The Lost Years (14 page)

Annie had bidden him a hasty goodnight before hurrying away to return home in company with her waiting brother. Had the butler seen her, rumours would soon have begun circulating in Mevagissey, putting her in the same category as Eliza.

‘I’m glad to have this opportunity to see you again as well, Annie. I was so annoyed with the butler last night. Had I been Edward, I would probably have dismissed him on the spot! Just thinking about it kept me awake for half the night.’

‘Then perhaps it was just as well Martin was waiting for me.’

‘Yes, and this morning I have a train to catch.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry, Perys. I mustn’t make you late.’

‘It doesn’t mean you have to rush away immediately, Annie.’

In order to put the food in the pannier-bag, Perys had propped the motor-cycle against the wall at the end of the driveway. Now, feeling awkward in his thick motor-cycling clothes, he reached out for her.

She came to him and responded eagerly to his kiss, but when he tried to kiss her for a second time, she pulled away, saying, ‘You have a train to catch. You mustn’t miss it.’

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, Annie. In the meantime, do you think your parents would mind if I wrote to you?’

‘I don’t see why they should.’

‘Good! I’ll be able to tell you everything that’s happening and what I expect to be doing in the future.’

He knew he had to go. The train would not wait for him. He kissed her once more, but briefly this time. Then, straddling the motor-cycle he kick-started the engine, put it into gear and, wobbling alarmingly, kept waving to her until he passed out of her sight.

He was sorry to be leaving Annie, but he was also very excited with the way his life had changed since coming to Cornwall. He was now the owner of a superb motor-cycle, was going to receive tuition to become a pilot then join the Royal Flying Corps and he was leaving a girl - his girl - behind him.

His student days were well and truly over. He was setting out in life as a man.

Chapter 21

As the rider of a motor-cycle, Perys found London to be a frightening place. He had been to the city before, but today it seemed busier and noisier than he remembered.

Travelling from Cornwall on the train he had studied a map drawn for him by Morwenna before she left Cornwall, but the reality was far more confusing than it appeared from her simple drawing.

After becoming hopelessly lost, he eventually found his way back to the route mapped out for him. Nevertheless, the journey from Paddington to Knightsbridge took twice the time he had anticipated. However, he eventually arrived in the elegant and fashionable square where the three-storey house was situated.

The door was opened to him not, as he had been expecting, by Arabella, but by Morwenna, with her mother standing close behind her in the hallway. It was apparent they had been looking out of the window, awaiting his arrival.

‘We were beginning to become concerned for you,’ Morwenna said, as he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

Greeting Maude in a similar fashion, he said, ‘It was entirely my fault. I am afraid I was overawed by London and the volume of traffic you have. I managed to get myself terribly lost. But where is Arabella?’

Morwenna and her mother exchanged brief glances, but it was Maude who replied, ‘Arabella is at the hospital where she is training. I am delighted to say she has thrown herself heart and soul into becoming a nurse.’

‘No doubt she was inspired by the example Morwenna set for her when the Russian ship foundered off Mevagissey,’ Perys said. ‘But you are looking tired, Morwenna.’

In truth, Morwenna looked shockingly weary, and Maude was suddenly serious. Resting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, she said, ‘Morwenna finds herself in the unenviable position of being the most highly trained nurse on her ward at Saint Thomas’s Hospital, and the number of wounded soldiers being brought back from France is threatening to overwhelm the whole hospital system. She has been working around the clock for days. Last night she collapsed and the matron insisted that she stay home and rest for the weekend.’

‘I really can’t be spared,’ Morwenna said. ‘There is so much to be done.’ Suddenly and startlingly her eyes filled with tears as she added, ‘It is truly pitiful to see so many badly wounded men. They have been through a dreadful experience and are embarrassingly grateful for even the smallest things we are able to do for them. Sadly there is so little that can be done for many of them.’

