Sea Gem (9 page)

‘But it could be months before he gets leave!’ he objected.

Mary sensed something feral in him combined with the sulk of a schoolboy whose bat and ball had been taken away. With a quick move she rose, smoothed down her skirt and flicked away two blades
of dried grass from the previous autumn.

‘Don’t say anything, Victor,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t let us rush our fences. It will all come right in the end, I’m sure it will, but I don’t want you to
do anything wild or foolish.’

‘I won’t lose you!’ he stated mutinously.

‘I think I’d better go now, Victor,’ she said carefully. There was such a moody look on his face her instinct told her to depart.

He leaped to his feet. ‘Don’t!’

‘I must!’

‘Why?’

‘Because—!’ Mary floundered. ‘Just because,’ she ended lamely.

‘I’ll escort you then!’ he said with a quick change of mood.

‘No!’ she said abruptly. ‘I’m not your possession yet, Victor and I have some thinking to do alone,’ she added firmly. With a brisk wave she walked back to her
cycle leaving him flat-footed and miserable.

Mary was appalled at the confusion in her heart and mind as she pedalled away without a backwards glance. She had spotted a side lane near to Cobo Bay and she turned up this and dismounted to
push the cumbersome cycle, lost in deep thought. She knew her heart had been lost to Victor but the thought of telling Tante and Duret made her quail. Duret’s big brown eyes would fill with
water and disbelief. Tante’s brown ones would narrow with scorn and contempt. Sam—? Sam would understand, surely? She must tell him first of all and take his advice and hopefully he
would suggest where she could live temporarily.

‘Mary! Is that you?’

She spun around and saw Sam walking quickly up the lane, waving his right hand, his face red with effort.

‘I hoped I’d find you quickly,’ he cried, ‘You’ve to come back right away!’

‘Why?’ she asked puzzled and sharply uneasy. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Come back with me now,’ Sam insisted. ‘Mistress wants you urgently!’ Without another word Sam turned and strode back down the lane. Mary climbed on the saddle and
pedalled after him. As she drew level he waved a hand at her.

‘Get back to the house!’

Fear filled Mary as she hastened to obey. Whatever had happened, she knew it was not going to be pleasant because Sam’s face was grim and hard.

She found Tante standing in the drive, dithering with agitation, her face white and drawn.

‘Thank heavens Sam has found you. Quickly! Go and pack an overnight bag!’

‘What has happened, Tante?’

‘We’ve had a telegram,’ Tante told her, snatching the cycle from her to dump it on the gravel and bustle her inside. ‘Duret has been wounded and is in a hospital
somewhere. I’ve used all my connections, plus a few extra ones and arranged for the two of us to go to him. We leave as soon as Sam gets back!’

‘Oh no!’ Mary groaned, as her world collapsed and guilt hit her. While she had been dallying with Victor planning a life with him, Duret had been bleeding—perhaps even dying!
Duret who trusted her! Where were all her fine words now? She had been acting like a trollop and her face flamed scarlet with mortification.

Tante regarded her grimly. ‘It might not be as bad as the telegram indicates. Doctors like to make a drama out of a play so we’ll go and see for ourselves. If Duret is capable of
being moved, we will bring him back to the island,’ she said harshly. ‘My patience is exhausted with this stupid, soldiering nonsense,’ she finished with asperity. Although she
would not admit it, she was terrified this last true grandson would be lost before he could sire an heir.

Long afterwards Mary looked back on the next two days as a nightmare period of anguish, dirt and exhausting travelling. Louise took charge with a powerful efficiency that left Mary speechless
with admiration. She simply did as she was told. Her emotions were far too upset now for coherent thought.

They sailed to St Malo, then went north by a crowded, filthy train. The two of them sat together, each lost in private thought and fear. Louise sat all the time with her usual ramrod, straight
back and held her head high like a guardsman and automatically Mary did likewise. Louise spoke only when spoken to or when she needed something. Porters leaped to obey her fractured French. Drivers
hurried to open car doors for her imperious manner and Mary thought how like a commanding general she was. She was utterly ruthless, tolerated no excuses, was impatient with those who were slow in
understanding her French and she organised with a skill that left Mary dumb with wonder.

