Beginning, Previous Section, Section XXXVI, Next Section
The way I see it,
if you want the rainbow,
you gotta be willing to put up with the rain. - Dolly Parton
Elizabeth blinked in astonishment and then carefully re-read the orders for the umpteenth time before shaking her head slowly. Elizabeth was uncertain whether she was happy or not, she was even uncertain as whether she was meant to feel anything, the past couple of weeks seemed to have drained everything out of her and frequently Elizabeth felt certain she'd wake up at any moment and see the heavy planked roof of the Chateau St. Euvais above her head, maybe the entire war was a dream.
"Lizzie!" A sister came flying up. "Matron's looking for you and there's some officer asking for you at the desk, Matron's got him in cold storage until you've seen her.....it concerns tomorrow I believe."
"Thank you." Elizabeth hurried down the passage and ten minutes later she was shaking a dazed head as she headed for the front of the hospital. Orders and instructions spun through her head as she tried to remember everything the Matron had said concerning checkpoints along the route and people to speak to for authorisation and rooms.
"Sister Bennet!" It was Sister Clare Welsh who was in charge of the communications and Elizabeth hurried across to her.
"What's up Clare?"
"He's in the front room."
"Thanks." Elizabeth ducked hurriedly into the dark and cramped room which served as a front waiting room because it was too dark and dank to be used for anything else. "David." Elizabeth sighed with relief as she settled down into Darcy's arms.
"Life been a bit exciting?"
"More than a bit." Elizabeth sighed again and brushed mud off the lapel of Darcy's coat. "I've just been given three weeks of home leave."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Well it's probably for the best, we're just being downsized to a Brigade and getting shoved back out again."
"What?" Elizabeth twisted her head up to stare at him in disbelief. "Are they mad?"
"I very much fear so." Darcy started to laugh but it cracked violently and he abruptly buried his head in Elizabeth's shoulder, his shoulder's heaving violently. Elizabeth gently stroked the close-cropped head. "Oh damn, I'm sorry Elizabeth." Darcy abruptly straightened and rubbed his eyes on the frayed and muddy cuffs of his coat. "Just been hell lately......Miles died, so many dead or missing. Manners will never return.....he has to live first though."
"But you didn't break." Elizabeth continued to stroke his head. "You didn't break, the line held."
"They didn't pass." Darcy gave a slightly watery chuckle and straightened up before drying his face with an irritated move. "But was it worth the sacrifices? Could I have saved more lives and dropped a bit further back.......Colonel Thomlin's dead." Darcy's tone dropped reflectively. "Saved our hides, if they don't get posthumous awards I'm going to raise hell. There was no need for them to die like that....except it was the only way to stop those 'planes. Seems they're all up for M.C.s, but frankly Thomlin deserves a V.C. for I'll swear there is no other man, living or dead who could have done what he did for the Cads."
"Colonel Thomlin's dead?" Elizabeth blinked uncertainly.
"Correct. Thomlin's gone. As is Saine......he got hit by a bombing raid on the Squadron less than a week ago. There's only Geordie and Denny left now other than those three blighters."
"What's going to happen to them?" Elizabeth was feeling hollow inside. The best of you will also die. The words echoed through her head and caused her stomach to tighten sickeningly. The best.... She hardly even remembered what the Colonel looked like and would have been very hard pressed to recognise him. Saved our hides.... Her stomach was now a sick, tight knot of dread and fear. There was no guarantee that next time there would be a Colonel Thomlin around. She had known that it was bad out there...but that bad? That the death of one man could swing the balance?
"I don't know. Ashie's a Major now, they may just promote him to Commanding Officer....but it's unlikely with only two of the groundstaff and two pilots remaining. More likely the lot of them will be posted to Home Establishment....which means all three will be discharged." Darcy shook his head. "Oh God Beth, I can't do it."
"What happened to Miles?" Elizabeth didn't want to know what he couldn't do, it was all too likely that it was life in general he was referring to.
"He was pulling Peter out of the river when a shell landed in it. I was up the other end and saw nothing. Miles was between the shell and Peter which is I suspect the only reason why Peter is still alive.....though he'll never fight again and they doubt he'll walk again."
"Will he?"
"Depends if he wants to." Darcy shrugged. "I saw him earlier but he's being sent straight back to England....You'll check up on him won't you?"
"Definitely." Elizabeth nodded firmly. "Been far too long since I saw that outrageous boy."
"Thanks.....it'll help if he thinks he has at least one friend in England."
"Miles died immediately?" Elizabeth looked worriedly up at Darcy, grim and creased though his face had always seemed to be, it was even more so now. Deep canyons of worry and pain had carved their way across his face. Darcy no longer looked remotely young, this was an old, sick, decrepit man. This was a man where death was like a good friend who was always there.
"No, he lasted six or seven hours, I don't know when he was actually hit." Darcy paused. "I wonder if I'll be that glad to die when my time comes? I don't know, tonight it all feels too close and horrible. So much easier to die...to gently drift away and forget it all. No pain, no worry. Just drift off with the tide. No more concerns about pickets, who's in hospital, who's absent, what the Germans are doing....." Darcy abruptly looked down at Elizabeth's face. "I'm not going to die....I'm just wishing I could. So many of them have." Darcy gently wiped away a tear from Elizbeth's cheek, it was immediately replaced but he didn't seem to realise it. "Someday this insanity will end....or at least one can hope it will. Tonight feels like there has never been any peace and there never will be.....I hope......I hope someday we can live in peace." Darcy stared down into Elizabeth's face for a long minute and then abruptly pulled her in close and hugged her fiercely. "I've no idea why you tolerate me Beth, but Dear God I'm thankful you do." Then as suddenly as he had grabbed her, Darcy released her and started to go.
"David." It was barely a whisper but it stopped Darcy in his tracks and he turned back slowly. "Please......please come back."
"I'll try." Darcy hesitated, his voice cracking. "God knows I'll try Lizzie, but tonight I cannot promise."
Major Haraldsen shivered in his coat as he looked around the dusty, windswept aerodrome. Major Haraldsen was in fact in the uncomfortable position of being more conscious of his Major's stripes than his situation. The wind that swept across the aerodrome was a freezing, biting breeze which seemed to penetrate his very bones and freeze them solid.
"Hi! What do you want?" The question came from a blond Flight-Lieutenant who, Major Haraldsen was disgusted to see, was wearing a monocle.
"Is this Squadron 284?"
"Couldn't say, what do you think?" The Flight-Lieutenant turned and yelled back towards a hut where a flame-coloured head appeared briefly.
"Squadron 284?" The response was as cockney as the former Flight-Lieutenant's accent screamed of Eton. "Well, methinks that's the mail that comes here, but I ain't sure. Mebbe if we ask the others?"
"Nope, I reckon this calls for an enquiry." Eton shook his head, yawned a prodigiously wide yawn, and then swore as his monocle descended into the dust.
"Right I'll get the others." The head vanished, only to immediately reappear. "What's the enquiry about?"
"I'm not certain....something about the mail."
"Right, probably late......or is that the mailman?"
"Dunno....you the mailman?" The Flight-Lieutenant settled his monocle and peered enquiringly at Major Haraldsen.
"No I am not the mailman!...Is this Squadron 284?"
"284......sounds like an identification number. What think Pyro?"
"Hmmm, seems likely. My brother was 284 I think....Prisoner 284 Maidstone Gaol, London....but it might have been 428 or 123 or maybe nothing at all like that."
"Your brother actually was in Gaol?"
"Two years for forgery......I think.....It might have been two years because he was innocent, everyone knew it, but he had pled guilty."
"That is ridiculous." Eton stated his opinion firmly.
"Are you calling my brother ridiculous?"
"Yes."
"I thought so." The reply was despondent and so utterly unexpected that it threw Major Haraldsen completely off his already precarious balance. Were these Englishmen insane?
"What's going on out here?" A third man appeared, another Flight-Lieutenant, and from the rolling limp Haraldsen knew the man was not an active pilot and very likely never would be.
"Florrie called my brother ridiculous."
"Well he is." The response was damping and the third man turned to leave again.
"Excuse me, is this Squadron 284?" Major Haraldsen was beginning to feel more than slightly flustered, and he snatched at the third man as a scrap of sanity in a reeling world.
"Nope, no Squadron here, but all will assure you that we are the Cads of the Flying Corps."
