Beginning, Previous Section, Section V, Next Section
Dear Beth,
Well I'm back in the navvy business again, and as the Major predicted I have one magnificent scar. Much to the thoughts I had otherwise my fingers all resumed working condition in the next week, but I did leave the hospital the next day. I make the presumption from the fact that you responded to my letter that Jim did indeed post it for me when he reached England, rather fun that a letter can reach its destination faster if it is first carried to England then posted.The food here makes old Harry's ditto look like a king's banquet. Last night I had for dinner two cigarettes, a tin of sardines, half a loaf of stale bread and a mug of water, and in that order. I lined them up on my carriage bench and worked my way through from one end to the other. We are currently using some deserted carriages for our barracks and it seems to be having an interesting effect on me. Did I ever talk in my sleep when I was at home? For the third time in three nights I have woken up the rest of my platoon by sitting up on my nice comfortable carriage bench and yelling for 'MARMEE!' most insistantly.
Two of my privates have decided that my well being is most important, they order me around most brutally. "Air ye awl roight sirr?" That's Auld Andra when I fall over. "Ehhhh, 'e's fine!" That's Harry as he picks me up by the collar of my uniform and gives me a firm dusting down. I am then deposited on the ground and watched sharply for the next mile or so, unless I fall over again. Did you know sister that your brother is positively butterfooted. I seem to spend at least half my time with my face in the mud and about three quarters of that time I have not received orders to bury my face from the Major, I've just done it on my own accord. Now I call that initiative, to actually be able to bury my face in the mud without being ordered to do so.
It is now tomorrow, or compared to what is written above it is now tomorrow, but infact it is actually just later on the same day since I started the letter at two in the morning.....as if that isn't obvious from the rot that I've written, such a pity I cannot erase pen marks. Thanks to a badly timed swipe with my spade I am confined to barracks for the next three days. "Get back to the bloody barracks Bennie, I'll be damned if you catch tetanus." And that's our major all over, if you work hard and are honest he gives you one square deal, but if you try to wriggle out of work he'll work you into the ground, and having got you worked into the ground he then jumps on your head, figuratively speaking. He won't compliment you, more likely to criticise it, but I wouldn't go anywhere else if I had a problem. Honestly speaking I think the Major would sooner kill himself then let a friend down. I wonder what happened in those six years?
Well wondering won't answer that question, and asking seems to have a detrimental effect on your health so I will probably never find out the answer to my question.
Bing just came dancing in to inform me that we're being shuffled forward next week, a nice quiet bit of the front, we'll get bombs pitched at us with monotonous regularity, a machine gun will chatter away somewhere or other like a woodpecker and we'll spend a very boring week with very little sleep and probably lose a couple of privates.
We are back in our train again having returned from our round of service on the front, and as predicted it was pretty boring and we lost a lot of sleep and two privates to dysentary, one got killed......but that was because the fool didn't uncock his rifle after coming back from sentry-go, kicked it in his sleep or something like that and blew his brains out. Ugh, all this sickens me, why are we at war, it is so thoroughly pointless, there must be some other way to resolve this then crouching around in grubby little trenches and throwing thousands of dollars worth of metal and explosives at each other. Sorry Beth, I feel mighty blue right now, it was my own private who blew his brains out, a decent kid and such a pointless death.
Bing sents a big hello to you and tells me to assure you that I will have cheered up in fifteen minutes since we are about to play Old Maid Modest, which is just plain Old Maid, except you run penny bets and modifications are made every round. Hence round one is just normal Old Maid, but round two permits the winner to add a modification, so in round two it might be that the holder of the old maid must pay double his bet to the winner, then in round three the holder of the old maid (a Queen of clubs) may have to run a length of the carriage after each turn, if he's not back in time he is donated a card and misses out on his go. The winner of round five then might enforce that the loser of the last round needs to clean the windows as he runs. The game usually ends as a massive arguement as to which modifications made it through and are in play. Well they now holler for me as it is my turn, will continue this later.
I made a ten penny profit off that game, deals with the financial difficulties the last game put me into. Not that my financial difficulties were great, I was a tuppence short for getting my rations for the time but the Major forked out and made up the difference, I'm off to pay him back the difference as I just saw him walk past our carriage.
I am in disgrace with the Major, as a matter of fact he nearly murdered me when I tried to repay the tuppence. He appologised profusely when he realised what he had nearly done, it seems that he was thinking of something else and had forgotten where he was. The Major gets even more bewildering, he has apparently vanished off the face of the earth the space of six years and he is very scientific when it comes to strangling someone. I think I will keep this matter quiet and keep my collar pulled up, here's hoping I don't fall over before the bruises have died away the privates will think I've been in a fight and been at the disadvantage.....and I think that is actually the truth.
It is now a couple of days later and I'm only really re-opening this because I really should finish up the matter of my getting strangled. Yesterday the Major had a staff call from G.H.Q. and he towed me along for company, the G.S.O. who came for us is the Major's cousin I think, anyway the Major kept calling him Ned and asking after heaps of people, I assume that 'Ned' was just back from leave or something. Well the G.S.O. was introduced to me as Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam, oops, the G.S.O is a General Staff Officer, they scurry around the countryside looking through telescopes and talking with the Generals and Brigadiers and Colonels getting the general lie of how things are then cart it all back to General Headquarters where a bunch of old mothballs pour over the information and decide what we are to attempt next. Don't actually know why the Major was called in, and he certainly never told me, infact I'd say he was purposely avoiding the subject much to the annoyance of 'Ned'. Anyway coming back from GHQ he asked whether I had ever been surprised while thinking about a past situation and neglected to come out of it. I had to admit that I had never been in the situation. He then asked if I had ever been in South Africa, again I had to admit that I had never been out of England. He then asked 'Ned' to check out my neck. Ned took one look then turned and goggled at our Major.
"Dave you didn't?" I think I have rarely seen such a stunned officer in my life.
"Wasn't much of an option, Ned. He just appeared out of the darkness and tapped me on the shoulder. I was at the time trying to work out what you meant by your reminder of the warning given by Mafudi."
"Oh Lord! Younker you're damn! lucky to be alive. You really should be more careful with those mits of your Dave, you'll get in real trouble one of these days."
"Well if your brother hadn't interrupted me when I was having that 'conversation' with George Nash wouldn't still be on that damn lung motor. Now shut up little pitcher has big ears."
I quote it for you, I swear that the privates would have a Gala day if they got their hands on that, but I am now rather more than just of the opinion that our Major spent at least some of his time in a fairly unhealthy part of South Africa. But Ben now bites his tongue and gets this ready for the post as the post is just about to go out.Cheerio my Beth, my neck is now fully recovered, Love to all.
Ben
"Izzy, life is horrible." Emma suddenly hurled her book across the room and started chewing on her thumb.
"What leads to this sudden mind-shattering realisation Em?" Isabella took the situation with hardly a blink, Emma exploded with great regularity.
"The fact that we are sitting here, supposedly celebrating the acquisition of independance, and more then half the bloody world is at war and throwing bombs at each other."
"That has been the case for nearly a year now."
