Digital ISBNs
EPUB 978-1-77362-208-8
Amazon 978-1-77362-209-5
WEB 978-1-77362-210-1
Copyright 2014 by Victoria Chatham
Cover art by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
* * *
To brave souls everywhere who have given their lives for their countries.
Buxton Hall
March, 1918
Lady Serena Buxton’s fine grey eyes opened wide in dismay at the scene before her. Pairs of medical orderlies carrying stretchers filed through the pillared entrance of Buxton Hall and deposited their burdens on the gleaming marble floor.
Dear Lord, will this never end?
She counted the stretchers, twelve in all. The silence of some of the heavily bandaged patients unnerved her. She could not begin to imagine the wounds the dressings protected. A few of them moaned and were quickly attended by the orderlies.
Her head spun with the logistics of how they were to house them all and breathed a sigh of relief when the quartermaster in charge of the hospital walked in.
“Captain Parry.” She hurried towards him keeping her voice low and urgent. “Where are we to put them all? We simply do not have enough beds.”
“Sorry, Lady Buxton, but Gloucester Hospital is splitting apart at the seams. We’re bringing in extra beds right now. I’ve also brought you two new recruits from the Voluntary Aid Detachment.” The captain gave her an encouraging smile but the strain of this latest emergency showed in his eyes. Serena couldn’t help but notice how his uniform hung on his now spare frame. “Best I could do on short notice, but I’ll round up a few more as soon as I can.”
“That would be much appreciated.” Serena turned to the two girls who stood nervously before her and smiled at them, hoping to put them a little at ease. Neither girl responded.
Maybe this was their first sight of wounded soldiers.
Maybe they were stunned by the size and opulence of the entrance hall with its high, painted ceiling sporting nymphs and cherubs. The scope of the design never failed to impress visitors, but Serena realized the newcomers were not admiring their surroundings at all. They were simply awaiting instruction from her.
“Come with me. I’ll take you to Matron.”
The girls followed her in silence as she headed into what had been an elegant ballroom with polished oak floor, mahogany paneling, exquisite chandeliers, and walls hung with family portraits. Now, it was a busy hospital ward.
Mentally registering how many patients the room already contained as she took the new girls to the matron’s station, Serena noticed that the nurses and VAD’s were already pushing beds closer together.
“I have two new recruits for you, Matron,” Serena said as she halted her little party in front of a desk stationed in the centre of the ward.
Matron Sally Light looked up, the expression in her eyes as bright and crisp as her starched collar and cuffs.
“And not a moment too soon.” The matron stood up, giving both girls a quick, eagle-eyed assessment, taking in their tidy uniforms and neatly bobbed hair. “Names, please.”
“Kathleen Hardisty, Matron,” lisped the first young woman, holding her head high and inspecting the matron as closely as she was being inspected.
“Rebecca Browning,” whispered the second, peeking shyly from beneath heavy brown bangs.
“Is this your first appointment?” Sally asked them.
Both girls nodded hesitantly, unsure of themselves under the matron’s intense scrutiny and Serena’s heart sank a little. She hoped they would have the stamina needed to cope with the busy day that lay ahead of them.
“I take it you know how to make beds?” Serena saw the matron relax a little as each girl in turn both agreed that they did. “Good. I’ll have Sister Serena show you where the linen room is. We need sheets, blankets, and pillows, for twelve beds. Hurry along now.”
Serena took Kathleen and Rebecca with her across the hall to a staircase that led below stairs.
“Do be careful,” Serena warned as she reached the top stair. “We’re fortunate to have electricity, but it isn’t very bright on these stairs. The switch is on the right, just here.”
The girls clattered down the stairs behind her and she led them along the corridor to the linen room where she opened the door and showed them in. Kathleen and Rebecca looked around the well stocked room with interest.
“Hold your arms out and I’ll load you up with sheets.” Weariness seeped into Serena’s bones, making her weak. Her arms trembled as she lifted down sets of sheets and stacked them on the girls’ outstretched arms.
They were interrupted by a light knock on the door which stood half open. Serena opened the door all the way to reveal her butler standing in the hallway.
“Yes, Jenkins, what is it?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Milady.” His voice wavered and he avoided eye contact with her.
Serena stepped outside the room, noting the pallor in his normally ruddy cheeks and the tightness of his jaw. He said nothing, but proffered a silver salver upon which sat a tell-tale envelope.
Serena’s breath caught in her throat as crazy images spun in her mind.
This could not be happening to her.
This couldn’t possibly be the news every household dreaded.
The slow and steady drum of her pulse quickly speeded up to a fevered throb in her wrists and pounding in her temples until she thought her head would explode. Her vision wavered and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill racing up her spine. The movement caused her to breathe again, an exhale that rasped through her throat and deflated her lungs, causing her to gasp.
