A Mortal Sin (19 page)

Daphne attended numerous dances and other functions with Paul, but underneath the frivolity were undertones of anxiety now. She continued working at the hospital. Trains from up north brought in hundreds of military casualties, and because the hospital was so busy she often found herself on nursing duties.

She entered the orthopedic ward and waved to her favorite patient, a young sailor from the Repulse.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” she asked with a smile. Even though both his legs were in traction, he kept making jokes and she admired him for it.

“Much better now I’ve seen you, Sister. I wish you weren’t married.” He gave her a cheeky grin.

“Well, I am married, and if you don’t stop flirting with me I’ll hit you on the head with this bed pan,” she threatened, trying to sound severe, but spoilt it all by laughing. “How’s our sergeant doing?”

“Not real good,” Eddie said. “He had a bad night so they upped his dose of morphine.”

She went over to the young English sergeant’s bed and picked up his hand. “Eddie said you had a rough night?”

“It wasn’t too good, Sister, but I’m feeling all right now,” he whispered.

He had sustained shocking burns to his face and hands in one of the bombing raids. Lying encased in bandages, he must have been in agony, yet he never complained. Comparing his behavior to that of some of the European women who whined because they missed their imported foods and greedily bought things on the black market, she shuddered with disgust. If those women had even an ounce of decency they’d be down here trying to help out.

“Have you had any word on your brother?” Eddie asked.

“No, but there are heaps of rumors flying around about fierce fighting and bombing in Malaya. My husband is an officer and even he can’t find out anything much. Don’t you worry about Robbie, he’ll be fine.” She tried to sound reassuring, when in actual fact anxiety dogged every waking moment. Eddie had enough problems of his own without worry about her.”

Refugees pouring in from Malaya were being billeted in some of the larger homes or in public halls, and the harrowing stories they told about escaping with not much more than the clothes on their back did nothing to allay her fear. She forced herself to push aside her own worries and smile as she went around the ward checking on the comfort of each patient. A drink of cool water, a sympathetic ear, rearranging pillows. It wasn’t much when she could have been helping the surgeons in the operating theatre. She wanted to do more, but this at least was something.

Daphne wiped her hand wearily across her forehead, the climate was so debilitating out here. She wanted to run away and hide somewhere, have a really good cry, but couldn’t afford the luxury. Once I start I wouldn’t be able to stop, and what about my patients if I crack up. Pull yourself together Daphne Ashfield. Show a bit of spunk.

* * *

Following his usual routine, Paul waited for Daphne outside the hospital. She often looked so tired, scarcely able to drag one foot after the other. She had lost weight. Her cheekbones were quite prominent now, in a face made pale by fatigue and anxiety.

He argued and pleaded with her to lessen the workload at the hospital, all to no avail, because the pain of her patients was Daphne’s pain. He could see it in her eyes. And hear it in the way she spoke about ‘our boys,’ and he felt powerless to do anything about it. She gave everything of herself and this generosity sapped her strength. Of course, he asked too much of her as well. He shouldn’t be so demanding.

He had been brought up to think only of himself and what he wanted, and it was hard to change especially in their present environment. You selfish bastard. Make yourself change. Surely you can do that much for Daphne.

She despised the way some of the officer’s wives carried on. He rather despised them himself, but he could understand it. Having lived a pampered life, he took for granted, as his right, things Daphne could not, and these women were the same. He glanced at his watch, twenty minutes late. Some soldier had probably wanted her to read him a letter from home at the last minute, and she would never refuse such a request.

At last he saw her trudging towards the car, and a shaft of pain stabbed him in the heart because she looked so sad and worried.

* * *

The dinner party at the colonel’s house was a crashing bore, as always. Paul watched Daphne, as she stood there pale and ethereal-looking, listening to Major Galbraith sprout off in his usual pompous manner. Making a move so he might rescue her from his clutches, he got waylaid by a slightly tipsy Amelia.

“How are you, darling?”

He shrugged off the red painted fingers and stepped back a pace before answering. “Fine thanks, Amelia.”

“What about a drink, for old time’s sake?”

“Another time, perhaps?” He started moving away.

