In Distant Fields (45 page)

‘Don't say that, Tita. Don't.'

‘Why not, Kitty? We know it's true.'

Partita looked with defiance at Kitty, challenging her to contradict her and knowing that she couldn't.

‘Even if it were true …' Kitty shrugged her shoulders and stopped before starting again. ‘Even if it were true, saying it isn't going to help anything at all, not one bit, and especially not at this time. How can we possibly go on if we start talking like defeatists? This is just the sort of thing the enemy wants. They want us to be demoralised because demoralised people start to wave white flags and then everything really
will
be lost.'

Partita regarded Kitty for a moment, then once more walked away from her, onwards towards the lake.

‘I wonder what's happened to Harry?' she said once they reached the lake's shore, as if the lake had all at once reminded her of his absence. ‘I doubt that anyone's heard from him in an age. You haven't had a letter from him, have you, Kitty?'

‘No, of course not, why should I?' Kitty stopped. ‘Although I heard his father saying to your mamma that he'd had a letter recently, but his handwriting was so bad he could hardly make out a word except that bullets appeared to be bouncing off his ambulance so effectively he thinks it must be made of rubber!'

‘Sheer Harry,' Partita smiled. ‘Impudence in the face of the enemy. Now come along, Kitty – back to our front, back to our party, shoulder to the wheel and all that.'

‘Me come along?' Kitty retorted. ‘You're the one who was just about to cave in.'

‘Oh, I know, I apologise from the bottom of my heart. I was just feeling sorry for myself. Unforgivable.'

‘No, you weren't. That's not you. You were feeling sorry for everyone else, as you always do.'

They both started to walk briskly back to the house and as they went along Partita explained that Michael was yet again in danger of being taken from Bauders and put in an institution.

‘So what do you intend to do, Tita? Have you an idea?' Kitty asked, catching her by the arm to stop her walking so fast and furiously. ‘Hide him in a priest hole?'

‘No – it's much simpler than that, Kitty,' Partita replied. ‘I'm going to marry him.'

She continued to walk on, but Kitty caught her by the arm yet again.

‘That is simply not amusing, really it isn't.'

Partita shook off her arm, trying to continue to
walk, defiance seeming to emanate from every part of her, before she finally turned and faced her friend.

‘Why isn't it amusing, Kitty? You are engaged already, so you can't marry him. I am not engaged, so I can become engaged. Besides, why would it not be amusing for me to become engaged to Michael Bradley?' Partita's expression changed from defiance to compassion.

‘Because, as you very well know, Partita Knowle, poor Michael Bradley is already in love with you, and it would be cruel to lead him on.'

‘Oh, you don't think so, really? You don't think he's really in love with me?'

‘Of course. Gracious me, why
wouldn't
he fall in love with you? You're beautiful, patrician, and have given him your sole attention for days on end. He is bound to fall in love with you, as so many on the ward have.'

Partita sighed. ‘Yes, but it is not love they are feeling, is it, Kitty? It's schoolboy crushes, that's all. At any rate, a kind of grown-up version, because they are so far from everything they know and love, as I imagine people at school must feel when they are locked away from everything they know and love.'

‘Maybe, yes, maybe, but it is none the less felt keenly for all that, Kitty. Truly there is so much of which we must be careful, and people's emotions are of the most tender. Remember Michael has already made one attempt on his life.'

‘I know, and that is why I am trying to think
up some plan to help him before they come and get him. If he could pretend to be engaged to me, nothing more, or if I just said to the authorities that he was, that would mean they couldn't take him away and put him in some ghastly institution where he certainly will want to take his own life. He is not mad, Kitty, truly he isn't. He has just gone away from life because of the terrible, terrible thing that happened to him. He has gone away, and we could get him back, we should get him back. We can't stop this terrible war, which I sometimes feel will never, ever end, but we can stop anything more terrible happening to men like Michael Bradley. Not only can we, I feel it is a sort of – well, duty to do so. Really, it is our duty.'

‘But – but what will your papa and mamma say? They will never believe that you want to be engaged to poor Michael, never.'

