THEY WERE THERE AT home to greet us when we arrived—my parents, Charles, Aunt Belinda and Uncle Robert—all, except Robert. My mother seized me and hugged me again and again. She seemed as though she must keep reassuring herself that I was really there.
Miss Carruthers stood a little apart with Andrée, who was holding the baby. My mother had given them a quick glance but she was too intent on me to take in immediately the fact that we had brought strangers with us.
My father stood by, awaiting his turn to embrace me. He was almost as emotional as my mother. Charles was dancing around. “Did you see any soldiers?” he asked.
It was a wonderful homecoming.
Marcus stood by, watching and smiling.
“How can we thank you enough?” my father was saying to him. “How grateful we are to my brother for arranging for you to bring them home…and especially to you.”
Aunt Belinda was talking excitedly and kissed Annabelinda and then me. Uncle Robert stood by, smiling benignly on us all. Dear Uncle Robert. He reminded me so much of his son, my own dear Robert.
“Where is Robert?” I asked.
“Robert joined the army immediately after war was declared,” my mother told me.
“He’s in training now,” added Aunt Belinda. “Somewhere on Salisbury Plain, I think.”
“I’m going to join when I’m old enough,” said Charles. Nobody took any notice of him.
My mother seemed suddenly aware that there were strangers present. Her eyes lingered on Andrée and the baby.
“I’ll tell you everything later,” I said to her. “This is Miss Carruthers, who has traveled with us from the school. She really doesn’t want to go down to the country just yet. If she could stay…”
“But of course you must stay, Miss Carruthers,” said my mother. “Lucinda has mentioned you in her letters. You must be exhausted after all this. I’ll have a room made ready.”
“And this is Mademoiselle Andrée Latour. We met while we were getting across France.”
“Welcome to England,” said my mother.
“She must stay here, too, Mama,” I said.
“Of course. Look. Here are some of the servants. They have all been so anxious about you. Mrs. Cherry…isn’t this wonderful?”
“It is indeed, ma’am,” replied Mrs. Cherry. “We are so glad you’ve come back safe and sound, Miss Lucinda.”
“We want two rooms made ready. Three perhaps…Major Merrivale…?”
“Thank you,” he said. “But I shall be reporting to Colonel Graham to let him know that all has gone according to plan.”
“But you’ll stay for a meal?”
“That would be delightful.”
My mother, in her usual way, was getting the practical details sorted out. I was longing to be alone with her. I could see she had the same thought in mind.
Aunt Belinda and Uncle Robert went off with Annabelinda and I went to my room. I had not been there long when my mother arrived.
As soon as she entered the room, she took me into her arms.
“We have been so worried,” she said. “I have scarcely slept since war was declared. And you out there…in Belgium of all places, with the Germans sweeping across the country. Oh, yes, we were sick with worry, your father and I…although he didn’t show it as much as I did. We can’t be grateful enough to your Uncle Gerald, who said he would get you out the best way. I wanted to come, but he said that was ridiculous and impossible. So he sent that charming major. What a pleasant man!”
“Yes,” I said. “Everyone liked him. He was so imperturbable.”
“God bless him.”
“I must explain to you about these people with us. Do you mind their coming here?”
She looked at me in astonishment. “My darling, I’d welcome anyone who came with you. It’s all I care about…to have you back. But who are they? I know Miss Carruthers, of course. I mean the girl with the baby.”
“First the baby. I’ve got to keep him. I promised his mother. You see, she was dying…”
I told her how I had visited Edouard, how Marguerite had lost her own child and become foster-mother to Edouard. She listened intently as I described the scene with Marguerite when she was dying.
“I’ve got to look after him, Mama. I could never be happy if I didn’t,” I finished.
She understood perfectly. She said, “It’s a big undertaking. Poor little mite…without a mother.”
“She loved him so much. He took the place of her own child.”
“Yes, I see.”
“But he will stay here, won’t he? He must not become one of those babies for whom a home has to be found.”
“He has already been that once, poor lamb.”
“I don’t want it to happen again.”
“Don’t worry about the child. It will be impossible for you to adopt him at your age. But we’ll see to him. Poor little refugee. I wish these people who make wars would pause a while first to think of the misery they are causing.”
“The only thing they think about is power and they don’t care who suffers if they can get that. But Edouard will be all right here.”
“Edouard? That’s his name, is it? We’ll call him Edward. That will go down better here.”
I hugged her. She had reacted to the baby just as I had known she would.
“I thought,” she said, “that his mother was that Andrée.”
“Oh, no. We found her in an inn just over the border between Belgium and France. Her home was blown up, her parents killed, and she was on her way to an aunt whom she loathes. She wants to get work here. I thought we could help her. She’s very good with babies.”
“You have brought home some problems with you, my darling. And you not yet out of the schoolroom! You’re something of a manipulator…but I love you for it, and I’m deliriously happy because I’ve got you back.”
“And then there is Miss Carruthers. She is quite different from what I thought her. At school she was indomitable…really formidable, and now I realize that she is just a little frightened about the future.”
“I’ve known governesses like that. They wonder what will happen to them when they can no longer teach.”
“It seems there’s a cousin who lets her know she’s living on her bounty. It must be horrible. I know she would love to stay here for a few days.”
“I can see no reason why she shouldn’t. She came with you all the way and that makes her a rather special person to me.”
“How lucky I am to have you and Papa instead of a horrible old cousin and an aunt like Andrée’s. Tell me about Robert.”
“He’s been very worried about you. We’ll have to let him know at once that you are safely home. He joined up right at the start, and of course he couldn’t get away. On the first opportunity he’ll be here, you see.”
“Robert a soldier…how strange that seems!”
“I think we are going to find lots of strange things happening in the next months. But at the moment all I care about is that you are home.”
At that moment the door opened and my father came in. He did not speak but put his arms around me and held me tightly. He stroked my hair. “We are so pleased that you have come back to us,” was all he said. It was a wonderful homecoming.
The next day was given over to frenetic planning. My mother threw herself into this with an almost maniacal energy. She kept telling me how thankful she was that I was home and of the terrible anxiety they had suffered, of her wild imaginings as to what was happening. “I never want to go through that again,” she said more than once.
“Our first concern,” she went on, “must be the baby.” The nursery was to be opened up. The servants were delighted. They cooed over Edouard—Edward as he had now become—and he was clearly delighted with the attention.
“Poor little mite,” said Mrs. Cherry. “His home blown up by them Germans. I’d blow them up if I had my way. You’d think they’d have some pity for a helpless little baby. It’s a good thing we’re going to show them what’s what.”
“We’ll have to get a nanny,” said my mother. “In the meantime, Andrée will stay and help. I must say Edward seems to have taken a fancy to her…almost as much as he has for you.”
“That will suit her beautifully. We’ve got to help her, Mama. She seems so happy now that she can stay here. She was very upset about going to that old aunt of hers.”
“Poor girl! What a lot she has gone through. Thank God, Edward is too young to know what happened to his home.”
So the problem of Edward and Andrée had settled itself. The next was Miss Carruthers. My father had taken quite a liking to her. He found her conversation stimulating. On the first evening, she impressed him with her knowledge of government and political matters.
During that first meal, they had a discussion about the merits and drawbacks of a coalition government. Miss Carruthers offered the opinion that, though this could be a somewhat hazardous procedure in peacetime, it might be quite the reverse when we were at war.
“To have all parties working together with one aim—the successful conclusion of the war—would be preferable to having them carping for the sake of carping. To have them thinking of the good of the country rather than scoring political points, as is, alas, their usual practice, could not fail to be beneficial.”
My father agreed with her, and they chatted at ease and with obvious enjoyment.
A few days passed. My mother suggested that Miss Carruthers should stay a little longer, unless she was in a hurry to get to the country. Miss Carruthers accepted the invitation with obvious pleasure.
Annabelinda went back to Hampshire with her parents, declaring that she would be coming back to London soon.
My mother often came to my room immediately after we had retired. Just for a little bedtime chat, she used to say.
During one of these, she said, “I think it is unlikely that you will be going back to La Pinière. It’s no use our deceiving ourselves that all this is going to be over in a week or two. The Germans are flooding into Belgium. They’ll be in France before long. I’ve been talking this over with your father. You are only fifteen years old and your education is not finished.”
“It’s holiday time now.”
“I know, but that will soon be over. We have to think ahead. Your father and I could not bear to let you go away to school again…even in England. What you went through…”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad for us. We got away in time…thanks to Major Merrivale. It would have been difficult without him.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. We’re going to ask him to dinner…perhaps on the twenty-third, if he can manage it…and your Uncle Gerald with him. But then he may not be able to spare the time. But what I was going to say was that you have to continue your education, war or no war, and your father thought it might be a good idea to ask Miss Carruthers if she would stay and act as governess.”
I looked at my mother and laughed.
“What’s the matter?” she said. “Have I said something funny?”
“No…no. Not at all. It is just that you are like some sort of magician. You’re making it all work out…Andrée, Edward…and now Miss Carruthers.”
“You like her, don’t you? Your father thinks she is a very intelligent woman.”
“Yes, I do like her. I like her quite a lot now I’ve got to know her. She’s different away from school. There she was so stern. When we were coming across France, she seemed to become human.”
“I think she is a nice woman and would be a very good governess.”
“Have you mentioned it to her?”
“Not yet. Your father and I decided we would see how you felt about it first.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea. She was so hating the thought of going back to that cousin. I can’t help laughing. It’s so wonderful now we are home. We talked one night in the inn at Calais, with the waves dashing against the harbor walls….We talked about ourselves and our fears of what would happen if we ever got away and came home. We talked of our problems, and I could see that Miss Carruthers was just a little frightened about the future….So was Andrée. Now it’s solved. It’s like a fairy-tale ending.”
She was silent for a while and then she said, “We’ve got to keep it so, Lucinda. Will you talk to Miss Carruthers? But perhaps I should.”
“Yes,” I said. “You ask her. Tell her how grateful you will be if she stays.”
“I will do that.”
I looked around my room and said, “It is wonderful to be home.”
The days passed quickly. Miss Carruthers was clearly delighted at the prospect of her new post. She discussed what she called “our curriculum” with me. She would concentrate especially on literature, she thought; through this I should get a good grounding in the classics and would be able to show erudition when conversing with my father’s guests. I agreed. I would have agreed to anything, because I was so happy to see her pleasure. It was the same with Andrée. They were two contented people.
I wrote to Annabelinda. I had to tell her that Miss Carruthers was going to be my governess. I was sure that would amuse her. She, at the mature age of seventeen, would doubtless persuade her mother that no further education was necessary.
Nothing much has changed here, I wrote.
Of course, everyone talks of the war and little else. Most people seem to think it will be over by Christmas. Perhaps it will, once our forces get over there.
