Time for Silence (20 page)

To my amazement it was Andrée.

“Andrée,” I whispered. “Andrée, what’s wrong?”

She turned and for a second I saw a look of fear on her face. Then she said, “Oh…it’s you. For a moment I thought…I’ve awakened you. I’m so sorry, Lucinda.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I don’t think so. You know how anxious I get about Edward.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing much.” She had come up the stairs and stood beside me.

“What were you doing?” I asked.

“I was just going down to the kitchen to get some honey.”

“Honey! At this time of night? It’s nearly two.”

“Well, he has a little cough, you see. It kept him awake for a bit. He’s sleeping now, so I thought I’d slip down and get the honey, which does soothe him. Don’t worry. It’s just a slight chill. He’s been a little poorly the last day, I thought. And the cough was threatening to keep him awake.”

“I’ll get the doctor in the morning.”

“That may not be necessary. It’s just that this cough kept him awake for a while, and then when he did doze off…I slipped down to get the honey.”

“It’s a good idea. I’ll come with you.”

“Do you know where they keep the honey?”

“No, but we’ll find it. They must have some. It would be with the preserves…jams and things. You really don’t think it’s anything serious, do you?”

“
Mon Dieu
, no. I just fuss over him, I’m afraid. But you understand that. You are as bad as I am. I do know that children get these little ailments and are over them in no time. He’ll probably be all right in the morning.”

We reached the kitchen and, after a little exploring, found the honey.

“It’s wonderful the way you look after him,” I said.

“He’s such a darling.”

“I think so, too. But you are so good with him.”

“What I have done suits me, so please, you mustn’t make a heroine of me. I enjoy looking after Edward. I wanted somewhere to come. You and your family have done…everything for me. If I could repay you even a little, I should be overjoyed….But what I do is nothing…nothing compared with what you have done for me. To be here…to have escaped…”

I put my hand over hers and pressed it.

“It’s odd how something good comes out of so much that is evil,” I said.

“And evil out of good, perhaps.”

“Oh?”

“Oh…nothing. I suppose I must hurry back. His lordship may wake up. He’d be put out if there was no one there to look after him.”

“I do hope the cough is not going to develop. We’ll have to watch it, Andrée.”

“Trust me to do that.”

We went up the stairs together.

“I’ll come right up,” I said.

“Perhaps it’s better not,” she said. “If he woke up he’d wonder what was happening…then he’d never get to sleep. I’m hoping he is still asleep. If so, all is well. I’ll have the honey if he needs it. If anything was really wrong, I’d come to you right away.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I said.

At the door of my room we paused.

“I’m so sorry I disturbed you,” she said. “I tried hard not to make a noise.”

“You looked quite scared when you saw me. I’m afraid I frightened you.”

She laughed. “I must have thought you were a ghost. Are you a light sleeper?”

“Not more than normally, I suppose. I just happened to wake up then. I think it was the moon. It shines right into my room. Oh, how I wish this wretched war were over! I think it puts our nerves on edge.”

“We won’t have much time to think of anything other than the hospital when we get to Marchlands.”

“Perhaps that will be good for us.”

“We will make it so,” said Andrée. “Good night, Lucinda. And once more, I’m sorry.”

I went back to bed. I thought of Andrée’s anxiety about Edward and hoped he was all right. What an excellent nurse she had turned out to be. I fell to thinking of the meeting in the inn. Then I went through that journey across Belgium. Pictures flashed in and out of my mind. I kept seeing the bewildered faces of the refugees: an old woman pushing a basinet containing all the possessions she had been able to bring with her; an old car loaded with people and goods; little children clinging to their mother’s skirts…all suddenly uprooted from their homes.

Such sights stamped themselves on the memory and would remain there forever.

Thus I fell asleep.

Edward was quite well in the morning, and a week or so later the hospital was ready. My mother was completely delighted, and indeed it was a great achievement. Several bedrooms had been turned into wards. There was an operating room, many storerooms, a dispensary—in fact all that a hospital should have.

