Amy gasped. ‘How awful for you. I’m dreadfully sorry.’
Tears began to run down Beatrice’s face as she gave an account of how he had treated her. Amy felt the blood leaving her own face as she remembered the way Wilfrid had grabbed her that night in Ypres. She bit her lip. She was not ready to confide that experience to Beatrice. She had not even told Edmond about it, as he had been so gravely ill at that time.
Beatrice was wiping her eyes. Amy went and put her arm around her sister-in-law’s shoulders in a rare moment of closeness.
‘It was awful,’ Beatrice went on. ‘Harriet and her family didn’t believe me when I told them what had happened. You don’t think I encouraged him, do you, Amy?’
‘No. The man’s a monster. In Flanders he’s becoming notorious, but because he’s valuable to the war effort no-one will take any action against him.’
Beatrice was screwing up her handkerchief. ‘I don’t know what to do about it. He deserves to be punished.’
‘Ask your father, Beatrice. It’s best not to mention the incident to your mother, while she’s still not very well, but Pa will know what to do. He might complain to the War Office, or the police.’ She was still stooping beside Beatrice’s chair.
‘Oh, no, I simply can’t tell him what happened. Suppose he believes it’s my fault too!’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t think that.’
Beatrice ran her hands through her hair, spoiling its neat arrangement. ‘But I’d have to tell everyone all the details of what happened! I couldn’t bear telling Pa about it, let alone officials who don’t know me. How can I prove I never encouraged him? No-one else saw what he did.’
‘It’s a hideous situation,’ Amy agreed, getting up awkwardly and going back to her chair. ‘Only you can decide if you want to try to bring a charge. There’s no certainty any action will be taken, though I suppose the allegations against him are mounting up.’
‘I simply can’t face telling anyone,’ she said dully.
‘I understand how you feel. The trouble is, if a woman is afraid to challenge him he’s liable to go on pestering others.’
Beatrice sniffed.
From the nearby nursery Amy could hear Beth calling for her. ‘I’d better get Beth’s tea,’ she told Beatrice. Cook would purée some vegetables for her. ‘And you’d better see if Ma has got up yet. Listen, Beatrice, talk to me about what happened again if you feel you need to confide in someone. I won’t tell anyone, but if you decide to take any action I’ll come with you.’
‘Thank you.’
For a moment Amy was anxious. She had already complained unsuccessfully against the man and was not sure her support would impress the authorities.
‘Amy…’
She stopped in the doorway.
Beatrice hesitated. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude to you before. I simply didn’t believe you about Major Fairlawn.’
‘I understand.’ It’s the first time she’s ever apologised to me for anything, Amy thought.
* * *
Ma was listless when she joined them in the drawing room later. Beatrice was concerned to start with but soon became restless. When they went into the dining room for their evening meal Ma ate a few small mouthfuls of the plaice that Cook had prepared especially for her, and then returned to her bed.
‘Beatrice, would you do something to help cheer up your mother?’ Amy said next morning.
‘What do you want?’
‘There’s that vase of chrysanthemums I picked – some of them are fading. Could you fetch some fresh ones from the garden, while it’s bright out there, and arrange them nicely? You’ll do it much better than I could.’
She looked critically at Amy’s effort. ‘I’m sure I can do better than that,’ she said, and soon there was a fresh array of flowers, tastefully arranged.
After lunch Ma came down, huddled in a shawl, and lounged on the sofa.
Pa still handled the paperwork for his business but generally allowed Ross or Walter to oversee the forest work now, for he was anxious to help his wife recover. He sat down beside her. ‘How would it be if we went away to a hotel by the sea, while you’re convalescing?’ he asked her.
‘I shouldn’t like it at this time of year,’ Ma said firmly. ‘I remember when we went to Bournemouth in late autumn that time, how bleak it was on the coast.’
Beth was crawling around, uttering half-learnt words. ‘That child never stops,’ Mrs Derwent complained. ‘I can’t seem to settle, having her in the room.’
