The Kissing Garden

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘But we stopped the Germans from annexing Europe, surely?’

  ‘Maybe. But for how long, I wonder?’

  ‘They said this was the war to end all wars. That no-one will want to fight again after such carnage. We weren’t the only country to lose so many men. Germany lost its millions too.’

  ‘Its millions! There you are, you’re saying it now. Yet only a short time ago you couldn’t comprehend the fact that we had lost thousands of men, let alone hundreds of thousands – let alone millions.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Amelia reflected. ‘And soon those figures will just be another set of numbers, just so many noughts added together with so many other noughts. Yet all those noughts are somebody’s sons.’

  ‘All those men, young and some of them not so young, all those sons and lovers, husbands and bachelors who lie dead, they’ll just be an entry for the record books,’ George added. ‘For people to study and frown over. Would you believe it? they’ll say. Just look how many fell in the war. As if they were reading the cricket scores.’

  ‘George,’ Amelia said, having summoned up the courage finally to ask him. ‘George – can I ask you something?’

  ‘That depends, doesn’t it? As you well know.’

  ‘What is it exactly that happened to you?’

  ‘At what point? An awful lot of things happened.’

  ‘Whatever it is that haunts you.’

  George stopped where she had stopped, looking not at her but at where his invisible forests grew.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to know, Amelia, even if I wanted to remember. All I can tell you is that I never ever want anyone too use the word “war” or “battle” in front of me unless they have been through the same thing. I never want anyone to glorify war, or tell me that it is a wonderful thing to do for your country, to throw away your life in a sea of mud, to kill someone else’s son. Not ever. Do you hear? Not ever.’

  Calling his dogs, he turned the collar of his coat up against the rain that had started to fall and turned for home.

  Amelia had to run to catch up with him. ‘But George, what does it all mean? What do you mean by everything you have just said? How does it affect us, darling?’

  She felt selfish even asking the question, but it had to be asked. They could not just go on and on as they were, living with his parents, not being really married, not knowing, either of them, exactly what it was that was so wrong with him.

  ‘What it means,’ George said, suddenly sounding more himself than he had since he came home, ‘what it means is that I cannot any longer stay in the army. Not feeling as I do, not for a minute. It would be completely hypocritical, dishonourable, what you will. I must resign my commission, even if it means I end up with a begging bowl in Oxford Street. I have to leave the army.’

  In spite of everything he had told her and everything they had discussed, Amelia was still surprised. ‘You have thought this through, George?’ she wondered. ‘You have considered your family? I mean, what on earth will your father say?’

  ‘I can’t stay in the army just for my father.’

  ‘I know. But he’s so proud of you. I just worry what this might do to him.’

  ‘Less than it would have done to him had I been killed, I imagine,’ George replied ruefully. ‘But there again, I’m not so sure.’

  Amelia did not of course witness the actual announcement of her husband’s intention to resign his commission. What she experienced was the aftermath in the form of George getting quickly and ferociously drunk before dinner. While he demolished three large whiskies in quick succession he said very little to her, other than the fact that he had broken the news to the General, and that it had not been at all well received.

  Very little was said later over dinner either, in spite of Amelia’s brave attempts to make conversation. In fact other than a token discussion of the weather very little was said at all, the meal notable otherwise only for the amount of wine and port consumed by the general and his son who never addressed one word to each other.

  By the time Amelia and George returned to their wing to go to bed, George was the drunkest Amelia had ever seen him, unsteady on his feet and barely coherent in his speech. Realizing the best place for him now was bed, once she had led him safely upstairs Amelia began to steer him towards their bedroom with the intention of helping him get undressed.

  ‘I can manage,’ he said, beginning to take his shoes and tie off. ‘I can manage perfectly well.’

  ‘Very well then, manage. I was only trying to help.’

  ‘You can help by coming to bed with me, Amelia,’ George said, stopping halfway across the bedroom, his shoes in one hand and his shirt half undone. ‘Come to bed with me now. Will you?’

  Amelia hesitated. Even though she had no idea of how too much drink affected a man, she knew enough to think that this was not the ideal way to christen a marriage.

  ‘Later, George,’ she said, suddenly smiling to herself as she realized this was what a lot of much older couples must sound like. ‘When you’ve sobered up a little.’

  ‘I am not drunk, Amelia,’ George insisted, holding on to a bed post. ‘I am not even the slightest bit drunk.’

  He eyed her, then let go of the post so that he might take off the rest of his clothes. As he did so, he began to sway rather ominously.

  ‘He’s going to cut off my inheritance, Amelia. My father is going to disinherit me,’ he said, falling sideways onto the bed. ‘We won’t have any money.’

  ‘That’s too bad,’ Amelia said, putting George’s discarded clothes on a chair. ‘You’ll soon find another way to earn your living.’

