Summerset Abbey: Spring Awakening (Summerset Abbey Trilogy) (17 page)

Your loving and faithful wife,

Prudence

Wiping her eyes, she folded the letter and put it in the envelope. She knew it was rambling, certainly not the finest prose the world had seen, but she’d done her best to let him know how she felt without backing down from her decision to step in on his behalf. Because she would never apologize for trying to keep him safe.

*  *  *

Restlessly, Rowena wandered the halls of Summerset, wishing she hadn’t let Sebastian and Mr. Dirkes talk her into taking a break. They both claimed she was working too hard and insisted, claiming that no one benefited from an exhausted pilot at the helm of such valuable machinery. So here she was, once again idle in her own home and hating every minute of it. Idleness only reinforced in her that in spite of her newfound happiness, her life was still missing something. With an intuition that was foreign to her, Rowena was convinced that it wasn’t a man she missed, it was Prudence. But whenever Rowena thought about actually trying to remedy the situation, her stomach
twisted into knots at the fear of rejection. And Prudence had every right to reject her.

So Rowena prowled the halls looking for something to keep her hands and mind occupied.

Aunt Charlotte had tried to interest Rowena in doing calls with her, but hadn’t insisted when she’d refused. Aunt Charlotte seemed to understand that with an engagement and her new employment, Rowena had grown beyond the confines of paying calls.

Even Cousin Elaine seemed to be bucking her mother’s authority and had gotten out of calls by claiming she was ill. Her mother’s mouth had puckered as if she had sucked on a particularly sour lemon, but she hadn’t insisted. It seemed that even life at Summerset wasn’t immune to the changes that war had brought to Britain.

Elaine came up behind Rowena and slipped her arm through hers. “Remember the fun we had last Christmas? Do you remember the firecrackers?”

Rowena smiled, remembering how the Coterie had fanned out and lit dozens of firecrackers in the grand ballroom at the very moment the Christmas-tree lights were flicked on. The ensuing mayhem amongst the gentry in attendance had been priceless. Then she sighed. “I wonder where everyone is now.”

Elaine echoed her with a sigh of her own. “I know that Kit, Seb, and Colin are all safe. I got a letter from Colin just yesterday, and he told me that both the Harris boys were killed at Ypres. You didn’t know them well, but they went to prep school with Colin and Seb and attended several of the Summerset hunts. Colin sounded rattled. I guess you never get used to losing friends so suddenly, even when you’re constantly surrounded by death. . . .” Elaine shook her head, as if to rid her mind of
such gruesome images. “You know about Edward, of course. Victoria said he is about to be sent off to France again.”

“Victoria should be arriving in Calais today. She won’t be able to tell us where she’s at. Just somewhere near the front.” Rowena asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to come riding with me?”

Her cousin shook her head. “Thank you, no. You love riding much more than I do to want to ride in November. I won’t be taking to the saddle again until spring has sprung.” Elaine waved her off.

Rowena had sent a note to Cristobel yesterday and hoped the girl would be able to come out today. Rowena didn’t know when she would be back at Summerset and wanted to find out how the girl was faring . . . and perhaps how Jon was faring, as well. She thought of that emotionally turbulent afternoon often and still found it all as utterly confusing as she did then.

She and Sebastian had had a wonderful day at Brighton sightseeing and had toured the aquarium, played in the deserted arcade, and eaten fish and chips in the streets like urchins. He didn’t mention their previous conversation, but instead showed her what their life together might be like.

It warmed her heart that he was giving her so much room to breathe despite that she could at any moment trample on his pride—or his heart. She couldn’t deny her affection for Sebastian, but her feelings for him still didn’t match the passionate love she’d felt for Jon, as violent and devastatingly painful as that love had ultimately been.

But what if Jon could truly offer himself to her? Did he even deserve another chance after all he’d put her through?
No, he does not
. Nor could she trust him again the way she once had. So what was to stop her from giving her heart to Sebastian, who
deserved it so fully? She shook her head, wishing she knew the answers to her questions.

Frustrated, she spurred her horse into a gallop, trying not to look at the ridge where she’d met Jon after his aeroplane crashed.

She guided her mount over a fence and splashed across a stream. She slowed when the barn came into view. Cristobel loved to gallop, and Rowena wanted to give her horse a chance to breathe before what would no doubt be a hard ride.

Rowena raised her hand in a cheerful greeting, but faltered when she spied Cristobel’s tear-streaked face. Her heart slammed against her chest. “What’s wrong?” she cried, reining her horse next to Cristobel’s.

“George was killed in Ypres. We just got word.”

Thank God it wasn’t Jon
. Rowena tried not to let the relief show on her face. For Cristobel, who had already lost so much, losing her brother had to be devastating. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. How is your mother?”

“She is holding up. Being brave.” Cristobel sniffled. “It’s just made worse because William is already in France and they sent Samuel to Africa and Jon . . .” The girl stopped and Rowena couldn’t help herself.

“And Jon?” she prompted gently.

Cristobel’s mouth tightened and she nudged her horse into a walk and Rowena followed.

“Jon came home last week. He asked his commanding officers to send him to France. He says he can’t train people to go die any longer and wants to go fight. Mother begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant. He said he could check on William that way, but he’s just so angry all the time now.”

Cristobel glanced over at Rowena, but Rowena wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.” Rowena didn’t know what else to say.

Cristobel looked down at her hands. “What if they all die? What if it’s just Mother and me left at Wells Manor forever? How could I ever get married and leave her?”

“I’m sure that won’t happen.”

Cristobel nodded, but looked unconvinced. The reports on the war were grim, and the major battles left few families unscathed.