‘I’ll take her upstairs,’ Amy said, picking her up. ‘Beatrice, I’m sure Ma would love to hear you play something on the piano. We’ve missed your music while you’ve been away.’
As she went upstairs she could hear Beatrice launching into a familiar sonata. She wondered how soon she and Beth could join Edmond in Cambridge.
* * *
Next morning Beatrice received a letter and looked disturbed as she read it.
‘I’ll take coffee in my room,’ she told Cook, as she came in with a tray. ‘Would you join me, Amy?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Beth was playing on the floor so Amy picked her up. She hung on to the banister while she carefully carried her daughter.
Once in Beatrice’s boudoir Cook served them coffee and biscuits before leaving them alone. Beatrice had arranged some more chrysanthemums in a vase in her room. Amy helped Beth sip some cordial Cook had brought for her, before putting her on the carpet to play again.
Amy took a gulp of the coffee. ‘Is everything all right, Beatrice?’
‘I’ve had a letter from Wilfrid.’ She had brought the envelope with her, and took out the letter once more. ‘He’s trying to apologise for what happened the other night… I simply don’t know what to think.’
‘Apologise?’ Amy asked, bewildered.
‘He says he may have drunk a little too much and is sorry if he behaved inappropriately in the taxi.’
‘Do you think he means it?’ Amy asked, unwilling to trust him.
‘I’m not sure.’ Beatrice raised her eyebrows. ‘His apology is completely inadequate for the way he handled me. I don’t think I’ll even reply.’
‘You’re doing the right thing.’
‘There was just one point that made me think. Where is it? Ah yes, just here. He says “Perhaps you don’t realise what a strain it is serving at the Front, and how it affects us. It’s very hard to adapt to polite society when we return.” Do you think that’s true, Amy? Does it excuse him at all, being traumatised by the war?’
‘I don’t believe that’s an acceptable excuse,’ she said firmly. ‘Other men manage to return without becoming brutes. And I can remember Edmond, and Peter too, saying Wilfrid was a bully at school.’
‘You’re right. Nothing excuses his behaviour.’
‘Practically all men conduct themselves decently.’
‘That’s true. There was a gentleman who gave up his taxi for me that night. And when I didn’t have enough money for the cab, Harriet was arriving back with Gilbert and he settled the payment for me.’ She considered for a moment. ‘Wilfrid wants to see me again but I’d be frightened to be in his company.’
‘Don’t even consider it.’
Beth was becoming restless and Beatrice looked a little relieved when Amy picked up her daughter and left her on her own.
Later that afternoon a splendid bouquet of pink lilies was delivered for Beatrice. Ma was downstairs and admired them as Mrs Johnson brought them in.
‘Who are they from?’ she asked.
Beatrice examined the card. ‘Major Fairlawn,’ she said, with an anxious glance to Amy.
‘How magnificent!’ said her mother. ‘You’ve certainly made an impression on him, Beatrice. Mrs Johnson, can you bring us a suitable vase?’
‘Actually, Ma, I’m not keen on lilies,’ Beatrice ventured.
‘But they’re superb! And at this time of year they must be costly ones from a hothouse.’
‘It’s the smell I don’t like. Th
ey’re very pungent. Let’s put them outside in the hall.’
When Mrs Johnson brought a vase of water she plonked them in it without ceremony and asked for them to be removed from the drawing room.
* * *
After dinner Amy approached her father-in-law to discuss joining Edmond in Cambridge.
‘Could you bear to stay a little longer?’ he begged, puffing on his cigar. He had remained in the dining room after Ma had left, so he could smoke. Some doctors suggested that an atmosphere laden with smoke from cigarettes or cigars could delay an invalid’s recovery. ‘You’re the one who knows how to nurse a patient recovering from a severe illness. You’re the best person to decide what food to give her to tempt her appetite.’
Pa loved his wife but he was not practised at bathing her or tending to her hair, and she could not imagine Beatrice patiently helping her.
