Time for Silence

The Hero

THE SPRING HAD COME and little seemed to have changed. It would be two years in August since the war had started, and those who had prophesied that it would not last six months were silent. Even the most optimistic no longer believed that the end was in sight.

I had had two letters from Robert, heavily censored, and I had no idea where he was except that it was “somewhere in France.” He was often in my thoughts, and so was Marcus. I think I was more anxious about Robert, who was out there in acute danger. Marcus at least was safe in a hospital bed, although he must have been badly wounded to have been there so long.

I had seen Annabelinda at infrequent intervals. She and her mother came to London and stayed at our house, even though we were at Marchlands.

It was May—a beautiful month, I had always thought—on the brink of summer, the days not yet too hot, and the hedges were white with wild parsley and stitchwort. I took long walks in the forest. It was quiet, just as it had been when William the Conqueror and Henry VIII had hunted there.

Then I thought of that terrible battlefield where Robert would be. I dreamed about him in the trenches. I could see him with that rather deprecating grin, and I knew I could not bear it if he did not come back. What I wanted to hear more than anything was that he was coming home on one of the troopships…perhaps slightly wounded, enough to keep him with us…as Marcus was.

We saw little of Uncle Gerald. He was in France now. People were looking grim. There was no longer any excitement about the war—except for people like Charles, whose ideas of it were far from reality.

Annabelinda came to Marchlands with her mother.

Aunt Belinda was very effusive. She was involved in all sorts of charities, but knowing Aunt Belinda, I guessed that her main task would be delegation. She would arrange for others to do the work and take credit for it when it was done.

Perhaps I was unfair in my judgment and exaggerated a little, but when I saw how my mother worked, I did feel a little impatient with the Aunt Belindas and Annabelindas of this world.

“Dear Lucie,” gushed Aunt Belinda. “So busy with all this wonderful work. You’ll be decorated before the war’s over, I’m sure. And you deserve it, dear.”

“I am rewarded without that,” my mother replied. “It is a joy when you see these men getting better. And we are lucky to have the forest so close.”

Annabelinda and I rode through the trees. She was rather disgruntled.

“I’ve had enough of this wretched war,” she said.

“Do you think you are the only one?” I asked.

“Certainly I don’t. That’s why someone should put a stop to it. Do you realize I am nearly nineteen years old?”

“Well, I suppose you must be. I shall be seventeen in September.”

“We’re getting old. If this miserable war goes on for another two years…just think. What about us?”

I laughed at her.

“What’s amusing?” she demanded.

“I was just thinking about all those men who are out there fighting. Your own brother, for instance. And you ask, what about us!”

“Oh, Robert will be all right. He always has been.”

“This is war!”

“Don’t I know it! I should have had a season by now.”

“That really is world-shattering.”

“Don’t try to be a cynic. You’re not clever enough for it. It’s so boring in the country. You must find it so, too. What do you do all day? Old Carruthers must be a bit of a hard taskmistress.”

“We get on well. I enjoy our lessons.”

“You would. You were always a bit of a swot.”

“You were never interested in anything but yourself. Edward is a lot of fun. You might have shared in that.”

She flushed. “You are a beast, Lucinda.”

“You’re so unnatural.”

“It isn’t what I want to be, but what can I do?”

“Being you…only what you do, I suppose. I’m not complaining. He’s a darling. Andrée and I spend a good deal of time with him, so you see, we are not bored. Then I do a little in the hospital.”

“What sort of thing?”

“I go round and talk to some of them…those who are well enough to talk. Actually, we don’t have a lot of bad cases here. I think they consider we are more of a convalescent home.”

“That sounds interesting. As a matter of fact, it’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I thought I might come and help a bit.”

“I can’t quite see you…”

“I’m bright and amusing. I could help with the patients and do anything else that had to be done. One wants to do one’s share. My mother was saying I ought to do something. I help her a lot with her charities and things. I’m quite good at it. But I should like to do more. My mother is talking to yours about my coming here for a while to help.”

“You could train as a nurse.”

She looked at me in horror. “That would take ages.”

“There are places you can go to for a period.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “The war would be over before I could be of any use. I want just to come and help. And what about you? You’re not a trained nurse.”

“No, but then this is my home and I can be called on at any time.”

“Well, it’s my home in a way. We’re like a family. Your mother and my mother…their upbringing and all that. They were in the same nursery together.”

“I know. You’d find the country boring.”

“You’re trying to put me off. Don’t think I don’t know why.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were always jealous of me…and Marcus.”

“Jealous of you? Why?”

“Because he was more attracted to me than to you. I know you thought he liked you at one time. He’s like that with every girl. It’s just his way. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“What’s that got to do with your coming here?”

She smiled slyly. “He’ll be ever so pleased when he finds I’m here,” she said.

I still said nothing.

“I’ve been to see him in that hospital,” she went on. “My mother and I went. It was so interesting. Poor Marcus! He really did get it, didn’t he? That ghastly place, Gallipoli. And it was all a mistake. They should never have gone there. Well, he’s home now. They wouldn’t let him out of the hospital. And they won’t for another month, he thinks. He says he’s looking forward to his convalescence…here.”

“I now see the reason for your sudden desire to serve your country, which really means serving your own ends.”

“Don’t be so pompous! Of course, Marcus is an added attraction, but I have been thinking for a long time that I should like to come here. I shall be very good at helping to enliven the days of those poor soldiers. They’ve had such a miserable time in the trenches and everywhere. So I shall be coming to help in the good work. I shall go back to London to do some shopping and get myself ready. Then I shall descend on you.”

