Grace grinned. ‘Those are my brothers and sisters.’ She looked over Dulcie’s shoulder, pointing them out. ‘Those are my older brothers, Matthew and Mark. Those two are Luke and John. They’re all away in France now. And those are the twins, Patience and Prudence, and the other girls, Charity and Mercy. And that’s the youngest, Peter. Or he was the youngest,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘Mother has had Reuben since then. Oh, and that’s me,’ she said, pointing to a face nearly lost at the back, peeping out from between her brothers’ broad shoulders.
Dulcie studied the couple seated in the centre of the family group and thought how much they reminded her of her own parents. The father, with his whiskery face and big rough hands, looking so ill at ease in his Sunday suit. And the mother, so proud and so careworn.
‘And who’s this?’ Dulcie picked up another photograph. It was a dark-haired, bearded man in his late-thirties or early forties. Handsome, in a rough sort of way. He was also in his Sunday best, a Bible tucked under his arm.
‘That’s Mr – Noah – Wells,’ Grace mumbled.
Dulcie looked at the piercing eyes staring back at her from the photograph. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’
‘He’s my fiancé.’
Dulcie looked up sharply. Grace was blushing fiery red to the roots of her hair. ‘Your fiancé? You’re engaged?’
Grace looked away. ‘I think I might be, but I’m not sure.’
Dulcie stared at her, stunned. ‘How on earth can you not be sure?’
‘It’s hard to explain.’
‘Has he asked you to marry him?’
‘Sort of. But I haven’t said yes yet,’ Grace added hurriedly.
‘And are you going to say yes?’
‘I don’t know. Probably. I don’t know if I have much choice really.’
Grace took the photograph out of Dulcie’s hand, glanced at it for a moment then shoved it away in the drawer. She looked rather wretched for a girl who might be newly engaged, Dulcie thought.
‘I think you’d better tell me all about it,’ she said.
Dulcie listened in growing astonishment as Grace explained what had happened to her at Christmas.
‘So if I understand you, this man you scarcely know has just lost his wife and now he wants you to replace her?’ Grace nodded. ‘And your parents want you to marry him because he’s rich and owns a lot of land.’
‘That isn’t the only reason,’ Grace argued. ‘They know he’ll be a good husband. They want me to be happy.’
‘But how can you be happy with someone you hardly know?’
Grace lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘He seems nice. And I’ll have a husband and a home of my own. And I’ll be close to my family. It’s everything I could want, really.’
‘And what about love? Don’t you want that, too?’
‘I’m sure I could make myself love him in time.’
‘You can’t make yourself fall in love with someone, you know.’
Grace turned to her with a frown. ‘But you said you could. You decided to fall in love with Dr Logan, didn’t you?’
‘That’s different,’ Dulcie muttered.
‘How?’
Dulcie looked into Grace’s face. She seemed genuinely perplexed. She opened her mouth to speak, then found she could not answer.
‘Dr Logan is my type,’ she said at last.
‘How do you know that? You’ve barely spoken to him.’
‘I just know, all right?’ Dulcie snapped.
Dulcie was washing up the breakfast dishes in the kitchen with Miriam Trott when Nurse Hanley appeared in the doorway and said, ‘Moore, you are to report to Matron’s office immediately.’
Dulcie and Miriam looked at each other. ‘Why, Staff?’ Dulcie asked.
‘I don’t know!’ Hanley snapped back. ‘I daresay you’re in trouble again.’
She left, and Dulcie reached for the towel to dry her hands. Miriam glanced at the clock and smirked.
‘You haven’t even been on duty half an hour and already you’ve been summoned to Matron. That’s a record, even for you.’
Dulcie changed her apron, rolled down her sleeves and fastened on some clean starched cuffs. She checked herself in the bathroom mirror, making sure all her brown curls were tucked inside her cap, gave her shoes a quick polish on the backs of her woollen-clad legs, and headed down to Matron’s office.
