Suffragette Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘I am involved. I’m his sister.’

  ‘The major was most firm, miss. No one.’ The young soldier’s manner was apologetic. His voice quavered a little and Florrie thought she saw tears in his eyes. But the fellow was only carrying out orders. He daren’t do anything else!

  She sighed and turned away. She crossed the rough road and sat on a low, crumbling wall to wait. However long it took, she would still be here when the verdict was announced.

  It was hours before Gervase emerged into the sunlight. He was startled to see her sitting there. For a moment he hesitated before walking slowly towards her, his eyes downcast, his shoulders slumped.

  Florrie stood up slowly, easing her cramped limbs. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. Her whole being was trembling. The drawn, grim look on his face squeezed her heart. His eyes were full of a mixture of helpless rage and sorrow.

  ‘Florrie, my dear – I’m so sorry. I’ve arranged for you to see him, but there’s nothing more I can do.’

  ‘You mean – you mean they found him guilty?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And his – his punishment?’

  His face was bleak, his voice a strangled whisper. ‘He’s to be – to be shot. At dawn tomorrow.’

  ‘So soon? No – no! Oh, Gervase, who can I see?’

  ‘There’s no one, Florrie.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I’ve seen Major Grant and even his superior. I’ve,’ his voice broke, ‘tried everything. The major refused to make any kind of recommendation for leniency and it’s likely that the brigadier-general will endorse the sentence of the court. I’ve done everything—’

  ‘You can’t have,’ she screamed at him. ‘You can’t have tried hard enough. You can save him, Gervase, you must save him. Did James talk to you? Did he tell you why he was trying to get back here?’

  ‘He wouldn’t say anything. He offered up no defence.’

  She gripped his arms fiercely, so hard that he winced. ‘Take me to see the major – and the brigadier. Gervase, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything you want. I swear it – I’ll marry you – anything, but please – please help me save my brother.’

  She was babbling hysterically. He gathered her to him and held her close, but there was nothing else he could say or do. She sobbed against him and when, at last, she was quieter, he said gently, ‘Come, I’ll go with you to see him.’

  With a sudden violent movement she wrenched herself away. She squared her shoulders and, though her face was ravaged, she shed no more tears. Impatiently, she brushed away the traces of her weeping and looked him straight in the eye. Stonily, she said, ‘That won’t be necessary. I prefer to go alone.’ She turned her back on him and walked away, her head held high.

  Broken-hearted, Gervase watched her go.

  Thirty-Six

  They didn’t bring him back to the cellars of the house, but kept him imprisoned in the building where the court martial had been held. The same two guards stood outside the door of the room that now acted as a cell.

  A sergeant – not one she knew – met her at the door of the house.

  ‘Your brother, is he, miss?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she replied stiffly and there was blame in her tone.

  Hearing it, the sergeant said, ‘Don’t think we’re not sorry, miss, ’cos we are. But he shouldn’t have done what he did.’

  She paused and turned to face him. ‘All I’ve been told is that he deserted his post. But no one seems to have bothered to find out why. Do you know?’

  ‘He came back looking for his French bit o’ stuff.’

  ‘His what?’

  The man had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Sorry, miss. I mean – his girlfriend.’

  ‘His girlfriend? What girlfriend?’

  ‘When we was here before, miss, when it was all happening round Ypres and after—’

  Florrie nodded.

  ‘Well, there used to be this farm back across the border in France where we used to go when we was on rest. And he met this French girl. Daughter of the farmer, she was. There was just her dad and her uncle and her. I reckon the mother must have died, ’cos there was only the three of ’em.’

  Florrie felt a jolt. The pretty dark-haired girl, laughing and joking with the soldiers – had she been James’s girlfriend?

  ‘I didn’t know soldiers were allowed to – to fraternize.’

  He sniffed. ‘They can’t really stop it, miss, can they? They wanted us to help out on the farms, help with the work because so many of the workers are in the French army. And if there’s women about—’ He shrugged as if the answer was obvious.

