The Light Heart (43 page)

The family had kept a few rooms at the back of the house upstairs for their own use, when they turned all the large reception rooms into wards. With Archie away, Virginia was living there, besides Winifred and Edward, and Phoebe was given a small maid’s room at the top of the house to be ill in, and got what care could be spared from the wounded men downstairs. Before she had begun to rally enough to receive visitors Kendrick had gone on to Geneva, leaving her an address there at which he hoped she would communicate with him when she was able to come to Switzerland herself in the effort to reach Rosalind.

He was still incredulous, when he left London, that the American Government showed no signs of avenging its citizens who had died in a disaster which violated all known laws of warfare, and he made angry inquiries of Oliver about how to join the British Army if his own country would not fight. It was some satisfaction to him to learn on paying his respects to the American Ambassador in London, who was an old friend of his father’s, that Mr. Page agreed with him openly that President Wilson’s “too proud to fight” statement was a most
profound and humiliating mistake. That unfortunate phrase at once made its way into stinging cartoons and music-hall jokes, and also caused astonishment and regret in the most responsible circles in France and Britain. On the advice of Mr. Page Kendrick reluctantly abandoned any idea of shooting it out with the Germans at once, and proceeded to Geneva to take up his Red Cross work—temporarily, he added, scowling.

As soon as she was able to risk a journey Phoebe was bundled down to Farthingale to recuperate, and left there in charge of Aunt Sally and what Virginia called her troupe. Tired as she was when she arrived there, Phoebe insisted on having tea with the others in the drawing-room before going up to bed, and as Virginia had accompanied her, it made quite a party.

Red-haired, full-bosomed, small-waisted, neat-hipped, Aunt Sally was a living miracle of vitality and good looks. She was made up like a Parisienne, clothed by the Bond Street branch of her favourite French dressmaker, and had for years thought exclusively in French, so that her English had become rather formal and was often a literal translation, which  lent charm and humour to her least remark.

Sosthène was silent only because he chose to be, and not because his English was less adequate than Aunt Sally’s. He was a pale, bony man, with receding straight dark hair and eyes which Phoebe admitted could really be called smouldering—eyes which always looked a little sleepy under half-drawn lids, though they moved attentively from face to face round the circle. His lips were well-cut and smiled easily, deepening a line in his cheek which was a very masculine version of dimple. His teeth were white, his hands were beautifully kept, and although his clothes were strictly Savile Row he was a strangely exotic presence in the quiet room, handing the teacups for Virginia, taking round the cake-stand, making sure that everyone—particularly his Sallee—had what she wanted, and ignoring, not pointedly, not rudely, but just being oblivious to the little jibes and pecks he constantly received from Fabrice.

Phoebe stole incredulous glances at Fabrice, who at sixteen
was quite the most exquisite creature one had ever seen, in a self-conscious and stagy way. Fabrice was like a badly overacted French ingénue in an American stock company, Phoebe thought. Her figure was delicious, and her tea-gown allowed it to show. Her face, apparently still innocent of make-up, was delectable, with enormous, heavily lashed brown eyes and a pouting pink mouth. Her young voice chirped like a bird, with theatrical French intonations on her English sentences. I see what Bracken meant, Phoebe thought. Dear God, what a
brat!

After tea Phoebe was shooed off upstairs to bed and sentenced to having her dinner on a tray here. Aunt Sally’s maid Elvire, who understood massage, came in to make her comfortable—with the result that Phoebe dropped off to sleep before dinner arrived, and again directly after she had finished it. And that was the first night since the ship had gone down under her that she did not wake, sweating, because she had dreamed that the clear green water was reaching for her feet again on a tilted deck…. Phoebe thought the dream was childish and cowardly, and had not told anybody about it, but she had not had a continuous night’s sleep in weeks until Elvire’s knowing fingers had stroked and smoothed her nerves into relaxed slumber.

Elvire was there to help her dress the next morning, for although the broken bone was mending, the torn shoulder ligaments gave constant trouble and were still painful, and her right arm was nearly useless. At breakfast, Fabrice cut up Phoebe’s bacon for her with a pretty air of ministering to the aged and infirm, and Aunt Sally discussed the news in the morning
Times
with Virginia.