As she tapped on the door, Dulcie was still trying to work out what she might have done wrong. As far as she could recall, she hadn’t been late for ages. She hadn’t broken anything, her uniform had passed without comment, and once Miss Sutton had even commented in the ward book that she was ‘sensible’. It was the highest praise Dulcie had ever received.
So she was completely mystified as she stood before Matron’s desk, her hands clasped tightly behind her back.
‘Ah, Moore.’ Matron gave her a chilly smile. ‘I have some good news for you.’
Dulcie warily tried to read her expression. Matron’s idea of good news wasn’t necessarily hers.
‘As from next week, you are to be transferred to Wilson ward,’ Matron went on.
‘What?’ Dulcie was so shocked she didn’t realise she had blurted out the word until she saw Matron’s brows rose.
‘I think you heard me correctly, Moore.’ Her smile became more strained. ‘Although you might well be surprised,’ she said. ‘I certainly was, when the request came through from Dr Logan.’
‘Dr Logan?’ Dulcie echoed.
Matron nodded. ‘He has asked for you especially.’ She looked up at Dulcie. ‘It seems you have particularly impressed him. Although I must say, I am at a loss to know why,’ she added under her breath.
Dulcie was so overwhelmed, she barely registered the insult.
Matron was still speaking, talking about the shell shock patients and how nurses had to be particularly understanding of their difficulties. But Dulcie had stopped listening.
Dr Logan has asked for you especially.
It was a sign, Dulcie thought. Just as she was beginning to think Robert Logan was a lost cause, at last he had shown interest in her.
She had already impressed him with her compassion. Once she was working alongside him on Wilson ward, he would soon realise that she was the woman he had been looking for all his life.
She had been gone a long time, Sam thought.
He was annoyed with himself for noticing. But then he seemed to notice everything about Dulcie Moore. He noticed the soft brown of her eyes. He noticed the way her cap could never quite contain all her curls, and how, when she bent close, he could see a smattering of freckles covering her snub nose. The nurses weren’t supposed to wear perfume on the ward, but Dulcie had a light, flowery scent, quite different from the usual nurse smell of starch and carbolic.
He told himself it was because he was bored. Watching Nurse Moore beat counting the panes of glass in the windows, or listening to Sergeant Patterson in the next bed relive his time in the trenches. But deep down Sam had to admit it was more than that.
‘Where’s the other one?’ he asked Nurse Trott when she came round with the washing trolley.
‘She’s been sent to Matron.’
‘Why? What’s she done?’
‘Heaven knows.’ Nurse Trott shrugged. ‘It could be anything with Moore.’ She brandished a flannel. ‘Now, shall I help you, or can you manage by yourself?’
It was all wrong, Sam reflected, as he washed himself behind the curtain. He didn’t want to feel like this. He had shut down that part of him when his wife died.
And going off to war had killed the rest. He had returned from France an empty shell – shattered, cynical and devoid of feeling.
But seeing his family again had reawakened something in him. He had started to see the world as a less brutal place. He no longer dreamed of death and bleak, dark landscapes littered with corpses. Now he saw a place of possibilities, of life, and beauty, and kindness. He had even begun to imagine that he might deserve to find some h
appiness there.
But he was never going to find it with someone like Dulcie Moore.
He didn’t even know why he liked her. She was self-centred, petulant, positively rude at times. But there was a spark about her that none of the other nurses had.
Besides, Sam was hardly perfect himself. He could be every bit as blunt, stubborn and selfish as Nurse Moore, as she had pointed out to him often enough. She was the only one who stood up to him, who gave as good as she got instead of offering simpering sweetness.
They were more than a match for each other.
And she wasn’t all bad. She had, after all, given him back his family.
All right, she had done it for selfish reasons. Or so she said. But there had been a moment, just after the visit, when Sam thought he had glimpsed a genuine joy in her, the kind of pleasure that only came from doing something for someone else.
It had given him hope that perhaps Dulcie Moore had a heart after all.
