Dark Harvest (10 page)

Then suddenly Reggie put his hand over hers. ‘Do you still love me, Caroline?’ he asked.

She felt ridiculously happy. It was going to be all right after all.

Once back in the flat she could not restrain herself any longer. ‘Reggie, I can’t stand life without you. When can we be married?’

‘When I see whole bodies around me again, not mangled or yellow with gas. When men can be husbands and fathers again, not cannon fodder. If only you knew—’ He stopped.

‘Tell me. Please.’

‘I can’t.’ But his lips did the telling, as he kissed her.

‘If we can’t marry,’ she whispered, ‘then let us at least love.’

He buried his face in her hair, then kissed her again, his hands moving over her, her legs, her breasts. His body felt firm and alive. She closed her eyes with happiness, hoping that at last they would be one.

Then he pulled back. ‘Shall I take my dress off?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘No.’ His voice was harsh.

‘Reggie, what have I done?’

‘Nothing. Nothing. I just can’t. Not with you, Caroline.’

‘Why
not with me?’

‘Because I—’

‘Don’t you love me any more?’ She felt utterly humiliated and confused, her only thought being that he did not want her.

He kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘I love you, Caroline, as much—no, more than ever. I just want to save my pudding for later.’

She began to feel better as she remembered how, when Reggie was little, he had insisted on Mrs Dibble’s pond pudding every time he lunched at the Rectory. On one occasion he had been caught shovelling it from the plate into an old biscuit tin so that he could enjoy it all the
more later on. Old times, old ways, and now they were changing.

She struggled to understand what he was going through. ‘Don’t worry, Reggie. I am fighting at your side. Really. You should see me working. Boots, trousers—’

‘Please don’t,’ he interrupted hoarsely. ‘Do your rotas if you wish, but don’t work in the fields.’

She sat still with shock. ‘You can’t mean that. I am staying in Ashden like you wished. Why don’t you approve of my work in the fields?’

‘I don’t care about boots and trousers. What I mind about is the hell over there and my need to think of Ashden at peace. And Ashden to me means you and my family.’

But which, Caroline wondered as she waved him goodbye an hour later at Victoria, was the stronger loyalty? Then a terrible thought occurred to her: was it a coincidence that Reggie’s brief leave had come so quickly after her quarrel with his mother? Or could Lady Hunney have ordered her son home? The Reggie Caroline loved would have disregarded such an order. Or would he? Back to haunt her came his words of last year: ‘As soon as the old man dies, I’m lord of the Manor whether I like it or not. Just once in a while I feel like cutting loose.’ But she knew he never would. Not Reggie.

She was certain of something else too: there could be no peace in Ashden while she and Lady Hunney remained in the village together without Reggie’s restraining presence.

‘If you please, ma’am, Percy says when’s the tennis match to be? He needs to start rolling.’ Mrs Dibble pursed her lips challengingly.

On the point of hurrying out to settle a dispute as to whether Mrs Stone or Mrs Dodds was on the rota tomorrow for hoeing the flax, Elizabeth was startled by the question. ‘Here?’

‘Where else, ma’am? The Rectory always holds a tennis match in June.’

‘But there’s no one here to play, except Phoebe and George, and in any case now the—’

‘It’s always been done.’ Mrs Dibble was not going to accept war for an answer.

‘Not this year, I’m afraid.’

‘If you say so, ma’am.’ Mrs Dibble started the long march of disapproval back to the kitchen.

Elizabeth sighed. ‘I can see you are not convinced.’

The rigid back turned round briefly. ‘To my mind, ma’am, it’s a wicked shame to let the Kaiser beat us.’ Mrs Dibble disappeared into one domain that the Kaiser would never dare claim.

‘What is the wicked shame?’ Laurence came in through the front door from Matins in time to hear the dispute. ‘Why is Mrs Dibble upset?’

‘She was asking when the tennis match is to
be, Laurence,’ Elizabeth explained. ‘Of course it’s out of the question, now that Caroline and Felicia have left,
and
so many young men.’

