by Anne Douglas
It didn’t matter how much others might try to comfort her – all she was conscious of were those terrible words sounding the knell in her brain … Regret to inform you … Regret to inform you … Words which so many young women had already had to accept and which she must herself accept now.
There was unexpected comfort when the private letter that Daniel’s commanding officer wrote to her brought praise of Daniel, who had been, it appeared, just as she’d expected, an exemplary soldier. One who lived ‘by the book’, as the officer wrote, not because it was officially ‘the book’, but because it was right. She, who had been Daniel’s wife, could be truly proud of him and the contribution that he had made in the great struggle they were all enduring, a contribution that would never be, as the officer wanted her to know, forgotten.
And she did know it, and was truly proud, of course she was. Yet she would have given all the pride she felt in Daniel’s achievements in the army for a love from him that might have been hers, had things in their lives been different. It was too late now to hope for what might have been if he had lived, too late for him ever to have come to love her as she loved him. All she had now were her memories of those early married days when there had been just the two of them and she had been so radiantly happy. Only memories, perhaps, but she would become like so many women and live on them. Live on her memories, yes, and be thankful.
Sixty-Two
Among the several condolences letters Rosa received was one from Jack. Not quite what she’d expected, in that it was the same sort of letter others had written, detailing all of Daniel’s good points and stressing the sort of loss he must be to Rosa, whereas she’d been sure that if Jack got in touch it would be to outline a future for Rosa and himself now that Daniel had gone.
Of course, he might only be trying to be tactful, writing as he did, but he had never been known for his tact, and she couldn’t help thinking that something must have changed in his feelings towards herself. That was fine, as far as she was concerned, but it was all rather mysterious and she might have wanted it explained had she had room in her mind for anyone but Daniel. In any case, she made no contact with Jack, who had only given her his home address anyway, and it was unlikely he would have been there.
As the weeks went by and she gradually began to come to terms with Daniel’s death, she came at last to accept Molly’s suggestion that she should visit his mother and her own father in Carron. Travelling wasn’t easy with the war still being on and train services much reduced, but Molly thought Rosa would surely feel better once she’d seen her relatives.
‘I don’t know that I’m up to it,’ Rosa sighed but, at Molly’s frown, knew she was just making excuses and, within a week or two, found herself making the long journey to the Highlands, sad because she was alone but looking forward to seeing her father again and the place that had once been her home. Only seeing her father again turned out to be quite a shock, for it was immediately obvious that he was ill.
Why had Joan never told her? There he was, sitting by the range, so thin, so changed, Rosa scarcely recognized him, and all the while, as he described it himself, ‘coughing his head off’, giving thick, painful gasps that signalled only too well the state of his lungs.
‘Da, you shouldn’t be smoking!’ Rosa cried, at which he tried to laugh.
‘Bit of a cough, it’s nothing,’ he said as Rosa turned her dark eyes, full of reproach, on Joan.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she whispered when her father had gone early to his bed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me how bad he was? That’s not just an ordinary cough he’s got, is it?’
‘Well, it’s not the consumption!’ Joan, swift in her own defence, said sharply. ‘Just bronchitis, the doctor says.’ Her eyes slid away from Rosa’s. ‘Chronic, he calls it, chronic bronchitis, but it’s not, you know, serious. I mean, not fatal.’
‘Just means he can’t get better. And can’t go to work, eh? Oh, Joan, this is terrible – I mean, how are you managing, then?’
‘Oh, not too badly. No need to worry. I’ve got my sewing machine and I’ve taken up curtain-making again, or dressmaking, whatever folk want. We’re all right, we pull through.’ Joan hesitated for a moment, then took her turn to ask how things were for Rosa now that Daniel had gone. It was grand that she’d been able to afford the trip home; it had cheered her da so much.
‘Well, I manage, too,’ Rosa told her. ‘Daniel left me a little and I’m earning money myself, so I was able to come home and see how you and Da were faring. You will keep in touch, Joan, now I’ve seen you and Da. Promise me you will?’
‘Oh, I will, I will. I only didn’t tell you before because I thought you’d enough on your plate, but things’ll be different now.’
