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By the end of the week, it became evident something terribly evil plagued my husband. The slightest loud noise caused him to jump. He woke me up multiple times in the night with night terrors, screaming in a chilling roar. Each time, it took me at least an hour to comfort him before he could sleep again.
When I tried to display any affection such as a simple kiss, he spurned my actions. During the day, instead of bonding with his son or paying attention to the baby, he remained detached. For hours he would hide in his study for solitude, giving Carter orders to keep his decanter full of brandy.
Florence begged Doctor Reyer to spend some time with Benedict alone to ascertain his state of mind. One evening during dinner drinks, he took the opportunity. It appeared to be a short conversation, because ten minutes afterward, Benedict stormed down the hallway to his study and slammed the door.
Martin and Hugo joined us in the parlor later, and I could tell by the look on their faces the news would not be good. Doctor Reyer sat down and with a somber face gave his opinion.
“The baron definitely suffers from a severe case of battle fatigue. If I were you, I would recommend he not return to France. His regiment commander should be directly apprised of his condition.”
“It’s terribly alarming,” Hugo interjected. “I felt sorry for the man.”
“What can be done?” Florence asked.
“To be frank, he needs to be hospitalized.”
“Hospitalized?” I balked. The thought sent shivers through my veins. “Are you suggesting my husband should be placed in an asylum?”
“I won’t hear of it!” Florence recoiled in horror. “Surely being home with his family for another two weeks will help alleviate his tension.”
Doctor Reyer shook his head negatively. “I wouldn’t count on a mere two weeks, Lady Russell. These recoveries, under the right medical supervision, can take months if not years. I’m finding many of these soldiers end up discharged as a result of their inability to return to duty.”
“I’m sorry, but I think it’s too early in Benedict’s return to jump to any conclusions as to what should be done,” I replied in a tone of respect instead of the seething anger flowing in my veins. “I agree with Florence that such drastic measures are out of the question. He needs family, rest, and to be around those who love him. I cannot under any circumstances relegate my husband to a mental hospital.”
Florence nodded her head in agreement, showing she approved of my edict.
“If you feel that strongly, then I shall not interfere. However, I would at least make it a point to write to his commanding officer and ask for an extension of his leave if anything.”
“We can agree to that course of action,” Florence replied. “Don’t you think that’s wise, Grace?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’d rather he not return at all if I had my way.” Concerned that Benedict had stormed off to be alone, I rose to my feet. “If you will excuse me,” I announced. “I’m going to check on my husband.”
As I strode down the hallway to his study, I stubbornly refused to believe he needed anything except rest and love. When I reached the door, I softly knocked and opened it a crack.
“May I come in?” My head peeked around the doorframe.
“If you wish,” he responded in a monotone fashion.
Slowly I walked up to his desk and sat down in a chair facing him. He had a glass of brandy, which he picked up and brought to his lips. It broke my heart to see his hand trembling as he did so.
“You’ve been drinking a lot since you came home,” I calmly remarked. “Do you think that is wise?”
His eyes narrowed at me, and he slammed the glass down on the desktop. “I don’t give a damn if it’s wise of not. It settles my nerves.”
My arrival had disturbed his moment alone, and I questioned whether I should have come to speak with him. Having expressed his irritable mood, I kept my voice calm and affectionate.
“Percy misses you. He’s been asking for his daddy, and the baby...” As I spoke, I could see the irritation in his eyes increase.
“I can’t handle it right now, Grace. A bothersome child, a crying baby, and that damn Belgian girl running our hallways, yelling at the top of her lungs. I came home for peace, damn it!”
My heart broke watching his face contort into a menacing sneer. Softly I whispered to him with pleading eyes. “What has happened to my dear husband?”
He stared at me for some time as if I were daft. Perhaps I should have known what had happened, what horrors he had seen, what atrocities, noise, and death had surrounded him for months on end. However, my life had been far from the reality of the trenches as I lived safely in our home every day while he gave his life to protect it.
His hand fiddled with the glass on the top of his desk for a few moments. He lifted his eyes and spoke.
“You want to know what happens on the battlefield, Grace? I’ll tell you.” He leaned forward on the desktop and stared intently into my eyes. “Bombs explode around you, blowing up the landscape along with soldiers and horses. Afterward, your ears ring and you go partially deaf when one explodes a few yards away, and you’re lucky enough to survive the flying shrapnel. Others who were too close have their legs and arms ripped off or their faces disfigured. Germans with machine guns riddle young boys with bullet holes, leaving them dead or dying a slow death in agony lying in the mud. I ordered them to advance in the line of fire. I’ve killed Germans, plenty of Germans, some begging for my mercy, and I gladly murdered them anyway. The mud, rain, and heat of the summer changes to the cold and snow in the winter. Boys lucky enough to dodge bullets die from dysentery instead. The stench of rotting corpses and human waste fills the air.” His eyes grew wide with rage. “And the worst part? It goes on and on, battles for hours, with no reprieve. And all we have gained is a few centimeters into the enemy’s territory.”
