Angels at War (21 page)

‘A few?’ Matthew gave a bitter laugh. ‘Is he sober at the moment, this wonderful husband of yours?’

‘Good day to you,’ she snapped, and walked away without a backward glance, feeling his eyes upon her every step of the way.

Livia knew instantly that Jack was not at home as she let herself into the cottage, even though it was Saturday and supposedly his day off. He’d promised to distemper the walls of the kitchen but there was no sign the task had even been started.

She sighed as she hung up her coat, not asking herself where he might be, for she knew only too well. He would be in one of his favourite watering holes, and would roll home when he ran out of money, or his friends stopped plying him with drinks.

Livia passed through the living room into their bedroom and quickly changed out of her best summer frock into a plain blue cotton skirt and blouse. Casting a glance about her as she put it carefully away in the wardrobe, she felt a certain pride in her neat little home with its lace curtains which she’d made herself, the pegged rug on the linoleum covered floor, and pretty rose-patterned wallpaper. Livia had done her best to be the kind of wife Jack wanted, and he did love her, there was no doubt about that. So wasn’t her sacrifice worthwhile?

But Matthew’s comments were dangerously close to the truth. She stayed with Jack more
from a sense of responsibility, and pity, rather than love. Yet she still held an affection for him, if not the all-consuming passion she felt for Matthew. Livia shook away the sudden pang of longing, smoothed the covers on the bed, which were already pristine, and headed back to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Poor, troubled Jack had quickly fallen back into his old ways after their tragic loss, worsened as two miscarriages had quickly followed.

Weariness settled over her like a black cloud as Livia knew she had to tell him even worse news as a result of this third miss. She was recovering, slowly, but the doctor had made it clear that it was unlikely there would be any more babies. His words had hurt badly, killing the last of her hopes, seeming to echo the awful emptiness she felt inside, her complete sense of failure.

Livia had passionately pleaded that she was willing to try again. Her main concern was for Jack, not her own health, knowing how important it was to her husband for him to have a family of his own. But the doctor had been adamant that was no longer an option.

How she would break this new disaster to him, she dare not even contemplate. They were barely speaking as it was. She dreaded the sulks and accusations and arguments that would surely follow. Livia reminded herself to be strong, that
she was at least trying to fill her life with other things, as she had just explained to Matthew. Unfortunately, Jack did not approve of her doing even paperwork for the WSPU.

Livia set the kettle on the stove and reached for her apron. She’d bought sliced tongue for tea, and would make a nice salad to go with it, perhaps bake Jack an apple pie, his favourite sweet.

As she measured out the flour and rubbed in the fat, Livia replayed the conversation in her head that she’d just had with Matthew. Her longing for him could never be assuaged, but she made a private vow to do all in her power to keep well away from Angel’s Department Store and resist his charms, no matter how strong the temptation to succumb to her love for him.

Livia did not now deny that she loved him, nor that he truly loved her. Not any more. Had she understood his feelings earlier, maybe none of this would have happened. She might have left Jack before ever she’d got pregnant and felt obliged to marry him.

But they had married. Jack was now her husband, and he deserved more than she was able to give him. Firming her lips with a new resolve, Livia began to slice apples into the pie dish. She would break this latest bad news gently, perhaps suggest they adopt a child. There must be plenty in need of a loving home. Hadn’t she hurt him
beyond endurance? And if Jack had a weakness for the bottle, so what? Drunkenness turned him maudlin not aggressive. He’d never used his fists on her, never done anything to hurt her. She must do something to please him by way of reparation for her failure, everything she could to make him happy.

As Livia set the apple pie in the oven to bake, Mercy slid the key into the lock and quietly opened the door of her single room. It contained little more than a bed, a chair and a chest of drawers, but she viewed it as her very own private sanctuary, a place that was entirely hers, safe from the prying eyes of the world. The other girls never intruded, never asked questions about what she did with her time there, nor expected to be invited inside. Mercy had made these rules clear from the very first day.

She didn’t switch on the light, although the curtains were drawn and the afternoon light was already fading. She shrugged out of her coat, unbuttoned her new uniform dress, a pleasant grey with a burgundy bow at the collar, and stepping out of it, slid into bed in just her pink petticoat and French drawers.

