by Rose Meddon
Wrong place at the wrong time. How unfair, especially since, by the sound of it, it shouldn’t have been him making the trip in the first place. But for his eagerness…
In that moment, seated on the sofa, the light in the drawing room greyer than it had been in ages, the reality of Luke’s death struck her like a blow to her stomach, a blow so hard and so unexpected that she doubled over. With it, came the sensation that she was about to be sick. Forcing herself to swallow back a nasty taste, she looked down into her lap. Her hands, resting on the unfamiliar black crepe of her mourning dress, looked as though they belonged to someone else. ‘Would it have been… would it have been…’
‘Would it have been quick?’ Lawrence finished her question. ‘Without a doubt. The report I received from a nearby unit stated that it was a direct hit, and so I have no doubt whatsoever that he would have been gone in a flash.’
‘Small mercy,’ she whispered. In her lap, the fingernails of her right hand were pressing into the palm of her left. She pressed them harder. The pain was a good deal less than she would have liked.
‘Small mercy, yes.’
‘So… may I ask when to expect him to be brought back?’
The frown that crossed Lawrence’s brow drew her to looking at him more closely. He really didn’t look at all well.
‘Back?’
‘His… remains,’ she said, it being a word she had heard Marjorie Randolph use. ‘Only, I should like him to be buried here, in Woodicombe, in the churchyard alongside all the other Channers gone before him. So, when do I tell his Ma and Pa that he will be back?’
‘I—’
‘And his belongings,’ she went on. ‘I shouldn’t imagine there will be much, but it would be a comfort to me to have his signet ring… and anything else he had with him.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Lawrence said quickly. ‘I will arrange for his belongings to be sent on to you. And his medals.’
‘Medals,’ she said. She felt so weary, so tired, every thought a labour to make. ‘He never mentioned receiving no medals.’
‘In my experience, men rarely do.’
‘Well, thank you for telling me what happened,’ she said, getting up from the sofa. ‘Though I doubt it is your first time having to impart news of such tragedy, I don’t suppose it comes easy to you.’
In an instant, Lawrence too was on his feet. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It does not.’
‘No.’
‘Look, Kate,’ he picked up again. ‘You should know that your husband was a model soldier. Never one to shirk a task, he was most diligent in his duties. Reliable. Popular with the other men, too. Well-liked. Trusted. The whole company will miss him. I shall miss him.’
Slowly, and as though watching herself doing so from on high, she turned towards the door. ‘He was a good man all round, took before he’d even led a life. That’s what he was.’
‘He was indeed. And my condolences, again, for your loss.’
* * *
She had seen the rain coming. She had watched it on the far horizon, falling in slanting lines from leaden clouds above a slate-coloured sea. And now it was falling upon her, flattening her hair to her head and starting to soak through the crepe of her dress. Rivulets of it trickled down her forehead, dropping from her eyebrows onto her cheeks to curve around the outside of her lips and drop from her jawline onto her chest. After the heat of the last few weeks it felt cold. And miserable. And yet utterly just. Finally, soaked to the skin and chilled through to her bones, she felt proper pain. And it came as a relief.
When she had left Mr Lawrence in the drawing room, she’d had no idea where she was headed. Waiting for her on one of the hard chairs in the hallway had been Naomi, ready to comfort her. But she had been in no mood for comforting words, no matter how kindly intended. Instead, watching Naomi get to her feet, she had raised a hand, gesturing vaguely that she didn’t want to talk and hurrying on past. And now, here she was, down in the cove, the high tide sending waves lolloping onto the sands, the wind whipping about her ears, and the rain coming down in great torrents. Luke was dead. Never again would he set foot on this shore, or indeed upon any other. His life had been taken from him by a stupid war in a foreign land. And from her had been taken the husband she had yet to properly know, and whose children she would never now bear.