We had two doctors: Dr. Edgerton, who was about forty, and Dr. May who was more mature. We had a staff of nurses—most of them young and fresh from training—and at the head of them an experienced dragon, Sister Gamage, who struck terror not only in her nurses but in all of us. Then there was the staff of servants who had been at Marchlands as long as I could remember. They were all dedicated to making a success of the hospital and delighted to be able to do something for the country.

As I guessed she would be, Miss Carruthers was a great asset. That authoritative air of hers was very useful, and she and Sister Gamage took a great liking to each other at once. My mother said she was a wonderful help.

During the weeks that followed, we were all very busy settling into the hospital. My mother was realizing what a tremendous undertaking she had assumed; but she was very appreciative of all those who helped. We were all immersed in the exercise, which was a good thing because it kept our minds off the progress of the war.

Disaster followed disaster. In early May the
Lusitania
, on its way from New York to Liverpool, had been sunk by a German submarine with the loss of almost twelve hundred people. This shocked the nation, and there was speculation as to whether this would bring the United States of America into the war.

The coalition government which Mr. Asquith had formed, bringing in Conservative leaders like Bonar Law and Austen Chamberlain, was not proving to be entirely successful. The fact that the Dardanelles venture was threatening to be disastrous could not be hidden. Winston Churchill was being criticized because of his whole-hearted support for it. The Prime Minister was being called inept and not the man needed to lead the country to victory.

We were all adjusting ourselves to the new way of life. Miss Carruthers and I were at our desks in the morning. In the afternoon we had two hours during which we often rode out. Miss Carruthers had ridden in her youth and had not been on a horse for some years, but she quickly remembered her old training and proved to be a tolerably good horsewoman. Andrée took lessons and occasionally the three of us rode out together.

Andrée, I discovered, had a great capacity for enjoyment, and it was gratifying that she was so thankful to us for taking her away from a life that would have been distasteful to her. Miss Carruthers felt something similar, but not to the same extent; and in any case she did not show her feelings as readily as Andrée did.

“I love old houses,” Andrée said one day, “particularly those with a history.” She wanted to know all about Marchlands and would study the portraits of past Greenhams and ask questions about them. I knew very little of them.

“You will have to ask my father,” I said.

“He would be too busy just now, with all that is going on, to bother with my curiosity,” replied Andrée. “By the way, what of that house…is it Milton Priory? I heard some of the servants talking about it. I’d love to have a look at it.”

“It’s about two miles from here,” I said. “We could go and take a look at it. It has stood empty for some years. It’s one of those places that get a reputation for being haunted.”

“So some of the servants were saying.”

“Strange noises?” I said. “Weeping and wailing and lights appearing in the windows. That’s the usual thing.”

“Something like that.”

“It’s quite derelict really. I don’t know who owns it. There’s nothing much to see really.”

“Still, I’d like to look at it sometime.”

“Tomorrow then. Let’s ride there. I don’t suppose Miss Carruthers will mind.”

The next day, when we get to the stables, Andrée reminded me of my promise to go to Milton Priory.

“All right,” I said. “But prepare for a disappointment.”

“Is that the old place surrounded by shrubs?” asked Miss Carruthers.

“That sounds like an apt description,” I replied.

I had not seen the place for about two years. I noticed at once that it had changed. The shrubs were as unkempt as ever, but it had lost that unlived-in look. Was it because the windows had been cleaned?

“Fascinating,” said Andrée. “Yes…it does look haunted. Do you know its history?”

“No…nothing at all,” I replied. “Except that it has been empty for a long time and nobody seems to want to buy it. I don’t know whether it’s up for sale or not. I’ve not heard of its being so.”

“Could we go a little nearer?” asked Andrée.

“I can’t imagine anyone would mind if we did,” I said.

We urged our horses closer to the shrubs, and as we did so, a large Alsatian dog came bounding toward us. He looked fierce and forbidding.

“Angus,” said a voice. “What is it, boyo?”

A man was coming toward us. His shabby tweeds and unkempt appearance fitted the house. He was middle-aged, with a tawny beard and he carried a gun.

