The Victory Garden(96)
She was disturbed one evening, when she arrived for dinner with baby Bobbie in her arms, to find that Lady Charlton had not left her bed that day. She deposited Bobbie in the nursery and went to visit the old lady.
“There’s really nothing wrong with me,” Lady Charlton said, waving her away. “I just feel rather weak, that’s all. As if all the strength has been drained out of me.”
“I’ll go down and have Mrs Trelawney make you a good, nourishing broth,” Emily said. “And some calf’s foot jelly, perhaps.”
The old lady nodded and gave a weak smile. Emily’s heart was beating fast. Lady Charlton couldn’t die. Not now. Not after everything else. She ate hurriedly, left Bobbie in the nursery with Daisy in charge and went back to the cottage. She should make more of the heart tonic, maybe brewing a little stronger this time. She studied the list of ingredients: hawthorn blossoms, preferably freshly picked. Yarrow, wood betony, periwinkle and heartsease. All of them were recommended for stimulating a failing heart, which was what she suspected was wrong with Lady Charlton. Then there was a side note that foxglove was a powerful stimulant for a failing heart. The next day, she picked the flowers. Luckily, hawthorn was blooming in profusion along the hedgerows, and the little Viola tricolor known as heartsease. Violets were also in various front gardens. She laid out the ingredients, looking at them. When she came to the foxglove flowers, she hesitated. Tabitha Ann Wise had written words of warning. Use this with great caution. The wrong dose can kill. She put it aside, not wanting to take any risks. Then she put the other ingredients in a pan and boiled them until she had a concentrated brew. Then she carried it up to Lady Charlton.
“I’ve made you another tonic,” she said. “A little stronger this time. It should be good for the heart.”
She poured a little into a glass. Lady Charlton took a sip, then made a face. “This one tastes worse than the last,” she said. “Are you trying to poison me?”
“It will do you good. I’ll add some honey.”
She went down to the kitchen and requested some hot water with honey in it from Mrs Trelawney. “I’ve made her a tonic, but it’s too bitter to drink,” she said.
She carried it back upstairs, mixed the tonic with the sweet water and then handed it back to Lady Charlton. Lady Charlton took a sip or two, then lay back on the pillows. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Emily asked. “Would you like me to read to you?”
The old woman had closed her eyes, and she shook her head. Then, as Emily was about to tiptoe out, she sat up suddenly, put her hand to her heart and fainted. Emily rushed downstairs and summoned the servants. Simpson was sent to fetch the doctor. Luckily, he was on his rounds not far away. He took one look at Lady Charlton and sent for an ambulance.
“It’s her heart, right enough,” he agreed. “It’s been failing for some time.”
The ambulance men carried her down, and they set off for the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital. Emily really wanted to go with them, but she couldn’t leave the baby. She stood watching the ambulance take Lady Charlton away, wondering if she’d ever see her again.
The next day, she arranged to take Daisy with her to help with the baby, and Simpson drove them to the hospital in Exeter. Father’s chambers are in Exeter, she thought. She asked to see Lady Charlton, but was refused because she wasn’t a family member. “Besides,” she was told, “she’s not fully conscious. It may just be a matter of time. You should notify family members.”
She joined Daisy and the baby outside the hospital. They drove through the city centre as they headed back to Bucksley Cross. The motor car had to halt as they passed the great cathedral rising from its gardens on the high street. She peered out of the window, awed by its majesty. Was there a god that made humans create buildings like that? Did that god really know what all those little people down below were doing and thinking and feeling? She swallowed back the great despair that threatened to engulf her. Then, as Simpson began to drive on, she saw something that caught her attention. “Stop!” she cried.
On the railings that bordered the cathedral grounds, someone had posted a notice. The words “War Poets Today” were splashed diagonally across a poster that read: “The group of young men known as the War Poets will be reading from their work on Tuesday at 2 p.m.”
“We have to stay,” she said. “They may know where we can find Justin Charlton.”
They found a place to park the motor car. Simpson decided to visit a nearby pub while Emily and Daisy went in search of lunch. They ate beans on toast in a little cafe, and then found a secluded corner of the garden behind the church where Emily could feed the baby. Then they went into the cathedral. Emily had been taken inside the building as a child, but had never been struck before by its beauty and magnificence. The fan-vaulted ceiling stretched all the way to the great stained-glass east window. Pools of coloured light danced on the stone floor. Attendance was sparse, or seemed sparse in so great a space, and Emily slid into one of the back pews as a member of the clergy talked about documenting the suffering of war, then introduced the young men who had put their own stories of the war into powerful poetry. They came out and took their places at the altar steps. Emily gasped. Justin was one of them. She waited impatiently as they began to read from their work. The poems were brilliant and moving, but she couldn’t really concentrate all through the reading, and then through the questions that followed. It was only when tea and biscuits were being served afterwards in a small side room that she was able to corner Justin.