Time for Silence (18 page)

With her usual efficiency, Miss Carruthers had begun her duties and we had lessons every day. Andrée had taken charge of Edward, and my mother said that would suffice for the moment and we need not think about a nanny for a while. Andrée was very capable and too many changes would not be good for the child.

My mother herself was very busy with all sorts of charities to aid what was called “the war effort”—mainly the Red Cross, in which she took a special interest. We were all called in to help from time to time.

It was one dark November day when Mrs. Cherry came to my room to tell me a gentleman had called to see me. He was waiting in the drawing room. I immediately thought of Marcus Merrivale. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were pink, my eyes shining. I was excited.

I hurried down to the drawing room in a mood of pleasurable anticipation. I opened the door and there was Robert.

Delight swept over me. I had forgotten I was expecting Marcus.

“Robert!” I cried.

He was grinning at me rather sheepishly. He looked different in khaki. It was not really becoming. It would be later when he gained his commission and a smart uniform with it—but he was not yet in that position. He looked very fit and well. His skin was slightly tanned and he had lost just a little of that gangling look which had been so essentially Robert.

I rushed to him and we hugged each other.

“It is wonderful to see you,” I cried. “I have been wondering when I should.”

“I feel the same,” he replied. “It seems ages. I’ve heard all about your journey home. That must have been quite an adventure.”

“Oh, it was.”

“It was lucky that your uncle was able to arrange to have you brought out.”

“Otherwise we should have had to go with the refugees.”

“It was a Major Merrivale, I heard, who brought you home.”

“Yes. He was so good.”

“He would be. And his position helped, of course. I was dreadfully worried when I thought of you in that school. Belgium, of all places!”

“I often wonder what is happening there now. Madame Rochère, who owned the school, is a very aristocratic, haughty lady. I try to think of what might be happening to her.”

“It’s very unpleasant to be in an occupied country…something I hope we shall never have to face.”

“Of course we shall not have to! That would be quite unthinkable. There is always the Channel. It won’t be the same with the French.”

“That’s so. I often think about my grandfather…so does my mother. We don’t hear what’s happening in Bordeaux.”

“I think that Monsieur Bourdon will know how to look after himself.”

“So do I, but we should like to hear.”

“Robert, tell me about yourself.”

“Well…it’s a hard life at first, but I’m getting used to it. We do a lot of riding, which I enjoy, as you can guess, and one gets used to the long day and the shouting and the orders that have to be obeyed instantly. One doesn’t dislike it. There’s some wonderful comradeship, and it’s a good feeling when you drop into bed absolutely worn out, to sleep and sleep until reveille.”

“Are you longing to be home, Robert?”

“For a lot of reasons, yes. But we’ve got to fight this war and win it. If we all stayed at home, we’d never do that.”

“How long leave have you got?”

“Three days more. I’ve had two at home and the rest I’m spending in London.”

“Oh…good.”

“My sister and mother came up with me. They’re here now. My father had to stay behind. There’s so much work to do.”

“Does he mind your coming here?”

“You know how he is. He always sees the point and wants to do what the family wants. And of course, my mother and Annabelinda said we should spend the time in London to see you and your family.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“It’s so long since I’ve seen you. It was last Christmas. Just think of that. We’ve never been away from each other so long before.”

“I don’t believe we have. How are you going to spend your leave now that you’re here?”

“With you…and…”

“With Annabelinda, your mother and the rest of us.”

“I daresay they’ll want to be off into town.”

“What a lovely prospect!”

He caught my hand and looked into my face. “Do you really mean that, Lucinda?”

“Of course I do.”

“You’ve changed a little.”

“In what way?”

“Grown up.”

“We’re doing that all the time.”

“By more than a year, I mean. I suppose it’s the war and all you must have seen on that awful journey. I heard about the baby.”

“Oh, yes. You must see Edward.”

“It must have been a terrible experience, seeing that woman dying….And it was wonderful of you to care about the baby.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“There was nothing else you could have done. I hear he’s a fine little fellow.”

