Angels at War (28 page)

Livia sighed and a warm tear rolled down her frozen cheek, which she quickly brushed away.

Yet had he ever loved her as he should?
Wanting a wife and needing to be part of a family wasn’t the same thing as loving Livia and wanting only her and no other.

Jack and Mercy had always been close, of course. Had there been other women? she wondered. No doubt if circumstances had been different, if fate had not intervened, they would have been together from the start. Was there any hope of them sorting out this muddle? Could Mercy be with Jack, and could she be with Matthew at last, maybe work with him at the store? Would any of them ever find the happiness they craved?

Dearest Mercy seemed to have cured her devils at last. She’d found her forte out here in France by caring for the sick. Perhaps she should train to be a nurse when the war was over. This experience would surely win her a place in any hospital. Beneath all that perverse obstinacy she was full of compassion.

A second night passed, and Livia’s mood grew more mellow as hope gradually faded. Strangely, she no longer feared death or thought about the future as a blessed acceptance crept over her.

Nothing lasted for ever – not love, not life. Could she have saved Maggie? Could she have helped Mercy with her demons? She could certainly have been a better wife to dear Jack.

When sleep finally overtook her she welcomed it, fighting it no more, for it spared her the effort of finding a solution to her troubles.

Livia was woken by a bright light, and a man’s voice. ‘I think we have a live one here. Fetch the stretcher quick.’

It felt as if lead weights were holding her eyelids down yet Livia fought against the pressure and dragged them open. ‘I’m alive,’ she croaked, trying to see the face that swam into her blurred vision.

‘Good for you, love. Hang on to that thought, and keep talking. We’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.’

Livia’s first thought as they settled her in a bed back at base was for Mercy. ‘Where’s my sister? Can I see Mercy, please?’

‘Time enough for that later,’ Sister Pretty gently chided. ‘We have to get that leg put right first. You’re going to need it setting, and there’s probably shrapnel needs taking out. The doctor’s on his way, so just you lie still, there’s a good girl.’ She sounded almost human and far more compassionate than usual. Livia almost smiled. Had Mercy exercised some sort of charm over Sister that she was suddenly being so nice?

The pain was all-compassing and darkness
closed in once again. Livia didn’t fight sleep this time. In a way she welcomed it.

When she came to again it was morning, the winter sun bright and almost warm on her face. Someone had strapped up her leg and encased it in plaster-of-Paris. It still throbbed and ached but was much less painful than before.

‘Sister,’ she croaked, desperate for a drink of water.

‘Ah, there you are, back with us at last. Excellent.’ Guessing her patient’s need, Sister Pretty put the feeding cup to Livia’s dry mouth. ‘Only a sip or two, mind, we don’t want you being sick, now, do we? That’s a good girl, lie back and rest. Later, we’ll see if we can tempt you to a mug of soup.’

‘Can I see Mercy, please?’

Sister Pretty grasped her hand and gave it a little squeeze. She thought she’d grown hardened to being the bearer of bad news, but knowing how close these two girls were, she felt an unwelcome tug at her heart. Maybe you never did get used to it. ‘I’m sorry, Livia, Mercy didn’t make it.’

Livia stared into the older woman’s eyes in stunned disbelief. ‘What do you mean – didn’t make it?’

‘We found her in a crater, not far from base. Another hundred yards and … Anyway, she
wouldn’t have felt a thing, I’m quite sure. It was finding her that made the men look for you. I’m sorry we didn’t realise you were missing sooner, but in the confusion and an unusually bad tide of casualties, we assumed you and Mercy were going about your business as usual. She obviously took great care of you before she went for help. She died a hero, and undoubtedly saved your life.’

Livia felt numb, as if Sister’s voice was coming from a great distance, talking to someone other than herself about something which really didn’t concern her at all. She half glanced at the door, praying for her rebellious sister to come breezing in, bristling with energy and confidence, and ready for action as always, but it remained obstinately shut, the room silent, echoing with her absence.

Livia sat in her chair by the window watching the sun come up behind Kendal Castle. It was barely dawn but she liked to rise early to quietly sit here and think, and remember.

