The Lost Soldier (20 page)

Occasionally Sarah went to Mass in the convent chapel. She found the remembered words and rituals soothing after the hard work and bitter reality of the ward. The soft, golden light in the chapel and the fragrance of the incense calmed her anger at so much wasted humanity and took the edge off her despair at her inability to do anything about it.

However, despite gentle suggestions from Sister Marie-Paul that she, too, might like to attend, Molly steadfastly refused to go. She never went into the chapel, simply saying her prayers at her bedside as she had always done. Until that was, she started talking to Robert Kingston. He was the English padre, attached to the convalescent camp, who came almost every day to the convent hospital to visit the men. He was a cheerful young man who worked hard with the men in his care, doing his best to keep their spirits up, with a strong belief that, by bringing them spiritual strength, he could help to rebuild their physical strength.

His approach was practical. He joked with them, helped them write letters, brought them cigarettes, papers and chocolate that he received regularly from his family in England. Sometimes he prayed with them, sometimes he sat quietly listening to them talk of their families and home, and all too often he was at their bedsides as they slipped away from their agony into eternal peace. It was then his care to see them carried to the ever-growing cemetery beyond the convalescent camp and bury them, under a new white wooden cross, beside their comrades already lying there.

The nuns treated him with distant politeness, particularly Sister Marie-Paul, who felt, in the zeal of her noviciate, that he ran an extremely poor second to Father Gaston who visited the French wounded; but they could see that he was a comfort to many a dying man, and gave him a cautious welcome.

Molly was always pleased to see him, and once she had overcome her initial shyness, chatted with him cheerfully whenever he came into her ward. One day he mentioned the chapel he had made at the camp, converting a tent into a small place of worship each Sunday. He suggested that she might like to come through to the camp one Sunday to attend a service.

“There is one every Sunday, morning and evening,” he told her. “We should be delighted if you could come and join us.”

Molly looked doubtful. “I’d have to ask Reverend Mother,” she said. “She might not let me come on my own.”

“Well, do ask her,” the padre said, “and if there is a problem I will speak to her myself. I can’t see any reason why she should object. It’s not as if you were going down to the village alone, you’d simply have to walk out through the garden gate and into the camp. I will arrange to have someone escort you if necessary.”

So Molly took her courage in her hands and sought out Reverend Mother. To her surprise, Reverend Mother agreed readily enough. She had seen how uncomfortable Molly was with the spiritual side of the convent, and, unlike Sister Marie-Paul, had not pressed her to join in.

“You may go when you are not needed in the ward,” she said. “It would be best if you go in the evening, then you will able to work in the morning when the sisters want to go to Mass. It will suit everybody,
hein
? Father Robert will provide you with an escort from the gate, yes?”

After that, each Sunday evening that she could be spared, Molly would slip away through the convent garden gate into the camp. She let the padre know when she was able to attend and a soldier would always be waiting to escort her through the camp to the makeshift church. There, she was made welcome, and though she was sometimes the only woman in the congregation, Molly never felt ill at ease or embarrassed among the men. They were only too pleased to see her and soon she knew many of them by name, not only those she had seen in the wards, but others who had come from elsewhere. It was another escape from the confines of the convent, and Molly came to look forward to her Sunday evenings outside its walls.

The letters came as a bolt from the blue. Sarah had been writing dutifully every week to her father as she had promised, and she had received occasional replies written in his scrawling hand. Mostly they contained brief news of the household and the people she knew, but Sir George was no great letter-writer and they tended to be short and matter of fact. This one, however, was angry and as she read it Sarah could almost feel his fury in the paper, and his handwriting, always an impatient scribble, was worse than ever as his anger outstripped his hand.

My dear Sarah,

What on earth have you done, persuading that silly girl Molly to go with you to France without her father’s permission? How could you do such a thing? I met him in town the other day and he told me she was to leave our employ at once and come back to live with him and her mother on the farm. He wants her to get a job in the munitions factory at Belmouth. He said he had told her to give in her notice weeks ago, and since then they had seen neither hide nor hair of her and when was she coming home? He had no idea she had gone to France and had certainly never given her leave to go. As you can imagine he is extremely angry, as I am myself. How could you allow such a thing to occur? Whatever made you take the girl without the knowledge and consent of her parents? They have been wondering why she had not been home and now they are worried out of their minds for her safety. He is even muttering something about kidnap, though that is surely a piece of fudge. I am in an extremely awkward position now and think that Molly should come home
immediately
. She is still under age and though she works for us she is still under the guardianship of her father.

Please ensure that she returns here as soon as can be arranged. I enclose a money order to pay for her fare. In my opinion you should both come home. You have been there long enough to have done your duty, and it now lies here. Your brother may be home again on leave soon and you should be here to look after him after his time in the trenches.

Your affectionate Father

Sarah stared at the letter. Had Molly really left home without telling them where she was going? Sarah could hardly believe it. She thrust the letter into the pocket of her skirt and went back to her ward. She would not see Molly until they fell exhausted into their beds that night, but then she would have to tackle her about it. It was strange, but she had got so used to Molly as a friend that she seldom thought of her in the capacity of housemaid as she had been for so long. She knew almost nothing about Molly’s family life, and certainly Molly never referred to her parents. Thinking about that now, Sarah realised that it was odd that Molly never even mentioned them in passing.

When they were both safely back in the sanctuary of their room, Sarah handed Molly the letter.

“This came in the post, today,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’d better read it.”

“But it’s from your father,” said Molly, recognising Sir George’s hand. “Why should I read it?”

“Just do,” Sarah said, and something in her tone made Molly unfold the letter and scan its contents. Her expression changed and she read the letter again, more carefully this time. Then, she re-folded it and handed back.

“Well?” said Sarah.

