Remembrance Day (15 page)

She sat on her bed trying to make sense of this puzzle; all those little dreams of courtship, country rides and walking out in public, crumpled and crushed by this one encounter. He had snubbed her in front of her parents. You couldn’t get a better message than that, she sighed, and felt sick.

What had happened to change his attitude? Was it something she’d said? Was it something she had done or not done? Was it because of Frank, being a lowly private? Was it because Lady Hester had made her views plain or was he just being cruel to be kind, knowing there was no future in this romance?

In one fell blow he’d dashed all her hopes, cutting off their friendship as if it were of no importance. But one thing was certain: Captain Cantrell had had a change of heart.

Her virtue was safe. Obviously he had found romance
elsewhere with one of his own kind over Christmas. She was now surplus to requirements, yesterday’s girl, and it hurt. Oh, how it hurt to be dumped from the warmth of their friendship and intimacy into this wintry chill of rejection.

Guy looked out of the window across the park up to the hills. The chill wind in his face was bracing. Storm clouds were darkening the sky and snow feathers floated down. He had slept for days and sensed his pleurisy was lifting. He could breathe deeper and there was a surge of energy in his limbs. Today he would get up and ride down to the forge to see Selma at long last. He had been confined to bed for so much of his leave, fit for nothing. But all the rest was at last having an effect.

He slid out of bed and put on his thick dressing gown and tweed slippers. The fire was crackling and soon Angus would be bringing in breakfast, but Guy wanted to be up and doing. Being an invalid was tedious and he must make an effort to strengthen his muscles. It worried him that he was forgetting the war, getting too used to civilian life, to a soft bed and hot meals. It wasn’t right to be lounging about when others were soldiering on.

Angus and his mother were in the hallway chatting, but their conversation stopped when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

‘Guy, what are you doing out of bed?’ Hester demanded.

‘Time to be stretching my legs. I’m getting cabin fever up there.’

‘But it’s too soon. You need to rest up today.’

‘I
need
some fresh air.’

‘Look outside…it’s snowing hard. The sky is full of lead. No point in undoing all my good work by catching a chill.’

‘Stop fussing, you two. Anyone would think you wanted me to stay sick.’ Guy realised it wasn’t in fact too far from the truth; they liked to have him where they could see him. ‘I have to go back to my company soon.’

‘Plenty of time for that in due course.’ Mother dismissed his arguments.

‘But I’ve got another medical in a week. They’ll only put me on light duties so I’ll still be somewhere in this country. You’ll be sick of the sight of me. I’m starving—is that bacon and eggs I can smell?’

‘Light gruel and egg flip for you,’ Angus laughed. ‘You know what the doctor said.’

‘Bugger Dr Mac! I need bacon and eggs, toast and jam. How can I build up my strength on slops?’

‘He’s definitely better,Mother.’Angus was grinning.‘He’ll make that medical board yet.’

‘Any letters?’

Guy could see Mother hesitating. ‘Just bills and postcards, nothing for you to worry about…Oh, and Daphne said Caroline Pointer was much taken with you at the Boxing Day dinner.’

‘Don’t start that again. I’m going to see Selma today. Beaven can drive me there.’

‘Not in this weather he won’t, and you’re not fit to walk there and back. Plenty of time for that later.’

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ Guy said suspiciously. ‘Shall I ask her for tea then?’

‘Just let’s enjoy being together before the house fills up with invalids again. Another day or two won’t do any harm, will it? I thought we could try that new card game Captain Fielding taught us after supper.’

What could he do but give in? They were right. It was foul outside and going to get worse. No sense in getting a chill. And he didn’t want Selma trekking in these conditions. Better to wait a few more days and build up his strength. He wanted Selma to see him strong, not as an invalid. Bless his mother, for all her fussing she did have his best interests at heart.

Hester was woken by a terrible dream. She was on a station platform waiting for a train, a train that took aeons to arrive and when it did it steamed past, leaving her stranded. She could see Charles, Angus and Guy hanging out of the window, frantically waving. But she couldn’t get on the train as it flashed past and when she ran out of the station to find Beaven and the car, he was driving away down the road without her. So she went to the omnibus park. But she had no handbag and so no taxi fare. She woke in a sweat.

How had she ever considered going along with Angus’s crazy scheme? It was ridiculous to hold on to Guy and prevent him doing his duty. Besides, Angus would be a hindrance and a liability to fighting men. He had neither the stamina nor the experience. He might put them all in danger. It was a silly childish dream, well meant but unworthy of her ever having discussed it. And as for the other business with the Bartley girl…It was for Guy’s own good. Angus had done what Guy would never do without
a murmur. Guy was too soft-hearted to let her down. His brother had done it at a stroke, so at least the uniform had come in useful there.