Sometimes she could picture Mercy’s face as clear as day: pale and skinny, almost elf-like, and so fragile. She never had put any meat on her frail bones after all those early years of poverty. Yet those brilliant turquoise eyes could light up a room, be filled with teasing mischief, achingly vulnerable, or sparring for a fight, depending on her mood. Livia’s own eyes filled with tears now as she recollected their many battles. It had been almost two years but still she grieved for this troubled sister of hers. The poor girl had been so confused, so caught up in some misguided need
for revenge that she’d been quite unable to show the warmth and affection she undoubtedly felt inside for this new family of hers. She’d longed to be a part of it, to belong, and accept their love, but somehow had not felt able to do so. Too perverse, too stuck in the past, or too filled with a bitterness she’d found hard to quell. It seemed so cruel that just as they’d got things right between them, she should be snatched away, and in such a tragic manner.

Livia knew herself to be equally flawed, if in a different way. Her striving for independence, for freedom, and her stubborn fight for equality as if all men were the enemy and not just her father, had brought pain and misery upon them all. She’d made many mistakes, if for the best of reasons: out of loyalty and the needs of her unborn child, and perhaps naivety, believing she was the one best suited to protect her precious sisters from all ills.

But where was the point in constantly looking back and upbraiding herself? What was done was done, and couldn’t be changed.

Livia had spent months in hospital following her injury, recuperating and learning to walk again. A long, painful business. Since then she’d been doing what she should have done all along, being a good wife, trying to right her wrongs by caring for a sick husband. Jack’s injuries hadn’t,
after all, been life threatening but his war, like Livia’s, had ended the day he was struck by the shell. Livia had suffered only a broken leg which, eventually, had mended. Jack had lost his right arm.

For a long time he’d been able to do very little for himself, and the months she’d spent caring for him hadn’t been easy; his irascible temper and constant craving for drink alternating with an uncontrollable grief over losing Mercy. There had been times when Livia had felt quite unable to cope, as if she were going mad and could take no more. But she’d nursed him without complaint, and gradually he’d recovered, had even vowed to foreswear alcohol forever.

Although they no longer lived as man and wife, he was still a dear friend for whom she nurtured a tenderness of sorts, and a deep and abiding pity. They were united at least in their loss. Livia grieved for a much-loved sister, suffering from the nostalgia of what might have been, while Jack had lost the future he’d hoped to have with Mercy.

And Livia had heard not a single word about Matthew in all this time. She had no idea whether he was dead or alive, had received no news either way. Yet if he had been alive, surely she would have heard from him? It seemed somehow intrusive to call at his home in Windermere
and ask. She rather thought his mother would consider it none of Livia’s concern.

Now the war was over at last. Yesterday, an armistice had been declared and the streets of every town had echoed with celebration. A new future beckoned and Livia hadn’t the first idea what that might be, but some decision about this sham of a marriage must be made sooner or later.

The sound of creaking bed springs came from the back room. Jack was waking, and Livia went into the kitchen to brew tea and prepare a dish of warming porridge, which she had simmering on the stove.

Later, as she sat watching Jack eat it, thankful that he’d made such a good recovery and was coping well now, despite the loss of an arm, he turned his head to find her looking at him, and grinned.

‘You don’t have to nursemaid me, you know. I can manage perfectly well to eat breakfast on my own. I’m not a baby needing feeding. I can even dress myself now.’

Livia smiled. ‘I know you can, and I’m very proud of your progress, but I like to feel useful and fuss over you a bit.’

Jack frowned. ‘There’s really no need. I’m sure there are better things you could do with your time than wait on me, hand, foot and finger. I don’t need your help or your fussing, don’t even
want it, Livvy. How many times have I told you this?’

Livia smiled. ‘I know. You’re strong now, and fully recovered.’

‘I am. What I can’t get used to is having you hanging around the house all day. It doesn’t seem quite right somehow.’

‘I always thought that was what you wanted.’

