The Caxley Chronicles (14 page)

Now and again in the noonday heat, which bathed the quiet downs in a shimmering haze, a shuddering rumble could be heard—the guns of distant battle. News of the retreat from Mons came through. It sounded ugly—
a retreat.
Surely, the Caxley folk told each other, the great British army should not be in
retreat?

It was easy to explain away the unpleasantness. The army was simply moving to a better strategic position. They were luring the Kaiser's men to a sure defeat. There was nothing really to worry about. It would all be over by Christmas, they repeated.

But it was news of the retreat which resulted in action at last for the Caxley volunteers, for they were called up and sent to a training camp in Dorset at the beginning of September.

Winnie North was among those who crowded Caxley station to wave good-bye to Bertie and the Howard boys. She kissed them all in turn, but clung longer to Leslie. As the train drew away her gaze lingered upon his dwindling hand until it vanished around the great bend of the railway line. She returned, pale but calm, to Rose Lodge and her mother's tear-blotched face.

Three days later she broke some news to her father and mother.

'I'm being transferred to a naval hospital,' said Winnie abruptly. She had just come in from work, and still wore her nurse's uniform.

Her mother looked up, wide-eyed with shock. The khaki sock which she was knitting for Bertie fell neglected into her lap. Bender emerged from behind his newspaper and shot her a glance over the top of her spectacles.

'Oh, Winnie dear,' quavered Hilda, her Hp trembling.

'Now, mother,' began Winnie firmly, as if speaking to a refractory patient, 'I volunteered for this as soon as war broke out, and I'm very lucky to be chosen. You must see that I can't stay behind when the boys have already gone.'

'Where is this place?' asked Bender.

Winnie told him. Bender's mouth took a truculent line.

'But that's near Bertie,' cried her mother, looking more cheerful.

'And Leslie Howard,' grunted Bender. 'It don't pull the wool over my eyes, me girl.'

'Dad,' said Winnie levelly, 'we've had all that out until I'm sick of it. Once and for all, I am engaged to Leslie, whatever you say. That disgusting rumour you persist in believing hasn't a word of truth in it—'

'Winnie,' broke in Hilda, 'you are not to speak to your father like that. He acted for the best.'

'When I need your support,' bellowed Bender to his wife, 'I'll ask for it! She's nothing but a love-sick ass, and refuses to face facts. I never thought a daughter of mine would be such a fool—but there it is!'

There was an angry silence for a moment, broken at last by Winnie.

'I'll believe Leslie, if you don't mind,' she said in a low voice. 'And it may interest you to know that I didn't choose to go to this hospital—glad though I am, of course. I'm simply being drafted there, and probably not for long.'

'When do you have to go?' asked Hilda.

'Next Saturday,' said Winnie, 'so let's bury the hatchet for these few days and have a little peace.'

She rose from the chair, went across to her mother and kissed her forehead. Five minutes later they heard the bath running and Winnie's voice uplifted in song.

Bender sighed heavily.

'I'll never understand that girl,' he muttered. 'Blinding herself to that waster's faults! Leaving a comfortable home! Defying her parents!'

'She's in love,' replied his wife simply, picking up her knitting.

Rose Lodge seemed sadly quiet when Winnie had departed to her new duties. Mary, the youngest, attended a sedate little private school near her home, and seemed to spend her time in fraying old pieces of sheet for army dressings.

'Pity you don't learn your multiplication tables at the same time,' commented Bender. 'Strikes me that you'll know less than the marsh lot at the National School, when it comes to leaving. And a pretty penny it's costing us too!'

'Why can't I leave then?' urged Mary. 'I could help at the
hospital, couldn't I? Sweeping, and that? Kathy Howard's started there as a nurse. Did you know?'

Bender looked at Hilda. Hilda turned a little pink. Since the row with Sep he had not spoken a word to any of the Howards if he could help it, but Hilda kept in touch.

'Well, I did just happen to run across Edna at the butcher's yesterday,' admitted his wife, 'and she mentioned it. I should think she'd make a good little nurse; cheerful and quick to learn. And it does mean she can live at home,' added Hilda, rather sadly, her thoughts with her distant Winnie.