It was good to see Guy on the mend. The Yorkshire Dales air was working its magic and filling his lungs with goodness. She must not be selfish. In the morning she would make Angus know the score and insist he forget his silly notion. He would still be useful when they opened the home again. He must learn to be content doing his service here, learning the ropes of running Waterloo House. There would be plenty to keep him occupied.

She tried to get back to sleep but her mind was racing. She rose early in the winter light. The sky after the heavy snow was pigeon grey, the beautiful scene outside her window delightful, the boughs arched over with frozen snow making her pause. She peered through the frost to admire the view and saw a line of footsteps making their way out of the long drive.

It was too early for any deliveries and the footprints were going in the direction of the gate. Curious. Smiling, she opened Guy’s door and heard him snoring; his window was wide open with flakes of snow on the windowsill. She peered in at Angus—her precious boys all under one roof—but his bed was empty . Her heart jumped a beat.

The dressing table was emptied of its silver jars, combs and brushes. The room looked quite bare. Then she rushed into Guy’s old bedroom at the back. His uniform was gone, his shoes, his new trench coat. Everything he had arrived with had gone. Angus had taken his uniform: a quiet but public exit. Unbeknown to her, making no farewells, he’d switched his life for Guy’s and now it was too late to follow him. She knew he’d gone for the milk train at six o’clock.

While she was dreaming that awful dream he’d sneaked off.

Hester fell on his bed in a faint.
What am I going to tell Guy? God in heaven, what have we done?

The snow fell over the village for days on end until the lanes were blocked with drifts swirling into sculptures like ice-cream cones, decorating the roofs with icicle daggers, stonewalls hidden under drifts and sheep trapped on the moors. Everyone was slithering over the cobbles until Asa Bartley threw out cinders and ash, helping Prospect Row to cut itself out of the drifts. There would be no farm work, so Selma had even more time to brood over Guy’s desertion as she helped her father mend kettle spouts, fire irons, bucket handles and fenders; all the small jobs saved for bad weather. At least she stayed warm in the forge. Mam popped in with mugs full of hot broth.

‘What a blow-in. This will last for days, will this,’ commented Asa.

‘I wish it would thaw,’ Selma sighed, feeling trapped.

‘Don’t you go wishing your life away. The nights are pulling out now so be glad of that.’

Selma felt a restlessness she’d never known before. For as far back as she could recall Guy’s letters were a fixed point in her week. She’d loved taking herself off to a quiet corner to read them over and over before replying. Now he had gone without a by-your-leave. He had been seen by one of the farmers’ wives before the big snow at Sowerthwaite station, getting into a first-class carriage. No one missed anything in West Sharland. What had gone wrong? It must be her fault. She was obviously too common and looked a mess.

Don’t keep going over it again, she chided herself, trying to concentrate on the job in hand. But her mind was spinning and she dropped the mould and it banged and caught her on the shin. Asa yelled at her and she burst into tears. It was not the sting or the shock of the bruise, it was pure misery overcoming her. Misery bound up tight inside so no one could see.

‘Go home and get yourself sorted. I can’t have you here as useless as a treacle glove! Pull yourself together and stop moping over that boy. It wasn’t meant to be. Better to find out now than later. There’s plenty of chapel boys who would give you their last pear drop if you put on a dress and smiled in their direction. Go on. Tell your mam to make use of you…you’re no use to me here!’

She limped back, looking up at the purple sky, full of flakes, sick of the stuff, too old for sledging. If only she’d stayed on at school. Marigold Plimmer was taking classes now.

Then she noticed the feathery flakes getting bigger. Fat flakes were wet flakes, and that meant a thaw was on its way. About time, she sighed. Then she might get on with life without constantly looking across from the forge door in case Guy was riding past. Perhaps he’d only gone for some training. He might come home again.

‘Where’s Angus?’ said Guy.

‘He’s gone to London on business for me. He has to earn his keep,’ said Hester, bustling around him. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of getting up in this chill.’

‘He never said he was going away. He could have posted some letters for me. It’s been nearly a week.’

‘Angus does have his own life to lead,’ Hester snapped back.

‘I’m not criticising, just surprised. It was very sudden, and in this weather…when’s he coming back?’

‘Just concentrate on getting yourself better. I’m not your brother’s keeper. He left you his Buchans to read. You enjoy them in peace and quiet, because it won’t last. I expect we will have some more young men to contend with soon.’

‘I’m looking forward to meeting them,’ Guy replied.

‘Well, then, just rest and relax. Everything is under control,’ Hester answered, knowing everything was far from it. She’d not slept in a week, wondering where Angus was, praying he would write to put her mind at rest. But not a word from him. She was frantic with worry.

