In Distant Fields Read online

  About the Book

  Christmas 1913. Kitty and Lady Partita are best friends despite vastly different backgrounds. Partita has invited her friend, Kitty, to stay at her ancestral home, Borders Castle. The grandeur of Partita’s family seat is in stark contrast to Kitty’s home in London where she and her mother, Violet, struggle to maintain appearances despite Kitty’s father gambling away the family money. Kitty is introduced to the aristocracy; a fascinating, decorative and theatrical world. Kitty is enthralled and desperately wants to be part of this way of life, far removed from the genteel poverty in which she and her mother are forced to exist.

  But war breaks out, not only irrevocably changing society, but also the lives of these two beautiful young women. The headstrong Partita and down-to-earth Kitty become nurses and selflessly care for the men horrifically injured in the trenches of WWI.

  This novel is about the mothers and daughters, sisters and wives left at home holding things together on the homefront and caring for their men. It’s about love and heartbreak, but most importantly of all, the remarkable nature of female friendship.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One: The Invitation

  Chapter Two: Christmas at the Castle

  Chapter Three: Dance Cards

  Chapter Four: Comings and Goings

  Chapter Five: The Pirates Club

  Chapter Six: Waterside House

  Chapter Seven: Love Affairs

  Chapter Eight: Cupid’s Victory

  Chapter Nine: Off to War

  Chapter Ten: Goodbye to So Much

  Chapter Eleven: Home for Christmas

  Chapter Twelve: Letters Home

  Chapter Thirteen: Dawn Mourning

  Chapter Fourteen: The Pantomime

  Chapter Fifteen: Another Year Gone

  Chapter Sixteen: When This Lousy War Is Over

  Chapter Seventeen: The Last to Come Home

  Postscript

  About the Author

  Also by Charlotte Bingham

  Copyright

  IN DISTANT

  FIELDS

  Charlotte Bingham

  This book is dedicated to those heroes and heroines of the

  Great War (1914–1918) who lie in distant fields, and

  to those who loved them, and were left behind.

  Prologue

  They had spent long hours building the sandcastle and its surrounds, and it was truly magnificent. It had an outer wall with four towers, complete with make-believe narrow windows. It had a central portcullis, and a moat, which surrounded a keep, which in turn proudly flew its flag – a long stick to which the inevitable piece of seaweed had been neatly attached.

  It seemed, as sandcastles always do, to be impregnable. Once it was complete, and they had duly admired it, ice creams were produced, brought down to the beach on wooden trays. After which the ladies went paddling, while the men – their boaters protecting their fair skin from the sun – stared out to sea, passing binoculars backwards and forwards between them, as they studied the horizon, watching the shipping that passed to and fro between the outer limits of their vision.

  And so the pretty scene continued, until the sun which had shone on them all afternoon, started to sink, and the tide, creeping surreptitiously and almost soundlessly, started to make its way up the beach.

  Perhaps they had all been enjoying themselves too much; perhaps they had been distracted by the ice creams, or the dreamy preoccupation with the ships and boats. Certainly the arrival of the insistent tide, the onrush of the sea water, seemed to surprise them. Indeed, it seemed almost to be upon them before they were quite able to find their shoes and snatch up their buckets and spades. Excited laughter followed, and before very long everyone on the beach had fled up to the house, leaving the castle to stand alone and face the oncoming rush of water.

  With the increasing tide first the outer towers succumbed, only for the house, its moat now filled to overflowing, to swiftly follow, taking with it the gaily fluttering flag. Meanwhile the joyful workforce – the fair-skinned young men, the pretty girls and their siblings who had put so much time and energy into the castle – were nowhere to be seen; so that as the lights in the house into which the happy party had disappeared, shone out on to the beach, it could be seen that the magnificent castle, built on sand, had disappeared without anyone even noticing.

