Wartime Blues for the Harpers Girls

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘I hope not,’ Beth said. ‘I wonder about all the others too – the young men who are serving in the trenches and Mr Marco.’

  ‘Yes, I think about him a lot,’ Sally agreed. ‘He is so good with the windows and everyone likes him. I pray he comes back safely to us.’

  ‘Has Ben had a letter recently?’ Beth frowned as Sally shook her head. ‘That seems a little strange. I mean, I think Marion Jackson’s letters get delayed for weeks on end, but at least she gets them every now and then… I wonder why Mr Marco hasn’t written to Ben…’

  Marco watched Sadie playing with little Pierre and smiled. The child made life at the farm brighter and happier than he’d known for a long time – since Julien’s death. His young lover had taken his own life after his father had shamed him for being different. It had broken Marco inside and he knew he would never feel that way again. But he had found a kind of content here in France on the farm with Sadie and Pierre. A child was the one thing Marco had envied his friend Ben Harper, but he’d been glad to see Ben happy in his marriage after some traumatic years, and their little girl was delightful.

  Pierre was a ray of sunshine, too, and everyone loved him, including himself, Marco realised as he watched Sadie hand him a soft brioche roll. The child’s pleasure as he chewed on it was evident and Marco felt a sudden desire to pick him up and hold him. Almost as if she’d read his thoughts, Sadie picked her son up and dumped him on Marco’s lap.

  ‘Will you look after him for a few moments, Marcel?’ she asked, using the name he’d been given as cover for his work with the resistance here in France. He was officially Marie’s cousin and, so far, it seemed to work well as no one had suspected anything else. ‘I want to walk into the village and post a card home…’

  ‘May I see it?’

  Sadie handed him the card – a plain white one issued by the nursing detachment with an address in England. On the back she’d just written three lines. Hope you’re well. I’m fine. Love, Sadie.

  ‘Why don’t you ask the hospital to send it with their mail?’

  ‘Matron Mayhew is too busy to bother at the moment – and no one else would do it.’ Sadie frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You do realise that it is unlikely your letters arrive safely. If they go in the military postbags, they have more chance. You haven’t put a return address, which is sensible, but how can your family send a reply?’

  ‘I don’t want them to,’ Sadie said and blushed. ‘If they guessed I’d left the nursing detachment to have a baby they would disown me. I can’t let them know where I am and I can’t tell them about my little Pierre…’

  Marco looked at her sadly. ‘Are you sure they wouldn’t accept it once they were over the shock?’

  ‘My mother would turn her back on me and my father might kill me,’ Sadie replied. ‘He is a very proud man and he wouldn’t have me in his house with a bastard child.’

  ‘Then I am sorry for him,’ Marco said and bounced Pierre on his knee. ‘He is adorable, Sadie. Go to the village and enjoy your walk. Perhaps your card will get through.’

  Sadie thanked him, giving him a brilliant smile. Marco smiled in return. It was wrong that she had been left in such a precarious position and he felt a stab of guilt. Her lover Pierre had died helping him to escape and that lay heavy on his conscience. Because of him, Sadie was exiled in France with no hope of a return to her family. Perhaps there was a way he could help her? Marco turned it over in his mind, trying to think of a solution, but the only one that came to mind was impossible – or was it?

  A rueful smile touched his lips. He would have to think about this for a while…

  Sadie enjoyed the walk, the sunshine and the fresh air. Sometimes it rained really hard but then the sun came out and it was lovely and fresh. She liked living in France with Marie, her son’s great aunt, although there were times when she would have liked to go home. Living in the East End as a child, Sadie had been determined to escape and her way of doing that had been nursing. She’d met Maggie Gibbs during their rigorous training and she’d been truly happy for a while – if only she hadn’t fallen for Pierre and been foolish enough to give herself to him.