“You’re a bastard, Paul Ashfield.”

He kept going.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” He elbowed Major Galbraith out of the way, but already Daphne was sliding to the floor. “Daphne!” He sank to his knees and picked up her small, cold hand. She looked so white, even her lips were bloodless.

“What’s going on here?” The Medical Officer pushed his way through the milling crowd.

“I must have fainted, how silly of me.” Color started returning to her pale cheeks. “I’m all right, Paul. Don’t look so fraught.”

“I’d better take a look at you, Mrs. Ashfield.”

Paul swung her up in his arms, and he and the doctor followed the colonel’s wife to a guest bedroom.

“There’s nothing much wrong with me, but I have felt vaguely off color for a couple of weeks.” She patted Paul’s cheek to alleviate his worry.

“You should have told me.”

“Why? It’s nothing. Maybe I have been working too hard.”

“Wait outside, Paul while I check your wife over. She should see her own doctor tomorrow. Now, my dear, you’re a nurse. What do you think is wrong?”

“Just run down, I guess. We go out a lot and it’s been frantically busy at the hospital.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Eight weeks.”

A couple more questions, that brought heat into her cheeks, and she knew what he was getting at.

“You think I’m pregnant?"

“Ninety-nine percent sure, my dear.”

“Heavens, the symptoms. Ooh, I’ve had them all, even the nausea in the mornings. I can’t believe I didn’t suspect something.”

He patted her hand. “Lie still for a few minutes and I’ll have a chat with your husband. You’ll have to take things easier now.”

“How is she?” Paul rushed at the doctor as he opened the door. “Did you find anything wrong?”

“Do you have any cigars, Paul?”

“Cigars? Not here. For God’s sake, what is it?”

“Congratulations, old man. In less than eight months time you’ll be a father.”

“A father! You mean Daphne’s pregnant?” He felt as if a ton weight had been dragged off his back. “I thought there was something seriously wrong.”

“It’ll pay you to have her checked over by your own doctor, then, if I were you, I’d have her evacuated.”

“God yes, I have been toying with the idea, anyway. May I see her now?”

“Certainly. Wait ten minutes or so before taking her home. You’re a lucky man. See you take good care of her.”

Daphne was standing up patting her hair back into place when he came in. “Hello Paul.” She smiled shyly. “Did the doctor tell you?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“Are you pleased?”

“Yes, it’s just a bit sudden. Shouldn’t you still be lying down?”

“I’m not an invalid. I’m an idiot, though, for not realizing on my own.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m glad, but you know what this means? Home.”

“Yes.”

“As soon as I can arrange it.” He nuzzled at her creamy white throat. “I’m going to miss you like hell.”

“I could stay a while longer.”

“No, I’m having you sent out immediately.”

“Not until I’ve seen Robbie. He’s getting leave next week.”

“There isn’t time.”

“I have to see him once more. Then I’ll go, I promise.”

He capitulated. It was against his better judgment, but how could he deny her this, when she had given him so much? “A week. Not a minute longer.”

* * *

Air raids were now an almost common occurrence and civilian casualties mounted. The hospitals were full to overflowing with mutilated and traumatized patients.

Bodies of victims were buried quickly to stop them putrefying and spreading disease. Even then, some were ripped to pieces by packs of marauding dogs before they could be collected and decently disposed of. Shop windows were smashed, roads blocked by fallen lampposts, broken down cars and all manner of other debris. At Raffles, however, it remained business as usual.

Chapter Thirteen

Paul swore savagely as the continual ringing of the phone woke him. Who the hell would want him now? Automatically his eyes went to the clock, and it was four in the morning. He slid out of bed, grabbed up his dressing gown and rushed out to still the noise in case it woke Daphne.

“Major Ashfield,” he snarled into the receiver.

“Sir, it’s Lieutenant Baker,” the young male voice said. “From the 113th A.G.H. Is Sister Ashfield there?” It sounded strange, hearing Daphne referred to in such a way.

“She’s in bed. It’s bloody well four in the morning. Where the hell do you think she’d be?”

“Her brother’s been brought in.”

“What!”