I was silent. I could imagine her with those men who were getting better and were ready to indulge in a little recreation, which, with Annabelinda, would mean flirtation. There was no doubt that they would enjoy her company.

It was two weeks later that she arrived. I have to admit that she was an immediate success with the men—less so with the staff.

My mother talked about her to me when we were alone.

“She reminds me so much of her mother. At times I imagine I am eighteen again and she is Belinda. They are so animated…vital…both of them. That is their great attraction, though they both have a rather unusual kind of beauty. I think it is the French in them. I can see a good deal of Jean Pascal Bourdon there. I wonder how he is getting on? I suppose he could have got away, but he is the typical French aristocrat; he would not desert his country. And I should imagine he will be wily enough to get by. About Annabelinda. I think, on the whole, she’s an asset. I saw her wheeling out Captain Gregory. He is so depressed about his disability. I don’t think he will ever be any better. She was doing her usual line of innocent flirtation, and for the first time I saw him actually smile.”

“She’s certainly good in that respect,” I said.

“One can’t help liking her. It was the same with her mother. They are born so naively selfish.”

There was still no news of Marcus. He must have been four months in that hospital.

We had had some startling news. On the fifth of June, Lord Kitchener was on his way to a meeting with the Russians, when the Hampshire, the ship on which he was sailing, was struck by a German mine, and he was drowned.

England was plunged into mourning. And still the war went on.

To cheer us came news of Marcus’s imminent arrival. He was brought in an army vehicle and was able to walk with a cane, though with some difficulty.

We were all waiting to greet him.

He looked a little thin, slightly paler, but he was as full of life as ever.

He took my hand and gazed at me with such delight that I felt my spirits rising.

Then he saw Annabelinda. “And Miss Annabelinda, too!” he exclaimed. “A double blessing! How fortunate! Mrs. Greenham…and Miss Carruthers! And the capable Mademoiselle Latour. And where is Master Edward?”

“He’s sleeping at the moment,” said Andrée.

“Our band of adventurers! Mrs. Greenham, I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to come.”

“We have all been very impatient for your arrival and quite put out because it took so long,” said my mother.

So there he was, installed at Marchlands. Immediately the place seemed different—and I was not the only one who felt this.

He was put into a small ward with three other officers. One of the assets of Marchlands was that we had several of these small wards. It meant that instead of the long rooms with rows of beds, such as are found in most hospitals, we had these cozy apartments, which before had been large, airy bedrooms.

The three men with Marcus were a middle-aged major, a captain of about thirty and a young lieutenant. My mother had said they would be the sort who would get on well together.

It soon became clear that Marcus was a welcome newcomer. We often heard laughter coming from the ward, and the nurses vied with each other for the pleasure of looking after that particular quartet.

Annabelinda took charge of them. She referred to theirs as her ward, and she was constantly in and out. Of course, she was a favorite with the men.

I could not help but be a little put out. For so long I had looked forward to Marcus’s arrival, and now it was like an anticlimax.

Marcus could walk out into the garden and he used to like to sit there under the sycamore tree. I was very rarely there with him alone. If I did manage it, in a few minutes Annabelinda would be there.

I was not sure whether he resented this as I did. He gave no sign of doing so—but then he would not.

Annabelinda would chatter away, asking questions about the fighting in Gallipoli, and not listening to the answers. She said how wonderful it was to feel one was doing something toward the progress of victory, and how much she admired the brave men who were fighting for the cause. Then we would talk about that journey we had all made together; we would remember little incidents which had seemed far from funny at the time and now seemed quite hilarious.

Marcus frequently told us how delighted he was to be at Marchlands.

“I used to lie in my narrow hospital bed and wonder if I was ever going to get here,” he said. “The weeks went on and on and they would not let me go.”

“You have been very ill, Marcus,” I said.

“Oh, not really. It was just that stubborn doctor. The more eager I was to go, the more determined he seemed to be to keep me.”

“You are so brave,” said Annabelinda. “You make light of your wounds. And if you are glad to be here, we are twice as glad to have you in our clutches.”

“This is where I would rather be than anywhere else.”

“I am so pleased,” said Annabelinda, looking at him earnestly, “that they can’t take you away from us…not yet anyway. We shall insist on keeping you until this silly old war is over.”

“You are too good to me,” he told her.

“You will see how good I can be,” she said, her eyes full of promise.

Then one day I found him alone under the sycamore tree.

“This is wonderful,” he exclaimed. “I hardly ever see you alone.”

“You always seem quite happy.”

“I’m happier at this moment.”

“You always say the things people want to hear. Do you really mean them?”

He put his hand over mine. “Not always, but at this moment, yes.”

I laughed. “Flattery comes as easily to you as breathing.”

“Well, it pleases people…and what’s wrong with that?”

“But if you don’t mean it…”

“It serves a purpose. As I said, it pleases people. You would not want me to go around displeasing them, would you?”

“That’s very laudable, but in time, of course, people will realize you don’t mean what you say.”

“Only the wise ones…like you. Most lap it up. It’s what they want to hear, so why not give it to them? But I assure you, I will be absolutely truthful with you. You are so astute that it would be pointless to be otherwise. At this moment, I am happy to see you and to have you to myself, and to see that you are growing up into a very attractive young lady. You were so young when we first met.”

“I’m nearly two years older now.”

“About to reach the magic age. But don’t grow up too soon, will you?”

“I thought you were urging me to.”

“I want you to keep that bloom of innocence. Sweet sixteen, they say, don’t they? How right they are! Don’t learn about the wicked ways of the world too soon, will you?”

