‘You’re looking happy, Agnes. Little Isabel stay asleep all night, did she? She’s a good little girl.’
More than her namesake had been, Margaret remembered. It was true Mrs Isabel had been a year old when she and Percy came to the Rectory, but the din she used to make then suggested poor Mrs Lilley had found her a handful in the early months, and Nanny Oates couldn’t have been much help. Belatedly, Margaret remembered her old enemy had met a terrible end, and conscience-stricken, she made a silent prayer of apology. She had the uneasy thought that perhaps the fact that Nanny had already been installed here when the Dibbles arrived might have had something to do with their never seeing eye to eye. Another prayer would be in order tonight. Tragedy brought reconciliations. For the first time in living memory the Mutters and Thorns had not only sworn a truce after one of each family had been killed on Bankside, but resolved never to feud again. The Rector had been delighted, but Percy said once a Mutter, always a Mutter.
‘Yes, she did, but that’s not the reason I’m happy.’ Agnes glowed. ‘I’ve had a letter from Jamie. I was beginning to worry because I’d heard nothing.’
‘What’s he got to say for himself?’
Jamie was still on the Western Front with the 7th Sussex. Field Marshal Haig had said they had to fight with their backs to the wall, but the way things were going they’d soon have their backs to the seaside.
‘He sounds cheerful – like he always does. He doesn’t want me to worry, he says. We’re going to win the war and that’s that.’
‘I’ll believe it when I see raisins back in the shops,’ Margaret said grimly.
Agnes was lost in her usual dream in which she lived in a home of her own with Jamie and the two kiddies. She sighed. A little confidence that the dream would come true was no bad thing, but a little evidence that Jamie was right about the war would be better. Like the troops sang, ‘Oh my, I don’t want to die, I want to go home.’
‘So will I. They’ve been saying it will be over by Christmas ever since 1914,’ she said bitterly.
Margaret had no comfort to give, though she tried. ‘Just one more push is all it needs.’
‘Aren’t you enjoying it?’
London theatre shows were hardly of the high quality of previous years. With the capital packed with every nationality under the sun, all seeking escape in entertainment, this was to be expected. Even so, Felicia’s obvious lack of interest in The Boy, which was a musical adaptation of a Pinero play, surprised Caroline. It was better than most current offerings.
Felicia shrugged apologetically as Caroline handed her her drink in the Adelphi bar. ‘The last play I saw in London was Chu Chin Chow two years ago. Remember? All I’ve seen since are the occasional travelling plays or revues for the forces if I happened to be at the right place at the right time. I even saw Phoebe’s beloved Billy once. Odd, isn’t it? Phoebe seems to have found happiness at last, and yet of all of us she seemed the least likely to do so.’
‘She’s getting very bored with staying at home as a lady-in-waiting.’
Billy had put his foot down, much to Phoebe’s annoyance, and forbidden her to continue her driving work either here or abroad. For the sake of the baby she had reluctantly agreed it was sensible.
‘She’s only been at home a week or two. She told me she was getting bored out of her mind, and certainly she still looks fit enough. You’d hardly know she was pregnant.’
‘Bored? What a surprise.’ Felicia laughed. ‘I’m glad Phoebe hasn’t changed completely. Anyway, you’re out of date. She’s got a new project.’
‘Tell me the worst,’ Caroline groaned, remembering Phoebe’s venture at Ashden. ‘What’s she doing? Serving lemonade outside Victoria Station?’
‘No. She is still driving, but she’s come to a compromise with Billy. She’s taking convalescent soldiers to wherever Billy’s singing in London. There’d be too much competition from the WVS for her to serve teas and lemonade. Not much room for individual effort now,’ Felicia added ruefully.
‘It’s the overall effort that’s the vital one.’
‘Don’t be sanctimonious,’ Felicia replied amiably.
‘Why not? You are.’
‘Am I?’ Felicia was taken aback. ‘I never used to be.’
‘I suppose,’ Caroline said thoughtfully, ‘it’s the war caused that, not just for you and me, but for most women. We began the war with a fight to gain recognition that we had a wider role to play in it than the traditional female one, and now we’ve proved we can do most things just as well as men, and we’re indispensable, smugness is the result. It will be interesting to see what everyone does after the war – retreat into the home nest or spread our fledgling wings further.’