We haven’t seen Uncle Gerald yet. Aunt Hester says he is very busy. I am sure it won’t be long before he is overseas. He is involved now at the War Office. He is coming to dinner on the twenty-third. And guess what? Major Merrivale is coming, too. Mama thought it would be best to invite him when Uncle Gerald comes. It will be fun to see him again.
Andrée is very happy. I can’t help thinking how strange it was, meeting them at Le Cerf. Don’t you agree? One chance meeting and people’s lives are changed.
Edward is very happy here. He is no longer Edouard. My mother thought it best to anglicize him, as he’ll be brought up here. She has been wonderful about everything. But then I knew she would be.
Have you heard any news of Robert?
Give my love to your parents, and of course I send the same to you.
Lucinda
I did not hear from Annabelinda. She rarely answered letters unless there was something she particularly wanted to say.
Aunt Hester came over to see us from Camberley, where she and Uncle Gerald had lived for most of their married life. She was in London to do some shopping, she said, and had taken the opportunity to call.
“It saves writing,” she said. “It’s about this dinner. Gerald can’t possibly come on the twenty-third. Things are moving fast over there. The Germans are approaching Mons and the situation is getting more and more alarming.”
Mons! I thought of Madame Rochère and wondered what she was doing. I had a feeling she would never leave La Pinière.
“I understand, of course,” said my mother. “But what a pity! I did want to let Major Merrivale know how grateful we are to him. I suppose he will be involved with Gerald?”
“Oh, yes. They’ll leave at the same time, I expect. They do work closely together.”
“It was wonderful of him to arrange to get the girls home.”
“Gerald would do a lot for the family. But what I was going to say was…could we have this dinner party earlier? I think—but I can’t be absolutely certain—that Gerald will be leaving on the twenty-second. The nineteenth would be just about the latest he could come.”
“Well, we’ll make it the nineteenth. Why not? That will suit us just as well.”
“I feel sure that will be all right,” said Aunt Hester. “But you’ll understand if we have to cancel. These times are so uncertain.”
“But of course,” said my mother.
My mother decided that it should be a very small party. “Really a family affair. I daresay both Uncle Gerald and Major Merrivale have had enough of functions…in their positions. I shall ask Miss Carruthers and Andrée to join us. After all, they were members of the group and I am sure Major Merrivale would like to know that they are safely settled.”
I was looking forward to it with pleasure and, I have to admit, with a certain amount of excitement. Marcus Merrivale had been in my thoughts a great deal. He was the kind of man who left a deep impression.
I was afraid that the party might be canceled. My mother said we must be prepared for that. Wars made everything uncertain.
However, the nineteenth arrived and there was Marcus Merrivale with Uncle Gerald and Aunt Hester. Marcus looked just as he had during the journey across France.
He took both my hands. “Miss Lucinda! What a pleasure to see you! And Miss Carruthers and Mademoiselle Latour. Well, this is a gathering of the clan, is it not?”
My father said, “I don’t how we are ever going to thank you, Major. What you did…”
“It was nothing but pleasure all the way, I do assure you.”
“I knew Marcus would pull it off,” said Uncle Gerald. “He was just the man for the job.”
“Well, come along in,” said my mother. “I only hope you are not going to be called away. One never knows at times like this with you military people. Anything can happen from hour to hour.”
My mother had arranged that the major should sit on her right hand and I was next to him. Uncle Gerald was between Miss Carruthers and Andrée.
My parents asked the major a lot of questions about the journey, most of which I had already answered; and again my mother thanked him for what he had done. He replied again that it had been a pleasure.
“A change from my usual duties,” he added. “And you know how we all love a change. By the way,” he added, “how is Master Edouard faring? Has he deigned to accept his new home?”
“With supreme indifference,” replied my mother. “Lucinda will tell you all about him. He is her favorite topic. By the way, we call him Edward now. We thought it best to anglicize him.”
“What an excellent idea!” He turned to me. “I am so glad Mademoiselle is with you. She is so happy.” He smiled across at her.
“Oh, I am,” she said fervently.
My father was talking to Aunt Hester about her sons, Harold and George. George had been going into the army in any case, but Harold had immediately joined up. “Of course, he is rather young,” said Aunt Hester.
“We’re going to need all the men we can get,” said Marcus, and then the talk turned to the war.
After dinner, when we had all retired to the drawing room, Marcus was beside me once more.
He asked about Annabelinda. I told him she was in Hampshire with her family and, as he had joined the army, I had not seen her brother since my return to England.
“He’s training on Salisbury Plain,” I added.
“It must be the Royal Field Artillery.”
“Yes, it is. I expect he’ll come and see us as soon as he can.”
“He’s a favorite of yours, is he?”
“Oh, yes. He’s one of the nicest people I know.”
He nodded. “I did not expect to see Miss Carruthers here tonight.”
“She is going to teach me. My parents think I need a governess for a while.”
“Yes, of course. You are very young.” He grinned at me. “Don’t be downcast on that account. It is something which will quickly be rectified, you know.”
“I suppose you will be going away soon?”
“At any moment, by the look of things.”
“I heard the Germans were close to Mons. How close…do you know?”
“Only that it is too close.”
“It’s hateful. I can’t stop thinking of Madame Rochère. What will she do? She will be so haughty and unrelenting.”
“I daresay she will have to submit to the conquerors. She would have been wise to get away.”
“I can’t believe she will ever leave La Pinière of her own free will. Just imagine how it must be for her! Losing her home.”
“Still, better than losing one’s life.”
I was somber and he put a hand over mine. “Don’t be sad, Miss Lucinda. I hate to see you sad.”
“It’s a sad time for so many.”
“Nothing is entirely bad, you know. There is always some little bit of good lurking among the troubles. Just think! But for all this, we should never have met.”
I smiled at him and he went on. “I hope you will think of this meeting as one of the good things in all this.”
“My mother has told you many times how grateful we all are to you, so I won’t repeat it. But I mean it just the same.”
“You overrate what I did. Never mind. I like it. I shall take the first opportunity of coming to see you again.”
“Oh…shall you?”
“It is what I shall look forward to most.”
“What of your family?”
“Ask me what you want to know.”
“Where do they live? Have you a big family? Have you a wife?”
“Sussex. Parents, brother and sister. Not yet.”
I laughed. “You’re very laconic.”
“You asked for answers and you got them.”
“Why did you say ‘not yet’ about being married? It sounds as though you might soon.”
“I shall have to wait until I find the perfect woman…and then would she have me?”
“I feel sure she would.”
“Nothing is sure in this life, but it is nice of you to say so. I fear the perfect woman would look for a perfect man.”
“When people are in love, the ones they love seem perfect in their eyes.”
“How comforting. But the imperfections come to light later. Perhaps after all, perfection is a sort of compromise.”
“Are you a little cynical?”
“Me? Never for a moment. I am a romantic. An optimist. Probably a very unwise man.”
“Well, I hope you find the perfect woman.”
“I shall. Even if I have to wait until she grows up a little.”
He was looking at me, smiling, lifting his eyebrows a little in a quizzical way. I was disconcerted but happy.
Andrée was coming toward us.
“Major Merrivale,” she said. “I have heard the Germans are advancing across Belgium and that they are almost at the borders of France. Is it true?”
“It is not wise to listen to rumors, Mademoiselle Latour. But I fear the advance is rapid.”
“Shall you be going overseas again soon?”
“In a few days, I expect.”
“How I wish it were all over!”
“You can be sure we are all with you in that.”
Miss Carruthers joined us.
“It has been such a pleasure to see you, Major Merrivale,” she said. “I shall never forget how you looked after us.”
“Like the good shepherd,” added Andrée.
“Don’t say that,” I protested with a laugh. “It makes us all sound like sheep. I always think that ‘shepherd’ in that respect is not a very good analogy. After all, the shepherd looks after the sheep to prepare them for the slaughter house.”
“Some die of old age,” said Miss Carruthers.
“But even they are kept just for their wool.”
“What about the Pied Piper?” suggested Miss Carruthers, with a rare look of roguishness.
“Well, he led the children into the mountainside, didn’t he?” I said.
“Ladies,” said Marcus. “I am no shepherd and no piper…just an ordinary fellow who was overjoyed to be of service to you. What I did was something anyone could have done.”
“Well, I think you were very resourceful in a difficult situation,” declared Miss Carruthers. “It was an experience I shall never forget and will always be grateful for.”
My mother joined us with Aunt Hester and the conversation became general.
I was sure that everyone thought it was a successful evening, and after it was over Marcus Merrivale remained in my thoughts. I was discovering that I liked him very much. I noticed that even the servants were impressed by the charm he extended to them. He had stepped into our lives as a hero. He was the kind of man who seemed to care about other people’s feelings, and he had a smiling consideration for everyone; and I was beginning to think that there was something special in his attitude toward me.
The next day Uncle Gerald called to say good-bye.
The news was bad. The Germans were on the outskirts of Mons and a great battle was in progress.
“We’ve got to hold them,” said Uncle Gerald. “We’re stepping up the movements of men and ammunition. The regiment’s leaving tomorrow at dawn.”
“Major Merrivale will be with you, I suppose,” said my mother.
“Oh, yes. Nice fellow, isn’t he?”
“Most attractive, and of course, we are especially grateful to him. And to you, naturally.”
“You’ve made that plain. I knew he could be trusted to do the job. Rather dashing, don’t you think? Popular with the ladies.”
“That does not surprise me,” replied my mother.
“Good family, too. Branch of the Luckleys. The duke would be a second cousin, I believe. Army tradition in the family. Marcus will go far. He’s got the flair and the background.”
“He seemed to get on well with Lucinda,” said my mother. “I suppose when something like that happens, it brings people close together. I hope we shall see more of him.”
“He’ll have his hands full while this goes on. And so will most of us.”
“It’s got to be over sometime.”
“The sooner the better. But I think it may be later than sooner. There’s a lot of determination on both sides. I have a notion it might be rather a long struggle.”
“People seem to think it will be over by Christmas.”
“That’s what the press tells them, and they repeat it like parrots. Well, I suppose it is a good thing, to look on the bright side.”
“Bring that nice major to see us when you can,” said my mother. “You can trust me to do just that,” replied Uncle Gerald.
Annabelinda arrived in London with her mother.
“We have some shopping to do,” said Aunt Belinda. “I said to Robert, we can’t allow this dreadful war to stop everything. We’ve got to get on with our lives, haven’t we?”
“So you have left Robert behind?”
“There’s so much to do, he said. What with young Robert in the army and some of the people on the estate joining up…”
“I suppose it makes things difficult. However, you are here.”
“How’s that nice major? Robert knows the family.”
“Gerald said he was connected with the Luckleys.”
“I’m impressed,” said Aunt Belinda. “Annabelinda told me what a charmer he is. I hear he is coming to dinner. I’m looking forward to seeing him again.”
“I’m afraid not. He has been to dinner. We had to put it forward…because he and Gerald were going overseas earlier than they thought.”
