Suffragette Girl (36 page)

‘Couldn’t you find someone – a wet nurse – to look after the child?’

For a moment, Pierre seemed to hesitate. He looked up at her. ‘Who are you? Just a nurse who happened to find her?’

‘Er, no. I was looking for her. My – my brother was the child’s father. He asked me to find Colette and help her.’

‘I see,’ he said, though she wasn’t sure he did. He certainly didn’t know everything. ‘Then,’ he added heavily, ‘he’d better take care of his
son.’

‘He would if only he could,’ she said bitterly, her voice breaking. ‘But he’s dead too.’ She gave no further explanation, unwilling to tell this man how and why her
brother had died.

Pierre Musset groaned and dropped his head into his hands. ‘Then you’d better take it to an orphanage somewhere.’

‘No,’ Florrie cried swiftly, raising her voice above the child’s cries. ‘Never. I’ll care for him. I’ll take him back to England with me.’

Her mind was working quickly. Already, three people – the German soldier, the shopkeeper and his wife – had believed the child to be hers. So, she would make everyone believe he was.
But first, she realized, if she was found out, she must have some sort of proof that the natural mother’s family had given permission.

‘Monsieur, I will care for him, I give you my word, but first there are three things I need you to do for me.’

‘What?’ he asked uncertainly.

‘Firstly, I must give him some more milk, and can you find me a shawl or something to wrap him in? Secondly, I need you to provide me with a paper and pen so that I can write out a
statement for your brother – and perhaps you too – to sign. And thirdly,’ her voice softened to sadness, ‘will you get someone to look after Colette and have her buried in a
proper manner? I – I can’t bear to think of her lying out there.’

His face was bleak, but he nodded and rose to do as she asked.

The baby was asleep, the precious paper signed by both brothers was safely in her pocket and Pierre had found her a shawl and some cloth for her to use as napkins. But it was
growing dusk now and Florrie was almost dropping asleep herself. As she dragged herself to her feet, she swayed with exhaustion.

‘You cannot go anywhere tonight, mademoiselle,’ Pierre said with sudden, gruff kindness. ‘You shall sleep in my bed and leave in the morning.’

Too weary to argue, Florrie followed him up the steep, narrow stairs and into a sparsely furnished bedroom. The man bent and, from a chest of drawers, pulled out the bottom drawer. He tipped the
clothes out and then put a folded blanket in it. He set it beside the bed as a makeshift cradle.

‘I’ll bring you some bread, cheese, fruit and a drink. Then you must sleep.’

She hadn’t expected such thoughtfulness from the formidable man who had first opened the door to her, but she accepted his kindness gratefully. She was awoken twice in the night by the
baby’s cries, but after a few spoonfuls of milk he slept again.

The following morning, Pierre Musset gave her fresh, warm milk from one of his cows for Florrie to take with her. He gave her a basket of food for herself and another warmer
shawl for the child. ‘I’d give you more,’ he said, ‘but if you’ve a distance to walk . . .’

‘You’ve been very kind,’ she said.

As he opened the door and walked outside with her, he went on, ‘I’m sorry, mademoiselle, that we can’t keep the child. For myself. . .’ He shrugged, but said no more, no
doubt not wanting to sound disloyal to his brother. There’d been no sign of Jacques Musset this morning and Florrie had the feeling that the man was keeping out of the way deliberately until
she’d gone.

She sighed as she said, ‘I suppose I can understand – it’s often the same in England – but I think it’s very sad. Goodbye, monsieur, and thank you.’

She turned from him and, as she did so, she glanced up at the bedroom window in time to see Jacques’s face briefly. But he disappeared quickly.

Carrying the child, Florrie walked away.

There was nowhere else she could go. She had to return to the Base Camp, even though it was a totally unsuitable place to take a baby. Florrie walked for most of the morning,
and the baby, though tiny, was heavy in her arms and she had to keep stopping for a rest. By midday she was nearing the field hospital, but what would happen when she got there? Would they all
believe the child to be hers? And who would they think the father was? Most of all, what would Ernst say?

Of Gervase, she dared not even think.

As she approached the camp, she could see lorries and vehicles being loaded with equipment and personal belongings.

