In Distant Fields (44 page)

‘Why should they want more men?' Partita wondered, having overheard the end of the conversation as they all took their places at table. ‘Everyone says the one thing we're not short of is fighting men.'

‘I'm not a politician, Partita.' Peregrine held out the Duchess's chair for her and she sat down. ‘All I know is we've lost nearly half a million men, dead, wounded or missing, and the stream of volunteers for Kitchener's Army, so-called, seems to be drying up.'

‘Because I suppose what everyone thought at the beginning hasn't come to pass,' Kitty observed. ‘That it would be all over in weeks.'

Everyone stared at her for a few seconds, and as they did, Kitty found herself colouring. She
had sounded angrier than she should have, and she knew it. Worse, she had sounded bitter.

It did not seem possible but there was worse to come when the news broke that the
Lusitania
, one of Cunard's most prestigious transatlantic liners, was sunk by a German U-boat off the south coast of Ireland, with the rumoured loss of over a thousand lives.

‘A passenger ship?' Partita exclaimed, breaking the silence that seemed to have fallen over the whole castle after they had learned the news. ‘They've sunk an innocent passenger ship? Why? Why?
Why
?'

‘I simply could not begin to answer that,' Circe replied, trying to come to terms with the implications of what was in reality an atrocity. ‘Except that it would seem nothing is either sacred or safe any more.'

‘Well said, Mamma,' Partita agreed. ‘Nothing
is
sacred or safe. You are right.'

‘All I know is – from what I read in the papers – as the ship was about to leave,' Peregrine stated, ‘I understand the German Embassy printed a warning in the
New York Times
– I think it was – saying that any ship that strayed into what's called the European War Zone would be a legitimate target for their submarines.'

‘How can that possibly be?' Circe returned, standing up and starting to pace up and down as she realised that any number of her American relatives and friends could have been on board
the luxury liner. ‘A passenger ship, carrying only civilians? How can they
possibly
call that a legitimate target?'

‘I suppose because they suspect we have broken certain codes, or might be as capable as they are in breaking certain codes.'

‘What sort of codes, Perry?' Partita demanded.

‘It would be perfectly possible to carry arms and armaments bound for the war zone, let us say, in the holds of passenger ships. I don't think the enemy simply wishes to target innocent civilians. The propaganda value of such a crime would tell against them too much.'

‘They might do that sort of thing,' Partita said hotly, ‘but not us. Never.'

‘And certainly not a neutral country surely?' Kitty asked. ‘What would be the point?'

‘There could be all sorts of points, Kitty, and all sorts of possibilities. But it doesn't matter. What matters is hundreds of innocent people have lost their lives in the most terrible way, and whatever the reasons are for sinking the
Lusitania
, there cannot be one that could possibly justify such a wholesale murder.'

‘Gracious heavens!' Circe suddenly exclaimed, rising from the table. ‘I have just had the most terrible thought. Please excuse me, everyone.'

She hurried from the room without further explanation.

Those she had left behind fell to silence, with no idea what the thought might have been or what it was prompting but were too tactful to ask.
They all considered the latest grim piece of news. Partita watched Peregrine's face as he finally broke the silence the news had engendered. He was still as handsome as ever, his voice still as measured and mellifluous as when she had first known him, and used to slide down the banisters to greet him in the Great Hall. It was not fair. Part of her had hoped, so hoped that he would come back from the Front a changed man, not as changed as Michael Bradley, of course, but changed enough for her to stop caring about him, because the truth was she no longer wanted to have feelings for him. She no longer wanted to have her pulse quicken uncomfortably when she saw him; she no longer wanted to hope that he would see her as something other than this childish brat that he still called Mischief. She had found a new purpose to her young life. She was needed, if not by him, by her patients, and yet seeing him expressing his thoughts, watching his handsome face assume a look of compassion and understanding, she knew that strong as her will was, she could not suppress her feelings. She still loved him as she always had, would still pray for him every night, as she always had. In short, she would always love him, despite knowing now that he would never love her the way she wanted.

