The Beekeeper's War, page 16
She snatched her hand back from him, stung by his words. ‘Don’t ever say that! Jack will come back, I know it.’
‘You don’t though, dear girl.’ He glanced past her. ‘We need to be realistic. Neither of us know what’s really happening to him, but I can imagine it far better than you. I’ve been in scrapes with him before.’ He rested his hand lightly on his damaged leg. ‘I’ve seen him in the field and the man is impressive.’
‘He is?’ she asked, clinging on to anything positive Monty had to say.
‘We have to remember though, Pru, that regardless of his toughness, Jack is only human. He can only face so much and come away unscathed.’
She tensed, her breath shallow. ‘You might have given up on him, Monty but I never shall. Jack will come back, I know it. I trust him with all my heart. He won’t leave me here.’ She swallowed away tears, barely able to continue. ‘He won’t leave me.’ Was she trying to persuade Monty or herself?
Monty looked close to tears himself. He reached out and took her hand in both of his. ‘I believe he will never intentionally leave you, Pru. He loves you more than anyone, but as impressive as he is, he is still just a man.’
‘Nurse Le Cuirot, is there a reason you’re bothering Major Ashbury?’
Damn, Matron had seen her. How typical was that? Pru withdrew her hand from Monty’s hold. ‘I’m sorry for getting upset, Monty,’ she whispered. ‘Truly. I know you’re only trying to prepare me and I’m grateful. Thank you.’
‘I was asking her something, Matron,’ Monty said, sounding very much like the aristocrat he was, Pru thought, watching Matron frown in her direction before walking away.
Pru turned away, cross with herself for giving in to her emotions when all Monty had tried to do was answer her questions. She would apologise to him later. She needed to get back to work and noticing one of the younger VADs struggling, went to help her settle a patient in a wheelchair. Once done, she picked up two kidney bowls with discarded dressings from a trolley, surprised when the familiar smell of iron in them made her gag. Returning them to the trolley and needing an excuse to leave the ward, Pru was relieved to notice a small pile of clean bedding that must be surplus to requirements. She grabbed it and made her way to the linen cupboard. She needed to be alone to gather her wits before she lost all semblance of control and wept for Jack in front of the entire ward.
Pru stood in the darkened room, the only light inside filtering through the small window that was partially blocked by drying clothes hanging from a raised airer. Memories of stolen moments with Jack hit her and unable to help herself, she gave in to her tears.
Where was he? Was he even still alive? The fear that he might not be brought on a wave of fresh sobs until, unable to stand any longer, Pru’s knees gave way and she slumped to a crouch on the floor. She couldn’t face being without him, not when they had grown so close. Not when… She forced away the memory of them lying naked in front of the fire. The thought of never being able to love him, to be loved by him again, was too terrifying to contemplate.
Hearing footsteps drawing closer to the door, Pru got to her feet. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her fingers and pinched her cheeks. She hated the thought of anyone seeing her like this. She stood in front of the sink and turned on the tap, relieved for once that the water was cold, and dabbed her eyes, hoping that they weren’t as puffy as they felt.
The door opened and Pru felt the person’s presence but acted as if she was too involved with her cleaning to notice.
‘There you are,’ Jean said. ‘I wondered where you’d gone.’ Pru struggled to answer. ‘Pru?’
Pru was aware that Jean wouldn’t leave until she had replied. ‘Did you need me for something?’ she asked without turning to face her.
‘What’s wrong with your voice?’ Jean didn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘Is anything the matter?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I’ve just spoken to Monty and he’s very upset.’ She stepped closer. ‘Pru? What’s the matter? Is it Jack? Monty said there hasn’t been any news but have you heard something?’ Jean took her by the shoulder and pulled her around to face her. ‘What is it? Are you sick?’
Pru shook her head slowly, feeling the heat of tears as they ran down her cheeks. She took her handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m fine. But I was horrible to Monty before. I didn’t mean to be, but when I spoke to him about Jack he said … well, he said things.’
Jean pulled her into her embrace and Pru welcomed the comforting pressure of her friend’s arms around her back. ‘Oh, Pru. He won’t have meant to hurt you. He’s upset that he did.’
Pru sniffed. ‘I know. I’ll speak to him when I’ve gathered myself. I’m going to have to wait until Matron isn’t around though. She’s already told me off for spending time talking to him.’
‘There now,’ Jean said, patting her on the back. ‘Don’t upset yourself. Monty’s fine. He’s a tough old stick on the quiet and knows how you and Jack feel about each other.’
She sniffed. ‘I know he does.’ She gave a noisy sob. ‘Poor Monty. It’s unforgivable of me to snap at him. It’s not his fault Jack’s missing.’
Jean’s arms fell away. ‘He’s missing? Monty didn’t say.’
‘Missing is wrong,’ she said, recalling Monty asking her not to say anything to Jean. Pru chose her words more carefully. ‘I think Jack’s been captured.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’ She could feel herself losing control again. ‘If only there was something I could do to help him.’
Jean crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘Now you listen to me. Upsetting yourself like this isn’t going to help Jack, is it?’
