Finally, the VAD finished the packing and closed the lid of his suitcase.
‘Right, that’s all done,’ she announced. ‘I’ll go and fetch Sister.’
‘Can’t you leave it a couple of minutes?’ Sam said. ‘I want another cigarette before I go.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
‘Go on. I need something to steady my nerves before the journey.’
‘All right, I’m sure another couple of minutes won’t hurt,’ the VAD agreed reluctantly. ‘But if I get in trouble with Sister I’m blaming you,’ she added, wagging a warning finger at him.
Sam lit his cigarette and took a long drag, his gaze fixed on the double doors.
She wasn’t coming.
He didn’t know why he had ever believed she would. But she had promised, and like a fool he had thought she meant it.
But they were just words to Dulcie Moore. She had probably forgotten all about her so-called promise.
He wasn’t even angry with her. He was more angry with himself for not knowing better, for daring to think that he might be more to her than just another wounded soldier.
He was a fool. Now all he could do was leave while he still had a shred of dignity.
And then Nurse Trott came hurrying down the ward, and he forgot all about his dignity and instead blurted out, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Nurse Moore, have you?’
Nurse Trott frowned at him, her beaky little face pinched. ‘Moore? As far as I know, she’s gone up West with Dr Logan today. Apparently they’re all on some outing.’ She frowned. ‘Why? Did you want her for something?’
‘No. I just wanted to say goodbye, that’s all.’
‘I expect she forgot all about it,’ Nurse Trott said. ‘You know what Moore’s like.’
‘Yes,’ Sam said. ‘Yes, I do.’
At that moment Miss Sutton came plodding over.
‘Ready to go, Sergeant Trevelyan?’ she said.
Sam glanced at the double doors again.
‘More than ready, Sister,’ he said.
Dulcie was beginning to wish she had never come.
They were drawing quite a lot of attention from the other customers in the Lyons Corner House. One of the men, Lance Corporal Fletcher, kept laughing and pointing at nothing, while another, Private Walsh, rocked back and forth, tears running down his face. Two men sat absolutely still and silent, their plates untouched in front of them.
She looked up at the clock. Just past three.
Sam Trevelyan would be on his way by now.
She wished she had been there. She should have been there. As soon as she had found out the ward outing was planned for the same day as Sam was being discharged, she should have told them she couldn’t come. They would have understood. God knows, it wasn’t as if she was even really needed. Grace and Dr Logan seemed to be managing perfectly well between themselves.
She should have told them she had made a promise, and wanted to keep it.
But it was more than just a promise. Dulcie wanted to see Sam, to say goodbye.
And that was the problem.
She hadn’t come today out of a sense of duty, or even because she wanted the excuse to spend time with Dr Logan. If she was honest, she had come because she was afraid. Her emotions were getting away from her, and if she was not careful she knew she might be tipped into a situation she could not control.
Far better to avoid it completely, if she could.
‘Do you have another appointment, Nurse?’ Captain Jeffers was smiling at her across the table. He always seemed out of place among the other patients, with his sleek fair hair and handsome looks. ‘You’ve been staring at that clock on and off ever since we arrived,’ he said. ‘I wondered if you had somewhere else to go?’
‘No, I don’t.’ Not anymore. Dulcie dragged her gaze away from the clock.
‘I don’t blame you for wanting to leave,’ Captain Jeffers said. ‘I’d go if I could. It’s all rather tedious, isn’t it? I could do without everyone staring, too. Still, it can’t be helped, can it? I suppose we do look rather a sideshow.’ He gave a dry smile. ‘Christ knows why they made us wear these wretched hospital badges. I should imagine we’d be rather easy to spot without them, shouldn’t you?’
Dulcie glanced up to the other end of the table, where Albie Sallis was talking nineteen to the dozen as usual. He was deep in conversation with Dr Logan while his friend Gordon sat beside him, trembling like a spaniel in a thunderstorm. Grace was with them, holding Gordon’s hand.
