Until the War is Over

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

  ‘Do you think the war will really be over soon?’ she asked him. ‘How lovely it’ll be to get back to normal, with the men back home, so we can enjoy parties and dances again!’

  Wilfrid agreed with her. Harriet was looking a little strained, and Beatrice realised she had been somewhat monopolising Wilfrid’s attention. But it was not her fault if he happened to prefer her company.

  Harriet stood up suddenly. ‘I believe that’s Gilbert Barnet over there!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t know he was on leave. He’s a great friend.’

  She waved to the man in captain’s uniform and he recognised her and came to their table.

  ‘Harriet!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.’

  He was of medium height and a little plump, but had a jolly manner. Harriet made introductions and he hovered beside their table.

  ‘I’ve only just come on leave,’ he told them. ‘I’m here with my brother tonight, as he’s recovering from a war wound and about to be sent back. Mother and Father were asking me when I’d be getting in touch with you, and I was thinking of phoning.’

  Harriet was clearly flattered by his attention, and followed him across to his table to greet his brother.

  Wilfrid was smiling across the table at Beatrice, and refilling her glass. ‘I was planning to visit the theatre to see The Maid of the Mountains,’ he told her. ‘Would you like to come with me tomorrow, if I can get tickets?’

  ‘I’d absolutely love to,’ she said, thrilled that her social life seemed to be gathering pace.

  The next minute Harriet and Gilbert returned. ‘Gilbert is eager for me to go back with him and his brother,’ Harriet said. ‘Then I can say hello to his parents, who are staying in town with a relative for a few days. Would you mind awfully if I left you two? You’ll take Beatrice back to my home in a cab, won’t you, Wilfrid?’

  ‘Certainly. You go ahead with your plans.’

  ‘Thank you so much for bringing us here,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s been a delightful evening.’ Then she went to join her friends.

  ‘At last I have you to myself!’ Wilfrid said, with a mischievous smile. ‘I am right, aren’t I, that you’re no longer engaged to Charles Shenwood?’

  ‘No, not any more.’

  ‘I thought that was what I’d heard.’

  She confided briefly how Charles had offered to release her from the engagement. ‘I hope you don’t think it was unkind of me to accept his offer,’ she said, anxious at the censure she had experienced from some quarters. Sometimes she even felt guilty for not marrying Charles and devoting her life to caring for him.

  ‘I’d never presume to comment on a young lady’s decisions in matters of the heart,’ he assured her.

  They sat chatting happily for a while longer, but most of the other diners had left and the pianist was packing up her sheet music.

  ‘I’d better ask them to get us a cab,’ Wilfrid said. He helped her into her soft velvet cloak. As they waited in the lobby she thought what a fine couple they made.

  In this part of London it was less difficult to find a cab. He sat beside her in the back and took her hand as the driver set off. What a delicious evening this is turning out to be, she thought. Maybe he’ll put his arm around me, and when he drops me at the Pattersons’ he might venture a respectful goodnight kiss.

  She was conscious that she had drunk slightly more wine than usual, and that he smelled quite strongly of drink. She thought it must be a mistake when he let go her hand and began running his fingers along her skirt, against her leg.

  ‘I say, Wilfrid, would you stop that, please.’

  ‘Darling Beatrice, it’s been such a wonderful evening. You can’t blame me for being enchanted with you.’

  His hand was wandering to her bosom now. Why’s he behaving so badly? she thought, struggling to put more distance between them. She suspected he had already had a few drinks before calling for them that evening.

  ‘Beatrice – I love you so much!’ Now his lips were finding hers, and there was nothing respectful about the hungry way he kissed her.

  She pulled away from him desperately. ‘Stop this at once!’ she cried, growing alarmed. His tall, broad-shouldered physique struck her for the first time as threatening.

  ‘We needn’t end the evening like this,’ he said, slightly slurred, and gripping her arm. ‘We can go somewhere to be private and…’

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘I’m sure that’s what you really want…’

  ‘Stop! Please stop the cab!’ she called out. She had to call again before the driver heard her and pulled over to the side of the road.

