by Rose Meddon
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to head for an early night,’ the young man himself chose that moment to remark.
‘Shan’t think any the less of you for that,’ Ned replied.
‘Jolly good thing the drive up from Exeter was scenic, because it felt to be never ending.’
‘You’ll pretty soon discover,’ Ned remarked, ‘that there isn’t a straight route from A to B in the whole of the county.’
‘Not unlike Oxfordshire, then – except this seems a good deal more hilly.’
‘And rather less civilised. Sorry, Kate.’
Catching his eye, she grinned. ‘God’s own country, this is. Ask anyone.’
‘Anyway,’ Rowley said. To Kate, he appeared to be trying to stifle a yawn. ‘After so long in the motor this afternoon, I must at least take a few steps – perhaps outside if I may?’
When he struggled to get up from the chair, Kate fought back the urge to go to his aid. Was it the done thing, she wondered, or would he be offended? Would he ask for help if he needed it? Since it wasn’t in her nature to watch anyone struggle with anything, perhaps, tomorrow, she should ask Nurse Hammond. She would know the right way to go about these things. With Ned, it had been different: that first day he had lowered his feet down from his bed, Nurse Hammond had already shown her how to stand the other side of him and take his weight as he leant on their arms. To see him shuffle even just that one step – ignoring that he had winced in pain and borne heavily down upon them – had been so reassuring. It was such a shame then, that even with the aid of two sticks and the exercises he did with Nurse Hammond every morning and evening, more than a week later, he could still only manage just that same single step. And, though she would never admit it to anyone, in her heart, she wasn’t even sure that it was a proper step; she wasn’t sure that his foot actually ever left the ground. Still, she reminded herself, it was early days yet – very early days. He would get there; one only had to look at Lieutenant Rowley-King to see what was possible.
‘You might find the grass a bit wet,’ she cautioned now, opening the French doors for him. ‘But if you keep to this path,’ she added, gesturing down to the ground, ‘you can follow it all the way around the house.’
‘Thank you,’ he acknowledged her suggestion. ‘But while I should dearly love to make a circuit of the house, I am nowhere close to managing that sort of distance yet. A couple of dozen steps is about all I shall manage, especially after all that travelling.’
Cursing her foolishness, Kate blushed. ‘Forgive me. When I saw you walking from the car I thought—’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘Coming into the house under my own steam was a matter of pride. Two dozen steps is more than I could do a week ago. And if, every day that I am here, I add even just one further step to my total, I shall be more than pleased.’
‘And if I ever manage even half a dozen,’ Ned called after him. ‘I can tell you now that I’ll take them straight towards Father’s best cognac in celebration.’
After that first evening, it felt to Kate as though Lieutenant Ellis Rowley-King – Rowley to everyone from Esme upwards – had always been there. Refined, nicely mannered, and quiet – but not so much that his presence could be overlooked – he seemed content to spend long spells sitting with Ned at the little table by the French doors in the study, their conversations wide-ranging, his influence upon Ned’s spirits beyond doubt.
He also shared with Ned a determination to get better. Though it might take him several minutes – and a couple of stops on the way – he was soon able to negotiate without help, the staircase to the first floor followed by the short distance along the bachelors’ corridor to his room. Downstairs, he was able to make his way about even better, albeit the effort required left him close to exhaustion. Moreover, in the following days, while Ned failed to increase the number of steps he was able to take, Rowley added first two or three to any attempt, and then five or six.
‘Do you know much about birds, Kate?’ he asked her one morning when she arrived bearing a tray containing a jug of fresh coffee and the barrel of biscuits. Setting it down, she waited for him to go on. ‘Only, something keeps flitting about, catching insects and then darting into the grass at the base of that far hedge – small and brown and speckled. I rather imagine it to be feeding young.’
When he indicated where he meant, she followed the line of his finger. ‘Meadow pipit?’ she ventured. ‘They like to hop about on the lawns. And they do build their nests on the ground.’ Somehow, she sensed that her answer surprised him. That being the case, she redirected her attention to her tray.
‘Meadow pipit, hm. That could be it.’
‘Venture the other side of that hedge, where the land runs to the clifftop,’ she said, ‘and you’ll likely see rock pipits, too.’ Kate arranged their cups and saucers on the table.
‘Really?’
To Kate, he now seemed genuinely interested. ‘Yes. Though they might be larger than meadow pipits, they’re also a good bit duller – a sort of light grey-brown. Less pretty, I think.’
‘I’ve never seen one, though, I should very much like to.’
‘There’s not much Kate can’t tell you about the flora and fauna down here,’ Ned chipped in.
Bother him! Now she could feel Rowley eyeing her.
‘Really?’
‘I tell you no lies,’ Ned went on, winking at her as she looked up. ‘Go on, ask her something.’
Dismayed, Kate shook her head at him. ‘If you’re going to be mean, then tomorrow I shan’t bring biscuits. Either that, or I shall leave them beyond your reach.’
‘I meant it as a compliment,’ he said. ‘And anyway, you forget that Rowley can walk quite the distance now – especially if biscuits are involved.’
