Somewhere in France

by Jennifer Robson

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can recognize. That farmhouse over there, to the right—do you remember it? The whole thing is tilting at such a funny angle. I can’t imagine why it hasn’t fallen down yet.”

  “Constance,” Lilly warned, gritting her teeth. “We’re not meant to be sightseeing.”

  “Calm down! I remember it from earlier. We’d only been driving a few minutes when we passed it. So we’re nearly there.”

  Constance was right. Ahead, Private Gillespie’s ambulance rounded a bend in the road, passing the ruined house, which in other circumstances would have looked quite comical, and there, only a few hundred yards distant, was the CCS.

  Chapter 22

  I’m here so I can make a difference. Just like you promised I would.

  He’d been lying on his cot for more than an hour, desperately tired yet miserably awake. Try as he might, Robbie couldn’t erase the memory of Lilly’s words. Or the look on her face as she’d stared him down. She was right; he had encouraged her to join the WAAC. So why should he oppose her now?

  The answer was clear enough, and it shamed him. He was afraid. More afraid than he’d been for a long, long time.

  Sickening visions crowded in on him: a shell flattening her ambulance on the road to the dressing station, a gas attack on the ADS, a German raiding party breaking through the lines and reaching the ADS or even the 51st. It had happened before, elsewhere along the Front.

  And then there were the horrors that Lilly was certain to face each and every day. He’d described them, as graphically as he dared, when she’d met him at the tea shop last October. But no secondhand account could possibly convey the morass of suffering, despair, and limitless loss into which she and her friends were about to wade.

  Yet he’d never experienced so much as a twinge of concern over any of the other women he worked with, nor would any of them have welcomed such sentiments. They were here to do a job, to win the war, and had no time for old-fashioned notions about the so-called weaker sex.

  It was time to face up to his role in this. He had encouraged her to apply to the WAAC. Bugger it, he’d even sung her praises to the corps’ chief controller.

  She was here now; nothing he said or did would change that. He had to accept it. Would force himself to accept it. So why not embrace this twist of fate for what it was? A gift, pure and simple. The gift of time with Lilly.

  He could see her lovely face whenever their paths crossed in the mess tent or the reception marquee. He could talk with her discreetly, share a cup of tea from time to time.

  “Captain Fraser? Sorry to disturb you.”

  It was Private Dixon; most likely Matron was sending him from tent to tent to rouse the surgeons.

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly half-past nine. You’re wanted in surgery, sir. First lot of wounded just arrived.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  Robbie sat up, swung his feet over the side of the cot, and began to lace up his boots and gaiters. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t washed, and he would stay that way—tired, hungry, and unshaven—for many hours more.

  He would work until there were no more patients waiting in the reception marquee, and then he would eat. He would have a bath, possibly a warm one if the cistern hadn’t been emptied, and would shave.

  And then—he would have to be careful; he didn’t want to get her in trouble already—he would seek Lilly out, apologize, and make everything right between them.

  AS THE CCS came into sight, Lilly breathed a sigh of relief, fractionally relaxed her grip on the steering wheel, and promptly drove over a block of fieldstone that had become lodged in the mud of the road. From the back of the ambulance, piteous moans were her reward for a moment of inattention.

  The road had smoothed a little, now, and she sped up as the tents and sheds of their destination grew closer. Private Gillespie had parked already, and she could see Bridget and Annie standing solemnly by as orderlies and nurses began their work.

  Lilly pulled to a stop; even before she had switched off the engine, the canvas covers at the back of the ambulance were being pulled aside. By the time she and Constance had helped the soldier sitting between them to descend, all three stretchers had been removed from the ambulance; a flurry of activity surrounded each of their occupants.

  “We’d best be off again, ladies,” Private Gillespie said. “We’ve got to move out all those men we saw, back there at the ADS, before we dare take a break. I’ll bring around a third ambulance so you have some extra help this morning.”

