Evie's War Page 17

  Boxing Day, 26 December

  Sister has thawed a fraction, allowing that I might sit and talk to Lieutenant S for one quarter of an hour. Major O also claimed a little time and Nothing Was Said, other than that I still had teas to do and must stay until they were finished. Which of course I would have done anyway.

  27 December, Deans Park

  Spent the day managing hasty good-byes to all my Officers, in between running about at Sister’s behest (her Seasonal Goodwill having dissipated), and received a Disapproving Look for being seen to pat Lieutenant S’s hand. And then was late getting away and ran to the Station, arriving very flustered, and there found an anxious-looking Charles standing by the train, which was about to depart.

  He said he hoped my hurry was on account of my eagerness to see him, and laughed quite happily when I said he was not supposed to be there at all, but in Littlebury, and that I must look a fright. He would not allow me to straighten my hair but attempted to do it for me, which raised more than one eyebrow on the platform. I took his ring from my purse and slipped it onto my finger. Charles rather beamed for the rest of the journey.

  28 December

  We called to see Winifred and Mr Lindsay this morning. Both were downcast that we would so soon be departing Deans Park, but Charles is determined that we should reach Lymm as soon as possible. Winifred seems slightly brighter and was at least being kind to Mr Lindsay. When I enquired whether he might return to his studies in Oxford, he replied that it was not yet clear — it seemed not the moment to ask whether the impediments were physical or otherwise. Charles was quiet after the visit and spent much of the afternoon engaged with Monty in a battle involving the deployment of legions of lead soldiers. I am surprised he can bear it.

  29 December, Lymm, Cheshire

  Farewells to Mother et al being achieved, Father drove us to the Station where it felt very strange and oddly finite to set off in company with Charles. I studied our surroundings eagerly as the train sped north. Sheets of fog draped the low-lying fields, occasional trees and buildings rising like ghosts from the shrouded land. Near Ely, where we were to change trains, the sun had begun to cast a weak light across the surrounding Fens. Charles settled me in the Station Waiting Room and went in search of a cup of tea. He had seemed unnaturally introverted all morning, but when I enquired whether anything was wrong he shook his head and left again ‘to stretch his legs’.

  During the next stage of the journey we had the carriage to ourselves. Charles made several attempts to start before finally announcing that he wondered whether what I felt for him was not predominantly pity. I was quite flabbergasted, and no doubt looked it. He did not withdraw the accusation but hastened to add that he did not intend this as a criticism but only an observation that reflected the true goodness and generosity of my character. I told him it did not do so at all, were it true, and I could not think why he should have said such a thing. Eventually it came out that he had thought my affection for Mr Lindsay quite strong, and this, combined with all my chatter about my Officers and other men, made him see what a soft and caring heart I had, and perforce to wonder whether it was not some similar sentiment motivating me in respect of himself. (Not until later did I reflect on Mother’s warning, which I have considered in a new light in the hours since this exchange.) In response to Charles’s accusation (for I saw it as such) I declared it quite an achievement to present such seeming compliments in such a hurtful form. Charles replied rather stiffly that he had not meant to upset me and apologised that he should have done so. I was in no mood to be mollified and demanded to know whether he truly believed that I thought of him no differently to all my Officers, in which case did he accuse me of also holding their hands and kissing them? He replied rather hotly that he ‘jolly well hoped I did not’. To which I said that I had in fact held the hands of many men as they died, and felt no guilt or remorse for it at all.

  Shortly after, we were joined in the carriage by three soldiers in high spirits, being on furlough. Having ascertained Charles’s status they withdrew to their own company, while we were obliged to sit in silence, it scarcely being possible to continue our conversation in their company. Once I calmed a little I began to suspect I had not handled the situation in the best possible manner. For the next few hours I sat staring out of the window, though I could not enjoy the scenery as I otherwise might.

  At Nottingham we were advised of delays on the line and Charles went in search of an Official. By the time he returned I was somewhat overcome and rather tearful. Charles was immediately contrite, and moved us to the Station Waiting Room, having been told that we would be better to take a Branch Line via Bakewell, and having half an hour to wait. He then sat beside me and took my hand and apologised for his blundering manner, saying that it had not been his intention to cause me distress. I told him I had not thought it his intent, but that if he really felt my emotions so flimsy and fickle I must wonder whether there was any point to proceeding. He looked very thoughtful and set down my hand and I couldn’t bear it; I simply had to take his up and say that I should very much mind if that should be his decision. He looked quite severe, so that I wished I had never spoken, then he turned our hands over and stroked my palm with his thumb and I felt quite weak. But still he didn’t speak.

  I was expecting the worst when at last he cleared his throat, but it seemed all was well again between us. He said he had been extremely thoughtless and would not for a moment deny a dying soldier the comfort of my hand. With trembling voice I ventured that holding those Poor Boys’ hands felt altogether different to holding his. Charles smiled at this and told me I had no idea at all of the effect I had on him. And our misery was forgotten.