“I think I have learned quite a lot about them in the last two years.”

“But it hasn’t spoiled you. You still have that adorable innocence. You will soon be seventeen. When is your birthday?”

“In September. The first.”

“Almost three months away.”

“I wonder if you will still be here?”

“I am going to be. If necessary I shall malinger. I shall pull the wool over Dr. Egerton’s eyes and make him insist on my remaining here.”

“But surely you will have recovered by then?”

He shrugged his shoulders and touched his chest. “That bullet did something. The old leg might get back to something like normal. I believe they are not much concerned with that I don’t think it would qualify me to be here. But I have to take care of this other thing.”

“I am glad in a way that you won’t be able to go to the front.”

“You would mind very much if I did?”

“Of course. I thought a great deal about you when you were in Gallipoli.”

“I wish I’d known.”

“But you must have guessed. We were all thinking of you…you and Uncle Gerald.”

“It’s your thinking of me that interests me.”

We were silent for a few moments, then I said, “You know a great deal about me and my family. I know little about you and yours.”

“There is not a great deal to know. I have been in the army from the time I was eighteen. Destined for it, you know. It’s all tradition in my family.”

“Uncle Gerald did say something about your coming from an ancient family.”

“We all come from ancient families. Heaven knows how far our ancestors go back…to the days when they were all living in trees or caves perhaps.”

“The difference is that you know who your family was and what they were doing hundreds of years ago. You’re from one of those families who…”

“Came over with the Conqueror? That’s what you mean, is it? Oh, I daresay. There was always a lot of pride in the family…all that sort of thing.”

“Tradition,” I supplied.

“That’s it. The family has been doing certain things for centuries. We have to remember that and go on doing them. The second son always goes into the army. The first, of course, runs the estate. The third goes into politics, and if there is a fourth, the poor devil is destined for the Church. The idea in the past was to have the family represented in all the influential fields. Thus we played our part in governing the country. What was done in the sixteenth century must be done in the twentieth.”

“And do you all meekly obey?”

“There have been rebels. Last century one went into business. Unheard of! He made a fortune, bolstered up the crumbling ancestral home and set the family on its feet. But that did not stop them from thinking there was something shameful about his life.”

“Well, at least you have done your duty and haven’t become a black sheep.”

“But not an entirely white one either.”

“I should have thought they would be proud of you.”

“No. I should have become a field marshal, or at least a colonel by now. I haven’t a hope. Wars are the time for promotion. But I’m knocked out of it, as it were.”

“Won’t the family recognize that?”

“Oh, yes, but it doesn’t really count. I should at least have got a medal…preferably the Victoria Cross.”

“Poor Marcus! Perhaps it would have been better to have been born into an ordinary family like mine.”

“Yours is far from ordinary. Consider your mother. Turning her home into a hospital!”

“Do you feel restricted, having to conform to such high standards?” I asked.

“No. Because I don’t always. One gets accustomed to compromise. That is our secret motto. As long as it all looks well, that’s all that matters.”

“But you went into the army.”

“It suited me in a way. I was too reckless at eighteen to have any ambitions of my own.”

“And now…?”

“Oh, I shall be a good Merrivale to the end of my days. I shall stay in the army until I retire…then possibly settle on the estate. There’s a fine old house…not quite so imposing as the ancestral home, but it has been used by one of the younger sons through the ages. My uncle who lived there died recently and his son is living there now. I believe he has plans to move to one of the family’s smaller estates up north sometime. Then that house could be mine…when I retire from the army. I could settle down there and give my brother a hand with the estate. That life would suit me.”

“So you will do your duty to the family.”

“I shall marry and settle. I must marry before I am thirty.”

“Is that a family law?”

“It’s expected of us. Sons should have settled by the time they are thirty and begin to replenish the earth…or shall we say, the family. Time is running out for me. Do you know I am twenty-eight?”

“Is that really so?”

“Quite old, compared with you.”

“You will never be old.”

“Ah. Who is flattering now?”

“If it is the truth, it is not flattering, is it?”

“But you were saying this to please me.”

“I was merely saying what I think.”

“Oh, hello…there you are.” Annabelinda was coming toward us.

“Marcus,” she went on. “How long have you been sitting there? I’m not sure that you should. There’s quite a chill in the air.”

“Ah,” said Marcus. “The fair Annabelinda! Have you come to join us?”

“I have brought your jacket.” She put it around his shoulders. “I saw you from one of the windows and I thought you needed it.”

“How I love to be pampered!”

“I was looking for Lucinda, actually,” said Annabelinda. “Your mother was asking for you a little while ago. I thought you might be somewhere in the garden.”

“I’ll go and see what she wants,” I said. Marcus raised his eyebrows into an expression of resignation.

“Good-bye for now,” I added.

When I reached the house, I looked back. Annabelinda was sitting close to him on the seat and they were laughing together.

I found my mother.

“Did you want me?” I asked.

“Well, not especially, but now you’re here, you might take these towels along to Sister Burroughs.”

A few days later, after we had closed our books for the morning, Miss Carruthers said, “Lucinda, I have something to tell you. You will be the first to know.”

I waited expectantly.

“You are aware that your seventeenth birthday is coming up soon.”

“The first of September.”

“Exactly. You will then not really be in need of a governess.”

“Has my mother said anything about that?”

“No. But it is the case, is it not?”

“I suppose so. But I hope…well, my mother always said how useful you are in the hospital. She says she does not know what she would do without all her helpers.”

“The fact is I am going to be married.”

“Miss Carruthers!”

