The Storms of War (16 page)

‘Please. I’d like to see them.’

The plaiting continued, slow and steady. ‘Ma says your family has brought us nothing but trouble. She says you think everyone must admire you because you have money.’

‘Not me. Please. We were friends. I’d show you my brother’s letters if you wanted.’ She had no idea how she’d manage to take them from Rudolf’s study, but if that was what Mary desired, she would.

‘I don’t wish to see them.’ Mary pulled a skein of hair over, then tugged it tight. She stood still for a moment, thinking.

‘Please,’ Celia said.

‘If it’ll make you leave, you can see the last letter he sent. Our mother keeps the others, I don’t know where. I’ll finish this first.’

Celia sat and watched her pull sections of Missy’s hair, wrap them over each other. It just looked brown from this angle, but she supposed it was all colours like hers, little streaks of blond, red, brown and darker brown. The child was humming to herself, occasionally falling towards Mary’s hands when she pulled too hard.

‘There!’ Mary said, tying a piece of ribbon around the end. ‘Done. Good girl, Missy.’ She dusted her hands. ‘The letter is downstairs in the kitchen. You can come if you like.’

Holding Missy, she set off down the rickety stairs. Celia followed, stepping carefully to avoid the piles of cups and spoons and
bits of toys. The kitchen was strewn with plates and saucepans, the chairs all out of place, a heap of paper and firewood dumped on the floor. ‘Come on in,’ said Mary, impatiently. Missy sat on the floor and began fiddling with a dropped potato and a spoon. Mary flicked through the piles of paper on the side. ‘Here it is.’ She passed a single page over to Celia. ‘You can read it here. But quickly. Ma will be back soon.’

Celia’s heart shivered as she unfolded the paper. There it was, Tom’s handwriting, unmistakable. Rudolf had been so very proud of all the advances Tom had made at school – before Verena had forced him to take him away.

Dear Ma, Mary and Missy,

Hope you are all keeping well. Things are not too bad here. Weather is good and the people are friendly. Captain Elletson says I am doing well and he is glad to have a man with strong hands about, says he is glad he didn’t lose me to the horses. One of the other men who has come over here from another battalion was a travelling actor. He gives us a good show in the evenings. He knows all the old songs – remember ‘Ellie Mae’, that one you used to sing us, Ma? It lifts our spirits. Food isn’t too bad here, I can say. Captain Elletson is a fine man. He brought a good breakfast cake, said it’s a speciality here. He is pretty strict about cleanliness too, which is good, keeps us men up to scratch because sometimes you are so dog tired that you don’t have the energy. But he makes a point of telling his Staff Sergeants to have a good look at the men’s feet, as he says that if you don’t keep them clean and dry once we’re out, you will get a nasty infection and then the foot has to come off. Yesterday he asked me to take over the inspection. You would have laughed, Mary, to see me looking at all those feet! Well, I should get back to the men now. I hope you are all well and Missy that you are good and learning your letters. I send you all a big kiss. I miss you and the news from home.

Your loving

Tom

Celia read it again, savouring the words, looking at Tom’s writing. ‘He writes much more than my brother does,’ she said. ‘Maybe he’s happier.’

Mary wrinkled her mouth. Missy was trying to pull a pan from the stove. ‘Missy, stop that now!’ She tugged the child away, turned to Celia. ‘Only one of your type could say that,’ she said, her eyes blazing. ‘Only someone like you would think my brother could be happy in a place like that.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Give me back the letter.’ She held out her hand. ‘Ma will be home soon, and she will hit the roof if you are here. I should have never let you have it.’

‘I am sorry. I—’

‘Just go! Really, just go.’

From the floor, Missy cried out, ‘Just go!’

Celia passed the letter across, feeling as if it were burning in her hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Don’t thank me! Just go away.’

Celia held out her hand. ‘Please. May I have his address?’

Mary looked as if she was about to burst into tears. ‘No! Go now!’

Celia turned then, hurried out of the kitchen, into the hallway and out of the house. Two women at the opposite door stared at her. She dropped her head and rushed back up the road, dreading seeing Mrs Cotton at every step, pushing against the icy wind. Tom’s words were pounding in her head: the feet inspections, Captain Elletson and the breakfast cake.
Why does he not write to me?