"Well can you tell me where I can find Squadron 284." Major Harraldsen was rapidly losing what little control of his temper he'd never had.
"Why do you want to find that particular Squadron?"
"Because the lot of them are scheduled for a month of leave."
"Ah." It was a profound noise and was followed by a great big silence.
"Where's Ashie, Denny?" It was Eton who finally spoke up.
"Got no idea. I asked when he climbed up and he said he was going to hell."
"He can't take shortcuts, he's got to wait for the rest of us." But the response seemed automatic.
"Correction, I do know where he is." Denny abruptly backed up. "Off the tarmac lads he's incoming."
"Which way?" Eton had his neck most uncomfortably twisted up as he tried to inspect all points of the compass without moving his feet.
"The barn......do remove that monocle Florrie before I make you eat it." Denny was calmly towing Harraldsen to the edge of the tarmac.
"Where is your C.O.?" Haraldsen scowled at the three men, while simultaneously he attempted to straighten his jacket.
"We don't have one." The response was flat, and yet curiously edged.
"Rot!" Haraldsen snapped in irritation. But Haraldsen's irritation was very short-lived as a wicked looking knife abruptly pressed into his throat. "What the....."
"No one....and let me reinforce that. No one ever calls me a liar. We have stated that we have no C.O. and I swear if you question that statement any more than you already have I'll run this knife home." The words were soft, brittle-edged, and as Haraldsen looked down into the icy blue eyes of the owner he realised this was no joke. The man would drive home, and he very likely would enjoy it. This same man who held him up had five seconds ago been a flimsy wastrel with an Eton accent.
"FLORRIE!" It was sharp, it was dictatorial, and it was a voice you did not argue with.
"Yes sir?" The knife withdrew and the Officer turned, but there was no salute and no stiffening.
"Hardly the way to welcome a visiting Officer." The new arrival was quite similar to the Eton man, except his accent was slightly muffled by another unplaceable accent. "You need some help?"
"Major Haraldsen. Yes, I'm looking for Squadron 284?"
"Why?"
"To send the occupants on leave."
"Why has an American Army Officer been sent to deal with English Flying Officers......You are probably fortunate your throat hasn't been slit."
"Your Flight-Lieutenant just had a good shot at it."
"You must excuse us but we are somewhat brittle tempered right now."
"Rough week?"
"Rough fortnight." The response was cool enough.
"Who are you?" Harraldsen had been puzzled.
"I am Captain Ashington-Frankston....."
"Promotion arrived five minutes ago Ashie, you're a Major now."
"Devil take their hides. Sorry, I'm the Squadron-Leader, Major Lord James Ashington-Frankston."
"Where's your C.O.?"
"He's dead." The response was brief but succinct, then the speaker turned aside. "Denny, where's Geordie?"
"Last saw him in the mess."
"Well fetch him, my fuel line's acting up again."
"Right." Denny slid away, to return a couple of minutes later with the diminutive, and now dour, Ack-emma in tow.
"Watcha done now?" Geordie's tone was lugubrious.
"Dunno actually, thought you'd take a look."
"Where's everyone else?" Haraldsen looked around in puzzlement.
"There is no 'everyone else'." Ashie's tone was soft.
"What......"
"Who sent you?"
"Colonel Johnstone sent me.....he had some apology or other but I didn't quite catch it all, a bad line."
"Denny, get Johnstone up and see what he says." Ashie waved a negligent hand over his shoulder.
"So this is Squadron 284?" Haraldsen looked uncertain.
"I've never before met a Squadron with a grand total of five men, when you're counting both Ground staff and Administration staff."
"What happened?"
"We got shot to glory two days after we got bombed to glory and as a result we're slightly thin on the ground....Especially since our kitchen staff decided to go AWOL......what did he say?" The latter was addressed to Denny as that worthy returned.
"It seems there's a bit of trouble with intelligence. They're still trying to work out why St. Quentin happened where it did."
"Not surprising. He confirmed we're on leave?"
"Not really. It seems we're actually disbanded."
"Reason?"
"We've been given a month's leave and then we're being reposted. He also muttered something about H.E. and new aeroplanes, but he was in a hurry and unclear."
"So what happens about papers?"
"Don't need 'em. Seems Haraldsen here." Denny jerked his thumb. "Has petrol papers. We're to fly the Squadron back.....those that will actually take off and we think can last the distance."
"Leaving when?"
"Next week."
"Charming......just what we needed, more leave."
"Ashie it has been nearly eight months since you even had a day off." Denny shook his head. "Johnstone said he was hoping to mix us up as a special flight in 83....but he didn't sound hopeful."
"Surprise, surprise. Okay chaps let's get working, we've got to make these bombs last a trip back to England." Ashie lifted his voice for the finish and Haraldsen nearly smiled ruefully when he realised how beautifully done his dismissal was.
Darcy walked onto the tarmac at Squadron 83, they were due back on the front tomorrow and Darcy wanted to get a look of the land they were to be stationed.
"'Ullo Major." Mac came strolling lazily out of one of the nearby buildings. "I assumed I wouldn't see you for a while. Had been expecting you'd been sent back to England for reassignment and leave."
"Not likely. We just got turned into a Brigade instead of a Division and are getting pushed back out again next week."
"Sounds like they really appreciated your work." Mac studied the face above him silently for a minute. "What can I do you for? Since I doubt that you merely came to pass the time of day."
"I was hoping you'd be able to take me up for a bit so I can have a look at where we're being shoved in."
"'Spose I could." Mac shrugged slightly. "Ashie was asking me to ask you to stop over at 284. He seemed to think he had something important to say to you."
"Did he?" Darcy's brows rose slightly. What could Ashie want with him?
"Mind if we stop coming back from your look?"
"Guess not, the sooner done the sooner it's over."
"Heard he wasn't overly polite when you stopped over the other day."
"I wasn't surprised in the slightest." Darcy shrugged. "And neither should you since except for Ashie you were most acquainted with the Colonel."
"True." Mac nodded slowly and glanced up at the sky. There was no way he was going to admit to anyone that Thomlin's death had hit him harder then even the death of his father had. For the first time he was thankful that he had not had a constant observer since Paige had gone west back in '16. There were times when it was annoying to have someone who knew you well around, but at the same time it was aggravating to have an endless stream of observers who were transferred the minute they managed to see a 'plane before it rammed them up the nose.
"Can you take me up?"
"Sure, I'll get the paperwork filed and be back." Mac headed off leaving Darcy to rub his chin and stare at the ground.
"Why does Ashie wish to speak to me?" Darcy asked the question of the ground, and was not surprised when the ground failed to answer. It had never answered before and he doubted it would start answering now, but it still remained a useful thing to talk to. Darcy was still pondering the matter when Mac returned nearly five minutes later.
"Everything's clear now. Now we just have to get you a coat at least."
"Forget it Mac. You don't even have a shirt I could get into."
"Okay." Mac paused. "I'll stand you coffee when we get back. I can probably mangle some brandy out of Ashie to add to it."
"Let's just get moving."
"Ever the Major. Yes sir, and etc."
"You sound like Ashie."
"Oh please, not that." Mac pulled a face, then promptly hustled away to see to the prepping of the Bristol. Ten minutes later saw them in the air and headed for the lines. Darcy inspected the guns which were mounted on the top wing and the front of his coaming and moved them experimentally. They were slightly heavy on the hands, but quite usable, even though Darcy knew he was going to be of nearly zero use except as a decoration and a target if they got into a fight.
"Don't worry, we won't get into a dogfight if I can possibly avoid it." Darcy nodded comprehension in response to Mac's yell, not having spent the last three odd years learning to yell coherently over the noise of an aero engine he wasn't about to try and make himself understood now.
"Which way?" The question came nearly five minutes later as they approached the lines. Darcy indicated to their right and the response came immediately as the 'plane banked around in a fairly gentle curve. Almost immediately the Archie opened up and Darcy initially flinched back, he doubted he'd ever become accustomed to Archie fire, for it always caught him out. Darcy studied the ground as it past below them and finally some five minutes later he waved his hand in a circle. Mac promptly banked the Bristol around into a steady curve as Darcy studied the ground which passed underneath them. Some two minutes later he gave a nod and Mac immediately ceased circling and started heading for the lines, only to the pull around in a sharp turn.