Bender made no comment, but his frown deepened, and Hilda's heart sank. If only things could be as they used to be before that horrid little Mr Parker from Trowbridge took charge of their shop! If only Bender could shake off the cares which seemed to bow him down! In the old days, nothing had worried him, it seemed. She remembered their early troubles, their set-backs, the loss of their first baby, the financial struggles of their early years in business, Bob's duplicity, and a hundred other problems. Somehow Bender had always faced things cheerfully, his great laugh had blown away her cares throughout their married life, until this last disastrous year. If only he could recover his old spirits!

She made a timid suggestion, hoping to distract his mind from the Howards' affairs and turn it to happier things.

'Shall we go and have a look at the dahlias, dear?'

'No thanks,' said Bender shortly. 'Nothing seems to do as well here as in the old garden. It's disheartening.'

He slumped back into his armchair and closed his eyes. It was, thought Hilda, as if he wanted to shut out the sight of the pretty new drawing room at Rose Lodge. Was he, in spirit,
perhaps, back in the old room above the shop where they had spent so many evenings together? How helpless she felt, in the face of this silent unhappiness! Would there never be an end to it?

Letters came regularly from Winnie and Bertie during the following months. They met occasionally. Both looked extraordinarily well, they assured their parents separately. Bertie had put on almost a stone in weight, and there were rumours that his unit would be off to France before Christmas. If so, there would be leave, of course. Bertie said he would let them know just as soon as he knew himself. Hilda was buoyed up with hope, and hurried about making a hundred preparations, refusing to think further than the homecoming.

Winnie mentioned Leslie in her letters, but did not speak of her feelings. Hilda guessed that she did not want to upset her father by introducing the contentious subject.

At the beginning of December two letters arrived at Rose Lodge. Bertie's said that his week's leave began on the following day, and would his mother cook a really square meal? Winnie's said that she too had leave, and would be arriving three days after Bertie. She too could dp with a square meal. Singing, Hilda made her way to the kitchen to make joyful preparations. Bender, smiling at last, stumped down the hill to the shop, which he had come to loathe, to embark on the day's work with rather more eagerness than usual.

Across the market square, Sep Howard stood in the kitchen reading a letter from Leslie. He too was smiling. Edna waited anxiously for him to finish, so that she could read it for herself.

He handed it over with a happy sigh.

'Read that, my love,' he said gently.

Edna's eyes widened as she read, and her pretty mouth fell open.

'Married?' she whispered.

'Married!' repeated Sep huskily. To Edna's surprise, she saw that there were tears in his eyes. She had never realized that Leslie had meant so much to him.

But it was not Leslie, nor his bride, that occupied Sep's thoughts. This, Sep told himself thankfully, must heal the breach between Bender and himself. At last his earnest prayers had been answered.

B
ERTIE'S HOMECOMING
was such a joyful occasion, he looked so fit and happy, that neither of his parents noticed a certain constraint in his manner. His appetite was enormous, his eagerness to visit his Caxley friends so keen, that Hilda was kept busy providing meals and entertainment.

Winnie was expected the following Wednesday.

'Did she tell you what time she would arrive?' asked Hilda at breakfast. 'I must go shopping this morning, but I don't want to be out when she comes.'

'I don't think she'll be here much before this evening,' said Bertie slowly.

'How late!' exclaimed Hilda. 'Won't she catch the same train as you?'

'I doubt it,' replied Bertie briefly, and escaped from the room.

All that day, Hilda went about her affairs, humming cheerfully. Bertie watched her carry a vase of late chrysanthemums up the stairs to Winnie's room. When darkness fell, she refused to draw the curtains in the drawing room, hoping to catch the first glimpse of Winnie coming up the path.

It was very quiet that evening. Bender dozed in his armchair, Hilda was stitching braid on a skirt, and Bertie flipped idly through the pages of the
Caxley Chronicle.
It was nearly eight o'clock when they heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel
outside, and before Hilda could fold up her sewing and hurry out, the door opened and, Winnie, smiling and radiant, blinking in the unaccustomed light, stood on the threshold. Behind her was a tall figure.