She still could not tell if Michael and Tom were together. She had consoled herself in the first days after they had left with the idea that they sat side by side. But now she did not know. She could see that Tom might not mention Michael to his family. But why would Michael not mention Tom? The answer rang through her: Verena would be angry. But how could they be together and not say anything about it? That made their letters into lies. And surely Michael and Tom wouldn’t send lies.

Christmas was Rudolf’s favourite time of year. He said it was the gift the Germans had given to the world. ‘It was all thanks to the Prince Consort,’ he was fond of saying. ‘He decked the Palace with bowers of green and even made the Queen put up a tree.’ In the old days, Verena used to tease him that he fancied himself a bit of a Prince Consort.

‘Well,’ said Rudolf, ‘I have certainly had practice in supporting a demanding lady with strong opinions.’

Verena shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t talk about the Queen like that. Especially not in front of the children.’

‘See,’ Rudolf shrugged to the table, ‘there is no doubt who is Empress of India around here.’

Each Christmas, Rudolf directed Smithson and Thompson in adorning the walls, he supervised the delivery of the tree, he told the four children where to hang the glass and wooden ornaments he had collected over the years. Arthur got to put up the most brilliant decorations, Emmeline placed the star on the top, giggling on the ladder, and Michael strewed the branches with silver ribbon and little silver pieces of string. Then, finally, Celia – who had sat watching in the corner – was allowed to put on the last few baubles. Every year, she wished she could do it all herself.

Now she looked at the tree and her father standing beside it, his eyes full of hope, and was miserably reminded of what Verena used to say: be careful what you wish for. Here she was, with what she had longed for so desperately: four boxes of baubles and ribbons and the star to perch on the top.
I didn’t mean it this way,
she pleaded.
I didn’t! I meant them just to be doing other things, to be coming home later for Christmas.
Rudolf stood smiling
at her eagerly, begging her to smile too, to play the part of all four children, to show him that he had a family.

‘Look, Celia,’ he said. ‘Even in wartime, we have found a beautiful tree.’ Thompson had balanced the tree in the corner of the library with the help of Jennie. After two weeks of poring over advertisements and writing to agencies, Verena had given up on trying to replace Smithson. Apparently all those young men who hadn’t gone to war preferred to be in the big towns. Jennie and Sarah had to do the pushing and pulling with Thompson. The three of them had dragged the tree through the back door while Rudolf clapped his hands and hugged Celia tight. ‘I knew I would find a tree!’ he said. He had been hunting for weeks, writing letters and sending Thompson off to Winchester, determined not to be beaten by the shortage of wood.

He gestured towards the boxes of ornaments that Jennie had brought down from the attic. ‘What a treat! You can decorate it all yourself!’

‘Thank you, Papa,’ Celia said, trying to smile. She felt as if her parents were china ornaments, that the merest word from her might smash them – like
Arthur, Emmeline and Michael will stay away! Christmas Day will be just the three of us!
But she knew that Verena had ordered Mrs Rolls to bake ten pies and roast five sides of beef, to recreate two of the cakes that she had baked in August. Verena had no patience with Mrs Rolls talking of the shortages. ‘Just pay more!’ she said. Rudolf had ordered gifts, especially for Emmeline. Every day he asked Thompson for letters, always hoping for an envelope.

‘Well, go ahead then,’ he said now. ‘The tree needs its decorations from my favourite Celia.’

Celia reached into one of the boxes and picked out another, smaller box. She opened it and pulled out a tiny wooden model of an abacus. Her heart bumped. That one had been Michael’s favourite; it had been Rudolf’s as a child. As a young boy, Michael had begged Rudolf to allow him to take it up to his room and play with it alone.

‘Now, Michael. This one is for everyone,’ Rudolf always said.

Michael would position it on the tree, placing it right at the front. ‘It must stay here,’ he said, firmly. ‘No one can move it.’

Celia stood there holding the abacus in her hand. Michael had always taken it down as well, he loved it so. Some part of it was in him, she thought. She wanted to let the tears roll down her face.
I wish Michael had taken this to France.
But she couldn’t say that. Instead, she hung it on the front of the tree, reached down for the next.