  With that, they were off again. Another load of stretcher cases, another mutely suffering Tommy squashed into the front compartment, and then the journey home.

  And again.

  And again.

  By the time they had cleared the last patient from the ADS, the sun was descending in the sky. Bill bid the WAACs a cheery good-bye, instructing them to return at first light. “They try not to move the wounded men from the front lines in daylight,” he explained. “Too dangerous. Most come to us overnight, so try and be here at dawn, or even earlier, if you can stand it.”

  Lilly nodded, too weary to answer, and put the ambulance into gear. Only that morning, the pockmarked road in front of her had been as unfamiliar as the surface of the moon. And now? Now she knew every crater, every rut, every splintered branch and shattered boulder as well as she knew the rooms and hallways of Cumbermere Hall.

  The ambulance, too, felt like an old friend. It was much easier to drive than the Crossley, to begin with, displaying none of the temperamental eccentricities that had made the lorry so difficult to manage. Lilly decided it ought to have a name.

  “I think we should call the ambulance Henry,” she announced to Constance. On this trip, fortunately, they did not have a front-seat passenger.

  “What was that? Did you say you want to name the ambulance?”

  “Why not? Horses have names. Let’s call it Henry, after Mr. Ford. From all accounts he’s a detestable man, but his company has made us a fine ambulance.”

  “But shouldn’t it have a female name? Like a ship?”

  For the first time since that morning, Lilly felt her face relax into a smile. “Of course it should. What about Henrietta?”

  “Henrietta it is.”

  Chapter 23

  Lilly had been looking forward to a cup of tea, and perhaps even something to eat, upon their return to the CCS. But first there was the disagreeable business of washing out the back of the ambulance. By the time she and Constance had filled their buckets and found some brushes and soap, the water, not very hot to begin with, had cooled to lukewarm; but the soap, which smelled strongly of carbolic, did a fine job of erasing the stench that permeated the ambulance’s interior.

  At last it was done. Constance went off in search of some tea, though it was less than an hour until supper, while Lilly sat on one of Henrietta’s running boards and tried to ignore her growling stomach.

  Seconds stretched into minutes; where was Constance with that tea? Lilly leaned back, tilting her face to the sun, and closed her eyes. Only for a moment, though. She still had to refill the radiator, check the oil, clean the spark plugs—

  “Lilly?”

  Why now? Why did he have to seek her out now, when she was dirty and disheveled and completely out of sorts? If only she’d taken a moment to wash her face when she’d gone to the lavatory earlier.

  “I’m not bothering you, am I?” he asked.

  “Not at all. I was waiting . . . that is, Constance is getting us some tea. We’ve only just finished.”

  “Do you mind if I sit?” Robbie asked. “Is there room?”

  Lilly shuffled to the end of the running board. “Of course there is.”

  “I owe you an apology. My behavior, this morning, was inexcusable. Your friends must think me a brute.”

  “No, they don’t. And it was my fault. Seeing me, like that, must have been a shock
.”

  “It was,” he admitted.

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “Aye, but with one condition. Agree to start over. Pretend this morning never happened.”

  “How good to see you again, Captain Fraser,” she began, trying not to giggle.

  “Likewise, Miss Ashford. How has your day been so far?”

  “Quite fine, Captain Fraser, thank you.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Honestly? No. It’s been awful. Every bit as bad as you warned me it would be. I’m exhausted, and hungry, and I look a fright—”

  “You’re wrong about that,” he interrupted.

  Lilly decided to ignore the compliment. “I’m not complaining, Robbie. I’m just admitting that it’s bad. But I’ll manage.”

  “Of course you will.”

  “It wasn’t all bad. My ambulance is much easier to drive than the lorries we drove in Kent. So that’s one good thing. I’ve decided to call her Henrietta. After Mr. Ford.”

  “I’m sure he would be flattered.”

  “Robbie . . . did that boy survive? He had ginger hair, and the most terrible wounds to his abdomen. We brought him from the ADS around nine o’clock this morning.”

