As spring finally blossomed all over England, the mood of the country began to lift. Hope, seemingly irrepressible, was found again, albeit in small and surprising things. Anne Sanderson smiled to read in the newspaper of a new season of opera at Covent Garden; for the last four years it had been used as a furniture repository for the Ministry of Works. The days were longer and April was one of the warmest on record, and Eleanor thought once more of the garden.
“I thought I might do a bit of work in the garden,” she said one morning in early April, as they all sat down to breakfast. “It’s looking so bedraggled lately.”
Anne looked up with a smile. “I think that’s a splendid idea.”
“I don’t know why we need anything particular done to the garden,” Katherine said as she gave her soft-boiled egg a rather hard tap with her spoon. “It’s perfectly adequate as it is. And in any case,” she added, turning to Eleanor, “you’ve never cared a tuppence for the garden before.”
Eleanor shrugged. It was true, she hadn’t involved herself with any gardening work before, but she liked the idea now. She liked the idea of restoring something to the way it was before the war.
“Let Eleanor have an interest, Katherine,” Anne said gently. “It will be good for her.”
“She’ll stop as soon as she realizes it’s dirty, mucky work,” Katherine answered. “She’s like a butterfly – she flits from one thing to another.”
“Let her flit,” Andrew answered with a laugh. “It’s who Eleanor is.” Which didn’t, she thought, sound like much of a compliment.
“Perhaps we could ask Mr Lyman for some seed catalogues,” Anne suggested. “We’d need to get someone in to do the heavy digging – he’s not able any longer, poor man.”
Eleanor didn’t much like the sound of heavy digging, and poring through seed catalogues seemed a rather dull activity, but after Katherine’s criticism she knew she could hardly back out now. “It all sounds very exciting,” she said brightly, and ignored the sceptical huff Katherine gave.
“If you really want a project,” Katherine said to Eleanor, her gaze narrowed, “you could come up to Carlisle with me and help. Surely the poor and unfortunate are more worthy of our time than a few flowers?”
“Oh, Katherine,” Anne said on a sigh and Katherine jutted her chin.
“You don’t disagree with me, Mother?”
“I don’t disagree with the need for both things,” Anne said with gentle diplomacy. “Beauty and service.”
“I’ll go with you, if you want me to so much,” Eleanor said, surprising herself. She had no desire to go to Carlisle, and certainly none to spend a day in Katherine’s bitter company. But she was tired of her sister’s constant digs. She could prove herself charitable, she decided. For a day, at least.
Katherine looked as surprised as she felt, and then discomfited. Eleanor doubted her sister wanted to spend a day together any more than she did.
“Very well,” Katherine said and rose from the table. “The train leaves in half an hour.” She left the room, Eleanor noticed, without eating her breakfast. Wearily she pushed away her own plate of toast. There was no jam and she wasn’t hungry anyway.
Half an hour later they were boarding the train to Carlisle, taking seats in a second-class carriage. Eleanor gazed out the window at the rolling fields dotted with wild flowers, the sun shining down with benevolent promise, and wished she had not so rashly agreed to help Katherine. She did not look forward to the prospect of spending the entire day in some draughty hall, sorting through overcoats that smelled of mildew or mothballs.
“What exactly do you do to help?” she asked, and Katherine looked up from her book, her expression severe and yet also strangely guarded.
“I’ve been volunteering with the Blinded Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Care Committee.”
Eleanor simply stared for a moment before she finally found her voice. “But… I thought you were helping with orphans. Sorting clothes and the like.”
“I was,” Katherine said. “But then the Care Committee started up and needed volunteers, and I think I’m more useful helping the veterans. They need to retrain to find jobs, and I help to teach them useful skills.”
Eleanor was still flummoxed. “What kind of useful skills?”
“Oh, many things. Basket-weaving and boot-making. You’d be amazed at what they can learn. Even how to be a telephone operator or a typist.”
“A typist—”
“They use special Braille typewriters.”
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “And you can help with that?”
Katherine lifted her chin. “I’ve learned, over the last few months. The Care Committee is desperate for trained volunteers, so they’ve helped me to learn. It’s quite specialist, but I’ve had some practice.”
“Goodness,” Eleanor said as she sat back against the seat. “I had no idea you were doing all that in Carlisle.”
“It’s more than you’ve been doing back at home,” Katherine answered starchily, “moping about and endlessly rereading Walter’s letters.”
Eleanor blinked, stung. “Don’t let’s fight,” she said in a quieter tone. “Honestly, Katherine, I’m impressed. Typing, and in Braille! I never would have thought it.” Katherine just shrugged. “Does Mother know? And Father?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No. And I’d rather you didn’t tell them.”
“Do you think they would mind?” A few years ago, helping young men in any fashion would have been unseemly, but now? The war had changed things, but how much Eleanor didn’t really know.
