He grinned and pulled her hands, dragging her towards him. ‘Come here and give your husband-to-be a cuddle!’
‘Edward! We can’t, not here. What if Sister—’
He silenced her with a kiss, planting his lips firmly against hers. Anna gave in, giggling. From the other end of the ward, she heard Albie Sallis whooping encouragement.
‘Look at that, Gordon. Love’s young dream, eh?’
‘Nurse Beck!’ Sister’s strident Scottish tones rang down the hall. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Anna pulled herself from Edward’s embrace, straightening her cap. ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’
‘I should think so, too. I know it’s nearly Christmas, but surely that’s taking the season of goodwill too far?’
But her eyes were twinkling as she said it. Miss Parker was a good sport, unlike her friend Miss Sutton on Monaghan.
‘I’d better go,’ Anna whispered to Edward.
‘She won’t be able to stop us this time next week. We’ll be married and we can do as we please.’
The way he winked at her made Anna shiver with delight. ‘Let’s hope you’re not still in that hospital bed, then,’ she teased.
‘Minx! You’ve put all kinds of thoughts in my head now. I’ll probably have to take one of their wretched sedatives to get to sleep.’
‘At least you’ll have sweet dreams.’
As Anna was leaving, Edward said, ‘I wish I could see you tomorrow.’
‘I’d like that too,’ she sighed. ‘But Liesel’s coming to visit, and I’d like to spend Christmas Day with her.’
‘And what about spending Christmas Day with me?’
Anna saw his sulky expression and her heart sank.
‘Perhaps I could come in and see you, just for an hour.’
‘No, it’s all right. You spend the day with your sister.’
‘Are you sure? Liesel wouldn’t mind …’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m sure I’ll have a delightful day. Think of me, won’t you? Stuck in here among this lot while you’re enjoying Christmas.’ Then he smiled and said, ‘I’m joking, love. Believe me, I’d much rather be spending the day here than in the trenches like I did last year!’
But Anna still felt guilty as she trudged home that night. She had been so looking forward to seeing Liesel again; now Edward’s comments had dampened her excitement.
It was the middle of the afternoon but already dark. Streetlamps cast dim pools of light on the frozen grey streets of Bethnal Green. In Columbia Road, the costermongers were already packing up their wares, huddled inside layers of coats and shawls, stamping their feet on the frosty ground to keep them warm.
There was a group of carol singers clustered outside Wheeler’s café on the corner of Chambord Street, their plaintive song filling the cold night air.
‘Silent Night, Holy Night …’
Hot tears stung Anna’s eyes. How often had she listened to her father singing that same song in his native German as he worked in the bakery kitchen?
‘Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht …’ His light tenor voice would fill the kitchen, and Anna, her mother and Edward would find themselves joining in.
I hope you’re singing again now, Papa, she thought, dashing a tear from her cheek.
She was used to seeing a queue outside the bakery on Christmas Eve, but there was no one outside the shop as Anna approached. She paused for a moment to look in the window. Her father always liked to turn the bakery window into a festive wonderland of lebkuchen, stollen and fanciful sugarwork creations at Christmas, but today the window was rather bare, with nothing more than a few dull-looking loaves on display.
She found Mrs Church in the kitchen, smoking and talking to Charlie.
‘Miss Anna! We weren’t expecting you till teatime.’ She jumped and quickly stubbed out her cigarette.
‘Sister let me go home early.’ Anna looked at Charlie. He seemed unconcerned by her arrival. He lounged in the open back doorway, puffing on a cigarette of his own and blowing leisurely smoke rings out into the yard.
‘We were just taking a well-earned break. Poor Charlie’s been rushed off his feet all morning, haven’t you?’
Charlie shrugged, said nothing.
‘There don’t seem to be many customers at the moment,’ Anna said. ‘They used to be queuing halfway down Chambord Street before Christmas.’
‘The only queue you’ll see now is down the soup kitchen,’ Charlie spoke up at last.