  ‘Everything all right, Madam?’ he asked.

  ‘No! I’m getting out.’

  He opened the door for her and held out a hand to help her on to the pavement. ‘Are you sure, Madam? Will you be all right here?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, trembling at how Wilfrid had treated her. He was staring at her angrily from inside the cab as she stood at the side of the road. As the driver closed the door and drove off her shock was turning to outrage at what had happened. Why hadn’t the driver said something to Wilfrid, thrown him out of the cab and taken her back? She supposed if you wore a major’s uniform a lot could be excused.

  A light drizzle was beginning to fall, and here she was, in an unfamiliar part of London. At least she was still in the West End, and people were becoming slack about the blackout now air raids were no longer expected. A little further along the street was a modest hotel, and as she walked towards it a taxicab was approaching.

  She hurried towards the cab, which was stopping outside the hotel. ‘I’m sorry, Madam, this cab is booked,’ said the driver.

  ‘Oh, please!’ Tears of frustration were beginning to run down her face.

  A middle-aged man was heading for the taxi. ‘Thank you, driver,’ he said. ‘Please allow the young lady to take the cab. I can wait for another one.’

  ‘Very good, Sir.’ The driver opened the door for her and she gave him the Pattersons’ address.

  ‘Thank you so much!’ she said to her rescuer. He raised his hat to her as she stepped into the cab.

  As it set off she sank back into her seat, fighting back her tears. She could still taste Wilfrid’s alcohol-laden lips and remember the pressure of his hand as he explored her body. Amy had warned her about him, she remembered now. But it had all seemed so unlikely that she had not been able to credit it. How could he treat her like that? It was extremely insulting that he might think she would succumb to such an approach.

  The journey back seemed to be taking a long while, but eventually she began to recognise streets near the Pattersons’ house. She felt in her bag for her purse. Now she was suddenly worried how much the journey would cost. Pa had sent her allowance, but although she had cashed the postal order she had not transferred any of the sovereigns to her dainty evening bag.

  The driver helped her out and asked for four shillings. She looked in her bag and found only a half crown. How positively ghastly this evening was becoming. There was nothing for it but to ring at the doorbell and ask the Pattersons for money, and they would be curious about what had gone wrong.

  Just then another cab came around the corner, and to her relief she saw Gilbert helping Harriet out.

  ‘Hello, Beatrice!’ Harriet cried. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Yes! Listen, have you got any money? I haven’t got quite enough to pay for my cab.’ She was shaking with embarrassment. You were meant to tip the fellows, too, she remembered.

  ‘Let me take care of this,’ Gilbert said. In no time he had paid her cabbie and the man had driven off.

  ‘Goodnight, Gilbert. It’s been a lovely evening,’ Harriet said as Gilbert kissed her hand.

  ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow,’ he said, before getting back into his own cab.

  Beatrice was still shaking as she followed Harriet up the steps to the house.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter, Bea? Why didn’t Wilfrid bring y
ou back?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Please just let me go to bed.’ Once inside she rushed up the stairs to her room and collapsed on to the bed as her tears flowed.

  * * *

  Beatrice hardly slept that night, horrified that the evening which had begun with such promise had ended disastrously. She needed to provide some kind of explanation for Harriet and probably for Mr and Mrs Patterson. She could not bear to tell them how Wilfrid had assaulted her: it would mean recounting her experiences. All the same, he deserved to be shunned by decent women and punished for his behaviour.

  Next morning she composed herself as best she could and joined the others at the breakfast table, a little late. They all stared at her. It was clear that Harriet had mentioned that something had gone amiss the previous evening.

  The maid offered her the fruit bowl and she nibbled some grapes.

  ‘Are you all right, Bea?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She paused, unsure how to continue. ‘I was obliged to leave Major Fairlawn last night. His behaviour was most insulting.’ The others were staring at her. ‘He behaved improperly in the taxicab – he kept touching me.’

