The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (58 page)

Chapter 56

C
elia went alone to Goudhurst to attend Tom Butcher’s funeral. She was saddened but also acknowledged that he had outlived just about everyone she had ever known from her childhood days and had lived a good life. It was during the funeral that so many old and painful memories came back to haunt her. After the mourners had left the cemetery, she found herself sitting alone at her mother’s and father’s graves, remembering the day of her father’s burial and the reading of the will that had followed it.

She recalled that on that day, she’d thought her life was over. She’d had nothing left but a lifetime of misery with Joseph Dobbs. If only she’d known then what wonders were to follow him and what joy she would experience. The last twenty-four years had been the best years any woman could have hoped for in a lifetime, she thought, yet she found herself crying in the rain. Her husband and her children were her life, and she didn’t even know where they were now or even if they lived.

She was in a sombre mood when she arrived back at London Bridge station. The rain drove in horizontal sheets, and she couldn’t find a taxi to take her to Mayfair. When she eventually arrived home, however, it was just in time to see the postman leave his afternoon delivery. Her eyes lit up, and she felt the clouds lift and the sunshine break through. She had a letter. Still in her coat and hat, she opened it with greedy hands and sat on the edge of the chair in the sitting room. She had been waiting for what seemed like a lifetime to hear from Ernesto, and even though she was still a little angry at his deception, telling her he would return after dropping off the aid, she’d come to terms with his decision to remain in Spain.

Before she started reading, she called to Aunt Marie and Rosa. It was always easier to read correspondence to them than to have to suffer their never-ending questions later. When they were all seated, she began.

My
darling
Celia,

I’m
sorry
I
have
not
written
sooner,
but
since
my
arrival
(I
cannot
tell
you
exactly
where),
I’ve
been
rushed
off
my
feet.
I
am
safe
and
well
in
body
and
mind,
although
sometimes
I
feel
as
though
my
mind
is
playing
some
cruel
trick
on
me,
as
I
still
cannot
believe
the
horrors
taking
place
in
my
country.
We
are
expecting
hundreds
of
foreigners
who,
it
seems,
are
willing
to
lay
down
their
lives
for
the
republic.

I
have
not
set
foot
on
a
battleground,
although
I
have
gone
days
and
nights
without
sleep.
The
hospitals
I
have
seen
are
less
than
adequate
and
leave
a
lot
to
be
desired.
We
are
organising
hospitals
everywhere
that
we
can
in
readiness
for
battles
that
will
surely
come.
Let
me
tell
you
that
scrubbing
floors,
carrying
beds,
and
fixing
lights
up
so
that
doctors
can
see
properly
has
left
me
a
great
deal
thinner
and
fitter
than
the
last
time
you
saw
me.

I
have
not
managed
to
physically
see
any
of
our
children,
but
I
am
still
confident
that
I
shall,
and
it
remains
my
priority.
I
cannot
go
near
our
home
for
obvious
reasons,
although
I
have
managed
to
send
a
letter
to
Francisco
with
my
address
under
the
Spanish
Medical
Aid
Committee
and
I
feel
confident
that
I
will
get
some
news
back
from
him.

There
have
been
terrible
battles
in
the
South,
and
so
I
must
tell
you
that
Pedro
is
my
main
concern
now.
Miguel
should
be
safe,
as
he
is
in
Valladolid,
a
safe
rebel
nationalist
zone,
or
at
least
I
presume
he
is
still
there.
As
for
María,
she
is
not
in
any
danger
at
La
Glorieta,
I
am
sure
of
that.

I
will
write
to
you
again
soon,
but
for
now
I
leave
you
with
all
my
love
and
devotion,
as
always.
I
hope
that
you
have
forgiven
me,
as
your
last
letter
was
not
exactly
the
pardon
that
I
had
expected
or
hoped
for.
Still,
I
know
you
and
can
picture
you
right
now
sitting
with
a
little
smile
on
your
face;
that’s
how
I
always
see
you
in
this
dark
world.

I
wish
I
could
tell
you
about
everything
I’m
doing
and
what
I’m
about
to
do,
but
I
can’t
risk
it,
so
just
let
me
say
that
I
think
of
you
all
the
time
and
will
send
news
of
our
children
as
soon
as
possible.

