Two Silver Crosses, page 2
Agnes didn’t know what to say because, of course, nobody had ever told her she was beautiful. She was confused and charmed and flattered, despite her honest knowledge of her own worth, or the lack of it. And besides, he was looking at her with such open admiration, how could she doubt what he said, ridiculous though it was? After all Hortense thought Edward was handsome and they did say beauty was in the eye of the beholder. ‘Well…’ she said finally.
He assumed a rueful expression but continued to gaze into her eyes. ‘I’ve offended you,’ he said. Then he shook his head as if he was changing his mind. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken. It is cheek.’
‘No. No,’ Agnes said, plucking at her pearls.
But he continued. ‘I withdraw my request, Miss Holborn. I’ve no right to ask you anything. You wouldn’t want to dance with the likes of me.’
‘Oh no. Not at all,’ Agnes said, feeling she had to reassure him. Usually she retreated as soon as the music began because she was much too awkward to want to dance with anybody except Edward, but she could hardly say that when he’d asked her so politely, had said so many charming things and was looking at her like that. ‘I mean, I should be very happy to dance with you.’
His eyes flashed such excitement that it gave her a sudden frisson of pleasure. ‘You would?’ he said. ‘Oh, you don’t know what this means to me. Which one? Do I have to mark a card or anything?’
She was warmed by his ignorance. ‘We don’t use cards on these occasions, I’m glad to say,’ she explained. ‘My father likes things to be informal.’
‘Then may I claim the first dance you’ve got free?’
‘You may,’ Agnes said. And she was suddenly warm with hope. It was impossible, ridiculous. But she couldn’t help feeling it. The hope that at long, long last she’d found a man who would love her as Edward loved Hortense. Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful!
‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the room,’ he said, giving her another half bow and striding across the room to join the other salesmen who were standing against the wall.
‘Well?’ they asked him.
‘It’s in the bag,’ he said. ‘First dance. That’s ten bob you owe me, Jack.’
‘You toe-rag!’ his friend Jack said with admiration. ‘So now what? I suppose you’ll be marrying her next.’
‘Just watch me!’
‘She’s old enough to be your mother.’
‘Give it a rest. I’m twenty-two.’
‘And she’s pushing thirty.’
But she’ll inherit half the firm, Claud Everdale thought. Everybody in the company knows that. When old man Holborn goes it’s to be divided between her and her brother. And that was what was important. She’ll inherit half the firm and I’ve interested her already.
Agnes Holborn stayed at the party until the last dance was over and the guests had all departed. She had never danced so often nor enjoyed herself so much in all her life. And even after she’d kissed her father goodnight, she was far too excited to sleep, so she tiptoed along the corridors to her brother’s suite of rooms in the east wing to see if Hortense was still awake.
There was a glimmer of gaslight yellowing the lower edge of the bedroom door, so she knocked, and Edward came to let her in.
Hortense was feeding one of the twins, which lay in the crook of her arm sucking intently. The other was lying sleepily on Joan’s lap, being expertly pinned into a clean napkin. The room smelled of milk and baby powder and starch and Vaseline. Looking round at it all Agnes thought how good life was and how rich.
‘Oh Hortense!’ she said. ‘I’ve had an amazing evening.’
‘That I can see,’ Hortense said, smiling at her. ‘Tell me at once.’
‘I’ve met an extraordinary young man.’
‘And you are in love,’ Hortense said happily, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ‘Edouard, my dear, your sister is in love!’
‘Oh no,’ Agnes said, blushing. ‘I mean we’ve only just met.’
‘But you like him.’
‘Oh yes. Very much. He was so kind to me. Just like Edward is to you. He made me feel so happy. As if the whole world was… Oh, I don’t know.’
‘It is perfect,’ Hortense said. ‘Two perfect babies and now a love affair. Tell us all about it.’
So Agnes did.
‘One of our salesmen?’ Edward said, making a grimace. ‘I can’t see Dad approving of him.’
