There was no regularity to it. Sometimes it would be once in a fortnight, then nothing for weeks, and once there was a gap of three months, long enough for her to think whoever was doing it had grown tired of it.
But the culprit always came back. She had tried leaving her bicycle somewhere else, risking a telling off for doing so, but it still happened. Sister Adams had suggested it was done out of jealousy, because she was pretty and popular with staff and patients alike. Everyone agreed it must be someone who worked at the hospital.
The last year had been exacting for everyone in England. At the start of the war there was excitement and patriotic fervour to carry people along. But when it didn’t end as quickly as everyone had believed it would, and the casualty lists grew ever longer, along with the terror induced by air raids, and shortages of food, weariness and doubt had set in.
The war had brought some changes that Belle welcomed. Young women had gained more freedom, taking on jobs which just five years earlier would have been unthinkable for a woman. There were female bus conductresses and taxi drivers, postwomen, and women working in munitions factories and farming. Chaperones had become a thing of the past; as with so many young men off in France they were deemed unnecessary.
Yet Belle often smiled at angry letters written to the newspapers by staid matrons about the breaking down of morality. They claimed that young women were behaving recklessly, going out dancing, walking out after dark with men in uniform and drinking in public houses. All this was true, and Belle thought it was totally understandable that the young should seize the moment when they believed that death could strike at any time.
The last year had been good for her, though, apart from missing and worrying about Jimmy. The melancholy which followed the loss of her baby had gone, leaving just sadness which she knew she must live with. She had her close friendship with Miranda, and Mog and Garth not only accepted her work at the hospital now but were proud of her. Sometimes Mog said she hoped when the war was over that Belle would go back to millinery, but agreed that she had been right to volunteer at the hospital.
It was very hard work, with no let-up from the moment she got to the ward in the morning until she left at six. There was a constant stream of wounded every day, though never again as many as there had been after the battle of the Somme last July.
In the last year Belle had seen injuries so appalling that she could not believe the human body could withstand so much – loss of sight, arms and legs blown off, hideous burns and abdominal wounds. She hated the facial and head wounds most. People treated men on crutches or in a wheelchair as heroes, heaping admiration and respect on them. But those who were terribly disfigured found people averted their eyes from them, and even some of their own families found it difficult to deal with.
It was the colossal numbers of casualties in 1916 which had finally made it possible for Miranda and Belle to be accepted as ambulance drivers. The hellish battles at Verdun had resulted in 87,000 French casualties, and the battle of the Somme, which continued until November, chalked up over 400,000 among the Allies, finally changing the outlook of the Red Cross. On top of this many American ambulance drivers had left to join the army, as at long last America had agreed to come in on the Allies’ side. With German submarines attacking shipping mercilessly from February and just recently the battle in Arras commencing, creating even higher casualties, the authorities were glad of any help they could get.
Both girls had glowing references from ward sisters and Matron, plus they could drive. But Belle thought what had really tipped the balance in their favour was that they both spoke a little French, and kept coming back to apply, showing determination.
Matron, who rarely praised even highly experienced nurses, let alone lowly volunteers, had surprised Belle. ‘I thought at first that you were a foolish, giddy young woman,’ she said, fixing her sharp eyes that missed nothing on Belle. ‘But you have proved yourself to be reliable, conscientious and steady. Had you not been married, I would have asked you to train as a nurse. I don’t wish to lose your help here, but I know that the quicker wounded men can be got from the dressing stations to hospitals, the more likely they are to survive. I shall be stating to the Red Cross that I believe you have the necessary resourcefulness and pluck, and that you have had enough experience here to be suitable for the task.’
Belle was excited to be going, but scared too. She and Miranda had talked about it for such a long time, but now it was really going to happen, they both had doubts about their abilities. It was one thing changing dressings under Sister’s watchful eye, quite another to be responsible for getting badly wounded men in terrible pain to the safety of a hospital. They were worried they might get lost, that the ambulance might break down, and that they might not be able to stay calm in an emergency.
