The Caxley Chronicles (15 page)

It had all been so clear, even down to Mary's blue and white bridesmaid's frock and the posy of white rosebuds with long blue ribbons streaming from it. Somehow the bridegroom had always been a shadowy figure-just someone pleasant and kind, with a good bank balance, of course, and a natural desire for a reasonably sized family, sensibly spaced for dear Winnie's sake. That anything as catastrophic as this could happen threw Hilda's world into utter chaos. How would she ever face the other Caxley matrons? And worst of all, how could she face Edna Howard?

But this was in the future. The first thing was to comfort poor Bender. He must, somehow, be made to see that the situation must be accepted, regrettable though it was. Winnie, foolish and disobedient, was still their daughter, after all.

She mopped her eyes resolutely. All that was left for them now was to be brave, and make the best of a very bad job.

But Hilda's efforts were not to begin until the next day, for
Bender did not return until the small hours of the morning, long after Hilda had taken her aching head to bed. And, as she feared, when she broached the painful subject after breakfast, Bender refused to discuss it.

'Don't speak to me about it,' he said warningly. 'I've had enough at the moment. To think that Winnie's behaved like this! And that Bertie knew about it all the time! A fine pair of children! I'd expect no more from a Howard than Leslie's shown us, but that Winnie and Bertie could treat us so shabby—well, it's like being betrayed!'

Hilda's hp began to tremble and Bender began to speak more gently.

'Let me go to the shop now, there's a love. I'll work it off, maybe, and feel better when I come home. But I can't face my family—nor that dam' scoundrel Leslie—yet awhile.'

It was Bertie who made his father face him, later that day. In these last few hours Bertie seemed to have become very grown up, and might almost be the head of the house himself, thought Hilda wonderingly, watching her son shepherd Bender into the dining room for a private talk.

'I won't keep you long, father,' said Bertie, closing the door behind him, 'but I've only three or four days' leave left and I'm not having it spoilt by this affair. I'm sorry to have deceived you, but Winnie insisted, and frankly, I'd do it all over again, in the circumstances.'

'Bad enough deceiving me,' retorted Bender, 'but a sight worse to let a Howard marry your sister.'

'I think I know Leslie better than you do,' replied Bertie calmly. 'He's not the man I should have chosen for Winnie, but it's her choice, and I honestly think he loves her.'

Bender snorted derisively.

'He's ready to settle down,' continued Bertie levelly, 'and Winnie's the one to help him. Dash it all, father, we've known the Howards all our lives! How would you have felt if she had run off with a complete stranger? It's happening often enough in wartime! For your own sake, as well as Winnie's and Mamma's, do try and accept this business sensibly. It does no good to keep up a useless feud, and to make the whole family unhappy.'

'It's easy to talk!' replied Bender. 'I can't forget what I know about that young man, and I can't believe he'll treat Winnie properly.'

'All the more reason why you should stand by her now,' retorted Bertie. 'If she's in trouble she'll need her home.'

'You're right, I don't doubt, my boy,' said Bender sadly. 'I'll ponder it, but I can't see much good coming of it. I wonder what Sep and Edna think of it all?'

'They're delighted,' Bertie told him. 'Made them very welcome when they arrived, Winnie said.'

A thought struck Bender. He looked shrewdly at Bertie over his spectacles.

'They knew, did they?'

'Leslie wrote on his wedding day,' said Bertie shortly. 'He knew they'd be pleased.'

'But Winnie didn't,' murmured Bender, as if to himself.

'She knew you wouldn't be,' Bertie said simply, and left his father alone with his thoughts.

That evening there was a dance at the Corn Exchange. Bertie
dressed with unusual care and studied his reflection in the mirror with considerable misgivings. What a very undistinguished appearance he had ! He disliked his fair hair and his blue eyes. To his mind they appeared girlish. He wondered if a moustache might improve his looks. Too late to bother about that now, anyway, he told himself, looking at his watch.

The newly-weds and Jim and Kathy were to be of the party, and Bertie was relieved to leave thè heavy atmosphere of Rose Lodge behind him and stride down the hill to the market square. It was a crisp clear night, full of stars. Now and again the whiff of a dying bonfire crossed his path, that most poignant of winter smells. It was good to be back in the old town. It was better still to be on the way to meeting Kathy. Tonight he would ask her.