Michael sent them a Christmas card, which arrived midway through December, a cheap one that Verena suspected was given to the men in bulk to send out to their relatives. It had a chilly-looking robin on the front, sitting on a snowy bough.
Many best wishes for Christmas and the New Year,
he had written.
We hope for peace.
After that, they watched every day for another letter. ‘It is probably delayed in the post,’ said Rudolf, sagely. Arthur sent a card from Paris with a picture of the Eiffel Tower, saying, again, how he was occupied by his search for business opportunities, how he would definitely come in the spring. Emmeline sent a letter with no address, saying she was well. She told them she was in London and said that the shops looked very pretty, preparing for Christmas. Celia gazed at her sister’s regular, rounded vowels and envied her. She hated all her siblings, then, their breezy words: hope you are well, how is Stoneythorpe, what is the weather like?
You have left me here
, she wanted to cry.

‘We could ask Mrs Rolls and Jennie and Thompson to eat up here with us on Christmas Day,’ Celia had said to her mother, three days before. There had been letters from Smithson, two to Mrs Rolls and Jennie so far (really he just meant Jennie, they all knew), describing the training. Jennie’s eyes were red in the morning.

Verena drew herself up, immediately the dignified chatelaine of Stoneythorpe once more. ‘Celia! How can you think of such a thing? What if word got out?’

‘Don’t you think it would be nice?’

‘No, I do not! And what is more, they would dislike it. What are you thinking of, Celia? Has the world turned upside down?’

‘I wish it would,’ sighed Celia, under her breath, so quietly that Verena could not hear.

She went to bed on Christmas Eve past bowers of green and decorations, her heart heavy. She almost could not believe her own thoughts – her wish that Christmas could have been cut from the calendar for the year seemed bizarre, unnatural, but still she felt it. She tried to imagine Michael having a Christmas celebration, but could not.

They drove to church arrayed in their smartest coats and hats, feet cracking through the snow. Everyone stared at them – as they had done at every service since the war had begun. Reverend Martin talked about forgiveness and peace, led prayers for the troops. Celia sat upright, aware of eyes on her back. She longed for the Cottons to be behind her, but when she rose they were nowhere to be seen. On the way out, they were stepping into their carriage when a clump of mud landed on Rudolf’s shoe. They looked up as a group of boys ran away over the mound behind the church. ‘Filthy Hun!’ one shouted. A giggle rose from the crowd outside the church.

‘Come, my dear,’ murmured Rudolf, grasping Verena’s arm. ‘Let us go into the carriage. Do not look back. Come, Celia.’

‘What’s happening?’ hissed Celia.

‘Nothing. Just children.’ Rudolf ushered them both in, shut the door and clapped for Glover to drive on. As the horses turned, Celia felt sure she heard more bolts of mud hit the carriage.

Back at Stoneythorpe, she stood on the drive. ‘I want to look at the carriage,’ she told Rudolf. ‘There is mud there! I heard them!’

‘No more than the usual,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Only a little.’

‘I want to look.’

‘No!’ He shouted out the word with more anger than she’d expected. ‘No, you will not.’

Celia’s heart thumped. Rudolf never shouted at her. He prided himself, he said, on not raising his voice to his children. He always
said that doing so taught children that violence solved things. Which it didn’t, he said, it never did.

She looked at him, expecting him to smile, relent. But he did not. ‘You will go in!’ he said, loudly and furiously. ‘Go inside.’

‘Come, Celia.’ Verena woke from what had been stillness and took Celia’s arm. ‘Let us go to the house. It is beginning to snow once more.’ Celia sank into her mother’s grip and they made their way up the snowy slope to the front door. Thompson was coming to meet them, pushing snow out of their way with a beater.

Celia looked back. Rudolf was leaning against the carriage, crumpled and bent, his head in his hands. Verena jerked her arm. ‘Come on, Celia. You must change for lunch.’

The Christmas table was fabulously decorated with evergreens and candles. A great side of beef was the centrepiece, surrounded by pies, mountains of glazed carrots, potatoes, parsnips and beans. Their plates were piled high. Celia stared at them, thinking of the shortages of sugar and meat talked about in the newspapers. ‘Mrs Rolls has done marvellous work,’ said Verena, smiling beatifically as if there were a dozen people at her huge table, rather than just the three of them spaced around the polished mahogany. ‘Do you not think, husband?’ Rudolf looked up, his face pale, his eyes bewildered, as if, Celia thought, he were lost. ‘Yes, wife,’ he said, his voice cracked. She was sure he did not know what he said.

Thompson brought around the gravy boat.

‘Let us pray,’ said Verena. ‘Let us begin. Rudolf.’

