The Best of Daughters (38 page)

She enjoyed a brief home leave in September but was back in France within a week. Her one regret was the fact that she had not been able to go home for her sister's wedding, but she was at least able to attend the christening of Beatrice and Jimmy's daughter, and was godmother to little Joyce Daisy Gurney. This time her memories of home had been happy ones. Her father's business was doing well and he could not speak highly enough of Arley Meadows. At least, Daisy thought, she could take some credit for that turn of events, even though it had been Beatrice who had found the discrepancies in the books.

On a different level she was pleased to see that her mother had fully accepted Ruby as a key member of the household, if not one of the family. Young Martin, now a playful toddler, was thriving and to Daisy's
surprise he was quite a favourite with her mother. But then Teddy had always been their mother's pet, and perhaps having a small boy in the house was a small consolation to Gwendoline after the loss of her beloved son. Whatever the reason, she doted on Martin and he responded with uninhibited displays of affection. He was an attractive little fellow with thick, dark curls and huge brown eyes, and was a miniature version of his father. Daisy had felt a tug at her heartstrings when she saw him on her first night at home, but he was a genuinely lovable child and it was impossible to hold his parentage against him.

Ruby was every inch the proud mother. She had put on weight and was patently thriving on the fresh country air and the security of living and working at Rainbow's End. Daisy couldn't have been happier for all of them, but in some ways she was beginning to feel excluded. Her wartime experiences were so different from the placid life in rural Essex, and so horrific, that she could not even begin to make them understand the suffering she had witnessed daily.

Perhaps the only person with whom she felt quite comfortable now was Lady Pendleton, and her most relaxing moments during her brief sojourn in Nutley Green had been spent at Pendleton Park. There was a bond between herself and Lady Pendleton and a mutual understanding that was hard to explain, but Daisy had felt inexplicably a part of the lovely old house and its peaceful grounds, even though it would never be her home. It saddened her to think that she had allowed her infatuation for Bowman to influence
her to such an extent that she had rebuffed the man who had genuinely loved her. She knew that she had lost Rupert forever, and it hurt more than she could have imagined. She had thrown away her chance of real happiness, and she would have to live with the knowledge for the rest of her life. It was no more than she deserved and it was the price she must pay for her folly.

She set to work back at Unit Three, making a huge effort to put everything out of her mind apart from the day to day duties that were put upon her, and there were many and all of them distressing and painful. She comforted the dying and endeavoured to keep up the spirits of the seriously wounded men she transported to hospital or to the docks for repatriation. Some of them were mere boys and many of them reminded her painfully of Teddy. She could only hope that someone kind had eased his last moments as he left this world on his journey into the unknown. She had seen so much suffering that she was beginning to think that miracles never happened.

As the year drew towards its end the fighting intensified and there were more and more casualties. The weather closed in and everyone agreed that it was the coldest winter in living memory. Daisy drove her ambulance wearing the fur coat that Lady Pendleton had given her before the war. Driving at night was even more hazardous than in daytime. The use of headlights had been banned as they increased the danger of being picked off by enemy snipers, and windscreens were taken out in order to prevent injuries
from flying glass. Adding to the perils of night driving, the roads were rutted with shell holes and covered in freezing snow.

One bitterly cold night just before Christmas Daisy was huddled round the Primus stove in the cookhouse waiting for the inevitable call for an ambulance. There had been intense fighting that day and all the other vehicles were already out. It was unlikely that she would be able to spend the night in the comparative warmth of the hut, and sure enough the call came at midnight. She donned her fur coat and went out into a snowstorm. It took several attempts to crank the engine into life and she leapt into the cab, clenching her teeth in an attempt to stop them chattering.

She had been given instructions to pick up the wounded soldiers from one of the canal barges and take them to the hospital in Calais. The casualties who travelled this way were always the most seriously wounded who could not stand being jolted about for long hours in the field ambulances, and she knew that it was going to be a difficult task. She set off muffled in her coat, squinting as the driving snow half blinded her and stung her face.

