No Peace for Amelia (11 page)

M
ary Ann came back quickly with the things Amelia had ordered. Luckily the kettle wasn’t long off the boil, and the range was still warm. She groped her way through the garden by the light of the open kitchen door, for she had left the oil-lamp with Amelia in the shed.

Patrick was still unconscious, and breathing noisily. Amelia had already torn the rest of his sleeve away from his wounded arm, ready to clean it up and dress it.
Between
them, they worked the armchair cushions under Patrick’s body. It didn’t look very comfortable, but at least he wasn’t in contact with the shed floor any more.

Amelia worked quickly, giving Mary Ann sharp orders in a low voice as she did so. Mary Ann sat at Patrick’s head all through the operation, with a mouthful of the cooking sherry in a teacup in her hand, in case he woke up. Amelia had an idea that it would knock him out again; actually there was hardly enough alcohol in it to
knock out a mouse. But Amelia’s touch must have been light, for he didn’t wake with the pain. When she had him all bandaged up to her satisfaction, she said to Mary Ann to try to force some of the sherry between his lips.

‘What for?’ whispered Mary Ann.

‘To bring him round.’

‘But you said a minute ago it would knock him out.’

Amelia was stumped.

‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘it would have knocked him out if he’d drunk it
all
. I mean just wet his lips with it, to bring him round.’

Mary Ann did as she was told. Patrick spluttered and sputtered and spat the foul liquid out, but he didn’t wake up.

‘Now what’ll we do?’ asked Mary Ann anxiously.

‘How should I know?’ retorted Amelia, exhausted more from tension than from her work or the lateness of the hour. ‘Here, give me that sherry.’

And she made to take the sherry from Mary Ann.

‘Amelia Pim! You’re too young to be drinking!’ Mary Ann was horrified.

Amelia wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘Just for a moment there it seemed like a good idea.’

Amelia leant over and started to bathe Patrick’s face, hoping to reduce the fever.

‘Oh, Amelia,’ wailed Mary Ann, ‘I’ve landed us all in it
now, with this blessed brother of mine. I’ll never forgive myself if your family gets into trouble with the law over this.’

‘Look, Mary Ann,’ said Amelia, ‘that is the last thing my parents would think of if they knew Patrick was out here. I know you’re afraid to involve them with this
Rising
of Patrick’s, and you’re right that we could all be in trouble if he’s found here. But this is not the same at all as hiding guns. This is a human being who is ill and in need of help. I know, I can promise you, that all they would be concerned about would be getting him to a hospital and to safety. So will you stop worrying about what my family would think. We have enough to do to keep him alive.’

‘Oh!’ Mary Ann sobbed.

‘Mary Ann, I think the best thing would be to wake my father and mother. Between us all we could move him. We could get an ambulance or a doctor.’

‘Oh no, Amelia, please don’t, please! If he goes to
hospital
, he’ll be caught. Can you not make him better?’

‘Well, I can try. But he probably needs a doctor. Will you let me go for Dr Mitchell? He’s a pal – he’d never let on.’

Mary Ann’s body shook with sobs. She didn’t answer, but she gave Amelia a pleading look.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Amelia, ‘we’ll give him till morning. We’ll keep an eye on him through the night, and if he doesn’t get any worse, we’ll take a chance on it.
And in the morning we can decide.’

‘All right,’ Mary Ann sniffed. ‘Thanks, Amelia. You’re a pet. But oh!’ She started to sob again. ‘What about
Ashbourne
? I better go myself.’

Mary Ann scrambled to her feet and began to get ready to leave.

‘Mary Ann! You can’t go to Ashbourne, on your own. It’s the middle of the night!’

‘It’s only ten to eleven.’

‘It wouldn’t matter if it was only nine o’clock. It’s dark. How do you think you’re going to get there? It’s miles away. There mightn’t be a train at this hour. I don’t even know if there’s a railway line to there. Oh, Mary Ann, you can’t go.’

‘I must.’

‘Why must you? What does it matter about the old message?’

‘Because he can’t deliver it himself. He’ll be in an
awful
state when he wakes up if he discovers he’s slept through it all and failed in his mission. It’ll kill him
altogether
. I have to go, for his sake.’

‘But you can’t go alone. And I can’t come with you. I have to mind this fellow.’