‘In our different ways I think the home nest is ruled out for both of us, don’t you agree?’
‘I don’t know.’ Caroline felt bruised at another reminder of a future she dared not think about too deeply. Why couldn’t everyone just keep quiet about it, till it happened?
Felicia must have noticed, for she compensated with surprising openness. ‘Luke’s asked me to marry him two days after the war’s over.’
‘Ah. And have you accepted?’
‘Ever seen an ostrich?’
Caroline laughed. ‘Indeed I have. Our heads will collide in the ground. I’m as bad as you. I just daren’t think beyond the end of the war.’
‘That may not be good.’
‘I don’t know what to do, Caroline. I love Luke in one way, Daniel in quite another. He’s part of me. Luke wants to marry me, Daniel won’t.’
‘It seems obvious from that which way you would like to jump. Are you still seeing Daniel?’ Felicia never mentioned him, so Caroline could not resist this opportunity to ask.
‘I’ve seen him twice since I’ve been in London, which at least is more often than when I was at Ashden. I suppose he feels now he’s done his bit by bringing me back to England, he can walk out of my life again. I know it can’t be easy for him, because he does care for me. So much in fact that he wants me to forget all about him, and marry Luke. Whatever I say I can’t persuade him that I can live without children and without physical love; he thinks I’m just being noble. He doesn’t credit me even now for knowing my own mind.’ It was the first time Felicia had confirmed what Caroline and Luke had suspected.
‘He probably does, but he’s thinking of your best interests.’
‘I decide that,’ said Felicia firmly. ‘Not Daniel.’
‘He does have a say in it.’ Caroline felt torn by the problem, fond as she was of both Luke and Daniel. ‘Is Luke coming to Ashden for my birthday party on Sunday?’
‘Ah. I’m sorry, Caroline. I forgot to tell you. I can’t come. I’m on duty, and though I tackled the Medusa’ – her name for her bête noire at Endell Street – ‘she set the snakes on me.’
Caroline tried to hide her disappointment. This year of all years she had wanted to spend her birthday not only with Yves but with her sisters and parents at the Rectory.
‘I can’t wait for the war to end,’ Felicia continued viciously, ‘so I can tell Medusa what I really think of her. Stupid, isn’t it? Longing for it to end, and at the same time dreading it, and you must be in the same boat. When does Yves think it will be over, this year or next?’
‘This year,’ Caroline replied bleakly. ‘It looks as if Ludendorff’s latest offensive isn’t going too well. To turn the tide just needs one more push.’ It had indeed been on the Château-Thierry Front, and thanks to good intelligence and a brilliant deception thought up by the French, the initial attack had not been as successful as the Germans had planned. They were forging ahead now though, and had to be stopped.
Caroline pored over their copy of the Order of Battle compiled by GHQ Intelligence in Montreuil from the information they gathered from all quarters.
‘They think now the German attack in Champagne has failed’ – the French–American counter-attack had reclaimed the whole of the Château-Thierry area – ‘that the chances of their continuing as planned to strike in the north are nil. Do you think that’s reliable, Luke?’
‘It was partly based on the lack of troop trains and other transport reported via us from La Dame Blanche,’ Luke replied drily.
Caroline shook her head. ‘Of course. I’d forgotten.’
‘WAACs aren’t supposed to forget. Their job is to remember everything that we forget,’ Luke proclaimed. ‘Incidentally Felicia’s invited me to your birthday party.’
‘You haven’t heard, then. She’s on duty that evening.’
‘You won’t want me then.’ He looked cast down, and she hastened to reassure him.
‘It will be a family picnic, and of course you must come. It’s – it used to be great fun. We’ve abandoned picnics while the war’s been on, but I felt we should all be together, this year of all years!’ Memories of past birthdays swamped her mind, Isabel falling over the tree trunk flat on her face into the pond, a young Isabel climbing the tree and crying out: ‘Look at me. I’m beautiful and so is the tree,’ Isabel kissing her crying, ‘Oh, I’m glad I have such a lovely sister,’ Isabel …
She stared down at the Order of Battle but she could no longer see it for the tears in her eyes. She had seen so many horrors in the last few years, and had believed nothing could touch her any more. How could Fate have had one more cruel trick up its sleeve? She knew families must be saying that all over the world, but what help was that?