"Sorry Major, just saw something that needs checking out. Won't take a minute." Darcy gave a brief nod in response and rubbed his fingers, they were already bluish-white from the cold, but Darcy was well aware that they could take a lot more cold before he needed to start worrying about them suffering permanently. Darcy studied over the edge as they headed into enemy territory, then frowned as Mac banked and circled three times. Darcy himself could see nothing, but he was well aware that you learnt what to look for and listen for. He might not be able to see enemy 'planes the moment they came into sight distance, but he could trace an incoming shell and place where it would land within a few metres.
"Interesting." Mac pulled out of the circle and started back towards the lines, Darcy glanced back at Mac and was interested to note an unusual crease between the dark brows. "Very interesting." The last Darcy did not actually hear, but Mac's lips moved in the right pattern for it, and Mac seemed to be studying every point of the horizon with intense interest. It was not half obvious that Mac was expecting trouble from somewhere. Trouble arrived with a hissing rush and produced from Mac a fluent string of invective as he practically stood the Bristol on its end as he seemed to spin and climb for height simultaneously. Darcy felt his internals heave rebelliously. Then there came another rushing hiss which ended with a soft crunch and a violent jerk. Darcy whipped around to see a pale Mac fighting with the controls.
"Phosphorous shells, usually only use them at night. Sorry Darcy I seem to have stirred up a right hornets nest, we're not going to make it back." Darcy gave a simple nod in response, there was nothing else he could do as Mac had merely stated what was clearly obvious already. The last shell had taken out the tail and set fire to what it had not taken, but Mac's next move caught Darcy completely unprepared, the Bristol seemed to suddenly go vertical as it plunged nose first towards the ground. After one brief look at the ground Darcy calmly turned around on his seat and studied the back of the 'plane. Admittedly it was not pleasant to watch the fire, but watching the fire was infinitely more pleasant than watching the earth swell and loom and over take his vision.
"Is it out?" Mac was dead white and Darcy wondered whether he might not have some other problem. Darcy shook his head then grabbed the edge of the coaming as Mac yanked them around in a vicious turn, or at any rate Darcy had the feeling that it would have been a vicious turn had they had a tail section, as it was, it was more of a sickening wiggle which barely changed their earthbound course.
"Sorry Major, time we took some desperate action. Throw your weight to the right when I call." Darcy nodded, his eyes watching in puzzlement as Mac quickly scrambled out of his harness. But then it dawned, Mac was right about desperate action, but as the ground was only a couple of hundreds of feet away Darcy was well aware that there was really no other way. "On second thoughts, just throw your weight backwards and to the right." Darcy nodded again, then frowned as the engine died away.
"GO!" Darcy didn't even look at Mac as he lunged backwards and to the right, but the cracking and splintering sound which accompanied the Bristol's change of course was unmistakable.
Mac moaned softly as he became conscious of a pounding head and throbbing eyes, he had had his doubts before about the claim that the body had two hundred odd bones, but he was now willing to revise his doubts as he could feel every single last bone. It was in a doubtful manner which Mac finally opened his eyes. As Mac's vision cleared and came into focus, so to did his memories. Memories which had Mac scrambling desperately and very unstably to his feet. A scramble which ended with him lying on the ground again. Obviously speed was not the way he was going to have to take when it came to getting to his feet.
It took some fifteen more minutes before Mac at last made it to his feet and managed to remain there. His shoulder throbbed and ached agonisingly and it was in a fairly detached manner that Mac inspected the damaged member, his final conclusion was that even though it probably wasn't broken he was SURE it was not meant to look like that. Mac touched it gingerly, and soon decided that he did not mind the pain so much, it was minimal compared to what the pain would be if he disturbed it.
It took Mac some five minutes to inspect his surroundings and decide that he was steady enough to try and walk somewhere. Mac wasted a minute or so inspecting the wing he had come down with before turning and walking off, he drew the conclusion that Darcy was anywhere between a few metres away to a kilometre away, which meant he had a lot of ground to cover before he could possibly even consider writing the effort off as a waste of time.
The High Command were very unlikely to pin a medal on him for this effort, it was bad enough that he had crashed in enemy territory, but it was even worse that he had crashed with a General in his front cockpit. They might have dismissed the loss of a Lieutenant or a Captain, or possibly even a Major without much of a fuss, but he had crashed a General out, and Generals did not grow on every bush.....even though they were a lot more common now than they used to be. Mac moaned again and hoped desperately that he would at least find Darcy. But what he was really wishing was that he had never woken up that morning.
It was two hours later when Mac finally found what he was looking for and since his first days in France and the first corpse he had seen he had never felt so sickened in his life. Three deep gouges cut through the blackened turf and in places the fire still burned. There were a few largish lumps of smouldering dirt and grass which had been flung to the side. The wreck itself lay rammed up against a blackened tree trunk, the tree and much of the grass around still burned, but the wreck itself had long since run out of things to burn. Mac turned aside and attended to some urgent business behind a nearby bush. Having dealt with that problem Mac deliberately started searching around the field, he had little hope, but he had no intention of leaving without first looking, and the sooner he had looked the sooner he could leave.
Twenty minutes later Mac subsided onto the turf of the field and stared across the blackened grass at the twisted wreckage, in the space of about a week he had lost the two men he most admired, and now he'd probably be charged and given dishonourable discharge.....That was assuming they didn't decide he needed to be executed for the crime. Why had he even considered checking that out? It would have been easier and safer just to notify Ashie of it and let the Cads check it out later. Mac stared thoughtfully at his military issue revolver, complete with six shots. Was there any reason for him to not use it? Mac pondered the matter for a minute, then reholstered the weapon. A revolver would solve nothing, he had to at least try and return, even if it did mean it was just a short hospital stay before he was returned to England. Mac pushed bitterly to his feet and studied the sky for a minute before turning and walking south-east.
As evening came and darkness fell Mac realised that he wasn't going to make it remotely near the coast, or at least not unless he got his shoulder set. Mac stared up at the stars and wondered about the fuss back at 83. He could remember many occasions when a pilot failed to return, dinner on those occasions was invariably a sober meal. He wondered what the meal would be like this evening. Were the boys sitting around the mess getting slowly and methodically drunk while digging up every scrap of memory they had on him? Had his 'plane been seen to fall by the forward observation posts? How far was he from the lines to begin with?
Slowly but surely Mac found his thoughts turning to the section of front which they had inspected that afternoon. There was absolutely no question that that was his only hope of making a safe return, even if they had not mined the channel end of the lines he could not have returned that way as he could never swim the distance, even if he did have two functional arms. Mac frowned as he stared up at the stars, at a guess he would say he was about twenty miles or so from the front and it would take him close on a week to cover that distance provided he took suitable precautions against being seen.
Mac collapsed into the mud and stared glassily at the thick mass of barbed wire in front of him, he could see a small aperture ten metres off, but there was a guard house near it and Mac really didn't think it likely that he'd get through, but it was worth the effort. Slowly Mac inched towards the gap in the wire, he could see a light gleaming from the guardhouse, he might as well get shot going through than shot drifting around the wrong side of the lines. Either way it would most likely be a German bullet which got him.
"Gimme a light mate." Mac was almost halfway through the aperture when the words caused him to freeze and stare in utter amazement at the small hut.
"Got no light Smithy, 'sides which we ain't allowed smoko."
"Bugger the regulations.....Oi! 'Oo'er you?"
"Me? I'm Smithy mate."
"Not you yer bleedin' galah, I'm referrin' to the blighter 'oo's lyin' like 'ee's dead in our gateway."
"Ee's some galah. Mate you got a light?" A second head had joined the first head by the window. "Nup, Ee's dead. Come on Smithy, no good lookin' at a corpse."
"I swear 'e moved. Out you go Smithy an' tap 'im on the shoulder."
"I ain't tappin' no corpse on the shoulder. Go tap 'im yerself."
"Fine I will then." One of the heads vanished only to reappear moments later in the doorway and a few moments later Mac felt a boot firmly applied to his ribs.
"Ease off it will you." Mac had been expecting something of the sort to happen, but it made him no happier when it did happen. The meataxe which had been buried in his skull for the past three days dug in a bit deeper and the top of his head seemed to fall off and bounce away in a cloud of stars.
"Nup, 'Ee's no corpse. Smithy, get through to t'old Boss an tell 'im we got an English speaking corpse with a weird shoulder."
