Our visit was not a long one, but it was the maximum time allowed.
I felt a little uneasy as we left the ward, for I was sure Marcus was putting on a show of being in a much better condition than he actually was.
My mother was able to have a word with the doctor before we left. Marchlands was now known in the medical world as one of those country houses given over to the wounded since the beginning of the war, and therefore a certain respect was accorded her.
We were taken into a small room, and seated at a desk was Dr. Glenning.
He told us to be seated, and my mother then said, “Major Merrivale is a very special friend. How badly has he been wounded?”
“Well, there are worse cases.”
“And better,” added my mother.
The doctor nodded. “Some internal injuries. A bullet—most fortunately—just missed his lungs. The bullet has been extracted, but as you know, it is a vital area and we have to be watchful. There is some damage to the right leg. But that is minor compared with the internal trouble.”
“I see. He is not…in danger?”
The doctor shook his head to and fro. “Oh, he’s got a good chance of recovery. He’s very strong…in excellent condition. I’d say his chances of getting back to normal are good, but it is going to take time.”
“My daughter and I were thinking that Marchlands would be a good place for him to come for convalescence. We were wondering if the major could come to us.”
“I could not allow him to be moved just now, and this is going to be a long job. Later…if he continues to improve…I don’t see why not. He’s going to need convalescence, and to be among friends would be good for him. Yes, I think in due course, Mrs. Greenham, he might well go to Marchlands.”
“And…he really is not in danger…?? I put in.
“No more than most. We’re never quite sure how these things are going to turn out. You probably know, Mrs. Greenham….But I would say he has a fair chance of recovery.”
“That’s good news,” said my mother. “Have you any idea about when…?”
The doctor pursed his lips and looked thoughtful.
“Well, I should think at least a couple of months.”
“As long as that!”
“Rather a grave injury, Mrs. Greenham.”
“Well, we shall look forward to receiving him at Marchlands. Will you let us know when it will be safe for him to come?”
“Indeed I will do that.”
“In the meanwhile we shall be visiting him. We came up especially today.”
“Marchlands keeps you busy, I’ve heard.”
“Very busy all the time.”
“We’ve had a rush of casualties after the Dardanelles debacle. Not that there are not a large number coming from France all the time.”
“Let’s hope it will soon be over.”
“I’d second that, Mrs. Greenham.”
He shook hands and repeated his promise that he would let us know when Marcus was well enough to travel, and we left the hospital in a happier mood than that in which we had arrived.
We had seen him. He was ill, but not so ill that he would not recover—and in time he would come to Marchlands.
Returning to Marchlands, I felt a sense of elation. I realized I was happier than I had been since the ill-fated Dardanelles venture had begun. I had been thinking about Marcus a great deal and every time the campaign had been mentioned, I had been conscious of a cold fear. Now it was over. He was wounded, yes; but he was still alive, and with his irrepressible spirits he would recover.
And in time we should have him under our care in Marchlands.
My mother sensed my mood and shared it.
“He is such a charming man,” she said. “I could not bear to think of anything happening to change him. He’ll recover quicker than most. Since the hospital started, I’ve noticed that optimism is one of the best cures to help a patient along the road to recovery.”
Andrée was eager to hear the news of Marcus, but I could see she wanted to get back to Marchlands and Edward. She hated leaving him even for a day.
It was about a week after our visit to London when I was awakened in the night by the sound of an explosion. My thoughts immediately went to the Zeppelin I had seen when the cottage near La Pinière had been attacked. We had to expect air raids. The Zeppelins were cumbersome objects and good targets for a firing squad, but they did present a great danger.
I leaped out of bed, put on my dressing gown and slippers and went out of my room.
Immediately I heard my mother’s voice. “Lucinda…are you all right? Charles…?”
Charles was already in the corridor. Some of the servants were there and I saw Miss Carruthers.
“That was a bomb, I am sure,” she said. “It must have been rather close.”
Mrs. Grey, the cook, had appeared.
“What was it, do you think, Mrs. Grey?” asked my mother.
“Sounded just like one of them bombs, Mrs. Greenham.”
“I’m afraid so. I wonder…”
We all gathered in the hall where some of the nurses joined us.
“What time is it?” asked my mother.
“Just after midnight,” someone replied.
“Do you think it’s an air raid?”
“Most likely.”
“I can’t hear anything more. Do you think they’ll come back?”
“Perhaps.”
Mrs. Grey said she thought everyone could do with a cup of tea and if we would like to go to the drawing room, she’d have it sent there. The others could have theirs in the kitchen.
My mother thought that was a good idea. Everything seemed quiet now and we should hear all about it in the morning.
Miss Carruthers said, “We must be prepared for any emergency. One only hopes they will not drop anything on the hospital.”
“They would drop anything anywhere,” said my mother. “Charles, come away from that window. You never know…”
Reluctantly, Charles moved away.
“I’d like to fly,” he said. “Fancy being up there in the sky!”
“Not dropping bombs on people, I hope,” I said.
“Oh…I wouldn’t do that.”
“Very noble of you,” I retorted.
“I’m going to join the Royal Flying Corps.”
Nobody expressed surprise. Charles was going to take up some new adventurous profession every few weeks.
Nothing much happened that night, but we were astonished the next morning to learn that it was not a Zeppelin which had dropped the bomb. What we had heard was an explosion that had taken place at Milton Priory.
We learned it from the postman. Jenner, the butler, had spoken to him when he came with the post and thought what the man had to tell was so interesting that he brought him into the dining room where we were having breakfast.
“I thought you would like to hear what the postman has to say, Mrs. Greenham,” he said. “It’s about that explosion in the night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the postman. “It’s up at the old Priory…that place where things have been going on lately. They won’t be putting that up for sale now. Looks as if they’s destroyed the place…completely.”
“How could it have happened?” asked my mother.
“Well, there’s a mystery for you. Something was wrong. Gas perhaps. You know what that can do. Whatever it might be, that’s the end of Milton Priory.”
“How very strange!” said Miss Carruthers. “I wonder what the explanation is?”
“No doubt we shall find out in time,” said my mother.
When I saw Andrée, she said, “I heard the explosion in the night.”
“You should have joined us in the drawing room,” I told her. “We did not get to bed until about an hour later. We just sat there talking and speculating as to what might have happened. We all thought then that it had been dropped by a Zeppelin.”
“Was it?”