Winter Roses, page 23
It was all splendid work, but what had happened to the Rectory, the serene hub of the village? With strangers in and out all day long, it reminded Caroline of her own office, and she acknowledged her nose was out of joint.
‘When this war ends, our old ways will return,’ her father assured her. The mere sight of the two Land Army girls at dinner had convinced her otherwise, however. Unlike Miss Burrows, who had, cuckoo in the nest or not, fitted in to the Rectory, these two had a self-assured awareness of their role in Ashden, and to them it was definitely not home.
Caroline had promptly nicknamed them Chalk and Cheese. Chalk was a stalwart fisherman’s daughter from Grimsby, Cheese a squire’s daughter from Gloucestershire, shy and at first, so her mother told her, utterly bemused at finding herself in a Sussex rectory. Chalk had promptly clapped Cheese under her protective wing, especially when there were soldiers about, and with some initial difficulty over baths, all was now running smoothly. One of them had seen no need of the facility, the other had overindulged. Only if Lady Buckford appeared would Chalk promptly cede the role of Indian chief to Cheese.
Lady Buckford, once assured she would not have to sit (yet) at the same table as her former nanny, had begun to appear regularly in the dining room, and Caroline suspected she enjoyed the diversion of the two La-Las, as Father called them since he could never remember their names.
Nanny had been allotted Aunt Tilly’s room with her permission since it overlooked the driveway and her chair could be pulled close to the window to give her a view almost as lively as she’d had on Bankside. She had recovered more feeling, and was able to hobble round her room with the help of two sticks and an anxious eye. Her speech, thanks chiefly to Isabel who spent many hours encouraging her, was also returning little by little. Would she return to Bankside? Caroline had asked, but no one knew the answer.
Her mother still missed Phoebe and George. Phoebe was at the end of her drilling training in Folkestone which Caroline had often watched from the office window with great amusement. Who would have thought that smart khaki-clad young lady was the slapdash Phoebe to whom sewing on a button ranked bottom in her list of abilities? She had grown annoyed when Caroline laughed at the drilling.
‘I’m trained to drive motor cars, not march,’ she said crossly.
‘It’s the discipline,’ Caroline pointed out sweetly.
‘You try it,’ Phoebe had replied vehemently. ‘Only a few days, and I’ll be overseas. The first contingent left at the end of March, and now it’s my turn. Oh, the bliss.’
‘Where to?’ Bliss wasn’t the word Caroline would have used.
‘I won’t tell you what I’ve applied for because I haven’t heard yet and it’s bad luck.’
‘Father says there’s no such thing.’
‘Father isn’t in the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps.’ That’s what the new organisation would be called, even if despite the recruitment and training in progress, the Army authorities were still arguing over the details of setting it up.
Robert too had now gone overseas and Isabel had been very depressed when Caroline had last seen her. He’d had an unexpected forty-eight hour leave, and then been rushed off to France, where reinforcements were urgently needed for observation balloons on the front at Arras where the new British offensive had begun, with what really seemed like success this time. Caroline had been vastly relieved that it was not Ypres, though most of their information from Belgium earlier in the year had pointed to that. It was another sign that more immediate results could be gained for St Omer by observation over the front.
She had been growing uneasy about her work in Folkestone, and had discussed it with James Swan, but always Luke brushed aside any such debate. In March the Germans had unbelievably begun to retreat to the Siegfried Line in the St Quentin area, and the office had buzzed with speculation as to whether they were heading back to Germany, or repositioning for a new offensive by strengthening their line. They had burnt everything in a fifteen-kilometre-wide area in front of the line, and forced the population east with them. The indications they received in Folkestone that they were planning to attack had turned out to be false, though understandable in the circumstances. Somehow the Germans had got wind that Arras was where the British would strike, and were strengthening their defence.
