Softly Grow the Poppies Page 24

  Harry and Rose had decided on a small wedding with just the family and their servants at the church where Charlie and Alice had been married. And as soon as possible, Harry declared firmly, for his lovely glowing bride-to-be was already pregnant though nobody knew except himself and Rose. A quiet smile and a twinkle in the eyes of Dolly could be seen if anyone was looking for it, since whatever her much loved child did, it could not get past the woman who had brought her up. But Rose was not the only woman pregnant!

  Dr Westmann often reflected in the year following the end of the war how many of the young soldiers had survived not only his surgery but the war itself. He supposed there must have been hundreds who had come under his knife but he had done his best for the wounded soldiers despite his loathing for war, and no man could do more. When, at the end, he had been relieved of his duties as a military doctor he had returned to Berlin, the home of his birth and to the hospital where he had learned to become a military surgeon. Many years ago, of course, because he was now in his sixtieth year.

  The hospital had had many uses, since its history harked back to 1710. It had been a hospice for the destitute, a workhouse for beggars and a maternity home for unmarried mothers, and had expanded over the two hundred or so years since its construction. It was now a military hospital and infirmary as well as a training centre for future military physicians. He mostly did teaching work now. The Charite was its name and it had become second home and focus of the dedicated surgeon’s life.

  So many young men, but now he also tended to females. He was looking down on one now on his operating theatre table. She was the daughter of one of Berlin’s prominent and wealthy citizens, who, knowing of Otto Westmann’s reputation, had insisted that he should operate on his only child. It had been a shooting accident at one of the local nobles’ weekend parties. A gun, carelessly aimed at flying grouse, aimed by a youngster who should not have had the weapon in the first place, and the result was the pretty young woman with her brain exposed awaiting the surgeon’s knife.

  For several moments he stood, an instrument in his hand, appearing to his staff to be debating his first move but he was in fact, surprisingly, taken back several years to a day in France when he had operated on a young English soldier. He remembered him, because his wound had been similar to this one. He also remembered a very senior officer, a doctor like himself, barking at him that the bed in which the young Englishman lay could be put to much better use for a German soldier and he, Dr Westmann was to get the English soldier on his way to the prisoner-of-war camp awaiting him. Otto had argued but a direct order from his superior could not be ignored. Dr Westmann would have liked to keep the young English soldier in his care for another week or two since he was not quite convinced that he had removed all the shards of bone in Charlie’s wound. Head injuries could be problematic and needed close watching, particularly that one because the young soldier seemed confused as to his own identity. He appeared to be recovered, so with his superior at his shoulder he had reluctantly discharged the young man, making it clear he was not happy about it, to his fate in the prisoner-of-war camp. Was he still alive, that young man, and if so had his, Otto’s, own surgery given him his life? Who would ever know?

  Adjusting his mask, he nodded at the young doctor he was training and who stood on the other side of the operating table and began.

  The wedding, though small, for who was there to invite, was quite wonderful or so the servants from the two houses, who were invited, told one another. And it was, since who among them had ever seen a man and a woman more in love with one another. Sir Harry was ready to run up the aisle to hurry his bride to the altar and the kiss he gave her made the women’s hearts almost burst with emotion though it was inclined to embarrass the men. He took several steps backwards towards Rose who was on the arm of Tom, the gardener, who was giving her away. Charlie stood rigid in his place as his brother’s best man, mouthing in a trembling voice what his duties were.

  Rose Beechworth, soon to be Rose Summers, was not conventionally pretty but her strong face was radiant. Her hair shone copper and gold in the sunlight that poured through the leaded windows of the ancient church. It was short, curling about her head like a halo. Her eyes, golden as a bright new sovereign, were directed at her groom with a glow of enchantment and at the corner of her mouth the dimple deepened as she smiled, first at Harry then round the church at her people. All the people who had stood steadfastly beside her in so many crises. Not for her the downcast, modest gaze of the conventional bride. She was tall, almost as tall as her groom, with a magnificent shapely figure which did not as yet reveal her pregnancy. She had been brought to the church in the Summers’s old, open carriage, the one that had carried Alice to her nuptials, cleaned and painted, repairs to the leather seats achieved with great fervour by Ned, Tom and Jossy, Tom on his dignity since he was to ride in the carriage when he gave the woman away. And why not? Had he not known the glorious bride since the day she was born?

