Suffragette Girl (32 page)

Ernst stared at her for a moment, then glanced at Gervase. ‘That’s quite impossible,’ he said curtly. ‘We need all the space for our patients.’

‘I’m afraid the major might commandeer it,’ Gervase said quietly, disliking the man before him intensely. Ever perceptive about anything concerning his beloved Florrie, he
sensed there was more between them than the mere professional closeness of doctor and nurse. Ernst gave a grunt and turned away. ‘We shall see.’

Major Grant was not a man to be trifled with. It was he who’d brought the charge against James and he who intended to see that what he believed to be justice should be
done and seen to be done. He was already annoyed that it had not been possible to try the boy where his battalion was fighting. He wanted to use the case as an example to the men of what would
happen to them if they were even to think of deserting. But circumstances prevented it and he’d been obliged to organize a Field General Court Martial near Ypres, where his men had previously
been billeted.

The following day the major and an escort party arrived, marching James into the cellars. They took him to the far end of the warren of rooms, to a damp and crumbling small space that had not
been thought fit to use for patients. Sister Blackstock, Grace, Hetty and Florrie watched in horror to see the young boy’s gaunt, pale face. But he was marching straight-backed, looking
neither to right nor left. There was a determined, defiant look – a look that Florrie had never seen before on her brother’s face.

Sister Blackstock put a restraining hand on Florrie’s arm. But Florrie had no intention of acting hysterically, even though the fear welled up inside her. She wanted to run to James, wrap
him in her embrace and hold him safe from harm. But instead she stood dry-eyed, proud and erect. She must act sensibly and rationally if she were to be of any use to him. No one would take any
notice of a hysterical woman. But as the three men guarding the prisoner drew closer, Florrie caught her breath and, at her side, she heard Sister Blackstock’s gasp of surprise. One of the
escorts was Sergeant Granger. Rosemary Blackstock’s grip tightened. ‘Leave it for now, Florrie,’ she murmured as if already reading what was in the girl’s mind.

They returned to their patients, where they all had to face a barrage of questions from the men, who’d heard rumours about the impending court martial and that the soldier on trial had
been brought here. They’d seen him now, marched past them through the makeshift wards, to his dungeon.

‘What’s going on, Nurse?’ ‘What’s happening?’ ‘What’s ’ee done.’ ‘He don’t look old enough to be out here in this lot.
It’s them officers that want shooting, nor that poor little bugger.’ On and on the gossip and speculation wrangled until Florrie could stand it no longer. She fled from the cellars.
Stepping into the kitchen, she stopped and stared at the three men sitting around the kitchen table. Two were strangers to her, but the one she knew turned his face towards her, the sorrow in his
eyes plain to see. He stood up.

‘Oh, miss,’ Sergeant Granger said brokenly. ‘I wish there was something I could do . . .’ She saw the helplessness she’d noticed in Gervase’s eyes mirrored in
the sergeant’s. She moved slowly towards the table and sat down heavily. The sergeant sat down too. One of the other men rose, his chair making a scraping sound on the flagstones as he pushed
it back. He went to the stove and poured a cup of tea. He placed it in front of Florrie. Automatically she murmured, ‘Thank you.’ Then he and the other soldier went outside, leaving
Sergeant Granger and Florrie alone.

She raised stricken eyes to meet his gaze. ‘I want to speak to the major.’

‘I don’t think—’ he began.

‘I must,’ she cut in. ‘I must try everything possible.’

He sighed and then nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do. But the – the court martial is tomorrow.’

‘I know and I’ll be there.’

‘Oh, miss, I don’t think—’ he said again, but she held up her hand to stop him.

‘I’ll be there.’

The man fell silent. He knew when he was beaten.

She stood up and, leaning her hands on the table, said, ‘Please take me to the major.’

Now the sergeant didn’t argue.

The major was a big, thickset man with a bristling moustache. Florrie guessed him to be in his late forties. His brown hair was thinning and his face was florid, his jowls
flabby. His eyes, devoid of any feeling, bored into hers. ‘And what can I do for you, Nurse?’

