Major Hamish Stewart-Murray’s Cameron Highlanders are advancing towards the Marne river. Close by, his brother Geordie’s battalion of the Black Watch are part of the same deployment. Both battalions have reached Saint-Ouen-sur-Morin, where they camp for the night. Hamish and Geordie have not seen one another since they had dinner together in London and indulged in their night of debauchery at the Langham Hotel with the girls from Selfridges.
Sister Margaret Killingbeck and her Queen Alexandra’s nurses have been travelling with the Camerons since they coincided in Bavay two weeks ago. Margaret and Hamish have become close since the trauma of the death of Captain Philip Davies of the Welch Fusiliers, but it has remained a platonic relationship. Margaret’s personal circumstances are a mystery to Hamish. She has revealed little of her status or background, and Hamish has chosen not to probe.
All three have been billeted in the town’s main hotel, the Auberge de la Source, and have agreed to have dinner together. The auberge is an old coaching inn and would be an idyllic location for a convivial stay, were it not for the fact that a calamitous battle is taking place only a few miles away. Nevertheless, the proprietor is hurrying from table to table, serving the best of his kitchen and cellar, just like he did only last week for German officers.
Margaret is anxious and feeling a little guilty. She is a farmer’s daughter from Muker, a tiny village high in Swaledale, the most remote of all the Yorkshire Dales. Fine dining played no part in her upbringing and has only been an occasional part of her life in recent years when, as a senior nurse at Guy’s Hospital in London, some of the wealthier doctors took her out to the West End. She left her childhood sweetheart in Swaledale and has since enjoyed only an occasional, inconsequential fling. She joined Queen Alexandra’s nurses in 1912, but this is her first overseas posting.
‘I must be back to relieve one of my girls at eleven. She’s been on duty since this morning without a break.’
‘Of course, Margaret, we understand. Geordie is off early tomorrow, so we should all have an early night.’
Margaret is a little overawed. Meeting one son of a duke was disconcerting; now she is having dinner with two of them. Their self-confident bearing and impeccable manners are disconcerting, but she likes the look of Geordie; he has a nice smile and is warmer than Hamish.
‘So, Geordie, do you have titles like Hamish?’
‘Well, yes, but it’s very complicated. I’m the second son and will only inherit if Bardie, our elder brother, gets on the wrong end of a German bullet. As for Hamish here, he will have to wait for both of us to go. We’ve also got three sisters, all older than us, but they can’t inherit the dukedom, only the boys.’
‘Seems unfair.’
‘You may well be right, but tradition is a difficult thing to change.’
‘It’s a big family.’
‘It is; Father’s a prodigious old stag.’
‘And do you all get along?’
‘More or less. Helen, our second-eldest sister, rules the roost and keeps us all in order. But what about your family?’
Geordie is not as reticent about delving into Margaret’s past. Hamish is all ears; he is hoping, finally, to hear more about the intriguing Sister Margaret.
‘I’m a simple farmer’s daughter. We have sheep in one of the prettiest places in England. I suspect it’s not unlike your part of the world.’
‘So what brought you to nursing?’
‘I did well at school, the teacher took a shine to me, but Muker was too small for my ambitions. It’s a tiny place, fifteen miles up the valley of the Swale, with no mains water and no electricity. The same families have lived there for generations. We even have our own language that only the locals understand!’
‘That’s interesting, we were all taught Gaelic as children. Perhaps your local language is similar?’
‘I’m not sure; I think ours is just Old English. Most Pennine folk have their own words.’
‘So you left your little village?’
‘Yes, I went down the valley to the Friary, a small hospital in Richmond, and fell in love with nursing. Then I went to Guy’s Hospital in London and joined Queen Alex’s two years ago.’
Hamish wants to learn more and risks asking a rather impertinent question.
‘So what’s your ambition after nursing? To start a family perhaps?’
Margaret is maddened that Hamish’s only thought about her future is that she might want to ‘start a family’.
‘What, and bring children into this? I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
‘That’s a bit melancholy, isn’t it, Margaret?’
‘Is it? You should try dealing with what I deal with every day. Yesterday, I had to patch up a boy who had lost his right foot and taken a bullet in the abdomen. He’ll live, but will never have children and will pee like a woman for the rest of his life.’
Hamish and Geordie gulp and look down at their menus.
‘I’m sorry, but I have to cope with that kind of thing all the time.’
Geordie sees that the evening’s conviviality is rapidly disappearing and changes the subject.
‘I hear the French are doing rather well up ahead. I think we should have some champagne to celebrate. And I’m tempted by the chateaubriand. Who’ll join me?’
They all choose the chateaubriand, a rare treat, and soon the champagne, prime beef and a bottle of Burgundy get the evening back on track. Smiles begin to soften Margaret’s face as she relaxes into the evening. But exactly on cue, at ten thirty, duty calls and she says her goodbyes, leaving Hamish and Geordie to drink cognac alone.
‘So, Hamish, how long have you been pursuing her?’
‘Two weeks.’
‘She’s a corker! A bit frigid, but a few pokes with what you’ve got under your kilt will sort that.’
‘I’m not wearing a kilt, Geordie –’
‘I know that; I’m talking metaphorically, dearest brother.’
‘Well, the problem is, I don’t think she likes me very much. I think she’s intrigued – Scottish lord, and all that – but that’s about it.’
‘Well, that’ll do for a start. Try and get your leave to Blighty to coincide with hers. Give her a dinner in the West End, take her back to Eaton Square, show her our illustrious ancestors on the wall and she’ll swoon – guaranteed!’
Hamish is not convinced and looks forlorn.
‘Perhaps … but the trouble is, I want her now. God knows when we’ll get leave.’
‘Listen, she’ll come round; she just needs a bit more warming up. She’s a bit of a suffragette type. No more talk about starting a family; that went down like a lead balloon!’
‘I know, but I’m not very good with the modern girl – too clever for me. Anyway, when are you off?’
‘At six o’clock sharp. The CO has promised us a ding-dong with Fritz tomorrow.’
‘Well, keep your head down if it comes to it. I don’t want you getting a bullet through that thick skull of yours.’
‘It would bounce off! Don’t fuss so.’
Hamish then remembers to tell Geordie the conclusion to a story he began back in June.
‘By the way, do you remember the story I told you about Henriette Caillaux, shooting that newspaper chap in Paris?’
‘Indeed I do; extraordinary business.’
‘Well, she got off scot-free!’
‘Good God! On what basis?’
‘Crime of passion. Her lawyer said that women’s emotions mean they are incapable of premeditation. Therefore, the shooting was an act driven by feminine passion, which was the only feasible explanation. She walked from court a free woman surrounded by hundreds of well-wishers.’
‘Hell’s bells! Couldn’t happen in England.’
‘I know; we are going to give them the bloody vote, and the French think that they’re not capable of thinking straight. Strange world, isn’t it?’
The two brothers shake hands formally, but Hamish puts his hand on his elder brother’s shoulder just as he turns to leave.
‘Be careful, big brother.’
‘I will. And you make sure to get some Scottish beef between the legs of that nurse before she becomes an old spinster. It’ll do her the world of good.’