Poppy (6 page)

‘And have you always wanted to be a nurse?’

Poppy bit her lip. ‘To tell you the truth, I hardly thought that a girl like me with no medical background could do such a thing.’ She took a breath. ‘But then my old friend, the lady who is sponsoring me, told me that more and more nurses will be needed and that she thought I would be very suitable.’

‘And have you ever undertaken any nursing duties?’ asked the second matron, a solid woman with steel-grey hair in a bun.

‘Well, I nursed my mother after childbirth,’ Poppy replied. ‘And if anyone in the de Vere family was ever ill, I helped tend to them. I know how to give a bed-bath . . . Oh, and when Mr de Vere had blood poisoning from getting his foot caught in a trap, I dressed the wound every morning.’

The first matron nodded; the other smiled. ‘And are there any other ways in which you might be especially useful to us?’

‘Well, I started work as a kitchen maid so I know how to keep a place spotless,’ said Poppy. ‘And I have excellent handwriting – everyone says so. I wondered if perhaps I might compose letters home for those soldiers who have broken arms or are temporarily blinded.’

‘Temporarily or permanently . . .’ said the bird-like matron drily, and Poppy remembered the horrific gas attacks which had recently blinded French and Canadian troops.

The second matron added, ‘It may not always be nursing work you’ll be called upon to do. You may be asked to serve departing troops with, say, two hundred cups of hot cocoa in half an hour. Do you think you could stay calm whilst coping with that sort of pressure?’

Poppy smiled. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m used to serving a demanding family. I don’t panic easily.’

The two matrons exchanged glances.

‘Very good. Thank you, Miss Pearson, that will be all,’ said the bird-like one. ‘You will be hearing from us in due course.’

Poppy stood up and was about to curtsey when she realised that it was no longer appropriate. She wasn’t a parlourmaid any longer – she might possibly become a respected Red Cross nurse. She thanked both the matrons for seeing her and shook their hands.

On reaching Euston station after the interview, Poppy – more relaxed now – couldn’t help but watch and sigh at some of the fond farewells and tearful scenes taking place on the concourse between Tommies and their sweethearts. After witnessing one girl run the length of the platform rather than let go of the hand of her khaki-clad beloved on the train, she was dabbing her eyes when someone touched her on the shoulder.

Startled, she wheeled round to come face to face with Freddie de Vere.

‘Ah, I alarmed you,’ he said. ‘Do excuse me.’

‘That’s . . . that’s quite all right,’ Poppy managed to say, heart thudding and surprised almost out of her wits.

‘Have you been lunching?’

Poppy hid a smile. She had only ‘lunched’ once in her life – when she’d met Miss Luttrell over a meat pie in the Corner House. ‘No, I’ve been for an interview,’ she said. ‘I’m hoping to become a VAD.’

‘Jolly commendable,’ he said, nodding. ‘In fact, I’ve been doing much the same.’

‘You’ve applied to be a VAD?’ she asked in surprise, although she knew that many men had signed on as orderlies and stretcher bearers.

He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, I’ve been undergoing interviews for a commission in the army. They’re pretty desperate for recruits and so they’ve agreed to take me in the Officer Cadet Unit. I begin my training at Sandhurst on Monday.’

‘Really? That’s marvellous,’ Poppy said, and she thought of the white feather and felt herself blush at the thought of what she’d done. As they crossed the concourse, she tried not to dwell on it.

‘Kitchener has said that they need thirty-five thousand men to join up per week,’ Freddie said. ‘And of course we chaps don’t like to be called cowards, and everyone thought that I really ought. Even Mother is happy that I’m going to fight the good fight.’

There was a slight catch to his voice and, with the new and strange chemistry between them, Poppy understood that he was frightened of what he might have to face. There was no shame in being scared, she wanted to say, and not everyone could feel brave all the time. But while she was trying to articulate the right words, he spoke again.

‘You’re catching the 3.12 back to Mayfield?’ he said when they reached platform ten.