She glanced down, smiling. It was hard to imagine Miss Carruthers coy, but that was how she seemed at that moment.

“Dr. Egerton has asked me to marry him.”

“Congratulations! I am so pleased. He is such a nice man.”

“I think so,” said Miss Carruthers. “We got on well from the first, and now…he has asked me.”

I thought of what I had heard of Dr. Egerton. His wife had died six years before. He must be about forty. He had a son and daughter, both married and not living at home. I thought it sounded ideal. My first thought was, now she will never have to go to that cousin. How wonderful for her!

She clearly thought so, too.

“I have told David…Dr. Egerton…that I shall not leave my post until you are seventeen.”

“Oh, you must not think of me. I am as near seventeen as is necessary, and in any case, it will soon be the school holidays.”

“Dr. Egerton understands. We are going to make the announcement on your seventeenth birthday. We shall be married in October. If your mother will allow me to stay here until then.”

“But of course! I’m so surprised. I think it is wonderful. I am so pleased about it.”

I threw my arms around her and hugged her.

“Oh, Lucinda.” She laughed indulgently. “You are so exuberant. We have been through a great deal together, and I wanted you to be the first one to know. Now I shall tell your mother.”

“She will be so happy for you. And you can continue to help in the hospital. Won’t that be marvelous! Mrs. Egerton!” I added slowly, savoring it.

“You are quite ridiculous,” said Miss Carruthers happily. “But it does seem to have worked out very well.”

She looked different. There was a radiance about her. Was it due to the fact that she was in love, or was it the happiness which came from the knowledge that her future was secure? A governess’s life was so precarious.

I sat with her for a while and we talked about how she and Dr. Egerton had become good friends right from the beginning.

“Of course, we met now and then in the hospital,” she said. “And often we would walk in the garden. It grew from that.”

“I think it is wonderful,” I told her.

“And when you realize that if this terrible war had not come upon us…if we had not had to leave the school in such a hurry…if I had left with some of the other teachers…”

“But you did not. I remember you said you would not leave until all the English girls had got away.”

“And your mother was so good. It was a chain of events with chance playing a big part.”

“Doesn’t it show that things are not all bad? Something good can come out of the worst. Perhaps we should always remember that.”

“I think it is something I shall remember all my life,” said Miss Carruthers.

My mother was delighted to hear the news.

“I have thought a lot about Miss Carruthers,” she said. “I knew she would be wondering how much longer you would need her. I was going to ask her to stay on and help in the hospital. I suppose she will do that now, Dr. Egerton being so closely involved. This is the best thing that could have happened for them both. I’ve always thought Dr. Egerton is one of those men who needs a wife. He has been a little lost since Mary went. So I am very pleased about this, and Miss Carruthers is like a different person. She always had that concern about the future. So many governesses do. And we don’t have to worry about you, now that you are just on seventeen. And Charles is all right going to the rectory for lessons every day. Of course, we shall have to think about his going away to school one day, but we can shelve that for a while. I don’t want him to go away while we’re at war. I want you all at hand. I don’t like it when your father is in London, but at least he is here most weekends.”

About this time there was a subtle change in Marcus’s attitude toward me. At first I thought I had imagined it, but later it seemed more marked.

Annabelinda was constantly in his company, and I hardly ever saw him alone. I could not blame her for this entirely, although she contributed to it considerably.

If he went to sit on the seat under the sycamore tree, Annabelinda was always with him. At first I used to join them, until I had a distinct feeling that I was in the way. I must say that feeling was engendered by Annabelinda, never by him. He was as gracious and courtly as ever, except that I sensed a certain superficiality in his manner.

During that August, my mother said, “It will be your birthday soon. I can’t believe it is seventeen years since you came into the world. What a wonderful day that was! I am determined to do something to celebrate. We’ll have a party. It will cheer everyone up. We need cheering up in these gloomy days. The news doesn’t get any better, does it?”

She was right. Everyone was excited by the prospect of a party.

At first we thought that if it were a fine day we would have it on the lawn. We would have a buffet for all those who were mobile, but we must not forget those who were not.

This idea was abandoned, for so many would be too ill to be moved and we did not want to accentuate their disability by having two parties. Instead we would have them brought down to the main hall and there we would have a concert. We could use the dais at one end for a stage. It would be all local talent. Anyone of the staff and patients who were well enough should perform.

“You are going to a good deal of trouble,” I told my mother.

“My dear Lucinda, it is your birthday, and seventeen is like a milestone. It should be celebrated in style. Your father will have to be here for it. Everyone must know what a special occasion it is.”

They were all talking about the birthday, the highlight of which was the concert. There were serious discussions about what the performers would do.

“Anyone would think this was Drury Lane,” said Mrs. Grey, who, I was sure, had no idea what it was like at Drury Lane. But we all understood what she meant.

The day arrived. There were well-wishers with gifts, and everyone behaved as though I had done something very clever in having lived for seventeen years.

The concert was to start at two-thirty that afternoon.

In the morning I escaped to the garden. I kept thinking of my conversation with Marcus and how he had continually referred to my seventeenth birthday. The fact was I had begun to believe he was in love with me and that thought had excited me tremendously. I had hardly admitted it to myself, but I had the idea firmly fixed in my mind that my seventeenth birthday would be some landmark in our relationship)—which after all was what he had implied.

Lately I had begun to doubt this, but the thought would not go away.

I blamed Annabelinda. She was so determined to be with him and exclude me. I told myself he did not wish it, but was too polite to tell her to go away. I clung to this belief and tried to stifle my doubts.

I saw him in the garden then and I was happy because I had the impression that he was looking for me.