Going into the bureau was both relief and torture. She knew she was involved in an important job which filled her daily life and gave her companionship, but it rammed home that Yves was no longer there. Now she knew he was in this country, it was obvious he still came to Folkestone to visit the Belgian section if not their own, yet she had heard no word of him. She devoured the Franco-Belge every week, for her French was now up to it, but she never saw his name.
Early in April, Daniel had come down to Folkestone to crow over the good news that his predictions over the Zimmermann telegram were right. Just in the nick of time, with the uncertain position on the Russian front now the Tsar had abdicated, America had declared war.
‘I feel as though I’m responsible for it all by myself,’ he boasted.
‘You are,’ she assured him earnestly, hunting through her stew to see if she could track down any meat. So much for casserole au printemps. Vegetable stew or not, she was delighted to be out with Daniel for she seldom went out in the evenings now. Suppose she met Yves at one of the Belgian clubs, and he was forced to display politeness towards her? She knew this was cowardly; if women were to claim their new place in society, they had to accept the bad as well as the good. Fathers could no longer protect their daughters’ aching hearts by demanding an honourable return of recalcitrant lovers. She may have the vote when she was thirty, but she wouldn’t have Yves. Just at the moment, it didn’t seem much compensation.
On 23rd April Luke took her to the cinema to see Intolerance, the new American film directed by D. W. Griffith set in biblical times but oh, how relevant to today. It did not exactly cheer her up, and as they picked their way back to Sandgate Road, stumbling in the dark over kerbstones, she decided to tackle Luke head-on about her concern in the office. She was forestalled by Luke’s announcing:
‘I’ve managed to persuade Lissy to come to Paris for two days in May.’
‘You have remarkable powers of persuasion. She doesn’t like Paris.’
‘I didn’t realise she knew it.’
‘She was at school there at Grandmother’s insistence for six unhappy months until Father came over to rescue her. She was so shy.’
‘That’s very interesting. Do you recognise the same woman now?’
‘No, but I understand the same woman. Does that make sense?’
‘Caroline, you always make sense. When we’re related—’
‘If,’ she corrected politely.
‘Silence, woman. On the other hand, ignore that last order. You said you didn’t know why Daniel won’t marry her. Do you ever hazard a guess?’
She hesitated. ‘Yes. Something to do with his injuries.’
‘And if we’re right, which would you say was the best life for Felicia – with me and a family, or with Daniel, whom she loves?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t understand. I don’t presume to know how men think, how my own sister thinks, nothing,’ she answered vehemently.
‘Then let us discuss work like two patriotic souls doing their bit for their country.’
Caroline grasped the opportunity he had unwittingly given her. ‘Have you noticed, Luke, there’s something odd about the intelligence we’re getting?’
‘In what way?’
Was it her imagination or did Luke’s voice suddenly sound detached?
‘None of it seems to turn out right although it fits in with the current situation. Does that sound silly?’ she added uncertainly, for he said nothing when she paused. ‘For instance,’ she continued, ‘in March, our intelligence pointed to an attack by Prince Rupprecht’s command in the north, which seemed to be confirmed by those crack troops arriving in Belgium from Romania – yet nothing happened, except that our resources may have been deflected from their prime need at Arras. Yet it’s not false information, because those German troops could easily have been sent down to Arras when the Germans realised the offensive was there and not on the Belgian front. Since we’ve no links in northern France, we wouldn’t know.
‘And, again,’ she added, when he did not reply, ‘it’s obvious the enemy is concentrating on defending the Siegfried Line when our intelligence suggested all these extra divisions were being moved up to Sixth Army—’
‘It’s always easier with hindsight to realise why troops were sent to any one place,’ Luke interrupted lightly. He began to whistle ‘Oh, oh what a lovely war’ which irritated her intensely.
‘This isn’t a vague observation,’ she said impatiently. ‘I can pinpoint the source. It’s the information collected by Olivier Fabre that—’
He stopped her with a sharp, ‘Caroline, that’s enough.’