Unlikely to be better, thought Rosa.
Sixty-Three
Though the memories were at times bittersweet, it did Rosa good to see Carron again.
When she pictured her mother, playing with herself and Lorne, she found herself shedding tears, yet was happy she could remember the good times and not just the dark days when their mother had left them.
The memories of Lorne were strangely selective too, for being sister to the attractive blonde who seemed to break hearts wherever she went had not been easy. How easily, though, Lorne had twisted Rosa around her little finger! How she could always wheedle her into doing things she didn’t want to do! Best not to think of all that, Rosa decided, looking out at the Moray Firth again and breathing in the sea air she so loved.
Best to remember Lorne at her best, playing hopscotch or running races at school, her yellow hair flying, her green eyes laughing. Oh, yes, they’d had their good times, the sisters, and it was only the good times that Rosa intended to revisit. Even to remember Daniel here was not something she wanted to do, for all that came back to her was his love for Lorne, which brought Rosa no consolation. Both were gone now, her sister and her husband, with Rosa the only one left, and it was partly to forget her situation that she was willing to meet Daniel’s mother and listen to whatever she wanted to say.
Strangely enough, Mrs MacNeil, who was known for making a fuss about everything in her life, when it came to dealing with the true tragedy of the loss of her son made no fuss at all. It was as though she needn’t, for there had been no tragedy, and what had happened to Daniel had never actually happened, so his mother believed.
At first, this to Rosa was of course disconcerting, but gradually she did what Mrs MacNeil wished and talked of Daniel as though one day he would undoubtedly come home, even rather accepting it herself while she was with his mother.
‘It has been lovely to see you, Rosa,’ she was surprised to hear Mrs MacNeil remark. ‘I used to think you would never make a good wife to him, you know, but now I believe you are just right. When he is back, you must come again to see me and we will all be together again. Now be sure to do that, Rosa. Be sure to come again.’
‘Of course I will!’ Rosa cried. ‘I will come again!’
‘Both of you, of course, when you can,’ Mrs MacNeil added comfortably. ‘Both of you come when this war is over and the laddies are home. Now, promise me you will, Rosa.’
‘Of course I promise,’ Rosa said fervently, and Mrs MacNeil smiled and kissed Rosa’s cheek. ‘That’s settled, then. Now take another drop scone, my dear, and I will give you my recipe. You must be sure to make some for Daniel – they’re his favourite.’
Oh, poor woman, Rosa thought when out in the fresh air, making for home. Poor Mrs MacNeil, unable to face the awful truth that she would never see Daniel again. Who could blame her for choosing to live in a world of her own, then? May she never move out of it, Rosa prayed, until she was strong enough to face reality.
Almost back at her father’s cottage, Rosa was surprised to see a woman ahead of her, making, it seemed, for Bluff House, home of the Thain family. She was dressed in a black jacket, ankle-length skirt and small, fashionable hat, but when she turned her head to look back at Rosa, whom she must have heard, her
face didn’t match her smart clothes, for all Rosa could read there was the grief she had so often seen elsewhere. And who, Rosa wondered, could she be grieving for, this young Mrs Thain, mistress of Bluff House, wife of Greg’s landlord? For though she was much changed – thin, pale, and lines around the eyes and mouth – Rosa had recognized the young lady who had once been Lorne’s employer. And Mrs Thain, it seemed, recognized Rosa, for, holding out her hand, she said, ‘It’s Rosa, isn’t it? Rosa Malcolm? I believe your father has one of our cottages?’
‘Yes, I’m here from Edinburgh to visit him. But I’m not Rosa Malcolm now – I married Daniel MacNeil. Perhaps you remember him?’
While Mrs Thain frowned a little, trying to place him, Rosa, her lip trembling, said, ‘I’m afraid he’s gone now. He died on the Somme.’
‘The Somme?’ Mrs Thain gave a shudder. ‘That terrible, terrible place, the battle where my dear stepson, Rory, also lost his life. It was so cruel, so very cruel.’
‘Cruel,’ Rosa whispered. ‘Yes.’