‘Do you think they’re a couple?’ Captain Jeffers asked.
Dulcie laughed. ‘Duffield and Private Gordon? I shouldn’t think so.’
‘No, silly. I mean her and the good doctor.’
‘No!’
‘Why not? He obviously likes her.’
‘No, he doesn’t. How can you say that?’
‘My dear Nurse Moore, I’ve spent months on that ward watching them. Believe me, I can tell. And you can see for yourself how close they are. I do believe Dr Logan trusts to Nurse Duffield’s opinion more than he does Sister’s.’
Dulcie turned back to study them at the other end of the table. As far as she could see, they scarcely seemed aware of each other.
‘I think you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘Anyway, Nurse Duffield is engaged to someone else.’
As soon as the words were out she knew she shouldn’t have said them. Grace had sworn her to secrecy.
‘Is she now?’ Captain Jeffers looked intrigued. ‘I wonder if Dr Logan knows that?’
‘You mustn’t tell anyone,’ Dulcie pleaded.
Captain Jeffers’ eyebrows rose. ‘That sounds rather intriguing.’
‘Please, don’t.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to say a word. I probably won’t be around for much longer, anyway.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘I’m being boarded next week.’ He blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. ‘I daresay I’ll be back on the boat to France soon.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘What reason do they have to discharge me? As you can see, I’m perfectly fit. And thanks to the wonders of Dr Logan, I’ve recovered fairly well mentally, too.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I’m almost certain the Medical Board will send me back to the Front as soon as they can. God knows, they’re running out of men over there. The buggers will keep dying!’
His face was bitter as he took another long drag on his cigarette.
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘How do you think I feel?’ His voice was suddenly sharp. ‘I’d throw myself under a train before I let that happen.’
For a moment they stared at each other. The next minute Captain Jeffers was laughing. ‘Honestly, Nurse Moore, don’t look so stricken. I think you’ve been on Wilson too long. You’ve forgotten how to take a joke.’
They finished their meal and Dr Logan paid the bill. They caught the Underground back to Bethnal Green, but as they were emerging from the station Grace suddenly had the idea of walking to the pie and mash shop to buy some jellied eels for Albie Sallis.
Dulcie was against the idea; it had begun to rain and she could feel her hat turning limp about her ears. But Dr Logan seemed to think it was a capital plan, and so they all trooped down Vallance Road towards Mile End.
They hadn’t gone very far when the air-raid warning bell sounded. Other whistles, horns and klaxons took up the cry and soon the air was filled with a jarring cacophony of wailing, hooting and ringing.
‘This is your fault!’ Dulcie turned on Grace. ‘We could have been safely back at the hospital now if you hadn’t decided to go and look for wretched jellied eels!’
‘Don’t you have a go at her!’ Corporal Sallis jumped to Grace’s defence. ‘She was only being kind – you should try it sometime!’
‘Stop it, both of you!’ Dr Logan’s voice rose over the wail of the siren. ‘We’ve got to get these men back to the hospital.’
Chaos had broken out among th
em. Private Walsh and a couple of the others had thrown themselves to the ground. Lance Corporal Fletcher stared up at the sky, roaring with laughter, as people pushed past him, running for shelter.
‘Where’s Captain Jeffers?’ Grace asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Dulcie looked around. ‘He was here a minute ago.’
‘Did you see which way he went?’
‘If I knew that he wouldn’t be lost, would he?’
‘Who’s lost?’ Dr Logan came up behind them, propping up Private Walsh with his shoulders.
‘We can’t find Captain Jeffers, Sir,’ Grace said.
Dr Logan looked wildly around. ‘What do you mean, you can’t find him? Who saw him last?’
‘I did, Doctor,’ Dulcie said. ‘We were walking along together, but then the sirens went off, and he just – disappeared.’
Dr Logan stared at her. The rain was falling heavily now, soaking his suit and hat and plastering his white shirt to his torso.
‘Here.’ He lifted Private Walsh’s arm from around his shoulders and across Dulcie’s. She buckled under the sudden weight of him. ‘You get the men back to hospital. I’ll go and look for Captain Jeffers.’