Laurence thought for a moment. ‘But Eleanor’s still here, so is Janie Marden; there is Phoebe, George, Dr Cuss, perhaps Philip Ryde, and I’ll ask Pickering if he knows how to use a racket. Why don’t we invite the wounded officers from Ashden to be spectators?’

Elizabeth felt torn. One half of her begrudged the precious time, so badly needed on farm organisation now that Caroline had left so suddenly, the other half—well, the other half pointed out that her first duty was to support Laurence. She realised, to her dismay, that she had not done much of this lately. Parish work had never been her forte, and she disliked committees, arguments, even her role as village peacemaker. But war work was quite different. Why, she was
enjoying
what she was doing!

‘Would sick men want to watch such an active sport knowing they might never play again? And—’ Elizabeth exclaimed as a terrible thought hit her—’what about Daniel? just think how he would feel as a spectator at a match he’s always played in before.’

‘We can’t
not
hold the tournament because of Daniel,’ Laurence said firmly. ‘But do you have the time?’

‘Mrs Dibble will—’ Elizabeth broke off, ashamed of her instinctive reaction. Of course she must organise it. ‘Yes, Laurence, I do.’

Laurence smiled. ‘Good. And there’s our new lady doctor. Another recruit.’ He went into the
morning room to consult the huge diary that always lay open on the table. ‘We’ll hold it on Saturday the nineteenth. Perhaps Caroline will come down for it.’

‘I’m sure she will.’ Elizabeth knew how hard Laurence had found Caroline’s unexpected departure, and she resolved to write to her daughter. Then she went into the kitchen to tell Mrs Dibble. ‘What about the food, Mrs Dibble? What will you do without the girls’ help? I could ask Mrs Isabel—’

‘Thank you, Mrs Lilley. I’ll manage with Harriet and Myrtle.’ Her wooden expression did not change, but Elizabeth detected some relaxation in the ramrod straight body. ‘Managing’ was, after all, Mrs Dibble’s way of doing her bit for England.

‘Even if we have, say, fifteen or so officers from Ashden as spectators?’

This time the eyes glinted. ‘Nanny can give me some of her eggs, seeing it’s for the war.’ Mrs Dibble’s pleasure could only be judged by the alacrity with which she burst into song as Elizabeth left: ‘Fight the good fight …’

The Rectory tennis match. Caroline nearly cried at the absurdity and wonder of it. She had assumed it would not take place, but here was the invitation, in Mother’s own distinctive black copperplate. Of course she’d go.

Caroline had been in London for nearly a week, at the WSPU headquarters in Lincoln’s Inn House, and was finding it a totally different city to the one she had known from visits to
the theatre and shopping in Regent Street. Now the streets were crowded with men in strange uniforms, most of whom seemed keen to enjoy the delights of London’s night life, the dancing, theatres, and the new nightclubs.

But the night after she had arrived, on Sunday, the last day of May, Zeppelin bombers had attacked the East End of London. Seven people had been killed, and another thirty-five injured, and thousands of pounds worth of damage done. A general feeling of anger directed at anyone thought to have German links quickly spread through the whole of the capital, adding fuel to the bitterness still rippling through the country over the sinking of the
Lusitania.

To Caroline’s relief Lord Banning’s town house, in Norland Square, Holland Park, was one step removed from the daily reminders of war. On her arrival she found she was not the only temporary lodger. To her amazement, her cousin Angela had arrived two weeks earlier to work as a VAD at the newly opened Women’s Hospital Corps hospital in Endell Street, run by Dr Louisa Garrett Anderson. Caroline had no idea that Angela even knew Lord Banning or Penelope but it turned out she was a friend of Penelope’s brother James.

Caroline had always liked her cousin, but had little in common with her. Angela was thirty-one to her twenty-two and was, in her family’s view, an old sobersides, stolid to look at and in disposition. Caroline’s surprise had been all the greater at finding her in London, since it had been assumed at the Rectory that
Angela would be stepping into Aunt Tilly’s place as companion to their formidable and highly capable grandmother.

‘What did Grandmother say to your leaving?’ Caroline asked.

