The Poacher's Daughter, page 21
He became agitated, his restless fingers plucking at the bedclothes and his breathing becoming rasping.
‘It’s all right, Sam,’ she said quietly, sitting down beside him. ‘You’re quite safe here. No one is going to give you away, certainly not me.’
‘Aren’t you’ – he spoke in short painful gasps – ‘going to tell him?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Why? I – deserve—’
She took his hand into hers. ‘I’m sure that whatever happened that night was an accident but my husband and the authorities wouldn’t see it that way. But you stay here until . . .’
‘I die, Mrs Ramsey. I’m dying. I know that. And mebbe it’s for the best but – I worry about Rosie.’
‘Well, don’t. She’s a strong young woman who can fend for herself, but she is now my friend and I give you my word, I will watch out for her.’
He gazed into her eyes. ‘You’re a good woman, Mrs Ramsey. And I’ll tell you something, so you’ll know for sure. That night . . .’
‘Don’t—’
‘Yes, I must. I never meant to hurt anyone.’ He paused every so often to catch his breath, but his voice was surprisingly strong. This was a confession that had to be made before he could pass in peace. ‘I was retreating quietly through the woods. I tripped over a fallen branch and, as I fell backwards, the gun went off. I suppose my finger must have jerked on the trigger as I fell. I swear to you that it was an accident. A terrible accident. But, in law, I killed him. I’ve cursed myself ever since for taking a gun out with me that night. I don’t know to this day what made me take it, because I rarely used a gun.’ When he had finished, he was exhausted. He lay back and closed his eyes. Grace wanted to ask more questions and yet, part of her didn’t want to know any more. She was tempted to ask what had happened to the gun because it had not been found in his cottage or garden. Had he stopped to bury it in the woods? She doubted he would have risked doing that and besides, William had insisted that a thorough search be made. Nothing had been found and she rather thought that Rosie had disposed of it. But how? And where?
She sat holding his hand. Maybe it was best that she knew no more. She wanted to help Rosie and by remaining in ignorance of any part the girl might have played, she could do that.
After several minutes he stirred again and Grace whispered, ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘I want to see Nell. I’ve asked Rosie . . .’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll see to that for you. Now, you get some rest.’
She got up, leaving him to sleep while she went in search of Rosie. It wouldn’t be a peaceful sleep, for his breathing was rasping and painful. She found her helping a nurse attend to a patient, fetching clean bandages and taking away the soiled ones. Grace waited until she was free.
‘Rosie,’ she murmured, taking her elbow gently and stepping to one side. ‘I know who the solider in Ward Four is, but don’t worry. He’s quite safe here but you do know he’s not got long, don’t you?’
Rosie nodded, but was unable to speak for a moment.
‘He wants to see Nell,’ Grace said.
Rosie blinked in surprise. ‘You’ve been talking to him.’
‘Oh yes. I sat with him for quite a while.’
‘I’ve written to Nell and asked her to come.’
‘I can help with that. I’ll ask Sarah to go and fetch her, like I did for Mrs Bates when she came to see Dan.’
‘But then Sarah will have to know about my father. I know she’s been ever so good keeping quiet about me, but Dad’s a different matter.’
‘Sarah is the most loyal friend anyone could have. She’s been with me for many years and I no longer regard her as a servant. Now, she’s my friend. I know she’ll do whatever I ask of her.’
Rosie bit her lip. ‘It’s a lot to ask. She – she’d be breaking the law. As we all are.’
‘We’re in the middle of a catastrophic war, my dear. We’ve bigger things to worry about than that. For one thing, I’m worried sick about Byron every minute of the day. And then there’s Nathan Tranter. He must be in Nell’s thoughts constantly.’
Her blue gaze caught and held the look in Rosie’s green eyes. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, you think about them both a lot, don’t you, Rosie?’
Rosie dropped her gaze but was obliged to answer truthfully. Huskily, she said, ‘Yes, yes, I do. All the time. Both of them.’