‘You really must not take it to heart so, my dear,’ Maude said, putting an arm comfortingly about her daughter. ‘You are working as hard as is humanly possible. The greatest disservice you can do these poor men is to wear yourself out. But enough of such matters for this evening. We’ll have the handyman take your motor-cycle to the shed in the garden at the back of the house, Perys, then we’ll organise a meal for you. You must be famished. How was Heligan when you left Cornwall?’

* * *

Arabella did not return home that night. She telephoned to say she was studying late and would stay at the house of a friend who lived very close to the hospital. Maude raised no objection. It was a friendship of which she approved, the girl’s father being a titled Minister of the Crown.

Putting down the telephone, Maude informed Perys that Arabella sent her love to her ‘favourite second cousin’. The fact that Maude passed on the message was an indication to Perys that Arabella’s infatuation with him was no longer a problem. It had no doubt resulted from her boredom at Heligan, where there was little to do. Here in London she had the excitement of her training and the stimulating bustle of England’s capital city to take her mind off him. It was a great relief.

That evening, after they had eaten, they were all relaxing in the sitting-room when Maude suddenly rose from her chair and left the room without a word, returning a few minutes later bearing a letter.

Handing it to Perys, she said, ‘I received this from your grandfather a couple of days ago. I think you should read it.’

Perys took it from her with some trepidation, previous letters from his grandfather had tended to either remonstrate with him about the details of a school report, call for an explanation in respect of a complaint about his conduct, or upbraid him for growing out of a school uniform too quickly.

This letter was very different. True, it had been sent to Maude and not to him, but at least three-quarters of the content was on the subject of Perys. What his grandfather had to say about him left Perys dumbfounded.

Maude had quite obviously told the old man of Perys’s part in the rescue of the Russian seamen, as well as the incident involving the German warship, and had detailed his current plans.

For the first time ever, the elderly Tremayne had praise for his grandson. The approval was only partially diluted by a comment that behaving in such a fashion was ‘not before time’.

What was equally surprising to Perys was the offer of financial aid made by his grandfather. He suggested he should reimburse Rupert for the money he was to spend on Perys in obtaining a pilot’s licence for him, but his new-found generosity did not end there. He promised that, should Perys be successful in his application to join the Royal Flying Corps, he would deposit sufficient money in his grandson’s meagre bank account to cover such items as uniform, any accommodation that might prove necessary, and the mess bills he was likely to incur during the weeks, or months, before his training was completed and he began receiving an officer’s salary.

When he finished reading the surprising letter, Perys looked up at Maude in disbelief. ‘What on earth have you said to Grandfather to persuade him to do and say all this?’

‘No more than the truth, Perys. I told him how much I, the girls and Rupert thought of you, and told him you are a credit to the Tremayne family.’

Deeply moved, Perys rose from his chair and as he handed back the letter to Maude, he leaned over and kissed her warmly on the cheek. ‘Aunt Maude, you are wonderful. I wish we had met years ago.’

Flustered, but by no means offended, Maude said, ‘Young man, I am too old for flattery. I merely told your Grandfather what I believe to be true. You are a credit to the family, and one day I have no doubt your true worth will be recognised.’

Recovering her composure, Maude looked pointedly at Morwenna and said, ‘Now, we have all had a long and tiring day. I suggest we go to our rooms and have an early night.’

Chapter 22

The following day was a Sunday and Perys and Morwenna took advantage of the current fine weather to take a walk in London’s Hyde Park, while Maude attended a church service.

Many other couples were also exercising in the park, and a short distance inside the entrance a number of speakers were practising their oratorical skills upon cosmopolitan audiences.

Perys and Morwenna paused for a few moments to listen to a suffragette advocating the formation of a front-line regiment of women. Her proposition was being loudly derided by almost every listener in her largely male audience, and as he and Morwenna moved on, Perys asked, jocularly, ‘How would you fancy being in the front-line of a battle, Morwenna?’

‘If it proved necessary I expect I could cope,’ she replied, somewhat surprisingly. ‘In fact, if I knew that those who actually start wars were going to be in the firing-line opposing me, I could no doubt shoot very well and with great determination. Unfortunately, such men rarely expose themselves to the dangers they cause for others.’