Florrie stood before him, thankful that she was not under his command and desperately sorry for those who were. She lifted her chin and faced him squarely. ‘Private Maltby is my brother,
and I would like to know what the charge is.’

‘Ha-humph,’ the man grunted, stroking his moustache. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I’d known he had a relative
nearby.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ Florrie replied tartly. ‘But since you have and I am here, would you have the courtesy to tell me with what he is charged?’

‘ “When on active service deserting His Majesty’s Service”,’ the man quoted bluntly.

‘And what grounds have you for that assertion?’ She was speaking stiffly and correctly, drawing on every ounce of her upbringing and education to put this pompous major firmly in his
place. But the man was a tough nut to crack.

‘On the grounds – as you put it, miss – that he was found miles from his unit and thumbing a lift away from the battle zone. He’d deserted his post, thrown away his arms
and was,’ his lip curled disdainfully, ‘running away.’

‘And has he given any explanation as to the reason for this alleged “desertion”?’

‘No. He refuses to say anything, other than to ask for Captain Richards to act as his “friend”.’

‘Are witnesses to be called?’

‘There are none.’

She took a step towards him, gratified to see that the major actually blinked in surprise. He’d heard the phrase ‘a formidable woman’, but he’d never actually met one. He
ruled his own wife and family with the proverbial rod of iron and not one of them dared stand up to him. But to his surprise, he now found himself facing a female who appeared unafraid of him. She
had the air of a tigress protecting her young.

In a soft voice that was even more menacing – and certainly more effective – than hysterical sobbing or pleading would have been, Florrie enquired, ‘And have you asked if there
are any witnesses? Have you tried to find out why he was where he was? And what exactly do you mean by “he’d deserted his post”? Where should he have been?’

‘He
should
have been on sentry duty in the support trenches.’

‘And has he been questioned as to why he wasn’t?’

‘Not yet – but he will be tomorrow.’

‘I see. So he was given no chance to explain before the charge was brought against him? By you, I presume?’

‘That is correct.’ The major answered her in the same formal manner.

‘And has anyone talked to him since? Taken a statement? Or merely
listened
to him?’

‘As I say, he will have ample time tomorrow at his court martial.’

‘I see.’ Florrie’s eyes glittered with anger. ‘In a proper court of law, Major, as you well know, the accused is allowed legal representation. His brief is given time to
prepare a defence and—’

‘There is no defence for a soldier who deserts his post and betrays his fellow men. I wish you good day, Miss Maltby.’

‘So, you’re telling me that the only person allowed to speak for him is Captain Richards?’

Two soldiers came to stand beside her, stamping their feet and coming to attention before the major.

Major Grant ignored her question and said curtly, ‘Miss Maltby is leaving.’

And this time Florrie could do nothing but obey.

The following morning, Florrie stood outside the building in the town of Poperinghe where the court-martial hearing was to be held. At the door, two soldiers barred her
way.

‘Let me pass,’ she muttered through gritted teeth.

‘We have orders, miss, not to let anyone in other than those involved in the trial.’

‘I am involved. I’m his
sister.
’

‘The major was most firm, miss. No one.’ The young soldier’s manner was apologetic. His voice quavered a little and Florrie thought she saw tears in his eyes. But the fellow
was only carrying out orders. He daren’t do anything else!

She sighed and turned away. She crossed the rough road and sat on a low, crumbling wall to wait. However long it took, she would still be here when the verdict was announced.

It was hours before Gervase emerged into the sunlight. He was startled to see her sitting there. For a moment he hesitated before walking slowly towards her, his eyes downcast,
his shoulders slumped.

Florrie stood up slowly, easing her cramped limbs. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. Her whole being was trembling. The drawn, grim look on his face squeezed her heart. His eyes were
full of a mixture of helpless rage and sorrow.

‘Florrie, my dear – I’m so sorry. I’ve arranged for you to see him, but there’s nothing more I can do.’

‘You mean – you mean they found him
guilty
?’

He nodded.

‘And his – his punishment?’

His face was bleak, his voice a strangled whisper. ‘He’s to be – to be shot. At dawn tomorrow.’

‘So soon? No –
no
! Oh, Gervase, who can I see?’

