The Silver Locket (26 page)

Alex left the hospital planning his escape from Dorset, wondering if he could get a job instructing new recruits at one of the big training camps in France, or in a riding school, or even at a desk. There must be a doctor somewhere who would pass him fit.

He couldn’t last the winter without Rose. He had to see her, or he’d die.

Rose read the letter from Michael, asking if they could meet again in Rouen. She supposed they should. She ought to tell him, anyway.

‘Let’s go and have some coffee,’ he began, as he led her past the shops and down the wide main street. There were evidently to be no mutterings in alleys, not today.

He was smiling, and looked extremely fit and well. She saw his hand had healed, and all that remained was a tiny, white-rimmed scar, but it had saved his life. He was in much better shape than Alex, who’d looked older, thinner, much more careworn and permanently tired.

‘I don’t want to go into a café.’ Leaving the pavement, Rose sat down upon a bench beneath some chestnut trees, giving Michael no real option but to sit down too. She took a slow, deep breath. ‘Michael, I can’t marry you.’

‘You can’t or won’t?’

‘I cannot, will not – it’s impossible. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. We’ve always been good friends, and I hope we can continue friends. But I–’

‘It’s Denham, isn’t it?’ Michael stared into the middle distance. ‘I heard you went rushing off to see him when he turned up in that hospital.’

‘Whoever told you that?’

‘The girl you brought along the time we went out with poor Lomax.’

‘You’ve been seeing Judith?’

‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t.’ Michael’s cold, blue eyes were hard as flints. ‘Mrs Sefton told my mother you and Denham have been writing volumes to each other. Letters every day or twice a day. She reckons it’s been going on for years.’

‘She’s wrong, as always.’

‘You’re carrying a torch for Denham.’ Michael turned to Rose. ‘All right, don’t marry me. But don’t get involved with sodding Denham!’

‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Rose, and got up to go.

‘Well, that’s too bad.’ Michael caught her arm and pulled her down. ‘He’s married, but look how he treats his wife. If you throw in your lot with Denham, what makes you think he might be kind to you?’

‘I don’t wish to discuss it.’

‘He might be breathing hearts and flowers at present, but one day he’ll lose interest. You’ll start to bore him, then he’ll abandon you.’

Michael scowled at Rose. ‘If you’d agreed to marry me, it would have been for ever. If I’d strayed, it would be with a woman who understood I couldn’t leave my wife. Rose, you’re a lady, or you used to be. There are ladies, there are women, and I know the difference. But Denham never did, and his sort–’

‘I don’t want to hear this.’ Leaving Michael sitting on the bench, Rose walked back to the station.

Chapter Sixteen

By the time she got back to the station, Rose was feeling sick. At first, she thought it must be guilt. After all, she had been harsh with Michael, but as she stood in the sluice, making up the gallons of antiseptic they’d probably need that night, she found she had a hammering headache, her mouth was dry as sandpaper, and she was shivering.

‘I think you must be going down with something,’ said Maria. ‘I dare say it’s that wretched bug poor Judith had last week. Listen, Rose, if we’re called out this evening, you don’t have to come. Stay at Madame Gaultier’s in town. I’ll tell Sister Glossop you’re not well.’

‘She’ll think I’m shirking,’ muttered Rose.

‘Of course she won’t.’ Maria turned to a couple of orderlies who had just walked in. ‘Harry, Leonard, doesn’t Rose look out of sorts tonight?’

‘She looks washed out,’ said Leonard. ‘Come on, Sister Courtenay. Let’s get you round to Madame Gaultier’s. You need a good night’s sleep.’

Rose had been in bed only an hour when she heard someone banging on the door of Madame Gaultier’s guest house. Then Madame Gaultier herself came running up the stairs. ‘Sister Courtenay?’ she cried. ‘You’re wanted straight away!’

‘I’m coming down.’ Rose got out of bed. She steadied herself against the washstand, then began to dress. She pulled her boots on, grabbed her bag and hurried down the stairs, where she found an RAMC orderly was pacing up and down.