Service is the rent we pay for being. It is the very purpose of life, and not something you do in your spare time. - Marion Wright Edelman
"Sister!" The call had Elizabeth turning.
"What?" Elizabeth was certain that at any minute her head was going to explode, and if she heard her name called one more time she was certain she would scream.
"Just to tell you we've got them all bedded down and you are now on leave." It was a thin and tired looking sister who came to stand next to her.
"Are you sure about that?" Elizabeth looked hard at the sister.
"Quite certain Sister, here are the papers which confirm that we received them. Leave them at the London Office if you're going through London....otherwise we'll send them with the rest of the mail."
"Well it will probably be close on a week before I pass through London."
"We'll mail them then. Why a week, I thought you said you lived the other side of London."
"I do, but I've got some people to visit first."
"Alright. Clear out of here sister and get some sleep. You look like a sleep-walking hag and you'll frighten the staff."
"Very good Sister." Elizabeth laughed before moving off. She knew she didn't look good, but she also knew she didn't look that bad.
"Well if it ain't Miss Beth! 'Ullo ma'am." Private Peter James was sitting propped up in bed and looking slightly bored.
"Malingering! I knew I'd find you malingering. How goes it?" Elizabeth dumped onto the foot of Peter's bed.
"So-so." Peter tilted his head. "Miss bein' yelled at by the Major. Boring here."
"Well all the more reason to stop malingering. You walking yet?"
"I can make a couple of steps unassisted on a good day." Peter grimaced slightly.
"Shocking, the Major would be scandalized at such slow progress."
"Couldn't say actually, he only yelled at me before because I said I was dying and he said no runner of his was going to die in his bed."
"And he was right to. Bye-the-bye, give a holler when they talk of loosing you on the civilian world and I'll come retrieve you."
"You leaving now?"
"No." Elizabeth couldn't have missed the fear in the boy's eyes. "Just giving you an itinerary of what is to come."
"How was the Major?"
"Tired, annoyed, but quite alive."
"Do you know what's happening? We got a bit mangled." Peter twisted around and propped himself up onto one elbow.
"I believe it's being downsized to a Brigade and getting shoved back out with the remains of the 2nd Division under General Morgan."
"Boys won't be happy.....Brigadier Holloway didn't last did he?"
"No." Elizabeth gently shook her head. "He went with the sun it seems."
"He was a damn good officer." Peter hesitated. "Why'd you come?"
"One because the Major wanted to know if 'his damned runner was malingering or not'. Two because you're an outrageous boy who probably would malinger. Three because I happen to remember a particularly obstreperous patient who never did what he was told. Are you as hard on the staff here as you were back then?"
"Probably." Peter blinked sleepily. "I always wanted an older sister."
"Well you've got one. Now you get some sleep, behave yourself, get walking and I'll be back to see you next week."
"Promise?" Peter lashed out a quick hand and caught Elizabeth as she started to leave.
"Yes, I promise that nothing short of disaster will prevent me from turning up to haunt you. Now this is your older sister saying leave go because the Major's got a few other's that need checking up on. Much as I'd like to spend the rest of the day here I think a few old friends would be miffed if they knew I spent the day with a Private."
"Okay, I'll behave." Peter sank back with a yawn. "Hope the Major gets some leave soon, he'll be spitting at what's happened."
"I can assure you he already is, but he has a Brigade to attend to....just like you've got health to attend to. Now stop being bad." Elizabeth frowned at Peter, who responded with an unrepentant grin, before leaving the room. Elizabeth had not been joking about others to see, the list was long and tiresome. There were also a few on the list who had never even been in France. These ones were the worst on the list of people to see, for these were the ones who would never see a beloved face again. These were the people who were the real faces of war.
Mac yawned widely and then gave another tug on the rope that held his hands behind his back. Rope lacked the satisfying jingle of chains. There was no way when one was tied up with rope that one could imagine some fun story to pass the time, quite bluntly it was just uncomfortable.
"Will ya stop that sir? It ain't helpin' nothin' and they will be mad if ya ain't in prime condition." The Lieutenant who accompanied him frowned darkly at him.
"Cut out the sir." Mac snapped the answer shortly as he yanked once more on the rope which held his hands. Mac was tired of being stared at. He was tired of people asking questions about him as if he weren't there. Most of all Mac was tired of sitting on the train knowing that he only had to move his eyes about an inch to see the unfaded patches where his gold braid used to be. He only had to move his eyes about an inch to see the unfaded strip across his chest where his ribbons had sat. He only had to move his eyes about an inch to see the unfaded circles where battle buttons used to lie. Mac also only had to move his eyes about an inch to find himself looking straight at Nero. Nero had raised hell at the station when they had tried to shove Mac aboard without him. Not even Freddie had been able to stop Nero and calm him down. Mac wished he could scratch Nero's ears, but the rope prevented him from doing anything other than stamping on Nero's toes, and Nero did not like that.
"It's alright Lieutenant, just stand outside. And yes you can check me first I am carrying nothing which can be of any use or service to the prisoner." The words were spoken quietly but they brought Mac's head whipping around so fast that he heard his neck crack.
"Hullo, Ashie." Mac nodded slowly, uncertain of where he stood.
"Good watchdog they gave you." Ashie finally lowered his arms and then flattened himself against the wall as the Lieutenant sitting with Mac stepped out of the cubicle to join his fellow guard.
"He'll be listening to everything we say." Mac was still wary.
"Do I look worried, I've got nothing of interest to say." Ashie settled down and scratched Nero's head. "Nero take much out of anyone before they let him on?"
"Only a chunk out of Freddie. He also stole the seat of someone's pants.......the piece is around here somewhere."
"At least he's faithful." Ashie fished up the damp piece of cloth and looked at it ruefully.
"Why'd you come here?" Mac eyed Ashie warily, the other was holding something back.
"Here as on this train?"
"We can start there."
"I'm on leave." Ashie shoved the scrap of material into his pocket. "Meant to fly my bird back but the damn thing wouldn't even take off."
"That's what you wanted to tell the Major?"
"No." Ashie shook his head slowly. "Guess I just felt I had to apologise for the previous day. I shredded the Major pretty badly when he came over. Even though I know he knew the reason for it and was correspondingly undisturbed by it, I still had to apologise for it." Ashie hesitated and shrugged.
"Yeah, well..." Mac shifted uneasily. "I wish they didn't feel compelled to tie me up like a sack of grain, it's damnably uncomfortable."
"Much as I'd like to loosen you I'm not currently in a position where I'm willing to tell rules to go to the devil. Though I will mention to the guard that your fingers are going blue."
"Are they?" Mac looked startled.
"Yes.....and blue fingers are a very bad thing." Ashie rose and glanced out the window before turning to look at Mac thoughtfully. "They won't do more than imprison you Mac."
"M-hmmm." Mac sounded doubtful in the extreme.
"You didn't get shot down on purpose, you didn't go look without the Major's permission. Trust me on this one Mac they'll clink you for a few days and then they'll set you free."
"They shoot people for deserting the battlefield."
"Deserting the field of battle and getting shot down are two totally different things." Ashie growled the last sharply. "They don't execute people for mistakes."
"I don't want your charity Ashie....."
"I'm not giving you bloody charity! I don't give charity for the simple reason I can't take the damn stuff. This isn't charity Mac and this isn't me trying to make you feel good. This is a person stating the blunt truth. I've been through this system before, I can tell you they don't shoot accidents." Ashie stalked from the cubicle as he spoke, leaving Mac to glare uncertainly at the far wall.
"How's 'e been through the system?" The Lieutenant settled heavily back into his seat.
"Ask him not me." Mac responded shortly, before scowling and grimacing. "Stop it Nero!"
"What's that damn dog doin' now?" The Lieutenant eyed Nero warily.
"He seems to have decided that I do need the circulation in my hands which you are reluctant to let me have."
"What's that meant to mean?" The Lieutenant looked even more suspicious.
"He was chewing on the ropes." Mac shoved Nero aside with an elbow. "I'll persuade him to stop it, but only if you loosen my hands sufficiently that I can actually feel them again."