‘He’s right,’ Mrs Church said. ‘Terrible shame, it is. All those poor women as have lost their husbands, trying to manage on a widow’s allowance. And with the shortages, and the prices going up, they can’t afford to feed their children.’ She shook her head. ‘I count myself lucky that my kids were nearly grown up when my Ron was taken, God rest his soul.’ She crossed herself. ‘Otherwise I reckon we would have ended up in the workhouse, like a lot of the families round here.’
‘I didn’t realise it was that bad,’ Anna said.
‘Oh, it’s awful. I can’t tell you. Some of the stories I hear – well, it’d break your heart.’
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t tell her any stories like that. She’ll be giving the bread away.’
Anna swung around. There was Liesel, her arms full of baggage and presents. The winter weather suited her, bringing a rosy flush to her fair skin. She was wrapped up in a fashionably loose woollen coat, a felt hat pulled low over her blonde head.
‘Liesel!’ Anna rushed to hug her. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘Careful, you’ll squash my wares.’ Her sister dumped the bags down on the ground and wrapped her arms around Anna. ‘I come bearing gifts,’ she said. ‘The farmer’s wife insisted on sending me home with a cake, two Christmas puddings and a chicken she killed and plucked this morning.’ She pulled a face. ‘It smells awful. You can’t imagine the looks I got from the other passengers on the train. I swear they thought it was me.’
Anna looked sideways at Charlie. He was staring at Liesel, slack-jawed, cigarette hanging loosely from his lower lip. Anna wasn’t surprised. Liesel had inherited their mother’s blonde beauty, while Anna was slight, sharp-featured and dark like their father.
But as usual Liesel was heedless of anyone but herself.
‘Help me get these things upstairs, will you?’ she said, pulling off her gloves. ‘I simply must have a rest. That train was packed as tight as a tin of sardines …’
And then she was off, leaving Anna to carry her bags.
There was a familiar blue envelope propped on the mantelpiece. Anna spotted it straight away, but Liesel got to it first.
‘What’s this?’ She picked it up. ‘A letter for you, from France? Who could that be from? I wonder.’ She sent Anna an arch look.
‘Give it to me.’
‘Does Edward know you’re writing to another man?’ Liesel asked.
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I can’t imagine he’d be too pleased. I know Davy wouldn’t like it at all. And Tom Franklin, of all people. You know how much Edward always loathed him …’
‘Edward would understand,’ Anna insisted firmly.
‘If you say so. Well? Aren’t you going to open it?’
‘I’ll open it later.’ Anna slipped the letter into her coat pocket.
‘Why? What have you got to hide?’ Liesel sent her an eager, searching look. ‘Are you worried I’ll see it’s full of sweet nothings?’
‘No!’ Anna batted her away playfully. ‘It’s nothing like that. Tom’s a friend.’
‘How dull.’ Liesel looked bored. ‘Mind you, I couldn’t imagine Tom Franklin spouting love poetry. As I recall, he could barely string three words together!’
You’d be surprised, Anna thought. Tom’s letters showed a sensitive, caring side she could never have imagined before. There were no sweet nothings, as Liesel put it, and certainly nothing that could cause Edward any jealousy. They were just good friends, that was all.
; Christmas Eve had always been special for the Beck family, the time when they celebrated their father’s German traditions.
Even when he was locked up in the internment camp, Dorothy had still cooked fish with potato fritters and sauerkraut on Christmas Eve, and they had opened their presents and sung songs and remembered Papa.
This year, Anna had insisted on carrying on the tradition. But even she had to admit there was a hollow ring to their laughter as they sat in front of the fire, opening their gifts by the light of the Christmas candles.
‘It isn’t the same, is it?’ Liesel said mournfully.
‘No,’ Anna sighed. ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Do you remember how lovely it used to be, the four of us together?’ Liesel sniffed back her tears. ‘I wonder what Mother and Papa are doing now?’
‘I expect they’re lighting their candles and cooking fish and thinking about us, just as we are them,’ Anna said.
‘I daresay Papa’s singing, as usual.’ Liesel smiled through her tears. ‘“Ir Kinderlein, kommet, O kommet doch all,”’ she sang in a high, quavering voice.
