Summer's End (46 page)

‘I won't.
You
can, though.'

His face was flushed with anger as, throwing off the rug, he pointed to his wasted leg, and then the one that was only half a leg. ‘I can change this? Or
this?
'

‘
Very
well,' she said steadily, ‘we disagree.'

She looked so calm, he thought angrily. How to reach her, make her understand?

‘But if you will not let me help you,' she continued, my life too is destroyed, for I love you and nothing can change that either.'

‘And do you think it would help that love. Felicia,' he seized her hand fiercely, ‘to stay with me forever, knowing I can never marry, never lead a normal life?'

‘You
can
marry when you are quite recovered.'

‘Felicia, don't you understand yet? I never shall. Haven't they told you?'

‘Told me what?'

Anger made him blunt. ‘I'm paralysed and I'm impotent.' He waited for the look of repulsion or pity he expected, but it didn't come. What did was worse.

‘I don't understand.'

He turned his head away, cursing. ‘I can't marry you, Felicia. For heaven's sake, you're a sort of nurse. You should understand what that means. I'll never be able to be a husband to you. Never love you as you deserve to be loved. Never give you children.
Now
do you understand?'

A jolt went through her, and as instantly left her again, determined as she was not to show reaction. She took his hands. ‘It doesn't
matter,
Daniel. I love you, the adventure of your soul.'

‘It matters to me, Felicia.'

When she saw he was choking back emotion, she stood up, to be calm for both of them. Through the window she could see the grey December day of the rest of her life. How was she to say it, how make the sacrifice he was asking of her when everything in her cried out to remain here?

She managed it at last. ‘Very well, Daniel. I'll go away. That's what you want, isn't it, so that I don't remind you any more of the past?' If she had hoped he might stop her, that hope was extinguished
as he remained silent. ‘But if you're casting me out because I'm the old life, then I'll only go on one condition.' He waited. ‘I want to see you begin your new life.' He looked up, startled. ‘Let me see you in that invalid chair, Daniel.'

But he turned away from her again.

Leave, wonderful leave. Caroline performed a hop, skip and a jump. She had been one of the lucky ones. Forty-eight hours from four o'clock Thursday afternoon, Christmas Eve.
Today
! She would be home in time for supper if she were lucky, and certainly for Midnight Mass, the first Celebration of Christmas Day. She was the happiest girl on earth, and hugged Ellen in commiseration. Ellen was remaining on duty.

‘Don't you worry about me, Carrie,' she assured her valiantly. ‘It's a lot more fun here than slaving at Shadwell for me Dad. Two dozen Tommies and a few Froggie Belgians are more than a match for a glass of port in the local back home. That young one from the Naval Reserve, Pip, he fancies giving me a Christmas present or two. I know just what he thinks it's going to be now he's hopping around. He's had his eye on me.'

‘Don't let it linger too long.'

Ellen grinned. ‘Why not? A short life for a soldier, make it a merry one, say I. More ways of killing the cat for the war effort than knitting two left socks.'

Caroline had thought about this statement for some time last night when sleep came hard through excitement. Were all men the same? Ellen had given her graphic descriptions of just how the soldiers led their merry lives while waiting to go abroad, or even convalescing after wounds, and how standards in her home area had suddenly changed with the advent of war; girls who had kept sweethearts at arm's length rapidly decreased the distance when threatened with their departure. ‘It's their bit towards the war effort,' Ellen had explained. At first Caroline thought she was joking, then realised she was not, and then pondered on its morality. For men were men, and if the Tommies felt that way, what of Reggie? All she had given him was a photograph, and it was all he had asked, though she had diffidently offered more. Had there been unspoken hopes in the last passionate kisses he had given her; had she missed them, let him down? And what would her reaction have been? Had he been
holding back knowing that to ask might tear her apart even further? If he were to ask now …?

