The Beekeeper's War, page 5
Pru smiled at her friend as they walked down the stone path between neat hedging and bare flower borders. ‘We’re all certainly much happier since Monty’s successful eye surgery,’ she said, aware that her friend’s happy mood was mostly due to him being able to see again. ‘I thought it very romantic that he wanted yours to be the first face he saw. That must have been really emotional for you?’ When Jean didn’t react, she added, ‘I know you’ve both become close recently.’
They walked on a few steps before Jean replied. ‘We have.’ She sighed. ‘In fact, he’s asked me to marry him.’
Stunned by her friend’s unexpected announcement, Pru gasped. She stopped walking. ‘He’s what?’
Jean groaned. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘That you’ve only known him for a month?’ Pru couldn’t help herself. It all seemed far too quick.
‘I know it sounds crazy. In fact, I wasn’t sure whether or not to tell you yet, but I had to share my news with someone and who better than you?’ Jean sighed. ‘I had hoped you’d be happy for me.’
Pru wished she had managed to hide how shocked she was. Of course she was happy for her, but what if Monty had proposed as a reaction to his euphoria at having his sight restored? What if he changed his mind once he had time to think? She couldn’t bear for her friend to be heartbroken. ‘I’m just a little taken aback, that’s all.’
Jean folded her arms. ‘I understand. I have to admit I was too, but Monty explained that losing his brothers and then being so badly hurt himself, well … he believes we should all grab happiness while we have the chance.’ She shrugged. ‘Let’s face it, Pru, none of us know what might happen from one day to the next, do we?’
She was right, Pru mused. She reached out and rubbed Jean’s upper arm gently. ‘And he’s right.’ She gave Jean an encouraging smile, not wishing to ruin such a special time for her best friend. ‘What did you say?’
Jean turned to her, tears in her eyes. ‘At first I said that we should see how his surgery went before making any rash decisions.’ She covered her mouth letting out a sob. ‘Oh Pru, he thought I meant that I wanted to be certain he could see again. He didn’t think I’d want to marry a blind man.’
‘I hope you put him right.’
‘I did. It took a little persuasion, but I insisted that wasn’t the case.’
Pru pulled her friend into a tight hug.
‘I eventually managed to persuade him I thought we should wait because I wanted to be certain that if he did get his sight back, he had seen me before he made up his mind.’ She stepped back and looked away. ‘I know I’m not the most beautiful woman, but I couldn’t agree to let him marry me not knowing what I looked like. Imagine if we married and then his sight returned and he hated what he saw? It would break my heart.’
Pru was well aware that her friend had little confidence in her fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked looks. She wasn’t glamorous in any way but she was pretty, as far as Pru was concerned. She was relieved that Monty obviously thought so too.
‘You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’re lovely and now you know that he thinks so, will you agree to marry him?’
Pru battled with her conflicted thoughts. As much as she wanted her closest friend to be happy, she couldn’t help worrying about Lord and Lady Ashbury’s reaction to discovering Monty wanted Jean as his wife. What if they had their own plans for their son’s future and managed to convince Monty that Jean wasn’t the woman for him? Her friend would be devastated. She struggled with her conscience, unsure whether to say as much.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Jean said, narrowing her eyes at Pru.
‘You do?’
‘Of course. And you don’t need to worry. I told Monty I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do but that maybe we should wait until we’ve had a chance to spend time with each other outside the hospital ward.’
Pru tried to hide her disappointment that Jean hadn’t realised her true concerns about their marriage. She began to resume walking, but Jean held her back. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ Pru fibbed, not wishing to hurt her friend.
‘That wasn’t what you were thinking, was it?’ Jean asked, staring at her.
Pru held her friend’s gaze as she tried to work out what to say. It was one thing for Jean and Monty to spend more time getting to know each other, but another entirely to have to contend with opposition like the difference in their class. It might be 1917, she mused, with the world taking enormous strides forward when class differences were forgotten between women working together while nursing or driving vehicles, and men fighting next to each other – but what about after the war ended? What then? Would everyone slip back into their class structures with their prejudices? She couldn’t help worrying that they might and surely that would mean heartache for Jean.
Jean winced. ‘I’ve been so stupid.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Pru argued.
‘But I have. How can I even consider a relationship with a man whose station in life is so far above my own?’ She groaned. ‘I’ve become used to us speaking to each other as equals while nursing him and I’ve forgotten who he is.’ She shook her head. ‘And who I am.’
And there it was, Pru thought miserably. ‘I’m sure if Monty loves you, he’ll find a way around it,’ she said, not sure if he was strong enough to stand up to his formidable parents.
‘You think so?’
Pru took her friend’s hands in her own. ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘But I do think that if you’re aware of the difficulties that might await you, then it’s something you and Monty can discuss.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
Pru wished her friend’s joy hadn’t been so quickly eroded. She struggled to find the right words, and was relieved when a familiar figure waved to them from the side door and began walking over, his long strides making short work of the distance they had gone.
‘That’s Captain Garland, isn’t it?’ Jean asked, clutching Pru’s arm. ‘I hope nothing’s wrong with Monty.’