“Sit, Angus,” he said.

Angus sat but continued to regard us in a glowering and threatening manner.

“What are you doing here?” asked the man. “Do you know you are trespassing?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We didn’t think we were. The house is empty, isn’t it? We were just looking.”

“You don’t come any farther until I know your business.”

I was amazed. I said, “I’m from Marchlands.”

“Oh, aye,” he replied.

“We just thought we would look round. We have done so before. Please tell us who you are.”

“I’m the caretaker,” he said.

“Caretaker at Milton Priory!”

“From now on.”

“Is it up for sale?” I asked.

“Reckon.”

“I hadn’t heard.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Someone must have bought it,” I said.

“Could be so.”

“I see. I’m sorry. It has been empty so long and no one ever minded before. We just thought we’d explore a little.”

“Well, I wouldn’t try exploring round here anymore if I were you. Angus wouldn’t like it and Angus can be a pretty fierce customer, I can tell you.”

“Well, now we know,” I said. “I’m sorry, Andrée. That’s all you are going to see of Milton Priory.”

“It’s disappointing,” she said. “I should have loved to know the history of the place. I wonder who will come here?”

“No doubt we shall know in good time. They will be my father’s constituents, so he will soon be after their votes.”

Miss Carruthers said it was an interesting place. A little too early for William and Mary, she mused. There was a touch of the Stuart…early Stuart. “It will need a good deal of restoration, I imagine. How long did you say it had been empty, Lucinda?”

“I’m not sure. But a long time.”

We rode back to Marchlands, and then we went to the hospital to see if our services were wanted.

At the weekend my father came down, as he often did. My mother was eager to tell him how everything was progressing.

I remember, at dinner that night, he told us how unpopular the Prime Minister was becoming.

“The war is still going on, so they look round for a scapegoat. Poor Asquith! He fits the case very well. Especially with Lloyd George waiting to spring into his shoes. Margot Asquith is furious. If anyone can keep the old man going, it will be his formidable wife.”

Dr. Edgerton was dining with us that night. He was seated next to Miss Carruthers.

“Lloyd George is a very able man, I believe,” said the doctor.

“Perhaps that fiery Welshman will have all the energy which Asquith lacks,” suggested Miss Carruthers.

“Oh, I’m not sure of that,” replied the doctor, and he and Miss Carruthers went into a discussion about the merits of Lloyd George and Asquith.

My father said, “I’m sorry for the old man, but people are beginning to wonder whether it wouldn’t be better if he resigned in favor of L.G.”

“What of Churchill?” asked my mother.

“Oh, he’s in disgrace over the Dardanelles. He was so sure it was the right course to take. I suppose he is not all that certain now.”

“Are things very bad?” I asked.

“Never so bad as the press makes out. It’s the bad news they find sensational. And if there is someone they can possibly blame, they will. People are always more interested in the bad than the good. Let us say that things could be better.”

My mother said, “We were talking about Milton Priory the other day. Lucinda was saying that they have a caretaker there with a fierce dog.”

I fancied my father looked alert. “Milton Priory?” he said. “What’s this about it?”

“It seems someone’s making it ready to sell. Lucinda went there to have a look at the house…to show Andrée in fact.”

“I was with them,” said Miss Carruthers. “The caretaker was rather officious and told us to keep away…in no uncertain terms.”

I explained to my father exactly what had happened. “The dog was very fierce. He looked as though all he needed was his master’s command to tear us all apart.”

“I expect the man knew how to handle him. Did you get the idea that they were preparing the house for sale?”

“That seemed most likely.”

“We shall know in good time,” said my mother. “I wonder who the new owners will be.”

“I hope they will be good little Liberals,” I said. “Otherwise we shall have to convert them.”

My father smiled at me. “How was the place different?” he asked.

“I think the windows had been cleaned…and then, of course, there was the caretaker. I suppose they will have to smarten it up if they hope to sell at a reasonable price.”

“We’ll watch and await developments,” put in my mother.

“I should keep away from it if I were you,” said my father. “I don’t like the sound of that dog.”