  “I’m sorry, Lilly. By the time he arrived he had lost too much blood. We tried transfusing him, but it wasn’t enough. He died before I could operate.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, acid and unbidden. “I ought to have driven faster. If only I had known the road, I could have got him to you sooner . . .”

  But Robbie was shaking his head. “No, Lilly. Even if I’d seen him hours earlier, he would have died. There was nothing that you, or I, or anyone could have done to save him. But he wasn’t alone. We weren’t very busy today, so one of the nurses was at his side to hold his hand, and make sure he was comfortable. Sometimes that’s all we can give them.”

  She closed her eyes and pictured the soldier’s face. He’d been so young. “Do you know his name?”

  “No,” Robbie replied. “But I’ll learn it soon enough. As soon as I have some time, I’ll write to his mother, since I doubt he was old enough to have a wife, and tell her what happened.”

  “Surely you won’t tell her the truth?” Lilly asked, aghast.

  “I’ll tell her what I just told you. Nothing clinical. Just that he didn’t suffer at the end, and that he wasn’t alone. I expect I’ll say something about his bravery, and the sacrifice he made for King and Country.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lilly saw a familiar khaki uniform moving toward them. If Miss Jeffries were to see them together—

  “Is anything the matter, Lilly?”

  “No, I . . .” The figure moved closer and she saw that it was Constance, walking slowly, her hands full. “I thought I saw Miss Jeffries, that’s all.”

  “Is she as much of a dragon as she looks?”

  Lilly couldn’t help but laugh. “More, I think. I have to be careful. If she were to see us . . .”

  “This is innocent enough, isn’t it? Simply two friends sitting together and talking?”

  “Of course it is. But I doubt she’d agree with you.”

  “Then I’d best be on my way. Before I go, may I tell you something?”

  Her throat suddenly dry, she could only nod in agreement.

  “I’m glad to see you here. In spite of everything I said this morning, I am glad.” He turned to her, his eyes scanning her face, and it seemed to Lilly that he was trying to gauge her reaction.

  Just then, a low “ahem” alerted Lilly to Constance’s arrival. Her friend was carrying two mugs of tea, as well as a small packet of biscuits.

  “My mum sent me these last week,” Constance explained, “and since today was so long, and awful, I thought we deserved a treat.”

  “How very kind of you,” Lilly replied cheerily, hoping her irritation wasn’t evident. “Constance, may I introduce you to my friend Captain Robert Fraser?” Turning to Robbie, she completed the introduction. “Robbie, I should like to introduce you to Miss Constance Evans.”

  Their greetings complete, Lilly took one of the cups of tea and offered it to Robbie. “You probably need this more than I do.”

  “I’m fine, Lilly, but thank you all the same. I ought to be going. Enjoy your tea and biscuits, ladies. Perhaps I’ll see you in the mess tent later on.”

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Lilly turned to her friend, who was now seated in the spot that Robbie had just vacated. “Don’t say it. Please don’t.”

  Constance sipped her tea delicately, then selected a biscuit and began to eat it. “Say what?” she asked between nibbles. “Say that it’s such a fortunate coincidence? Because, you know, it really is. Out of all the clearing hospitals along the Front, somehow we end up at this one. The very same one where your Captain Fraser happens to work.”

  “Constance, I—”

  “It was Miss Davies’s aide who helped you, wasn’t it? That poor girl who had such a hard time with Corporal Pike?”

  “Yes. Please don’t be upset with me.”

  “I’m not. Honestly, Lilly, I’m not. If I had a sweetheart, and there was a chance I could be nearer to him, I would take that chance.”

  “He’s not my sweetheart,” Lilly insisted.

  Constance fixed Lilly with a hard look, her eyebrows raised. “Sweetheart or not, you understand that you’re taking an awful risk, don’t you? Think what would have happened if Miss Jeffries had come along just now.”

  “He only wanted to apologize, and see how I am.”

  “He’s done that now. And let’s be thankful you didn’t get caught.”