‘I’m sorry, Sister Courtenay,’ he began. ‘They said you weren’t too grand, but a sister from my train has had to go to England, where her mother’s dying. Now we’ve been called out to a CCS. We need another nurse to help us out.’

Rose pulled on her coat, and left the house.

The engine was coupled to the train and ready to depart. ‘Miss Courtenay?’ smiled a QA nurse. ‘I’m so glad Peter found you! We’re already one nurse short, and from the sound of it there’ll be an awful lot to do. But are you all right? You look quite pale.’

‘I’ve just woken up.’ Rose rubbed her eyes. ‘Where shall I put my bag?’

‘I’ll show you,’ said nurse, and led Rose down the train. ‘You can have Sister Allingham’s couchette. Come along, we need to make up lots of antiseptic, then set out the trays.’

Rose didn’t know how she managed to work that night. She ached all over and wanted to be sick. When they reached the railhead, there were several hundred men on stretchers waiting for the train.

She helped load up, then set to work. Although today had probably been as horrible as any on the Somme, she was relieved to see most of the men had already had some treatment, or at least first aid. Their wounds were dressed, their broken bones were splinted. All the nursing staff would need to do was keep an eye on them, making sure no drainage tubes got blocked, checking vital signs, and giving them whatever drugs the doctor might prescribe.

They got the patients settled in the bunks. The train drew out of Vecquement and chugged into the darkness.

They heard the planes before they saw them, buzzing like giant mosquitoes in the smoky autumn night. They felt the sudden shudder as the driver pulled the brakes.

The lights were always dimmed throughout the night, but now they were extinguished altogether. The train ground to a halt. It lay like an enormous metal snake along the line.

‘What’s happening, Sister?’ A soldier with both legs in splints looked fearfully at Rose, his face a pale mask in the moonlit night.

‘I think there must be German planes about.’ Rose crouched down beside him. ‘I don’t think we need worry. They’re probably after troop trains. I’m sure they can’t be interested in us.’

‘They might be.’ The boy’s thin face was ashen. ‘Sister, if they bomb us–’

‘They won’t,’ soothed Rose, although she knew they might. The great, long silver snake must be a tempting target, and she knew the ambulance trains were frequently attacked, though so far she’d been lucky.

But people’s luck ran out.

The planes came closer. Rose could see an orderly at the far end of the carriage, holding the hand of an absurdly young redheaded boy. The orderly smiled and gave her the thumbs up. Suddenly she felt better, sure it would be all right.

There was silence now, apart from the sound of laboured breathing and occasional groans. Rose cursed the moon, a beautiful harvest orb in the black sky, which lit the night as clear as day. She prayed the German planes would just fly over them. The men on this train had already suffered, they had done their bit.

There were a couple of red flashes, and the carriage rocked. Rose lost her balance and fell heavily to the floor, then rolled against a bunk because the carriage was on its side. She could hear the thin, reluctant screams of men who couldn’t help it, and knew she had to get to them.

Then there was another flash. The stricken carriage shuddered, there was a sudden roaring in her ears, and she found herself in total darkness. The carriage filled with smoke. She couldn’t breathe, and there was something wet and heavy pressing clammily against her side.

‘No one here has any consideration for my feelings,’ Chloe grumbled, as she ate her breakfast one bright morning. ‘I hate living in the country. It’s so quiet, and it’s so dark at night.’ She pulled her musquash coat around her shoulders. ‘God, it’s freezing in this horrid place.’

Alex didn’t comment, for Henry’s house had always been a cold, damp mausoleum and he was used to it. ‘Why don’t you go and see your mother?’ he suggested, as he scanned Henry’s copy of
The
Times
. ‘She and your father are still living at the depot. You could stay in Dorchester all winter, if you wish.’

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Chloe speared some bacon. She began to chew it angrily. ‘If I wasn’t here, you could moon around the place and dream about your trollop. I wouldn’t be in your way.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Nothing.’ Chloe turned up the collar of her coat. ‘What’s the matter, Alex? You’ve gone very pale. Where are you going now?’

