Flora's War

by Audrey Reimann

  Ruth’s hand was swelling, her fingers were numb and for the first time in her life she did not know what to do. She couldn’t leave this weeping girl, who was on the brink of collapse, to find her way out again and down to North Berwick station. ‘I can’t stand around in the cold waiting for you to explain,’ she said. ‘Stop snivelling. Come back to the house with me. Tell me what you want with Mrs Stewart.’

  She brought her hand carefully from her pocket and showed the girl the swollen fingers and the bruising that was spreading up from the wrist. ‘Can you bandage? Have you ever bound a sprained wrist?’ She looked at her closely again. ‘Have I seen you before? What’s your name?’

  ‘Flora Macdonald.’ The girl was trying to wipe her tears away with the back of her gloved right hand. ‘I can bandage.’ Then, ‘I know you are Lady Campbell. I saw you on the lawn at the wedding.’

  ‘The Hamilton wedding? Were you a guest?’

  ‘No. Andrew brought me here to meet his ma. You see, we …’ she caught her breath and clapped a hand to her back as if in pain. She staggered back a few steps and leaned against the wall.

  ‘All right,’ Ruth said sharply. ‘Follow me,’ and went swiftly to the house, with the girl, like an injured puppy, dragging along behind. She ran up the stone steps and stood back, watching the girl climb up painfully slowly. Ruth indicated that she should go ahead and open the great oak door, and when she had closed it behind them said, ‘Upstairs. Follow me.’

  The girl made a neat job of bandaging her wrist, then asked to use the bathroom. ‘Yes. Then come to the dining room. Across the hall.’ Ruth went to the new drawing room to telephone Dr Russell and ask him to call in an hour’s time. The rooms on this, the old bedroom floor, were almost identical in size to those on the floor below. The dining room and drawing room looked much as they had before, apart from the floral wallpaper, but it rankled with Ruth that her old drawing and dining rooms were filled with iron-framed beds and all the paraphernalia of a hospital.

  The girl returned. Ruth’s wrist was easier for the firm bandaging. She was grateful; she would listen to the girl’s story. She said, ‘There will be enough food for two. Tell me all about it over lunch,’ before jangling the little hand bell to summon the maid.

  Over lunch, which the girl hardly touched, Ruth began to question her, drawing out her story with a kind, concerned air whilst asking herself why she was allowing another aggravation into her day. All the same she prided herself on her sixth sense; the sense that became instantly alert at times of crisis.

  She soothed the girl now. ‘So Andrew helped you run away from Guthrie’s, where the Commander – of all people – had put you, and this when you were only fourteen?’

  ‘Yes. I told him I was seventeen.’

  ‘And he found you a job as housekeeper to the blind Mr Davidson who lives on the Esplanade?’ Ruth said, her voice warm with sympathy and encouragement.

  ‘Yes,’ Flora whispered, eyes downcast as she struggled to spoon up the leek and potato soup that Ruth had placed before her.

  Ruth wanted to shake her. But if she spoke severely she might frighten the girl. ‘Come on! Nobody’s going to hurt you.’

  The girl put her spoon down. Deep, gasping sobs were shaking her shoulders as tears splashed into her soup.

  Ruth repeated, ‘What has this to do with Mrs Stewart?’

  ‘It’s about Andrew and me.’ She mopped her face with the table napkin. ‘I’m sorry. We’re married.’

  How could they be? Ruth would have known. ‘Married?’

  ‘Yes. On the day of the Hamilton wedding. By habit and repute. I was only fifteen. I couldn’t marry and I couldn’t tell Andrew why.’ All this between great gulps of tears. ‘So Andrew bought the rings’, here the girl pulled on a ribbon from under the neckline of her dress and brought out a cheap wedding ring, ‘and now …’ She was overcome with the dreadful snivelling again.

  Ruth was temporarily shocked into silence. Then realisation dawned. Her mind started to focus sharply as it did when something momentous was afoot. It was uncanny the way so often she could spot an opportunity or rather, she thought, an opening, an answer to her own dilemma – in others’ troubles. ‘You are having a baby?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Andrew Stewart is the father?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he told you to get in touch with his mother if you had a problem?’