Turning slowly about, she stared back up the beach to where the path made its way through the boulders, her eyelashes clumped with tears and rain, the view before her blurred and grey. Just as slowly, she collapsed down onto the sand, its soft dampness sucking at her knees while, behind her, the waves continued to rush at the shore. And then she cried. She cried until her ribs ached and her head felt so heavy that she could do nothing but double over and bring it to rest on the sand.
Gone. Luke was gone. And with him were gone all of her hopes and dreams.
Chapter Nine
Grief
‘Kate, you must promise me.’
Feeling overly-warm and sticky, but not daring to throw back the bedcovers, Kate looked up at Naomi and nodded. At least the delirium seemed to have passed. At least she no longer seemed to switch from being boiling hot one moment to freezing cold the next. Now she just seemed perpetually hot.
‘I promise I won’t go out without telling someone where I’m going.’
In truth, given the fuggy state of her head, she was just uttering words. But it seemed important to Naomi that she say them. And, from the ashen tone to her complexion and the grey-green bags under her eyes, this morning, Naomi looked like a woman who could do without any more worries. Perhaps she wasn’t well either, Kate thought, her attention already drifting away.
A couple of days had now passed since Mr Lawrence had arrived to break the news about Luke. As to what had happened more recently – specifically, to confine her to her bed – she was rather less certain. She recalled going down to the cove to get away from the sympathetic expressions everyone affixed each and every time they saw her, and to escape their repeated condolences. She could even remember that the beach had been grey and blowy and welcoming in its freshness. But then it had started to rain, and the next thing she knew was that she had been in bed, in this room, shivering violently, giant shadows stalking the ceiling, and the walls – with their oversized cabbage roses – taking on a life of their own: one moment threatening to suffocate her, the next, drawing far away to leave her quaking, vulnerable and afraid. And now, here she was, apparently two days on from all of that, having awoken from what she guessed to have been a tincture-induced slumber that had apparently consumed an entire day and the two nights on either side of it.
‘I have thanked Lieutenant Rowley-King for his quick thinking,’ Naomi was now saying. ‘But, as soon as you are up and about again, I would urge you to make a point of thanking him for yourself.’
Ah, yes, and that was another thing she didn’t recall: apparently, she was only here at all because, finding her on the beach, soaked to the skin and blue with cold, Ellis Rowley-King had somehow carried her all the way home. How on earth he had managed to get her back up the path through the woods she couldn’t imagine. He had to be stronger than he looked. And yes, Naomi was right: she really should thank him.
‘I will,’ she said.
With a shake of her head, Naomi exhaled a long sigh. ‘Right. Well, thankfully, you seem to be over the worst of it. Even so, I shall leave you to get some more rest. You are not to get out of bed. If you need anything, ring the bell. Otherwise, please, stay where you are. I assure you, it is the best place for you. I shall come back and see you later.’
In frustration, Kate gave a little sigh. But she didn’t have it in her to make a fuss. She felt too tired – exhausted, in fact – and far too weak. But she could just check that Naomi was all right.
‘Are you—’ But Naomi was already halfway across the room and didn’t turn back. Oh well, she would ask her later.
Out on the landing, someone was hovering. Dressed in black, and with grey hair, it had to be Mab
el.
‘She’s awake, you say? Well, that’s a relief an’ no mistake.’
From her bed, Kate strained to hear.
‘Yes. I do believe she’s over the worst of it.’
‘Once her fever broke, I knew she was out of the woods. You can always rely on Loveday Channer to know what to prescribe.’
Ma Channer had been to see her? Well, she had no recollection of that happening. Eager now to learn what else had been going on, she tried to raise herself up from her pillow, but even as she began to do so, it felt as though the insides of her head had come loose and were bobbing about in her skull like corks on the flood tide.
‘Yes. Well, I’ve told her to stay where she is. And I suggest that for the moment at least, we don’t answer any questions from her about—’
Bother. Naomi had pulled the door closed. Answer any questions from her about what? What was it they were planning to keep from her? She must try to think what it might be. And then, the next time someone came through the door, she would wheedle it out of them. In the meantime, she would just close her eyes for a while – maybe even have a little sleep. Just for a few minutes, that was all.