  ‘Oh, what nonsense!’ cried Mrs Patterson. ‘They’re a distinguished family. We’ve known them for years. He’d never behave in such a way. If he touched you inappropriately it must have been entirely by accident.’

  ‘I assure you it wasn’t.’ The maid brought Beatrice some porridge and she took tiny spoonfuls. She was about to tell the others that she had heard a previous complaint about Wilfrid’s behaviour, but stopped in confusion. If they knew she had heard a complaint they would want to know why she had gone with him alone in a cab.

  Mr Patterson was glaring at her and Harriet looking curious.

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more about this,’ Mrs Patterson said.

  Beatrice had seldom felt so wretched. She turned down the offer of scrambled eggs with mushrooms and excused herself from the table.

  ‘One moment, Beatrice,’ said Mr Patterson. ‘Would you come to my study, please.’

  She followed him. His manner was unsympathetic.

  The room was gloomy, lined with wooden panelling, and unheated as he would be spending the day away at his office.

  ‘Take a seat, please.’

  She sat down at the desk. He sat down opposite and fixed a cold stare on her.

  ‘Now let’s try to get to the bottom of this matter,’ he said impatiently. ‘Did you do anything last night which Major Fairlawn could have regarded as encouraging impropriety? If you did, I assure you I will be discreet.’

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I did nothing of the kind. I imagined he would accompany me back here in a respectful manner.’ She tried to marshal her thoughts. ‘I’ve never been treated in such a way in all my life.’

  Harriet’s father was standing now, red in the face. ‘That’s enough, Beatrice. Let me make myself clear. Whatever kind of misunderstanding you may have had with the major, you are not to make this kind of lurid accusation. The Fairlawns are held in high esteem, and both father and son have had outstanding military careers.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said, trying to hold back her tears. ‘But Wilfrid should still not be allowed to molest women,’ she said feebly.

  ‘That will do. Get out of my study, and if you make any kind of trouble for the Fairlawns you will not be welcome here again.’

  She hurried out of the room as her tears began to flow again. She rushed upstairs and sat down on her bed. How am I to get through the day? she wondered.

  There was a knock at her door. ‘May I come in?’ asked Harriet. She was neat and collected in a fine woollen dress, her hair tastefully arranged.

  ‘Yes.’ Will she understand? Beatrice wondered.

  ‘What really happened last night?’ Harriet asked, her hazel eyes probing Beatrice’s face as she went to sit beside her on the bed. ‘Did you lead Wilfrid on in some way? If you did I promise I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything to encourage his behaviour… Have you ever heard any other woman complain about him?’

  ‘No – but then he’s mostly been abroad during the war. I think you’ll have to stop accusing him of impropriety, Bea – no-one will believe you.’

  ‘Why won’t they?’ she demanded, pounding the pillow. ‘Why does everyone imagine I’d make up something like that?’

  A maid knocked on the door. ‘Are you there, Miss Patterson? Captain Barnet is on the phone for you.’

  Harriet rushed out, looking rather relieved at ending the awkward conversation.

  Beatrice strode up and down, wringing her hands. Then she began pulling blouses and gowns from the wardrobe and undergarments from the drawers and heaping them up on the bed. She piled clothes back into her suitcases, less carefully than usual. She looked around and remembered her other pairs of shoes and crammed them in, pushing them towards the bottom. Then there was her hairbrush, and jewellery to wrap in tissue paper. She was too distraught to send for the maid. After a while she went down to the hall, and found to her relief that Harriet was no longer on the phone.

  Normally she asked before using it, out of politeness, but this morning she simply began the call. As long as Ma was well enough she would go home straight away. If not she would need to find a different friend to stay with for a while.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Larchbury, October

  The days had dragged past, without Amy getting much sleep. She would deliberately stay up late so she could check on Ma around midnight and sponge her to cool her down. Pa looked washed out too, as though concern was keeping him awake. The doctor had called in each day and seemed satisfied that Mrs Derwent was no worse.