“There’s been heavy fighting on the Muar Road, heaps of casualties. Private Clarke is badly wounded.”

“Why didn’t you say so before? How bad?”

“I don’t know. The senior sister asked me to contact you, said you should get to the hospital quickly.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Dear God please, not Rob. He was only a boy.

“Paul. What is it?” Daphne called out.

He went back to the bedroom. “The hospital rang, they’ve got young Rob there.”

“Robbie.” It was too dark for him to see her face, but fear made her voice shrill.

“They want you.” He switched on the bedside lamp.

“Is he seriously hurt? Of course he is, otherwise why send for me?”

“Don’t get upset, he’ll be all right. Probably only rang because you work there.” He started dressing. “I’ll drive you over.”

What a nightmare journey. He drove as fast as he could on a road full of bomb craters and debris. Even now they could hear the low whine of aircraft and the distant sounds of artillery.

As he helped Daphne into the hospital, he was shocked to see soldiers, still bloodied and dirty, being off-loaded from trucks in the compound.

Rob lay in the corner bed of a long ward, a screen setting him apart from the other patients. “Sorry, we didn’t have a spare room to give him,” the orderly apologized. “We’ve been inundated with casualties. There’s been bitter fighting in Malaya, and we’re getting wounded direct now.”

“It’s all right, thanks, Phil. May I see him?”

“Yes.”

As soon as they stepped inside the screen Daphne rushed over to the bed. Paul had no medical training, but somehow he knew, by gazing into Rob’s face, that he was mortally wounded. A film of perspiration covered his shoulders and his chest where it wasn’t bandaged.

“Daffy.” His voice sounded the same, yet somehow different. The aura of death felt so strong, Paul shivered.

“I’m here, Robbie, so is Paul.”

“Gordon’s dead. We were together. I didn’t let my mates down.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she soothed.

“Tell Mum I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You’ll be seeing her yourself soon.”

“Will I?”

“Of course.” Daphne’s voice was steady, and Paul marveled at the quiet strength of her. Being a nurse, she must know there was no hope for him. “You’re going to be an uncle in about seven months.”

“That’s good. It will give Mum something to look forward to. I’m badly wounded, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but you’ll get better,” she reassured.

“I can’t feel anything from my waist down.”

Paul watched Daphne’s face blanche. “I put my hand down but I couldn’t feel my legs.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, silly. They’ve given you an anesthetic. You won’t feel anything for ages.”

“It’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Rub my hands, Daffy. Like you did when we were kids on those frosty Wangaratta mornings. You were always able to warm me up.”

Paul left them for a moment so he might speak to the Ward Sister.

“How bad is he?”

She picked up a patient’s chart before answering. “He was machine gunned. Practically cut him in two, he hasn’t got long, I’m afraid.”

Nausea rose up in his throat and he swallowed it back. “Thanks, Sister.” He stumbled back the way he had come. The copper head was up close to the dark one now.

“Look after Mum for me. Dad’s an old soldier. He knows the score.”

“You’ll be seeing them yourself soon, Robbie.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You will. You will.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and he had to stand helplessly by, watching as her heart broke.

“I’m not frightened, Daffy. Always thought I would be. Strange, isn’t it. I’ll be meeting up with Gordon and the others sooner than I expected. Tell Mum not to be sad for too long. I’ve fought the good fight and kept the faith. Tell her that. Get the Padre for me now.” He spoke in a harsh whisper yet the words were so clear he might well have shouted them.

“I’ll go,” Paul volunteered.

The Chaplain was middle-aged. Paul didn’t even bother finding out what denomination he represented. “Hurry, Padre, there isn’t much time.”

“Sadly, there never is for these boys.”

Daphne sat on the bed holding Rob’s hand. If it was possible, he looked even worse because his eyes were closed.

“You wanted to see me, er, Robert.” Paul mouthed the name.

“Yes. I’ve nothing to confess, but read me something, the 23rd Psalm will do. It’s Mum’s favorite.”

Private R.T. Clarke did not die straight away. He slipped into unconsciousness and lay in that void between the faintest flicker of life and the absolute finality of death. Daphne sat with him all day until the rays of the setting sun, bore yet another young warrior away.