I opened my eyes and the ceiling was too low above me. My mouth was dry and my head was pounding so that I could only move it very slowly – and as I did so I saw a man sitting slumped in a chair, asleep. The chair was wedged across the doorway, so that I was trapped inside the small stuffy room. And as I looked at him I knew why he had trapped me here, and I hated him for what he had done – because now it was too late.
The stocky figure blurred and in its place I saw Robbie’s thin body, shaking on his bed, and Robbie’s dark eyes gazing up at me as I bent over him with the needle in my hand – the needle which I had driven without faltering into his very flesh. My brother, oh my brother. I cried out in pain and guilt and the other man’s head jerked up and now it was Ben Holden’s blue eyes which watched me, warily.
I pulled myself up, but as I moved my stomach churned and the bile rose in my throat and desperately I was lurching forward, my hand over my mouth. He kicked the chair aside and wrenched the door open and I ran through the dark kitchen and tiny scullery and out into the narrow yard. I looked frantically round until he pushed past me and flung back a door - I threw myself down on the hard stone and seized the cold white sides as the sickness took me over.
At last my retching shuddered to a stop and I knelt panting with the smell of it all around me. He hauled me to my feet and held me up as he leant across to pull the chain, then he half-carried me back into the kitchen and lowered me into a chair. A cold damp flannel was pushed into my hands and I wiped my face, then dried it on the towel he offered. Neither of us had spoken a word.
I sat huddled in the chair watching Ben Holden raise the lid of the range and poke the fire up before he put the kettle on it. I whispered, ‘Just tea this time, Ben.’ He turned and his smile was very gentle, ‘Aye lass, just tea.’
The room was warm but I began to shiver. He saw me shaking and went to the door and took an old shawl from the peg behind it and brought it back to me. ‘Sit forward, lass.’ I bent forward obediently and let him wrap the shawl around my shoulders and pull it close across my chest and tuck the ends in securely. I clutched the woollen folds to me as he turned back to the kettle and began to make the tea. His calm, deliberate movements steadied me, and when he handed me the cup I took it from him and gulped down the scalding liquid, gratefully. There was no sugar in it this time. As soon as I had finished he refilled my cup, then sat down opposite me cradling his own mug in his large hands, waiting.
I drew a long painful breath and said loudly, ‘I killed my brother, Ben. I killed Robbie.’
He shook his head, his expression set. ‘No, lass, the Germans killed him. You only eased his passing.’
I said, my voice still far too loud, ‘But it wasn’t a very easy passing.’
‘Easier, lass, easier.’
I had no answer, and he fell silent again, yet I could see he was searching for words. At first, when he began to speak, I was bewildered by what he was saying, then I understood. ‘At Wipers, in ’17, we were next to Suffolks afore we went over – not that there were much to go over, by then – we just scrambled through mud. I got separated from company – most of them had gone by then, happen, I don’t know. Any road, I slipped down a shellhole for a bit of cover, and there were one of Suffolks there, with his insides all spilt out. I thought he were dead at first, but he weren’t – and when I leant over him I could see he’d only got half a face, t’other half were missing. But he were still alive, and looking right at me with his one eye. I knew what he wanted. So I put me hand over his face – what were left of his face – lifted me revolver and blew out rest of his brains. Then I climbed out th’ole again and went back to try and find me men – to keep them moving forward, see.’ He stopped, then went on, ‘I never told no one. I didn’t even think about it at time – there weren’t any time. But I thought about it a lot later, and, well, – I reckon he were grateful.’ Ben’s low voice ceased; in the dark kitchen his face looked like that of an old man.
At last I whispered, ‘Thank you, Ben.’
He pulled himself out of his chair, moving very heavily. ‘You’re welcome, lass.’ Then he straightened up square in front of me, and added, quite matter of fact, ‘You’d best get some sleep now, you must be worn out, what with being up all night as well. Mrs Greenhalgh had to go out – her elder lass has just had a new babby, up valley, and there’s another young ’un to see to – otherwise she’d have stayed. She lost her own lad in war, see. Now you come and lie down on sofa again.’
I stood up stiffly, and felt the pressure of my bladder – I glanced towards the back door, my face flushing. Ben spoke quickly, ‘There’s soap and towel in scullery – I’ll go up for pillow.’
The small closet still smelt faintly of vomit, and as soon as I had finished I reached for the jar of carbolic and shook a few drops down. Back in the scullery I washed my face and hands carefully at the single tap and dried them on the worn towel.
