Chapter 16
16
By the May, Clarence had sent a couple of letters home, treasured by his mother and read aloud to all, even though the forced joviality of his words were apparent to everyone but her. It was a survival tactic, Olivia suspected, employed by Lady Fairchild, to blindly believe his claims of seeing very little action and that they’d got the Hun on the run, rather than contemplate the realities of his situation. Because the awful truth was filtering through now, for those who cared to seek it out. You only had to look at the growing casualty lists, or the number of women wearing black. As if that wasn’t bad enough, one of the local dairy farmers had lost both sons in Ypres during the April, only four days apart.
The Germans’ sinking the British ocean liner the Lusitania that month hit Olivia hard and naturally brought back the nightmares of three years previously. The circumstances surrounding both tragedies could not be more different but the similarity of both vessel and the numbers who had lost their lives made comparisons in the newspapers inevitable. It was noted that the wealthy sportsman Alfred Vanderbilt, who perished on the Lusitania , had been booked on the Titanic but not sailed, and Lady Duff-Gordon, one of the most famous of the Titanic survivors, had a ticket for the Lusitania but cancelled at the last minute. It was all such a painful reminder for Olivia of the capriciousness of life and the what-ifs that determined your destiny. Her tears that night were for her parents, not the twelve hundred victims of the torpedoed ship. And amidst the unrelenting flow of self-pity, she still hoped to hear the voice beyond the wall, grumpy or otherwise, offering a distraction. But it was not to be.
The summer passed in a blur, with Ruth surprising everyone by marrying an injured veteran she’d met through a friend.
‘You don’t need me now, miss,’ she explained. ‘I helped to bridge your move from Windy Acres to Merriford, but you’ll be seventeen soon and have always been alarmingly independent.’ She smiled to show she was teasing. ‘And there is someone who needs me more.’
The reduced staff was still causing Lady Fairchild problems, and she was constantly moaning about overseeing a household with increasingly limited resources.
‘I can’t even ride over to see my dearest friend in Norwich,’ she complained. ‘They took our beloved saddle horses for the war effort and we are down to two cart horses, which are both needed to do jobs on the estate.’
‘Then learn to drive the motor car,’ Olivia suggested. ‘If the actress Minnie Palmer can do it, so can you.’ She’d imagined herself behind the wheel of such a vehicle on numerous occasions, haring through the countryside or undertaking some grand adventure across Europe. ‘Think of all the places you can go. And without the need to ready a horse beforehand.’
‘But motor cars are for men.’
‘I’m pretty certain you don’t have to grow a beard in order to be competent behind the wheel.’
‘Oh, you are a tonic, Olivia,’ she replied, with a smile. ‘Perhaps I shall.’
And learn to drive she did – even though her husband swore she was an absolute menace on the road.
It was not until early October that Clarence finally got a short spell of leave, stressing he was luckier than most, as there were men who had been out since the start and not been home in over a year. The lavish preparations undertaken by Lady Fairchild were on such a scale, one might have thought the king himself was visiting. Benji and Howard were away at school until the Christmas holidays and Lady Fairchild was anxious all morning, snappy with the maids and fussing over tiny details that Olivia was certain the exhausted and battle-weary Clarence would not care one jot about. The curtains in his bedroom simply must be washed and it was imperative that fresh flowers from the greenhouses were placed in all the rooms.
At first, all was well. His face was gaunt, he had a haunted look about his eyes, and he was thinner than his mother would have liked, but he allowed himself to be fussed over and treated to the very best of everything – from the Royal Worcester, gilt-decorated tea set, to a ridiculous array of his favourite sweet treats and his mother’s insistence he must try every cake – which made Olivia feel quite nauseous on his behalf.
‘Have a madeleine, dear. Cook made them especially.’
He gave a weary smile and forced one to his lips, as Olivia recognised what his mother did not: he simply wished to be left alone, but he undertook his filial duty and bore her endless questions with good grace.
Her voice dipped to a whisper. ‘Are you in very much danger out there? Your letters are so lacking in detail.’
‘Honestly, Mother, I’m not sure what you imagine, but I’ve hardly been charging at the Germans non-stop since I arrived in France. We only spend a few days on the front line at a time and, even then, I’m largely dealing with my men’s correspondence, answering the endless official enquiries delivered by the runners, or completing laborious daily returns detailing the quantity of ammunition we have and what’s left in our trench stores…’
Lady Fairchild began to relax, convincing herself that Clarence was not being shot at by the Hun or dodging stray shells on a battlefield. He was an officer; he was safe. He was merely an administrator who happened to be working from a dugout in a bank of soil, rather than a cosy office in Westminster or Whitehall. But even Olivia was astute enough to realise the importance of what he didn’t say, rather than what he did. He didn’t say, I never go over the top , or I am never in danger .
