Flora's War

by Audrey Reimann

  He followed her to the big square kitchen where a range gleamed from Ma’s vigorous applications of black lead. Curtains billowed in the little breeze, wafting through the great sash window that overlooked green spaces and, beyond, the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. He would not tell Ma that night station watch-keeping was an endurance test when he stood for four hours, clamped to a wing of the open bridge, concentrating in the darkness on a blurred image or a beam of light, which had to be the ship they were shadowing. There was always the dread that he had lost sight of it, a collision was about to happen and what he was seeing was water on his binoculars.

  He had left his bag in the bedroom that was to be his, and now they stood in the large drawing room. It had a high ceiling with ornate plasterwork and a gas-fired centre light that you lowered on a fancy chain. Ma had done well to find the flat. He was supporting her, sending £12 a month home out of his £24 monthly pay.

  ‘Where d’you get all this?’ he asked, looking in astonishment at the big Axminster carpet, the plush drop-end sofa and the chairs with lacy antimacassars draped over their high backs. ‘It’s good stuff.’

  ‘You won’t believe me, son,’ Ma said, a look of satisfaction on her face. ‘Lady Campbell had it sent over on a lorry. She said that it was sitting in storage and I was welcome to it.’

  ‘And the desk – and the piano,’ he said. ‘They’re from Ingersley. From the servants’ hall.’

  Ma busied herself laying the table for supper. The table was the only thing as far as Andrew could see that had come from their old home at the South Lodge. He said, ‘She was good to you, then?’

  ‘She was very good. She’s in charge of all the billeting. All those empty cottages are filled with evacuees.’

  ‘They were damp. Falling down.’

  ‘Better than nothing for they poor souls who were bombed out.’

  ‘They were mostly empty,’ Andrew reminded her. ‘Did she have to furnish them as well?’

  ‘She’d get an allowance and government stuff was sent to Ingersley for the hospital – beds and drawers, cupboards and tables and …’

  ‘She gave you all this?’ said Andrew, grinning. ‘She must have had a guilty conscience.’

  ‘She got me the job at the hospital,’ Ma said. ‘I’m grateful to her.’

  ‘You know you don’t have to work.’

  ‘Everyone has to. There’s no getting out of it. The government’s passed the Emergency Powers Act. They can send you anywhere – men and women – unless you are the mother of small children.’ Her face lit up with pleasure as she added, ‘And what do you think? Lady Campbell’s had a baby. A boy.’

  ‘That will please Sir Gordon,’ Andrew said, ‘though it will probably be talking before he gets home.’

  Ma went on excitedly, ‘I went down to the house on my day off to see Bessie. I must have gone the day after the baby was born. He had taken them all by surprise. Lady Campbell only found out she was expecting a few weeks before.’ Then the happy smile went from her face as she said, ‘But I felt as if I wasn’t welcome. I felt as if Lady Campbell had said, “Tell her to go away”. I never saw the baby. Bessie came to the door because she couldn’t ask me in.’

  ‘How did that make you feel?’ Andrew asked. He felt his gorge rising, imagining his ma being shown the door, being cold-shouldered after all those years of service to the Campbells.

  Ma had taken it in her stride, though. She said, ‘Oh. I told Bessie to come and see me when she gets a Sunday off. Then I went to the South Lodge to have a last look.’

  ‘And?’ Ma used to love her little palace. ‘They are using it as a store for the hospital.’ She smiled. ‘Do you know something? I wouldn’t want to go back.’

  ‘I’m glad. Don’t talk about Ingersley. It’s in the past.’ Then, tentatively, for he already knew the answer, ‘You’ve not looked for Flora?’

  Ma looked crestfallen. ‘I haven’t had time.’ She saw disappointment on Andrew’s face and asked quickly, ‘What about Greg? Did he find out anything?’

  ‘Not much.’ Greg had gone to the munitions factory and asked after Flora there. They’d told him that one day she’d come in limping badly and had made an appointment with the doctor. Greg did not ask to see him; there was no point, for they already knew about the fall on the ice.

  Now he said to Ma, ‘I have to find out what happened to her. I’ll go to the police tomorrow. Flora wouldn’t just stop writing. She’d tell me, whatever it was.’

