Time for Silence (19 page)

“I suppose so.”

“Perhaps it will be over by then.”

“Who knows? Lucinda, you seem quite a bit older these days. I mean, more than your years.”

“Do I? I think it must be because of what happened. That sort of thing jerks you out of your childhood.”

“Fifteen. Then you’ll be sixteen. Sixteen would be quite mature.”

“You make me feel like some old crone.”

“Oh, no. I just wish you were a little nearer to my age, that’s all.”

“If I had been, you might not have been the nice big brother to me that you have been all my life.”

“That’s just it.”

“What?”

“Grow up quickly, Lucinda, there’s a good girl.”

“I promise to do all I can about the matter.”

He turned to me and kissed my cheek. “It is lovely to be with you,” he said. “We understand each other.”

“Yes. I think we do. I shall be very sad when you go back tomorrow, Robert.”

“Let’s plan for my next leave then.”

“What a good idea! And in the meantime I’ll see what I can do to speed up the growing process.”

“Just do that,” he said.

And after that we walked back to the house. We were both a little quieter than usual.

We all went to the station to see Robert off. Aunt Belinda and Annabelinda were staying a few more days.

I was surprised and more than a little shocked that Annabelinda showed no interest whatsoever in Edward; and if he were referred to, a mask would come over her face and she would affect indifference. I was sure she could not feel this but she gave the impression that she was annoyed with me for bringing him to England. She would have preferred he had remained in Belgium, conveniently out of the way.

I suppose her point was logical enough. That was an episode in her life that she wanted to forget, and my action had brought the result of it right out into the open to remind her whenever she visited us.

But it seemed to me inhuman that a woman should have no interest in, no curiosity about her own son.

She was full of high spirits and seemed to have forgiven me for not telling her that the dinner for Marcus Merrivale had had to be changed to a different date.

She came to my room to have a little chat now and then, away from everyone. We talked about school and what might be happening to Madame Rochère.

“I am sure she will be directing the army of occupation,” said Annabelinda.

“Poor Madame Rochère, I hardly think it will be like that.”

“You can’t imagine Rochy knuckling under to anyone, can you?”

“In these circumstances, yes.”

“I can’t help thinking how neatly it all worked out. That was due to the incomparable major. You haven’t heard anything of him, have you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You were a bit secretive about him once. I just wondered.”

“I’m not secretive at all. I did not know when I wrote to you. I suppose he is now somewhere in France…or Belgium.”

“I thought perhaps that, as he is in the same regiment as your uncle, you might know.”

“I don’t know where Uncle Gerald is. This is war. There are lots of things which have to be kept secret.”

“I know that. We’re not allowed to forget it, are we? I expect he is having a jolly time.”

“I should imagine it is not so very jolly out there.”

“He would always have a good time. He was such fun to be with. You and Robert get on very well, don’t you?”

“Yes. You know we always did.”

“He’s a good sort, Robert. You and he are just right for each other.”

“What do you mean?”

She laughed scornfully. “You know what I mean. I think the families have always had it in mind. It’s what they want.”

“You mean…?”

“Of course, you idiot. Wedding bells and all that. If you were a year or two older, he would have asked you by now. I should have thought that was obvious.”

“It wasn’t obvious at all. I’ve always liked Robert. We’ve always been good friends.”

“The best basis for marriage, they say. You like him, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be fun to be sisters-in-law? It’s what they all want, you know.”

“I don’t believe my parents give a thought to all that. As for you, Annabelinda, I think you should concern yourself with your affairs and leave mine to me.”

“Oh!” she said mockingly. “Dear Lucinda, Robert adores you and you adore him. You’re the perfect match. You’re so alike. When you marry him, you’ll go down to the country, have ten children and be the perfect married couple who’ll live happily ever after.”

“Annabelinda, will you stop arranging my life?”

“I’m not arranging it. I’m just saying what it will be—and it will be the best thing for you.”

“Are you adding clairvoyance to your many accomplishments?”

“I am just being logical and seeing what is right under my eyes. You look really cross. Do you want me to go?”

“Yes…if you are going to foretell the future. Why don’t you look to your own?”

“I do, Lucinda. I do all the time.”

I looked at her steadily. I could see how her mind worked. She had taken a great fancy to Marcus Merrivale. His family was rich and socially desirable, while he himself was so attractive—a perfect combination. She was hoping to see him again, to enchant him—something which she felt herself capable of doing—and she was just a little fearful that, simply because of the advantage I had of being the niece of his superior officer, I might have opportunities that were denied to her.

I laughed at her, but after she had gone I began to think of the implication of what she had said.

Was it true my family was eager for me to marry Robert? I knew they would welcome it, because they were fond of him. And Robert? He had been very tender and a little cryptic…if one could imagine his ever being so. He had intimated that if I were older he might propose marriage to me.

The thought gave me a pleasurable, comfortable feeling.

Perhaps I was flattered. I liked Robert very much. On the other hand, images of Marcus Merrivale kept intruding…I remembered him on the road to the border between France and Belgium…traveling to Calais between France and Belgium…traveling to Calais…and later in our own drawing room.

I was rather excited because Annabelinda clearly saw me as a rival.

Christmas had come: a Christmas of curtailed activities. There was a war on and people remembered that earlier it had been said it would be over by Christmas; and here was Christmas and the war was still with us.

The easy victory was not to be. Some of the wounded were being brought back across the Channel, and still it went on.

From the first, my mother had been deeply involved in charities. Now she saw an opportunity to do more.

It was in April of the following year that she had the idea of turning Marchlands into a hospital for wounded soldiers.

Marchlands was convenient. It was not too far from the coast or from London. It was in a good situation, surrounded by forest, and the pure air would make it ideal for convalescence. The house was large and suited to the project.