She arrived at the landing stage in time to see the last ambulance drive slowly into the darkness, and she climbed down onto the hard-packed snow. Already she was stiff with cold and her hands and feet were numb despite her fur-lined gloves and boots. The feather-like flakes swirled around her, thick as fog, as she tied back the canvas flaps at the back of the vehicle. The stretcher bearers made their way carefully over the
frozen ground and Daisy stood aside as they lifted their charges gently into the ambulance. It was just a matter of handing over the paperwork and Daisy was about to climb into the driver's seat when a shout from the barge made her stop and look over her shoulder.

‘Got another passenger for you, love. Walking wounded so he don't need no special treatment.' The private who had been supervising the disembarkation of the injured soldiers came towards her, half dragging a man in a ragged uniform who was limping badly. He thrust him unceremoniously into the back of the ambulance. ‘He's one of them Belgians, miss. Don't speak much English, but he won't give you no trouble. I think he got separated from his unit, or else he could be on the run. Anyway, that's not our problem. Just deliver him to the hospital and let them work it out.' He saluted with a cheery grin and walked away, swallowed up almost immediately by the blizzard.

Daisy shrugged her shoulders. Her job was simply to obey orders, and the sooner she delivered her charges and returned to camp the better. This was not the sort of night when anyone ought to be out and about. She started the engine with even more difficulty this time and climbed into the driver's seat. She wished that Clarice was with her but she had been called out earlier and, at this moment, was probably drinking hot cocoa in the hospital canteen. She drove off slowly, not wanting to skid and cause more pain than necessary to the wounded men, but after a while she began to realise that she must have missed the road into town. She could see only a few yards ahead and the
countryside was blanketed in snow which obliterated any landmarks that she might have recognised. Driving in total darkness it was difficult to keep to the road and she dared not stop for fear that the engine would cut out and they would be stuck here until morning. With a sinking heart she realised that she had lost all sense of direction. She was totally disorientated. It was eerily quiet as though the guns had been silenced by the snowfall, and there was no sign of habitation.

There was little that she could do other than keep going straight ahead. There must be a village or a farmhouse along the way soon. She was chilled to the bone and exhausted. She could not see the petrol gauge but she knew that it must be getting low. She was beginning to panic when she thought she saw a glimmer of light ahead, and she headed for it in the hope that she might find shelter for herself and the injured men until morning.

As she drew closer she could see that it was a rather grand house, its outline emphasised by the snow clinging to the stonework giving it the appearance of a huge, glistening iced cake. She braked and came to a halt at the foot of the stone steps leading up to the front door. She slid to the ground, flexing her cramped muscles. She had one foot on the bottom step when the door opened and a ghostlike figure stood on the threshold brandishing a gun.

For a terrifying moment Daisy thought it something other-worldly, but then she realised that the woman was a nun. She raised her hands above her head. ‘Don't shoot.' She pointed to the red cross on the
ambulance although it was only partially visible through the dancing snowflakes. ‘I have wounded men in the ambulance,' she said, hoping the woman understood her schoolgirl French.

The nun stood there, motionless as if frozen with fear, and when Daisy attempted to approach her she backed into the building, waving the weapon. Daisy came to a halt, realising that she needed help. The wounded soldiers inside the ambulance depended upon her and they would all freeze to death if they could not find shelter. It was then that she remembered the walking wounded. He was probably a Belgian deserter, but he would almost certainly understand French even if he spoke Flemish. He would be able to interpret for her. She ran down the steps and pulled back the flap.

The ragged man toppled out, knocking her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and helped him to stand. His face was partially covered with a filthy woollen scarf and his eyebrows and lashes were frosted with snowflakes, but she would have known him anywhere.

‘IS IT YOU?'
Daisy said slowly. ‘It can't be.'

Bowman pulled the scarf from his face, twisting his lips into a semblance of a grin. ‘By God, it's Daisy. I hardly recognised you.'