“Well what?”

“Why didn’t you tell them you were coming to France? Why didn’t you tell me that they didn’t know?”

“None of their business,” growled Molly, and climbed into bed.

“Molly! Be reasonable. They’re your parents. They’re worried about you.”

“Worried about my wages, more like.”

“Your wages?”

“They take half what I earn. That’s all right, but they ain’t going to tell me where and how to earn them.”

Sarah said nothing for a moment, she didn’t know what to say, and even as she was listening to Molly’s words one part of her brain registered that, in her anger, Molly’s carefully learned language had slipped back to her more natural country speech. Molly went on, “He wanted me to leave you and squire and go an’ work in the munitions in Belmouth. Well I ain’t going to, not then, not now.”

“But why didn’t you tell him you were coming with me?”

“Cos if I had, he’d have told your dad I couldn’t go, and your dad would’ve stopped me. That’s why!” Molly spoke vehemently adding even more vehemently, “And I ain’t going back whatever either of them say. Even if they come and get me, I won’t go.”

Sarah looked at her thoughtfully. “You know what he’ll do, my father I mean? He’ll write to Reverend Mother and ask her to send you back.”

“Let him. If he does that I shall speak to Reverend Mother. She won’t send me home.” Molly spoke with such certainty that Sarah stared at her.

“How can you be so certain?”

“She won’t,” was all Molly would say.

“So what do you want me to say to my father?” asked Sarah. “I have to answer his letter.”

“Send back the money. Thank him for thinking of me and say that I will be staying here where I am needed. Tell him the sisters have been training me to nurse and that I’m going to work here until the war is over.”

Sarah was shocked. “I’m not sure I can write that to him,” she admitted. “He will be furious.”

“Then I will write,” Molly said simply. And that is what she did.

Sarah would not let her return the money. “We might need that for some reason,” she said. “I will write as well and explain that I am keeping the money for emergencies.” Despite her determination not to be beholden to anyone, Molly couldn’t help but feel that a contingency fund might prove useful, so she made no objection to this idea.

When the expected letter to Reverend Mother came from Sir George, Molly was immediately sent for. She was called straight into Mother’s office and as soon as she closed the door behind her, Mother said, “I have received a letter from Sarah’s father. He is very angry and says I must send you home at once.” She spoke her careful English with its strong accent, but Molly had no trouble in understanding her. She made no reply, however, simply stood in front of the little nun and looked back steadily at her.

“What do you say to me, Molly? You should not be here. Your father has not permitted it. You must go home.”

“I’m not going home, Mother,” Molly said then. “If you insist I leave here then I will, of course. But I will not go home. I will offer my services to some other hospital in France. No one will know where I am then, so no one will send me home.”

“Sister Eloise tells me that you have become a good nurse. She says you have a natural flare. You have a steady hand and good common sense. She will not want to lose you. So give me the reason why I will not send you home.”

Molly had expected this summons and she had rehearsed in her mind exactly what she would say, but, faced with the sharp blue eyes of Reverend Mother across the desk, her words deserted her. She could feel the hot colour creep up her neck and cheeks, and found it impossible tell this woman she hardly knew and a nun no less, why she would not return home.

Seeing her embarrassment, Reverend Mother waved to the only other chair in the room and said, “Sit down, Molly.”

Molly sat on the edge of the chair, her back rigid, her hands clasped in her lap, still tongue tied as she tried to find the words she needed.

“You are very determined not to go,” Reverend Mother remarked, giving her time to collect herself. “I am sure your reasons must be good, but unless you explain them to me, I can do nothing to help you.” She smiled suddenly. “Is it a young man? I have not always been a nun,
hein
? I shall not be shocked.”

When Molly still remained silent she added, “So, an affair of the heart,
hein
?”

“No.” Molly’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

“Then tell me what it is. Give me the reason.” Her voice was soft but insistent, and so, at last, Molly gave it to her. Mother heard her in attentive silence and when she had finished speaking Reverend Mother simply nodded her head. She steepled her fingers and looked at Molly across the top of them.

“I see,” she said. “And all this is true?”

“Yes, but you don’t believe me?”

Mother looked her straight in the eye and Molly held her gaze levelly. “Yes, I believe you. These things happen,
malheureusement
.”

Mother thought for a moment, gazing into the middle-distance and drumming her fingers absentmindedly on her desk. Then she looked back at Molly.

“Have you told Sarah all this?”

Molly shook her head. “No.”

“Are you going to?”

“No. This is family.”

“But she is your friend.”

“She is not really my friend,” Molly said slowly. “Circumstances have made her so, but though she may find the friendship easy, it does not come as easily to me. She is… was my employer. We come from different worlds when we are at home. She is my mistress and I am her maid. That is still the case even out here. She would not have brought me with her if her father had allowed her to come alone. It would not have crossed her mind.”

“Do you resent that?” Mother asked.

“No, it is how things are, that’s all.”

Reverend Mother appeared to accept this, for she nodded and then said, “As far as I am concerned you may stay. I will not send a girl back to such a father. I will say that you are needed here, and that at least is true; you are a conscientious worker and have the makings of an excellent nurse. There is no need to explain any other reason to Sir George. He is not your guardian,
hein?
” She paused again and then added, “However, I think you should write to you parents, to your mother perhaps, and tell her where you are and explain the important work you are doing. You owe her that, I think. If you will write this letter, I will write to Sir George. You agree?”

Molly agreed.

Sarah was amazed at the outcome of Molly’s interview with Reverend Mother.

“How did you persuade her to let you stay?” she marvelled.

“I told her what I told you,” Molly said, “that I would not go home. I would just leave here and work somewhere else in France. She didn’t want to waste the training Sister Eloise had given me, so she said if I wrote to my parents she would write to Sir George.”