‘I don’t care,’ Agnes said recklessly. ‘I approve of him. He thinks I’m beautiful. He’s asked me to go to the theatre with him on Friday. Isn’t it ridiculous?’
‘No,’ Hortense said. ‘It is wonderful. And you are beautiful. Look in ze mirror. See for yourself. Edouard, cherie, we should have champagne.’
‘Never mind champagne,’ Edward said, pretending to scold them. ‘Time you were both tucked up in bed and asleep. Have you any idea what time it is?’
‘Then tomorrow,’ Hortense said, as they kissed goodnight. ‘We have ze champagne tomorrow. I am so happy for you, dear Agnes.’
But the next morning they woke to a nightmare of such proportions that all thoughts of celebration were quite forgotten.
Baby Emily was awake at five o’clock that morning calling to be fed. But when the gas was lit, and Hortense and Joan saw the state she was in, they were more concerned about cleaning her up than feeding her. Both her eyes were running with pus and the lids were so swollen they appeared to be turned inside out.
‘I’ll ring for Mrs Bonney,’ Joan said, trying to speak calmly, although her eyes showed how frightened she was.
Edward didn’t agree with her. ‘I think you ought to ring for Doctor Stimson,’ he said abruptly.
So, Joan summoned them both.
Mrs Bonney arrived quickly, but Doctor Stimson was a long time coming. Both babies had been fed and changed before they heard his car, and Virginia was back in her cot and sleeping soundly again. But Emily was awake and fretful, giving an odd, mewing cry that distressed her parents even more than the sight of her oozing eyes.
Doctor Stimson was a stolid gentleman, bearded, corpulent and firm, with unspoken reassurance. He examined his little patient very carefully, opening her lids and peering into her eyes with a narrow torch. He gave Mrs Bonney instructions about cleansing and care, and then, rather ominously, he asked the two midwives to leave the room.
‘I’m afraid I have some rather bad news for you both,’ he said. ‘You must prepare yourselves for a shock.’
By now Hortense and Edward were so taut with anxiety they were ready for anything, but they waited, hand in hand and saying nothing.
‘I’m afraid you will have to face the fact that your baby’s eyes are badly damaged,’ the doctor said.
With a horrified sound, Hortense put both her hands up to her mouth as her face crumpled. After a second, Edward spoke for them both, his voice gruff with emotion.
‘But she’ll be able to see,’ he asked. ‘She will be able to see, won’t she?’
‘No,’ Doctor Stimson said. ‘I’m sorry, Edward, I can’t soften this. She’s blind.’
‘No, no, no,’ Hortense said in soft French. ‘That is not true. It cannot be. My poor little one. Oh, not blind, Edouard. Not blind.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Doctor Stimson said, looking away from her distress.
‘Can you cure her?’ Edward asked him, gathering his weeping wife into his arms. Oh God, please say you can cure her.
The answer was crushing. ‘No. There is no cure. The damage is too extreme. She will never see.’
‘Not anything?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘What about her sister?’
‘The other baby’s eyes are not affected, I’m very glad to say.’
Hortense began to wail with anguish. ‘It is all my fault,’ she wept. ‘All my fault.’
‘Hush, my dearest,’ Edward said, smoothing the hair from her wild face. ‘You mustn’t.’
But she cried on. ‘Why should the child be punished? It is too cruel.’
Mrs Bonney was back in the room, looming towards the bed with some medicine in a spoon. ‘Drink this, Mrs Holborn, dear. It’ll do you good.’
‘Never to see,’ Hortense wept as she took the medicine. ‘My poor little one.’
‘If you will just come into the other room with me for a few minutes,’ Doctor Stimson suggested at Edward’s elbow.
Edward was numb with shock. To be told such a dreadful thing after three such happy days! What else could possibly be said after that? But he didn’t have the energy to disobey and followed the doctor meekly into the sitting room.
‘I must talk to you seriously,’ Doctor Stimson said. And then he stopped and appeared to be thinking deeply, pulling at his beard and scowling into the middle distance.
Edward waited. My child is blind, he thought. The anguish of it was so acute it was making his chest ache.
