All I Have To Give

Anxiety dogged Edith. It came out in her irritation. ‘Oh, just pack what you think, but remember, it will be very hot in Nice!’

Denise, who had been her mother’s maid, had flapped around, asking this and that question until it had driven Edith to distraction. Never one to have a maid, thinking it an unnecessary luxury when she could very well do things for herself, Edith had felt compelled to keep Denise employed. Mother would have expected that of her. Father had paid the woman a retainer until her future could be decided, or in the hope that she would find other employment, but the latter hadn’t happened, and now Edith felt stuck with her.

‘Sorry, Miss Edith. I am just unused to what you need. I knew exactly what your—’

‘Yes, yes. All right. Look, I’m the one to apologize. Forgive me. I’m being most rude. I trust your judgement, Denise. You have packed many times for Mother’s visits to Nice and have got it just right. I will leave it to you.’

Thank goodness, now I can concentrate. I must write to Laurent. Why haven’t I had a reply to my last letter? Is he safe? Did he feel disgust at my story? Did I do the right thing in telling him the truth about my babies’? She was full of questions and uncertainty.

Dear Laurent,

I hope this, my second letter, finds you safe. I will not say I am well, for how can anyone be well in the circumstances in which we find ourselves? And I have worried about you ever since I heard the news about the failed Nivelle offensive, in the Second Battle of Aisne. I have wondered if you were part of that. However, I continue to hold hope in my heart. I believe I would know if anything had happened to you.

It seems strange that such a short encounter between us could bind me to you as it has done. I pray that telling you the truth about my circumstances has not meant that you no longer wish to know me.

In my other life, I would not have been writing this letter, or have a memory of a kiss that changed me forever. But these are not normal times, and we must allow our hearts to lead us. I hope yours leads you to me . . .

Continuing to tell him of her plans, and giving him Marianne’s address, Edith finished the letter with the endearment:

My darling . . . Can I call you that? I know I am being most forward in doing so, but that is what you are to me. I am forever yours, Edith x

She blotted the page with her roller ink-blotter. A silly notion came to her. She would sprinkle the letter with her perfume. Laurent had no idea what her normal scent was. The day she met him, she must have had the smell of sweat and even vomit on her. A shudder went through her, as her intended journey that day came back to her. But then she allowed thoughts of Laurent to take her senses, as the memory of him holding her and the touch of his lips on hers came to her. Oh God! Please let him be safe!

In the six weeks since her conversation with Ada she’d made a great deal of progress in setting up her charity. She’d established an account in the name of ‘Jimmy’s Hope House’ and had made Eloise a trustee, along with Jay. She knew she could trust them to oversee the setting up of the home. Jay had even donated enough money for her to purchase a building, a disused warehouse in Hancock Street, Kensington.

Plans had been drawn up for its conversion and subject to their permission being granted – which was just a matter of rubber-stamping them as her uncle had used their standing to push them through – the purchase would be completed. Builders had already been engaged – again, Lord Mellor had seen to this – and were ready to move once the plans were approved.

In the meantime Eloise, despite being busy with her own charity, was finding time to work on engaging some old-school nannies to care for the children who would be housed in the home. And Jay had taken on the task of finding the right furniture and was doing a sterling job, choosing from catalogues and then showing his choices to Edith who, so far, had loved every one and had placed orders for their delivery on a date to be decided. Edith, meanwhile, had set about finding the equipment she would need for the clinic that was to be an integral part of the home.

All that remained was to find the children and young mothers who needed such a facility. She had thought about placing a discreet advertisement saying something along the lines of ‘Are you alone and expecting a child?’ or ‘Do you have children and can’t cope, through being made a widow?’ That kind of thing. She’d also thought about dropping leaflets into local doctors’ surgeries, or approaching the local papers about running a story about her home. Somehow she would get it off the ground.

Ada was working hard, learning about aspects of childcare so that she could command the respect of the nannies she was to manage. She was rising to the challenge, and the love she held inside her endeared her to the more experienced nannies that she was meeting as they were engaged. Ada had proven, too, that she was up to the admin side of the general management of the home, because already she had worked out the shifts that would be needed and had even put some rosters in place, marking the number of workers she would need on each shift. She’d said she would like the nannies and cleaners and cooks to choose which hours would best suit them. Edith had thought this might cause Ada a few problems when she actually put it into practice, but was willing to give her free rein and allow her to sort it out if it didn’t go to plan.