Annabelinda’s face darkened. “Oh,” she murmured. “But Lucinda told me there was to be a dinner party. I’ve got a special dress.”
“I’m sorry,” said my mother. “But never mind. It couldn’t be helped. They had to leave earlier than they thought at first. Things are rather bad over there.”
I could see how bitterly disappointed Annabelinda was. The thought crossed my mind that she had persuaded her mother to come because of this dinner party. I was certain of this that evening.
She burst into my bedroom, her face distorted with anger.
“You sly, deceitful creature,” she said. “You did it on purpose. I understand why.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“You…and Marcus. You knew he wasn’t coming on the twenty-third but earlier, and you didn’t let me know.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I should have been there.”
“You weren’t invited.”
“Of course I wasn’t. You saw to that.”
“I didn’t think about it. If you had been here, of course you would have been. But you weren’t. We don’t invite you every time we have a dinner party. You’re too far away anyway.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the change of dates?”
“It didn’t occur to me that I should.”
“You didn’t want me there, did you?”
“You would have been there if you had been in London.”
“You told me that the party was to be on the twenty-third when you knew it was the nineteenth.”
“When I mentioned in my letter that the party was going to be on the twenty-third I thought it was.”
“And when the date was changed you deliberately held that back.”
“I did not hold it back deliberately. The date was changed after I had written to you and I did not think it necessary to tell you of the alteration.”
“You were afraid I would come up. You didn’t want me to. You were afraid that if I were there he wouldn’t take any notice of you.”
“I thought no such thing.”
“Oh, yes you did. You were jealous. It’s always the same. You were trying to make him notice you, and you were angry because he showed clearly that he liked me better. You like him, don’t you? You try to attract him. Well, let me tell you, he is more interested in me than in you…and that’s why you didn’t want me here.”
“You’re talking the most arrant nonsense. I thought nothing of the sort. You think everybody is in love with you. Just because…”
“Because what?”
“Because of Carl Zimmerman.”
Her face darkened. I thought she was going to hit me.
“Don’t you ever mention him again!”
“Well, please don’t talk nonsense to me.”
She looked stricken suddenly. I had hated her a few minutes before. Now I felt that old affection stealing over me.
She said quietly, “That was mean of you, Lucinda.”
“I didn’t think to remind you of the dinner,” I said. “And it never occurred to me to attract his attention. If you had been here you would have come to the party. It wasn’t very grand.”
“You’re so young,” she said. “And it really seemed as though you were trying to keep me out. He’s a man of experience. He wouldn’t be interested in a schoolgirl. I’d hate to see you make a fool of yourself, Lucinda.”
“I was not the one to make a fool of myself. I’m not likely to over a man.”
“You throw yourself at him. You must let him do the chasing. The fact is, he is quite interested in me. I know it. One does know these things. I know how you feel about him. He really is rather fascinating, but you know absolutely nothing. He thinks of you as a child. He told me so. You mustn’t start thinking…”
“Thinking what?”
“That he likes you particularly. You’ll only get hurt.”
“As you did?” I could not help retorting. “Are you the one to give advice, Annabelinda?”
“Yes. If one is experienced, one is.”
“You are certainly experienced.”
“You should have let me know he was coming. However, it’s done and he is not over there…fighting, I suppose. I daresay he was terribly disappointed not to see me. Did he ask after me?”
“You were mentioned.”
“What did he say?”
“He just asked how you were.”
She nodded slowly. She said, “All I want to do is look after you, to stop you from getting hurt.”
“I don’t need looking after, and remember, you were the one who got hurt.”
“You do need looking after. Don’t get romantic thoughts about Marcus Merrivale. I know he is charming to everybody, but he is a man of the world. He’s got a reputation with women. Don’t go imagining him as the romantic lover, because you simply don’t know anything about such things.”
She left me soon after that, and I lay thinking about what she had said.
The weeks passed slowly. We settled down to a routine. My father was often away on what my mother called “House business,” by which she meant the House of Commons. One did not ask questions about such business.
With her usual efficiency, Miss Carruthers had begun her duties and we had lessons every day. Andrée had taken charge of Edward, and my mother said that would suffice for the moment and we need not think about a nanny for a while. Andrée was very capable and too many changes would not be good for the child.
My mother herself was very busy with all sorts of charities to aid what was called “the war effort”—mainly the Red Cross, in which she took a special interest. We were all called in to help from time to time.
It was one dark November day when Mrs. Cherry came to my room to tell me a gentleman had called to see me. He was waiting in the drawing room. I immediately thought of Marcus Merrivale. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were pink, my eyes shining. I was excited.
I hurried down to the drawing room in a mood of pleasurable anticipation. I opened the door and there was Robert.
Delight swept over me. I had forgotten I was expecting Marcus.
“Robert!” I cried.
He was grinning at me rather sheepishly. He looked different in khaki. It was not really becoming. It would be later when he gained his commission and a smart uniform with it—but he was not yet in that position. He looked very fit and well. His skin was slightly tanned and he had lost just a little of that gangling look which had been so essentially Robert.
I rushed to him and we hugged each other.
“It is wonderful to see you,” I cried. “I have been wondering when I should.”
“I feel the same,” he replied. “It seems ages. I’ve heard all about your journey home. That must have been quite an adventure.”
“Oh, it was.”
“It was lucky that your uncle was able to arrange to have you brought out.”
“Otherwise we should have had to go with the refugees.”
“It was a Major Merrivale, I heard, who brought you home.”
“Yes. He was so good.”
“He would be. And his position helped, of course. I was dreadfully worried when I thought of you in that school. Belgium, of all places!”
“I often wonder what is happening there now. Madame Rochère, who owned the school, is a very aristocratic, haughty lady. I try to think of what might be happening to her.”
“It’s very unpleasant to be in an occupied country…something I hope we shall never have to face.”
“Of course we shall not have to! That would be quite unthinkable. There is always the Channel. It won’t be the same with the French.”
“That’s so. I often think about my grandfather…so does my mother. We don’t hear what’s happening in Bordeaux.”
“I think that Monsieur Bourdon will know how to look after himself.”
“So do I, but we should like to hear.”
“Robert, tell me about yourself.”
“Well…it’s a hard life at first, but I’m getting used to it. We do a lot of riding, which I enjoy, as you can guess, and one gets used to the long day and the shouting and the orders that have to be obeyed instantly. One doesn’t dislike it. There’s some wonderful comradeship, and it’s a good feeling when you drop into bed absolutely worn out, to sleep and sleep until reveille.”
“Are you longing to be home, Robert?”
“For a lot of reasons, yes. But we’ve got to fight this war and win it. If we all stayed at home, we’d never do that.”
“How long leave have you got?”
“Three days more. I’ve had two at home and the rest I’m spending in London.”
“Oh…good.”
“My sister and mother came up with me. They’re here now. My father had to stay behind. There’s so much work to do.”
“Does he mind your coming here?”
“You know how he is. He always sees the point and wants to do what the family wants. And of course, my mother and Annabelinda said we should spend the time in London to see you and your family.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“It’s so long since I’ve seen you. It was last Christmas. Just think of that. We’ve never been away from each other so long before.”
“I don’t believe we have. How are you going to spend your leave now that you’re here?”
“With you…and…”
“With Annabelinda, your mother and the rest of us.”
“I daresay they’ll want to be off into town.”
“What a lovely prospect!”
He caught my hand and looked into my face. “Do you really mean that, Lucinda?”
“Of course I do.”
“You’ve changed a little.”
“In what way?”
“Grown up.”
“We’re doing that all the time.”
“By more than a year, I mean. I suppose it’s the war and all you must have seen on that awful journey. I heard about the baby.”
“Oh, yes. You must see Edward.”
“It must have been a terrible experience, seeing that woman dying….And it was wonderful of you to care about the baby.”
“I knew you’d understand.”
“There was nothing else you could have done. I hear he’s a fine little fellow.”
“And did you hear about Andrée Latour?”
“Yes, Annabelinda told me. She said Major Merrivale was wonderful.”
“Yes, he was.”
“I wish I’d been the one, Lucinda.”
“Well, you were in training, weren’t you, and I suppose Uncle Gerald thought he would do it very well…which he did.”
“It must have been extraordinary…the whole thing…and you just out of school.”
“I’m home now and things seem more or less normal. Miss Carruthers, one of the mistresses from the school, came with us. She’s acting as governess to me now.”
“Well, you’re only fifteen, of course.”
He sighed, and I said, “You seem to find that regrettable.”
“Well,” he admitted, “I wish you were a little older. Seventeen, say.”
“Seventeen? Is that such a ripe old age?”
“It’s an age when you can start thinking about the future.”
“I suppose one can start thinking about the future at any time.”
“I mean making plans…reasonable plans.”
I looked puzzled and he went on. “Never mind. We’ll talk about all that later. What would you like to do? Go to a theater? A pity we can’t go riding. We wouldn’t want to go in the Row. I’d like to gallop over fields.”
“We could do a little walking in the park. Just as we used to.”
“That would be fun. Could we get away from everyone?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I think that as this is your leave, you should choose.”
Annabelinda had come into the room. She kissed me fondly.
“I thought I’d let my big brother give you a surprise before letting you know we were here. What do you think of him?”
“I think he looks very well, and it is wonderful to see him.”
“I knew you’d think that. Lucinda’s a great admirer of yours, Robert.”
“The admiration is mutual.”
Annabelinda laughed. She was in good spirits.
Her mother came in. She looked very elegant; she was remarkably like her daughter. She swept me into her embrace.
“Dear Lucinda! How wonderful to see you!”
My mother was with her.
“Isn’t it a lovely surprise to see Robert?” she said.
I agreed that it was.
“I’m so glad you came here,” she added to Robert.
“Oh, I wanted to see you all.”
“And particularly his dear Lucinda,” added Annabelinda.
“Robert was just saying what he would like to do,” I said. “I told him he must make the decisions as it is his leave.”
“And only three days of it,” added my mother.
“Never mind,” said Robert. “I’ll make the most of it.”
We went into luncheon.
Annabelinda asked after Miss Carruthers and Andrée Latour.
“Miss Carruthers is a stickler for conventions,” explained my mother. “She dines with us on certain occasions, but I fancy she does so with a certain reluctance. She is very much aware of her place—and I really think prefers to eat alone. As for Andrée, she is in the nursery with Edward during the day, but very often dines with us.”
“And is it all working out well with this baby?” asked Aunt Belinda.
“Wonderfully. We wouldn’t be without him.”
“How cozy!” said Aunt Belinda. “But then you were always a cozy person, Lucie.”
“I’m not sure whether that is a compliment or not,” laughed my mother.
“Oh, it’s a compliment, Lucie dear. By the way, did you see any more of that nice Major Merrivale?”
Annabelinda was alert…watching me.
“No,” replied my mother. “Soldiers are kept very busy at a time like this.”
“What a pity. We missed him that time he came to dinner. I thought he was such a charming man.”