‘Goodness, I thought that performance would never end.’

‘No matter, I would have waited,’ Jack said, as he pulled her to him.

War was declared and mobilisation began immediately on 4
^th
August. Events had moved fast. Following the assassination in June, Austria had declared war on Serbia. Russia mobilised in Serbia’s defence, which caused Germany to declare war on Russia as they were on Austria’s side. France, bound by a treaty to Russia, thus came to be at war with Germany, and when the German army invaded neutral Belgium, England too declared war. There seemed no end to it.

The very next day Livia called an emergency meeting of the local WSPU, of which she was secretary. Emmeline Pankhurst had ordered a suspension of all activity until the international crisis was over, calling on men to fight and women to take on war work. This had apparently
created some dissension in the ranks, and even raised some dispute in Westmorland.

‘I thought we women were supposed to be peace-makers?’ Connie asked.

‘Gaining the right to vote isn’t enough. We have to prove ourselves worthy,’ Livia told her. ‘It’s true that even Mrs Pankhurst’s own daughter disagrees with this decision. Apparently, Sylvia considers her mother’s support for the war to be a betrayal of the principles upheld by our movement. But though I can understand that point of view, how can we stand by and do nothing?’

‘But with everyone caught up in the war, they’ll forget all about the women’s cause.’

‘We must make sure they don’t forget by showing we can do our bit. If our men have the pluck to risk death for their country, then we must do all we can to help too. Mrs Pankhurst says we must “prove ourselves worthy of citizenship”.’

‘She’s right,’ Stella agreed. ‘But what kind of war work? What can humble folk like us do?’

‘A great deal, I’m sure,’ Livia reassured her.

Women in the hall began to make suggestions. ‘We could offer support to those young women whose men have gone off to fight,’ one woman said. ‘They might need help with the children, for instance.’

‘Or just a shoulder to cry on.’

‘Sadly, there are bound to be casualties,’ said another. ‘We could roll bandages for the hospital.’

‘Good idea. We can all search out linen we no longer need which could be cut up.’

‘I could knit socks,’ Dolly offered.

‘Well done, Dolly, yes, we must all do that. It will be cold out at the front when winter comes. Let’s make them thick and warm. And I’ll try to remember to turn the heel and not drop stitches,’ Livia laughed, looking about the hall in search of Mercy, who would be able to share the joke. She usually attended these meetings, but wasn’t present today for some reason.

‘Where would we get the wool from, though?’ Dolly asked, basking in the praise. She couldn’t help liking Livia enormously, and still nursed a certain amount of guilt over just how friendly she’d once been with her handsome husband. Fortunately, she’d had the sense to put an end to the little fling before things had got quite out of hand. Perhaps out of loyalty to Livia, who had always been so kind to her, particularly in prison that time. Jack hadn’t seemed too put out by her decision, and had soon been seen buying drinks for other shop girls. Dolly sometimes wondered how much Livia knew about her husband’s leisure activities.

‘We’ve no money to buy wool,’ Stella was saying, and Dolly struggled to bring her thoughts back to these more important issues, anxious to make up for her transgression.

‘I’m sure most of us have some old woollens in the cupboard we could unpick and pull back,’ she suggested.

Livia smiled. ‘Excellent idea, Dolly. And we could raise money by holding rummage sales and coffee mornings to fund the campaign. Food, too, is bound to be in short supply. People have already started panic buying. Those with gardens could grow vegetables, keep chickens and pigs.’

‘And those without gardens can offer to work for those who have.’

‘We could also make up food parcels for the troops. Show they’re not forgotten.’

Gripped by the fervour of patriotism, the ideas came thick and fast, some women declaring their intention to do something far more daring, such as get a job in a munitions factory, or drive an ambulance. None of these feisty ladies intended to sit back and do nothing.

‘Have you told Livia yet?’

‘No, I wanted to tell you first.’

Mercy was in Jack’s arms, weeping, but felt a burst of joy at these words. Maybe he did love her a little then, if he’d come to her first. ‘Oh,
Jack, please don’t go, not till you’re actually called up. Please don’t volunteer.’

