“Yes” was all he said.
As he offered me his arm for the walk back to the hotel, I thought perhaps things had turned out for the best.
It was difficult to be at odds with those I loved.
But the time would surely come when I’d have to face making the decision again.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHORTLY AFTER MY parents returned from the Major’s memorial service, we set out for the clinic in Somerset. No one mentioned my about-face on serving there. It would have been gloating, and my parents would never do that.
We spent one night at home, and the following morning it was my father who drove me to my next posting.
I asked, to pass the time, how he had felt about the memorial service.
“Difficult at best, of course. But I think it went off rather well, and it gave Julia Carson a little comfort. He’s buried in France, you know. Vincent.”
“I remember him before he met Julia. He was half in love with Mother for a time.”
My father chuckled. “So he was. But then a good part of the regiment thought they were in love with her. Your mother has an air about her that binds men to her.”
“Did you know his family well? I remember Vincent’s father as a rather stern man. On one visit he found me in an upstairs passage, looking for Mother, and he quick-marched me back to the Nursery, ordering Nurse to see that I stayed there.”
“Did he indeed? He was a barrister, a formidable opponent in a courtroom, but outside of it he had a stiff manner that sometimes put people off. Vincent confided to me that it was a great shock to his father when his only son chose the Army over the Law. He’d assumed that Vincent would be eager to follow in his footsteps, and for a time he blamed me for that decision. His mother, on the other hand, was from Devon, her family connected with the Raleighs in some way, I think. She was known for her good works and her flame-red hair. A beauty in her day. She was very fond of your mother. Do you remember her?”
“She’d carry me off to the kitchen, where they looked after me until Nurse could fetch me. There were small cakes, iced in different colors. And a cream cake with a rum and sultana sauce for tea.”
“Rum?” he asked, his brows flying up. “I never heard of that.”
I laughed. “Yes, well, I was sworn to secrecy. It was quite lovely, actually.”
Odd that Vincent Carson had married just the opposite woman-pretty, but not a beauty, and a homebody. Her fame, such as it was, lay in her gardens, where she enjoyed spending hours, to the despair of her gardener. She had wanted children, a house full of them. But there hadn’t been any. And wouldn’t be now.
“The Major had two sisters. They were a little older than I, and treated me with kindness.”
There had been some gossip about that amongst the women from the garrison in India who called on my mother from time to time. One of Vincent’s sisters had married beneath her, causing a family breach. The other had married well, her husband something to do with banking in Bristol.
“Do you think-if my duties allowed-that I could call on Julia? Not right away, of course. But I’d like to do that, unless she’s not receiving visitors yet.”
“I think she’d be delighted to see you.”
It was clear from what my father was saying that Simon hadn’t told him about my belief that the Major had been murdered. I was grateful.
Medford Longleigh was a small village in the rolling country that led to the Cotswolds, and high brick walls kept the houses and shops from sliding downhill into the road. They gave a very secretive air to the village, but in fact it had been the only way the area could be settled. The clinic was in Longleigh House, which was just on the outskirts, where the twisting main road straightened itself out for a quarter of a mile or more, allowing the gates to the park to appear to be even more stately than they were. Tall, capped with stone, then curving down in a graceful sweep to connect to the walls that surrounded the grounds, they promised a grand house ahead.
And the promise was fulfilled. Three stories high with an elegant roofline, tall chimneys, and a wing set to either side, the house was lovely. Stone faced the windows, and the portico was Grecian, with wide steps leading down to the drive.
My first thought was that if I’d lived here, I’d have found it hard to give it up to the Army and the hordes of doctors, nursing sisters, orderlies, and patients who inhabited it now. Of course it was the size that had made it ideal for a convalescent clinic. It could accommodate dozens of wounded and the staff to serve them.
My father said gently as we drove up the winding drive through the park, “I’m pleased that you made this choice. Very sensible of you, my dear.” Beneath the words lay the hope that there had been no lasting harm done to our relationship
Smiling in return, I assured him that I was satisfied with this decision.
And then we were pulling up in front of the house.
He came around to my side of the motorcar and handed me out while an orderly bounded down the shallow steps to fetch my valise from the boot.
Colonel Crawford was welcomed by Matron herself, as a courtesy due his rank, and we had tea in her small office. Then he was given a tour of the clinic while a young woman, Sister Harrison, took me to my quarters and settled me in.
We had been assigned to what in better times had been the servants’ bedrooms, made more habitable now with odd bits from the more fashionable rooms downstairs.
“We don’t have much time to ourselves,” Sister Harrison was saying as she looked around my quarters. “But the bed is quite comfortable, and you’ll be glad of that.”
“Matron told me that the majority of your patients are orthopedic cases, with a few surgical cases as well.”
“Yes, all officers, of course.” Officers and men of other ranks were not mixed in clinics. “It isn’t arduous work, there are enough of us to share it out. Some of the patients are difficult, others meek as lambs. But I must warn you about the Yank. He can be quite a handful.” Her smile told me that she liked the man in spite of that.
“An American?” I asked, surprised.
“He joined the Canadian Army when war broke out. Didn’t want to miss it, he said, while waiting for his own country to come into it. He’s quite popular with the men. Someone told me he had a pocket full of medals and should have been put in for a VC. But then he’s American, you see.”
Victoria Crosses were not handed out lightly.
She helped me unpack my uniforms, and as I went down to report for duty, my father was just leaving. I wondered if he’d been at his most charming in order to smooth my path here. That would be like him and explained why he chose to bring me to Longleigh House rather than send me off with Simon. Not that Simon couldn’t have smoothed my path as well, but rank had its privileges, and that was pointed out as Matron said, watching his motorcar disappear down the drive, “A fine man, your father.”
I took up my duties just after luncheon had been served, my first assignment reading to the men. It was difficult to keep them amused, anxious as they were to return to duty if they could. Broken legs, cracked ribs, shoulder injuries, back wounds, all of them the sort of thing that took time to heal, like it or not. And Sister Harrison was blunt about it.
“A new pretty face is just the thing,” she told me, handing me a Conan Doyle mystery. “And light fare. Nothing heavy-going, sad, or reminding them of the war.”
When I walked into what had once been the drawing room of the house, I found some forty patients there waiting for me. Their expectant faces told me that word had already made the rounds regarding a new Sister being assigned to the clinic.
A tall, fair man with a welcoming smile stepped forward, limping, to hold my chair for me, and as I sat down, I wondered if he was the American. He lacked the reserve I was accustomed to in British officers, his manner open and rather cheeky, I thought.
