Sweethearts and Wives (The Regiment Family Saga Book 2)

by CL Skelton

  ‘The devil with that,’ said Haig. ‘If that’s your mother out there, bring her in.’

  ‘Thanks, Douglas,’ said Gordon.

  He went out of the room and there she was; standing, looking smaller than he expected, waiting for him. She was wearing a plain blue linen dress over which she still had her hospital apron. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them moved, each savouring the sight of the other.

  ‘Mother,’ said Gordon, swallowing hard. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Oh, Gordon,’ she said, a catch in her voice. ‘Gordon.’

  He put his arms around her as she sobbed her joy at their reunion. She stepped back to look at him, wiping her eyes with the hem of her apron.

  ‘Oh, Gordon,’ she said, ‘this is too wonderful. However did you manage to get here?’

  ‘It was Ian’s doing, really. He managed to swing it with the C-in-C. I was detached to General French’s staff. I didn’t really do anything. I was just a passenger. Apparently father’s name still carries some influence in the army. Are the children all right?’

  ‘Oh, they’re fine,’ said Maud. ‘They’ve been down a mine shaft for the last two days but we got them home this morning. Of course they don’t know that you’re here, but they’ll be overjoyed to see you.’ And then she added in a more sombre tone, ‘Did you hear about Brenda?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you know that Donald has disappeared?’

  ‘He’s alive, Ian saw him.’

  ‘Saw him? But where is he? Is he all right?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is now. But I do know that a few weeks ago he was safe.’

  ‘Thank God for that. It was Brenda’s death that did it. He took it very badly. I have never seen such a change in anyone. It just didn’t seem like Donald.’

  ‘I know what you mean. He’s still taking it badly.’

  They were silent for a moment, each thinking their own thoughts about Donald. When Gordon spoke again, he raised a more immediate matter.

  ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I haven’t got permission to leave here yet. I have to go back into this reception but the chief of staff says that I am to bring you in.’

  ‘Gordon, I can’t possibly go in looking like this.’ Maud became very feminine and very agitated.

  ‘Of course you can,’ he replied. ‘There’s the mayor and Rhodes in there looking as if they were all dressed up for a city luncheon, but the rest of us are pretty scruffy. At least let the general see that somebody has been doing some work around here. Come on, mother, and I’ll ask the general, as soon as I can get in a word, and maybe we can get away.’

  Gordon led a reluctant Maud, smoothing down her greying hair, into the dining room. There Cecil Rhodes was giving forth in a very loud voice about the deficiencies of Kekewich’s handling of the siege.

  ‘That man,’ hissed Maud, ‘I could strangle him. Colonel Kekewich has been absolutely superb. He has done everything that any man could do, and he’s had to put up with that. Only a few days ago Rhodes tried to get all the townsfolk together to insist on a surrender. I suppose that he was running out of champagne. Kekewich wouldn’t hear of it. He’s had a dreadful time. He’s been fighting the Boers and Cecil Rhodes ever since the war started.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ said Gordon. ‘Why isn’t he here? He ought to be.’

  ‘I heard that he had gone out on a patrol this morning,’ replied Maud. ‘It’s funny, though. It all seems such an anticlimax. I mean, the Boers have been around us for so long. We’ve got so used to the shelling and now it’s all over. But nothing seems to have changed.’ She stopped and her eyes widened as she saw the buffet which had been laid out. ‘My goodness, look at all that food.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Gordon. ‘You don’t seem to have been short of food.’

  ‘Not short of food!’ exclaimed Maud. ‘We haven’t been able to get milk for the babies and I know people who have been eating cats and worse. Really, that man is disgusting!’

  Gordon was getting a little worried at his mother’s tirade and he was just about to say something when the door at the opposite end of the room opened and Colonel Kekewich came in.

  The colonel walked straight over to General French and saluted. ‘Colonel Kekewich, sir,’ he said.

  ‘I will not have that man in my house,’ shouted Rhodes.

  French gave the ‘great man’ a baleful glance.

  ‘I thought that this was a hotel,’ said French.