The restlessness in her body at the thought battled with all she had been led to believe in. Did war change
every
thing?
Certainly this one might, for now it reached out its dirty fingers and touched England itself. Eight days ago the country had been shaken when German warships bombarded the east coast. A girl cleaning a doorstep in Scarborough had been
killed
, and altogether 127 people had died in the attack with over 500 civilians injured, not to mention soldiers and sailors. The newspapers had been full of the appalling events. In Hartlepool a family of eight people had been killed – only the cat had escaped. Yet it was the girl on the doorstep whom Caroline conjured up most vividly; she had her back to approaching death, bending over her daily work. Suppose it had been Harriet or Myrtle at the Rectory, or Rosie Trott at Ashden Manor, peacefully engaged in her daily routine, only to die without warning? This was invasion just as terrible as if the German army had arrived on the beaches of southern England, perhaps it was worse because it was so insidious. In Dover there had been not panic, but an increased tension, an awareness that they too were part of the military front. Here at the harbour, on her last spell of duty, she was waiting to escort a group of patients from the boat into the waiting ambulances for Dover Priory station, for the Canterbury line.

Full of her own thoughts about her return home, she became aware with startling suddenness that there was some sort of commotion going on, people shouting, yelling, excitement – or fear? – communicating itself like a rippling wave through the waiting groups. At last she distinguished the words: ‘Take cover, take cover.'

Someone grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her inside the ambulance.

‘What happened?' she shouted at her companion.

‘Air raid warning. The motor-cars have just driven along the Parade with the placards.'

‘Another false alarm, like that submarine, I expect.' Caroline rushed to the window just as the clouds lifted and she glimpsed an aeroplane. Simultaneously, it seemed, there was a dull boom. No false alarm, no disappearing submarines this time. There was a moment's pause, then shouting all around. What to do? Take cover? Go to help at the scene of whatever had happened? She yelled at two
men sheltering under a nearby van. ‘Is there damage? Where is it?'

‘Somewhere near the Castle.'

Was their hostel all right, was Caroline's instant fear. Ellen might still be there, for she had been on night duty, and it was only eleven o'clock. She longed to rush over to find out, but their orders were to take cover till an all-clear. Moreover she had a job to do, even if she were uncomfortably aware that a harbour and a railway station would make good targets. Surely the harbour would scare off any more planes? They had felt so confident here, protected by all the new guns and fortifications, yet somehow an aeroplane had managed to drop what must surely have been a bomb right on Dover itself.

When it was evident that no more bombs would fall, they resumed work, and on her arrival back from the Priory station she was relieved to find Ellen waiting for her.

‘What's
happened?
' Caroline demanded. ‘I've heard everything, from the Castle being in ruins to the entire Parade being demolished. Thank goodness you're safe.'

‘It blew me out of bed.'

‘But was anyone killed?'

‘Cor blimey, no, It only got one poor devil – he was blown out of a cherry tree, and bruised, poor soul. Serve him right for being up a tree in December.' There spoke the towns woman, Caroline thought to herself, amused, as Ellen continued, ‘Guess what the Kaiser managed to blow up, though. I went to have a look at it.'

‘The Castle?'

‘A field of blooming cabbages. That's grand news for hostel meals. I'll be able to go in without holding me nose.'

‘It's very brave of you to come down here.'

‘No, it ain't. Our lads went up in the air from Swingate, and a seaplane went from Folkestone to see off Herr Kaiser's gents. Exciting, ain't it?'

‘Did they shoot it down?'

‘Some hopes. They only had pistols and they probably hold water. That should teach the Kaiser a lesson.'