Grace squeezed her hand. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll get Mrs Tranter here as soon as I can.’
Twenty-Seven
‘Rosie, I need to talk seriously to you.’
Rosie sat down at the bedside and took her father’s hand. ‘Dad, please don’t try to talk. It tires you so.’
‘I have to, Rosie. I have to know what you did that night.’ He paused, breathed painfully for a few moments and then carried on, but every word was an effort. ‘I should never have asked you to get rid of the gun. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry. But I need to know – I have to know – what you did with it.’
‘Exactly what you told me to do. I flung it right out into the middle of the lake.’
‘No one saw you?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘They can’t have done. No one’s ever asked me about it.’
‘You’ve been questioned?’
Rosie hesitated. She didn’t want to add to her father’s suffering.
‘Tell me!’ Suddenly, his voice was surprisingly strong, as if, in the last few days – perhaps only hours – of his life he had to do this one thing. He had to know. ‘Tell me everything you did that night and then what’s happened since.’
Seeing that it was going to be the only way to get him to rest, Rosie recounted everything, ending with her leaving the village and arriving at the hospital. When at last she fell silent, Sam closed his eyes and slept.
As dusk fell, Grace came silently to Sam’s bedside. He was awake.
‘Sam, Mrs Tranter will arrive tomorrow. I have arranged for Monty to bring her.’
He gripped her hand. ‘You’re very good to me, Mrs Ramsey. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘Just one thing. Could you find me a writing pad, an envelope and a pencil? I need to ask Nell to write a letter for me when she comes.’
‘I can do that for you . . .’
Sam shook his head agitatedly, which set off a bout of coughing.
‘No – no,’ he wheezed at last. ‘It’s not fair for you to have to write down what I have to say. It’s best that Nell does it.’
Guessing that perhaps it was something very personal between the two of them, Grace agreed. She had learned of the closeness between the couple and respected his wishes.
Nell arrived the following afternoon and sat beside Sam holding his hand, the tears running down her face.
‘Oh my dear,’ she whispered.
‘Nell – I have loved you dearly. You must know that. I’ve nothing to leave you. Nothing to leave even to Rosie, but there is one last thing I need you to do for me.’
‘Anything, Sam.’ Nell wiped away her tears and tried to be brave, but it was hard. She had only ever truly loved two men in her life and now she was to lose the second one too.
‘There’s a writing pad and pencil on the little table there. Mrs Ramsey got them for me but I didn’t want her to write the letter, even though she offered.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘She’s a good woman, but it’s not fair for her to have to write what I need to say. There’s only you I can really trust, Nell.’
‘Can’t Rosie . . .?’
‘No. She’d refuse to do it. But it must be done.’
For most of the next hour, Nell sat by his bedside and carefully wrote down everything that Sam said. It took a while because he had to keep stopping to breathe and recover from coughing bouts. But, at last, it was done to Sam’s satisfaction.
‘I understand now, Sam, why you wanted me to do it.’ Nell said at last. ‘Can you raise yourself up a bit enough to sign it? You must sign it yourself and I’ll witness it, though I think someone else ought to witness your signature as well as me.’
‘Ask – Matron. She’ll do it.’
Nell hurried away to the matron’s office.
‘Of course, I’ll come at once,’ Connie Archer said. ‘Is it his will?’
‘Not exactly, Matron, but it’s a very important letter that he has entrusted to me to write for him.’ Nell smiled sadly. ‘It’s lucky the village school was so good and I learned to read and write.’
‘I see. Well, I have no need to read it. I just need to see him sign it and then you too, as you have done the writing of it.’
As the matron watched Sam write his name with painful slowness, she noticed that he wrote the surname ‘Waterhouse’. But she made no remark. She was not going to question a dying man.
When it was done, Sam sank back against the pillows. ‘Thank you. Both of you. It’s for Rosie, just in case it’s ever needed.’
‘You want me to give it to Rosie?’ Nell asked.