“And did you hear about Andrée Latour?”

“Yes, Annabelinda told me. She said Major Merrivale was wonderful.”

“Yes, he was.”

“I wish I’d been the one, Lucinda.”

“Well, you were in training, weren’t you, and I suppose Uncle Gerald thought he would do it very well…which he did.”

“It must have been extraordinary…the whole thing…and you just out of school.”

“I’m home now and things seem more or less normal. Miss Carruthers, one of the mistresses from the school, came with us. She’s acting as governess to me now.”

“Well, you’re only fifteen, of course.”

He sighed, and I said, “You seem to find that regrettable.”

“Well,” he admitted, “I wish you were a little older. Seventeen, say.”

“Seventeen? Is that such a ripe old age?”

“It’s an age when you can start thinking about the future.”

“I suppose one can start thinking about the future at any time.”

“I mean making plans…reasonable plans.”

I looked puzzled and he went on. “Never mind. We’ll talk about all that later. What would you like to do? Go to a theater? A pity we can’t go riding. We wouldn’t want to go in the Row. I’d like to gallop over fields.”

“We could do a little walking in the park. Just as we used to.”

“That would be fun. Could we get away from everyone?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I think that as this is your leave, you should choose.”

Annabelinda had come into the room. She kissed me fondly.

“I thought I’d let my big brother give you a surprise before letting you know we were here. What do you think of him?”

“I think he looks very well, and it is wonderful to see him.”

“I knew you’d think that. Lucinda’s a great admirer of yours, Robert.”

“The admiration is mutual.”

Annabelinda laughed. She was in good spirits.

Her mother came in. She looked very elegant; she was remarkably like her daughter. She swept me into her embrace.

“Dear Lucinda! How wonderful to see you!”

My mother was with her.

“Isn’t it a lovely surprise to see Robert?” she said.

I agreed that it was.

“I’m so glad you came here,” she added to Robert.

“Oh, I wanted to see you all.”

“And particularly his dear Lucinda,” added Annabelinda.

“Robert was just saying what he would like to do,” I said. “I told him he must make the decisions as it is his leave.”

“And only three days of it,” added my mother.

“Never mind,” said Robert. “I’ll make the most of it.”

We went into luncheon.

Annabelinda asked after Miss Carruthers and Andrée Latour.

“Miss Carruthers is a stickler for conventions,” explained my mother. “She dines with us on certain occasions, but I fancy she does so with a certain reluctance. She is very much aware of her place—and I really think prefers to eat alone. As for Andrée, she is in the nursery with Edward during the day, but very often dines with us.”

“And is it all working out well with this baby?” asked Aunt Belinda.

“Wonderfully. We wouldn’t be without him.”

“How cozy!” said Aunt Belinda. “But then you were always a cozy person, Lucie.”

“I’m not sure whether that is a compliment or not,” laughed my mother.

“Oh, it’s a compliment, Lucie dear. By the way, did you see any more of that nice Major Merrivale?”

Annabelinda was alert…watching me.

“No,” replied my mother. “Soldiers are kept very busy at a time like this.”

“What a pity. We missed him that time he came to dinner. I thought he was such a charming man.”

“Very charming,” said my mother.

“And of such a good family. This dreadful war…it just spoils everything.”

“It goes on and on,” said my mother. “And now we’ve declared war on Turkey. So…more trouble in that quarter. And wasn’t the sinking of the
Good Hope
and the
Monmouth
terrible?”

“I refuse to talk of these horrible things,” said Aunt Belinda. “I have had enough of it and so must you, Lucie. I expect Joel brings home all the horrible news, doesn’t he?”

“We don’t have to wait for that,” retorted my mother. “It’s in the papers.”

“My Robert is concerned about the land. Produce more and more crops. But as I said, enough! Are the shops still exciting? I don’t think we should neglect ourselves…just because there is a war on.”