There was a great deal of excitement; my mother was completely absorbed. My father, of course, would have to stay in London during the week, but he could come down for weekends. The household would be moved down there. Two doctors would be employed with several nurses. Miss Carruthers and I could be of use. We were not trained, of course, but there were lots of jobs to be done in a hospital which did not demand that skill. We were all caught up in it. There were journeys to and from Marchlands. Everything seemed to have been overshadowed by the plan—even the war.

It was in May when Marcus came again. He was with Uncle Gerald and they were both preparing to leave for Gallipoli in a few days’ time, although the week before they had just come back from France.

It was a lively meal we had, with Uncle Gerald and Marcus talking most of the time about military matters. Uncle Gerald had always been like that, my mother had told me once. He loved fighting battles on the tablecloth with the pepper pot representing some fortress and the salt for the guns. He would pick up some dish to stand for the opposing forces.

My father listened intently. He was very preoccupied these days. There was anxiety in high places. The war was not proving as easy to win as some had calculated.

“The whole operation is to relieve the Russians,” Uncle Gerald was saying. “That’s why we are coming to grips with the Turks on the Dardanelles.”

“Fisher doesn’t approve,” said my father. “And you know he is in charge.”

“That’s bad,” said Uncle Gerald. “The First Sea Lord creating the wrong impression.”

“Churchill’s opinion is that a combined military and naval operation could knock Turkey out of the war.”

“That’s what we’re aiming to do.”

“This will be a little different from France,” said Marcus. “We’re getting tired of trench warfare.”

“An awful way to go to war,” agreed Uncle Gerald. “Living like troglodytes almost. Dodging the enemy instead of going out to fight him.”

Afterward I had a few words with Marcus in the drawing room.

“When are you leaving?” I asked.

“Any moment. When the call comes. One is never absolutely sure.”

“How uncertain everything is in wartime!”

“I believe, dear Lucinda, that it can even be so in peacetime.”

“Do you think it will soon be over?”

“One becomes a little wary of prophecy. Only one thing is certain. We are all growing older every day.”

“You speak as though that is something to be pleased about. Lots of people hate getting old.”

“That depends where you stand in life. Perverse, is it not? Some would do anything to hold back the years; others would like to advance them.”

“Into which category do you fall?”

“I should like you to rush on a few years while I stayed where I am.”

It was the second time the question of my youth had arisen—first with Robert, now with Marcus. It must be significant.

I could not resist saying, “Whatever for?”

“Because there are things I should like to say to you and I cannot say them now.”

“I might like to hear them.”

“Don’t tempt me, dear little Lucinda. Just grow up, please. You are sixteen years old, or you will be this year.”

“Not until September.”

“I shall remember that. This time next year you will be all but seventeen, and being a very clever young lady, I am sure you will have the wisdom of a seventeen-year-old before you reach that age.”

“You seem to think seventeen is a significant age.”

“Oh, yes, it is. It is when a maiden is on the brink of womanhood.”

“It sounds very poetic.”

“You bring out the poet in me. In fact, such is your influence that you bring out the good in me. So we must see each other as often as possible, so that good may prevail.”

“How? When you will be away?”

“We will think about each other every day. And at the first opportunity I will come to see whether you have kept your promise to grow up quickly.”

“Did I make such a promise? And in any case I cannot do so if you persist in treating me like a child.”

He looked at me intently and said, “Forgive me. If we were anywhere else but in your parents’ drawing room, I should be tempted to forget your age.”

There was no mistaking his meaning. I thought of Annabelinda. This was what she feared. The thought excited me.

Two days later he left for Gallipoli.

I thought about him a great deal. Was he really telling me he cared for me? Or was that lighthearted caressing manner the one he bestowed on all females? I was a little bemused, but I had to confess that I was attracted by him. Annabelinda had shown a certain perception. I wondered what she would say if she had heard our conversation.

I followed the campaign in Gallipoli. It seemed very far away and particularly dangerous. If only it could all be over! What would happen then?

We should soon be leaving for Marchlands. The hospital was almost ready. Miss Carruthers was very enthusiastic about it. There would be no curtailment of lessons, she said, but it would be illuminating for us to learn something of the procedure in hospitals and at the same time gratifying to contribute to the war effort. Andrée agreed with her and hoped that Edward would spare her for the occasional hour.

I was thinking a great deal about Marcus, wondering when I should see him again and whether he would continue in the same strain of flirtatious innuendo. I had to admit I found it all exciting. He was a most attractive man—in fact, the most attractive I had ever met. And that was not just in my eyes; most people would agree with me. That he had noticed me was very gratifying.

I tried to get all the information I could about the campaign in the Dardanelles, and I was very anxious when I heard that all was not going well.

But what did go well in this war? There was bad news from across the Channel. It seemed as though the end was by no means in sight.

I tried to catch some of my mother’s enthusiasm for the hospital project and to stop my thoughts from continually straying to Marcus.

One night, when there was a full moon, I suddenly awoke. It may have been the brightness of that moon shining on me that aroused me. Something had, and I was not sure whether I had been dreaming.

Everything seemed so still outside. Ever since the first Zeppelin had been sighted crossing the coast in early December of the previous year, people had looked up anxiously at the full moon. What was so delightful in peacetime could be a hazard in war. When the enemy came in their airships, they would choose a moonlit night. They would attempt to devastate our houses as they had that of Jacques and Marguerite.

I was wide awake suddenly. Yes, something had awakened me. I listened. A light footfall; the creak of a floorboard. Someone was walking about the house.

I glanced at the clock by my bed. It was nearly two o’clock. I got out of bed, felt for my slippers, caught up my dressing gown and opened the door.

I looked out. There was no one in the corridor. Then I heard it again. Someone was on the stairs.

I hurried to the landing, and as I looked down, I saw a figure descending cautiously.