‘No – no, you’re to keep it, Nell. Rosie mustn’t know anything about it. But you’ll know what to do, Nell, if – if it’s ever needed.’
‘I don’t know what it’s about,’ Connie said, ‘and I’m not going to pry. We get all sorts of strange last requests in here, Sam, but I can see how important it is to you, so, Mrs Tranter, if you ever need me to verify that I have witnessed both your signatures to this – this – well, whatever it is, I am willing to do so.’
Nell thanked her, folded the letter, placed it in the envelope and sealed it. Then she put it carefully in the bag she was carrying.
As the matron left them, Nell leaned towards Sam again. ‘Rosie has given me the box from under your bed, Sam, for safe keeping. I’ll put it in there.’
‘Thank you, Nell.’
With the last ounce of his strength, he squeezed her hand, lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes.
It seemed as though, once Sam had seen Nell, had dictated his letter to her, he gave up the fight. As dusk fell that evening, he slipped away still holding her hand.
‘He’s at peace now, Rosie love,’ Nell said to her while the nurses reverently dealt with Sam’s ravaged body and spared Rosie the ordeal. They all knew that he’d meant something to their colleague, but they weren’t sure exactly what the relationship was, though one or two, knowing his surname, had guessed that perhaps he was her father. Not one of them, however, was tactless enough to ask. Only the matron, who had to fill out the details of his death for the registrar, learned his real name and therefore Rosie’s too, but she was happy for the girl to continue to use the surname Skelton.
‘It’s no one else’s business but yours, my dear,’ Connie said to Rosie. Instead, she had a discreet word with Grace and learned about the tragedy that had happened in Thornsby. They had both agreed to shield Rosie from trouble.
‘Yes, I remember reading in the local paper about a gamekeeper being shot. It was about the time that war broke out, wasn’t it?’
Grace had nodded. ‘None of it was Rosie’s doing but, sadly, my husband is bent on someone paying the price and now that her father is out of his reach once and for all, I fear he may still want to take his revenge on Rosie.’
‘Then we must see to it that he doesn’t find her,’ Connie Archer had agreed. ‘What does puzzle me, though, Grace, is why you are deliberately defying your own husband.’
Grace smiled wryly. ‘Oh, it’s a long story, Connie. Maybe one day I’ll explain, if you’ve time to listen.’
‘I’m a good listener. If ever you feel you’re ready.’
Rosie’s emotions were in turmoil. She was saddened by her father’s death and yet she couldn’t help but feel relief, and then she felt guilty. But the truth was that, had Sam been caught, he undoubtedly would have been tried for murder and hanged. Rosie shuddered every time she thought about it. She knew her father had caused the gamekeeper’s death, but she also knew that it had been a tragic accident. He would never have deliberately harmed another human being and yet he had been commanded by his country to do just that; to kill and maim the enemy. But they had got him first and now he was gone. In time Rosie would put it all aside and remember the good times; the dark nights creeping through the woods at his side, watching and listening and learning. She wondered if any of his stealthy ways had been useful in the trenches. Perhaps he had helped to save the lives of the men around him. She hoped so.
‘D’you know, Rosie,’ Grace said as they sat together over lunch towards the end of February. It was 1916 and eighteen months of war had passed. ‘I can’t make out where Byron and the other boys are now. I’ve always been able to make a guess from his convoluted messages, but this time I can’t. All I know is that they’ve left Gallipoli, but where they’ve been posted, I just don’t know. He’s talking about looking after the boats going up and down the water.’
Rosie laughed. ‘If you can’t work it out, Grace, I really don’t think I can.’ She wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. ‘Is he near a river somewhere?’
Grace was silent for a few moments and then her face cleared. ‘You’ve given me an idea. I wonder if they’re at the Suez Canal? There was some action there a few weeks back. You clever girl, Rosie.’
‘I can’t take the credit for that; I don’t even know where this canal you’re talking about is.’