‘I’ve known you for a very long time, Edward,’ Dr Stimson began again. ‘Childhood illnesses, broken leg.’
Edward was still silent, lost in his misery.
‘Every kind of medical problem,’ the doctor’s voice went on. ‘Thick and thin.’
Edward was silent.
‘What I mean to say is. What I must tell you… Your daughter’s blindness was caused by an infection.’
‘Yes,’ Edward said dully. He didn’t need to be told that. It had been obvious when the pus ran out of her eyes.
‘A serious infection.’
‘Yes.’
‘What I’m telling you is that her blindness was caused by a venereal disease. Do you understand what I’m saying, Edward? Your wife is infected with a venereal disease. It could be gonorrhoea, in which case there is a good possibility of cure. On the other hand, it could be syphilis and that is a very serious disease indeed and you must both take it seriously. I will endeavour to treat your wife, naturally, but I must have your word that you will report this to the army doctors so that you can be treated, too. Otherwise… Well I hardly need tell you the consequences will be severe.’
Edward was suddenly irritable. He knew all this. He’d already half suspected it and he certainly didn’t want to be told any details. Not now, and not by his family doctor. Army doctors were a different matter and they’d told him all he needed to know. Young though he was he’d heard more than enough. ‘I know about these things,’ he said. And when the doctor looked shocked, he decided to shock him even further. ‘Most people do over in France. We all get a “dose” at some time or another, you know. It’s one of the hazards of war.’
Dr Stimson was offended by the young man’s casual air. ‘This is serious, Edward,’ he said. ‘Venereal diseases are very serious illnesses. And preventable, I might add. You have only to abstain, you know.’
‘Not in the trenches,’ Edward said. ‘Love is the only good thing we have when we’re out there.’
‘Preventable,’ the doctor reminded him, heavily. ‘Preventable. By clean living.’
‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ Edward said. ‘You don’t live in the trenches.’ He paused. ‘You wait to die.’
‘Soldiers of the King,’ the doctor said. ‘Fighting a heroic war.’
‘There’s nothing heroic about this war,’ Edward said bitterly. ‘It’s a dirty, brutish, wasteful, bloody awful nightmare, that’s all.’
The doctor was affronted. ‘I never thought I’d live to hear such unpatriotic talk from a British officer,’ he said. ‘Especially from your father’s son. I must say I’m very disappointed in you, Edward. However, far be it from me to pass judgement.’
Edward was remembering the trenches full of dead and dying after an attack, the terror of a bombardment, the rats squealing out in No Man’s Land when the guns fell silent, the stench of rotting flesh. They know nothing here at home, he thought, and he felt alienated from them all and full of angry pity for the men he’d left behind in all that squalor. ‘Amen to that,’ he said.
How did we get into this? Doctor Stimson was wondering, watching the anger on Edward’s face. ‘Your wife will have to undergo a full course of treatment,’ he said. ‘It could take some months.’
‘Yes.’
‘And then there is the question of whether the infection might have been transmitted to your children.’
Edward’s heart gave a jolt of renewed fear. Oh God, he thought, isn’t blindness enough? ‘Do you mean the twins could have caught it?’
‘They seem fit enough now,’ the doctor said, ‘but syphilis is a long-standing infection and we can’t be sure that this isn’t syphilis. You will have to watch them extremely carefully. See that they’re not over-excited. Of course, if it is syphilis and they’ve taken it, marriage would be quite out of the question for them.’
Edward was too stunned and upset to answer. Poor little things! he thought. To be doomed to live without love. Oh, please God protect them. Don’t let it be syphilis.
‘Well that’s all right then,’ the doctor said, relieved that his necessary homily was over. ‘I’m glad you’ve understood. Still, not to worry, old man. It could be a simple case of gonorrhoea. We’ll have to see if we can get you both patched up before your next leave.’
He makes us sound like horses, Edward thought. Or bedspreads. Or old socks. Patched up, indeed! But he was suddenly too weary to want to argue. ‘I will do what you say,’ he promised.