‘You are probably right,’ Perys agreed, aware he had touched upon a subject about which Morwenna had very strong views. ‘All the same, I don’t think I would like to think that you, or any other woman come to that, were up at the front, exposed to such dangers as our soldiers.’

‘I, and many thousands of other women, are not happy at the thought of those we know and care for being killed and wounded in battle’ Morwenna retorted. ‘But it is happening just the same. Anyway, you will need to get used to women being close to the battle-lines. Many, among them women like the one we just heard speaking, are already in France, driving ambulances carrying wounded soldiers from the front to the hospitals in Paris. Others are working in field hospitals and first aid stations. I hope it will not be long before I too am there.’

Coming to an abrupt halt, Perys reached out and, taking hold of Morwenna’s arm, brought her to a standstill.

‘What are you saying, Morwenna?’

‘I am saying that I have applied to join the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service.’

‘But are you quite certain it’s what you want to do? By all accounts you are doing a truly wonderful job here in London.’

‘What I really want to do is become a doctor. I will, one day, but the training takes so long that the war would be over before I qualified. In the meantime, such skills as I have are urgently needed - but not in London. Most of the men arriving at our hospital owe their lives to the skills of the nurses and doctors working in field hospitals. That is where I am needed. I am an experienced theatre nurse. My qualifications are not being put to full use here. I should be in France.’

For some minutes Perys thought of what she had said before replying. ‘What does your mother think of the idea?’

‘I haven’t told her yet - and I would rather you said nothing until it is too late for her to prevent me from going.’

‘I’ll say nothing,’ Perys promised, ‘but I hope you’ve thought about it very carefully. It will be dangerous work. You are courageous even to consider it.’

‘It is the soldiers I have been caring for who possess courage, Perys. They see their friends being killed, maimed and wounded all around them, yet they carry on fighting, knowing they are likely to be next. They deserve to know that if they are wounded they will receive the best possible attention. I want to be close at hand to ensure it is there for them.’

‘Have you been thinking about this for long?’ Perys asked.

‘No, because I was too young to join the Queen Alexandra’s, but the needs of war are so great that it is experience that counts now, not age.’

They were approaching the Serpentine, the lake in the centre of Hyde Park. On the water were a number of boats occupied by young men and women. Most of the men were in uniform, but their happy laughter gave an air of unreality to the conversation taking place between Perys and Morwenna.

Suddenly, a middle-aged woman stepped into their path. Smartly dressed, she was wearing a wide-brimmed hat decorated with a variety of artificial flowers, and in one hand she carried a bunch of white feathers. Each feather had a safety-pin fastened to it.

Addressing Perys, the woman said sharply, ‘I have a present for you and for all the other young men who should be in uniform, fighting for their country.’

Taken by surprise, Perys made no move to prevent the woman stepping forward with the intention of pinning a white feather to his lapel.

She was thwarted by a suddenly furious Morwenna. Snatching the feather from the woman’s hand she broke it in two and flung it to the ground. Not content with this, she then grabbed the bunch of feathers and flung these down too.

Angrier than Perys had ever seen anyone, Morwenna confronted the woman. ‘How dare you! What do you think gives you the right to brand someone a coward?’

Drawing herself up to the full extent of her insignificant height, the woman made an attempt to restore her dented dignity. ‘It is the duty of us all to support our country. Those who fail deserve to be pointed out as cowards.’

‘Well, although it is none of your business, my companion begins flying lessons tomorrow in order to become a pilot in the Royal Flying Corps. That is your coward. But I have a question for you. Why are you not wearing a uniform? What are you doing for your country?’

Taken aback, the woman said, ‘I am a woman, and not a young woman, either . . .’

‘You are young enough to contribute something. I am a nurse at Saint Thomas’s Hospital where we are caring for a great many soldiers who have been wounded in France. Present yourself there and you will be found something to do that is far more useful than handing out white feathers to men you know nothing about. Not only that, when you have seen the appalling sight of hundreds of young men with shattered minds and bodies, their lives destroyed by war, I doubt very much whether you will be quite so eager to send other young men to suffer a similar fate.’