‘No, I know,' Partita admitted. ‘But I think I can get Mamma to agree to my idea, and I think once she has agreed to it, it will have an effect on Papa.' Partita's mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘If Papa thinks I am so desperate to help Michael Bradley that I will even marry him to stop the authorities taking him over – perhaps even taking him not into a mental institution but to some awful place where they experiment with gases and drugs on people whose minds have been destroyed – then he will act to pull the necessary strings to stop it happening. I am quite determined on it, Kitty.'

‘I can see that.' Kitty smiled suddenly. ‘And whatever you say about the war, with people such as you on our side, I don't think that finally the enemy have a chance!'

Nevertheless Kitty considered the plan wayward, to say the least, but she also realised there was nothing she could say to dissuade Partita. The only people who could possibly have talked her out of taking such a course would be Almeric, and even perhaps Peregrine. She determined to write to him at once on the matter, but no sooner had she done so than she found herself hurrying out to the front drive to greet a new influx of patients.

She stopped and stared first at the men climbing from the ambulances, and then at the other nurses.

‘What in heaven – what in all that is merciful have we here?' Kitty's eyes met those of Nurse Rose.

‘Shell shock, that is what we have here, Nurse Rolfe, shell shock,'

‘They look as if they don't know where they are.'

‘That is probably because they don't,' Nurse Rose replied crisply. ‘They know nothing of where they are, at any time. They will hardly be able to eat, or talk, or light a cigarette, or write a letter, nothing.' She paused. ‘My mother has been nursing some of these cases in a home in Norfolk. She wrote to warn me that they are more difficult to nurse than the openly wounded. Limbs heal
faster than minds, Nurse Rolfe. So –' she nodded briskly towards what looked like a sea of crippled men staggering towards them – ‘time to roll up our sleeves, and get going.'

‘Have you both taken leave of your senses?' The Duke stared from his wife's face to that of his daughter. ‘What are you all thinking? One simply cannot interfere with this sort of thing in this sort of way, d'you understand me?'

‘No, Papa,' Partita replied. ‘I think we have an absolute duty to our patients. We must stand by them in the same way that you would stand by your men. It is no different.'

Circe felt quite proud of Partita at that moment, if only because she looked every inch the daughter of her father; but also because she could see that John was looking at her as if he was seeing her as a formidably strong character, perhaps even as a young woman at last.

‘Hmm.' Her father paused. ‘So you are standing by your men, are you? You don't say.'

‘I do say, as it happens, Papa. You know the last thing any of us wants is to take advantage of your authority and your position. What we want is for you to see what we're trying to do, and when you do, we know what your feelings will be because we know you are the sort of person who, in our place, would be just as unflinching in your determination. Michael Bradley is a victim of a terrible atrocity, but we have helped him, and we can help him further. What we cannot do
is turn him back to those who will take ruthless advantage of his mental state, perhaps use him as a guinea pig, only to throw him into a mental institution where he will languish for the rest of his days.'

‘That will not necessarily be his fate.'

‘Not necessarily, no, but it could
well
be his fate, Papa.'

‘You couldn't let them do that, John,' Circe put in, turning to him. ‘Not if you knew the poor man.'

‘Be that as it may,' John replied, his defences weakening, ‘this is a matter for the medics. We can think what we like and feel what we like, but in the end this is a matter for the experts who must be allowed to do what they think best, surely?'

‘No, please, it is you who will do what is best, surely, John?'

The Duke, seeing the steely look in both wife and daughter's eyes, realised that for once he was being outgunned.

‘Very well. I will see what I can do. If the matter comes up—'

‘But the matter will not come up!' Partita protested. ‘Not unless
you
bring it up, Papa. Don't you see?'