The Corn Exchange was gay with the flags of all nations. Ragtime music shook the hall, and there was an air of determined hilarity about the many dancers, as though, for this evening, at least, they would forget the horrors of war, and simply remember that music and rhythm, youth and excitement, also had a place in the scheme of things.

Leslie and Winnie danced together, heads close, oblivious to all about them. They had always danced well together, thought Bertie, gazing at them over the dark hair of Kathy, his own partner. They looked happy enough, in all conscience. If only he could quell the little nagging doubt at the back of his own mind ! He looked into Kathy's eyes and forgot his sister's affairs.

It was agony to part from her and to watch other partners claim her. Kathy's dance programme was much too full for Bertie's liking. There was no one else in the room that he
wanted to partner, but Caxley eyes were as sharp as ever, and he dutifully piloted a few young ladies about the floor, his eyes on Kathy the while. She was lovelier than ever—vivacious, sparkling, light as a feather. Had he any hope at all, wondered Bertie, stumbling over his partner's foot and apologising abstractedly?

She was dancing with one of the Crockford boys. How unnecessarily damned handsome they were, thought Bertie crossly! When the Crockfords were not large and red-headed, they were tall, elegant and dark. This one had hair oiled till it shone like jet, a handsome black moustache, and an enviable turn of speed when he reversed. Kathy was gazing at him in a way that Bertie found infuriating. As soon as the dance was over he hurried to her side.

'Come outside for a moment,' he begged.

'Why?' asked Kathy. Her bright eyes darted everywhere about the hall. Her little satin slipper tapped the floor in time to the music.
'Hullo! Hullo! Who's your lady friend?'
throbbed through the hall, and the refrain was taken up by many voices. The noise was unbearable to Bertie.

'It's quieter,' he shouted, above the din. Kathy rose rather reluctantly, and followed him outside into the market place. It was deliciously fresh and cool after the stuffiness of the Corn Exchange, but Kathy shivered and pulled her silk shawl round her.

'Let's go and look at the river,' said Bertie.

'We'll miss the dancing.'

'Only this one,' promised Bertie. He put his arm through hers and led her past her own house and down the narrow lane leading to the tow path. The noise behind them died away.
Only the plop of a fish and the quiet rippling of the Cax disturbed the silence. They made their way to the little bridge and leant over. Now that Bertie had succeeded in bringing Kathy here, he became horribly nervous. So much depended on the next few minutes. He took a deep breath and began.

'Kathy, I've wanted to ask you often. You must know how I feel about you. Do you care about me at all?'

'Of course I do,' said Kathy, with a cheerful promptness that made Bertie despair. 'I care very much about you. And Leslie and Jim, and all my friends who are fighting.'

Bertie sighed and took her hand. It was small and thin, and very cold.

'Not that way, Kathy. I meant, do you love me? I love you very much, you know. Enough to marry you. Could you ever think about that?'

Kathy laughed and withdrew her hand. It fluttered to Bertie's hot cheek and patted it affectionately.

'Oh, Bertie dear, don't talk so solemnly! I'm not thinking of marrying for years yet! Not you—or anyone else! There's too much fun to be had first! Take me back, Bertie, it's cold, and I want to dance.'

He tried once more, putting his arms round her, and tilting up her chin so that he could look into her lovely face.

'Please, Kathy,' he entreated, 'think about it. I know you're young, but I love you so much. Say you'll think about it!'

She pushed him away pettishly.

'I'm not going to promise any such thing. I want to be free, and you ought to be too!' She took his arm again and began to pull him back towards the market square.

'Come on, Bertie, I shall miss the next dance and it's a
military two-step. Don't be stuffy, there's a love. You're a dear old stick really!'

They walked back to the Corn Exchange, Bertie in silence, Kathy chattering of he knew not what. At the doorway he stopped.

'I won't come in,' he said. 'I've a headache. Go and enjoy yourself.'

She tripped in without once looking back, arms outstretched to her waiting partner.