The door of the little parlour was open, and Ben had drawn the curtains and arranged the sofa with pillows and blankets, just like a bed. My jacket had been hung neatly over the back of a chair and he said, without looking at me, ‘You can take your skirt off if you want – save it getting all crumpled – I’ll go outside.’
Slowly I undid the buttons of my skirt and slipped it down over my hips, then I crept in between the blankets and pulled them tightly round me. I felt desperately alone. Ben’s voice came from outside the door. ‘Have you got everything you want, Lady Helena?’
Quickly I called back, ‘Ben, please – ’ His head came round the door; he looked very tired. But I was so frightened of being alone in the small, still room – alone with the dark threatening shadows, so I begged, ‘Ben – would you, would you stay with me, please?’ I could hear the panic in my voice.
He did not hesitate. ‘Of course I will. Wait while I fetch me things – I’ll be right back.’
He was very quick. I lay watching him as he moved about the room, pulling the bright rag rug into the centre of the floor and placing his pillow carefully at one end. He bent to take off his slippers and put them neatly inside the fender, then he rolled himself up in the grey blanket and lay down, facing the sideboard, with his back to me.
‘Goodnight, Lady Helena.’
‘Goodnight, Ben.’
I only slept in snatches, waking again and again with my heart thudding and my chest tight. But I fixed my eyes on the brown head above the grey blanket, and forced myself to concentrate on the steady breathing of the man on the floor, until slowly my panic subsided and I dozed off again – until the next time.
As I lay between sleep and waking I heard him moving about the room. Then he softly opened the door and slipped out – but I knew he was still in the house. I did not sleep again; I lay gazing up at the network of fine cracks on the plaster ceiling until I heard the front door pushed quickly open, and the thud of clogs in the passageway. A girl’s voice called out, ‘Ben –’ to be quickly shushed, and followed by the murmur of voices outside. Then there was a soft tap on the door panel.
‘Come in.’
The door swung open and a girl came shyly into the room. She wore a shawl over a crumpled cotton working dress and there was a pair of dusty black clogs on her feet. Brown curls framed a round face that was rosy with health; her blue eyes were solemn as she came towards me. ‘How are you, my lady? Ben thought you might be awake – he’s only just come down himself – he’s been on the night shift. Mam sent me back from our Annie’s to start his tea and see how you were – she says she’ll be in later when she’s given our Wilf his meal – but he’s helpless like when Annie’s laid up – a proper man – still, he’s pleased with babby – a bonny little lass she is…’ She bubbled on while I slowly pulled myself up and began to look vaguely round for my skirt and jacket. The girl went quickly to the chair. ‘Here they are, miss – my lady – what lovely soft cloth, and all sewn so beautiful! Did you sew them yourself?’ She stopped suddenly, her pretty face very pink. ‘I’m not thinking – of course a lady like you wouldn’t make her own clothes – I’m sorry I spoke.’
I said quickly, ‘Oh, I can sew but not well enough to tailor. I’m afraid I don’t know your name?’
‘I’m Emmie, Emmie Greenhalgh – you met our mam this morning. I was at mill, but it’s half day on Saturday so I slipped up to see the new babby…’
Ben’s shout interrupted her. ‘I’ve brewed up, young Emmie.’ I reached quickly for my skirt.
Emmie was still chattering as she led me through to the kitchen. Ben was wearing a waistcoat and jacket now. ‘Why Ben – you’re all dressed up today – he normally wears his braces round the house, my lady…’
‘Emmie, get that tea poured!’ Ben’s face was red as he broke in.
Emmie picked up the tea pot, saying proudly, ‘I talk too much, our mam’s always telling me – like a babbling brook, our Emmie, she says.’ She pursed her lips in concentration as she carefully added the milk. Ben put his hand over the sugar bowl with a shake of his head and Emmie carried the cup to me. ‘Now sit down with this, my lady – it’ll make you feel better – there’s nothing like a nice cup of tea, mam always says.’
‘Thank you, Emmie.’