  ‘Yes.’ The girl was breathing deeply into the napkin she was holding to her face.

  Ruth needed a few moments to order the thoughts and possibilities that were crowding into her mind. So – it had happened on the very day that she herself had hoped to become pregnant. This girl had been sent to her. No girl wanted a child out of wedlock. Her mind raced down the bright, shining path of imagined possibilities. If you showed a troubled girl the way out she would often take the required action for herself. All one need do was to show the way, leave the gates open. How fortunate for herself that the girl had not found Mrs Stewart. A dependent mother and baby – the shame of knowing her son was responsible – was surely the last thing on earth the cook would want. ‘You are sure of the date of conception?’ she asked softly, gently. She was the girl’s only hope.

  ‘The second of September. The day of the wedding.’ The girl twisted the napkin into a rope.

  Ruth touched her arm. ‘Take your time. Try to eat something.’ There was a pot of coffee on the heated stand on the sideboard and Ruth went to pour for them. ‘What did you say your name was, dear?’

  ‘Flora Macdonald. Only I’m known to Mr Davidson as Flora Stewart – because, you see …’ and the girl went on to tell her, between snatches of tears and sips of coffee, about the search for work.

  When Flora had finished, Ruth said, quietly and deliberately, ‘You deceived both Andrew and your employer then, did you?’ The girl was sixteen now, so it would make no legal difference though Flora obviously thought it would.

  ‘I had to … I was afraid to tell the truth after the first lie.’

  A girl of sixteen was no match for Ruth. ‘You do realise that Andrew could have gone to jail?’

  Flora unwound the napkin and blew her nose vigorously into it. Then she caught her breath and eased her back. Ruth took the napkin from her and handed her a handkerchief and her own clean table napkin.

  The girl looked up, whey-faced and terrified. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Quite. And now you tell me that this – this common-law marriage was consummated in St Cuthbert’s churchyard on the second of September when you were only fifteen?’ It crossed Ruth’s mind to wonder how many more babies were conceived on that night, but she fought back the urge to be cruel and said in a soft, admonitory whisper, ‘That was very, very wrong of you, Flora. You have put Andrew into the position of committing two criminal acts. Once in helping you escape from Dr Guthrie’s and secondly in marrying a minor.’

  ‘I know. I just kept getting in deeper …’ Flora was weeping again, ignoring the handkerchief, mopping her eyes with her table napkin. ‘I had nobody.’

  So nobody knew, except herself and Flora. Ruth asked, ‘You are telling the truth? Andrew does not know about the baby?’

  ‘I haven’t told him.’

  ‘And nobody knows you have come here?’

  ‘Only some officials on North Berwick station. They wrote down the names of everyone who got off the train. They were all looking for billets and I didn’t know what …’

  ‘Yes, yes. That’s nothing. That’s not what I meant,’ Ruth said. ‘You realise that any scandal would put an end to Andrew’s chances of advancement – particularly with the Commander, who has helped him so much?’

  She waited a moment, watching the girl’s terrified face. ‘You know that the Royal Navy has prison cells on board ship? You know that these are very serious charges? If a sailor commits a civil act of criminality it is far worse for him to be tried by court-martial.’ Ruth knew very well that a civil case would never be heard in a military court
– but Flora could not know it.

  ‘I didn’t know … I didn’t know … I don’t know any more.’

  ‘You know what happens to girls who have babies out of wedlock?’

  Flora buried her face in the napkin. ‘They put you in the workhouse and they take the baby away …’

  Ruth reached across and patted her hand. ‘I’m trying to help. Dry your eyes.’

  After a few moments Flora lifted her face. She was as pale as death, flinching every now and again in pain. She choked on her words as she said, ‘I have to tell Andrew’s mother.’

  ‘Mrs Stewart is very ill with flu,’ Ruth said. ‘She can’t have visitors. She is being nursed in isolation. I’m afraid this news would be too much for her to bear.’

  Flora repeated, ‘Andrew said I was to see his ma …’

  Ruth said, ‘I have to tell you, Flora, that Andrew Stewart has given no end of trouble to his mother, and to me and the Commander.’ Flora’s face was paler than ever and she put her hand into the small of her back, clearly in a lot of pain even as Ruth said, ‘Andrew will have to be told but in view of the punishment and the loss of his promotion, don’t be surprised if he denies everything.’

