Teardrops in the Moon

by Crosse, Tania

  A sudden pounding of rushing feet drew her from the grinding dread, and Stella’s head appeared at the back of the ambulance.

  ‘Just had another call, I’m afraid. Hospital train due in half an hour, although God knows where they’ll be accommodated. Every hospital’s already overflowing.’

  Marianne’s heart dropped as she slapped the mop into the bucket of disinfectant and then made one final sweep of the ambulance floor. She had only just finished in time.

  Oh, Lord, here we go again, she muttered under her breath as she jumped down and carried the cleaning equipment back to the shed. She hung up her overalls and changed from the rubber boots back into her heavy lace-up shoes, and then hurried back to the ambulance.

  Stella already had the crank-handle at the ready and Marianne climbed wearily into the driver’s seat. It had been her turn for the disgusting task of cleaning out the ambulance while Stella had slumbered on in her cubicle. So she was grateful to the other girl for taking on the strenuous cranking of the engine. Yet again, the unit had been up half the night dealing with a convoy of barges this time and had only snatched a few hours’ sleep.

  ‘Oh, when will it end?’ Marianne sighed passionately as, the engine now purring, Stella jumped up beside her and she moved the vehicle forward to join the queue turning onto the road. ‘I don’t know how much longer we can all keep this up.’

  ‘We could certainly do with more people,’ Stella agreed, stifling a yawn. ‘But while this major offensive’s going on, we can’t just abandon the wounded, can we?’

  ‘Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it. But I do wish we could have that two weeks’ leave we’re owed. It’s well overdue.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll get it soon,’ Stella answered, throwing her a not very optimistic smile.

  ‘We can live in hope. Right, here we go. Hold on tight.’

  They swung onto the road, following the ambulance in front and bumping along faster and faster until they were almost taking off like the aeroplanes in the Royal Flying Corps. Down the shortest route, which for once was unobstructed, and so familiar to Marianne that she scarcely had to think. Her shoulders ached from carrying stretchers heavy with men of at least half her weight again, and each gear-change aggravated the pain in her arm. Many of the bigger-built FANYs seemed to have built up their muscles, but she supposed that someone as small-boned as herself was never going to develop the strength of others, and poor Stella was even slighter than she was. But when she thought of home, of Dartmoor, it was a tantalizing, fading dream of heaven. She simply must get home soon to recharge her batteries so to speak. To be soothed and cosseted, to wallow in long, hot baths, ride out over the moor on Pegasus, to sleep undisturbed without the distant pounding of heavy guns or the fear of being bombed. The need to go home to rest rose in her like a roaring breaker so that she could feel tears welling in her eyes.

  She would be back as soon as her leave was over, there was no doubt in her mind about that. Giving up was seen by the FANY as desertion, and would be by herself, too. Every injured, maimed or dying soldier that went through her care was someone’s husband, son, father or brother. Another Albert. Another Hal. No. She just needed some time to recuperate, physically and mentally. Was entitled to it. She didn’t want to leave her post while the battle raged – places she had never heard of before: Gheluvelt Plateau, Langemarck, Passchendaele, were now common place – but if she didn’t have some respite soon, she was beginning to feel her soul would cave in.

  If only she would receive another letter from Albert. His silence overwhelmed her in terror. Had something happened to him? Had he been wounded, was he sick, or missing or killed in action? Had he decided their relationship could have no future, or that he didn’t want it to have one after all? Marianne reared away, sickened to the core at the morose thoughts that tumbled in her head. She mustn’t think like that, must concentrate on the road ahead.

  They had reached the station now and for once, the train was waiting. With the warm, high humidity, simple wounds were quickly becoming infected. As Marianne reversed the ambulance to the open train-doors, the stench of sepsis coming from inside hung in the air like a heavy fog.

  Poor devils, she thought as she hopped down from the driving seat. She would not let them down, and her heart filled with renewed strength and courage.