He was walking more easily now. In fact, my mother had said only yesterday that Dr. Egerton had told her Marcus might well be released from the hospital in a week or so.

He still used a cane but moved with apparent ease.

“Hello, Marcus,” I called.

He stopped. “Lucinda! The birthday lady. Congratulations! So, at last you have made it.”

“It was rather inevitable.”

“And there are such celebrations! You must be very proud.”

“Oh…that is all due to my mother. She is determined that all shall be aware of my great age.”

“And rightly so.”

“My mother was saying that you might be discharged from the hospital soon.”

“I cannot malinger much longer.”

“You know very well you have not been malingering.”

“Well, perhaps not. But I am a bit of an old crock, you know.”

“They won’t send you…?”

“To the front line? Not for some time. Actually, I am going to the War Office for a while. It will be something for me to do.”

“That will be interesting.”

He grimaced. We passed the seat and I said, “Would you like to sit down?”

“Doctor’s orders that I should exercise. Actually, I should be rehearsing.”

“Oh, are you performing this afternoon?”

“Yes, I’ve been roped in.”

“What are you doing?”

“ ‘On the Road to Mandalay.’ ”

“Do you add a good voice to your many accomplishments?”

“I am not sure of the accomplishments. I think some would question that I have any. The voice is, well…just a voice. It makes a noise. That’s all.”

“How modest you are!”

“Not at all. I should never have allowed myself to be persuaded. You wait until you hear my performance. It’s a very popular song, so perhaps I’ll get by.”

I guessed it would not be long before Annabelinda discovered that we were together—and I was right.

She came hurrying out.

“Oh, there you are, Marcus. Dr. Egerton told you not to tire yourself.”

“On the contrary, he told me to take exercise.”

“He meant in moderation.”

“I have been very moderate.”

“Isn’t it exciting about the concert? I am longing to hear ‘Mandalay.’ ”

“I think I shall plead stage fright.”

“Nobody would believe you,” I said. “I am sure it will be a great success. They are not expecting Caruso.”

“I imagine,” added Annabelinda, “that the rest of them will be very amateurish. You will be the star turn, Marcus.”

“My stage fright increases with every moment. You must not have too high an opinion of me, my dear Annabelinda.”

“I shall form my own opinions, Marcus.”

“You are a strong-minded young lady, I know. But please do not expect too much. I can make myself heard, and that is about all.”

“I am longing to hear you,” said Annabelinda.

“I think I shall go in,” I told them. “There is a good deal to do.”

“We will see you later,” said Annabelinda blithely.

So I left them and went in, feeling deflated. He was not going to say anything special to me. He had talked so earnestly about my birthday, indicating that he was waiting for it, and then all he talked about was “On the Road to Mandalay.”

The concert was a success, though more remarkable for the weakness of the performances than the discovery of talent. But it was greatly enjoyed and the more mishaps there were the more appreciative the merriment.

Marcus’s “Mandalay” was a great success. He performed with aplomb rather than genius, but he had an agreeable voice that was strong enough to be heard all over the hall. It was his impersonation of a temperamental opera star which amused the audience and was without doubt the success of the show.

There were other songs, several from the beginning of the century. “Soldiers of the Queen” was very well received, though not applicable to the times; then there was “Goodbye, Dolly, I must leave you,” another favorite. And someone recited Gunga Din. All were vociferously applauded and everyone agreed it had been a memorable day.

I would always remember it, too, and when I did I would think of Marcus, making light conversation in the garden, declining my unspoken invitation to talk. I could not help feeling a certain humiliation.

I had been foolish in imagining what was not there.

Three weeks later Marcus left. My father was with us on his last weekend and Marcus dined with us.

He said how much he had enjoyed his stay with us and that my mother deserved the Victoria Cross for all she had done.

It was all very merry. Annabelinda looked especially attractive. She sat next to Marcus and I felt there was a certain understanding between them.

How could I have been so vain as to think he was in love with me? He was a man of the world and I had temporarily amused him because I was young and innocent. Had he not stressed my innocence? He had wanted me to retain it when I grew up. Why should he? What could it matter to him? It was just idle talk and I had been naive enough to take it seriously.

He talked to my father at dinner, explaining that he would be at the War Office.

“You will have to be in London,” said my father. “Where will you stay?”

“I’ll see if I can get a small place…a pied-à-terre. I shall go down to the family at weekends. If invited, I might come to Marchlands to see how you are all getting on without me.”

“You will be welcome at any time,” my mother told him. “But I must warn you. Guests often get pressed into service.”

“That would be interesting. But I must warn you. I should be an awful dud.”

“We’d teach you,” replied my mother.

“Then that’s a promise.”

“It’s wonderful to see you recovered.”

“Well, yes…but not fit enough to go out there again.”

“I can’t say that greatly grieves me.”

“The War Office will be interesting,” said my father.

“All the red tape and that.”

“But quite an experience.”

“How are things getting on in the House?”

“Something has to happen,” my father said. “We’ve got to win this war soon. It’s been going on too long.”

“You mean Asquith will go.”

“Lloyd George is waiting in the wings. There’ll be a change soon. I’d say before Christmas. L.G. will be going to the Palace to kiss hands.”

“As soon as that! Poor old Asquith!”

“Another Christmas,” said my mother, “and we are still at war.”

“It has got to end soon,” said my father. “If the Americans come in, I’d say the end was in sight.”

“And will they?”

“It seems possible.”

“I just long for it to be over,” said my mother.

“It will be…in time.”

A week after Marcus left, Annabelinda announced that her mother needed her at home and she thought she ought to go to her.