‘Oh, goodness,’ she murmured, ‘they’re leaving.’ She hurried in search of Sister Blackstock, but found Sister Carey. There were several strange faces around the
camp and Florrie guessed that the replacement medical team had arrived and that her own people were on the move to the Somme.

‘Sister Carey . . .’

The woman looked up with a smile that froze on her face when she saw the baby in Florrie’s arms.

‘What on earth. . . ?’ she began and then her expression hardened as she glanced first at the child and then back to Florrie’s face. ‘Of all people, Maltby, I would not
have thought it of you.’

How easy it was, Florrie marvelled, a little dismayed to realize how ready the sister was to believe the worst of her. But she lifted her head defiantly. Wasn’t this exactly what she
wanted?

‘What Sister Blackstock will say when she hears, I dread to think,’ Sister Carey went on. ‘She has always thought so highly of you. You’ll be a sad disappointment to
her.’

The words were so reminiscent of her father. This, and worse, would be what would happen at home.

‘You must see a doctor at once,’ the sister said, turning her mind to practicalities. ‘You must both be checked.’

‘Oh but—’ Florrie’s heart beat faster. She wanted baby Jacques to be attended to, but as for herself, well, the secret would be out at once if she allowed a doctor to
examine her. There was only one person she could trust. ‘I’ll see Dr Hartmann. He’ll see to him – to us,’ she said firmly, turning away at once as if to find him.
‘Where is he? Is he here?’

‘He’s back at the Chateau handing over to the new doctor. Sister Blackstock’s there too.’

‘Then I must go back there.’

Sister Carey gave her a strange look. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? Perhaps it would be better if Dr Johnson saw you—’

‘I need to see Dr Hartmann,’ Florrie said firmly.

Sister Carey sighed. ‘Very well. You’ll need to collect your belongings anyway, though I hardly think you’ll be coming with us now. I expect you’ll be sent home.’
She glanced at the watch pinned to her left breast. ‘I’ll find someone to take you. In the meantime, get yourself something to eat and feed the child.’ Beneath her breath the
sister muttered, ‘He’s the innocent in all this.’

How true that was, Florrie thought bitterly.

She was driven back to the house. The soldier beside her, not knowing what to say, kept silent.

As she walked into the kitchen, carrying the child, Sister Blackstock’s mouth dropped open. Florrie stood before her brazenly and offered no explanation. Let them think what they wanted.
She wouldn’t tell deliberate lies, but neither would she do anything to deny their assumptions.

‘So,
that
was what was so very urgent, was it? I must say, you’ve kept it well hidden. Not one of us suspected you’d been foolish enough to get yourself
pregnant.’

Florrie pressed her lips together to stop the truth bursting out. There was only one person in whom she was prepared to confide. She was sure she could trust him to allow her to take the child
back to England. But she wasn’t sure about the others. Sister Blackstock – rigid in her rule-keeping – might see it as her duty to report the matter to the French authorities.
Perhaps, even though she had the precious piece of paper in her pocket giving her full parental rights, they would not allow the child to leave French soil.

‘I must see Dr Hartmann.’

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate,’ the sister glared at her reproachfully. ‘Do you? We all know you’ve been – seeing each other. Oh, I know you think
you’ve both been very careful, but there aren’t any secrets round here. And by the look of it,’ she nodded towards the child in Florrie’s arms, ‘you haven’t been
careful enough, in more ways than one.’

Florrie gasped, horrified that their love affair appeared to be common knowledge. The very thing that Ernst had been so concerned about: that his reputation would be tarnished. But even worse
than that, if he were to be thought the father of her child . . .

Her daring plan seemed to be faltering at the first hurdle. She bit her lip. She must see Ernst and tell him everything. He would know what to do.

Florrie lifted her head and stared defiantly at the sister. ‘Where is Dr Hartmann?’

‘I’ve told you—’

‘And I’m telling you, Sister Blackstock, I need to see him,’ Florrie said with steely determination. ‘Now.’

The sister shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’ve got some nerve, Maltby, I’ll grant you that.’ She sighed. ‘But then I suppose if you hadn’t, you
wouldn’t be here in this hell-hole. Still, it’s a pity it’s turned out this way. You’ve been one of our best nurses – despite being only a VAD – and I’ll
be sorry to lose you.’