George almost stumbled into the mess with tiredness. They were in action day and night on offensive patrols and bombing raids, now that the British were attacking on the Flanders Front. They were raining bombs down behind the enemy lines, and it was clear that the RAF’s contribution to the battle was crucial. The CO had said the clack was that the war wouldn’t end till 1919, but that Haig was determined to make it 1918. If there was anything George Lilley could do to help that, he would. He began to plan a cartoon of Ludendorff and the Kaiser cancelling plans to spend Christmas in Buckingham Palace. That way he could divorce himself from the grim reality of his daily life. He had not seen Florence for two weeks now, and he hardly cared, for he was so tired. Soon, they would be together for ever.
Just one more push was all it needed to end this war.
‘Jokey’s done us proud with them lettuces,’ Percy announced, bringing three samples into the kitchen. ‘He told me in Germany they grow different sorts.’
‘They’re all lettuces, aren’t they?’ Margaret said. ‘To think that over there in Germany they’re growing the same as us.’
Joachim had been granted special permission to give Percy a hand in the garden after he’d finished his supervised work at Lake’s Farm. In theory, he had a soldier detailed to look after him while he did so, but in practice it was usually a Land Girl, and sometimes he even came on his own. Margaret had grown quite fond of him in a way; he was a quiet lad, rather like Joe. She tried not to think about Joe, for the thought of another telegram made her sick with fear. He was still with the 5th Sussex on dangerous pioneer work, and Muriel said he was up in the north of Italy somewhere. It was a long way away, and the thought of his one day coming marching home again made her so dizzy with happiness she had to dismiss it instantly in case it never happened. Over in Germany some poor woman was probably thinking the same about Jokey.
‘After all,’ Lizzie had said about Joachim, ‘where would he run to? He’d be mown down long before he reached the seaside.’
‘Mown down? Only by a steamroller,’ Margaret had snorted. ‘We don’t have no Minenwerfer in Sussex.’
‘There’s something Jokey wants to ask you, Margaret,’ Percy announced, and Joachim appeared nervously behind Percy.
‘There is a shed in your garden. It has carved animals in it. And carving tools.’
Margaret went cold. ‘You’ve been in Fred’s shed, Jokey?’ she asked grimly. No one went in there save her and Percy and the family, though even they seldom trespassed.
‘Nein,’ he said hastily, ‘I look through windows. I like animals. I like carving.’
‘You do, do you?’ Her amazement was almost rude.
‘Ja. At home I carve animals too.’
‘Like I said, that’s Fred’s shed.’ Margaret spoke so sharply that Joachim backed hastily out of the kitchen, and she had to call him back. ‘I’ll think about it, Jokey.’
His face was so delighted she thought maybe he’d misunderstood her. ‘Only think, I said,’ she added. She was thinking very quickly, however. There were knives in there. The next Tunbridge Wells sitting, however, wasn’t for another three weeks, so she couldn’t ask Fred’s advice. Anyway, couldn’t she guess what Fred would say? He’d nod vigorously, grinning in his old way. He liked company. She remembered the way Miss Felicia had sat with him for hours on end while he carved, and helped him look after wounded birds and animals.
‘All right. You can go in,’ she suddenly shouted aggressively, so Jokey wouldn’t think she was soft.
Joachim took it from the tone of her voice that he was being refused, and scuttled hastily to the door once more.
‘Wait a minute, young man,’ she bawled, and he stopped in his tracks. ‘You follow me.’ Margaret took the precious key and marched down the garden path towards Fred’s shed, with Joachim following nervously behind. Carefully, hands trembling slightly, she unlocked it and threw the door open. There were all Fred’s animals and birds, just as if he were still here. And perhaps he was. ‘There, see what you can do, Jokey. You’ll find some spare wood around.’
She left him to it, for she couldn’t have stayed a second longer.