"Not to this degree. Austro-Hungary went first against Serbia. Russia came to the defence of Serbia which drew the Prussian Empire into the world. Prussia then invaded on two fronts since it was a well known fact that France was to invade Prussia if Prussia declared war on Russia. In the process of invading France Prussia chose to pass through Belgium, neutral territory, and because Prussia invaded Belgium the British Empire had to declare war on the Prussian Empire. Because Britain declared war against Prussia she also declared war against Austria, which meant she sided with France and Russia. We now have two distinct sides, the side which thinks that the assassination of Archduke heir-to-be's is acceptable and the side that do not think that the assassination of Archduke heir-to-be's is acceptable. Then we had Japan and China declare war on Prussia, Japan declared war because her trade routes were threatened and a good trade organisation would fail if Britain lost the war. China declared war on Prussia because Japan would declare war on them if they didn't and Japan had only just finished defeating them comprehensively in the space of about six months, so Prussia lost her single hold in Asia as she had lost all her Africa holdings and was about to lose her Pacific holdings. Then the British Admiralty confiscated the two destroyers which the Ottoman Empire had bought because the British Parliament was suspicious of the Ottoman Empire's intentions, the Ottoman Empire was offended by this lack of trust and more than a little annoyed that they didn't get the destroyers they paid for. Hence they were more then willing to accept the overtures made by the Prussian Kaiser Wilhelm, these overtures consisted of two destroyers in exceedingly bad condition which the British most foolishly allowed to escape their sweep of the Mediterranean. So during the month of November the Ottoman Empire declared war on Russia, France and the British, and declared an alliance with Austro-Hungary and the Prussians. So we reach december of last year, and those countries seem set to murder everyone, leaving everyone else to get bored and watch on except for the occasional threat because they think the antagonists are making the poor innocent suffer to much. All well and good, Italy and Switzerland declared neutrality and were holding by it, even though Italy was theorretically tied to Prussia and Austro-Hungary by some pact or other. Now Italy signed a treaty with London and entered the war in may. Are we the only country left that isn't trying to murder someone?"
"Well Switzerland still holds her neutrality and the states between the Middle East and Asia seem to have remained neutral."
"Great company you are." Emma scowled morosely at the far wall.
"Well be glad we get more company in ten minutes."
"What do you mean by that?" Emma twisted to stare suspiciously at Isabella.
"I mean exactly what I say, the Knightley's invited us to the show tonight."
"It's better then sitting around here I guess......where on earth did they get the stuff from?"
"Don't ask me." Isabella smiled quietly, there were times when she didn't understand Emma at all, so explosively furious at one moment and totally happy and considerate the next. It sometimes made life most bewildering.
"I think they'll have to cancel it." Emma was scowling out the window.
"Why?" Isabella looked startled.
"It's absolutely pouring." Emma looked away from the window finally with a slight smile. Isabella promptly went to stare out the window, as Emma had said it was absolutely pouring outside and it didn't look like it would end anytime soon. A flash in the street drew Isabella's attention down just in time to see the Knightley motor pull up.
"Well pouring or not the Knightley motor has just arrived." Isabella didn't turn away from the window, she was actually reluctant about what could be ahead, the last time the Knightleys had visited Emma had been in an absolutely infamous temper and she spent the evening using her tongue with deadly accuracy. No one could have complained about her behaviour, but she had most successfully made everyone feel uncomfortable without them having anything to feel uncomfortable about. The fight that had taken place in this very room afterwards was a performance Isabel hoped she would never have to witness again. George Knightley had, for the first time in the dozen odd years Isabella had known the family for, lost his fabled Knightley calm. John had once commented that Knightley angry was not someone you wanted to meet, and after that evening Isabella was full ready to agree with him. For over two hours he and Emma had absolutely shreded each other verbally, Isabella had never realised that Emma had such a store of foul language available for her use, their father would have been horrified if he had heard her. Isabella knew for a fact that Emma had completely lost interest in the fight by the next morning, even though she had sworn to Knightley on his departure that she would murder him if she ever saw him again, but whether Knightley had forgotten about it was entirely another matter, though Isabella expected he must have since he had invited both of them. The Knightleys never laid themselves open for public censure, nor for that matter did they court disaster by inviting fights to public ceremony's.
"'Evening Isabella." It was Knightley's voice from behind her which finally made her turn back into the room, he was watching her with a slightly amused look from the doorway. John and Emma were no where in sight.
"Mr Knightley."
"For the umpteenth time, George. Emma stole my brother to show him some wonder or other."
"Take a seat." Isabella had no problem talking to John Knightley, she had no problem talking to most of the human population, but George Knightley was one person she really did not know what to say to.
"Thanks but no thanks. Due to the weather the show has been cancelled."
"Emma was expecting something of the kind." If Knightley wasn't sitting then neither was she, he had a height advantage to begin with and she wasn't going to add to it by sitting down.
"Knightley you really should see it, it's magnificent." John came bounding back into the room followed closely by a red and irate looking Emma.
"See what John? 'Evening Emma."
"Mr Knightley." Emma nodded curtly and stepped over to retrieve her book from where it had fallen to the floor after hitting the wall.
"It's a story Emma's written, book actually. She won't believe me it should be published."
"Well if she doesn't think it should be published then it probably shouldn't be published." Knightley shrugged in apparent disinterest.
"Don't be stupid Knightley, get it out of her and read it, I swear you'll love it."
"Swear to much and I'll wash your mouth out with soap again."
"Blast it all, Em, show him." John scowled as Emma shook her head in a firm negative. "Then I'll get it." John started for the door again, but found his progress impeded by Emma pushing a chair across the doorway and sitting on it.
"Knightley, as I understand the show is off. Why did you turn up? Surely your telephone works."
"Our telephone is in admirable working condition but our aunt has demanded your presence to save her sanity. She seems to think that John and I are a bit much on a wet evening."
"Matchmaking is she Knightley?" Emma made the comment carelessly enough, but Isabella was startled by the brief but sudden blaze of anger in Knightley's eyes.
"No, not that I know of." Knightley's response was cool enough and slightly bored in note.
"I knew it!" Emma banged her hand flat against the wall. "Okay, we'll come. Should we change?"
"No that's fine." Knightley had walked to the door and held it open. "You better watch it Emma." He muttered it very softly as Emma passed through the doorway and Isabella only just caught it.
"Don't you worry, I'm marrying no one." The reply was just as quiet and brought Isabella's brows together sharply. Something was going on here, but Isabella didn't know what.
The trip to the Knightley house was brief and passed in total silence, they were left at the front door and the car slid silently off and vanished into the darkness at the side of the house.
"Shall we enter ladies?" the group entered into the darkened house, Isabella heard Emma ask a question, but she couldn't hear what the question was though the answer was clear enough.
"No, only the back and the second floor, saves an awful lot of trouble to keep the house shut up unless something is happening." Mrs Knightley was found in the second back sittingroom and it was with a pleased smile that she greeted the group as it entered.
"I'm so pleased you could come, such a bore when weather destroys an event."
"Isabella?" It was halfway through the evening when Knightley suddenly took her aside to talk in private. "Can you tell me what had gotten to Em at that meal?"
"Umm." Isabel studied her shoes intently, what could she say? the reason for Emma's temper had been a very private matter and Isabella most certainly had no right to tell anyone about it.
"Private I take it." There was quiet understanding in Knightley's voice. "Okay, I'll take it up with Emma Ariana some other time." Knightley stood up and moved away, leaving Isabella to stare after him in surprise, that was the first time she had ever heard him use Emma's full name.
It was just after ten when they were escorted back to their apartment, and Emma looked annoyed.
"Garghhh! Save me from matchmaking mothers PLEASE! It's bad enough with our father demanding me to marry sometime soon with out someone else's mother hinting that I should be married as well." Emma rubbed her forehead hard. "Izzy, be nice, marry John Knightley tomorrow."
"Emma Ariana Woodhouse you are crazy." Isabella seemed undecided whether to laugh or cry.
"What was Knightley talking to you about half way through the evening?" It was after a period of silence when this question came.
"He was just asking me what had upset you the night at the dinner, that's all." Isabella went to get a drink from the kitchen.
"So that's what John meant......Izzy why on earth didn't you say I was angry because father had been trying to order me to get married soon?"
"That is your own private business, I'm certainly not going to be a public crier for you."
"It's not a matter of being my public crier, it's a matter of saving me from being subtley hounded for the whole of tomorrow so he can get the information out of me. I really wonder whether Knightley does any work at all, he always has plenty of time to be annoying."
