Afterwards, despite Robert’s instructions to the contrary, Georgina wrote to Louisa, telling her that she had him to thank for Robin’s leave; and although it was not directly acknowledged, since then Louisa had enquired after him in most of her letters. It warmed Georgina to think that her father was in some respect forgiven for that spilling of the truth.
But if Robin and Liam had both survived almost two years of war, her cousins from White Leigh – one older than Georgina, one younger – had both been killed at Loos. She had seen neither of them since her mother’s funeral and it was hard to comprehend that she would never see them again. It seemed they would be preserved for ever in her memory as two young, high-spirited boys with whom she had played and danced and gone hunting. Like so much else, they were part of the past; only if she went back to White Leigh would she feel their absence and be able to grieve for them.
Glad of the impossibility, Georgina grieved now for her father, who had just returned from there. His visit, coinciding with official business, had distressed him. William, he said, had lost interest in everything; the estate was neglected, the tenants close to mutiny, the house no better than a mausoleum. His brother seemed set on drinking himself to death, while Anne, William’s wife, had grown patriotic to the point of mania, working for the Red Cross, organizing sewing circles and knitting bees, and urging every man and boy within a twenty-mile radius to join arms against the evil Hun.
‘She should be careful,’ Robert had confided last night over a large measure of brandy. ‘In spite of the war, public feeling in the south is not entirely pro-British...’
It was an informed comment, one that sent a chill through her as she stared at a photograph of her cousins on horseback, taken in front of the steps at White Leigh. There was another of Robert as a young man, standing on those steps which led to the main entrance, with Georgina aged three in his arms. She was hugging herself close, her round cheek pressed to his, and he was smiling. One of the rare times that he had been at home...
That picture always aroused a plethora of memories, not all of them good: her mother, like a mad ghost at White Leigh, then the move to Dublin with Aunt Letty, and the happy years when Louisa lived with them. All too brief. And with Louisa’s departure her father had abandoned them all for a war in the Sudan; and it seemed no time at all between that war and the next in South Africa. After that he had gone with his regiment to India, leaving his daughter to Dublin and Aunt Letty, and summers spent at White Leigh.
She had loved him, as one worships heroes, but she had never really known him; and until recently, what she had known about him – what had been revealed in the harsh glare of impatient youth – had been difficult to like or understand.
Only in this last year had she come to know him better. They conversed now as adults, discussing her work and his, affording each other a respect born of new understanding. It seemed he was glad to have her there, and she wondered whether he was lonely. If he had women friends Georgina never saw them, and with his life torn between London and Dublin, she thought he was probably too busy, never in one place long enough to form new relationships. It seemed, too, as though what had happened in York that summer of 1913, had killed something in him, a spark of wilful carelessness perhaps; or rekindled a different flame, one that burned deeper than even he suspected.
He never spoke of it, so she could not be sure, and it was not a subject Georgina cared to probe. Instead they talked of Dublin and Letty, and the work, which, since 1910 and his return from India on half-pay, had been largely concerned with Ireland. With his knowledge and extensive family connections, the government had employed him in an advisory capacity pending the settlement of the vexatious Home Rule question. But the militant resistance of Ulster Loyalists had managed to drag out negotiations interminably, and with the government’s reluctance to come into conflict with the industrial north, public opinion, which had been favourable, waned yet again. Robert was sickened by a situation which seemed destined never to be resolved, and after four years’ hard work, with all his arguments in favour of Home Rule set aside, had wanted no more of it.
On the outbreak of war in August 1914, he had volunteered immediately for active service, but the War Office continued to refuse him, even as an administrator of Kitchener’s new battalions. With what he saw as stubborn pig-headedness, his new masters insisted on sending him back to Ireland, using the connections he had built up to provide them with essential information on what was going on within Sinn Fein and the Irish Republican Brotherhood.
Ostensibly, he was still employed on the Home Rule question, fostering the implicit belief that it would be granted with the cessation of hostilities. But the question had been debated during the whole of Robert’s lifetime; he had seen it come to Parliament twice and fail, and now no longer had faith in a third time.
Georgina knew her father loathed the duality of his role, the necessity for secrecy; knew too that until recently he had felt most bitterly that his abilities and vast experience in the military field were being wasted. Only in the last few months had he begun to see the necessity for himself. England’s other island might have set aside her antipathy during 1914’s surge of patriotic fervour, and Irish mothers might still be sending their sons to die upon England’s behalf; but as Robert had been at pains to explain, other, smaller, more determined forces were now at work.
Tension was in the air, and he was suddenly very much afraid that what could not be wrested from England politically, would be attempted by force of arms. And that was something Robert could not condone. He held the King’s commission still, and as a Dragoon officer in Ireland before the Boer War, his role had always been to preserve law and order. Even now, to oppose the rule of the gun, Georgina knew he would shelve his own ideals for ever.
Certain elements, he had remarked the night before, saw death and destruction as the only path to political freedom; and what alarmed him now was the potential reaction.
