Time for Silence (29 page)

“No, Robert. It’s not that at all. It is just that I don’t feel ready.”

“Let’s leave it. Forget I said anything. We’ll talk about it some other time.”

“Yes, do let’s. You know how happy I always am with you. I was so pleased when you came to Marchlands. But just now…”

“You don’t have to explain. I am going to ask you again.”

I turned to him and put my arms around him and for a few seconds he held me against him.

“Yes, Robert,” I said. “Just a little time, please.”

“That’s fine. I’ll ask you again. There’s one thing I haven’t told you.”

“What is that?”

“I have to go before a medical board in three weeks’ time.”

“What does that mean?” I asked in alarm.

“They’ll assess how fit I am.”

“They couldn’t possibly send you out there again!”

“We’ll have to see.”

Some of the guests were coming out into the garden and Aunt Celeste joined us.

I felt very unsettled and disturbed. I could not bear the thought of Robert’s leaving England.

I was relieved when Robert’s visit to the medical board had to be postponed. There was a slight complication with his leg. It needed more rest, Dr. Egerton decided, and therefore the medical board would have to wait for a few weeks.

Edward was now four years old. I was not sure of the actual date of his birth, but my mother had suggested we make it the fourth of August. That was the date when Britain had declared war on Germany.

“Let us have something pleasant to remember it by, as well as all the horror,” said my mother.

Edward was now quite a person. He was very curious about everything, full of energy, quite fluent and very amusing. We all thought he was an exceptionally bright child, and it was a little more than prejudice, I do believe, that made us feel this.

He was interested in birthdays because they meant parties. He had been to one or two with other children in the neighborhood and now it was his turn.

We invited about ten local children. There was a cake with four candles, and Andrée and I, with help from my mother when she could spare the time, planned some games that would be suitable for the children.

Edward was devoted to Andrée, but I think he had a rather special feeling for me. I had always tried to be with him as much as possible. In spite of the fact that I myself had had an excellent nanny, my mother had always been closer to me than anyone else. I wanted Edward to feel the same about me. I wanted to make up for his mother’s callous desertion and the loss of his loving foster-mother. I did not want him to be deprived of anything in life.

I used to read a story to him every night before he went to sleep, and I knew how much he looked forward to that.

Andrée used to say, “He loves me as his nanny, but you as his mother.”

“Poor child,” I said. “How sad it all was for him.”

“Don’t expect me to feel pity for him!” she retorted. “I think he is one of the luckiest of children. Here he is, with every luxury…surrounded by love. He’s got your mother, you, me…and the servants all dote on him and would spoil him if I didn’t look out.”

“It’s because he is adorable.”

I could see she was thinking of her own childhood, which had been so different. Poor Andrée! I was so glad that she seemed happier with us.

There were ten children in all at the party. But the nursery was a big room. It would be the schoolroom later, as it had been such a short time ago when I had studied with Miss Carruthers. Books were stacked in the cupboard; the big table with the ink stains on it was covered by a white cloth. On it were jellies, tarts and scones, and in the place of honor, the birthday cake.

There was great fun with Edward’s trying to blow out the candles, and then the children crowded around and consumed the treats with relish. After the food was cleared away, we played games.

There was a good deal of laughing and shouting. “Pass the parcel” was a great favorite, with everyone shrieking with delight when the music stopped and the one who was holding the parcel took off another wrapper; there were more expressions of delight when the music started again and the parcel went on its way, to fall as a prize into the hands of the child who held it when the music finally stopped and a paint box was revealed.

They scrambled their way through “musical chairs” and “statues.” Andrée was a very good organizer and was able to control the children with the right amount of benevolent authority that is essential on such occasions.

As it was a fine day, we went into the garden and there they could run about as much as they wished. When it was time for the guests to go, Edward, standing beside me, received their thanks with dignity. Andrée had gone up to the nursery, and Edward and I were alone.