  ‘She had done it before, though, son. Run away,’ Ma said. ‘She ran away from Guthrie’s. That’s what you told me.’

  ‘But that was before she …’ He gave a smile. ‘We made promises to one another. We both took them seriously.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ There was no point in going on about it, upsetting Ma. He’d look for a motorbike tomorrow and start searching. His first port of call would be Kelso, to find Mr Davidson.

  The following morning his luck was in. It was hard to come by cars or motorcycles; particularly motorcycles, because of petrol rationing, but he found a Norton for sale and paid too much for it. It had a tiny engine with a chain drive and it would be just the thing to leave at the dock – or on the corvette if he were allowed. It would get him back to Edinburgh faster and more cheaply.

  He wouldn’t waste any time in the port of Greenock – a dismal, dingy little town in his opinion. He’d spend his leave searching for Flora. He put the cycle to good use immediately, driving down to Kelso.

  He arrived at 2.15 p.m. and went straight to the town hall, where they gave him Mr Davidson’s address. He was living with his sighted brother and family in a pleasant bungalow tucked into the hills, so far from the war that only rationing and the wireless brought the brutal facts home to them. They showed him into a front parlour that bristled with knick-knacks, embroidered crinoline ladies and aspidistras. Tea and scones were served as Andrew faced Mr Davidson over the wooden tea trolley. ‘You say a nurse came round?’

  ‘Yes. An elderly woman.’

  ‘How would you know?’ Andrew asked sharply, by now having lost all sensitivity and oppressed by the sense of time slipping away.

  ‘Losing one’s sight does not mean losing one’s faculties, Andrew.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Andrew said. Then, ‘The following day, another woman came?’

  ‘Yes. A woman of importance. A WVS woman, I’d say. English.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ He’d done it again; been rude. He had the grace to say, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘She was used to giving orders – being obeyed.’

  ‘Like a hospital almoner? A woman in authority?’ Andrew leaned forward on the edge of his chair. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said that it would take some time but Flora was being taken care of. She didn’t say where. She said Flora would not be back and she took away all her belongings.’ Mr Davidson’s eyes flicked backwards and forwards as they did when he was agitated. ‘But surely you know this, Andrew? You are her brother.’

  It had been a wasted afternoon. Andrew was no nearer finding her. The following day he went to Portobello police station but they paid scant attention to him. He stood his ground, made them take a description of Flora, and finally they passed him on to an ageing sergeant who said kindly, ‘It happens every day, sir. Girls meet someone else – civvies, Canadians. She maybe wanted to let you down lightly. Look in the bars.’

  Andrew bit back an angry reply and said in a controlled voice, ‘My girl would not be found in a bar. Now tell me, which hospitals have nurses who work outside the hospital?’

  The sergeant said, ‘You are looking for a private nurse?’ Andrew shook his head impatiently and the sergeant added, ‘I see. The nurse who went to see the blind man? A Red Cross nurse then. They work outside.’

  ‘So – how do I find out? Have you got a list of Red Cross nurses?’

  The sergeant was losing patience. He stood up. ‘We have important work to do. Looking for e
ighteen-year-old girls who have dropped their boyfriends is not our priority.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me as if I were any old idiot.’ Andrew banged his hand on the desk. It was a foolish gesture and it got him nowhere, but he needed to do it. He’d had enough of civilians telling those to whom they owed their lives how to behave. He said, ‘I won’t give up. Damn it!’

  The sergeant sighed. ‘We’ll add her to the missing persons list. It will be circulated to the hospitals.’

  ‘Will her details go to every police force in the country? Where will you start the search?’ Andrew demanded.

  ‘We won’t search. If she turns up, we’ll inform you.’

  Andrew went to the door. ‘Make sure you keep her name on the list,’ he said before, angry and frustrated, he left the station, promising himself that when the war was over, he would join the police force. He liked service life, uniform and a hierarchy built on endeavour. And he’d have access to information and files and secret lists of missing persons. They would not be able to block his search.

  Tomorrow night he must return to Greenock. All he’d discovered was that a nurse and an Englishwoman of authority knew where Flora was. Edinburgh must be full of nurses fitting that description.

