The Marriage Certificate (12 page)

On 11 June 1900, the British
advance reached Diamond Hill, just twenty miles from Pretoria. Frank was part
of a large force of mounted troopers and infantry, supported by artillery,
which was ordered to attack the elevated defensive positions of the Boer army,
under the command of General Botha.

To begin with, the fighting was inconclusive; the British
relying on their artillery to pound and break the resolve of the defending
force. When the infantry and mounted troops were sent in to the attack,
progress was slow. The Boers fired down on the advancing soldiers with sweeping
fire, inflicting numerous losses.

It was a Boer tactic to avoid close combat, or hand-to-hand
fighting, if possible, preferring to use their superior longer range Mauser
rifles from afar. They used smokeless powder shot, which made them difficult to
spot. Whenever the British did look likely to overwhelm them, they tended to
retire and melt away, saving their forces to fight another day.

In one particular frontal attack, Frank’s company suffered a
number of casualties. They were ordered to charge on a Boer position situated
at the top of a shallow rise. The ground was open and slightly uphill. They
were about 1,200 yards away when a hopeful ranging shot took Frank’s horse from
beneath him. The poor animal buckled and died instantly, throwing Frank heavily
to the ground. 

Luckily, for Frank, he found he had fallen just behind his
horse and realised that he was concealed from Boer snipers by the bulk of the
animal lying on its side. He glanced to his left and could see that his friend,
Charlie, was also down. He was wounded and lay on his back about twenty yards
away. He was groaning and clutching his shoulder. There was no sign of
Charlie’s horse.

Frank realised that Charlie lay exposed and in a vulnerable
position. He stuck his head above the side of the horse to gauge his options.
Bullets whistled above and around him. One thudded into the horse’s body.
Charlie groaned again. Frank knew he needed to act swiftly to save his stricken
friend. Keeping low, he dashed out into the open and ran over to him. Charlie
was barely conscious. Trying to avoid further injury to Charlie’s shoulder,
Frank grabbed his feet and dragged him backwards as quickly as he could to the
relative shelter created by the dead horse. He pushed Charlie up against it and
tucked himself tight up against him so as to conceal himself as well. More
bullets ripped through the grass around them.

After a few minutes, Frank realised the sound of enemy fire
had ceased. He risked a quick glance in the direction of the enemy and was
relieved to see several of his comrades galloping back towards them. He waved
to attract their attention.

An officer swiftly assessed the situation and sent one of
the troopers to fetch a medical orderly and stretcher-bearers. Happily, for
Charlie, the bullet had passed cleanly through his shoulder, without damaging
any vital arteries. He was given brandy to sip while his wound was bandaged. He
was then evacuated to a field hospital. Later, he was sent home to England and
eventually made a full recovery.

Frank’s replacement horse was a Basuto pony, bred in the
colony and much better suited to the terrain and climate. He was extremely
pleased to have been given such a fine mount and found himself on the receiving
end of much semi-jealous ribaldry from his comrades. During the following
weeks, he and the pony bonded strongly with each other. It was good to be
alive. The war was going well and Frank was increasingly confident that he
would be leaving for home in the autumn.

Early July found the CIV on garrison duty for several weeks
at Heilbron, followed by action in the Fredrikstad area. Yet again, they
performed well and although suffering more casualties, the majority survived
the fighting to gather near Pretoria at the end of August. All talk was that
they would soon be going home.

John’s ship docked in London according to schedule on 2 August.
The weather that afternoon was very warm. The streets were noisy, smelly, and
hot; crowded with all manner of horse-drawn contraptions. During the cab
journey from the dockside to Apsley Street, John reflected on what was due to
occur during his leave of six weeks. By the time he went back to sea, he would
be a father. His life would have begun a new chapter. He hoped Louisa was still
as healthy and blooming, as she had been when he’d last seen her and of course,
Rose would be there too. He wondered how she would be coping and whether she’d
heard from Frank.

As the horse clip-clopped over the cobbles, these thoughts
and others occupied John’s mind. His ship had brought back more wounded from
the Cape. Charlie Mills, one of Frank’s CIV friends, had sought him out on the
return voyage. Charlie had received a serious but now greatly healed shoulder
wound. However, his arm was weak and he had been allowed to return to England.
He was glowing in his praise of Frank’s bravery, for dragging him out of danger
whilst under fire. Charlie believed that he might not have survived if Frank
had not intervened.

John meditated on this mention of Frank’s courage. He was in
two minds whether to tell Rose or not. On the one hand, he was immensely proud
of his brother’s conduct, but on the other, it served to emphasise the dangers
of the war and he didn’t want to alarm Rose.
Probably best to let Frank
choose whether to tell her
, he thought.