By the time the final taxi halted Mary felt like a dirty, limp rag and her knees creaked and wobbled with exhaustion. They arrived at a tented hospital, not all that far from the front line and
in a restricted area, which had forced Tante to extend her considerable powers of persuasion before they could enter.

The hospital seethed with activity which appeared confused and haphazard but, as Mary watched, she saw methodical order. Canvas-backed lorries and ambulances arrived continually to disgorge
unpleasant cargoes, then turned to depart for more. She noted many of the drivers were young girls like herself. From some ambulances came walking wounded who staggered wearily, wearing filthy
uniforms, to be shepherded by brisk nurses. Now and again a white-coated doctor appeared in a running flurry to vanish equally quickly. There was a particular smell over the whole area compounded
from medical odours, human sweat, dried blood, urine and excrement plus the sweet, sickly, awful smell of bodies not yet buried.

To one side, graves were being dug in a long line and men removed blankets from stretchers, checked names against clipboards then moved the sombre burdens away. Some new arrivals were also on
stretchers. They groaned as they waited to be assessed. Others lay in a quiet stupor of pain while some screamed. Many wanted cigarettes while a few, so pitifully young, tried to be stoical but
cried for their mothers.

‘Oh, my God!’ Mary cried, one hand against her mouth, horrified at the whole scene. Duret had come to this while she had been making plans with Victor and her heart shrivelled.

‘This is the other side of war,’ Louise said grimly. ‘The side without the glory and the white chargers. There is no Holy Grail here. This is what young men should see before
they rush off to enlist,’ she grated.

‘Young girls too with their white feathers,’ Mary added heavily.

A tired, young female ambulance driver with ginger hair stood beside her now empty ambulance. She slowly lit a cigarette with hands which shook before she climbed back into her seat to start her
vehicle again.

Louise looked at Mary, who had turned a queer colour. ‘Are you going to be sick?’ she asked harshly.

‘No!’ Mary shook her head. ‘It’s just the smell and all these petrol fumes which are making me queasy.’

Louise pulled her to one side. There was a well worn path which led to a small tangle of wooden huts, hastily erected, still crude and unpainted.

‘You wait here. I’m going to find someone in authority but don’t wander away,’ Louise ordered firmly.

Mary felt relief wash her. She was not ready to see Duret yet. She had doubts now that she would ever be ready and she clutched the straw of this providential delay.

‘I won’t budge!’ she promised fervently.

Louise stormed away and was lost instantly in a welter of medical personnel interspersed with khaki uniforms. Mary’s stomach gave a sudden lurch and she felt her mouth water. Dear God! She
was going to be sick after all. She inhaled deeply and struggled to ease the cold knot deep in her belly.

‘You all right, miss?’ a soldier asked appearing from somewhere.

Mary swallowed and nodded wanly. ‘I’m all right, thank you, Corporal.’

He eyed her doubtfully. He was utterly exhausted, fed up with being on the burial detail and suddenly glad of the chance to talk to a young girl who did not stink of death.

‘What are you doing here, Miss? This is a restricted area.’

Mary looked at his careworn old-young face. He was plastered in soil and mud but his eyes held harrowing sights. How impossible it was for civilians to understand the reality of trench
warfare.

‘I’m waiting for my aunt,’ she told him. ‘We received a telegram—’ and she paused miserably. ‘She has gone to see what she can find out.’

‘Here, Miss!’ he said briskly. He didn’t want to have to cope with a fainting female too though she looked all right at the moment. Pale around the gills and sweating a little
on her forehead. This was no place for any civilian let alone a young woman.

‘Have a smoke, Miss, and calm your nerves,’ he offered generously.

‘I won’t, thank you, Corporal. It might just be fatal for my stomach and I may have to go and see someone,’ she explained quickly.

‘Cor! Look at ’er!’ the soldier exclaimed and pointed with a filthy hand as Tante Louise marched back towards them. ‘What an old battle axe she looks! Wouldn’t like
to cross ’er one dark night.’

An hysterical giggle hit Mary. Tante’s face was set in a hard mask. She stormed across, yielding ground to no one.

‘That is my aunt!’

‘It is? Oh my! Poor you!’ the soldier exclaimed sympathetically. ‘I’m off then. Can’t cope with the likes of ’er as well! Good luck, Miss!’ and he
departed with ungallant haste.