Mary Ann spread the fingers of one hand wide over her face as if to hide her terror, and with the other hand she made frantic motions in the air, as if warding off
demons
of fear and panic and confusion.

‘I have to go, I tell you, I must.’ Mary Ann emerged
from behind her splayed hand. ‘It would be worse for him to fail in this than anything. He’d rather die in the
attempt
and die with honour. Oh, Amelia, think if it were Frederick!’

Frederick hadn’t been far from Amelia’s thoughts. As she had bathed and bandaged Patrick, she had
wondered
if some girl somewhere might do the same for Frederick if she found him wounded in
France
. She imagined Frederick sickly and shot, in a sweet-smelling haybarn on a French farm, and some apple-cheeked French farmer’s daughter with a blue check kerchief round her head and strong peasant hands tending her hero’s wounds. She imagined it all so vividly that she was almost jealous of the French farm girl. But she didn’t like it when Mary Ann mentioned his name, as if she had tuned into her private thoughts.

‘At least Frederick is fighting in a proper, honourable war, not just a skirmish in a post office.’

‘Oh!’ cried Mary Ann, shocked into bitterness by
Amelia
’s words. ‘Honourable! Is that what you call it? What’s so honourable about crouching miserably in a muddy, lousy trench and taking potshots at other miserable, muddy, lousy soldiers, and all for what? To keep
England
powerful, that’s what for.’

‘It’s not!’ said Amelia passionately. ‘It’s to defend Europe against the Germans. It’s to safeguard the women and children of Belgium and France. That’s what it’s for, and it is honourable, it is!’ She stamped her foot,
as she used to do when she was a child and was
overcome
with rage and indignation.

For a moment, neither girl spoke. They faced each other over Patrick’s prostrate body, Amelia white with anger, and Mary Ann’s face dark and glowering. At this point, Patrick opened his eyes and looked enquiringly from one to the other, but neither of them noticed.
Silence
crackled in the air between them.

Minutes passed, and Patrick woke up properly. He lay and watched the two girls, trying to piece together where he was, what was happening. He felt for his gun, and then remembered that he had ditched it.

‘I’m sorry, Amelia,’ said Mary Ann at last, looking her friend in the eye. ‘I’m sure whatever about the ould war, Frederick is honourable anyway.’

Amelia said nothing for another long moment. Then she relented and mumbled: ‘I’m sorry too, I suppose. I – I shouldn’t have called your precious Rising a skirmish in a post office.’

‘Well, I suppose you could call it that. But that doesn’t mean the men – and women too – who are fighting in it aren’t every bit as honourable as your Frederick. They’re willing to sacrifice their lives for their country, and you can’t do better than that.’

Amelia’s mother would have replied that you could do better – that you could live for your country instead, and strive to make it a better place, but Amelia didn’t say it. Instead, she just nodded and said:

‘Well, I’m sure they are all honourable men,
whichever
war they are in,’ said Amelia. Then a thought occurred to her: It’s war itself that is dishonourable. She turned this thought over in her mind. It was the first time she had been able to do what came naturally to Mama – make a clear distinction for herself between the war and Frederick’s part in it. Yes, it’s war itself that is
dishonourable
, she thought again.

‘Much good honour is to us all the same,’ said Mary Ann, her thoughts running on similar lines to Amelia’s. ‘Honour is all very well and fine for menfolk, but what are we going to do with your man here?’ – at this point she jerked her head in Patrick’s direction – ‘and what are we going to do about getting this blinking message through?’

‘My God, the message!’ moaned Patrick, now fully awake and struggling up onto his good elbow.

The two girls had been so earnestly engaged in their debate about war and honour that they hadn’t looked at Patrick for some time. They were both startled at the sound of his voice, and Amelia let out a little scream.
Realising
that she shouldn’t do that, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

‘Who’s this, Mary Ann?’ asked Patrick. ‘What’s she
doing
here? You were supposed to keep this a secret, Mary Ann.’ His voice was whispery, but his eyes were bright and Mary Ann could see that he was fully conscious now.

‘What’s she doing here? For goodness’ sake, Patrick, this is her house. She lives here.’

‘In the shed?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is Amelia Pim, daughter of the house, and you should be very grateful to her. She’s a bit of an expert at first aid and that sort of thing, and she’s after doing a great job on your wounded arm. She’s going to be a doctor.’