He found Louisa and Rose sitting in the shade in the small
garden at the rear of the terraced house. They were drinking tea and chatting
happily. Louisa was thrilled to see John. He bent and kissed her tenderly on
the cheek. He was relieved to see her looking fit and well, if not a little warm.
Rose too looked fine and equally pregnant. She got up slowly and went into the
kitchen to make him some tea.

‘Did you have a good trip, darling?’ Louisa enquired.

‘Yes, everything went fine, no major problems to report …
and I’ve been given leave for six weeks as we hoped. I’ve also had confirmation
that we are to have an experienced midwife here for you, when the baby comes.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful news. Father will be delighted too.’

They chatted together for a few minutes before Rose returned
with a tray of tea and some biscuits. She set it down on the table and joined
them.

‘Any news from Frank?’ John asked her.

‘I had a letter last week. He says he’s fine … got a new
horse by all accounts and pretty certain he’ll be leaving for home this
autumn.’

‘Did he mention any of the fighting?’

‘No, he didn’t. He never does. Perhaps it’s the censor, or
he’s protecting me and doesn’t want me to worry. It’s bad enough reading the
stories in the newspapers. They say the fighting at Diamond Hill was quite
intense, but thankfully, we were victorious in the end.’

Two weeks later, John, Louisa, and Rose, breakfasted together as
usual. Louisa prepared it, while John browsed the morning paper and Rose
finished packing. The news from the Cape was good. Pretoria was once more under
British control and a large contingent of Empire troops was encamped around the
city. It was rumoured that the volunteer regiments, including the CIV, would be
repatriated at the end of September.

‘I expect we’ll be bringing troops back with us on my next
trip, according to the papers anyway,’ John announced to Louisa as she busied
herself at the stove.

‘Perhaps Frank will be one of your passengers again,’ she
replied. ‘You never know, it’s happened once, so why not again?’

‘You may be right, but there are other ships. There’s quite
a number of vessels making the run now.’

Just at that moment, Rose appeared. John noticed how
beautiful she looked. Her long jet-black hair was clean, shiny, and fashionably
styled. Her skin showed a hint of the colour he associated with women he’d seen
in the Mediterranean ports of Genoa and Marseilles. Rose had never spoken of
her parentage, other than to say that she was orphaned at the age of thirteen.
Perhaps she had some Latin blood within her, John mused. She was as big as
Louisa. Maternity suited her well.

‘Morning, John,’ she said brightly. ‘Do you need any help,
Louisa?’

‘No, you sit down; I’m almost ready to serve.’

‘Will it be a rough crossing today?’ Rose asked anxiously.

‘Judging by the sky, I don’t think you need worry too much
on that score,’ John assured her. ‘This fine weather is set for the week.’

‘I’ve never been on a boat before,’ she admitted. ‘Do you
think I’ll be seasick? Louisa told me she was, when you went over together
after the wedding.’ She looked towards Louisa for confirmation.

‘Yes, but it was January,’ said John. ‘The weather was awful
and the crossing from Southampton to Cowes was especially rough. It was calm on
the way back though. You were fine on the return trip darling, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, I was, that’s true. I’m sorry Rose; I might have made
more of it than I should have.’

‘No, don’t apologise. So John, what time is our train from
Waterloo to Southampton?’

‘Our train leaves at eleven and gets into the Southampton
terminal at a quarter to one. We can have lunch there and then catch the ferry
and be over to Cowes by around four. I reckon with the train to Ventnor, we
ought to be at George and Charlotte’s by early evening.’

Louisa brought over three plates of cooked breakfast, with freshly
grilled toast and tea. She sat down and they began to eat.

‘I suppose the worst part will be getting to Waterloo
Station,’ fretted Rose. ‘I just hope nobody from the shop sees me at Leyton
station. They think I went back to a good job in the West End.’

‘No, don’t worry. We’ll only be there for a few minutes.
Now, the cabbie is due here at eight-thirty. Our train for Liverpool Street
leaves Leyton at nine-fifteen. We need to get another cab to City underground
station and then take the underground railway to Waterloo. The journey on the
underground only takes four minutes so we should have plenty of time.’

‘I’ve never liked going under the river,’ Rose said a little
nervously. ‘All that water above you and how reliable are those electric
trains? You know they call that line “the drain”?’

‘Yes,’ said John laughing, ‘but I’m not sure why?’

‘I heard it’s because they have to keep pumping water out
and it smells damp and musty in the tunnel. It’s only been open a year or so.’

