The Lost Soldier (10 page)

“Easier not at the station,” he had said. Sir George had, in a rare demonstration of affection, gripped his son in a bear-like hug, and then turned away to stare into the garden as Sarah hugged Freddie tightly in her own farewell. He was still alive, thank God, and kept in constant touch by letter, but they had not seen him since.

Sarah looked down at her aunt’s letter again. There was little in it to recommend the idea to her father, except the fact that it was clear that any help would be welcomed, was indeed desperately needed. That was the way she must try and persuade her father; she must convince him somehow that she was needed.

There was a light tap on the door and Molly came in.

“Excuse me, Miss Sarah, but Squire says are you coming to breakfast today?”

Sarah jumped to her feet saying, “Yes, yes of course.” She slipped the letter into the pocket of her skirt, and followed Molly downstairs to the dining room.

Sir George looked up from
The Times
when she came in and said rather irritably, “You’re very late this morning, Sarah.” He looked across at Molly who hovered by the door. “Off you go, Molly. Miss Sarah will serve herself.”

“Sorry, Father.” Sarah slid into her seat and reaching for the coffee pot, topped up his cup before filling her own.

“So, why are you so late?” he asked, putting down the paper and regarding her over his reading glasses.

Sarah felt the letter, stiff in her pocket, and deciding he had given her the opening she needed, plunged in.

“I had a letter this morning,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee and looking at her father across the rim of the cup.

“Did you? Who from?”

“Aunt Anne.”

“How is she?” Sir George enquired, about to retire behind the paper once more.

“Exhausted. The convent have opened their hospital to the allied wounded and they are completely swamped.” She had his interest now and she drew a deep breath and went on, “She says Reverend Mother says I can go out and help with the nursing. I can stay at the convent, so I’d be quite safe, and…”

“No, Sarah, I’m sorry. You can’t possibly go. You’re needed here.”

“No, father, I’m not. The cottage hospital can manage perfectly well without me…”

“But I cannot,” interrupted her father. “I need you here, to run this house. It’s your duty to look after your family at home.”

“You wouldn’t say that if I were a boy,” said Sarah, trying to sound reasonable. She knew that it would be disastrous for her to lose her temper. Once her father had taken a decision he seldom changed it; she needed time to work on him, to persuade him that going to nurse in France was the right thing for her to do.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But you’re not, and the duties of men and women are different. Yours, as my daughter, is to remain at home and keep that home running smoothly for your brother to return to.”

But supposing he doesn’t come home, she wanted to cry out. Supposing he gets wounded and doesn’t make it home because there aren’t enough people to tend the wounded? But she fought down that cry, knowing it was far too dramatic for her father and would simply anger him. Very calmly she said, “Our home would run very smoothly without me, Father. Mrs Norton is an excellent housekeeper, and already it is she who sees to everything. She only consults me as a matter of form, you know.” This was not quite true, and Sarah knew it. Mrs Norton could certainly run the house without aid from Sarah, but the housekeeper considered it a matter of great importance that Miss Sarah should be consulted in all things.

Miss Sarah would have her own house to run some day soon, Mrs Norton reasoned. She had no mother to teach her how and it was important she should know what went on below so that she could keep a firm hand on the helm, and take no nonsense from lazy servants.

Sir George grunted and turned back to his paper as if the matter were already closed.

“So, will you think about it, Father? Can we discuss it again at dinner?”

“My dear girl, there’s nothing to discuss. You can hardly imagine that I’d let a daughter of mine traipse off all alone to France.” He folded the newspaper and getting to his feet rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. “I’m out for lunch today, but will be home in time for dinner. Are you at the hospital?”

“Yes, I’ll be there all afternoon,” replied Sarah. She sighed as he left the room, then helped herself to a piece of toast and buttering it thoughtfully, she planned her campaign.

Molly came into the dining room in answer to the bell a few minutes later, and was surprised when Sarah pointed to a chair pulled clear of the table, facing her.

“Sit down, Molly,” Sarah said. “I want to talk to you.”

Molly perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair, and wondered what this was all about. “Yes, Miss Sarah?”

Sarah looked at her, taking in the pale face and the strands of dark hair which had escaped from Molly’s cap, the rather skinny childish body, but the strong arms. She smiled at her and said, “How would you like to go to France, Molly?”