Mrs Dibble was forced to acknowledge that she missed Agnes's calm competence, odd one though she could be at times. Harriet and she were rubbing along well enough, and the girl had come on
wonderfully with promotion, but, apart from the extra work for them all, and they couldn't afford no extra help now, Harriet didn't have Agnes's all-round ability, able to turn a smoky fire to blazing warmth as readily as she could bake an apricot soufflé. Agnes was no mean cook; Harriet was hard put to it to mash a potato. Mrs Dibble pummelled at the basinful of potatoes to reduce them to smooth light consistency and stirred in Harriet's unevenly chopped onion, She vigorously shook salt and pepper into it, inspected it, added more butter, and left it while she attended to the onion and sage stuffing for Mr Goose Number Two, For herself, she liked the mashed potato stuffing, but Mrs Lilley had decreed one of each, so that was that. It would be up with the lark tomorrow morning. Puddings on to boil, stoking up the range fire, which would be kept in all night to ensure no last-minute mishaps, and the oven ready for the geese.
And
the larders would be firmly bolted against that blessed dog. With that job done, it would begin to feel like Christmas. It hadn't seemed natural without all the girls crowding around these last few days, and Mr George, bless him, wasn't much use. But now the geese were stuffed she felt more Christmassy, heartened by the fact that it was up to be a family Christmas after all. Fred would like that, for not only did it upset him when people went away from the Rectory, but it was going to be a family Christmas for the Dibbles too. Lizzie was coming over in the van with the Hartfield carrier, who was going on to his usual Christmas duty of delivering chickens and turkeys cooked in the baker's ovens for those who could not do their own, and picking up Joe's wife and little one on the way.

So Christmas would be Christmas after all in the Rectory, and the devil take the Kaiser, she thought daringly. The Rectory walls were too thick for the Kaiser to barge in and spoil everything – and he could keep out of the cellars, too, where the extra coal was stored, just in case. She burst out into ‘Rock of Ages Cleft for Me', then remembered the hour and the season, and hummed ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem'. Bethlehem she visualised as another Ashden, where starry skies were ushering wise men and shepherds to St Nicholas.

Upstairs at ease in her old room in the Rectory, Tilly debated on whether or not to attend the Midnight Celebration. She knew very well she had no choice, in fact. Of course she must go, if only to please Laurence. Safe in the familiar surroundings, she did not regret
accepting his invitation for Christmas. Simon – Lord Banning – had asked her to stay, but as she knew very well he had invited his sister, with whom she had crossed swords in her suffragette days, Tilly had asserted her independence. Soon she would have left for good, and he must begin growing unaccustomed to her voice and appearance again, she thought with amusement. Their bargain had been ‘until she was well again', and now she was. It was time to fly the coop once more. On her last visit to the War Office she had yet again been told to go home and stop bothering them. So much for women's part in the war.
The Times
filled a column a day with helpful ideas; the War Office was too busy to consider the vast source of employment lying virtually idle in the country. She had, like so many others, been forced to go where she could; she had chosen the FANYs, the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, and after Christmas would be leaving to join them as one of their drivers in Belgium. She considered asking Caroline to come with her; yes, it was not a bad idea. She was being wasted where she was, and only fools now thought this would be a short war. She'd ask her, as soon as the opportunity arose.

Meanwhile she'd give thanks to the Lord for Ashden, changed but unchanged by the war. She had been amused to be cheered when she arrived in the Austin this afternoon, and to find herself somewhat of a heroine. Ashden had obviously swung round to patriotism, though this hadn't, she noticed, stopped the success of the cinema. Pragmatic as ever, Ashden saw no harm in patronising the gift while deriding its donor as Lord Tom Noddy, in their succinct phrase. She crammed on her faithful brown toque, then changed her mind and switched it for the new hat that Lord Banning had gravely presented to her this morning as she left.

‘It's fully armoured,' he explained. ‘Bullet-proof for the Western Front. Your heart has its own armour.'

Surely enough, she could feel a thin layer of tin or some other metal between the blue felt and its bright blue silk lining. Curiously, it was not uncomfortable, and thus fully protected against outside harm she descended the Rectory stairs to join Elizabeth for the Midnight Celebration.

‘Are you ready, Felicia?' Phoebe's head shot round the door.

Felicia had been ready for the past ten minutes, and had been sitting in the chair by the window that faced towards the Manor,
thinking of her future. ‘Yes.' She stood up and put on her hat, while Phoebe fidgeted impatiently. The time had been productive, crystallising Felicia's thoughts into resolution; out of the deep ache of rejection and helplessness, she could now see a path. It was not a path that even a month ago she could have envisaged taking; it was a path that would cause anxiety to her parents and danger and hardship for her. But, unlike the other paths, it led out of the Slough of Despond in whose unfathomable depths she must otherwise surely choke and drown.