She looked again into Jenkins’ face; saw the compassion in his soft brown eyes before he lowered his gaze against the intensity he no doubt saw in hers.
She glanced once at the telegram lying in the centre of the tray. The incongruity of such a plain envelope being served in such a pretty fashion was not lost on her, but that thought evaporated as her hand, almost of its own volition, reached out. She had no sense of her brain sending a message to her fingers and watched in surprise as her almost disembodied arm hung woodenly in the air. Then her chilled fingers connected with the envelope.
As reality crept back into her consciousness, she saw that one edge of the rain-speckled missive bore a smudged finger print. Could it be ink from the telegraph operator, or just the post boy’s grubby thumb? She picked up the telegram and turned it over in her fingers before lifting the flap and hesitantly removing the slip of paper it contained.
Holding her breath, she opened the single sheet and scanned the contents. Her searching gaze skimmed over the words ‘Priority’ and ‘Deeply regret’ until one word jumped out at her.
“Missing,” she whispered. Tears of relief welled in her eyes but she blinked them away, stood straight and tall, and cleared her throat. She took another deep breath to be sure she was steady enough to speak. “His Lordship is reported missing, Jenkins. Please tell the post boy, if he is still waiting, there is no reply, and tell Mrs. Griffiths I shall come and speak to you all in the servants’ hall after lunch.”
Jenkins bowed his head, relief evident on his face, and retreated. Serena stood as still as one of the columns supporting the entrance portico to her home. She clutched the telegram in her hand, squeezing her eyes shut to stem the tears, then remembered the new girls waiting uncertainly behind her. She swallowed her fear and composed herself.
“Kathleen, Rebecca, please go ahead.” She stood to one side so they could pass by her. “I’ll bring the blankets and pillows.”
This was not the time to be weak. This was not the time to allow panic to control her. She could not, must not focus on her own woes while they had so many new patients to tend.
She pushed the offending missive into the pocket of her apron, collected as much bedding as she could carry and made her way upstairs.
* * *
Captain Parry’s men brought in and set up the extra beds, making the ward a hive of activity. Matron Light took no chances with Kathleen and Rebecca, pairing them up with the more experienced VAD’s in order to get the beds made quickly and correctly.
Michael Sands, the resident doctor, assessed his new patients as each was transferred from the stretcher to a bed. Serena noticed that both Kathleen and Rebecca paled as they heard a man cry out in pain but they kept working, being given no chance to slow their pace by the girls whom they assisted.
The telegram rustled in her pocket every time she moved, but Serena swept from ward to linen room and back, ferrying the required bedding until all the beds had been made up and the patients rested as comfortably as possible. She approached the matron’s desk intending to ask to be excused from her duties, but Sally’s low tones as she spoke to Dr. Sands stopped her.
“With this many patients crowded together how can we be expected to prevent infection?” whispered Sally.
“We can’t, Matron. We can only watch for signs of fever and headaches and quarantine the patient if necessary,” replied the doctor quietly.
Serena stepped forward. “You mean the Spanish flu?” Her heart sank as she considered the implications of the swift moving disease. “Has it reached us already?”
The matron and doctor looked up at her.
“We do not want to worry anyone,” Sally assured her, “but there is no telling if any of our new intake may already be infected. We can only monitor them as best we can.”
“I must get back to work.” Dr. Sands nodded at both of them before he returned to a patient’s bedside. Serena remained silent, aware of Sally’s thoughtful regard of her.
“What troubles you, my dear?” Sally still spoke in low tones.
“I received a telegram from the War Department,” Serena replied quietly, “and I need to excuse myself this afternoon to meet below stairs with my staff.”
“Your husband?” Sally asked.
Thankful for Sally’s quick understanding, Serena simply nodded. Tears pricked her eyes once more and her voice hovered somewhere in the region of the lump in her throat as she whispered, “Reported missing.”
Sally stood up, looked around until she located the ward sister then beckoned her over. “Sister Johnson, I’ll be in my room if you need me, but I shan’t be away for long.”
With that, Sally gently but firmly propelled Serena out of the ward. Still dazed by the report that Randolph was missing, Serena allowed herself to be ushered along a corridor to the room Sally used as her parlor and office.
The morning’s fire still smoldered in the hearth. Sally took a poker from the set of fire irons and stirred the embers into life, then added a few sticks of kindling wood. When sure they had caught alight, she set two pieces of coal amongst them.
“Sit down, my dear.” She indicated a worn, button-backed velvet chair and Serena sank into it as her knees finally gave up all pretence of holding her upright. Sally produced a blanket and proceeded to wrap it around her, tucking her in as if she were a child. “This will help warm you while I boil the kettle for tea.”