‘But I doubt he’d want to walk all the way down to the pantry for them – especially not just so that you could wolf them all.’
To that, Ned roared with laughter. ‘No, I daresay you’re right.’
Being the centre of their attention was beginning to make Kate feel hot but, when she went to say something to deflect their interest in her, Rowley beat her to it.
‘Choughs.’
‘Choughs?’ Ned repeated as they both turned to look at him.
‘You told me to ask Kate something. So, my question is this – do you ever see choughs here?’
Slowly, she shook her head. ‘Not no more, no. Pa Channer remembers them, but no one hereabouts has seen one for years.’
‘Shame.’
‘I’ve heard tell there’s some in Cornwall.’
Their exchange about birds giving her an idea, she excused herself and went to the kitchen porch where she rummaged about in the boot cupboard. When that failed to throw up what she was seeking, she went to search about in the attic. Returning to the study later that afternoon, the item in question concealed behind her back, she found it difficult not to smile.
‘Not seen any choughs yet, I suppose?’ Ned greeted her arrival.
Still trying not to smile, she answered lightly. ‘Sadly not. But I have found these.’ Onto the table she placed an ancient set of field glasses. Then she stood back. ‘Now maybe you’ll spot some for yourself. At the very least, you should be able to study whatever it is that’s nested by that hedge.’
Glancing to Rowley, she saw his face brighten.
‘Golly,’ Ned said, craning towards them. ‘They look as though they saw the Boer War – the first one.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Rowley remarked, lifting them from the table. ‘If they’re not damaged then they’ll do the job just fine. Thank you, Kate. These are quite brilliant. I shall enjoy seeing what I can spot.’
And in which case, Kate reflected, crawling about in the attic, getting covered in dust, had been worth it.
Over the following days, Ellis Rowley-King surprised everyone with his increasing mobility. On the stretch of path outside of the French windows, he walked with more and more confidence. He even announced that
he felt ready to attempt a circuit of the house.
‘But you’re to do that only if you take someone with you,’ Nurse Hammond instructed upon learning of his intention. ‘A fall now would set you back weeks. And I’m sure you don’t want that.’
‘No, Nurse Hammond,’ Rowley was quick to agree.
‘I might not be responsible for your well-being, but I almost certainly would become so were you to injure yourself further. And I already have my hands full with your colleague here.’
‘Yes, Nurse Hammond.’ This time when he answered her, it was with a grin.
‘Kate, will you go with him?’
Since it sounded rather more like a command than a request, Kate felt obliged to comply. ‘If you’re sure you’re up to it,’ she said, watching Rowley getting slowly to his feet.
‘Certain of it,’ he said. To Kate’s mind, he seemed to be leaning too heavily on his stick to be ready to take on anything even close to the distance involved. On the other hand, she also knew just how many times he had walked back and forth along the same stretch of path. Moreover, this morning, there also seemed to be a new purpose about him. Belief – that was what she saw in his eyes. ‘I have decided that today is the day. Try and fail but never fail to try.’
‘John Quincy Adams,’ Ned observed.
‘That’s right.’
‘Very well,’ she said, with not the least idea of who John Quincy Adams was. ‘Then I shall come with you.’
When she reached to open back the door, he made his way towards it and then stepped carefully over the threshold and down onto the path.
‘Nice afternoon,’ he said as they set off.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘I say, thank you for coming with me. It is my fervent hope that I don’t need to lean upon you for support. For this to count for anything, I have to do it on my own.’
Despite his good intention their progress was ponderous, his limp pronounced and his need for his stick beyond doubt. In places along their route, foliage spilled from the border to almost completely obscure the little brick path and render it barely wide enough for them to walk side by side: circular leaves of lady’s mantle sprouted from between the cracks; un-pruned lavender bushes, their centres grown ancient and woody, sent pale and flimsy new stems reaching towards the light; three-foot high delphiniums in need of staking teetered towards them, their spires of dark and perfectly round buds on the point of bursting open.
‘Perhaps this isn’t the best of paths for you,’ she said, reaching to hold aside the wayward tendrils of a clematis.
‘My mother loves these,’ he said, nodding to it as they passed underneath, presumably ignoring her observation about the state of the path because he disagreed with it. ‘When I was quite young, she planted a couple to scramble up through the apple trees in the orchard. A couple of years on, Father got really cross, claiming that her clematis were strangling his trees. One day, when she was out, he got the gardener to cut them down – her clematis, I mean – and dig out every last trace of the roots.’
‘Goodness.’ Not only did it sound a draconian thing to do, it also seemed underhand of him to go behind his wife’s back. ‘What did she say?’
He shook his head, his dismay apparent. ‘They had the most awful row. It went on for days, neither of them speaking to the other. It was long vacs and I remember wishing I could go back to school. It was horrible.’ Despite the slowness of their pace, he came to a halt and arched his back. ‘Trouble with a stick,’ he said, briefly lifting his cane and waving it in front of him, ‘is that you start to lean on it.’
Unable to help it, she laughed. ‘I should have thought that was the point of it.’
