Dorothy Eden (25 page)

“Why don’t you cry, Hetty? Julia cries.”

“Julia’s a silly emotional woman,” Hetty said sharply.

Freddie stared at her, his gaze far too contemplative for a five-year-old.

“Well, I love you, Hetty, no matter what they say.”

Hetty smiled steadily at the staunch little face. “What do they say, Freddie?”

“They say it was a mistake you and Uncle Hugo getting married.”

“Who says it?”

“Oh—they do. Nanny, too, once, but Mummy told her to mind her own business.”

Hetty said, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Oh, that’s good, Hetty.” Freddie jumped up and down with relief. “I didn’t want you to go away.”

“I have no intention of going away, little frog. But I’ll need you as a friend.”

“Against the Trojans?”

“Exactly.”

If she was not allowed to go to France to see Hugo in hospital, she at least insisted on being entirely responsible for the preparations for his return.

He was not to go to a military hospital in England, he was to be brought straight home to Loburn. She had managed to find a male nurse, a grey-haired ex-ambulance man, Patrick Mahoney, who had been wounded and invalided out of the Ambulance Corps. He was physically strong and imperturbable, used to coping with angry frustrated young men who hated infirmity and their permanently broken bodies. The officers were often the worst, he said; other ranks were more phlegmatic. Perhaps they had been used to expecting less, he said philosophically. Hetty liked him. His stoical manner would not irritate Hugo. He could sleep in Hugo’s dressing room, while Hugo occupied, as was his right, the big double bed, the Loburn marriage bed.

Julia said agitatedly, “You’re not expecting to share that bed with him, are you, Hetty? It would be quite impossible. I mean, an amputated leg. Oh, poor darling Hugo.”

“But he’ll recover,” said Hetty quietly. “There are such things as artificial limbs. We’ll get him fitted as soon as it’s possible. In the meantime I plan to move back to the grey room. My first haven, remember?”

“Haven?” Julia had flushed.

“After the cold sea, that’s what it seemed.”

The summer moved slowly and serenely on, darkened only by the news from France, the mounting casualties and the all too familiar stalemate of the Somme battles. And by the waiting. Hugo’s arrival was delayed and then delayed again. What was happening? Something about his wounds not healing. News was indirect. Nobody had had a letter from Hugo himself. Perhaps he was unable to write.

Then suddenly, with no warning at all, he arrived home.

Hetty had been at the military hospital, doing her usual task of writing and reading letters to the badly incapacitated men. Kitty was there, too, and when they returned home together, Bates came out, his usual aplomb vanished. He looked an old man, shaken and distressed.

“The master’s home, my lady.”

Hetty held her breath.

“Oh, Bates, how is he?”

“Didn’t look that good, my lady,” Bates seemed strangely evasive. “But it was a long drive for him.”

“Where is he?” asked Kitty.

“He went upstairs, madam. Said he didn’t want to see anyone at present.”

“He could walk?”

“On crutches, madam. With some difficulty, I observed, but he refused help.” The reason for Bates’ evasiveness became clear. “It’s no use your going up, my lady. He’s locked his door.”

Oh God, it was going to be worse than she had anticipated.

“But of course I’m going up, Bates. He won’t refuse to see his wife. Has someone telephoned for Patrick Mahoney?”

“That’s no use either, my lady. His lordship made it clear he didn’t want anyone.”

“But he must have someone. He has to eat and undress and wash and all that.”

“Those were his lordship’s orders, my lady,” Bates said. He was plainly upset. “Perhaps he’ll listen to you.”

“He’d better. He hasn’t come home to starve himself to death!”

“Go easy, Hetty,” Kitty said quietly. “You’ve seen how a lot of these boys come home.”

Shaken and crying and half-demented, or utterly silent, sitting huddled on their beds, refusing to respond to anybody.

But Hugo wouldn’t be like that. He was older, an officer, brave, self-disciplined.

“Has anyone tried to persuade him to open his door, Bates?”

“Yes, my lady. Lady Flora, and then Miss Julia.”

Did he refuse to speak to Julia, too?

“Did he say anything?”

“Not as far as I learned, my lady. Lady Flora decided he must have fallen asleep. Which is very likely because he did look done in.”

“I’ll go and see,” Hetty said.

“Oh, my lady—”

“Yes, Bates?”

“Be prepared for a shock, my lady.”

“Of course. We know he had bad injuries. He can’t be anything but greatly changed.”