  It was too much. Flora clutched the table’s edge wildly with her free hand, gave a cry of pain and crashed to the floor.

  She came to in a strange, dimly lit bedroom where a fire burned brightly in an iron and tile fireplace on the far wall from the bed. Shadows flickered and dimmed over the beamed ceiling above her. She tried to sit up, but the pain that earlier had shot through her with such heat and force was now a dull numbness that had spread to her muscles, and she was not able to raise herself. She fell back against the lacy white pillows on the big, deep bed. Her head was thick and fuzzy and very, very heavy. She called for help.

  The door opened, a light was turned on and now she saw that it was a big room with a sloping ceiling, filled with old-fashioned, ornate mahogany furniture. In the wardrobe mirror she saw Lady Campbell approach, pull up a chair and sit down. ‘You have injured your back, Flora. My doctor has seen you. He says you are not to be moved.’

  ‘I feel peculiar.’

  ‘The doctor gave you an injection of morphine,’ Lady Campbell said. ‘I don’t want you to worry about a thing.’

  ‘But – the baby–?’

  Lady Campbell put her finger to her lips and looked towards the door. ‘It is all right. Please. Don’t mention your condition to anyone. Not until I’ve had a chance to speak to Mrs Stewart. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ Flora struggled to rise but could not. She was too weak. She caught her breath and fell back once more. ‘Mr Davidson … I have to look after him.’

  ‘It’s done. Nanny Taylor has been to Portobello. I told her to tell Mr Davidson that you have fallen and injured your back. You have to rest.’

  ‘I can’t just leave.’

  ‘There can be no going back. Mr Davidson needs reliable help. I rang the Institute for the Blind. They will send help to him tomorrow.’

  ‘Mrs Stewart …?’ Flora asked.

  ‘I will see her this evening. If she’s well enough I’ll tell her. Tomorrow you will write to Andrew.’

  ‘I don’t want to get him into trouble.’

  ‘You must tell him about the baby. Tell him you are with me here at Ingersley and he must come for you and marry you. Give the letter to me. I will post it,’ Lady Campbell said. ‘Can you lift your head just a little, so I can give you your medicine?’

  She was holding a small glass of purple liquid. Flora hesitated, then, ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘A sedative plus tonic. Good for you. It doesn’t taste nice, but will help you to rest.’ Lady Campbell smiled. ‘I have a boiled sweet for you to suck to take away the taste.’

  Flora drank the dose and reached up for the sweet before the foul-tasting medicine could turn her stomach, make her sick. But such was her relief that she did not have to get out of bed that she closed her eyes for a few luxuriously drowsy seconds. Then she opened them. ‘Why are you doing this for me?’

  ‘Andrew Stewart has been very much the Commander’s protégé. He was brought up on the estate. His mother is an old family retainer. I’m speaking for my husband as well as myself when I tell you that we both feel responsible for any wrongdoing of Andrew’s.’

  ‘Andrew hasn’t done wrong,’ Flora said quietly. ‘He wouldn’t let the Commander or his mother down.’

  ‘Then consider that you are being offered a helping hand.’

  Lady Campbell put a gentle hand on the counterpane but did not meet Flora’s eyes. Instead she stared into the distance as she said, ‘You do see that Mrs Stewart must be told first. She would not wish to be the subject of servants’ gossip.’

  Flora whispered, ‘Please. Tell her I’m sorry …’

  ‘Then you tell nobody about the pregnancy, especially Nanny Taylor, who will look after you. Not yet.’ Lady Campbell smoothed the sheet. ‘And whatever you do, don’t try to get out of bed. The medicine will make you unsteady.’

  When Lady Campbell had left the room, Flora lay back against the pillows as warm tears rolled down her face and under her chin to soak into the cotton nightdress someone had put on her. All she could remember was falling, then Lady Campbell ringing for help and the woman who had served lunch lifting her on to a sofa – then nothing.