It all seemed possible now that Jimmy’s Hope House would really and truly come into being. For Edith, too, there was a sense of great relief and excitement about her own children coming to live there.

Descending the stairs, she went to place the letter to Laurent on the tray for posting, but thought better of it. She would enjoy the walk to the post office. A letter addressed to her lay on the platter. It looked official and held the stamp of the Guild of Surgeons. Opening it, she read the phrase ‘Shepherd’s Bush Military Hospital’. As she scanned the words, her heart lifted to see that she had been accepted to work on a part-time basis as a surgeon at the hospital. Built to care for wounded soldiers, Shepherd’s Bush Military Hospital had been largely founded due to the efforts of the noted surgeon Robert Jones, a friend of her father.

It seems everything is falling into place for me. If only I could hear from Laurent. And, even more so, from Petra! But whether she heard from Petra or not, she would call there on her return home and collect her twin girls. Nothing would stop her doing that. Her heart thudded at the prospect of holding them again.

Edith’s return to France shocked her. The peace had gone, and the reality of war was all around her. Now, everywhere she looked, there were gaunt-looking older men and wounded younger ones, plus women and children who looked as though they were on the verge of starvation. Buildings had a tired, uncared-for look about them, as if the life had been drained from them.

Edith did not say anything to this comment from Marianne. She knew the mutiny of French soldiers after the disastrous Battle of Aisne had greatly affected Marianne and so she did not want to open sore wounds. The French were once again enthusiastically engaged in battle with the Allies at Passchendaele, so the refusal to fight had passed.

Instead, changing the subject, Edith thought this a good time to broach the matter of the length of her stay. ‘Marianne, I hope you won’t think me rude if I only stay for six days, instead of the promised ten?’

‘What? Why is this, ma chère fille? I had hoped to persuade you to stay longer, not to cut short your visit!’

‘I’m sorry, but there is so much to do. I give a great deal of importance to my charity, and if I am not there, then the extra responsibility on Jay and Eloise is too much to ask. Eloise has her own charity to run.’

‘Oh, you girls! You are wonderful. It is no more than I expect of you. I should be doing work to help the war myself. I may well do so, now that travelling through my beloved France has shown me the devastation this war is wreaking on my people. I hadn’t realized. We’re so protected in the South.’

The six days passed at a snail’s pace for Edith. No letter had awaited her arrival, and none came during her time in Nice. Not from anyone. Her worry increased each day. Part of her wanted to go to Laurent’s mother, to try and find out how he was and whether he was still alive. But although he had worked, lived and studied in Paris, his mother lived in Perpignan, which lay towards the border with Spain, at the foot of the Pyrenees – in the opposite direction to where she must travel.

As Edith boarded the train to Bordeaux – a necessary ploy to prevent suspicions arising in Marianne – her heart felt heavy. She had no idea why Petra hadn’t contacted her. Checking with her bank before leaving England had told her that the cheque she had sent to Petra and Aleksi had been cashed. So why had there been no word. Why?

Changing trains en route, Edith boarded one for Paris. Once there, she would stay the night before finding a suitable mode of transport to take her the thirty miles or so to the farm, which lay in the remote countryside of the Chaumont-en-Vexin area. The remoteness of the farm also made her journey difficult; it was only accessible by horse-driven vehicle or car, or on foot. No train went within miles of it. If she couldn’t hire someone to take her, then she would have to buy a car, if that was possible. What if she got lost? If only Petra had answered her letters; through contact with them, she could have told them of her plans and Aleksi would have come to pick her up in Paris.

Letting her head flop back and shifting her bottom, which had become stiff like a rock, she allowed her eyes to close. It would take another four hours to get to Paris. Her bones ached with the strain of the journey, and her stomach churned over and over with trepidation. Please don’t let anything have happened to my babies . . . please!

The night in Paris was a restless one. After a welcome and delicious dinner, during which Edith had seen that, as a lone woman, she was the subject of much speculation among the other guests, she had taken a bath and tried to relax. But her thoughts and fears had given her no peace.

Now, having risen at seven, she had breakfasted in her room – a plush, overbearing suite, with its dull beige walls a backdrop for even duller pictures of Parisian scenes in heavy gold frames. Add to this the purple silk drapes around the bed and adorning the windows, and the overall impression was that of a funeral parlour. Sighing, Edith realized how tired she felt and was unsure of her next move. Crossing over to the window, her feet sank into the over-patterned, thick beige and purple carpet.

