Out in the public streets, Evelyn made an effort to control the tears that had been flowing down her cheeks. She dabbed at her eyes with her pocket handkerchief and tried to look calm. She did not feel calm. She felt angry, then heartbroken. She felt homesick and then defiant. She longed for Jos and then wanted to leave London and never return. She hated James and Lilian, but pitied them in the same moment. She was stupid to have trusted anyone here, but then she was full of love for Jos and gratitude for the kindness of others. At once she felt crushed and resented Edward for sending her here, but still there was part of her that knew that this was all part of what needed to happen in her life. Even now she was still flying higher than she would have been doing in West Coombe.
She walked a long time, following one street after another without any real clue as to the direction she was walking. London was a city full of landmarks, almost impossible to be entirely lost in, but she did not know precisely where she was either. She would recognise a building or perhaps the name of one of the Underground stations she passed, then turn a corner and find herself somewhere entirely unfamiliar. Finally, she emerged into an open space she did recognise. It was Trafalgar Square. She recognised the fountains and Nelson on his tall column. She’d been a happy sightseer, still new in London, with Lilian by her side, the last time she’d been here. How much had changed. And yet the square had not at all. Nelson was still impassive. It was one of the things that fascinated about London, how it remained so unchanged by all of the stories that played out in its buildings and streets. So many people, so many stories, but always London with its familiar landmarks, its famous places. London was an entity larger and more timeless than its transitory population. Somehow this was a comfort. Whatever happened to her, Evelyn was only the smallest part of London, and London was just one city.
Emotionless now, more numb than angry, she trudged on. There was nowhere she could go. She could not return to the Graingers’ house. She doubted she could ever go there again. She dared not return to the Yellow Orchid, much as she thought Vernon would help her. It was possible Lilian was still there, or that she had rallied her friends amongst the patrons. She could try Jos’s flat again, but if Jos did not want to be found, even by her brother, what good would it do to turn up there now, especially with nowhere else to go? Such a need might only frighten Jos further. So she walked, waiting for an idea to strike.
Through Trafalgar Square she passed, on down Whitehall, where the business of government was conducted. She passed army buildings and government ministries; she passed the black gates of Downing Street and wondered briefly what Mr. Baldwin was doing at that moment. Then she saw, ahead of her in the middle of the wide road, something which drew her steps.
Rising from the grey road, carved in white Portland stone, stood the Cenotaph. The empty tomb memorial, unveiled in 1920 as the memorial to all the dead of the Great War. Ornate laurel wreaths decorated its angular flanks, the red, white, and blue of the Union Flag and various ensigns of the armed services hanging from their angled poles. In the diminishing winter light, it was bright and yet stately. Quiet, despite the bustle of the road all around it.
Evelyn waited for a car to pass, then crossed to the structure itself. Three shallow steps formed the base, on which were laid one or two poppy wreaths, as had become the custom of rememberance in recent years, blood red against the pale stone.
Reverence in her heart, Evelyn approached the memorial and laid a hand on the smooth, cold stone. It seemed as nothing at all compared to the many young, vibrant lives it represented. In fact, to memorialise those young men in hard, unforgiving stone felt almost tragic in itself. The Cenotaph, the empty tomb, was a thing of death. But those men had lived and would have continued living, had war not cruelly prevented it.
Caught in the emotion, Evelyn laid her cheek against the stone, closing her eyes. She thought of Edward, not dead but still lost to her. She thought of Frank Grainger, who had been so kind to her Eddie, wondered what impact his loss had really had on Lilian and James. She thought of the men they had known, the men who had died by their side, and those who had survived but carried the hell of the battlefield inside them. Her thoughts moved on to Jos and Vernon, their parents taken from them by explosions from the sky. To the men of West Coombe whose names were on a smaller memorial, near the harbour. She thought of the new friends she had found in London, wondered how the war had touched their lives. For it had touched all of their lives.
