarmingly hot. ‘Send for Doctor Stanhope,’ she told Pa. ‘Ask him to come at once in case it’s the flu.’
She fetched a warm drink for the invalid. Ma seemed scarcely aware of what was happening. Amy sponged her forehead.
The doctor arrived soon afterwards. He looked at Ma and examined her.
‘You were right to call me. It’s almost certainly the Spanish influenza.’
Horrified, Amy sat down in the nearest chair.
‘I haven’t heard of any fresh cases around here,’ Pa said, suddenly pale.
‘I’ve seen one earlier this morning.’ It seemed that a woman who had been at the Working Party had developed the flu. She might have caught it from a relative who was on leave from France.
‘Can you get my wife a hospital place?’ Pa asked.
‘The hospital in Wealdham is overflowing,’ Doctor Stanhope said. He looked weary. ‘There are a lot of cases there.’
‘I could nurse her,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve been a VAD. I know how to nurse infectious patients.’
‘That might be safer than moving Mrs Derwent,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll send a mask for you to wear, Amy, and some aspirin. Try to get her to take warm drinks. I’ll call in every day.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘Some people have given patients more aspirin than the recommended dose.’ He looked at her solemnly. ‘Don’t do that – it can give rise to side effects that make the situation worse.’
‘I’ll stick to the correct dose.’
Mr Derwent saw the doctor out, then returned to his bedroom. His features drooped with concern. ‘Please do everything you can to save her, Amy!’
‘I’ll do my best.’ It was natural to her to nurse the patient, but now she recognised what a challenge it might be. ‘We must take the utmost care not to spread the infection,’ she told him urgently. ‘I should be the only one to nurse her.’ She tried to plan what to do. ‘Can you phone my uncle Arthur to tell him what’s happened? He’s on the phone. He can tell my mother and ask if she can take Beth again, to get her away from here.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that.’
‘You should sleep in another room till Ma’s better.’
‘I’ll move into Peter’s room.’
‘Do you think Beatrice can stay longer with her friends?’
‘I’ll phone them and ask,’ he said. He seemed to draw some comfort from following her careful instructions.
She began sponging the sick woman’s face and hands once more. How hot she felt!
‘When Edmond phones this evening I’ll tell him she’s sick,’ she told Pa. ‘I’ll try not to make him worry.’
‘I’ll write him a letter.’
‘No, don’t – if you happen to be infectious you could pass the illness on to Edmond, via the writing paper. Remember his lung is impaired. He simply mustn’t catch the flu.’
Amy settled her patient as best she could. For the moment the room was warm enough.
The doctor returned with aspirins and a mask. Soon Mrs Johnson told Amy her mother had arrived. Beth stared at Amy who was wearing a face mask and some old cotton gloves as she packed her tiny clothes and other belongings.
Amy would have loved to pick up her daughter and kiss her, but she was anxious she might already be infectious. She allowed her mother to gather up the little girl. ‘I don’t want Mrs Johnson working for you and for us while there’s sickness here,’ she said.
‘I believe I should stay here and help you,’ Mrs Johnson said. The expression on her round face was concerned but reassuringly competent. ‘Is there a room where I can sleep?’
‘There’s the one Janet used to have.’ Amy was grateful for Mrs Johnson’s loyalty but concerned for her mother. ‘I’m leaving you with extra work and no maid,’ she said wretchedly.
‘Don’t you worry. Just make sure you don’t take any risks yourself.’ Mother spoke calmly, but Amy could sense her concern.
‘I’m afraid Beth may be fretful sometimes as she’s teething.’
‘It’s all right, dear, I can manage. Remember I raised you and Bertie.’
Mrs Johnson suggested a neighbour who might oblige Amy’s parents with a few hours’ work.
When her mother and Beth had left, tears began to run down Amy’s face. She was separated once again from those she loved best.
* * *
By midday Amy had made arrangements for the servants to keep their distance from the sick room. If she rang the bell Mrs Johnson would come to see what was required and bring it up, leaving it outside the door. Amy would keep her contact with the others to the minimum.
When she was not tending her mother-in-law she sat trying to remember what she had read about the disease, and what Lavinia had told her. The chief danger was that the illness would lead to pneumonia or septicaemia. A patient could turn blue in the face and then death would soon follow.
Pa looked in.
‘She’s much the same,’ Amy told him.
‘Is there anything I can bring you?’
‘May I read the newspaper, when you’ve finished with it?’ she asked. It would relieve the tedium. ‘Afterwards I’ll need to burn it, to avoid passing on the infection.’
Presently he brought it to her. She looked through it, noting that the news of peace negotiations was encouraging, but she could not concentrate. Nursing her mother-in-law reminded her of her war work, and young men they had not been able to save.
