by Julie Rowe
* * *
They reached the town of Breda in the early hours of the morning. Exhaustion sat fat and heavy on Maria’s shoulders, pushing down on her feet, making every step a battle. At the outskirts of town they encountered a few people, who directed them to the British War Office attaché’s residence.
Major Davenport insisted on an immediate report. They told the entire story, from closet to barbed wire.
At its conclusion, the major nodded at her with surprising respect. “The British War Office is aware of Rose Culver’s activities. She managed to get Colonel Smithson out of Belgium dressed as a washerwoman. Amazing.”
He transferred his attention to John. “I’ll need a complete report of your movements since getting cut off from your unit. It will take some time.”
“Yes, sir. I kept a journal.”
“Excellent.”
“I have it hidden in my clothing,” Maria said. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll retrieve it.”
“Certainly, you can use the first room up the stairs, on the right.”
“Thank you” The climb seemed to take much longer than it should have, but then she was very tired. She closed and locked the door then removed the journal from the pouch she’d fastened under her dress. The descent was much easier, but she found herself taking it slowly anyway. Tired legs could collapse unexpectedly.
Halfway down the stairs, she heard something that stopped her instantly.
“…about the young nurse? How long were the two of you on the run together?”
“Three, no, four days. They seem to have run together. Of course, I want our engagement announced as soon as possible.”
Chapter Eleven
“I will not have her reputation tarnished by this.”
Maria barely heard John’s explanation with the word engagement echoing dully through her mind.
He planned to marry her to protect her reputation. He hadn’t even asked, just assumed she’d go along with it.
“Your father might have a few words to say about that,” the major said.
“I owe this woman everything. She saved my life several times, risking her own neck in the process. I will not repay her by casting her aside.”
She staggered and had to put a hand against the wall to keep herself from falling. He felt beholden to her.
That was no reason to get married.
Pain stabbed deep in her gut as she realized that he couldn’t possibly love her. He respected her, admired her intellect and felt grateful to her. That was all.
Had he made love to her for the same reason? He’d said he wanted her, but was it no more than a momentary passion?
“About my fiancée—”
Maria didn’t want to hear any more about it. How dare he put his supposed honour above his true feelings? How dare he make plans to change the course of her life without even asking her what she wanted?
Anger, sadness and grief combined to fire her muscles and her determination. She would not allow him to tie himself to a wife out of pity or obligation.
She wanted love—a deep, abiding love—or nothing at all.
She stepped down the last few steps and waved the journal in the air as she interrupted the conversation. “Here it is.”
Major Davenport nodded. “Thank you, Nurse Hunt. I would like to ask you a few more questions about Rose Culver’s activities.”
“Of course. Tomorrow?” She forced a polite smile on to her face. Damned if she’d allow her true feelings to show. “Thank you, Lieutenant, for escorting me here. I’m sure your military career will be…” She searched for the right word. “…a distinguished one.” She turned to face the major. “Can you direct me to a boardinghouse where I might stay? It’s been some time since I’ve had more than a few hours’ sleep.”
“I’m afraid there are no rooms to let in Breda. We’ve had a steady influx of refugees from Belgium since the beginning of the war. But you’re welcome to sleep in the room you were in upstairs. No one will disturb you.”
“Thank you, sir.” John stared at her with a pronounced frown on his face. “Farewell, Lieutenant.” She made her way to the stairs, put one foot on the first step and halted at the sound of his voice.
“Maria?”
She turned back and he looked as if she’d punched him in the stomach. “It’s difficult to put in words how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me. Be assured, I will never forget your many kindnesses.”
The confusion disappeared from his face. “It was a pleasure to assist you, miss. We’ll speak more after you’ve rested.”
She froze at the word pleasure. It numbed her limbs and stabbed barbs into her spine, making everything hurt. Breathing, thinking, feeling.
She couldn’t bring herself to answer him, but managed a tiny nod before forcing her feet to continue their climb.
She entered the room and closed the door, feeling as if someone had shot her in the heart.
She knew, she knew better than to trust the promises of a man in the heat of the moment. Stupid, stupid girl.
A side table held a pitcher, a bowl and several towels. She poured some water into the bowl, moistened a towel in the water and proceeded to wash her face and neck. But nothing would wash away the shame and disgust at her lapse in judgement.
What if she was pregnant with his child?
Counting backward, she realized the risk was low. Besides, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now.
But she wasn’t as calm as she would have liked. Her hands trembled as she removed her shoes, stockings and dirty dress, and slid under the covers.
Sleep didn’t come fast, for whenever she closed her eyes, she saw John’s face.
* * *
Cook handed her a cup of tea and a slice of fresh bread. For a moment Maria closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the novelty of having a meal with no one attempting to kill her.
The air stirred her hair and she opened her eyes.
John stood next to her. He inclined his head. “Good morning.”