“I don’t know, but I’d rather not find out,” Katherine answered. “I like being useful, and if you saw some of these men…” She trailed off, biting her lip, and Eleanor asked: “Does James know?”
“No,” Katherine answered, looking away. “But I doubt he very much cares in any case.”
Eleanor wanted to ask something more; it was rare for Katherine to be so forthcoming. But something about the way her sister stared out the window, biting her lip, made her stop. Katherine looked vulnerable, even fragile, and Eleanor didn’t think she would welcome any more questions, especially about James.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey into Carlisle, and when they alighted at the station Katherine led Eleanor confidently through the throngs of people to the road outside.
Eleanor clutched her reticule, discomfited by how many people there were compared to Goswell – and how many veterans. Goswell had its fair share, of course, but here there seemed to be a man on every street corner, one with a missing limb, his trouser leg pinned neatly over the emptiness; another man with a garishly painted tin mask covering his scarred face, looking like something out of a nightmare circus. Even the men who were whole, dressed in their Sunday best, had bitterness etched on every line of their haggard faces.
Eleanor was stunned into silence.
Katherine walked briskly across Court Square to the elegant Station Hotel; Eleanor had only been in once before, for tea with her aunt who had been visiting from Leeds.
“They’re here—” she began in surprise and Katherine silenced her with a swift nod.
“Yes, the proprietor has given over one of the salons to the Care Committee. He’s very generous.” And with another nod for the bellhop who stood by the front door – the man, Eleanor saw, was missing an arm – she walked inside. Eleanor followed.
The lobby of the hotel was one of the most elegant rooms Eleanor had ever seen, with a huge chandelier and sweeping staircases leading to the floor above. Katherine walked past the few guests seated on the silk-striped divans and armchairs to a set of doors at the back; she opened them and Eleanor was greeted by an entirely different scene. The large, airy salon had been cleared of the hotel’s furniture and filled with long, wooden trestle tables, each one set with several black, boxy-looking typewriters.
“But I don’t know how to type,” she whispered to Katherine. “And certainly not in Braille! How can I possibly help?”
“You can watch,” Katherine answered. “And if you keep at it, you can even learn, as I did. In the meantime you can distribute the tea at eleven, when they have their break.” With that she hung up her coat and hat and greeted the matron who looked to be in charge; Eleanor was introduced and instructed to observe Katherine for the morning.
She did so, trying not to stare at the men who filed into the room, a hand on the shoulder of the man in front of them, and sat down at the benches by every table; she knew they couldn’t see her but she thought they could probably feel it if someone was staring. They looked, she thought, like ordinary men, neatly shaven, a bit blank-eyed, but most with ready smiles. They took off their jackets and hung them on the backs of their chairs; they chatted with one another and the matron who greeted them briskly.
Katherine, Eleanor saw in amazement, was transformed. Instead of being severe and even sullen, as she was at home, she became businesslike and cheerful, moving around the room as she patiently showed the men how to find the keys and type out simple sentences, teasing them gently when they made a mistake, keeping them from feeling the frustration and despair that Eleanor was sure must constantly threaten. The room was soon full of the noisy sound of clacking typewriters.
Eleanor watched the men slowly learning this new skill, men who had years or even months ago been whole and healthy, able to both see and dream. Who would have ever thought they’d be reduced to this? she thought. And suddenly she felt near tears.
At eleven o’clock the matron rang a bell and Eleanor went to collect a tea trolley. She wheeled it beside each table, pouring cups of tea from a large brown pot that was so heavy, at first she struggled to lift it. The first time she simply held a cup out, and the veteran in front of her did not respond; belatedly she realized that, of course, he couldn’t see what she was doing.
“Time for tea,” she said in a weak attempt at Katherine’s cheerfulness, and with her own hands shaking she guided the cup into the man’s hands.
“Thank you, Miss.”
She continued down the aisle, the threat of tears still present as she continued to pour cups of tea and guide them into the waiting veterans’ hands. By the time she finished serving at half past eleven she was exhausted. She sank onto the bench next to Katherine, who reached over and poured them both cups, pressing one into Eleanor’s hands.
“There you are,” she said, and she sounded almost affectionate.
“I don’t know how you do this every day,” Eleanor said in a low voice. “How do you keep your heart from breaking?”
Katherine took a sip of tea and looked away. “Perhaps it’s already broken,” she said.
After the tea break the men exchanged typing lessons for boot-making. Katherine took the opportunity to sit Eleanor down in front of one of the typewriters, and she had her first lesson.
“I don’t know how you ever learned this,” she exclaimed after an hour’s laborious work, and Katherine laughed.
“I’ve been doing it for over a year.”
“And you never said a word—”
She shrugged. “I don’t know if Mother and Father would approve.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
Another shrug and Katherine played with the keys of the typewriter. “I don’t know. Perhaps I just wanted a secret. Something I could call my own.”
