Kitty’s War
Oli shrugged. ‘Well, I’d be happy to go over to help out if they needed me.’
Father waved his hand. ‘Storm in a teacup—be over before we know it. Not like Africa at all.’ He pointed his knife at Archie. ‘Now that was a campaign and a half. Your uncle could tell you all about that, young man.’
I saw a glint in Archie’s eyes, and realised he was hiding a flash of anger at the easy dismissal of the very real danger into which he was going, although his voice did not betray it. ‘Aye, so I understand. Uncle Jack doesn’t talk about it much though. He was at Rooiwal near the end. Was that anywhere near you?’
Father coloured, but to do him credit, he didn’t attempt to lie. ‘Well, of course I’d have liked to have joined the party,’ he said, ‘but the business was just taking off. Couldn’t go off and leave it. Too many people depending on it for a living. Do have some more wine, lad.’
Archie’s mouth twitched as he held out his glass, and I was relieved to see his anger disappear in a barely suppressed grin at Father’s discomfiture. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Conversation moved on, and since no-one was the slightest bit interested in anything I might have to say, I used the time to study Archie more closely, to examine the response to him that had taken me so completely by surprise. The familiarity was still there. It wasn’t as if he was someone else, but that I was, and along with our easy friendship I recognised the need to experience the warmth of a closer contact… Talking to him wasn’t enough any more. I wanted to know how he felt about everything, and I wanted him to care how I felt too. I realised I had stopped eating now and was staring at him, and I looked quickly at Mother, but she was busy admonishing Oli for drinking his wine too quickly. If he had this effect on my appetite I needn’t worry about fat ankles for much longer, anyway.
After dinner I sat with the others while they talked of times past and times to come, and looking at Oli’s eager expression I knew he’d meant it when he’d told Archie he’d have preferred to sign up than go to law school. Archie loosened his tie as they all began to relax, and settled back into his chair with a glass of Father’s best brandy, while I pretended to read but found my attention wandering from the page constantly, whether he was speaking or not.
He was starting to look tired; the journey from Scotland had been a long one, and he had to be up early to get the train from Liverpool to London. Yet despite his slightly edgy weariness, he had a compelling magnetism to him that drew my eyes again and again. The strong, clean features and ready smile were only part of it; his voice wrapped me in its soft-spoken tones. His hands, holding the brandy glass up to the light to peer through the amber depths, were steady and graceful, and I closed my eyes as I remembered the warmth of them pressing me to him in that brotherly hug.
Abruptly I tore my gaze away, and set my book aside. ‘I’m going out for a walk.’
‘But it’s dark,’ Mother protested.
‘There are lights, and I need some fresh air.’
‘You can’t go out alone!’
‘I’ll only be a few minutes. No need to disturb anyone to come with me.’
Without waiting for a reply, I went out into the hall and plucked my coat from the hook, and once outside I half expected to hear the light raindrops sizzle as they landed on my face. I was more tangled, in thought and emotion, than I’d ever been before, and the culprit was sitting back there in our drawing room. Not a thought cast my way, not a care in his head except what he was going into tomorrow. And who could blame him for that?
I closed my eyes again and pictured those beautiful, strong hands holding, not a brandy glass, but a gun. Then I pictured his face, contorted in fear, pain, or both, and the abrupt reality of where he was going squeezed my heart until I thought it would collapse. France, or Belgium, or farther afield; wherever he ended up might not be so far in miles, but it was another world, and it might be a world from which he never returned.
I took a few steps down the deserted street, and realised I didn’t have the strength to walk after all. Instead I found a bench and sat down, not caring about the puddles of rainwater that seeped through my coat and dress, and tried to give myself a good talking-to. It was silly to feel such panic and sorrow; Archie was volunteering for this and was proud to be doing so; he had made his own choice. But I desperately wished he would change his mind.
I remembered how my friends and I had gathered to watch some of the local lads as they marched off, and we’d cheered and thrown flowers, and thought how happy they all looked, how determined to get over there and sort things out where the governments had failed. We’d kissed as many boys as we could, telling them all how splendid they were, and waved them out of sight with a feeling of deep patriotism and satisfaction that all was happening just as it should.