I smiled down at him. “It was a good party, wasn’t it?” I said.

“It was a good party.” He had a habit of repeating such statements as if he were in agreement with them.

“So now,” I went on, “you are well and truly four years old.”

“Next time I’ll be five.”

“Yes, five years old.”

“Then six, seven and eight.”

“You’re making the years go too quickly.”

“When I’m ten, I’ll go riding without James.”

“Yes, I daresay. Where do you like to ride best?”

“I like the forest best.”

“Do you ride there with Andrée?”

He nodded. “James, too. Sometimes just Andrée.”

“And you like that?”

He nodded again, “I like the forest.”

“Why?”

“Trees,” he said. “And people.”

“People?”

“The man.”

“What man?”

“Andrée’s man.”

“Andrée meets a man, does she?”

He nodded.

“What? Every time?”

“A lot of times. They talk. They walk the horses. Andrée keeps looking at me. She says, ‘Stay there, Edward.’ ”

“And do you stay there?”

He nodded.

“Do you know the man? Is he someone from the hospital?”

He shook his head vigorously.

“So, he’s a stranger?”

“He’s a stranger.” He mouthed the word and repeated it as he often did when he heard a word for the first time.

“The forest’s nice,” he said. “When I’m five I won’t have a leading rein. I’ll ride fast. I’ll gallop….”

“I am sure you will.”

I was thinking about Andrée’s meeting with a stranger. A man. Well, she was young; she was quite good-looking. It hadn’t occurred to me before that she might have an admirer.

We were halfway through September, and Robert was still with us. Dr. Egerton still was not entirely satisfied and thought that a little more rest was needed. He said he wanted to keep his eye on this patient for a little longer.

We were all relieved. Often I would feel Robert’s wistful eyes on me and I wanted then to do anything to comfort him. I was fully aware of how miserable I should be if he went away and what terrible anxiety I should suffer wondering what was happening to him. The third Battle of Ypres had begun and there was particularly bitter fighting at this time. The casualties were great. I used to shudder when bad cases were brought to us, and I always thought, That might have been Robert.

Sybil Egerton talked to me about him. We had grown accustomed to calling her Sybil now. “Mrs. Egerton” was too formal and she was no longer “Miss Carruthers.” She was at the hospital every day, arriving with her husband and staying until early evening. She was very efficient, practical, a little brisk and quite unsentimental. This suited some of those who were severely wounded, for she made them feel that they were not so badly off as they had imagined and that there were others far worse. She used to read to those whose eyesight was damaged, and it made my mother and me smile to see her in one of the little rooms with those who could get there, reading Dickens to them. It was like a small class and she was very much the schoolmistress, but it happened to be just the treatment they needed. Marrying the doctor had added to her stature.

She announced to me in her straightforward manner, “Robert Denver is in love with you.”

I did not answer and she went on. “He is a good man and you could not find anyone more suited to you.”

“I’ve known him all my life,” I said.

“So much the better. He is the antithesis of his sister.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure he would make you happy. Marriage is the ideal state…providing it is the right marriage.”

Having found satisfaction herself in this state, she felt herself qualified to help others to do likewise.

She was smiling wisely at me, indicating that if I needed any advice on the matter, I should come to her.

My mother also talked to me of Robert.

“It seems odd to want to hold back someone’s recovery, but I do hope Robert stays with us a little longer. Surely this miserable war must come to an end soon. He does care for you, you know.”

“Sybil was talking about him.”

“Oh, yes, she was telling me how pleased she would be to see you settled. I think you are very fond of Robert.”

“Yes, I am. He…he has asked me.”

“You haven’t said no.”

“I am not sure….”

“I see. He’s a good man, Lucinda. One of the best. He’s like his father. Who but Sir Robert would have put up with Belinda all these years?”

“I can’t be hurried into anything so serious.”

“You’re not still thinking of…?”