What a foolhardy scheme this was, and now having to keep Guy out of the picture was so important. He must know nothing of this or he would be implicated. As the days went on, she felt more and more this was all her doing. She should have whipped the uniform away when she saw how Angus’s fevered brain was working, instead of colluding with him in that little charade at the forge.

If Guy took himself down to the village and called on the Bartleys the game would be up and the girl would know that it couldn’t possibly have been him on the horse.
You went too far there, Hester, a big mistake…Guy would never forgive you if he knew. Time enough to put matters right when Gus returns, and this whole silly prank will be behind us. Guy will understand, perhaps even see the funny side of it all.

Not many men had a willing double to stand in for them. But she still felt uneasy that Angus had been away so long with not a word. He was going too far keeping her in the dark, and them both having to deceive his brother.

Guy was getting stronger by the day and she couldn’t
keep him confined to bed for much longer. If he was up and about he’d start looking for his uniform, asking awkward questions, and she would be put in the most appalling position.

Oh, where are you, Angus? Why don’t you write? What can I do to hold time still?

Then, she had the most devilish of ideas. Desperate times called for desperate measures. There was one way she could keep them all safe for the time being Had she got the courage to do it?

You are your father’s daughter, she thought, drawing herself up to her full height. We were bred to take control. What you are about to do will be done for the good of everyone. Surely a mother has to do what she can to save her sons when they are in danger?

Guy was enjoying
The Thirty-Nine Steps.
He’d missed reading at the front. The novel rattled along at a good pace, but his eyes were heavy and blurred from reading too long. He rose to go to the bathroom and the room spun round as if he were going to faint. So he aimed at the commode and crawled back into bed. Mother was right. It was too soon. There had been a few turns lately and he seemed to be sleeping more than his fair share.

It felt as if the whole world was drifting away from him into a warm haze of contentment, where nothing mattered much. The fact that Angus hadn’t returned, the fact that Mother was looking strained and had cancelled having more of the wounded officers to convalesce, the fact that he had missed his medical board didn’t seem to matter much. No doubt Dr Mac had confirmed his relapse, as he couldn’t be absent without leave. It was all drifting away and he was
relieved not to have to think about anything much. His appetite had faded, and he existed on malted milky drinks that Mother sent up at regular intervals to keep up his strength, such as it was.

Funny how he didn’t know which day of the week it was or what was happening in the outside world. The snow had thawed and the sky was blue. He could see snowdrops out on the one part of the lawn that wasn’t dug up, purple crocuses feeling their way under the trees. It was almost spring. How time was flying by. Even his befuddled brain knew he’d been home for months but was no stronger for it. Sometimes it was hard to recall even who he was.

Perhaps it was the long-term effects of the gas but something nagged at him. He’d been doing so well but it was time to call in Dr Mackenzie again. His breathing was better, and his throat; only his legs were all wobbly with lack of use. He must make an effort to exercise them or they wouldn’t obey him at all.

God forgive me for what I am doing, prayed Hester, on her knees in the empty church. But what else could she do? Where did she turn now? Burning in her pocket was a letter from Angus at long last. With what relief she had seen his scrawly handwriting on the envelope, and then with what horror had she read its contents.

Dear Mother,

All has gone to plan, in fact better than I first thought. I turned up at the board and went through the usual checks, which thankfully I’m very familiar with from times past. Passed fit with flying colours. In fact, they remarked on how well I’d recovered
from the gas. But they decided, in their wisdom, to send me for some special retraining—near Selby, would you believe—a hush-hush training camp for special trench warfare manoeuvres. The officers here are a ripping lot. I find myself back at school with a load of chaps going through the basics, mostly wounded; such a jolly bunch, no problems. Yes, I am fine and enjoying myself so much. I’m going to stick around until the next leave comes up.

I hope Guy forgives me but I deserve a crack at the target, a chance to be another ‘Give ’em hell’ Cantrell. Don’t be angry. Guy can have more time with you. I want to make you both proud of me. It really is for the best, you know. I’m learning so much here. I have all Guy’s old letters and photos to study so if they send me overseas I know who is who in his company. But the chances are that I’ll be deployed to another company altogether, in a place where no one will know which Cantrell they’re getting. So don’t worry, after weeks of practice I can do Guy’s signature like my own. If I don’t recognise anyone I’ll just say it was the shell shock and my memory is a bit wobbly.

Don’t be cross with me for doing this off my own bat. I guessed you might change your mind and forbid it but what’s done is done now.

Your loving son,

G. A. C. Cantrell.

P.S. You should have given us different initials!