Leonora1 - Daughters of War

by Hilary Green

  ‘I don’t think that will cut much ice,’ Leo said, but she tried it anyway. The man only waved his hands in confusion. ‘No, no! No ladies! Only officers.’

  Beyond him they could see the glass doors of the dining room and through them tables at which uniformed officers were tucking in. The smell of food made Leo feel suddenly faint.

  ‘Oh, I’ve had enough of this!’ she exclaimed. ‘Out of my way!’

  She thrust the man aside and marched into the dining room with Victoria close behind her. She was aware of heads turning in their direction and then a complete hush as conversation died away and the clatter of knives and forks was silenced. In the hiatus, Leo suddenly realized what they must look like with their hair coming down and faces smeared with dirt. More like a pair of vagabonds than respectable ladies! No wonder the waiter had tried to turn them away.

  For a moment nobody moved, and then a man in the uniform of a Serbian colonel rose from a table near the door and came towards them. He was tall and had the bearing of one used to command. Unlike most of his fellow officers, he was clean shaven, with high cheek bones and brooding dark eyes under arched brows.

  He stopped and clicked his heels and said in German, ‘Excuse me. I can see you are not native to this area. I’m sure you will not speak Serbian. I hope you understand German.’ When they both answered in the affirmative he went on, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Aleksander Malkovic. May I ask who you are?’

  ‘I am Leonora Malham Brown and this is my colleague, Miss Victoria Langford. We have just arrived from England.’

  ‘From England! But, dear ladies, you must be aware that you have come to a war zone. Until a few weeks ago this city was under bombardment and the Turks were still in occupation.’

  ‘We are perfectly aware of the situation,’ Leo responded stiffly. ‘That is why we are here. We have come to join the Women’s Sick and Wounded Convoy. We are on our way to Chataldzha to offer our services.’

  ‘To Chataldzha!’ His lips curled in an expression that was somewhere between amusement and contempt. ‘Really, that is quite impossible. That is the front line of the Bulgarian advance. The fighting there is at its fiercest.’

  ‘Which is why that is where we are most needed,’ Leo retorted.

  He laughed out loud then. ‘Dear ladies, I admire your courage and we are most grateful for your offer of help, but we cannot allow you to put yourselves at risk. Now, in what other way can I be of service?’

  ‘The risk is ours, and I think you do not have the authority to stop us,’ Leo said. ‘But there is one way in which you can help. We need food and there seems to be nowhere in the city where we can obtain a meal.’

  ‘But of course! Please –’ he gestured towards the table he had just left – ‘you must be my guests.’

  Two officers courteously gave up their places and Leo and Victoria were soon tucking in to spicy meatballs in a rich tomato sauce. As they ate, the colonel made small talk, asking them about their journey and their accommodation.

  ‘And what is this ladies’ convoy of which you speak?’ he asked at length.

  Between them, they explained about the FANY and its offshoot and the aims which both organizations shared. He listened with an expression of sceptical amusement which Leo found infuriating.

  ‘So, why are you not travelling with the other ladies?’ he asked.

  ‘Because we did not know that they were leaving until it was too late,’ Leo explained. ‘We think they probably travelled by train to Sophia. Have you heard anything about them? We are sure they will be heading for the front line but we don’t know exactly where to find them.’

  ‘So you two ladies have set off entirely alone, without any clear idea of where you are going?’ Leo could not decide whether the expression in his eyes was admiration or disapproval.

  ‘We do know where we want to go,’ she said firmly. ‘Once we get near the front people are bound to know where the rest of the convoy is.’

  He looked at her, with that inscrutable gaze. ‘I have to admire your determination, even though I think your enterprise is foolhardy.’

  ‘Then you will help us to get to Chataldzha?’

