A Rose in No-Man's Land (7 page)

“Sorry to call you in so early, ladies, but things are chaotic at the moment. I’ve been ordered to muster as many of you as I can find before the ambulances arrive. The stupidity of it all!” Matron paced her office, taking short mincing steps. “Marching troops in full winter battle dress for thirty miles in this heat. Soldiers are strung out for miles over the desert, collapsed where they stood, some of the poor devils. If the New Zealanders hadn’t come out on horseback and with camels to bring in the worst cases, dozens would be dead. I’ve never seen Major Vincent so angry. He wants a Military Court of Enquiry, and mark my words, heads will roll.”

On arrival at the hospital Amy gasped at the shocking sights and smells that met her in the overflowing wards. Dozens of soldiers lay on stretchers in the passageways. Boys with burned and blistered faces crammed every ward. Dry foam coated their lips, their uniforms bleached hard and white by sweat and sand. She wanted to cry but couldn’t allow herself the luxury. There was just too much to do.

Working without a break she sponged down fevered bodies and applied cooling salve to burnt skin. One boy in particular, a redhead, was so badly burned he looked as if he had fallen into a fire. She held a cup of water to his lips and he gulped it down. “Here, not too quickly, or you’ll make yourself ill.”

“It was awful, Sister. I nearly died. If Captain Tremayne hadn’t rigged up a shelter for some of us, we’d have been goners.”

Amy fought to still her trembling hands. Was Mark all right? And what of Guy? Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she had to put the welfare of her patient ahead of her own fear and worry.

“Don’t talk. You’re safe now,” she soothed, stroking back a damp tendril of ginger hair.

“Your hands feel so lovely and cool,” he mumbled.

“Are Captains Tremayne and Webster all right?” She tried not to sound frantic.

“I think so. Most of the officers were on horseback.”

“Rest now. You’ll feel better in a little while.” She held his hand between her own, drawing comfort from his courage.

“Sister Smithfield.” She swung around when Ella spoke, jerking her head back under the acid bite of the Senior Sister’s tongue. “There are other patients needing attention as well.”

“All right, I’m coming.” She rubbed her forehead wearily. In the stifling heat, the high white collar and cuffs chafed, starched to Ella’s exacting standard, and she could feel the material of her ward dress clinging damply to her back. Damn stupid uniforms.

The stories all sounded the same: soldiers forced to march in full kit while officers barked orders from horseback. How could breaking men’s spirits and bodies toughen them up for battle? Anxiously she asked those patients able to speak whether they knew anything about Guy or Mark.

One young soldier told her how he fell over several times until finally he could not rise at all. Guy had mounted him on his own horse and they rode double.

“Captain Tremayne saved dozens of men,” said a swarthy sergeant who came in with a large batch of patients.

She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice and hide the agony of not knowing whether he was safe. “Is he back yet?”

“I think so, Sister. The Captain rigged up shelter for the worst cases until the New Zealanders came out for them. Two boys were in a real bad way. He put them both on his own horse and led it, then commandeered mounts from some of the other officers who didn’t volunteer theirs. He was one of only a few officers who came out of this episode in a good light.”

“What about Captain Webster?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about him.”

“Sister.” Major Vincent bustled over. “There’s someone asking for you outside. Five minutes, and then I’ll need you back here again.” He wiped his red, perspiring face on his sleeve.

She hurried outside and saw a dusty, sweat-stained Mark slumped against a wall.
Oh, thank you, God, for keeping him safe.
Relief swept over her, and she swallowed down a sob of gratitude.

Dashing up to him, she skidded to a halt when a couple of feet separated them. “Are you all right?”

His eyes lit up, chasing away the shadows of exhaustion.

“I am, now I’ve seen my beautiful Amy.”

His teeth gleamed a vivid white in his deeply tanned face, and his vivid blue eyes burned. Lines of strain gouged deep clefts along the sides of his mouth, and dark stubble covered his jaw and chin.

“Where’s Guy?” she asked, suddenly remembering her cousin.

“He’s fine, resting in his quarters.” Mark ran a trembling hand across his forehead. “A little sunburned, absolutely worn out. He did well. You should be proud of him.”