  ‘It is,’ said Rhodes, ‘and I own it.’

  ‘Very well,’ replied French. ‘Perhaps we had better have our discussion somewhere else?’ And with that, he put his arm around Kekewich’s shoulder and led him from the room.

  There was an awkward pause until Douglas Haig turned to the rest of the officers and said, ‘Stay here, gentlemen. I’ll find out if the general has any instructions.’ Then he, too, left the room.

  ‘Can we go now?’ asked Maud.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know,’ replied Gordon. ‘Look, I’ve got a friend here, I’ll go and have a word with him.’

  He sought out Westlake, and asked, ‘I say, Tom, would it be all right for me to go off with my mother now?’

  ‘Well,’ said Westlake, ‘there’s nobody here who outranks you. If I were in your position, I should just shove off. Where will you be if you’re wanted?’

  ‘I’ll introduce you to my mother, she’ll tell you.’ And they went to Maud. ‘Mother, this is Tom Westlake; he’s on the general’s staff.’

  ‘How do you do, Captain Westlake,’ said Maud.

  ‘Mrs Bruce. I just want to know where you’ll be in case I need to get hold of Gordon,’ said Westlake.

  ‘We’re going to my house,’ said Maud. ‘It’s not far.’ She told him how to find the place. ‘And if you don’t find it, anyone will tell you where I live. If you can get away, please come and call on us.’

  ‘I shall certainly try. Now off you go before somebody gets back and you get trapped. I’ll find out what the form is and come and let you know.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said Gordon. And together they left the hotel.

  Gordon had never seen Donald’s children before and when Maud took him into the upstairs room where they were waiting for her, they huddled quietly into a corner as children do in the presence of a stranger.

  ‘This is your Uncle Gordon,’ said Maud.

  There was no response.

  ‘Aren’t you even going to say hello?’ asked Maud. ‘Uncle Gordon chased the Boers away.’

  ‘Did you?’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, I had some help,’ said Gordon, smiling slightly. “You must be Harry.’ He was feeling every bit as awkward as the children.

  ‘You look like my daddy,’ said Susan, ‘but he didn’t wear funny trousers.’

  Gordon glanced self-consciously at his tartan breeches. ‘He used to, a long time ago,’ he said. ‘He had a pair just like this for riding a horse.’

  ‘My daddy’s coming back soon,’ said Susan. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I know him well. I’ve known him all my life, ever since I was born.’

  ‘That must be an awful long time,’ said Harry. ‘Daddy is very old. But he is away and Grandma is looking after us.’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said little Johnny.

  ‘All right, darlings,’ replied Maud. ‘You stay here with Uncle Gordon while I get you something to eat.’

  Harry, recovering somewhat from his shyness, approached Gordon. ‘Are you a soldier?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m a soldier.’

  ‘Daddy doesn’t like soldiers.’

  ‘I know he doesn’t,’ said Gordon. ‘But I have to be a soldier.’

  ‘Why do you have to be a soldier?’ lisped Johnny.

  ‘Because …’ Then he thought. Why the hell did he have to be a soldier? ‘Because ‒ it’s the regiment, you see. It is ours. It is like a family.’

  ‘Whose family?’ asked Susan. ‘Do you have girls?’

&nbs
p; ‘No, we don’t have girls. But there’s me and your daddy, he used to be in the regiment. And then there’s Grandpa and Uncle Robert. Have you ever met Uncle Robert or Uncle Ian?’

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Harry.

  ‘They’re my cousins and your daddy is my brother.’

  ‘Harry’s my brother,’ said Johnny. ‘Have you got a sister?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s your Aunt Naomi.’

  ‘Is she in the regiment?’ said Harry.

  ‘No.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Susan. ‘It’s not a proper family.’

  ‘But she’s a nurse. She takes care of us if anything goes wrong.’

  ‘Where do they all live?’ asked Harry.

  ‘In Scotland.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go to Scotland? Then we could all be together,’ said Harry.