But Archie… He might be well over six feet tall, he might be square of shoulder and strong in limb, but he was the calmest, most gentle man I’d ever known—the least likely to be goaded into real anger, the quickest to forgive. He shouldn’t be going out there, no matter how proud it made him. I compared him to Alistair Corwood and almost laughed aloud, but it was no laughing matter.
It occurred to me that I was missing the last hour or so I would spend in his company, and, surprised at how much that thought hurt, I stood up to go back inside, and stopped; the silhouette coming towards me, with the easy, graceful walk I still recognised after four years, moved into a pool of light and my heart tripped over itself.
‘Kitty!’ He raised a hand and came closer, his smile lit by the overhead light and shining straight at me.
I smiled back. ‘What are you doing out here? I thought you were talking to Oli and Father.’
‘I needed to get away. The two of them have managed to get into a discussion about work. Deadly boring. Shall we walk?’
‘That would be…nice.’ I was having trouble forming my words, and when Archie offered me his arm I took it, hoping he couldn’t feel the wild trembling of my hand in the crook of his elbow. He was treating me like an adult at last, and I tried to behave like one, asking polite questions he had already answered during dinner, and keeping my pace slow and measured instead of running up and down the road, yelling with delight.
‘Well, I’ve got an early start,’ he said at last, and turned homewards once more. ‘And you shouldn’t be out here alone with a man, even if it’s only me.’
Only him? But I wasn’t ready to go back.
‘Tell me a bit more about your uncle,’ I said quickly. ‘Jack, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, Jack Carlisle. Well, he’s my mother’s younger brother. We’ve not seen him in a good while but he writes now and again. He’s a diplomat now, attached to the army and still holds the rank of major, but he’s not on active service any more.’
‘Sounds exciting.’ It sounded nothing of the sort, but I just wanted him to keep talking.
‘Really?’ Archie looked at me, a smile tugging at his lips.
‘Does he live in Scotland too?’
‘No, he’s based in London and Liverpool mostly. And he spends most of his free time at the Creswells’ place in Cheshire.’
‘Are they rich?’
‘They are. He was apparently very close to Lord Creswell. Henry. They fought together in Africa.’
‘Unlike Father,’ I dropped in, and Archie laughed.
‘I’m not going to comment on that again. Anyway, Uncle Jack promised he’d take care of the family if Henry died in the war, which, sadly, he did. So Jack’s sort of a father figure to Henry’s two children now, and rumour has it he and Lily Creswell are a bit of an item.’
‘A happy ending,’ I said. ‘Good!’ Without thinking, I hugged his arm, then immediately let go in case he thought I’d meant anything by it. He gave me a faintly puzzled look, then accepted my withdrawal and put his hands in his pockets. We had arrived back at the house, and I had never been so displeased to see warm, welcoming lights at a window.
‘I should get to bed,’ he said. ‘I really need to be up at first light.’
Sending my body into complete turmoil, he put his hands gently on my shoulders, and dropped a kiss onto my forehead. With his jaw just inches away, it was as much as I could do not to turn my head to kiss him back, but I led the way indoors and said goodnight, making a meal of removing my coat, so he wouldn’t see how my hands still shook. I watched him from the hallway as he went in to say goodnight to my family, and then went to my own room, trying to untangle my insides and take a single deep and calming breath. I couldn’t do it. And then, as I lay there in the darkness, remembering the firmness of his lips on my skin, I decided I didn’t want to. The ache was too sweet, too new and too full of possibility to push away.
The following morning I breakfasted early, and Archie had yet to make an appearance by the time I’d finished. The meal was still sitting like a lump in my stomach and I felt as if I hadn’t chewed a single bite as I waited in the hall, pretending to be straightening my ever-annoying curls in the mirror, but every sense straining in anticipation.
At last I heard his footfall on the stairs, and my eyes went to the bag by the door before I looked up to see him for what might be the last time. He was pulling on his cap as he came round the bend in the stairs, and his uniform looked like part of him already, as though he’d been born to wear it. For a moment I had trouble recognising the Archie I’d known in this grown man, but then, as he always had as a boy, he took the last few stairs in a quick little run and was my old familiar friend again.
