Lorimers at War (4 page)

‘I can't let him go,' she cried, overwhelmed by the nearness of the parting; but as she tried to hurry into the ballroom, Arthur tightened his grip.

‘You can't hold him,' he said. ‘None of us can. We have no rights any more. He has to do whatever his country orders. And when he is happy to obey, it would be unkind of you to do anything but support him.'

Kate realized that her cousin was speaking the truth. It was unusual for her to reveal her emotions but her unhappiness now made some gesture necessary. She turned into Arthur's waiting arms, her head pressed against his chest, while she struggled to restrain her tears.

‘Brinsley has an aura of good fortune,' Arthur said quietly. ‘Can't you feel it as you look at him? Some people are lucky, against all reason, and he's always been one of them. He'll come back. They'll all come back. The war will be over by Christmas.' He paused for a moment. ‘It's natural that you should be upset. Your parents are a long way away. You'll be lonely when Brinsley's gone. We could help each other, Kate. It's lonely for me as well now that Beatrice has decided she must work in London. You're losing a brother: I've already lost a sister. It's ridiculous for one man to live alone with so many servants in a great mansion like
Brinsley House. It would make me very happy if you'd agree to share it with me, Kate.'

Through the confusion of her anxiety Kate heard the words and – although not immediately – understood them. Appalled by her own weakness, she pulled herself away from Arthur and straightened her shoulders, steadying her body and her emotions at the same time.

‘I shouldn't have allowed – I can't – I'm sorry, Arthur.'

She seemed unable to communicate and could see that he did not understand what it was that she was failing to say, for his puzzled frown gave place immediately to a sympathetic smile.

‘I've chosen the wrong time to declare myself,' he said understandingly. ‘How can I expect you to think of anyone but Brinsley at this moment? After he's left we'll talk again.'

‘Excuse me,' said Kate. She knew that she was behaving badly in leaving him so abruptly but she could not bear to waste any more of the time which she might be spending with her brother. She hurried out of the banqueting hall and into the ballroom, arriving just as the waltz was ending.

‘Have you been called to go?' she asked Brinsley.

‘Yes, but not till morning,' he said reassuringly. ‘The others will want to push off now so that they can pick up their things and say goodbye to their families. But everything I need is here. There's no reason why I shouldn't dance till dawn. Don't look so upset, Kate.'

‘But of course I'm upset!' she exclaimed. ‘It's only a few hours, isn't it, since I said I felt like Cinderella. And now midnight's struck, but it's not my dress that disappearing. It's –'She was too near to tears to go on.

‘It's what?'

‘Everything.' Her gesture took in the whole of her surroundings, the jungle ballroom and the exotic display of food in the banqueting hall. ‘You're all going. And the ball is ending too soon. It's as though the life we've known, everything about it, is coming to a close.'

‘Nonsense,' said Brinsley. ‘Why do you think I'm going, if not to make sure that everything will be able to go on as before? And why should the ball stop, when we're still here? Come on, Kate; keep your chin up. You've never let anything beat you before. Why don't we show them all what we can do?'

He spoke to the leader of the orchestra and then smiled at his sister as he took her in his arms, allowing her a moment to steady not only her body but her feelings after such an uncharacteristic display of emotion. Then they moved smoothly together in a rhythm which was unfamiliar to many of the guests, for the tango was still a novelty in England. Doubtless some of the young debutantes present would have learned the new steps, but in their eyes Kate knew that she was an oddity, dull and over-serious. They would certainly not expect to see her giving what was almost an exhibition dance. It would be yet another joke on the part of a young man who allowed nothing to subdue his spirits.