"That Major did wot say you was short a bit of blood down thar. Lemme look." The Lieutenant moved as Mac worked his way around awkwardly. "Okay mate, you promise to be good and you can have five minutes of free hands and then I'll tie 'em in front of you." Untying took the Lieutenant a minute or two and it was with great reluctance that Mac finally brought his hands around to the front and glanced at them. Ashie had not been making an understatement when he had said that Mac's hands were blue. Mac eyed his hands distastefully, they were swollen to nearly twice their usual size, and an interesting shade of blue-purple. Red welts and chafing marked where the ropes had been and white lines showed where skin had been pinched in between them.
"What a glorious sight." Mac studied his hands cautiously before finally attempting to wave a finger. The finger did not twitch and Mac bit down hard as he felt the first twinges of returning circulation. "I don't think five minutes will be enough."
"Well that's all I'll give you." The Lieutenant glanced down at the hands. "Though perhaps I'll retie you loosely."
"That is kind of you." Mac sank back on the hard seat as the first waves of exquisite pain raced up his forearms and washed through him.
"Yer tough! I'll give you that." The Lieutenant had been watching in silence for several minutes before he spoke again. "It must be fair killing you."
"I'm not an Officer because they were bored with me, and I'll be damned if I permit a lieutenant to see me rolling all over the floor, howling." Mac finally trusted himself to speak without making it sound like a howl of agony. The pain was receding, and fortunately his hands were also resuming their normal appearance. Mac wasn't sure which was worse, the pain, or the sight of his hands like that.
"Wish you had been mine." The Lieutenant grunted sourly. Mac lifted his brows slightly but didn't bother asking further.
"That Major, did you see where he came from?"
"Next carriage."
"Well tie me up again and bucket off and find him. Tell him I'll never laugh at his gloves again."
"Why should I tell him that garbage?" The Lieutenant started retying Mac as the allotted five minutes had come and gone.
"Garbage to you, but it isn't garbage to him." Mac grimaced slightly as the ropes bit home, recovered his hands might be, but his skin was not.
"Mmmm." The Lieutenant hesitated, then shrugged. "I'll be back soon." The Lieutenant hauled awkwardly to his feet and slipped out of the cubicle before staggering off down the train. The other guard calmly took up a seat in the cubicle.
"Very ugly hands Nero old chap. But here's the head scratch I've wanted to give you." Mac dug his fingers into Nero's head as hard as he could. He found it bliss to be able to see what his hands were doing.
"Mac, you are a traitor and a half."
"Why?" Mac looked up as Ashie came bounding into the cubicle.
"That Lieutenant now wants an explanation."
"Tell the Lieutenant he won't understand unless he's had his hands tied behind his back for at least a day....and tied tightly there."
"No he's not interested in that, what he's interested in is why I wear gloves."
"Well tell him it's none of his business. It's not like he's a Major or something."
"True." Ashie waved a hand and retreated, bumping into the Lieutenant as he did so. "Cheerio old chap. I'll tell you when you're a Major."
"That fellow think he's funny or something?" The Lieutenant dumped down on his seat in disgust while the other Lieutenant retreated once more to the corridor.
"I doubt it." Mac wriggled his fingers experimentally and then grinned. "In fact I think he would be horrified if you laughed. Become a Major, ask him and I can promise he will tell."
"Funny ain'tcha." The Lieutenant relapsed into silence and Mac followed suit as once more a dark cloud started to build up and hover. For all Ashie's encouragement Mac had a very nasty feeling that crashing out a General would bring down the heaviest price on his head. If only because the High Command needed a scapegoat to explain it all. Any General would have brought up the problem, but since it was a General who had just been an awful lot in the newspapers over his efforts at St. Quentin it would require better explanation. Everyone knew that the balance had hung on the 13th Midlander's Division at St. Quentin. Everyone was equally certain that had it been anyone other than General Darcy in charge of that Division the Germans would now be safely ensconced in Paris. Mac looked gloomily out the window as yet another raindrop splatted damply against it. Colonel Thomlin...Old Icey.....General Darcy....Both dead. Another raindrop smacked onto the window. Did he actually want to live? A wet nose dug under his fingers and Mac found himself staring down at a very sad looking eye. Ten years. Mac stared down at the dark eye. Ten years and all would be gone......Did he even want to live?
Elizabeth sighed as she pocketed the papers before walking slowly from the office. Whether she admitted it or not the severance of this last tie with her previous life was painful, it almost made the previous three years a dream. Outside the weather was a miserable drizzle and Elizabeth grimaced up at it before pulling her oilskin around herself tighter and scurrying off down the street in search of an omnibus or a cab, or some means of getting transport back to her Aunt and Uncle's house.
"Sister Bennet?!" The voice called in accents of pure surprise and instinctively Elizabeth turned to see who called, but she could see no face she recognised. "Sister Bennet!" The call this time was firm and held no doubt, the voice was satisfied that it had made correct identification. Elizabeth looked around for the caller, but she could see no one who it could possibly have been, except perhaps a man who stood on the far pavement obviously looking for a suitably sized gap. But it could not possibly be the man because she knew no one who looked like that. A large spreading umbrella protected a suit of immaculate cut, a highly polished shoe tapped impatiently on the tarmac and with a frown the wearer skipped back from the curb to avoid being splashed by a passing omnibus. The bus had barely passed before the man easily skipped across the road and extended an immaculately gloved hand. "May I offer you a portion of my umbrella?"
"Have we met?" Elizabeth looked very surprised and highly doubtful. The man was unfamiliar and yet familiar.
"Alack, the Major's ladylove does not recognise me....must be the duds." The voice spoke mournfully and in seeming idleness a cuff was pulled back so the owner could inspect a far from cheap watch.
"Ashie?" Elizabeth stared in disbelief first at the angry, red, curling scar which was already hidden again under the coat and then up into the grinning face. "Ashie!" Elizabeth abruptly flung herself forward and hugged Ashie soundly. "Where did you spring from?"
"Just arrived from France..." Ashie extricated a second watch from a waistcoat pocket and inspected it gravely. "Five hours, forty-three minutes and eight seconds ago.....now feel free to steady on and let go of me, you're having a disastrous effect on my suit." Ashie gave Elizabeth a quick hug as he spoke to remove any sting from his remark, and it was with a slightly embarrassed laugh that Elizabeth released him.
"I'm awfully sorry Ashie, I don't really know what came over me...guess I was just feeling a bit divorced and lost from reality."
"Anyone should when they return to England." Ashie spoke pompously and then quickly saluted Elizabeth's cheek. "Now how about you supply me with company for the rest of the day.......or are you in a tearing hurry?"
"I've actually got absolutely nothing to do." Elizabeth spoke somewhat forlornly.
"Poor you." Ashie draped a companionable arm around her shoulder. "Well how about we cancel your lunch where ever you intended to have it and you can long sufferingly accompany me first to lunch with a brother.....and then I'm taking you to some show or other......I think dinner is then on the boards and possibly a dance." Ashie scratched a thoughtful chin. "Or is my dandified presence too much for you to take?"
"It's not that." Elizabeth flushed slightly. "I've got absolutely nothing but what I'm currently in." Elizabeth indicated her workable tweed skirt suit.
"Appropriate attire comes as part of the invitation.....silver with light-blue trim I think. Definitely loose hair, just needs to be caught back in a ribbon, school girl style." Ashie had tilted his head thoughtfully, then abruptly he grinned and grabbed her arm, flagging down a cab. "Come, time to kit you out in style, this is the wedding present I never gave you....and don't you dare turn into a fountain on me.....I'm well aware that you intended to return here together." Ashie paused for a moment to give directions to the driver before returning in a very brotherly manner to abuse Elizabeth out of her self-pity.
Elizabeth eyed the full-length mirror doubtfully and then turned to look at the dressmaker who was making some last minute modifications to the dress.
"Is it all here?"
"Very much so, though a spangled shawl should be added." The dressmaker patted the modification she had just made and smiled. "I'll pay you a compliment that I have never paid anyone by saying you have a beautiful figure, so many people come asking for a dress which requires modifications to a large degree."
"And shortening skirt and waist by six inches isn't a modification?" Elizabeth raised doubting eyebrows.
"Rubbish, no woman is six foot tall and even if she is she wouldn't dare come here for a dress. Such dresses are made so it is never too short. Now hold still before I stick you with a pin." The reprimand made Elizabeth giggle. A couple of minutes later there was a discreet knock on the door.
"Who is it?" The small girl who had taken measurements and things looked up sharply.