After swallowing her mouthful of bread, she nodded at him. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
Cook handed John his own slice of bread and cup of tea. He stood next to her, savouring the food and watching breakfast being prepared.
“It seems odd, doesn’t it?” Maria asked.
“Odd?”
“Not feeling the fear of soldiers discovering us. Not wondering if a bullet will take one of us too soon from this Earth.”
Silence greeted her words. Then, in a low voice, he said, “Fear is the constant companion of every soldier. Those who don’t feel fear die too quickly and too young.” He put his hand over hers. “I regret you having to know it.”
“Those who don’t feel fear. What happens to them?”
“They take risks that are…unnecessary. Foolhardy. Reckless.”
“Then fear isn’t always a bad thing.”
“No. It has its place. It can make us stop and think, to find the correct path, not just the easiest one.” He took another bite of his bread, swallowed then continued. “On the battlefield fear, if harnessed properly, can help a man or an army win the day.”
She pulled her hand out from under his. “Then I wish fear had taught me its lessons sooner.”
He became very, very still. “Maria, what—”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t have been so reckless.”
“About what?”
She glanced at the cook, who was no doubt listening to every word they said. She took a deliberate step away from him. “Have you written your family yet?”
“No. There’s been little time.” He moved closer to her. “Are you all right?”
This was the last thing she wanted, to have him pity her.
She pinned a smile on her face. “I’m as fine as can be expected for someone who’s been terrified for several days running. I intend to write my family this morning. Then, after speaking with Major Davenport, I must make arrangements to return to England.”
>
John studied her face for a few seconds. “The major said he would be down for breakfast shortly. Shall I send someone for you when he appears?”
“Please.” She inclined her head and went back to her room. It wasn’t until she sat down on the bed that she noticed her hands were shaking.
Going home would make things right. She’d had little sleep or food in days, and the two of them had totally depended on each other for survival. It was little wonder she’d become so emotionally tied to John. Perhaps distance would allow her to think clearly and deal with her feelings.
Or make them stronger.
Paper, pen and ink sat on the dresser. She picked up a sheet and began her letter.
It seemed like only minutes later when someone knocked on her door and a female voice announced that breakfast was served in the dining room.
She’d written five pages and had started on the sixth.
Maria joined the major and John, filling her plate with eggs and more fresh bread smothered in preserves.
“Sleep well?” Major Davenport asked.
“Yes, thank you. Like the dead.”
His gaze jerked to her face and he stared for a moment before going back to his food.
He’d probably never heard a woman discuss death so openly or so soon after facing it. But, that was how she felt. Dead.
For a shining moment she’d had more to live for than most women. A man who loved and respected her, who valued her strength and wasn’t intimidated by it. A man who saw her as she really was.
A man, it turned out, who didn’t exist. The sight of the counterfeit sitting across the table from her was nearly enough to put her off the plate of delicious food in front of her.
John cleared his throat. “Sir, do you have any orders for me?”
“Indeed. You’re to return to England as soon as possible. The War Office wants a full report from you in person.” Major Davenport turned to look at Maria. “You as well, Nurse Hunt.”
“Why would they need me in person? I’m a nurse not a soldier. The lieutenant is far more qualified to discuss the details of our escape than I. Wouldn’t my written account be sufficient?”
The major considered her carefully. “Possibly.”
“I agree with Maria. But if her written account isn’t enough, the War Office can always recall her from her home or whichever hospital she’s working at.”
Major Davenport ate another bite of eggs. “I’ll cable the War Office and make your request. Can’t guarantee they’ll go along with it.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“There’s one other thing that needs to be done before we leave.” The diffident quality of John’s voice had her gut clenching into a fist. He was going to say something she wasn’t going to like.
“Oh?”
“I want to make it clear that Miss Hunt is my fiancée.”
She should have known he’d make his plan to marry her public, but she hadn’t expected him to do it quite so fast.
Davenport cleared his throat. “I see. Well, congratulations to you both.” He shook John’s hand and smiled pleasantly at Maria.
“I was wondering, sir, if you could do us the favour of arranging for us to be married posthaste? I know I’ll have to go back to the front and I would prefer my fiancée to have the protection of my name before we’re separated again.”
Maria had a million things to say, but none of them were fit to speak aloud.
She saw Davenport open his mouth to reply—to agree to this insanity she was sure—and she found her tongue. “Gentlemen, an important step has been overlooked.”
“Step?” the major asked.
“Indeed. Lieutenant Bennet has not asked for my hand in marriage.”
John’s jaw dropped. She’d surprised him and she wasn’t about to give up that advantage. “My answer is no.” She stood. “I’ll be in my room composing my report.”
With her head held high, she walked away from the table and the two shocked soldiers who obviously didn’t know how to combat a woman armed with words and wit.
