by Jana Petken
Twirling curly tendrils around her finger, she thought she might cry. She and John should have been planning their wedding, or at least setting a date. She tried not to think about him. She had been told not to, but the thought of not being his wife was unbearable. She was fond of him. He had some annoying habits, such as biting his nails and smelling of stout at the weekends. He was slightly shorter than she, which made her feel uncomfortable on public outings, and he was a bit bossy. He never listened to a word she said. Her opinions just blew away in the wind as though they never existed. But she wanted to marry him. Wives were looked after, especially wives of well-to-do men. They weren’t expected to work like poverty-stricken spinsters and widows did, or like those poor women she’d seen earlier that day. Her sole duty would be to the home and children, when she eventually had them. John was the only person who could save her from this wretched life.
Once downstairs, Jenny waited impatiently for Patrick to arrive. Now a sub lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, he could not guarantee another visit to Minnie’s house before being posted to the fleet. This could be his farewell visit. She hoped it was a short one, for he had promised to escort her to Central London to meet Kevin.
Minnie glanced up from the newspaper and quickly looked Jenny over. “You look lovely, dear. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time. Kevin is such a nice man.”
“I’m sorry about not getting the job, Minnie,” Jenny said. “I promise I will look for something else.”
“I’m sure you will. You have to,” Minnie said rather harshly, sticking her nose back in the newspaper.
Susan said, “Your granny is preoccupied with the news. It’s awful – shocking, actually.”
Cocking her head to one side, Jenny could just about make out the news headlines on the top of a page: kitchener and his staff drowned.
Clutching the newspaper to her chest, Minnie looked up. “Oh, this is almost too terrible for words. Lord Kitchener was one of our greatest heroes. According to this report, he and his staff were aboard HMS Hampshire, bound for Russia on an important mission. The ship was torpedoed off the Orkneys. I’m hoping against hope that he might yet be saved – that he might have reached the shore on a boat.”
Jenny said with sincerity, “That’s rotten news, Minnie, and just when people are coming to terms with that Jutland battle. I hope he’s alive too.”
“It’s unthinkable that the body of that unconquerable Englishman should be floating unrecovered among the waves about our shores. Minnie’s voice cracked with emotion. “Yet there has been no word of any survivors from the Hampshire. They’re saying here that only an upturned boat and a few bodies have been washed up.”
“I suppose we’ll never know what actually sank her. It could have been a torpedo or a mine. One is as abhorrent as the other,” Susan said.
Worried about Patrick’s prospects, Jenny said, “There have been so many lives lost at sea recently. I thought the men in the trenches were most at risk, but apparently not.” Then thinking about something else entirely, she asked, “Mam, do you think I’m high and mighty? Or stuck-up?” She wanted to prove that insufferable man wrong.
“Well, for a start, the terms stuck-up and high and mighty mean much the same thing. One of those titles will suffice,” Susan corrected her. “And to answer your question, yes, of course you are, dear. You can be quite the little madam. You’ve always thought yourself superior, ever since you were old enough to listen and understand your father’s stories about how privileged you were and how much you deserved to have a wonderful life because you were his little princess. He once told you that you might marry royalty one day. Do you remember that?”
“I doubt that prediction will come to pass,” Minnie interjected. “As I told you before we left Ireland, Jenny, it’s time you grew up and realised that the world owes you nothing. Take dear Lord Kitchener. He practically saved England’s great crisis at the outset of the war. He raised and equipped an army of five million men, and he did it all magnanimously. I knew you would turn your nose up at the munitions factory and at the women who worked there …”
“No, I didn’t,” Jenny protested.
“Yes, you did. I saw you running up those stairs to wash the stench off you as if it were – oh, I can’t even say the word!”
“I smelled worse than shite,” Jenny said, saying the forbidden word.
“Don’t you curse in this house, Jenny Carmody! I’ve told you before that it’s unladylike,” Susan said sharply.
“She gets her foul mouth from Danny,” Minnie said.
“What’s going on here?” Patrick said, leaning against the door frame. “I can hear you all from the street.”
Chapter Fourteen
The entire length of Piccadilly was brimming with soldiers from the front on leave for a few days. Thick layers of dust and dirt from the trenches still covered their boots and accoutrements, and most of them had not yet washed the thick mud out of their hair. They looked so happy to be home, Jenny thought, and she was instantly reminded of John and Danny, prisoners of war. Every café and street bench was full of young men in uniform, looking hardened by war and much older than they probably were. Studying their animated faces, she found it strange to think that they had travelled only a few hours from the hellish front lines to this, a busy and jovial atmosphere of normality. What terrible memories must they be carrying? she wondered. And how courageous to be able to put all their thoughts of bloody battlefields aside and replace them with simple enjoyments like walking along Piccadilly in the sunshine and singing songs in pubs.
Ambling along, she couldn’t help but notice some women giving Patrick sly sideways glances with a great deal of admiration sparkling in their eyes. He was devilishly handsome in his naval uniform. A woman would have to be blind not to notice his tall stature, broad gait, and his arresting face under his peaked cap. He was so different to look at from Danny, who was short with unremarkable features. She could be forgiven for wondering if they had different fathers!