  Ned Cornish held his splitting head in his hands, as near to tears as he had ever come. He had taken two doses of aspirin in as many hours, and still the pain hadn’t eased. It was a year now since that wretched horse had kicked him in the head. He didn’t think the girl had been aware of what had happened as she made her escape. He had been petrified that she would set the local constabulary onto him, but apparently she hadn’t. He had lumbered away, disorientated, the familiar paths and tracks a confused muddle in his brain. He couldn’t tell how far he had staggered before he had blacked out. When he had come round, it had been dark. Thank God it had been summer or he might have died of exposure.

  Mind you, he often wished he had, the headaches were that bad sometimes. The dent was still visible in his hairline and always would be. The doctor he had consulted had told him he had been lucky to survive, never mind anything else. He had also told him he might have bouts of depression, lethargy or aggression, moods which could take years to fade away for good – if ever.

  Well, he certainly felt angry much of the time. Angry that ever since, he had found himself impotent every time he paid the most appealing whore to come to his room. Angry that his stomach constantly churned with a frustration that ate into his soul. Angry that he hadn’t yet found the energy to get even with the young bitch who had caused the agony that so frequently exploded in his head.

  But he would one day. He had promised himself. If not this year, then next. Sometimes he thought the vicious need for vengeance was all that kept him going. And not just against the girl who bore such an uncanny resemblance to her mother, but against the mother herself. It was her fault when all was said and done.

  Oh, yes. He would take revenge for all that he was suffering, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Marianne felt as light as a bird as she found a secluded spot among the dunes and sank down in the warm sand. It was the middle of September and at long last the sun had decided to shine for a few days, quickly drying out the puddles that had persisted all summer. Marianne lay back, eyes closed, feeling the sunshine strong on her face and allowing her mind and body to float as if on a light, fluffy cloud. She hugged the moment of exquisite anticipation to her breast for just a little longer, since in her hand was a sheaf of letters from Albert, all arrived together, some tattered and dog-eared as if they had been stored God knew where for weeks on end, while others were more recent. But she could resist no longer, and sat up abruptly to tear them open.

  She read them in date order. She was overcome with relief to learn that while the Third Battle of Ypres had raged viciously all summer with thousands upon thousands of appalling casualties – which she knew well enough from her own work – the 15th The King’s Hussars had taken no part beyond supplying large work parties for the XVIII Corps. The dreadful weather had rendered the countryside utterly impossible for a cavalry attack, and the regiment had recently been ordered back to billets two days’ march from the Front.

  Oh, thank you, God! Marianne whispered to the salty breeze that wafted off the sea. Albert was safe and perhaps if she prayed hard enough, he would stay that way. Whether or not they would have a future together was a bridge they would cross at some unidentifiable point way in the distance. Just now all that mattered to her was that he was alive and well.

  Albert’s letters were, though, full of that wondrous time they had spent together during the week he had been on leave in Calais. The walks they had shared along the sand, exchanging life stories, silly, insignificant anecdotes that made them the people they now were. Snatched moments, since Mari
anne had mainly been on duty. Indulging their equine passion together, even discussing plans for the future of the Fencott Place stud farm once the war was over. They had agreed on so much, revealed trivial secrets about themselves, Marianne even admitting how she had missed her sister and soul-mate ever since Kate had become a devoted wife and mother.

  What Marianne had never revealed, however, was her secret vow taken more than a decade previously. How could she tell him that their relationship was, in fact, a torture to her? She still believed fervently in her vow, and yet Albert was slowly destroying what had been the foundation of her life for so long. Just like a nun questioning her faith. But whenever she conjured up an image of him in her mind, or he popped into her head at the most unexpected moment, she felt herself fill up with the most delicious warmth which she was losing the will to resist.

  She could envisage him now, tall, slender, so handsome in his officer’s uniform, striding across the sand in his high, shiny leather riding boots. He had a certain confident gait, straight-backed but never arrogant, always with an enquiring tilt of his head as if he were searching for something, supremely observant.