It wasn’t long before someone knocked at her door.
She didn’t answer. She knew very well who it was and had no interest in speaking to him.
He knocked again.
She kept writing. The door and the man on the other side of it didn’t exist.
The door opened. He stepped inside and closed it behind himself.
She ignored him and focused on her report.
“Why?”
That brought her head up and around. “I heard you tell the major quite clearly that you wanted to marry me to salvage my reputation.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything.”
“I don’t understand. You said you loved me. I thought you’d be happy.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t ask me, you assumed.”
“Because I could see the fear on your face. You’re trying to run, but this isn’t something you can run from.”
“What do you think I’m running from?”
“Me. Us.”
As much as she’d like to contradict his statement, it was true. She turned to stare at the report she’d started.
“I love you.”
Her attention jerked back to him. “That changes nothing.”
“It changes everything.”
“You think you love me, but do you? Really? I won’t marry someone because his honour tells him it’s the right thing to do.”
“Honour has little to do with it.”
His words stabbed a bayonet into her heart. He believed what he said, she could hear the conviction in his voice, but would it stay that way?
“That’s easy to say now, in this place, but back in England, when time and distance have given you an opportunity to think about the last few days… Standing in your parent’s home, do you truly believe you’ll be able to say you love me with the same conviction?”
“Yes.” He seemed completely certain.
She couldn’t afford to feel hope. Hope was her one weakness. If she allowed herself to feel it and it was ripped from her, she wouldn’t survive.
She took in his new, clean uniform, his freshly shaved face, and said the three most hurtful words she could say. “I love you.”
His smile nearly blinded her. “I lo—”
She interrupted him by raising her hand, palm forward. “Enough to let you go.”
His smile died and the muscles in his jaw flexed. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”
She shook her head.
He sighed. “Stop this. Stop hurting yourself. You’re the most selfless woman I’ve ever met. You’re allowed to be happy.”
“This isn’t about my happiness. It’s about doing what’s right.”
His tilted his head to one side. “That’s very important to you, doing the right thing.”
It wasn’t a question, not the way he phrased it, but she answered anyway. “Yes. The right thing, for the right reasons.”
He gazed at her for a while longer, a sad sort of smile now curving his lips. “You saved me you know. Many times and in ways I never would have imagined. I gave you my name the day we met. It’s still yours.” He stepped forward, plucked her hand off her lap, bowed low and kissed it. He looked at her, his face scant inches from hers and said in a husky whisper, “Remember that.”
Seconds later he was out the door, his footsteps echoing as he went down the stairs.
He was gone. Gone. Like she wanted.
Maria put her face in her hands and cried.
Chapter Twelve
London seemed loud and crowded compared to Brussels.
The War Office was housed in an imposing building on Horse Guards Avenue and Whitehall in London. The sheer size of it made Maria pause on the opposite side of the street. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that buildings couldn’t hurt her.
Unlike people.
The building didn’t get any less daunting on
the inside. An endless supply of people walking with purpose made it difficult to focus on where she was to go.
Finally, a young Boy Scout was tasked with leading her to the office of one Captain Lawrence. They walked for so long it was a wonder they hadn’t left the city altogether. But, eventually, the scout led her to a quiet office off a backwater corridor.
He saluted her and left her standing in front of an empty desk.
She’d hoped to be spared this, but in all honesty, expected it. The British War Office was not known for leaving anything undone. Reports were their bread and butter, and hers was no simple retelling of an uncomplicated journey.
They likely had many questions and points to clarify.
A door opened and closed somewhere nearby. The clop of shoes against the floor told her that someone approached, but there was also another sound. One she heard in the hospital often enough to identify readily. A cane.
A woman turned the corner. She was young, about Maria’s age, with blond hair arranged in a surprisingly soft style off her shoulders. She walked with a pronounced limp and cane and had smile that would rival an angel’s.
The girl in John’s photo.
“Maria Hunt?”
“Yes?”
The young woman stopped a few feet away and laughed. “I’m so glad to meet you. Perhaps you could follow me to somewhere more private?”
“Of course.” Curiosity alone would have been motivation enough to follow.
She led Maria down the hallway she’d just come out of, then into a small office, where she closed the door. The desk here was covered in piles of paper, though they were all organized in a way that told Maria the person who worked here knew exactly what was in each pile.
The young woman smiled. “My name is Genevieve Bennet, I assist Captain Lawrence with his correspondence.” She swept a hand toward all the paper.
Maria glanced at the desk then back at Genevieve. “That is a lot of correspondence.”
“Indeed. I think my father and brother believe helping here will keep me out of trouble. What they don’t understand is how badly I want to aid our troops on the front lines. It’s why I wanted to meet you first, well one of the reasons anyway. I’m hoping you’ll tell me what it was like for you to work in a hospital.” Genevieve all but bounced on her seat.