“I know. I heard what you did, too.” Pride welled up in her heart. She wanted to fling herself into his arms. Kiss all his cares away. Lay her cheek against his chest and feel the rhythm of his heart. Mark was the love of her life, yet she had to treat him like a mere acquaintance. “A sergeant told me you saved dozens of men.”

Mark dared not stand too close to Amy because it was improper for them to be seen together like this. Rubbing his hand across the stubble on his chin, he felt in desperate need of a bath and a shave. He had wanted to see her first, though, to allay the worry he knew would darken her eyes to the gray of a wintry English sky. Proud, beautiful Amy. If only he had met her years ago, before his life became enmeshed in Maryanne’s evil web.

He wanted to drag her into his arms, kiss her tiredness and distress away, but dared not. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he vowed to keep them there. Her skin looked as white as the apron covering her gray dress. Pristine white, the nurse’s veil hid all of her hair except for a few damp, silver tendrils curling onto her forehead.

“You’re tired, my lovely girl.”

“Yes, I am. Oh, Mark, some of those boys are so badly burned, poor things.”

Her lips trembled, because her patients’ pain was Amy’s pain. He would have given a year’s pay to be able to draw her into his arms right now and kiss all the hurt away, but he didn’t have the right. He couldn’t let her risk her good name, let her be tainted by the scandal surrounding his way of life.

“I have to get back. Major Vincent said I could only have five minutes.”

“Of course you do, darling. I wish I was one of your patients.”

“No.” The strangled cry and sudden blanching of her face, made him feel like ripping his tongue out.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He cast a hasty look around to make sure they were unobserved before lifting up her hand and holding it against his lips.

“I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and he watched her valiantly blink them away.

“I only meant a broken toe or something.” He dropped her hand and stepped back a pace when a middle-aged orderly hurried up.

“Sir.” The soldier came to attention. “Sister, Major Vincent is asking for you.”

“All right, thanks, Ted. I’m coming.”

“Good afternoon, Sister.” Mark inclined his head.

“Good afternoon, Captain Tremayne.” She raised her hand in what she hoped Ted would see as a casual gesture.

She waited until a couple of yards separated them from Mark before saying. “More patients?”

“No, only one.”

“Oh!”

“It’s a private from B Company. A leg wound, Sister.”

“Is it serious?” She frowned, wondering why one of the other nurses couldn’t attend to it.

“Self-inflicted wound, at a guess.”

“What!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Seen it happen before. A young soldier wanting to go home will do anything if he gets desperate enough.”

“How awful.”

“Worse than awful. He’s in for a hell of a time if any officer finds out. Meant the firing squad in South Africa.”

Amy stopped dead in the corridor. “It isn’t fair.”

“Bloody army for you. Major Vincent says the bullet lodged near the patella. It’s a clean wound, but it left powder burns, and some of the others, if they saw them, might feel duty bound to report it. The doc knew he could trust you, though.”

“Of course he can.”

When they came to the operating theatre, Major Vincent met them at the door. “Ah, Sister, thank you for coming.”

Her heart went out to the dark-haired young soldier, maybe not even eighteen, who lay on the table moaning.

“It’s all right, son. Sister Amy has come along to lend a hand. Remember, if you’re asked, you were cleaning your gun and it accidentally went off.”

They set to work, Amy handing the major his instruments without speaking. They had to remove the patella because it was shattered.

“Young fool could end up with a stiff knee,” Major Vincent muttered. “Doesn’t look much older than one of my sons. Why on earth does a boy like this rush off to enlist?”

“He wanted to do his bit for the Empire, the same as the rest of us,” Amy told him softly.

“Well, only time will tell whether we’re all bloody fools or not. Right. He’ll do. I’ve written him up as an accidental wound. He’s got his wish. The army will invalid him back home now, and who’s to say whether the price he has to pay is too high.”

He strode off muttering, leaving Amy and Ted to clean up the theatre and transport the patient to the wards.

****

On the last day of 1914, Amy bubbled with excitement as she and Millie dressed for the New Year’s Eve dance. In the early afternoon they had walked the bazaars searching for something special to wear.

Millie, conservative as always, had chosen a fawn-colored, one-piece satin frock with self-trimming and tiny pearl buttons, while Amy decided on something daring and rather wicked. A cobalt blue Arab robe, lavishly embroidered with gold thread, and dainty matching evening slippers. She piled her hair on top of her head, securing it in place with gold combs, leaving only a few wispy strands to float free.