  She carried flowers, rosebuds of pink and cream twined with white satin ribbon and walked on flowers too, for the local children had strewn the path with buttercups, daisies and poppies. The church itself had been transformed into a garden with flowers arranged artfully at the end of each pew and draped from the old beams. Alice’s doing, Rose knew, looking round for her friend, but not for longer than a fraction of a moment because now Harry claimed her attention and her hand.

  Her gown was of white satin, a simple fitted sheath, the hem edged with white lace which was repeated on the cuff of the long sleeve and at the neck. Surprisingly she wore no veil but a tiny Juliet cap made up of white rosebuds nestled in her curls.

  She had begged Harry to wear his uniform but he had refused quite brusquely, saying he wanted no reminders of the past to impinge on this long-awaited day. Dolly and Nessie cried as did most of the female congregation but it was soon over with the bride and groom kissing one another with great fervour. The register was signed and then the dash in a shower of confetti and rice to the carriage that would take them to Beechworth. This was a country wedding and the guests were made up of grooms, dairymaids, cowmen and their wives, farmers and their families, enough to fill the small church twice over. Their lives had been so fraught with difficulties and terrible sorrows. The bride and groom looked at one another with a certain astonishment that it had ended with this joy. At last! They had shared a bed for several weeks before this day and their child grew in Rose’s belly.

  The home-made cheeses, syllabub, jellies, fruit tarts and custards and the magnificent wedding cake, made and decorated by Nessie, were all eaten by the guests as the bride and groom lay in their bed, arms about one another. They did not make love for which lack Harry apologised saying he was too knackered and Rose pondered out loud, asking him if he had seen Alice that day.

  ‘No,’ he mumbled into her deep breast, unconcerned it appeared as to the whereabouts of Alice. His beloved was in his arms. He fell asleep. His wife smiled, utterly content, just the same. She would speak to her husband tomorrow, sighing into a deep joyful sleep with his arms about her.

  20

  Rose Beechworth, or should they call her Lady Rose Summers was, by the standards of the polite society of the district, decidedly odd. There were no other words to describe her, for heaven’s sake. She had chosen her own gardener to give her away on her wedding day so what could they deduce from that? She had relatives on her mother’s side though none, as far as they knew, came visiting. She seemed to prefer the company of farmers and gamekeepers, those who worked her land, hedgers and ditchers, farm labourers, working with them in the fields, on the moorland and woodland, the stables and, it was said, before she married sat down in the kitchen to eat with them. Mind you, to give her her due, she had done more for the wounded soldiers than anyone in the county.

  Rose neither knew nor cared what her neighbours thought and never had. Since her mother died her father had become something of a recluse, making a companion of his only child and she was qui
te content to work among her people. She had no friends, no woman friend until she met Alice. And there was another one! Alice Weatherly. The only daughter, the only child of Arthur Weatherly whose great wealth came from his shipping ventures; an arrogant man with a great belief in his own worth. He had his toe in the door of society and meant to get himself firmly inside. He did not want to lose his position among the great and the good. It had been an anathema to him – which was putting it mildly – when Alice got herself pregnant while still unmarried. She had only just managed to avoid the shame – his – by marrying that nincompoop Summers lad who, it was said, was now a dribbling idiot. At first he had been prepared to forgive her but she had vanished in that daft way of hers in the battlefields of France and after she and the idiot returned home it was too late. He had refused to have anything to do with her since.

  The newly wedded couple lazed in bed the morning after the wedding, making love, making plans, at peace with the world and each other, and the servants smiled knowingly, for it was only natural for newlyweds to hide from the rest of the world and Rose and Sir Harry had waited a long time for this day.

  But Dolly said anxiously to Nessie they couldn’t keep it from her much longer. Miss Rose and her new husband must be told. Preferring Tim, nevertheless the boy had gone off with Charlie, reluctantly, for Charlie was not his first choice as a companion.