But Belle wasn’t thinking about what might happen to her in France as she walked home pushing her bicycle; her thoughts were with Jimmy. He was lucky to have got off so lightly with his wound when so many of his regiment had died on that first day at the Somme, and she would never forget how passionately he’d spoken of what he called ‘the butchery’ there. Yet for all his insistence that his wound was nothing and he was fine, during that time he’d spent at home she’d fleetingly seen the same haunted look in his eyes shared by so many of the wounded at the hospital.
On his final day before returning to France he’d suddenly blurted out how the Germans had used liquid fire against them at Ypres. He described how suddenly all along the trenches to his right there was a wall of fire bursting up into the night sky, and he heard the men screaming and the smell of roasting flesh as they tried to climb out of the trenches and get away. The fire didn’t reach to where he was, but that night around fifty men he knew well died, and many more who did survive would live the rest of their lives with pain and terrible scarring.
He was one of the men sent to remove the bodies for burial. He said some of them were still stuck like crabs to the wall of the trench, caught by the flames while trying to climb out. Others had fallen back on to the bodies of other men, all of them black and charred, their uniforms burned to ash. He had vomited at the sight, and couldn’t eat anything for several days afterwards.
Almost immediately he apologized for burdening Belle with those images. She told him it was better to talk about it than keep it inside him, but it was obvious to her he felt really bad about divulging it. Perhaps he thought real men must keep such memories to themselves.
Since he’d gone back his letters were brief but cheerful, telling her funny little anecdotes about other soldiers. There were the ones who were good at scavenging, who would disappear for a while and come back with a bottle of brandy, or a rabbit they’d trapped. Some wrote poetry or could sing, some made everyone laugh, and others could tell a good tale. Anyone else reading his letters would think he was at a Scouts’ camp, sitting around all day telling jokes. But Belle had grown adept at reading between the lines. She knew he was afraid most of the time he was sent up to the front line, but he felt his fate was preordained and there was nothing he could do to change it.
Belle knew too that once she was driving an ambulance she would be experiencing sights as bad as any of those Jimmy had seen. The wounded brought into the Herbert had been cleaned up and had their wounds dressed. She hoped she would be able to deal with far worse horrors without falling apart.
‘Hello Belle, got a puncture?’
Belle jumped at the man’s voice behind her, and even without looking round she knew it was Blessard. In that instant her instinct told her he was responsible for the punctures and had been lying in wait for her to come past, standing just inside a garden gate.
She guessed too that he’d done this often before, but on many of the occasions she’d had a puncture she’d been given a lift home by a doctor who happened to be leaving at the same time, or by Mr Eldredge, the greengrocer who supplied the hospital and always stopped at the Railway for a drink.
‘Mrs Reilly to you,’ she
said, and continued to walk on without looking round.
He came up behind her, grabbing the saddle to stop her. ‘Don’t be like that. I only wanted to say hello.’
She turned to face him then. He was wearing a tailored checked jacket and grey flannel trousers, the smartness of his clothes suggesting he hoped to impress her. ‘Well, you’ve said hello now, so let go of my bicycle, please.’
He did so, but as she walked on he fell in beside her. ‘It must be hard work at the hospital. I really admire you ladies volunteering to work there, can’t be easy.’
‘It isn’t easy for the wounded soldiers either,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m surprised you aren’t in uniform, why’s that?’
Conscription had been brought in the previous year, and he had no obvious disability.
‘I’ve got a heart complaint,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t for that I’d be over there doing my bit.’
She gave him a withering glance. He could of course be telling the truth but it was far more likely he’d bribed a doctor to exempt him. ‘Look, Mr Blessard, I don’t wish to be rude, but I have nothing to say to you and I have no wish to be in your company. So kindly go about your business and leave me alone.’
