by Nicola Slade
‘My christening present from Princess Maud sounds lovely, a pearl and diamond bracelet, but none of us ever had a glimpse of it because Papa got his hands on it. It’s just a family legend now. She did send me a gift a year or two after she became Queen of Norway, which was very sweet of her, but I’m afraid a child’s Norwegian peasant dress is no help at all. Even Papa saw no prospect of raising cash against it.’
Henry shook his head. ‘If I hadn’t known your brother I simply wouldn’t believe you Fyttletons,’ he said, gently moving the cat and kitten, while dislodging the dog as he stood up. ‘Bertie’s tales were always wild and outlandish but no one, boy or master, ever caught him out in a lie so I’m quite prepared to believe even your most extravagant claims.’ He retrieved his greatcoat, uniform cap and gloves and limped towards the back door where he had hung his crutch.
‘Thank you for letting me come, Lady Elspeth,’ he said politely to Granny, who nodded pleasantly. ‘Walk up with me, Christabel? It’s stopped raining so I’d better get back for my compulsory nap. I don’t expect Bobs will object to another outing.’
My brother had named the dog Lord Roberts but like the field-marshal, he was usually known as Bobs. Or That Dog when he did something particularly inane. We all adored him for his own sake as well as Bertie’s. I unhooked my coat from behind the back door and looked over my shoulder at Addy.
‘Since you are here,’ I told her. ‘You might take Miss Evershed a cup of tea.’ She looked mutinous, so I threw in an incentive. ‘I noticed that she has a pile of books on her table, mathematics and all sorts.’
It worked. Addy cannot resist the lure of books and she had been impressed by our newest guest, so she hurried to obey my suggestion. I winked at Granny and followed Henry out into the garden where I took note of one of the hens, John Brown’s Body, who was poking about behind the wood-store. ‘I wonder if that’s where she’s laying,’ I said and took a quick look. Sure enough there were two eggs in there.
‘Bertie named all the hens,’ I explained when Henry stared as I scolded the silly bird. ‘That’s partly why we can’t eat them because when they’ve all died it’ll be another link gone…’ I blinked and straightened my shoulders. ‘Alix found her out in the road but we’ve no idea how she got there. She was a sorry sight with most of her feathers missing and we thought she was at her last gasp, but Bertie coddled her and fed her brandy and milk which somehow did the trick. We were amazed when she recovered. Addy was so upset that Alix started digging a grave for the hen and decided we would all sing John Brown’s Body at the funeral.’
I spotted a worm and offered it to Body. ‘She’s getting on in years because that was just after the War began. She’s the reason we decided to keep chickens, in case of food shortages.
‘I’ll collect the eggs on my way back,’ I told Henry as we walked along the lane behind our house and through the private gate to the park. ‘We were given permission to use this way when we moved to Sandringham Lodge,’ I explained, adding, ‘Bertie always laughed at the grand names of the two houses because it suited us so well, what with our illustrious godparents.’
‘What was it like,’ Henry asked, not looking at me as we started up the hill, ‘when the telegram arrived?’
I threw a stick for the dog and sighed, remembering the desolation of that time.
‘Oh, you know – you lost your own brother so you know exactly what it was like. As for us, after the first shock, and when we began to take it in, we all coped in our different ways. Mother’s not talkative at the best of times, but she refused to speak at all for twenty-four hours and then shut herself in her study. She wouldn’t come out for the rest of the week and she still spends most of her time there, scribbling frantically to make the pain go away. She barely notices us anyway, but Bertie’s death forced her to open a window on the world which she promptly slammed shut.
‘Alix cried and cried all over her three dearest friends who came to pay their condolences, then she spent hours in the kitchen. She used up all our flour supply and baked a vast quantity of cakes, before she took herself off to town to look at the shops. She says it soothes her. A day or two later she went back to her morning job with her old lady in town.’
Henry bit his lip in an attempt to hide a smile as I took a breath. ‘Addy became even more outrageously rude at school and at home, and since then she’s been showing a great deal of interest in all things medical.’ Henry looked at me.
