The Witch’s Daughter

by Paula Brackston

  ‘If I had any left, I’d give it to you, Nurse.’

  ‘It’s all gone?’

  ‘Half an hour ago. There’s a drop of brandy, but go steady with it.’

  There were moments when it was almost a blessing not to have time to talk to the casualties, for what words could I offer them? I set my jaw and followed Dr. Young’s example. For hour after hour, we applied rudimentary dressings, splints, and bandages. We gave water and brandy. On and on the nightmare went. More and more soldiers were left outside the pillbox.

  ‘Why don’t they stop it?’ Annie asked me. ‘Why do they keep sending them up when it’s so hopeless?’

  Dr. Young turned on her. ‘Be quiet, won’t you! If these lads see fit not to question their orders, then it is of no concern to you. There is a gunner over there likely to lose his arm if you fail to help him. Nurse Hawksmith, assist me here please.’

  He positioned himself at our makeshift operating table. On it lay a soldier of indeterminable rank or age, so covered in mud was he. He did not shout or make any complaint, but his breathing was shallow and rapid and his body rigid with pain. I saw that he had sustained a shrapnel wound to the stomach.

  ‘Now then.’ Dr. Young put his own face close to that of his patient. ‘You’ve a nasty bit of metal in you. It needs to come out. I can do it here or you can wait until you get to the CCS. Thing is, by the time you get there, you could be in trouble. I have to tell you we’ve no morphine left. Well, what’s it to be?’

  With great effort, the soldier summoned his voice. ‘Best get it out, sir. If you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Good man. You there,’ he called to two stretcher-bearers, ‘hold him for me, will you?’

  Fear flashed across the soldier’s face as the men approached.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ I said.

  Dr. Young shot me a look.

  ‘He must stay still, Nurse.’

  ‘He will. Just give me a moment.’ I took the young man’s hand in mine. ‘Look at me,’ I told him. ‘All you have to do is look at me.’ I made myself shut out everything but his face. I met his unsteady gaze and held it. I pressed his hand to my heart. ‘See how slowly it beats? Your heart can do the same. Let go. Think no thoughts. Hear no sound but my voice. Feel nothing but the pulse of life beneath your hand. I will keep you safe.’ As I spoke, I swayed minutely from side to side, never blinking, never letting his eyes stray from my own. Very soon, his breathing became slower, his own heartbeat more regular. His eyes lost their focus but did not close. His body relaxed. I turned to Dr. Young.

  ‘He is ready now,’ I said.

  The bearers waited for instructions. Dr. Young hesitated for only seconds before shooing them away. He snatched up a scalpel and began to incise flesh around the point of entry. The soldier did not flinch but lay quiet. Dr. Young glanced at him, then proceeded. Within minutes he had dug deep enough to expose the piece of shrapnel. He lifted it out with a pair of surgical tweezers and quickly sutured the wound. I gently let go of the soldier’s hand and stroked his cheek. He blinked a few times and then smiled at me.

  ‘Right,’ said Dr. Young, ‘let’s get you off to the CCS. Well done, Nurse.’ He turned to me. ‘I have heard of mesmerism, of course, but I have never seen it used. I confess up until now I would have described myself as a skeptic. Up until now.’

  ‘I am only glad I could help.’

  ‘Stay close. I may have need of your talents again before the day is done.’

  The battle seemed interminable. However hard we tried to keep up with the stream of casualties, we were inundated. Dr. Young became increasingly ruthless about who was allowed to stay and indeed who was to be admitted at all. He screamed at one corporal who assisted a limping and profusely bleeding man through the entrance.

  ‘Stretcher cases only!’

  ‘He was one, sir, only a shell tipped him off and killed the bearers,’ the soldier explained. Dr. Young tutted loudly but saw to the corporal himself. Of growing concern was the nearness of the bombs. One landed so close it shook the walls, and for a moment I feared the roof would collapse on top of the patients. It held, but only just, and the explosions did seem to be getting worryingly near.

  ‘Surely we are behind the battle line,’ I whispered to the doctor. ‘Why would the enemy waste their weapons?’