I sipped the tea in silence, listening to Emmie’s soft voice extolling the virtues of her new niece. But when she had finished her tea she put her cup down and her face became serious as she said, ‘My lady, I were right sorry to hear about your brother. I know how you feel – when the telegram came to tell us our Joe had passed away I cried and cried – I couldn’t stop for a whole week.’ She paused a moment, then went on, ‘He were gassed, you see. But we had a lovely letter from the nurse, she said he died so quick and peaceful. “His last words were of his family,” she wrote, “then he laid back his head and fell asleep.” Did you nurse men who’d been gassed, my lady?’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’
‘And did they all die quick and peaceful, like our Joe?’ I looked at the girl, remembering the big marquee, and my useless efforts to help men who were coughing their lives away in agony through all those endless days of dying. And after the last desperate wheezing gasp, when the contorted purple face had finally fallen back upon its pillow, then I too would reach for my pen that evening, and write. ‘I’m sure you will be relieved to know that your son – your husband – your brother – passed away quite peacefully…’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes, they all died quickly and peacefully.’ And Robbie’s voice rang in my ear: ‘God, Hellie, I’d have to stand and watch while the sergeant shovelled the pieces into a sandbag, then I’d sit down in the dug-out and write, “He died at once, just a clean shot through his chest – his face quite unmarked – he looked very peaceful.”’ Robbie, my brother, who had not died peacefully – but who at least had died more quickly than he might have done, because I – and I heard my voice sharp with bitterness saying, ‘Yes, Emmie, all soldiers die quickly you know – and if they don’t, why, we try to make sure –’
But Ben Holden spoke loudly, drowning my angry words, ‘Emmie, lass – Lady Helena’ll be wanting a bit of a wash and brush up. Run upstairs and tidy the front bedroom, now – there’s a good girl.’
After Emmie left us, I sat staring down at my trembling hands, ashamed now. At last I looked up, and saw that his face was drawn and tired – the face of the man who had filled the sandbags. ‘I’m sorry, Ben.’
He said heavily, ‘There’s no call to upset the lass – it’s best they believe what they do.’
‘Yes.’ We sat in silence until Emmie came running back down the stairs.
Up in the small bedroom with its double bed neat under a snowy white counterpane I stripped and washed myself from head to foot, and then pulled my black clothes on again and went slowly downstairs. Emmie’s chatter broke off as she saw me come in, and she put her arm round my waist and led me to the rocking chair. Her plump dimpled hand squeezed my shoulder in silent sympathy.
Ben cleared his throat. ‘Lady Helena, I’m due on again this evening, so I were wondering – I thought I’d best see you safely back, first.’
‘Back?’
‘Back home – to Hatton.’
I stared at him, and began to shake. ‘No – I can’t – I can’t go back’ – back to where Robbie’s body lay waiting – waiting in its coffin, waiting for me. ‘No, no…’ Emmie put her arm round my shoulders and pressed me to her. ‘You can stay here, as long as you want. You’ve upset her, Ben Holden, going on like that!’
‘But Emmie –’
‘I’ll sleep in chair – she can have my place – but no, there’s Mam. Why, that’s what we’ll do – you can have Ben’s bed, my lady – I’ll put clean sheets on it for you. He’ll not be back while morning. There, I’ll ask Mam when she gets in, she’ll understand.’
I subsided into a frightened huddle in the chair as Ben said doubtfully, ‘But, her family – they’ll not know where she is…’
‘Then you can telephone, Ben, and tell them.’ Emmie’s voice was triumphant. ‘A grand house like that’ll have a ’phone – won’t it, my lady?’ I nodded. ‘That’s settled then – and there’s Mam’s step at door – I’ll ask her now.’
It was soon settled – I would stay in Ainsclough that night. I murmured my gratitude as Mrs Greenhalgh took clean linen from the cupboard beside the range and sent Emmie upstairs with it. Then she lifted saucepan lids, peered into the oven, gave a ‘hm’ of satisfaction and told Ben to take me down to the post office.
I followed him along the street in a daze. He called the operator for me, pushed in eight pennies then stood to one side so that I could give the exchange and number. But when Cooper answered I could barely speak at first, and only just managed to whisper, ‘May I speak to Lady Violet, Cooper?’
‘My lady’ – even over the line I could hear the anxiety in his voice – ‘I’ll fetch her at once, my lady.’
Letty’s voice came loud and clear: ‘Helena! Where are you? You left no message – Mother’s furious – and Dr Craig’s called twice already asking for you and he’s insisted he’s coming back again this evening – that made Mother even more annoyed. So where on earth are you?’ I felt sick and giddy; there was a long pause before I managed to get out, ‘Ainsclough. I’m in Ainsclough.’
‘Ainsclough! Whatever are you doing there?’ Letty’s voice shrieked over the line; Ben, standing close behind me, shielding me from the shop, must have heard every word. My sister spoke forcefully: ‘Well, when are you coming back? The funeral’s arranged for Monday – two o’clock.’ I began to tremble; I could not answer. ‘Hellie? Are you there?’