‘She says she wants to be a surgeon and I worry that her interest in bones and the workings of the human body is becoming unhealthy. Did you notice her prowling around up at the Hall? She was very cross when we told her she definitely must not ask if she could take a look at the officers’ wounds. Which reminds me, you’d better be warned. She’s bound to want to inspect your leg.’
He looked startled as well he might, so I changed the subject. ‘When the news arrived about Bertie, Granny became even more reserved than usual and she forgot about the potatoes in the store shed for the first time ever, so they went mouldy.’
‘And what about you, Christabel?’
‘Me? I coped; you have to, don’t you? I did what Bertie would have wanted, pretended things were normal and carried on. I typed out Mother’s books, wrote my own adventure serials, helped in the house, walked the dog, fed the hens, cooked. You know…’
The stick lay at my feet again so I rewarded the panting Bobs by throwing it even further away before turning back to Henry. ‘Fortunately, when Granny eventually did remember the potatoes, only one basketful was rotten which reminded me about the still Bertie and I improvised years ago. He planned to be an engineer as he had quite a mechanical turn of mind, which I don’t, but I helped him. To Papa’s disgust, Mother ordered us to dismantle it but Bertie hid it in the roof of the stable instead. I unearthed it and set it up again and picked lots of sloes in the park next door and pricked them. I added honey instead of sugar and brewed up a strangely horrible but potent pink liquor. Bertie would have thought it a great joke…’
My voice trailed away but I took a breath. ‘My potato poteen is very fierce but if you dilute it with hot water it’s warming in bad weather and really not too dreadful if you’re feeling desperate.’ I made a wry face at his expression. ‘It’s also very good for cleaning the bath and clearing out the drains.’
I blinked back the tears that threatened and bent to pick some of the primroses that starred the grass beside the path. Henry tactfully changed the subject.
‘I’ve been teaching Bobs to walk to heel this morning,’ he said. ‘He’s trying, but it’s uphill work.’
‘He’s not much more than a puppy, only just over a year old, so any training you can do will be very welcome.’ I sighed. ‘I wish you’d teach him to bring home a pheasant or two now and then. If he could diversify it would be such a help to eke out whatever the butcher can offer these days, as well as the rabbits that Granny’s snares bring in.’
‘He looks a bit like a very curly Labrador retriever.’ Henry surveyed the dog thoughtfully. ‘He’s good at bringing back a stick or a ball if you throw it for him.’
‘The mayor breeds those very big brown poodles,’ I explained. ‘Bobs is the result of an embarrassing lapse when the prize brood bitch escaped one day. Nobody is quite sure what breed the father could have been but there’s definitely some retriever in there. Bertie brought him home as a puppy last January when he was on leave. He fell for Bobs when he had to deliver a note from Granny to the Mayor’s Parlour. He could never resist animals and Bobs was adorable with those big pleading eyes and the brown ringlets. Addy saves his hair when she brushes and trims him; she has almost a cushion-full to put inside a cover that she’s embroidering for Mother’s birthday in June.’ I giggled. ‘Naturally she’s not embroidering flowers, not Addy. It’s a diagram of the human heart complete with veins and arteries in full colour that she’s copied from a book our old doctor gave her.
‘She intended to show the entire circulatory system,’ I adde
d. ‘Alix insisted, though, that even Mother would notice if Addy embroidered anything other than the upper torso.’
I stopped laughing and hesitated. ‘What’s happening about poor Lt Trevelyan?’ I asked and Henry shrugged.
‘What you’d expect,’ he said. ‘His body has gone home to Kent.’ His young face wore a shadow. ‘He was in hell and now he’s been saved, what more could any of us ask?’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry, Christabel, I don’t mean to sound rough, but he had nothing to live for and who can tell how much he knew about his situation. As for my idea that someone was sneaking round the ward that night, what of it? I was sedated and confused, so how could I tell what really happened? It’s still a complete muddle in my mind. All I can say is that if someone chose to help him on his way, rather than just hold his hand, it was an act of mercy. There isn’t a man here who hasn’t contemplated it, for himself or for a friend, and I’m not about to go on a witch hunt.’