‘“Zur Krippe her kommet in Bethlehems Stall,”’ Anna joined in.
Liesel dissolved into tears. ‘Oh, Anna, I miss them so much,’ she sobbed.
‘I know, love.’ Anna put her arms around her sister, holding her close. ‘But we’ll be together again one day, I promise. And in the meantime, there’s nothing to stop us having a nice Christmas together, just the two of us. Especially as your friend the farmer’s wife has been so generous …’
Liesel pulled away. ‘But – that food isn’t for us,’ she blurted out. ‘It’s for Davy’s family. His mother has invited me to spend Christmas Day with them.’ Her face reddened. ‘I’m sorry, I assumed you’d be working tomorrow …’
‘I took the day off so I could spend it with you.’
‘Oh.’ Liesel fell silent, biting her lip. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘You’ll have to tell Davy’s mother you’ve decided to spend Christmas with me instead.’
‘But I can’t do that!’ Liesel looked horrified. ‘They’re expecting me. And I never see Davy …’
‘You see more of him than you do me,’ Anna pointed out.
Liesel went quiet again and Anna could almost see her sister’s mind whirring, trying to work out how to get what she wanted.
‘You know, I thought you might be happy for me,’ she said in a small, choked voice. ‘Davy’s parents have been very kind to me since Mother and Papa left. They’ve welcomed me into their family, made me feel as if I really have somewhere to belong …’
‘And what about me?’
‘You’ve got Edward,’ Liesel said. ‘You’re going to be married next week, then you’ll be off together and I’ll be the one left out.’
‘I’d never leave you out!’
‘No, but you’ll have a husband, and that makes everything different.’ Liesel pleaded with her for understanding. ‘I know you don’t like it, Anna, but things change. We can’t stay as we are forever, sitting by the fire with our candles and our Christmas presents. Mother and Papa have gone, and now we have to make our own lives too.’
‘Fine.’ Anna turned away from her, staring into the flickering flames. ‘Go and spend Christmas with your precious Davy. I hope they enjoy their chicken and their wretched Christmas cake.’
‘They won’t,’ Liesel said. ‘The farmer’s wife is a terrible cook. One of the other Land Girls broke her tooth on a mince pie the other day.’
They looked at each other for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing. Honestly, Anna thought, it would be a lot easier if she could stay angry with her sister for more than five minutes.
‘Why don’t you come with me?’ Liesel said. ‘I’m sure Davy’s mother wouldn’t mind.’
‘I’m sure she would,’ Anna said. ‘Besides, I don’t want to spend Christmas Day watching you and Davy making sheep’s eyes at each other.’
‘But I can’t bear to think of you being on your own on Christmas Day.’
‘I won’t. I’ll go back to the hospital. I’m sure Sister would welcome an extra pair of hands, especially as most of the VADs have gone home to their families. And I’ll be able to see Edward,’ she added. That would cheer him up, at least.
Liesel left early on Christmas morning, hurrying off to catch her train in another flurry of bags and luggage. She seemed so grown up, Anna thought as she watched her walking away down the road.
Why did everything have to change so fast? It hardly seemed like any time ago that Liesel was a chubby little toddler, holding tightly to Anna’s hand, her fair curls bobbing. Now she was a young woman, and soon she would probably be married too.
The bakery felt too large and too lonely without her sister. Anna couldn’t wait to leave and return to the sanctuary of the hospital, where she could be with her friends. The warm, happy atmosphere of Christmas on the ward would soon help melt away her loneliness.
This is the last Christmas I’ll be on my own, she reminded herself. This time next year, she and Edward would be celebrating together, and she would never have to feel so alone again.
As she was putting on her coat to leave, she found Tom’s letter in the pocket. Still in her coat and hat, she sat down at the kitchen table to read it.
But there was no letter. Instead Tom had sent her a Christmas card of sorts, a roughly drawn caricature of three soldiers sitting on a hay bale, rifles at their feet and tin helmets at rakish angles on their heads. Each was holding a Christmas pudding in their hands, and underneath were scrawled the words ‘Merry Christmas and all the best for 1918 from up the line’.
