The Best of Daughters (39 page)

‘Thank you, Mother,' Daisy said softly. ‘We will not trespass on your hospitality any longer than necessary.'

Mother Superior raised an eyebrow. ‘That will rest with God, my child. I'm afraid the snow has set in and will last for days, if not weeks. But perhaps we can get a message through to your unit so that they know you are safe.'

‘Thank you.' Daisy sent a silent message to Bowman, hoping that he understood.

He bowed awkwardly. ‘Thank you, Mother Superior. I am grateful that you do not judge me too harshly.'

She gave him a cool appraising look. ‘It is up to a higher authority than me to judge your actions.' She laid her hand on his sleeve as he was about to follow Daisy and Sister Benedict. ‘No, my son. You need medical attention. You will come with me.'

‘Yes, of course. Thank you, Mother.' With his limp
even more pronounced than before, Bowman gave Daisy a knowing wink as he followed Mother Superior from the room.

She had not been fooled for an instant by his submissive attitude, and she knew that beneath the contrite and humble exterior he was the same cocksure, arrogant Barnaby Bowman who had charmed and beguiled her. Perhaps it was the hallowed atmosphere that the nuns had created in the once palatial chateau, or maybe she herself had changed and matured, but the magic had gone. She saw him now for what he was: shallow and selfish with nothing to recommend him other than his dogged determination to survive. She thought of all the young men whose lives had been tragically cut short, including her own brother, and by comparison Bowman emerged a lesser man.

‘Come,' Sister Benedict said, holding out her hand.

Daisy's room was in the attic and had undoubtedly been part of the servants' quarters in days gone by. It was small and its only furnishings were a single bed and a washstand. There were no curtains at the dormer window and the floorboards were bare of any covering. It was more like a prison cell than a bedroom and it was bitterly cold. The window fitted badly and the glass panes were iced up on the inside. Daisy sat on the bed and took off her puttees and boots. The leather was sodden despite the energetic application of wax polish, and her thick woollen socks were soaked. She slipped off her skirt and tunic and went to bed in her underwear. The thin coverlet afforded little protection
against the cold and with chattering teeth Daisy piled her outer garments on top of the bed, including her fur coat. She slid back beneath the covers and immediately fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Next morning the snow was still falling. Daisy dressed hastily and made her way down the narrow stone stairs to the basement kitchen where Sister Benedict had taken her the previous evening and had given her a cup of bitter ersatz coffee. All heads turned as Daisy entered the room and the nuns stared openly at her khaki uniform. There was a subdued murmur of conversation and then, just as she was beginning to feel that she was trespassing, Sister Benedict came hurrying forward and motioned her to take a seat at one of the long refectory tables. She filled Daisy's cup with coffee and passed her a slice of dark rye bread. No one spoke to her and she ate quickly, sipping her drink and burning her tongue on the hot liquid, but even before her cup was empty Sister Benedict reappeared at her side. ‘Come,' she said with a gentle smile. ‘Please.'

Daisy drank the last of the coffee and rose to her feet. Sister Benedict appeared to glide over the rough flagstones and Daisy had little option but to follow in her wake. They navigated a series of draughty corridors, finally arriving at a flight of stone steps which took them back to the main entrance hall. The chateau must, Daisy thought, have been very grand at one time but it was now an echoing shell, bare of furnishings and carpets that might have brought an elegance and softness to the harsh stone walls and bare floorboards.
Sister Benedict stopped outside a door close to the chapel, knocked and waited before opening it to usher Daisy inside.

Seated in a throne-like chair behind an ornately carved table, Mother Superior sat with a pen poised in her hand. She replaced it on a glass inkstand. ‘Good morning, Miss Lennox. I trust you slept well.'

‘Thank you, yes.' Daisy glanced at the mullioned window but her view of the outside was obscured by a lacy pattern created by ice and snow. ‘You have been most hospitable, but we must leave as soon as possible.'

Mother Superior's lips twitched. ‘That will depend upon the will of God. As you can see the snow is still falling and the roads will be all but impassable.'

Daisy was at a loss. They would think the worst back at camp. ‘Is there any way I can get a message to my unit, Mother?'