Mrs Thain dabbed her eyes. ‘Rory’s widow is with us now, helping to comfort my husband. He took Rory’s death very hard, you know.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Mrs Thain, lowering her handkerchief, fixed Rosa with her reddened eyes. ‘But you must have heard about Rory’s death, Rosa?’
‘No, I never heard.’
‘Because your poor sister is dead, too? She would have told you. Such a pretty girl, you know.’ Mrs Thain sighed. ‘No wonder Rory lost his heart to her. My husband could never understand, but I knew – I always knew – how much Lorne meant to Rory. And now they are both gone …’
For long moments, the two women were silent, until Rosa said she must say goodbye and Mrs Thain asked her if she might come again soon to see her father. Perhaps come back to live? Was there anything to keep her in Edinburgh now?
‘Only my memories,’ Rosa answered and held out her hand, which Mrs Thain shook. ‘l think I must stay on in Edinburgh.’
They exchanged sad smiles and shook hands again, after which Mrs Thain turned to her home and Rosa continued on her way to her father’s cottage.
Sixty-Four
‘I met Mrs Thain just now,’ Rosa told Joan as she took off her coat. ‘In mourning for Mr Rory. She looked so sad, so much older. But how easy she is to talk to … treats you like an equal, I mean.’
‘Which of course you are,’ snapped Joan, who was heating an iron on the stove ready for pressing a dress she had made for sale. ‘All that’s different about the so-called gentry is that they’ve got more money.’
‘I wouldn’t say that about them all, Joan. Mrs Thain, for instance … Like I said, she treats folk as if they’re the same as her. Catch Mr Thain doing that! He thinks his servants belong to an inferior world, nothing to do with him. Still, you can’t help feeling sorry for him. Mrs Thain says he can’t get over the death of Mr Rory.’
‘I daresay, Rosa, but after the way Rory treated Lorne, I’m not sorry he’s gone and I’m not pretending otherwise.’ Joan finished her pressing, her face dark with her thoughts, then hung up the dress and said she’d make some tea. ‘Your da will be getting up soon – he’s had a good sleep this afternoon. Should be feeling better.’
‘I’m so glad I’ve seen him.’ Rosa hesitated for a few moments. ‘I wish I could be nearer to you both.’
‘Why couldn’t you be?’ Joan asked, giving her a sharp glance. ‘I mean, what’s to keep you in Edinburgh? I was thinking you could go back to doing that drawing you used to do – sell it up here to the visitors. It’d go like hot cakes. Ask that artist fellow who got you started. What’s his name again?’
‘Jack Durno. He’s in the army – I don’t see him now.’
‘He’ll get leave, eh? You get in touch with him, see what he says. You might both think about working here. If your da could see you, it’d make such a difference to him.’
‘Mrs Thain said the same,’ Rosa admitted. ‘Thought it would be so easy. But it’s Daniel, you see – he’s so real to me, where I am now. His flat is still his home, as I see it . . I know he’s never coming back, but all the memories of our marriage are in Edinburgh.’
‘Oh, well, then, I understand. I’ll make the tea now and then go and see how your da’s feeling. I thought I heard him just now.’
‘Let me see how he is,’ Rosa said quickly. ‘I’ll help him down the stair.’
‘If he’s up to it. He’ll feel better for seeing you, anyway.’
But as Rosa made her way up the little stairs to see her father, and Joan made a pot of tea, the faces of both women showed a sadness they could not hide.
Fancy Joan remembering Jack! thought Rosa as she prepared for bed that night, after having seen her father settled with Joan hovering about him as though he were a child. Showed how bright Joan was, though, didn’t it, that she tried to use Jack as an attraction for Rosa’s return? If only that could happen!
But of course it wasn’t possible. Not only was he away in the army, he seemed to have lost touch with Rosa, for she couldn’t remember when she’d last heard from him. All those letters he used to write were indeed just a memory, though she’d enjoyed every one and still had them somewhere. It seemed that Jack had finally given up hope of a relationship with her, even though Daniel was dead.