She recognised the dark curly hair of the figure in the middle: Tom. Seeing him sitting there grinning, made her realise she had never really seen him smile before.
Inside the card, he had scrawled her name and added, ‘I hope you are keeping well. I had a couple of days’ leave after we took Flesquieres, and I found this in the village shop. I hope you don’t mind me sending it to you. Best wishes, your friend Tom.’ Then he’d added, ‘P.S. Thank you for the socks. They were most useful.’
Anna tipped the envelope and a tiny brooch fell into her palm. It was shaped like a bluebell, the petals coloured in deep blue enamel.
Anna stared at it, tears spilling down her cheeks. How typical of Tom to think about her. And how selfish she was, feeling sorry for herself when he and his pals were facing a far worse Christmas than she could ever imagine.
She pinned the brooch to her lapel and set off for the Nightingale.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Grace was looking forward to going home for Christmas.
It was so long since she had been down to Devon, she could feel herself relaxing with every mile as the overnight train passed out of the city and rumbled its way west, the houses giving way to rolling green fields.
It was a pity the train was so crowded. Grace had to spend the whole journey wedged between a large woman who smelled of mothballs, and an elderly man who lolled on her shoulder and snored all the way down to Plymouth.
But it more than made up for it when, on Christmas morning, Grace was able to step down on to the platform and breathe in the fresh country air.
There was no one to meet her at the station, but she wasn’t surprised. With so many children to think about, her parents could hardly be expected to keep track of them all. Besides, it was only a five-mile walk and the weather was fine, brisk and cold and sunny, just the way Grace liked it.
All the same, after a couple of miles she began to wish she had not brought so many presents with her as she struggled with her bags down the country lane.
She heard the slow, steady clop of horse’s hooves on the lane behind her, then a voice called out, ‘Miss Grace?’
She swung round, squinting into the sun. Coming towards her, silhouetted again the morning light, was a swaying cart pulled by an elderly piebald horse. As it drew closer, she recognised the man in the driver’s seat a
s Noah Wells, a friend of her father’s. He owned the farm that adjoined the Duffields’ land. Their families had farmed next to each other for five generations, so her father said.
‘Good morning, Mr Wells. Merry Christmas,’ Grace called up to him.
‘What? Oh, yes. Merry Christmas to you, too. Back from London, are you?’ he asked in his thick West Country burr.
‘Yes, I’ve come to spend Christmas with my family.’
‘Hop up and I’ll give you a lift.’ He jerked his head towards the cart. ‘You can sling your bags in the back.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ Grace had no trouble hurling her suitcases over the tailboard of the cart. Her father always said she was as strong as any of her older brothers. ‘I don’t want to take you out of your way, so if you could drop me at the crossroads—’
‘It’s not out of my way. I’m going by your place, as it happens. I can drop you at the door.’
He put out a hand to haul her up beside him. He was in his early forties, a couple of years younger than her father, but there was not a thread of grey in his jet-black hair. Her sister-in-law Jessie reckoned he used boot blacking on it.
He jingled the harness and set the horse plodding again. Grace sat next to him, jolting from side to side with the steady sway of the cart. It was all she could do to hold herself upright and stop bumping against his shoulder.
They were both silent. Grace looked around her, admiring how the wintry sun made the frost on the bare tree branches sparkle like diamonds.
‘You’ll have heard about my wife?’ Noah’s gruff voice suddenly broke the silence, startling her.
‘Yes. Mother wrote to tell me. I was sorry to hear about it.’
‘Influenza.’ He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. ‘It’ll be four months come January.’
Grace nodded. She barely remembered Mrs Wells. She was such a quiet, inoffensive little woman. ‘It’s a terrible shame.’
‘Ah.’
They carried on, the silence stretching awkwardly between them. It was a relief when the cart finally turned off the lane and made its way up the stony track that led to the Duffields’ farm.
Nightingale Wedding Bells Page 13
