Connie’s Courage (34 page)

‘For your own good.'

Connie gave a small sigh. ‘I understand that, of course Iris. I know it is better for everyone's sake including my own.' There was no point in her arguing the matter any further.

‘I am trying to help you, Connie, although it may not seem so to you now,' Iris told her firmly, as though she had guessed what she was thinking.

‘If you really want to help me, then will you please tell Ellie that I do not need to spend any more time in bed,' Connie asked her ruefully. ‘I

am used to working, Iris, not being mollycoddled, and besides …

She stopped, reluctant to admit to Iris that without the busyness of her work to keep her occupied, the time seemed to drag, her days filled with too many hours in which to brood on her own misery. Too many hours in which to dwell helplessly and hopelessly, on impossible might-have-beens, and her even more impossible love for Harry.

‘Of course, but you must not overtax yourself. Oh, and I nearly forgot, I have brought some letters and notes that have been left at the Infirmary for you.

Connie took them eagerly, immediately looking for Mavis's familiar handwriting.

There were two letters from her friend; one which Mavis had obviously written in great anxiety having heard of Connie's accident, and then another written later which was far more formal and stilted. It offered her condolences on Connie's loss of her husband. Connie knew immediately on reading it, that Mavis was as shocked and hurt as she would have been herself, to receive such news of a close friend at second hand. And, of course, Connie could not write back and explain.

A tear squeezed its way into Connie's eye and rolled down her face to land on the letter. More than ever right now she longed for Mavis's friendship and understanding, but her condition meant that she had forfeited her right to them.

‘I understand that you have left Liverpool and
returned to your family in Preston, to await the birth of your child. Oh, Connie, how can it be that so much has happened to you, and I have not known? You were my dearest friend.'

Were … Connie closed her hand over the letter and gulped back a sob. There was no point in her writing back, other than to acknowledge Mavis's good wishes for her future. No point at all. If she were ever to see Mavis again, she would be afraid that she might blurt out the truth to her and she could not do that!

‘There will be plenty of room in the nursery for the new little one, Connie,' Ellie gave a small sigh. ‘I own that I had hoped that Gideon and I would have more children of our own, but it seems it is not to be. I can't wait for term to end and Philip to be home. He takes more after Mother than Father, Connie. We were so worried that Aunt Jepson would not allow him to come to live with us permanently, but Gideon was so wonderful, he finally managed to gain her consent.'

Connie frowned as she struggled with a sharp spear of jealousy. It hurt hearing Ellie talk of Philip, their youngest brother, who she herself had not seen since he had been a baby.

Our aunts had no right to separate us all the way they did,' she told Ellie fiercely.

It was mother's wish,' Ellie reminded her. But I have so much wished that I might have been older
and braver so that we might have stayed together. She gave a small sigh, which Connie deliberately ignored. ‘You will be astonished when you see John. He is a man now, and our father all over again, only larger.

‘And what of Father? You have said very little of him, Connie pointed out.

‘He is not in the best of health, Connie, but I hesitate to interfere or say too much. He has married Maggie after all, and she and I do not see eye to eye. John sees more of him than I do. Our Aunt Gibson has been asking after you by the way.

‘And what exactly has she been asking, or can I guess?

Ellie's face flushed slightly, and she looked up at Connie. They were in her pretty parlour where she had suggested that she and Connie might spend the blustery, wet, late April day stitching clothes for the coming baby.

Helpless and dependent though she sometimes felt living under Ellie's anxious care, Connie knew in reality how fortunate she was that Ellie had been so willing to take her in. Knowing that though, and being able to feel grateful for it, were two very different things!

‘There are matters appertaining to your coming child that need to be discussed, Connie, Ellie told her quietly, adding reassuringly, ‘it is nothing very much, Connie, only what I know Iris has already discussed with you. She broke off and looked at
Connie before continuing gently, I don't want to distress you and I understand how painful … That is … but dearest, I am concerned that people will gossip … and … well, I thought that it would be best if everything were to be made clear at the outset … so that when you and the baby do go out amongst our family and friends, their questions …'

Connie kept her head bent over her stitching, whilst guilt and humiliation flooded through her.

‘Oh, Connie, I am distressing you and that is the last thing …' She heard Ellie sigh. What I am trying to say, is that for your own sake, Connie, it would be better if a little more is known about your past life and your husband.'

Connie shuddered wretchedly, her needle slipping and pricking into her finger leaving a small drop of blood on the tiny white garment.

Immediately Ellie put down her own sewing and went to her, sitting at her side and putting her arms around her.

Oh, my poor sister, you must have loved him so! If you were married to him, my love …' Ellie paused hesitantly.

‘And if I were not?' Connie asked her angrily.

She could hear Ellie making a small sound of protest.

What was happening to her? Connie wondered miserably. She was behaving, reacting, more like the Connie of old than the sensible woman she now prided herself on being.

‘Connie, this is painful for both of us I know, but it has to be said. If you were not, then for your own sake you must at all times, in public at least, behave as though you were!

‘What you are saying, Ellie, is that I should claim the sanctity of widowhood, and a husband killed fighting for his country, whether or not I have a right to it. Connie's mouth twisted painfully, as she thought to herself how she wished that that might be so: that the Captain might be killed, for that way she would know that she would never have to bear the humiliation of seeing him again.

‘Connie, please let us not quarrel over this, Ellie pleaded anxiously. ‘I know that Iris has already spoken of this matter with you, and with the Infirmary as well.'

Connie couldn't bear any more! The weight of her shame already weighed so heavily on her, and she didn't think she could endure having to live a lie for the rest of her life!