Rudolf stared at her dizzily. Then he bowed his head. ‘Our Father,’ he began. Celia mouthed through the familiar words. Usually she paid no attention, but now she found them wanting.
What do you mean, thy will be done?
she wanted to cry.
How is
this
your will?

After lunch, little of which Celia could eat, they retired to the parlour to open their presents. She looked at her pile and wanted to weep for all the expressions of joy and gratitude she would have to give, three times as many as she ever had before. Her first gift was a beautifully illustrated copy of
The Water-Babies.
Celia gazed
at it.
This is too young for me,
she wanted to say.
And I’ve already got one that I bought with you in London to hide Freud.
Verena’s face was shining, expectant. She was just about to say how much she loved it when there was a great cry from the garden outside.

‘What is that?’ Verena stiffened.

‘It sounds like one of the horses, madam,’ said Thompson from the back of the room.

Celia leapt up and her mother craned to look out of the window. ‘I can’t see anything. Has one got free, do you suppose?’

‘Do you think it is Silver?’ Celia cried. ‘She will freeze!’ Her heart flashed guilt then, for she had not been to see Silver for a week now, and her visits had become more and more infrequent before that. She had not had the heart. Everything there reminded her of Tom.

‘I shall go and see,’ said Thompson. ‘Do not worry, madam.’ He slipped from the room and they watched him hurry up the garden through the snow to the stables.

Celia returned to her book. ‘How beautiful it is, Mama! You have found me such a beautiful thing.’ She knew it would be churlish to say
I’m too old for
The Water-Babies
!
She supposed that it was hard to find good presents these days.

Four parcels later, Thompson came back into the room, red-faced and out of breath.

Verena was already standing. ‘What has happened?’

‘It’s not good, madam. It looks as if Marks has left. I don’t know when, perhaps three days ago. More, maybe. I can’t think when I last saw him. The horses are very weak and Miss Celia’s Silver is so hungry that she has started to bite her own leg. It’s incredible that none of us heard them. I don’t know what I should do.’

‘That cannot be possible!’ Verena exclaimed. ‘He would have said.’

Celia leant over the fire, her face hot with shame and guilt. What had she done? She had abandoned Silver, left her to starve. The set of bronze hearth tools mocked her.

‘I will go up there,’ she said. ‘I will go up there to look after her.’

‘I wouldn’t, miss. Not a nice sight.’

‘No, Celia,’ said Rudolf, his voice weak. ‘You are not permitted.’

‘I’ve given them all some hay and water, sir. Jennie has gone up there to try to calm them. I will enquire in the village about finding a man. We might have a job, though: a lot of the good men have signed up and I don’t know who to try.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rudolf. Celia sat down again, stared at her mound of presents. She could feel tears sliding out of her eyes. Thompson closed the door behind him.

‘I said that we shouldn’t have kept all those horses,’ said Verena. ‘I said they would never come back.’

‘Now, my dear, do not blame yourself.’

‘I don’t. I blame Arthur, Michael and Emmeline. Going away and leaving us, expecting everything to be the same for them when they return, expecting us to keep things going.’

‘They are our children.’

‘That is not a licence for doing anything they like.’

Celia waited, in dread, for her mother to berate her as well. But instead she sat back heavily in her chair.

‘I wish I could call for tea,’ said Verena. There was no one left downstairs who was permitted to serve in the parlour.

Celia sprang up. ‘I’ll get it, Mama.’

‘You know you cannot.’ Verena’s voice was weaker than her words.

‘I’ll go,’ Celia said. She hurried out of the room and towards the kitchen. Mrs Rolls, Sarah and Ellie looked up as she arrived. Ellie was crying.

‘Merry Christmas, miss,’ said Mrs Rolls, little joy in her voice.

‘I came for the tea,’ Celia said. ‘Mama would like some tea.’ Ellie was trying to wipe away her tears.

‘I’ll bring it, miss,’ said Sarah, straightening up. ‘Sorry, miss, we’re all a bit low-spirited anyway, and Ellie is terrible fond of horses. I’ll just knock and leave the tray outside.’

Celia wanted to say kind words to them that would make them happier, make the kitchen the cheery place she had used to go to as a child. But she could not think of any. ‘Merry Christmas!’ she said, and ran back up the stairs.

She could hear the raised voices of her parents as she walked to the parlour. She waited outside the door and listened.

‘I will not let you!’ Verena cried out. ‘I will not have it! How can you think of going and leaving me?’ She burst into a torrent of tears.