  She’d been intoxicated with romantic love, the warm scents of a summer night and a man she couldn’t resist who had given her sweet white wine to drink as they lay on his blanket beneath the stars. She didn’t regret that night of love – it was all she would ever have with Pierre – but falling for a baby had been unlucky. Now she was stuck here in France because the alternative was a life of drudgery back home. With no husband, she would find it impossible to get a good job or a decent house. Landlords didn’t want to let property to a fallen woman like her – and she could never go home unless she was married.

  Sadie wasn’t sure she could marry just for the sake of it. She didn’t want to go to bed with a man she didn’t love – and it would be a long time before she could give her heart again. No, she was better off living with Marie and her friends at the farm.

  Marie treated her like a daughter and Marcel – or Marco as his real name was – was the kindest and funniest man she’d ever met. Sadie knew his real name because Andre, one of Pierre’s group, had once let it slip, but she’d known already that he was playing a dangerous game. Like the man she’d loved, he was a part of the French resistance force.

  Marco was always teasing her and Marie and playing with Pierre. She’d sort of gathered from Maggie, who sometimes spoke of the Mr Marco she knew at Harpers, that he wasn’t interested in women, at least, only as friends, and that suited Sadie. Maggie hadn’t actually told Sadie that her Mr Marco and Marcel were one and the same, but she‘d picked up on little things and worked it out. However, she had not passed her thoughts on to anyone else, not even Marie. Marcel or Marco, he was kind and always there for her and the child and she knew she was lucky.

  Sadie smiled as she put her card into the little post box on the wall of the village’s only shop. She wasn’t sure how often mail was collected from the small sleepy village, and perhaps it would never get there, but at least she’d tried.

  Shrugging, Sadie turned to walk home again. Life was quiet here with very little to do other than walk, eat, drink wine and work. She wondered how much longer Marco would be at the farm. One of these days, he would surely be recalled to England and then she would miss him.

  6

  It might be summer now, but it was still cold and damp lying in the ditch all night, the rain had been heavy for a couple of days and, on the battlefields, it churned to mud beneath thousands of feet. Marco stifled the longing for a warm bed and a hot meal. He had been watching the German patrol as it probed the border, and he knew they were an advance party for a division coming up behind and hoping to get round the British and French lines for a surprise attack. He waited another few minutes, until the column of men had passed him by, and then heard a shout as the patrol was intercepted by Andre’s men. Shooting followed and Marco heard screams and yells and then cheering.

  He rose wearily to his feet and walked back down the road to where the patriots were celebrating the easy kill. Marco nodded as Andre slapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘We teach these Germans a lesson, no?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marco agreed, but he knew that the next night or the following one another patrol would take the place of those they’d slaughtered and wondered what they were truly achieving. Yes, the shooting would have alerted the Allied camps. He had no doubt they were peering into the darkness wondering what was going on and fully prepared for an attack, which was now unlikely to happen. The purpose of the German patrols was to find a way to surprise the British and Allied troops. Andre and several other partisan groups did their best to see that didn’t happen, posting men in the fields and woods to report and alert the armed men roaming the border countryside.

  What happened next came out of the blue. Several of the enemy soldiers were lying on the ground as Marco walked towards his friends, but one of them suddenly jumped up and fired at him
. Even as the bullet penetrated his flesh, he heard several more shots but knew nothing more as he slumped to the ground and everything went black around him.

  Marco was unconscious as the soldier was ruthlessly shot by several men, furious that he’d manged to kill their British agent. Andre had been protecting him, thinking him more valuable as a contact to the British Government than as a fighter. It was Marco who secured them guns, ammunition and money so that they could continue to wreak havoc on the enemy by blowing up lorries, trains and killing as many patrolling soldiers as they could. Without him, the group would have to fend for itself and the supply of ammunition would dwindle.

  Marco wasn’t aware of the curses or of someone feeling for his pulse or that he was hoisted, none too gently, as it was discovered he still lived, over Andre’s shoulder and carried back to the farmhouse, where Marie soon had him on the hastily cleared kitchen table. The bullet was found to have buried itself in his side, glancing off his ribs and thus miraculously missing all his organs, as the doctor they called reported after digging it out.