The room was large and expensively furnished, though Amy found the drapery unnecessarily flounced and ruched. She looked out of the window at a faint view of the trees shedding their leaves, visible through the afternoon mist. It reminded her of the dense mist that she had seen after Bertie’s death, and the old feeling of being lost, without a signpost. It had haunted her in the days soon after Edmond had been wounded, when she had been terrified she might lose him. Now they were facing a fresh crisis.
Mrs Johnson brought her some logs to make up the fire and then later left her dinner outside the room.
Soon afterwards Edmond phoned and she was called down to speak to him. His father had already told him that Ma was ill.
‘How is she really?’ he demanded.
‘She’s about the same as this morning,’ she told him. ‘Her temperature is still very high, and she’s listless, but I don’t think she’s any worse. I’ll stay in her room overnight so I’m aware of any change.’
‘Take care, dearest.’
‘I will.’
She did not want to end the conversation and he seemed equally reluctant. ‘Promise me, darling, promise me you’ll make sure you don’t get ill.’
<
br /> ‘I promise.’
He rang off and she disinfected the phone with some carbolic she had placed beside it, before going back to the sick room. She was being as careful as she could but there was still a risk she might catch the disease, and they said it was more often fatal in younger adults. I mustn’t catch it, she thought. Edmond needs me and so does Beth.
She had not felt so frightened since Edmond had been wounded.
Chapter Sixteen
London, October
‘Have you heard how your mother is today?’ Beatrice’s friend Harriet asked, dawdling to the breakfast table.
‘Yes – I’ve already rung her.’ Beatrice had been anxious for news. ‘Pa says she’s definitely no worse, perhaps a little better.’ She turned to Harriet’s parents. ‘It’s so sweet of you to let me stay longer.’
‘You’re always welcome to visit,’ Harriet’s mother said. She was a kindly woman, still attractive in her smart clothes, and content to spend her days running their homes and playing her part in a Working Party, providing comforts for the troops, as Beatrice did with her mother.
She had known Harriet Patterson since her school days. She was a striking young woman with black hair. The family had a lovely home near Wealdham, but they also had an elegant Georgian house in a terrace in west London, where they generally stayed during the cooler months, though they had kept away at the height of the Zeppelin raids. Happily there had not been any raids for months now.
Beatrice was glad to escape the unpleasant gossip in Larchbury. Harriet had been understanding about her broken engagement, for though she had liked Charles and been shocked to hear the extent of his injuries, she had said she would probably have done the same in the circumstances.
Mr Patterson was tall and serious looking, with grey hair becoming thin on top. He was smart in his business suit and soon left the breakfast table to go to his London office.
Shortly afterwards there was a telephone call for Harriet. The maid brought some fresh toast and Beatrice took another slice to complete her breakfast.
How lovely to be away from The Beeches for a while longer, she thought, at least now I know Ma’s no worse. Her illness had lasted around a week already. This had been a trying year, with Edmond’s poor health – though he was much improved – and the horror of Charles’s injuries. Little Beth was sweet, but Amy carried her around the house with her instead of confining her to the nursery with a nanny. The child would begin to cry if she became hungry or wanted to be put down to crawl, exploring the room. Then there was the lack of servants.
‘That was Zadie on the phone,’ Harriet told them, returning to the table. Zadie Fairlawn was a young woman they had known at school.
‘Is she still joining us for dinner tonight?’ asked Mrs Patterson.
‘Yes, but guess what? Her brother Wilfrid is on leave. May he join us too?’
‘Of course – I’ll tell Cook there’ll be another guest.’
‘Wilfrid?’ exclaimed Beatrice. ‘Is he on leave again?’ He had not told her in his recent letter that he was expecting to return so soon. Normally leave was hard to obtain, as Edmond had found when he had served in Flanders.
‘I believe he was allowed to come back because his mother is ill.’ Harriet flung down her napkin. ‘What shall we do this morning? Shall we go shopping?’
They put on their outdoor clothes while they were waiting for a cab. One of the manservants had been sent to engage one, and few were available these days. When one eventually arrived they went out into the fresh morning. The trees along the street were turning golden.
Beatrice passed the day in pleasant anticipation. How thrilling it was that she was here in London just as Wilfrid returned! Mrs Patterson happily allowed her maid to attend to Beatrice’s hair that evening, and the young woman arranged it in attractive large curls. She put on her pale blue evening dress, which was smart but not too showy for dinner in a friend’s home. She felt warm, in spite of her bare arms, for a generous fire was blazing.
Before long Zadie and Wilfrid arrived. As they came into the drawing room Mr Patterson was greeting Wilfrid enthusiastically and enquiring about the progress of the war.
He assured his host that the troops were continuing to advance. ‘Beatrice!’ he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up, ‘This is an unexpected pleasure! How lovely to see you again!’
She smiled back, her heart leaping. They all went into the dining room, where they seated him next to her. He was in uniform as usual.
‘I was surprised to find you back on leave so soon,’ she said.
‘Happily surprised, I hope.’
‘Naturally.’