“Oh dear God,” I groaned. The sights and smells he described overwhelmed me.
“It’s hell, Grace! It’s hell on earth!”
Benedict’s voice boomed at me, causing me to flinch. In all our years together, I had no reason to fear Benedict, but in his eyes, I saw a disturbing glint of insanity.
“Please, darling, don’t go back,” I pleaded with a trembling voice. “Tell your commanding officer you are ill and cannot return.”
“They will brand me a coward,” he grimly replied.
“Then get medical help.”
“My ancestors will think me a weakling.”
“Your ancestors?” I spat. Instantly I hated every picture of his descendants that hung in the estate. It was an argument he always brought up. Centuries of brave men who fought Napoleon or wherever else the British Empire found conflict. “Yes, I know your ancestors were all military men, but they are dead, Benedict. You have nothing to prove to anyone and a family who cares and loves you. There is no shame in getting help.”
“You sound like that damn surgeon whatever his name is,” he snarled.
Suddenly I felt helpless. My pleas fell on deaf ears and a proud heart, albeit a wounded one.
“If you insist on returning, then rest,” I pleaded. “Please rest while you are here.”
“I can’t. Everything in this household irritates me to no end. The children, my mother, the servants scurrying around, even Carter and his booming voice. I despise the man.”
“And me?” He had purposely left me out of his list of irritations, but I knew I fit in there somewhere.
“Leave me alone, Grace. Go back and tend to the children.”
As I gazed at him staring into his empty glass, the urge to shake him by the shoulders tempted me. Embarrassed at my lack of tolerance and understanding for his disorder, I pondered what, if anything, I could do to help. There would be no quiet in the household, but I didn’t wish him placed in a hospital either. Then I remembered the one location of peace on the estate.
“Go to the hunting cottage and stay there, Benedict. No one will bother you. It will be peaceful, and you can sleep and relax to your heart’s content.” It was a valid suggestion, and I thought it a good plan. “You can take walks, enjoy the wildlife, smell the clean, fresh air, and take the time to forget the horrors of war.”
He lifted his head and gave me an agreeable nod. “I would like that,” he responded.
“Wonderful.” I rose to my feet. “I’ll tell the housekeeper to ready the cottage for your stay in the morning.” A burden lifted from my shoulders, knowing I had thought of another plan to help him recuperate while at home.
His sudden change of heart encouraged me. For a brief second I noticed a slight grin brighten his face. Perhaps I had found the answer to his current dilemma.
* * * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I accompanied Benedict to the cottage. We loaded the car with everything we thought he would need and added a few books for his reading enjoyment. When I arrived, I desperately tried to push away the memories of my illicit affair with Stefan. It wasn’t the time to think about the past or to wallow in my regrets. Instead, my husband needed me, and I focused on him and our new baby.
As the driver helped to unload the car, I accompanied Benedict inside. My husband did not bring up the subject of Stefan’s former occupancy, so neither did I.
“I had forgotten this cottage altogether,” he remarked. He glanced around at the furnishings, walked to the bedroom, and returned to look out the front window, shaded by the overhang of the porch. The days were getting cooler, so I knew the interior would be comfortable.
“There are plenty of blankets in the closet and extra pillows if you need them,” I announced. “Carter has stocked wood for the fireplace in case you need to take off the chill.” When the driver brought in the basket of food from the kitchen, he came to my side to look at its contents. “You will join us for dinner each evening, won’t you? I’ll have the chauffeur pick you up at seven if that’s convenient.”
“I’ll eat here,” he replied in a sullen tone. “I don’t wish to be with people right now.”
Hurt he had decided to forgo time with the family, I took his hand in mine. His brow furrowed over my touch, and he looked into my eyes.
“May I stay with you this evening?”
“Why?”
“To comfort you, Benedict.”
He shook his head negatively and pulled his hand from mine. “I want to be on my own.”
Disappointed at his spurning remarks, I wanted to leave straightaway. I glanced around and noticed all the supplies we had brought were inside. He had walked over to the window and stared at the landscape. Without asking for permission, I put my arms around him and gave him a lingering hug. He stood rigid and unmoving. Helpless that I could not reach him in any fashion, I relinquished my hold and walked to the door.
“I love you, darling. Get rest, and I’ll come back and check on you in the morning.” He did not appear to welcome another visit and flashed a disagreeable glare in my direction. “Well, perhaps not tomorrow,” I said, correcting my plans. “I will be back in a few days.”
After saying my goodbyes, I climbed back in the car. For the first time in my life, I bit my nails on my right hand. I felt utterly powerless to help him and terrified for the future.