He was off before Dulcie could reply, running down the street, looking this way and that.
‘Come on,’ Grace said. Dulcie could see her mentally bracing herself. ‘We’d better do as he says. Sister will be furious if we all catch pneumonia!’ She hauled one of the men up from the ground and linked her arm through his. ‘Lance Corporal Fletcher, come out of the road, please. And, Corporal Sallis, will you keep an eye on Private Gordon? I think that’s all of us …’
They started up the road. Grace was grimly silent, and Dulcie could tell she was punishing herself over Captain Jeffers’ disappearance.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ Dulcie said. ‘It isn’t really your fault.’
‘But you’re right, I was the one who insisted we should go to the pie and mash shop.’ Grace’s voice was choked. ‘I wish I knew why he ran away.’
‘I think I know,’ Dulcie said.
Grace looked at her sharply. ‘What?’
‘It was the boarding. He was worried he was going to be sent back to France.’
‘He said that to you? That he was worried?’
‘He said he would throw himself under a train before he let it—’ Dulcie stopped speaking abruptly. She could see the same realisation dawning on Grace’s face.
They had reached the hospital gates.
‘Get the men back to the ward,’ Grace said.
‘On my own?’
‘The porters in the lodge will fetch an orderly to help you.’
She shifted the weight of the man she had been helping and propped him against the hospital railings.
‘Where are you going?’ Dulcie called after her.
‘To find Captain Jeffers. And I think I know where to look …’
It took a long time to get the men back to the ward. Miss Parker was utterly furious, and because Dulcie was the only one there, she suffered the brunt of Sister’s rage.
‘Get these men into hot baths immediately,’ she instructed the VADs. ‘And I want dry clothes for them all, and hot water bottles in their beds.’ She shook her head. ‘I shall certainly be having words with Dr Logan when he returns.’
‘He couldn’t help the rain, Sister. Or the air raid,’ Dulcie pointed out, then wished she hadn’t as Miss Parker turned her icy blue gaze on her.
‘And you say one of the men is missing?’ she snapped.
‘Captain Jeffers, Sister.’
Miss Parker gave a heavy sigh. ‘It’s too bad, it really is. I suspected this outing was a bad idea, and it looks as if I was right.’ She glared at Dulcie. ‘I just hope for all your sakes that this man is found soon, or Matron will have something to say about it. And the War Office too, I should imagine. And frankly, I don’t know which I would fear most!’
Dulcie left her fussing over the men and trailed miserably back down the corridor. Her new shoes squelched unpleasantly with every step and cold rain dripped from the sagging brim of her now ruined hat, running down the back of her neck.
It never occurs to Sister that I might get pneumonia, she thought furiously. If anyone needed a hot bath, dry clothes and a warm bed, she did. As it was, she would probably get another telling-off from the Home Sister for treading mud on the parquet floor.
As she passed Monaghan ward, she heard someone calling her name. She turned to see Lottie Jones, one of the VADs, hurrying towards her.
‘I thought I spotted you going by,’ she said. ‘I was clearing out Sergeant Trevelyan’s locker earlier on and I found this …’ She held up a small package, haphazardly wrapped in newspaper. ‘I thought he might have left it behind but then I saw it had your name on it.’
‘My name?’ Dulcie looked down at the parcel.
‘I don’t know of another Dulcie Moore in this hospital.’ Lottie Jones pressed it into her hand. ‘I suppose he must have meant to give it to you before he left.’
Pain and guilt lanced through Dulcie. ‘What is it?’
‘You’ll have to open it and see, won’t you?’
Lottie craned forward eagerly as Dulcie started to peel away the layers of newspaper to reveal a small leather box.
As soon as she saw it, Dulcie slipped it in her pocket.
‘Don’t you want to know what’s inside?’ Lottie pouted.
‘I already know.’
‘But I want to see …’ Lottie’s voice, shrill with disappointment, followed her all the way down the passageway.
