Charlotte
For a moment, Papa and I simply stared at him, unable to say a word. Henry had once told me that the pride of a soldier was how well-kept his uniform was. The Earl's was shredded, dirty, and smeared with something brown and black. He appeared to have been through a hardship or two, because his neck and face were bruised purple and blue. One eye was swollen half-shut, making him appear even more menacing. I inched closer to Papa.
'Me?' Papa said, and his hands clenched on the brim of his hat. 'What did you want with me?'
'I know the pull you have in the Order, Dorchester,' said Heacham, and he took a shambling step forward. We tensed, but it was only to lean against the desk nearby for support. 'I did not know where else to turn.'
'Whatever for?' Papa shook his head. 'Surely you have other resources...'
'As an exile of the Order?' Heacham shook his head. 'I'm afraid those are very hard to come by, Dorchester. Especially when your own Head believes I am an enemy of the people.'
'Well...' I ventured. 'Are you?'
'If the name Friedrich von Wittenberg sounds familiar, then perhaps you would not need to ask me that.' Heacham shifted his weight and his face paled under his bruises. So he truly was injured.
'Major Kingsley mentioned the Anathema,' said Papa, and that caught the Earl's attention. 'Has Wittenberg found it?'
'I'll wager a yes.' Heacham tugged at a tear in his overcoat. 'He has not been reliable lately, with the war on...said he was supposed to return to Berlin the moment war broke out, but as far as I know he is still here.'
'Typical,' muttered Papa, before addressing Heacham again. 'Then what is your explanation for being here? Are you running from him?'
'I was trying to find some place he would not be able to find me. He was using me as a ploy all along, you see. He knew of my reputation, and my power. As soon as I refused to comply, taking orders from my commanding officer instead of him, he decided I was no use to him anymore. He was having me followed, Dorchester. Followed.'
'All right, all right.' Papa stopped him, seeing he was clearly agitated. 'Say we believe you. What is it you would have us do?'
'I only want shelter,' said Heacham, his shoulders hunching in. The desk groaned as he leaned on it with his full weight. 'Lady Dorchester's reputation for kindness and hospitality precedes her. If I may impose on it, just for a little while, as an injured serviceman...'
'You will not take advantage of my wife, Heacham,' said Papa, his words clipped. 'Or our situation.'
'I promise to behave,' he said. 'You have my word. As long as I am under your roof, I will give you no reason to mistrust me.'
Papa and I exchanged a glance. Bringing him home with us would certainly raise questions neither of us wanted to answer. And although he had deceived us in every possible way before, now it seemed the tables had turned and he was the one being deceived. Finally Papa nodded and sighed, crossing to the desk.
'There is a hospital just down the road from here,' he said as he wrote. 'Go there, and they will treat your injuries. If they see fit, they may send you up to convalesce with us, but as soon as your name goes down in hospital, it is out of my hands. But this at least will give you a chance.'
'Thank you, Dorchester,' said Heacham as Papa finished and held the paper out to him. He took it and folded it, tucking it into the pocket of his tunic. 'There is something else you can help me with, and I believe your powers of the Order may do the trick.'
Papa nodded reluctantly. 'What is that?'
'I am looking for a common pauper, by the name of Sebastian Worthington. I believe he means to steal something valuable from a great number of powerful people.'
||
Peter
The first day that my bandages came off, the medical staff decided it was a good idea to get me up and around for a while. They cleaned me up, put me in a wheelchair, and pushed me outside to be watched by a few nurses. And when they did their rounds, I found myself tended to by a pretty, dark-haired nurse with familiar grey-green eyes and lips shaped like a cupid's bow.
'Nurse Miller?' I said, surprised.
'Staff Sergeant,' she answered, with no recognition at all.
'Do you really not recognise me?' I had hoped that despite everything we'd both been through during the course of the war, that we'd someday reunite and share our experiences. My uniform may have been different, and I may have been unaccustomed to what war could do, but now I knew better. 'Two years ago. After Vimy Ridge.'
