‘To be seen together?’ Philip said.
‘Won’t your parents think—’
‘I don’t care what they think,’ Philip replied. ‘I’m past caring what people think. I may not come back from this, Kate. We should spend every moment we can together, shouldn’t we?’
Kate nodded and fetched Philip’s coat and scarf and a walking cane. They walked together in the autumn sunlight and when they were out of sight of the house, they held onto each other and kissed. She felt the passion in his searching mouth and the urgency in his breath. This is how it should be, Kate thought. But their closeness didn’t last for long. When they heard voices, they pulled apart from each other and Kate felt his aching for her as she ached for him.
* * *
All too quickly Philip left to rejoin his regiment. She had hoped that he would be medically discharged but, with rest and all the loving care he received at home, his strength had come back and the Philip they all knew so well returned. The rages subsided and the scar on his face was healing. As Kate said goodbye to him, the night before he left, she had to believe that he would come back. He kissed her tenderly on the lips and promised that they would be together again.
‘But how?’ Kate asked.
‘We will think of a way,’ he replied.
For several days after he left, Mrs Winton retired to her bedroom and emerged only for meals. She didn’t even want to see the children. Mr Winton spent longer and longer at the bank and barked instructions to everyone when he got home. Kate found herself losing patience with the children more easily and Mrs B was in a constant state of agitation. As the weeks went by, after Philip’s departure, the news of British casualties in Francecaused more and more concern. Every time the post arrived, Mrs Winton would ask Ida to check if any official looking envelopes had arrived. Her relief when the answer was no, was clear. Simon and Sophie wanted to know about the war and asked lots of questions about what it might be like to be shot. Simon played games with his soldiers in which the British always won and took German prisoners. Kate wished that the reality matched the game.
The first indications came when she didn’t bleed that month. Was she pregnant? Could she be carrying Philip’s child? If she was then she would lose her job. How could she tell her parents? How would they bear the shame? She didn’t really want to think about it or what she would do if she was. She told herself that it was the worry of having lost her brother and Philip’s insistence that he must return to France.
She knew the signs of pregnancy, of course. She’d been old enough, at the age of eleven, to understand that her mother’s retching every morning for weeks was not a usual occurrence. When her mother’s belly began expanding and she found bending difficult, when she became short-tempered with her father, and fell asleep in the afternoons, Kate knew that a baby was growing inside her mother.
Kate didn’t have to ask the questions. Her mother, sensing that her eldest daughter’s own body would soon be fertile and ready, prepared her for the arrival of her monthly bleeding. So, when the red stain arrived in her underwear, Kate would be ready. Kate really began to grow up during the time of her mother’s pregnancy with her third baby. The innocence of childhood had gone forever.
When her little sister was born, she recalled the desperate shouts of her father to fetch the midwife, the panic, the door closed in her face. She heard the screams of pain, the words of encouragement, the pleas of desperation and exhaustion andthen, the awful silence. Baby Ellen did not survive. There was no cry as breath entered her tiny body, no movement in fingers or toes, no sweet sighs of joy from her mother’s lips, so still, so quiet. The tiny bundle, swaddled in white, was carried out of the house by her father, his head bowed as he hugged his lost daughter to his chest.
Carrying a child to full term and then losing it must be more than any mother could bear, but no one else could carry the burden of that pain. If she was carrying Philip’s child then she must face up to the facts and face the future whatever it might bring.
Part Three
Chapter Thirty
February 1917
Kate lay with her eyes wide open. It was dark in the room and she’d been awake for hours, listening to the soft breathing of dear Ida. She wished for the arms of sleep to hold her and take her to another place but they were not open and she could not fall. Her hands wandered to her belly and stroked the taut skin. It wouldn’t be long now before the mistress noticed. She had birthed five children of her own; the signs would not escape her. She’d been lucky not to have the morning sickness.
Kate had managed to keep her widening waist from all except Ida, who had noticed the safety pin holding her skirt together and observed the absence of Kate’s monthly rags. Ida said that her secret was safe with her but that eventually the truth would be obvious. Kate knew she was right but she needed time to think.
What was she to do? Her condition would not go unnoticed for much longer. The time was coming and coming soon when she’d no longer be in the employ of Mr and Mrs Winton. How could she go home and place the burden of her problems upon her mother’s shoulders? She’d had news that her mother was pregnant again. Her father and Dot could not be the only providers for their family, Fred had gone and the prospects of her being able to find work with a child to look after were slim. Kate’s mind surged with the swell of all that she had done and all that she could not do. Every direction she thought to turn in seemed barred to her.
Ida stirred and sighed. A whisper of light from the street lamp appeared in the corner of the window and Kate could see that the creeping fingers of frost were grasping at the panes. She pulled the blankets up to her ears and stretched her legs. Thenight cramps were a curse, they were always the thing that woke her and there was nothing to do but squeeze and flex her toes and wait for the pain to pass. At least she could still reach her toes, for the time being anyway.
‘You awake, Kate?’ Ida croaked. Ida had been suffering with a cold and sore throat for several days but there was no lying in bed with a hot water bottle and beef tea for the likes of them. The servants had to keep going through all their ailments, mild or more serious. There were plenty of others waiting, ready to step into their shoes if they faltered, as Mrs Bowden often reminded them.
‘Yes, I’m awake,’ Kate replied.
‘Time for us to get going then,’ Ida said, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. She threw a shawl around her shoulders, then poured water from the jug and splashed her face. She shivered and flung off her nightgown, dressing as quickly as she could whilst keeping up a steady stream of chatter. Kate wondered where she got the energy from first thing in the morning.
By the time they were both dressed, Ida had stopped talking and Kate could feel that she was building up to saying something important. As Ida handed Kate her apron, she looked first at Kate’s swollen midriff and then at her face.
‘We have a few moments before we need to light the fires. We have to talk, Kate,’ Ida said.
Kate took in the sudden change of tone in Ida’s voice and the seriousness of her expression. Ida reached for Kate’s hand and sat her down on the bed next to her.
‘I’ve been asking a few questions on your behalf,’ she said to a worried Kate.
‘Questions? What about?’
‘The workhouse,’ Ida replied. ‘It’s not far away. It’s in Greenwich. What else are you going to do? We agreed that you can’t go on much longer.’