He gave a rueful smile. ‘So did I, but it doesn’t suit you, Livvy. I can’t bear to see you sitting twiddling your thumbs, doing nothing. Bored and unhappy. It isn’t you.’

Livia stood up and at once started to stack plates, for all there were very few. Washing them would take exactly five minutes, the tiny cottage less than an hour to clean, and what she would do with the rest of her day she hadn’t the first idea. The same as every other, she supposed, nothing much beyond reading her library books and darning socks. But these conversations, which took place more and more often, tended to make her feel uncomfortable. She was doing her best by him, what more could she do? Why couldn’t Jack see that she was only trying to make reparation?

As if reading her thoughts, Jack took her hand and pulled her back into her chair. ‘I don’t blame you for what happened, Livvy, not for losing our child, for the failure of our marriage, nothing.
We’ve both made mistakes. I never should have forced you down the aisle in the first place, when really we should have gone our separate ways and called it a day. And to be honest, I wasn’t quite as faithful a husband as I should have been.’

Livia gave him a quizzical look. ‘Not Dolly?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘I didn’t, it just came to me now. She did behave rather oddly for a while, and I thought there might be some fellow in her life. I didn’t realise it was you.’

‘It was just a fling.’

‘And not the only one?’

‘Afraid not. And I do understand now that joining the fight for women’s franchise was something you had to do. And you’ve been successful, at least in part. I read in the
Westmorland Gazette
that all women aged thirty and over will be given the vote.’

‘Yes, it’s excellent news but not enough,’ Livia quickly put in. ‘It should be the same as men, from the age of twenty-one.’

Jack laughed. ‘There you go again, never satisfied, but I’m sure you’ll win that too, in time. Meanwhile, celebrate your victory, you deserve it. But you need to think about our own future. We both should. We can’t go on like this, Livvy.’

‘I realise that.’

He gave her hand a little squeeze. ‘Why
don’t you ask if you can go back to the store? If Grayson isn’t there to look after it properly, somebody needs to. I’m sure they’d be glad of your help.’

She looked at him, a small dawning of hope starting up deep inside. The prospect of life without Matthew was something she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate. Each and every night she prayed for him, hoping to wake and learn that he was well and back home. Livia knew it was little more than a dream. He would have been in touch by now if he’d survived. But if she somehow had to learn to live without him, perhaps working at the store would help her to deal with her grief. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

‘I’d welcome not having you hovering over me every minute of the day.’

‘I gave up all rights to Angel’s when I sold it to Matthew. But I promise to at least think about it.’ She pressed a kiss on his brow. ‘Thank you, Jack. You’re a good friend.’

He chortled with delight. ‘Lousy husband though.’

‘I can’t claim to have been a good wife either.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You haven’t done too badly. But whatever the future holds, we can stay friends at least, can’t we?’

She kissed him again. ‘We certainly can.’

As always, the first thing Livia noticed about the store was the window. It looked wonderful. Christmas was again just around the corner, and someone had brought out the old fireplace and the tree with golden baubles, Santa’s sledge and a sack of toys. Livia smiled to herself as she recalled how she’d fought with Matthew to make these changes from the jumbled display it had once been. At one time she’d been passionate to save this store from bankruptcy and the staff from penury. Perhaps she’d succeeded, with Matthew’s help.

But was there a role for her there now?

Still Livia hesitated, wondering how she would feel about working at the store without Matthew. Could she cope, or would the memory of losing him be too painful? Her life seemed to be full of loss, and unbearably painful. Yet she owed it to him to go on, to put all her energy back into keeping this place going, if only because of all it had meant to them both, and how it had brought them together.

With new resolve, she pushed open the door and walked inside.

This time there was no Mr Tolson, the
severe-looking
chief floorwalker, to meet her and steer her to a counter. Instead, the entire establishment seemed to be buzzing with people: county ladies and factory girls, men, women and children, old and young. Customers of every class and age
were happily drifting from counter to counter of their own choice and free will, choosing goods, asking advice of the assistants, who were smartly dressed in grey and burgundy, and money seemed to be changing hands with pleasing regularity.