She didn’t open the box until she was safely back in her room at Walford House. That was when she found the note, tucked inside.
I know I said I’d thrown it away, but I thought you might like it. It seems to mean more to you than it ever did to me.
Regards,
Sam Trevelyan
She picked up the Military Medal, feeling the warm weight of it in her hand, and turned it over to read the inscription.
For bravery in the field.
Oh, Sam, she thought, tears pricking her eyes. How she wished now she had been brave enough to deserve it.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The air raid had stopped by the time Grace reached Bethnal Green Underground station.
Once the crowds and the noise of the big city would have terrified her but now she scarcely noticed them as she descended the steep flight of stone steps, pushing against the tide of people who had sought shelter there. She was too intent on finding Captain Jeffers.
The station platform was still full of people waiting for the next train. Grace pushed her way through them, searching this way and that. Then she saw him at the far end of the platform, sitting alone on a bench. He was a forlorn figure, fair head bowed, hands hanging limply between his knees.
Grace approached him cautiously but he barely seemed to register her presence. As she drew closer, she could hear him humming a tune under his breath.
‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go …”’
He didn’t look up at her as she sat down beside him. Then he said, ‘I’ve spent the past God knows how many months listening to Frost singing that damn tune, and now it’s stuck in my head.’
‘It helps calm him down,’ Grace said.
‘So I understand. Doesn’t seem to be working for me, though.’
Captain Jeffers looked up at her for the first time. Beyond his rueful smile, Grace could see the fear in his pale blue eyes.
‘I suppose you know they’re sending me back?’
‘Nothing’s been decided yet.’
‘Oh, I’ll be going back, Nurse. I’ve seen men in a worse state than me passed fit.’ He turned his head to stare at the railway line a few feet away. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘Something you said to Nurse Moore …’
‘So I did. I meant it, too. I would rather kill myself than go back to France.’ He paused, then said, ‘I suppose you thi
nk I’m a dreadful coward for not wanting to do my duty?’
‘Not at all.’
He was silent for a while. Grace looked down at his hands, clasping and unclasping. The skin around his nails was raw where he had bitten it.
How had no one noticed before? she wondered. Captain Jeffers always seemed to put up such a calm, urbane front, with his dry sense of humour and mocking observations.
Now she realised that it had been just that – a front.
‘I wasn’t always like this, you know,’ he said suddenly. ‘I was a captain of the cadets at school. A born leader, they called me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘If they could only see me now, eh, Nurse?’
Grace said nothing. After a moment, Captain Jeffers continued speaking.
‘We practised endlessly for the war at school,’ he said. ‘We all knew it was coming, and we wanted to be ready for it. All those drills, learning how to march, how to strip and clean and fire a gun … Frankly, we couldn’t wait. I don’t think the war could come soon enough for us. Especially me.
‘And then, when it did, I was first in line to sign up. Eighteen years old, and desperate to do my duty. If I’d known …’ He shook his head. ‘But I didn’t. None of us knew. We all thought it was going to be a great adventure, like the stories we read in the Boys’ Herald.’
He patted his pocket and drew out a packet of cigarettes.
‘Twelve of us joined up from my form, all commissioned as junior officers. Eighteen years old, and we suddenly found ourselves in command of men twice our age.’ He shook his head. ‘God, what were they thinking?’
He lit a cigarette and took a long draw.
‘I’m the only one left now,’ he said. ‘The last one to survive, Marshall, was killed at Cambrai. One of our tanks went over him as he was lying injured in No Man’s Land. Not their fault, of course. They can’t be expected to grind to a halt and sort out which men are theirs and which are ours in the middle of fighting, can they?’
He sat back, his head pressed against the tiled wall. ‘Marshall,’ he said. ‘Now there was a hero. It was his twenty-first birthday when he led those men over the top. And when I say led, he would have been out there in front, believe me.’ The captain took a vicious drag on his cigarette. ‘God only knows what he would make of me if he could see me now.’
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