Patrick looked down at his sprucely bandaged arm and waved it cautiously in front of him.

‘By God, she’s an expert all right. Pleased to meet you, Miss Pim. A doctor, indeed.’ His voice was coming back to normal, though it was still low.

‘How do you do?’ said Amelia shyly.

‘Don’t swear, Patrick,’ said Mary Ann at the same time. ‘It’s not allowed in this house – or this shed.’

‘I beg your pardon, Miss,’ said Patrick, still leaning on one elbow.

He made to heave himself to his feet, but both Amelia and Mary Ann pushed him gently back onto the
cushions
, and Mary Ann tucked the blankets around him more tightly.

‘You have to sleep some more, now, Mr Maloney,’ said Amelia, touching his forehead again. ‘I think your fever is abating, but if you stood up now, you would probably faint. And you wouldn’t like to do that, now, would you.’

‘I have to go. I have to deliver …’

‘Yes, yes, we know about the message, but really, you
can’t move for the moment. You need rest, and then you need to eat. Would you like a cup of tea now before you sleep, or some warm milk?’

‘Or a sup of sherry?’ chipped in Mary Ann.

‘Sherry!’ said Patrick with a laugh in his voice, still struggling weakly against the girls to sit up.

‘Oh, I don’t think alcohol would be a good idea now,’ said Amelia in a worried voice, ‘not on an empty
stomach
and with a fever. We just had it for emergencies, while I was fixing your arm up.’

‘No, no. I didn’t mean I wanted the sherry. I was just laughing at the idea of it. Warm milk sounds perfect, thanks. Atin’ and drinkin’ in it, as they say.’

Patrick lay back gratefully.

‘Right so,’ Mary Ann jumped up, delighted to be able to do something positive.

While she was gone, Amelia and Patrick sat and lay, respectively, in an awkward silence for some time.
Amelia
wrapped her arms around her knees and watched a woodlouse scuttling across the floor, waving its
antennae
as it went, as if in hectic greeting.

‘A doctor, indeed,’ repeated Patrick at last, when he had got his breath back. ‘Are ladies allowed to be
doctors
?’

Amelia had had conversations like this before, and so she was ready with the answers. And she was glad he had said something, for she was beginning to be
embarrassed
by the silence. The woodlouse had disappeared
under a block of firewood and there was nothing else to look at.

‘Yes, they’re allowed. But it’s difficult, and of course the men don’t like it.’

‘No. I wouldn’t think they’d be too keen.’

‘They have had control over medicine for so long, they don’t like to think of us getting involved. They don’t want to share it with us. They like to keep women in
ignorance
. I suppose that makes them feel they’re the great fellows. It’s the same with the vote. They don’t want us to have the vote, because then we’d have a share in their power. But we’re going to get the vote, wait till you see, as soon as this war in Europe is over.’

‘Hah!’ said Patrick. ‘They say the same about Home Rule.’

‘And do you not believe them?’

‘I do not. But anyway, at this stage, Home Rule is too little, too late. We want more than just Home Rule now.’

‘What do you want, then?’

‘Our country back. That’s all. And it’s a fair enough request
really
.’

Amelia didn’t reply.

Patrick mistook her silence for disagreement.

‘But I suppose you’re an Orangewoman,’ he said. ‘All Protestants are Orangemen.’

‘No. I’m a Quaker.’

‘Isn’t that a sort of Protestant?’

‘Yes and no. It’s very different really. And we are
neither
nationalists nor unionists. We are pacifists.’

Patrick gave her a long, considering look, from his slate-grey eyes. She smiled at him, and then looked away in confusion.

‘Anti-war?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, sure, aren’t we all anti-war at heart! I mean, none of us
likes
fighting and killing.’

‘It’s not enough to be anti-war at heart,’ said Amelia virtuously.

‘What does that mean, now?’ asked Patrick, in a rather patronising tone that Amelia didn’t like.

‘It means,’ she said firmly, ‘that you have to work for peace, not just have a distaste for war.’

Amelia surprised herself. She hadn’t given much thought to what it meant to be a pacifist recently. She felt somehow that it might be disloyal to Frederick. But the arrival of Patrick, ill and wounded, in her own backyard, quite literally, had given her a new and less glamorous perspective on war.