As they neared Leicester Square, Jenny also observed large groups of women dressed in white and decked out in roses. Standing on every corner selling flowers and rattling tins at passers-by, they certainly brightened the place up. The sight and scent of tens of thousands of roses was delightful, and their colours were heightened by glorious sunshine and clear blue sky. She could almost imagine that they were strolling through lush perfumed gardens.
“Why are all those women selling roses, Patrick?” she asked, after he bought four from a girl.
“Today is Queen Alexandra’s Rose Day. Millions are sold in her name to help the hospitals. No one can resist a rose, can they?” Patrick smiled and handed her one. “Everyone should buy them today. The money collected is going to the doctors and staff of London’s hospitals.” Stopping mid-step, Patrick added, “Things are going to get a lot worse here, Jenny. There are rumours of another move forward on the front. The Ministry of Defence is warning the medical commands to prepare beds for a quarter of a million wounded men. They are saying that the injured will stretch from John O’Groats to Lands End. We’re in for a terrible time of it.”
Jenny was shocked. “A quarter of a million men?”
“That’s what they’re predicting, and that’s not counting the ones who’ll die on the battlefield.”
Jenny felt physically sick. “We could lose an entire generation,” she said. “What a dreadful thought. I can’t imagine how the doctors will cope.”
“They’ll just have to.”
“Please don’t die at sea, Patrick. I’d miss you terribly!” she blurted out.
Appearing surprised at her statement, Patrick said, “It’s nice to know you care.”
“Don’t be daft! Of course I care. Sure, you’re my favourite brother,” she snapped in a thick Irish brogue. “I love Danny too, of course.”
“You should write to him and tell him that,” Patrick suggested.
“I can’t, not at the moment. There are too many bad th
ings happening. I can’t cope with them all.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re so wrapped up in your own disasters.”
“What if I am? I’m broken-hearted about John, and nobody cares. Every time I open my mouth to speak, I get told off for something or other. Minnie shouted at me today.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You know as well as I how she can be. I have no one to talk to, Patrick, not really. ”
“Do you love John?” Patrick asked kindly.
“I’m going to marry him, aren’t I?”
“Does he make your heart flutter when you see him or kiss him?”
“No, not really, but I was always happy when he came to visit. All that nonsense about hearts thumping wildly and knots in the tummy doesn’t really exist. Mam always said that a husband should be polite, provide food on the table, and a good solid house for his wife and children. She said the rest was a bonus.”
“The rest?”
“Romantic love,” Jenny said. She recalled her mam telling her that she had been lucky to find Dad when she did. Granny had wanted her to marry a neighbour’s son, who delivered coal for a living, and then Dad came along and her mam fell in love.
“John’s family own newspapers,” she said, still thinking about the coalman. “He’ll look after me.”
“You’ve never been in love, Jenny, if that’s what is uppermost in your mind,” Patrick said, looking annoyed. “You’re a cynical woman, and you obviously don’t know the first thing about it. If you ask me, you’ve had a lucky escape.”
Jenny thought about what Patrick had just said and instantly dismissed his statement. He was a man. What did he know about love? He’d never even brought a woman home for dinner or kissed a girl in public, at least not in front of his family. But she and John had kissed many times, and although she couldn’t put her hand on her heart and say that the sensation had excited her, it had been quite pleasant.
“Patrick, do you think we would be in this mess if Dad hadn’t died?” she asked, changing the uncomfortable subject.
For a moment, Patrick was pensive. “I don’t know,” he eventually said. “Dad had a way with him. He had many friends in high office and was renowned in his field. I feel sure that offers of help would have come flooding in. The more I think about that, the more I feel Mam should have stayed in Dublin.”
“I wish the help from people had come before he died.” Cringing at the scathing look from Patrick, Jenny then said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that. How long did you know about his troubles?”
“Awhile. Dad was going to tell everyone about the house situation, but he wanted to wait until after the Easter holiday.”
“I hate being poor. It’s humiliating being lower class.”
Patrick stopped walking, took her arm, and spun her around to face him. “Enough of that talk, young lady! What’s done is done. And there’s nothing we can do about our circumstances, do you hear me? Wealthy people don’t necessarily have class, Jenny. Having good manners and respect for others doesn’t come hand in hand with fancy clothes and grand houses with servants. It is an attribute that stems from a person’s heart and good manners. Sure, you think you’re better than those women you saw at that factory, but you’re not. They have my admiration and respect, whereas you, little sister, still have to earn it.”
“You’re being mean to me,” Jenny pouted tearfully.
“Yes, I am, and I’ll be meaner still if you don’t behave yourself with Kevin this evening. He’s a good man who is showing you kindness. C’mon now – wipe your eyes and smile, for God’s sake. You’re being treated to dinner, not torture.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kevin sat in a busy restaurant in Gerrard Street, situated just around the corner from Leicester Square. Seeing Jenny and Patrick at the door, he waved, rose from his chair, and pulled out another for Jenny to sit on. As tall and as broad as Patrick, with a mop of black hair and piercing green eyes, Kevin was never without female suitors vying for his attention. His long, sharp nose was slightly hooked at the bridge, where his glasses often sat. Full lips on a wide mouth were enhanced rather than camouflaged by a tidy moustache clipped to perfection. His jawline and square chin were finely chiselled, and his toned and muscular chest and arms bulged at the seams of his army uniform. He was, as many had commented, a lion of a man.