She stopped for a moment, and it took her a few more to look at me. At first, no recognition registered there, and seemed we were seeing each other for the first time again. Then, slowly, she began to nod.
'Haywood, isn't it?' she said after a moment. 'You lost your friend. Private Milton.'
I exhaled and nodded. 'Yes. Thank God. I thought we'd never see one another again.'
She smiled, but it was small and sad, matching the sadness in her eyes. 'That is the reality of war, I'm afraid. You lose your individuality in all of it.'
'Do you suppose we could take a walk?' I said, catching her arm when she began to move away. 'Just a short one, down the cloister?'
'My shift doesn't end for another hour, Staff Sergeant,' she said, although she seemed tempted by the prospect. There was not much anyone could do in a war to keep their mind off it, so the next best thing was to share with someone who had been through it with you.
'Please. I don't want to keep you long. Only...I have not been able to talk with anyone who has seen what I have. It is hard enough trying to remain distracted.'
'Oh, all right.' She relented, and then leaned down as she took a hold of my chair and wheeled me around to face the other direction. 'But you mustn't mention this to anyone else. They'll cite me for shirking my duty.'
'I promise,' I said. 'Your secret's safe with me.'
'So you've changed quite a bit since we last met,' she said when we were out of earshot of everyone else. 'Staff Sergeant now, I see.'
'Yes,' I said. 'Although I think some of the other boys deserve the rank more than I do. All I've been concerned with is staying alive.'
'In times like these, that is all anyone can think about.' She sighed. 'So I cannot blame you, and neither can your fellow soldiers. They are probably doing the very same thing.'
'Like you?' I asked. 'Have you seen much action?'
'No, thank God,' she said with visible relief, and then quickly amended it. 'But I would not be unwilling to, if the need arose. Besides, even if I could not save my brothers or my cousins, I would want to try my best to save other men.'
'I'm sorry to hear that.' I tried to think of something else. 'They were all brave men, I'm sure.'
'Yes, they were. And all of the boys are. They all might be terrified, but many would die before showing cowardice.'
I nodded slowly, but said nothing. I wished I could come up with the words, but she began to speak again and I didn't have to.
'You asked if I had seen any action, Staff Sergeant, but...the truth is...I wonder if I should have. There was a fellow nurse who volunteered to go to the front with a company. But she was gunned down when they were ambushed on their march. The soldiers didn't even have a chance. It could have been me, but...I suppose I was too much of a coward to say anything.'
'You don't have to talk about this, Nurse Miller,' I said, because I knew what happened when you recalled a story from the battlefield. It pulled you back to that moment, not letting go until it had run its course.
'I'm glad it's out now,' she sighed. 'I haven't been able to tell anyone, let alone admit it. And if I did, most would judge me.'
'I wouldn't. I know exactly how it feels.' I knew what survivors' guilt felt like, but there was no way around it, not in a war. And there was no way we could predict what would happen to any of us at any given point. At times, the uncertainty was maddening.
'You must be getting tired, Staff Sergeant,' she said suddenly. 'We've been gone for much too long. Someone will have noticed by now.'
'Wait a moment.' I reached up and stopped her hand, and that made her stiffen. The patient-caregiver boundary was blurred now, but it was too late to change it. 'I wanted to ask you something else.'
'What is it?'
'Your cousins...where were they killed?'
'The Somme. November.' She looked away quickly, probably to hide her tears.
Guilt welled in my chest. I shouldn't have asked her. It probably brought up too many terrible memories.
'I was there too,' I said. 'The Somme. It was one of the worst battles I'd ever seen.'
'It was that indeed.' She straightened again. 'I wish I could have done something. More than what I did.'
'You did everything you could,' I said. 'We all did. I don't think we'll ever believe that what we did was enough.'