With that he grabbed hold of her arm, squeezing it so tightly it hurt. ‘How did a whore like you get to be so snooty?’ he said. ‘I know all about you. Every last thing. See, I make it my business to find out about people who interest me. You may have convinced folk in Blackheath that you were in Paris learning millinery but I know what you were really doing. You might have got a couple of influential friends to cover it up for you, but a reporter can always get at the truth.’
Belle let go of her bicycle and as it clanged to the ground, she wheeled round sharply, and bringing her knee up fast, she drove it into his genitals with all the force she could muster. He reeled back in agony.
‘I learned a lot of things in Paris,’ she snarled at him. ‘And one of them was how to deal with weasels like you. If you come anywhere near me again you will live to regret it.’
Picking up her bicycle, she moved on swiftly. In a quick glance over her shoulder she saw he was doubled up in pain. He was in no condition to follow her.
When she got home, Garth and Mog were just about to have their dinner. They remarked on her flushed face and she told them what had happened.
‘I’ll go out now and get that blackguard,’ Garth exclaimed, rising from the table.
‘He’ll have gone now,’ Belle said. ‘Crawled back to whatever hole he came out of.’
‘But what if he comes after you again?’ Mog said, her eyes wide with fear.
‘I’ll be off to France in two weeks. I doubt if he’ll have rallied himself before that,’ Belle said.
‘You shouldn’t have done that to him,’ Mog said. ‘It will only make him want to make trouble for you.’
‘Mog! He deserved it,’ Garth exclaimed, looking astounded that his wife wasn’t backing Belle up. ‘What was she supposed to have done? Let him have his way with her?’
‘Well no, but violence just begets more violence,’ Mog said timidly.
‘My arse, fight fire with fire, that’s what I say,’ Garth responded. ‘Good for you, girl, and meanwhile I’ll have a word with that policeman Broadhead. He’ll find out where the man comes from and I’ll deal with him.’
Mog shook her head. ‘You can’t tell Broadhead what the man said to Belle!’
‘No, you can’t,’ Belle agreed. She liked PC Broadhead, who was a good man, but she knew that he was sweet on her and would be likely to rush to arrest Blessard. A man like him would if cornered shout her past from the rooftops. She couldn’t risk that. ‘Best to let it go. He won’t be able to bother me again if I’m not here.’
Yet despite what she’d said, that evening as she wrote her usual letter to Jimmy she felt very anxious. As Blessard hadn’t tried to contact her for so long, she had believed he’d lost interest in her. Today’s encounter proved that was not the case, and she was just fortunate not to have been waylaid by him any of the other times he’d punctured her tyres. But by reacting the way she had this evening, she had shown her true colours, and that was likely to make him even more determined to expose her.
She didn’t really care about herself. If nothing else, this war and the sights she’d seen had taught her that bad things happen, and nothing stays the same. She and Jimmy could move away when it was all over, but as always it was Mog and Garth she was concerned for. They were very happy here, they were liked and respected by everyone. In the last year Mog had become a leading light in the village fund-raising events for the war effort; she cooked, sewed, knitted, manned stalls, made costumes for pageants and parades. For the first time in her life she was looked up to and people counted on her.
Belle knew that if her past should come out, Mog would suffer. Even if Mog’s previous employment never became known, as Belle’s aunt she’d be shunned just because of the association.
But there was nothing Belle could do to prevent Blessard exposing her if that was his intention. All she could hope for was that any damage would be limited to her.
Two weeks later, Belle and Miranda were finally on the train heading for Dover. It was packed with soldiers returning to France, but they had the Ladies Only compartment to themselves.
‘Thank heavens that’s over,’ Miranda said jubilantly as she turned away from waving out of the window and flopped down on to the seat. Her parents had come to the station to see her off, and her mother had embarrassed her by sobbing loudly and acting as if she would never see her daughter again.