"Me, can I come in?"
"Yes." The response was calm and Ashie somewhat cautiously edged into the room, his brows rose in momentary surprise before he rested back against the wall and gave a small smile.
"Madame is lovely and your work is exquisite.....just right for the price." The latter was muttered in a muted undertone and essentially inaudible, though from the woman's smile Elizabeth realised that the dressmaker had heard and understood Ashie's remark.
"Do you like it?" Elizabeth looked up in interest.
"What does one say?" Ashie rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"One can easily say that madam is exquisite and leave it at that......Savoy?"
"I think yes." Ashie grinned at Elizabeth's gaping astonishment.
"Not your sister?"
"Nope." Ashie shook his head. "Wife of my best friend, and since he's not here to entertain her and she was in a funk I took the job on....also called a belated wedding present. All finished here yet?"
"All done." The dressmaker straightened up as she spoke and then looked pointedly at Ashie. "She needs a spangled shawl."
"I'm sure you have the perfect shawl......and you could probably advise where to get the most appropriate shoes so just add them to the bill."
"Very good.....how's your sister?"
"Margaret was in good health when I last saw her." Ashie paused and bit his lip. "I last saw her three years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that, she was a lovely lady." The seamstress scratched her head. "And if the young lady will carefully go change Elise will see the dress packed away and the shawl included. I would suggest you visit Heinrich for shoes, he has just the pair for this dress."
"Good." Ashie nodded in satisfaction. Elizabeth changed fairly quickly, but was surprised when she returned to note that neither person had spoken, there had very clearly been no conversation while she was gone.
"Who was that?" Elizabeth asked the question as they headed off down the street.
"Marianne, she's been dressmaker to both my mother and sister for years and unfortunately views it as her duty to annoy me."
"Then why did she refer to me as not your sister?"
"That's just her way of finding out information without offending anybody. It is quite logical that when a mistake like that is made no one gets offended and the whole story is told."
"True." Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Why do you know so many people?"
"Survival. To survive you need information and the best way to get information is to have many sources....likewise it can be the survival of others." Ashie shrugged.
"You are a very peculiar person at times." Elizabeth shook her head slowly. "You play the dandified fool and yet you are neither."
"How strangely the female mind works." Ashie gave a sigh.
"My point exactly, you are thinking nothing of the sort." Elizabeth waved her finger at him and Ashie drew back sharply.
"Am I not?"
"No, you're talking like your suit."
"One must suit the situation."
"Garbage." Elizabeth's blunt reply drew a short laugh from Ashie.
"Woe is me, the lady says Garbage."
"Ashie if you don't dry up I'll hit you. I'm not in the mood for dandified graces....I was hoping you'd continue to speak at least semi-reasonably." Elizabeth hunched her shoulders in irritation, she didn't know what had caused the abrupt mood switch in Ashie, but she didn't like it at all.
"Sorry." Ashie's tone was contrite. "To put it bluntly I am a trifle off balance currently."
"So tell, why are you in England at all?"
"Our Squadron got disbanded pending reassignment....seems they don't believe that a Squadron can consist of five men and still be called a Squadron."
"Are you going to be scattered?"
"We hope not, but it all depends on whether Florrie recovers as hoped."
"What happened to him?"
"He had a bullet lodged in his Achilles Tendon. Not much of course, but it sort of prevented much walking. He had it cut out about an hour ago."
"Pyro?"
"Buried in the backwoods sleeping off the war. He's meant to turn up on my doorstep day after tomorrow.....but somehow I doubt he will. The last fortnight smashed us all pretty badly."
"Why are you here?"
"Nowhere else to go." Ashie shrugged a trifle indifferently.
"Surely there's somewhere to go?" Elizabeth looked puzzled.
"Plenty of places I could go, but nowhere I want to go."
"Oh." Elizabeth digested the remark thoughtfully.
"You heard much news from France?"
"Nothing since I came home. I haven't even managed to read a newspaper."
"Thank God for that." Ashie's tone was distinctly relieved. "Come you, we need lunch....and for that I'm afraid you'll have to meet my ever so tedious brother....but don't worry, he looks nothing like me."
"Is that meant to be comforting?" Elizabeth looked at Ashie in askance.
"Of course not, but one must say something." Ashie's tone was light, but when Elizabeth glanced up at him she noticed that his face had become somewhat grimly set.
"And now?" Elizabeth had changed back into her previous tweeds and tied her hair up again before rejoining Ashie. It was now well past midnight and quite chilly.
"Now we go for a drive." Ashie's tone was soft as he dug a thick blanket out of the back and handed it to Elizabeth.
"Why?" Elizabeth settled down willingly enough as Ashie engaged the gears and shot off.
"Because the party's over and reality has returned. There's some news you need to hear."
"What news?" Elizabeth pulled the blanket around her more tightly, but refrained from further comment. Ashie would tell in his own time and in his own way, pressing was more likely to make him shut up.
"You remember Mac?"
"Captain McKenna from 83?" Elizabeth checked cautiously, she couldn't think of another Mac Ashie could possibly be referring too, but she wanted to be certain.
"That's the blighter." Ashie applied a bit more pressure to the accelerator as he cleared the outskirts of London.
"What about him?"
"Really bad news. He's up for Court Martial."
"Why?"
"Negligence is the easiest term to give it. They say he betrayed his duty as an Officer....now go look at the eight page passage of technical terms they use to describe it."
"What happened to him?"
"He got shot down 'cross the lines and made the error of returning."
"Ashie, that makes no sense at all." Elizabeth frowned at the dark silhouette next to her.
"The only reason returning was a mistake was because he returned without his Observer for the day."
"Why didn't he return with his observer?" Elizabeth scratched her head and frowned ahead, Ashie had never been this roundabout before.
"Because the Bristol broke up. Mac went down with a wing, his observer went down with the rest. The rest exploded on impact and made a BIG mess."
"Ashie?" Elizabeth looked sharply at Ashie, but Ashie was already decelerating and pulling over to the side of the road.
"Mac didn't have an Air Force accredited Observer that day." Ashie's expression was searching. "His Observer, I'm afraid to say, was Major-General D.F. Darcy of the 13th Midlanders Division. That is why Mac is up for court martial."
"Where is he?" The question was asked softly and came after several minutes of silence.
"Who? Mac?" Ashie looked quizzically at Elizabeth and received a mute nod in response. "Shedforth Downs Detention Barracks."
"Is he allowed visitors?"
"I honestly couldn't say. But I'd expect not."
"How far are we from the Barracks?"
"50 miles, give or take about ten."
"Then let's go find out."
"Why?" Ashie put the motor back in gear again and started to gain speed.
"Because if I know anything of the Captain McKenna I've known for the past year and a bit he's not yawning his head off in the barracks. He's probably kicking himself around the place dead certain he'll be shot at dawn, that Darcy's death is entirely his fault, and that I'm going to murder him at the first possible opportunity."
"Aren't you?" Ashie changed up another gear.
"I've already lost too many friends, I don't want to lose any more.....and if I must I'm not going to have them go kicking themselves."
"You've been expecting such news haven't you?" Ashie glanced briefly away from his driving, then focussed firmly back on it. What that brief glance had shown him was none of his business and he had no intention of ever remembering it.
"Yes." It was barely audible to begin with and the engine which was now fairly bellowing made it even more difficult to hear.
"Well all I'll say is don't expect too much. Any prisoner usually isn't permitted visitors, so I doubt their court martial will be permitted visitors."
"I have to try." Elizabeth spoke softly.
"Well we've tried." Ashie drew up outside the Gardiner's house with a scrunch and turned the motor off.
"We've tried." Elizabeth echoed the words softly, then glanced up at the sky, dawn was just beginning to break. Elizabeth dropped her eyes from the sky to her hands, and then shot a quick glance across at Ashie. "Thanks.....thanks for giving me a fun day before you told me." Elizabeth quickly kissed Ashie on the cheek before leaping from the motor and running for the house.
"Dammit." Ashie swore softly to himself before leaving the motor to crank the engine over. One crank and the engine was running once more. Ashie returned to his seat and with spinning wheels the motor leapt forward and away.
"What's got you?" Pyro looked up from the formal and terribly uncomfortable chair he was seated in as Ashie came into the room.
"You really don't wish to know." Ashie made straight for the small cabinet which housed the drinks.