'Once again, I must agree with you.' She began to turn me around and push me back down the cloister, towards the other soldiers and nurses. 'Now we must really be getting back, Staff Sergeant. I've got to get back to work.'
'Nurse Miller...you may call me Peter the next time we meet...if you like.'
'That was my cousin's name. One of them.'
'I apologise...I don't want to remind you of...'
'You're not,' she said gently. 'Associating his name with someone like you takes the pain away somewhat.'
'I'm flattered,' I answered, with just a trace of humour.
'I'm glad.'
'And...' I took a deep breath before asking, even though my ribs still ached. 'What may I call you, should we meet again after the war ends?'
'And we both live to see it? Neither of us can know that, Peter. But if by chance it does, you may call me Viola.'
'Viola? That's a beautiful name.'
Her cheeks coloured rapidly. 'Thank you. It was my grandmother's name.'
'It suits you.'
'Thank you for thinking so.'
We were interrupted by running footsteps, belonging to a boy about the same age as Alf in a private's uniform. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop in front of us, bent double with his hands on his knees. He panted for a full minute, and then straightened.
'Private Armstrong?' Nurse Miller sounded confused and a bit alarmed. 'Did you run all the way here? What's the matter?'
'Staff Sergeant Haywood's got a visitor,' panted Armstrong, pushing his sweaty blond hair off his forehead. 'Pretty young lady, she is. Says she's his fiancee.'
'We'll be there right away,' said Nurse Miller, her voice cool. 'Thank you, Private.'
He ran off again, and Nurse Miller began to push me down the cloister faster than before, but with a nurse's efficiency. Where before she had been warm and willing to confide in me, now she was once again distant.
'Your fiancee has come to see you,' she said, not at all conversationally. 'That's lovely. It shows she cares about your well being.'
'Nurse Miller,' I said, but she kept going right over me.
'How nice it must be, to have someone out in the world who cares for you, and loves you, and will actually drop everything they're doing to come visit you.'
'Nurse Miller...'
'And to think that when the war ends, you'll have something to look forward to...a lovely wife, beautiful children, a life that is every bit as idyllic as we all hope for...'
'Viola!'
She stopped, so quickly I nearly tumbled out of the chair. I turned to look, but she waved me away.
'I apologise, Peter...just give me a moment...'
'I didn't mean to shout, Nurse Miller, I only...' I went to touch her hand, but she pulled it away before they could even make contact.
'It wasn't proper of me to say those things. I'm perfectly aware that our lives are private.'
'We wanted to confide in each other, so we did.'
'Yes, but it isn't proper, Peter. Staff Sergeant. We should not even be on first-name terms with one another. It would not look right.'
'I don't care about propriety anymore,' I protested. 'There's a war on, for God's sake, and we cannot even share a brief moment of confidentiality and friendship?'
'You have your reputation to uphold, and I have mine,' she said shortly. 'You're an Earl's son. I'm a housekeeper's daughter. We could never be, not even after the war ends. Your fiancee is a nobleman's daughter, I assume. That is a perfectly safe union. But we would bring scandal down on each other, Staff Sergeant, believe me.'
I said nothing, because for one, the expression in her eyes that pleaded with me to understand stopped me. For another, she had a valid point. Status and reputation were everything to our society, and even if we did have feelings for one another, we could never be a couple. Not in an acceptable manner, at least.
'Now, what about your fiancee? She's probably wondering what's keeping you.'
The guest room was already full when we entered. Voices rose around us, and I scanned the tables for Grace. It only took me a few minutes to locate her–she was the only one in bright peacock blue, standing out boldly against the grey of the walls and the drab colours of the soldiers' uniforms and their visitors' clothes.
'There she is,' I said, nodding in Grace's direction. 'Over there.'
'That is your fiancee?' Nurse Miller's voice was sad. 'She's beautiful.'