It was an odd side-effect of their childhood in Jamaica that Kate and Brinsley both had a strongly developed sense of rhythm. Neither of their parents was musical, but the two children had almost unconsciously absorbed the music in the Jamaican air. When the members of the Hope Valley congregation sang Baptist hymns, they transformed them into something powerful and thrilling. As they worked, they sang other songs, fitting the rhythms to the tasks; and in the evenings they sang and danced in a different way – a way disturbing in its intensity. Both the young Lorimers had learned to feel the throbbing of nonexistent drums through the stresses of the singers and the movements of their bodies. The rhythm of the tango was as different from Jamaican music as Jamaican from English, but Kate and Brinsley found no difficulty in moving with a graceful precision which brought applause from the older guests.

For a moment after the music had stopped they stood
close together. Neither of them had yet fallen in love, although Brinsley moved from one flirtation to another: their strongest emotional attachment was still to each other. Kate knew that this state of affairs could not survive for much longer, but for the moment she was bound by ties so tight that part of herself would go to France with her brother the next day. Even Brinsley, normally light-hearted to the point of frivolity, recognized this; and for a few seconds the gaiety of his smile faded into affectionate seriousness as he looked into her eyes.

‘You're not to be frightened for me, Kate,' he said. ‘I shall be all right. And it's only for a little while. It will all be over by Christmas.'

It was the second time within an hour that Kate had heard that phrase. She tried to make herself believe it and, with rather more success, forced herself to smile back into her brother's eyes.

In time of war, nothing makes such a fierce frontal assault on the emotions as military music. The sound of the drums was at first hardly more than a vibration, an almost imperceptible disturbance of the air, but it was enough to catch the attention of the excited, shouting, jostling crowds on the departure platform of Waterloo Station. Within a few seconds the full diapason of a regimental band could be heard, its bright brassiness piercing the air and lifting the spirits. Margaret tried to control the excitement which the music induced in her. A feeling of elation affected not only the soldiers who were waiting to board the train but also the civilians who had come to see them off. Although she reminded herself that a mass emotion of this kind was dangerous, warping the judgement, she was not proof against the contagion of patriotic pride.

Louder even than the band itself now was the tramp of well-drilled feet, and Margaret felt her eyes pricking with tears – of admiration rather than sadness – as a battalion of guardsmen marched the length of the platform and came to a stamping halt beside the carriages reserved for them at the front of the train.

The civilians cheered them as they passed and the men in uniform – most of them, like Brinsley, volunteer members of the British Expeditionary Force – watched their immaculate professionalism with envy. Then the chatter of farewells was resumed.

Six members of Brinsley's family had come to see him off. Alexa and Piers Glanville, Margaret and Robert and, of course, Kate, had all travelled with him from Blaize. Arthur had said his farewells there and had returned directly to Bristol; but his sister Beatrice had joined the party at the station.

In the years before the war, as it became clear that she would never marry, Beatrice had lived, as convention demanded of a spinster, in her brother's Bristol mansion. Fretting at her uselessness, she had allowed her temper to grow as sharp as her features, and had become the least popular member of the Lorimer family. But since the third day of the war she had been working full time in the London office of the National Union of Women's Suffrage Societies. Over a period of many years she had supported the movement in its efforts to win the vote for women, acting as its local secretary in Bristol. But now the organization had changed its immediate aim, and was assembling the staff and equipment of medical units to be sent to the front. Beatrice too had changed as she committed all her time to the cause instead of giving a few hours of voluntary work each week. Her resentment that she was still a spinster had been replaced by confidence in her own new-found efficiency and the knowledge that she was doing a worthwhile job. Almost overnight she had become friendlier and less prickly. Her absence
from Brinsley's birthday celebrations had not been because of her admitted dislike of Alexa, but on account of an urgent need to pack up a consignment of drugs for France. Margaret could tell that her eldest niece was genuinely glad of the opportunity to join the family party, and anxious to assure Brinsley of her affection and support.

At the moment, though, it appeared that it was with Margaret herself that Brinsley wished to speak. She felt his hand on her arm as he led her a little way from the others. The platform was crowded, but each family group was intent only on its own leave-taking. Surrounded by strangers, it was possible to speak freely.

