Songs of Spring (17 page)

‘I don’t
want
to march, Caroline, but they say I must,’ Felicia said crossly.

Caroline was flying around her bedroom endeavouring to smarten up her WAAC uniform – why did it
have
to be such a drab colour? – and to get ready herself for the afternoon’s parade through London of women war workers. Felicia looked almost as wan as she did, thanks to the grey-green uniform and veil that the nurses at Endell Street Hospital wore. Felicia’s uniform had been a problem. In terms of formal training, she was an unqualified nurse; in experience, however, she was more than qualified, and Endell Street treated her as such.

‘I hate being forced to parade like a trophy,’ Felicia continued viciously.

‘You can’t blame them,’ Caroline pointed out. ‘There has to be a contingent of nurses from the hospital and with
your fame you have to be there clinking your medals.’

‘You’re used to marching in processions. I’m not.’

‘I helped organise one, three years ago,’ Caroline pointed out patiently. ‘I then marched with it. It poured with rain and my feet hurt. It doesn’t make me an expert on processions.’

‘Compared with me you are.’

‘You’re not usually so obstinate.’ Caroline struggled not to laugh at this new side of Felicia.

‘That’s because you haven’t seen much of me these last few years.’

‘No,’ Caroline agreed. It was hard to believe that her sisters had changed for ever. Once, she had supposed that when this war ended it would vanish, along with all its effects on people’s lives. It was plain now that would never happen.

‘I can’t stand it, you know, Caroline,’ Felicia said despondently. ‘I
hate
being told what to do. I shall
have
to go back to France, at least to the hospital. What I really want is to return to the front though.’

Caroline groaned. ‘The doctors, everyone, even Tilly, have said how stupid that would be.’

‘I don’t have to take notice of Tilly. I’m
free
there, Caroline. I can achieve good and see myself achieving it. At Endell Street, it’s the Manor Hospital all over again: rules, regulations, and neat white beds. Excellent, but it’s not me.’

Caroline struggled to subdue panic. She had to be careful, or she would just make Felicia more determined than ever, yet all she could think of was that Felicia might be killed, just when she’d thought her safe. George’s leaving again was bad enough, but he had no choice. So far he and
Felicia had led charmed lives, surviving against the odds. How much longer could that luck hold?

‘Think what it would mean to Father and Mother.’ Caroline wanted to say, ‘think what it would mean to
me
,’ but she could not.

‘I can’t. I have to do what I do best.’

For the first time that she could remember, Caroline’s patience with her sister snapped. ‘
Why?
What makes
you
so privileged, Felicia? We’d all like to do what we do best, for heaven’s sake, but this is war, and we can’t. We’re all tiny spokes in a huge wheel, until it’s over. After that, we
might
have the privilege of doing what we like.’

Felicia stared at her in amazement at this outburst. ‘Very well, put it this way. I can do
the
best job out there. Save more lives.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’ Caroline retaliated furiously. ‘How can
you
compare what effect you are having on the seriously wounded patients in Endell Street with your work at the front? You’re not God. You don’t seem to realise you’re famous, Felicia, and the hospital quite rightly want to use the fact to help get these men well. There are other women, fitter than you, working at the front-line hospitals and running advanced dressing posts.
Why
do you want to go back so much? Vanity? Or’ – a shot in the dark – ‘as an escape?’

Felicia was roused too. ‘Escape from what, might I ask?’

‘You know very well. From your own problems. What to do when the war ends, Luke or Daniel? We’ve all got problems, sister dear. Myself and Yves, Mother and Father, all of us. Stop being so selfish, and take Tilly’s advice to
stay here.
And
mine,’ she added for good measure.

Felicia rose to her feet, a red spot of anger on each cheekbone. ‘I’ll make my own way to Hyde Park.’ With that, she marched out of the flat.

Ruefully, Caroline examined her conscience, but to her surprise for once she found it reasonably clear.

Hyde Park was the gathering point for the parade, in which each main category of worker was represented, including VADs, the Women’s Legion, the WRNS, the Land Girls, the Forestry girls, munitions workers, and of course the WAACs of which she was one. Looking at the vast hordes milling into order under a mercifully sunny sky, Caroline thought about the 1915 demonstration which she had helped to organise. They had been marching to demand the right to work, and today’s parade was proof of its success. She felt humbly proud, and sorry that Felicia did not share her mood. There was no hope of finding her here, and she did not try.