'She is,' I agreed. I felt a pang of guilt when Grace's eyes met mine, and she smiled. For once, with Nurse Miller, I felt I could speak freely. She had seen what I had seen, experienced what I had experienced, and knew firsthand what war could do to people. Grace, while I knew she tried to understand, could never truly know what we were going through. And I couldn't help but feel that I was losing a bit of that now.
I cursed inwardly as we approached Grace. For once, I wished I could feel nothing. Feelings were unpredictable and hurtful. Throughout this war, they had done nothing but cause pain.
||
Grace
Seeing Peter looking better was a relief. His bandages were off, for the most part, and he had much more colour in his cheeks. He even had the strength to sit up now, something I knew caused much pain on his part last time. I noticed his uniform, clean and pressed. He'd barely been able to wear it before he'd been injured.
The nurse pushing him up to the table seemed nervous and a little flustered. I wouldn't have noticed her, or how pretty she was, if Peter hadn't been watching her every move.
'I'm sure you two have much to catch up on,' she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped away. 'Someone'll be along to collect you when you've finished.'
With that, she was gone.
'Who was that?' I asked Peter, keeping my tone neutral. 'She was pretty.'
'Just a nurse,' he said, trying to pass it off as nonchalant. But I heard the guardedness in his voice. 'She was bringing back from a short walk.'
'"Just a nurse"? You can tell me, Peter. Don't feel you have to hide things.'
'Miller. Nurse Viola Miller.' He studied the grain in the table intently, but never once looked up at me.
'I think she likes you.' I managed a faint smile, even if he couldn't see it. Why wouldn't she, I told myself. He was a man in uniform, brave and handsome and kind. He was what every wife, sister and mother wished their boys to be. 'Are you two close?'
'We met before,' he said shortly. 'After Alexander's death. She got me back on my feet.'
'I will thank her the next time I see her.' I wondered briefly if he meant emotionally as well as physically, but pushed that thought away immediately. I was grown and mature, not a child. A petty thought like that had no place here.
'So what really brings you here, Grace?' Peter asked after a noticeable silence between us.
'I wanted to tell you the news.' His coldness stung me, but I was determined not to show it. 'Your father and Lottie have located Lord Heacham, taking shelter at Order headquarters in London. Apparently Wittenberg's through with him.'
'Really?' His head shot up, and for the first time he looked at me straight-on.
I nodded. 'Things were pretty tense when I left. Mother and Lady Dorchester...your mother...they seemed at a loss of what to do. Having a man like that under your roof...'
'His threat has been neutralized for now,' Peter said, scratching at his wrist. It was still bound up tightly, his fingers immobile.
'That is the good news, at least.' I wished he would drop this coldness. I was exhausted from having to be strong and emotionless all the time, especially for our mothers.
'And Lottie and Father? Where are they?' He seemed slightly more concerned with that.
'They were returning, last I heard,' I said. 'Without Heacham, I expect. According to your mother he was in bad shape...been roughed up since deserting the army.'
'If Wittenberg's finished with him, he probably had his cronies do it.' Peter pinched his chin with his fingers. He didn't speak again for a while, and I could practically feel our precious time together draining away. 'One more question.'
'Yes?'
'How does Alf fare?'
That was the only indication he still cared. I could sense that behind this cold emotionlessness that he still ached for Alf, who was at this moment still in hospital in London. Peter somehow felt responsible, that much was clear. I wished he wouldn't blame himself, but I knew he couldn't help it.
'Better. At least he is awake now.' I sighed and fought down the lump in my throat. Alf's expression when he learned of his fate made my heart ache all over again. 'And once he has accepted his new way of life, I believe he will be just fine.'
'That is good to hear,' he said, but his words had once again become flat and devoid of emotion.
I felt my fists clench. I understood he wanted to be strong for me, to appear the same fearless Peter Haywood I had fallen in love with. But just this once, I didn't want that. I saw the strain in our family's faces, and the dread of reading his name on a casualty list. That brought temporary relief, but it only began again the next day.