Zadie and the Pattersons were looking curiously in their direction. ‘Beatrice has been writing to me in France,’ he told them. ‘It’s so wonderful to receive letters from her.’
Their cook came in and began serving the soup. There was an array of sparkling glasses, and a vase of late-flowering roses in the centre of the table, though she felt their arrangement was a little haphazard.
‘I gather you came on leave because your mother is ill,’ Beatrice said to Wilfrid. ‘I do so hope she hasn’t got the Spanish flu.’
‘At first we were afraid it might be that,’ Wilfrid told her. ‘Father wanted to dash home, but he couldn’t be spared from France. At least they allowed me to come.’
‘As it turned out, her illness isn’t the Spanish flu, but a less severe form of the disease,’ Zadie said.
‘Oh, what a relief for you! My own mother is ill with the Spanish flu now,’ Beatrice told them.
Wilfrid and his sister exclaimed with concern.
‘That’s why they wanted me to stay away from the house,’ she told them. ‘I’m happy to say Ma seems to be holding her own.’
Soon they were served the saddle of lamb, without a fish course, as meals were less lavish now. The wine flowed and the little group became more light-hearted.
‘How long do you expect to stay on leave?’ Beatrice asked Wilfrid.
‘For a week or so, I hope, now we have the Huns in full retreat,’ he told her. ‘Next week I want to attend a fellow officer’s wedding.’ He leant towards her and lowered his voice. ‘I must say, Beatrice, you’re looking very lovely tonight!’
She smiled as she allowed the butler to refill her glass. There was just a faint thought stirring in the back of her mind, nagging a little. What was that elusive memory? Yes, of course, it was Amy’s ridiculous claim that Wilfrid made unwelcome advances to women. But she did not believe a word of that. Amy was, at best, deluded by some idiotic female who had led the major to imagine she welcomed his intimate attentions, and then changed her mind. She had heard of a few women behaving like that. There was absolutely no need to pay attention to Amy’s allegations.
After the meal the men were quick to join them in the drawing room, where Beatrice was happy to play a Chopin nocturne. She felt that Wilfrid was watching her, and when she finished he was lavish with his applause.
By the time Harriet and Zadie had taken their turns to perform, without reaching her standard, Mrs Patterson was beginning to yawn.
‘It’s been a delightful evening,’ Wilfrid said, ‘and what a bevy of beauty I’ve found here! Might I take you young ladies out for a meal tomorrow evening? Are you free, Beatrice and Harriet? And how about you, Zadie?’
‘I’m meeting a friend tomorrow, Wilfrid, dear,’ said his sister. Beatrice and Harriet accepted his invitation.
‘It’s extremely kind of you,’ Beatrice told him.
‘I must make the most of my leave while I have the chance.’
* * *
How well my visit’s turning out, Beatrice thought. After her morning phone call to her father, when she had been reassured that Ma’s temperature was falling a little, she spent the day reading magazines and chatting with Harriet about their old school friends. Harriet mentioned Lavinia Westholme, asking if she was still nursing in Flanders.
‘I believe so,’ Beatrice said, changing the subje
ct as soon as she could, for she thought Lavinia had nursed Charles.
At last it was time to get ready for their evening out. ‘Are you going to wear your new green dress?’ Harriet asked.
‘I think I will.’ Pale green had always suited Beatrice’s colouring. It was cut a little lower than her other evening gowns, but no lower than the ones Harriet wore. The maid arranged her chestnut hair attractively again and fastened her dainty platinum necklace for her.
Promptly at seven o’clock the tall major arrived with a taxicab. ‘This is the best I could find,’ he said. ‘The vehicle must be almost as old as its driver.’ Few new taxis had been produced during the war, and young drivers had been called up to fight.
Wilfrid sat opposite them in the back. ‘How lovely you both look,’ he said, though Beatrice was sure she was the chief object of his interest.
The cab dropped them at a smart restaurant near Piccadilly, where he had made a reservation. Heads turned as they walked in, and she was glad once more that she had made an effort with her appearance. As for Wilfrid, he was not as handsome as Charles, for his eyes were pale and rather small, while his nose was large and lips fleshy. He was an imposing figure, though, especially in uniform, thanks to his height and broad shoulders.
They sat down in the dining room, and a waiter brought them menus. ‘It’s not too bad here,’ Wilfrid said. ‘They manage to get ducks and partridges.’
Beatrice scarcely noticed the meal or the wine, content to find herself at a stylish restaurant in the West End, with agreeable companions. There was a hum of genteel conversation and a middle-aged lady pianist was playing music by Debussy. Around her most of the young men wore uniform, and the other clientele were well-dressed.
Wilfrid was attentive, asking her about her mother’s progress, and how Edmond was recovering. Amy was not mentioned. What an embarrassment my sister-in-law is, Beatrice thought. Wilfrid almost certainly knows she’s been in jail.
As they ordered desserts Beatrice congratulated him on his taste in restaurants.
Until the War is Over Page 18