I shivered because we had clearly been thinking along the same lines. I really needed to talk to Alix about it but there was a raw misery in his voice so I changed the subject.
‘You’re walking so much better, Henry. I hope you’re not overdoing it?’
‘Of course not. Well, perhaps a little.’ He smiled when he saw my sceptical expression. ‘Walking round the park and going up and down the hill to your house and taking Bobs out is already proving helpful. I admit I do feel tired sometimes but what does that matter? Even more reassuringly, I can see a real improvement myself, not just the usual flannel the medics offer. I’m hoping to get rid of this beastly thing too.’
He thumped his crutch on the ground in disdain. ‘It’s not comfortable so I’ll be glad when I’m shot of it,’ he said. ‘I’ve been warned that I’ll probably always need a stick but I’m determined to do without if it’s humanly possible.’
We had reached the place where the land rose steeply up towards the garden and Henry paused to point towards the muddy water that dribbled sluggishly under a narrow plank bridge.
‘One of the chaps said this is a ha-ha,’ he said. ‘It looks like a ditch to me.’
‘It is a ditch really,’ I explained. ‘That’s what a ha-ha is, but it’s all wrong, like everything else at Groom Hall. There wasn’t supposed to be water in there but the first Lord Greysdale refused to employ an architect for the house or the garden and designed everything himself.’
We stared at the ha-ha which was supposed to be an elegant garden feature but was essentially a wide ditch with a sunken retaining wall separating the garden from the rest of the park. Facing the wall was a sloping grassy bank where we stood, with a trickle of water between the two.
‘The wall is about six feet high here, though this grassy side of the ditch is lower,’ I pointed out. ‘They used to graze sheep in the park and the ha-ha was meant to keep them out of the garden and to improve the view. Granny once told the old lord that it was dangerous not having a safety railing as the drop is so steep, but he barked that it was perfectly safe for anyone blessed with common sense.
‘They abandoned the grazing before the war; the road is near and it was thought the sheep were too tempting to poachers.’ (I tried not to look guilty as I recalled a handsome leg of lamb that had appeared anonymously on our doorstep at the time. I don’t really believe Papa had a hand in that business…)
‘I must say I agree with Lady Elspeth about a railing,’ he said, and frowned at the ditch. ‘And you’d have thought the family would want a more substantial bridge.’
‘Nothing to do with the family,’ I shrugged. ‘None of them ever liked the Hall anyway and the plank bridge was put in place by the staff. It’s a short-cut to the kitchen.’
Henry glanced at his watch. ‘Just under ten minutes before I have to lie down,’ he said. ‘I’d better speed up or Matron will have something to say. Hello…’
I followed his gaze. One of the officers was sitting on a bench in the shade of an enormous cedar at the edge of the lawn, smoking a cigarette.
‘Oh Lord,’ Henry broke into a limping run and I grabbed his arm to pull him back. ‘Don’t you see? It’s Halliday, and Bobs is heading towards him. Some of the chaps can’t stand being taken by surprise and he might…’
Even from thirty yards away I could see that Captain Halliday had jumped out of his skin. Like Henry, he had been promoted to a single crutch and he grasped this in his hand as Bobs rushed up, tail wagging and tongue hanging out in delight at meeting a new friend. If the officer had been armed I was convinced he’d have shot the dog at once. As it was he raised a fist and opened his mouth, then closed it as I shouted and whistled. The dog, for once obedient, halted in his tracks and dashed eagerly back to us.
‘Sorry he startled you, Halliday,’ Henry panted in apology as we reached the other man. ‘He’s quite harmless but it can be a shock, I know.’
Captain Halliday made a kind of shrugging gesture and limped across the lawn to another bench while Bobs capered round us. We looked at each other and Henry jerked his head towards the terrace while I clipped the dog’s lead to his collar.
‘Come and sit down till the gong sounds,’ he said. ‘Unless you have to rush home to do a hundred and one useful things?’