‘What’s that to you?’

Alex ran out of the breakfast room, then sprinted to the village, where he sent a dozen telegrams. He had to know exactly what had happened. It could not be helped if what he’d written would soon be common knowledge all round Charton.

‘Why didn’t you let me know?’ demanded Alex angrily, as he sat down next to Rose’s bed in the London hospital. ‘Of course, I didn’t expect your father to come dashing round to Henry’s house with news of you. But you could have asked a nurse to write!’

‘I didn’t think you’d hear about it yet,’ said Rose, and bit her lower lip.

‘It was reported in the
The
Times
, but of course they didn’t give your names.’ He was slightly mollified, but still upset she hadn’t written. She hadn’t seemed to realise he would worry. ‘I had to ask an awful lot of people before I found out where the train had come from, and which particular nurses were involved.’

‘I was going to ask someone to write to you,’ said Rose, ‘but I didn’t want you to see me looking such a fright.’

‘Rose, you’re such an idiot.’ Now Alex didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. ‘You could never look anything but beautiful to me.’

‘I’ve got all these cuts across my face –
and
two black eyes.’

‘You have the loveliest eyes in all the world.’

‘My wrist is broken. They’ve taken out my spleen, and I have this great gash across my stomach. Alex, I’m a wreck.’

‘You’re going to mend. Listen, I’m booked into a place in Aldgate. I’ll come and see you every day. When they let you out of here, I’ll drive you home to Dorset.’ Alex took her hand. ‘Rose, I’m sorry I shouted, I didn’t mean to make you cry.’

Rose turned her head away. ‘I heard the nurses whispering last night,’ she murmured, and her voice was wretched. ‘They say – they say I can’t have children now!’

‘Oh, darling!’ Alex held her while she sobbed her heart out, while she cried and cried and cried.

Boris plodded along the shingle beach, sniffing Alex crossly and doing his best to get between them. Entanglements of rusting wire disfigured the small beach, and these prevented him from running down into the water. He would not be tempted by the ginger biscuits Rose had brought especially for him.

The waves sucked at the pebbles, dragging them down then pushing them up again, indifferent to the concerns of dogs and men. The autumn storms had littered the beach with driftwood and other flotsam and jetsam lately washed ashore from France, wedging these bits of rubbish in the wire, but Boris was too annoyed with Rose to go and look at it.

She linked her arm through Alex’s. ‘How much longer will you be on sick leave?’ she enquired.

‘I have to stay in England until spring. Then I’ll go back to France.’

‘I was wondering if they’d offer you a staff job.’

‘They did, but I refused it.’

‘Why?’ asked Rose.

‘I have unfinished business over there.’

‘You mean your friends have all been killed while you’ve been left alive. But why should you die, too?’

‘I have to go,’ said Alex, and Rose could see the sulky, mulish child he used to be, ‘but I don’t mean to die.’

‘You will if you persist in being so reckless.’

‘I’m not reckless, Rose. I used to be, but that was in the early days, when I felt I had to prove myself. I was scared that if I didn’t do lots of stupid things, the other men would think I was a coward.’

‘Then it’s a miracle you’ve survived.’

‘I’ll go on surviving, too,’ said Alex. ‘Rose, men don’t trust an officer who’s reckless. They won’t follow him. They need to know that if he leads them into trouble, he can lead them out of it again. Anyway, you’ll be going back to France.’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘Rose, they nearly killed you!’

‘I don’t go courting death.’

‘I don’t, either. So we’ll both come through.’ Alex pulled her close and slid his hands inside her coat. He kissed her very tenderly at first, but then with passion, and she felt herself begin to glow.

‘If it was summer, and there wasn’t any wire, we could swim round to the cove,’ she whispered, as he kissed her neck. ‘Nobody would find us there, and we could–’

‘Yes, we could – but where can we go in winter?’ Alex’s hands ran up and down her spine.