“Very charming,” said my mother.
“And of such a good family. This dreadful war…it just spoils everything.”
“It goes on and on,” said my mother. “And now we’ve declared war on Turkey. So…more trouble in that quarter. And wasn’t the sinking of the Good Hope and the Monmouth terrible?”
“I refuse to talk of these horrible things,” said Aunt Belinda. “I have had enough of it and so must you, Lucie. I expect Joel brings home all the horrible news, doesn’t he?”
“We don’t have to wait for that,” retorted my mother. “It’s in the papers.”
“My Robert is concerned about the land. Produce more and more crops. But as I said, enough! Are the shops still exciting? I don’t think we should neglect ourselves…just because there is a war on.”
My mother laughed at her, just as she must have laughed all through the years—and as I did with Annabelinda.
Then Robert told us some amusing stories about life on Salisbury Plain.
“You learn how to be Spartan and stoical,” he said. He imitated the sergeant major and told us some of the sarcastic remarks made about the pampered lives of the recruits before they had fallen into his hands: “You’re in the army now” and “Mummy’s not there to kiss her little darling and tuck him in at night.” Apparently there was one who took a sadistic delight in harassing any who showed signs of weakness.
He told us how one night they had all been celebrating in the local inn, and the sadistic riding instructor became so intoxicated that he did not know what was happening to him. Some of the recruits took him out onto the Plain, stripped him of his clothes, folded them up and put them beside him and left him.
“I have to report,” said Robert, “that the next morning he was at the stables, none the worse for his adventure, and he behaved as though nothing had happened, making no reference to the incident.”
“He deserved it,” said Aunt Belinda.
“Still, it showed he had some good in him, to accept the revenge of those he had humiliated,” said my mother.
“Trust Lucie to see good in everything!” retorted Aunt Belinda.
“Well, there is usually something good in everyone,” I said.
“I see you are bringing up your daughter to be like you, Lucie,” said Aunt Belinda.
“Which seems to be a very good idea,” added Robert. He went on. “At least the fellow was a good sport. We respected him more after that. He was ready to take what he gave. I suppose he looked upon it as rough justice.”
“Well, Annabelinda and I are not as nice as you and your daughter, Lucie,” said Aunt Belinda. “We would have gloated, wouldn’t we, darling? We would have left him without his clothes, too. Then you’d see whether he was back on duty, nobly ignoring the wrong done to him.”
“We don’t hate him all that much,” explained Robert. “He is a bit of a brute, but it couldn’t have been all that easy training a lot of raw recruits.”
“We must go to the theater while we are in town,” said Aunt Belinda, changing the subject.
Robert and I were together a good deal during those three days. We enjoyed walking about London. We were in complete harmony, liked the same things and were almost aware of what the other was thinking.
When we walked over Westminster Bridge, we would pause and look around us and think of days of our youth. We remembered that I had left my gloves on a seat in Green Park and we had gone back to look for them. He could recall, as I did, that immense joy and excitement when we found them on the seat, just where I had left them. We were both overawed as we passed the magnificent Houses of Parliament, with the river running past, and those great Gothic-style towers looking as though they had been there for centuries, though they were not yet a hundred years old. They represented something precious to us—home, our country, of which we had always been proud and grateful to be a part. Now that feeling was intensified. We were fighting to save ourselves from foreign domination; we were fighting so that little countries like Belgium should not be violently invaded without warning. And Robert was going into battle. I was both apprehensive for and proud of him.
All this we felt as we walked together. We often made our way to Green Park and looked at the ducks. We found the seat on which I had left my gloves. That made us laugh, and we began recalling more incidents from the past.
“It seems, Lucinda,” said Robert, “that our lives have always been entwined.”
“It is because of the friendship between our mothers.”
“You and Annabelinda are like sisters.”
“Yes. It has always been like that Although I have not seen much of her this visit.”
“I think they have conspired to leave us together.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, obviously. I’m not complaining.”
“Nor I. I think they have been busy shopping. They are always like that when they come to London.”
“They would like to have a place up here, but since your parents give us shelter, I suppose they think it is not essential. And my father is against it.”
“But I suppose he would give way.”
“I suppose so. This has been a wonderful leave.”
“I hope you are not going to mind going back to that awful riding instructor too much.”
“What I am going to mind is leaving you.”
“Oh, Robert…I do hate your going.”
He took my hand and pressed it. “Write to me, Lucinda.”
“Of course.”
“And tell me everything that’s happening.”
“I will…and you, too.”
“I expect our letters will be censored.”
“I don’t want to hear war news. I want to hear your news.”
He laughed. “There’ll be another leave and then I should get my commission.”
“And that could mean going right away.”
“I suppose so.”
“Perhaps it will be over by then.”
“Who knows? Lucinda, you seem quite a bit older these days. I mean, more than your years.”
“Do I? I think it must be because of what happened. That sort of thing jerks you out of your childhood.”
“Fifteen. Then you’ll be sixteen. Sixteen would be quite mature.”
“You make me feel like some old crone.”
“Oh, no. I just wish you were a little nearer to my age, that’s all.”
“If I had been, you might not have been the nice big brother to me that you have been all my life.”
“That’s just it.”
“What?”
“Grow up quickly, Lucinda, there’s a good girl.”
“I promise to do all I can about the matter.”
He turned to me and kissed my cheek. “It is lovely to be with you,” he said. “We understand each other.”
“Yes. I think we do. I shall be very sad when you go back tomorrow, Robert.”
“Let’s plan for my next leave then.”
“What a good idea! And in the meantime I’ll see what I can do to speed up the growing process.”
“Just do that,” he said.
And after that we walked back to the house. We were both a little quieter than usual.
We all went to the station to see Robert off. Aunt Belinda and Annabelinda were staying a few more days.
I was surprised and more than a little shocked that Annabelinda showed no interest whatsoever in Edward; and if he were referred to, a mask would come over her face and she would affect indifference. I was sure she could not feel this but she gave the impression that she was annoyed with me for bringing him to England. She would have preferred he had remained in Belgium, conveniently out of the way.
I suppose her point was logical enough. That was an episode in her life that she wanted to forget, and my action had brought the result of it right out into the open to remind her whenever she visited us.
But it seemed to me inhuman that a woman should have no interest in, no curiosity about her own son.
She was full of high spirits and seemed to have forgiven me for not telling her that the dinner for Marcus Merrivale had had to be changed to a different date.
She came to my room to have a little chat now and then, away from everyone. We talked about school and what might be happening to Madame Rochère.
“I am sure she will be directing the army of occupation,” said Annabelinda.
“Poor Madame Rochère, I hardly think it will be like that.”
“You can’t imagine Rochy knuckling under to anyone, can you?”
“In these circumstances, yes.”
“I can’t help thinking how neatly it all worked out. That was due to the incomparable major. You haven’t heard anything of him, have you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“You were a bit secretive about him once. I just wondered.”
“I’m not secretive at all. I did not know when I wrote to you. I suppose he is now somewhere in France…or Belgium.”
“I thought perhaps that, as he is in the same regiment as your uncle, you might know.”
“I don’t know where Uncle Gerald is. This is war. There are lots of things which have to be kept secret.”
“I know that. We’re not allowed to forget it, are we? I expect he is having a jolly time.”
“I should imagine it is not so very jolly out there.”
“He would always have a good time. He was such fun to be with. You and Robert get on very well, don’t you?”
“Yes. You know we always did.”
“He’s a good sort, Robert. You and he are just right for each other.”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed scornfully. “You know what I mean. I think the families have always had it in mind. It’s what they want.”
“You mean…?”
“Of course, you idiot. Wedding bells and all that. If you were a year or two older, he would have asked you by now. I should have thought that was obvious.”
“It wasn’t obvious at all. I’ve always liked Robert. We’ve always been good friends.”
“The best basis for marriage, they say. You like him, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be fun to be sisters-in-law? It’s what they all want, you know.”
“I don’t believe my parents give a thought to all that. As for you, Annabelinda, I think you should concern yourself with your affairs and leave mine to me.”
“Oh!” she said mockingly. “Dear Lucinda, Robert adores you and you adore him. You’re the perfect match. You’re so alike. When you marry him, you’ll go down to the country, have ten children and be the perfect married couple who’ll live happily ever after.”
“Annabelinda, will you stop arranging my life?”
“I’m not arranging it. I’m just saying what it will be—and it will be the best thing for you.”
“Are you adding clairvoyance to your many accomplishments?”
“I am just being logical and seeing what is right under my eyes. You look really cross. Do you want me to go?”
“Yes…if you are going to foretell the future. Why don’t you look to your own?”
“I do, Lucinda. I do all the time.”
I looked at her steadily. I could see how her mind worked. She had taken a great fancy to Marcus Merrivale. His family was rich and socially desirable, while he himself was so attractive—a perfect combination. She was hoping to see him again, to enchant him—something which she felt herself capable of doing—and she was just a little fearful that, simply because of the advantage I had of being the niece of his superior officer, I might have opportunities that were denied to her.
I laughed at her, but after she had gone I began to think of the implication of what she had said.
Was it true my family was eager for me to marry Robert? I knew they would welcome it, because they were fond of him. And Robert? He had been very tender and a little cryptic…if one could imagine his ever being so. He had intimated that if I were older he might propose marriage to me.
The thought gave me a pleasurable, comfortable feeling.
Perhaps I was flattered. I liked Robert very much. On the other hand, images of Marcus Merrivale kept intruding…I remembered him on the road to the border between France and Belgium…traveling to Calais between France and Belgium…traveling to Calais…and later in our own drawing room.
I was rather excited because Annabelinda clearly saw me as a rival.
Christmas had come: a Christmas of curtailed activities. There was a war on and people remembered that earlier it had been said it would be over by Christmas; and here was Christmas and the war was still with us.
The easy victory was not to be. Some of the wounded were being brought back across the Channel, and still it went on.
From the first, my mother had been deeply involved in charities. Now she saw an opportunity to do more.
It was in April of the following year that she had the idea of turning Marchlands into a hospital for wounded soldiers.
Marchlands was convenient. It was not too far from the coast or from London. It was in a good situation, surrounded by forest, and the pure air would make it ideal for convalescence. The house was large and suited to the project.
There was a great deal of excitement; my mother was completely absorbed. My father, of course, would have to stay in London during the week, but he could come down for weekends. The household would be moved down there. Two doctors would be employed with several nurses. Miss Carruthers and I could be of use. We were not trained, of course, but there were lots of jobs to be done in a hospital which did not demand that skill. We were all caught up in it. There were journeys to and from Marchlands. Everything seemed to have been overshadowed by the plan—even the war.
It was in May when Marcus came again. He was with Uncle Gerald and they were both preparing to leave for Gallipoli in a few days’ time, although the week before they had just come back from France.
