All I Have to Give (25 page)

Swinging her bag, Ada realized that she was the happiest she’d been in a long time, though she doubted she could ever say she was truly happy and really mean it, as nothing could brush
away the sad parts of her and give her unscarred happiness. But she’d settle for what she had, and knew that in the near future it would increase threefold or more, if Joe was acquitted. A
lot of the joy she felt at this moment was because Grayson Berry, the lawyer who had been looking into Joe’s case, had given her hope. He had taken on the defence of Joe. He’d said he
knew an honest man when he met one, and he’d never met a more honest one than Joe Grinsdale.

It had made Ada proud to hear it. And to know that Joe’s case had been helped by her telling how it all happened and Grayson Berry believing her; and also by all the folk in the community
speaking out about Joe’s good character – and how the same couldn’t be said for Paddy.

Now it was the first day of Joe’s trial in Leeds Crown Court, and Ada could attend however many days the trial took, as Annie had taken to little Brendan and would look after him for her.
Things seemed to be panning out at last. If only she hadn’t the continuing worry over Beryl’s health.

Bill had filed for a divorce from Beryl, on the grounds of her being insane, despite him having promised he wouldn’t do so, if Ada kept quiet about him raping her.
The rotten
sod!

There hadn’t been any improvement in Beryl’s condition, either. If anything, she seemed to lose her grip on reality more and more as the days went on.

Somehow, I’ll have to find a way to help her. And I will. Whatever it takes, I will. But first, let me get me Joe home and settled. Then I can sort out everything else.

France, mid-December 1916
An encounter

Edith ran her hand over the bump of her stomach. From her training, she remembered the drawings of what a baby would look like at four months’ gestation and smiled, even
though she was sure she shouldn’t be as big as she was.

Expanding every day, she had begun to wonder if there was more than one baby. That thought frightened her. How was she going to sort a future for herself with one child, let alone two? She spent
hours thinking about it. Should she leave her child with Petra, as Petra had offered? Should she just leave her child for a short time, and then set up a secret home somewhere once she was back in
England? She could engage staff to take care of the child between the times when she could visit.

None of the scenarios she thought about were ideal, but at least she’d come to terms with what was happening and was trying to make plans. For the first weeks after her discovery, weakness
had taken away her ability to cope with the idea of having a baby.

She looked over towards the field where Aleksi was beginning the winter turning-over of the almost solid ground, and pulled her coat further around her before walking towards him. She called out
as she did, to tell him she was going for a walk.

He answered with a wave. She wouldn’t walk far, but inside her she’d felt an urge to go to the farm where she’d spent time with Albert, and to say a few words to him. Somehow
she felt that his spirit would be there. She would tell him she was sorry, that she hadn’t realized the extent of his trauma and what it had done to him mentally. She would also tell him that
she was carrying his child and ask him to help her to find some kind of solution.

Thinking of him buried there in an unmarked grave hurt, but it was how it had to be. Those who were still living were more important, and so she had to protect Petra and Aleksi. She didn’t
know what she would have done without them, but it frightened her that, as a doctor, she hadn’t reported Albert’s death. Now she could never reveal it, as the repercussions would be
enormous for her.

Loneliness seeped into her. It was always her companion, as she longed to be with her family and friends again and to let them know she was safe.

Seeing the farmhouse in the distance made her heart drop. Could she do this? Could she revisit the scene?
Oh God!

Clutching her stomach, she retched. Nasty-tasting bile stung her throat. Spitting out the residue, she straightened, only to look into the face of a man standing a few feet away.

Gasping with fright, she stared at him. Tall and slim, he wore a hunting jacket and carried a gun. His hat, a deerstalker, made him look British, but his words belied any hint of an English
accent. ‘
Hé, qu’est-ce que vous faites? Qui êtes-vous? Pourquoi êtes-vous ici? Vous attez bien?’