Pru shook her head and sniffed. ‘No.’
‘The best thing you can do is carry on looking after Monty and most of all yourself for when he does come back.’
Pru brightened at her friend’s words. Jean was right. ‘You think he’ll be home again then?’
Jean stared at her thoughtfully. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. I do trust Jack to come back if at all possible though, and he wouldn’t want you to give up on him, now would he?’
He wouldn’t, Pru mused guiltily. She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. ‘You’re right. I have to focus on him coming back.’
‘Good girl. You do that. Now, I’m going to go and tell Monty that you’re not cross with him and that you’ll be fine.’ She placed her hands on Pru’s shoulders. ‘Will you mind if I leave you now?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Promise?’
Pru nodded. ‘I promise.’
‘Good.’ Jean opened the door and Pru grabbed it to stop her from closing it. ‘Jean?’
‘Yes?’
‘Please tell Monty I’m sorry and that I’ll speak to him later.’
Jean smiled. ‘I will. You gather yourself and come back to the ward when you’re ready.’
Pru watched her friend leave. Jean was right. She needed to focus on Jack’s return and banish all other thoughts. She patted her hair and checked her cap was on straight. Smoothing down her skirt and apron, she took a few calming breaths and left the peace of the room to return to the ward.
Nineteen
Jack
December 1917, Belgium
Jack pressed his hand over the corporal’s mouth. ‘Shush,’ he hissed, desperate for the man to keep quiet in their hiding place behind the bomb-trashed pigsty, which was all that was left of a farmhouse they had used to screen them since the previous morning. He raised a bleeding finger and held it in front of the man’s face. How he was supposed to get this soldier home when both of them were in such a lousy state and had no plane to fly, he had no idea.
Why hadn’t he looked to see how near the German soldiers were before landing to help the corporal? He was irritated with his foolishness. He reminded himself that he would have still tried to rescue him somehow. It had been clear from his own cockpit that Falkner was alive and unhurt when he saw him stepping from his plane immediately after his landing. If only the poor chap had managed to fix his engine and if only he had had the time to help him, they might both be back home again instead of hiding from the bastards who had spent three months interrogating them before they managed to escape from the chateau somewhere on the Belgian border where they had been kept.
He tried to swallow but the lack of saliva made his tongue and throat feel like someone had taken a sheet of sandpaper to it. How could they be surrounded by so much water and have nothing to drink? The putrid mud all around them had made their escape slow going. The only thing it had proved good for was to camouflage their clothes, though they were now soaked through and he wasn’t sure if they would be shot or freeze to death first.
The sound of several more German voices made Jack duck even lower than before. He grimaced as his left calf muscle began to cramp, the spasms becoming more intense by the second. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to block out the searing pain.
Slowly the voices retreated and Jack relaxed enough to massage his calf. ‘Darn leg.’ He felt the soldier next to him move and saw him attempting to sit up. ‘You coping, Falkner?’
‘Yes, sir. Doing my best to.’
‘Good man.’ Jack checked the makeshift sling he had created from his shirt to support the soldier’s bleeding arm. ‘You’re lucky the bullet went straight through,’ he said, not sure if that was the case and hoping that they could get back behind the British lines before infection set in. His mind drifted to his difficult escape with Monty and he was relieved that Falkner was able to at least stand on his own and hopefully make a run for it.
Jack’s side ached where he had been nicked by a bullet and the scar from the burn on his arm was giving him a bit of trouble; he suspected it might be infected. Now he just needed luck to be on their side so they could make a dash for it when no one was looking. He needed to find a way to get back to Blighty.
He had been away from his beautiful Pru for far too long already and ached to hold her in his arms and kiss her beautiful mouth. He realised Falkner was whispering something to him.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, wondering if he had heard the soldiers moving further away.
‘I said, Happy Christmas, sir.’
Jack stared at the haggard man, who looked almost forty but whom he knew to be a couple of years younger than himself, and tried to take in what he was saying. Did he mention Christmas? ‘What?’
‘It’s Christmas Day, sir.’
‘No. Is it?’ His mood dipped even lower. He should be exchanging gifts with his darling Pru, singing Christmas carols with her, holding her in his arms as they made plans and promised to love each other for ever. Not slouched in this freezing mud, praying he wasn’t about to die. He could see Falkner was waiting for him to say something. ‘Ah, yes, Merry Christmas to you, Falkner.’ He closed his eyes and braced himself. ‘I’ve had enough of this dump. What do you say to us making a run for it? If we’re lucky we might find our way back to our lot before the day’s over.’
Faulkner gritted his teeth. ‘I’d like that very much, sir.’
‘Good lad. After my count of three, run as fast as your legs can carry you to that copse of trees over there. Don’t wait for me.’ When the younger solder frowned, Jack grinned. ‘I’ll probably be way ahead of you,’ he teased, having no intention of letting the man fall behind. ‘Once you’re there, keep going.’ Jack knew they were taking a big chance, but it was so cold that if they didn’t move soon hypothermia would get them before the damned Hun did. He pointed in the direction of the trees. ‘That way.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now, let me help you to your feet. Stay crouching until I say.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jack had no idea if what they were about to do was the right thing, or suicidal, but they were running out of time and he had no intention of dying there. Now seemed as good a time as any. He helped Falkner to his feet. ‘You ready?’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Good man. Right. One. Two. Three!’
