He was hustled off by orderlies.
Pim watched him go, standing very still. “But—why do they go mad?”
“I don’t know,” said Laura. She did, but it wasn’t something you said in words. It didn’t have words.
Pim said, in an odd, fragile voice, “But they— The war drove themmad? What was he saying? About—about the dead ones?”
“Madness,” said Laura, with finality. “It was madness. Come along.”
· · ·
They were supposed to spend three days in London. Three days too long, in Laura’s opinion. “Patience, Iven,” said Mary, busily opening letters at the breakfast table in their hotel the next morning. “I have people to call on; there’s no telling when I’ll be in London next. Private field hospitals don’t run on donations alone. I need public and private goodwill. Why do you think they let me stay inbusiness? I’m a newsmaking coup, a brave lady doing my bit. I’m off to the newspaper office this morning, soon as I’ve had my tea.”
Laura applied herself to her soft-boiled egg and toast. “Well, as long as the newspapers are satisfied,” she said.
“Exactly,” said Mary.
Pim had brought a Baedeker to breakfast and was paging through it, making notes, ignoring her toast. Mary said, “Shaw, do you think you’re here for summer holidays?”
Pim said, “Oh, Laura, do you want to see Trafalgar Square?”
“Why not?” said Laura. She’d never traveled for pleasure. “Is that the one with the lions?”
“Hopeless, both of you.” Mary slit open another letter. Gave a crow of satisfaction.
“What is it?” asked Pim.
Mary said, “Rejoice, ladies. I have procured us invitations to dinner.”
Pim shut the guidebook. “Yes? With whom?”
“At the house of a retired general, a good old creature called Munster, one of those who made his bones in India and South Africa. You may expect Turkey carpets, and statues on all sides, dubiously acquired.” Mary shook her head. “Butthere will be a full complement of new-arrived American officers—that’s why they’ve invited us, thinking the officers will appreciate ladies from their own side of the ocean. And—” Mary had clearly saved the best for last. “Gage himself will be there, of the Fifth Army, you know, much caressed at GHQ. He’s made a quick run to London, going back the same day we are. We’re fortunate to have caught him.” Mary rubbed her hands together. “I can easily see— Why, what is it, Laura?”
Laura had dropped her carefully peeled egg. “Nothing,” she said, collecting herself. “It’s slippery. Go on, Mary.”
· · ·
Mary tried to drag them out for new clothes, but Laura was immovable. “I’ll wear my uniform. We’re in a war, and I am, God save us,a heroine, with a limp to prove it. Thus does one sidestep all dictates of fashion.”
“All right,” Mary said reluctantly. “But you’ll wear a proper uniform. Not one of those field-modified things, hemmed to the knee.”
“Am I a savage?” said Laura. “I’ll look perfectly proper. I even have a medal.” It was true that most of her uniforms had been made over long ago. The standard nursing uniform was charming to look at. It was floor-length, with seven pieces including a starched detachable collar. Pristine detachable cuffs. Every nurse near the front line had taken one look and started surreptitiously hemming, quick as she could. But Laura had kept one uniform back, for occasions like this one. She put it on the evening of dinner, and when she came out to the shared lounge between their rooms, Mary said, “Maybe you were right. You’ll look better in uniform anyway. You have one of those faces. Authoritative. Evening clothes would just look frivolous. Shame you’re not taller. Now tell me what’s troubling you.” Pim had gone off to bathe.
Laura gave Mary an inquiring look.
“Do not even try to look innocent,” said Mary. “You looked like a thundercloud when I told you about this dinner. What is it?”
Laura said briefly, “The general—Gage—it was on his orders that we relocated to Brandhoek, in support.” A criminal place for a mobile hospital. Tucked up snug between a railroad siding and an ammunition dump, inevitably a target.
“I see,” Mary said, sounding unmoved.
Laura said, “I know. Put the hospital next to the munitions, and perhaps Fritz won’t bombard the latter. Or, if he does, and smashes the hospital in the bargain, then someone in a fedora comes out and takes pictures of the wrecked wards and weeping nurses. Sends the best ones straight to the papers. Another coup of wartime newsmaking.”
Mary said, “Yes, yes, all very nefarious. Can you keep your feelings to yourself at dinner? This is a great thing, Laura, this invitation. There will be donations from this.”
“I’m not going to pitch a fit and refuse to eat my peas, Mary. I’d rather not go. But I think you knew that.”
Mary said, coaxingly, “Theywon’t be rationing sugar.”
