Philippa Carr - Pool of St. Branok

She paused. I watched her face. I was wondering why she had to tell me all this before she told the rest of the family.

“What was Scutari like?” I prompted.

“Unbelievable. It was dusk when we arrived, and looked so romantic … the hospital was like a Moorish palace. That was at dusk. In the light of day we saw it for what it was. The wards were very, very dirty. We had to clean up the place before we did anything else. Miss Nightingale insisted on that. The state of the patients … the lack of materials …”

I fancied she was holding something back which embarrassed her, and for that reason she found it difficult to talk of the matter which was uppermost in her mind.

“The hospital was very big; it had once been very grand. The mosaic tiles must have been beautiful at one time but they were cracked and many of them broken. The place was damp. Everything was dirty. Dirt … dirt everywhere … and there were so many sick men … row after row of beds. I felt desperately inadequate.”

“That was why you went … because they needed you so badly. Mr. Russell told us all about it. They must have been pleased to see you.”

“The authorities were skeptical of us at first. They just thought of us as a pack of useless women … but Miss Nightingale soon made them change their minds.”

“Grace, what is it you want to tell me?”

She was silent for a while, staring ahead of her at the bronze-colored flowers, her mouth tight, her eyes almost appealing.

She said: “Jonnie … was brought in. It was an amazing coincidence.”

“You mean … wounded? Was it such a coincidence? You were there and he was there and the wounded would be brought in for you to nurse.”

“He wasn’t in my section. I happened to walk through the ward and see him. He looked so ill. I just went and knelt by his bed. I shall never forget his face when he saw me. I believed he thought he was dreaming. He was wounded in the leg. It was rather bad and they were afraid of gangrene.”

“It must have been wonderful for you to have found each other.”

“Oh it was … it was … I asked if I could be moved to that part of the hospital where he was. One of the women changed places with me. It had happened before when someone was brought in who knew one of the nurses. So I looked after him. I had always … been fond of Jonnie.”

“And he was fond of you,” I told her.

“Yes, we had a great deal in common. I was with him every day. He used to look for me. I was so moved to see his face light up when I came. I nursed him. They had to take a bullet out of his leg and I was there when they did it. They had very little to kill the pain. That sort of thing is heartrending. He held my hand while they did it. Then … afterwards … I nursed him and he began to recover. If his recovery had been longer he might not have died.” She bit her lips and seemed unable to continue.

Then she turned to me and pressed my hand. “I had him walking again soon. They needed men. He had a few days’ leave and then was to join the men outside Sebastopol. When you are in that position … when you feel you are facing death and the chances are that you can’t be lucky twice … a kind of desperation gets hold of you. It might have been like that with Jonnie. Perhaps I ought to have realized it, but I was fond of him, Angelet, very fond. I loved him, Angelet. We had this little time together. I got leave and we went out together. There was little on our side of the Bosphorus and they took us back and forth to Constantinople on the other side in little boats they called caliques … and we dined in the city. We were reckless … like two people who know they have not long to be together. Constantinople is different from any place I have ever seen. There are two cities really—Christian Constantinople and Stamboul. Bridges connect them and if ever the nurses went out—which they did occasionally in parties—they were warned not to cross the bridges into Stamboul. I was not afraid of anything with Jonnie. It was a wonderful evening. We sat in an alcove in this restaurant which he knew of and we ate exotic foods—caviar and peppers stuffed with meat. It was all very strange and foreign. But I did not notice the food. We talked and talked … not of the war, not of the hospital but of the future and what we should do when we were home again. He wanted to go to Italy. He was fascinated by the site at Pompeii and he talked as though I should be with him. Then suddenly he took my hand and said, ‘Will you marry me?’ ”

I drew breath sharply. Somewhere in my dreams I had thought of marrying Jonnie. Then I had thought of marrying Ben, it was true. But I went back to Jonnie after Ben had gone to Australia.

“I said I would,” she went on. “It’s easy there, Angelet. There is no formality. You have to pay them well and you can get a priest to marry you. It is probably some unfrocked priest from England … I don’t know. But he married us … and that was what we both wanted. We spent three days together … and then I went back to the hospital and he went to Sebastopol. That is my story, Angelet. You know the rest. He never came back.”

“So you … you are Jonnie’s wife?”

She nodded. “What do you think they will say, Angelet?” she asked anxiously. “They might not … accept me.”

“What do you mean? You are Jonnie’s wife. Therefore they must.”

“I am afraid they will say it is no true marriage.”

“How can they? Don’t they have certificates? Do you?”

“I have one, but, as I say, it was different from the way it is done here. We knew of this priest. He had married one or two other people. It might be that they won’t accept it. They could raise all sorts of objections … if they wanted to.”

“They wouldn’t do that. Why should they?”

“Angelet, you must see. Jonnie belongs to a different family from mine. I worked for your mother.”

“What has that to do with it?”

“They might say … everything.”

“I don’t see how they can if you are married with a certificate to prove it.”

“If they wanted to disprove it …”

“They are good kind people. Jonnie loved you and married you. We all knew that he liked you very much. That was obvious. So they wouldn’t be very surprised. You were both out there. It seems natural to me.”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass them. I wouldn’t want to be there … if they didn’t want me.”