She nodded.

‘Then perhaps we can travel together.’

Poppy’s heart gave a skip – and then sank. She would be in his company for a little while longer, but what good would that do her? This whole flirtation business (for surely that was all it was) was silly and she was heading for a tremendous fall. Then she realised she was quite safe.

‘No, I don’t think we can,’ she said, ‘because I only have a thir
d-
class ticket.’

He pulled a small green oblong from his top pocket. ‘And mine is . . . first class.’

Poppy nodded. That summed up all the differences between them in a nutshell.

He looked at her, smiled and continued walking along the platform. ‘But I dare say the rail people would have no objection to my travelling in third!’

Poppy turned to him, unable to prevent a smile spreading across her face. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t.’

‘And we can talk about Zeppelins and maidens from the lake and all sorts of interesting things.’

‘That would be . . .’
Wonderful, delightful, unbelievable
– but Poppy never finished the sentence, for there came a rapping on the window of one of the firs
t-
class carriages they were passing.

‘Freddie! I say! Freddie de Vere!’ A fur-hatted, middl
e
-aged lady stared out, waved at Freddie and lowered her window. ‘Freddie, dear, could you help me? I’ve som
e
how stuck my trunk in the door and I can’t get in or out.’

‘Oh. My Aunt Maud,’ Freddie murmured to Poppy. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Poppy, heart sinking, tried not to look crestfallen. ‘That’s quite all right. Of course you must go and help her.’

‘I’ll try and get away. But look,’ he said urgently, ‘if we don’t get the opportunity to speak before I go, then I’ll write to you from Sandhurst.’

‘But I might not be at Airey House much longer.’

‘Then leave a forwarding address!’

‘I will,’ Poppy said. ‘And thank you for the bluebells . . .’

Freddie’s Aunt Maud was looking rather troubled at the sight of him deep in conversation with a person of the lower classes. There was another sharp rap from the carriage window.

‘Sorry. I’ll have to . . .’ Freddie leaped up the two steps into the firs
t-
class coach.

Poppy, as calmly as possible, continued walking down the platform towards the third class. She took a seat and, when the train pulled out, opened the magazine she’d bought – and didn’t realise for half the journey that she was holding it upside down.

She put her head against the cool glass and wished she hadn’t gone out to see the Zeppelin in the first place, wished he’d never looked at her
so
or spoken as he had, wished there was no such person as Miss Philippa Cardew. It didn’t help, either, that a two-page spread in the magazine was given over to the changes there had been in society since the beginning of the war. Heiresses were now sweeping chimneys, housekeepers were mixing in high society, and lords were marrying laundry maids. Apparently anything was possible; the social barriers were crashing down all over Britain.

But, Poppy thought to herself, a certain rich young man could not forgo his aunt and his first-class seat to sit with a parlourmaid.

Chapter Six

As soon as the furniture and personal belongings of the de Vere family had been moved out of Airey House, the equipment needed to change it into a hospital and convalescent home for wounded officers had been moved in. Brand new hospitals were springing up all over the country and were urgently needed. Empty town halls, reclaimed asylums, schools, little used university buildings and many large private houses were being turned into temporary infirmaries. Some – like Airey House – were expressly for officers, while injured Tommies were being cared for in the largest buildings, in purpose-built ‘hut hospitals’ or in huge marquees specially erected in the grounds of existing infirmaries.

On a scorching day in June, one of the final deliveries of equipment, two van loads of hospital beds, had been delivered to Airey House and were now awaiting erection. Following this, the house would officially be taken over by the War Office. The few remaining members of the de Veres’ staff, including Poppy and Molly, were due to leave the following morning and, as Poppy had not yet heard the result of her interview from Devonshire House, she’d arranged to go home and stay with her mother. If she was thought unsuitable to be a VAD, she would, she’d already decided, join Molly at one of the munitions factories. It would not be as thrilling or as useful as being a nurse, and she had heard that the chemicals turned your hair ginger, but at least she would be doing war work.