‘The government won’t stand for it,’ he declared. ‘Not with a war going on. That’s what these hot-heads don’t seem to grasp. They think they might just conceivably wrest power while our backs are turned — they don’t believe me when I tell them what will happen.’
‘And what will happen?’
‘Oh, my dear girl! Any such action will be regarded as treason – and it will be stamped on, quickly and effectively, no matter how many troops it takes to do it. The Fenians can’t win — I’ve told them that in Dublin and in Waterford, and I’ve told them to pass the message on. But they don’t believe me. And the stupid thing is, they keep denying it! But I know something’s up – I can feel it in Dublin, brewing like a summer storm. I’ve told Letty to get down to White Leigh and stay there. Of course, she doesn’t want to go...’
‘You could be wrong,’ Georgina had ventured.
‘No. Although I wish I could say I might be...’
Tired though he was by his journey from Dublin, her father had not wanted to go to bed. Knowing that mood, Georgina would have liked to sit up with him, but with exhaustion dragging at her eyes and limbs, she had been forced to leave him to solitude and his bottle of brandy. Sighing now as she washed and dressed, she wondered how he was feeling, what reports he was composing, and how they would be acted upon.
Lost for a moment in a gloom of anxiety, the telephone’s ringing startled her. She guessed it would be her father before she picked it up; apart from Tisha he was the only one who used it. The hospital had no idea that she could be reached by such instantaneous means, and she was determined never to reveal it.
He sounded weary and his message was brief. Knowing he was back, Tisha had called in to see him, wanting to come to tea. She wondered also whether she could bring someone with her?
‘Who?’ Georgina demanded, knowing she sounded ungracious and unable to control it.
‘Oh, some young fellow from my department – Fearnley. You know, the one who will keep pestering for active service. He’s invited her out a couple of time
s, and now she wants to return the favour.’
‘Impress him, you mean.’
‘Well, perhaps so. But he knows me well enough, he’s not likely you be impressed. Do your best, Georgie, will you? Make some of those delightful scones of yours, and see if we can’t be jolly for an hour or so.’
‘You don’t sound very jolly.’
‘Nor do I feel it. Never mind – I’ll tell you about it later.’
Replacing the earpiece, Georgina swore, softly and eloquently. Nursing soldiers had extended her education in many directions, not least those of language. No doubt her father meant well by Tisha, but Georgina resented her half-sister’s intrusion. Since her arrival in London at the end of January, life had not been the same. The thought of having to relinquish the novel she was enjoying, bind up her hair and put on a pleasant company face, was not one Georgina relished; and the idea of having to listen to an enthusiastic rendition of what a wonderful time Tisha was having in London, was daunting.
Checking the contents of the little store-cupboard, she was thankful that enough was there to make a passable wartime feast. Pathetic by peacetime standards, but everyone was experiencing the same difficulties, so whatever was offered was praised. The scones were to Louisa’s recipe, which was why her father loved them, and even the blackberry and apple jelly had been sent from York the previous autumn and hoarded for special occasions. It was so difficult to buy anything good, and Louisa always remembered them.
Having prepared everything to her satisfaction, Georgina went to change her clothes, trying to find something smart, anything that might stand up to whatever modish creation Tisha would be wearing; but all Georgina’s clothes were practical and well-worn. Eventually she settled on a grey skirt and pink silk blouse, and a string of pearls her father had bought for her twenty-first birthday. Not very exciting, but it was the best she could do.
They arrived just after five, cold after their journey by taxi-cab from Westminster. Robert’s servant had made up the fire and the room was welcoming in its dark, glowing colours. Outside, beneath a wild grey sky, it was more like winter than spring, with the window panes rattling and plane trees tossing in a blustery gale. Georgina drew one set of velvet curtains against a sneaky draught and sat down in her chair beside the fire, leaving Robert’s servant to serve the tea she had prepared.
Fortunately young Captain Fearnley knew Robert well enough not to be overawed. Had he known that the girl he escorted was Colonel Duncannon’s natural daughter, rather than the niece she purported to be, Georgina thought he might have been considerably nonplussed. But Edwin Fearnley did not know. Along with everyone else in their respective departments, he had remarked upon a shared family resemblance. But Robert’s relationship with Tisha had always been that of a rather distant relative, and her present attitude towards him – which Georgina always thought a shade too coquettish — did not appear to be amiss. Robert treated her now with the kind of fond indulgence which might be expected of a doting uncle, and only occasionally did Georgina detect a certain irony in the girl’s response.
At such times she was possessed of a very unchristian suspicion that her half-sister was using their father’s affection and generosity to the upmost. She played up to him, just as she was playing up to both men now, exercising her pretty, kitten-like charm. But the kitten was growing up, she had claws with which to defend herself, and she could snarl and sulk with the rest. Robert had never seen that side of her, but Georgina had, and would never forget the wounds she had inflicted on others. For the moment, however, she was determined to be pretty and amusing, charming both men with her talent for mimicry, one minute a blustery old colonel from the War Office, the next a mouse-like secretary.