‘You’re right, it does smell a bit damp, but then again it’s
bound to. There’s nothing to be afraid of though. Don’t forget, I spend most of
my life working below the waterline.’

They finished breakfast and Rose got up to leave the table.
John pulled out his pocket watch. ‘Right, it’s eight o’clock now. Are your bags
ready? If so, I’ll bring them down for you.’

‘Just give me ten minutes to finish,’ said Rose. ‘I’ll call
you when I’m ready.’

Considering the number of parts and
changes, the journey to Ventnor went without mishap. The weather was beautiful.
The section on the underground was a little unpleasant, due to the heat and
humidity in the tunnel, but all of that was forgotten when they finally boarded
the paddle steamer at Southampton’s Royal Pier for the trip across the Solent.

During the journey, Rose had time to reflect on her life.
She and Louisa had exchanged a tearful farewell that morning; they had become
even closer during the recent weeks and each wished the other well. They
assumed that the next time they met would be as new mothers. Motherhood wasn’t
something that Rose was looking forward to. She had kept her reservations for
the most part from Louisa, who by contrast, although worried about the rigours
of childbirth itself, was on the whole, very excited at the prospect of having
a baby.

At the root of her misgivings, Rose regretted falling
pregnant. She loved Frank and thought he was a wonderful man, but she felt a
degree of bitterness at having to sacrifice her own ambitions, and wasn’t
entirely sure she wanted to spend her married life on the Isle of Wight. Once
Frank returned, she wanted to discuss their future together in more detail.
Making plans by letter, and having to wait up to two months for a reply was not
ideal.

She was also worried about her relationship with her
prospective in-laws. She’d been surprised when John informed her one morning
that his mother had written in reply, advising that the hotel was full and not
entirely suitable to accommodate Rose in her condition. This may have been
true, but it rankled somewhat with Rose and made her wonder whether she was
likely to have a difficult relationship with Frank’s parents.

However, this concern was tempered by the alternative
arrangement, which Frank’s mother had organised: Rose was to stay with cousin
George and Charlotte. They had a substantial house, with plenty of rooms, and
Mrs Edwards, the housekeeper, had skills in midwifery. Rose had only met the
couple once, at Louisa’s wedding, but she had taken to Charlotte straightaway,
and thought George polite and charming. It was no secret that they had tried
for many years to have children but none had been forthcoming. Charlotte was
said to be very excited at the prospect of having a baby in the household,
should Frank’s return be delayed.

John, at times, interrupted her thoughts, to enquire how she
was or to point out something of interest. On the ferry crossing to Cowes, he
went up on deck. He was in his element, being a seaman and having spent his
apprenticeship going back and forth over that very stretch of water. She looked
out of the window on the ferry, across the gentle swell, and considered how
this same water continued all the way to Cape Town, to Frank. She hoped he
would soon be on his way home, to help her and share in her predicament.
Pray
that his journey will be a safe one
, she thought.

The child within her kicked and jolted her from her reverie.
Yes, I know you’re there, I haven’t forgotten you. How can I?
She just
hoped that Charlotte and George would be as pleasant to her, as they had been
in January. With luck, Frank might be home before she had the baby and her stay
with them would only be for a short period. The problem was that Rose didn’t
know when exactly he’d be returning and her future, for the moment, was out of
her hands.

Approaching Cowes, Rose was amazed at the show of wealth
before her. Several large private yachts, remaining behind from those
participating in the annual regatta the previous week, were riding at anchor.
For Rose, the wealth on display was yet another reminder of her ambition to one
day achieve something with her life; to be her own boss. She wanted to enjoy
the trappings of money and success, yet heavily pregnant, unmarried, and with a
far from certain future, her dreams at that moment seemed depressingly
unattainable.

When the cab driver finally pulled up outside Brindle Lodge,
Beaufort Street, Ventnor, Rose was very tired. It had been a long day and
although she had managed to doze here and there, she was physically exhausted.

John helped her down from the cab and paid the driver. He
opened the gate and carried her luggage up the short path to the doorstep. Rose
followed a few steps behind. They paused within the porch, while he pushed the
beautifully polished brass button. They heard a bell ring within the large house.
Moments later, the door was opened by an older lady in a black dress.

‘Hello, Mrs Edwards.’ John had been there before on several
occasions.

‘Good evening, Mr Williams.’

‘This is Miss Ince. Mr and Mrs Morris are expecting us?’

‘Yes, they are. Do come in. I’ll inform Mrs Morris of your
arrival.’