It was a lively meal we had, with Uncle Gerald and Marcus talking most of the time about military matters. Uncle Gerald had always been like that, my mother had told me once. He loved fighting battles on the tablecloth with the pepper pot representing some fortress and the salt for the guns. He would pick up some dish to stand for the opposing forces.
My father listened intently. He was very preoccupied these days. There was anxiety in high places. The war was not proving as easy to win as some had calculated.
“The whole operation is to relieve the Russians,” Uncle Gerald was saying. “That’s why we are coming to grips with the Turks on the Dardanelles.”
“Fisher doesn’t approve,” said my father. “And you know he is in charge.”
“That’s bad,” said Uncle Gerald. “The First Sea Lord creating the wrong impression.”
“Churchill’s opinion is that a combined military and naval operation could knock Turkey out of the war.”
“That’s what we’re aiming to do.”
“This will be a little different from France,” said Marcus. “We’re getting tired of trench warfare.”
“An awful way to go to war,” agreed Uncle Gerald. “Living like troglodytes almost. Dodging the enemy instead of going out to fight him.”
Afterward I had a few words with Marcus in the drawing room.
“When are you leaving?” I asked.
“Any moment. When the call comes. One is never absolutely sure.”
“How uncertain everything is in wartime!”
“I believe, dear Lucinda, that it can even be so in peacetime.”
“Do you think it will soon be over?”
“One becomes a little wary of prophecy. Only one thing is certain. We are all growing older every day.”
“You speak as though that is something to be pleased about. Lots of people hate getting old.”
“That depends where you stand in life. Perverse, is it not? Some would do anything to hold back the years; others would like to advance them.”
“Into which category do you fall?”
“I should like you to rush on a few years while I stayed where I am.”
It was the second time the question of my youth had arisen—first with Robert, now with Marcus. It must be significant.
I could not resist saying, “Whatever for?”
“Because there are things I should like to say to you and I cannot say them now.”
“I might like to hear them.”
“Don’t tempt me, dear little Lucinda. Just grow up, please. You are sixteen years old, or you will be this year.”
“Not until September.”
“I shall remember that. This time next year you will be all but seventeen, and being a very clever young lady, I am sure you will have the wisdom of a seventeen-year-old before you reach that age.”
“You seem to think seventeen is a significant age.”
“Oh, yes, it is. It is when a maiden is on the brink of womanhood.”
“It sounds very poetic.”
“You bring out the poet in me. In fact, such is your influence that you bring out the good in me. So we must see each other as often as possible, so that good may prevail.”
“How? When you will be away?”
“We will think about each other every day. And at the first opportunity I will come to see whether you have kept your promise to grow up quickly.”
“Did I make such a promise? And in any case I cannot do so if you persist in treating me like a child.”
He looked at me intently and said, “Forgive me. If we were anywhere else but in your parents’ drawing room, I should be tempted to forget your age.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. I thought of Annabelinda. This was what she feared. The thought excited me.
Two days later he left for Gallipoli.
I thought about him a great deal. Was he really telling me he cared for me? Or was that lighthearted caressing manner the one he bestowed on all females? I was a little bemused, but I had to confess that I was attracted by him. Annabelinda had shown a certain perception. I wondered what she would say if she had heard our conversation.
I followed the campaign in Gallipoli. It seemed very far away and particularly dangerous. If only it could all be over! What would happen then?
We should soon be leaving for Marchlands. The hospital was almost ready. Miss Carruthers was very enthusiastic about it. There would be no curtailment of lessons, she said, but it would be illuminating for us to learn something of the procedure in hospitals and at the same time gratifying to contribute to the war effort. Andrée agreed with her and hoped that Edward would spare her for the occasional hour.
I was thinking a great deal about Marcus, wondering when I should see him again and whether he would continue in the same strain of flirtatious innuendo. I had to admit I found it all exciting. He was a most attractive man—in fact, the most attractive I had ever met. And that was not just in my eyes; most people would agree with me. That he had noticed me was very gratifying.
I tried to get all the information I could about the campaign in the Dardanelles, and I was very anxious when I heard that all was not going well.
But what did go well in this war? There was bad news from across the Channel. It seemed as though the end was by no means in sight.
I tried to catch some of my mother’s enthusiasm for the hospital project and to stop my thoughts from continually straying to Marcus.
One night, when there was a full moon, I suddenly awoke. It may have been the brightness of that moon shining on me that aroused me. Something had, and I was not sure whether I had been dreaming.
Everything seemed so still outside. Ever since the first Zeppelin had been sighted crossing the coast in early December of the previous year, people had looked up anxiously at the full moon. What was so delightful in peacetime could be a hazard in war. When the enemy came in their airships, they would choose a moonlit night. They would attempt to devastate our houses as they had that of Jacques and Marguerite.
I was wide awake suddenly. Yes, something had awakened me. I listened. A light footfall; the creak of a floorboard. Someone was walking about the house.
I glanced at the clock by my bed. It was nearly two o’clock. I got out of bed, felt for my slippers, caught up my dressing gown and opened the door.
I looked out. There was no one in the corridor. Then I heard it again. Someone was on the stairs.
I hurried to the landing, and as I looked down, I saw a figure descending cautiously.
To my amazement it was Andrée.
“Andrée,” I whispered. “Andrée, what’s wrong?”
She turned and for a second I saw a look of fear on her face. Then she said, “Oh…it’s you. For a moment I thought…I’ve awakened you. I’m so sorry, Lucinda.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I don’t think so. You know how anxious I get about Edward.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing much.” She had come up the stairs and stood beside me.
“What were you doing?” I asked.
“I was just going down to the kitchen to get some honey.”
“Honey! At this time of night? It’s nearly two.”
“Well, he has a little cough, you see. It kept him awake for a bit. He’s sleeping now, so I thought I’d slip down and get the honey, which does soothe him. Don’t worry. It’s just a slight chill. He’s been a little poorly the last day, I thought. And the cough was threatening to keep him awake.”
“I’ll get the doctor in the morning.”
“That may not be necessary. It’s just that this cough kept him awake for a while, and then when he did doze off…I slipped down to get the honey.”
“It’s a good idea. I’ll come with you.”
“Do you know where they keep the honey?”
“No, but we’ll find it. They must have some. It would be with the preserves…jams and things. You really don’t think it’s anything serious, do you?”
“Mon Dieu, no. I just fuss over him, I’m afraid. But you understand that. You are as bad as I am. I do know that children get these little ailments and are over them in no time. He’ll probably be all right in the morning.”
We reached the kitchen and, after a little exploring, found the honey.
“It’s wonderful the way you look after him,” I said.
“He’s such a darling.”
“I think so, too. But you are so good with him.”
“What I have done suits me, so please, you mustn’t make a heroine of me. I enjoy looking after Edward. I wanted somewhere to come. You and your family have done…everything for me. If I could repay you even a little, I should be overjoyed….But what I do is nothing…nothing compared with what you have done for me. To be here…to have escaped…”
I put my hand over hers and pressed it.
“It’s odd how something good comes out of so much that is evil,” I said.
“And evil out of good, perhaps.”
“Oh?”
“Oh…nothing. I suppose I must hurry back. His lordship may wake up. He’d be put out if there was no one there to look after him.”
“I do hope the cough is not going to develop. We’ll have to watch it, Andrée.”
“Trust me to do that.”
We went up the stairs together.
“I’ll come right up,” I said.
“Perhaps it’s better not,” she said. “If he woke up he’d wonder what was happening…then he’d never get to sleep. I’m hoping he is still asleep. If so, all is well. I’ll have the honey if he needs it. If anything was really wrong, I’d come to you right away.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” I said.
At the door of my room we paused.
“I’m so sorry I disturbed you,” she said. “I tried hard not to make a noise.”
“You looked quite scared when you saw me. I’m afraid I frightened you.”
She laughed. “I must have thought you were a ghost. Are you a light sleeper?”
“Not more than normally, I suppose. I just happened to wake up then. I think it was the moon. It shines right into my room. Oh, how I wish this wretched war were over! I think it puts our nerves on edge.”
“We won’t have much time to think of anything other than the hospital when we get to Marchlands.”
“Perhaps that will be good for us.”
“We will make it so,” said Andrée. “Good night, Lucinda. And once more, I’m sorry.”
I went back to bed. I thought of Andrée’s anxiety about Edward and hoped he was all right. What an excellent nurse she had turned out to be. I fell to thinking of the meeting in the inn. Then I went through that journey across Belgium. Pictures flashed in and out of my mind. I kept seeing the bewildered faces of the refugees: an old woman pushing a basinet containing all the possessions she had been able to bring with her; an old car loaded with people and goods; little children clinging to their mother’s skirts…all suddenly uprooted from their homes.
Such sights stamped themselves on the memory and would remain there forever.
Thus I fell asleep.
Edward was quite well in the morning, and a week or so later the hospital was ready. My mother was completely delighted, and indeed it was a great achievement. Several bedrooms had been turned into wards. There was an operating room, many storerooms, a dispensary—in fact all that a hospital should have.
We had two doctors: Dr. Edgerton, who was about forty, and Dr. May who was more mature. We had a staff of nurses—most of them young and fresh from training—and at the head of them an experienced dragon, Sister Gamage, who struck terror not only in her nurses but in all of us. Then there was the staff of servants who had been at Marchlands as long as I could remember. They were all dedicated to making a success of the hospital and delighted to be able to do something for the country.
As I guessed she would be, Miss Carruthers was a great asset. That authoritative air of hers was very useful, and she and Sister Gamage took a great liking to each other at once. My mother said she was a wonderful help.
During the weeks that followed, we were all very busy settling into the hospital. My mother was realizing what a tremendous undertaking she had assumed; but she was very appreciative of all those who helped. We were all immersed in the exercise, which was a good thing because it kept our minds off the progress of the war.
Disaster followed disaster. In early May the Lusitania, on its way from New York to Liverpool, had been sunk by a German submarine with the loss of almost twelve hundred people. This shocked the nation, and there was speculation as to whether this would bring the United States of America into the war.
The coalition government which Mr. Asquith had formed, bringing in Conservative leaders like Bonar Law and Austen Chamberlain, was not proving to be entirely successful. The fact that the Dardanelles venture was threatening to be disastrous could not be hidden. Winston Churchill was being criticized because of his whole-hearted support for it. The Prime Minister was being called inept and not the man needed to lead the country to victory.
We were all adjusting ourselves to the new way of life. Miss Carruthers and I were at our desks in the morning. In the afternoon we had two hours during which we often rode out. Miss Carruthers had ridden in her youth and had not been on a horse for some years, but she quickly remembered her old training and proved to be a tolerably good horsewoman. Andrée took lessons and occasionally the three of us rode out together.
Andrée, I discovered, had a great capacity for enjoyment, and it was gratifying that she was so thankful to us for taking her away from a life that would have been distasteful to her. Miss Carruthers felt something similar, but not to the same extent; and in any case she did not show her feelings as readily as Andrée did.