“You’ll manage very well without me,” she said.

I could not resist saying, “As you devoted yourself almost entirely to Major Merrivale and he is no longer with us, I daresay we shall manage very well.”

She smirked. “Poor Lucinda,” she said.

I was glad to see her go. She reminded me too bitterly of my humiliation over Marcus.

At the end of October, Miss Carruthers was married to Dr. Egerton. It was a simple ceremony and there was a small reception at Marchlands afterward.

I was very pleased to see Miss Carruthers so happy. Her cousin came for the ceremony, and I could see immediately why Miss Carruthers had not been eager to share her home. She was a formidable lady, but at this time quite affable and clearly not displeased by the marriage. So all was extremely satisfactory in that respect.

The new Mrs. Egerton made herself useful in the hospital every afternoon, just as she had when teaching me.

“It is very comforting that all has turned out so well,” said my mother. “I wonder what will happen to Andrée.”

“We wouldn’t want her to leave us,” I replied. “She is so good with Edward. Were you thinking of a husband for her?”

“I do often think of people who are working as she does and Miss Carruthers did. Think of the care Andrée gives to Edward…as most nannies do give to the children they look after. In time they have to face the fact that those children do not belong to them. I wonder what she will want to do when the war is over? Perhaps go back to Belgium.”

“She was very anxious to get away,” I said.

“There is that brother of hers. I suppose she doesn’t hear anything of him. It must be very sad for her.”

“She is sure he is with the French army.”

“Anything might have happened to him. She’s a strange girl.”

“Do you think so?”

“She seems so…contented.”

“Does that make her strange? She was glad to get away; she did not want to go to her aunt; and she loves Edward dearly. He is such a darling. I can see why she feels contented.”

“But she must worry about her brother.”

“I believe she was not very close to any of her family.”

“I wonder what will happen to her?”

“Who knows what will happen to anyone?”

My mother looked at me sharply. I think she had an inkling of my feelings for Marcus. I was beginning to realize I was rather naive. I had probably betrayed them.

The days passed—one very like another. I spent more time in the hospital now as I had greater leisure without Miss Carruthers’s lessons. I walked a good deal in the forest and I felt very melancholy during those days.

It was December. As my father had prophesied, Lloyd George had taken over the Government. Marcus had not come to Marchlands, in spite of his promise to do so.

I told myself I should have known by now that he did not mean half of what he said. Had he not admitted that to me on one occasion? He had said he told people what they wanted to hear.

We celebrated Christmas at the hospital, and then it was a new year, 1917. And the war was still with us, showing no more sign of ending than it had two years ago.

The days passed slowly. How I missed Marcus! I think many people did. He had added a gaiety to the place. He was right, of course. He said the things people wanted to hear and made them laugh and be happy—as long as they remembered he did not really mean them. He joked about most things and that made life pleasant.

I thought of him continually during those long and dreary winter days.

News filtered through—mostly gloomy and bringing little hope of an imminent victory. There was a gleam of hope with the coming of April when America declared war on Germany. Soon they would be coming to stand beside us.

Everyone was saying that this must be the beginning of the end.

It was late April when news arrived to cheer me. My mother came to me in great excitement.

“What do you think? I’ve heard from Gerald. Robert’s coming here.”

My first thought was, he’s been wounded.

“Is he badly hurt?” I asked.

“It’s his leg. He’s been in hospital in London for about two weeks, Gerald said. He’s well enough to come here to convalesce. Gerald said it will do him good to have a spell with us.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!”

My mother smiled. “Yes, it will be. You’ll enjoy his being here. You two were always special friends, weren’t you? Gerald said Robert can’t wait to get here. He’ll be coming tomorrow.”

My mother was looking at me with that expression of apprehension which I had known over the years. She understood my feelings for Marcus, for I had been simple enough to betray them. So she was delighted that my good friend Robert would be here to cheer me up.

I rose early the next morning. We had discussed where we would put him. “In one of the four-bed wards,” said my mother. “Dear Robert! We must do the best possible for him.”

“As if we don’t for everyone!” I replied.

“Oh, but there is something special about Robert.”

He arrived in the early afternoon. When I saw him standing there with his crutches, I felt overcome with emotion. He had the same grin, but was thinner, which accentuated what Annabelinda had called his disjointed look. He was paler and somehow he looked vulnerable.

I ran to him and threw my arms around him.

“It’s so good to see you, Robert,” I said.

“And for me to see you.”

“We’re so glad you have come.”

“Your uncle said you would be.”

“And he was right.”

My mother came out and kissed him.

“We were so delighted when we heard the news,” she said.

“You can imagine how I felt,” Robert replied. “You both look wonderfully well.”

“It’s the thought of having you at our mercy. We are going to give you the special treatment, aren’t we, Lucinda?”

“We are,” I replied.

I felt I had been lifted out of my melancholy.

The great matter for rejoicing was that he was not badly wounded. He could go out into the garden and did not have to rely completely on the nurses. We found that patients who could help themselves recovered more quickly than the others.

He knew Marchlands well, of course, and it was for him, he said, like coming home.

I was happier now. Robert’s presence had made a great difference. I no longer brooded on my folly. It was wonderful to be with someone as uncomplicated as he—someone I could understand and be sure that he meant what he said.

I could see that my mother was delighted. She could not conceal her feelings from me, any more than I could mine from her. So Robert’s coming had made a difference to us both.

In the afternoons he would sit in the gardens. The spring days were delightful—long and warm, with just a slight nip in the air to remind us that summer was not yet with us.