  Marianne blinked her eyes. She shouldn’t let herself be carried away by her imagination, but it was pleasant enough to dream. But when she opened her eyes again, the vision was still there. How odd. And the vision had a shadow, moving with it across the sand. It stopped, looking round. Turned until it was directly facing her.

  Their eyes met as if his had been drawn to hers by an invisible, magnetic thread. Marianne’s heart gave a whoop of joy. It was Albert! In the flesh! Throwing all reserve to the wind, she stuffed the letters into one of the large pockets of her uniform jacket and careered down the beach towards him, waving wildly. She saw him start with surprise, and break into a run.

  When they came together, her head was emptied of everything but the pure joy of being with him again. He whisked her off her feet, twirling her round in mid-air, and when he set her down again, it seemed the most natural thing in the world when their mouths came together in a deep, hungry kiss. Her arms were around his neck, his about her waist, pulling her against him, and she felt the fire come to life in her belly.

  ‘Oh, my darling girl,’ Albert murmured, and she pulled away, laughing to the sky, overcome with triumph that his sudden presence had chased away her demons.

  ‘W-what are you doing here?’ she stammered in utter delight.

  ‘Your friends said I’d find you here somewhere,’ he grinned back. ‘They said you’d gone for a walk.’

  ‘Yes, to read your letters!’ she cried, exposing the crumpled bundle of paper in her pocket. ‘A whole bunch of them had just arrived in one go. I’ve been so worried about you!’

  ‘But I wrote every week—’

  ‘Yes, I know that now.’

  ‘And when I received yours, saying you hadn’t heard from me for so long—’

  ‘Never mind, you’re here now! In person! Oh, Albert!’ Her heart was performing a waltz as she gazed up at his own dancing grey-blue eyes. ‘But how did you manage it?’

  ‘Well, my dearest.’ He took her small hand in his large, strong one. ‘If you’ve got to my latest letters yet—’

  ‘Which I haven’t.’

  ‘Ah, well, we were stationed at Estaires most of the summer, that’s about twenty-five miles from Ypres. But they ordered us back to Frencq about two weeks ago, not that far from Etaples. So, as we didn’t seem to be needed for anything, I put in for some leave. Then, a couple of days ago, we were ordered to turn out to the base camps at Etaples. There’d been some dissent among the troops there, and it was thought we’d be needed to quell it. We were jolly glad when we weren’t. We wouldn’t want there to be any bad blood between the cavalry and the other services. Anyway, when we got back to Frencq, I found I’d been granted a forty-eight hour pass. I managed to get on a train, so here I am. But if I’m to be sure of getting back in time, I’ll need to leave first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Oh.’ Marianne’s heart crashed to her feet.

  ‘So we’ll just have to make the most of the few hours we have, won’t we?’ Albert’s eyes deepened as he lifted her hand and caressed it with his lips. ‘You know, I feel I know you so well now. All the letters we’ve exchanged—’

  ‘Those that got through—’

  ‘I just felt able to open my heart to you.’

  ‘And I felt just the same,’ she answered breathlessly.

  ‘Did you?’ His gaze lingered, long and slow, on her face. ‘I saw Stella at the camp. She said you both happened to be off duty until the morning. Do you think she’d be our chaperone again?’

  Marianne’s eyes twinkled. ‘I’m sure she would. I was hers a couple of times. She’s sweet on an American called Travis.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. I have to say he’s a very pleasant fellow. He’s been away in the thick of the fighting all summer, so I hope for Stella’s sake he’ll be all right. Very polite, the Americans, on the whole. And Travis isn’t brash and pushy like some of them are.’

  ‘I think it’s good they believe in themselves so much. If you feel invincible, it can go a long way.’

  ‘Do you really think the Americans will change the course of the war?’ Marianne asked with a despondent sigh. ‘We’re seeing more suffering than ever—’

  ‘Yes, I firmly believe they will. The Boche might think that with Russia having given up the fight with the revolution, they can concentrate their forces on the Western Front, but they’re not reckoning with the might of the Americans. But,’ he gave that winsome smile that turned Marianne’s heart to jelly, ‘let’s forget about the war for a few hours, shall we? And talk about, I don’t know, our plans for when I come to live on Dartmoor. If you still want me, that is?’