‘Captain? Is everything all right?’ Pru asked, trying to hide her pleasure as he joined them.
He removed his cap and placed it under his arm.
‘I’d keep that on if I were you,’ Pru said, holding her hand out, palm up, to indicate the falling snow.
‘Good idea.’ He replaced his cap. ‘Monty’s fine, if that’s what you mean. I was about to leave and saw you both out here on my way to the motor. I thought I’d say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’ Jean glanced at Pru. ‘You’re returning to France?’
‘I am,’ he said vaguely. ‘I wanted to ask you to keep a close eye on my pal. He’s in high spirits after discovering he can see again, but I worry that his focus has been on that happening and now worry that he might struggle when he discovers his leg is pretty badly damaged.’
He had a point, Pru realised. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him while you’re away.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’ He looked deep into her eyes and Pru couldn’t think what else to say.
‘You will be back though? Won’t you?’ Jean asked after a brief hesitation. Then, seeming to realise what she had just asked, her hand flew to her mouth and she mumbled an awkward apology.
‘It’s fine,’ Jack assured her. ‘I’ll certainly do my best. I want to come and visit my friend again,’ he said, glancing at Pru with an intensity that made her shiver.
‘It really is cold out here,’ he went on, mistaking her reaction, something she was very grateful for. ‘I’d better let you carry on with your walk before your feet get too cold.’
‘They’re freezing already,’ Pru said with a smile, desperate for something to say, and then realised that they actually were going numb.
‘Don’t you get cold in that plane of yours?’ Jean asked.
He shook his head. ‘Sometimes, but mostly I’m fine. I’m from New York, don’t forget. I’m used to far lower temperatures than anything you’ll find here or in Europe.’
He gave them a quick smile before turning and walking away.
‘He’s such a nice man, don’t you think?’ Jean asked, stamping her feet a couple of times. ‘Monty said he’ll never be able to repay him for saving his life like he did, and at a terrible risk to his own too.’
Pru watched Jack’s retreating back, her breath catching in her throat when he suddenly turned and gave her a wave. Her heart pounded so loudly that she was surprised Jean didn’t comment on it, but Pru realised her friend was too busy talking about Monty to notice.
‘I’m glad Monty has a friend like him,’ Jean said. ‘You can see that the captain has hidden depths.’
Pru agreed, hoping that Jack would come back safely this time too.
Six
Pru
June 1917
Not much had changed in the months since Pru had first met Captain Jack Garland. She was relieved the United States had entered the war two months before and since the first of their infantry troops had arrived in Europe earlier that month, several American soldiers had come to Ashbury for treatment, and two were still recuperating at the manor.
Jack had been away since March; it was now June and Pru had been surprised by how often thoughts of him had invaded her free time. And she couldn’t miss the concern on Monty’s face when she quietly asked every so often whether he had heard from Jack. His mood always dipped when reminded of his absent friend, so much so that Pru eventually had to stop asking him. She might miss Jack but that didn’t give her the right to worry Monty when he should be recuperating, or to put doubt in his mind about Jack’s eventual return.
She still found herself looking up each time she heard a vehicle rolling down the gravelled driveway, or whenever she heard a deep voice with an American accent in one of the wards. Not that there were many of those, but it always threw her for a couple of seconds.
There had been new arrivals that morning but she hadn’t been needed to help with them so made the most of her free time to catch up with a little mending.
‘Pru, are you there?’ There was a knock on her bedroom door as she was sewing up one end of a tie on her apron. She had caught it on a door handle the day before when she had nudged it shut with her elbow while her hands were full of clean dressings.
‘Yes, come in.’ She would have given a lot to have just a few more minutes’ peace. It wasn’t the poor Voluntary Aid Detachment volunteer’s fault that she had been sent to find her though so she forced a welcoming smile onto her face. ‘Matron is looking for me, no doubt?’ she asked, pre-empting the girl’s request.
‘Yes, how did you know?’ The girl’s brown eyes widened in admiration.
Pru shook her head. Tying off the end of her sewing, she bit the thread and carefully put her needle into the tiny sewing basket she shared with her roommates. ‘It was a guess. What does she want, do you know?’ she asked, slipping her apron over her head and fastening it around her waist.
‘She said there’s a French patient, but that’s all I know.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Pru said. ‘You go ahead; I’ll follow in a second.’
She couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes arriving at the ward but Matron greeted her with her usual disappointed air. ‘Where on earth were you, Nurse Le Cuirot? You’re supposed to be on duty, not slacking.’
‘I was sewing my apron, Matron,’ she explained, aware that whatever she said would be greeted with annoyance.
‘Follow me.’
Pru accompanied Matron to the bedside of a frightened young patient. His eyes were red-rimmed and she doubted he was even eighteen. He barely looked old enough to shave.
‘This patient is French and can’t speak any English.’ Matron sounded as if the poor man had committed a terrible faux pas to be in England and unable to converse. ‘Nurse Le Riche seems to think you can speak fluent French. Is that correct?’
‘It is,’ she replied, aware that Jean probably knew enough to be able to find out from the poor boy what was wrong with him.