‘I’m afraid she was not pleased. But as I said I was going anyway, and since I’m well over age, there was little she could say except—’

‘Except?’ Caroline prompted.

‘That she’d withdraw my allowance,’ Angela finished awkwardly. ‘Fortunately Father came to the rescue, on condition Mother doesn’t know.’ She looked meaningfully at Caroline. ‘Anyway, I’m earning now,’ she pointed out with some pride.

Despite her conviction as to its value, Caroline was finding her new work distinctly dull. Her excitement in hearing of Mrs Pankhurst’s plans for the July demonstration was quickly dissipated by the mountain of letters she had to answer, as she sorted volunteers into their designated roles and described the white dress and flowers that each member should wear. The ancient typewriting machine allotted to her seemed to be in conspiracy with Mr Asquith to interfere with the WSPU’s smooth running and her fingers spent much of each day covered in black ink.

It had been decided that every Allied nation was to be represented by one of its countrywomen, and Caroline’s particular task was to select a suitable candidate for Belgium. So far she had put forward six names, none of whom had found favour with Mrs Pankhurst’s right-hand woman, Annie Kenney, who was in
overall charge of this part of the procession. Caroline was a little downcast, but she reminded herself she had only been working there for a week.

She had also been disappointed to see little of either Mrs Pankhurst or her fiery daughter Christabel. They tended to descend at intervals like goddesses, and then disappear again in a flash of lightning. Countless stories circulated about them, both admiring and not so admiring, and Caroline was beginning to realise that there were as many undercurrents and rifts in the office as there were in Ashden.

Tonight, Caroline was dressing reluctantly to go out to dinner. Penelope, who was still convalescing, had telephoned to say that she didn’t feel well and asked her to accompany her father. Much as Caroline liked Simon Banning, the prospect of a diplomatic dinner on an early June evening did not appeal when London had so much else to offer. She had suggested to Angela that she might like to go, but her cousin had informed her that she disliked most social events. Still, Caroline consoled herself, she’d be going to the CarIton, and the food would be excellent. She had never been there before, and was curious to see the famous Palm Court. Her old blue gown would have to be good enough for it, simply because she didn’t have anything else. Thank goodness it was now fashionable to look neat and unostentatious rather than like a model from Vogue magazine. She inspected her image in the mirror, stuck a few more pins in
her hair, perched her evening hat on top, and decided she was ready.

By the time their cab arrived at the CarIton, Caroline found she was beginning to look forward to the evening, diplomats or no diplomats. But when she emerged from the cloakroom to rejoin Lord Banning, he appeared to have vanished. After waiting for a few minutes, she took a deep breath and plunged into the Palm Court, already crowded with dinner suits, uniforms, evening dresses and huge waving fans. She glimpsed Lord Banning talking to a small group of people. Shock hit her. She was lightheaded. She must be. For a moment she could have sworn he was talking to Aunt Tilly. And wasn’t that—

‘Felicia!’

Heads turned as Caroline rushed to embrace her sister, and then Aunt Tilly. Felicia was thinner than when Caroline had last seen her, and was wearing a black evening dress which suited her dark hair and eyes magnificently, but highlighted the signs of strain on her pale face. Something looked different though; and it took Caroline a moment or two to realise it was the cut of her dress, and her hair which was twisted on top of her head in a severe style without the curls that Caroline was used to.

Caroline hugged Felicia again. ‘What are you both doing here?’ She demanded. ‘Are you back for good?’

‘Two days, I’m afraid,’ Tilly said ruefully. ‘This is a FANY effort to raise money for the Belgian Hospital Lamarck at Calais. Felicia and
I were only asked to come at the last moment, so Simon thought he’d surprise you.’

‘He certainly did that.’ Caroline gave her darling, unpredictable aunt a second hug. She looked thinner too. She was a tall woman, and had a face that commanded attention. A lived-in face, Caroline decided, delighted to see Tilly was still ignoring any call to fashion. Surely that purple monstrosity used to appear regularly at Ashden long before the war? Both of them, here and
safe.
Oh, life was so wonderful.