‘She’s very run-down,’ he went on. ‘You probably think she’s had few worries during the war, compared with what you and Edmond have been through, but she has struggled. She’s had to manage with fewer staff and food shortages. Then she was desperately worried about Edmond’s injuries. Now she’s anxious about Beatrice and whether she’ll ever find a suitable husband. And there have been unpleasant remarks made in Larchbury by people who think Bea should have stuck by her fiancé. It’s all combined to wear her down, before she fell ill with the flu.’
She tried to understand her mother-in-law’s problems. ‘Edmond needs me too,’ she told him.
‘He tells me Grace is looking after him and he’s enthusiastic about his university work.’
‘No-one is with him at night. He sometimes sleeps poorly and has bad dreams. His experiences at the Front still prey on his mind.’
He looked at her, now anxious himself. Previously she had not sought to burden him with her worries, but now it was essential he was aware of the problem.
‘Suppose I went to visit him at the weekend?’ she suggested. ‘He’d love to see Beth, too. Then I could come back here for another week or so.’
‘How would you get there?’
She realised he would not want to drive her there and spend the weekend away from his frail wife.
‘If you drive me to the station I can take the train. I’ll need to change in London but I can take a cab between stations.’ As soon as she had said it she felt uneasy. In Ypres she had not managed to travel a few hundred yards on her own without being molested. It shocked her how that incident had changed her outlook and made her question her desire for independence. Nonsense, she thought, this time I’ll be travelling by daylight, through well-populated areas. I simply mustn’t change how I behave because of that beast Wilfrid Fairlawn.
‘I doubt very much if you could manage it with Beth,’ Pa said.
She was impatient to visit their house. ‘Wait – I know what I’ll do! I’ll ask my parents if they’ll come with me,’ she proposed. ‘There’s room for both of them in our spare room. Oh, if only they’re able to come. I’ve asked a lot from them lately.’
Chapter Eighteen
London, Cambridge and Larchbury, October to November
Now I’m back in London, I simply must see Charles, Lavinia thought. Letters from Amy and Florence had told her that Beatrice had ended their engagement. How could she do such a thing? He was still the same decent, courageous man, in spite of his injuries. Beatrice was not only being selfish and cruel, but one day she might realise what she had lost and regret her action.
He’ll still be heartbroken, Lavinia thought, but I can at least visit and try to divert him for a while. She put on her best winter coat with the fur collar, took a bus to his hospital and sought out the ward.
Charles was sitting beside his bed with a blanket over his legs. Nearby one of the other officers was sitting, and between them was a small table. They were engrossed in a game of chess. Apart from them there was only one patient, who was asleep.
As she approached, Charles looked up. ‘Lavinia!’ he exclaimed. For a moment he looked as though he would try to get up.
‘Charles!’ she cried urgently, but he remembered just in time to stay seated. The other officer, who had a bandage over one eye, stood up until she asked him to sit down again. Charles introduced her to Lieutenant Warner and they shook hands. ‘I’ll leave you two to talk,’ the lieutenant said. ‘We can finish the game later.’ He climbed into his bed and reached for a book.
Lavinia took off her hat and gloves and unbuttoned her coat. She sat down beside Charles’s bed.
‘It’s lovely to see you,’ he said, taking her hand. She was thankful that he was less pale than before, though he did not look as blithe as when he had been expecting Beatrice’s visit.
‘And you,’ she said.
She told him about her new posting to a London hospital. His face is just as handsome as before he was wounded, she thought. ‘How are you now?’
‘I’m ready to go to a convalescent hospital, only they’re short of places.’
She was still hot in the ward, so she took off her coat and folded it over a spare chair. ‘I’m so glad you’re getting better.’
There was something else she needed to say. ‘I heard that Beatrice had broken off the engagement.’ She wanted to give him the opportunity to talk about it if he could bear to do so. ‘I was quite shocked.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘I’ve no rancour against her,’ he said. ‘She deserved to be offered her freedom in the circumstances.’
