The Victory Garden(2)

“Where have you been?” Mrs Bryce demanded. “I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

“I was writing to Clarissa,” Emily said. “I received a letter from her in the morning post, and she chided me for not writing back.”

“She is still in France?”

“Yes.”

“Working in a hospital there?”

“Not exactly. A makeshift tent near the front. It sounds rather awful.”

Mrs Bryce shook her head. “I still can’t understand why her parents let her go. A girl from a good family like that. What were they thinking to have her exposed to those conditions? It’s a wonder her mind doesn’t snap.”

Emily shot her mother a glance, went to say something, then thought better of it. “She wanted to go, Mummy,” she said instead. “She was determined to go. You know Clarissa—she likes to get her own way, and she can be quite forceful when she puts her mind to it.”

“Well, you can thank your lucky stars that we were more sensible than her parents and kept you from such horrors.”

Emily saw her mother looking her up and down. “Is that what you plan to wear?” she said.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Emily retorted. “It doesn’t reveal too much flesh, does it?”

“On the contrary. It’s just rather plain, that’s all. We should remember that we are going with the purpose of cheering up these young men—making them remember that there is a better world waiting for them after the war.”

“If they are still here after the war,” Emily said, then instantly regretted it.

Her mother frowned. “No time to go and change now. Here, pick up that platter from the table, and then we must be on our way. I told Matron I’d be there at eleven, and you know I am a woman of my word.”

Emily followed her mother out of the front door. Florrie brought up the rear of the procession. Emily thought privately that it was a bit excessive serving wounded servicemen with silver tongs from crystal dishes, but her mother had maintained that there were standards to be upheld, even in wartime. “It is a home for officers, after all,” she had said. “It is good to remind them that the old standards of civilization still exist.”

They walked down the raked gravel drive, out of the main gate and down the lane, between high banks on which a few late bluebells were still blooming. It was a perfect spring day. A pigeon was cooing in an oak tree above them, and somewhere in the woods a cuckoo was calling loudly. The adjoining property had belonged to an elderly colonel and his wife. They had moved to a hotel in Torquay and turned over their house to the government to be used as a convalescent hospital for wounded officers.

It is indeed a lovely setting, Emily thought. Surrounded by fields and copses, the upper floors giving a glimpse of the distant sea—exactly the right environment to heal the mind as well as the body. Most of the men she had seen there had physical wounds, some rather terrible—blinded and burned by mustard gas, missing limbs—but others had minds that had broken with what they had seen and endured. She had overheard a nurse complaining about how noisy it was at night when so many men shouted out in terror from nightmares or sobbed like babies.

A maid opened the front door, and they were admitted to the cool marble entrance hall.

“Matron is expecting you, ma’am,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy. “She invites you to take a cup of coffee with her in her study.”

“How kind.” Mrs Bryce nodded graciously. “I look forward to joining her after we have done our first round of visits.” A selection of cakes was arranged on the platters, and her mother went off like a ship in full sail, with Emily trailing behind.

“Good morning, gentlemen. A selection of my home-made baked goods to cheer you up and remind you of your own homes,” Mrs Bryce said as they entered the first ward. “Oh yes, do try the iced bun. An old family recipe, you know.”

Since her mother had never baked anything in her life, Emily tried not to smile. This was a room of those further along in their rehabilitation. They sat in armchairs or on chaises with rugs over their knees and regarded Emily with interest.

“Stay a while and talk to us, you adorable creature,” one of them said, holding out a hand as Emily passed.

Emily was quite willing to do so, but her mother intervened. “Come along, Emily. We haven’t time to dilly-dally. There are all those wards upstairs to be visited.”

“But you don’t need me to follow you around,” Emily said. “Why don’t I take a tray to different rooms and that way halve the work for you?”

He mother frowned and waited until they were in the hall again before replying. “It isn’t seemly for a young girl to visit a room full of men unchaperoned.”

Emily had to laugh. “Mother, I don’t think I’m in any danger from a room full of crippled soldiers. Besides, you saw them—they wanted me to stay and talk. They need cheering up.”

“Emily, keep your voice down. I do not expect you to argue with your mother where we can be overheard.”

The grandfather clock in the hall began to chime eleven. Mrs Bryce turned and handed the platter to Emily. “I’d better go up and have that cup of coffee with Matron. I don’t like to keep her waiting too long, so I suppose we will postpone the rest of the visits. You had better remain down here for the moment. I don’t think you were included in the coffee invitation with Matron. Take this platter and fill it with a good selection of cakes, then bring it up to me in about fifteen minutes. Come straight up the stairs. I don’t want you wandering this place alone.”