When the first German onslaught last year had been checked and turned back short of Paris, everyone looked forward through the long, trying winter to the spring drive, when the weather would permit manœuvring, and when at last the German lines could be pierced, dislodged, and thrown out of France. But it hadn’t happened that way. When the fighting flared again around Ypres in the spring the British were
outgunned
and outmanned and held on desperately against an
enemy which everywhere was in possession of higher ground. The German lines wavered here and there but were never rolled back. And now in June the fighting was dying down again, both sides exhausted, and there had been almost no change of ground. Italy’s belated entry into the war had made no noticeable difference to the Allies yet, and Russia was falling back instead of invading Germany from the east. French manpower was leaking away, and the old British Army was almost all dead, and the new one was not ready. It had begun to look as though the war would actually last through another winter.

The
Times
that morning said that the Germans had used poison gas again, near Menin, and the good God only knew, said Aunt Sally, what the Boche would conceive next. There had been another raid on the East Coast cf England—Zeppelins—casualties and damage to homes—well, Aunt Sally knew already how that felt.

“We were all asleep that night in Antwerp,” she said in answer to Phoebe’s question. “In a hotel in the Place Royale. The Queen was asleep in the Palace on the other side of the Square. The first I knew was a terrific explosion—my windows shattered on the floor. It shattered the Queen’s windows too. I knew what it must be, for it had not the sound of a
bombardment
by guns. That I have known well in my days. And soon we had that too, in Antwerp, when a few days later the
Germans
began firing into the streets and things began to catch fire. Twice I have known a city to burn over my head,” she said. “Richmond—none of you was born when Richmond burned.” Her swift glance round their listening faces included Sosthène. “Bracken’s father brought his Yankee soldiers to save our horses when the stable went up in flames. He went in first, to show them the way—shall I ever forget Eden’s face while we waited…. We all thought Eden was wicked, to marry a soldier from the army which had beaten us. I myself married a man who had worn a grey uniform like my father and my brother. My pride would not have allowed me to do
otherwise. I did not love him. The man I could have loved was killed. But he gave me the dignity of his name and what security there was left in the South after the war—and he got what he wanted.” She sat a moment withdrawn, her jewelled fingers quiet on the handle of her coffee cup, looking back. “Eden made the better bargain then,” she said matter-
of-factly
. “My time came later, though. Later I could allow myself not to envy Eden.”

They waited spellbound, hoping for more. Sosthène’s sleepy eyes rested on her fondly, the line in his cheek had deepened in a half smile. He must have heard it all a dozen times, Phoebe thought, but he listens—it’s her voice he hears—he loves even her voice….

“I thought that in Richmond I had seen the end of the world,” Aunt Sally was saying. “My friends were dead, our money was lost, our property was damaged or gone—but see how one can be wrong! I had yet to live at all. The world does not end while one is still alive. You must have noticed that yourself, my love, when the ship went down.” Her blue eyes, unfaded beneath their darkened lids, took Phoebe by surprise.

“Well, yes, I—but I think I only believed that at
Queenstown
,” said Phoebe, and suddenly with Aunt Sally’s eyes upon her she realized that Oliver had come to Queenstown, and she blushed like a girl.

Aunt Sally observed, was amused and interested, and let it pass.

“This war now,” she went on. “Once more for me it is the end of security—habit—all the dear familiar, usual things. I may never see Cannes again, and all my treasures which are there.”

“They will never get to Cannes,” said Sosthène softly.

“But naturally,” Aunt Sally agreed at once. “I, however, am now uprooted—” she made a quick, Gallic gesture of pulling up. “—like an onion!” she cried, and the word slipped into its French form and became somehow even funnier, and they laughed with her like children. “So I am here, with those
of my blood again. I see my brother’s child.” She gave Phoebe a caressing glance. “I begin already to like what has happened to me. It is like before. The world goes on. One is still enchanted to live.”

“I am glad we came to England,” said Fabrice softly. “I shall marry an Englishman. I prefer them.” And she looked under her lashes at Sosthène, who would not see.