"Why not call him up and tell him?"
"At eleven at night? Isabella you are insane!" Emma turned and left the room in a huff, leaving Isabella to straighten the chairs and turn out the lights.
Ashie looked up sharply as the C.O. came tumbling down the hill to where Ashie's and two other companies were digging supply trenches.
"Quick lads, pack it up."
"What's up, sir?" Ashie gave the signal to pack it in for the day, but still looked enquiringly at Lieutenant-Colonel White.
"We've been shunted forward into The Nek for the assault, here are the lists, give copies to Blye and Smith, I need to chase up the others yet." White went flying off down another line of trenches, leaving Ashie to frown down at the lists.
"What's up, Ashie?" Blye came up and thumped Ashie on the back.
"I'll need carrying down to the medics if you do that again." Ashie scowled briefly, then handed over a copy of the lists to Blye. "Our orders for the next few days. Where's Smith?"
"Further down. Looks like we might see some fighting after all." Blye moved back towards his men as Ashie went slithering off down the half dug trench to where Smith was abusing some private.
"Hey, Smith!" Ashie allowed himself a slight smile as half of the company looked up at him. "Orders for the rest of today and tomorrow, see to them."
"No problem Ashie." Smith glanced at the papers. "No trench digging I observe. Okay boys, back to the lines. What of the snipers Ashie?"
"I assume they'll join us after dark, but before we move into the frontline." Ashie turned as the company let out a gleeful roar and went scrambling back to where his men were waiting for him.
They moved into the trenches late that evening after the barrage had started, and to help pass the time Ashie took up counting the shells that were fired, not going hard yet.
"Are Swan and Griz back yet?" Ashie asked the question several times and always received a negetive response. The situation was not at all good for the shelling around Behr's post had been heavy for nearly the whole day.
"Hi! Ashie!" Behr came barrelling down the trench.
"Where's Swan?"
"He didn't make it."
"Hell." Ashie scratched his head, then realised that blood was soaking through Behr's trouser leg. "You're no good here. Get back to the lines, I'll see you later."
"Very good, sir."
"And I mean it Griz!"
"Sir!" Behr moved off down the trench very reluctantly, but well aware that Ashie would brook no insubordination. War was hell in Behr's opinion, and not least because he was bundled off to medical headquarters as soon as it looked like there was something else other than sniping and trench digging to do. Ashie kept moving among his men after Behr had departed, waiting grated on their nerves, the never ceasing barrage deafening the men and maddening them. At 4am the barrage increased to a seemingly constant racket, a never ending stream of shells as the batteries upped the frequency of firing and the naval barrage began.
The first wave was to move out at 4:30am, Ashie increased the speed that he worked through the men unable to think in the racket of the never ending shelling. When the shelling stopped it felt as if they had suddenly been struck deaf, after a moment of stillness Ashie continued working through his men, then stopped and pulled out his watch. Either Ashie's watch was seven minutes fast....or the artillery barrage had stopped seven minutes early.
The silence lengthened and drew itself out into seemingly mammoth proportions, Ashie could hear some soft mumbles between officers and men, but nothing had yet happened in the saps, then suddenly there was a sharp crack, followed by some more rifle fire, there was then a short burst from several machine-guns, then suddenly the world seemed to explode into machine-gun and rifle fire. Ashie fought an acute feeling of illness as he moved his men forward into the saps and fire trenches, wounded men and corpses lay everywhere, but nothing could be done, they had to be in place precisely two minutes after the first wave or face serious repercussions.
This was suicide, Ashie could feel it in his bones, the Turks were back in their trenches and the Light Horse were charging with uncocked, and uncharged rifles. By bayonet and bomb were they to storm the Turkish trenches, and Ashie was feeling destinctly ill, they hadn't a hope, the first wave had only got about five yards.
"Go!" The command flew down the lines like greased lightning, the response was instantaneous, they came out of the trenches with a rush. Corpses lay to trip the feet, and a withering fire of lead cut down the men. Ashie cleared the parapet with his men, only to feel a giant hand grab him in the chest, and slam him back into the trench from which he had emerged. As the darkness engulfed him Ashie could hear his men returning to the saps and trenches, at the same time as the 10th regiment moved up. The high command must be insane was his last thought, two waves slaughtered already and they were sending out more men.
Ashie's next conscious sensation was of pain and heat, his left side throbbed and pulsated as he lay in the blistering sun. Ashie knew his hat was not on his head, where was his hat, he couldn't go anywhere without his hat, he felt the sun burning down into his head. Where was he? The effort required to open his eyes seemed too great and he felt himself drifting as if on the tide, drifting back into the blissful darkness where nothing hurt. Something touched him, he knew that something touched him, and yet he had felt nothing, he must open his eyes.
The light was blindingly bright and made his head ache and swim, he wanted a drink of water, moans and groans filled the air, which was punctuated regularly with curses and swearing, flies were everywhere.
"This one to the lines." The voice sounded unbearably loud and Ashie winced. "By the looks he'll be fine if he don't get gangrene." A sudden wave of pain sent Ashie back into the black darkness of unconsciousness. The next time he woke he felt nauseous and everything was rocking and swaying, he must be on a boat, his left side still felt like fire, but he also felt detached from it. Instead of feeling 'ouch, that hurts' he found himself detached from the matter 'the left side hurts' a registered fact but not a feeling. Ashie felt very tired and soon, regardless of how sick he felt, he had drifted away again.
"This one'll live." It was a strange voice with a disinterested tone, Ashie wondered whether he was the one in question, he certainly didn't feel like he'd live, infact he was of the opinion he had already arrived in hell. "Give him morphine if he gets to restless, but otherwise just keep the dressings clean. I'd give him about three months before they let him return. Three days and we'll be off this ship, what a blissful idea." Ashie found himself agreeing with the voice, whom he assumed was a doctor, it would indeed be blissful to stop rocking and heaving like this.
As an experiment Ashie tried opening his eyes, a bit more experimentation proved that he could move his eyes, but not his head, so his view of the current world was limited by the movement of his eyes. Getting bored of staring at the roof Ashie opted to try returning to sleep, but now it eluded him and he was left to the profitable occupation of staring up at the ceiling which rocked and heaved with the motion of the boat and studying the memories that slowly seeped back into his mind. It nagged, an important memory, he knew it must be important, but for the life of him he could not remember what it was.
Lydia hurried down the narrow dirt path, relieved to be alone, relieved to be out of the house, relieved to be able to relax her guard. Not for the first time Lydia questioned the wisdom she had displayed when she had so prominently caught the attention of a certain gentleman during the summer of last year. Afterall how was she to know that he was a forger on the run, while at the same time desperately trying to find that little notebook she had abstracted from the pocket of the man at the coaching house. How was she supposed to know that he was the cause of Owl Close blowing up? It had been quite a spectacular explosion in Lydia's opinion. How was she meant to know all these things? And yet she did know them. She knew that the notebook belonged to that ragged man of immense height, she knew because she had seen mr Haldy remove it from his possession then taunt him with it. She knew that this same ragged man was responsible for the explosion at Owl Close, for she had seen him depart immediately after the explosion and hide on the roof of the dovecot.
Lydia had to admit that she knew more about the ragged man's companion than she did about the ragged man himself. The companion, a man called Andrea, had appeared at the Horse and Hound over a week before Lydia first saw the ragged man. The man Andrea had prowled discreetly around Meryton and its surrounds in his search, he asked most tactful questions the answers of which had informed him of all the people in Meryton and all the residences. Lydia had watched him for a week from her aunt Phillips' sittingroom window and from a variety of perches and positions, then quite suddenly he caught her one day. She actually hadn't been following him at the time, she had just been taking a walk on her own, when suddenly he seemed to just appear infront of her. To say she had been frightened at the time would have been an understatement, she was absolutely terrified. After some conversation, during which she had managed to ascertain that he had no intention of even touching her, he requested her to come to the Horse and Hound the next day. Lydia had agreed and since then her life had not been the same, at the Horse and Hound the next day she was introduced to a man called Uncle Mac. The day after she had met Uncle Mac for the first time, she also met the ragged man, who at the time was tied in a chair and having a length of rope firmly applied to his face. Until that day Lydia had thought of Mr Haldy as a boring but honest man, but to see him whipping another man around the face when he was helpless rather forced Lydia to change her view.