‘Good,’ Doctor Stimson said. ‘Well I’ll leave you now, eh. You’ll want to get back to your wife. Talk things over. I must see Mrs Bonney about your wife’s treatment. I’ll see myself out afterwards.’
And he was gone on large squeaking feet.
Edward remained where he was in the living room, gazing vacantly out of the window at the trim lawns and the pink and white blossoms in his father’s garden. It was a view from another world, a long way away from the dreadful reality of trench warfare and a child born blind. Or worse. Another world and another time and he didn’t belong to either. He stood by the window until the bedroom was quiet, and the doctor and the midwives were gone. Then he went in to say what he could to his poor Hortense.
She was lying on her side in their double bed with one hand under her cheek and her eyes closed as though she were asleep. Her cheeks were still stained with tears and she looked so beautiful and so vulnerable that he was very near tears himself.
‘Cherie,’ he said softly. ‘Hortense.’
She opened her eyes and they were awash with tears. ‘My poor baby,’ she said. ‘It is all my fault. I have another “dose” you see. I didn’t know, Edouard. Truly. Or I would have got some permanganate of potash and taken a cure. Mrs Bonney’s just told me. What are we going to do?’
‘We are going to love them both with all our hearts and look after them and give them the best life we can. The very very best. They shall have a nanny and a governess to teach them both at home. They shan’t want for anything. And if I come back when this ghastly war is over…’
She interrupted him passionately. ‘Oh, Edouard. You mustn’t say that. I couldn’t bear…’
‘We must be sensible my little love. We must face these things. All these things.’ And yet even now he couldn’t tell her that the twins could have caught the infection. That was too awful. It would have to wait until later when she was up and about and stronger. ‘If I come back, we will look after them together. Always. If I don’t, you will have to do it on your own.’
‘Yes, yes, I promise. But you will come back, won’t you, Edouard? You will be careful.’
‘God willing, I shall come back,’ he said, kissing her fingers. But there was still the disease to face. ‘Oh, my dearest love.’
She lifted her head to kiss him gently and laid his hand softly under her cheek, the way she’d always done after they’d made love. The gesture unlocked his tears and he let them flow, weeping for their lost innocence, for his baby blinded and his men shattered and killed, for love that would be tarnished if the disease he carried was the one he feared.
‘Love is all we have,’ he said.
‘Yes, my darling.’
‘I’m ill, too, Hortense.’
Her grief for Emily was too strong to allow her to be surprised or upset, even by this. ‘Yes,’ she said. It was something they had to accept. Something they’d always accepted. This disease was passed between men and women all the time. That was something they both knew only too well.
‘I think it’s the “bad” disease come back.’
‘Yes.’ They’d always known that was possible. ‘When did you find out?’
‘Last month. I had a rash and a fever.’
‘But it’s gone now?’
‘Yes. It wasn’t bad. But if I’ve still got it and I make love to you again…’ It was terrible to say this, but it had to be said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t make love to you, my darling.’
Her face crumpled with distress. ‘Oh, don’t say that. Please Edouard, don’t say that. We can be cured.’
‘The doctor says he will cure you. But I…’
‘Then he can cure you, too,’ she insisted.
‘Not if it’s that.’
‘But you don’t know, Edouard. You said “if”.’
‘You must understand this, my darling,’ he said seriously. ‘If it is, it could kill us.’
Her answer was fatalistic but completely calm. ‘Then it will kill us. We can’t live at all if we don’t love one another. You know that.’
Yes. He knew that. Even weighed down by grief for their innocent daughter and fear of this awful disease, he knew that.
‘But nothing will happen yet,’ she said. ‘Will it? Not yet. You can live for years. Can’t you? We both can.’
‘It will happen eventually.’
‘They might find a cure.’
He felt he had to allow her that comfort at least. ‘They might.’ Or I might be killed in the next campaign. There was a big one planned for high summer. Anything might happen in this world gone crazy. They had to be ready for anything. To accept anything.