  ‘Naturally they know the positions of all of what were once their own bunkers,’ he told me, ‘and naturally they know we would put them to good use.’

  ‘You mean they are deliberately targeting us?’

  The ground shuddered again in answer to my question.

  I hardly had time to think of anything other than the task at hand, but even so images of Archie repeatedly formed in my mind’s eye. I tried to hold him there, as if that would keep him from harm. Every time an officer was brought in, I held my breath. Toward the end of that terrible day I did see a face I recognized. It was Captain Tremain, whom I had met in Archie’s dugout and who had so unnerved me. He had a gunshot wound above the left knee, and his hands were deeply lacerated—I supposed by the barbed wire—but he was not in danger. I dressed his wounds and dared to ask him about Archie.

  ‘Haven’t seen him since we went over,’ he said. ‘We were positioned some distance apart.’ He watched my face the whole time I worked, and I felt the familiar prickling at the back of my neck. Even now, he had the audacity to stare, to lech. I had to force myself to finish his dressings. I stood up.

  ‘Try not to move,’ I told him. ‘We’ll send you down the line with the next available stretcher-bearers.’

  I turned my attention to a soldier in the corner of the room who was coughing badly. I saw he had taken a bullet to the abdomen at an upward angle, and it was likely that his lungs were being filled with blood. I knelt beside him and took his hand. He spluttered and choked, fighting for breath, every spasm inflicting further pain upon his ruined body. His distress was heartbreaking to witness. I knew that he was drowning, and there was nothing to be done to save him. I put my lips close to his ear and whispered to him.

  ‘Shh, do not be afraid. Listen to me. You will feel no pain. No pain. Sleep now, a deep, refreshing sleep. Sleep. Sleep.’

  As I spoke, he stopped his paroxysms of coughing and his eyelids fluttered and closed. His breathing became shallow. I heard a gurgling sound from deep within his chest, but he no longer fought or suffered. He merely slept, as he would continue to do until his body failed him and his soul was finally set free. I stood up and turned to find that Captain Tremain had been watching me. I made a move to pass him. He grabbed my wrist.

  ‘That’s some strong medicine you have there, Nurse,’ he said levelly. ‘Strong indeed.’

  I snatched my arm from his grasp. I was about to respond to his comment when I noticed Annie slipping outside. Like me, she was troubled by the wounded left unattended and in need of nursing. I glanced at Dr. Young, but he had not noticed her go. I looked back at Captain Tremain.

  ‘I would be grateful…’ I began, but the expression on his face made me pause. I was aware of shells falling close by, and to me the whistle of this particular one was no different from the others. To Captain Tremain’s more experienced ear, it was very different. He grabbed me again and wrenched me down onto the floor beside him just as the mortar exploded at the very entrance to the pillbox. The thunder of the blast was followed instantly by a storm cloud of concrete dust. Everyone in the pillbox began to cough. As the air started to clear, I heard Dr. Young shouting. ‘Nurse Hawksmith? Are you unharmed?’

  I clambered to my feet, righting Captain Tremain as I did so, his wounded leg causing him great pain and making it hard for him to move unaided.

  ‘I am all right, Doctor,’ I called back.

  ‘The walls have held, and the roof, thank God. Where is Nurse Higgins?’

  Now I remembered seeing Annie leave the safety of the hospital. I ran outside. There were mangled bodies and groaning casualties everywhere. Annie lay next to a young rifleman. I sank to the gr
ound beside her.

  ‘Annie? Annie?’

  She stirred slowly, opening her eyes. ‘I know Dr. Young told us to stay inside,’ she said, ‘but these poor boys…’ She smiled. ‘So like my Billie. They just needed a bit of care. A mother’s touch, you know?’

  I nodded.

  Her eyes narrowed and a frown creased her brow. ‘We did our very best, didn’t we?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, Annie. Our very best,’ I said, and watched the light of life go out behind those kind eyes.

  Three exhausting hours later, the attack was at an end. The machine guns fell silent. As the last stretcher was carried out of the pillbox, Dr. Young spoke to me.