With
all
my
love,

Ernesto

Since Ernesto’s departure, Celia had thought a great deal about what and if she could contribute to the war in support of her husband and children. For that reason, she had gone to the headquarters of the Spanish Medical Aid Committee and had offered her services. She knew that her position in the propaganda and administration department was not exactly what one could call a great contribution, but it meant that she would be in an excellent position to find out what was going on and would be able to send letters and notes to her husband through the organisation.

Chapter 57

O
n 4 November, 1936, the republican government formed a new coalition and allowed communists and socialists into its ranks. It also saw the CNT, the national congress of workers, joining them and abandoning its most sacred principles in order to save the dying democratic regime.

On 6 November, the republican government held a meeting. Their spies had come back to the capital with news of the rebel advancement. Rebel troops under General José Valera had reached the western and southern suburbs of Madrid. The Army of Africa was taking the lead and, according to the spies, had a plan to attack the capital on three fronts: northward from Toledo, north-eastward along the Navalcarnero road, and eastwards from San Martín de Valdeiglesias. There were specialist German forces with weaponry never before seen in Spain, and the worst news of all, according to the spies, was that the newly formed Condor Legion would back up the rebel forces with fighter aircraft.

Panic filled the air at the government headquarters, and a decision was made after a hasty vote: the government would abandon the capital and move to Valencia.

Lucia and María had become good friends following María’s decision to join the nursing corps. She had been training for almost two months already at the Valencia hospital, and although she was not yet qualified, she’d earned the right to be included in any future medical campaigns, as further training could be given on the job.

María and Lucia had just finished eating when the terrible news arrived. The two girls had sat open-mouthed and unable to comprehend why their entire government should leave the capital to set up camp in Valencia, and later, both had been horrified that a legitimate government could desert its citizens in such a way and at such a dangerous time.

María had finally received word from her mother and had been shocked to hear that her father was once again in Spain, putting his life at risk for a cause that he was still unsure about. She wrote back, telling her mother that she would do everything she could to find him, and that she would make it her priority to convince him to leave the country and go back to her. She also wrote that Pedro was safe, as far as she knew, and she assured her that he would write to her in London as soon as he could.

Carlos arrived at Lucia’s Valencia house just as coffee was being put on the table. He made them aware of the situation in Madrid and told them that he was going there. The three of them sat round the dinner table discussing the news with gloomy predictions being made. Carlos, far from being gloomy, predicted that the nationalists would be like flies in a spider’s web.

“They’ll never get out of Madrid alive,” he told the two girls.

María smiled at his remark. “Darling, wouldn’t it be better, though, if they didn’t get into Madrid in the first place?” she said cheekily.

“What about you? How is your training going?” he asked her, smiling.

María looked at Lucia and then back to Carlos. She was just about to upset him, and she was hoping for Lucia’s support.

“Good. The training’s going well. In fact, I think now is the perfect time to put it to the test. They’re going to need all the help they can get to defend the capital, so I’m going to request an immediate transfer there.”

“Over my dead body!” Carlos said vehemently.

Usually when Carlos spoke to her in that tone, María knew not to argue further. In most cases, his anger was from overprotectiveness that she found maddening at times, but as they stared at each other, she admitted that his objection tonight was justified.

“Please, Carlos, don’t look at me as if I’ve gone off my head!”

“You have!” Carlos told her. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to a battlefield. How am I supposed to do my job if I’m worrying about you getting shot or blown up?”

“But women are fighting at the front with the militia,” she told him, her voice laced with indignation.

“They were but not now. Some women are still there, but they’re cooking, not fighting, and in any case, the militia are all but gone. There is only an army now.”

“But I’m not doing any good sitting around here in Valencia. Everything is so… so normal, and you said I should help people. Let me help, please?” She then tried another argument. “You want to go, don’t you, Lucia? I mean, if Pedro’s going to be anywhere, it’ll be in Madrid. Everyone’s going there to defend the city.”

Lucia clearly looked forward to the prospect. “Do you think I might see Pedro there?” she asked Carlos.

“Don’t lie!” María warned him.

Carlos laughed, defeated by love, defeated by her argument. “You’re no more capable of sitting out this war than I am, are you?” He sighed, shaking his head at María. Then he turned to Lucia.

“Lucia, María might be right this time. Pedro will probably be in Madrid at some point because it’s going to take the entire republican army and some outside help to keep out the rebels. But I’m not saying I want the both of you to go, because I don’t. María, I forbid it.”