  They had no anaesthetic and Marco half woke and screamed with pain, as the doctor probed for the bullet, but fell back unconscious as he was sewn up and his wound swabbed with alcohol. He moaned as he was carried up to Marie’s bedroom but didn’t wake.

  ‘He will live?’ Andre asked the doctor as he washed the blood from his hands at the deep stone sink.

  ‘He should pull through. He’s strong and he was lucky. A fraction lower and he would already be dead.’

  Andre nodded and cursed. He looked at Marie as she came back to the large kitchen, which smelled of herbs and baking. ‘You will take care of him?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Marie promised. ‘Sadie is sitting with him now. She is a good nurse and she will know what to do when the fever comes.’

  ‘Don’t let him die. We need him,’ Andre said and prepared to leave. ‘He is important.’

  Marie nodded but let him go without replying. Like Marco, she wondered what good the patrols did. They were harassing the enemy, she’d been told, and the British supplied the means for their explosives and their guns – but the war just went on. Sometimes, she despaired of it ever ending. Would life in France ever become normal again? Would she ever be able to cross the border to see friends and family?

  She went upstairs and found Sadie looking at her patient anxiously.

  ‘He should sleep – the doctor gave him a good dose of brandy and a sleeping powder,’ Marie said.

  ‘They should have taken him to one of the field hospitals where he could have had the proper drugs,’ Sadie replied and frowned as she looked at the unconscious man in the bed. ‘He could die after that mauling!’

  ‘Andre didn’t want to risk it,’ Marie explained. ‘He thinks there may be other patrols out there – besides, the British wouldn’t be too keen on a group of armed men asking for admission in the middle of the night.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Sadie said. ‘That doctor – he was a butcher. Marcel will have a terrible scar…’

  ‘I doubt he’ll care if he recovers,’ Marie replied. ‘It was in deep, Sadie. He may get an infection—’

  ‘We shan’t let him die,’ Sadie declared. ‘He has been kind to me and to Pierre’s son.’

  ‘Ah yes, the little one,’ Marie’s smile softened at the mention of Sadie’s child. ‘How is my little Pierre?’

  ‘Over his cough, I think,’ Sadie said. Her son was robust and enjoyed his life on the farm, running half-naked in the French sunshine and enchanting all the workers. Maggie Gibbs had loved him too, when she’d found time to spend at the farm, but she’d worked too hard and fallen ill.

  Sadie frowned as she thought of her friend. She had been shipped home to England and would be in a military hospital. Sadie hoped she was recovering. She missed Maggie and felt a bit lonely at times, even though Marie treated her as one of the family. Sadie’s knowledge of the French language was slowly getting better, but she longed to speak English with her friends again – however, she wasn’t ready to return to England yet. If she went, she would have to leave her child behind.

  Marie would keep little Pierre if Sadie asked her and that meant she could return to nursing if she chose, but she’d discovered soon after his birth that she loved him too much to abandon him. Therefore, if she returned to England she must pose as a widow and hope to be believed and allowed to find work as a nurse. The one thing she couldn’t do was to go home to her family…

  ‘I will sit with Marcel for a while,’ Marie told her. ‘Rest, Sadie. He will need much care from you in the next days – and for now he sleeps.’

  ‘Yes, that is true,’ Sadie said and bent to touch her patient’s brow. He was warm but not hot. If he took a fever, she would need to sit with him long hours, so for now she would take her friend’s advice and sleep.

  Marco awoke to a sense of pain and blackness. Gradually, the blackness receded and he saw the young women bending over him, soothing his forehead with something that smelled delightful. He reached up and caught her wrist with a grip that was surprisingly strong for a man who had lain in a fever for a week.

  ‘That smells delightful, Sadie, but you need not continue. I’m perfectly fine now,’ he said and tried to rise but fell back as the dizziness took him and he suddenly realised how much he hurt. ‘Did the farm cart trample over me?’