Perhaps, she thought, this memorial wasn’t simply for the dead soldiers. Yes, they deserved it and the country mourned them formally every November. But she remembered the pressure there had been for this permanent memorial in Whitehall, carved in eternal stone. It seemed clear to her now that it was not just for the soldiers and sailors and pilots who were killed. Not just for the nurses and engineers, ordnance factory workers and civilians who died. The memorial was for all of them. For all who remembered a life before the war, who remembered those who had died when they were vibrant and vital. It was for a way of life which had slipped away. Carved here in stone was the world they inherited from their parents, it was the last testimony to the world under Victoria and Edward. That world had been swept away in bloodshed, and afterwards, nothing was quite the same. Everything was modern now. But the quiet dignity of the Cenotaph was a reminder of another time, the time before. It was the gravemarker of a time that had passed.
Evelyn was not of that time. She had been a child then. She was of the new world and it was that which had driven her to London. Edward’s urging had simply shown her the path. The people of the time before, her parents, had accepted the world as it was, taken what they were given, assumed it was good and proper for a young man to fight and die for glory. They were different now, in a world where everything had died. They were left with dreams. The pursuit of those dreams was surely what made them modern, even if they did not really know what those dreams were. They pushed for something better, something more and went headlong into the world to find it.
Had she found it? In Jos’s arms, she really thought she had. But that was gone now and she was not sure she would be able to win it back. So now her thoughts turned again to Edward, to her own loss, and how she wished he was there to help her in that instant. Tired of pursuing a life well lived, she rested against the cold stone, as the tears fell again. London swept by on the road, but she was still, calm and lying on a clifftop with Eddie, pondering the future.
Chapter Twenty
Night fell. Such was the bustle and anonymity of London that no one came to question the young woman with her face pressed to the Cenotaph. Perhaps, Evelyn thought, this was not so unusual. Even though nearly a decade had passed, people had not stopped mourning their fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, lovers. They moved on, but the grief went with them. Evelyn wondered if people would always mourn here, when the war was forgotten and the soldiers long gone. Or would the memorial be torn down one day, when there was no one left to remember?
Her tears had stopped and yet there was an odd comfort in the solid block of stone. She did not want to leave it behind. But the darkness brought the cold of winter and she could hardly stand in Whitehall through the night. She had to try to return to someone familiar. Perhaps to Vernon, or even to Jos. Just for somewhere warm and something to eat. She would expect nothing but shelter and, perhaps, to be kept safe from Lilian’s rage.
Sadly, she turned her aching feet towards the archway leading to Horseguards Parade. She knew if she could reach the Mall, and Buckingham Palace, she could find her way back into Mayfair. She would decide where to seek refuge when she got there. As she set off, it began to rain, a cold, icy rain that was nearly sleet. Hatless and with only her coat to protect her, Evelyn soon felt the chill creeping through her whole body, the freezing water tricking over her scalp, down her face, and seeping under her collar. She did not care. There was something cleansing about being drenched in this way. As her extremities went numb, her emotions felt the same.
Acr
oss the gravel of Horseguards and onto the Mall. Right on Marlborough Road to emerge near St. James’s Palace and follow St. James’s Street until she reached Piccadilly. She received a few curious glances from passersby, especially as she neared the well-to-do streets of Mayfair, but no one questioned why she was out in the winter rain with no hat or umbrella and no one offered her assistance. She was glad of it, convinced that kindness would feel like an intrusion to a grief that felt all consuming and yet impossible to explain. What would she tell anyone who enquired what was wrong? That the woman she loved had rejected her, and a friend she had only known for a short time had publicly accused her of seducing two men, playing on a dead soldier’s memory, and taking illicit drugs? It sounded ludicrous. Evelyn could almost have laughed at just how outlandish her old self would have found such a tale. And yet here, in London, it did not seem so odd, somehow, in the city that swallowed stories and made them part of itself.
In the end, she turned her footsteps towards the Yellow Orchid. She considered it unlikely that Lilian would still be there and decided she was guaranteed a warm welcome from Vernon, whereas she could not be sure of the same from Jos.