Standing in the snow outside what appeared to be a French convent with a nun pointing a rifle at them, Daisy felt as though she was in the middle of a bizarre nightmare, and at any moment she would wake up in her sleeping bag back at camp. ‘They said you were a Belgian,' she said slowly. ‘I thought you were dead.'

Bowman's crack of laughter echoed off the cold stones. ‘I will be if I have to stand in the bloody snow for a moment longer.' He shuffled towards the steps holding his hands above his head. ‘We need sanctuary, sister,' he said in fluent French that Daisy was able to interpret because of his English pronunciation.

The nun lowered the weapon, turning her head and saying something in a low voice to the woman who had come to join her. There was a murmur of conversation and then Bowman beckoned to Daisy. ‘They say we can come in.'

‘I have badly injured men in the ambulance.' Daisy made expansive gestures with her arms. ‘I need help to carry the stretchers.'

Bowman made a move towards her but his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. Daisy sprang forward to help him. ‘Are you all right?'

He allowed her to help him to his feet but he shook off her restraining hand. ‘I can manage. I just slipped on the snow.'

‘Ask them if someone can help me carry the men inside.'

Bowman translated the request and after a moment's discussion the younger of the two nuns handed the rifle to her superior and came running down the steps. ‘I help,' she said in English.

She did not look very robust but Daisy had little choice. Between them, with a bit of help from Bowman, they hefted the first stretcher into the building, but when they went back for the second man, Bowman shook his head. ‘He's a goner. Best leave him here for the night.'

The young nun crossed herself. ‘Take to chapel,' she said firmly. ‘We pray for his soul.'

There was no point in arguing and Daisy covered the young man's head with the blanket before they slid the stretcher from the ambulance, and with some difficulty manhandled it up the steps and into a small room off the main entrance hall which had been turned into a makeshift chapel. The stretcher was laid across three wooden chairs set in front of the candlelit altar. The smell of incense and hot wax filled the air and suddenly Daisy felt quite faint.

‘Come,' the nun said gently. She beckoned to them as she glided from the room.

Bowman took Daisy's hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. ‘I know you don't need help,' he murmured, ‘but I do. Shrapnel in my left thigh. Very painful.'

She allowed him to help her into the chilly entrance hall with its echoing stone floor and a vast staircase, which led to several galleried landings. ‘Where have you been?' she whispered. ‘What have you been doing all this time?'

‘I hardly think that matters at the moment, love,' Bowman said with a wry smile. ‘I think we'd best explain our presence to the Mother Superior.' He jerked his head in the direction of the nun who was advancing on them with a purposeful step. He opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand.

‘I speak English,' she said coolly. Her eyes flicked over Bowman with a dispassionate stare and then she turned her attention to Daisy. ‘You are attached to the British army?'

‘Yes, Mother. My name is Daisy Lennox and I am from Number Three Unit of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry stationed at Calais. I'm afraid I lost my way in the snowstorm. I was trying to get the wounded soldiers to hospital.'

‘You are some miles distant from your destination, my child. But you are welcome to shelter here until it is safe for you to travel on.'

‘The ambulance is very low on petrol, Mother. And the surviving soldier needs urgent medical attention.'

‘We are a nursing order. This is a convalescent home for Belgian soldiers, but we will do our best for the
Englishman. You do not need to worry.' She glanced at Bowman. ‘You are not a soldier.'

He shook his head. ‘I was one once, Mother. I fell from grace but I have been doing my best to atone.' He held up his mutilated right hand. ‘I am not proud of what I did, but I could not return to my regiment, so I became a stretcher bearer. I am English, and I stole the identity of a dead Belgian soldier, Soldat Smets, but I have done nothing to dishonour his name.'

Daisy stared at him in astonishment. ‘I can't believe you got away with it.'

The Mother Superior made a tut-tutting sound. ‘Come now. None of this matters at this moment. Let Sister Benedict show you where to go.'