‘And you know how stoic the British are,’ he continued. ‘I hear more fuss made over the loss of a mouth organ or a tin of peppermints than I do over the loss of a limb.’
‘Shall I add peppermints to your parcels?’ she asked, focusing entirely on the wrong aspect of his words. ‘That’s something I can do, and it will make me feel useful. Would tinned kippers and oysters be welcomed? How about a bottle of cherry brandy, every now and again? And the postmaster’s mother mentioned naphthalene balls for the lice.’
‘If you must send me parcels, Mother, let them be of books. Something dark and ironic, like Hardy, will do. You’d be surprised how the lads fight over a good novel, although I still find comfort in poetry: Coleridge and Tennyson.’
‘Poetry won’t sustain you in the trenches.’ Lady Fairchild tutted. Her job was to feed him up, keep him clean and make sure he didn’t get ill.
‘Oh, Mother.’ Clarence’s face displayed his frustration at her total lack of understanding. ‘You have no idea.’
His veneer of politeness was starting to crack and, even though it was only six o’clock, he asked to be excused.
‘Morpheus calls,’ he explained.
‘Oh, darling, you’ve only been home a couple of hours.’ But all the poor man wanted was sleep.
* * *
The following morning, Lady Fairchild was anxiously trying to locate her oldest son. He’d gone out at the crack of dawn, according to the housekeeper, and no one had any idea when he would return.
‘Let him be, Cynthia,’ Sir Hugo said, looking up from his newspaper.
‘But he’s home for such a short time and it might be months before we see him again. It’s too cruel.’
Olivia, who had also sought solitude after the death of her parents, understood. The effort of pretending everything was all right, combined with the effort of dealing with the fact that it was not, could be overwhelming at times.
So, she wasn’t looking for Clarence but stumbled across him quite by accident, spotting him through the screen of bamboo at the edge of the Japanese gardens. He was on the bench with his back to her, and was holding a small, bone-handled folding pocket knife, twisting it round and round in his fingers, the blade catching the light and winking at her each time it completed a rotation.
She was about to walk away, leave him to enjoy the peace and quiet he so desperately craved, when she saw him grip the handle and turn his other wrist to the sky. Horrified, she watched him run the knife across his pale skin. A slow deliberate action, almost as though he was caressing his arm with the cold steel. A dark-red line appeared and began to swell and thicken, before gravity pulled the pooling liquid in a scarlet line towards the ground.
‘Clarence?’ Her voice was gentle as she stepped onto the gravel and into view. He quickly flicked the knife shut and licked at the blood, before tugging his sleeve over the wound. But she’d seen everything and he knew it. She came to his side and settled herself next to him.
He couldn’t meet her eyes and stared at the stone dragon, saying nothing for some considerable time. A robin landed on the bridge, a fat worm in its beak, before taking flight again.
‘Flesh and metal,’ he finally said. ‘You could not get two things more diametrically opposed. One forges the other into something that has the power to irrevocably damage itself.’
He held her concerned gaze for the briefest moment before the effort of it made him turn his head, even though his words continued to flow, as unstoppable as the water from the fountain before him.
‘I once watched those under my command bathing behind the lines.’ Olivia couldn’t initially see the connection between this statement and his previous line of thought but didn’t interrupt. ‘They hadn’t washed properly for weeks and took the opportunity to do so outside at an abandoned farmhouse in the fine weather. Their thin, white bodies were like dancing ribbons in the sunlight, larking about and splashing each other. I contemplated then how fragile the human body is. We have no natural armour, like the armadillo, or the thick fur of a grizzly bear. Nothing to shield us from the elements, and not even hooves or hard pads to protect our feet.’
He was focused on something in the middle distance but he wasn’t really looking.
‘One lad in particular caught my eye: his fair hair and lithe, pale limbs. There was not a mark on his perfect skin. Two weeks later, what was left of him was hanging on a thicket of barbed wire fifty yards from our trench in a place we could not safely retrieve his body. Machine guns and shrapnel from the shelling had shredded him to rags.’
The image was an unpalatable one, but she tried not to react as he paused and turned back to her.
‘Why do we do it? As a species, why are we so destructive? God put us in charge of this incredible planet and all we do is destroy it. We are not fit to be on this earth, never mind presume to be in charge of it.’
There was a slight tremble of his hand as he slid the knife into his trouser pocket, and she tentatively reached for his knee. She didn’t know what the right words were in such a situation so she said nothing, hoping her touch was enough.
‘I’ve not been a kind big brother,’ he continued. ‘I wasn’t even particularly welcoming to you.’ She noticed the building tears in his eyes. One eventually spilled from his lower lid and tumbled down his unshaven cheek, hanging from the edge of his jaw like a tiny glass pendant. ‘I could have been so much nicer to them but instead, I always had to be in charge, constantly reminding them that I was the one to inherit; I was the one born to rule. And now it’s too late. If I die, they will always think of me as the bully – throwing my weight about. Constantly locking horns with the younger stags, to ensure they couldn’t topple me as head of the herd. And yet, the truth of it is, I am jealous of them. Always have been.’