  Chapter One

  The Invitation

  Partita draped a fine wool shawl around her shoulders and, seating herself nearer the log fire the housemaid had set for her, she took up her old schoolroom pen and licked the nib to free it, before carefully wiping it on her handkerchief and dipping it in the ink pot in front of her. Writing a letter was not something to which she could look forward, but write this letter she just must. She began with the date. It should have been in Roman numerals, but she was very uncertain of her Vs and Xs so she merely wrote the day, the month and 1913.

  ‘I’ve been invited to Bauders Castle for Christmas!’ Kitty stared at Partita’s letter.

  ‘May I see?’ Her mother held out her hand for the letter.

  Kitty hesitated before giving it to her. ‘Imagine. Bauders Castle. Of course I can’t go,’ she finished quickly.

  Violet shook her head. ‘But you must go. It is what you should be doing.’

  ‘I couldn’t leave you alone at Christmas-time, really I couldn’t.’

  ‘I insist on it, Kitty. You must go, whatever happens.’

  ‘No, Mamma, I could not, truly.’

  Kitty turned away, went to the window of their narrow first-floor drawing room and stared out at the traffic below – new motor cars, and horses and carriages – everything mixed up, moving in and out of each other.

  On the other side of the room, Violet stared ahead of her, all of a sudden hearing only music and laughter from what now seemed long, long ago.

  ‘Of course you must go, Kitty darling,’ she replied finally. ‘I would not hear otherwise. No, no – no, my bewilderment is not at your having been invited, but at Lady Partita’s atrocious handwriting, and as for her spelling … !’

  Violet went to the window and gave the letter back to her daughter with an amused expression. ‘She cannot be learning very much at Miss Woffington’s Academy, if that is how she writes, dearest.’

  Kitty reread Partita’s misspelled missive.

  ‘Do com, pleese,’ the letter read. ‘We shood all luv it, really we shood. I am shore I will dye of boardom if you do not. Pleese deer Kitty promiss you will com! Your loving friend – Partita.’

  ‘At least she can spell her family name now, Mamma,’ Kitty murmured. ‘When she first arrived at Miss Woffington’s she kept writing to her father as “the Duke of Ed-on”, instead of “Ed-en”! Woofie could hardly believe it.’

  ‘What could her governess have been thinking?’

  ‘Not her governess, her governesses, Mamma,’ Kitty corrected her. ‘Apparently Partita has had a succession of governesses, all of whom left after a very, very short time. That is why she ended up going to Miss Woffington’s. I told you, her father does not even know she is going to a proper school. He thinks she’s just having private tuition in London, and it seems no one has dared to tell him because none of the girls in the family has ever been away to school before.’

  ‘No, no, of course not …’ Violet murmured, her thoughts once again elsewhere.

  ‘But as it has turned out, Partita told me, the Duchess much prefers London to the Shires, loving to keep up with the fashions. Her Thursday afternoon “At Homes” are always such a riot of people and personalities, it is really better for the Duchess if Parti
ta does not have a governess. But have no fear, Mamma, I shall not leave you to Papa at Christmas, really I won’t.’

  ‘Oh, I think you must, Kitty, really I do. In fact, I insist that you do,’ Violet replied firmly, ignoring the implied slight to her husband. ‘Such invitations are not offered lightly. Besides, it will be quite an adventure for you.’

  ‘They say the Duchess is extraordinarily beautiful, that her figure has been so much admired and painted. Partita says she is still known as one of the most beautiful women in England, even at her age.’

  ‘Oh, she has always been beautiful, Kitty, I assure you. I remember, when she first came to England from America, seeing her at Lady Carrington’s ball, and she is every bit as beautiful as they say. She and Consuelo Vanderbilt were the beautiful catches of that year, heiresses from America being all the rage in those days. Poor souls, they little knew of just what awaited them in their ducal husbands’ large draughty castles.’ Violet sighed. ‘American women have done so much for our interiors, of that there is no doubt, but just how much work would be required to make these old castles at all congenial does not bear thinking about. And I mean, Kitty, places like Bauders Castle are impossible, they are so medieval. Little wonder the Duchess prefers Knowle House in London, for however fine a seat Bauders Castle may be, the drains alone would give cause for worry. I believe they even have a nightwatchman still. Besides, the Duchess being a great beauty, she numbers so many, many clever, famous men among her friends, country life would not be congenial to her in the same way her London salon would be. But still, we must find a way to send you for Christmas to the castle, Kitty, really we must. I know we can.’