"Boùθεia!!!!!" The call was faint but it stopped Lydia immediately, she may not have understood what the word meant, but the plea behind it was unmistakeable. After a brief hesitation, during which the faint cry was repeated, Lydia left the path and hurried quietly to where the call came from.
He lay in a curled up heap on the ground, blood had caused an ugly stain to surround him, and he was talking absolutely non-stop, but for Lydia the voice was not loud enough except on the odd word, and besides which she did not understand the language which was being spoken. A carefully inspection of the surrounding trees did not reveal anybody else, but then Lydia did not expect to see anyone else anyway. Lydia grimaced as she approached the man, she could not believe that someone could lose that much blood and still be alive, but there was a trail of blood leading away from him which meant that he had lost a lot more blood than had sunk into the ground here.
"Docked....Shinken." The man died away into an unclear babble. "Docked....Shinken."
"Andrea?!" Lydia stared down in amazement at the man. "You can't....." Lydia stopped because Andrea had done precisely what she was trying to tell him he couldn't do, he had died. Docked....Shinken. The words echoed around in Lydia's head as she looked fearfully around the small glade, that someone should kill Andrea was unthinkable, you could not kill one such as him. Docked....Shinken. The words continued to ring in her head as she tried to think what she should do. Obviously someone had been trying to get something from Andrea, but had they got it before now, or did Andrea still have it. Lydia grimaced then carefully started going through his pockets, it seemed sacriligious to go through his pockets so soon after he died, but there was no time to waste. His pockets yielded a tobacco tin, a pipe with silver trim, two handkerchiefs, a quarter of a loaf of bread, a ticket for the Margate steamer dated five years ago, and a small piece of much folded paper. Lydia opened the paper and stared uncomprehendingly at the contents:
HE1
Nickel
Grauße's Atmung
Scorpio-Scorpion
It made no sense, but except for his knife there was nothing else on him. Lydia ran another check on him to make sure she had missed nothing that might be found in his pockets, then turned and fled for Meryton. She ran screaming into the main street of Meryton, tears coursing down her face.
"Miss Lydia, is something the matter?" It was the chief constable who finally stopped her.
"Blood....man....he's dead......" Lydia felt an insane desire to laugh at the Constable's stunned face. "He's in the Netherfield woods..... Oh please Constable Atkins, save me."
"You say there's a dead man in the Netherfield woods?"
"I don't know....... He was still........ there is a lot of blood around." Lydia subsided into tears again.
"Mrs Phillips!" Constable Atkins must have seen her aunt across the street, for in less then a minute Lydia found herself hustled into the Phillips' house and into the very sittingroom where she had once watched Andrea from. An hour later her father came to pick her up.
"What's up Lydia?" They reached the outskirts of Meryton before Mr Bennet finally spoke.
"It was Andrea, I must get in contact with London."
"From what Atkins says I'm led to believe that you put up a most impressive display of hysterics. Will the Farnbourn Exchange do?"
"It should be fine." That her father knew what she did was essential since she relied on him for any transport she might suddenly require.
Folin crashed into the mud as the ground heaved sickeningly in response to some high explosive which must have landed not far away. Folin spat violently to get the mud out of his mouth and took a dazed look around himself, the line was faltering, he could see it happening in front of his eyes, and here he was, an officer, lying dazedly in the mud. It was simply not done and with slightly dazed clumsiness Folin pushed out of the mud and rose unsteadily to his feet. He had not the slightest idea what he intended to do now, except that he felt it would be an incredibly good idea to get back to the trenches, he started to move in that direction when he saw something which drew a hoarse cry from him and sent him running as fast as he could through the mud.
"Lieutenant!" A hand grabbed Folin's shoulder, but he shook it off and kept running as fast as he could, which was not much faster than a lumber, towards the figure he had seen go flying. Folin saw nothing as he ran, he heard nothing, all that was acknowledged was the figure which now lay motionless in the mud. It was another close hit from H.E. which sent Folin crashing down into the mud by that motionless figure.
"Major Darcy, sir?" Folin felt a wave of relief as the icey grey-blue eyes open and tracked distractedly across to look at him.
"Bennie, what can I do for you?" The Major's voice rasped harshly from smoke, grit and weariness.
"You can get back to the trenches, sir." Folin grabbed an arm and started to pull, but stopped when Darcy gave a groan.
"Something's wrong in the downstairs department. Leave me be Bennie and get back to the trenches, the stretcher bearers will get me later."
"Like hell, sir." Folin renewed his grip on the arm and resumed pulling until he had the arm over his shoulder. "There is going to be some form of retaliation before the stretcher bearers go anywhere and you most certainly won't survive that."
"Insubordination Bennie?" The Major's voice rasped again, a slight note of laughter under the weakness.
"Yes and I like it this way. Keep talking." Folin wondered abstractly what the odds were against him reaching the trenches and he decided that they were pretty high.
"Busted leg." The Major was helping as much as he could to accelerate their progress towards the trenches, but he could do very little.
"Hi, Bennie!" The call barely registered with Folin, infact he merely heared a noise and didn't bother to consider what it meant. He and the Major were absolutely sitting ducks for the hun batteries to use as target practice and the rain of lead around them had been steadily increasing. It was the sudden loss of weight the Major suffered that made Folin aware that others had seen his plight and come to help.
"Bing, Harper." Folin grunted acknowledgement to them as he continued pulling, he noted grimly that the Major had passed out, but was much relieved that they were making better time now, the odds weren't quite so weighted against safe arrival. Folin stumbled heavily, then stopped and stared blearily for a second. Good heavens, he'd just stumbled on the edge of the parapet. With a handwave Folin sent Lieutenant Bingley and Private Harper down into the trench to catch the Major as he came down, just their luck to chose the only empty trench on the front, but at least it was some cover from the artillery.
Bingley leapt into the trench, then scrambled half out again to catch Darcy's feet as Folin slid him in, Harper waited at the bottom to finish the Major's descent. None of them heard it coming, and none of them saw it coming, infact the first Bingley knew of the shell was blinking and finding himself half buried under the parapet with the Major lying on top of him. He could hear someone cursing a short distance away, and hurriedly got clear of the dirt. The one cursing was Harper, who was buried to his waist, Bingley immediately turned to look for Folin, but the search lasted only a second or two and the result had Bingley retching up his breakfast, something he had not done since he had seen his first corpse.
"Lieutenant!" It was Captain Miles Holloway who arrived first with some privates, he was closely followed by Lieutenant Carrigan.
"Captain." Bingley saluted wearily then wiped his mouth and kicked some dirt over his breakfast.
"How is everyone?"
"Bennie's gone west, Harper appears uninjured, the Major looks like he should survive if we get him out of here fast."
"Right. Carter, lend a hand. Stretchers are already on their way. Get out as fast as you can, the Colonel expects a retaliation soon." Miles half turned then stopped. "Second thoughts, Bing you accompany the Major back, but touch him at your peril."
"Wha....." Bingley stopped as pain suddenly lashed him from his right arm and one look had him feeling vilely ill again.
"Carter, make sure the Lieutenant does nothing stupid." Miles turned and retraced his steps out of the trench, he was followed by Carrigan, leaving Bingley to frown after them. What was Miles doing here? he was nearly a mile further down the lines from Darcy's company.