Molly looked startled: “Beg pardon, miss?”

“I said, how would you like to go to France? Remember the other day I told you I wanted to go and help nurse the wounded soldiers in France? Well, I have contacted my aunt and she has told me I can go and work in the hospital run by her convent.”

Molly stared at Sarah, but said nothing, and Sarah went on, “They really are short of nurses out there, there are so many men wounded who need looking after, and I thought if I went, you might like to come with me.”

Molly looked alarmed. “But I don’t know nothing about nursing, Miss Sarah. I ain’t done them exams what you have.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that too much, Molly,” Sarah said reassuringly. “ I doubt if I’ll be doing very much actual nursing either, but what they need are extra hands to do the cleaning and scrubbing. You know in a hospital everything has to be kept scrupulously clean so that there’s no infection.”

Molly nodded dumbly, and Sarah laughed. “Let’s face it, Molly,” she said, “you’d be far better at that than I am, you’ve been taught how to do it.”

“I dunno, Miss Sarah,” Molly said dubiously shaking her head. “I dunno.”

“Are you worried about what your parents will say?” asked Sarah. “Do you think they’ll say you can’t go?”

Molly’s lips tightened a little and she said, “It ain’t got nothing to do with them.”

“Well, it might be, you know. You aren’t twenty-one yet, are you? How old are you?”

“Twenty, but my dad won’t say nothing if Squire says I can go. If Squire says I can go, my dad won’t complain.”

“Just think, Molly what an adventure it would be! We’d go across the channel in a ship and then my aunt has arranged for us to live in the convent and work in the hospital there.”

“In a convent, miss? With nuns?” Molly looked scandalised. “I don’t know about that.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of nuns, Molly,” Sarah said gently. “They are just women who’ve decided to work for God, and these ones do it by nursing.”

But Molly was highly suspicious. She didn’t like the sound of Catholics in general, and nuns… well. She said nothing and looked uncomfortable, suddenly remembering that Miss Sarah herself was a Catholic.

“I dunno, Miss Sarah,” she mumbled, and her eyes slipped away to her hands twisting in her lap.

Sarah looked at her and considered what to say next. She needed Molly to be willing to go with her to have any chance of her father allowing her to go. If Molly were with her, she would not be traipsing all over France on her own. It would be perfectly respectable for her to travel with her maid.

She lent forward and took Molly’s twisting hand in her own. Molly looked up startled, to find Sarah’s face close to hers.

“Molly, I need you to come with me. My father certainly won’t let me go on my own, and I know I have to go. Will you come with me? Will you come with me as a friend and companion? Molly, we’ve known each other all our lives, and you’ve been with us in the house for six years. Shall we go on this great adventure? If we were men, not women, we’d be there already, wouldn’t we? We’d be doing our bit like everyone else. Think about it, Molly. Think about it and tell me later on. But I have to have your answer before dinner this evening, when I talk to my father again. All right?”

Molly nodded dumbly, and getting up from the chair, bolted from the room.

Oh dear, thought Sarah with a sigh as she watched her go, I didn’t handle that very well. She left the table and whistling the dogs, set out for a walk to clear her mind and to decide exactly what she was going to do.

She spent the afternoon at the hospital, moving round the peaceful ward and following the quietly given instructions of the sister, and as she did so, she tried to imagine what it must be like in a hospital behind the lines, where there was no peace and quiet and where, it seemed, the wounded and dying lay side by side in rows on the floor.

Molly was waiting for her when she got home. As Sarah removed her hat the girl touched her arm shyly and said, “I’d like to go to France with you, Miss Sarah, if Squire says we can go.”

Sarah’s face broke into a dazzling smile as she said, “Molly, you’re wonderful! Are you sure?”

Molly nodded and answered with quiet determination, “Yes, Miss Sarah, I’m sure.”

“Have you mentioned the idea to anyone else?” Sarah asked anxiously.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well don’t, not for the moment anyway. I have to talk to my father again this evening. If he sends for you, what will you say?”

“I’ll say I want to go with you to France to help look after the wounded Tommies,” replied Molly.

“He can be a bit fierce,” Sarah warned her. “You won’t let him frighten you, will you?”