As always, he expected nothing from Jenny, not a soulful glance or kind word that might give him encouragement. Yet every time he saw her, his heart swelled with love.
He’d never viewed himself as being the romantic sort, he thought, watching her glide gracefully towards him. Not once had he been entangled in a serious relationship with any woman, for he found that most had limited conversations which became stale and dull after a few outings. But Jenny Carmody? She was a paradoxical creature who had intrigued him for years. She was not so much vain as self-entitled. Pampered by a wealthy father, very often absent from her life, and brainwashed by a grandiose mother, whose earlier years had been anything but grand, she now found herself in a time and place she could not comprehend. In her prosperous past, a governess had taught her at home, and she was introduced to only those men selected by her parents. Now she was expected to seek employment, face an uncertain future with a criminal, and live with a mother who had become even more tyrannical, according to Patrick. It was no wonder she was tetchy.
At times, Jenny was the perfect lady. She could talk like a duchess, but she could also curse like a dockworker when the mood took her. And despite her incurable snobbery and cheeky tongue, she had a good head on her shoulders and a good heart. Contrary to what her brothers thought, she did not have a flimsy interest in the world about her – she was observant and highly intellectual. She took after her grandmother in that respect. All Jenny needed was a guiding hand and the love of a man willing to see the good in her. He still hoped that it could be him.
After seating Jenny, Kevin remained standing.
“It suits you, Sub Lieutenant,” he said, smiling approvingly at Patrick’s naval attire. “I never thought I’d see the day, but sure, you look every inch the grand officer.”
“I don’t feel like one yet,” Patrick said, looking down at the gold ring on each of his jacket sleeves. I feel like a fraud.”
“It’s a strange sensation putting on a uniform for the first time. I remember having the exact same feeling. Can you stay?”
“No, sorry. I wish I could, but duty calls, as they say.”
“Will you come to the hospital tomorrow? I want to show you our new trauma unit.”
“I’ll try. I have a meeting with my professor, and then I have to report to the War Office. My plans don’t seem to be my own anymore. I arrived late at Minnie’s house this afternoon and didn’t have the heart to tell her and Mam that I might not be able to see them again before I leave.”
Nodding, Kevin said, “I understand, but you must let me know when you’re leaving. I’ll come to see you, even if it’s just to wave you off at the train station. Is there no news of a posting yet?”
“No. This is my dilemma. I’ve been going to the navy offices every day for over a week, hoping to find out what the hell they want to do with me, but there seems to be a feeling of disorganisation and it’s bordering on panic. The Jutland battle was a far bigger debacle than the Admiralty first let on, if you ask me.”
“I agree. From what the newspapers are saying, it was a shabby affair on the part of our naval command.”
Jenny looked up from her seat and said, “Minnie’s very upset about it all. Apparently, two lads from her street were on one of the ships that went down.” Then tugging at Patrick’s sleeve, she asked, “Are you sure you can’t stay for dinner, Patrick?”
“No, darlin’. I want to speak to my tutor before he leaves for the night. Kevin will make sure you get home safely. You’re in good hands.”
After Patrick left, Kevin watched Jenny fidgeting with her purse cords and looking longingly at the door. She wasn�
�t particularly thrilled to be dining with him, he thought with disappointment. Perhaps she was nervous.
“Are you all right, Jenny?” he asked.
“Why did you invite me to dinner? I hope you didn’t do it out of pity or as a favour to Patrick and my mam.”
Taken aback by her blunt question, Patrick found himself unusually lost for words.
“No, no, I could never pity you. I just thought you might enjoy getting out of the house. This is a rare pleasure for me. Perhaps it’s you who has taken pity on a lonely man,” he said. He looked at her. Her lips were set in a tight line. He watched her unfold her napkin and place it on her knees. Her eyes were downcast, but he noticed her damp lashes and the beginnings of a teardrop about to spill onto her cheek.
“Jenny, tell me what’s upsetting you,” he urged. “You know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you?” he said.
She seemed unwilling to look at him. “I’m so fed up, Kevin. I feel as though someone came to my bedroom one night and stole my life from under me. I spent many holidays in London growing up, but it feels so unfamiliar to me now. And the war seems so close what with all the wounded soldiers on the streets with gammy legs and missing arms, looking as though they’d slid all the way here through fields of mud. It’s all so depressing.” Finally, she looked at Kevin and gave him a weak smile. “I feel like I’m being pulled from pillar to post without being able to make one single decision of my own. And then there’s …”
The waiter came. Kevin asked him to come back in five minutes.
“Jenny, tell me what else is troubling you.”
Dabbing her eyes, she said, “It’s my Patrick. He has always defended me. The only fun I’ve ever had has been with him, but on the way here, he was very mean to me. He told me that I’m no better than the women working in the munitions factory, and to make it worse, he said he didn’t respect me. You have no idea of the day I’ve had.”