  His mouth stretched in a cheeky, boyish grin, and Marianne pushed his arm playfully. ‘I might,’ she teased airily, then dashed away so that Albert had to run after her, laughing as he caught her about the waist again.

  He was there, waiting on the corner, just as they had arranged. It was still light, and the joy of seeing him again, so strong and handsome, swept through her like a riptide. Abandoning all propriety, she raced forward and the next moment found herself wrapped in his arms. The world slipped away, and it was just the two of them, swaddled in a deep sense of euphoria.

  ‘One whole hour we’ve been apart and I’ve missed you so much,’ Albert murmured into her hair. ‘How am I going to be able to stand the months or whatever until we can be together for good? But—’ He pulled back sharply, scanning the street. ‘Where’s Stella?’

  Marianne looked up at him with a coquettish tilt of her head. ‘I couldn’t find her,’ she lied quite openly. ‘And rules are made to be broken, aren’t they?’

  Albert gave an amused grunt, recalling at once their conversation all those months before. ‘I hope you don’t get into trouble.’

  ‘You’re not going to report me, are you?’ she teased. ‘And no one will know. That’s why I wore civvies, too.’

  ‘And very fetching you look, too.’

  ‘It feels rather odd, actually, not being in uniform.’

  ‘I expect it does. But it means I can imagine you as you will be when the war’s over. And taking such a vision of loveliness out to dinner will give me the greatest pleasure. Now, where would you like to go?’

  ‘How about the little place we went before? It’s rather quaint and not somewhere any of the FANY usually go, so no one should recognize me.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Albert offered her his arm and she took it, almost foolish with elation. Only for a second did she question the tangle of conflict at the back of her mind. Life, the war, had changed everything, and she knew she needed to grasp whatever happiness came her way. Tomorrow might be too late.

  Almost as if reading her thoughts, Albert said as they walked th
rough the town’s shell-damaged streets, ‘I was sorry to hear about your friend’s fiancé, the one in the Merchant Navy.’

  His words, and the sincerity in his voice, sliced at Marianne’s heart. ‘Yes, I know,’ she answered grimly. ‘It must have been awful for Mary. He was such a lovely chap. I had, well, an affection for him myself once. Not that he ever knew, or Mary. And it lasted all of two days. It was Mary he was interested in. Poor soul, I can’t imagine what she’s going through. It was hard enough losing Hal as my brother. But to lose your fiancé must be devastating. She was almost at the end of her nurse’s training, too. But she carried on. Helped her cope, she said.’ Marianne paused, releasing a pensive sigh. ‘She’s fully qualified now and has gone home to Devon for a while. Her father’s a doctor in Tavistock and he runs a shell-shock hospital there, but I don’t know what Mary’s plans are. But I’m going home myself in a week’s time, so I should see her then.’

  ‘Really? I got here just in time, then!’

  ‘Oh, I’m coming back,’ Marianne assured him ‘It’s just that my first fortnight’s leave’s just come through. It’s months overdue, but I suppose with all the casualties coming through from Ypres, it was felt we couldn’t be spared.’

  ‘It’s far from over yet, though.’

  ‘I know. But I guess they thought we’d waited long enough, and we are volunteers, after all.’

  ‘And very brave ones, too. Ah, here we are.’

  The doorbell tinkled gaily as they entered the small restaurant, in contrast to the gloomy interior. Although red-checked tablecloths gave some rustic charm, the simple, dark furniture made the place shadowed and forbidding. The same old man shuffled forward and showed them to a table, hardly necessary as they were the only customers. But he sat them in a secluded corner at the very back so that he could light a candle without risk of it being seen from an enemy aircraft overhead. So perhaps there was some logic in it after all. He would have to close the shutters later on, but for now it was pleasant to look onto the dusk-lit street.