Songs of Spring (12 page)

‘Far from it. This is only the beginning of Armageddon.’

Three days later came the next major attack on the Belgian Front. Once again the enemy gained ground, and once again they were driven back in a counter-attack into which,
so reports said, the Belgians went singing, and ‘fought like men possessed’, so determined were they to recapture their homeland.

And at last they heard from Yves. Just her luck – Caroline was out of the office when the precious telephone call came through. All Luke could talk about when she returned was how successful the British attack on Zeebrugge had been, and how it was now known that the Belgian army had saved the British in the Ypres salient by foiling a German plan to encircle them.

‘Did he mention me?’ Caroline asked hopefully, when Luke at last shut up.

‘He sent you his love.’

‘But no word of when he’ll be back?’

‘No.’

‘Can’t call this place my own, nowadays,’ Margaret grumbled. ‘I feel that Food Controller breathing down my neck all the time. And to think it’s May Day too. Once upon a time the lasses would be out in the fields dabbling in the dew and hoping for a sweetheart. Now they’re dressed up in big boots and uniforms pretending to be soldiers.’

‘Times are changing,’ Percy remarked without originality. It was his – and most other folks’ – response to everything.

‘Then not for the better. I can’t keep up and that’s a fact.’

‘Yes, you do,’ Percy replied sturdily. ‘You keep up marvellously, Daisy.’

It was a sign of approval when Percy called her Daisy. Margaret was gratified, but not going to show it.

‘Maybe I do, but what good is one and eightpence a head of beef a week?’

‘At least you know where you are.’ They had had this conversation over and over again, and both knew what they were really grumbling about was this miserable spring weather and the renewed prospect of war going on for ever. The Germans might have been stopped before Amiens but no one kidded themselves they’d leave it at that.

‘And there’s Oscar,’ Percy added in his usual triumphant finale. Always Oscar. The whole of England was full of Oscars, all waiting their turn. Once you could tell the time by Farmer Sharpe’s roosters crowing so loudly they drowned out the birds. Now they could hear the birds all too clearly. Someone had told her that over in France they actually ate poor little song thrushes. How could they do it? In the midst of war, to hear the song thrush sing was a sign that somewhere out there was something called hope. She remembered one song thrush whose wing Fred had healed; he had made a lovely carving of it in wood. It didn’t sing of course, but then she didn’t either.

It was gloomy in the Rectory for all Mrs Lilley tried to keep smiling, and that was hard enough when you couldn’t even go to your own daughter’s wedding. Although Mrs Lilley had said it was the principle that counted, Margaret could tell how much she wished she were there. She’d heard her telephone Miss Phoebe in London the night before the wedding, when Rector was at evensong.

Margaret hadn’t been able to believe her ears when Mrs
Isabel had told her Miss Phoebe was going to be married. It didn’t seem two shakes since she was climbing the apple trees in the orchard, and the harum-scarum attitude she took to clothes and cooking didn’t bode well for her being in charge of her own house. She couldn’t run a game of snakes and ladders. Still, everyone grew up and in wartime they did it twice as fast.

‘Tell you what, Daisy. Let’s go to the pictures tonight, after you’ve dished up supper. It will cheer you up.’

‘What’s on?’ Margaret asked cautiously. She didn’t want to find herself watching
The Battle of the Ancre
. The one on the Somme had been enough for her.

‘
The Prisoner of Zenda
, and one of them Pearl White adventures,
The Perils of Pauline
.’

Margaret deliberated. At first she’d thought
The Prisoner of Zenda
was a war film, until she remembered there was a romantic book she’d read once of that name. She could do with a bit of romance. ‘All right then. Mrs Isabel would like it if we went. She was saying that only this morning. Now the wedding’s over she’s down in the dumps again.’

As soon as Mrs Isabel had got home from the wedding two weeks ago, she had come straight into the kitchen to tell her about it. Margaret had been torn between being appalled at Mrs Isabel going to London in her condition, and secret pleasure that she was the first to hear about it, even if she couldn’t be providing the wedding breakfast as she would if it were a proper wedding.

‘Does Rector know you went?’

‘Officially no, but Mother did – and I’m sure she’ll tell him. It was such a lovely day.’

Mrs Isabel needed a lovely day or two in Margaret’s opinion. She was doing too much, and despite her relief at finding out Mr Robert was alive, knowing he was a prisoner of war must make her anxious. There was no knowing if he was getting enough – or anything – to eat, and it made Margaret feel all the better that she had taken the initiative about feeding Joachim. She had to admit he and his chums were well behaved for Germans, and it turned out they knew all about rectories and what was expected in them. She wondered what life was like in Germany, and if it was as hard as it was here nowadays. She couldn’t believe it was, because they had occupied all those other countries, and pinched all their food. If they
were
short, however, their POWs would be suffering just like Joachim.