She was approaching the cafe when a woman walking down the street towards her suddenly exclaimed, “Evelyn! What on earth are you doing? Oh, my dear, you gave us such a fright, disappearing like that.”
Evelyn raised her eyes from the wet pavement to look at Dorothy. Warm relief flooded her cold body. Dorothy, of all people, would understand. “It’s Jos,” she said first. “And Lilian. Oh, Dorothy, I’ve made such a mess of everything!” She began to cry again.
“Nonsense,” Dorothy replied. “Look, I know the story, as much as Vernon told me, anyway. You’ve not made a mess of anything. Come home with me—we’ll get you dry and you can sleep in my spare bed.”
“What about Lilian? You’re her friend,” Evelyn asked, trying to restrain the sobs.
“I don’t give two hoots about what Lilian thinks. Besides, a woman would have to be heartless to leave you outside with nowhere to go. Come on. I’m not letting you back inside the Orchid, just in case. I’ll nip back and stop Vernon worrying later.” Dorothy took Evelyn’s hand and led her along the street. Her house was only two streets over from the Orchid, a small terraced town house at the end of a rather quaint street. She opened the door and led Evelyn into the warm.
Dorothy’s home was rather plain and matter of fact. She had everything she needed but nothing unnecessary. There was a smell of perfume and cigarette smoke, mixing with the scent of coal from the glowing hearth. Dorothy left Evelyn standing in the lamplit sitting room and went to fetch towels and blankets.
Once Evelyn was dried and dressed in one of Dorothy’s nightdresses, a blanket around her shoulders, Dorothy sat to talk to her. “Now, I know what Vernon told me, but do you care to tell me what’s happened yourself? He’s awfully prone to exaggeration.”
“It started this morning with Jos,” Evelyn replied, realising she was grateful of the opportunity to relate what had happened. “I don’t really know what I said, but she got very tense. I think I might have implied that I could live with her if Lilian decided I had to leave her house. And I questioned why we had to keep what’s between us a secret. She got very angry, said I didn’t understand and that she didn’t love me after all. So I left. I really thought she would stop me when she saw I was actually planning on leaving, but she didn’t.”
“I sometimes think that woman is a lost cause,” Dorothy muttered. “Sorry, go on.”
“Well, I had nowhere to go but the Graingers’. They were away for Christmas, so I had the house to myself for a while. It gave me time to think and I remembered what everyone had told me about Jos, and what she must’ve been feeling. So I decided I would go back and talk to her, try to be more understanding.”
“Which is really more than she deserves, if you ask me.”
“Well, I’m afraid I love her.”
“I can see that, darling. I could see it all day, yesterday. She’s bloody lucky too.” Dorothy smiled. “So what happened?”
“I didn’t get to see Jos. I was about to go out when Lilian and James got home. I don’t think Lilian had a very happy time with their family and she was in a strange mood. She stormed off upstairs and left me with James. I honestly don’t know what came over him but he chose that moment to propose marriage to me.”
“With no warning at all?” Dorothy looked honestly surprised.
“No. I had a hint that he liked me—he’d suggested we go to the pictures or for a walk in the park—but I didn’t expect him to propose out of the blue.” Evelyn was still confused by James’s actions now. “Of course, I said no, but he wouldn’t believe me. So eventually I told him that I’d been engaged before, in West Coombe, so it wasn’t that I was scared of being engaged, and that there was actually someone else that I love. I didn’t say who.”
“I bet that went down very well.”
“He was so furious, Dorothy.” Evelyn felt a little frightened just seeing his face. “He told me to get out of his house. I have no doubt Lilian was listening from upstairs too and she did nothing.”