  The courteous mask faded and his eyes hardened. ‘I am sorry. I have explained to you that the whole idea of women anywhere near the front line is unacceptable. You have no conception of modern warfare. You imagine a romantic charge, a brief, violent conflict and then the combatants leave the field empty except for the dead and wounded. In such a battle you might have played a part, but not now. War is no longer like that. It is about guns and shells and bombs and grenades. There is no peaceful interval during which we can collect our wounded and bury our dead. Your presence would merely be a distraction to the troops, who would feel they had to protect you instead of concentrating on defeating the enemy.’ He paused, as if to regain control of himself. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I shall leave you. But please feel free to use the facilities of the hotel. Coffee will be served in the lounge and I am sure some of the other officers will be happy to entertain you.’

  He rose and went out through the doors into the foyer. ‘Wretched man!’ Victoria exclaimed bitterly. ‘What arrogance!’

  Leo nodded. It was true that his whole demeanour had suggested a man who was unused to having his orders questioned, and yet . . . and yet . . . ‘I think he means well,’ she said. ‘He believes what he said.’

  While they were eating some of the officers had retired to the lounge to smoke and drink the local brandy. Leo was aware of many curious looks directed towards them from the communicating doors and when they had finished their meal one of the men came through to invite them to join him and his colleagues.

  They were a mixed party of Greeks and Serbs, who were clearly delighted to have some feminine company, though Leo noticed that Malkovic remained aloof, sitting apart with one or two senior officers. Conversation was impeded by the fact that the Greeks did not speak Serbian and the Serbs did not speak Greek, while some of them understood German and others French but few spoke both, so Leo was much in demand as an interpreter. After a while she found herself chatting to a Serbian major, who introduced himself as Milan Dragitch.

  ‘Tell me, why is it that there are only Serbs and Greeks here? I have seen Bulgarian uniforms in the streets. Where are their officers?’

  ‘In a different hotel,’ he said with a grin, ‘to prevent fights breaking out.’

  ‘Why? I thought you were all allies.’

  ‘So we are, in theory. But the Bulgars cannot forgive the fact that the Greeks took the city one day before they got here. They wanted to occupy Salonika, you see, to strengthen their claim over the whole of Macedonia. The Greeks had to let some of them in as “guests”, including Prince Kyril and Crown Prince Boris, but it’s an uneasy situation.’

  ‘So I see,’ Leo said.

  ‘Is it true that you and the other lady were planning to go to the front line to nurse the wounded?’

  ‘Not to nurse, exactly. Our function is to collect the wounded, give them essential first aid, and then transport them back to the casualty clearing stations.’

  ‘But that would mean going out under fire!’

  ‘Yes, we understand that.’

  ‘You are very brave. But the colonel will not let you go, you know.’

  ‘I don’t understand why not.’

  ‘Sasha Malkovic is notorious for his attitude to women. He believes a woman’s place is at home. He will not tolerate them anywhere near the troops. To him they are all camp followers – by which he means women of easy virtue.’ He stopped and blushed. ‘Forgive me, I don’t mean to suggest that that could be applied to you and your friend.’

  Leo smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not easily shocked. And whatever your Colonel Malkovic says, we are still determined to get to Chataldzha.’

  He frowned. ‘I can’t say you aren’t needed. I’ve seen enough during the recent weeks to know that we don’t have good enough systems in place for dealing with
casualties. But whether it’s suitable work for women . . . ?’

  ‘Why should men take all the risks? If they are prepared to fight and die for their country, shouldn’t we women be ready to do the same? At least, surely, we should be able to prevent them dying just through the lack of basic first aid.’

  He looked at her and she had the impression that he was coming to a decision. ‘Look, I probably shouldn’t say this, but I might be able to help.’

  ‘Help? How?’

  ‘Tomorrow I am leading a detachment to reinforce the Bulgarians who are besieging Adrianople. If you and your friend want to travel with us I won’t turn you away. It’s not Chataldzha, but it’s a good deal nearer to the front line than this is.’

  Leo caught her breath. ‘You would really take us with you? Thank you! Thank you so much!’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘I shall probably live to regret it. Just don’t, for God’s sake, mention it to the colonel. I should probably be cashiered.’