She returned to the ward in time for the dressings round. She was grinning from ear to ear, Sam noticed.
The round took a long time. Usually the men did not mind having to wait for the Agony Wagon, but Sam was impatient by the time she reached him.
‘You look happy,’ he commented, when she finally arrived at his bedside.
‘I am,’ she said.
‘Any particular reason?’
‘I’m moving to Wilson ward.’
He twisted his mouth into a reluctant smile. ‘You mean you managed to convince them you actually have a heart?’
‘It looks like it.’ Dulcie grinned back at him. ‘And I believe I have you to thank for that.’
‘They noticed your good deed?’
‘I can’t think of any other reason why they would transfer me.’ She leaned in, and once again he noticed her flowery scent. ‘Matron said Dr Logan asked for me ’specially.’
A fist closed around his heart, squeezing it painfully. ‘No wonder you’re in a good mood.’
He watched her as she removed his dressing, her fingers dancing against his skin.
‘When will you be leaving?’ he asked.
‘Next week, Matron says. Or possibly sooner, if they can find someone to take my place.’
‘Now where on earth are they going to find someone like you?’
His words hung in the air between them, and for a moment Sam thought he’d said too much. Then Dulcie laughed.
‘That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?’
Sam gritted his teeth and fell silent as she cleaned his wound and replaced his dressing. It had healed enough to stop hurting a long time ago, but at least pretending meant he didn’t have to find any words.
By the time she had finished dressing his wound, he had recovered himself enough to say, ‘So I suppose you’ll be picking your trousseau from one of those magazines of yours soon?’
Dulcie blushed. ‘You never know.’
‘Well done anyway.’ He hated the gruffness in his voice. ‘It looks like you finally got what you wanted, doesn’t it?’
Dulcie looked up at him.
‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’ she said quietly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The dawn was breaking on another freezing cold morning as Anna plodded home from a gruelling night shift. February was almost over but still the weather had not turned, and she could feel the ice-covered puddles cracking under her feet.
There was an outbreak of dysentery on one of the other military wards, and Anna had been sent down there to help the nurse on duty. All night they had been on their feet, rushing up and down the ward with bowls and bedpans, applying stupes and fomentations, changing beds and soaking endless buckets of soiled sheets in carbolic.
By the time the day staff arrived to take over, Anna was utterly exhausted. As she trudged through the dark, cold streets, all she could think about was getting home to Edward and a warm bed.
Light spilled from the kitchen window into the yard. But when Anna let herself in through the back door she found the kitchen empty.
‘Edward?’ she called. There was no response.
She put her hand on the oven door. It was stone cold.
‘Edward?’ she called out again.
She swung round as the door opened. But it was only Charlie Atkins standing there, a steaming teacup in his hand.
‘Oh, hello,’ he said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
Anna watched him set his teacup down on the wooden counter, next to a folded copy of the Racing Post. ‘Where is Mr Stanning?’
‘I dunno. He wasn’t in when I arrived.’
‘Did he say anything to you about where he might be going?’
‘Not a word, Missus. I thought you might know, since you’re his wife?’
Anna stared at him. Charlie’s face was blank, but there was a glint in his eye she did not trust. As if he knew more than he was letting on.
Then another thought occurred to her. ‘How did you get in if Mr Stanning isn’t here to open the door?’
‘He gave me a key.’
‘Why?’
‘You’d have to ask him that. I s’pose he wants me to come and go as I please.’
His gaze held hers. Charlie Atkins was a bit too cocky for Anna’s liking, but Edward reckoned he was a good worker and wouldn’t hear a word against him.
‘Did he also say you could wander about the house, making tea?’ she asked.
‘Eddie doesn’t mind.’
‘No, but I do. Upstairs is our private quarters.’
‘I’m only putting the kettle on.’
‘All the same, I don’t want you going up there.’
Charlie looked sulky. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘And why haven’t the ovens been lit yet?’
‘I dunno, do I?’ he grunted, bad-temperedly. ‘Eddie usually sees to it before I get here.’