'Are you holding up all right?' His eyes flicked up to me, a faint furrow in his brow. 'I know, with your brother and everything...'
'I'm surviving,' I said honestly. 'I am finding it hard to remain impervious to everything, day after day, but somehow I find a way.'
'We all do.' He shifted in his chair and winced. 'I cannot help but think...I am safe and sound here, but what of my comrades, out there, fighting and dying every day?'
'You are lucky, Peter. You have survived against all odds. That is a feat in itself.'
He didn't take the compliment. We sat for another long spell, trying to look anywhere but at one another. Idly I thought of his ring, a promise of our engagement, on my finger. The love and warmth that had shone in his eyes as he'd proposed to me was gone now, leaving me feeling alone and abandoned.
'Well...' Peter said, back to his businesslike coldness. 'I am in need of some rest. I am sure you are too.'
'Yes, I am.' I stood, but inexplicably I lingered. 'You must know, Peter, that I will come, if ever you have need of me. It doesn't matter how busy or far away I am, if you summon me, I will do everything in my power to get to you.'
'I know,' he said, without looking at me. 'I appreciate your loyalty.'
I waited for something more. I was anticipating that he would take my hand and give it a squeeze, something he always did before we parted. It was a promise of more later, and that he had not forgotten our commitment to each other.
Yet this time it did not come. He ignored me, as if I had already left. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead I turned away, the ache growing in my chest, and walked out as stiff-backed as I could manage. But I wanted to double over and lean against the wall.
I held it in until I reached the street and the gate of the hospital courtyard had clanged shut behind me. Quickly I hurried to the corner and rounded it, managing to make it before the tears came. Then I collapsed against the fence, clutching at it with one hand while the other held my stomach. I tried my hardest to be useful to the man I loved, but in one day it was wiped away. I had failed at even that, and that was what hurt the most.
||
Mother didn't notice until she found me, leaning against a chair in the dining room and staring vacantly at the multitude of envelopes spread out on it. They were from the soldiers no longer able to write, and we averaged at least fifty a day. All of them contained wishes of good health and declarations of faith and love, or promises to return home soon. I couldn't make myself look away. Perhaps it was a form of torture, brought upon myself.
'Gracie?' Mother's cane preceded her into the room, and then her touch, gentle on my shoulder. 'Are you all right? I haven't seen you all afternoon.'
'Yes, Mother, I'll be fine.' I concentrated on the address in front of me–Battersea, London. The soldier dictating it to me had lost one hand and most of the fingers on the other, but was optimistic of his chances of returning home to his wife and infant son.
'Did something happen at the hospital?' Her voice turned firm. 'What did Peter say to you?'
'Nothing out of the ordinary, Mother. He was...perfectly cordial to me.' Perhaps a bit too cordial.
'Tell me the truth, my darling.' Her hand squeezed my shoulder gently. 'You seemed perfectly fine before your visit.'
'I'll be all right, Mother, really.' I turned my face away, trying to hide the tears that sprung to my eyes.
'Gracie, it's perfectly clear you're not...'
'Please, Mother...' I begged, unable to keep my voice from breaking. 'I cannot...not right now...'
Then I pulled from her grip and rushed from the room, trying and failing to wipe at the tears that ran steadily down my face. The thought of Peter stabbed me painfully in the stomach, his cold aloofness worse than an outright rejection. I was so preoccupied, in fact, that I collided with someone in my path.
'Grace...?' said a voice, gentle and feminine, and a hand caught my shoulder as I tried to brush past.
My vision cleared long enough for me to see who it was. Lottie, her green eyes flashing with gold and her brow furrowed in concern.
'Oh, Lottie...' I hurtled into her arms seconds before my knees gave way, burying my face in her shoulder. She held me tightly and kept me upright, asking no questions or making any attempts to pry. But I knew that even if she had, I wouldn't have been able to explain.