  Leo smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t say a word. When do we leave? How do we get there?’

  ‘You need to be at the station by 6.30 tomorrow morning. The train leaves at 7 o’clock.’

  By the time Leo crawled into bed everything was settled. The major was dubious about whether Sparky could go on the train but when Victoria declared that if he could not she would drive to Adrianople he agreed that it would be managed somehow.

  ‘I’m in enough trouble already,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.’

  Leo remembered the look in his eyes. All through their conversation she had been aware of his gaze and known that he found her attractive – and she knew that half-consciously she had traded on the fact. It was a not unpleasant feeling to realize that she had that power. But it was not his face that floated across her imagination as she hovered on the brink of sleep. It was the dark, imperious eyes and the arrogant mouth of Aleksander ‘Sasha’ Malkovic.

  Six

  Tom was beginning to realize that he had been extremely lucky to meet up with Max. At the Serbian border they were informed that the train could not proceed any further and all the passengers were told to get out. There was trouble with frontier police who were reluctant to admit two foreign journalists. It was not until Max slipped several large denomination banknotes into his passport that they were allowed to proceed to Belgrade. He then managed to acquire, by similar means, what seemed to be the only motor car in the village, to convey them there.

  In Tom’s imagination the Serbian capital was like something out of a book of Russian fairy tales, all crooked wooden houses and narrow streets, and he was surprised to find an elegant city where grand houses with neoclassical façades overlooked broad thoroughfares busy with hansom cabs, shiny barouches and even trams. Nevertheless, the signs of war were everywhere. The streets were crowded with men in uniform, and refugee families in rough peasant attire pushing handcarts loaded with possessions mingled with the smartly dressed bourgeoisie. Accommodation was at a premium but eventually they found rooms in the Union Hotel in a busy street not far from the main square.

  Looking at the décor of heavy wood and stained glass Tom commented, ‘This reminds me of a gentleman’s club in London, not somewhere in eastern Europe.’

  Max smiled. ‘There are places like this from Vienna to Prague. You have to remember that Belgrade was the southern outpost of the Austro-Hungarian Empire for many years. The Ottoman Turks were just the other side of the Danube.’

  Over dinner Max proposed that the following morning he would introduce Tom to some of his contacts in the newspaper world.

  ‘You know what? There are at least a dozen daily papers operating in this city, and my rag has a stringer based here who should be able to give us all the latest news. I’ll see that you get an exclusive that’ll have the editor of the London Times begging you to join his staff.’

  Tom felt the colour rising in his face. He had never imagined that his bluff would be called in such a direct fashion and he felt guilty at having deceived this good-hearted man. ‘Look, Max,’ he said, ‘I’d better come clean – that’s the American expression, isn’t it? The fact is I’m not a journalist, not even an aspiring one. Let me explain . . .’

  He told Max in as few words as possible about Leo’s disappearance, though he glossed over the exact nature of their relationship. Max listened, pursing his lips and nodding. When Tom finished he whistled softly.

  ‘Gee whiz! What a story! Gallant young women setting off into the unknown to render aid and succour to wounded soldiers. My readers would just love that! But I understand your feelings. A lady’s reputation and all that.’ He sighed regretfully. ‘OK, listen. With my contacts, if your fiancée has passed through here recently I’m sure we’ll be able to pick up her trail. I’ll ask around tomorrow, discreetly of course. No need for anyone to know who she is. But I just ask one thing in return. If we do find her, will you let me talk to her? I could write up her story without mentioning her name, if she wants it that way. But, gee Tom, it’s not something to be ashamed of. If it was my girlfriend showing that kind of guts I’d be proud!’

  Tom digested this in silence for a moment. Up until then he had only viewed Leonora’s disappearance as an act of foolishness that had caused her family, and himself, a great deal of inconvenience. It had never occurred to him that it was something admirable and Max’s words made him see it in a whole new light. Finally he said, ‘OK, Max. If we find her you can talk to her, on condition that if she doesn’t want the story published, even anonymously, you will respect her wishes. Do I have your word?’