"Your man will be unhappy."
"Manningford can go to hell for all I care." Ashie snapped the response as he poured out a stiff drink. The drink vanished in a single gulp and Ashie sank into another uncomfortable chair. "Which reminds me, where is he? I'm surprised he's not pouring dirty eyes over that terrible suit of yours."
"Only suit I had to spare." Pyro rose to his feet and yawned widely. "Unless you've got more comfortable seats than these I suggest we retire to my hole."
"You got a motor?"
"No." Pyro shook his head.
"Then we'll have to walk or take a cab, I'm not taking the Bentley anywhere near your hole."
"Which Bentley?"
"The silver one." Ashie poured himself a second drink.
"No one had bothered to tell her had they?" Pyro looked incuriously over the drink he was starting to pour himself, it was more of a statement than a question.
"No." Ashie growled his response shortly. "Damn it all! Why did the Major have to marry the one woman who makes me feel like an utter cad every time I meet her?"
"Does she?"
"Mostly." Ashie grunted the response sourly. "She's just done what I needed to do nearly ten years ago."
"Oh." Pyro didn't bother pressing.
"Make peace with someone your mad as hops at." Ashie pulled his coat back on and headed for the door. "I'll see you this evening."
"And that I guess is that." Pyro settled back on his most uncomfortable chair and picked up a newspaper. Pyro had no idea where Ashie was headed, but there was a fair chance it was straight for trouble.
"Excuse me sir." Manningford's precise voice interrupted Pyro's reading.
"What?" Pyro glanced briefly at the stiff Butler-cum-valet. Whether Manningford did it deliberately, or whether it was wholly unconscious, he seemed completely unable to not irritate Pyro.
"Was that Lord James I heard?"
"Yes, it was. Yes, he has left again and no, I do not know where he has gone." Pyro returned his attention to his paper as Manningford drifted from the room again.
"He returns." It was just gone six when the front door opened again and a pale and subdued Ashie walked into the house. "What's up?" Pyro gently shoved Ashie towards his room.
"I'm getting sick of people dying." Ashie sank limply onto his bed before discarding coat, hat and tie. "If you let Manningford in I swear I will kill you."
"Obviously not sick of killing though." Pyro retrieved the items of attire from the floor and returned them to the cupboard.
"Sick of that too." Ashie stripped off his gloves and shirt as he spoke and chucked them on the floor before digging after a flannel pyjama top.
"Who died?" Pyro put away the shirt and gloves and watched as Ashie abstractly tied knots in the shirt he was holding.
"An old friend who then became.....a non-friend."
"Not an enemy?"
"Dunno." Ashie paused and then rolled over. "I never hated him and I think that's what the whole problem was. I was supposed to hate him, but I owed him too much. In the end I took my own confusion out on him."
"When did all that happen?"
"About ten years ago. My confusion hospitalised him for ten months."
"I think you were very confused." Pyro settled himself into a chair while Ashie gave him an unenthusiastic look.
"I'm still very confused and I doubt I'll ever stop being confused. Too many people pull favours for me, I've yet to do a stroke of work."
"Ahhh. So those monthly fitness tests the Major put you through were just a bit of light exercise?" Pyro looked enquiringly at Ashie.
"I haven't had one of those in over six months......and I can promise you I sure as hell wouldn't pass one." Ashie rolled over, made a muted exclamation and hurriedly rolled back onto his front again.
"Your Majority had nothing to do with your family.....they don't make Majors because they're bored."
"You're missing the point!" Ashie made the response in an aggravated tone.
"I think it's you who is actually sir." Pyro rose as he spoke. "Maybe if you judged the world by its terms instead of by your terms you might find a lot of things start making sense. I'll believe you're not working when you're once more getting drunk on a nightly basis, never rising before three in the afternoon and firing valets for no reason what so ever."
"How the hell did you hear about that?" Ashie looked up sharply.
"I could hardly not hear about, you did it for an entire year." Pyro walked to the door. "When you're quite finished beating yourself up again I'll probably be hiding out in my usual hole." Pyro slipped out the door, leaving Ashie to scowl at his pyjama top before hurling it at the wall.
"DAMN!" Ashie swore loudly, then rolled over and stared at the ceiling. He wasn't ignoring the pain this produced any more than he was ignoring the pain which emanated from his hands as he clenched them. In fact Ashie was fairly wallowing in the discomfort. Am I just a hypocrite who does this to be interesting? Ashie looked enquiringly at the ceiling. But there was little true enquiry in the look for he already knew the answer, it was an answer he had heard many times and it made a bitter taste in his mouth. 'Yer a silly ass man! Why don'tcher jest stop beatin' yerself around the ears and actually do summat.' Sergeant Millingford's voice was all too clear as it echoed through his head....Sergeant Millingford had been dead for two years now. The day you become useful Ashie is the day when you stop believing yourself to be a waste of time and space. That had been Darcy, the Major, Old Chap. Darcy had skipped an entire week during his last semester at Oxford to come down and attempt to beat some sense into an ex-fag. Those had been Darcy's parting words at the station. Stop it! stop it, stop it. Margaret had been crying as she had screamed that. Margaret had been crying with her hands clamped over her ears as she had screamed those words. How many people have I hurt? But this was hardly an enquiry because Ashie already knew the answer......the answer was he hurt everyone he came in contact with. Twice in his life he had run away in hopes that by leaving the life he knew he could leave the problems too. But the problems didn't leave. Ashie wrinkled his nose at the ceiling and then rolled over and walked to his cupboard. Cricket whites and his old blazer were soon on and Ashie quietly let himself out of his room and his flat. The silver Bentley purred into enthusiastic life before leaping forward under the application of a heavy foot on the accelerator.
Ashie's expression was dark as he roared through London and out into the suburbs before finally he hit the open country.
Thanks....thanks for giving me a fun day. The words came to him very softly and instinctively Ashie pulled his foot from the accelerator. Bad boy Zhames. That had been Marie....Marie had always called him a bad boy. The pressure on the accelerator increased and once again the Bentley leapt forward. Tell 'im I'll never laugh at 'is gloves again. The Lieutenant had used far from cultured tones to deliver Mac's message, but the message was there never the less. Is he dead? The words were softly pitched and slightly lethal in tone. Ashie's foot was off the accelerator in a flash as he realised he had yanked the wheel violently to the left. The Bentley shivered, skidded and Ashie braced himself like lightning as he felt the telltale tilt. There was the sound of rending metal and Ashie grunted as something dug violently into his leg.
"Well that was a bloody stupid thing to do." Ashie made the observation to the world at large as he began the cautious matter of getting out from under the flipped Bentley.
It took Ashie the better part of ten minutes to get free from the Bentley and it was with relief that he straightened up and checked himself out. Fortunately there was nothing but a couple of bruises to inspect. Ashie sighed as he sat down on the upturned Bentley and looked dismally at the road. Even if he could have righted the Bentley, it wasn't worth the effort, the front axle was badly bent and the bonnet would never be the same again.
"Gerard!" It was over an hour later when Ashie startled both himself and the birds in the hedge nearby with the exclamation. "Now why did I say that?" Ashie gazed up at the sky enquiringly, and then across at the hedge. Ashie sighed and stood up before slowly walking off in the direction he had been driving. Ashie had his doubts about whether walking would provide an answer, but it was better than sitting around any day.
The art of life is to know how to enjoy a little and to endure much. - William Hazlitt
Jane paused in surprise as she saw the station taxi drawing up by the door. Who was coming to visit? Elizabeth was in France and so was General Darcy, her parents certainly wouldn't use the station taxi.... Jane couldn't think of anyone else who might come to visit, unless they were friends of Bingley's who were on leave. Jane hastily stopped what she was doing and hurried down the stairs to the front hall.
"Lizzie!" Jane leapt passed the butler when she saw her sister. "What's up? What's happened? Why have you come back? Is something the matter?"
"Please Jane." Elizabeth shook her head wearily. "I need some rest."
"Well certainly." Jane scurried around and within fifteen minutes Elizabeth was installed in a bed and very nearly asleep.
"I'll try and tell later Jane." Elizabeth rocked her head, then drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Jane watched her sister in concern then left to find Bingley.
"Charles." Jane found her husband continuing to wrestle with the estate accounts.
"Jane, I really do not know how Darcy manages like he does, I have enough troubles with the estate I live on, and he has estates half-way around the world."