  But, in all this, it transpired that we had missed our train and had to wait for another, which did not arrive for several hours, so that we were very late reaching Warrington and his Father had all but given up on us. As a consequence I did not suffer a long Inspection — as Charles had warned I might — but was allowed up to bed with the judgement that I looked ‘thoroughly exhausted’. And truly I feel it. The house is large and rather cold. Charles’s father was courteous and welcoming; his mother, having already retired, I will not meet until the morning.

  30 December, Cheshire

  The Honourable Mrs Miller, daughter of An Important Personage, is quite determined to disapprove of my Colonial Background, and is very fond of prefacing her opinions with ‘Charles, of course, agrees that …’, as if I know nothing at all of what he thinks and feels. Of my friendship with Lady Braybrooke and Winifred she approves; of my having been born in New Zealand she does not. Truly, I do not see why this should be a slur against my name, but I held my tongue. After an hour Charles proposed a walk. It was freezing, but rather that than continue in his mother’s company. We wrapped ourselves in scarves and hats and I borrowed a large overcoat to wear over my own — Charles said I looked like the Wild Ape-man of the Himalaya, to which I replied that I resented his calling me a man, and we laughed, which quite took the sting from Mrs M’s interrogation. As did his insistence that he should hold my hand to prevent me slipping in the snow.

  The Millers live at the edge of a small village, at the centre of which, mounted on four-sided stone steps, stands an ancient Wayfarers’ Cross (with the Village stocks at its foot!). There is also a pretty millpond and weir, lined by rushes and trees whose branches stretch bare to the sky. Charles says that in spring wild irises provide a spill of colour along the banks. The buildings in the centre of the village are either Elizabethan, with leaded windows and dark timbering over whitewash, or stoutly built of the locally produced red brick. There is an Inn called The Eagle, which stands on Eagle Brow — I wonder whether the name stems originally from a Roman Legion? And of course the Duke of Bridgewater’s Canal (excellent name for a builder of canals!), which cuts through the centre of the village and which is higher than a good portion of the buildings — I should hate to think what would happen in the event of it breaching its banks. Our stroll led
us back to Outringham Lane via the lake, at the edge of which sits St Mary’s Church, which we shall visit tomorrow.

  By the time we returned the sky had begun to darken rather ominously and my nose was red with cold. Mrs Miller berated her son and ushered me in front of the fire. I confess I was grateful of it. Once thawed, Charles escorted me on a tour of the house. It is rather larger than Deans Park, from the outside appearing somewhat four-square and stolid (presenting a Very Proper And Imposing Façade, most fitting to Mrs M), but with beautiful wood panelling and staircase. The afternoon remaining dreary we sat in the library playing cards. The atmosphere was rather gloomy: I confided to Charles that I scarcely dare speak for fear of disturbing the equilibrium, to which he gaily replied that I had achieved that goal already.

  Sunday 31 December, New Year’s Eve

  I found myself an Object Of Interest at Church, Mr Miller employing a large number of local men in his ironware manufactory, and all being eager to inspect his son’s future bride. To achieve a few moments alone Charles suggested we might walk back around the lake, but the path proved rather muddy and my shoes not quite up to the task (leading also to the discovery that It Is Not Done to visit the kitchen). Over lunch I was further examined by Mrs M and two maiden aunts. Recalling Matron’s advice, I ensured I was on Best Behaviour.

  After dinner Charles engineered a moment alone so that he might stand me beneath the mistletoe. I accused him of kissing any number of young women in the very same manner. His reply was that there had been none he wanted to kiss quite so much.

  1 January

  My brother William’s birthday. He is two. Charles walked me to the Post Office so that I might send a telegram, Mother having rather tediously noted that William’s sister would again fail to be present for his birthday (as will his brother, but that — of course — elicits no comment). Thinking of Edmund makes me glad that William will not be obliged to fight in a War.

  On our return Mrs Miller delivered us a lecture on the Wisdom Of Restraint in these Sorely Troubled Times. My cheeks were quite flaming as she expounded the folly of Rushing Into Marriage. Charles was furious — one would have thought his own mother would know him better than she seems to. On making our escape he offered every apology, which I declined to accept on grounds of his not being accountable for his mother’s behaviour. Had I any intention of rushing, her words would only have served to encourage me — on hearing which, Charles proposed we engage her immediately for a further lecture on the topic. Really, he is too much! The episode has caused me to consider the future, however: I had not previously thought beyond our engagement.

  2 January, Deans Park

  Having a long journey ahead of us our farewells were made early, Mrs Miller electing not to accompany us to the Station. Her husband, by contrast, offered every courtesy. As we waited for our train he took both my hands and warmly thanked me for all I had done, and would yet do, for his son. Retracing our journey, all felt much more settled, our disagreeable words of four days ago a dim memory.

  3 January

  Luxurious lie-in followed by a lovely walk with Charles. The cold was sharp, the sky pewter grey, fields and hedgerows tucked up beneath a pristine blanket of snow. But how different the cold feels when one can return to a snug library fire to toast oneself warm! When I confided to Charles that I did not find myself particularly eager to return to Cambridge, he suggested that I simply marry him forthwith, after which I might immediately move to London to take up my responsibilities as a wife. Not believing him serious I laughed and said I doubted his mother would be impressed by such a plan. Pleasing his mother, he assured me, was a consideration of far less import than his desire to attend to my well-being. The strength of his attestation left me lost for a reply. It is one thing to have become engaged and quite another to think about The Next Step. I do wish I might talk to Winifred.