Ben reached over my shoulder and took the earpiece from my shaking hand, then he nudged me gently aside so that he could speak directly to my sister. ‘Look, my lady, she’s staying in Ainsclough over weekend, but tell your ma she’ll be back in time for funeral.’ Letty’s voice squeaked in protest but Ben ignored it. ‘I said she’ll be back in time, that’s all – oh, and you’d best tell that doctor she’s quite safe.’ He slammed the phone back on the hook. ‘Not that he deserves it.’
I whispered, ‘It wasn’t his fault, Ben – he was out at a confinement.’ I began to cry. He took my arm and guided me out of the shop, still using his body as a shield against the curious glances of the other customers. Outside he swung me round and pushed me into a narrow alleyway. I shook with sobs, fighting for control. At last I said, ‘I can’t go to the funeral, Ben.’
‘You’ll have to. It’ll look downright strange if you don’t.’
‘I don’t care, I won’t go.’
‘Look, Lady Helena.’ His voice was low, but very serious. ‘What you did, you could be put away for it, if it ever gets out.’ His eyes held mine; I stared back into his stern face as he said, ‘You were right to do it – it were only thing to do – but law’s law.’
I repeated, ‘I don’t care – I deserve to be punished.’
‘Oh no you don’t. Anyroad, what about doctor? He were ready to help Captain – to take a chance – you don’t want to put him behind bars, do you?’ At last I shook my head. ‘Well, then – you’ve got to go to funeral and act normal. And no more letting cats out of bags, like you nearly did with young Emmie. You’ll have to keep your mouth shut.’
‘But – I told you, Ben.’
‘That were different.’ His tone was final. ‘I’ll take you back meself Monday morning. ’Sides, I want to pay me last respects to Captain Girvan – he were well liked.’ Back in the small kitchen I swallowed a few mouthfuls of potato pie. It tasted like sawdust, but under Mrs Greenhalgh’s stem gaze I dared not refuse it. Then she sent Ben into the front room to sleep on the sofa before his shift. He tried to argue. ‘I’ve got to see to me plot, and –’
‘You can do that later, Ben Holden. I doubt you’ve had enough sleep today, and if you’re staying up on Monday you’ve got to get what you can, today and tomorrow. Off you go now.’ And meekly, he went.
I sat listening to the clatter of saucepans in the scullery as Emmie and her mother washed up – Emmie’s voice murmured on unceasingly, with only the occasional punctuation from Mrs Greenhalgh’s short replies. When they had finished they came back and sat down at the kitchen table, and Mrs Greenhalgh lifted a large basket on to the red chenille tablecloth. Emmie’s face fell. ‘Oh Mam, not the mending – not when we’ve got a guest.’ But her mother was inflexible. ‘You’ve barely a whole stocking to your foot, my girl – and there’s Ben’s socks.’ She turned to me and said, half-apologetically, ‘We’ve been a bit tied up getting ready for the new babby, my lady – else I’m not one to be getting behind with my mending, though I say it myself.’
I watched her shake out a sock and reach for the wooden mushroom and suddenly I was begging, ‘Please – do let me help.’
Mrs Greenhalgh looked shocked. ‘Certainly not, my lady, it wouldn’t be fitting. Besides…’
‘Oh, but I can darn. Nanny taught me, when I was a child. I like darning…’
‘Like darning! Emmie’s face was amazed.
Mrs Greenhalgh still shook her head. I said desperately, ‘Please – if I had something to do – I can’t bear just to sit…’ My hands were beginning to tremble again. The woman’s stern face softened for a moment, and silently she held out the skein of wool. I threaded the needle, positioned the mushroom and began to pick up the worn loops.
I was still darning when Ben pushed open the door later – bleary-eyed and stretching his brawny arms until they cracked. Emmie said quickly, ‘Ben, Lady Helena’s mending your socks for you – she’s a beautiful darner – look how neat hers is, next to my stocking.’ Emmie generously held out her own puckered darn.
Ben flushed red and Mrs Greenhalgh said sharply, ‘Put that away Emmie – showing a young man your stocking! Whatever will you do next?’
Emmie said, ‘It’s all right, Mam – my leg’s not still inside it,’ and winked at me.
Her mother reared up. ‘Into the scullery with you my girl, and fill that kettle at once.’ Emmie dumped her mending on the table and scuttled off.
We drank more strong hot tea and then Ben went up to his plot. ‘He’s growing lots of vegetables he’s really worked hard, my lady. Old Alf Whittam had let it get all overgrown with weeds and suchlike, and Ben spent all autumn clearing it. I helped too, didn’t I Mam?’ She leant close to me and whispered, ‘But Mam wouldn’t let me go up with Ben too often, she said it wasn’t respectable – and I’d get under Ben’s feet and keep chattering all the time. But when I told Ben he said he didn’t mind. “After all,” he said, “I don’t have to listen, do I?” ’ She smiled happily as she reached for another coarse black stocking and stabbed awkwardly at it.