Or worse, it suddenly came to her – Jack might be dead himself. She was not his next of kin; she wouldn’t have been told if anything had happened to him. She tried to stop thinking of him and settled herself for sleep, finally succeeding in putting him out of her mind, allowing the dear face of Daniel to come to her as it always did just before sleep claimed her.
It was when morning came at last that the idea came to her to try to find out, when she returned home, just what had happened to Jack. Someone, somewhere, would know. But now she must hurry up and wash and dress before she went to see how her father was. There weren’t many days of her stay left, and she must spend as much time as possible with him before she had to leave.
When the time finally came for her return to Edinburgh, the wrench was terrible, with Rosa feeling so bad to see how forlorn her father seemed, and how Joan, though she said nothing, showed all too plainly how she disapproved of Rosa’s going home.
‘I’ll be back in no time,’ Rosa declared earnestly just before the carrier came to take her on the beginning of her journey. ‘You’ll see, Da. I’ll be with you again before you’ve missed me going away.’
As she kissed and hugged him, he only sighed deeply, and Rosa’s eyes on Joan saw the disapproval that her stepmother was making no effort to hide.
‘It’s true,’ Rosa whispered to her. ‘I will be back soon and, if Da gets worse, you’ve promised to tell me, eh?’
‘You know what would be best,’ Joan said quietly. ‘Have another think about it Rosa, because your Daniel will be with you wherever you go is my thinking. You needn’t stay where he used to live.’
‘Maybe not,’ Rosa said hurriedly. ‘I’ll see how things go.’
‘And don’t forget to try to get in touch with that artist fellow again to help you with your drawing. It’d be a shame to waste your talent.’
‘I will try,’ Rosa said to please her. ‘But I don’t hold out much hope of getting in touch with Jack soon.’
‘Well, see what you can do. You never know how you’ll do till you try.’
‘True,’ Rosa agreed, sadly aware that she must make her last farewells, for the carrier was at the door and she must go.
With more tears and sighs, hugs and final kisses, she managed to get on her way with last waves as she was borne away, filled with regrets – remorse, even – that she was leaving the sad couple at the cottage door.
I will come back soon, she told herself, her handkerchief to her eyes. I’ve promised them I will.
But the journey back to Edinburgh, even though it was to the home she shared with Daniel, had never seemed so dismal, and her arrival back at the flat would have had her in tears again, except that
Molly was so pleased to see her and had brought in so much that was needed, Rosa felt she must put a good face on things.
No one could be as welcoming as Molly and it helped that her husband had just written, saying he was all right and might be getting leave soon, which meant that Molly was so happy, Rosa even managed to share her feelings for a little while.
Alone, of course, darkness returned to hover over Rosa, though it was true she was able to turn her thoughts to Daniel and feel his presence. There was comfort in that, but for a long time after she went to bed, she could only think of her da and how soon there might be a call from Joan telling her she must return at once, her da was worse.
As for Joan’s urging her to seek out Jack, that was not something Rosa thought was at all worthwhile. He would be away with his Artists’ Rifles, even if she’d wanted to get in touch, which she did not. It seemed more and more likely to her that Jack had dropped his interest in her and there would be no point in trying to meet up, which, with all her anxieties, did not matter to her anyway. He was no longer a part of her life, as she was not part of his, her only regret being that she didn’t actually know that he was safe. Who would know if he was? she idly wondered, and no one could have been more surprised than she was when, crossing Princes Street one afternoon, she suddenly saw him in civilian clothes and, gathering her wits about her, managed to call his name.
‘Jack, Jack! Wait, it’s Rosa!’
And as he turned to look back, she finally understood why he had not been in touch, for though his left arm in its sleeve appeared to be normal, the right arm of his jacket revealed all too clearly that it was empty. Jack had lost his right arm.
Oh, God, thought Rosa, her hand to her lips. Jack had lost his painting arm. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, hadn’t, perhaps, been able to face what had happened, poor Jack, poor Jack …
Even now, she could tell that he didn’t want to see her, but she ran to him anyway and, throwing her own two arms around him, held back her tears, while Jack looked as if he might shed a tear or two of his own.