It all felt very strange, and Livia was filled with a sudden attack of nerves. Who should she speak to? Miss Caraway? Mrs Dee? Oh dear, perhaps this had been a dreadful mistake. She took a step back and then the strangest thing happened.

One assistant at a counter sited by the door must have noticed her, and word quickly spread that she was here, for suddenly shop girls in their smart new uniforms were appearing everywhere, at the top of the stairs, coming from behind every counter, filling the aisles, and amazingly, they began to clap. Smiling with delight, they were applauding her.

Then suddenly there was Miss Caraway, looking almost benign in soft grey, and Mrs Dee, in a neat tailored costume, the scarlet petticoats quite gone, but her face as warm and friendly as ever.

‘Welcome home, Madam. Welcome home! We are so very pleased to see you.’

Warm hands were grasping hers, arms coming about her to hold her close in a tight hug, and with tears rolling down her cheeks, Livia submitted to their embrace.

Returning to the store proved to be a good thing. Livia began to slowly feel almost human again, and better able to cope with that hollow sense of loss and pain that lay in the pit of her stomach. She knew she would never get over losing either Matthew or Mercy, any more than she’d recovered from Maggie’s tragic death. These people she’d loved would always be a part of her, but at least she’d found a way of moving forward, of coping.

Jack, too, was pleased for her, told Livia how much better she was looking. They continued to muddle on as best they could, and then one day he came to her and told her that he was leaving.

‘I met this nice little nurse when I was in hospital, and she called to see me the other day. We’d kept in touch, writing regularly. She lives in Broadstairs, as a matter of fact, and she wants me to go with her and help her set up a nursing home for injured soldiers and sailors, so I thought I would. You don’t mind, do you, Livvy? There’s nothing for me here, and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to give you a divorce.’

And so Jack had gone, with her blessing, and Livia was quite alone. She still had Ella, of course, whom she visited regularly. But her sister was busy with her own life, her happy family
and the farm. Being able to immerse herself again in the business of stock-taking and ordering had been Livia’s salvation.

There was a peremptory rap upon the door. As always late in the day, Livia was totting up the day’s takings, making entries into the accounts book and checking the petty cash. Particularly now, with Christmas just two weeks away.

‘Come in,’ she called, without looking up.

‘I’d heard that you’d wheedled your way back into your old job.’

Livia looked up in startled surprise. ‘Mrs Grayson, I’m so sorry, no one informed me you were on the premises.’

‘I asked them not to. May I sit?’

‘Please do, I beg your pardon, I seem to have quite forgotten my manners. May I pour you a small sherry?’ Without waiting for a reply, Livia did so. As she handed it to the older woman she attempted to put matters right. ‘I am aware that I have been somewhat dilatory about informing you that I’d taken up this post again. Miss Caraway and Mrs Dee, who, as you know, Matthew left in charge, were both in favour of my returning to my old duties.’

‘I am aware of the arrangements my son made. It was, in fact, Mrs Dee who informed me that you had returned. The staff seem delighted.’

Livia was suddenly filled with uncertainty. She’d never got on particularly well with this formidable woman, and perhaps Imelda Grayson would see her presence here as interference. ‘I hope it doesn’t create a problem for you?’

Mrs Grayson took a sip of her sherry. ‘Ah, nice and dry. Excellent! I do so hate sweet sherry. Well, in all honesty I have to say that my own opinion on the subject is quite by the way.’

‘Then you have no objection?’ Livia let out a sigh of relief. She was in no position to buy back the store, the money she’d got from the sale having gone to settle the last of her late father’s debts, so had Mrs Grayson, presumably now Angel’s new owner, taken a dislike to her presence, she would have felt compelled to leave forthwith. Perhaps that’s why she’d prevaricated about telling her.

‘No objection whatsoever. But perhaps you should have got permission first.’

Livia actually felt herself blushing. This woman always seemed to catch her at a bad moment. ‘I’m sure you’re right. I overstepped the mark by not speaking to you on the subject, and I apologise.’