‘I have to, love, it’s my duty. The King needs us.’

‘I couldn’t bear to lose you.’

‘You won’t lose me, sweetheart. It’ll all be over by Christmas and I’ll be back here in your arms, large as life and just as handsome as ever.’

Mercy didn’t smile at his joke. ‘At least let me be with you from now until you leave. Why should
she
have first call on your time, on you, just because she’s your wife? I’m the one who loves you. She doesn’t care about you.’

‘It’s not quite so simple, love. You know it isn’t.’

They were cuddled up together on the old couch in the cottage Jack and Livia shared. Mercy had set out that evening with every intention of going to the WSPU meeting, but had met Jack on Nether Bridge and once he’d told her his news, she’d been devastated and they’d ended up here while he consoled her. They knew it was risky but couldn’t seem to help themselves.

‘Does she have any idea at all about us?’

‘God, no!’

Mercy gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Coward. Do you want me to tell her?’

‘Don’t you dare. Now isn’t the time. I will get round to it, I promise, but this war has changed
everything. We’ll just have to be careful for a bit longer. But you’re still my special girl.’ Jack folded Mercy into his arms, stroking her hair as Mercy again began to weep. ‘Now don’t take on, everything is going to be all right, I swear.’

He began to kiss her brow, her eyes, her mouth, and as their passion intensified she helped him to undo the buttons on her dress, tugged it urgently away so that he could caress her breasts. Mercy felt as if her heart was bursting, her love for him was so great. It astonished her that this thing had happened between them, that she could forget George so easily. But then these emotions for Jack must have been there all along, growing through all the long years she’d known him. She felt no guilt that they were here together like this, in the home he shared with Livia. Nor did she feel any need to remain loyal to a husband who had surely lost the right to her love when he’d betrayed her with Tom Mounsey. Oh, but she did want Jack all to herself and not to share him with anyone, particularly her posh half-sister. Despite all Livia’s kindness towards her, and the reality of their marriage, Mercy deeply resented her closeness to the man she loved, for whom Livia had a prior claim.

‘It’s a bit awkward on this old couch. Why don’t we go in there?’ She jerked her head in the
direction of the bedroom, not noticing how Jack paled at the suggestion.

‘I’m not sure.’

Mercy stood up, kicking her frock aside as it fell to her feet, then drew off her petticoat, standing brazenly before him in nothing more than her French knickers. She’d bought these from Mrs Dee specially to please him. Oh, and they certainly had pleased him. Jack had been very keen to help her take them off on more than one occasion. But she still didn’t feel entirely certain of him, and was terrified that he might forget her. Mercy meant to be the one he dreamt of when he was out there fighting in the trenches, not his posh wife. And it would be such a delicious revenge to seduce him in Livia’s own bed.

Mercy lifted her arms, stretching herself before him like a cat, purring with pleasure as she rubbed her hands down over her pert breasts, her flat stomach, smiling as she saw how his eyes burnt with the heat of his desire. ‘Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to give me something special to remember you by before you go off and fight? I know it won’t be the first time, but it might well be the last for some months.’ She pouted her lips, a tremble of tears on her lids.

Seconds later they were in his bed, saying goodbye in the only way they knew how.

When the meeting was over, Livia chatted with her friends for a while, finalising a few details. Then she walked home in high spirits, eager to relate to Jack how positive everyone had been. Organising it all would certainly keep her fully occupied in the coming weeks. Perhaps he might even approve of this latest project.

Livia had seen very little of Jack recently and even when they were together, conversation between them was stilted and difficult. Things had been bad enough between them since she lost the baby in prison, but from that dreadful day when she’d gently broken the news that there would be no more babies, he’d barely spoken a word to her, nor laid a finger on her. He’d become withdrawn and depressed, as if all the life had gone out of him. Even though they lived in the same house, ate together, and still shared the same bed, he was somehow distant, remaining just beyond her reach, locked in a world of his own. Livia felt desperately sorry for him, but really didn’t know what to do for the best.

There were times when she felt as if she’d sacrificed her own happiness in a bid to save his, and now had failed even in that quest. She was at her wits’ end to know how to put things right.