  Violet’s face was alight with enthusiasm, and for a second Kitty too looked enthused, before giving a sigh and leaning back against the wall, her gaze once more returning to the scene outside the window, which seemed suddenly to be full of people going somewhere exciting.

  ‘There is no possibility that I can go, Mamma, when you think about it,’ she said wistfully, tucking in a long strand of dark hair that had escaped from the black bow at the nape of her neck. ‘Apart from anything else, I have no suitable clothes to wear, and no pennies to buy anything new.’

  ‘If there is any way we can possibly afford for you to go to Bauders Castle, then afford it we most certainly shall.’

  Kitty looked doubtfully at her mother, well aware that they were so financially straitened it was difficult for her to pay Bridie or the maid of all work. Their sad circumstances were due entirely to her father’s profligacy, not to mention his reckless gambling. As she contemplated this, she found herself wondering yet again at the fact that her mother and father had remained married.

  ‘We must see if Aunt Agatha sends us her usual gift. Let us hope she does, and in time too.’

  ‘Could we not ask Papa for once?’

  ‘What can you be thinking, Kitty?’ Her mother smiled and Kitty sighed.

  ‘But surely he might want me to go to stay at Bauders? Partita told me her father and my father are known to each other.’

  Violet, too, sighed. ‘Yes, Kitty, but not I fear for the right reasons. Besides, even if your father had the money, you know he would not spare it, fond as he is of you. Your father, alas, has only one use for money and that is to gamble with it – which is why we never have any.’

  Kitty might be only just seventeen, but the constant vagaries of their life over the past years were apparent to her. Even now she could never hear a knock on the door without thinking it might be the bailiffs. How her mother had managed to clothe and educate her, let alone find the money to send her to Miss Woffington’s Academy, she hardly knew. Certainly her father seemed to contribute little to their welfare, and nothing at all to their happiness. His presence in the house always seemed to signal an immediate downturn in their fortunes.

  The moment he came home from some house party to which only he had been invited, Violet became pale and tense; and as far as Kitty herself was concerned, just the sound of his voice was enough to send her scurrying to her bedroom.

  Once in her room, Kitty felt safe because she knew her father would always be either too lazy, or too drunk, to walk up so many stairs to the third floor. Fortunately, because the lure of the gaming tables took him away to play in the houses of the newly rich for long periods, he was rarely at home for more than a few days at a time, which meant that Violet and Kitty were left to pursue their own little economies, work out how best to bring their dresses up to date, and manage their lives as thriftily as was possible.

  ‘The problem – as always – is going to be keeping secret from your father anything Aunt Agatha may care to send you,’ Violet murmured. ‘Let us pray that if Aunt Agatha does choose to remember us, it is at a time when we have the house to ourselves, Kitty.’

  But the fates deemed otherwise, for on the morning that Violet found the much-longed-for envelope, postmarked Suffolk, among the letters on the salver in the hall, Evelyn Rolfe threw open the front door.

  Violet was no actress but she did her best to try not to look as anxious as she felt, as she quickly hid the letters behind her back, while staring at her dishevelled husband with frozen fascination.

  ‘Good morning, Evelyn. Have you had breakfast? Because if you have not I will call down to Bridie—’

  ‘I had breakfast at the club, before coming on,’ Evelyn interrupted curtly. ‘Where’s the post, Violet? There’s an IOU due.’

  ‘The post?’ Violet hesitated. ‘Let me see – I think Bridie might have taken it through to the dining room, thinking you were expected for breakfast. Would you like me to fetch it for you?’

  ‘I need the post immediately it arrives,’ Evelyn replied, walking slowly past her into the drawing room, leaving a trail of alcoholic fumes behind him as he did so.

  Once he had disappeared from view, Violet began to sort feverishly through the Christmas letters.