‘Let’s see… I’ve finished Mother’s typewriting for today,’ I said, counting on my fingers. ‘I’ve about two more chapters of my own St Chad’s to write but I’m still thinking about it. I made some scones for tea and all I have to do is peel carrots and potatoes unless Granny does it; so, just for the moment, I’m quite free to sit and talk to you. Tell me about Captain Halliday. It must be lonely, not being able to speak.’
‘There’s not much known, to be honest.’ Henry eased his bad leg out in front of him. ‘Apparently he was found in a foxhole with several of our chaps who were all dead. He had nothing apart from the clothes he was wearing, so everything’s had to be provided: shaving gear, toiletries, clothes, papers. He wears those tinted spectacles and gets very agitated if he can’t find them, so I suppose he suffered some damage to his eyes. I told you he has a badly injured foot, didn’t I? That’s healing slowly but he’s lost his memory completely. I overheard the doctor telling one of the orderlies that it’s doubtful whether it will ever return. Halliday seems to understand what’s said to him, so he isn’t deaf and there’s no physical sign of damage to his vocal chords, it’s just that he doesn’t speak.’
He fell silent for a moment. ‘It happens sometimes. A man will detach himself from the world; withdraw completely until he can’t be reached. I imagine that’s what happened to Halliday and who’s to say what horrors he’s seen that made him reach breaking point. One of the other chaps said they’ve all tried talking to him, keeping him company, that kind of thing, but it’s uphill work and they have their own troubles. They say he appears to like walking in the gardens so they leave him to it.’
‘I thought he shouted something at the dog,’ I said thoughtfully but Henry shook his head.
‘I heard him try to speak on the train, poor beggar, but he can only make grunting noises.’
‘Does he write things down? And if he’s lost his memory, how do you know his name?’
‘I only know what I was told on the train journey here and nobody’s mentioned him writing anything. He’s known as John Halliday because that was the name on the identity discs he was clutching and on a letter in his pocket, but that was all they had to go on, apart from his uniform, of course. Unfortunately, John Halliday’s parents are dead so he never has any visitors, poor chap. I believe there’s a brother stationed in Egypt or Palestine, with no chance of getting home at the moment. For now, Halliday is stuck here until his memory comes back or the powers-that-be decide what to do with him.’
He hesitated then lowered his voice. ‘It’s only gossip, but a couple of the chaps reckon they’ve heard the odd rumour about Halliday in the past. They rather dismissed poor Trevelyan’s “traitor” claim but the consensus is that he wasn’t the kind of man you’d wan
t your sister to know. That kind of thing.’
The gong sounded and as I walked back across the lawn I passed the silent Captain Halliday and nodded politely to him. He stared at me but made no sign and I wondered how he had felt when poor Lt Trevelyan screamed at him. What if those insulting words turned out to be true? Suppose you had lost your memory and discovered that you were indeed a dreadful, horrible person, a traitor, a pariah among your fellow men?
Chapter Six
The rest of Tuesday afternoon was uneventful so I managed to complete my work for Mother and to finish the first rough draft of the final chapters of St Chad’s at War as well as sketching out the plot for the next serial, The Sixth Form under Fire. I toyed with the idea of one of the former sixth formers ending up in a convalescent home; would he fall victim to the machinations of Jones, former sneak of the Remove, now a hated senior officer? Or would Matron turn out to be a spy?
At this point I dropped my pencil. Part of me felt sick at the way I was taking a real tragedy and moulding it to my requirements, but I mostly felt angry that young Mr Trevelyan’s death should be brushed under the carpet. Unless, of course, Henry had dreamed it all. Something else to discuss with Alix.
Alix drew back her covers when I tiptoed up the attic stair later that night.
‘Quickly, I’m getting cold. Now, what’s troubling you, Christy? I can see it hasn’t gone away.’ She hesitated while I pulled the eiderdown up over both of us, ‘I’ve got something to tell you too, I just haven’t had an opportunity. Poor Lieutenant Trevelyan has died. The one who kept screaming.’