  In the nursery at Ingersley, Nanny removed the teat from the drowsy infant’s lips, placed the feeding bottle on a footstool, leaned back in the rocking chair and cradled six-week-old Robert close to her bosom. She gazed down at the dark, wavy hair that crowned his tiny head. ‘Mummy will be here in a minute, my darling,’ she crooned. ‘Baby Robert is going to have his first airing. Nanny will get the pram ready and take it down in the lift. Oh, he’s a lucky boy.’

  She looked up at the clock. Two o’clock. This was Bessie’s afternoon off. Where was Ruth? Surely she had not forgotten that Nanny had maternity and post-natal patients to see this afternoon? That Ruth might forget was the least of Nanny’s fears. She could not wipe from her memory the events of the day she had delivered baby Robert to Ruth.

  On the night the twins were born, Nanny left Flora and the stronger baby sleeping at Ivy Lodge then drove through the pitchblack night to Ingersley with the baby snug and warm in his basket. Night driving was dangerous since their headlights wore black cardboard covers that had only narrow slits to let through a small beam. But she made it safely and whisked the baby inside and up the stairs to Ruth, who, she’d have thought, would be pacing the floor in an agony of suspense.

  Ruth was asleep, though it was only an hour past midnight. She shrugged away Nanny’s hand on her shoulder. Nanny gave her a few seconds’ grace then whispered, ‘Look, Ruth! It’s a boy – your adopted son is here.’

  Ruth groaned, turned over, opened her eyes slowly and then sat up. She pushed her hair off her face, blinked and said, ‘Did you have to wake me?’ She looked at the baby, wrinkled her nose in disgust and said, ‘My God! What an ugly infant. He’s the image of his father.’ Then, lying down and turning her back, ‘Let me sleep. Everything is ready in the nursery.’

  Nanny settled the infant and gave him his first feed. Her own room, part of the nursery suite, had been made ready and she tried to snatch an hour’s sleep before she must return to Flora. She awoke at six, fed the baby again and took him to Ruth.

  This time she was in no mood to put up with Ruth’s petulance. ‘Wake up, Ruth,’ she said. ‘You must look after the baby. I am going back to Flora. I will drop in at the cottage, tell Bessie that the baby is born and ask her to come to you.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘But nothing! You will put on a dressing gown – and look as if you have at least had a disturbed night – you wait for the arrival of Bessie and the doctor and you give the doctor the impression at least of post-partum tiredness. Do not let him examine you.’

  All was well at Ivy Lodge. Flora was bathed and dressed. She said, ‘Look, Nanny. Weeks ago I altered this dress. I let out the seams while I was lying in bed. It fits me!’ She unfastened the front opening, picked up the baby and said shyly, ‘He knows how to feed.’

  Nanny stayed with her, watching as Flora contentedly nursed her baby. She would not stay too long, for she herself now had all the new-mother instincts, chief of which was never to let her infant out of her sight. Flora appeared to have accepted the fact that she could only keep the one baby. The heartbreak had not happened for her yet. But watching her, Nanny knew with a sinking, sick feeling that it was all going too much according to plan. Would the apple cart soon come crashing to the ground and bring them all down with it? Nanny was not cut out for deceit.

  She returned to Ingersley towards midday to discover that Ruth was nowhere to be seen. To Nanny’s relief, Bessie came to the door of the nursery, the sleeping babe in her arms and a big, broad smile on her face. She said, ‘The doctor came, Nanny.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He checked the baby. He said, “What a surprise!” and he offered to check Lady Campbell over.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Bessie giggled. ‘She gave him a good ticking-off!’

  Relieved, Nanny took charge. ‘Where is Lady Campbell?’

  ‘In the drawing room – making telephone calls,’ Bessie said. ‘I’ll go and make something to eat.’

  ‘Don’t get anything for me. I’ll have a rest and listen out for the baby,’ Nanny said. She settled the infant in his crib then went to her own bedroom and lay down, but she left the door slightly ajar so that she would hear the baby’s cries. Her eyes were closed but sleep would not come because of the powerful feelings she now had for a child who was not her own. It was totally unprofessional to allow herself the natural mother’s bond with the baby. Her stomach churned. It could all go disastrously wrong. There was a bottle of whisky in the cupboard – for medicinal use. She got up and poured a large measure, sipped it and sat by the open dormer window, from where she would hear every little sound from the adjoining nursery.