‘I do see. But I also see this is just one chap – albeit a soldier who has been subjected to an appalling atrocity, which, if proved to be true, will be dealt with officially. But it is just one soldier – one soldier who is part of a vast army of millions of men who are all being exposed to the
greatest brutalities that man has ever inflicted on man. Now if we were to examine each and every one of these cases to ensure that no one was being exploited or used in any way that might upset them, where would we be? Every single one of those men who every day and every night are being ordered over the top are being exploited, if you look at it that way. They're certainly not doing these things because they enjoy it. They might believe in the greater good, and they might have volunteered to fight the good fight, but believe me every man jack of them would rather the whistle didn't blow for them to climb the ladders out of their trenches and go over the top, but that's how it is. In a fight like this there are bound to be sacrifices, and this is something to which we must all get used. Something we all of us must learn to expect to happen – or, if not to us, then to someone close to us. If we start trying to protect everyone who comes to Bauders – why, that'll never do, never do at all. We don't have the time for it and that's all there is to it.'

‘But if the matter does arise,' Partita persisted quietly, although by now feeling more than a little forlorn, ‘you will do what you can?'

‘If the matter arises, Partita, I shall see what, if anything, I can do. And if it is for the best then I shall do it.'

‘But—'

‘But you are not to become engaged to this man. Is that understood? It would be the most
terrible thing to lead him on in such a way, and I can't think what took possession of you to think up such a scheme, or for you to persuade your poor mamma to go along with it.'

‘I do see your father is right,' Circe agreed, turning to Partita with a warning look, and then back to her husband. ‘We must all be a little overwrought. Really, we must be, John.'

‘Understandably so.' The Duke straightened his shoulders. ‘I will do what I can, when I can, believe me, I will.'

‘Thank you, Papa.'

‘Good,' her father said to her with a nod. ‘And don't think for a moment that your work here is going unappreciated, because it ain't.' He cleared his throat. ‘You are all as much at the party as the men. Hearts and souls and wills, we will win. It is just taking a little longer than we all thought, that's all. A little longer.'

Although nothing was said again by anyone in reference to Michael, he was still in residence at Bauders at the beginning of June. The fact that his continued presence was not even remarked upon by any of the family, was as if they all believed any mention of him or his salvation might break the spell.

Plenty was said between Partita and Kitty, however, when next they received word from the Front. Kitty was the first to get a letter, a long, loving and intimate screed from Almeric from somewhere in Flanders. He wrote:
It seems to be so odd to be here as summer breaks. All I think of is home, of all Mamma's beloved flowers, especially her roses, and the fresh green of the trees – and now the most beautiful of all the flowers of home – you, my darling Kitty. How I would love to be sitting by the lake with you, or going on one of our famously long hikes. Do you remember the last walk we took when we got absolutely drenched in that sudden squally shower and I don't think either of us noticed?! I suppose we must have done so sooner or later because the next picture I have is of you and me in the folly, with you in my arms and me kissing you and kissing you. How I love you, darling Kitty! If I didn't love you so much I don't really think I could manage this very well at all. Yesterday we buried two young men killed by shell-fire while out mending cables for the telephones. That in itself is a terrible job but a necessary one because good communications are absolutely vital and practically nonexistent. Rumours abound concerning some of our recent fatalities not so far down the line – that they were killed by our own guns because of incorrect information. It could have happened, I suppose, but it simply does not bear thinking about. These young men were two particularly jolly types – never a moan or a grumble from either of them, and they both went about their dangerous tasks as if they were out gardening. Only three nights ago we were at a dance in
the village just behind our lines where the locals all carry on as if whatever war is happening is happening in some other country! This in spite of the constant noise of the guns clearly audible from everywhere in the village – yet no reference is ever made. Drink and food are willingly fetched and carried as if we are all here on a holiday – hence the dance. They held it for us in the little hall with a typically French band – endless accordions, a fiddle, drums and a trumpet – and everyone danced with such exuberance you would think we were celebrating peace instead of preparing for yet another battle. I didn't dance – have no fear! Well, that isn't strictly true – there were many pretty – or rather
jolie
young ladies present but the only dance I had was with Madame who runs the café with her husband, a huge, sanguine man with a moustache like a walrus and a great capacity for
le bon vin rouge
. The two young men we have just buried danced all night. I can see them now, well and truly lit up and prancing and galloping round the smoke-filled hall like lads at a village hop. I was going to say, as if their lives depended on it, and I suppose in a way that would be true. They say people here get a sense of their destiny and act accordingly. I don't know what that sense is, dearest – but if I get it I shall look out!