Yves had been occupied during the last few days with preparations – mostly shrouded in deep secrecy – for King Albert’s visit to Britain, which would begin on 5th July, in six days’ time. Four days after that, he pointed out, His Majesty would be reviewing the fleet in the Firth of Forth, including a visit to an American battleship operating with the British squadron, and before and after that he would be at Buckingham Palace with the King and Queen of England. His liaison officer was, therefore, busy, he replied when yesterday she complained mildly of never seeing him.

‘I’m going to see the King too,’ she had told him amicably.

‘
You?
’ That had shaken him.

‘Yes, me,’ she replied with dignity. ‘You don’t object, do you?’

He looked at her suspiciously. ‘A personal interview?’

‘Yes. Myself and a hundred thousand other women packed in the quadrangle of the Palace. Still,’ she added, laughing, ‘the King is coming to speak to us, and the Queen too if we’re lucky.’

‘Naturally. Miss Caroline Lilley is a famous young lady, as well as beautiful and indispensable to a humble Belgian soldier.’

Indispensable was an unfortunate word and it hung heavily between them. ‘At work, perhaps,’ she had answered, to which Yves had no reply.

After the parade finished, Caroline felt elated. She was but one of the hundreds of thousands of tiny spokes that turned the war, and she loved it. She reproved herself for self-righteousness, but it was difficult not to feel that way while the King was praising all they’d achieved. That wasn’t his reaction when that poor debutante had pleaded for the vote at his feet four years ago.

That evening she was dining at Simon’s house with Tilly, Penelope and Felicia – or so she had thought. Unfortunately, Felicia had telephoned, she was informed on arrival, that she wasn’t free to come. Was there any significance in her choice of words? Caroline wondered somewhat guiltily. Tilly, who was now driving for the FANYs in London, which in effect meant for the Red Cross, told her not to worry about it. Felicia was Felicia, and had a marked objection to being told what to do, as Tilly herself had found. Luckily, Tilly could outflank even Felicia’s obstinacy, but Caroline
hadn’t yet
learnt
the knack. Penelope had followed Tilly into the FANYs with great glee, tired, she had proclaimed, of handing out teacups at canteens and food kitchens.

Simon observed: ‘She should be driving for the Germans. It would do more to help the war effort than anything else I can think of.’

‘Stop being so
ancient
, Father,’ Penelope countered blithely. ‘Just because you drive at five miles an hour and would prefer a man walking with a red flag in front of you, you think the rest of the world should stand still with you.’

‘She’s right, Simon,’ Tilly agreed. ‘That Daimler of yours is like a greyhound on a lead.’

‘I would point out,’ Simon replied mildly, ‘that we have to conserve what petrol we have.’

‘Remember that Austin of yours,’ Caroline broke in hastily, ‘is still stored at Ashden.’

‘I remember it with much affection, especially when I came to Ashden after leaving prison. Has Laurence forgiven me yet for enticing you into the suffragettes and fleeing the nest?’

‘Poor Father. Things changed so fast around him, he couldn’t keep up. And now’ – Caroline involuntarily choked with grief – ‘this.’

Penny put her hand out to cover Caroline’s, and she managed to continue: ‘I think if Father had seen the procession this afternoon, even he would concede that it had all been worthwhile – though I shouldn’t mention your burning churches for a few years yet, Tilly.’ She fell silent again since even the effort at lightheartedness seemed wrong while grief raged so strongly.

‘How’s Frank Eliot?’ Penny asked hastily, to change the subject.

‘Recovering well.’ Caroline grasped her offered straw. ‘It’s all working out splendidly. In fact – hold on to your tin hat, Tilly, but he’s going to run the cinema now that Swinford-Browne has agreed to open it.’

‘Dear William,’ Tilly observed wryly. He was an old enemy of hers.

‘He’s not so bad as I thought once. Isabel’s death has hit him hard.’

‘You mean his putative grandson’s death has hit him hard. The heir,’ Tilly said scathingly.

‘Perhaps,’ Caroline answered, somewhat shocked. ‘Who can tell?’ She reminded herself that Tilly had not seen with her own eyes what war had done to Ashden, and to its people, or she would not speak so. ‘And people’ included even Swinford-Browne.

‘Tilly, shut up,’ Penelope interjected.

‘Peace, Penny,’ her father said. ‘I’m still hoping that Tilly will become your stepmother.’

‘Perish the thought,’ Tilly answered decidedly. ‘At least, there would have to be strict rules worked out, and one of them will be that I won’t be Aunt Tilly, Mother Tilly, Stepmother Tilly—’

‘Lady Matilda?’ Penny laughed.