  After a few moments she must have drifted off but was pulled back into alert consciousness with a start when from the next room she heard a man’s voice. ‘I came straight up. You all right?’

  Then Nanny heard Ruth’s reply. ‘Perfectly. Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘It was so quick. And you’ve only known for two months.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘It was painless.’

  Footsteps crossed the nursery and Nanny heard the creak of the cradle on its spring, then Mike Hamilton’s voice – for she recognised it now – saying, ‘Who’s the father?’

  Nanny’s hand shook. She put down the glass.

  Ruth said, ‘Who do you imagine?’

  A coppery taste came into Nanny’s mouth and a sinking sensation to her stomach. Mike Hamilton’s voice was thickening. He said, ‘It is nine months exactly since you and I …’

  And Ruth, on a triumphant note, replied, ‘So! You will never know – is it yours, born on time, or Gordon’s; born early?’

  Nanny was shaking from head to foot. What was Ruth saying? Why lying? Why laughing? This was no laughing matter.

  ‘Christ, woman! He even looks like me. Gordon will never believe that you and he produced a dark-haired son.’

  ‘Gordon will believe it’s his. I gave birth two months early. Gordon will be as pleased as Punch.’

  Strangled sounds came to Nanny’s ears. Mike Hamilton, who had surprised everyone by fussing over Lucy’s condition, protective and proud, was crying. Deep, throaty sobs were shaking that great frame as he cried, ‘My son! My son!’

  Ruth was hushing him, telling him to stop crying, and Nanny herself was cold to the marrow and shaking with fear and distrust. Ruth had duped her. Far worse, Gordon had not only married a faithless woman but was to be deceived into fatherhood.

  She tiptoed to the door and closed it softly so as not to alert them, then crept quietly to bed, closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Why, oh why had she not foreseen this? She had questioned Ruth’s insistence on secrecy, she had condoned all the lies, but never once had it occurred to her that she was implicated in a
plot to cheat her beloved Gordon. A dozen questions came one after the other. Had Ruth given Andrew the letter from Flora? Did Andrew know nothing at all? Had Mrs Stewart’s departure from the estate been engineered by Ruth? Surely Ruth was not so wicked as to plan all this, was she?

  Nanny told herself to stop thinking this way. She tried to look at it from a different viewpoint and understand how this terrible thing might have come about. When Ruth and Hamilton ‘fell from grace’ war was coming and two young people, thrown together for company when Gordon was away, had done something they would later regret. There could be no more to it than that. Nanny had to believe it, for if she did not she’d have to take the baby right back to Flora. Now.

  But that was impossible. The baby was here. Her angel had been seen by the staff and the doctor. And where could they go? There was not another berth to be had on the boat to Canada. Nanny had pulled strings, pulled rank, cajoled and paid money to get a berth for Flora, and while nobody would turn away a passenger with a new-born infant, they would not accept a mother with twins. There was nothing she could do. They had all been delivered into Ruth’s hands, exactly as she had intended.

  Six weeks later, in the nursery, with the baby sound asleep in her arms, Nanny’s fears had not subsided; rather they had grown with the awareness that Ruth actively disliked Robert. She looked again at the clock. It was ten minutes past two. Where was Ruth?

  All at once the door was flung open and Ruth came into the room in a noisy flurry of, ‘Oh, Nanny – I forgot!’ The baby began to cry and the crying became a scream as Ruth, annoyed, bent over him, saying, ‘Stop that noise at once!’, followed by, ‘Put it in its cot, Nanny. I can’t think.’

  Nanny settled him into his cot. ‘He’s six weeks old. Today you can take him out in the pram.’

  Ruth looked into the cot. ‘He’ll be asleep soon. I have brought a book.’

  ‘Baby needs fresh air every day, rain or shine,’ Nanny told her, ‘Bessie or you or I will …’

  Ruth interrupted her with a coarse laugh. ‘I certainly won’t be taking him for walks in the rain.’