Mary's Child (37 page)

Len told her, ‘A bobby came past a minute ago and said it was all clear. Jerry’s shoved off.’ He jerked his head at the guests. ‘So I told them they could come up and go to bed but they only got this far.’

Arkley was there now, had come limping across the bridge from his home on the other side of the river. He said, ‘I saw the fire was over this way and thought it might be this place.’ He glanced around and added, ‘It damn near was.’ Then he saw Chrissie covered in dust and grime from head to foot and he asked, ‘Here! What happened to you, miss?’

‘I got dirty helping some people out of a hole.’ Chrissie remembered her duty, raised her voice but managed to keep it steady. ‘You can all go back to bed now, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sorry you were disturbed.’

Someone laughed nervously, then a man said, ‘She’s a cool one!’ The laughter, born of relief, became general and they began to drift off to their rooms.

Chrissie lit the gas boiler over the bath and ran it full, made a cup of tea and drank it while soaking. Then she dressed, went down to her office, prepared a list and gave it to Len. ‘I’ll look after things here. I want you to call on these people and ask them if they’ll come in straight away.’ She saw him off then turned to Arkley, reached for another sheet of paper and started another list. ‘This is what we have to do.’

She worked for the rest of the night with the team she had called out. So that the guests, when they came down to breakfast, found the dining-room and other public rooms clean. Broken windows had been reglazed or boarded up. And one commercial traveller, paying his bill as he left to go to his next call at York, commented, ‘Business as usual, eh?’

Chrissie, immaculate and smiling, though with dark smudges under her eyes, answered, ‘That’s right.’ ‘Business as usual’ was what she had worked for.

Business became better still over the next weeks. Her guests of that night went away with a story to tell of having survived an air raid, and it had not cost them any discomfort apart from an excited half-hour in the cellar. They had only praise for the Railway Hotel and Miss Carter. She found she was a local heroine; everyone heard of her rescue of the three girls and many came to the hotel just to see her, spending money at the same time.

Lance Morgan wheezed, ‘It could ha’ been a disaster for trade but you’ve turned it into profit. I just wish you could do something like that about this war.’

Chrissie shivered, remembering. ‘I hope I’ve finished with it. Once was enough.’

But the war had not finished with her.

A month later the British and German Fleets fought the battle of Jutland. The enemy were forced to withdraw but once again there were long casualty lists. Chrissie read them, heart in mouth in case she found a name she knew. Jack Ballantyne was not mentioned. Frank Ward’s destroyer had not been in the battle, but then he came to her in the night.

The bars were about to close when a kitchen maid came to Chrissie, who was supervising them. The girl said, ‘’Scuse me, miss, but there’s a sailor at the back asking to speak to you. He said to tell you his name’s Frank.’

‘I’ll be along in a minute.’ Chrissie tried to keep her reply casual, but she knew something was wrong. Otherwise Frank would have walked in at the public bar. She glanced over the crowd in there, saw no one likely to cause trouble and told the elderly barman, ‘Put the towel up on the stroke of ten, Geordie, please.’

He laughed. ‘They’ll not want to go out in this.’

Chrissie grimaced sympathetically at the rain beating against the windows, but told him, ‘They’ll have to. Ten o’clock closing is the law now.’ And she could wait no longer.

‘Aye. Right y’are, Miss Carter.’

She hurried through the hotel to the kitchen and found Frank standing by the door opening on to the back alley. There were only the two kitchen maids there now, cleaning the place ready for the morning. They whispered to each other and cast giggling glances at Frank. Rain dripped from his sodden overcoat into the pool that had formed around his feet.

Chrissie asked, ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you come to the front and ask for me?’

Frank’s eyes slid to the two girls and he said, low voiced, ‘I wanted to see you and I didn’t dare show me face at the front in case a pollis saw me.’

Now Chrissie guessed. She said in a normal tone of voice so the girls could hear, ‘I wasn’t expecting you tonight, but come along to the office.’ She led him out of the kitchen but then turned up the back stairs, took them at a run and ushered him into her room. There she faced him. ‘You’ve deserted.’