  ‘Ha,’ George said, without humour. ‘I don’t think so, darling. Like what? As what? I mean like what, Amelia?’

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ Amelia assured him, sitting him upright so that she could take off his shirt. ‘There are all sorts of things someone as bright as you can do. You could teach.’

  ‘Teach?’ George echoed. ‘Teach? Teach what?’

  ‘Teach boys.’

  ‘Teach them what, Amelia? What exactly am I meant to teach these boys?’

  ‘Whatever it is you’re good at, George. Or you could go into business.’

  ‘Business? That’s like going into trade.’

  ‘Don’t be such a snob.’

  ‘You want to be married to a tradesman?’

  ‘Who I’m married to is you, George. I don’t care if you go down the mines.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I probably will have to do, probably. Exactly.’

  By now George was sitting on the bed in just his trousers with his braces looped down to his waist. Even though he was thoroughly drunk he still looked absurdly handsome, but because he was so thoroughly drunk he also looked at his most vulnerable, so that Amelia was unable to resist the temptation to kiss him, which she did. To her delight George wrapped his strong arms round her waist, pulling her towards him so that she fell on top of him, and then to her astonishment she felt his tongue entering her mouth and exploring it. At first she tried to resist such an intimacy, but George was too drunk and too strong for her, holding her firmly to him. After only the briefest of struggles Amelia felt all resistance disappear and found herself kissing him back with a passion she did not know she possessed. George too must have been surprised, drunk though he was, for he murmured loudly enough at one point to make Amelia stop kissing him.

  ‘Is something the matter, George?’ she asked anxiously, pushing a loose bit of hair from her eyes. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  ‘Lord no!’ He was grinning like a boy. ‘I should say not!’

  He kissed her again, this time letting go of her waist with one of his hands, which she next felt, with a delighted start, on her breasts. With a sigh as the hand began to explore her, Amelia rolled sideways onto the bed, still kissing him passionately while George fumbled blindly at the fastening of her dress in an effort to remove it. Amelia eased herself away and smiled at him.

  ‘I
t’s all right, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll go and take it off. Don’t you move now. Promise?’

  ‘I promise,’ George stage-whispered back. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Don’t you worry.’

  He waved a hand at her as she disappeared behind her screen to perform the rite she had so often practised: discreetly removing her clothes and slipping into her nightgown ready to get into bed with her husband. A matter of moments later she slipped back out from behind the screen only to find George completely unconscious on the bed.

  ‘Oh, George,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, George.’

  With a small sigh and a sad smile Amelia lay down beside him and covered them both with the quilt.

  Nine

  In spite of his drunken state the previous night, the next morning George was up and gone before Amelia was fully awake. When she came downstairs and went into the main part of the house for breakfast she discovered that he had in fact already eaten. According to Henry, the Dashwood family’s butler, he had taken his favourite horse Beau for a long ride on the Downs.

  Quelling a sense of being suddenly deserted and yet about to face a firing squad none the less, Amelia helped herself to some kedgeree from one of the large silver dishes on the sideboard and joined Lady Dashwood, who was just finishing her breakfast. As soon as Amelia was seated her mother-in-law set about cross-examining her about George, without so much as the briefest exchange of niceties.

  ‘I sincerely hope this had nothing to do with you, Amelia,’ she said as the maid set some fresh coffee on the table. ‘George wanting to resign his commission. I hope this is not your influence coming to bear?’

  ‘No, Lady Dashwood, I have never, as yet, had anything to do with George’s military career, or his decisions.’

  ‘I am perfectly aware that George has been, let us say, a little tired since his return. But he is a soldier born and bred, as are all Dashwoods. However, now he seems to be coming back to himself I want to hear no more of this nonsense. I want you to see to it that this is the case, Amelia. I hope I make myself clear?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lady Dashwood. But I really cannot influence George in this matter, one way or the other.’

  ‘Cannot? Or will not?’

  Lady Dashwood, like most small women, was formidably aggressive and greatly preferred to have things her way. Having known her since childhood, Amelia was well aware of her mother-in-law’s character, and although, as a small child, she had initially been terrified of her, she had soon learned that if she was to earn her place in the sun she would have to learn to stand up to her, which she finally did.

  ‘It really doesn’t matter whether it’s cannot or will not, Lady Dashwood,’ Amelia said quietly, leaning back in her chair so that the maid could take her empty plate away. ‘George takes his own advice on matters as important as this. What I think about his resigning his commission is immaterial.’

  ‘So what was your reaction when he told you, might I ask?’

  ‘I admit I was a little surprised, Lady Dashwood. I had always imagined that like his father George would be in the army for life. But the war has obviously changed him profoundly.’