  One morning Amy’s mother phoned from the public telephone to say that Beth was well. ‘How lively she is now!’ she remarked. ‘She’s crawling around the room so quickly, and keeps trying to pull herself to her feet. She’ll be walking soon.’

  In the evening Florence phoned Amy to check Ma was no worse. ‘It must be dreadfully worrying for you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m missing Beth so much,’ Amy said. ‘I’m wondering if she’ll take her first steps while she’s away from home. And thank you for helping with her. It’s such a relief, because I don’t want Mother to be exhausted.’ Florence had called at Sebastopol Terrace at the weekend to take Beth out in her pram.

  ‘It’s a joy to see her,’ Florence said. ‘I’m planning to call there tomorrow after school, and if the late afternoon is warm enough I’ll take her out again.’

  The following morning Amy received a letter from Lavinia. Her friend had come back, escorting wounded soldiers again, and now she had been required to remain at a London hospital as they were very short of nurses. It would be good to see her again, but once her mother-in-law was better Amy should move to Cambridge, so there might not be the opportunity.

  It was hours before Edmond would phone. He had wanted to come home to see them at the weekend but she had had to insist that he stayed away for fear of infection. She tried to imagine what he might be doing at College, and how he was settling in their little house. She wondered how it looked, now their furniture was installed.

  She went once more to look at her patient. Ma was sleeping quite peacefully, and when Amy laid her hand lightly on her forehead it was less hot. She had thought earlier that the fever might be subsiding.

  When Doctor Stanhope called he confirmed her impression that her mother-in-law was beginning to recover. Mr Derwent broke into a broad smile.

  ‘Amy, you’re a wonder!’ he told her when the doctor had left. ‘I don’t know how we’d have managed without you. When she’s better I’ll make sure she knows how devotedly you nursed her.’

  ‘When she’s more wide awake I’ll ask Cook for some porridge for her,’ Amy said. ‘Then later we might try a little chicken broth.’

  * * *

  Soon it was clear her patient was recovering and that neither Amy nor Pa had caught the disease
. Ma looked thin and wasted when they helped her dress and brought her downstairs. Then Amy set about disinfecting her in-laws’ bedroom thoroughly, as she had been taught.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ Pa told her afterwards. She needed to catch up on her sleep. ‘I’m doing my best to find another maid,’ he went on.

  Next day Amy was able to bring Beth home at last. What a joyful reunion it was for both of them!

  Then Pa went to the station to collect Beatrice who had returned suddenly from London. She seemed in a particularly bad mood, perhaps as she had been obliged to take a train, for Pa had not wanted to leave his wife for long enough to travel to London to collect her.

  ‘Ma looks dreadful,’ she said, after visiting her room and seeing her pallor and sunken cheeks.

  ‘It’ll take a while for her to recover fully,’ Amy told her. ‘I’m encouraging her to get up in the afternoons.’

  Mrs Johnson made up the fire in the drawing room and that afternoon they waited for Ma to join them, Beatrice still out of sorts.

  ‘I want to talk to you about something,’ she said suddenly to Amy. ‘Would you come up to my room so we can talk privately?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, surprised, and limped up the stairs behind Beatrice. Beth was in the nursery, taking her afternoon nap.

  Amy followed Beatrice into her large bedroom. She had never been there before, and looked around at its blue ruched curtains and stylish Art Nouveau pictures. There was a sweet aroma of perfume and face powder. On the bed lay Beatrice’s suitcases, one half unpacked.

  ‘Oh, Heavens! I thought Mrs Johnson would have put away my clothes by now!’

  ‘It’s not one of her days today.’

  Beatrice sat down on a well-upholstered chair and indicated another one for Amy.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ Amy asked.

  ‘It’s about Major Fairlawn,’ she said. She wrung her hands, and took a while to continue. ‘Harriet and I went to a restaurant with him last night, and then Harriet met a friend and I had to go back with Wilfrid in a taxi and – well, he assaulted me – there really isn’t any other way to describe his behaviour.’