There was no time for any preamble. Knowing that he would be leaving at any moment, Brinsley came abruptly to the point.

‘We'll be off soon,' he said. ‘Aunt Margaret, you'll keep an eye on Kate for me, won't you?'

‘I've never known a young woman better able to look after herself,' said Margaret. ‘What foolishness do you anticipate?'

‘She's turned down an offer of marriage from Arthur. I'm certainly not implying that's foolish. Arthur seems to me to be a cold man.' Brinsley laughed. ‘Kate thinks he has his eyes on part of Father's estate as a marriage settlement.'

‘Then Kate is uncharitable. I agree that Arthur doesn't appear likely to fall passionately in love with anyone, but he's been fond of Kate since she arrived in England. It would fit his nature to choose someone he knows well for a wife, rather than a strange young woman. Anyway, we may agree that Kate has made the right decision.'

‘But for the right reason? She told me she'd be ashamed to devote herself to the comfort of one man when she should be using her skills to serve hundreds. I wouldn't like her to end up as an old maid like Beatrice.'

‘One day she'll be swept off her feet by a dashing
young prince on a white charger and all her doubts will be forgotten. That's not really what's worrying you, is it, Brinsley?'

‘I don't know what's worrying me,' he confessed. ‘But she's planning something. She has that broody look. I'd like to feel that you'd discuss with her any ideas she may be considering.'

‘Well, of course,' Margaret assured him. ‘You know very well that Kate is almost a daughter to me, just as you are another son. Look after yourself, Brinsley.'

It was a foolish remark to make to a young man on his way to a battlefield. For a few seconds Brinsley's smile seemed a little less carefree than usual. As he kissed her goodbye, Margaret could feel the depth of his affection for her. He had never put it into words and he did not do so now, but it was true that for the past eight years their relationship had been almost that of mother and son. While she watched him make his farewells to Beatrice and Robert and Piers Glanville and Alexa, she felt a moment of sympathy for his mother, her dear friend Lydia, who had been deprived of so many years out of her elder children's lives.

Whistles were blowing. Brinsley had saved his last embrace for Kate and for a moment brother and sister clung together as though they feared that they might never see each other again. But the prevailing atmosphere was one of excitement, not sadness. Brinsley leaped on to the train and reappeared almost at once to smile from a window. Everyone was waving now: the platform fluttered with handkerchieves. With a blast from the steam whistle the engine began to hiss and puff. Very slowly, so that Margaret and Kate found it possible for a few seconds to keep pace with Brinsley as he leaned from the window, the train began to move. There was a last-minute rush of repeated messages; hands were clasped and reluctantly released. The engine picked up speed and the band started to play again.

They played ‘It's a long way to Tipperary'. The soldiers leaning from the train sang it lustily and as their voices faded the civilians on the platform took up the chorus. They sang it through a second time, and a third, still waving at the blank end of the guard's van as it pulled away along the rails and curved out of sight.

The soldiers were not, of course, going to Tipperary but to Ypres. A dead weight of anti-climax stifled the excitement on the platform as the band ceased to play. The waving handkerchieves drooped and were put to a different use, dabbing at eyes unable any longer to smile. The little group of Lorimers lingered on the platform, reluctant to disperse – as though the parting need not be considered final until they as well as Brinsley had left the station. Even Margaret, who had taken time off from her hospital duties, could not bring herself to move at once. There was only one farewell which could have wrenched more cruelly at her heart – if it had been Robert, and not Brinsley, who had just been carried away. Sometimes she was frightened that such a moment might come; but then she reminded herself that Robert would not be twenty-one for another nine months, and surely the war would be over before then.

Even while she reassured herself, anxiety made her stretch out a hand to Robert for comfort. He took her hand, but failed to provide the comfort.

‘I want to go as well, mother,' he said.

It was almost the first time in his life that Margaret had seen her mischievous, carrot-haired son looking so serious. She stared at him without at first understanding what he meant.

‘Go where?'