With difficulty Lavinia restrained herself from further comment on the matter. ‘Do your family manage to visit often?’ she asked.
‘They’ve been very kind, coming up from Sussex at least once a week,’ he told her. ‘My sister, Isobel, is staying with an aunt in Holloway so she can call in regularly.’
Lavinia remembered Isobel from school. She was a pretty girl, a year younger than she was.
‘Have you seen Amy?’ he asked her. ‘I’ve had one letter from Edmond when he’d just started again at Cambridge. He sounded thrilled to be back there. Has Amy been able to join him yet?’
Lavinia explained about Mrs Derwent’s illness. ‘Fortunately it sounds as though she’s on the mend now.’
‘I love to hear news from friends, especially Edmond and Amy.’
She sat and chatted about their acquaintances for a while longer, Charles not showing any urgent desire to return to his game.
A brisk young nurse came in to take the temperatures of her patients. She nudged the sleeping officer until he woke up enough to co-operate.
‘This is Lavinia,’ Charles told the newcomer. ‘She’s a nurse who looked after me in Flanders, besides being a friend.’ Lavinia was flattered that he regarded her in this way. He was still holding her hand.
‘I’ve never made it over there,’ said the nurse, examining the reading on the thermometer.
‘Lavinia was famous for driving around Flanders on her motorbike,’ Charles told her with a mischievous grin.
‘I’d love to hear about your experiences,’ the nurse said as she took Charles’s temperature, ‘but I can’t stop now – there’s too much I’ve got to do.’
Lavinia was enjoying seeing Charles but wondered if it was time to leave.
‘We did have fun at the concert party, didn’t we?’ he said, as the young nurse completed her round of the patients and left.
‘Oh, yes! Helping to arrange it, and then taking part…’
‘And playing our famous duet! We must do it again some time.’
‘I’d love to,’ she said, without having any idea when such an event might take place. ‘I suppose I’d better be going – I mustn’t tire you.’
‘You will come again, won’t you? If you can spare the time, of course.’
‘Yes – I promise.’
* * *
That Friday Edmond sat by the window of the Cambridge house, waiting for the cab to arrive. He understood his father-in-law had permission to leave the school at lunchtime so they were not too late reaching Cambridge.
It was growing dark when at last – there they were! He watched Amy’s father helping her and Beth out of the cab, followed by Amy’s mother. Scarcely aware of his surroundings he found himself at the front door, embracing Amy. At last she’s with me, he thought. And Beth – how she’s grown.
‘I’ll take the luggage in,’ Amy’s father told him sternly as he reached for a case.
Edmond welcomed them inside and helped Amy off with her coat. She took off her hat, revealing her lovely hair, coiled on top of her head. She brought him up to date on his mother’s progress.
The day was already memorable, and now his spirits rose further, for at last Ma seemed to be out of danger. ‘You’ve nursed her back to health!’ he told Amy, wondering if Ma understood how much she owed to her.
‘Grace has left us a meal,’ he told them next. ‘I’ll heat up the soup, now you’re here, and there’s a chicken and leek pie to follow.’
Downstairs there was a tiny dining room as well as the parlour. As they arranged the meal on the table Amy’s mother was congratulating them on their comfortable little home.
‘How was your journey?’ he asked as they all sat around the table. He stirred Beth’s soup to cool it and began spooning it into her little rosy mouth, glad of the chance to care for her again.
‘Better than I expected,’ Amy said. ‘People rushed to give a hand when they saw we had a baby with us. They helped with the pram and some of the luggage.’
‘Beth looks as though she’s falling asleep,’ he said as her eyelashes drooped on to her plump cheeks.
‘I must get her ready for bed as soon as she’s had a little mashed-up food,’ Amy said.
Edmond turned to her mother. ‘I’m very grateful to you for looking after Beth when Ma was sick,’ he said.
‘It was a joy having her with us,’ she said. Amy had told him once on the phone that her grandchild was giving her a sense of purpose after the tragedy of losing Bertie.
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