‘Phoebe looked beautiful,’ Mrs Isabel said. ‘Caroline did well in choosing the dress, even though I wasn’t there. I was afraid Phoebe would pick some awful khaki or grey thing just because they’re fashionable, but lilac suited her. I took some photographs so I’ll show you them when they’re developed.’

‘What happens in those registry office weddings?’

‘They had a similar service.’

Margaret sniffed. ‘Without God? He wasn’t a witness, was He?’

‘I think He was there,’ Isabel replied seriously. ‘If you could have seen how happy Phoebe and Billy were, you’d think so too. I remembered my own wedding. When Robert comes home …’ she managed to laugh, ‘whenever that will be, I won’t be a young bride any more. I’ll be a middle-aged matronly mother.’

‘Not you, Mrs Isabel,’ Margaret said comfortingly. ‘You’ll stay the same whatever age you are. Some folks start out life old, and some stay young. You’re one of the latter.’

‘Oh, Mrs Dibble, what a comfort you are. I could kiss you for saying that. In fact, I think I will.’ She jumped up, planted a kiss on Margaret’s suddenly pink cheek, and sat down again. ‘Anyway, after the wedding, we went to the Carlton Hotel and had a really nice afternoon. There were only about twenty or so of us. Patricia Swinford-Browne was there, which was nice. You should see her now. She makes a terrifying policewoman. I don’t think any man would dare marry her, she’s so forceful. Billy didn’t want the London stage folk present, so there was just his family. He sang love songs to Phoebe, and then at the end Phoebe said she wanted to sing a song to him.’

‘But Miss Phoebe has a voice like a corncrake.’

‘It didn’t matter, she sang “I’ll walk beside you”, in a sort of half-speaking, half-singing voice, and Billy nearly cried with happiness. I do like him, Mrs Dibble, and I’m sure Father and Mother would if only things were different.’

‘If all the if-onlys in the world came true—’ Margaret began.

‘I know,’ Isabel finished for her, ‘Oscar would be flying.’

‘Elizabeth?’ Laurence came into the glory-hole unexpectedly to find his wife in tears. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing, Laurence.’ She blew her nose and sat up straight. ‘It’s only Isabel’s photographs of the wedding.’

‘Ah.’ Laurence looked at them lying on Elizabeth’s littered table, slowly his hand stretched out to pick them
up, and his heart wrenched as he saw his daughter clutching Billy’s arm, smiling up at him.

‘She looks lovely, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes.’ Laurence put the photograph down and pulled up a chair to Elizabeth’s side, a difficult manoeuvre in the glory-hole. He took her hands in his. ‘What else could I do?’ he asked quietly.

‘What else could
we
do? Were we wrong not to go?’

‘On balance no, but balancing is hard. I couldn’t withhold my consent, when there is the coming child to consider, but to have attended when I’ve upheld the indissolubility of marriage all my life would have been hypocritical.’

‘And for me too. And yet …
Why
are these decisions so difficult?’

‘I suppose because God did not promise us an easy path out of Eden.’

‘What shall we do now, though? Surely this doesn’t mean we’ll never see them again? That’s too cruel, and you liked Mr Jones.’

‘
Like?
’ Laurence fired up. ‘How can I
like
a man who seduces an underage girl?’

‘She loves him. As Caroline loves Captain Rosier.’

‘That is not enough, and you agreed with me.’

‘And suppose I’ve changed my mind? Suppose it is enough for me? Answer me, Laurence,’ Elizabeth said sharply, when he did not speak. ‘War is cruel enough. Do we have to make it worse?’

‘We cannot sanction unions unblessed by God under the Rectory roof.’

‘Under their roof, then? Can we not at least visit them?’

Laurence did not reply immediately, and when he did his voice was drained. ‘I don’t know, and if God does, then He hasn’t yet shown me the answer.’

‘You are hard, Laurence.’

He raised his face full of agony to her. ‘Do you think this is easy for me?’

‘You really must do something about your clothes, Felicia.’ When her sister did not reply, Isabel added, ‘I’m not just being big-sister-ish, I
mean
it. Agnes can help.’ Then it dawned on her that Felicia was looking very peaky again. ‘Are you sickening for something?’ she demanded.

‘I’m just tired.’ Felicia sat in the chair by her bedroom window, while Isabel continued to rummage through her wardrobe, as self-appointed fashion expert of the household.

‘Nearly all of these could go straight to Mother’s glory-hole for needy causes.’

‘
I’m
a needy cause,’ Felicia answered, with a glimmer of humour.

Isabel took her seriously. ‘I can help you. After all, you can afford it with your wages. Why don’t we go on a shopping expedition to Tunbridge Wells?’ She grimaced, picking up an ancient dinner gown with distaste. ‘I remember this from before the war.’

‘Myrtle shortened it for me.’