‘There’s no one, Florrie.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I’ve seen Major Grant and even his superior. I’ve,’ his voice broke, ‘tried everything. The
major refused to make any kind of recommendation for leniency and it’s likely that the brigadier-general will endorse the sentence of the court. I’ve done everything—’

‘You can’t have,’ she screamed at him. ‘You can’t have tried hard enough. You can save him, Gervase, you
must
save him. Did James talk to you? Did he tell
you why he was trying to get back here?’

‘He wouldn’t say anything. He offered up no defence.’

She gripped his arms fiercely, so hard that he winced. ‘Take me to see the major – and the brigadier. Gervase, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything you want. I swear it
– I’ll marry you – anything, but please – please help me save my brother.’

She was babbling hysterically. He gathered her to him and held her close, but there was nothing else he could say or do. She sobbed against him and when, at last, she was quieter, he said
gently, ‘Come, I’ll go with you to see him.’

With a sudden violent movement she wrenched herself away. She squared her shoulders and, though her face was ravaged, she shed no more tears. Impatiently, she brushed away the traces of her
weeping and looked him straight in the eye. Stonily, she said, ‘That won’t be necessary. I prefer to go alone.’ She turned her back on him and walked away, her head held high.

Broken-hearted, Gervase watched her go.

They didn’t bring him back to the cellars of the house, but kept him imprisoned in the building where the court martial had been held. The same two guards stood outside
the door of the room that now acted as a cell.

A sergeant – not one she knew – met her at the door of the house.

‘Your brother, is he, miss?’

‘That’s right,’ she replied stiffly and there was blame in her tone.

Hearing it, the sergeant said, ‘Don’t think we’re not sorry, miss, ’cos we are. But he shouldn’t have done what he did.’

She paused and turned to face him. ‘All I’ve been told is that he deserted his post. But no one seems to have bothered to find out why. Do you know?’

‘He came back looking for his French bit o’ stuff.’

‘His
what
?’

The man had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Sorry, miss. I mean – his girlfriend.’

‘His
girlfriend
? What girlfriend?’

‘When we was here before, miss, when it was all happening round Ypres and after—’

Florrie nodded.

‘Well, there used to be this farm back across the border in France where we used to go when we was on rest. And he met this French girl. Daughter of the farmer, she was. There was just her
dad and her uncle and her. I reckon the mother must have died, ’cos there was only the three of ’em.’

Florrie felt a jolt. The pretty dark-haired girl, laughing and joking with the soldiers – had she been James’s girlfriend?

‘I didn’t know soldiers were allowed to – to fraternize.’

He sniffed. ‘They can’t really stop it, miss, can they? They wanted us to help out on the farms, help with the work because so many of the workers are in the French army. And if
there’s women about—’ He shrugged as if the answer was obvious.

‘But James is only seventeen – no, eighteen now – he’s a boy. He doesn’t—’ She stopped and felt the colour creeping up her neck.

‘If he’s out here in this lot, miss,’ the sergeant said softly, ‘he’s a man.’

He said no more, but ushered her into the house. ‘I’ll be just outside,’ he murmured as he nodded to the two soldiers on guard to allow her into the room where James was.

When her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw him sitting on the floor against the wall, his knees drawn up, his head buried in his arms.

‘James, oh, James,’ she cried and rushed to him, falling on her knees and pulling him into her embrace.

He clung to her and began to cry hoarse, racking sobs. ‘Florrie, I’m sorry. Tell Father I’m sorry. It’s not like they’re saying. I didn’t desert my post.
Someone was supposed to do my duty for me. I arranged it, but he let me down. He let me down and – and—’

She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. ‘Tell me. Tell me his name and I’ll find him. I’ll tell them it was him – I’ll have him arrested and
you’ll be set free.’

Suddenly, it was as if time had tilted and they were back in the nursery and she was trying to get her little brother to do something he didn’t want to. There was that same look of
mutinous determination – it hadn’t happened often, but when it had, there’d been no moving him, no persuading him. If only that stubbornness had come out against their father and
his school’s headmaster, maybe he wouldn’t be here, maybe she wouldn’t now be having to plead for his life . . .