And where is Edward? The question gnawed at her.
‘Go and see to it, please.’
‘Righto, Missus.’
As Anna went to leave the kitchen, he muttered, ‘It ain’t my fault your husband keeps secrets from you.’
Anna turned to face him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, I wouldn’t worry about him, Missus. Eddie generally turns up eventually. Wherever he’s been.’
There it was again, that mocking gleam in his eyes.
‘Just get on with your work,’ she snapped.
Perhaps Edward had gone out early, Anna thought as she hurried upstairs. Although she couldn’t imagine the kind of errand that would take him out of the house at the crack of dawn. And if he had gone out, surely he would have left her a note …
But their bed had not been slept in.
Anna stared at the pristine bedclothes, the plumped pillows, and panic rose in her chest.
Oh, Edward, where are you?
She heard the sound of the back door opening and hurried back downstairs.
‘Edward?’
She pushed open the door to the bakery kitchen. There was Mrs Church, taking off her coat. Charlie was leaning against the counter, the Racing Post lying open beside him.
‘Good morning,’ Mrs Church greeted her. ‘It’s another cold one, isn’t it? They say spring is on the way, but I can’t see any sign of it – goodness, whatever is the matter, my dear? You look as white as—’
‘Do you know where Edward is?’ Anna cut across her.
‘Well, no, I—’ Anna caught the quick glance that passed between Mrs Church and her nephew. ‘Isn’t he here?’
‘She wouldn’t be asking otherwise, would she?’ Charlie’s voice was laced with sarcasm.
‘He’s been out all night,’ Anna said, ignoring Charlie’s sly look. ‘Did he say anything to you about where he was going?’
‘No one knows where he is,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘Ain’t that right, Auntie Ida?’
Anna looked at Mrs Church. She was silent, her mouth a pinched line.
‘What?’ Anna looked from her to Ch
arlie and back again. ‘What’s going on?’
Neither of them answered. Then Mrs Church said, ‘I’m going to open up the shop,’ and bustled out, her coat under her arm.
Anna looked back at Charlie. His expression was blank as he picked up his newspaper.
‘Why are you reading that when you should be working?’ frustration made her snap.
‘I’m just waiting for the ovens to warm up – oi!’ he cried in protest as Anna snatched the newspaper out of his hands. ‘I was reading that!’
‘Not on my time, you’re not. I’m sure there’s some work you could be getting on with.’
‘We’ll see what Eddie has to say about it,’ Charlie muttered darkly as Anna left the kitchen, the newspaper tucked under her arm.
‘You’ll have to find him first,’ Anna called back over her shoulder.
Mrs Church was pulling up the blinds when Anna walked into the shop. She glanced back and Anna saw her face fall. Then she turned away again.
‘I hope you ain’t going to be pestering me with questions about your husband?’ she muttered.
‘You do know something, don’t you, Mrs Church? What is it? What won’t you tell me?’
‘I don’t know anything.’ Mrs Church kept her back turned, fiddling with the blind cord. ‘I keep my eyes and ears closed, I find it’s the best way. Don’t want to be accused of interfering,’ she added meaningfully.
Anna stifled a sigh. There had been a couple of times over the past month when Mrs Church had tried to tell her tales about Edward, but Anna had kept her promise to him and refused to listen. The last time Mrs Church had come to her, Anna had told her not to interfere.
Mrs Church had not taken it very well.
‘Fine, don’t tell me,’ Anna snapped. ‘I daresay he’ll find his way home soon enough.’
‘I daresay he will,’ Mrs Church sniffed. Then, as Anna turned to go back upstairs, she added, ‘But if you want to know where to look for him, I’d try the Fallen Angel.’
Anna looked back over her shoulder at her. ‘The Fallen Angel? I don’t think I know it …’
‘No, you wouldn’t. It’s the other side of the park, near Hackney way. Not the kind of place a respectable person should know about.’ Mrs Church looked disapproving.
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