* * *
‘There you are then, Kate, love, all dressed.’
‘Yes,’ Kate agreed with Mabel’s observation. ‘All dressed.’ All dressed for mourning.
‘Let me help you to your feet. Slowly, mind. Only, you said just now you felt woozy again.’
‘I did. But that was just the first time I stood up. I feel better now.’
The truth of it was that she didn’t feel better at all; she still felt dizzy – horribly so. An hour back, she had opened her eyes to find that, rather than snoozing for just a few minutes as she had intended, she had slept all through the morning and into the afternoon, to be awoken only by a ravenous hunger. Sitting up in bed, she had then devoured a bowl of chicken soup, a bread roll with a pat of butter, and a slice of Edith’s rhubarb and custard cake. And now, here she was, with Mabel’s help, bathed and dressed and about to venture downstairs.
‘You haven’t missed out on any sunshine,’ Mabel said to her as they processed slowly along the landing towards the stairs. ‘If it hasn’t been raining, it’s been threatening to. That spell of nice weather has well and truly broken. Distant memory, that is. If reports in the newspapers are to be believed, it’s been the same everywhere. Most rainfall in parts of London in the month of July for more than a hundred years they’re saying.’
Rainfall. Tears. Oddly, since she had woken up from her fever, she hadn’t cried once. Perhaps she was all cried out. Perhaps that was it now; perhaps she was done with crying.
At the bottom of the stairs, the two women turned towards the drawing room. Ahead of them, the French doors to the terrace were letting in the greyest and bleakest of lights.
‘Everyone’s been asking after you,’ Mabel said as they walked on. ‘Ready to go in and see them?’
She closed her fingers more tightly over Mabel’s sleeve. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Wait a moment. There’s summat I want to ask you.’
‘Yes love? And what would that be, then?’
Very slowly, she turned to study Mabel’s face. She might be smiling but she looked tired – her complexion as pale as the outdoor light. ‘Has there been any word yet about… about Luke’s remains.’ Noticing Mabel’s smile slowly dissolve, she determined not to be fobbed off. ‘About when he will be brought home, I mean. Only, I should like for him to be buried soonest. No doubt that’s what his Ma and Pa would want, too. Tedn’t right for him to be left lying about in some foreign land.’
‘No word yet, love, no. Least, not that I’m aware of.’
As a rule, Mabel never lied to anyone. But, this afternoon, she was definitely concealing something. And, the more Kate thought about it, the more she was convinced that it was connected to what she had heard her discussing with Naomi earlier. Perhaps she should try asking Naomi herself; if nothing else, she might be able to ask Mr Lawrence for news of Luke’s remains.
Going in through the doors to the living room, the person she saw first was Ned, in his wheelchair, sitting at a table newly positioned alongside one of the pairs of French windows – presumably for the light, such as it was. Across from him sat Rowley, and, between them, standing on a chair and straining to reach something, was Esme.
From one of the sofas, Naomi got to her feet. ‘Kate,’ she said, smiling and coming towards them. ‘I’m so glad you felt well enough to come down. Would you like to come and sit with me? As you can see, the boys already have help with their jigsaw. Well, when I say help…’
‘Yes,’ she said.
Grateful not to have to talk to everyone all at once, she allowed Naomi to lead her around to the sofa. To her surprise, in the fireplace, a couple of logs were crackling.
‘Shameful, I know,’ Naomi conceded, evidently seeing her notice it. ‘But it’s such an awful afternoon again and without the cheeriness of a fire the room felt so utterly dismal.’
Slowly, Kate lowered herself onto the sofa. Although it was only a few days since she had sat in this very spot – Mr Lawrence standing at the fireplace telling her about Luke – it felt like a couple of weeks.
‘Mr Lawrence gone out?’ she said, noting his absence.