  ‘You were shot in the side. Luckily, it slid off a rib, avoiding more serious harm and burying itself in muscle, so the doctor said.’ Sadie looked at him sympathetically. ‘I imagine it hurts like hell. I asked Matron Mayhew if she would give me some painkilling medicine for you, but she was short of everything again and couldn’t help us.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Marco said. ‘Those poor devils at the hospital need it far more – I’ll mend and I think I have you to thank for nursing me?’

  ‘You’ve had a nasty fever – the result of that butcher mangling you,’ Sadie said in a disapproving tone. ‘He was a general practitioner and no surgeon, but they didn’t want to risk running into another patrol and couldn’t wait until morning, so you were operated on here.’

  ‘Yes—’ Marco closed his eyes against the feeling of weakness and pain. ‘I suppose Andre and the others brought me back. I’m lucky to be alive…’

  ‘He blames himself for not making sure that German soldier was dead,’ Sadie told him. ‘He has been here most days to ask how you are – he says you’re too valuable to them to lose.’

  Marco made a wry grimace. ‘I’m useful at supplying information and getting supplies,’ he admitted, ‘but my ability to shoot the enemy is questionable. I can fire a gun but not as accurately as some of the others. I think that’s why Andre tries to keep me out of the firing line.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sadie replied, showing she’d lost none of her nursing authority. ‘If he protects you, it is because he needs your other skills – he told me you can see better in the dark and move more silently than most of the others and they use you to alert them to enemy patrols. You were sent out here to liaise and keep contact with the British not to fight, Marcel.’

  A cynical smile touched his lips. ‘So, if you know all this, why call me by that name?’

  ‘Because Marcel is your name here,’ she said and smiled at him. ‘Marie believes that all her family and workers are loyal – but you never know who may be turned. Food is scarce in some places and if family are threatened, men and women will do what they have to, to protect them.’

  ‘How wise she is for one so young.’ Marco smiled up at her from the pillows.

  ‘I was brought up in a big family in the East End,’ Sadie told him and laughed. ‘You had to scrap for whatever you wanted. There were six of us and though my parents were hardworking there was barely enough to go round, so as soon as you could, you started to earn a bit of money. I babysat for the newsagent’s wife and I saved enough to leave home and get a job in an office as a junior. When the war came, I volunteered to be a nursing assistant and I wanted to be a nurse�
��’

  ‘But then you met Pierre—’ Marco’s smile vanished. ‘I’m sorry he died saving my life, Sadie. If I can do anything to help you…’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know you give Marie money for me and the child?’ Sadie shook her head at him. ‘You’ve been more than kind to me and I’m grateful.’

  ‘But you’re not truly happy, are you?’ Marco looked at her keenly. ‘Are you still grieving for Pierre?’

  ‘Perhaps a little,’ she said. ‘I did love him – but we hardly knew each other and it seems such a long time ago. I suppose I was foolish…’

  ‘Just in love,’ Marco told her. ‘The foolish ones are those back home who would condemn you for having a child out of wedlock.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said and smiled. ‘I feel the same. Where is the shame in bearing the child of a man you loved, even if he didn’t get a chance to wed me? I know he would have, had I told him before…’

  Marco reached for her hand and pressed it. ‘If you were married, you might be able to return to work. I’m not sure if you could be a nurse, but there are some hospitals that might employ the widow of a war hero…’

  ‘Yes,’ Sadie nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ve wondered if I should go back to England after the war wearing a ring. I don’t know if I’d need to produce a certificate…’ She sighed. ‘If my parents believed I was married, they would look after little Pierre while I worked and Matron Mayhew told me that she would take me on again…’

  ‘You should marry, Sadie. It would make things easier for you – though, as I said, I do not consider you have done wrong.’

  ‘I haven’t met anyone else I like enough, let alone love – I think that’s why I lost my head over Pierre…’

  There was a short silence, then, ‘You could marry me,’ Marco said and she stared at him in shock. ‘Let me explain before you say no, please. I should not expect to sleep in your bed and it would be a marriage in many ways but not that – as you may have guessed, I’m of what some folk think an unnatural persuasion… and in their eyes it makes me a bad person.’