Lorimers at War (20 page)

‘Take a good look,' Margaret said. She did not intend to discuss her plans for Grant in front of the disabled men – but the boy had no such inhibitions.

‘Is that what you're going to do to me?' he demanded. ‘Are you going to cut my leg off?'

‘Of course not.' More roughly than usual, Margaret pulled him out of the room and into what had once been a serving pantry. It was time, she decided, to stop trying to be kind and to see whether a little bullying would have a better effect. ‘I brought you here to show you that it's time you stopped being sorry for yourself. You've got a bit of trouble in one leg; just a little bit, and you think that entitles you to spend the rest of your life sulking. All the men you've seen in that room have had to get used to the idea that they've got to live the rest of their lives with only one leg. They'll never be able to run anywhere again, never be able to ride a bicycle; some of them will never be able to work. And it's painful, having only the stump of a leg – did you know that? The part that isn't there seems to go on aching, and there's nothing any doctor can do about it. They've got to get used to that as well. If I offered any one of these men the chance to have a simple operation which would leave him with two good legs, he'd jump at it. He wouldn't be frightened.'

‘I'm not frightened,' said Grant.

‘Yes, you are. I don't know whether you're frightened of the operation or whether you're frightened of suddenly finding yourself the same as any other boy, with no more excuses for all these sulks, but you're certainly frightened of something. Well, it's time you stopped. Do you think your brother Brinsley was frightened when he led that attack?'

‘It's easy being killed,' said Grant.

Margaret stared at her nephew, horrified to hear such a remark on the lips of an eleven-year-old. ‘Listen to me, Grant,' she said. ‘When you were born, I was the doctor who looked after you and your mother. Quite often a new baby needs a little help before it can take its first breath. No one would ever have known if I'd allowed you to die before you'd even begun to live. But you wouldn't have wanted me to do that, would you?'

‘Yes, of course I would!' exclaimed Grant without a moment's hesitation. ‘I'd never have known, anyway. But nobody wanted me to be born. My parents didn't. It was all a mistake. My father told me that.'

‘Oh, Grant!' Overcome by compassion for the unhappy boy, Margaret opened her arms to him. And suddenly he was crying – not with the tears of petulance and frustration to which she had become accustomed, but from a deep misery of spirit. Margaret found that she was crying as well. Her grip tightened, and she was conscious of the boy's stiff body relaxing as he came close to her for comfort instead of holding himself aloof.

After a little while she found her handkerchief and dabbed dry both her own eyes and Grant's. ‘
I
wanted you,' she said. ‘I wanted you to be alive then, and I want you to be alive – and happy – now. And your mother loved you: you know that. As for your father, I realize that you and he have found it hard to be friends, but you must make allowances for his unhappiness at your mother's death, and then Brinsley's. I remember him saying, when you were born, that God must have some
special purpose for you. When you grow up, you must make him as proud of you as he was of Brinsley. And the first thing is to get you strong and fit. You came to Blaize at an awkward time, Grant. We were all unhappy, and too busy to welcome you properly. I'm sorry about that. Everything's going to be different from now on. You're part of the Lorimer family and we all love you. Now that Robert's married, I need to have someone else to care for specially. I want you to trust me to arrange what is best for you. Will you do that?'

He nodded. Margaret was relieved – but anxious at the same time. She had already recognized in Grant the all-or-nothing emotions of the fanatic. Until now, it seemed, he had found more people to hate than love. But if he attached himself to her, she would have a responsibility to accept his devotion without disappointing him. To send him back to Jamaica, for example, unless he asked to go, would surely be a rejection too great for him to bear.

It was difficult for Margaret not to feel a little weary at the prospect of adding to her family responsibilities at a time when she was within a few days of her sixtieth birthday. But she had never been able to resist the appeal of a child in need, and Grant's need was greater than most. It was necessary to look on the bright side. 1916 had been a terrible year. There were no indications that 1917 would be any better as far as the war was concerned, but she could make it her business to see that the family at least was kept as happy as possible.

It was a resolution which came under strain. Robert and Jennifer had been married early in January and Margaret had watched her son's firm stride down the aisle with a proud happiness. When she remembered the shattered body which had been returned to England it seemed miraculous that he should have made such a complete recovery. Foolishly, it did not occur to her that his state of health would be of interest to the army too.
She did not expect him actually to be discharged, but had imagined that rather than being returned to active service at the front he would be found some convalescent post such as that of an instructor at a training camp. So it came as a bolt from the blue when one day in February Jennifer burst into her office in a state of hysteria.

‘What's happened?' Margaret's first thought, as she jumped to her feet, was that Robert must have had some kind of accident.

‘He's got to go back. They say he's fit enough. They're going to send him over to France again. You've got to stop it. Please don't let them.'

Margaret sank back into her chair, just as upset as her daughter-in-law, but corseted against shock by her age. Until that moment she had not fully realized how great a relief it had been to have Robert in England. Even at the beginning, when his condition was still a grave one, he had at least been surrounded by people who were trying to save his life, not take it. There was little she could say to comfort Jennifer.

‘I hoped, like you –' she began; but to finish the sentence was unnecessary. ‘There's nothing we can do, I'm afraid. He's a soldier. He has to do what he's told.'

‘You're a doctor. You could say that he isn't fit. All they did was look at him and make him walk about and take deep breaths. That's not a proper medical examination. You could tell them that he isn't ready yet.'

‘I can't say that if it isn't true. In any case, they'd hardly believe his mother, doctor or not. And think how humiliating it would be for Robert. What does he say about it?'