‘Maude?' Circe was asking into the telephone. ‘Maude dearest, this is Circe. I wonder, have you heard the news?'

*    *    *

Shortly after two o'clock that afternoon, just after the Old Head of Kinsale had been sighted on the coast of Cork, the first torpedo had been launched, hitting the liner right behind the bridge. It had caused an abnormally loud explosion for the impact of only one missile, followed almost at once by a very heavy smoke cloud, both the explosion and the cloud causing instant confusion and panic. The great ship listed quickly and began to sink at an angle that made a successful launching of the lifeboats all but impossible, the first loaded life crafts hitting the water far too hard and hurling all their passengers into the water
.

Like most gentlemen passengers on board, Hughie's sole concern was to try to ensure that the women and the children got safely into the other lifeboats that were being prepared for launch, but the pandemonium and panic was so intense that he twice got knocked clean off his feet and only managed to save himself from plunging into the water by a last-minute rescue from one of the crew, who grabbed his hand as he was slipping down the decks to haul him back to safety. But his wellbeing was only temporary since the liner was sinking very quickly, taking with it hundreds of panic-stricken, screaming innocent people. Someone had thrown him a life jacket, but seeing a woman being loaded into a lifeboat without one, he sacrificed his last chance of redemption by insisting she took it
.

He and another man, an American his own age whom he had met on the voyage, then looked for something on to which they might cling or somewhere safe where they might shelter until perhaps some
miracle happened that might save them, because they both knew that without any such miracle they were most certainly doomed. As they clung to a steel post that instead of standing at one hundred and eighty degrees to the sea now stood at right angles, both men hung on for dear life, lives so dear they had both prayed at the tops of their voices for the miracle that would save them, knowing there was no chance now that their lives would, be spared. As the liner plunged ever faster into the turbulent seas, he thought of two things, of the fact that he had only got a ticket on the liner at the very last moment, the holder of the passage being one of a handful of passengers to take heed of the anonymous telegrams many had received warning them not to embark on the liner, and of the fact that he had been anxious to avail himself of the opportunity simply because now that he had been freed by his employers he could get back to England as quickly as possible to enlist and go to fight, only now to drown helplessly and hopelessly before he could get in even one blow for the freedom of his country and of Europe
.

Now, as the waters began to close around his feet, he closed his eyes and prepared himself for his death
.

‘
God bless you, pal!' he heard his American companion yell. ‘See you up there!
'

And then they were gone, gone to the unforgiving waters of the ocean, gone to their graves with nearly twelve hundred other innocent souls, couples and lovers, single folk and hopefuls, old and young, civilians and merchant seamen, the rich and the poor, twelve hundred of them sacrificed for the bellicosity of one nation and the foolishness of its enemies, a number
of souls, which, though horrific at the time, would hardly merit consideration when the final tally was told
.

Maude had only known that Hughie was about to return home and that he had been unable to get a first-class berth due to the lateness of the application he had made for his booking. She had been unaware that he was in fact already under way until she got a cable sent on his behalf by an American friend: ‘Surprise. Put out the flags. Sailing into Liverpool tomorrow. Hughie.'

And then Circe telephoned her.

‘Have you heard the news, Maude?' Circe asked.

‘News? What news, Circe dearest? I have been working day and night at Sister Agnes's nursing home, as you no doubt know.'

‘The
Lusitania
has been sunk off the coast of Ireland. They believe she was torpedoed.'

‘The
Lusitania
?' Maude repeated, trying to make sense of why Circe of all people should think it necessary that she be told this piece of news. ‘The
Lusitania
is the pride of Cunard's fleet, isn't she?'

‘Yes, my dear,' Circe said gently and carefully. ‘She is. But—'

She's a very safe ship, fast enough to outrun any possible danger,' Maude continued quickly, while in the back of her mind a terrible possibility was forming.

‘So they said,' Circe agreed. ‘I just thought I
should tell you because I wasn't sure on which ship Hughie might be making the crossing.'