He shook his head. ‘No, not that. Give me credit, Chrissie. I’m not one to run away.’

She knew that was true. ‘So what, then?’

‘Like I said, I just had to see you. I’ve got a draft, to a cruiser up at Scapa.’ The Grand Fleet had its huge base at Scapa Flow in the Orkneys. ‘They’re putting a dozen of us on a train for there tomorrow. And I’ll be on it, no fear of that. But I wasn’t supposed to be ashore tonight so I jumped ship. I couldn’t go to the station to catch a train because there’d be a pollis or two there. The same goes for buses. So I got a lift on a lorry for part o’ the way but I walked most of it.’

Chrissie stared aghast at the pool now forming on her carpet. ‘I can see that. You’re soaking!’ She hurried over to her bathroom, lit the boiler and started the taps running. ‘Come in here and have a hot bath. I’ll dry your clothes in front of the fire.’

When his hand came modestly round the door with his dripping clothes she spread them on the backs of chairs close to the fire, where they steamed. Then she opened the door a crack, threw in her dressing-gown and called, ‘Put that on when you get out. I’ve got to go out for a few minutes. Don’t answer the door if anyone knocks.’

She knew the girls would have gone home by now and the kitchen would be empty. She found and heated some broth, put that on a tray with a hunk of bread and carried it upstairs. But not before she booked Frank into the only empty room and took the key. He was standing in front of the fire, her dressing-gown tight around him, his hair combed damply. Chrissie handed him the tray. ‘Sit down and get that into you.’

‘Thanks.’ He sat in the only armchair and she curled her long legs under her to sit on the rug in front of the fire. She had still not asked him why he wanted to see her, because she thought she knew and wanted to put it off as long as possible. She was wrong.

He finished the broth and drank the coffee she made afterwards. Then he sat silent for a time, staring into the fire. Finally he looked down at her and said seriously, ‘I wanted to see you because I’ve got a nasty feeling about this draft. I’ve never felt like this before when I’ve gone to sea.’

Chrissie stared back at him, suddenly cold. ‘Oh, Frank.’

He said, ‘So I just wanted to see you and tell you . . . that I can understand how you feel, that I’m not the right one for you. I know, because I couldn’t take anybody else, now I can’t have you. You’re the only one that would do for me.’ He was silent again for a time, then he finished, ‘That’s all.’

Chrissie stared at him dumbly. She had expected and dreaded a proposal she would have to reject. But he had laid himself open to the fearsome punishment of the Navy, and walked from the Tyne on this stormy night, just to tell her what was in his heart.

As if he could read her thoughts he explained simply, ‘I had to come. I couldn’t write something like that.’

She remembered his letters, stiff, awkward and formal, and knew he could not put those sentiments on a written page. Chrissie said softly, ‘Thank you.’

He smiled at her, but she could see the hunger in his eyes. The silence stretched out until the fire settled in the grate and spurted. He stood up and said, ‘Well, if these duds of mine are dry I’ll be getting back to the ship.’

Chrissie stood up close to him and said, ‘No.’ She switched off the gas lamp and he stripped her with shaking hands by the light of the fire.

She woke him at first light, rumpled the bedclothes in the room she had booked for him, then gave him breakfast in the hotel dining-room. They ran down on to the station platform with only a minute to spare. The early train was already filled with servicemen returning from leave but Frank found a seat in a carriage packed with sleepy sailors, who groused, ‘Bloody hell, another one!’ but squeezed up to let him in.

As Frank got in, Chrissie looked around her and realised that Millie Taylor stood only a yard away, her arms around a young soldier. Their eyes met, Millie blushed and said, ‘Hello, Chrissie – Miss Carter.’ She disentangled herself from the young man and introduced him: ‘Jim, this is Miss Carter – I’ve told you about her.’ And to Chrissie: ‘This is Jim Williamson. We’ve been walking out these last weeks. He’s in the Durhams and he’s off to France today.’ Now Chrissie could see tears in the girl’s eyes.