  But this morning would have serious consequences and they, who were only servants, didn’t know which way to turn. Dolly was ready to weep, the hard tears of the old, and Nessie, who wasn’t much younger, didn’t blame her.

  ‘What are we ter do, Tom?’ she asked her husband who hung about at the back door. ‘It might be somethink and nothink with Miss Rose knowing all about it but then there’s this letter. I really think we should do summat. You’ve bin over to Summer Place and no one there knows anything about it.’

  ‘Yer’ll have ter go an’ wake them, lass,’ Tom said quietly. ‘Summat’s wrong an’ Sir Harry should be told. That little lad’ll be back soon and then what?’

  ‘Eeh, I don’t like – not this morning. Not with them only wed yesterday.’ She put her pinny to her face and Tom patted her arm.

  ‘You must do it – or Dolly. Dolly knows ’em best.’

  They were dozing, Sir Harry and Lady Summers, quite exhausted but in a satisfactory way, when someone tapped on the bedroom door. They had stayed the night at Beechworth since it was more convenient just to drift upstairs after the small party to the lovely, fire-lit, candle-lit bedroom and the double bed where Rose slept. Besides, Beechworth’s rooms, upstairs and down, were in a well-kept state compared to Summer Place where Alice was supposed to be mistress. Alice had been allowed to run somewhat wild at Weatherly House, indulged by her father, and had not been trained to be in charge of a large house. She was careless in the running of Summer Place and though Mrs Philips and her maids – for they could now afford more than two servants who did their best, a household soon becomes slack without a proper mistress to oversee its running.

  Rose lifted her head from her husband’s chest and snapped, ‘What is it?’ She was only just catching her breath after the last passionate encounter with her new husband and was contemplating rousing him again in the way he had taught her and here was someone disturbing this dream world she could still hardly believe in and in a most annoying way.

  ‘Miss Rose, oh, I’m sorry, but Rosie, sweetheart, you must get up. Me an’ Nessie don’t know what to do. Tom’s bin over to Summer Place but it were no good. Oh please, lass, please . . . an’ sir, please . . .’

  ‘Dolly, what are you babbling about?’ Rose yelled, at the same time turning one full breast to her husband’s mouth, then giggled as his hand found its way to that hidden place at the base of her belly.

  ‘Please come out, lass, ’cos if yer don’t I’m coming in,’ giving them time to make themselves decent.

  ‘Don’t you dare, Dolly Davenport. Oh, God in heaven, what on earth . . .’

  ‘You’d better go, my love,’ Harry murmured, making it no easier for her by licking her swollen nipple.

  ‘Goddammit!’ Rose reached for her robe, detaching her throbbing flesh from Harry’s seeking lips.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded of the trembling housekeeper, then frowned at the distraught woman who had been a mother to her all her life. She pulled Dolly into her arms and patted her back as folk do to comfort those in distress.

  ‘What is it, Dolly? What’s happened?’

  Harry sprang from the bed and pulled his dressing gown about him but not before Dolly had got a horrified look at the shaft between his legs.

  It was a lovely July day and the sun had warmth in it, sidling into the bedroom and reflecting on the well-polished furniture. It revealed the rumpled bed and Dolly, even in her distress, had time to think that there had been high jinks in it that night.

  ‘It’s Miss Alice – Mrs Summers – and Mr Tim . . .’

  ‘What about them, darling?’ Rose peered into the tearful, crumpled old face.

  I’m getting too old for this, Dolly thought as she shrank into Rose’s strong young arms.

  ‘They’ve gone, lass, gone . . .’

  ‘Gone? Gone where, Dolly?’ But there was something in Dolly’s voice and manner that told Rose all she needed to know. She’d seen it coming and in her own joy had chosen to ignore it.

  ‘Nay, I don’t know.’

  ‘Are their horses in the stable, Dolly, or at Summer Place? Has Eddie—’

  ‘Their animals’re still there, Rosie, but—’

  ‘What?’ Rose was ready to shake something from Dolly though what she didn’t know.