Maude was silent quickly realising, dread possibility having become an all too terrible probability, that Hughie might have been a passenger on the stricken ship.

‘She sailed from New York, of course?' Maude asked suddenly.

‘Of course, dearest. And was due into Liverpool tomorrow. I do so hope—'

But the telephone had gone dead. Hughie had to have been on board, or else why did the telegram say that he was due in at Liverpool tomorrow?

The reality spun round her and she gazed at the telephone that she had just dropped, and picking it up, she started to dial Circe's number at Bauders.

‘Forgive me, Circe,' she said, sotto. ‘The shock.'

‘Do you want me to come to you, Maude? I can't bear the thought of you being alone,' Circe offered.

‘No, I am all right, thank you, Circe. For the moment. Do you have any idea of the number of casualties?'

‘The first reports are of several hundred dead, dearest,' Circe replied. ‘The numbers have yet to be confirmed but it is understood the ship sank quickly, which leads everyone to suppose the casualty list will not, alas, be small.'

But no one knew with certainty until the following day, and those with relatives or friends
on board had to wait even longer to have news confirmed or denied. Maude received the tidings by telegram, directly from the Cunard office.

‘Deeply regret your son Hugo Milborne lost in
Lusitania
tragedy. Cunard representative to call.'

As she sat in her London house holding the rectangle of off-white paper that bore the strips of typewritten telegraphed information announcing in cryptic terms the death of her beloved boy, one of the maids came through to where she was sitting and placed the post in front of her on a silver salver. Maude gazed at it dully, and then her eyes caught sight of the American stamp. She turned the letter over and saw Hughie's postscript written in his generous hand.

‘I might be home before this!'

‘It seems now that everything is sinking,' Partita said to Kitty as they walked around the grounds, trying to make sense of what they had learned, for once barely able to contain their emotions. ‘That somehow everything we know and love went down with that poor ship. I keep imagining the terror of all those innocent passengers.'

‘Fifteen hundred people,' Kitty said in a low voice. ‘Fifteen hundred.'

‘Fifteen hundred souls including poor, lovely, gentle Hughie Milborne.'

‘Poor, poor Hughie.'

‘Oh, Hughie, Hughie!' Partita cried out suddenly, leaning forward and clutching herself. ‘
Why
didn't you stay in America?
Why
did you have to come home? You didn't have to
fight
! You of all people, Hughie! You who was always so frail! They'd never have let you fight! They'd never have passed you fit!'

She collapsed into Kitty's arms, and started to
sob, her arms clasped round her tightly, Kitty's arms holding her up as best she could.

‘Poor Maude,' Partita moaned. ‘Poor Bertie.'

‘Poor Hughie,' Kitty whispered, as Partita straightened up, getting a hold of herself.

‘No,' Partita said, wiping away her tears. ‘This will never do. This won't do at all. We have patients; they must come before our feelings.'

She detached herself, almost violently, from Kitty, walking away from her and from the house while she composed her emotions, Kitty remaining where she was for a moment before following her.

‘What do you think, Kitty?' Partita asked as her friend joined her. ‘What do you think everyone did to deserve this? This – this mayhem.'

‘Nowadays I am afraid I think a great deal less of what we all did to deserve it, and more of what we all did to cause it,' Kitty replied, just a little tersely.

‘You think we're to blame as well?' Partita regarded her with some wonder. ‘But we didn't do anything.'

‘Exactly, Tita. As a country we didn't do anything at all, not when we should have done, and now we are paying the penalty. Everyone intelligent is saying so; whatever nonsense is being put about, we all know it.'

‘I can't even begin to understand what's happening. First of all it was all so exciting – and you can't deny it, because it was. Everyone was so excited by what was happening as if it was our
chance to beat the bad men and reform the world. Our army was going to do it, and so easily. They were just going to march over there, fire a few shots, the enemy would put their hands in the air and that would be that. What fools we all were – what absolute dunderheads. And now we're going to lose everybody – and for what?'