‘I've already notified them, Miss Lennox.'

‘You have?'

The faded blue eyes twinkled. ‘Not perhaps in the way you're thinking, my child.' She indicated a candlestick telephone on the desk behind her. ‘The lines have been recently restored and I was able to put a call through to the hospital in Calais last night.'

Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow she had not imagined that the holy women would have anything as modern as a telephone. ‘Thank you. I was so worried.'

‘Naturally, but put your mind at rest. They will contact your unit and as soon as the roads are passable no doubt someone will bring the fuel you need to fill
your petrol tank, and you will be able to leave. Until then, perhaps you would like to help us here? We are very short-staffed and our wards are makeshift and overflowing with poor souls who have received terrible injuries both physical and mental.'

‘I'll be glad to do anything I can to help, Mother.' Daisy glanced nervously at Sister Benedict who was standing a few feet away from her. She did not want to say anything that might be misconstrued. She turned back to Mother Superior. ‘The English soldier, what will happen to him?'

‘You are well acquainted with that young man, I believe?'

‘I knew him before the war, Mother. But that is not what I meant.'

Mother Superior nodded her head. ‘I understand. We may live reclusive lives but I am well aware what happens to deserters and the men who mutilate themselves in order to get out of military service. It seems that Private Bowman, or should I say Soldat Smets, might come into that category.'

Daisy nodded. ‘Yes, Mother.'

‘He will be treated just the same here as any other wounded soldier. This is neither a military establishment nor a prison. It is not up to me to judge another human being.'

‘Thank you.' Daisy met the Mother Superior's intense gaze and she felt in some mysterious way that the older woman had understood the emotions which had tormented her for such a long time, and that by a minor miracle she had been absolved of all guilt. For
someone who had never been particularly religious or spiritual, this was a strange and slightly eerie feeling. Perhaps it was the unusual situation in which she found herself, or maybe it was the isolation of the old chateau and the pious nature of the women who had devoted their lives to God and good works, which had deeply affected her. She realised that the ageing nun was watching her closely and she made a conscious effort to steer the conversation to safer ground. ‘The young soldier who died, Mother? What will happen to his remains?'

‘We will make the necessary arrangements and I will leave it to you to return his papers and personal effects to the British army.'

‘And the other man, Mother? The wounded soldier?'

‘Alas, my child. He did not survive the night. The same applies.'

Daisy lowered her gaze. It would not do to cry in front of this stoical holy woman, and she did not even know the names of the dead men, but she had never become hardened to the terrible loss of life inflicted by the war. She said nothing and was relieved when Mother Superior continued in her cool, calm way. ‘Sister Benedict will give you instructions. Now you must excuse me, Miss Lennox. I have several letters to write to parents of young men in our care who did not survive their injuries.'

It was as if Daisy had been up before the headmistress at school, and had been summarily dismissed. There was nothing left to do other than put herself in the hands of Sister Benedict, and offer up a prayer for a
break in the weather so that someone would arrive with a can of petrol and she could return to her unit.

The blizzard continued for three days without any signs of abating and then the freeze set in. Daisy was gradually absorbed into the routine of the convalescent home. She discovered that there were French, Belgian and even a few British soldiers who were being cared for by the nuns. None of the surviving men had life-threatening conditions, although some of their injuries had been horrific and there were several amputees amongst their number. The British soldiers were pathetically eager for news from home, and were keen to show her the photographs of loved ones that they had carried with them throughout their horrific time in the trenches.

When it came to looking after the French and Belgians, Daisy was allowed to use Bowman as an interpreter. Bathed and clean-shaven he seemed like a different person from the ragged, foul-smelling individual who had been foisted upon her as walking wounded. The nuns had procured a clean uniform for him, even if it was more suitable for Soldat Smets than Private Bowman, and he was once again the irrepressible character that Daisy had fallen for in the old days, although now she was immune to his wiles and watched with some amusement as he tried to charm the nuns, young and old.