Grace laughed. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t make you a better nurse knowing things like that.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Rosie said seriously. ‘But I like to know where he – where they – are.’
Grace touched the girl’s hand. ‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘And I promise I will tell you everything he tells me. At least it sounds as if they’re still together and all right.’
In May 1916, the newspapers, which the men in the Thornsby Arms read every day, reported that conscription, which had only been introduced in January that year, was to be extended to bring in all men between the ages of eighteen and forty-one. Even men who had previously been deemed unfit for service were to be re-examined.
‘They’re not getting the vast numbers of volunteers they had at the beginning,’ Terry Chambers said.
‘It’s hardly surprising with all the casualties,’ Ted agreed.
‘I wonder if any of our lads regret going now,’ Terry said thoughtfully. ‘I know my lad doesn’t. He actually sounds as though he’s enjoying the life,’ he added as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.
‘We can’t allow countries to threaten and invade each other,’ Ted said, placing another pint in front of Terry. ‘This one’s on the house – for your lad.’
Terry smiled and picked up the pint, raising it in a silent toast.
‘It’s my opinion,’ Ted went on, ‘that the Hun would have overrun the whole of Europe if they’d been left unchecked.’
‘They still might,’ Terry said grimly. ‘It’s not over yet.’
Terry was proved right; indeed, the war was not over by a long way. The bloodbath at Verdun, which was mainly being fought by the French, had been going on since February, and the Allies planned a huge offensive around the area of the Somme. Through the last two weeks of June, they bombarded the enemy lines constantly, believing that they would obliterate any defences. But when the whistle blew on 1 July and lines of allied troops went over the top, they were mown down remorselessly by an enemy that had dug deep and had survived the onslaught of their enemy’s guns.
It was utter carnage; slaughter on a scale never before witnessed in a war. On that first day alone, there were over 57,000 British casualties of which more than 19,000 had been killed. The battle of the Somme would become infamous in war, but for those at home the loss was far more personal.
Rosie stood at the end of the young soldier’s bed looking down at him, feeling as if her heart was breaking. Facing her father’s terrible injuries and death had been bad enough, but this was something else.
‘Oh Nathan, Nathan, not you,’ she breathed. ‘However am I going to tell your mam?’
She felt an arm creep round her waist and Anna spoke softly. ‘Is it someone you know?’
Rosie nodded. ‘A lad from our village. We grew up together. We were – are – the best of friends.’
‘Is he your young man?’
‘No, nothing like that. We’re more like brother and sister. My father and his mother were very close. They’d both lost their partners, you see.’ Now that he was gone, Rosie felt she could mention her father freely.
But the young girl, brought up in a workhouse, had never experienced family life. She didn’t understand how it worked, but she could see the distress in Rosie’s face and feel for her.
‘He’s Mrs Tranter’s son,’ Rosie murmured.
‘Oh no, not that nice lady who came to visit Dan and then came back again to sit with the soldier who died?’ Anna still hadn’t realized that that particular soldier had been Rosie’s father.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘How bad is he?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’ve only just found him. I came into the ward to change the jugs of water for all the patients and saw him. He must have come in late last night after I went off duty.’
‘He’s not moving. Is he unconscious?’
‘I think he’s just asleep.’
‘Let’s find Sister. She’ll know.’
Nathan’s injuries were not life-threatening but they might mean he’d got what the soldiers called a “blighty” wound.
‘It’s an awful thing to say, but, in a way, he’s been lucky,’ Rosie was told. ‘He’s got a wound in his leg that will probably keep him out of the rest of the war.’
‘I’ll help you look after him, Rosie,’ Anna said. ‘We can’t nurse him, but we can do anything else he wants. You must introduce me to him when he wakes up.’
‘I must see Grace. Maybe she can help again to get his mother here.’
The following day, Sarah set off once more to Thornsby to fetch Nell. This time she was not so lucky; William was at home and from the window of his study, he saw her walking up the drive. He was waiting for her when she entered the kitchen by the back door.