Molly shook her head. “No, Miss Sarah. The worst he can do is sack me, and then I can go anyway, can’t I?”

Sarah had never seen Molly looking so determined, so positive, quite unlike the timid girl who had answered her this morning, and she wondered what had caused the change of heart. Still, that didn’t matter now, and Molly’s attitude to being sacked which was most unexpected, actually fitted in with Sarah’s own plans if her father still refused her permission to go.

“I’m going up to dress for dinner now,” Sarah said. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll talk him round, it may just take a little time, that’s all.”

Sarah took extra care as she dressed for dinner. She knew her father liked her to look attractive, and though there were no guests coming that evening, he would appreciate the care she had taken, and she wanted him in a good mood.

She had decided to say nothing until they had eaten the pheasants she had instructed Mrs Norton to have braised with baby carrots and onions from the garden. It was one of Sir George’s favourite dishes.

“Father,” she began, “Pop, dear…”

At the use of her childish name for him, Sir George looked up and said wryly, “No, Sarah, I shouldn’t think so for a minute!”

Sarah laughed and he did too. “I know that wheedling tone of old,” he went on, “and I’m sure the answer is no.”

“Well,” agreed Sarah, “I know it was this morning, but we didn’t really get a chance to talk things through, to discuss things properly.”

Sir George put down his knife and fork and pushing his empty plate aside, looked at her across the table. Candles shone from the candelabrum in the centre, twinkling on the silver and glasses, and playing on the planes of his daughter’s face as she gazed at him earnestly. Flashes of red glinted in her smooth dark hair, and her dark eyes glowed in the candlelight, giving life and warmth to her face. He felt a surge of love shake him as he looked at her. She was so like her mother had been at the same age, the age when he, one of the most eligible bachelors in the area, had seen her in the County Hotel in Belcaster having tea with her mother, and instantly and irretrievably lost his heart.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said now. “You are not going to go to France alone to nurse in a convent hospital.”

Sarah gave him one of Caroline’s dazzling smiles. “No, indeed, Pop,” she agreed serenely, “Molly is going with me. So we shall be perfectly respectable, you see?”

“Molly?” repeated Sir George incredulously. “Molly is? Molly, my housemaid?”

Sarah nodded. “We will travel together to St Croix, and then we shall live in the convent and help in the hospital.”

“But Molly doesn’t know anything about nursing,” began Sir George.

“I know, but she won’t be doing any real nursing. Nor will I probably. We shall be another pair of hands to do what we can, to do what’s needed.” Sarah looked earnestly at her father. “They’re desperate out there, Pop,” she said quietly. “Read Aunt Anne’s letter.” She withdrew the letter from her bag and passed it across the table. Sir George took it and perused it in silence, then he looked up at her with pursed lips.

“This makes me less inclined than ever to let you go,” he said. “It would be no place for a girl, gently brought up like you.”

“Freddie was brought up in exactly the same way,” pointed out Sarah, “and he’s out there. Pop, just think what we should feel if Freddie were wounded and there was no one there to look after him; if everyone said, ‘It’s no place for a nice girl!’ Men are dying out in France. They’re dying because they need more nurses.”

Her father sighed. “I know,” he said flatly, “but it doesn’t have to be you. Suppose something happened to you? Have you thought of that? Suppose you were injured, or caught some awful disease and died? Freddie is there, doing his duty. It is your duty to stay here and look after his home.” He got to his feet and as he reached the door turned and cried out in anguish, “I don’t want to lose both of you.”

“If I were a man I’d have to be there and the risk would be the same.” Sarah said levelly, trying not to hear his anguish.

“But you’re not,” her father said firmly and left the room.

Sarah sat at the table staring at the door he had closed softly behind him, the very gentleness of its closing emphasising to her his restraint despite his anger, and for a moment or two she was tempted to give in and stay. Perhaps her place was with him. If she went, who would look after him? She looked up at the portrait of her mother looking serenely down from the wall, painted when she was little older than Sarah was now. Sarah’s memories of her mother were blurred at the edges. She had been young when her mother died trying to give birth to her younger brother, but she had always liked this picture of her, she seemed so calm, and despite the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, there was strength in her eyes and determination in the tilt of her chin.