Watching him straighten his belt and reach for his coat, I saw the quick, assured movements of a man completely at ease, and felt some of the terror fall away; no-one who looked as comfortable and ready to go to war could possibly come to any harm. Second Lieutenant Archie Buchanan would come home safely in a month or two, having made his family, and me, the proudest we could be, and Europe would be safe thanks to him and those like him.
And then, perhaps, there would be time for us.
Chapter Three
11 November 1916
My nineteenth birthday. A chilly, grey day that nevertheless started out with a vague hope of celebration, then fell flat after breakfast, when I realised I’d be spending it completely alone, but by teatime had flung me headlong into a life I could never have imagined for myself.
Oliver had finally joined the army late last year, to our parents’ aggravation, but just before the compulsory call-up, so at least they could tell people he’d volunteered. He was stationed at Nieuport, on the Belgian coast, and had kept this rare home visit as a birthday surprise—an even more joyful one when I saw he had brought Archie with him. He stood behind Oliver, smiling at me over the top of Oli’s red curls, his own hat removed and tucked beneath his arm. When Oli had released me from an unexpected, but not unwelcome brotherly embrace, Archie took my hand.
‘Happy birthday, darling.’ He bent and kissed my cheek, and I felt my skin glow where his lips had touched, firm and warm.
‘You’ve been promoted,’ I said, accepting a hug but trying not to linger too long in his arms. ‘Congratulations, Captain Buchanan.’
‘Aye, your father’s an uncanny knack of predicting the future.’
‘Except when it comes to this little two-year “storm in a teacup”,’ I pointed out, and he grinned.
‘And how fare you, young Kittlington?’
I pulled a face. ‘Bored, I’m ashamed to say. Can we go riding while you’re here?’
‘I’d have loved to but I can only stay tonight. I’m getting the early train up to Edinburgh, and then to Fort William. Mother’s been waiting a while and she’s not inclined to wait much longer—she keeps threatening to turn up at HQ just to make sure I’m cleaning m’teeth every night!’
I laughed, and hoped he couldn’t see my ridiculous, crushing disappointment. Still, it wasn’t to be helped; family came first. Which reminded me: ‘Oliver, your timing is impeccable—did you somehow know Mother and Father would be out?’
‘They’ve left you alone on your birthday?’ Archie frowned, and I felt a rush of gratitude for his understanding. I’d spent the morning telling myself not to be silly, but it hurt anyway.
‘Really? There’s a bit of luck,’ Oli said, and clapped Archie on the back. ‘Come on, Arch, we’ve got time for some billiards before Father comes in and starts banging on.’
I followed them into the billiard room. Mother wasn’t here to admonish me, and besides Oli hadn’t been home for ages, and Archie was my friend. Why shouldn’t I talk to them?
To my pleased surprise, not even Oli gave me his patented ‘you should be off sewing things’ look, and tolerated my presence. To begin with I just listened to them talking, of things I’d never understand in a million years, I was sure. Trenches I’d heard of, of course, and seen them on the newsreels, filled with cheerfully waving boys, but I’d had no idea there was so much mud and you certainly couldn’t see it in those pictures. To hear Oli and Archie talk you’d think men lived in puddles for days at a time and never had the chance to change their socks. Archie talked of ‘near misses’ that made my fingers curl into the material of my dress, and Oli told him how a tunnel had been spotted by the enemy. Someone hadn’t stopped digging when he ought, and the Germans had heard and blown it up. The explosion, he said, rattled the windows of the nearby town, and… He caught sight of my face and stopped. I think he’d been about to say something about the men who’d been down that tunnel, but thought better of it.
‘Anyway,’ he finished, ‘that was the end of that. The sappers had to start again two days later and thirty yards farther up the line.’ He spoke as if that had been the worst of it, but I could tell by the way his and Archie’s expressions were matched in solemnity that this was far from the truth.
Archie sought to lighten the tone. ‘So, what have you been up to, Kitty? Met a nice lad yet?’
I didn’t want him to see how much that stung, so I just gave him a slightly withering look. ‘How about you—the nurses falling at your feet, I suppose?’
He chuckled. ‘Not that I’ve noticed. And thankfully I don’t come into much contact with them. You’ve never wanted to go into that profession then?’
‘I’ve done some training, but I don’t really have the temperament for putting up with the dreadful snobbery of some of those nurses. Actually I’ve noticed that myself and one or two others tend to be kept away from the patients.’