“What do you think, Millie?” She spun around several times.

“Oh, Amy, you’re so beautiful, you shouldn’t be a nurse.”

“Why ever not?”

“Lady of the manor is what you should be.”

“Rubbish. Here.” She dabbed some eau de cologne behind Millie’s ears and on each wrist.

“We’re sirens, luring our men to their doom.” She laughed, happy, because soon she would be meeting up with Mark. “Come along, Mill. Tonight we’re going to enjoy ourselves, because in a few short hours it will be 1915.”

****

Lieutenant Dick Saunders of the Australian Light Horse presented as an ordinary-looking, slim young man with a melancholy droop to his lips. Amy secretly wondered what had attracted Millie to him in the first place.

After an initial greeting on being introduced to Amy, he said nothing else, even to Millie, as they waited for the others to arrive. She heard Guy’s laughter before he came into view around the corner of the hospital.

“Good evening, Smithy, Millie.”

Amy did the introductions. “Guy, Mark, you don’t know Dick Saunders. Dick, Captains Guy Webster and Mark Tremayne,”

“How are you, Dick?” Guy gave a boyish grin as he put out his hand.

“How do you do, Captain Webster?”

“Call me Guy, won’t you? It’s New Year’s Eve, so no point in being formal.”

Mark’s greeting sounded clipped, although he also shook the younger man’s hand.

“Smithy.” Guy whistled out loud. “You look… Well, I can’t believe it. You’re very fetching tonight, too, Millie,” he tacked on as a gallant afterthought.

“How are we getting to the dance?” Amy put on a brave face and hid her hurt as best she could, because Mark had made no comment on her appearance.

“We’ve organized a coach, of course, ladies.” Guy bowed from the waist. “Liveried coachman, all that kind of thing.” His exaggerated upper-class English accent made them laugh.

Millie and Dick strolled arm in arm toward the road, and Amy hated herself for envying her friend, for being jealous of what Millie had. Mark walked on one side of Guy, she walked on the other.

“Heard from Sophie lately?” Amy asked.

“Yes, the sweet girl writes to me almost every day. I only answer sometimes.”

“Guy!” She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice. Sophie would be desperate to hear how he fared.

“I hate writing letters. What is there to say, anyway?”

“I’m glad she’s keeping well.” Amy rested her hand on Guy’s arm. “I received a letter yesterday, full of all the latest gossip. Fancy young Emma Johnson eloping.”

“That’s stupid women’s talk,” Guy scoffed.

“Men are worse gossips than women, no matter how much they deny it,” she retorted.

“Rubbish.”

An open carriage awaited them on the road outside the hospital. “Oh, lovely!” Amy clapped her hands. “Thank you, gentlemen.” She included them all in her thanks, although it would have been Guy’s idea.

“Mark’s suggestion.” Guy slapped his friend on the back. “I probably would have thought of it anyway.”

“What a beautiful idea. Thank you, Mark.” So he did have a romantic streak under the austere officer façade he showed to the world. His hand felt warm as he took her arm and helped her into the coach.

“Not as beautiful as you are.” His breathy whisper lifted a few wayward strands of hair and sent an excited thrill coursing all the way through her, dispelling the hurt she’d felt earlier.

She sat between Guy and Mark, with Millie and Dick sitting opposite. It felt wonderful being so close to Mark, feeling the warmth of his body, inhaling his male scent.

“Well, Dick, how’s the Light Horse treating you?” Guy asked.

“It’s all right. The horses are the only things making life bearable out here.”

“What about me?” Millie poked him with her elbow.

“I’d go mad if it wasn’t for you.” He patted her knee. “I wish neither of us had joined up.”

“Cheer up, Dick.” Amy smiled. “At least we’re seeing parts of the world we never would have visited otherwise. The pyramids, the Sphinx, romantic moonlight walks along the Nile…”

“When did you have a romantic midnight stroll along the Nile, Smithy?” Guy teased.

“I haven’t, well, not yet, but I hope to before we leave.” Under cover of darkness she slipped her hand into Mark’s, and he gently squeezed her fingers.