  ‘Except for Mummy. She’s gone to see Jesus and I don’t think that she will want to come back,’ said Susan.

  Gordon was beginning to wilt under this cross-examination. He felt awkward at the prospect of being drawn into a discussion about Brenda. But Scotland? He realized that he was really longing to get back there, to see the mountains and the glens again, and most of all to get away from this bloody land and the heat and the killing. Right then he could feel a certain sympathy with the Donald he had known before Brenda’s death. But Scotland seemed a very long way away, and, at that distance, a very desirable place to be.

  ‘Perhaps we will soon be able to go to Scotland. At least you and Grandma. She might be able to take you very soon.’

  He was saved from further prolonging the discussion by the return of Maud.

  ‘There you are, then,’ she said. ‘Tea’s nearly ready. How about you, Gordon?’

  ‘No, thanks, I had plenty at the hotel. Supplies should be easier now. We should have the railway open within a day or so. So you can let yourself go a bit.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maud bitterly, ‘like Mr Rhodes.’

  Tea was ready and they took the children into the little dining room where there were tea and scones waiting for them. Gordon noted that the tea was without milk and that the scones were without butter, a great contrast to the luxurious feast which had greeted him at the Sanatorium Hotel. The children seemed to accept all of this as a matter of course and were soon tucking in to their meal and arguing as to how alike, or unlike, Daddy Gordon was.

  Maud smiled at this and caught Gordon’s eye, indicating that they should leave the children to it. So they went back into the sitting room.

  ‘I can offer you a glass of sherry,’ said Maud, ‘but I fear that there is nothing else.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ replied Gordon, ‘I really don’t want anything. You’d better save what you have.’

  Before they had a chance to get into conversation, there was a tap on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Maud.

  It was one of the nurses from downstairs. ‘There is a Captain Westlake here. He says he’s looking for Major Bruce.’

  ‘Ask him to come up,’ said Maud.

  ‘That’s torn it,’ said Gordon. ‘It looks as if I have work to do.’

  Tom Westlake came into the room. ‘Hello, Gordon, Mrs Bruce.’

  ‘Would you care to take a glass of sherry?’ asked Maud.

  ‘Thank you, no.’

  ‘All right,’ said Gordon. ‘Tell me the worst.’

  ‘No, it’s not like that at all. It may be a little insulting but I wish somebody would insult me the same way. I’ve seen French.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, to quote him verbatim, he said that you are no damned use to him. You’ll never make a cavalry officer, so you might as well take your mother to the Cape.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful,’ said Maud.

  ‘Oughtn’t I rejoin my unit?’

  ‘I mentioned that to him as well. He said that he hadn’t the faintest idea where your unit was and that if you go to the Cape you can find somebody to report to there. If you want my advice, I wouldn’t find anybody and just ship off home. I’ll see that your battalion is informed if and when we make contact, which we must do sooner or later.’

  Gordon’s heart leapt at the prospect of going home. ‘How soon would we be able to start?’ he asked. ‘The railway must be in pretty bad shape.’

  ‘Surprisingly it’s not. They reckon that there will be a train out of here tomorrow. We are sending our wounded on it,’ said Westlake. ‘If you like, I’ll see the transport wallah and get a compartment for you. How many will you be?’

  ‘There’s my mother and three children.’

  ‘Children?’ said Westlake. ‘That should make it easier. They’ll want them out of here. We might be pushing on fairly soon and there’s no guarantee that the Boers won’t be back. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back. The brass wants me in attendance. Oh, another thing, what about your charger?’

  ‘What about him?’ asked Gordon, who could not have cared less about a horse at that moment. ‘Haven’t you got anybody who has lost his horse?’

  ‘Plenty,’ replied Westlake.

  ‘Well, give it to him.’

  ‘I think the general was right, you’re not a cavalry man,’ said Westlake smiling. ‘But thanks a lot, I will do that. Now I really must go.’

  ‘Won’t you stay for a meal?’ said Gordon, not seeing the worried expression which crossed his mother’s face.

  ‘We’ve only got horsemeat,’ said Maud. ‘But you’re welcome to stay.’

  ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. We’ve got a staff meeting.’ And then with a fair imitation of General French’s voice: ‘And now, gentlemen, these are my orders. I would like your suggestions of how we are to proceed.’ He resumed his normal tone. ‘We’ll argue for an hour, he’ll take no notice of us, and then tell us what we are going to do.’ They all laughed and Westlake continued, ‘It has been a rare pleasure to meet you, Mrs Bruce. Are you sure you’re not his sister?’

  ‘You’re very charming, Mr Westlake.’

  ‘It’s the cavalry, you know. Goodbye. Goodbye, Gordon.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again,’ said Gordon. ‘But anyhow, I want you to know how grateful I am for all you have done for us.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, old boy,’ said Westlake, and then he was gone.

  ‘Gordon,’ said Maud, and her face was serious, ‘this is wonderful news, but do you think that we really ought to go until we know what has happened to your brother?’

  Gordon thought for a moment. It was not possible for him to tell his mother the truth, not even the little Ian had told him. ‘I don’t think,’ he said, ‘that staying here will do any good. Donald could be anywhere and we can leave messages. I’m sure that he’ll end up in Scotland. He’ll know where to find us.’

  ‘And what about Naomi?’

  Gordon smiled. In a way Naomi was the most capable of them all, but he said, ‘We’ll write to her at Pietermaritzburg and let her know what is happening. I don’t think that we have any need to worry about her.’

  In the end Maud allowed herself to be persuaded, primarily on account of the children. But she did point out that if and when they got to Britain, they would have to see Mr Wilson in London and allow him some voice in his grandchildren’s future.

  ‘Well,’ she said, brightening once the decision had been made. ‘At least we have not got much to pack. Do you think I should tell the children now?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Gordon. ‘We don’t want to spring it on them just before we get onto the train, and you heard what Tom Westlake said; it could be tomorrow.’

  Gordon watched her as she left the room. His mother was still a very trim and attractive woman. The door closed and he was alone with his thoughts.

  His thoughts were of Scotland. It was all right. Everything was all right. He would never catch up with the battalion now. So, unless somebody found him a job to do at the Cape, he was going home.

  But there was no time for daydreaming. ‘Possibly tomorrow,’ Westlake
had said. Well, there was the business, he would need to hand that over to somebody, and the packing and the official paperwork and money to get for their journey and … He grinned. No use sitting around, better get on with it.

  Chapter Eleven

  It had been a bitter January. The snow had fallen thick upon the glen and the northeasterly wind had piled it up in ten-foot drifts. Culbrech House was to all intents and purposes marooned in its white sea. It had not worried Andrew. After the death of his mother, just before Christmas, he had become if anything even more sedentary than he had been previously. His pegleg bothered him quite a lot and he moved around with increasing difficulty. He spent most of his days in the library gazing, frustrated, at the map on the wall, unable to move his pins and flags because they were so cut off from the outside world. Even the new telephone was useless. During the first days of the blizzard the lines had come down and the workmen could not get out on to the hills to repair them.

  A more serious matter was the fate of the sheep. People, Andrew knew, would probably be all right. They all laid in large quantities of provisions against just such a winter, and unless they were in urgent need of medical attention, they just sat it out in their cottages until it was possible to dig themselves out and get on to the hills to find and rescue what stock they could find still alive.

  Andrew had been very much estranged from the world after his mother’s death; for a while, at any rate. It had not been for the obvious reason, but because on the morning before she died, she had been lying in her bed looking very frail and had asked to see him. When he had arrived at her bedside, she had clutched spasmodically at his hand.

  ‘Andrew,’ she had said, ‘I want you to forgive me.’

  ‘Forgive you?’

  ‘I want Maud to forgive me, too. When you see her, will you tell her that I asked?’

  ‘Of course, but what is there to forgive?’

  ‘No, Andrew, there is little time left and I have something to tell you before it is too late.’

  ‘Whatever it is, you know that you have my forgiveness, and I am sure that I can say the same for Maud.’