We used to sit together, but not under the sycamore tree. I did not want to be there with Robert because I still remembered too much of my conversations with Marcus. I said I preferred the seat under the oak on the other side of the lawn, and that was enough for Robert. He always made his way to the seat under the oak.

We talked. We spoke of the old days, recalling incidents which I thought I had forgotten. We laughed a good deal—laughter that meant a happy contentment, because Robert was safely home for a while and we could be together as we had been in the old days.

I looked forward to every day now. I found I was not thinking of Marcus all the time. It was only occasionally that some memory would come back to me with its little pangs of disappointment…of humiliation and longing.

I was anxious because when Robert recovered fully it was very likely that he would have to go to war again. But I learned to live for each day as it came along, which was not easy but which I knew was wise. To think of the future when we could not know what would happen, could result in fearful apprehension. In wartime there was a feeling of fatality. I guessed, from Robert’s attitude, that he had acquired the skill of living in the present, and talking to him of the life out there on the battlefields of France and Belgium, I caught it from him.

So…I was happy during those days with Robert.

He had changed a little. Such experiences as he had had must change anyone. He was more serious than he had been; there was also a certain recklessness—an odd term to apply to Robert. What I mean is that I sensed a determination to savor the pleasures of the moment.

He described his experiences so vividly that I could almost hear the gunfire, see the shells exploding around him; I could feel the claustrophobic atmosphere of trench warfare…the horror of going “over the top”…the monotony of eating canned food.

“I was lucky in a way,” he said. “A lot of my work was done in the field. It was this Morse thing. I didn’t really understand it, but by some fluke I could receive and transmit at a greater speed than most. It was just a knack…some odd method of my own for connecting the dots and dashes with certain landmarks. I won’t attempt to explain, because it is quite dotty. But they thought I was this Morse genius. So my job was to go out with my mechanic, who would fix up the telephone. Then I would spy out the land with my binoculars, discover where the enemy was massing…or where they had set up their guns…and send the message back to our lines. It was quite easy…quite simple. Jim, my mechanic, did all the hard work.”

“You always denigrate yourself, Robert. You are not a bit like most people.”

“Really, it was nothing, Lucinda. Quite easy. I was the lucky one…just because by chance I had this formula.”

“It was very clever of you to work it out.”

“I didn’t work it out. It just came. However, that was what I was doing when I was hit.”

“You might have been left out there.”

“Oh, it wasn’t all that bad. I was able to wait for the advance, and then I was taken back to base. After that…home. Your Uncle Gerald came to see me in the hospital. He said, ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t go to Marchlands.’ I can tell you, Lucinda, it was like saying I was going to Heaven.”

“Oh…don’t say that.”

“Heaven on earth,” he corrected.

“Robert, how bad is your leg?”

“It’s getting better. I don’t suppose I shall ever walk as I did before, though.”

“Then…you couldn’t go back.”

“Not at the moment certainly.”

“Not ever, Robert,” I said. “I just could not bear it. You’ve told me so much about it. You’ve made me see it. I shall pray that your leg gets better…but slowly and that it is not really well until this wretched war is over.”

“Dear Lucinda,” he said. “What a nice thing to say.”

There was great excitement in the hospital when the news came. Robert had won the Military Cross. Nobody was more astonished than Robert himself. He showed the letter to my mother, who called me at once.

“Just listen to this,” she cried. “Robert is a hero. He’s got the Military Cross.”

“Really!”

“He was out in what they call no-man’s-land, and sending messages back as to the enemy’s whereabouts. He was wounded and for that reason could have returned to base, but he did not do so. He remained at his post and continued sending messages, which were so vital that the guns that otherwise would have been destroyed by the enemy were saved. That’s the gist of it. Robert is being decorated for his bravery.”

I embraced him, kissed him and wept over him.

“There wasn’t anything else I could have done,” said Robert. “I just went on…that was all.”

“Stop it, Robert,” I commanded. “You were wonderful. You’re a hero. You’ll go to Buckingham Palace and have a medal pinned on you by the King.”

There were celebrations throughout the hospital.

Robert was embarrassed. “Too much fuss,” he said. “It might be a mistake. Really, I was just sending back those messages….”

“And saving the guns!” I cried. “Shut up, Robert. You’re a hero and we are going to see that everyone knows it.”

I think he was more pleased about our delight than he was about his own success.

Aunt Belinda arrived at Marchlands with Annabelinda. They were both exuberant.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Fancy, Robert…” cried Annabelinda.

Aunt Belinda said, “We shall go to Buckingham Palace. Big Robert will come up for the occasion. We’re so proud of him.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.

“You look better, Lucinda,” said Annabelinda.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve got lots to tell you.”

“What have you been doing?”

“We’re going to have a long talk…alone.”

Aunt Belinda was fussing around Robert. How was he, she wanted to know. She had been so pleased when she had heard he was going to Marchlands.

“I said to Robert, ‘Darling Lucie will look after him better than anyone. And Lucinda will be there. They were always such friends.’ It will be wonderful to go to the Palace.”

“Don’t think it is going to be too grand,” said Robert. “There’ll be plenty of others there.”

“It’s no use pretending it isn’t wonderful, Robbie darling. I’m so proud of you…my little Robbie…a hero!”

“Oh, Mother, please…”

“He’s just like his father,” said Aunt Belinda. “They don’t know how to get the best out of things. You’re a hero, darling. You saved those guns. Don’t forget that, and everyone is going to know it.”

Robert looked resigned and he and I exchanged smiles.

I should have liked to go to the Palace with him, but of course too many could not go, and Uncle Robert, Aunt Belinda and Annabelinda were his immediate family.