My mother laughed at her, just as she must have laughed all through the years—and as I did with Annabelinda.

Then Robert told us some amusing stories about life on Salisbury Plain.

“You learn how to be Spartan and stoical,” he said. He imitated the sergeant major and told us some of the sarcastic remarks made about the pampered lives of the recruits before they had fallen into his hands: “You’re in the army now” and “Mummy’s not there to kiss her little darling and tuck him in at night.” Apparently there was one who took a sadistic delight in harassing any who showed signs of weakness.

He told us how one night they had all been celebrating in the local inn, and the sadistic riding instructor became so intoxicated that he did not know what was happening to him. Some of the recruits took him out onto the Plain, stripped him of his clothes, folded them up and put them beside him and left him.

“I have to report,” said Robert, “that the next morning he was at the stables, none the worse for his adventure, and he behaved as though nothing had happened, making no reference to the incident.”

“He deserved it,” said Aunt Belinda.

“Still, it showed he had some good in him, to accept the revenge of those he had humiliated,” said my mother.

“Trust Lucie to see good in everything!” retorted Aunt Belinda.

“Well, there
is
usually something good in everyone,” I said.

“I see you are bringing up your daughter to be like you, Lucie,” said Aunt Belinda.

“Which seems to be a very good idea,” added Robert. He went on. “At least the fellow was a good sport. We respected him more after that. He was ready to take what he gave. I suppose he looked upon it as rough justice.”

“Well, Annabelinda and I are not as nice as you and your daughter, Lucie,” said Aunt Belinda. “We would have gloated, wouldn’t we, darling? We would have left him without his clothes, too. Then you’d see whether he was back on duty, nobly ignoring the wrong done to him.”

“We don’t hate him all that much,” explained Robert. “He is a bit of a brute, but it couldn’t have been all that easy training a lot of raw recruits.”

“We must go to the theater while we are in town,” said Aunt Belinda, changing the subject.

Robert and I were together a good deal during those three days. We enjoyed walking about London. We were in complete harmony, liked the same things and were almost aware of what the other was thinking.

When we walked over Westminster Bridge, we would pause and look around us and think of days of our youth. We remembered that I had left my gloves on a seat in Green Park and we had gone back to look for them. He could recall, as I did, that immense joy and excitement when we found them on the seat, just where I had left them. We were both overawed as we passed the magnificent Houses of Parliament, with the river running past, and those great Gothic-style towers looking as though they had been there for centuries, though they were not yet a hundred years old. They represented something precious to us—home, our country, of which we had always been proud and grateful to be a part. Now that feeling was intensified. We were fighting to save ourselves from foreign domination; we were fighting so that little countries like Belgium should not be violently invaded without warning. And Robert was going into battle. I was both apprehensive for and proud of him.

All this we felt as we walked together. We often made our way to Green Park and looked at the ducks. We found the seat on which I had left my gloves. That made us laugh, and we began recalling more incidents from the past.

“It seems, Lucinda,” said Robert, “that our lives have always been entwined.”

“It is because of the friendship between our mothers.”

“You and Annabelinda are like sisters.”

“Yes. It has always been like that Although I have not seen much of her this visit.”

“I think they have conspired to leave us together.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, obviously. I’m not complaining.”

“Nor I. I think they have been busy shopping. They are always like that when they come to London.”

“They would like to have a place up here, but since your parents give us shelter, I suppose they think it is not essential. And my father is against it.”

“But I suppose he would give way.”

“I suppose so. This has been a wonderful leave.”

“I hope you are not going to mind going back to that awful riding instructor too much.”

“What I am going to mind is leaving you.”

“Oh, Robert…I do hate your going.”

He took my hand and pressed it. “Write to me, Lucinda.”

“Of course.”

“And tell me everything that’s happening.”

“I will…and you, too.”

“I expect our letters will be censored.”

“I don’t want to hear war news. I want to hear
your
news.”

He laughed. “There’ll be another leave and then I should get my commission.”

“And that could mean going right away.”