"Well maybe you could ask for some tips." Jane ruffled her fingers through his hair.
"I don't know, it's been an absolute age since he's written even a word."
"Six months?"
"About that, he scribbled something about important news and seemed to think that I'd hear further from another source."
"Well either he overestimated the source, or underestimated something else. Why not see if Miss Darcy has heard anything?"
"Nothing, I've tried calling Pemberley twice in the past week because I wanted to find out whether Colonel Fitzwilliam was due for leave any time soon. No one answered. The call didn't even get through. Lambton exchange just says that no calls are accepted."
"How strange. I hope General Darcy hasn't been injured again. Have you tried the Fitzwilliams?"
"A belted Earl?" Bingley looked up in undisguised astonishment. "You must be joking. No, Darcy injured wouldn't silence Pemberley, most likely the lines came down again."
"Sorry." Jane sat down on a nearby chair. "I'm worried Charles."
"Why?" Bingley dropped his pen and looked worried. "But before I forget, who came?"
"It was Elizabeth and that's why I'm worried."
"Lizzie? But she's in France!"
"She's currently fast asleep in the south room." Jane rubbed her temples gently.
"Did you know she was coming?"
"No, that's why I'm worried. I've heard very little from her in six months, a few scribbles to say that the hospital is busy. And now she's just turned up, I'm worried something might be wrong."
"Well she's quite welcome to stay here, honestly speaking I wouldn't call your mother a restful person to be around, especially of late....probably given her home leave at last in the wake of St. Quentin.....she was out there that I last heard anyway....that'd be enough to kill anyone from what I've heard."
"She's not tired Charles." Jane paused an almost frightened expression on her face. "She's just not there."
"What do you mean?" Bingley looked puzzled.
"It's...." Jane paused. "It's like when Folin died, physically speaking she's there, but she isn't."
"Wha....." Bingley broke off as the telephone rang. "Netherfield Park..........Oh, hi Georgiana..........no, no I've heard nothing inside of six months other than that he had important news.......oh you heard that to.........crumbs he is being mysterious..........who thinks that?........Mrs. O'Niell........well I don't know, I can write to Miles or Carrigan and see what they say........What? Miles went west?......what in Hades has been happening...........St.Quentin? No I didn't know........don't tell me Carrigan's gone west as well..... well thank goodness for that. Now what were you saying about Darcy?..........Oh my...." Bingley stopped abruptly. "Thanks for calling Georgiana....yes I'll pass it on to all I think relevant.....no I quite understand that.....yes..........No.....well I guess we can, just hang on a moment." Bingley covered the receiver with his hand. "Jane, can we take Dougal?"
"General Darcy's dog?"
"Yes."
"Well I guess so, but wouldn't he....." Jane fell silent as Bingley waved a hand.
"Yeah, we can take him for a few months Georgiana.....Yes....no.........I'll see what I can find out." Bingley hung on for a few more minutes talking, then finally hung up. Jane had never seen her husband look so dejected in her life.
"What's up?"
"The 13th Midlanders were the division who caught the worst at St. Quentin."
"How many are left?"
"Well from Georgiana's remarks I would say they were mangled. Miles went west during it, which leaves only Carrie.....and Ashie, but he's flying now." Bingley paused and shook his head. "It's not possible...."
"Charles?" Jane quickly caught him as his stood up unsteadily.
"I can't believe it Jane, it just isn't possible." Bingley was looking dead.
"Charles, will you please tell me what's wrong?"
"He's gone Jane.........Darcy went west nearly a month ago."
"Wha......." Jane closed her mouth abruptly and spent a moment carting her unconscious husband to the sofa before she let it sink in. General Darcy was dead? As with Charles, Jane just couldn't believe it, people like Darcy didn't just die like that. Jane stared silently out the window at the mushy, damp countryside. Georgiana must be feeling awful.
"I'm sorry Jane." Bingley finally sat up, but he immediately clamped his head between his knees. "How you can faint so frequently I don't know, my head is killing me."
"Georgiana must be feeling awful."
"She's got the staff feeling awful with her. No Jane we're not going because she won't want us. Georgiana is a Darcy through and through and though calls will be very welcome she won't see anyone."
"It seems impossible."
"That is exactly my problem, I think I'll write a few letters, all Georgiana knows is that he's dead, nothing about how he died, except that it was a few days after they marched back from St. Quentin....could have been injuries sustained at St. Quentin, he could have been hit by a bus, they just won't say."
"Maybe Lizzie will know, she must have still been in France then, probably still at the hospital." Jane rose to her feet. "Dinner will be in two hours I need to prepare for the hospital."
"Right." Bingley grunted in a distracted manner as he resolutely attacked the accounts, a resolution which failed the minute the door closed behind Jane, Bingley suddenly found himself staring blankly at the far wall again.
"Hello Jane." Elizabeth's voice caught Jane by surprise and she turned abruptly to see Elizabeth leaning against the doorframe in shirt and trousers.
"Lizzie!" Jane gave her sister a quick hug. "You hungry?"
"Yes, very." Elizabeth sat down by the table while Jane produced food.
"And now sister." Jane had waited patiently until Elizabeth had finished eating. "Tell. What brought you home?"
"First I was more than over due for home leave and we had some uncomfortable patients, and second I'm pregnant." Elizabeth stated the matter baldly.
"Uhh." Jane gaped for a moment. "Sorry Lizzie....you're pregnant?"
"Yes." Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself.
"Does your husband know?" Jane felt cautiously forward.
"No."
"Oh." Jane paused. "Is it too rude to ask why?"
"It's no difference at all. He's dead." Elizabeth shrugged slightly. "He died before I knew."
"Oh." Jane paused, Elizabeth was not encouraging her, but neither was she discouraging her. "Do our parents know?"
"No."
"Who does know?"
"You and Dr. Alastair....and some people within the VADs, but I don't know who."
"Oh." Jane paused again, clearly Elizabeth had retired from the VADs, not that such a move was unexpected since it was compulsory.
"How long have you known for?"
"A week."
"How long....?"
"Three to four months."
"What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? I never met his family. I'll just have to try and find a way of supporting myself. I'm a trained nurse, but I'm also a trained secretary and a trained chauffeur. Worst failing I can keep a house."
"What is it with you Lizzie?" Jane sank down into a nearby chair. "How can you look at it so unemotionally? Didn't you really like him?"
"Jane I married my husband for the simple reason that I loved him. If I seem unemotional then maybe you can blame it on the fact that I've been in France for over a year. Tears won't bring him back Jane and tears won't feed me either. Neither will tears feed and keep the child within me."
"Sorry." Jane hesitated. "I'm sorry Lizzie, I didn't mean it that way."
"I probably didn't either." Elizabeth paused. "It must seem bewildering, but I didn't really realise anything was odd until I got back here, things have just been a bit exciting of late. Then I felt crook so I went to see Dr Alastair and he sort of threw a shell at me." Elizabeth paused.
"Do you want it?" Jane lifted a curious eyebrow.
"Jane, suppose you'd married Charles before he lost his arm and then that shell was perhaps half a foot more to the left." Elizabeth spoke softly and a slight smile touched her lips as she saw Jane pale. "That answer your question?"
"But......but..." Jane hesitated. "That sounds awfully cold-blooded Lizzie."
"I gave up being kind a year ago Jane.....if I ever was....that I doubt somehow."
"You are being a fool Lizzie!" Jane abruptly hugged Elizabeth before walking to the door. "I've got to go, you sleep."
"Actually I'd prefer to make a mess of the telephone." Elizabeth paused. "You were going to ask me something before this all occurred?"
"Just if you knew about General Darcy....it would seem they told Georgiana very little indeed."
"If she knew any more than he was actually dead I would be surprised." Elizabeth brushed her pants awkwardly. "I'll ask Ashie, he'd probably know if anyone does."
"Guess so." Jane shrugged as she headed out the door. "Speak to Charles about the telephone."
"Thanks." Elizabeth let out a nervous breath as the door closed behind Jane, but the breath broke into something perilously near a sob and Elizabeth fled to her room. "Why can't I just tell the truth?" Elizabeth asked the question miserably of her pillow, but it was herself who answered. The truth would not come because she was afraid, afraid of the responses, afraid of what would happen to her, and most of all afraid because that was a life another was supposed to help her enter.