‘How’s Mother, Caroline? And everyone else?’ Felicia asked eagerly. ‘And Reggie?’

‘I saw him recently on a brief leave.’ It was too much to hope her careless tone would deceive Aunt Tilly.

‘Still in love?’ she rapped.

‘Of course.’ More, more.

‘Then pray explain what you are doing in London. I’m delighted you’re working for the WSPU, but what happened to the agricultural rota you wrote to me about so enthusiastically?’

‘Mother said she could manage alone. Didn’t you get my letter?’ Caroline was surprised, for her post to Reggie rarely took longer than a week.

Even the excellent dinner now took a lower priority in her enjoyment of the evening. Their party was sitting at the head table, and she was delighted that, contrary to the ‘rules’, she had been placed next to her sister. She suspected Simon might have had something to do with this.

‘How’s Daniel?’ Felicia asked when Caroline
had run out of Ashden news. ‘Is the paralysis lifting?’

‘Not yet. But they’re still hopeful. Doesn’t he write to you?’

‘No.’

Quickly, Caroline changed the subject. ‘Tell me about your work, Felicia. I do remember what it’s like.’

‘It’s similar to what you did in Dover. Tilly drives the ambulance,’ Felicia replied immediately, ‘and I stay inside with the men.’

Caroline was dissatisfied with her answer. It sounded too prepared. ‘How near do your ambulances go to the front line?’

‘Not near at all. Casualty clearing stations are miles away from action, and we drive the men back to the base hospitals, or straight to the hospital trains.’

Caroline glanced at her sharply, but decided not to press further.

After the dinner was concluded, the speeches began. Caroline listened enviously to the Hon Secretary of the FANY describing the work its teams were doing overseas, but the words ‘advanced dressing stations’ reminded her of Reggie, and her mind drifted off. She came to with a jump as she heard the words, ‘and His Majesty King Albert has graciously offered the decoration of the order of Leopold II to two remarkable women, Lady Matilda and Miss Felicia Lilley, for their courageous front-line work with the wounded.’

Caroline nudged her sister accusingly. ‘Front-line work?’ she whispered. Felicia and Tilly
looked as stunned as she did.

‘We thought it best to keep our work quiet.’ Tilly leaned across the table. ‘We weren’t the first—the credit goes to Elsie Knocker and Mairi Chisholm—the Two Women of Pervyse, as the newspapers call them. And we won’t be the last.’ She looked at Simon suspiciously. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘No.’ He held up his hands in supplication. ‘I swear it. I wouldn’t have had the courage to keep it from you.’

‘You, Simon, are like the hat you gave me. Steel within, and soft felt on top. Courage, indeed.’ She almost snorted her indignation.

‘I want to know all about it. From both of you,’ Caroline intervened.

‘After Tilly’s had a dance with me,’ Simon said.

Left alone, Caroline and a much shaken Felicia managed to retreat to the Palm Court.

‘Well?’ demanded Caroline, having secured two seats ensuring reasonable privacy.

‘There’s nothing much to it,’ Felicia said defensively. ‘The Belgians need heroines to advance their cause. They want to hand out decorations. I’m young—’

‘Yes. You’re only nineteen.’

‘Mairi Chisholm is eighteen. You can’t understand what it’s like out there, Caroline. The Red Cross won’t officially let anyone serve till they’re twenty-three, but there is such a crying need for willing hands that if you have qualifications and determination, no one is going to turn you away—particularly,’ she added, ‘if
Aunt Tilly has anything to do with it.’

‘But why did she take you with her into the front line, when FANY’s work—according to the secretary this evening—usually operates well back?’

Felicia was indignant. ‘Do you think I am such a fragile flower that I can’t make my own decisions? Tilly did all she could to dissuade me. I simply stowed away in her ambulance the first time I knew she was visiting a regimental aid post—that’s the one nearest the front. It was at Neuve Chapelle. There was a bombardment, we were ordered back, but we refused to go because men were dying and wounded all around us. During the battle for Ypres we did the same, but we found shelter in a half destroyed farm and made that our base. Does that answer your question?’