Jack gave Falkner a split second to get going and then took off after him. Within seconds guns began firing at them. If you can hear them, Jack kept thinking as his feet pounded on the wet, slippery ground, they haven’t hit you. ‘Keep going, Falkner,’ he yelled. ‘We’re almost there.’
Twenty
Pru
December 1917
‘Deck the halls with boughs of holly…’
It was almost Christmas – and it looked as if her first Christmas with Jack wasn’t going to be this one after all. There still hadn’t been any news from him. Each day she entered Monty’s ward she caught his eye and was given a subtle shake of his head. Her throat constricted by sadness, and unable to sing, she mimed instead as the other nurses’ singing rang out through the large room.
Pru felt that even the sunshine seemed duller since Jack’s departure. She still walked in the woods each day when the weather wasn’t too miserable. She had only walked as far as the folly once since he had left, as it had upset her so much to think how happy they had been there together that she dared not go back again. Not until Jack’s with me, she decided.
It took all her effort to concentrate on her work and when she was off duty all she wanted to do was be outside walking. For the past week she had woken feeling sick and found that the fresh air helped her keep her nausea at bay. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with anything. She needed to keep busy and the thought of being confined to her bed with her fretful mind for a couple of days terrified her. She was probably just run down, she thought, unsurprised. The intake of men had increased dramatically since the terrible third battle of Ypres on the Western Front, which had reached its climax the month before at a village called Passchendaele. Another two rooms at the back of the hall had been taken over by the nursing staff and converted into small wards to make room for them. They were hoping that the work on the fire-damaged wing of the house would be finished fairly soon but the lack of building materials had caused delays, which, according to Monty, Lord Ashbury was finding more and more frustrating. She wasn’t surprised. The poor Ashburys had probably never thought that such a huge part of their home would be taken over by wounded soldiers and nursing staff.
To keep connected with Jack, she had begun to make notes in a small diary her mother had sent her the previous Christmas so she didn’t forget any anecdotes he might find amusing or interesting. When he did come back to her, she wanted him to know she had never for one second lost faith that he would, even if it wasn’t quite true. Since her brief upset with Monty the previous month, she had managed to keep her emotions in check at least when on duty and most of the time when in her room. It didn’t help on days like these though, when others were celebrating the festive season and especially now she felt particularly unwell.
Someone dug their elbow into her side. ‘You’re not singing.’
It was Brenda, one of the nurses who had started a couple of months after her and Jean. She wasn’t one of Pru’s friends, mostly because the girl was dour and quick to snitch on anyone she felt was receiving more favourable treatment than her.
‘I have a sore throat,’ Pru whispered.
‘If you say so.’
Pru didn’t care that the girl thought she was lying. She moved slightly away from her and continued to mouth the rest of the words. She spotted Monty sitting in the first row next to his mother, who was holding one of his hands and resting it on her lap. He was watching Jean intently, the love in his gaze clear for anyone to see. Pru wondered if his parents had got used to the idea of their son and Jean marrying. At least Lady Ashbury wasn’t holding it against her son, to judge by the way she was acting with him now. How much of a relief it must be for his parents to know he was safe, albeit injured, and at home with them. His injuries were slowly repairing though they all now knew that he wouldn’t be able to walk again unaided. He would have to use a wheelchair or crutches, maybe progressing to a walking stick at some point if he was lucky.
The carol ended and they went straight on to sing ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’. Pru tried to picture Jack and where he might be. She hoped he wasn’t somewhere dreadful. Maybe he had escaped, she thought hopefully. He’d done it before and that time he had somehow brought himself and Monty, injured and in a terrible state, back to safety. She prayed silently that he survived whatever he was facing now and would come home soon.
Pru realised the singing had stopped and the local vicar was giving a short sermon. She tried her best to focus on what he was saying, but it was difficult not to drift off and think of Jack again.
Her gaze fell on the paper chains hanging from one corner of the room diagonally to the opposite corner. The patients had been given the coloured strips of paper and a small pot of glue to make the chains the previous week. Since the weather had become cold and wet, they had needed something to take their minds off not being allowed outside for fresh air. Some hadn’t been enthusiastic but Monty and the rest of them gave it their all and now the wards looked cheerful and festive.
The decorations reminded Pru of home. Her parents would have a small fir tree sitting in the bay window of their living room by now. It would be decorated with the pretty ornaments her mother had collected over the decades and no doubt their slightly worn angel would have pride of place on the top of the tree. Several presents would be wrapped, probably in paper that her mother had kept from the year before and the year before that. Picturing home made her long to be back there, sitting in their small living room in front of a roaring fire, listening to her father sharing his news about the people he had spoken to that day while her mother caught up on darning socks, or putting the finishing touches to a cardigan she might be knitting for one of the neighbour’s grandchildren.