"You didn't come very straight back." It was Private Carter who made the remark as he helped Harper dig himself out from the fallen parapet.
"What?" Bingley stared at the man in bewilderment.
"I was commentin' what you didn't come back by the most direct route. The Captain there was in a dead panic that you'd end up carryin' the Major here into the Hun trenches over there. You was changing course radically everytime a shell came near."
"Oh." Bingley felt unable to say anything else, infact he felt nearly unable to make that profound observation.
"Here're the stretchers, let's get that Major loaded up." Carter set to work digging Major Darcy out from under the fallen parapet while Harper passed out and Bingley watched with remote distraction. With Darcy loaded onto the stretcher and headed towards the Clearing Station Bingley felt all point of thought slowly oozing out of him. "'Ere, none of that!" Carter applied a firm and calloused hand to Bingley's cheeks, with that damn Private already out cold he didn't need this Lieutenant going out as well. "We got to get moving, sir."
"Okay." Bingley later had to admit that he remembered nothing of the trip to the Clearing Station, but he was later informed that he had walked the whole way, then passed out and not come round until they were half-way through the preliminary repairwork to repair his arm. They had at that point dosed him with morphine and dumped him on the next boat for England.
Elizabeth pushed a few wisps of her hair off her face and leant heavily against the fence where her bicycle was propped, she was now well acquainted with the bone aching weariness that came with battles in France. The world was a dull blear except when she was in the operating theatre, her world was in the front room and the second operating theatre, everywhere else was just a dull blur.
"Lizzie!" A junior sister came running up.
"Mariah." Elizabeth nodded briefly, then creased her brow at the extra twinge of pain that came from her back.
"Charlotte had asked me to ask you whether you would be available to help with the meeting on thursday."
"I'm sorry Mariah, but I really can't make it."
"Fine, I'll tell her. Don't worry, I'd get out of it too if I could."
"How'd you go today?" Elizabeth just wanted to go home and to sleep, but she also had no intention of losing Mariah as she had lost Charlotte. For most the hours and shifts kept by this particular hospital were too much, but what else could be expected when they had more patients then the hospital was supposed to cater for.
"I think I'm getting used to it Lizzie. I think the worst thing is the moaning, and I can always remember that at least I don't have the front door to cope with."
"I'm glad to hear it Mariah. My regards to your parents, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye Lizzie." Mariah hastened away to where her bicycle was propped. Elizabeth watched her go with a deep breath, then having checked her boots she finally pulled her bike off the fence and mounted. Elizabeth was now one of the senior sisters and in charge of the 'Front Door Squad', but all that these promotions had led to was a lot more work and responsibilities, not that Elizabeth would exchange them for anything.
"Lizzie!" Jane all but dragged her in the front door when she reached home.
"Is something the matter Jane?" Elizabeth removed her gloves, boots and hat, before leading Jane upstairs to her room. It was a set law that Elizabeth might dress as she liked out of the house, but as soon as she entered she must change into some suitable attire.
"It's papa, he hasn't left his library all afternoon, he won't speak to anyone. The door is locked so we cannot get in, also the curtains are drawn, I'm afraid that he's had an accident."
"All afternoon?" Elizabeth felt ice coursing through her veins, there were only two things which would cause her father to lock the world out and Elizabeth disliked both ideas.
"Yes, mama is beside herself and Kitty and Lydia have gone into Meryton." Jane was almost beside herself as well and with a sigh Elizabeth dropped onto the bed beside her.
"Okay Jane. I'll try and find out what has happened." Elizabeth finished changing into a dress, then quietly left the room and walked down to the library door. She listened at the door for a minute, but could hear nothing, the sign was not at all good, Elizabeth lifted her hand and knocked sharply on the door.
"Who is it?" The reply was quite delayed in coming and the voice did not sound at all happy.
"Elizabeth."
"Come in Lizzie." There was a brief shuffle and the click of the key turning in the lock.
"What's wrong papa?" Elizabeth cast a brief glance around the dim room, then crossed to the desk.
"A lot is wrong Lizzie. Take a seat."
"Papa...?"
"Sit down!" It was a definite order, and Elizabeth decided not to cause an arguement. "I have not the slightest idea how I am to break this to the family, so I'd probably better start by telling you. I received a telegram from the War Office today, Lieutenant Folin Kirth Bennet was listed as Killed-in-Action at the Loos Cross-roads on the 13th of October." Mr Bennet watched in silence as Elizabeth crumpled up and slipped unconscious to the floor, he had had to many people near to him die in war to feel anything. A single tear ran down his cheek as he watched her lying there, life would be hard for Elizabeth, he stood up and walked around to where she lay. It took a single motion for Elizabeth to be lying in his arms, and then it was simply a matter of his walking to the door, crossing the hall and ascending the stairs for her to reach her bedroom. Jane looked uncomprehendingly up from Elizabeth's bed as he entered.
"What's wrong?" Jane leapt off the bed.
"She has fainted Jane. Please prepare her bed." Mr Bennet laid Elizabeth down as soon as Jane had pulled the sheets back, then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Folin is listed as killed in action at Loos."
"No." Jane paled alarmingly, and she shook her head in disbelief.
"I'm afraid so, Jane." Mr Bennet was no more surprised by Jane's response then he would be by his wife's response. How fortunate that a Canadian Division was shortly to arrive for training in the Meryton area.
"Oh dear, how will mama respond?"
"I expect she will respond with a lot of noise." Mr Bennet smiled faintly as he stood up again. "Please keep an eye on Lizzie for me Jane, I need to go and tell your mother." With a brief nod mr Bennet left the room, while Jane sank in a boneless manner into a nearby chair.
"Folin is dead?" Jane looked around the room as if bewildered. "No, that cannot be. And yet we have been expecting it for a year. Why am I not crying?"
Dr Jermyn Alastair was the doctor in charge of Camthorne Hospital, Kent, and a very distracted doctor he was as he tore through the halls in search of the head nurse.
"Sister Arnolds! Sister Handers reports that three ambulances are without drivers due to illness. I have just received warning that the load is large today."
"Very good doctor. There are some who can drive who are not currently employed in the ambulances, I will call three of them in to drive." Sister Arnolds nodded briefly and headed for the telephone to make the necessary calls, then she had need to speak with Sister Handers for three becoming simultaneously ill was a serious business and would throw the entire hospital off schedule.
"Dr Alastair, the ambulances have arrived." It was two and a half hours later when Sister Arnolds made the announcement which set the operating teams into motion, and the first patient entered the operating room as the team finished preparations.
"Shattered shoulder, and abdominal lacerations." The VAD gave the injury call from the door as the patient was brought in and the nurse signed for the splints. Twenty minutes later the next patient was brought in as the first patient was carried out. "Abdominal lacerations and broken ribs." The same VAD gave the call, and so things proceeded in this and five other operating theatres for four to five hours. There was then a break of some thirty minutes and the teams returned to work, though the cases were now the less critical ones. Alastair took one look at the first case, a Lieutenant with a shatter shoulder and humerus and massive quantities of scar tissue, this was not a case he wanted to touch, then turned and left the theatre in search of the current communications VAD.
"Get a call through to London, Queen Anne's Gate 1532. Ask for Anne Marshall, if you can't get her ask for a number where you can get her. Then call that number and repeat process until you've found her. Then tell her we have a nerve case, scar tissue, could she get here on the double."
"Very good Doctor." The VAD immediately picked up the phone and started dialling while Alastair turned and headed back to his operating theatre.
"Run that Lieutenant into the waiting room, we can do nothing yet. Call for another patient." Alastair gave his instructions to the head nurse as he changed into a fresh gown and gloves.
"Very good Doctor." The nurse left and by the time Alastair had changed and returned to the theatre the next patient was waiting.