He sighed. ‘Well, yes. But what I mean is that after a while, when my leg stiffens and tires and doesn’t want to go any further, the whole business of walking becomes so very wearying that I start to double over. And Nurse Hammond says I must try to remain upright at all times.’
She glanced ahead of them; they had yet to reach the first corner of the house. ‘Should we turn back?’ she said. ‘Or rest up a moment?’
‘No, thank you. Shortly now I’ll find my rhythm.’
Eventually reaching the first corner, they followed the path around, the steps up onto the terrace appearing ahead of them. At the sight of them, he came to a halt.
‘We could cross onto the lawn and take a longer route – miss the terrace altogether,’ she suggested.
‘No, if you don’t mind me resting upon your arm, I think I can manage them,’ he replied. ‘After all, I manage the stairs.’
She nodded and, offering her arm, felt him bear heavily upon it. ‘There’s only five of them anyway,’ she said. ‘And they’re quite shallow.’
At the top of the short flight, they paused again. ‘I’ve lost my bearings,’ he said, looking up to the sky. ‘Which way are we facing?’
‘This side of the house gives south,’ she said.
‘Towards Cornwall?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But the sea…’ he began, turning about. ‘Is that way?’
‘To the west of us, yes.’
‘I find something about being on the north coast disorienting,’ he remarked.
She smiled. ‘I suppose I’m used to it.’
Once again straightening up, he looked along the terrace. ‘Right-ho then. Onward we go.’
‘Where is home for you?’ she asked as they set off again. ‘What I mean is, where is your family?’
‘Just outside of Oxford.’ Realizing that he was still resting upon her arm, and since it seemed important to him that he did this without help, she very slowly lowered it such that he let go. ‘My father lectures in government and politics. The university is where he met my mother.’
‘Oh.’
‘At the time, she was a junior research assistant and, one day, coming across her in the library, he asked her to go to the opera with him. She said no. He kept asking though until, one day, she relented. Then, of course, they married, and she had us.’
‘Us?’
‘Oh, yes, I have two sisters, both older than me. Both married.’
‘Oh.’
Looking ahead, she realized that they were now approaching the end of the terrace and another short flight of steps, this time back down to the path.
‘I’ll take these on my own,’ he said to her. ‘Going down is rather easier than going up.’
From there, they walked through the gravelled courtyard, the stables and workshops away to their right.
‘Big place this, isn’t it?’ he remarked, seeming to take it all in.
Watching the slow movement of his feet, she shrugged. ‘Since I grew up here, I suppose I don’t really notice.’
‘But now you’re in London.’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Quite the change.’
‘Yes.’
‘Forgive me. I’m interrogating you.’
With a smile, she shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right. My… situation is a bit… odd.’
‘And not mine to probe,’ he replied. At the next corner, they stood for a moment and looked along the front of the house. ‘Almost three-quarters of the way.’
‘Almost.’
From there, they walked on in silence, passing the front porch, then the window to the study. Turning the final corner, they arrived back at the French doors.
‘I was on the point of mounting a search party,’ Ned greeted their return.
‘No need,’ Rowley said, tossing aside his stick and collapsing into a chair. ‘It might have taken me an inordinately long time – given the relatively short distance, but at least I made it.’
‘Well done. Good for you. At this rate, you’ll be back in the air in no time.’
Watching for Rowley’s response, Kate saw him shrug. ‘Won’t be down to me, will it? That will be down to some desk-bound sort, some fellow whose feet have never left the ground and who has no idea whatsoever of what being up there entails.
’
‘Even so,’ Ned said, his tone solemn. ‘You’ll be back in the air weeks before I am. Maybe even months.’
To hear them talking about returning to flying made Kate stiffen. Given what had happened to the pair of them, she didn’t like to think of them having to go back at all. If it was Luke, hearing him talk of returning would fill her with dread. She couldn’t bear to think about it even now – and Luke hadn’t even been injured.
Inwardly, she sighed. In truth, she should be grateful that young men like these were prepared to go back – that they didn’t want to take the cosy way out, remain at home and leave the task to someone else. After all, from what she was able to understand of it, this war was still some way off being won.
Yes, and until it was won, Luke would never be back where he belonged. And she would never properly know marriage – or motherhood. So, tonight, when she said her prayers, she would offer up thanks for the continued courage and the bravery of young men everywhere – Luke and Mr Lawrence, and Ned and this nice man Rowley included.
Chapter Seven
Rowley
‘Blessed with this weather, aren’t we?’
In response to Rowley’s observation, Kate cast her eyes to the sky: forget-me-not blue, and unbroken by even the merest wisp of cloud. It was the sort of day when poplin dresses replaced skirts and blouses, and straw hats became necessary to take just a few steps out of doors. Even Rowley had jettisoned his pullover and rolled back the cuffs of his shirt sleeves.
‘We are,’ she replied. ‘I hope it holds a while longer.’
It was after luncheon one afternoon and the two of them were crossing the lawn beneath the terrace, Rowley hobbling and still reliant upon his stick but nevertheless keeping up with her gentle pace. With a week now having passed since his first sortie around the house – as he referred back to it – she suspected that he no longer needed someone to accompany him “just in case”, but she went with him anyway and resisted pointing it out.