  ‘But James is only seventeen – no, eighteen now – he’s a boy. He doesn’t—’ She stopped and felt the colour creeping up her neck.

  ‘If he’s out here in this lot, miss,’ the sergeant said softly, ‘he’s a man.’

  He said no more, but ushered her into the house. ‘I’ll be just outside,’ he murmured as he nodded to the two soldiers on guard to allow her into the room where James was.

  When her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw him sitting on the floor against the wall, his knees drawn up, his head buried in his arms.

  ‘James, oh, James,’ she cried and rushed to him, falling on her knees and pulling him into her embrace.

  He clung to her and began to cry hoarse, racking sobs. ‘Florrie, I’m sorry. Tell Father I’m sorry. It’s not like they’re saying. I didn’t desert my post. Someone was supposed to do my duty for me. I arranged it, but he let me down. He let me down and – and—’

  She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. ‘Tell me. Tell me his name and I’ll find him. I’ll tell them it was him – I’ll have him arrested and you’ll be set free.’

  Suddenly, it was as if time had tilted and they were back in the nursery and she was trying to get her little brother to do something he didn’t want to. There was that same look of mutinous determination – it hadn’t happened often, but when it had, there’d been no moving him, no persuading him. If only that stubbornness had come out against their father and his school’s headmaster, maybe he wouldn’t be here, maybe she wouldn’t now be having to plead for his life . . .

  ‘No.’ His tone was adamant. ‘No, I won’t have someone lose his life in my place. It was my fault. I should never have tried to go to Colette. Florrie, find her for me. You must see that she’s all right. I’m so worried about her. That’s why I did what I did. I had to come back. Her family has disowned her. Thrown her out. I had to see her. I had to try to take care of her. I promised her—’

  ‘Thrown her out? Just for – for consorting with an English soldier?’

  He pursed his lips and shook his head as he whispered hoarsely. ‘She – she’s having my baby.’

  ‘What?’

  Florrie was still reeling. She couldn’t take all this in. That her baby brother had been accused of deserting his post and was to be shot at dawn was hard enough, but to find that he had fathered a child by some unknown French girl . . . Florrie was in a living nightmare.

  She shook him. ‘James, what are you saying? Are you delirious?’

  He was shaking, his head nodding and his hands trembling. She’d seen this before amongst the patients in the field hospital. It was what Ernst called shell shock. ‘The incessant pounding of the guns and the dreadful conditions they have to live in,’ he’d explained to her. ‘To say nothing of the constant fear that death is just around the corner, or “over the top” as they call it.’

  Now she cradled James against her, stroked his hair and rocked him. ‘I’ll find her,’ she promised him, even though she didn’t believe a word of what he was saying.

  ‘You’ll take care of her and – and the baby? Promise me, Florrie.’

  ‘Of course I will. Now, try to sleep and while you do,’ she added grimly, ‘I’m going to see Major Grant.’

  ‘I don’t want to sleep. I want to talk to you. I don’t want to waste a minute. Please don’t leave me. It’s
– it’s so dark in here.’

  Florrie closed her eyes at the poignancy of it all. When he’d been a little boy, he’d been afraid of the dark, and many a night he’d crept from his own bedroom to snuggle in beside her. How many times had she held him and soothed him – just like this?

  ‘Besides,’ James added bitterly, ‘I’ll have plenty of time to “sleep” after tomorrow morning.’

  A shudder of dread ran through her and she held him more tightly than ever. She stroked his hair. ‘I must go and find the major. But I’ll come back – I promise.’

  ‘They might not let you in again.’

  ‘They’d better not try to stop me. Now, I want to know the name of the man who you swapped sentry duties with. Come on, James.’

  ‘No, I won’t, Florrie. It won’t save me, and they might shoot him too.’

  Florrie stood up. ‘Then I’ll go and ask the sergeant.’

  ‘He doesn’t know. It was just between me and Pete – me and him.’

  ‘Pete,’ Florrie pounced on his slip of the tongue. ‘Was that his name?’