‘And especially not Matilda.’

Simon was looking at Tilly as if he couldn’t believe his ears at her answer. ‘It takes a lot for a diplomat to become overexcited,’ he said carefully, ‘but do I take it, Tilly, that you are at last seriously considering my offer?’

Fascinated, Caroline held her breath. Simon was popular at the Rectory, and fingers were crossed that he and Tilly would indeed marry.

‘It’s always been seriously considered, Simon,’ Tilly answered quietly. ‘The question is what’s best to do—’

‘When the war ends,’ Simon finished for her. ‘You and Felicia both.’

‘Perhaps I caught the idea from her,’ Tilly said. ‘She believes no one can guess while the war is still on what the future holds. In her case, the question might be would she want to bring children into a world in which they could not live freely. In my case—’

‘You have dear little me,’ Penny said gravely. ‘Not to mention James.’ Her brother had been in the East throughout the war.

‘I had a row with Felicia today about that,’ Caroline confessed ruefully. ‘I suspect that’s why she’s not here tonight. She still wants to go back to France, and probably the front despite your advice, Tilly. She’s tired of Endell Street discipline.’

‘Ah.’ Tilly looked pensive. ‘As I said earlier, Felicia can be obstinate.’

‘You both can,’ Simon pointed out. ‘That’s why you achieved what you did.’

‘Could you talk to her again, Tilly?’ Caroline pleaded. ‘I’ve tried all the arguments I can think of: her health, Mother and Father, and the best for the war effort.’

Tilly thought for a moment. ‘You could try saying “Slug” to her.’

‘What or who is that?’ Caroline was suspicious.

‘She’ll know what it means.’

‘Anyway,’ Penelope said brightly, changing the subject yet again. Caroline began to suspect that Penelope must get bored with talk of Felicia. ‘Frank’s going to run the cinema. That’s good, but what will happen when the war finishes?’

‘What do you mean?’ Caroline asked. ‘The cinema won’t close. There’ll be all the more need for it, whatever happens.’

‘Frank might leave the village though.’

Caroline suddenly realised what she meant. If Rudolf came back from Germany would Lizzie choose Frank or him? Still, that wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t Frank Penelope was interested in, but the cinema.

‘If he leaves, I could do it myself after the war. It will give me something to do, and Isabel would have loved the idea. Yes’ – she warmed to the idea – ‘I could do it.’

‘Won’t you want to stay in London?’

‘Not without …’ Yves’ name choked in her throat, as she stared miserably at the pudding.

Simon rescued her. ‘Take your time to think about it, Caroline. You’ve moved a long way from the Rectory, and not only physically. There’ll be opportunities in London, even by staying on where you work now.’

‘No. I
couldn’t
.’

‘That’s probably what Felicia’s saying,’ Tilly observed.

‘I can’t think
why
you’re my favourite aunt,’ Caroline snarled.

Two days later, she met Felicia for dinner at the Trocadero. Felicia was in a penitent mood – though only as far as her anger was concerned. ‘I still intend to leave,’ she told Caroline blithely.

‘Aunt Tilly says “Slug”.’

Felicia stared at her, suddenly silent.

‘She said,’ Caroline added, ‘you’d know what she meant.’

‘Hell and Tommy,’ her normally reserved sister swore. ‘Tell Tilly I remember a thing or two as well. No, on second thoughts I’ll tell her myself.’

Whatever ‘Slug’ meant, it worked, for Felicia telephoned her the next day to say she’d be remaining at her post in Endell Street.

The first of July and so it was over a year now since Fred had died. True, the Germans hadn’t won yet, but nor had we. Time hadn’t made it much easier. The loss of poor Mrs Isabel had brought it all back, and now there were two to mourn for. Margaret even mourned for her old enemy Nanny Oates, who’d been as much a part of the Rectory as she and Percy. Nanny Oates had seen Mrs Isabel into this life, and had gone out with her too. It was a weary old world, and no mistake.

It was a weary old war as well. Ludendorff would be sure to have another push soon, so Master George said. ‘You push right back, Master George,’ she’d replied mechanically. It was all she could manage, for with his leaving to return to France the last spark of life was going, from the family side of the house at least. To compensate – if that’s what it was – there was a new baby on the service side of the house, and that was taking any energy she had and more. Agnes had still not recovered all her strength following what had been a difficult birth. The extra work
included Elizabeth Agnes, and the demands of the new baby.