Authors: Linda Gillard
THE BEECH WOOD
Afterwards, he gathered up the forgotten seed packets and pressed them, wordlessly, into her hands. They searched in vain for her brooch and he told her he would give her another, a brooch instead of a ring, something she could wear openly, something to remember him by, if he should– But there she raised a finger to his lips and silenced him.
We watched as they parted: he agitated, already conscience-stricken; she dazed, unseeing, like one who walks in her sleep. We watched as, hearts and bodies now conjoined, they went their separate ways.
PART FIVE
WILLIAM
October 4
th
, 1934
William wept for two days. Even then it was some time before he was able to speak coherently, but the nursing staff had seen this sort of reversal before. They knew what had happened. After seventeen years the poor man’s memory had returned and one of the things he was remembering was the Battle of the Somme in which he’d been wounded. In view of William’s already frail physical condition, it was considered doubtful whether he would survive the shock, so they sent for Hester Mordaunt.
When she arrived, he lay in bed, skeletal and still, as if the consumption had already wreaked its final havoc, but the doctor said his patient was only sleeping. Hester asked if she could sit by the bed and wait. Permission was granted and she sat in her coat, trying to ignore the cold draught from the open window.
She removed her gloves and regarded the father of her child, wondering yet again just how much William had remembered. His fits of terror and weeping suggested he remembered the battlefield, but would he remember what had happened at Beechgrave? As she waited anxiously, Hester wrung her gloves in her lap, trying to decide if total recall would be even worse than total amnesia. If, when William woke, she discovered he was still suffering from partial amnesia, how much – if anything – should she tell him?
William’s dark lashes flickered and he moved his head. His thick curling hair was greying now and his gaunt, scarred face looked much older than his fifty years. As he opened his eyes, Hester leaned forward, smiling with relief. Curbing an impulse to take his hand, she said, ‘How are you feeling? I’ve been so worried about you. They let me sit with you so you’d see a familiar face when you woke.’ He looked confused and gazed around the room in which they’d isolated him out of consideration for other patients. ‘You’ve been moved,’ Hester explained. ‘They thought you needed peace and quiet.’
‘I’m not in France, am I?... I was wounded…’ His hand travelled to his neck where his trembling fingers found an old scar.
‘No, you’re in England. In a sanatorium near Bath. You’ve been here for some weeks now.’
‘Ah… I remember.’ He began to cough violently and it was some moments before he could speak again. ‘It’s very good of you to come, Hester. Thank you. You come often, don’t you?’
‘As often as I can.’
‘Why?’
‘
Why
?’
‘Yes, why? Why do you visit so often?’
‘Because you’re family, William! You and Ivy are the only family I have left now.’
He considered this for a moment and said, ‘In what way am I part of your family?’
Hester wondered if he’d set a trap for her, but she thought it unlikely. She could see the direction the conversation was heading and it would be difficult to avoid telling a lie, but she had no idea if William was ready for the truth or if he had already remembered it.
‘I think of you as family because I’m Ivy’s legal guardian.’
‘And I’m her uncle.’
‘That’s right,’ Hester agreed eagerly, grateful to be spared, if only temporarily, the ordeal of confession.
A young nurse entered bearing a tray of tea and slices of bread and butter. She put down the tray and helped William sit up in bed. Hester got to her feet and rearranged the pillows behind him with a professional competence. The nurse nodded her thanks.
‘You’ve done this before, I think.’
‘Oh, yes. I used to work at Beechgrave Convalescent Hospital. I think I still know how to make a bed,’ she added with a smile.
The nurse settled William back on his pillows and placed the tray in front of him. ‘Now drink your tea while it’s hot, Mr Hatherwick. And eat your bread and butter. I’ve cut it nice and thin for you, so do your best, won’t you?’ Without waiting for a response, she turned away and said in an undertone to Hester, ‘Try to get him to eat something.’
Hester sat down again. William stared at the cup and saucer as if he wanted to drink, but hadn’t the strength to lift it.
‘Would you like me to help you?’ she asked. ‘Can I hold the cup for you?’
‘No, please don’t trouble yourself. I’m not thirsty.’
‘You should try to eat, though. That nurse will nag you if you don’t.’
‘She certainly will.’ His smile was half-hearted, but Hester was overjoyed to see it.
‘Try to eat just a little, William.’
‘In a moment,’ he replied, shutting his eyes. They remained shut for some time and Hester thought he might have fallen asleep, but he opened them again and, looking directly at her, said, ‘Why did you never marry, Hester?’
Astonished, Hester found herself answering before she’d considered the possible import of the question. ‘I nearly married. I was engaged at one time, to a sweet young man. Walter Dowding. He was killed in 1916. He was the son of Ursula Dowding, the woman who nursed you at Sharpitor. That’s how we found you. Mrs Dowding recognised your sketches of Beechgrave and wrote to me.’
‘And you’ve never loved another?’
Hester looked away and laughed nervously. ‘Oh, I didn’t love Walter! I
thought
I did. For a while anyway. But now I don’t believe there was any love on either side. It was just a suitable match. Our parents were old friends, you see. Poor Walter’s death saved me from a loveless marriage.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Did I love anyone after Walter?’ Hester looked down at her hands resting in her lap and noticed they shook. Clasping them tightly she said, ‘Yes, I suppose I did. But he… he was also lost in the war.’
‘Missing in action?’
‘That’s what the telegram said.’
‘And you loved him?’
‘Good gracious, this is quite an interrogation!’ Hester said, still avoiding his eyes. She stood up and removed the untouched tray. ‘Why the sudden curiosity?’
‘You loved this man? The one who went missing?’
Hester took her seat again and studied William’s face, but he was gazing into space now, his expression unreadable. ‘He was the only man I’ve ever loved.’