Belle pulled up the window, and surreptitiously wiped the tears from her eyes before sitting down. Mog had remained quiet and calm at the station, but Belle knew she would go back with Garth and break down and cry in the privacy of her home, and her tears would be genuine. It was a timely reminder to Belle of how fortunate she was to be loved. Miranda might have all the advantages that came with wealthy and well-connected parents, but her family would disown her the moment she put a foot wrong. She had no doubt that Mrs Forbes-Alton would boast to her friends that Miranda was off to do vital war work, but this morning’s tears weren’t real, heartfelt ones, and in truth she was glad to get her troublesome daughter out of the way.
‘Mama is such a fraud,’ Miranda exclaimed. ‘Even before we left this morning I heard her telling the maid to pack my stuff up and put it in the cellar and get my room ready for her sister who’s coming to stay. I’m never going back there, you know. Today is the first one of my new independent life.’
‘My mother is as bad,’ Belle admitted. ‘I wrote and told her two weeks ago that I was leaving and asked if she’d come over on Sunday to see me before I left. She sent the briefest note back saying she couldn’t spare the time but wished me well. I don’t feel inclined to bother with her any more either.’
‘How can she be like that?’ Miranda asked.
Belle had asked herself the same question countless times. Annie had never comforted her about losing her baby, nor had she shown any concern for Jimmy’s safety, or interest in Belle’s work at the hospital. All she could talk about was how well her guest house was doing, and how many charming officers came to stay. She didn’t even appear to be overly concerned at how many of these guests’ names had appeared later on casualty lists.
‘She was never a real mother to me,’ Belle sighed. ‘She’s a cold, self-centred woman. The best thing she did for me was to put me in Mog’s care.’
‘Mine is as bad. When we were little she only ever saw us for about ten minutes before we went to bed. She’s such a fraud, she makes out to other people she did everything for us. But the truth is we were brought up by the servants. Papa did stuff some money in my hand this morning though,’ Miranda grinned. ‘A hundred pounds! Not sure whether that was to ensure I didn’t return or an attempt to show he cared.’
Belle thought of the new clothes Mog had made for her, the fruit cake she’d baked and packed in her case. The time and
trouble she took with such things made her love visible, and it meant so much more than a wad of money. As for Jimmy, he showed his love by being glad she’d got the opportunity to do something she wanted to do. He said he would be proud of her doing something so important, and maybe he’d get some time off to come and see her.
‘Well, it’s just us now,’ Belle said. ‘Let’s hope we can actually drive those ambulances. And remember some French.’
‘Of course we will, we’ll be brilliant. Now, do we have to stay in this Ladies Only carriage? I’m sure it would be much more fun with all the soldiers.’
‘Miss Forbes-Alton, you aren’t here for fun,’ Belle replied in an imitation of Matron at the Herbert. ‘Besides, the train is packed. We’re extremely lucky to have a seat, let alone a whole compartment to ourselves.’
‘We could sit on someone’s knee,’ Miranda said impishly.
‘Just make the most of the comfort here, the boat will be packed with soldiers. I expect by the time we arrive at Calais even you will have got tired of flirting.’
‘I can’t believe it’s against the rules for VADs to be seen socially with soldiers,’ Miranda said, taking a compact from her bag and powdering her nose. ‘I had hoped to find a gallant officer to squire us around when we’re off duty.’
Belle laughed. ‘I suspect we’ll be too exhausted to do anything off duty but sleep.’
‘I wonder if you’ll get to see Jimmy, or even the Frenchman,’ Miranda said thoughtfully.
‘I certainly hope we don’t see either of them in an ambulance,’ Belle replied. She wished Miranda wouldn’t refer to ‘the Frenchman’ so often. Belle had no way of knowing if Etienne was still alive, and it worried her somewhat that he crept into her thoughts so often. ‘But what about your brothers? Where are they?’ She knew they only joined up just before conscription forced them to, and they were both officers, but Miranda hadn’t said where they were in France.
The Promise Page 18