  James groaned and dropped his head into his hands. ‘Oh, Florrie, don’t. Leave it. Please.’

  She squatted down in front of him and tried to pull his hands away from his face. ‘I won’t leave it. I’m trying to save your life.’

  She stood up and banged on the door for it to be opened. As she marched past the two soldiers, she warned them, ‘I’m coming back, so don’t you dare think you needn’t let me in again. I’ve got to see your sergeant. Where is he?’

  ‘In the house next door, miss.’

  Three men were sitting in the kitchen, a bottle of whisky on the table in front of them. The major, the sergeant and – to her shocked surprise – Gervase. They looked up, startled, as she flung open the door. Gervase and the sergeant rose, but the major remained seated and merely muttered, ‘Not you again.’

  Florrie barely glanced at Gervase. She’d never forgive him for not having tried harder to save James. And now she was incensed to see them sitting there, drinking whisky just as if they were in the officers’ mess, when, in only a few hours’ time, a young man’s life was going to be cruelly snuffed out in the cold light of morning.

  She directed her angry gaze at the sergeant. ‘There was another soldier – someone called Pete. James won’t give me his full name in case you decide to shoot him too.’ Her lip curled with bitter disdain to think that they could all have such a careless attitude towards life. She’d come out here, put herself in danger, to try to save lives, and these three – even Gervase, it seemed – pandered to the belief that any soldier who broke the rules should be made an example of in the harshest of ways. ‘Do you know who he means?’

  ‘I – might do,’ the sergeant said guardedly.

  ‘James swapped sentry duty with him. He didn’t desert his post. He arranged for it to be covered. But obviously, the man – this Pete – let him down.’

  The sergeant and Gervase glanced at each other, but it was the major who said harshly, ‘That alters nothing. The men can’t just go altering their orders willy-nilly. Besides, he left the theatre of war without permission.’

  ‘Sir, we were due to go into rest the following morning,’ the sergeant put in. ‘Perhaps—’

  ‘Then he should have waited. Applied for proper leave of absence. Gone through the correct channels.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’ Florrie asked. ‘Would he have been granted any leave, with things like they are at the Somme?’

  The major had the grace to consider the question for a moment. ‘Probably not. But that’s what he should have done.’

  Florrie turned towards the sergeant. She had the feeling that he was beginning to have some sympathy for James’s plight. ‘So, if you do know this Pete . . . Look, I’m not trying to get the poor man into trouble, but surely—?’

  The sergeant was shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry, miss. But the only Pete whom James might have asked was Private Peter Shankley.’

  ‘Then, please – will you ask him? Sergeant, I’m begging you—’

  ‘If I could, miss, I would. Believe me. But Shankley was killed by a sniper on the evening of the day Maltby went absent without leave.’

  Florrie clutched at the table for support as her knees threatened to give way. It was only Gervase’s sudden movement towards her that made her call on her reserves of strength and straighten up. The look she gave him – as if to say ‘Don’t you dare touch me’ – made him drop his hands to his side and turn away sadly. He went to stand looking out of the window with his back towards them all.

  ‘Funny, that,’ the sergeant was still saying. ‘We couldn’t understand how Shankley came to be where he was when he was killed. But if he was on his way to do Maltby’s sentry duty for him, that would explain it.’

  Florrie took a step forward, hope suddenly surging through her. ‘So—?’

  But the major forestalled any plea. He stood up, his chair scraping back. He thumped the table with his fist. ‘The fact remains, he deserted. Even if he did try to cover his sentry duty, he still went AWOL. It’s unforgivable. Young lady, the decision of the court stands.’

  She could see that it was hopeless. She glanced around at the sergeant’s anxious, now sympathetic face, at the major’s belligerent, vengeful expression and lastly, at Gervase’s rigid back. He was leaning his head on his arm against the window. He did not look round. Outside dusk was falling. The last twilight that her beloved brother would ever see.

  Florrie turned and left the room.

