'She used a pseudonym throughout the letters-it seemed to be an affectionate nickname used by her lover. He called her 'The English Nurse,' which then became 'Tennie.' It appears they used methods other than the available postal services to exchange letters. The censor was avoided, so that was another reason for her to keep her name private.'
'Ah, I see,' said Lady Petronella. 'And because my unit was known as The English Nursing Unit, with the initials T-E-N, which might then become 'Tennie,' you thought I might know the girl in question.'
'That's the measure of it.' Maisie paused. 'I realize it's a long time ago now, and rather a leap, but I was hoping you might recall if one of your nurses was involved in such a liaison. I was informed that you took a personal interest in all of those who worked for you.'
Lady Petronella sighed. 'I wish the whole thing didn't seem so immediate sometimes-do you know what I mean?' She looked at Maisie directly. It was not a rhetorical question.
Maisie nodded. 'Yes, I do. I know exactly what you mean. You'll be going about your daily round, and then, for one reason or another-' She shrugged. 'I don't know-possibly an aroma in the air, or the way the wind is blowing, or even something someone said-you feel as if you're back there, in the midst of it all, and that it will never end.' Her cheeks became flushed as she recognized her own candor.
'It's so refreshing to speak to someone who knows. Sometimes one really needs to have a good chat with someone else who has gone through a similar experience and is willing to talk about it.' She stared out towards the piano, as if she could see into the gardens beyond, then turned back to Maisie. 'I sometimes think that we-the whole country-would have benefited from just talking, all of us having a good old chat about it all and what we all lost instead of simply wading on through. I'm rather fed up with this 'buck up and put your best foot forward' approach to the terrors that face one in life.' She reached forward to pour more tea. 'Mind you, I am probably not a good example. People always say I am rather accomplished at just getting on with things.'
Maisie smiled, for the woman's honest account of her feelings had given substance to her first impressions.
'Lady Petronella, I-'
'Do call me 'Ella.' Petronella is such a mouthful. I rue the day my mother picked up that book she was reading prior to going into labor on the day I was born. The heroine was a Petronella, and I have always wished someone had given her a copy of
Maisie edged forward. 'Lady Ella-'
'Ella. I insist.'
'Ella, then-and thank you for according me the privilege, Ella. Your attitude to memories of the war would be a source of some optimism among a few doctors I know who work with the damaged psyche. Not all, mind, but those who are at the forefront of new research.' She took a sip from the just-poured second cup of tea. 'As I said, I understand you had something of a matriarchal approach to the care of the doctors and nurses who were retained to work in your unit, so I thought you might recall hearing about a courtship between one of the nurses and an American. After all, the fact that he was an American was one thing, but he came from a very good family.'
'Did he?' Ella frowned. 'How extraordinary.'
'What's so extraordinary?'
'No, nothing.' She shrugged. 'There were chaperones, you know, so that when the nurses went away for some well-earned rest, they didn't get into any troubling situations, if you know what I mean.'
'Yes, I think I do,' said Maisie.
'You see, that's one of the things people never talk about afterward-or even when it's all happening-that these events lead people to do things, take chances that they might never take if they didn't think they were going to die, or were afraid that they might lose someone they loved. There's always that last good-bye, that final kiss, that promise of a future spoken in the heat of the moment and in the fear of dying, that leads to all manner of problems later. The girl who is left with a broken heart when her sweetheart returns to his fiancee in Australia, the young man who discovers that the woman who pledged to wait for him cannot face him when he returns with terrible wounds-and after those earlier fervent protestations of never-ending love. Then there are the children, the innocent fatherless children.'
'I understand.' Maisie spoke quietly, aware that her voice was barely more than a whisper. Too many of her own memories converged into the present, along with a more recent encounter that gave weight to the opinions of the woman before her. 'Eighteen months ago, my best friend met her niece for the first time. The child was born in the war, in France. My friend's brother had been killed, and the child's mother was shot by the occupying German army. The girl is the image of her aunt, my friend. Fortunately, they now enjoy summers together, and are close.'
'Ah, a story with a happy ending. Not all are so fortunate.'
'Is that why you came back and set up the homes for unwed mothers?'
'More or less. I saw no reason why such women had to be branded as wanton. There had to be a means by which they could be with child without disapproving eyes upon them, and we also provided additional care when the children were adopted. There is so much to account for here.' She laid a hand on her chest. 'One cannot abandon a girl in that situation, one can only look after her and then set her on the path of life again-a good path, a path that might lead her forward to a reasonable future, and not the gutter.'
'Did you start the first home during the war?'
She shook her head. 'Before the war, actually. But with all those soldiers flooding into the country from all over the world, I asked my husband if he would help me support another two homes for girls in trouble.' She looked up at the charcoal drawing. 'He was a wonderful, most generous man. One in a million.'
Maisie cleared her throat. 'So, going back to the issue of our English nurse, you don't think she was one of your employees?'
Lady Ella shook her head again. 'They were a fine group of young women, all of them, and I am sure they were pursued by many a soldier, but I am equally sure I would have heard through the grapevine if an American was involved. I worked in the unit too, you know. Of course, I wasn't there all the time-otherwise my husband and I would not have had our darling Tuffie! But I did my bit. I don't believe in asking someone to do something you couldn't or wouldn't be willing to do yourself.' She smiled. 'The staff here know I would be quite capable of turning my hand to any job in this household, if it came to it. And there's a certain strength in that, my dear.'
'Lady-Ella, I understand you kept very precise records of your staff. Would it be an imposition for me to peruse them? I don't doubt your conclusion that 'Tennie' was not one of your nurses, but I would like to see the files, if possible. Just in case anything resonates with other evidence I've gathered.'
Lady Ella smiled, put her hands on her knees, and stood up. 'Let me take you to the library, where I have a cabinet containing a dossier on each of the women-both doctors and nurses. We can go through them together.'
'Thank you, I appreciate your help.'
'Not at all.' She waved a hand as if to brush away any concern regarding the intrusion. 'As I said, it's good to be in the company of someone who was there-and you were there, weren't you, my dear? I have spent a considerable amount of time with nurses. I can tell one a mile off, even if she is doing something quite different now.' She beckoned Maisie to follow her. 'Let's go to the library.'
The women spent another hour together, with Maisie seated alongside as Ella passed the records to her one by one, supplementing the notes with her own recollections: 'She was a lovely girl, Cornish farming stock, and this one-so committed to her work, she's a matron now, you know… Ah, this girl married her sweetheart. He's in a wheel-chair, but that hasn't stopped them having three children, and this one has really done well for herself, she's a secretary to someone terribly important…'
Maisie made notes on index cards, and tried to commit to memory the images set in front of her. A photograph of each employee was attached to the top right-hand corner of a dossier containing her personal information and employment history, and it seemed that Ella Casterman remembered every single one of her nurses.
When they had gone through the files, the two women remained seated at the table exchanging stories of the war, and their thoughts about life since the Armistice. Maisie had just pushed her chair back to stand up when the door to the library opened with a thump that caused it to bounce back against the wall.
'Mama, you will never guess-oh, I am terribly sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor.' The boy-man who had just entered was still dressed as if for an afternoon's rowing. His brownish blond hair looked as if it would benefit from an appointment with a barber, and his ungainly long arms and legs were an indication of his age. Maisie knew