‘Lose me? But – but why? I don’t want to leave.’

Sister Blackstock laughed wryly. ‘My dear girl, you can’t stay here now. What would you do with your child? I’m sorry, you’ll have to be sent home at once.’

‘But I can come back. Once I’ve taken him home—’

‘That’s out of the question.’

Florrie swallowed her disappointment at having to abandon the job she loved, where she felt she was being of real service. And what of Ernst and their love for each other?

‘Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll find him myself.’ Still carrying the child, who was whimpering once more, she turned away.

‘Wait!’

Florrie hesitated and looked back over her shoulder.

Sister Blackstock’s expression softened as she held out her arms. It was miraculous, Florrie thought, what the sight of a tiny new being did to the hardest of hearts. Her disgust at
Florrie did not extend to the innocent child. ‘I suppose you
had
better see Dr Hartmann. I’m sure you have things to discuss.’ She nodded meaningfully. ‘Give the
poor little mite to me. I’ll try to pacify it until you get back to feed it.’

‘I’m not feeding him myself. I – I can’t. There’s some milk in this container . . .’

‘Not feeding him yourself?’ The woman was scandalized. ‘I expect you haven’t tried hard enough. The little chap’ll starve in this place. Oh, we’d better get
you both to civilization as quickly as possible.’

Florrie was just about to place the child in the sister’s arms, when Ernst walked in.

‘What on earth is the noise?’ he began irritably and then, as his glance took in the child, his agitation turned to horror. He stared at Florrie, who pushed the child into Sister
Blackstock’s arms and cried, ‘Ernst, I can explain . . .’

But Ernst Hartmann turned on his heel and walked out again.

Sister Blackstock sighed heavily. ‘Go after him, Florrie.’

Ernst hurried back down the steps to the cellars as if he wished to put as much distance as possible between them. Florrie picked up her skirts and followed him.

‘Dr Hartmann, I can explain. Please – wait.’

But Ernst did not wait for her or look back.

She caught up with him in the room set aside for operations and the emergency treatment of the badly injured. He was leaning against the table where so many had bled their life away, his arms
folded across his chest, his face a mask of anger.

‘So that’s why you’ve kept away from me just lately? Why we haven’t made love? You were afraid I would feel the size of your belly and guess?’

‘I haven’t been keeping away from you. If only you knew how I’ve longed to be with you – but it’s difficult here, with so many people about. You know it is. And
– you’ve seemed so distant recently. You’ve never suggested me going with you when you’ve been doing the rounds of the first-aid posts. At least we could have been alone
then.’

‘I couldn’t risk anyone suspecting. It would have looked too obvious. But how could you do this to me – how could you stay here? Why didn’t you plead illness –
think of some excuse – and go home? My reputation will be in shreds – my career ruined. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have arranged for you to get rid of it.’

Florrie gaped at him in shock and disappointment. But still, she wanted him to hear her out. ‘Please, listen to me, Ernst,’ she pleaded. She wanted to tell him everything: about
James and Colette, about the girl’s death and Florrie’s efforts to find her family. She’d even put her hand into her pocket to bring out the piece of paper to confirm her story,
when a perverse stubbornness flooded through her.

His attitude appalled her. She couldn’t believe that he was speaking to her so harshly, so cruelly. The truth was that he cared nothing for her or for the child that he believed was his.
All Ernst Hartmann cared about was what this would do to his precious reputation. She couldn’t believe the words that were issuing from his mouth. After all his words of love to her –
all his promises – that he could talk like this to her shocked her to the core of her being. He believed the child to be his, and yet he was talking as if he would have arranged a termination
for her. An abortion. An illegal act.

Well, let him keep his good name; hers was in tatters anyway. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was her beloved brother’s son. At his next words, Florrie froze.

‘If this gets back to Switzerland, my fiancee will break off the engagement and I shall lose my position at the Schatzalp.
The sanatorium her father helped to
build.
’

‘Fiancee?’ she breathed. ‘You – you never told me you were engaged to be – to be married.’

He shrugged and glanced away. ‘We live in dreadful danger – day after day. We live for the moment, because we don’t know if there’s ever going to be a
tomorrow.’