  “Surely Miss Jeffries wouldn’t consider that to be fraternization,” Lilly protested feebly.

  “I have no idea what she thinks. But do you really want to misjudge her and end up being sent home?”

  Lilly knew Constance was right. “So what should I do? He’s my friend, after all. I can’t ignore him.”

  “I’m not saying you should. Say hello when your paths cross; even ask him how he is. But don’t sit alone with him, and for heaven’s sake, hide your feelings for him in front of everyone but me. Will you promise to try?”

  Lilly nodded wearily. “I suppose it won’t be that hard to avoid him. He spends most of his time in surgery or taking care of his patients, and I’ll be driving back and forth to the ADS all day long.”

  Constance reached across Lilly’s shoulders and gave her a brief hug. “That’s the spirit. Now let’s get Henrietta settled for the night. I think we still have some time before supper.”

  Supper. He had said he might see her there. Would she be able to talk with him? Probably not. But she would be able to see him, exchange a smile or even a brief greeting. And that would have to do.

  Chapter 24

  Torture. Her presence at the 51st amounted to nothing short of torture for him.

  When Lilly had first arrived, less than a month ago, he had smothered the protests of his better judgment and convinced himself that all would be well. He’d been wrong.

  Since the day of her arrival, they’d not had a single conversation. He’d tried, at first, to speak with her when their paths crossed, but he never managed to do more than stammer a few quotidian platitudes about the weather or her health before Miss Evans would appear out of the blue, beg his pardon, and hustle her away.

  After that, he’d tried to ignore her, or at least to put her out of his mind when she wasn’t standing directly in front of him. That, too, was unsuccessful. For Lilly was everywhere.

  In the mess tent at the crack of dawn, laughing with her friends. In the reception marquee, encouraging the walking wounded to lean on her as she saw them safely to a cot or bench. In the ward tent nearly every evening, reading Sherlock Holmes mysteries or Walter Scott or Tennyson to the men, or helping them write their letters home. He couldn’t so much as step from one tent to the next without encountering her, and the sight of her and the sound of her voice never failed to affect him.

  Even in the
few hours he allowed himself for sleep she was with him. He dreamed of no one and nothing but her. Lilly laughing, Lilly whispering his name, Lilly standing before him, in the station, turning her face so his brotherly kiss might land on her lips and be transformed.

  Only in the operating hut was he free of her. There, cocooned in his unlikely sanctuary, he could concentrate on the minutiae of surgery and put her tantalizing presence out of his mind. As the long hours he worked grew ever longer, his colleagues warned him to take care of himself, and Colonel Lewis began to make disagreeable noises about sending him on leave. Robbie ignored them all.

  His one solace, a rather pathetic one, was the letters Lilly had sent him before her arrival at the 51st. He’d kept all of them, bundled together in a biscuit tin, and whenever he had a spare moment he would lie down on his cot and read one, just as if it had been delivered that day.

  And then, early one morning, the idea came to him. He would write to Lilly, and he would ask her to write him back, just as they had done before.

  It was risky; they would have to pass their correspondence to each other without anyone else noticing. And if anyone were to intercept a letter, and discover their friendship, then Lilly would certainly be sent home. She might well prefer not to take such a risk.

  Yet he had to try.

  13 August

  Dear L,

  I think I told you, some months ago, that reading your letters was one of the few pleasures left to me. Since your arrival I have had no letters from you, understandably enough, but your presence here in no way diminishes my longing for them. A glimpse of your face as you drive past, the sound of your voice as you read to the men in the ward tent. But never a chance to talk, to hear your thoughts and opinions, to laugh with you about the bad food and endless rain. It’s enough to drive me mad.

  So it has come to this: either I write to you, and convince you to write back to me, or one of these days I am going to sit down at your table in the mess tent and begin to talk to you, in front of everyone, Miss Jeffries be damned.

  I’m at my desk in the ward tent most evenings. It should be easy to leave your reply there.