‘If he’d lived, would you have married?’
‘We had no plans to marry. I had no idea my feelings were requited. He didn’t declare his love until the day before he left for the Front and by then it was… too late.’
‘A sad story.’
‘Yes, but common enough,’ Hester said briskly. ‘Violet’s sweetheart didn’t come home either and they
did
have plans to marry.’
William’s chest rose and fell as he appeared to gather himself. ‘You should have told me.’
‘About Walter Dowding?’
‘About who I was.’
‘I did, William. The day I found you, I told you who you were.’
‘But not
what
I was.’
She looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. I explained that you were my Head Gardener and I promised to reinstate you at Beechgrave. Don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember… And I remember you lost a brooch.’ As Hester’s hand flew up to her mouth, her intake of breath was audible. ‘It was silver. A daffodil, I believe. The catch was broken. We looked but we couldn’t find it. I found it the following day and took it away to France with me, intending to mend it for you. I don’t know where it is now. I lost it. I’m sorry, Hester. I wouldn’t have lost it for the world.’
‘You
remember
?’
‘Everything, I believe. Too much.’
‘Did something happen? They told me you were writing a letter to Ivy and were suddenly overcome. They assumed it was memories of being in battle. No one said—’
‘I haven’t told anyone. They don’t know that everything has come back.’
‘Everything?’
‘I gave you my love letters in the wood. They were written in pencil inside the seed packets you sent me for my trench garden. I believe I sent you a sketch?’
‘I still have it.’
‘I wanted to write to you, but I knew it would be very wrong, so I allowed myself the pleasure of writing letters, but I spared you the shame of receiving them. What happened to them? The seed packets?’
‘When I’d finally given up hope of your ever coming home, I put them in the Trysting Tree.’
‘
Crescent illae crescetis amores
.’
‘So it
was
you!’
‘I carved that on the bark before I left for France. I didn’t expect to return, but I knew the tree would flourish, if not our love. How did you hide the packets in the tree?’
‘I put them in a tin and dropped it into a hole, high up.’
He nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘I know the one. But how did you get up there? Did you take a ladder?’
‘I stood on the swing.’
‘Ah, I’d forgotten that… And they’re still there, my letters?’
‘Yes.’ She looked down at her hands and the ruined gloves they held. ‘We’d had no news of you, William. And there was no body to bury. It was my way of commemorating your death and… our love. The Trysting Tree seemed to me the right place. The
only
place. I could come and pretend it was your final resting place. I thought, if you could have chosen, that’s where you would have liked to be buried.’
‘You know me well, Hester. I often thought of that wood when I was in France. After I came home, I stood beneath the Trysting Tree many times, but I didn’t remember its significance. Not until the other day.’ As he reached across the eiderdown, Hester leaned forward and took his hand in both of hers. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what I meant to you?’
‘I wanted to but I didn’t know how. And then I didn’t know if I should. When you first came back to Beechgrave, I waited for your memory to return naturally. I thought being at home again, working in the garden, would have a restorative effect. It seemed safest just to wait. If your mind had chosen to forget the past, I assumed reminding you of it, of what you’d suffered, would be very painful for you, dangerous even. Months later, when it seemed clear you wouldn’t regain your memory, I could see no point in telling you what you’d once felt for me. If you no longer felt the same way, talking about the past would only lead to embarrassment and… and a sense of
obligation
. You weren’t the same man.’
‘But you felt the same way? About me?’
‘Of course. I was the same woman.’
With some difficulty, he swivelled his head round and looked into her eyes. ‘Do you still, Hester?’
‘My feelings haven’t changed since the day you left Beechgrave. Even before that. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I think I probably fell in love with you at the Victoria Rooms in Bristol, in 1914.’ She paused to see if he would remember.
‘Women’s suffrage.’
‘Yes!’
‘We attended a talk. With Violet. You were there with a friend, but as I recall, you’d lied to your mother about the nature of the talk. I think I gave you a leaflet… I don’t remember why.’
‘I’d told her I was going to a talk given by the National Geographical Society. You gave me a leaflet about a talk you’d recently attended, so I’d be able to mention a few convincing details. I was so grateful – and the collusion was such fun!’
William smiled. ‘I was delighted to be of assistance. I didn’t love you then, but I wanted to help you. To protect you. You seemed in need of protection.’
‘Oh, I just needed
work
! And a better education. I was thrilled to be allowed to share your books. I realised if I’d been a man I might have wanted to become a scientist or a doctor. I really enjoyed running a convalescent home. I’ve never been so tired in my life, nor so happy. I knew you were alive and safe – from the war, at least – and I had a real sense of purpose for the first time in my life.’
‘You should have married, Hester and had a family.’
‘I didn’t marry, but I had a family. You, Violet and Ivy were my family.’
‘That’s hardly the same.’
‘Perhaps not, but after the war women had to learn to live without marriage, live without men. I think we made a pretty good job of it under the circumstances. In the end, we
shamed
them into giving us the vote.’
William’s wheezy chuckle gave way to a violent cough. Unable to suppress the fit, he waved Hester away and turned to face the wall. The nurse appeared and announced that Mr Hatherwick was tired and Hester should leave.
Standing at the end of the bed, gazing helplessly at William’s prostrated form, Hester said goodbye, but he gave no indication he’d heard.
As she walked along a chilly corridor that smelled of death and disinfectant, Hester decided she wouldn’t tell William about Ivy. His mind was already overwrought and the doctor had said complete rest was essential if, in his debilitated state, he was to survive the onslaught of his memories and an overwhelming sense of loss.
There was no way of knowing how William would respond to the news that his beloved niece was in fact his daughter. Such a revelation might overturn a healthy man’s mind and William was very ill, probably dying. The question was, what was best for him? And what was best for Ivy?