  There was a pause then, ‘There’s this,’ and she held out an envelope with the names of Rose and Harry on it.

  ‘Where did you find it and when?’

  ‘Just now. Eddie said it were pinned to’t stable door.’ Dolly was ready to collapse and might have done so had Rose not held her firmly.

  Rose stared at it then took it from Dolly’s shaking hand. ‘Thank you, Dolly. Now you go downstairs. Sit by the fire, you and Nessie, and have a cup of tea. Harry and I will be down shortly.’

  The old lady wiped her nose on the edge of her pinny then turned away to totter to the top of the stairs.

  They read the letter together.

  My dearest Rose and Harry,

  This is the most difficult letter I have ever written, Rose. You have been my sword and buckler so to speak for many years and I love you for it. I would have gone under had it not been for you. And Harry, so staunch an ally to me and Rose and I thank God in whom I try to believe that you and Rose are finally man and wife. I would not have gone had it been otherwise. Sadly or gladly, I don’t know which, it has given me the strength to do what I must. No one at Summer Place or Beechworth needs me or loves me like you do, Rose, and it is breaking my heart to leave you. But Charlie, my husband, scarcely acknowledges my presence and my son is not really mine but yours. He turns to you as he would a mother, as you are and I am not. I love Tim and he loves and needs me. I am a mature woman now and know the difference between what Charlie and I had to what I feel for Tim. Charlie was the object of a young girl’s dream, dashing and handsome, but what Tim and I share is between a man and a woman. So I must go and live in another world with him. Do not try to find us. We are leaving you for ever.

  Your loving friend,

  Alice

  Rose wept bitterly in Harry’s arms while he talked quietly to her. ‘It’s true what she says, my darling. At eighteen Alice saw Charlie as a knight in shining armour. In a magical haze she married him, already expecting his child. But as a child herself she was incapable of coping with life when her father threw her out into the snow.’

  ‘It wasn’t snow,’ Rose sniffed.

  He smiled sadly. ‘I know, sweetheart. She came to you who cared for her but her obsession to find Charlie was part of that young girl’s ingenuous character. I don’t mean she was insane but nobody in their right mind would
do what she did. But when at last she and Charlie were together again with their child her dream finally shattered and became reality. Tim found her like that and put her together again. I was aware of their growing attachment, and, I think, so were you.’

  He lifted her chin and looked into her woebegone face. She nodded then collapsed in a torrent of tears against his shoulder.

  ‘We must go down and speak to our friends; yes, they are servants but they have been friends to us.’

  Charlie and Will had gone off somewhere riding Pixie and Molly and had they been there they would have been more than distressed, at least Will would, so while they were absent Harry gathered the servants into the kitchen at Beechworth where they were crammed like sardines in a tin. Dolly and Nessie were huddled in their own special chairs in which nobody else was allowed to sit, with their scullery-maid, Polly standing behind them. Harry had sent a message to Summer Place asking Mrs Philips to come with the rest of the staff. She was mostly in charge of the household since young Mrs Summers had taken little interest in running it as a wife should. In her previous employment she had had daily discussions in the drawing room with the mistress of the house on menus for the day and the ordering of groceries and other foodstuffs. But Mrs Summers, Mr Charlie’s wife, had carelessly told Mrs Philips to do ‘what she thought best’ which Mrs Philips had tried to do to the best of her considerable abilities. She had three housemaids, Maggie, Mary who was not actually a housemaid since she did the laundry (and Beechworth’s as well since the death of Bertha) and Martha. Summer Place was a much bigger house than Beechworth but had fewer servants.

  These, though bewildered, walked across to Beechworth, wondering whether they should have changed into their ‘best’ but Sir Harry had said at once so here was Mrs Philips still wearing her capacious white apron and Martha with her comical ballooning maid-of-all works cap hovering about Dolly and Nessie, their expressions asking what the dickens this was all about. And squashed against the far wall and on the doorstep were the men – servants from the two houses: Eddie and Ned who were stable lads, Tom and Jossy and Mr Ambrose from Summer Place who tended the gardens, longing to smoke their pipes, lifting their caps and scratching their perplexed heads.