  4 January

  Edmund has been detained by two days, which is a blow as I had so wanted him to meet Charles. Arrangements can be made for them to meet in London, of course, but it is simply not the same.

  Charles left just after two. Somewhat melancholy since.

  5 January

  Dear man that he is, Father drove me to Audley End. Winifred seems in better spirits, if somewhat lacking in direction. As her wrist still gives trouble I proposed a visit to the Physical Therapy Unit at 1st Eastern, which she has agreed to consider. I have written to Mr Lindsay, now back in Oxford, to ask what he makes of it all.

  7 January, Cambridge train

  Tried to speak to Mother about the Practicalities Of Marriage, but she repeatedly turned the conversation. I wonder about trying my aunt. Essentially I feel that a great deal has come about rather quickly and I am unsure of What Comes Next.

  8 January, 1st Eastern

  Back to work, and found I am out of the habit of it. Quite exhausted.

  11 January

  On staggering into Selwyn this evening I found a package sent by Charles containing a lovely bottle of French scent; I cannot think where he got it. It was much admired by my fellows. There is a rumour that I will soon be leaving, and the scent only confirmed it.

  13 January, Deans Park

  Mother says we must have a party for my birthday. I told her there is no need, but it is not clear whether she will take heed of my sentiments.

  Sunday 14 January

  The sermon this morning touched on the new theme of Fortitude in Adversity. Apparently there are food shortages in the cities and elsewhere.

  16 January, 1st Eastern

  Matron has me back in Heads. At least I do not have to suffer Sister T’s continuing disapproval.

  18 January

  Bitterly cold, especially at night and walking to and from the wards. Thinking a deputation most likely to be successful, Jane and Olive and I jointly enquired whether extra blankets were available. The reply, with a sniff, was that The Men’s Needs come before ours. As if we were suggesting otherwise! It is simply that we would be better able to give of our best if we were able to sleep at night. I have taken to wearing several layers to bed, including my overcoat.

  20 January, Deans Park

  Mother says I look peaky. Hearing how dreadfully cold we often are, Aunt M has given me a pair of lisle stockings and woollen camisole, which I shall put to immediate use!

  Sunday 21 January

  Uncle Aubrey says President Wilson is coming under increasing pressure from all sides. Apparently some scandal regarding a proposed alliance between Germany and Mexico has been uncovered, which Uncle A believes may ultimately work in our favour.

  23 January, 1st Eastern

  Wonderful surprise: Winifred has just called in! The PT Unit has given her a series of exercises to help strengthen her wrist and for the first time since her accident she seems more her old self. She is staying in Cambridge tonight, so we may go out for tea tomorrow.

  24 January

  Stuffed myself on cakes, much to Winifred’s amusement. It transpired she also went to see Matron yesterday and received a pep talk; perhaps that is what has bucked her up.

  Had a lovely note from Charles regretting that he is unable to get away this weekend. I think perhaps Mother has abandoned her plan for a party, as it has not been further mentioned. Winifred did not know anything of it.

  25 January

  Two of my Heads have been transferred. No word of new cases; it is refreshing to have the occasional empty bed. Matron has said I might catch an early train tomorrow; there is one at three.

  27 January, Deans Park

  I am surrounded by Liars and Fiends! Even Matron! I am shocked by such perfidy. Father met me at the Station with the news that Mother had been feeling poorly and would likely not come down, but that we should anyway dine at seven. I had kicked off my shoes (which are sadly worn) and was resting my ill-used feet when Millie knocked on my door, ostensibly to show me her dress, remade from one of my aunt’s. I assured her it looked lovely. She then proposed wearing it for dinner, and that I must
wear the one I had worn for Winifred’s party — which seems very long ago — so that she should not feel overdressed. Not having the energy to argue I complied, though it seemed to double rather than halve the problem. Heedless of that, my young cousin insisted on fiddling with my hair, and not till she was satisfied did she allow that we might go down.

  Innocent as a lamb I followed her to the dining room, expecting to find Father there. And so we did, together with a great crowd of others, who all cheered and threw streamers and generally made a great fuss. Charles stood grinning from ear to ear and beside him was Edmund! Winifred and Lady Braybrooke, Olive and Jane, a dozen neighbours, my aunt and uncle, Eugenie and Mother (looking perfectly well and rather pretty) were all gathered. I blushed like a beet and was grateful when Charles strode forward and kissed my cheek, as I had no idea what to say. It seemed that Winifred’s visit to Cambridge had not been made solely on account of her wrist, but to arrange matters with Matron. My fellow nurses were quite taken with the whole business and were in fits of laughter describing their manner of avoiding me at the Station. But it was Edmund I was most pleased to see. He whispered that he had news, which he would tell me later. Mother had seated me between Edmund and Charles, and Cook supplied a thoroughly spectacular dinner. After, we played a rather riotous game of charades and stayed up far too late. It was good to see Winifred enjoying herself — I only wish Mr Lindsay might also have been here.