Ignoring Ellie's plea to her to stay, she ran to the door and pulled it open, heading for the sanctuary of her bedroom to throw herself on the bed and give way to her tears. She felt as though her shame and her grief were burned into her, and would brand her for ever.

She heard a soft knock on the bedroom door and just had time to dry her eyes and sit up before Ellie came in, her own eyes bright with tears. ‘Connie, please don't be upset.

‘How can I not be? You all want the eyes of the
world to see me as a respectable widow. But what if I am not, Ellie? What will you do then? Throw me out of doors … leave me to the fate you must think I deserve?'

Connie, you must not think such a thing!' Ellie protested in distress. No matter what, I shall never part with you. Never!' Emotionally Ellie reached for her hand. You are my sister, and I know you. I know your loving, impulsive heart, I know that, whilst you may sometimes act without thinking of all the consequences, you would never give any part of yourself where you did not love.'

A huge lump of unexpected emotion had lodged in Connie's throat. She hadn't known that Ellie knew her so well, nor judged her so lovingly. For a heartbeat of time she longed, ached, to unburden herself to her sister and reveal her pain, but the caution life had taught her, stopped her.

All I am trying to say to you is that if we were to offer a little information about your … about your situation in an open and natural way – if we were to say, for instance, that you have been widowed by the War, perhaps that your husband was a soldier whom you nursed and whose family live in another part of the country, then you and your child will be treated as we would want you to be treated.

You are to be a mother soon, Connie, and when you are, I promise you, you will want to do things for your child that you would not do for yourself. You will want to protect and guard it with a passion and a fierceness that will be greater
than anything you have ever known. There will be no sacrifice you will not want to make.'

‘No!' White-faced, Connie stopped her, her vehemence shocking Ellie into silence. ‘No,' she repeated fiercely. ‘I have made all the sacrifices – and more –

that any woman could make for this … this …

‘Say whatever you want to about me, Ellie, she told her sister wearily a moment later. ‘Tell the world and our Aunt Gibson, that I am a poor widow whose husband died bravely on the field of battle, if that is what makes you happy, but make sure that you tell them as well not to pry into my pain, or my past!

‘So Connie, Ellie says that your late husband was a soldier. Presumably, he did not hold any rank, but what of his family? According to what I have heard, when Iris chanced to find you you were working as a nurse!

Their Aunt Gibson could not have made either her distaste or her disbelief clearer, Connie reflected, as she sat in the stuffy parlour of her Winckley Square house, forced to endure Amelia Gibson's questions.

As Connie had quickly discovered, despite all Ellie's kindnesses to her, and her attempts to spoil her with small treats and draw her into her own busy social life, Connie desperately missed the hospital and her work.

It seemed impossible to her now that she had ever
desperately craved and wanted the kind of life her elder sister and their cousins lived. Morning calls, afternoon calls, the ordering of what few servants the War had left them, and all the other activities that went to make that life, chafed now at Connie as though they were a hair shirt.

She had already extracted a promise from Iris that, on her next visit, she would take Connie with her to the Preston hospital where she did some of her work.

‘But why would you want to do such a thing?' Ellie had asked perplexed and slightly horrified.

Professional curiosity,' Connie had replied immediately.

Ellie had promptly taken hold of her hand as though she thought Connie in need of comfort and reassurance, telling her, But dearest, you have no need to concern yourself with any of that any more. Your home is here with us now.'

Ellie, you don't understand,' Connie had had to protest. ‘I miss my work … and the Infirmary.'

A small frown had crinkled Ellie's smooth forehead, and she had looked upset and slightly disapproving. Connie, you are soon to be a mother!'

‘Does that mean I can't be anything else? Thousands of mothers are working, Ellie.'

Because they have to. You will not have to, and besides … Well, it wouldn't be fitting for you to return to nursing, Connie.'

‘Why on earth not?'

Ellie had given her a reproachful look, Gideon is a wealthy man, and I … both of us, want you to have every comfort you need.'

Bored with listening to their aunt's hectoring pronouncements, Connie looked across to where Ellie was in conversation with their cousin Cecily on the other side of the room.

Like her, Ellie was shrouded in head-to-toe black, as befitted the sister of a newly-widowed woman, Ellie having made it public, bearing in mind Connie's pregnancy, that her husband was only recently deceased.

Connie had protested at the number of new clothes Ellie had insisted on ordering for her, but Ellie had responded firmly, ‘You will need them, dearest, for although as a widow and in your condition, it will not be possible for you to attend large public functions, you may be sure our Aunt Gibson will expect you to call. And then there is my sewing circle when we meet to do our bit for the War effort; and of course we must make sure that you take plenty of walks in the park – fresh air is an excellent thing for the constitution, and according to Iris an admirable pursuit for women awaiting childbirth.'

Connie could see a copy of the
Liverpool Echo
lying on the chair which had been vacated by Cecily's husband, Paul. He had sprung up in some relief as they were announced, saying teasingly that he wouldn't stay to inhibit their gossip.

Determined not to answer her aunt's probing questions, Connie looked idly at the headline, which ran ‘Murder Most Foul.

Absently she read on:

Somehow Connie managed to drag her gaze away from the newspaper. The room started to whirl around her and nausea clawed at her stomach.

‘Connie … Aunt … Connie … Aunt, I think Connie is about to faint!

The acrid smell of burning feathers beneath her nose brought Connie back to her senses.

Ellie was seated beside her, watching her anxiously and holding one of her hands in her own, whilst their aunt looked on grimly.