“I think they’d be proud of you,” Eleanor said. “To do so much! And James, too. If you told him—”
“Don’t let’s talk about all that,” Katherine cut her off. She rose from her chair and smoothed her skirt. “The men are coming back in. Why don’t you come and chat with them? They’ll like your cheerfulness, I’m sure.”
Which was as encouraging as Katherine had ever been to her. As the men came back in and sat down, Eleanor did her best to chat with a few of them.
She spoke to Harry Abrams of the Third Battalion of the Border Regiment, who had lost his sight in a gas attack at the village of Gheluvelt in Belgium. “But it could have been worse, Miss,” he said with a crooked smile. “Forty-six of my mates and seven officers died that day.”
“That’s terrible,” Eleanor said quietly. She had known of the war’s major battles and their terrible losses, but hearing it stated so simply by this soldier made it more real, more horrible. She’d never even heard of Gheluvelt, and yet so many had died there. “And what are you hoping to do?” she asked, injecting some brightness into her voice. “Do you fancy becoming a bootmaker?”
“I quite like the typing, myself,” Harry admitted rather shyly. “But it takes a lot of practice.”
“Doesn’t it just! My sister is trying to teach me, but I feel as if I’m all thumbs. And, of course, I don’t read Braille.”
“It comes to you, eventually,” Harry answered with a smile. “I never thought I’d get the hang of it.”
“You must be very clever,” Eleanor said. “I was never much good at school.”
“Nor was I, but needs must,” he answered cheerfully, and Eleanor almost admired his optimistic determination. She could not feel it herself, and she did not have the struggles this man had.
“Have you family nearby?” she asked, and then could have kicked herself, for the man’s smile faltered.
“My mother is still alive, but I don’t like to worry her.” He paused, and then added quietly, “And I had a fiancée. Edna.” He took a creased photograph from his breast pocket and handed it to Eleanor; she glanced down at the image of a light-haired woman with wide eyes and a playful, secretive smile. “She broke it off when I came back. I understood, of course. Not many women want to marry a blind man.”
“More fool her,” Eleanor said staunchly, and Harry’s mouth lifted once more.
“It’s nice of you to say, Miss. I’m glad to know that at least one pretty young lady thinks that of me.”
“But you don’t actually know if I’m pretty,” Eleanor teased, and Harry’s smile deepened, revealing a dimple in one cheek.
“Even a blind man knows when he’s talking to a pretty young lady, Miss.”
Eleanor laughed, even as her heart twisted. Harry’s story was so heartbreakingly sad, and yet he was so cheerful. The contrariness of it made her insides ache with a strange sorrow, twined with a surprising joy.
Lunch was a vegetable stew with bread; rationing still meant meat and butter were in short supply but the food was hearty enough and the men ate it up with relish. Katherine and Eleanor ate at a separate table for the female volunteers; Eleanor simply listened as her sister chatted with several other young women who helped as she did.
By four o’clock she was utterly exhausted and yet strangely unwilling to return to Goswell and the comforting confines of the vicarage. She didn’t think she would find the house or life the same again.
“Do you think you’ll come again?” Katherine asked as she buttoned her coat.
“I don’t know,” Eleanor answered honestly. “I don’t know how you stand it day after day. The hopelessness of it all.”
Katherine turned to give her a sharp look. “Did it seem that hopeless to you? Those men are learning skills, Eleanor. They’re finding a future. That’s not hopelessness to my thinking.”
“I know that.” Eleanor swallowed and thought of Harry Abrams, who had said goodbye to her as she’d gone for her coat. How he’d known she’d been near him she couldn’t fathom, but he’d turned his head as she’d walked by, and lifted his hand in farewell. “They show such immense courage and resourcefulness,” she said to Katherine. “But they’re blind—”
“As are thousands of other men. At least they came back.” She walked out into Court Square, and chastened, Eleanor followed.
They boarded the train in silence; the mellow, golden light of late afternoon was spreading across the countryside like syrup.
Eleanor leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She felt stimulated but also overwhelmed; this was why she’d stayed in her room, she knew: to hide from all the horrors of a world she no longer knew or understood. But she wasn’t a child, and she couldn’t hide any more. Katherine had seen to that, and Eleanor didn’t know whether to be grateful or sorry that she had.
She felt Katherine’s gloved hand on her shoulder and she closed her eyes even tighter, not wanting to cry on the train, or in front of her sister.
“It will get better,” Katherine said quietly.
With her eyes still shut Eleanor asked in a suffocated whisper: “Has it got better for you?”
Katherine let out a little sigh. “A bit,” she said, and squeezed Eleanor’s shoulder.
As they left the train at Goswell, Eleanor thought how sleepy and peaceful the village seemed; smoke curled from a chimney towards a still-blue sky and the only sound besides the train chugging towards the sea was the gentle bleating of sheep.