Bertie turned away, and made his way blindly to the drinking fountain in the middle of the square. He filled one of the iron cups and drank the icy water. The feel of the cold iron chain running through his hot palm reminded him of the times he had sought refreshment here as a boy.

He leant his head against the comforting cold plinth beneath the Queen's bronze skirts, and looked across the square towards his old house. If only he could turn back the years! If only he could be a boy again, with none of a man's troubles to torture him!

It was almost a relief to return to his unit. The prospect of going overseas was one to look forward to after the unhappy events of this disastrous leave. He was glad to let other people make the decisions for him. Whatever the future held could give Bertie no more pain, he felt sure, than the grief of his family and the bitter disappointment of Kathy's complete disregard of his feelings.

In the crowded railway carriage rattling to Dorset through the darkening winter afternoon, Bertie re-lived again those
moments with Kathy. To be called a 'dear old stick!' He shuddered at the remembrance. What hope was there ever for him, if those were her feelings? He remembered his last glimpse of her at Caxley Station. To his surprise she had come to see off the three of them, for Winnie and Leslie too Were on the train.

She had kissed them all in turn. He felt her kisses still upon his cheek, as cold and light as moths, and his heart turned over. One thing he knew, whatever happened to him here, or in France, now or in the future, there would be nobody else for him but Kathy. Always, and only, Kathy.

He closed his eyes. The train roared through a cutting, carrying him unprotesting to whatever the future might hold.

T
HE BELLS
of St Peter's rang out across the market square and the rosy roofs of Caxley on Christmas morning. Bender, Hilda and Mary hurried up the steps and made their way to their usual pew.

The church was unusually full. Across the aisle the Crockford family filled two pews. They must have a houseful for Christmas, thought Hilda, with a pang of envy. Dan was making one of his rare appearances in church, his leonine head glowing against the murky shadows of the old building.

As the organ played the voluntary, Hilda gazed up the long naVe and let her sad thoughts wander. If only Bertie and Winnie were here! But Bertie and the Howard boys and the rest of their company were somewhere in France, and Winnie was still nursing at the hospital in Dorset.

If only Winnie could have chosen someone else to marry! What a wedding Hilda had planned for her, with this noble church as its setting! She could see it so clearly in her mind's eye—the lilies on the altar, where now the Christmas roses and the scarlet-berried holly glowed, the smilax and white rosebuds where now the glossy ivy trailed its dark beauty. And there, at the altar, her dear Winnie in the beautiful wedding gown with the long train which she had so often visualized!

Tears blurred Hilda's eyes. The nave and chancel swam mistily before her, and she was glad to hear the gentle meanderings of the organist turn to the loud joyful strains of 'Adeste Fideles' as the choir entered, singing, and the congregation rose to join in praise.

'Please, God,' prayed Hilda desperately, as she struggled to her feet, 'let us all be together next Christmas, and let us all be happy again!'

Not far away, Edna Howard, beside Sep in the chilly chapel, wondered too about her two children in a foreign land. To think that this time last year she was positively looking forward to 1914! It had brought nothing but trouble!

The minister's voice droned on, but Edna did not attend to his exhortations. Sometimes she doubted if there were really any God to speak to. Sep said there was, and seemed to be comforted by the knowledge, and Edna had never expressed any of her own doubts. It would have upset Sep so much. But when you heard of the terrible things that the Germans were doing, then surely there couldn't be a God or he would never let it happen?

Edna mused vaguely on her uncomfortable bench, until her attention was caught by a white thread on the sleeve of her coat. She plucked it away neatly, let it flutter to the scrubbed floor boards so near her painful knees, and stroked the fur of her cuffs lovingly. It was wearing very well, she thought. After all, she had had it a whole year now, and it still looked as good as new. How kind Sep was to her! She stole a glance at his pale face beside her. His eyes were shut fast, his dark lashes making little crescents. His lips were pressed together with the intensity
of his concentration. He was in communion with his Maker, and for Sep the world had ceased to exist.

Perhaps, thought Edna, returning to the contemplation of her coat, it could be turned in a few years' time. It was good stuff...

It was during the next week that Hilda heard how Bertie had spent his Christmas Day in the front line somewhere south of Armentières. His letter read: