A Forgotten Place Read online

  And I was right. She didn’t intend to help.

  Instead of inviting me inside or offering a cup of tea, she said curtly, “I have no idea how long I intend to stay. I’m afraid you’ll have to find another way to get word out.”

  I could hear movement in one of the rooms behind her. The scrape of a chair on the floor, quiet footsteps. So she wasn’t alone out here.

  I really had no hope of pleading my case—she’d made herself clear enough. But she hadn’t yet slammed the door in my face, and so I put on Matron’s expression of disappointment in something we’d not done properly, and said, “But you do intend to drive back as far as Swansea? I’ll wait, of course, on your convenience, but I’m expected at the clinic, and there will be questions if I don’t arrive in time to take up my duties.”

  That got her attention.

  “Why are you out here in the first place?” she demanded, looking me up and down. “Did you bring wounded back here?”

  I was sure she had heard what I’d told her, but I politely repeated it. “I came with orders to look in on a former patient who has been released.”

  “Which patient?”

  “Captain Williams.”

  “Who is he? I don’t recall that being a local name.”

  “He’s Rachel Williams’s brother-in-law. He’s staying with her while he recovers.”

  I realized I had no idea what Rachel’s maiden name was.

  “Rachel Williams?” she repeated as if she’d never heard of her. And then she seemed to recollect. “Rachel. Wasn’t that the name of the child who lived at the top in that large house?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I agreed, hazarding a guess that she had the right person in mind. She had described the house, not Griffith’s cottage or any of those on the far side of the church.

  “I didn’t know she’s married. But of course the last time I saw her was years ago. Well, it doesn’t matter. I am not going anywhere anytime soon, and there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

  With that she shut the door in my face. Not slamming it, exactly, but indicating clearly enough that I was not to disturb her by knocking again.

  People had more or less been friendly in Wales as I was traveling about searching for Hugh. Helpful and pleasant enough. But out here, the cold wind seemed to have withered any sense of friendliness or kindness.

  I stood there for a moment, to see if she might change her mind, then turned and walked back down the short path. As I started the long climb back to Rachel’s house, I wondered what I was going to do now.

  And my disappearance was going to worry a good many people.

  So much for my cleverness in believing I might be able to do something for the men under Captain Williams’s command, then possibly spend the last few days of my leave in Somerset.

  I should have told someone what I was going to do. But it would have entailed explanations and concern and the suggestion that I take Simon or even my mother with me, venturing into the wilds of Wales.

  I had to smile at the thought. It was love that made parents worry, and they’d just been reassured that I was home and safe after the trials and terrors of the war.

  The smile faded.

  What would they do now, cavalry notwithstanding?

  Chapter 8

  The long walk back to the house, up that deceptively sloping hill, was unexpectedly tiring, or perhaps it was the surge of guilt I was feeling for what I was about to put my parents through. I paused to look down into the serene bay, little whitecaps just rippling the surface of the smooth water where it met the sand. Nothing at all like the wild waves during the storm that tossed that little boat so viciously.

  When I looked back again, I saw that Hugh had come out of the house and was standing there, talking to a very slim man dressed in black, a black hat in his hands.

  Hugh must have said something to him, because they both turned toward me, and the other man leaned forward a little as if to take a better look at me. Then he turned back to Hugh.

  I kept up my steady pace, and was soon close enough to greet them. Hugh smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Sister Crawford,” he said formally, and I realized that this was someone interested in me. It put me on my guard straightaway, his formal use of my title. As Hugh must have intended it to do.

  “Captain,” I acknowledged.

  “I was telling Rector that you had gone for a walk.”

  No mention of speaking to Ellen, then. I wondered why.

  There was a heavy woolen scarf wound around the rector’s throat, and so I hadn’t seen his collar. Looking at him, I saw a defeated man who did his duty out of a sense of obligation, but with no joy. I’d seen it before, in the chaplains who had been in the trenches. But I didn’t think the rector had been in the war. There was nothing of the soldier about him. Perhaps it was being left out here too long, and losing all hope and most of his dreams. What struck me about him was a sense that nothing was worth the effort any longer. It was in the gloomy way he looked at me, as if I was a problem he didn’t have the least idea how to solve.

  I recalled Rachel saying that his sermons always ran overlong. As if he was trying to show people how hard he was working, for them and their souls?

  “Yes, it’s such a lovely afternoon,” I said cheerfully. “But I hope I’m in time to help prepare dinner.”

  That would give Hugh the opportunity to dismiss me—or let the conversation, whatever it was, continue.

  “Mr. Wilson has been asking why you didn’t come to services on Sunday morning.”

  I judged the smile I should offer, pleasant but not overly friendly. It didn’t seem that sort of question.

  “I have been tired from my travels,” I said, with a hint of apology. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yet you walked a goodly distance just now.”

  How far away had he seen me? As far as Ellen’s? I wondered suddenly if he had been one of the men who had carried the dead soldier down to Ellen’s cottage. And if seeing me moving in that direction had brought him out to speak to Hugh. If he had been one of them, he wouldn’t want me to bring up the latest news of a dead man washing ashore, even if he didn’t think I knew about the disposition of the body. It could raise awkward questions, if Ellen cared to ask them.

  I had a feeling she wouldn’t care enough.

  “Yes, it has been good for me.”

  “Captain Williams says you have come to judge how well his wound is healing.”

  It must have been galling to admit that. Hugh didn’t want to talk about his injuries. He tried to ignore them as much as he could, doing more than was wise in an effort to prove he was still whole and able.

  “Such wounds heal differently in different men,” I said quietly. “And the adjustment to the changes they bring in their wake can be difficult. These men served England well, and deserve to be given every care. It is their peace too.”

  “Indeed. How long are you staying with us, Sister Crawford?”

  “I don’t know. My driver hasn’t returned to collect me. I fear there was some miscommunication there.”

  “We are happy to have you with us, Sister, and if you are still here on Sunday of this week, we hope you’ll join us at services.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

  He hesitated, as if he was about to say something more, then nodded to both of us and walked back toward the church. I thought he looked rather like a skinny crow, his hands behind his back, his head down, as he moved away.

  Hugh watched him go, but didn’t say anything until Mr. Wilson had turned in just beyond the church.

  “Busybody,” he said under his breath.

  “You don’t care for him?” I asked, curious.

  “My sister would like him,” Hugh replied, and turned toward the house. I matched my stride to his.

  There was something on his mind, and I wasn’t certain whether it was what I might have learned at Ellen’s or the rector’s visit.

  We were
nearly to the door when he stopped and swung around to face me.

  “You know as much about my case as the doctors. Am I a good choice for an artificial limb?”

  I hadn’t expected this question—and I realized that I should have.

  “I’ve never worked with the doctors who make such decisions about replacing a limb. But you’ve had no recent infection, nothing deep enough to cause problems. You’ve healed quite well, and I expect you’ve done your exercises. I should think you ought to inquire. I’ll speak to Matron, if you like, and let you know what she says.”

  Even as I said it, I remembered how difficult it was to get letters to anyone out here. How would I let him know?

  But his mind was still on the limb. “How well do they work?”

  I took a deep breath. “For some men, quite well. There’s a noticeable limp, I won’t lie to you about that. It’s not going to give you back your leg. And the wound has to be carefully monitored for injury from the weight placed on it from walking. To prevent infection. They aren’t perfect, Hugh.”

  “No.” He stood there, looking down toward The Worm.

  “But in your place, I’d want to explore the possibility,” I said, afraid that being honest had discouraged him. “You won’t know until you’ve been seen by the proper doctors.”

  “In the autumn. There isn’t as much to do here then.” He finally turned to face me. “Don’t mention this to Rachel.”

  “Of course not.” I gave him a moment, then added, “You could go back with me. Start the process, find out what’s involved in the fittings and training. Then come back until it was ready.”

  He shook his head, although I guessed he was impatient to find out about such a limb. “It’s almost lambing season. I can’t leave now.”

  “Yes, I do see that,” I said. “Well, you know how to find the clinic. When you’re ready.”

  He was silent.

  I knew suddenly what was on his mind now. Money. How he was going to afford returning to the clinic—or being fitted with a limb? And if he’d sent his officer’s pay to his sister, she was probably already receiving his pension. He was too proud to ask Rachel for it, and I wasn’t certain she had the money to spare. But I knew her well enough now to believe she would do her best. Whatever the cost.

  I decided I would have a word with Matron. The country should help these men. There must be funds available. For travel, for tests, and for the limb and the training. Or if she couldn’t help me, I’d turn to the Colonel Sahib. His men had always mattered to him. And by extension, to the British Army.

  We walked inside. Rachel was in the shed with the new lamb and its mother, and I put on the kettle while Hugh went to speak to her.

  Sitting there waiting for it to boil, I thought back over my conversation with Ellen, and couldn’t think of any way of improving on it.

  Rachel came in, went to wash her hands, and asked, “Did you see Ellen?”

  I had to tell her the truth about what had happened.

  “That doesn’t sound like her,” she said, turning to look at me.

  But she was remembering a young woman who was kind to a staring child.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

  “At a distance of course, several times during the war. But not to speak to. When she’s at the cottage, she doesn’t visit with anyone out here. Come to think of it, I can’t remember if she ever did. I mean, things like popping in for a cup of tea, or being invited to dinner. We weren’t—” She looked for the right word. “Her kind of people,” she ended. “That makes her sound terribly snobbish, doesn’t it? But somehow there was always more money in Ellen’s life. Her mother was sent to school in the city, and married well there. And of course Ellen had all the advantages. You could see it in the way she carried herself, how she dressed, her confidence, her ease speaking to people. That comes of money. I didn’t realize any of this when I was a child. But living in a town, one soon learns that there are many social levels.”

  A young married woman who worked as a typist wouldn’t have much in common with the Ellens of Swansea or Cardiff. And yet there was that lodging house down by the docks . . .

  “Well, perhaps she’ll change her mind. She’s probably tired from her journey and not ready to think about going back. When she does, she’ll come round. Wait and see.” With a smile, Rachel took her cup of tea and went into the little weaving room. A few minutes later, I could hear the loom working with a steady beat, and wondered what colors she was using now. But I didn’t feel that I could interrupt her.

  Hugh came in for his cup and stood there listening for a moment too. Then he finished his tea and went away.

  I was left to my own devices.

  Feeling more than a little claustrophobic in the house, I fetched my coat and went out to the hedge and the path down to the strand.

  I didn’t walk down. I just stood there, looking out at the sea. Letting the wind blow my cobwebs away.

  And then I heard a step behind me.

  Turning, I saw that it was a young girl of perhaps twelve.

  “Hallo,” I said, smiling. And wondered if she might be the child of the widower who had proposed to Rachel at Christmas.

  “You’re a nursing Sister.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Are you staying with Rachel and the Captain?”

  “Yes. I tended his wounds at the clinic. I came to see how he was getting on.”

  “Are you taking him back with you, for more treatments?”

  “No, he’s been released from the clinic now. This was—what you might call a last look into his care.”

  “He falls sometimes, even with the crutches. Not as much now as he did in the beginning. But it’s not very level underfoot. My father says he’d be better off in a town. Not out here.”

  Amputees had been taught at the clinic how to prevent falls, and how to recover from them when they did go down. But it wasn’t easy to watch.

  “It takes some getting used to, I expect. The roughness of the land out here.”

  “He’s a stranger. Not one of us. My father doesn’t much care for him.”

  I suddenly remembered the gossip about Rachel and the Captain.

  “Does your father know the Captain well?”

  “I don’t think so. But he doesn’t like him. I can tell.”

  “Is your house out there on the Down?”

  “The one with the small terrace you can see from here. My father put that in for my mother, to give her a sheltered place to sit during the day.”

  It was on the upper reaches of the Down. A lane snaked past two other houses to get to it and to one other cottage beyond.

  “He must love her very much.”

  “She’s dead,” the girl told me quietly. “He doesn’t like to talk about her. But I want to remember her. I can feel her slipping away. Does that sound strange to you? I don’t know any other way to say it. But it’s harder to remember her voice. I do have her picture, but it’s not as real to me as it once was. It doesn’t smile, or talk, or sing to me at night when she would put me to bed.”

  “That’s sad,” I agreed. “Perhaps if you told these things to your father, he’d understand and try to help you bring her memory back.”

  “He says we must move on. That the only way to get over our grief is to move on.”

  “Rachel had to move on after her husband was killed in the war. I expect that was difficult to deal with too. I have a feeling she loved him as much as you loved your mother.”

  She shook her head at that. “She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have been so willing to let his brother come and fill his shoes.”

  And with a nod, she took off at a run, leaving me standing there as she set out toward her home.

  I’d no doubt now. This was the daughter who needed a new mother. And her father was probably the source of the rumors about Hugh and Rachel. He must have had his heart set on marrying her. It would have been advantageous—he wouldn’t have to pa
y a housekeeper or a charwoman, and he would have gained the house on the hill as well as the property that went with it.

  He must have been among the men on the strand, watching the boat. I wondered which one he was.

  As I turned away, to walk back to Rachel’s house, I glanced up, feeling eyes on me. And Mr. Griffith was at his window again, watching me.

  I didn’t intend to tell either Hugh or Rachel what I suspected, that the child’s father had probably started the rumors about them. I couldn’t see that it would be helpful to know, because there wasn’t much to be done about it. And it could cause hard feelings because someone was already upset over Hugh’s coming into the picture at the wrong time.

  Crutches or no crutches, I could very easily see Hugh confronting the man.

  And causing more trouble . . .

  I was just crossing the road to the house when I saw three people walking toward me. Two women and a boy. Something in the way they were lengthening their strides a little suggested they were hoping to reach me before I’d disappeared into the house. I slowed, smiling, giving them a chance to greet me.

  One of the women nodded, and the other called out, “Sister.”

  I paused, and they came to a halt in front of me.

  “I hear you’re staying with Rachel,” the older of the women said. I realized that she must be the mother of the other woman and grandmother to the boy.

  She was comfortably plump, with graying hair and a pleasant face. Her hair had been auburn, but it was losing its color now, although the freckles across her face hadn’t faded one whit.

  “Well, I had intended to go back to the clinic the very next day, but my driver got his instructions muddled and left without me.” I smiled wryly. “I have been hoping that the firm will realize it’s made a mistake and come to fetch me.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” the woman said. “Those people in Swansea are always trying to get the better of us out here. That firm won’t want to waste another trip, not knowing whether you’re ready to leave or not.”

  Which was just what I didn’t want to hear. Why hadn’t they already come back posthaste, to find out what had become of me? Unless, of course, Mr. Morgan had lied to them, and told them that it was my decision, not his.