  ‘On my honour. So, what’s your first port of call here in Belgrade?’

  ‘I thought I’d go and see the British Consul. She may have gone to him for help, or if the Serbian authorities have detained her they will, presumably, have contacted him.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Max said. ‘I’ve got people to see, as I said, so I suggest we go our separate ways and meet back here for dinner. That all right with you?’

  Tom had no difficulty in obtaining an interview with the British Consul but his response was not helpful.

  ‘Terribly sorry, old chap, but I haven’t seen the young lady, or heard anything about her. If she and her friend were here in Belgrade I would expect to have heard a rumour, at the very least. The British community here is not large and word soon gets round if there are any new arrivals.’

  ‘Do you think they might have been turned back at the border? We had some difficulty getting through.’

  ‘It’s quite possible that the authorities at the frontier refused to let them pass. They are very suspicious of foreigners at the moment, particularly anyone without a really valid reason for coming here. Two unaccompanied ladies trying to reach the battlefields would be bound to raise questions. Your fiancée is probably safely back home by now, unless they have decided to stop off and sample the cultural delights of Vienna.’

  On leaving the Embassy Tom found his way to the post office and sent a telegram to Amelia Malham Brown at Sussex Gardens. ‘No sign of L here. Situation very unsettled. Have you any news?’ That done, he found himself at a loose end. It seemed pointless to wander round the city on the off chance that he might bump into Leo or Victoria. On the other hand, he had no wish to spend the rest of the day sitting in the hotel, so he decided that he might as well take the opportunity to explore. What he found was a city pulsating with feverish excitement. The Serbian flag was everywhere, but the shops were mainly closed, many of them boarded up. He was aware that he attracted curious glances from passers-by and once a group of soldiers elbowed him off the pavement and one of them shouted something incomprehensible at him. He began to wonder whether it would have been more sensible to stay in the safety of the hotel; but his artist’s eye was caught by the unfamiliar scenes, and he wandered on along the broad thoroughfare of the Knez Mikhailov, pausing occasionally to sketch the elegant frontage of one of the grand houses that lined it. At the end of the s
treet he found himself entering a large park, where groups of soldiers lounged under the trees and small children attended by their nursemaids ran through drifts of fallen leaves. Beyond that were the walls of Kalmegdan, the castle that crouched like a protective lion on the cliffs dominating the confluence of the Danube and the Sava rivers. Tom strolled through the great gateway without hindrance and found himself in another park-like space, bounded by the curtain walls. Climbing to a vantage point on these he looked down on a panorama which included the two rivers and the bridges that linked the Old City to its newer outposts. He took out his sketch pad and began to draw.

  He was so immersed in the scene below him that he did not notice someone climbing the steps behind him until a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. Looking up, he found two policemen standing above him. One of them stabbed a finger at the sketch pad and said something in Serbian. At first he thought they were merely curious but then one of them took him by the arm and jerked him to his feet. He protested, but neither man spoke English and they seemed unimpressed by his British passport and began to pull him towards the steps. Their manner was becoming increasingly threatening so Tom decided that, rather than provoke a struggle he could not win, it would be best to go with them and hope that when they reached the police station, which he presumed was where they were taking him, he would find someone with whom he could communicate. To his intense humiliation he was frogmarched through the streets and finally through the doors of a forbidding-looking building and into a room where uniformed officers were sitting at desks, surrounded by civilians who all seemed to be talking and gesticulating at once. When one of the officials was free, one of Tom’s captors thrust his sketch book onto the desk and poured out a lengthy explanation. The officer skimmed through the sketches and then looked up at Tom and barked a question.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tom responded helplessly, ‘I don’t understand. I’m English. Do you have anyone here who speaks English? Look –’ he produced his passport again – ‘British citizen – see?’