“I love old houses,” Andrée said one day, “particularly those with a history.” She wanted to know all about Marchlands and would study the portraits of past Greenhams and ask questions about them. I knew very little of them.
“You will have to ask my father,” I said.
“He would be too busy just now, with all that is going on, to bother with my curiosity,” replied Andrée. “By the way, what of that house…is it Milton Priory? I heard some of the servants talking about it. I’d love to have a look at it.”
“It’s about two miles from here,” I said. “We could go and take a look at it. It has stood empty for some years. It’s one of those places that get a reputation for being haunted.”
“So some of the servants were saying.”
“Strange noises?” I said. “Weeping and wailing and lights appearing in the windows. That’s the usual thing.”
“Something like that.”
“It’s quite derelict really. I don’t know who owns it. There’s nothing much to see really.”
“Still, I’d like to look at it sometime.”
“Tomorrow then. Let’s ride there. I don’t suppose Miss Carruthers will mind.”
The next day, when we get to the stables, Andrée reminded me of my promise to go to Milton Priory.
“All right,” I said. “But prepare for a disappointment.”
“Is that the old place surrounded by shrubs?” asked Miss Carruthers.
“That sounds like an apt description,” I replied.
I had not seen the place for about two years. I noticed at once that it had changed. The shrubs were as unkempt as ever, but it had lost that unlived-in look. Was it because the windows had been cleaned?
“Fascinating,” said Andrée. “Yes…it does look haunted. Do you know its history?”
“No…nothing at all,” I replied. “Except that it has been empty for a long time and nobody seems to want to buy it. I don’t know whether it’s up for sale or not. I’ve not heard of its being so.”
“Could we go a little nearer?” asked Andrée.
“I can’t imagine anyone would mind if we did,” I said.
We urged our horses closer to the shrubs, and as we did so, a large Alsatian dog came bounding toward us. He looked fierce and forbidding.
“Angus,” said a voice. “What is it, boyo?”
A man was coming toward us. His shabby tweeds and unkempt appearance fitted the house. He was middle-aged, with a tawny beard and he carried a gun.
“Sit, Angus,” he said.
Angus sat but continued to regard us in a glowering and threatening manner.
“What are you doing here?” asked the man. “Do you know you are trespassing?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We didn’t think we were. The house is empty, isn’t it? We were just looking.”
“You don’t come any farther until I know your business.”
I was amazed. I said, “I’m from Marchlands.”
“Oh, aye,” he replied.
“We just thought we would look round. We have done so before. Please tell us who you are.”
“I’m the caretaker,” he said.
“Caretaker at Milton Priory!”
“From now on.”
“Is it up for sale?” I asked.
“Reckon.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Someone must have bought it,” I said.
“Could be so.”
“I see. I’m sorry. It has been empty so long and no one ever minded before. We just thought we’d explore a little.”
“Well, I wouldn’t try exploring round here anymore if I were you. Angus wouldn’t like it and Angus can be a pretty fierce customer, I can tell you.”
“Well, now we know,” I said. “I’m sorry, Andrée. That’s all you are going to see of Milton Priory.”
“It’s disappointing,” she said. “I should have loved to know the history of the place. I wonder who will come here?”
“No doubt we shall know in good time. They will be my father’s constituents, so he will soon be after their votes.”
Miss Carruthers said it was an interesting place. A little too early for William and Mary, she mused. There was a touch of the Stuart…early Stuart. “It will need a good deal of restoration, I imagine. How long did you say it had been empty, Lucinda?”
“I’m not sure. But a long time.”
We rode back to Marchlands, and then we went to the hospital to see if our services were wanted.
At the weekend my father came down, as he often did. My mother was eager to tell him how everything was progressing.
I remember, at dinner that night, he told us how unpopular the Prime Minister was becoming.
“The war is still going on, so they look round for a scapegoat. Poor Asquith! He fits the case very well. Especially with Lloyd George waiting to spring into his shoes. Margot Asquith is furious. If anyone can keep the old man going, it will be his formidable wife.”
Dr. Edgerton was dining with us that night. He was seated next to Miss Carruthers.
“Lloyd George is a very able man, I believe,” said the doctor.
“Perhaps that fiery Welshman will have all the energy which Asquith lacks,” suggested Miss Carruthers.
“Oh, I’m not sure of that,” replied the doctor, and he and Miss Carruthers went into a discussion about the merits of Lloyd George and Asquith.
My father said, “I’m sorry for the old man, but people are beginning to wonder whether it wouldn’t be better if he resigned in favor of L.G.”
“What of Churchill?” asked my mother.
“Oh, he’s in disgrace over the Dardanelles. He was so sure it was the right course to take. I suppose he is not all that certain now.”
“Are things very bad?” I asked.
“Never so bad as the press makes out. It’s the bad news they find sensational. And if there is someone they can possibly blame, they will. People are always more interested in the bad than the good. Let us say that things could be better.”
My mother said, “We were talking about Milton Priory the other day. Lucinda was saying that they have a caretaker there with a fierce dog.”
I fancied my father looked alert. “Milton Priory?” he said. “What’s this about it?”
“It seems someone’s making it ready to sell. Lucinda went there to have a look at the house…to show Andrée in fact.”
“I was with them,” said Miss Carruthers. “The caretaker was rather officious and told us to keep away…in no uncertain terms.”
I explained to my father exactly what had happened. “The dog was very fierce. He looked as though all he needed was his master’s command to tear us all apart.”
“I expect the man knew how to handle him. Did you get the idea that they were preparing the house for sale?”
“That seemed most likely.”
“We shall know in good time,” said my mother. “I wonder who the new owners will be.”
“I hope they will be good little Liberals,” I said. “Otherwise we shall have to convert them.”
My father smiled at me. “How was the place different?” he asked.
“I think the windows had been cleaned…and then, of course, there was the caretaker. I suppose they will have to smarten it up if they hope to sell at a reasonable price.”
“We’ll watch and await developments,” put in my mother.
“I should keep away from it if I were you,” said my father. “I don’t like the sound of that dog.”
“We’re certain to hear when it’s sold,” added my mother. “You can’t keep things like that secret here.”
Then the talk switched back to the coalition and the possibility of Mr. Asquith’s handing over the premiership to Mr. Lloyd George.
Very soon after that Robert Denver came to see us. He looked really handsome in his uniform. He was still too thin and looked taller than ever, but less “disjointed,” as Annabelinda had once described her brother’s physique.
I was delighted to see him. I studied him with awe.
“Oh, Robert,” I cried. “You’re through. You’ve got your commission!”
“I’m pleased,” he admitted. “I feel like a man again.”
“Free of those bullying sergeant majors. Poor Robert. I could imagine how you felt about it.”
“Necessary, I suppose. But hard to take at times.”
“So it is good-bye, Salisbury Plain.” My face fell. “And now…the battlefield.”
“The battlefield is to be postponed…probably for a month or more. What do you think? I’m going on a course.”
“A course? I thought you’d just come through your training.”
“So I have. But this is different. Do you know, Lucinda, I was by no means a model soldier? It’s a bit of luck that I got my commission. But I discovered a method of memorizing the Morse code. The others couldn’t understand how I did it. To tell the truth, I couldn’t myself. Well, since I could work the thing more quickly than the others, I was selected to go on this course.”
“That means you’ll be sending messages…on the battlefield.”
“Something like that, I imagine. I’ll have my mechanic with me. He’ll fix the phones….That sort of thing would be beyond me. I’ll take the messages and send others…or something like that, I suppose.”
“Oh, Robert, I’m proud of you.”
“I’ve done nothing to be proud of.”
“You have, and you will do more.”
“Oh, I’m not made in the heroic mold. That’s for people like Major Merrivale. By the way, have you seen him lately?”
“No. He’s in Gallipoli.”
Robert looked grim.
“So is Uncle Gerald,” I went on. “We’re quite anxious.”
Robert nodded in understanding.
My mother greeted him warmly. So did Aunt Celeste, who was often at Marchlands and enjoyed helping in the hospital.
There was a good deal of talk, and Miss Carruthers and Andrée joined us. Then my mother, Andrée and I took Robert along to see Edward.
“He’s growing fast,” commented Robert.
Andrée looked at Edward with pride. “He’s going to be a big boy, aren’t you, Edward?”
Edward muttered something and smiled benignly.
We had lunch, and afterward my mother said, “Why don’t you and Robert go for a little ride, Lucinda? You used to love to ride round these lanes.”
“I like the idea,” Robert said. “Don’t you, Lucinda?”
“I do,” I said.
Soon we were out, riding through the familiar countryside, as we used to before I went away to school and there was a war.
We kept recalling incidents from the past.
“Do you remember when we found the baby blackbird lying in the road?” Robert said.
“Oh, yes. He’d fallen out of the nest. And you climbed a tree because we guessed the nest would be up there…and we put him back….And the next day we came to see if he was all right.”
“Do you remember when your horse tripped over a log in the forest and you landed in a heap of leaves?”
We laughed at the memory. There was so much to remember.
“It seems so long ago,” I said, “because everything has changed.”
“It will come back to normal.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do. I shall be back with the estate and in time it will seem as though this never happened.”
“I think that when this sort of thing comes it changes people and they can never be the same again.”
“You’re not changing, are you, Lucinda?”
“I feel different. I notice it…riding with you like this, and talking about what happened in the old days. Little things like the baby bird and the tumble in the forest. It takes me back, and for a moment I am as I was then…and then I can see that there is a lot of difference between that person and what I am today.”
“I suppose we are all touched by experience, but what I mean is, are you the same Lucinda, my special friend?”
“I hope I shall always be that, Robert.”
“You must always be, no matter what happens.”
“It’s a comfort to hear that. I’ve always been able to rely on you.”
“The old predictable, as my sister calls me. She says it’s why I’m so dull. She always knows what I am going to do.”
“Well, Annabelinda always believes she is right. She’s predictable enough in that.”
“It’s true that I am predictable in most things, and I suppose that can be called unexciting.”
“Well, I was very excited when I saw you this morning in uniform.”
“You were the first one I wanted to show it off to.”
“Are you going to your parents?”
“Yes, this evening.”
“And shall I see you before you go on your course?”
“I plan to stay at home for two days. Then have one more day at Marchlands, if that is agreeable to you.”
“I suppose you have to go home?”
“I must. My father will have so much to tell me about the estate.”
“You love the land, don’t you, Robert?”
“I’ve been brought up to know that it will be mine one day…in the far distant future, I hope. I feel the same about it as my father does. As you know, he and I have always been the best of friends.”
“My mother often says you are just like him.”
“That’s the general opinion. My mother and sister are quite different.”
“It’s odd to have such contrasts in one family. People say I am like my mother, but my mother says I have a lot of my father in me. I don’t know who Charles takes after. I suppose he’ll go into politics. At the moment, he is the only person I know who is praying for the war to go on until he is old enough to join the army.”