I offered, ‘I’ll mend those for you tomorrow, Emmie, when I’ve finished Ben’s socks.’
‘Oh, would you? I’d be ever so grateful – I hate mending.’
At eight o’clock I heard Ben come in and go straight upstairs. When he came down again he was wearing a pair of grubby overalls. He picked up the haversack Mrs Greenhalgh had packed ready for him and left for work, with only a glance in my direction. I darned on.
At half-past nine Mrs Greenhalgh put away her needle. ‘I’ll make you a nice cup of cocoa, my lady – it’ll help you to sleep.’ As she came past me I felt the light touch of her hand on my shoulder, and the tears stung my eyes.
Emmie took me up to Ben’s bedroom at the back of the house. It was very neat and tidy; the only furniture was the bed, a chair and a chest of drawers, though one alcove was curtained off. I looked at the other alcove which was spanned by three sturdy shelves, filled with books. Emmie followed my gaze. ‘Ben put those up himself – he’s a great reader is Ben, when he’s not up plot or down pub on a Friday night. It’s not just paper he reads, he gets books regular from the Co-op library – but all them’s his own. Mam thinks they’re a waste of money, but he saved a lot in war, see. His old mam she kept on working, and though he made her a good allotment she wouldn’t use much of it, she put most of it in Penny Bank – he said it made him wild but she would do it, and of course she were well over seventy, so she had a bit from pension, too. She had Ben very late, you see – Edna Fairbairn told me Mrs Holden thought it were change – didn’t know she was expecting, and one day she thinks she’s just got a touch of indigestion and she stands up to ease it like and next minute Ben pops out on the rug and sets up a howling fit to wake the neighbours! There was only his sister Ada there to help – she were my age then – gave her quite a turn it did – she were courting Albert Small, him she wed, but she called off banns then – said she didn’t fancy it if that’s what it were about – but he talked her round and she’s got five of her own, now – he’s got a good job, Albert, clerk at Bolton Town Hall.’ She paused for breath, and before she could carry on there was a call of ‘Emmie!’ from downstairs. Emmie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, miss – my lady don’t tell Mam what I told you – she’d have a fit. She thinks I still believe babbies are found behind cabbage patch!’
Emmie looked so funny in her round-eyed dismay that for a moment I almost laughed. Then I promised, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell her, Emmie.’
She flashed me a quick smile, said, ‘Chamber’s under bed,’ and was gone.
I sat down on the chair and looked round the cell-like room. I knew I would not sleep – I longed for the mending basket. There was a photograph of an elderly woman on the mantelpiece – Ben’s mother, I guessed – there was a look of him around the eyes. She was half-smiling, and she had a kind face – but she was dead – they were all dead. I gripped my hands together until they hurt. When I had controlled myself I stood up and walked over to the alcove and made myself concentrate on the books there. I forced myself to read the titles on the top row: Locomotive Management from Cleaning to Firing – in a purple binding; next to it a shabby green volume proclaimed itself to be Continuous Railway Brakes; and it was followed by a fat Textbook of Mechanical Engineering. I put out my hand and took down the last one – I would see what Ben read – but there was page after page of working drawings and diagrams and close-packed text. Then I came upon a picture of four men – in waistcoats and close-fitting caps, working at a bench – I looked hopefully at the page opposite: ‘If the surface is to be further trued, recourse is had to the scraper.’ The words meant nothing to me, and they blurred and danced before my eyes until I slammed the book shut and pushed it back on the shelf.
I looked down at the next row and saw more familiar authors: Carlyle’s French Revolution, Burke’s American Speeches and Letters, Macaulay’s History of England, Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire; followed by Hobbes’ Leviathan, More’s Utopia – and Marx’s Das Kapital. How shocked my mother would be if she saw that! Tucked in, incongruously, at the end of the bottom row was a modest green volume entitled How to Grow Vegetables. I looked at the choice hopelessly; then at last I took down the first volume of the lowest shelf and opened it; it was Gibbon. I would read that. I pulled the chair under the gas mantle and forced myself to read:
‘In the second century of the Christian era, the Empire of Rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth, and the most civilised portion of mankind. The frontiers of that extensive monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valour…’
And suddenly I wondered whether one day a woman would be reading a book which began just like this one, but that was entitled The Decline and Fall of the British Empire? And would all our sacrifices of these last terrible years have been in vain? I thrust the treacherous thought from me and read grimly on.