I did have my chat with Annabelinda on the first day of their arrival. It was evening. Annabelinda had always liked bedtime chats.

She came to my room and sat on my bed.

“I have such news,” she said. “It’s not out yet, but it will be next week. You shall be the first to know.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to be married. I am engaged…not officially yet. There has to be a proper announcement. His family, you see.”

“Engaged?” I said.

She lowered her eyes, as though she feared to look at me.

“To Marcus,” she said.

“Oh…congratulations.”

“Thank you. It’s not supposed to be known yet, but I couldn’t keep it from you. Besides, I wanted to tell you myself. His people…you’ve no idea. Their house is like a castle. That’s the main house, where his parents live. When we’re married, our house will be on the estate. It’s quite grand…but you should see the ancestral home.”

“So you are very pleased.”

She grimaced. “The family is a bit overpowering. I went up there with my parents. They’ve inspected me. It’s like going back in time. All those old conventions. I can’t imagine how I shall live up to them.”

“No,” I said. “Nor can I.”

“Well, Marcus is marvelous. Right from the first, I knew.” She looked faintly defiant. “So did he. And we’ll have fun. I shall get him to buy a house in London. If he is going to stay at the War Office, he will have to. That wound makes him unfit for military service. It’s going to be wonderful. It’s only his old family that frightens me. Everything has to be just as it always has been…ceremonial. You’ve no idea. That’s why Marcus is so different. You’d never guess, talking to him, that there had been all that discipline in his life.”

“When are you going to be married?”

“Well, first we have to announce the engagement. I’ve only just passed the first test. There will be more vetting, I imagine. They wanted to know all about my family. Marcus said that I’d charm his father and he’ll know how to tackle his mother. I shall be all right. You know how respectable Daddy is. He’s passed muster—socially and financially.”

“And your mother?”

“You know how charming she can be.”

“And you?”

She looked smug, and I said, “Have you told Marcus?”

“Told him what?”

“About your past.”

“What do you mean?” she asked abruptly.

“Annabelinda, you know. I mean about Edward.”

She flushed scarlet. “How can you be so unkind when I’m so happy?” she demanded.

“You haven’t told him then?”

“How could I?”

“Don’t you think he ought to know?”

“It’s all over. It was just a slip.”

“There is Edward.”

“He’s just the little boy you brought from France. People do things like that in wartime. His parents were dead and you took him. Your people have adopted him because of your promise to his mother when she was dying. It’s all…settled.”

“I thought perhaps you would feel that you must tell your future husband.”

“How could I? Lucinda, don’t ever talk to me about it. It makes me so unhappy. You’re jealous, I believe.”

“I am not. I should not like to have a secret like that on my conscience, and I could not be jealous of someone who had. But it is not on your conscience, is it—for the simple reason that you haven’t one.”

I was talking wildly. I was not sure whether I was angry with her because she was going to marry Marcus or because she talked of Edward as though he were not important.

She got up and went to the door.

“I shan’t talk to you anymore. I thought you would like to know. I thought you would be pleased that I had told you first.” She turned and faced me and went on appealingly. “Lucinda, you wouldn’t say a word…?”

“Of course not. I haven’t ever, have I? And I have known for a long time.”

“I think it would spoil everything.”

“I am sure Marcus would understand.”

“It’s his family. I was surprised. I shouldn’t have thought he would be afraid of anything. But he is in awe of his family. They’ve got to approve, Lucinda. Otherwise he’d be cut off like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Yes, he would, if he did something that was not in the family tradition.”

“Such as marrying a girl who had had an illegitimate child?”

“You’re making it sound so awful.”

“It could have been for poor little Edward.”

“Well, it wasn’t. And Grandpère Bourdon didn’t think it was so strange. He said it happens here and there in families and the best thing is to get over it with as little fuss as possible. Lucinda, promise me, you’ll never mention it again…to anyone.”

“I promise. I kept quiet before and perhaps, it has turned out for the best. Edward is happy here. He has a good home and he’ll be all right.”

“Then it is happily settled, isn’t it? He’s all right. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose so.”

She was looking happy again and I was sorry I had said what I had. That was how it was with Annabelinda. I might rail against her one moment, and the next I would be trying to placate her.

She came over and kissed me. “I know I can always rely on you, Lucinda.”

“Well, I suppose you can.”

After she left, I could not stop myself from thinking of Marcus. I was not really surprised that it had turned out this way.

I did wonder whether at one time he had begun to care seriously for me. With Marcus one would never know. As for Annabelinda, she would go through life untroubled, I suspected. She would feel no guilt about her secret and her unacknowledged child, simply because she had the gift of being able to shut out anything that was detrimental to herself. She was able to convince herself that it had never happened, until someone—like me—brought it up in such a way as to make it impossible to deny it had taken place.

Two weeks later there was an announcement in the papers of the engagement of Major Merrivale to Annabelinda Denver.

In due course Robert went to the Palace to receive his medal, Aunt Belinda, Uncle Robert and Annabelinda with him.

And afterward he returned to Marchlands. Someone from the press came down; pictures were taken and there was a piece in the paper about his gallantry.

I thought Robert looked very fine in his uniform with the silver and mauve ribbon attached to his coat. There was no doubt that his family was very proud of him. There were tears in Uncle Robert’s eyes and Aunt Belinda positively beamed.

She was contented with life; her son decorated for bravery, and her daughter—without a season, which was not possible during the war—engaged to a very eligible young man.

The war was not so bad for Aunt Belinda and her family after all.