‘He takes it for granted that there's no choice. But it
would
be true that he isn't ready yet. He has nightmares, terrible nightmares, every night. About walking over dead bodies –' Jennifer was weeping again by now – ‘and arms and legs falling off when he touches them. And when he wakes up, he's shivering. He trembles for hours
sometimes. He'd never admit it, but he's frightened. Deeply, deeply frightened,'

‘If no one were ever frightened, there'd be no such thing as courage,' said Margaret. ‘He's already proved that he's a hero, trying to save his cousin's life. You should be proud that he's prepared to go back in spite of his experiences.'

‘I don't want to be proud. I want to be married. He's never told you how terrible it is out there. The mud and the smells and the noise and the danger. He never wanted you to be worried. But he wrote to me. He told me all about it.'

‘Get a grip on yourself, Jennifer. I've spent two years caring for the victims of the battlefield. Do you think I supposed that people were throwing grenades and gas shells at them during some peaceful country walk? You could give me credit for a little imagination. I didn't need to be
told.
Oh, I'm sorry, dear.' She stood up again and put her arm round the girl's shoulders. ‘It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you. But I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. If there are any choices at all, we must leave them to Robert.'

‘Then he'll go,' said Jennifer flatly.

‘Yes.' Margaret kissed her daughter-in-law. ‘Give him as happy a time as you can until then, my dear. Don't let him see you crying.'

In obeying that instruction Jennifer proved more successful than Margaret might have expected. But when the day of parting came at last and she returned alone from London, it seemed that the effort had exhausted her. Twice during March she fainted in the ward, and Margaret began to receive complaints – cautiously worded, in view of the family relationship – about Nurse Scott's tendency to weep and dream. Before long it became necessary to have an official interview.

‘I can think of an explanation for what's been happening,' Margaret said. ‘I'm hoping you're going to tell me that I've guessed right.'

She was rewarded for the gentleness of her approach by seeing the shy flush which had won Robert's heart. Jennifer nodded.

‘You're expecting a baby?'

‘Yes. In November.'

All problems of discipline forgotten, the two women hugged each other. Then Margaret, her eyes shining, prepared to exercise her authority as a prospective grandmother as well as the administrator of the hospital.

‘This feeling of weakness may not last for more than a month or two,' she said. ‘But all the same, I'm going to suggest that you go home to Norfolk. There's too much heavy lifting in your work here. It's not good for you or for the baby. I know how much your father has longed to have you back with him, and this is the time when you'd be justified in indulging him. Country air and country food and plenty of rest. It's the best recipe. Do you agree?'

‘Yes, Mother. Thank you very much.'

Margaret was touched by the girl's first use of the word which Robert had from the beginning urged her to adopt. In the first weeks of the marriage the dual relationship had apparently made it impossible for Jennifer to decide whether she was talking to her commandant or her mother-in-law. From now on, Margaret was sure, their relationship would be a much easier one. Her happiness at the news was such that for a little while she was able to stop worrying about Robert. She did not even feel any great uneasiness at first when Piers came into her office a day or two later and enquired whether she had an address for Kate.

‘Yes. A new one has just arrived. It's somewhere in the south of Russia.' She handed her address book across the desk. ‘I'm not sure how much one can count on letters reaching her, though. She obviously never received my message about Brinsley's death. You look worried, Piers. Has something happened?'

‘Yes,' Piers told her. ‘It may not be important, but she's a long way from Moscow and Petrograd and news may take quite a time to travel. By the time she hears from there, it could be too late for her to get out of the country. And in my opinion she ought to leave. There's some very disquieting news coming through from Russia. Very disquieting indeed.'

Every day Kate allowed herself two minutes of rage against Russian inefficiency. It acted as a safety valve, making it easier – a little easier – for her to cultivate during the rest of the day a Russian quality of resignation.

There was nothing wrong with the postal arrangements. What was left of the Serbian Division was now under Russian command, and if the youngest and most useless of the Russian officers sent a message to his family in Moscow or Petrograd requesting the dispatch of a new pair of gloves or some favourite item of food, the parcel would arrive in the minimum time needed for the courier to make the double journey by train. But none of Kate's letters to the Minister of War or any of the committees which had recently been set up to deal with supplies or transport or hospitals was even acknowledged.

No one, it appeared, was willing to authorize the release and dispatch of the crates of medical stores which were waiting uselessly in some warehouse or other. In vain did Kate argue that the consignment was private property, sent from London specifically to re-equip the volunteer hospital which the suffragist movement had reestablished after the Serbian retreat, this time on the Romanian Front. Somewhere in the tortuous bureaucratic process through which even the simplest transaction had to travel, some stamp or signature must be lacking.
Before she learned better, Kate would have expected that in an autocracy decisions could be made simply and speedily. But in practice she found that no one in any sphere was willing to take responsibility for anything – not even the Autocrat himself.

At first it had been possible to make excuses. Almost before she had recovered from the hardships of the Serbian retreat, Kate – along with the new staff of English and Scottish nurses who had joined her in Medjidia – had found herself retreating again, this time across the Dobrudja plain. It was reasonable that her supplies should be stored securely until the hospital had been re-established in a position which could be considered temporarily safe from capture. But by January 1917 the situation was stable and still the supplies did not come.

It was not only the hospital which was under-equipped. The soldiers – Serbs and Russians alike – were short of ammunition. There were not enough rifles for each man to have his own; someone leaving the front line for a day's rest had to hand his weapon over to his relief, together with a ration of cartridges which would be quite inadequate in any full-scale battle. For the time being everything was relatively quiet along the frozen front, but there was talk of a spring offensive. Kate knew little enough about the strategy and mechanics of war, but it was plain to her that if an attack by either side began before the Russians had supplied their men – including the Serbs – with rifles and machine guns, cannons and ammunition, there would be a massacre. And if there were a massacre – or even nothing more than the normal run of casualties after a battle – Kate and her staff, lacking even the most basic drugs and bandages, would be unable to cope with it. Throughout January she waited with mounting frustration.