She tapped gently at the door.

“Hugo!” No answer.

“Hugo, it’s me, Hetty.”

“Hugo, it’s your wife.”

The silence continued.

“Hugo!”

She was afraid he might have fallen and be lying helpless. Or that, as his mother had surmised, he had collapsed on the bed and fallen so deeply asleep that no polite knocking was going to rouse him.

Kitty had come up the stairs to stand beside her.

“Would he be likely to be sleeping so soundly?” Hetty whispered.

The two women looked at each other. In Kitty’s experience, and less completely in Hetty’s, few of the men back from the front slept soundly unless drugged. They twitched and turned and cried out in half sleep, and came sharply awake in terror when disturbed.

“He’s being bloody minded,” Kitty said. “He can be. That’s a side of him you haven’t encountered, perhaps.”

“I hardly know him at all,” Hetty admitted. “I’ve never had time, and the circumstances have always been unpropitious.”

“No peaceful cruises on the river,” Kitty said, but without malice. “Poor Hetty. But you’re not the only wife who’s had a rough time. At least you have your husband home, whatever shape he’s in.” She rapped loudly on the door, and spoke in her authoritative nurse’s voice. “Hugo, are you listening? You’ve got to let us in. Otherwise we’ll have to get someone to come and take the lock off the door.”

The silence continued for a moment, then there was a shuffling sound, and something gave a loud crack. Hetty jumped, startled, but Kitty grinned and said, “My guess is he’s just given something a violent whack with one of his crutches. Good sign. The more angry he is, the more alive he is.”

“Come on, Hugo,” she cajoled. “You’ve got to let us see you some time.”

At last his voice, loud and furious, answered. “Can’t I have any privacy even in my own home?”

“As much as you like,” Hetty called. “But just unlock the door. We’re worried about you.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m only half dead so far. I’ll see you when I decide to, not before. And don’t listen to old Bates’s horror stories.”

Hetty couldn’t keep the nervousness out of her voice. “What do you mean?”

Kitty nudged her to be silent.

“Come on, Hugo. I’ve been nursing badly wounded men for over a year. You can’t shock me.”

“Go to hell,” came the uncompromising response.

“Very well,” said Kitty cheerfully. “You take a rest. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

“Or ring the bell,” Hetty called. “It’s right beside the bed.”

“My God, are you making me an invalid?”

The outraged voice made Hetty shrivel. She was nearly in tears.

“Kitty, what have I done wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Kitty had taken her arm and was leading her away.

“He’s locked me out of my own bedroom!”

“That’s the least of it, I would think,” Kitty said shrewdly. “You’ll have to be patient. He’s a bit immature, Hugo. Lionel would have faced this in an entirely different way. He would have been philosophical and rather saintly. Old Hugo is going to roar like a bull. Both methods are a bit trying. Which do you prefer?” she said slyly.

“I don’t know. I just want to run away.”

“Not you. You’re not the running kind. Are you?”

Not after getting this far, Hetty wanted to say. She was glad Kitty was friendly again.

When the family assembled for dinner everyone was subdued. Julia had been crying and made no secret of it. Her patrician nose had a red tip, her eyelids were swollen. Lady Flora was determinedly cheerful, asking why they were all so glum when Hugo was home and in no danger of dying.

“That’s what I say,” Kitty agreed. “He’s a bit shell-shocked but he’ll recover from that in time. Bates says he’s wearing a bandage over one eye and walking on crutches. It’s not the worst, is it? Bad enough, of course.” Kitty’s common sense was sometimes extremely irritating.

“What about that male nurse you had arranged for, Hetty?” asked Lady Flora. “Shouldn’t he be sent for?”

Hetty shook her head. “No, that was a mistake.”

“But how do you know if you haven’t seen Hugo?”

“That man upstairs doesn’t want a nurse. He would think it an insult. Didn’t you hear him shouting?”

“He was always aggressive,” Lady Flora said helplessly, and Julia began to weep again.

“Oh, do shut up, Julia,” Kitty said impatiently. “I’ve got a great dislike of women weeping over their wounded. Self-indulgence, I call it.”

“It’s Hugo’s leg. He won’t be able to ride. It’s just too tragic.”

Lionel was watching Hetty. When she met his eyes he came across and squeezed her hand.

“Chin up,” he whispered.

Tears springing to her eyes blurred his profile. She felt as if she were losing him for ever. The beautiful summer was over.