‘That won’t be necessary Mrs Edwards,’ shouted a voice
approaching from within. ‘I heard the bell and assumed it would be our guests.
Come in please. Welcome,’ Charlotte said warmly. ‘You must be exhausted.’

Mrs Edwards moved aside, but not before she had managed to
have a good look at Rose. The older woman’s expression however, gave nothing
away.

‘Yes, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it Rose?’ John replied.

‘A very long day,’ agreed Rose, ‘but, on the whole, the journey
was most interesting, especially the crossing from Southampton.’

‘Yes it can be lovely on a good day. Leave your luggage here
Rose. Mrs Edwards and Emma will take it up to your room. I’ll show you up
first. We can have dinner a little later, when you’ve found your bearings, if
you’re agreeable?’

‘Of course,’ said Rose. ‘That’s most kind of you.’

With that, George arrived in the hall too and greeted them
warmly.

‘George, can you look after John?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Certainly, my dear. Come on John, while the ladies are
upstairs getting reacquainted, we can sample a nice sherry I keep for special
occasions.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said John.

After dinner, they all retired.
Rose was delighted to have a small bathroom adjacent to her room. It was solely
for her use and so luxurious compared to the facilities at Crockford’s Drapery
Emporium. Her room was light and airy, with a glimpse of the sea from her
window, if she peered to the right. It was a lovely room.

The house had three floors and a basement, similar to some
of those she had admired so much in London, but on a less grand and smaller
scale. She noted that some of the furnishings were somewhat provincial in
style, which was not surprising, but there was no doubting the quality of what
she saw.

She slept well and the following morning, shortly after
breakfast, John left. He bade Rose a fond farewell. ‘Don’t worry. Frank will
soon be back and then you can get everything sorted out and all the loose ends
tied up, so to speak. Keep in touch. If you don’t have time to write letters,
just send us a postcard to make us feel jealous of you here by the seaside.’

‘Yes I will, and thank you so much for accompanying me and
helping yesterday.’

‘Think nothing of it. I’d love to stay longer, but Louisa
needs me.’

‘Of course she does, and very lucky she is to have you. Now
take good care of her and give her my love. Perhaps the next time I see you,
will be at our wedding!’

After he’d gone, Rose and Charlotte chatted for a while.

‘So how are you feeling Rose? Can you feel the baby
kicking?’

‘Yes, I can at times.’

Rose didn’t speak with too much enthusiasm, because she felt
a little guilty. Louisa had told her how desperate Charlotte had been to have a
child and how upset she was when a doctor explained to her and George that they
were unlikely to become parents. Rose didn’t want to upset Charlotte by talking
too much about her pregnancy. Charlotte however was unperturbed. She gave no
hint of any envy, or her own disappointment, and seemed genuinely interested.

‘I’m sorry to have to raise the matter,’ said Rose, ‘but I
must pay for my accommodation whilst I am here. I have a savings account at the
Post Office. I assume there is a Post Office in Ventnor?’

‘Yes, of course there is, but you really have no need to
worry. Florence has given me something in advance to cover your keep, all of
course on the instructions of Frank. He apparently was most explicit that you
should be taken care of. He is going to assume all responsibility when he
returns. In the meantime, you can consider yourself our guest.’

‘That’s very kind of you, truly it is. I don’t really know
what to say, but … thank you, and if anything happens to Frank, I will pay my
way.’

‘We’ll cross that bridge if necessary.’ Charlotte took
Rose’s hand to reassure her. ‘Besides, the war is going well. The papers are
full of our retaking of Pretoria and the imminent return of the volunteer
troops.’

‘Is Mrs Edwards happy with the arrangement, with her being
called upon to assist at the birth?’

‘I can assure you that Mrs Edwards is entirely happy. She’s
had four children of her own and has delivered all of her sister’s children.
You’ll be fine. In the event of any complications, we can always call upon
Doctor Kendall. His house is not far away.’

Later, Rose retired to her room. Emma, the maid, had already
tidied it. She was unused to such pampering and attention. She lay on the bed
to rest and read a book for a while. The weather outside was warm and Charlotte
had enthused that they should take afternoon tea together in the rear garden,
which she promised, afforded great privacy.

Rose went over her conversation with Charlotte. Perhaps she
had misjudged Frank’s parents, Florence and Arthur. It seemed as though she had
been placed under the care of Charlotte for very sound reasons. She realised
that she was extremely fortunate to be here and that the family genuinely
seemed to have her welfare at heart. It must be difficult, she thought, taking
in an unmarried woman in her condition, someone they barely knew. There was a
stigma to her plight and Charlotte was to be all the more worthy of praise and
appreciation, for the kind treatment she had bestowed so far.