And Robert, a colonel himself, though far from blustery, lapped it up, while young Edwin Fearnley was almost helpless with laughter.
‘You’re a very naughty young lady,’ Robert said with mock severity, while Tisha pretended contrition, called him Uncle, and passed him another of Georgina’s scones.
Taking note of her sister’s stylish outfit and pretty shoes, Georgina experienced a twinge of envy that she knew was as silly as it was unpleasant. But it seemed that their father could refuse her nothing, that had she asked for the moon, he would have endeavoured, somehow, to obtain it for her. He said, shamefacedly, that it was because his other daughter asked for nothing, that she refused him the chance to spoil her with pretty clothes and entertainments, and always had. There was, Georgina supposed, a certain amount of truth in that, but it did not cure the resentment. She felt so plain and dull beside Tisha, could not make witty conversation and make people laugh. Even her funniest stories seemed out of place, because they related to the hospital, and brought the seriousness of war into the conversation, changing its tone completely.
She laughed politely at Tisha’s lively chatter, made the right comments, asked the right questions, and all the time wondered what was going on behind those bright but rather calculating eyes. Edwin Fearnley, clearly besotted, spared barely a glance for Georgina. From observation and certain casually-phrased questions, she did manage to elicit a few details, however. He was older than Tisha by some ten years, a regular commissioned officer who had been attached to the Staff College before the war in a minor, administrative capacity. He claimed, jokingly, that every time he had applied for active service since then, they had promoted him and sent him elsewhere; so he was forced to the conclusion that his superiors thought he was not much good at anything, and only wanted him out of the way.
‘If they’d thought that,’ Robert chipped in, ‘you’d have been in France with the first wave — the second, anyway!’
Edwin grimaced at that, and with a laugh said he was thinking of applying again for active service; that way, he would perhaps get his majority and a nice increase in pay.
‘Don’t be too hasty,’ Robert warned. ‘They might accept your offer, and I would lose an excellent brain from my department!’
Wondering what it was he did, Georgina knew better than to ask; but he certainly had an intelligent face, and eyes which, when they were not looking at Tisha, were alive with shrewdness and good humour. He was not very tall nor particularly good-looking, but a lively personality made him attractive. It came out in the course of conversation that his people lived in Sussex, his father having retired some years ago from lucrative business in the Midlands. It transpired, too, that he was an only son. Georgian began to see what it was about this man that made him so attractive to Tisha. For her, looks and personality would be important, but never quite enough.
Warming to him, Georgina felt a small stab of pity. He would probably make Tisha an excellent husband; but she was too young to appreciate good qualities in any man. She was a manipulator, out for her own ends. It was possible she would ruin him.
It was also possible, Georgina told herself, that she was making too much of this visit. Tisha was busily enjoying a freedom she had longed for; Edwin Fearnley might be no more than a pleasant interlude. If he proposed marriage, she would no doubt drop him and move on to someone else.
Before they left, he was already talking of a run down to Sussex in the near future, so that Tisha could meet his parents and see something of the beautiful coast and countryside. Pleased by that, Robert even went so far as to pat young Fearnley on the back and address him as my boy. Georgina could have kicked her father.
Her antagonism, however, was put to flight minutes later by much stronger emotions, ones more difficult to hide.
‘Oh, by the way,’ he said gently to Tisha as she stood to leave, ‘I heard something today about the Australians. They’ve left Egypt. Liam’s on his way to France.’
Georgina went cold. Her blood pressure fell so rapidly she thought she might faint. As she clung to the mantelpiece, Tisha gave a tight little smile and said something to the effect that Liam would be pleased about that, he had never cared for Egypt.
Then, as a particularly violent gust shook the windows behind them, she indulged in
a dramatic shiver. ‘But he won’t like the weather much, will he?’
How Georgina controlled a violent response, she could never afterwards imagine. But as she turned away, her father said with soft reproof: ‘I think he may find something more than the weather to worry about.’
‘Yes, I imagine so,’ Tisha agreed without interest. ‘Well, Edwin, we really must go, else we’ll miss that concert at the Palladium – everyone says it’s very good...’
Robert saw them out, and with a quick glance back at Georgina, said he would walk downstairs, and see them to the front door. Clearly startled by her expression, for a second he hesitated; then his eyes dropped away and he pulled the lobby door shut behind him.
Georgina sank into her chair, as grieved by that news as she might have been by his death. France for her was no longer a foreign country, it was in her heart and on the hospital wards; it had become a place where men went to die. Only then did Georgina realize how much she had depended on Liam being kept in Egypt indefinitely. Miserable for him perhaps, but so much safer there! By some unexplained miracle he had come through the hell of Gallipoli and survived; why must he come to France?
Her father’s servant came in to mend the fire and clear away the tea things; with an effort she composed herself and picked up a book, pretending to read. When Robert returned she was almost her usual self.
He poured drinks for them both, handed her a sherry and lowered himself into the chair facing hers. Under his scrutiny she felt exposed.
Liam's Story Page 32