"Neck wounds and a fractured humerus." It was the second nurse who updated him as to what they were dealing with and they were back in action again. There was another break three hours later for half an hour while the nurses changed over and the doctors refreshed.
"She says she is on her way." The VAD gave him the information shortly before the break ended, and Alastair gave a brief nod but did not pause in his pacing up and down the length of the room. The next ambulance wave was due in an hour or so, but Alastair hadn't the faintest idea whether it was in the one hour or the two hour. Alastair suddenly stopped pacing.
"Call me when either the ambulances arrive or Miss Marshall arrives." Then walked quickly for one of the planks which served as beds for doctors on shift and lay down. Sleep was instantaneous, it was a trick one had to learn if one was to survive in this hospital environment, just as waking was nearly instantaneous, a foggy mind was not a good thing to have in an operating theatre.
"Dr Alastair!" The voice had the doctor awake in a second, and a twist of his head showed Anne standing next to him.
"Anne, thank god you made it. An absolutely hideous case if you want my opinion, scar tissue in the right shoulder galore and pins and needles in the arm."
"Brachial nerve centre......hopefully only pressure, not actual damage. Scar tissue this quickly?" Anne rubbed the side of her jaw thoughtfully. "Can I see the case?"
"Sure, this way. A Lieutenant, probably conscious by now since I didn't give orders for him to stay dosed. The scar tissue is not at all related to the current injury"
"Good, I dislike inspecting inanimate objects, makes me feel like I'm in a morgue. Why do people so frequently get injured again in the same area. " Anne followed Alastair to the small dimly lit room where the patient waited.
"Hello Doctor." The patient looked up with a grin, but pain was clearly marked in the creases around the mouth and the corners of the eyes.
"How's it going Lieutenant?"
"Not as bad as last time I was permitted to view the situation." The Lieutenant glanced briefly beyond him. "Who's the lovely lady?"
"Meet Miss Anne Marshall, if any one can repair that arm of yours it's going to be her."
"You mean my arm might be repairable?" The interest was unmistakeable, but was almost immediately drowned in a flash of pain as Anne touched a sensitive point.
"Stress on the might for now Lieutenant, you still have shell fragments in your shoulder."
"What fun. Is there a Major Darcy here?"
"I couldn't say Lieutenant. What do you report Anne?" Alastair looked at Anne who had just stepped back from inspecting the shoulder.
"Pressure only I suspect, but I think a tendon has moved in the elbow." Anne blinked and flexed her fingers gently as she considered the matter. "We'll do it when you've finished with all the wounded that are coming in. It's going to take more than an hour to clear up by the feel."
"Will the hands hold up for it?" Alastair looked worried for he was nearly as familiar with Anne's hands as Anne was herself.
"That is something I'm going to find out." Anne spoke quietly as she lead the way back out of the small waiting room. "And at worst you'll have to take over for me."
"Let's see them." Alastair turned her hands over thoughtfully, flexing them gently, beautifully made hands. Yet, as with everytime he checked those hands, he felt the familiar boil of anger, that someone could be so careless and uninterested that such an abnormality could pass unnoticed. Alastair released the hands and frowned in annoyance down at his shoes, Anne knew as well as he did that she would be unable to finish that operation and it would be completed by her watching and telling him what to do.
"At least the worst of it will be done before I must stop. Come my friend, we need to get food."
"Anne, you continue to amaze me." Alastair stumped from the operating wing and headed for the small central canteen where sandwichs and coffee could be obtained.
My Beth,
I hope to God you never receive this letter, I hope that one day I can open this letter squashed between the two dormer windows at Longbourn and laugh at what I have written here.I view what I have already written and must admit that it seems strange to hope that you never read a letter I am writing, but in truth if you ever receive this letter it will be because I have gone west. It seems strange to be sitting here, the stars gleaming down at me and the moon is smiling, the weather is certainly Mozart, peaceful laughter. But the reason it seems strange is because I am thinking of death, for death has never been connected with peace for me. Death is connected to dingy dark clothing and miserable faces, Albinoni adagio behaviour, most like the Tomasa Giosetti adagio, defeat in fact. If I go west, please don't go into what our society calls mourning, the thought of being remembered by dusty black and a sad face almost nauseates me, I want to be remembered in sunshine and laughter. I want to be remembered as a beautiful spring day, like those days we snuck out of the house to join Old Tom guddling in the river at Netherfield. I want to be remembered in the brisk and invigorating breeze that comes after a storm with the sunshine. I've never felt like those dismal autumn and winter drizzels, and I don't want to be remembered as one.
I like my Beth laughing, I like my Beth dancing, I like her in the yellow dress with the blue ribbons. There is far to little laughter in our life, never be afraid to laugh my Beth, it can ease the hardest hour, it makes the hardest task seem light, nothing will confuse the Boche more than laughter, and nothing cheers up the injured more then merry laughter. For those men the world is all black and white and filled with pain, laughter helps you to forget your immediate surroundings it can drag you back into the past and into old dreams. The more grey and horrible the day looks, the more people bemoan over you, just laugh all the louder and merrier. Laugh and learn my Beth, that is the best way to live I feel.
Don't mourn me Beth, I have lived 19 years of a lovely life, I have lived 19 years with a lovely sister. I lived that life for a reason and that reason is now over. In this case it probably means I was born for the war. There are thousands of us who are dying, but it is only the material carcase which is changing, we all live on in the memory of someone. Live my Beth, live and be proud of it, you only have one life, live it to the full and make the best of it, but most of all be yourself. Don't be what you think you should be, don't be what someone else tells you you should be, see yourself, admit your weaknesses and learn from them, find your strengths and use them to advantage.
I have learnt from a most learned Lieutenant in another company that smiling requires a lot less effort then frowning, and what a difference it makes to our fellow men. A cheerful smile can change a day from a dismal day into a joy, with a smile you can face the world and win. But this is a smile, not the stretched lips so advertised by our aunt Phillips and by our beloved reverend and most stuffy cousin. If you do not feel like being happy and smiling, DON'T, sit down for five minutes, consider the world at large and find a reason to be happy for, THEN smile.
Think of it, my carcase is safely out of the way, probably buried under some turf with grass and flowers growing above it, at least you do not have to suffer the torture of wondering whether I was still here or not, whether I'm brushing my teeth and washing behind my ears. Our memory I have found is a most adaptive and select capacity. Think about it, can you remember every one of our childhood fights, can you remember what was said and what blows were struck? Can you remember every childhood punishment? I can't, I can only remember the good times, the sister who was all to willing to defend me when others attacked, the sister who frequently tried to, and suceeded in, taking the blame for escapades such as riding the cows and feeding the chickens the rest of dad's port (if the chickens hadn't gotten tipsy I doubt we would ever have been caught).
I can remember the sunny days fishing the Netherfield river (such a lot of fish we caught!), I can remember the summer walks when we tried getting to mount Oakham without using the road, I can remember helping Jim and Able with the sheep shearing, I can remember mrs Hill trying to teach you how to bake a cake....I can also remember the fact that it was a chocolate cake and we were given permission to 'eat' the final result.
I can remember the pride you had in your first gown for formal evening entertainment, I still remember the trouble I got in when you drew the funny faces on my collar just before Cousin Flora's wedding.
I can remember when the organist lost his spectacles halfway through the service and forgot to remove his feet from the pedals while he went searching for them. I remember French lessons from that same organist, in particular the chocolate he used to give us a correct french accent (if my success here is anything to go by his method was not successful...either that or school corrupted my accent).
The Major just walked past, I let him see the letter since I'm pretty sure that he censors most of the letters before they get to the post bag, he gave me rather an odd look before moving on. I will admit that I was somewhat puzzled by the look, but Bing mentioned a while back that the Major was a 'duty' to his parent (I think his mother died before he ever really knew her). I wonder which is worse, being brought up as a duty, or being almost completely ignored and left to our own devices, or is there really a worse.