The August evening was dark by the time she crossed Nether Bridge, hurried along Kirkland
and up into the maze of yards beyond the parish church. Livia was sliding the key into the lock when the cottage door burst open and she found herself face to face with Mercy.

‘Goodness, you startled me. What are you doing here?’

Mercy was equally surprised by the encounter but quickly recovered. ‘Oh, I came to call for you – for the meeting – and then Jack told me his news. We got talking, and then I realised it was too late to bother. We’ve been having a cup of tea while he told me all about it.’

‘All about what?’ Smiling, Livia took off her hat and coat, then went to the stove to make herself a brew. The kettle felt cold but she shrugged that aside, thinking it probably would be if they’d been talking for some time. ‘So what news is this?’ She turned to Jack as he appeared beside her, then took a backward step as she noted his changed appearance. ‘Good heavens, what have you done to yourself?’

‘I’ve had my hair cut. Nowt wrong with that, is there?’

‘No, of course not. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Why? Why would you choose to cut it off after all these years?’

‘Because I’ve taken the King’s shilling.’

The words hung between them for several heartbeats before Livia finally found her voice.
‘Oh, Jack, my love.’ Then she put her arms about him and pulled him to her. ‘I never thought … but of course you would want to volunteer … You’re so brave … when do you leave? Oh, Jack, stay safe, my darling …’ Her words sounded choked with tears.

‘It’s all right, love, don’t upset yourself, I’ll be back before you know it.’

Mercy watched them, hot-eyed with jealousy. She saw how Jack’s arms slipped easily about Livia, how he held her against him. She could see his face over her rival’s shoulder as they stood there in a loving embrace, his eyes closed, as if in ecstasy. He seemed to be breathing in the scent of her, reminding himself not only of his wife’s sweet fragrance but the pleasure of holding her in his arms. Unable to witness their intimacy, Mercy turned from them, and when the pair finally drew apart, they found they were alone in the kitchen.

Livia smiled. ‘Dearest Mercy will be fearful, too, for your safety, but it was tactful of her to leave just now. I shall miss you, Jack. I have missed you for many long months, wishing things could be as they once were between us.’

Livia kissed him then, a tender, loving kiss which told him she still cared, yet it held all the regret and apology she felt for the tragedy she’d brought upon them.

Later, in bed, they came together for the first time in months. It seemed to Livia to be a fitting farewell.

‘Livia has decided not to go with you to the station.’ Mercy made this announcement to Jack as he finished packing his kit bag. It was a lie, of course. Livia had said no such thing, but Mercy was betting on the fact that he wouldn’t bother to check. Jack never was one for a fuss. But he looked not only annoyed but disappointed, which troubled her slightly.

Pausing in his folding of shirts, he frowned. ‘Did she say why?’

‘Maybe she’s too busy with the suffragettes and their war work.’ Mercy gave a careless shrug, not wanting it to appear important. ‘And she’s doing this first aid course too. But then we all are.’ Making the point very nicely that she was willing to spare the time to see him off even if his wife wasn’t.

There was a bitterness in the tone of his response. ‘That’s our Livvy, always busy working for others. Right little do-gooder, she is. Anyway, why would I need her when I have you?’

‘Why indeed?’ Mercy agreed, and was thrilled when he pulled her into his arms to kiss her.

But there was still the chance that he might change his mind and ask Livia to come. She was
still his wife, after all. Mercy would have dearly liked to have done something about that, too – edged her half-sister out of Jack’s life altogether. But that was going to take time, and the outbreak of war had spoilt everything. She took the precaution of putting Livia off even considering the possibility.

‘I don’t know how to say this but Jack has decided that he doesn’t want you at the station with him, saying your goodbyes in public. Maybe he feels it will be too painful or something, but he’s asked me to see him off instead. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, someone should be there to see him off.’

Livia was thoughtful for a moment, but managed a philosophical smile. ‘Of course I don’t mind. That’s very thoughtful of you, Mercy. The last thing I want to do is to upset or embarrass him, and, as you say, someone should see him off. He might be in France next week. I shudder to think of it but the British Expeditionary Forces have already landed on French soil, just two weeks into the war. It doesn’t seem quite real, does it, with the sun still shining, that men are being cut down and slaughtered?’