  ‘Go with them, Nurse. There is nothing more to be done here.’ Seeing my face, correctly reading the despair growing there, he squeezed my arm. ‘There is nothing more to be done. You have saved many lives here today. There are some you can help’—he swallowed hard, his voice breaking—‘and there are others…’ He shook his head and left the sentence unfinished.

  I accompanied the wounded back along the duckboards to the waiting ambulances. I have heard of people being numbed by shock, by terrible experiences. How I wished for such a release from the ache in my heart. I tried to tell myself I had done all I could, and for once at least I knew this to be true. I had used my skills as a nurse, I had used all my fortitude as a woman, and I had used my magic in the way a witch should—to ease suffering and to heal. As weary soldiers trudged past me, I searched their faces but did not find Archie. Was he alive? I wondered. I somehow believed he was, even though I knew the odds to be heavily stacked against such a supposition. So many had died. He would have been leading his men into those terrible guns, onto that merciless wire. And yet, something inside me knew him to be alive. It was as if I were aware of his life force, connected to it in some way, and it still burned bright.

  I climbed aboard the last ambulance. The driver revved the engine and began to move off. Then, above the noise of the rickety vehicle, I heard my name being called. My real name.

  ‘Bess! Bess!’ Archie appeared at the side of the ambulance. The driver reluctantly slapped his foot onto the break.

  ‘Quick as you like, sir,’ he said to Archie. ‘These lads don’t need to hang about here any longer than they have to.’ He jerked his head at the casualties in the back.

  ‘A moment, Corporal. One short moment.’ He grabbed my hands, ‘Bess, thank God you’re safe.’

  ‘Archie! I knew you were alive. I just knew.’

  ‘I’ll drag you over those heathered hills yet, you wait and see if I don’t.’ He grinned.

  The ambulance began to move forward. Archie limped alongside it, my hands slipping from his. ‘I’ll come to you at the CCS,’ he called after me, ‘as soon as I can!’

  I leaned out of the side of the van and waved at him until lines of troops obscured my view and he was lost in a muddle of khaki. I sat back in my seat and wondered at the capacity the human heart possesses for experiencing both despair and joy at one and the same moment.

  6

  In the nurses’ quarters at the CCS there was great excitement at the delivery of some post. Three days after my experiences at the field hospital, I had yet to recover my sense of reality, of normality, and was finding it difficult to join in the glee the others were enjoying at the arrival of supplies of Bovril and biscuits and cakes from home. Strap stood in front of the stove warming her ample backside and chomping on a gingernut. Kitty sat on her bed reading and re-reading a letter from her younger brother. I sat on my own bunk, caught somewhere between relief at being away from the front line and restlessness born of a longing to see Archie. I had tried to concentrate on my work, but everything seemed to send my thoughts back to him. A particularly strong reminder lay in the ward tent in the shape of Captain Tremain. His wound was healing fast but not quickly enough for me. I found it difficult to be in the man’s presence, though I could not fully understand why. Although he made me uneasy, I was certain he was not a real threat. I sensed nothing of Gideon about him, and yet there was something unsettling. I kept revisiting the time in the dugout with Archie and Tremain and Lieutenant Maidstone. I had experienced such a strong sense of danger, but why? Tremain himself continued to make unwelcome and inappropriate remarks, and I was well aware that he had witnessed some of my unorthodox healing methods in the field hospital. I did my best to avoid him and hoped he would soon be sent home on leave to fully recover from his injury. At least I could cling to the hope that I would soon see Archie again. I had received a note from him, and we planned to spend our two days of leave together that coming Saturday. The thought of it made me feel like a giddy teenager. Such moments of wistful joy were not without their price; I was beset by guilt immediately. How could I be contemplating fun, laughter, love even, when so many had died or were suffering? Could it be right? Strap caught sight of my expression in an unguarded moment.

  ‘Good Lord, Elise, you look positively dyspeptic. Here, have one of these. No better pick-me-up to be had in these parts,’ she said, proffering her precious biscuits.

  I took one without enthusiasm. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So, any word from your soldier yet?’

  I had already told her Archie’s name and of our encounter at the Front. It was against my natural inclination to share such information with anybody, but I had been missing him so badly, and talking about him was a way to bring him close, if only for a few moments. I glanced over my shoulder to check that we could not be overheard.