I observe that my thoughts are rambling somewhat now, don't defy the world Beth, don't deny what is, just look around yourself, there is always good somewhere, always a bright spark in the gloom......there has to be or the human race would have become deceased years ago.
I love you my sister Beth.
Ben.P.s. Poverty is a situation of dissatisfaction, one can be a pauper with 100,000 pounds a year, and one can be rich as croesus with the barest minimum. Don't envy anyone else Beth, they will have their own problems to deal with, I most certainly would not wish to change my life with anyone else in I have met, least of all our major who does not know how to be vulnerable, he is so in control that he misses out on most of life.
P.P.s. I now find out from the Major that his sister is infact blind and the reason for his odd look was because he had not realised that anyone else had a dislike of being mourned for in a dingy black. His remark was that he had enough of dingy black when his aunt took up mourning for his sister's affliction.......by the sounds she has become blind recently, not a condition she has had for life. I think this nullifies my above remark, will add to this if I find out anything more on the subject.
Emilie was staring out the window while she knitted. It never ceased to amaze Victoria that Emilie could do this for hours on end without dropping a stitch, khaki coloured socks seemed to just fall out of her hands. At the same time it was a clear warning to those who lived in the 'Little House' that Emilie was in short temper, at times several days passed in which she uttered no more then the basic necessities of speech to have her wants attended to. 'When Emilie stares', either it would be silence or she would be talking. It was the past she talked of when this happened, Victoria listened happily to stories of when Emilie was young, of when Emilie and her brother Clarke had left a mouse in their aunt's bed, of damning creeks for swimming pools, of fishing and climbing the Mountain. Then had come Harry, Harry had been a memory that puzzled Victoria and Mrs March for months, Harry was the kind of friend every kid dreamed of having but who, in reality, would have been considered a trouble maker. But as Victoria listened to the stories of Harry, which were mixed in with stories of Elliot and his other cousins and uncles and aunts, she finally realised the truth, Harry was a recent friend of Emilie's and Harry was being supplied with a past.
It puzzled Victoria considerably, why had Emilie introduced Harry into the 'Little House' until Elliot's cousin Trevor fell in action at the end of Loos, the key was infact supplied by Mrs Becky, who had come to deplore the world.
"I think this world has gone completely insane, Meg." They were the words which greeted Victoria as she slipped into the kitchen on a windy afternoon. "Bless you Vicky, what a fright you gave me, how was school today? I'll warrant young Tommy didn't have his homework completed." And off rattled Mrs Becky on another course entirely. Victoria pulled off her coat and helped herself to the cake box.
"Vicky, is school really that difficult?" Emilie spoke up from her corner having finally looked away from the window.
"Why do you ask?" Victoria blinked in surprise, not quite sure where the question came from.
"I've watched an awful lot of people helping themselves from the cake box and the method is always the same. Stagger in from a hard day's work, shed the old coat and find the biggest piece of cake in the cake box."
"I never thought of that." Vicky frowned thoughtfully at the slice of cake in her hand then down into the cake box, it was indeed the largest slice to be seen.
"Hmmmph, the young are so thoughtless."
"Why did you call the world insane Becky?" Mrs March drew the conversation back to where it had been.
"It has to be, Russia saved Bulgaria from those frightful Turks, and now what does Bulgaria do but join the war on the same side as the self-same Turks. If you ask me that is insanity. A christian country joining those frightful heathen, it just isn't done!"
"Harry wouldn't have agreed with that." Emilie's voice was thoughtful as she made the remark.
"Harry?" Mrs Becky blinked, thrown off her train of thought by the unexpected remark.
"Harry, he would not have agreed with you on the point of the insanity of the move." Emilie's face was content as she made the remark, and Victoria realised the truth. Emilie was by far the oldest inhabitant of Narrow Creek, her daughter-in-law was nearly the next oldest inhabitant, Emilie had deliberately given herself a friend of the same age, someone who could remember all manner of people unknown to the current residents of Narrow Creek. With a pang of sadness Victoria realised that Emilie was starting to draw away from them, starting to move beyond, she and Mrs March were no longer the most important thing in Emilie's life, though they still held among the highest priorities, they could listen to Emilie's stories, but they couldn't respond with stories of the same people, they reminded Emilie all too clearly of the fact that she was 90 odd years old, unable to walk, and having more than twenty years to remember then any other person in Narrow Creek.
"You've become senile Emilie, stop being foolish."
"I've got some homework to mark." Victoria suddenly knew she could tolerate Mrs Becky no longer on this particular day, she had to get out of the room before she did something she might regret later, namely ordering Mrs Becky out of the house.
"I told you, Vicky, you should have married Elliot before he left, then you wouldn't have to teach like this." Mrs Becky shook her head in a reproachfully despairing manner.
"Whether I am married or not has no hold on this matter Mrs Becky, I am teaching because I enjoy teaching and there is a school which has hired me." Victoria turned and left the room, the presumptuousness that could think she was teaching at Narrow Creek solely to support herself because she was unmarried. The thought thoroughly offended Victoria, she certainly had not gone to the Academy and Redmond because she had had fears of never marrying, she had gone because she wanted to learn. Victoria dumped her satchel onto the desk and walked across to the window, it had now been many months since Elliot had left and absolutely nothing had been heard from him, to say the least the 'Little House' were somewhat concerned by the matter.
November 8th 1915-Camthorne Hospital, Kent
Alastair paused as he finished his tour of the wards, his shift was now over and he had seven hours before his next shift began, but he wasn't feeling at all tired. That fact alone was a blazing warning sign for him that he should go to bed immediately, but Alastair had no intention of being logical tonight, least of all since he still had to visit the two isolation wards. The first ward was, for Alastair, a boring place, the patient had come in without a complete rib left in him and he had to be re-inforced with wire tags joining the many bone fragments together, whether he would live was a doubtful matter and Alastair was pretty sure he wouldn't want to live if he was in the man's position. It took a matter of seconds to verify that the inhabitant of isolation ward one was in a relatively stable condition, meaning that he was still breathing and his heart was still beating. Isolation ward two on the other hand contained a case that Alastair found interesting, mostly because the case was entirely his own. A Major and he had arrived in what Alastair considered to be pretty bad condition, relatively speaking his injuries wavered between the average to the nasty, there was a shattered right tibia and fibula, and all except Alastair would probably have automatically ordered it amputated at the knee. But Alastair was acquainted with the man, with the family, with the type of injury, and he was of the opinion that the leg could be repaired most satisfactorily. What did cause Alastair concern however was the high fever and the quantity of shell they had dug out of the man, a fortnight had passed and still the man had to return from delirium, what the cause was was another problem, was it just the body objecting to the misuse, was it actually some infection, or was it some completely different reason.
"Dr Alastair." The VAD nurse who sat just inside the doorway greeted him as he entered.
"Any changes?"
"Not that I know of, except he's no longer speaking anything I understand." The sister met Alastair's worried look with a blank expression. Alastair knew that looking at her was not worth much, and after a moment's hesitation Alastair moved towards the bed, then stopped and felt a slow grin forming. No wonder the nurse had not understood what was being said, the patient was reciting passages from the New Testament, and in the original greek. Alastair shook his head again then moved over to the bed, his eyes immediately checking the board at the foot of the bed.
"Salve Dr Alastair." The eyes that looked up from the tightdrawn fever-etched face were perfectly clear and lucid.
"Latin now Major? How many languages do you have?" Alastair calmly stripped the lid off the cradle and inspected the bruising and swelling on the injured leg. Wires ran from a brace around the ankle through a series of blocks and pulleys before rising to the beam above the bed, the wires then passed through several more pulleys before descending to a box of weights that was a short distance above the floor.