  Thirty-Seven

  They talked through the night, reliving the whole of their lives until this moment, remembering the happy times and the sad. They spoke of everything – every event, every family celebration, everyone they knew and loved. And at last, James voiced the one name she’d been trying to keep out of the conversation. Yet it was impossible, for he had been so much a part of their lives.

  ‘Gervase did his best, you know.’ Florrie stiffened and James must have felt it, for he drew back and looked into her face, searching her expression in the light from the one candle they’d been allowed. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘I begged him to help you. He says he’s tried, but that there’s nothing more he can do.’ Her tone was stiff and full of censure. ‘But I don’t believe him.’

  ‘Oh, Florrie, don’t blame poor old Gervase. He has tried everything. He even put himself in danger of being court martialled for arguing with his superiors. For Heaven’s sake, Florrie, he’s only a captain, but he ranted and raved at the brigadier, would you believe, and at Major Grant too. They threatened to charge him and still he didn’t stop. He did everything he could have done, and probably more than he should have. And in the court, believe me, he tried everything. I just hope he’s not in trouble.’

  ‘But did you tell him everything, James? He didn’t seem to know about this Pete person. Why didn’t you tell him that?’

  ‘I’ve told you – I can’t have another man’s life on my conscience. He could’ve been in trouble just for agreeing to it. You see, we didn’t clear it with the sergeant.’

  ‘I know. He said.’

  ‘Oh, Florrie, what have you done? The sarge might guess who it is. I don’t want old Pete to—’

  ‘James, darling, the sergeant said he thought it was Peter Shankley.’ Even in the half-light she saw the horror on his face.

  ‘Oh, Lor’. I wish you hadn’t said anything. Now they’ll—’

  She took hold of his hand as she said gently, ‘No, they won’t. He was killed by a sniper, probably on his way to do your duty.’

  James closed his eyes and groaned. ‘So that’s how they came to find out I was missing. I wasn’t at my post. And neither was Pete.’

  Florrie shuddered at the word. Tomorrow morning he would be tied to a different kind of post.

  They were silent for some time before Florrie murmured, ‘I wish Gervase had told me just how hard he’d tried.’ She was devastated and a
shamed now to think how she’d treated him. She should’ve had more faith in his friendship for her brother, his love for her and his innate goodness.

  ‘He’s not the sort of chap to brag about what he’s done,’ James said. ‘He’s been mentioned in dispatches several times. You know he’s up for a medal, don’t you?’

  Florrie shook her head.

  ‘Mind you,’ he added sadly, ‘he might lose it now because of me.’

  Florrie closed her eyes as she held James. Not only was she to lose her beloved brother under circumstances she believed totally unjustified, but she had insulted both of her dearest friends. For what would Isobel say when she heard how Florrie had treated Gervase? Life really couldn’t get much worse.

  The morning came, pale and cold and terrifying. And with it came the padre accompanied by two officers.

  James was white-faced, but dry-eyed and calm. He stood to attention when the padre entered the room. The man seemed surprised to see a woman there.

  ‘This is my sister, sir. She’s a nurse here.’

  The man nodded. ‘Now, my son,’ he said gently. ‘Have you written your last letters?’

  James shook his head. ‘No, sir. Florrie will – will tell them.’

  ‘Then would you like us to pray together?’

  The three of them knelt on the stone floor. Florrie bowed her head and bit down hard on her lip to stem the tears. She mustn’t cry, she told herself, she must not cry. She must be brave for James’s sake. If she allowed her tears to flow, then it might be the undoing of him and she knew he wanted to face his sentence with a courage his superiors did not believe he had.

  They heard the footsteps coming, the door open and turned to face the grim-faced soldiers who’d come to march him to his death. They were only young themselves and looked even more terrified than James.

  With Florrie and the padre at his side, James walked out to face the firing squad in the cold light of early morning, the sun just rising in the eastern sky. Florrie did not hold his hand or even touch him. She walked with her head held high, looking straight ahead.