Matron eyed her suspiciously and it took all Pru’s efforts not to show her amusement that for once she knew something Matron did not. ‘Good. Then you can explain that he’s here for at least a few weeks until we can arrange for him to be sent back to France. Also, that he’s not to worry. The usual things you would tell a new patient to calm them. I presume you can do that?’
Pru wondered if Matron ever found joy in anything. The older woman might spend her life looking after injured and scarred men but it seemed to Pru that she was as scarred as the worst of them – only her scars were in her mind and heart.
‘Nurse! Did you hear me?’ Matron glared at her. ‘Wipe that soppy look off your face and move yourself.’
‘Yes, Matron. I’ll speak to him immediately.’
Relieved when Matron was distracted by another patient, she drew up a chair to sit next to the young private’s bed and spoke in a friendly manner to him. He seemed stunned to discover that she could speak to him in his native language, and soon relaxed. After ten minutes chatting with him and writing down his address, with a promise to try and send a telegram to his family, Pru asked for one of the VADs to keep an eye on him.
She stood. ‘Let me know if he becomes fractious at all, or if he needs something that any staff member can’t understand.’
‘Yes, Nurse Le Cuirot.’
Pru pushed the chair back and was about to leave the ward but noticed Monty waving and trying to get her attention. She smiled at him and went to see what he wanted.
‘Is everything all right, Monty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, glancing behind her, confused. Had he been waving at someone else? ‘I thought you wanted me for something.’
‘I did.’
‘Yes?’
‘You were speaking French.’
It sounded more like a statement than a question. ‘That’s right, I was.’
‘You sounded pretty fluent.’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘Jean said the other day that she doesn’t speak much French at all, when I asked her if the locals in Jersey spoke the language.’ He shrugged. ‘You know, because the island is so much closer to France than England. She tells me that what she speaks is the local patois. I gather that’s different.’
‘It is.’
‘You don’t speak that?’
‘The patois? A little.’
‘May I ask why that is?’
Pru was used to patients being more interested in the nurses’ and doctors’ lives than they usually would be in people they came across, and knew it was down to the boredom of long days sitting in wards with little to do, so she didn’t mind him asking.
‘My grandmother is French and, despite moving to Jersey when she married my late grandfather years ago, refuses to speak English when we’re alone as a family,’ she explained enjoying reminiscing. ‘She lives with my parents; they run a guesthouse.’ She sighed. ‘So, I’ve grown up speaking French at home, as well as some Jèrriais at friends’ homes, which is how I know the languages.’
‘Ahh, that makes sense.’ He gave her an appreciative nod. ‘Good for you, Nurse Le Cuirot. I’m sure that the matron has a lot to be grateful to you for, for once.’ He winked.
Pru knew he was trying to make her feel better and it cheered her to know that others were aware of Matron picking on her. It helped reaffirm to her that she wasn’t as useless as Matron sometimes liked to make out.
‘Thanks very much, Monty. I appreciate you saying so, even if I doubt she’ll ever openly admit I’ve done anything remotely well enough for her liking.’
A few days later, she helped Doctor Parslow with a patient who became distressed during visiting hours when blood from his wound seeped through the dressing on his shoulder. The doctor was examining it while Pru held the kidney bowl with the discarded dressing, when she heard Jack’s voice asking to see Monty. She froze.
‘Nurse?’ the doctor said, snapping her out of her thoughts. ‘The dressing?’
She looked down at her hands and saw that she was still holding the bowl. ‘Sorry, Doctor,’ she said placing the bowl noisily onto the trolley and lifting the fresh dressing for him to take.
‘I think we’re all pleased to hear the captain’s voice again,’ the doctor said without looking at her.
‘No, I simply—’
‘It’s fine.’ He smiled at her. ‘Please try to concentrate.’
She focused on what the doctor was doing, not wanting to be caught acting unprofessionally again.
‘Well, if it isn’t the American Ace himself,’ Monty teased noisily. ‘I expected you back months ago. No doubt you’ll have a good excuse for keeping me waiting all this time.’
‘I do,’ Jack replied. ‘But not one I’ll be sharing with your delicate English ears.’
They laughed and continued their conversation, each hurriedly saying what Pru supposed they had been waiting to during Jack’s lengthy absence.
Eventually the doctor finished with the patient and left her to make the man comfortable by doing up his pyjama top, plumping up his pillows and straightening his sheets. She was anxious to look at Jack again. To see for herself that he was fine. She smoothed down her skirts and, picking up a clean kidney bowl, discreetly checked her reflection, hoping her cap was on straight and her hair still pinned back properly. Satisfied that she looked as neat as possible, Pru folded back the screen so that the patient could join in with everyone else in the ward.
One of the wheels on the screen squeaked as she pushed it back against the wall and she noticed Jack looking at her. His lips drew back in a long, slow smile, which she returned with one of her own. He looked thinner than before but seemed well enough and she was relieved.
‘Good to see you again, Nurse Le Cuirot,’ he said as she took hold of the trolley handle, intending to take it from the ward and dispose of the bloody dressing.