He had bent over to take his shot, and stopped, looking at me over his cue, an amused smile playing about his lips. ‘You remind me quite strongly of someone I’ve recently met,’ he said. ‘She’s an independent out there. Ambulance driver. They’re always looking for people like you.’
‘Like me?’ I found myself interested, despite the creeping horror their earlier descriptions had elicited. ‘How do you mean?’ Part of me admitted I just wanted to hear him say complimentary things, but another, bigger part, really did yearn to do some good.
‘Level-headed, healthy, sensible.’ He didn’t notice my frustration, and it took all the self-control I had not to break his billiard cue over his stupid head. Was that all he could find to say about me? ‘And,’ he went on, lining up his shot again, ‘preferably already a dab hand with the internal combustion engine, so they wouldn’t have to waste time teaching.’
‘How did you know I’d been learning that?’ I asked, slightly appeased. I was glad I hadn’t told him myself, so it couldn’t be interpreted as boastful.
‘Your brother here’s dead proud of you,’ Archie said, by way of explanation, and Oliver snorted, but then looked at me and shrugged.
‘Well, you’re quite the little mechanic, Kitty. There’s no denying it.’
There was a solid clack as the cue ball hit its target, and Archie straightened, satisfied. ‘So, what about it? Would you like to learn more and maybe think about it?’
‘Yes!’
Oliver was looking at me as if I’d just told him I planned to emigrate to Australia. ‘But you told the parents you were going to stay in England. That’s the only reason they let you train!’
‘Don’t you think it sounds perfect though?’ I pleaded, desperate to claim him to my side; Mother and Father would find much less to argue about if I had his support. ‘All that training with the Red Cross, and all I’m doing with it is cleaning floors and knitting socks!’
‘Quite right too. You’re doing valuable work right here in England. Why on earth would you want to go over to that hellhole?’
‘At least it’s nearer to you, Oli. They’re sure to take that into account.’ I turned to Archie. ‘Who would I be working with?’ It didn’t matter; I already knew I would agree to anything he suggested. If he thought I could do it, then I could. I felt a complicated thrill of fear and excitement as he explained about the ambulance base, run, until recently, by Evie, one of the Cheshire Creswells he’d mentioned before.
‘She’s not there just at the minute,’ he said. ‘She’s away home caring for her husband, who’s lost his memory. I don’t know when she’ll be back, but there are others who’d look after you ’til then. You’d be working independently, but under the guidance of the Red Cross, and attached to my own regiment, which is stationed close by. Evie’s partner, Barbara, is leaving to marry.’
I looked over at Oli, who was chalking his cue and concentrating so I couldn’t tell what he thought. ‘Oli? What do you think? I’d love to really have the chance to do something good.’
He eyed me then, and his face softened into a reluctant smile. ‘You’ll be wonderful out there, I’m sure of it. Just promise me you’ll be careful, and do as you’re told.’
I could have hugged him, but he was across the room and leaning down to take his shot. Archie had moved out of Oli’s way and was standing very close to me; it felt as if another inch would allow me to feel the warmth radiating from him and from there it would be a short step to putting my arms around him instead, and frightening him senseless. I backed away a couple of paces, just in case.
He whistled in reluctant appreciation as Oliver’s shot took him into the lead. ‘Bloody good shot, Mr Maitland, sir.’ Then he turned to me again, much to my gratification. ‘What about your parents?’
‘They’ll try and stop me, I’m sure, but I’m nineteen. There’s nothing they can do.’ Even the sixteen-year-old I’d thought so worldly seemed a child now. I had no illusions about the work I’d be doing, especially after listening to them talking earlier, but I pushed away a niggle of uncertainty; there was a duty to be done, and what could possibly happen if we were under the Red Cross?
‘You can go out and see how you get on,’ Archie was saying now. ‘Any help, even for a short while, will be invaluable out there. No-one will think badly of you if you don’t stay.’
‘Oh, I’d stay.’ Determination often got the better of good sense with me, but I had the feeling this time my confidence was well founded.
Archie’s smile of approval convinced me further. ‘When can you come?’
‘When can I start?’