‘I suppose you didn’t have the nerve to ask Agnes.’ Isabel inspected the hem. ‘She’d have consigned it to the ragbag straight away. Shall we go to the Wells?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ Isabel asked indignantly.

‘Partly because you are having a baby and partly because I might as well get them in London.’

‘
London?
’ Slowly it began to dawn on Isabel that something really was wrong.

‘I’ve been asked to leave Ashden Manor,’ Felicia continued.

Isabel stared at her in disbelief. ‘But they are so proud to have you.’

‘The Matron isn’t. It’s my fault, I suppose. Daniel warned me it would happen, if I wasn’t diplomatic. I’ve become so used to doing things my way, and though I tried to adapt I can’t have succeeded. Matron and I didn’t see eye to eye.’

‘Surely it will blow over.’

‘
It
may, but I won’t. I’ve decided what I’m going to do. If I stay here I shall feel honour-bound to help Mother with the agricultural rotas, not my forte at all. So I’m going to London to join Tilly at Red Cross HQ until I’m completely fit and then I’ll go back to the front.’

‘What?’ Isabel burst into tears. ‘Oh, but you can’t. I’ll be all on my own here again and with the baby coming.’

‘You’ll be fully occupied, Bella, and you’ll have Mother to help,’ Felicia said quietly.

‘No one calls me Bella but you,’ Isabel sobbed. ‘I don’t want to lose you now. Couldn’t you take over the cinema while I’m having the baby? You’d be much better than Beatrice Ryde.’

Felicia grinned. ‘No, darling, but thank you for your confidence in me. Anyway, you’re not losing me, I’m just
going to work away from the Rectory again. Trains aren’t being abolished. I can come to visit you. And when the war ends—’

‘What will you do then?’ Isabel interrupted crossly. ‘Assuming the Kaiser isn’t giving you your orders by then – sorry, defeatist talk. All the same, this is
May
, and we should be out making merry. Instead it’s the gloomiest month I can remember. The grass is green, the crops are growing, but on and on goes this beastly war.’ Isabel suddenly realised that Felicia had not yet answered her question. ‘Oh, of course, you’ll get married,’ she continued. ‘Will it be Daniel or Luke? Do tell.’

Felicia burst out laughing. ‘Even if I had plans to marry either of them, which I don’t, it still wouldn’t answer your question. Marriage isn’t the automatic alternative to giving up nursing.’

‘But if you went on nursing, you’d just have a series of matrons each more formidable than the last.’

‘Eventually I’d become a matron myself, you see. That’s a temptation.’

‘You’re joking,’ Isabel said suspiciously.

‘Perhaps.’

‘When are you leaving?’

‘I’ll stay here till Whitsun on 19th May. And don’t worry, I can always come down to deliver the baby if Mrs Hay isn’t about.’

Isabel laughed. ‘Now I know you’re joking. That’s something you
can’t
have had experience of on the front line.’

‘You are wrong,’ Felicia replied with dignity. ‘There is
a pair of twins called Felix and Felicie in a small French village who owe their existence to me.’

‘Was Luke or Daniel the father?’

‘Very amusing. I
delivered
them.’

A party would take her mind off the gloom everywhere. Margaret was pleased. Besides her, it would cheer the Rectory up. Easter had passed in a gloomy state, despite a bit of lamb on the table, but it didn’t seem the same. Easter had been on the early side this year, and thanks to the cold weather, there weren’t even enough primroses around for the primrose pie, and they’d had to make do with Sussex pudding. But Whitsun would be a different matter. As luck would have it, Miss Felicia had to be on duty even on her last day at Ashden Manor, and wouldn’t be home until seven o’clock, leaving precious little time for a family party, but nevertheless there would be a nice little gathering. Mrs Isabel, Mr Daniel, Lady Hunney, Lady Buckford, and the Rector’s brother and his wife who would be staying for the weekend, and there was talk of Master George being home on leave.

Nanny Oates would be hobbling over from her cottage, of that Margaret was quite sure. You wouldn’t catch Nanny missing out on her exalted place at the table. She and Nanny Oates had never got on, though they tolerated each other now.

Margaret had to admit she was a game old bird; she’d recovered from her stroke and had taken up selling her eggs again for the war effort. That wasn’t bad for an old lady in her eighties. She’d even volunteered to donate Queen Berengaria for the party – her chickens were all
named after queens of England – and Rector had accepted gratefully. Margaret kept to herself her suspicion that Berengaria’s laying days were over, and that was why Nanny was ready to sacrifice her. Lady Hunney was donating a nice fattened capon, and two bottles of wine from the cellar. Her ladyship liked Miss Felicia which was more than she did poor Miss Caroline, and Margaret often speculated as to whether she thought Miss Felicia (now she was famous) would make Mr Daniel a nice wife. Miss Felicia didn’t seem in a hurry to wed, though. Yes, a party was to be looked forward to, even though no party could be complete without Miss Caroline.