  ‘He sent a note.’

  ‘A note, you say? Well, there’s a thing.’

  ‘He has forty-eight hours’ leave, starting on Saturday.’

  ‘Which would be of no interest to you, naturally, being fully aware as you are of the rules forbidding nurses from stepping out with officers.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And knowing that if our Dear Leader were to get one whiff of any sort of liaison between one of her staff members and a man in uniform, the consequences would be most unpleasant.’

  ‘Extremely unpleasant, I should imagine.’

  She left the stove and sat down beside me.

  ‘So, where are you meeting him?’ She grinned.

  ‘I’m to take the train to Gironde, three stops southwest from here. I’m supposed to wait for him on the platform and he’ll find me.’

  ‘Ah, a clandestine rendezvous! How ridiculously romantic.’

  My own smile faded. ‘Or perhaps just ridiculous.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. Going off to enjoy myself, sneaking around, forgetting why we’re here in the first place.’ I ran a hand through my hair and let my shoulders sag. Strap was having none of it.

  ‘Now you listen to me, Nurse Work-Till-I-Drop Hawksmith,’ she said. ‘If anyone around here deserves a few hours off, it is you. I absolutely insist you do jolly well enjoy yourself and completely forget why we are here. That’s the whole ruddy point! Good grief, girl, you don’t know when you’re well off. Last time I did any sneaking about, it was breaking back in to the dormitory at school. Make the most of it, I say. And come back and tell us loveless creatures all about it. Or tell me at any rate. Quite see you might not want to broadcast your peccadilloes…’

  ‘Peccadilloes!’ I laughed, ‘Strap, you’re a tonic. If we could only bottle whatever it is that keeps you so relentlessly cheerful, we’d empty the wards.’

  ‘Gingernuts,’ she declared, biting into another one. ‘Legions could march on ’em, I swear.’

  We giggled together, and I realized how long it had been since I’d heard the sound of my own laughter.

  The days crawled by until finally Saturday evening arrived. I had no clothes but my uniform and for the first time felt the lack of something pretty to put on. I washed my hair, rinsing it in a little of my precious rose oil, and borrowed a lipstick from Kitty. Although I played down the occasion as much as I could, the others must have sensed my excitement
and teased me pitilessly until I managed to slip away. I had packed a few overnight items in a small bag lent me by Strap, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I was planning to be away two days. And nights. The seven o’clock train for Gironde was packed with off-duty soldiers and noncombatant volunteers, all intent on a short time away from the grimness of the war. Some were headed for the coast and a boat home. Others were, like me, settling for a few snatched hours as far from Saint Justine as their passes would allow them to go.

  I found a window seat and gazed out at the deserted landscape as the locomotive huffed and puffed away from the front. With every passing mile, the countryside looked more normal, more peaceful. Under the setting sun, crops grew, livestock grazed, and rooks circled stately trees in preparation for their nighttime roost. I began to feel excitement stirring within me. Not only at the thought of seeing Archie again but also at the realization that there was hope, that all would one day be well again.

  By the time we reached Gironde, it was properly dark. I made my way along the platform, away from the stream of people heading for the exit. I secreted myself in the shadows and waited. I felt a tightening in my stomach as the stream dried to a trickle and the last of the passengers alighted. Still there was no sign of Archie. Would he come after all? Had I been deluding myself about the sincerity of his feelings for me? Then, suddenly, I saw him. He stepped from the train carefully, his damaged leg forcing him to lean heavily to one side. He stood alone on the platform. I emerged from the dark corner where I had been waiting. He saw me and smiled at once, hurrying to me. For a moment, we stood facing each other wordlessly. At length, Archie began to laugh and offered me his arm.

  ‘Well, Nurse Hawksmith,’ he said, ‘I diagnose nervous excitement and prescribe two large glasses of the best local wine we can find. What do you say?’

  ‘The perfect remedy.’ I took his arm and let him steer me toward the town.

  ‘And,’ he went on, ‘I further prescribe some of Madame Henri’s excellent cassoulet, followed by a cup or two of the finest coffee outside Paris. How do you think we feeble patients will fare on that?’