  Her limbs were heavy, the pain was less but she could not stop the tears that continued their relentless rolling down her cheeks. She had never been one for crying. Lately, everything brought her to the brink of tears and she could not help herself. Last week, in church, they had sung ‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’ and she’d blubbed throughout the whole service, thinking of Andrew in peril on the sea. Everything scared her. The very word ‘pregnant’ terrified her. It was an ugly word. She didn’t want to be pregnant. But she was and she must tell Andrew. She’d write:

  Dearest Andrew, I am at Ingersley. Please come and save me. Help me.

  I am expecting our baby. It was conceived under the weeping tree on the night we were married. I went to find your mother like you told me to do but she is in hospital. She has the flu and I have this terrible pain in my back. I collapsed outside. Lady Campbell is going to tell your mother about the baby. Please, please, Andrew you have got to come and get me. They will send me to a workhouse and the baby will be taken away. Nobody should do that to a girl – take her baby away.

  Please. Help. I have nobody but you. I love you. Flora.

  The Rutland docked late at night under a magnificent sky, lit from the horizon to the zenith by the waving curtain, pearly green, amber and red, of the aurora borealis. With the engines closed down, the ship’s company had been at the rails or standing on the dock, marvelling at the calm, the quiet, the lights and the sheer relief of a safe harbour after months of war. Gordon left the bridge and went ashore to put in a call to Ingersley.

  Ruth answered. ‘You have only just docked, darling?’ She sounded pleased to hear him, and his mood lightened. ‘I’ll be home the day after tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Can’t take my leave in the first wave.’

  ‘No. Stay where you are. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. I’ll book into an hotel in Inverness.’

  ‘Will you really? That’s very good of you.’ She must have missed him badly. ‘I’ll expect to hear from you tomorrow evening then.’ Bemused, he put the receiver down.

  Now, the following morning, with dawn breaking across the water, Gordon looked out from the bridge and saw that crew, sailors and half the company of Royal Marines the Rutland carried were crowded on deck, waiting at the rails for the bells to be piped before they could pour off the ship and make for the railway station, going home for three blessed days to family, wives and girlfriends. Only he, their captain, knew that they would be sailing for the Mediterranean as soon as the repairs were done. They would be gone for months. How many of them would see their loved ones again? The naval losses, conveyed to him with the sailing orders by coded wireless telegr
aphy message from the Admiralty, were grim. Three months into the war 114 ships had been sunk by U-boats.

  Then, as he stood watching the men, he found himself staring in astonishment. Ruth was being escorted up the gangway by one of the senior officers. He blinked, then closed his eyes for a moment in case he was imagining it. He opened them. It was Ruth – Ruth, wearing a coat of jade green in the new wide-shoulder, swing-back style, over a matching costume, and both trimmed with black velvet at the stand-up collar and pockets. A black Cossack-style hat set off her golden hair, which swung with every movement and brought appreciative smiles and looks of admiration from the sailors and the lieutenant-commander who escorted her to him.

  ‘How on earth did you get here so soon?’ he asked once they were alone together in his cabin and he had given her a warm kiss. Then, smiling, ‘You look wonderful.’ It was good to have a wife waiting for him. He felt a surge of gratitude seeing her here before him. ‘Let me look at you.’

  Jade-green boots of suede with black fur cuffs could not conceal her long, slender legs that swished, silk on silk, as she returned his kiss. She did it lightly, brushing her lips gently across his before she took out a lace handkerchief to dab away traces of scarlet lipstick. Her arm was bandaged. He said, ‘Your wrist? What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing much. A slight sprain. It hasn’t prevented me from driving.’

  ‘You drove the Armstrong Siddeley all this way to be with me?’ He could scarcely believe it. His earlier gloomy mood was changing to one of gratitude and delight. ‘You drove through the night, in this bitterly cold weather?’

  ‘There was no snow. Patches of ice – but I was desperate for you, darling,’ she said. He felt the familiar thrill of arousal and tried to draw her close but laughing she said, ‘The Armstrong Siddeley is on the quay. Drive me to the hotel in Inverness. I can’t wait …’

  ‘Give me an hour.’ He wanted her now. Ruth knew the power of her sex appeal – he dared not imagine the pleasures to come or he would not be able to do his work. ‘Have something to eat while I do what has to be done.’