‘Lawrence?’
‘Yes, has he gone out somewhere?’
Reaching across to Kate’s lap, Naomi caught hold of her hand. ‘Oh, my dear Kate, he had to go back. He only had sufficient leave to stay just that one night.’
‘Just the one night? So where is he now then?’
‘I should imagine that by now, he’ll be back at the front – back in France,’ Naomi replied.
Back at the front? Already? Well that hardly seemed fair; it was only a couple of days since the poor man had arrived. And he’d looked so badly in need of a decent night’s sleep, too, not to mention some proper food. ‘So…’
‘He asked me to apologize to you for having to depart so soon—’
‘Apologize to me?’ What reason did Mr Lawrence have to apologize to her? It didn’t make any sense.
‘I think he feels guilty about what happened to Luke – doubly so for having to go back without being able to talk to you again…’
Puzzled that Mr Lawrence should feel to blame, Kate shook her head. ‘It weren’t his doing that got Luke killed.’
Beside her, Naomi gave the slightest shrug. ‘No. But given that he was the one who encouraged Luke to join the Wiltshires in the first place, I suppose it only natural that he should feel some responsibility.’
Kate continued to shake her head. ‘It’s not right for him to blame himself,’ she said. ‘Luke would have joined up anyway. With or without Mr Lawrence to speak for him, he would have been one of the first to volunteer. That was his way. So Mr Lawrence shouldn’t feel bad. Oh, I do wish he hadn’t left so soon, then I could have told him as much for myself. I can’t believe I didn’t have the chance to speak to him again before he went.’
‘Next time I write to him,’ Naomi began, her voice soft, ‘I will convey to him what you have just said. Or, if you prefer, you could write a note yourself and put it in the envelope with mine.’
This time, Kate nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll do that. Only, I can’t bear to think of him fretting over it… not when it’s not his fault. Such a shame he’s had to go back so soon. He can barely have had time for a decent meal.’
Giving Kate’s hand a squeeze, Naomi smiled. ‘Oh, my dear Kate. Trust you to be concerned for his well-being! Lawrence’s visit might have been brief but, knowing him as I do, the inconvenience would not have entered into his mind. Not for a moment.’
She glanced to Naomi’s face. ‘No?’
‘No,’ Naomi said. ‘He told me himself that the moment he learned what had happened to Luke, he went straight to request a leave of absence in order to be the one to come and tell you. He said he couldn’t bear to think of you learning of the news by letter, which, apparently, with enlisted men, is wh
at usually happens. His commanding officer granted his request but said he could only be spared for four days, which is why he had to go straight back.’
Slowly, Kate turned away. Learning of Mr Lawrence’s selflessness made her feel dreadful. ‘I didn’t realize,’ she whispered. ‘If I’d known that, I would have shown more gratitude for the trouble he went to. But I didn’t know. I wish he’d said.’
Unable to bear it, she started to cry.
‘Dear Kate. Please don’t upset yourself on Lawrence’s account. He’ll know you were grateful, truly he will. And before too much longer he’s bound to be back again, on proper leave next time…’
‘Yes,’ she said between sobs. ‘I suppose he will.’
‘…and then you can talk to him all you like.’
Sniffing loudly, Kate did her best to nod her agreement. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Next time he’s home here, I’ll do that. I’ll make sure to thank him proper for his trouble.’
* * *
Who knew that having nothing to do all day would make time pass so slowly?
Having been up and about again for a couple of days now, Kate no longer felt nearly so weak nor so wobbly. Instead, the problem seemed to have moved from her body to her mind, being confined indoors making her feel as though she had become trapped inside her own head with no chance of escape, her thoughts all of a muddle one moment, benumbed by grief the next. The fact that no one would let her help with any of the chores didn’t help. Rather than obey everyone’s instructions to rest up, what she really needed to be doing was filling her hours with activity. That way, her days might not feel so long and so empty… and so utterly pointless.