His lack of interest puzzled her. ‘But surely if I have suspicions I’m right to report them to you. And look at the reports he brought from the network last week. One was supposed to be from Raoul Mishaert, but he usually uses a mapping pen. This was typed.’
‘Caroline, please hold on to your hat.’
At last she understood. ‘You know.’
‘Take great care, Caroline. Forget everything about Olivier Fabre. Go on thinking if you must, but never, never suggest what you’ve just told me in your digests, or let it influence you in any way. Clear?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Didn’t your father ever tell you there are no buts in the Kingdom of Heaven?’
She managed to laugh. ‘You’d fit well into our family.’
‘That’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever paid me. Come to that, it’s the only one.’
All very well, she ruminated when she was back in her room, but how did Yves fit into this? Yves had been with Olivier Fabre in Ashden at Christmas together with Henri and, apparently independently, Luke. Now Yves had disappeared, and she had had suspicions about Olivier Fabre’s loyalty. All sorts of wild, fanciful thoughts raced through her mind: was Yves himself compromised in his work? Did he too now believe that Belgium’s best chance of economic survival might lie with Germany? No. Even the foggy thinking of late evening rejected this. She had to trust her own judgement, and her love for Yves had grown out of respect for his integrity; she was not being swayed by emotion.
Then a worse fear arose. If Fabre was a German plant, had Yves discovered this fact, and Fabre murdered him? She told herself this nightmare would disappear with the coming of the day, but sleep did not come for some long while.
Today she had received a letter from home, sending on a recent letter from George to her parents and then passed on to her (thank you, little brother) full of jolly talk of how much he enjoyed the flying in France, and the glorious deeds of 56 Squadron and the famous Albert Ball. The squadron had been in France for only a week when he wrote the letter but at least it gave the reassurance that he was still alive. And so were Felicia and Tilly, but for how much longer? Luke guessed Haig would make an all-out attack to win the war, after the success of Arras. And where else could it be than Ypres?
The following evening was Phoebe’s last in Folkestone, and Caroline dined with her at the Metropole – if dine was the word with army rations. Privacy was impossible sitting on long tables and surrounded by a muddy sea of khaki, but afterwards they managed to find a quiet spot to talk.
Despite the drab effect of the khaki on a face meant for bright colours, Phoebe sparkled in a way Caroline hadn’t seen since Harry’s death. ‘I can tell you what I’m going to do now,’ she said, bubbling with enthusiasm. ‘I didn’t think the War Office would confirm it till I got to France, but they have. I’m going to be one of the drivers for Lena Ashwell’s concert parties, and other entertainers. I’ll be attached to St Omer, but picking up at Calais and Boulogne, and taking the singers round the bases.’
‘Oh, Phoebe, what a splendid job.’
‘You mean you’re glad I’m not going to be sitting in a front-line trench like Felicia,’ Phoebe retorted percipiently.
‘Perhaps a little of that. Two of you there would be very hard for us all.’
‘It was actually George who arranged it for me.’
‘How on earth did he manage that?’
‘He has all sorts of chums now in London through his cartoons. Funny, isn’t it – all the fuss that Father made about them, and now he’s almost as famous as Bairnsfather. Anyway, he met Lena Ashwell, who told him all about her problems now the men from the Motor Transport Section were necessary for front-line work, and went to see Sir John, who shunted him to the right person at the War Office. He suggested they use some of the newly trained WAACs. It may mean driving army transport wagons, and I’ll have to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, but won’t it be fun?’
‘Yes,’ Caroline agreed instantly. There would be time enough for Phoebe to discover the other side of the war. The famous actress Lena Ashwell had been a suffragette and just like Aunt Tilly, when war came, she put suffrage to one side to concentrate on what she could do for the troops.
Phoebe laughed. ‘Poor Father. Not only George, but now here’s me and Isabel linked with the entertainment business.’
‘Not so poor Father. I would think he’ll be pleased. After all, he wanted to go on the stage himself, but followed the Church instead.’