Outside the sun shimmered weakly, shrouded in misty, floating clouds. The street below bustled with people, horses, carriages and cars. How strange the contrast in life was. Not two hundred miles away, men fought valiantly, dying in their thousands, to preserve this way of life and save this city from occupation, and yet life went on. As it must for her. What to do next? How am I to get to the farm? Her eyes rested on a cab. Horse-drawn, it would take at least two hours to get her to the farm, but it seemed her only option. It wasn’t a prospect she relished, as much of the terrain was very rough going, and it would mean she would be bruised and sore by the time she reached her destination. Once there, though, Aleksi would hopefully bring her and her children back to Paris, to begin her journey home.

Her mind now made up, she tugged on the bell-cord and instructed the porter who attended her to engage the cab and take her luggage down for her.

At last Edith could see the farm. Her heartbeat quickened, her body shifted to the edge of her seat and, sliding the window down, she peered out. Where were the cows? Had Aleksi not let them out of the barn yet? They were just yards away from the farm now and yet she could not hear the hens. But then would she, over the hooves of the horses?

Reining in the horses, the cab driver looked down at her and asked in bewilderment, ‘Is this the place? I have followed your directions, but it looks deserted. Are you intending to stay here, Madame?’

‘Madame?’ He was at the door. He was a stocky man in his forties. ‘Madame, I have to get back. Are you alighting or not?’

‘Look. Will you return for me in two days’ time? I will pay you well. I must stay. I must make enquiries in the area as to what has happened to my friends.’ Somehow she managed to compose herself, even though inside she was screaming in panic: Where are they? Where are my babies? Where are Petra and Aleksi? Oh God, my babies, my babies.

Thankful to have found the key where Aleksi always left it, hanging on a nail behind an old coat that hung in one of the outbuildings, Edith was at last alone. The kindly driver had been like a father-figure to her and had wanted to check that there were supplies for her before he left.

Oh yes, there were supplies. The pantry held enough food to sustain her for days: cheeses, preserves, flour and yeast, a ham even, hanging from the ceiling. Cured and dried, it would have lasted for months, but combined with the freshness of the cheese and eggs and the lack of growth sprouting from the potatoes, Edith knew Petra and Aleksi couldn’t have left the farm many days before her arrival. But they must have planned it, as all the livestock had gone – they must have sold everything.

As she moved frantically from room to room, her cries of pain and anguish echoed around the empty building. But nothing gave her any clues. There was nothing to tell her what had happened, and no leftover clothes or possessions of Petra’s or Aleksi’s, or her darling children’s personal belongings. Most cupboards, drawers and wardrobes were empty.

Going back down the rickety stairs and into the living and kitchen area, she saw, through tears that stung her eyes, a letter propped up against the still-ticking clock. Her name was scrawled across the front of the envelope. As she ripped it open, hope rose inside her, but it wasn’t from Petra:

My dearest Edith,

I am leaving this here in ease you ever return. I have not heard from you, but I will not give up hope. I came here just as soon as I could. Today is 17th July 1917. . .

With shaking hands, Edith read on, hoping for a clue as to where Laurent might be now:

When I found the place deserted, I searched around the usual places for a key and found it. I have to confess it lifted my heart when I also found fresh food. This must mean that you haven’t left long ago, and that someone plans on returning. I hope whoever lives here does return and, if it is not you, they will make sure you receive this letter.

By now your child will have been born, and I hope he or she is safe and well. I guess you may have returned to England?

One day, my darling girl, we will be together. Whatever troubles you will be behind you.

I am joining my regiment, and the British and Allied forces at Passchendaele. I hope this Third Battle of Ypres will end this bloody, senseless war. If it does, and I survive, I will seek you out and I will not give up on finding you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. For we are nothing when we’re not together.

Love needs no time. Love comes when we least expect it. Love is eternal.

Laurent x

‘Oh God . . . Oh God!’ Her fists thumped the table, her tears soaked her face, but she did not care. Her open-mouthed sobs racked her throat. Her pain deepened into despair. Laurent hadn’t received her letters and still didn’t know the truth about her. What would he think when he did? Oh, Laurent . . . Laurent. And my babies – my babies . . .

23

Edith