Somehow, upon hearing him, she was no longer afraid of him. He had kind brown eyes that showed concern. Answering him with care, she said, ‘I am just out for a walk and I felt sick. My
condition . . .’ She patted her stomach and then pointed in the direction of the farm as she went on, ‘I’m staying with my late husband’s family at the farm along the way
there. And yes, I am fine, thank you. May I ask you the same questions? What are you doing, and why are you here? Though I don’t have to ask if you are all right. I can see . . . I mean,
well, you’re not being sick.’
Oh dear, what am I blabbing on about, and where did those lies come from?

‘You’re English?’

‘Yes, but I don’t like my questions answered by further questions.’

‘Pardon.’

She waited. He took off his hat, revealing hair that was very dark and shining with blueish lights. Then he answered her, his English perfect. ‘I’m a French officer. To say I’m
all right isn’t quite true. My last few months have been hell. Maybe you will understand if I tell you that I’ve been fighting in Verdun. Then again, why should you? You’re an
English lady in France and well away from the fighting, so you can’t have any comprehension of the war and what it’s really like. I’ve been given a rest period of two weeks. I
– I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t face it, and so here I am, camping in the wilderness, hunting, fishing, trying to get things out of my head – not that it will help, as
I’m returning very soon. It’s difficult to reconcile the peace and tranquillity here with what is happening just a few miles away, where it is a completely different picture. But I
won’t taint your innocence with all of that. It’s better that you don’t know.’

She wanted to say that she did know, but she kept quiet, letting him speak. It was so good to hear her own language.

Then he surprised her by asking, ‘Would you like to sit a while and just talk?’

‘Yes, I would, thank you.’

‘Over there is a little hill. If it would not be too much for you, we could sit on the top, where there is a rock that is dry and you can see for miles. I was there yesterday and it is
where I was heading for. Though you may be cold and wanting to get on with your walk. I shouldn’t ask.’

‘No, my coat is very thick and keeps me warm.’ Though not very fashionable, and well below the quality she was used to wearing, as it was one of Petra’s, the coat was made of
thick wool and had a flare to its cut and thus accommodated her shape.

‘I have a flask of coffee in my haversack. My parents sent me some good coffee beans and I have boiled them in a pan. We can share it.’

Following him, it occurred to her what a strange encounter this was. She could never have imagined that she would meet a French officer whilst out walking in this remote place, but she could see
why he would make for it. Though mostly flat, the terrain was lush with foliage. The trees were stark against the skyline, with many evergreens stubbornly declaring their resistance to the winter.
It was a beautiful area – even now, when the ground was hard and crusty from the frost that bit it at night, its landscape spoke of peace and soothed the senses. But then a thought occurred
to her that disturbed her.
Wouldn’t any soldier rather go home, if he had enough time? Is this man telling me the truth, or has he deserted his post?
Dismissing the idea, she
realized he would not have said he was a French officer if he had deserted. He would have made up any story he could think of, and would have shown fear at being discovered.

Helping her up the hill and then to sit down, he asked, ‘Did you lose your husband to the war?’

Gazing ahead, she didn’t speak for a moment. Panic had set in. What could she tell him? If she said ‘Yes’, he would want to know where and with what regiment, and she might
slip up and reveal too much. He might be French, but as an officer he could have spoken to English officers – maybe even her brothers.
Oh, my dear brothers, I hope you are safe.

‘No. He was a doctor and became ill. It was a mystery what ailed him, but he died very quickly, just under five months ago.’ Visions of Albert shooting himself came to her and made
her body shudder. With it came the sadness at what the war had cost them – Albert had been a nice cockney chap; he hadn’t been given the best start in life, and then he’d found
himself in charge of young lads, seeing them shot, blown to pieces or maimed and broken, till his mind couldn’t deal any longer with what he’d seen. She thought about the millions who
had died already in this war. She thought of her brothers, in constant danger, and of all the families torn apart. Her own family – distraught, she imagined, over her continued absence, and
not knowing if she was alive or dead. She thought of herself in a predicament that she had no idea how to cope with . . .
Oh God!
A sob escaped her.

‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. Here.’

She took the khaki-coloured handkerchief from him and wiped her face. ‘I – I’m all right. It is such a sad world. How did we come to this?’