‘Can you imagine it?’ Molly said, as the two girls stood in what had once been the blue drawing room but was  now empty of carpet, curtains, paintings and furniture. ‘All down each side of this room will be beds: fourteen of them in a line! And there’ll be as many beds again in the green drawing room and the dining room, and Cook’s pantry will be a restroom for the nurses.’

‘How long will they have the house for?’ Poppy asked.

Molly shrugged. ‘For the rest of the war, I suppose. The de Veres are just going to keep a few pieces of furniture and some suitcases of stuff in one of the cellar rooms.’

‘What about upstairs?’ Poppy asked. ‘What will happen to the bedrooms?’

‘Some of them will become treatment rooms,’ said Molly, for she’d been chatting to one of the Tommies and knew all the latest, ‘and Mrs de Vere’s room is to become an operating theatre. They’ll be setting broken bones and trying to put people back together in there.’ She shivered dramatically. ‘Bet that’s not an easy task. I’ve heard that some of the men come back to Blighty near blown to bits or with no limbs at all.’

‘I’ve heard that too,’ Poppy said, and could not stop a picture forming in her mind of Freddie in a hospital bed with some superficial hurt which did not mar his handsome profile – while she, immaculate in her nurse’s uniform, placed an ice pack on his brow.

Molly waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Poppy, you’ve gone into a trance! I was asking you how your brother’s getting on.’

Poppy pulled herself together. ‘Oh, apparently – surprisingly – he’s doing fairly well.’

‘There you are!’ Molly said.

‘He wrote to Ma to say that he likes the fellows he’s signed on with and enjoys the training sessions.’

Molly nodded. ‘Well, they do say that war brings out the best in people.’

‘He told me that they’ve all promised to look out for each other if they get involved in a skirmish.’ Poppy was silent for a moment, then said, ‘How strange it all is. The war has changed everything, hasn’t it? This house, our jobs, our families, our homes.’

‘Mmm. I s’pose it has.’

‘Do you think it’s true that because everyone is pulling together, all the different classes will sort of merge into one?’

‘Eh?’ Molly looked at her, puzzled. ‘How d’you mean?’

Poppy made several starts at formulating what she wanted to say without mentioning Freddie and herself and any potential relationship, but found it too much of a struggle. ‘Oh . . . nothing,’ she said finally. ‘I was just being silly.’

‘Just think, Mr Jessop the butler is in Boulogne now!’ Molly said, hardly noticing Poppy’s struggle. ‘He’s helping feed hundreds of soldiers as they pass through on their way to fight.’

‘Wouldn’t it be strange if he served Mr Jasper,’ Poppy said, for Jasper de Vere was due to receive his first posting at the end of June and was hoping to see active service in France as soon as possible.

A little later, Poppy made a pot of tea for the team of Tommies who were putting up the beds and, taking it in to them, smiled to hear them complain that they were doing women’s work.

‘Making up beds for officers! We’ll be plumping their pillows next,’ one soldier said.

‘And giving ’em a goodnight kiss!’ said his pal.

‘I never signed up for this,’ said the first.

‘Nor did I! I signed up to get my hands on Fritz.’ He balled his fist hard into his palm and imitated the noise of a bomb going off. ‘I’d show ’em. Just let me get at the blighters!’

‘Knowing our luck, we’ll probably spend the whole blimmin’ war in Blighty.’

‘Fat lot of good to anyone, that’ll be!’

Their sergeant major entered the room. ‘But at least you’ll be alive and not under the Flanders mud,’ he said. ‘Now cut the cackle and get on with the job.’

Poppy, still smiling, went back into the kitchen, where Molly was holding out an envelope with
Devonshire House
printed in the top-left corner.

‘The postman just brought this for you!’ she said excitedly. ‘What do you think? Yes or no?’

‘No,’ said Poppy, fearing the worst.