Eleanor felt contradictory desires to go back to Carlisle and to stay in Goswell forever, hiding away from all the unpleasantness, all the suffering.
Katherine had started walking towards home, and impulsively Eleanor laid a hand on her arm. “Thank you for taking me,” she said, and Katherine just nodded.
The house was quiet as they let themselves in; Tilly bustled towards them as they took off their coats and hats in the hall.
“Your father’s just gone outside,” she said with an air of excitement. “It seems he might have found a gardener!”
“A gardener…” Eleanor repeated blankly. That morning she had been expecting to pore over seed catalogues for most of the day. Suddenly it seemed rather ridiculously trivial.
“So who has Father found,” Katherine asked, “as a matter of interest?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t recognize him, at any rate. But the Begbys recommended him, it seems. He did a bit of work for them up at their farm.”
Katherine nodded absently and headed upstairs. “I think I’ll have a rest before dinner,” she said, and then paused with one hand on the railing. “Has Mr Freybourn been to call, Tilly?”
Tilly’s face fell a little, although she quickly rearranged her expression into something more like a smile. “Not today, Miss Katherine, I’m afraid.”
“I see,” Katherine said, and continued walking upstairs.
Eleanor felt too restless to go upstairs to sit or read; her mind still seethed with all she’d seen and learned today. She reached for her coat again.
“Miss Eleanor, you’re not going out again?” Tilly exclaimed.
“Just to see Grandmama,” Eleanor said. “I want to tell her about today.”
Although, Eleanor reflected as she walked towards Bower House, she wasn’t sure she should tell her grandmother everything she’d done today. Katherine still wanted it to be a secret, to have something of her own. Eleanor wouldn’t take that away from her.
“Eleanor.” Elizabeth smiled and took her hands as Eleanor came into the house. “You look tired, my dear, and a bit pale.”
“I’ve had a long day,” Eleanor admitted. “I went to Carlisle with Katherine.”
Elizabeth nodded and settled herself in a chair opposite her granddaughter; in the months since Walter’s death she too had become tired and pale, her face more drawn and haggard than it had been when hope had still prevailed.
“I hope it was edifying for you, at least,” she said with a tired smile. “Your father has been busy, you know, with this idea of yours to enliven the garden.”
“Yes. Tilly said.” Eleanor rose from the chair, pacing the room as she twisted her hands together. “It seems so silly now, to think about a garden, with everything the way it is.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Can we not have gardens in this brave new world of ours?”
Eleanor smiled a bit at that. “It’s just… there’s so much suffering, and I can’t bear to see it all, but it seems cowardly to hide behind rose bushes and seed catalogues.”
“I, for one, would very much like to enjoy sitting out in the garden again,” Elizabeth returned. “We’ve had nothing but potato plants for four years, and in my old age I would like to sit on a stone bench and smell roses once more. See beauty.” She stood and reached for Eleanor’s hands. “Do not lose sight of the pleasure you might do others in helping to make a garden.”
“Do you really think so?”
Elizabeth squeezed her hands. “I certainly do. Your father, for one, is most enthused about the idea.”
Feeling a bit better at that, Eleanor stayed for tea before she left, reluctantly, to return home and dress for dinner. It was still light out as she left Bower House, the sky just starting to darken to violet as she walked through the garden towards the vicarage. She shivered in the evening chill, the garden full of lengthening shadows as she skirted around the church and then slipped through the gate that led to the vicarage’s garden. She glanced round the shadowy lawn, wondering if she could rouse herself to take it in hand. She pictured a soldier like Harry Abrams out here; he wouldn’t be able to see any flowers, but he could smell them, and feel the wind and sun on his face. Perhaps if she did restore the garden to its former glory, she could invite the blind veterans for an afternoon. Katherine would no doubt pour scorn on such a pointless idea, but Eleanor liked the thought of bringing beauty and pleasure, and not just usefulness, to those men’s lives.
“Eleanor, my dear!” Her father’s voice rang out through the settling twilight. “Come meet our new gardener.”
Eleanor could only just make out the shape of her father coming towards her in the dusk, a man walking a step behind him.
“Father?”
“Here is our garden’s salvation,” Andrew announced in a jovial tone. “He’s going to dig over the flower beds and turn the lawn back into the velvet green we once loved. We shall play croquet again this June, my dear, never fear.”
But not with Walter. Eleanor tried to smile; she could see the man next to her father now. He had a kind, ordinary face and a shock of dark hair underneath a flat cap. He wore a brown wool suit and a shirt with a celluloid collar, well-worn Sunday best for a working-class man. He nodded a greeting.
“How do you do, Miss.”
“How do you do,” Eleanor answered, and Andrew finished the introductions.
“My dear, this is our new gardener, Mr Jack Taylor.”