‘Let us not talk of the war. I need to escape it, just for a little while. I’m Laurent Pevensy. I will tell you about who I am, in my real life. I’m a scientist studying the
disease of cancer. It is a struggle, but we aim to beat this killer disease, and we have hope. Especially since the German zoologist Theodor Boveri discovered that it has a genetic basis, as now we
have something solid to work on. I am in constant touch with my colleagues and they keep me up to date with progress. I also have some of my books here with me, and study in my rest periods, as
well as working on theories and working out problems they send to me. I should have taken my immunity from war service, but I wanted to help my country.’

Without thinking, Edith gave away that she too worked in medicine, as she said, ‘I find that fascinating. I have seen many of my patients die in agony from cancer, and as a doctor you feel
powerless to help. We need you scientists to unravel the mystery behind these diseases, so that we can find treatments. Yes, you should have stayed; you would have saved many more lives in the
future than you can at the moment.’

‘A doctor, too! And you have no idea what killed your husband? Give me his symptoms and I will work on it. You didn’t give me your name? Where did you study? What kind of doctor are
you: a surgeon, a practitioner, a specialist?’

With a shock, Edith realized how much she had revealed. Her thinking went into overdrive, trying to come up with a cover story. She couldn’t risk discovery. ‘My name is Enid
Reed.’ Elsie Inglis came to her mind, and her story gave her further material: ‘I studied in Scotland at a school set up by a woman who found many stumbling blocks for women in the
profession. I am a surgeon. We surgeons do try to help cancer sufferers by removing tumours, but we need something to help halt its progress – or even to know more about how it spreads
through the lymphatic system. Though of course the Curies’ radiation discovery has helped, and radiotherapy is giving hope to those who are diagnosed very early on in the disease.’

‘Edith!’ She suddenly heard Aleksi shouting for her.

‘Oh, that is my father-in-law.’ She stood up. For a moment Edith was grateful for having chosen a false name that was very similar to her real one.

They had spent the past two hours talking. She had been lost in a world she truly knew, and with someone who understood and who gave her fresh insights, and she hadn’t realized the time
had flown so quickly.

‘I’m here,’ she shouted as loudly as she could, in an attempt to stop Aleksi repeating her real name. She saw him in the distance and waved.

He waved back, calling, ‘Are you all right? We were worried.’

‘I’m fine. I’m coming home now.’

Thankfully Aleksi just waved and turned away. Whether he had seen Laurent or not she couldn’t tell, but thought it likely, as he didn’t wait for her, but hurried away. He would be
afraid. She should not have engaged so deeply with this stranger, but should have excused herself in the very beginning and returned to Petra and Aleksi. She had put herself, and them, in
danger.

‘Your father-in-law has an Eastern accent. Is he from Russia?’

Suddenly she felt she could trust Laurent. ‘No, but nearby. The Russian section of Poland. He is afraid. He – he escaped here.’

‘A refugee? Well, he has nothing to fear from my countrymen. He should register, and then he will be accepted.’

‘It is complicated. Please forget about it. I – I . . .’

‘You are afraid, too. What are you frightened of?’

‘N – no, I’m fine. Once my child is born I will return to England. It is just that I cannot travel at the moment. There are complications.’

‘You need medical help, is that it? Oh, Enid, take care of yourself. Don’t put yourself, or your unborn child, in danger.’

His concern touched Edith more deeply than she wanted it to. It triggered a tear.

‘Oh,
ma chérie,
what is it. What troubles you?’ Still holding his handkerchief, she used it once more to mop her eyes. She wanted so much to tell him her story and
ask him for his help, but she couldn’t, and that made her feel lonelier than she had ever felt in her life.

‘I’m being silly. Talking to you – another professional – has made me miss talking to my husband. I have to go. It was nice meeting you.’ She was lying again, but
whereas when she had first concocted them, the lies hadn’t mattered, now somehow they did. ‘I – I hope we meet again.’

‘We must. I will not let you go out of my life. Where can I contact you? What is your address?’