It was always thus between us. We knew each other’s minds so well that we followed the working of them without having to put it into words.

“My dear Lucinda,” she said. “It’s all for the best that it ended like this. I don’t think you would have been happy with him. He is very attractive and has all the social graces…but there is something superficial about him…something too worldly. You would have been disappointed. You’re not like that at all. You’re honest and sincere. He was brought up in a different atmosphere from the one you were. There would have been irritations in time.”

“Whereas I’ve known Robert all my life.”

“That’s no drawback.”

“There are no surprises,” I said. “It’s all so predictable.”

“Marcus came to you in a dramatic way. It was all rather romantic…not so much while you were living it perhaps, but when you look back. That’s what so often happens in life. The things we anticipate with such excitement and look back on and find so amusing are often quite uncomfortable while we are actually living them. As I say, he appeared on the scene; he took charge of everything; he took you out of danger. Of course he seems romantic. At one time I thought you and he…I tried to reconcile myself, but I didn’t really like it because I felt it wouldn’t work. He’s charming, but he’s suave. I know people like him. He goes out of his way to please, but somehow I don’t think his feelings go deep…if you know what I mean. He seemed to be very interested in you until Annabelinda appeared again. I know she made a dead set at him, but she couldn’t have forced him to ask her to marry him, could she? He had to want to…and he asked her so soon. Sometimes, my dearest Lucinda, something happens in life which hurts…but when it’s past you can look back on it and see that it is all for the best.”

I nodded and she came to me and kissed me.

“The war must soon be over,” she said. “Then everything will work out well for us all, I know. We shall all be looking at things differently…more normally, more naturally.”

I hoped she was right.

I thought a great deal about what she had said. Robert would go away soon. Perhaps I should never see him again. Perhaps my mother and Sybil were right. Perhaps I should marry him. It was what he wanted. Sometimes I thought I wanted it, too.

Why did I hesitate? Because I was not like Marcus and could not turn to another so easily. He was so different from Robert—what they called a man of the world. He had a secret family and had been almost nonchalant about it, as though it were natural for a man in his position. Perhaps it was.

I did still think of him with pangs of longing, and I often wondered how he and Annabelinda were getting on together.

I found during that period that I wanted to be alone, to think about what was happening. Perhaps in wartime, with death and separation constantly at hand, one saw things less clearly than one did in the calmness of peace. Then life went on more or less predictably. During war, one never knew when one was going to hear bad news; one never knew what catastrophe was going to strike.

I liked to sit on an overturned tree trunk which had been lying in one part of the forest for as long as I could remember. It was quiet and peaceful there; the trees growing thickly around it made it a secluded spot.

I was constantly asking myself why I hesitated about accepting Robert’s proposal.

Accept him, said common sense. You should marry one day. You want children. Look how you feel about Edward. As my mother said, I had seen Marcus in a romantic light…escaping from danger with him when he was like some hero from an old legend. But he had not turned out to be what I had believed. He had made me care for him and then had quickly turned from me to Annabelinda. And then I had made that discovery about his secret life. I wondered how many secrets there were in his life. With Robert one would always know. Everything he did would be open and honest.

And as I sat there brooding, I became aware of the sound of horses’ hooves. Someone was riding nearby. I heard voices. Andrée and Edward. I would surprise them. I made my way through the trees. There was a small clearing just beyond, and it was from this direction that the voices came.

I emerged from the trees and there they were. Edward was on his pony; Andrée was holding the leading rein, and with them was a man.

Immediately I remembered my conversation with Edward when he had told me that they met a man in the forest.

“Hello,” I called out.

There was silence, broken by Edward who shouted, “Lucinda!”

I advanced. And then I clearly saw the man to whom Andrée was talking. For a few moments we stared at each other.

“Oh, hello,” Andrée said.

The man took off his hat and bowed.

“Good-bye,” he said. And to Andrée, “Thanks.” Then he disappeared through the trees.