“A good patriotic spirit!”
“I think he is more concerned with the glory of Charles Greenham! He sees himself dashing into battle and winning the war in a week.”
“He’ll grow up.”
“I’m glad you are going on this course, Robert…because it will delay your going…out there.”
“I’ll be all right, Lucinda. The old predictable. You’ll see me just obeying orders from my superior commanders. I’m the sort who muddles through.”
“Don’t change, will you?”
“I couldn’t if I tried. May I make the same request of you?”
“Oh, look!” I said. “There’s the old Priory.”
“What a difference! What have they done to it?”
“There are new people there.”
“Have they bought it?”
“I think they must have. The old owners were so careless about it. Now there is a caretaker with a fierce dog to keep people out. Mind you, people did wander in and out. There were some broken windows and people used to get into the house. I suppose there’s a good reason for a caretaker.”
“They’ve cleaned it up, haven’t they?”
“Yes. I expect the new people will be moving in soon.”
“Let’s hope they’ll be agreeable and add something to the social life of Marchlands.”
“My parents are hoping they are good Liberals.”
“Well, the Liberals haven’t got the monopoly now, have they? With this coalition, a Conservative has as good a chance of getting into the Cabinet.”
“When my father comes home we hear something of what is going on. They are still harrying poor old Asquith.”
“He won’t last much longer.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“The only good thing would be to finish off this war and get back to peace.”
That evening Robert left us to join his family.
“I shall see you in two days’ time,” he said. “Make sure that you keep the day free.”
“I might even get Miss Carruthers to let me off lessons.”
“I always forget you are a schoolgirl, Lucinda. But it is not for much longer, is it?”
When he had gone I fell to thinking of Marcus Merrivale. He, with Robert, was looking forward to the time when I grew up.
I felt honored, and at the same time uneasy. When I was with Robert I knew exactly that it was where I wanted to be; but then, the exhilarating company of Marcus Merrivale was quite intoxicating.
It was Christmas again and then the New Year, 1916. Nothing was going well. It was acknowledged that the plan to capture the Dardanelles had been a failure.
There were some who agreed with Churchill that it was a brilliant idea but that it had been badly carried out.
The Secretary of State for War, Lord Kitchener, had gone out to the Dardanelles to advise withdrawal. There was no hope of victory there and it was a waste of men and ammunition to carry on. And now, in January of that year, the troops from Gallipoli began to arrive back in England.
It was at the end of that month when Uncle Gerald came to see us. He looked older than he had when he left. He told us that the campaign should never have been undertaken.
He played it out at lunch at the table.
“Doomed to fail from the start,” he said. “A lack of surprise, for one thing. They sent us part-time soldiers. We lacked experienced men, and believe me, that’s what was needed for an enterprise like this. There weren’t enough supplies. There was an acute shortage of shells. Asquith must go!”
“Churchill has already gone,” my father reminded him.
“Churchill’s idea was all right. That could have worked. It was the way it was tackled which destroyed us. You see, here we are….” My mother looked apprehensively at his wine glass. “And here…” He swung the cruet into line. “…the Turk.”
For a moment we watched him moving plates and dishes around the table. It did not look in the least like a battlefield to me and I was longing to ask for news of Marcus Merrivale.
“It hasn’t done much for our prestige. This is the beginning of the end for Asquith. Consider our losses, Joel…nearly a quarter of a million men…and many from the Empire. It’s a disaster, Joel. A disaster. I daresay you’ve been hearing about it all in the House.”
“They’ve talked of little else since Kitchener’s verdict.”
“Heads will fall, Joel. Heads will fall.”
“I daresay you are glad to be back, Gerald,” said my mother. “What about Major Merrivale? Is he back with you?”
“They are all coming back. Merrivale was wounded.”
“Wounded!” said my mother. “Badly?”
“Hm. He went straight to the hospital.”
“He could have come here,” said my mother.
“My dear Lucie, I think he was really rather badly hurt.”
My mother bristled and Uncle Gerald relented a little.
“In cases like this,” he said, “they’re taken off to one of the London hospitals.”
“How badly hurt is he?” I asked.
“Oh, he’ll come through. Trust Merrivale for that. But it was a bit more than a sniper’s bullet.”
“Which hospital is he in?” asked my mother.
“I’m not sure.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know the details…just that he was a stretcher case.”
I felt sick. I could imagine…a stretcher case. How was he? I wanted to see him.
My mother said, “We have a special interest in him, you know, Gerald, after, he brought Lucinda, Edward and the others out of Belgium.”
“Oh, I know. A great fellow. He’s not at death’s door. Just needs a bit of patching up.”
“You must find out more details and let us know. I think that if he is in a London hospital, the least Lucinda and I can do is visit him, Joel. I don’t forget what he did for Lucinda. Heaven knows what might have happened if he hadn’t looked after her, and we shall always be grateful to you, Gerald, for sending him to look after her.”
“Seemed the best thing to do. He’s a very resourceful fellow. Well, you’d expect that. There’s only one Merrivale.”
“Well, do let us know, Gerald. We’d love to go and see him, wouldn’t we, Lucinda?”
“Yes,” I answered. “We would.”
In his precise way, Uncle Gerald sent the information to us in a few days.
My mother said it was not easy to leave the hospital but under the circumstances she thought it necessary.
Andrée said she would like to come with us. Not that she would accompany us to the hospital, for she was sure three people would be too many, but she wanted to go to London to get some things for Edward.
“Do you remember that musical box he had? It played the Brahms lullaby when it opened. I know he misses it. He was opening a box yesterday and clearly listening. He looked so disappointed because there was no tune.”
“Fancy his remembering all that time,” said my mother. “But it’s a haunting melody and I suppose even a child would be aware of that.”
“It is that and a few other things I should like to get,” said Andrée.
“It seems a good idea,” replied my mother.
So we went.
Marcus was in a ward with several other officers. He was lying on his back and not quite his usual exuberant self; but he grinned at us.
“This is wonderful,” he said. “How good of you to come and see this poor old crock.”
“I don’t think the term applies,” said my mother. “Gerald told us you were improving every day.”
“My progress will leap forward after this visit. Do sit down.”
“Please don’t move,” said my mother.
“It would be rather impossible, I fear. They’ve got me strapped up a bit.”
“How do you feel?”
“Wonderful…because you and Lucinda have come to see me.”
My mother laughed. “I’m serious, Major Merrivale.”
“So am I. And please don’t call me Major.”
“Marcus,” said my mother. “We are so glad that you are home.”
“Does that go for Miss Lucinda also?”
“Of course it does,” I said. “We were worried about you when we heard things were not going well.”
He grimaced. “Something of a shambles, eh? However, it’s brought me home.”
“Where you will be staying for some time,” added my mother.
“That seems very likely.”
“We were disappointed that you did not come to our hospital,” I told him.
“What a pleasure that would have been…worth getting hit for.”
“Oh, don’t say that!” said my mother. “Marchlands is an excellent place for convalescence. The forest, you know. Perhaps later on…”
“You mean I might come to Marchlands? Nothing could help me more to make a speedy recovery.”
“Then we shall do what we can to arrange it. I daresay Gerald could do something. He can fix most things.”
“From henceforth I shall make myself a nuisance here, so that they will be only too glad to get rid of me.”
I did not think that would be the case. It was clear that that inimitable charm worked here as everywhere else and the nurses enjoyed looking after him.
The matron came in while we were there—a stern-faced, middle-aged woman who looked as though she would be capable of keeping a regiment in order—and even she softened and chided him gently because he was getting too excited.
Our visit was not a long one, but it was the maximum time allowed.
I felt a little uneasy as we left the ward, for I was sure Marcus was putting on a show of being in a much better condition than he actually was.
My mother was able to have a word with the doctor before we left. Marchlands was now known in the medical world as one of those country houses given over to the wounded since the beginning of the war, and therefore a certain respect was accorded her.
We were taken into a small room, and seated at a desk was Dr. Glenning.
He told us to be seated, and my mother then said, “Major Merrivale is a very special friend. How badly has he been wounded?”
“Well, there are worse cases.”
“And better,” added my mother.
The doctor nodded. “Some internal injuries. A bullet—most fortunately—just missed his lungs. The bullet has been extracted, but as you know, it is a vital area and we have to be watchful. There is some damage to the right leg. But that is minor compared with the internal trouble.”
“I see. He is not…in danger?”
The doctor shook his head to and fro. “Oh, he’s got a good chance of recovery. He’s very strong…in excellent condition. I’d say his chances of getting back to normal are good, but it is going to take time.”
“My daughter and I were thinking that Marchlands would be a good place for him to come for convalescence. We were wondering if the major could come to us.”
“I could not allow him to be moved just now, and this is going to be a long job. Later…if he continues to improve…I don’t see why not. He’s going to need convalescence, and to be among friends would be good for him. Yes, I think in due course, Mrs. Greenham, he might well go to Marchlands.”
“And…he really is not in danger…?? I put in.
“No more than most. We’re never quite sure how these things are going to turn out. You probably know, Mrs. Greenham….But I would say he has a fair chance of recovery.”
“That’s good news,” said my mother. “Have you any idea about when…?”
The doctor pursed his lips and looked thoughtful.
“Well, I should think at least a couple of months.”
“As long as that!”
“Rather a grave injury, Mrs. Greenham.”
“Well, we shall look forward to receiving him at Marchlands. Will you let us know when it will be safe for him to come?”
“Indeed I will do that.”
“In the meanwhile we shall be visiting him. We came up especially today.”
“Marchlands keeps you busy, I’ve heard.”
“Very busy all the time.”
“We’ve had a rush of casualties after the Dardanelles debacle. Not that there are not a large number coming from France all the time.”
“Let’s hope it will soon be over.”
“I’d second that, Mrs. Greenham.”
He shook hands and repeated his promise that he would let us know when Marcus was well enough to travel, and we left the hospital in a happier mood than that in which we had arrived.
We had seen him. He was ill, but not so ill that he would not recover—and in time he would come to Marchlands.
Returning to Marchlands, I felt a sense of elation. I realized I was happier than I had been since the ill-fated Dardanelles venture had begun. I had been thinking about Marcus a great deal and every time the campaign had been mentioned, I had been conscious of a cold fear. Now it was over. He was wounded, yes; but he was still alive, and with his irrepressible spirits he would recover.
And in time we should have him under our care in Marchlands.
My mother sensed my mood and shared it.
“He is such a charming man,” she said. “I could not bear to think of anything happening to change him. He’ll recover quicker than most. Since the hospital started, I’ve noticed that optimism is one of the best cures to help a patient along the road to recovery.”
Andrée was eager to hear the news of Marcus, but I could see she wanted to get back to Marchlands and Edward. She hated leaving him even for a day.