The matron bustled between setting the kettle on a single-ring gas burner and collecting cups and saucers. When she was done, she sat in a chair next to Serena.
“Oh, Sally,” Serena whispered. “What am I to do?”
Sally caught Serena’s hands and clasped them firmly in her own. “You will continue to do just what you have been doing until your husband returns. From everything you have told me about him, he is a brave and resourceful man. He has been reported missing, not killed in action, or dead from wounds. He could have been temporarily separated from his unit, he might be in a first aid station or even captured, but you must believe that missing means what it says. For now you must focus on that and believe that he will, like the cat, come back”
Serena didn’t have the energy to voice a reply so she simply nodded her head. Sally returned to preparing the tea and Serena, barely aware of a word the matron was saying, only paid attention when Sally reached for the sugar bowl.
“None for me, thank you,” she said. Her voice sounded strained to her own ears, as if it came from far away.
“Today you need it,” Sally insisted and added two full spoons to Serena’s cup. “If I had it here I would add a tot of brandy, too. Drink this up.”
With Sally standing over her Serena had little choice but to sip the steaming brew.
“I am not called Dragon Lady for nothing,” Sally said as she regained her seat.
“You know about that?” Serena’s head snapped up and she looked directly at the smiling matron.
“Of course.” Sally chuckled. “A good matron will hear everything her nurses say about her, eventually. When I want something done, I want it done now and I want it done correctly. I accept no excuses, so I suppose I’ve earned the title.”
Serena continued to sip her tea, taking comfort from Sally’s care and the quiet crackle of the fire.
“This damn war,” she finally whispered. “Our politicians told us it would all be over by Christmas, but here we are three years later and it still rages on. I hate everything about it. The frustration of waiting for news, the loss of life, and the sheer stupidity of it all. But at least I now better understand what other women go through.”
“That’s the spirit,” Sally said.
Warmth returned to Serena’s cheeks as she finished her tea, but the moment she moved to push away the blanket Sally insisted she stay for a while longer.
“Have another cup of tea and a few more minutes by the fire. I must get back to the ward now. Just let me know when you are feeling more settled.”
Serena nodded her agreement, too overcome by Sally’s kindness to be sure of giving her a sensible reply. Sally left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Serena settled her head against the chair back and closed her eyes, trapping the tears that formed beneath her lids and refusing to let them spill over.
It took several deep, shuddering breaths before she stemmed the flow. Fear for Randolph sat in her stomach like a stone. She huddled into the blanket, holding her misery to her so it would not spread around her like ink on blotting paper.
She had to be strong for Randolph, for the staff at Buxton Hall, for their patients and nurses, and most of all for herself.
She stood up, found she was still unsteady on her feet and grabbed at the mantle shelf for support, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she did so.
The face looking back at her appeared unfamiliar. Yes, it was somewhat similar to what she thought she remembered of herself, but now a haunted expression lurked in her eyes and dark crescents smudged the skin beneath them. Pale, hollow cheeks and lips pinched into a narrow line replaced the bloom of rosy good health she remembered. Could trapped tears have washed away her usual persona?
This would never do.
She gave herself a quick mental shake, pinched her cheeks to bring more color to them then shook out her skirts and apron. She made her way back to the ward where Sally looked up from her mountain of paperwork and smiled kindly as Serena approached her.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you, Matron.” Serena, always aware of Sally’s station as head of the nursing staff accorded her the title she deserved. She tried to return the smile but her mouth would not comply. “If there’s nothing requiring immediate attention, I should like to continue reading to Captain Foster.”
“Why don’t you have Kathleen or Rebecca read to him?”
“But, Matron. . .” Serena protested.
Sally put up her hand to silence her. “I insist. I have a full complement of nurses and two VAD’s as well as the new girls. Pick one of them to read to Captain Foster then take care of yourself and your staff for today, my dear.”
“Very well.” Serena inclined her head, knowing from experience the futility of arguing with Sally. Having heard both girls speak, Serena considered that Rebecca would be more suitable for the task she had in mind. She called her over and together they approached a bed at the end of the ward whose occupant turned his bandaged head as he heard their footsteps. He listened for a moment and then smiled.
“Good morning, Sister Serena,” he greeted, his voice carrying a warm and melodious timbre that gave Serena the impression he might sing as a tenor in a choir. “You have someone new with you today?”
“I do indeed,” Serena told him. “This is Rebecca, and she will continue reading The Sign of Four to you.”
“Hello, Rebecca. I hope you enjoy the tales of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” Captain Foster turned his head towards Rebecca.