“What’s gone wrong between you and Lilian, darling? I know she’s a perfect idiot, but for something like this to happen…”
Dorothy’s interest seemed earnest rather than an attempt to gather gossip. Evelyn decided to tell her the whole truth. “I think it’s more than one thing. Like you said, she thinks I’m involved with Vernon. She saw me at the cafe with him when I was actually looking for Jos. Of course, she wouldn’t think I was with Jos—her mind is too narrow for that—so she guessed I had a thing with Vernon. When I told James that I loved someone else, I think her mind went straight to Vernon. It’s not just that though. I happened to go into her room when she was injecting herself with cocaine. I know it was cocaine, I’ve read about it in the papers. She said it was medicine to begin with but then she didn’t deny it, she just swore me to secrecy. I made my disapproval clear and she didn’t like it. She’s not really been the same since then.”
“Oh, my Lord,” Dorothy said. “I half thought she was on the stuff, she seemed so bright and full of energy all the time, even when her eyes were tired. But I didn’t think she’d be brave enough to go out and get it. It explains a lot, really.”
Evelyn told her the rest, about the slap and Lilian’s lies.
Dorothy shook her head. “Vernon said he tried to talk sense into Lilian, but she informed him it was over between them and then stormed off. Somehow, I don’t think he’s devastated.” Dorothy allowed a small smile. “But I’m so sorry, Evie. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. I’m not going to say you handled it all perfectly, but who would?”
“I’m not worried about Lilian, although I don’t want her to think I used her brother’s death to prey on her kindness. I’m more concerned that all of my belongings are in her house. It’s Jos I’m really worried about.” Evelyn hoped Dorothy would help her, somehow.
“I know, Evie. And I’m sorry she’s so bloody stupid. She’s been the same for years, never manages to hold on to something good. But I don’t think she meant this to happen. She was different yesterday. She loves you, all right.” Dorothy patted Evelyn’s arm.
Evelyn tried to smile, despite the tears that threatened. “I don’t know where she is.”
“She’ll be in a nameless public house where no one knows her, drinking as much whisky as she can afford. It’s always how she deals with her own distresss. And no, there’s no hope of finding her until morning, when she’ll crawl home. I will help you, then. For now, you’d be best to sleep.”
“What about all of my things, at Lilian and James’s house?” Evelyn asked.
“I will go and fetch them in the morning, myself. Or summon the assistance of Clara and Courtney or someone else helpful who isn’t at all afraid of Miss Idiot Grainger.”
“Thank you, Dorothy,” Evelyn said.
“No problem at all, sweetheart. You go through to bed no
w. I’m going to go back to the Orchid and let Vernon know all’s well. He’s uncharacteristically concerned.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“Yes. Well, I’ll put his mind at ease and then come back. So if you hear the door being unlocked, it’s only me. Goodnight, try to rest.”
Evelyn did as she was told, going through to the Dorothy’s spare bedroom. The mattress was rather soft and badly sprung but Dorothy had put a warming bottle between the sheets and the warmth was soothing. Despite a racing mind and an aching heart, Evelyn fell asleep, exhausted.
*
Jos slumped in her chair in the corner of The King’s Arms in Shoreditch. The interior of the public house was a far cry from the modernity of the Yellow Orchid. Here, the dark wood fittings were of the last century, the paint on the walls stained with decades of tobacco smoke. Most of the patrons were working men, but they were so absorbed in their own conversations, pints of ale, and games of dominoes, that she was barely noticed in her dark corner. Those who glanced at her doubtless took her for a rather feminine young man. They’d have been more likely to notice that she was making rapid progress through a whole bottle of cheap scotch.
With every measure she poured, she hated herself more. There was no comfort in the heat of the alcohol burning down her throat. This was the life she’d tried so hard to leave behind. Meeting Evelyn was the pinnacle, the moment she had known that she had risen from the ashes. But she could not keep it. She’d let it slip through her fingers.
No, that wasn’t fair. She took another drink. Evelyn hadn’t slipped through her fingers. Jos had pushed her away. She knew it. When she thought back over the conversation of that morning she could not even follow her own logic. Why be so frightened at signs of commitment and love from Evelyn? In what way was that terrifying?
Fragile Wings Page 29