Fred would have approved, wouldn’t he? Funnily enough, she didn’t seem so concerned as once she would have been. Perhaps it was because with Mrs Isabel’s death, creating a little happiness seemed more important. Margaret even found herself wondering if everything Raymond said could be relied on. The medium had said some very odd things, and Margaret still wasn’t quite sure why Fred couldn’t speak to her directly instead of through that Egyptian slave and the medium. The Rector had been very grateful to her for telling him about Raymond, but she had a feeling he still didn’t approve.
Perhaps with Joachim using the shed she might come to terms with it all. Perhaps it wasn’t right to close herself up so much against the world. She should throw open her own doors like this shed, and let a bit of life into herself. See what she could do to cheer the Rectory up. Poor Mrs Lilley was like a ghost, she was so thin now. The Rector was getting greyer by the day and more silent.
Now most families had suffered bereavement, people had given up wearing black and often they didn’t even wear armbands. Margaret wondered if people in Germany felt like they did. Odd really. When this war started, she’d only thought of Germany as the place where the Kaiser lived. She thought of it quite differently now she knew people were over there struggling to grow food to eat and battling with grief, just like they were here.
Agnes came slowly into the kitchen, with her beeswax polish and cloth, looking as if even a touch of elbow grease was too much for her.
‘Sit down, Agnes. I’ll make some tea. You look all washed up.’
‘The baby kept me awake last night – it looks as if her good period is over. And I had another letter from Jamie, not so happy as usual. All this to and fro-ing has knocked the stuffing out of the Tommies’ morale, and it’s made worse by the miners and engineers being on strike here.’
‘It doesn’t seem right, does it?’ Margaret sympathised there. You never knew who was going on strike next these days. ‘There’s men out there fighting for their homeland, and there’s them exempted from call-up because of their job, then refusing to do it so that the men at the front are short of ammunition.’
‘I keep thinking my Jamie might be killed all because of them.’ Agnes burst into tears.
This was something Margaret could deal with. She slid a cup of tea in front of the weeping girl. ‘Now, Agnes, you’re overtired. Anyway, I read that Winston Churchill is going to have them called up if they don’t go back to work.’
‘And a good job too,’ Agnes said fiercely, wiping her eyes, and managing a giggle. ‘Suppose you went on strike from your Food Economy classes?’
George circled over base. He was keyed up and exhausted. The RFC – no, RAF – he still found it difficult to think of the force under its new name – was doing its best to slow down the enemy advance. They were still raining down bombs like Mrs Dibble’s rock cakes, and though there were Fokkers and Pfalzes around in plenty, especially in the evenings, nothing was going to stop them from raining down thousands more. Today the squadron had bombed Epinoy Aerodrome in company with 3 Squadron and two others, and George was carried away with the thrill of success. Their 25-pounders had set not only hangars on fire, but enemy machines. One of them was thanks to the Major who had dived down to within ten feet to hit a Pfalz scout, and the plumes of smoke from workshops had filled George with fierce glee.
He landed his kite back on the bumpy grass, and to stretch his legs decided to stroll over the rough field to its perimeter. By the ditch at the far side, almost hidden by undergrowth, he stumbled across a wooden cross, and sick with horror George realised he was standing on a grave. This land had been fought over many times and there was nothing to indicate whether the occupant of this grave was British, French or German. And did it matter? George wondered wearily. Known unto God, wasn’t that the phrase? Just some soldier, who would never laugh again. Who died for what he believed was right. Or maybe he hadn’t even believed that. Soldiers fought on for they had no option, whether illusions of patriotism had died or not. The Tommies were still convinced they were fighting for right, however, and that increased their bitterness that strikers back home, so far from supporting them, were ready to starve them of the tools to fight with, for their own selfish reasons.
George swore softly to himself, and promised this unknown soldier that the tide was beginning to turn. Soon it would all be over.
‘I,’ Caroline proclaimed unsteadily, ‘am twenty-six years old.’ To compensate for Felicia’s absence on Sunday, they were having a belated sisterly gathering at Monico’s. Phoebe had not come to the picnic either in order to avoid wartime train travel.
‘Plus three days,’ Phoebe added practically.
‘Don’t be smug. Just because you’re having a baby it doesn’t mean elder sisters don’t have the right to live.’ Caroline stopped, appalled at what she had said. Two glasses of indifferent wine and she lost guard of her words so easily.