She teased gently, ‘You’ve kept this quiet.’ Chrissie still found time to help Lance Morgan at the Bells when it was busy, but she had not seen Millie with the young soldier before.

Millie explained, blushing, ‘I’ve got two rooms now so I let one to Jim while he was on leave. He’s my cousin, sort of.’

Chrissie spared her and said, ‘Hello, Jim. Nice to meet you.’

He said shyly, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from Millie. You’ve been good to her.’

Chrissie smiled. ‘She’s been good to me, too,’ but then she became aware that Frank was leaning out of the window and carriage doors were slamming.

Frank said, serious again, but with a wry grin, ‘I know this doesn’t make any difference.’ And when Chrissie bit her lip and shook her head he said, ‘Like I thought: I’m not the one.’ Then a whistle blew, and again. The train jerked back with a rattling of couplings then eased forward with a hiss of steam and all Chrissie could do was stand dumbly and watch him slide away. He called, ‘Goodbye, my love!’ He was hidden by the heads of the other women on the platform, the other men hanging out of the windows. Then the train was gone, the line was empty and she could not see at all.

She wondered, was she a harlot? Was this her mother’s blood showing in her? But she answered herself: no. She had lied to Ted and now had made some restitution to his brother. She had not lied to Frank. She had no regrets.

A week later HMS
Hampshire
struck a mine when leaving Scapa Flow in foul weather. She was bound for Russia with Kitchener, the Secretary of State for War, aboard. He died along with most of her crew, Frank Ward among them.

Chrissie did not weep but felt an awful sadness. She had lost both friends of her youth. She would mourn Frank as she had Ted, but this time without guilt and not openly; she would wear no black.

She looked up from the desk in her office to see Jack Ballantyne pass her door with Lilian Enderby on his arm and the girl smiled at her. Chrissie watched them go. She told herself again that it wouldn’t work with Jack Ballantyne and she had to remember that.

She was given a sharp reminder.

Chapter 21

June 1916

‘She only stayed afloat for about ten minutes after the torpedo hit her.’ Jack Ballantyne grimaced. ‘Then we spent a few hours in the sea until a destroyer picked us up. She put us ashore in Liverpool and they sent us on leave for a couple of weeks.’

Chrissie sat at the reception desk and he stood over her. She had called to him as he entered the hotel just before noon, blinking in the sudden dimness after the summer sunlight outside, looking about him as if expecting to meet someone.

‘Hello, Mr  Ballantyne! It’s good to see you back again!’ Then he had told her of the sinking of his ship. It was the first time since his return two days ago that she had seen him without Lilian Enderby holding his arm.

But the tall, blonde girl came now, swaying across the foyer to stand close enough to his side to touch him. She smiled up at him with wide, china-blue eyes and asked huskily, ‘So what do you want to do today?’ She reached up to lay a gloved hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re so tall!’ And she promised, ‘I’ll do anything you want.’

Jack grinned down at her. ‘First of all we’ll have a couple of drinks and then eat.’

‘Ooh! Lovely!’ She clung to him as he took her off to the hotel bar.

Chrissie saw the pair of them in the hotel almost every day. This was understandable because the Railway now had a reputation for good food. Despite the shortages – there was no rationing yet but bread was now tenpence a loaf, twice its pre-war price, and there was talk of a ‘meatless day’ – Chrissie managed to feed her guests well.

Jack and Lilian were seen at other places besides the dining-room of the Railway Hotel.

After the first week Jack walked down to the yard and into his grandfather’s office. Old George Ballantyne was managing the yard while his son, Richard, was in London at a conference. He sat back in his chair and took off the steel-rimmed spectacles he had to wear for reading now. ‘Hello, Jack. What brings you here?’

Jack laughed. ‘I just thought I’d look in and see you. You’re down here every morning before I wake up and when I get home at night you’ve gone to bed.’

George said grimly, ‘Because you come home in the early hours of the morning.’

Jack shrugged. ‘Guilty.’

‘I hear you’re at a party every night – and every day, for that matter.’