‘I never knew that,’ Phoebe exclaimed. ‘How strange, yet I suppose, judging by his sermons, he’d have been a good actor.’
‘A touch of the Henry Irvings about him, isn’t there?’
‘More than that of Dan Leno, I agree.’
‘Unfair. Think of the Family Coach at Christmas.’
Unfortunately, Caroline thought about it herself – and was promptly reminded of Yves. Phoebe too, for she asked: ‘What’s happened to that nice Belgian officer who brought stars to your eyes at Christmas, Caroline?’
Caroline stared down at the cocoa dregs. ‘He brought too many. I haven’t seen him since, but for one brief visit.’
‘That’s very odd. Was he posted away?’
Caroline decided she could not talk about it. Instead, she turned the attack. ‘Do you realise, Phoebe, this is the first straight talk we’ve had in years?’
‘That’s because for the first time you’re not speaking to me as a little sister. Because I’m wearing a uniform, you realise I’m grown up now and age doesn’t matter any longer.’
‘Provided you still show me some respect,’ Caroline agreed. ‘Will you like being overseas, do you think?’
Her sister looked surprised. ‘Yes. You know how I’ve always wanted to get away. That’s why I was so upset when war came and I couldn’t go to school in Paris. It wasn’t the school I cared about; I just wanted to get away from Ashden.’
‘But why? Don’t you like the village?’ Caroline was astounded. How could any of them not have deep feelings for it?
Phoebe considered. ‘It was the Rectory I wanted to leave. I felt like an ugly duckling, and I knew I’d always feel like that unless I got away. And now at last I have.’
‘You look like the loveliest ugly duckling I’ve ever seen,’ Caroline joked, despite her concern. How could you grow up with someone and have so little idea of what they were feeling? Phoebe had always been a problem, but how often had she stopped to ask herself why?
‘You were always jolly nice to me, Caroline, but from the lofty height of Elder Sister. I couldn’t talk to George, Felicia scared me and Isabel – well, Isabel is Isabel.’
‘Not any more. She’s changing.’
‘Because of that business with Reggie?’
‘You knew about that?’ Caroline was horrified. She had thought it buried, a secret between herself and Isabel.
‘I had a lot of time to see what was going on. You wouldn’t have been happy with him, Caroline – Isabel or no Isabel, Lady Hunney or no Lady Hunney.’
‘Suppose I’d said that about Harry?’
Phoebe shot a look at her. ‘He and I didn’t have time to find that out.’
‘And you were very young.’
‘I was eighteen. That was another reason I needed to get away. There was Isabel married to Rich Robert, there was you engaged to Rally-Round-the-Flag Reggie, Felicia firmly wedded in heart to Daniel – and my love didn’t seem like any of yours. Meeting Harry was like –’ she sought for words ‘– coming home out of a heavy storm on a dark night. I’d been battling to get out of the storm for years. I suppose that’s why I teased Christopher Denis so much. I feel rather sorry about that now.’
‘You went very quiet about that time,’ Caroline remembered.
‘They don’t tell you at home or in books about the bad side of what’s between men and women. I had a scare,’ she said jerkily.
‘You’d better tell me,’ Caroline said quietly.
‘Len Thorn—’
‘What? Phoebe, he didn’t—’
‘No, but nearly. I got away. But a lot of it was my fault. It plunged me into that storm though.’
‘But it’s over since you met Harry.’
‘Almost. He showed me what love really was.’
‘There’s a path between Harry and the dark storm. You’ll find it, Phoebe.’
‘If I do, it’s thanks to Harry. I’ll never forget him. Never. War is so unfair. Like,’ she gave Caroline a mischievous look, ‘you and your captain.’
Caroline laughed at having the tables turned. ‘He’s gone and I doubt if I’ll see him again.’
‘What would Father have said if you had married a Roman Catholic – he is, isn’t he? – and went to live in Belgium?’
‘He’d say, “At last I’ve got rid of you.”’