  ‘War changes everyone, Amelia,’ her mother-in-law insisted. ‘Makes boys into men.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what it’s done to George,’ Amelia replied, eyeing her adversary steadily across the table. ‘Made him understand his own mind as men are meant to do.’

  ‘Men do not resign their commissions, Amelia,’ Lady Dashwood replied frostily. ‘That is totally absurd.’

  ‘Decisions such as the one George has reached sometimes require far more courage than we like to think, Lady Dashwood. A different kind of courage and perhaps an even greater one, in my opinion.’

  Lady Dashwood narrowed her eyes and tapped her elegant fingers on the polished dining table.

  ‘I have always had my worries about you, Amelia – as a daughter-in-law, that is. I have always been concerned about your background. It’s so hopelessly artistic, so very bohemic as compared to our own.’

  ‘Artistic I agree, Lady Dashwood. Hopelessly so – I’m not sure. Your husband and my father seem to find Bohemia no barrier to their friendship.’

  ‘No, my dear. That is not what I mean. What I mean is that our family’s points of view are very different. When I realized George’s intentions towards you were becoming serious, I said to the general that, fond of you though I am, I feared incompatibility. I imagine I was right, now we hear the sort of nonsense that has started to influence George! You are aware, are you not, that if George insists on sticking to his guns, in all likelihood the general will disinherit him?’

  ‘George told me that might be the case, yes.’

  ‘You would have to move out from here.’

  ‘Of course we would.’

  ‘That does not worry you, obviously, Amelia?’

  ‘I married George, Lady Dashwood. He’s my husband and I am his wife. What George wishes to do he must do, and I will follow. When I married him I swore to love, honour and obey him, so that is what I shall do.’

  ‘That is all very fine and large, the notion of marriage and one’s proper duties, et cetera,’ Lady Dashwood sighed, giving her a patronizing look. ‘But reality is very different. Without money this is not an easy world to inhabit, my dear.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Amelia agreed, sounding almost affable about the difficulty of the world. ‘But then it would be an altogether impossible world to inhabit, if we tried to do so in contradiction to what we truly believe, surely?’

  ‘I see.’

  Lady Dashwood looked across at her, wiped her mouth on her napkin, nodded once to conclude the interview, and rose and left the dining room. Amelia watched her go, knowing perfectly well that this was not a battle won, but merely a temporary ceasefire.

  Since George made no reference either to his drunkenness of the night before or to their subsequent intimacy, Amelia imagined he must have no clear memory of the events of that night and so said nothing either, preferring to stand by her resolution to allow George any initiative. She did, however, mention the conversation she had had with his mother at breakfast time. George paid full attention while she recounted the exchange, then shook his head as if in defeat.

  ‘That’s why I went for a ride, Amelia. I needed time to sort things out. To clear my head.’

  ‘And now that you have?’

  ‘I’m not altogether sure I can go through with it--’

  ‘Then don’t, George.’

  Her husband looked at her in amazement. ‘Isn’t that what you want? I seem to remember – at least I think I do – that you were shocked at the notion of my resigning my commission, but not displeased.’

  ‘I wasn’t shocked,’ Amelia replied. ‘I was surprised – and understandably so, I think. Whatever one imagines, it’s always a surprise when the other person comes to the same conclusion. But once I had got used to the idea, in light of everything you’ve said and that we’ve been talking about together, it made absolute sense.’

  ‘Yet now, when I say I don’t think I can go through with it--’

  ‘Look, George,’ Amelia interrupted. ‘Whatever you decide it’s your decision, not mine. When it comes down to it, it really isn’t for me to suggest anything or even to have an opinion. As I said to your mother, when I married you I promised to obey--’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ George stopped her with a wave of his hand. ‘But you don’t believe that and neither do I. We’ve been friends most of our lives, Amelia. Because we’ve got married doesn’t mean you now have to become totally subservient to my wishes. You’ve always fought for your corner and I expect you to carry on doing so, whatever we may have said in church. When I said I’m not sure I can go through with this, I was going to add I can’t go through with it without your support – and I wasn’t really sure that I had that. Not completely. I had a little bit too much on board last night.’

  He grinned at her sheepishly, and Amelia laughed.

&nbs
p; ‘A little? I’d hate to see you when you had a lot!’

  ‘So? Do I have your support?’

  ‘Of course you do, George,’ Amelia assured him. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That you just might be an angel sent from heaven.’

  ‘So?’ Hermione said, now tea was out of the way and she had invited Amelia to take a walk around her parents’ garden.

  ‘So what?’ Amelia replied, knowing perfectly well the information her friend was after. ‘Wild oats, as my mother always says to that particular question.’

  ‘So-what-is-it-like-being-married?’ Hermione sighed, as if speaking to a child.