“Well, come along,” said Lady Flora briskly. “Let’s go into dinner. By the way, Hetty, cook was asking about a meal for Hugo. I suggested a tray be left outside his door and he could collect it when he felt near starvation. Don’t think I’m callous, but I never could tolerate tantrums from my sons.”

“Tantrums?” Hetty queried.

“That’s all this is. Hugo wants a lot of attention. He always did.”

Indeed her words were borne out in the next minute, for Elsie, who had been carrying a laden tray into the dining room, suddenly screamed and there was a shattering crash as the tray was dropped.

“Good God, girl, how can you be so clumsy?” came Hugo’s unmistakable voice.

Hetty was first into the room. She stopped short. No wonder Elsie, now down on her knees gathering up the broken plates, had screamed. For the electric light had been turned off, and the long white tapers in the silver candelabra had been lit. At the head of the table, a little indistinct in the wavering candlelight which no doubt had been his intention, sat Hugo. Upright in his chair, dressed in uniform, shoulders square, head high, one protuberant blue eye blazing angrily, the other hidden by a black patch, a horrific red puckered scar that drew up the corner of his mouth, down his right cheek.

In the smoky yellow light he looked macabre, sinister. He was smiling. His crooked mouth made his smile malevolent.

“Come on in, everyone. I’m not a monster. What was that damned silly maid scared of? Dropping all the food. Doesn’t she know there’s a war on, and good food shouldn’t be wasted?”

Hetty tried to speak and failed. He
was
a monster, she was thinking frantically. War had made him mad, as well as disfiguring him so cruelly. The handsome husband she had boasted about in New York. No, it was Clemency who had done the boasting.

Everyone was stricken into silence. Hugo, sitting there surveying them with his one good eye must have thought them a group of frightened sheep. But not entirely, for someone suddenly switched on the lights, and the room was brightly illuminated.

“Who did that?” he roared.

“I did, dear boy,” said Lady Flora calmly. “It’s so stupid, but I really can’t see to eat by candlelight any more. I tend to choke on fish bones. We’re all perfectly delighted that you feel able to join us, Hugo. It’s been such a long time. Hasn’t it, Hetty? Aren’t you glad to have your husband home?”

Lady Flora’s cleverly inane words made Hetty able to approach that horribly distorted face, and put dry lips against the undamaged cheek. If one looked at him from this side, she reassured herself, he was as handsome as he had always been. She was very careful not to wince at contact with his flesh. But inevitably her eyes slid to his trouser leg, folded back above the knee, and the tremor that passed through her communicated itself to him.

“You’ve got half a man back, wife. Have a good look at him.” Hugo deliberately thrust the disfigured side of his face at her. “Make you feel sick?”

“Hugo, for God’s sake shut up,” Lionel exclaimed in a tense voice. “Your histrionics may help you, but the rest of us don’t find them amusing.”

“That scar will improve,” said Kitty bluntly. “Is that what you’re worrying about?”

“And this?” Hugo said, tapping the black patch over his eye. “Would you like to see the empty socket?”

Julia gave a sharp cry and ran to kneel beside him, pressing her head against his thigh. “Hugo, we all love you.”

“Don’t do that, for God’s sake,” he said irritably. “Get up. Aren’t we ever going to eat? I’ve had nothing since leaving France early this morning. And where’s Bates? Ring for Bates, Mother. Let’s have a bottle or two of some decent claret. Unless you’ve drunk it all while I’ve been away. What about you, Lionel? You managed to avoid the shells? Damn whizz-bang got me. I was just coming on leave.”

His strange tortured gaze moved round the table.

“Well, Hetty, have they anglicised you yet? What’s the news from New York? Uncle Jonas still holding the purse strings?”

“Hugo, what a thing to say,” his mother exclaimed in a shocked voice.

“It’s true enough, Mother. Hetty-Clemency, or Clemency-Hetty, whichever she prefers, has to insist on her rights. No one dislikes parting with money more than a Wall Street financier, especially to a giddy young woman with a profligate husband.”

“Hugo, you’re talking too much,” Hetty said mildly. She reached out to touch his hand. She was trembling inwardly from his mocking use of her name coupled with Clemency’s. He thought them one person. As in fact they now were.

He moved away from her touch, as if gentle human contact unnerved him. She noticed, with dismay, how his hand shook as he lifted his soup spoon to his mouth. He let it clatter down, and shouted again for Bates who had, unwittingly, come to stand at his blind side.