It was three weeks before the thaw set in and each day Daisy walked to the gates at the end of the drive in the hope of discovering that the roads might be
passable with care, but she was told to await orders from her unit and she was growing impatient. Then, one evening after supper, Mother Superior called Daisy into her office to tell her that arrangements had been made for a despatch rider to deliver a can of petrol first thing in the morning. Relieved but suddenly anxious about what would happen to Bowman, Daisy went in search of him. She found him outside in the yard, leaning against the kitchen wall and smoking a cigarette. He stood to attention as she opened the door, but he relaxed visibly when he saw her. ‘I thought it was one of the sisters,' he said, taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling into the frosty air.

‘I'm leaving in the morning,' Daisy said abruptly. ‘What will you do?'

He tossed the cigarette butt onto the snow-covered yard. ‘I can't go back. They'll clap me in irons if I give myself up.'

‘So do you intend to stay here?'

He grinned. ‘I don't think the Mother Superior would have me. I might come with you as far as the outskirts of town and work it out from there.'

‘They'll catch you sooner or later.'

‘I've got away with being Soldat Smets for all this time. I think I can be him for a while longer. Stretcher bearers are needed everywhere and they don't ask too many questions.'

‘And when the war ends?'

‘I take each day as it comes, love.'

‘But I told you about Ruby's baby. You have a son and he's a fine boy. Don't you want to see him?'

Bowman turned his head away. ‘No. I'm not cut out to be a dad or a husband, come to that. My old man used to set about me with a strap when he staggered back from the pub. I hated his guts and I wouldn't know how to treat a kid of my own.' He shot her a mischievous glance. ‘Unless it was a girl. I'm good with women.'

‘But you don't really care about them, do you?' The words crystallised in the ice-cold air and hung between them, reverberating like the strings of a harp.

He met her gaze with a rueful grin. ‘No. I suppose not.' He thumped his chest. ‘I haven't got a heart, Daisy. It was ripped out when Mum walked away and left me with the old devil. I was four years old and she went off with her fancy man. I never saw her again.'

Touched by his bleak expression and then realising that he was simply tugging at her heartstrings, Daisy shook her head. ‘Oh, no. You won't get me that way. In another moment you'd have had me sobbing on your shoulder if I didn't know you so well.'

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘It was worth a try. But you will give me a lift into town tomorrow, won't you? I know I can trust you, Daisy.'

‘You're a rogue, Bowman.'

‘But you love me really.'

She angled her head, giving him a steady look. ‘I did, once, but not now. Goodnight, Barnaby.'

‘That's the first time you've ever called me by my Christian name.'

It was her turn to laugh. ‘And the last. I'll see you in the morning.'

The lanes were still hazardous but driving with care Daisy was able to get to the main road and found the going there much easier. But with the slight rise in temperature fog had crept in, devouring the trees and fields like a hungry predator. She slowed the engine so that they were barely moving and Bowman stuck his head out of the window in an attempt to navigate and keep them from going off the road. It was exhausting and Daisy was in two minds as to whether or not to turn round and go back to the chateau. She could hear the distant thunder of howitzers and lighter artillery fire, and then suddenly the sounds changed to the steady tramp of marching feet and the clattering of horses' hooves on metalled roads.

As they rounded a bend in the road they were met by a column of marching men led by officers on horseback. Daisy slammed down hard on the brake. She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘They're ours.'

‘Bugger.' Bowman drew his head into the vehicle. ‘I'm Soldat Smets, remember.'

Daisy leaned out of the window, catching the eye of the young officer at the head of the column. ‘Where are you headed for?'

He regarded her with battle-weary eyes. ‘To the coast, ma'am.'

‘The coast,' Daisy repeated, gazing at the gaunt grey faces of the men on foot, marching like automatons, their uniforms and boots caked with mud. They looked exhausted and in need of food and a hot drink, and she wished that she had the mobile kitchen instead of an empty ambulance. She watched helplessly as they
moved past her, dragging their feet. She looked round for Bowman but he was nowhere to be seen, and she could only guess that he was hiding somewhere within the vehicle. She knew that it was her duty to give him up, but although he was a deserter and a coward she could not bring herself to betray him. She was about to climb back into the ambulance when out of the thick morass of fog she saw a familiar figure riding towards her. Regardless of her own safety she pushed between the marching men.