It was about a week after our visit to London when I was awakened in the night by the sound of an explosion. My thoughts immediately went to the Zeppelin I had seen when the cottage near La Pinière had been attacked. We had to expect air raids. The Zeppelins were cumbersome objects and good targets for a firing squad, but they did present a great danger.
I leaped out of bed, put on my dressing gown and slippers and went out of my room.
Immediately I heard my mother’s voice. “Lucinda…are you all right? Charles…?”
Charles was already in the corridor. Some of the servants were there and I saw Miss Carruthers.
“That was a bomb, I am sure,” she said. “It must have been rather close.”
Mrs. Grey, the cook, had appeared.
“What was it, do you think, Mrs. Grey?” asked my mother.
“Sounded just like one of them bombs, Mrs. Greenham.”
“I’m afraid so. I wonder…”
We all gathered in the hall where some of the nurses joined us.
“What time is it?” asked my mother.
“Just after midnight,” someone replied.
“Do you think it’s an air raid?”
“Most likely.”
“I can’t hear anything more. Do you think they’ll come back?”
“Perhaps.”
Mrs. Grey said she thought everyone could do with a cup of tea and if we would like to go to the drawing room, she’d have it sent there. The others could have theirs in the kitchen.
My mother thought that was a good idea. Everything seemed quiet now and we should hear all about it in the morning.
Miss Carruthers said, “We must be prepared for any emergency. One only hopes they will not drop anything on the hospital.”
“They would drop anything anywhere,” said my mother. “Charles, come away from that window. You never know…”
Reluctantly, Charles moved away.
“I’d like to fly,” he said. “Fancy being up there in the sky!”
“Not dropping bombs on people, I hope,” I said.
“Oh…I wouldn’t do that.”
“Very noble of you,” I retorted.
“I’m going to join the Royal Flying Corps.”
Nobody expressed surprise. Charles was going to take up some new adventurous profession every few weeks.
Nothing much happened that night, but we were astonished the next morning to learn that it was not a Zeppelin which had dropped the bomb. What we had heard was an explosion that had taken place at Milton Priory.
We learned it from the postman. Jenner, the butler, had spoken to him when he came with the post and thought what the man had to tell was so interesting that he brought him into the dining room where we were having breakfast.
“I thought you would like to hear what the postman has to say, Mrs. Greenham,” he said. “It’s about that explosion in the night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the postman. “It’s up at the old Priory…that place where things have been going on lately. They won’t be putting that up for sale now. Looks as if they’s destroyed the place…completely.”
“How could it have happened?” asked my mother.
“Well, there’s a mystery for you. Something was wrong. Gas perhaps. You know what that can do. Whatever it might be, that’s the end of Milton Priory.”
“How very strange!” said Miss Carruthers. “I wonder what the explanation is?”
“No doubt we shall find out in time,” said my mother.
When I saw Andrée, she said, “I heard the explosion in the night.”
“You should have joined us in the drawing room,” I told her. “We did not get to bed until about an hour later. We just sat there talking and speculating as to what might have happened. We all thought then that it had been dropped by a Zeppelin.”
“Was it?”
“No. Apparently not. It was caused by something in the house…gas, they say.”
“How dreadful! I didn’t come down because it had awakened Edward. He was a bit fretful. I couldn’t leave him.”
“Yes. I guessed that. Was he frightened?”
“Just a bit. I soothed him and finally he got to sleep.”
“I expect we shall hear more about this explosion.”
“I’d like to take a look at it.”
“Perhaps when Edward is having his nap, we could ride over.”
We did. The police were at the scene. We rode as close as we could. It was a sight to shock…twisted girders, collapsed walls, piles of bricks…where once that rather lovely old house had stood.
“There’s little left of it,” said Andrée with a shiver.
“They’ll never sell it now.”
“It’s a complete ruin,” went on Andrée. “Have they any idea yet how it happened?”
“I expect they will soon find out. I wonder who the owners are?”
“Didn’t someone buy it recently?”
“I’m not sure whether it was sold or being prepared for a sale.”
“Well, whatever it was, that’s the end of it.”
We rode back no wiser.
Later we heard that the explosion was due to a leakage of gas.
My father arrived later that afternoon.
He went over to look at the Priory. He met some official there and, as a Member of Parliament, I suppose, was allowed to go over the remains of the house. It occurred to me that the man might be from one of the ministries, and my father, because the Priory was situated in his constituency, had come down to investigate the mystery.
I thought he looked distinctly worried.
Two of the men with whom he had been at the Priory came to dine with us. And at the dinner table it became clear that my father and his guests did not want to talk about the explosion.
However, the rest of us—my mother, Miss Carruthers, Dr. Edgerton and myself—could not easily dismiss the matter, which was uppermost in our droughts.
“Lucinda was very curious about the Priory when she saw how changed it was,” my mother was saying. “That was some time ago. We had all made up our minds that it must have been one of those horrible Zeppelins.”
“We can’t be sure that it was not,” said my father.
“Oh, no, Joel,” protested my mother. “Those things are so huge. They just seem to hang in the sky. Someone would have seen it.”
“It is just possible that it quickly dropped the bomb and got away.”
“But the explosion was so loud,” I said. “People nearby would go out to look. It couldn’t have got away so quickly without being seen.”
“Well then, perhaps it was not a Zeppelin.”
“I’ve just thought of something,” I said. “There’s no gas at Milton Priory. How could there be? Nobody ever put it in.”
“They must have been putting it in now,” replied my father.
“If they were, surely we should have known,” I said. “No, it wasn’t gas. It wasn’t dropped from the air. So what was it? What a mystery! No doubt we shall find out sooner or later. How I should love to know! It’s really very intriguing. I shan’t rest until I find out.”
“Well,” said my father, “in the words of our Prime Minister, we must ‘wait and see.’ ”
It was the following day. I had just finished my session with Miss Carruthers, and as I came out of the schoolroom I saw my mother on the stairs.
“Lucinda, I wanted to talk to you,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Come into my sitting room. I don’t want anyone to hear.”
I was eager to learn what she had to say, and when we reached her room she shut the door and, looking at me anxiously, said, “Sit down.”
I did so, very puzzled.
“Lucinda,” she began. “This is very important. It is also secret. But your father and I know you will be discreet; after all, you are no longer a child.”
I waited apprehensively as she paused, for she was staring ahead, frowning.
“I know you have been aware of the fact for a long time that your father is…well, something more than an ordinary Member of Parliament.”
“Yes…vaguely. He does go off sometimes, and I know you are a little anxious when he does, and there is, of course, the implication that no questions should be asked.”
“I wish he were not engaged in all this secrecy. I’m always afraid he will come to some harm. It could have ruined our lives in the beginning, when he was engaged in secret work and I thought he was dead. I married…” She shook her head. “If he had been here, it would have been so different.”
“I do know something about that.”
I guessed this preamble was because she was trying to make up her mind to tell me what all this was about.
“Your father is doing a wonderful job for the country,” she went on. “He has never taken Cabinet rank because of this work. It would not be possible for a minister to do what he is doing. So…he just sits in Parliament. Well, that is a Greenham tradition, and he had to follow it. But it’s all part of the same thing. It’s working for the country.”
“Yes, I know.”
“There is a matter which has come up. He is going to tell you about it himself. He was reluctant to, but we both thought it best. He asked me to…well, prepare you, as it were. I think he wants to be sure that it will be all right to take you into this secret. In fact he thinks it might be necessary to.”
“What is this secret?”
“He is going to tell you. We were discussing it last night and we came to the conclusion that it is the best way. Your father thought at first that you were too young, but, well, everything that has been happening lately has jerked you out of your childhood. You’ll understand and do all you can to help, I know. I’ve convinced him of this. He’s in his study now. Let’s go to him.”
My father was waiting for us.
“Here she is,” said my mother. “We can rely on Lucinda. She understands.”
“Sit down, my dear,” said my father. “This must sound very mysterious to you.”
“It does,” I answered.
“Your mother has told you that I am involved in certain matters.”
“Yes, she has.”
“It’s about Milton Priory.”
I was taken aback. “Milton Priory!” I said.
“Yes, Milton Priory,” he repeated. “You know, don’t you, that you must not give an indication to anyone at any time of this?”
“I understand that.”
“I don’t want people talking about it…as you were inclined to do. I want it believed that the explosion was caused by a Zeppelin or a gas leak…something that could happen in any place at any time. I know you were especially interested in the place, but you must stop speculating about it. Keeping the mystery alive arouses people’s curiosity, so you must stop talking of it and if the subject is raised in your presence, do everything you can to divert the conversation away from it. I don’t want people prying…investigating….”
“Why not?”
“Listen, Lucinda. The Priory was being used by the Government as a research center. Important experiments were being carried out there. A secret place was needed for these experiments. We are surrounded by spies, as countries are in war. We cannot trust anyone. It was very important for the location of this research to be kept secret. It was on my recommendation that the Priory was chosen. There it was, an almost derelict house, empty for some years. A great amount of work was needed to make it habitable as a residence. It would be acceptable in the neighborhood that people should be there. And there was a show of restoring the place while the essential work was being carried out. That was what was happening at the Priory.”
My father paused and looked at me.
“And you think that spies discovered this and blew it up?” I said,
He nodded “That is exactly what I think. But who? I feel very deeply involved as it was my suggestion that the work should take place there. I had secret documents in London giving important details of the place and the work which was being done.”
“What work was it?”
“Too complicated to explain. Experiments with a new armored vehicle which would be valuable on the battlefield. It was being perfected. And now much of the work has been destroyed.”
“Completely?” I asked.
“Oh, no. But it will set us back months. The worrying fact is that certain documents in my possession must have been seen by someone who has made use of them—with this result, in the first place, the nature of the work has been revealed to the enemy; in the second place, they have learned where it was being carried out…and in the third place, they have found a means of blowing up the house.”
“I remember the caretaker and the dog. He was guarding the place, of course.”
“Now, Lucinda, one of the most alarming aspects of the whole matter is that someone must have got into the London house…someone who had seen secret papers which were kept there for safety. Who could it be? There was no break-in. At least, if there was, I knew nothing about it.”
“You mean, it could be someone in the house?”
“Well, not necessarily living there. It could be someone who has access. Perhaps a workman coming to do some job. Your mother and I have talked this over. You were so interested in the Priory. I have explained why I want you to stop talking of it. But there is something more. I want you to be watchful, Lucinda. If you see anything…anyone act suspiciously…let me or your mother know at once…whoever it is. We cannot eliminate anyone from this. You can see what danger there is. I want to know who saw those secret papers in my room, who made it possible for the Priory to be destroyed.”
“Yes,” I said. “I want to know, too.”
My mother took my hand. “I’m glad you know about this, Lucinda,” she said.
“The idea of someone’s coming into the house…going through my papers…is intolerable,” said my father. “It makes one realize how dangerous the times are. So, Lucinda, keep quiet about the Priory. Avoid bringing up the matter…and keep your eyes open.”
“I will,” I said. “Oh, I will.”