He laughed. ‘It’ll take a month or so, but as soon as I get back I’ll talk to Lieutenant Colonel Drewe about arranging your documents.’
And, just like that, everything changed.
Flanders, Belgium, December 1916
The lorry was empty but for myself, and my rather forlorn-looking suitcase, by the time we reached the little cottage known only as Number Twelve. The girls I’d travelled with from England had all disembarked at the hospital in Furnes, where they were greeted by a harried-looking sister and whisked away to change even before the driver had restarted the lorry.
I was not treated to even that dubious pleasure; the cottage stood apparently derelict, and as the driver lifted my bag down I wondered if we’d come to the right place. Suddenly sure we had not, I turned to say as much, but he had already climbed back behind the steering wheel, and before I could summon the words: ‘wait a moment!’ he was driving away, over the pitted and uneven road, back towards Furnes.
If the cottage seemed deserted, that road was not. Ambulances creaked and roared, coughing their way towards the large clearing station up the road, and the empty ones rattled past them towards Pervyse, where the driver had told me heavy fighting was taking place. That was where the Baroness de T'Serclaes and young Mairi Chisholm were, and I couldn’t help feeling a little excited despite the gnawing fear. I wondered if we would see them, or even be called upon to help them—their work was famous at home, and their bravery the stuff of legend. Everyone I knew still called them Mrs Knocker and Miss Chisholm, but the newspapers called them The Madonnas of Pervyse—I could hardly believe they were so close by.
During the long drive from the ferry, even when we’d drawn closer to the fighting, I’d heard cracks and distant booms that didn’t sound as if they could be signalling any real danger to me personally, but as I turned back now to the ancient-looking cottage, in the hopes of seeing some sign of life, a tremendous roar seemed to suck the breath out of me, and I dropped to my knees and tucked my head down.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ a voice said. It sounded faintly amused, but friendly enough, and I lifted my head to see a slender, attractive girl with very blonde hair cut raggedly short. She held out her hand, both to pull me to my feet, and by way of introduction.
‘I’m Evie Davies,’ she said. ‘I only got back myself two days ago. You must be Katherine Maitland.’
‘Kitty,’ I said, and shook her proffered hand. She wasn’t at all what I expected; something had put a picture in my mind of a tall, capable-looking woman with a loud voice and a no-nonsense attitude. This girl looked hardly older than myself, and had smiling blue eyes and a clear voice. Well spoken, but with none of the ‘frightfully Home Counties’ accent I disliked so much, and which Mother seemed determined to adopt over our own north-western tones.
‘I thought you’d be here a week or so ago,’ she said, ‘but I’m glad to be able to welcome you myself. I’ve only been back a day. Anne and Elise have gone back to their usual billet.’
‘There was a hold-up with my parents,’ I explained. ‘They’re not overly keen on me being here, I’m afraid.’
‘We’ll take good care of you. They needn’t worry.’ She saw me looking at her hair, and ran her hand through it, heedless of the grease and oil on her fingers. ‘Dreadful, isn’t it? I dare say I look an absolute fright.’
I wanted to say it actually suited her face rather well, but she pressed on. ‘Lice are a terrible problem. I hope you’ll be spared the need to do this, but be prepared for it. I’ll check you every day, if you like.’
The notion of someone checking me for lice gave me a further jolt, but I tried not to look horrified. ‘Thank you.’ I combed my fingers through my own red curls and hoped for the best, but if I had to cut them off I would, without hesitation. I wouldn’t look anywhere near as boyishly pretty as Evie, but who was there to care here? The driver had told me Archie’s headquarters were just a few miles to the east of Number Twelve, but he might as well be in France for all the chance I had of seeing him. Oli had applied to be transferred to Dixmude as well, and would soon learn if the request had been approved, but even so I’d rarely see him either. I was here to do a job, not to be coddled, and I pulled myself straight and fixed my mind on here and now, pushing daydreams to the back of my mind.
Evie sloshed her way through the icy mud to the ambulance, and I followed. ‘We’ve only got the one bus at the moment,’ she said, opening up the flap at the back. ‘Boxy and I saved up and brought her over, but we’re hoping for another one soon—we’ve raised some donations, and the Red Cross back home are awfully keen to help where they can. Meet Gertie.’
‘Gertie?’