‘It’s all right, Caroline,’ Felicia said quickly, seeing her ashen face.
‘It isn’t,’ Caroline replied fiercely. ‘How could I have said that?’
‘As easily,’ Phoebe said comfortably, ‘as I can think of my baby with happiness. As easily as if Isabel were here with us in the flesh as well as in spirit. How’s Mother?’ she asked, to change the subject.
‘She did her best to be birthday-like, but I think she’s still in shock,’ Caroline replied.
‘What comes after the shock?’
‘In Mother’s case,’ Felicia said soberly, ‘the pain.’
Caroline sighed. ‘What can we do?’
‘Phoebe’s baby will help rouse her.’
‘But that’s months away,’ Phoebe objected. ‘She can’t go on like this till January—’ She looked from one stunned face to another.
‘You told us November.’ Felicia was the first to speak.
‘Yes,’ Phoebe said quickly. ‘It may be a week or two late though.’
‘It’s elephants take a couple of years to produce their young, not you,’ Caroline said scathingly. ‘Just when is your baby going to be born?’
Phoebe toyed with her minuscule chop. ‘Actually,’ she finally said, ‘it’s due in mid January.’
‘Mathematics isn’t my strong point,’ Caroline said crossly, ‘but that means your baby started its existence in mid April?’
‘Yes,’ Phoebe muttered.
‘Which is when you were married.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you mean to say’ – Caroline was furious – ‘that when Billy went down to confess all to Father, there was no baby?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did Billy think there was?’
‘No,’ Phoebe retorted indignantly, ‘that wouldn’t have been fair.’
‘Fair!’ Felicia and Caroline shouted together, and a few curious faces turned to look at them. The level of noise in the restaurant was high, fortunately.
‘Phoebe,’ said Caroline grimly, ‘of all the dotty things you’ve done, this takes the cake.’
‘I second that,’ Felicia agreed. ‘Do you ever think of anyone else? What do you think the effect on Father and Mother will be when they find out, or are you hoping it may escape their notice that your baby is two months late?’
‘It was Father’s fault,’ Phoebe rejoined, looking injured. ‘He wouldn’t let me get married when I wanted to just because Billy is divorced. He was going to be foul about it whether I married in April or after my birthday in June.’
‘But weren’t you being a little unfair on Billy?’ Felicia asked.
‘It did take a lot to talk him round,’ Phoebe admitted, ‘but even he agreed there’d be an almighty row sooner or later with Father, so why not have it now and we could get married when we wanted to.’
‘The deceit!’ Caroline was appalled. ‘And the hurt, that’s why it’s not honest.’
‘Like you living with Yves as his wife and letting the parents think you were just working with him?’
‘That’s different,’ Caroline cried. ‘That was to save them hurt.’
‘Didn’t succeed, did it?’ Phoebe answered smugly.
‘Phoebe, shut up,’ Felicia said swiftly, seeing Caroline on the verge of tears. ‘Pick on me if you have to. I’m not so vulnerable. You’ve behaved dreadfully to us all, and what Caroline said is quite right. What were you going to do if you hadn’t got pregnant, incidentally? Invent a miscarriage?’
‘I hadn’t thought as far as that.’
‘That’s your trouble, Phoebe. You never do think,’ Felicia said sharply.
That set Phoebe off again. ‘And you do, I suppose. Very well, what do you think you’ll do after the war? Return to Ashden?’
‘I don’t believe I could,’ Felicia answered calmly.
‘Won’t you marry Daniel then?’
Felicia promptly lost the battle. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t damned well know. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ Phoebe said sweetly.
‘I’ve had a letter from home,’ Caroline said jubilantly to Yves on 1st August. ‘George has been given a bar to his DSO. Isn’t that splendid?’
‘Good news indeed. Much needed.’
He was right. There still seemed to be stalemate on the Western Front. June had seen yet another big raid on the Belgian clandestine newspaper La Libre Belgique, although once more it had resurrected itself. In July the Russian royal family had disappeared and there were many dark rumours over their fate. What worse news could August bring? Caroline wondered.
It brought not bad news, but significantly good. On 8th August in a major new assault British tanks burst through the German lines at Amiens.