“But you are Jonnie’s wife!”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I am going to tell them right away … and you are coming with me.”

She drew back. “No … no. Let me wait here. You go and tell them. But if they think it is no true marriage I will say goodbye to you … to you all …”

“My mother would never allow that. She is always saying how she misses you.”

“She made me so happy … you all have.”

“I shall go right away. Promise me you won’t leave this garden, Grace.”

“I promise. If you don’t come back in say half an hour, I shall know they do not believe me … they do not accept me, I shall understand.”

“You are being foolish, Grace, and I always thought you were so clever.”

I came out of the gardens and ran across the road.

Aunt Amaryllis was in the little room where she did the flowers, a vase of water before her and the flowers lying at the side of the sink.

“Aunt Amaryllis,” I cried. “Grace is in the gardens. She has married Jonnie.”

Aunt Amaryllis turned pale and then pink. She dropped the scissors and wiped her hands.

“Come,” I said. “I will take you to her.”

I was glad that they welcomed her so warmly. Jonnie’s widow would have a very special place in the household.

Aunt Amaryllis was almost happy. Helena came and listened sadly to Grace’s story.

“My dear,” she said, “you made him happy before he died.”

“Yes, we were very happy,” Grace told them.

“I’m glad,” said Helena.

I wondered what Uncle Peter thought. He seemed to like Grace but he was suspicious by nature. He asked a lot of questions and I fancied that in his mind he was making notes of details which he would later verify. But even he had been deeply affected by Jonnie’s death and was pleased to see that Grace’s coming and her announcement had lifted the spirits of Helena and Amaryllis. He may even have felt a twinge of conscience because he had been rather pleased with what Jonnie’s going to war had done for Matthew.

The rest of that visit was dominated by Grace’s return to the household.

Of course Jonnie had been rather a rich young man. He had left no will but his widow would not be penniless. She said that she would be happy to leave everything in Uncle Peter’s capable hands.

I don’t know what arrangements were made or how much money Lord John had left to Jonnie. There was no doubt that Uncle Peter had made inquiries as to the validity of the marriage and he must have been satisfied, for Grace now became an independent woman with her own income.

Helena wanted her to live with them until she made plans. She said: “I always wanted a daughter and that is what you will be to me now.”

Everyone seemed satisfied at the outcome; and there was a certain contentment about Grace. She was happy to be in Jonnie’s home.

I HAD REACHED MY seventeenth birthday. Life had slipped back into its more or less uneventful groove now that the war was over and the loss of Jonnie was a sad memory rather than a bitter pain to the family.

Without those harrowing dispatches from the Crimea the press seemed full of trivialities for a while and then came the Indian Mutiny which was even more shocking than the war. There were terrible accounts of how our people had been treated, mutilated and brutally murdered … those who had been friendly servants suddenly turning against men and women and children. The fate of the women was stressed; they had been raped and submitted to horrible indignities. My imagination went beyond that moment when I had heard Ben’s voice calling my name. I kept thinking: Suppose he had not come in time.

I believed then that never, as long as I lived, should I be able to forget that nightmare.

Nobody was quite sure why there had been a mutiny. Some said it was because the Sepoys had believed that their cartridges were greased with the fat of beef and pork which rendered them unclean in their eyes; others said they were in revolt against the East India Company. The general belief was that the Indians feared that we were imposing our civilization upon them. We were in possession of the Punjab and Oude, and they may have thought that we intended to take over the whole of India. The Sepoys had learned the art of battle from us … and now they turned it against us.

The whole country was shocked. People argued fiercely about what should be done … blaming this side and that as they always do from the safe haven far from the scene of strife.

There was great excitement when Lucknow was relieved and the garrison there saved.

Uncle Peter said that good had come out of it for now the administration of India was to pass from the East India Company to the Crown.

We had paid several visits to London. Grace was now installed in a house of her own. It was quite small, not very far from the house in the square. It was tall and narrow with four stories and two rooms on each floor. It had been bought from the money Lord John had left Jonnie; and Grace was allotted an income. It had all been amicably arranged by Uncle Peter.

We saw Grace frequently when we were in London. I sensed that she was not happy and I supposed that that was inevitable. She had lost Jonnie just as they were about to embark on a new life together.

She confided in me a little. She said that Helena was very kind to her and so were Matthew and Geoffrey, but she felt that her presence reminded them of their loss and she hesitated to visit them as often as she would have liked.

I told her that was nonsense. They would love to see her often. She was a consolation for their loss.

She replied that she felt even less inclined to go to the house in the square. Amaryllis was very kind to her but she felt that Uncle Peter entertained some suspicions still, although she knew that he had made many inquiries about the validity of her marriage. She was very relieved that he must have satisfied himself that she was truly married to Jonnie, because he had made all the necessary monetary arrangements.

“Of course I understand that,” said Grace. “I came to you and you helped me but I never forget that I was a kind of upper servant. Then I was received here … through the kindness of your mother. But I sometimes feel that Peter Lansdon does not entirely accept me. He has arranged the money of course, but I am not allowed to touch the capital. I get my income. I have this house … Sometimes I feel he is keeping everything in his hands … until he proves something.”