Louise strode to a halt while Mary held her breath and waited with trepidation. There was something dreadfully bleak in the old, brown eyes and for once no words came from her thin lips.

‘How is he?’ Mary made herself ask while her heart pounded.

Louise did not answer. She studied the general scene and Mary knew she was hunting for the right words. Something cold formed a rock in her stomach. Her eyes lit on a small hut that stood well
away from general activity.

‘Let’s go over there and talk!’ Louise said purposefully and pulled Mary’s left arm. ‘I’ve been told we can sit there for a bit but we must leave when the
next lot of ambulances return. It’s the drivers’ rest hut.’

Mary felt the premonition grow bigger but she made no comment and followed as quickly as she could. Louise opened the door, looked in and stepped forward, taking instant possession. The hut had
bare boards with four hard, utilitarian chairs. At the far side, a stove burned sulkily on some foul-smelling fuel. On the trivet a kettle bubbled gently, a thin plume of steam wafting in the
draft. To one side stood a minute table, which held a large black teapot flanked by six chipped and dirty enamel mugs.

Louise shut the door, pulled forward two of the chairs, her expression grim. Mary sat and prepared herself for the worst.

‘Tell me!’ Mary ordered flatly.

‘His physical wounds are minor,’ Louise replied slowly. ‘A broken left arm. His mind though—that is another matter,’ and she hesitated.

‘Go on!’ Mary whispered.

‘A shell came over when he and his troop were in the trenches. It exploded only a few paces from Duret. Most of the men were blown to bits but Duret lived. The trench collapsed upon him
and he was buried alive for nearly twenty-four hours. They thought all the men had died and didn’t start to dig until later. He was lucky because the trench was timber-shored and the baulks
fell across Duret. They also made an air pocket, just enough for him to breath. By the time they did get him out—they said his mind had gone.’

‘He is—mad?’ Mary asked appalled.

Louise hesitated, trying to be fair then slowly shook her head, ‘No, he is not insane as we think of the word’s meaning but he is not like us now,’ she said slowly. Had Duret
ever been normal in the first place, she asked herself?

Mary was stunned. This was something she had never expected. She closed her eyes to try and imagine what it was like to be entombed alive then shook her head at the utter impossibility.

Louise gave a deep sad sigh and looked over at her. ‘The trouble is, Duret has always lacked his brother’s back bone. He can be mulish but he has never been tough. The doctor says
there will be nightmares, terrible ones when he relives his experience and it won’t be nice for whoever is with him. However, there is medication he can take and there is an outside chance,
he might eventually become normal with tender, loving care once he becomes a civilian and leads a quiet life. They want to send him to some fancy hospital in England. I soon stopped that rubbish.
He would never improve in a ward with others mentally ill. I’ve told them he is to come back home as quickly as possible.’

‘Did they agree?’ Mary asked softly.

Louise nodded wearily. ‘I had to make a big issue about it all. Deep down it suits them; it releases another bed and our own doctor can treat him. With our simple island life, there is
great hope.’

Mary could hardly take it all in. Gentle, loving Duret with his large sorrowful brown eyes. She shook her head and looked over at Louise again upon whose face was a cruel mask with stabbing eyes
which daggered back at her.

‘What it now boils down to, Mary, is this. The Duret who comes home will not be the Duret you knew in England. Can you still marry him? Do you want to? Or—are you still so utterly
besotted with that bastard, Victor le Page?’

The door opened with a bang and two girl drivers entered, halting with surprise. Louise stood hastily.

‘We are just going,’ she explained quickly. ‘Your kettle has boiled.’ She paused. ‘We had something to discuss in private.’

The two girls looked wearily at each other. It was not the first time their little hut had been used by distraught civilians and the stiff-necked old woman and white-faced younger one told their
own silent tale.

Mary stumbled after Louise with Tante’s question ringing in her ears. She knew her cheeks must have turned bright scarlet and her wits had left her. All the stuffing had been knocked from
her as Louise stopped and took her arm.

‘Say nothing now,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll get back to Guernsey. I’ll arrange for Sam to come for Duret. It’s better a man escorts him home. I don’t
want you to say one word. Think about the whole situation. Think long, hard and very carefully, then we will talk on the steamer from St Malo.’