Rowena’s stomach clenched. Who would be next to join the swiftly mounting body count this wretched war had already claimed? Sebastian or Jon? She knew she couldn’t ever be with Jon again, but still, she couldn’t see a world without him in it.

V
ictoria walked through the hospital, trying not to stumble from sheer exhaustion. Dame Furse apparently had the inhuman ability to stay awake for days on end without the need for sleep, but Victoria felt as if she had been awake for weeks. In reality, they had landed in Calais yesterday afternoon and had taken a train into Beauvais just last night. They’d had to wait for several hours for the train because the one they were supposed to take had been conscripted for military use. Victoria had half expected they would stay overnight in Beauvais after a day of travel, but it wasn’t to be. They had then climbed aboard a transporter wagon and rode a number of jolting miles to Chantilly, where the hospital was located. Now, instead of showing them where they would be staying, Dame Furse had one of the French nurses give them a tour of the hospital.

Victoria glanced at the four other women who were also on Dame Furse’s VAD team. Two were older women and two were about Victoria’s age. They all looked just as drained as she felt.

The hospital had hastily been built just outside Chantilly proper. It comprised half a dozen buildings with wooden floors, canvas walls, and tin roofs, none of which kept the cold out. Victoria shivered in spite of the woodstoves burning every twenty feet or so. They had gone through four of the buildings,
each set up almost identically. As far as Victoria could tell, they were distinguished according to the wounds the soldiers in each had sustained, but she was too fatigued to be sure.

“Do you have any questions?” the French nurse asked in heavily accented English. She glanced at her wristwatch, clearly wishing she were somewhere else.

“Just one,” said the Yorkshire VAD on Victoria’s right. “Where are our beds and bathrooms?”

Victoria barely refrained from applauding.

The nurse laughed. “Not here, silly goose. You will be staying at a boardinghouse in Chantilly. You won’t live here . . . it will just feel like you do. Come. Let us go see your boss. Perhaps she will take pity and take you to your beds,
oui
?”

Oui, oui, please
, Victoria thought. They sat on a bench as Dame Furse and the head of nurses talked. After one of the women fell asleep sitting upright, Dame Furse finally seemed to notice the state of her contingent. Victoria thought she spied disappointment cross the handsome older woman’s face, but couldn’t be sure. Was the woman even human?

They piled into a wagon that took them and their luggage back into Chantilly. It would be the only ride they would get to and from the hospital unless they could beg one off the soldiers going in those directions. Otherwise they would be expected to walk, no matter what the weather. The walk wasn’t so bad, less than a mile, and Victoria had often walked twice the distance to Nanny Iris’s home, but never after working a ten-hour shift.

She had a fleeting impression of a clean, rather cramped home turned into a boardinghouse by an enterprising Frenchwoman, before she was shown to a small room with two beds a mere twelve inches apart. She would be sharing with the young Yorkshire girl who had spoken up at the hospital. Victoria
couldn’t remember her name and was too tired to care. After washing up in a small communal bathroom down the hall, Victoria collapsed on her bed and fell asleep fully clothed.

It seemed only minutes later that Victoria was awoken by a loud rapping on the door. She sat upright and blinked. Her neighbor squealed, rolled out of bed, and got stuck in the narrow pathway between their beds.

“Breakfast in ten minutes!” a voice called.

Victoria wanted to cry.

After fishing the Yorkshire girl out from between their beds, they reintroduced themselves and took turns in the bathroom. Because both of them were still in their uniforms from yesterday, they made it downstairs on time.

The boarders were each given a large, round bowl of coffee with thick cream and a warm piece of bread with butter and jam. Victoria wolfed it down and, after wrapping herself in her coat and scarf, followed the other drowsy women out the door and down the road.

“How did I get here?” she whispered to herself as she and her roommate, Gladys, trudged down the road.

“I keep hoping I will wake up and it will be just a bad dream,” Gladys whispered back.

“Hush, girls,” Dame Furse said from in front of them. “You must never forget that we’re in a war zone.”

That snapped Victoria to attention. The reality of the past twenty-four hours stood in stark contrast to her romantic expectations. What was she doing in a war zone? Why had she thought this would be a great adventure? She was no wiser than the young men she’d met in the hospital in London who told her they’d had dreams of honor and glory as she dressed the stumps of their missing limbs.

The routine of the hospital wasn’t much different from what she had done back home. The similarity calmed her anxiety, and soon she was laughing and joking with the patients. Those who were able to muster a laugh. Some just stared at the ceiling looking at no one and nothing, and her heart ached for whatever their empty eyes were seeing. Others spoke nonstop about their experiences at the front, and Victoria’s stomach turned at the images they invoked, of tripping over scattered body parts in the field, of gut-wrenching dysentery, and of grown men crying out at night, racked by nightmares and overwhelmed by their own mortality. By noon, her feet ached and her mind was spinning. She walked two tents over to the mess hall, more eager to sit down than she was to eat.

Gladys was already seated when Victoria went through the line and got her food. The soup looked watery and smelled strongly of onions and garlic, but was served with a generous hunk of bread. Balancing the soup with the bread on top with a cup of strong coffee, she joined Gladys at the table. Gladys’s eyes were puffy and red and she stared at her soup with distaste.

“Are you okay?” Victoria asked.

Gladys shook her head and took a deep breath. “I was assigned to triage, and the men were coming in straight from the field hospitals.” She paused and Victoria saw her battling tears again. When Gladys got herself under control, she continued, “I can’t believe anyone survived the ride in. Limbs looked as if they’d been sawed off at a woodmill. There was so much dirt. So much blood. I was cutting clothes off of men.”

Gladys fell silent and stared at her hands. Victoria wrinkled her nose at her own food, her appetite diminishing. Instead of picking up her spoon, she put her arm around Gladys. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to trade assignments?”