“Ah, yes, we know quite well enough what you prefer,” Aunt Sally replied rather crushingly, and to Phoebe’s regret rose from the table. “And now, Virginie, let us do the flowers.”

That evening while it was still daylight on the terrace, Phoebe left the others sitting in cane chairs waiting for the moon and went upstairs to the convalescent’s early bedtime. In the hall, where the angle of the staircase cast a deeper shadow, she came upon two interlaced figures, one of them in the frothy pink of Fabrice’s dinner frock and the other wearing khaki. Instead of springing apart guiltily at her approach, they were only sufficiently aware of her to draw deeper into the corner, moving as one, and as she mounted the stairs she heard a dreamy murmur and an intimate breath of laughter. She peeped again over the bannister. Fabrice was so given to the man’s embrace that her light dress was only a pencil-slim streak in the twilight below the stairs.

Well,
thought Phoebe in some astonishment and made a desperate effort to stay awake till Virginia came upstairs. When at last she heard low voices and the soft closing of doors, she got up and put a dressing-gown round her shoulders and
pattered
along to Virginia’s room. Virginia was returning to London early in the morning and she had to find out to-night anything she was going to know.

“That was Archie’s brother Gerald,” said Virginia rather grimly, when Phoebe had asked what was going on here anyway. “He’s been at the Hall on leave.”

“B-but you said he was engaged to Lady Jenny Keane—”

“He’s
broken it off. To-night he asked Fabrice to marry him.”

“Oh,” said Phoebe, and thought it over. “Well, sometimes it’s better to find out in time. But Fabrice is so—very young, and so—so—”

“Yes, isn’t she!” said Virginia, brushing out her hair with short, angry strokes. “Archie will be pretty sick about this. And Gerald is old enough to know better. Besides, he and Jenny were well suited to each other, till Fabrice went to work!”

“Does Aunt Sally—”

“No, she doesn’t. They came out on the terrace after the moon was up, and said it was all fixed up and they were going to be married. Cousin Sally said they were no such thing, as Fabrice is too young and Gerald is off to France within a week. Fabrice tried everything, coaxed and cried and stamped her foot in the
prettiest
way, but Cousin Sally can be firm! She sent Gerald packing, and ordered Fabrice off to bed. And do you know what she did when we all came upstairs? She locked Fabrice’s door and took the key away with her!”

“Gosh!” said Phoebe, impressed. “Was that really necessary?’

“What do
you
think?” said Virginia.

2.
Zurich
Summer,
1915

O
N THE
day that Phoebe was finally able to start for
Switzerland
, the London newspapers carried the first report that the Germans had turned up at Hooge with another new weapon—liquid fire.

Bracken, who was on his way back to France with full correspondent’s credentials and would accompany her as far as Paris, was angry and oppressed by the morning’s news. He deeply resented the Wilsonian policy of writing notes to Germany, and felt that America was making a fool of herself
in the eyes of the whole world, especially Germany. His open, cosmopolitan mind could not comprehend that anyone even on the safe side of the Atlantic could fail to see that now a civilization was involved, not just an altruistic principle.

They went by the one o’clock train from Victoria, the train which always brought to an end so many leaves, and they crossed the Channel on a little steamer full of civilian passengers, women and children, as well as uniforms. It sailed with its lifeboats swung out ready for lowering, and with look-outs posted to watch for submarine periscopes. Phoebe looked more than once at the solid deck boards she trod on, and heard the steady pulse of the screw, and tried not to think about the leaden, stricken stillness of that other ship, going down beneath her. Bracken understood about that too. “This is like getting back on the horse right after it has thrown you,” he said, and she gave him a grateful smile.

At the Gare de Lyons when Bracken put her into the express for Lausanne, where Johnny was to meet her, he said solemnly, “I know you won’t take any notice of anything I say, but don’t go into Germany yourself, do you hear? You haven’t got a German visa, but don’t try to get one in Switzerland, do you hear? Tell Johnny the known facts, and all your suspicions, and let him try to get to her. You wait for him at Zurich, do you hear?”

Phoebe said meekly that she heard, and stepped into the train.