'Leslie!' exclaimed Hilda involuntarily. The joy in her face faded to a look of apprehension. The couple came into the room and Bender awoke.

'What the devil—' he rumbled truculently, eyeing the young man. Winnie went forward swiftly, kissed him, and pushed him back again into the armchair.

'Don't say anything, Dad dear, just listen,' she pleaded. She turned to face them.

'Leslie and I are married. It's no good scolding us, either of you. So, please,
please,
forgive us and say you hope we'll be happy.'

Hilda moved forward, her face working. She took Winnie in her arms and gave her a gentle kiss, but there were tears in her eyes.

'You should have told us,' she protested. 'You should have written. This hurts us all so terribly.'

Bender had struggled to his feet. His face was red, his head thrust forward like an angry bull.

'This is a fine way to treat your mother and me,' he growled thickly. 'You'll get no forgiveness from me—either of you—whatever your mother does.'

He glared round the room and caught sight of Bertie's pale face. Something in it made him start forward.

'You knew about this,' he said accusingly. Bertie nodded.

'I stood witness, Dad,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

There was a dreadful silence, broken only by Bender's
laboured heavy breathing. At last he gave a great gasp, shouldered his way blindly across the room, and burst through the French windows into the garden, leaving them to clang behind him.

'Bender!' cried Hilda, beginning to follow, but Bertie caught her arm.

'He's better alone, mamma,' he said quietly. 'Sit down, and I'll bring you a drink.'

He turned to the young couple.

'No doubt you'll need one too.' He moved a chair forward for Winnie and motioned the silent Leslie to another. There was an authority about him which cooled the situation.

'It would have been nice to drink a toast to your future happiness,' said Bertie, when the glasses were filled, 'but this does not seem quite the time to do it.'

Hilda, trembling, took a sip and then put down her glass carefully on the work-box beside her.

'This has been such a shock—such an awful shock! You know how your father has felt, Winnie. And as for you, Leslie, I don't think we shall ever be able to forgive you. So underhand, so sly—!' She began to fumble for a handkerchief.

'Mamma, it was no use telling you anything. Neither you nor Dad would listen. We knew that. We were determined to get married. Now we have. In a registry office. You'll simply have to get used to the idea.'

Leslie spoke at last.

'I wanted to write, but Winnie felt it was far better to come and tell you ourselves when it was all over. I promise you I'll take care of her. You must know that.'

'I don't know that,' responded Hilda with a flash of spirit,
'which is why we opposed the match. But now it's done, then all I can say is that I sincerely
hope
you will take care of her.'

Practical matters now came to the front of her distracted mind. Winnie's room lay ready for her, but what should be done with Leslie? If only Bender would return from the garden! If only he would give her some support in this dreadful moment!

As though divining her thoughts Winnie spoke.

'We're not going to stay, Mamma, as things are. Father's too upset, and it will take him a little while to get used to the idea. Aunt Edna has offered us a room and we'll call here again tomorrow morning. We'll try to have a word now with Dad before we go.'

She kissed her mother again and squeezed her gently.

'Cheer up, my love. We're so happy, don't spoil it for us. And try to persuade Father that it isn't the end of the world.'

'I'm afraid it
is
the end of the world for him,' replied Hilda sadly.

The young couple made their way into the dark garden followed by Bertie.

'Dad!' called Winnie.

'Dad!' called Bertie.

But there was no reply. Bender was a mile away, walking the shadowy streets of Caxley, his mind in torment as he looked for comfort which could not be found.

Hilda, alone in the room, wept anew. 'Aunt Edna!' It was hard to bear. That Edna Howard should be the one to whom
her Winnie turned in trouble was a humiliation she had never imagined.

She thought of all her own loving preparations during the day. Winnie's bed was turned down, the sheet snowy and smooth above the pink quilt. A hot water bottle lay snugly in the depths. The late chrysanthemums scented the room with their autumnal fragrance.

Winnie married! And in a registry office too! Some dim sordid little room with no beauty about it, she supposed. All her plans for Winnie's wedding had shattered before her eyes. Where now were her dreams of a blue and white wedding, white roses, lilies and delphiniums decorating the church, and Winnie herself a vision in bridal white?