"Only those two, English and some South African Dutch, but those two are more to the quantity of stuff I memorised at school. Nothing was more guaranteed to put me to sleep then a greek class."
"Some scholar you were. When did you return to the world of the living?"
"I wouldn't have the faintest idea, it feels like an age ago, which means its probably only been in the last five minutes."
"Hungry Major?"
"No."
"How does the leg feel?"
"The left one has pins and needles, but that is because it is hanging over the end of the bed. My right leg merely reports that I have a knee and toes and an awful lot of pain in between. Sort of numb pain."
"Why is it that you are such a mountain? Your sister was of quite an average size, perhaps a whisker above."
"I couldn't answer that question, I am not the one who claims to study the habits of the human carcase."
"You grow crude my friend. Do you know a Lieutenant by the name of Bingley?"
"He was in my Company if that helps any. I knew him at Oxford if that is anymore use. Has two sisters and a brother-in-law, but I doubt those matters are of any interest at all. Why do you ask?"
"He was asking after a certain Major Darcy, he's been asking everytime he he can."
"Well assure him I'm alive and he'll probably shut up, either that or show him your prettiest VAD."
"Darcy you are totally insane." Alastair allowed himself a grim smile in response to the glimmer in Darcy's eyes.
"I should be. Am I destined to always be crashing into you?"
"More of a matter are you Darcys going to continue being dumped on my operating tables."
"I couldn't say." Darcy eyed the glass held to his lips with dislike, then dutifully opened his mouth and consumed the bitter contents.
"Well let's call it quits and hope we never meet again under such circumstances." Alastair watched as Darcy's eyes lost focus and he drifted away into the land of the unconscious, this consciousness was certainly a good sign, but whether it would last was another matter, this was not the first time Alastair wished for a painkiller that didn't have such vicious habits and side effects as morphia.
Lieutenant Charles Bingley, late of his majesties armed forces and now in the convalescence stage, strolled aimlessly around the courtyard. He had heard from one of the nursing sisters that Darcy was actually in the same hopital as he was, but until now he had seen no sign of his old friend and former commanding officer.
It was curiously peaceful here he found, but it was the peace of death, not the peace of contentment, it was an unnatural stillness which shrouded the courtyard, a stillness which gave Bingley the creeps. Tomorrow he was being discharged from the hospital and he fully intended to retreat to Netherfield until he could return to the armed forces, Netherfield Park was the estate his father had purchased some five or so years ago, but Bingley had never actually been there. With his discharge on the morrow, Bingley was determined to find his former officer this afternoon, but as he wended his way through the shaded deck chairs, exchanging the occasional greeting with a fellow sufferer, Bingley started to have his doubts, he must have mis-heard the sister, for he had certainly not seen Darcy and he could have sworn that she said that he was out in the courtyard.
"Excuse me, sir." One of the nursing sisters stood waiting patiently for him to move out of the way. Bingley hastily moved aside, then for no reason that he could explain he followed her across the courtyard and into a small secondary courtyard of which he had been unaware. To his relief he found that he had not mis-heard the sister, it was just that his knowledge of the layout of the hospital was faulty, because as soon as he entered the smaller courtyard he saw Darcy reclining in a corner. It was a cheerful Bingley who hurried over to where the Major sat with a dark frown on his face.
"Hello Bing!" The frown lightened substantially and a twisted grin glimmered briefly into life.
"Darcy!"
"What brings you here?"
"Looking for you actually, I'm getting discharged tomorrow. I was intending to take a run for Netherfield, but first I wanted to see you."
"Good to hear, I'll leave you to deal with a job that got dumped into my lap yesterday then."
"Job?" Bingley looked more than a trifle alarmed.
"Colonel Axelton was killed just after we...errr, retired from the front. As a result it has been handed down to the Majors and Captains to deal with the casualties."
"You're not expecting me to write letters are you?" The thought terrified Bingley since his schoolmasters had always assured him that his handwriting was totally illegible, and on top of this his arm was not yet worth much.
"No, but Bennie came from somewhere in Hertfordshire and since we have his pack and it really should be returned to his family."
"Oh." Bingley relaxed. "Sure, I can do that."
"Major Darcy, you have a telegram."
"Telegram?" Darcy took the telegram flimsy and blinked at it in surprise. "Why on earth am I being sent a telegram?" Darcy quickly scanned the contents then shook his head. "No reply."
"Your sister is okay?"
"It's not from her." Darcy shrugged dismissively and shoved the telegram into his pocket. "You didn't happen to see a gangly doctor with a big nose as you came here did you?"
"No, I only saw patients and a few nursing sisters. I thought it came from Pemberley."
"Then I suppose I'll have to go looking for him myself. No it was redirected here from Pemberley." Darcy rocked himself forward so his legs came to rest on the ground.
"Darcy should you be doing that?"
"I'm meant to have fifteen minutes worth of exercise a day so my other leg doesn't weaken too far. I'll use up today's fifteen minutes by looking for that doctor."
"Looking for me Darcy?" Dr Alastair approached just before Darcy got to his feet.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I was." Darcy sank back in his seat after returning the cradle back to its former perch.
"Well spit out the reason while I check this leg of yours." Alastair removed the weight combination from the foot of the cradle before pulling back the top. Bingley took one look at Darcy's leg then then made some hurried excuses and retreated, somewhat miffed by Darcy's soft chuckle.
"How long 'til I can get discharged, and by that I mean the earliest possible minute?" Darcy had waited in silence until Bingley had left the courtyard.
"Well, it hasn't gone gangrenous, it hasn't even got infected, I'm still rather amazed it wasn't hacked off before you even got to England." Alastair creased his brows in slight annoyance. "If we put you in a leg brace and you remain on a crutch we could release you tomorrow. BUT!......you're going to have some pretty strict laws laid down and you're going to have to visit a hospital at least once a week. Why do you ask?" Alastair ran his hand gently along the leg, they had been damn lucky to save the patient, they had been damn lucky to save the leg, and until this last week or so he had had his doubts about whether either would manage to survive. But now the fever had gone, the swelling had gone down and much of the bruising was fading.
"The war office seems to require my presence in London urgently." Darcy dug the telegram out of his pocket and held it out.
"The War Office?" Alastair waved the telegram aside. "You're flying in high circles again."
"I would prefer to remain in the lower circles thankyou." Darcy restored the telegram to his pocket. "They want me to come at the earliest possible moment."
"Well we can release you tomorrow, but I want to know exactly where you are for the next six weeks. The difference between if you follow orders or not is no less than the balance of whether you become an able man again or spend the rest of your life as a cripple and in quite a lot of pain."
"Alastair I wouldn't stir from here except that my presence is demanded in London, those instructions will be followed unless matters are taken completely out of my hands." Darcy growled in annoyance, he didn't need to be told that leaving so early was running a horrific risk of crippling himself permanently, but Parker never called a matter urgent unless that was precisely what it was.
"Okay, take your morphia this evening and when you come out at midnight I can promise that your leg will be making you feel even iller then it already does, your head will depress you and I will be sitting there with the list of your instructions. Remember this is not a matter for bravery and our good old-fashioned stiff-upper lip. If you don't look after yourself, eat regularly, exercise as much as possible and in general look after your health your recovery will be even further delayed. The same goes for suitable quantities of sleep, in your current condition you can never have to much of that particular comodity, we're both well aware of the effects of morphia, but I don't want you being bull-headed and suffering in matyred silence and blowing my professional image as a miracle worker. It is a lot easier to get rid of a morphia addiction then it is to give you a new leg, you currently have your leg, but it will be all too easy for you to lose it again. I messed up one of you, I won't have the other messing my work up for me." Alastair stood up having finished with his inspection and scowled down at Darcy, before reconnecting the weight combination.
"Very good Doctor." Only by a soft growl did Darcy acknowledge the return of the weights.