‘Jealous? But you are set to inherit everything. If it was Louis or even Howard, I could understand it. You don’t need to establish your superiority; you are superior.’
He shrugged. ‘What if I don’t want to be the oldest? What if I don’t want to inherit? Imagine having your whole life mapped out for you. I know where I am going to live, what my job and my life will entail; even my choice of future bride was forced upon me. I do not doubt she’ll make an excellent lady of the manor, but she doesn’t make my heart sing. There was no magical moment when I knew she was the one, like the love stories you enjoy so much – not with her, at any rate. Perhaps it’s why I enlisted so quickly; I saw a chance to do something that I had control over. It was almost a rebellion.’
He studied her face for a moment.
‘Can I tell you something in confidence? Something I think only you would truly understand? And you must swear never to tell another living soul?’
‘Of course.’
‘The only person who has ever made me feel like that was someone who used to work here. Even though I’m certain they felt it too, I never acted upon it or even let them know how I felt.’
‘Because it would cause a scandal?’ she asked, imagining Lady Fairchild having an attack of the vapours at the thought of Clarence courting a maid – young, uneducated girls sometimes only stayed a year or two before marrying or moving on.
‘You have no idea,’ he replied.
Olivia contemplated what it must be like to be in love with someone you couldn’t be with, and wondered if she had been in Clarence’s position, whether she would have followed her heart. It was all very well in stories to sacrifice everything to be with the one you loved, but she couldn’t see the heir to Merriford living with a former servant in a tiny, terraced house, having been banished from his home.
Poor Clarence. Now she understood. Or, at least, she thought she did.
‘I envy the others, and maybe Benji most of all. He drifts around unseen, with few expectations placed upon him. If he wants to spend his life sitting in fields painting wildflowers, he will do so unchallenged. He is indulged by Mother and tolerated by Father.’ His bitterness at this state of affairs was apparent from his clenched fists, curled lip and tone of voice. ‘If anyone marries for love, it will be him.’
‘And so you’re cruel to him for something that is no more his fault than being born to inherit Merriford Manor is yours?’
He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you so openly. This is my burden and you are too young to bear the weight of it with me. I’m sorry, Livvy. But facing your own mortality rather makes a man reassess his previous actions.’
She reached for his hand, sensing him flinch, but he allowed her to take it. This was a moment of unprecedented honesty between them and he’d trusted her with his deepest secrets. It was no use pretending that him dying wasn’t a possibility, because of course it was. If he was going to treat her like an adult and trust her with these fears, then he deserved a mature and considered response.
She thought about what might have made her parents’ passing a little easier. For her, it was the unexpected nature of their deaths that was the hardest. When her maternal grandmother had passed away several years ago, she’d been sick for months. Everyone knew what was coming and her own mother, whose relationship with the dying woman had been strained at the best of times, was gifted with the opportunity to clear the air between them. There had been an honesty at the end that, even as a child, Olivia had admired. But when her own parents had been taken from her, she’d had no such luxury. Their hopes for her future, any advice they might wished to have passed on, the opportunity to say the unsaid, was snatched from them.
‘Write to your brothers,’ she said, in a sudden moment of clarity. ‘Explain everything. Apologise for the things you regret. Tell them how much you love them, what you hope for their futures and ask for understanding. You don’t even have to send the letters. Keep them safe. They will find their way to us if anything should… happen.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not much one for words. That’s your gift. Well, that and showing genuine affection.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘No one in this house really does that, have you noticed? We barely even touched each other before you arrived and began flinging your arms around everyone.’
She nodded. ‘It was one of the hardest things about moving here. The only person who didn’t flinch was Benji. Touch is incredibly healing; touch is everything.’
He reached his large hand up to place it over hers and, for a moment, they revelled in the warmth of the contact.
‘Olivia Davenport,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘How did one so young get to be so wise?’
‘I had to grow up fast, I guess.’
‘Of course – your parents. Come here, you strange little thing.’ He threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. ‘I’m so glad you came to Merriford. Even though I wouldn’t wish the reason that you did so on anyone. You’ve changed us all in subtle ways, but I’ve only just realised it. Mother actually hugged me on the driveway yesterday. I don’t think she’s put her arms around me since I was four. I wonder if it’s because you’re a girl and females in our house have always been outnumbered, or simply because you’re you.’
She buried herself in his thick, wool coat and felt, for the first time, that there was something akin to a familial bond between them.
‘Come back to us, Clarence,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll do my best, if only to make sure Louis doesn’t get his hands on the estate. But I just hope if my number does come up, I at least get to die a noble death.’