  ‘You were wrong, of course,’ Evelyn remarked, returning almost at once. ‘Bridie has not left—’ He stopped. ‘Which is hardly surprising since I see what post there is, Violet, is in your hands.’ As Violet stared at him, he went on in lightly sarcastic tones, ‘There is a mirror right behind you, Violet. I can see the letters.’

  ‘I was just sorting through them,’ Violet stammered. ‘I didn’t want you being upset by seeing so many bills, Evelyn.’

  But Evelyn was intent on ignoring her.

  ‘Give them to me.’ He rifled impatiently through the letters. ‘Is this all there is, Violet?’

  ‘As far as I know, Evelyn, yes …’

  ‘Well, in that case you don’t know very much, Violet, for there is a letter on the floor over there.’ He stared past her as if he had seen a mouse scuttling by.

  ‘I don’t think so, Evelyn,’ Violet said, turning as if to look, in the wild hope that she could nudge Aunt Agatha’s letter out of sight.

  ‘Hand it to me, Violet,’ he said, in a tired voice.

  Violet frowned, pretending to be surprised by her discovery. ‘It’s nothing. Just something trivial for me, I think, Evelyn, notification of a doctor’s appointment.’

  ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘But it’s addressed to me, Evelyn. So it really cannot be the IOU you were expecting.’

  But he had snatched it from her hand and was now examining the postmark.

  ‘Suffolk, I see,’ he muttered. ‘From your ghastly aunt, I dare say.’

  ‘No, no, probably it is just the recipe for damson cheese that she promised me.’

  ‘Well, we’ll soon see, won’t we, Violet?’ Evelyn returned. ‘As I remember it, your aunt can be quite munificent at times, can she not?’

  Evelyn eyed Violet while he slowly unstuck the back of the letter, trying to remember, perhaps for the thousandth time, why he had married Violet Almondsbury. There must have been some good reason – but for the love of him every time he came home and saw her he could never remember what the devil it was that had made him think that marriage to her would turn out t
o be a good bet. It was not as if she had been a famous beauty, or an heiress. Indeed, it was difficult to see what the attraction of a slender, pale-faced girl who stood to inherit nothing could possibly have been to a scion of the ancient family of Rolfe.

  He tore at the envelope, then threw it to the floor.

  ‘I’m going on to Biddlethorpe Hall, Violet,’ he told her slowly. ‘I’m in for a change of luck – I am sure of it.’

  Violet remained silent as always when faced with Evelyn’s predictions as to his change of luck, but also because he had opened her letter and found her Christmas present from Aunt Agatha.

  ‘Ah ha,’ he said, without humour. ‘It would appear my luck is turning already, even as I speak. Ah ha.’ He looked up at Violet and the smug triumph in his face was worse to her than the fact that he was actually holding the means for Kitty’s escape to a better world. ‘Voilà. Manna from heaven, so to speak. Shan’t have to wait for the IOU now, Violet.’ He waved the cheque at her. ‘Generous old bird, Aunt Agatha,’ he added, without a trace of a smile.

  ‘I think that is for me, Evelyn,’ Violet said quietly. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  Her husband stared at her outstretched hand and laughed. ‘What is yours, my dear, is mine,’ he said. ‘Remember your marriage vows?’ He folded the cheque carefully and put it in his top pocket. ‘I shall deposit it in my account later. In the meantime, be good enough to tell that idiot maid that I require some coffee.’

  ‘Evelyn,’ Violet pleaded. ‘Evelyn. Please, please don’t take that money. It is meant for Kitty. You know what an interest Aunt Agatha takes in her – and that money is to help towards paying the fees at Miss Woffington’s. Please don’t take what is not meant for you, just this once.’

  Evelyn, who had been walking away in the direction of the dining room, stopped and swung back round. As soon as she saw the look in his eyes Violet retreated from him.

  ‘I’ve done me money, Violet – do you understand me? Now tell that girl who pretends to be a maid to bring me my coffee – and then go up and sort out some fresh linen for me. I shall be leaving as soon as I am changed.’