скачать книгу бесплатно
They followed the head waiter across the room. When he showed them to a table near the window overlooking Green Park.
‘I’m glad I was able to get a room here,’ Charlie volunteered, looking across the dinner table at Amos. ‘The hotel seems to be very busy, no doubt because of the Armistice, and Christmas, of course. But I’m an old client and they were most obliging. I’m sure you remember that once we could afford it, Maisie and I stayed here whenever we came to London. Mostly to see you, Amos, you know.’ Without waiting for a comment, he rushed on, ‘Believe me, this place is a helluva lot better than the trenches. Take my word for it.’
‘I do. I can’t imagine what you boys went through over there. Nobody can. Hell on earth, I’m certain, and I’ve no doubt that it was bloody horrific –’ Amos cut himself off as a waiter appeared at the table.
Charlie looked at Amos and asked, ‘Would you like champagne? Or something stronger?’
‘I’ll have whatever you’re having, Charlie, thanks very much.’
‘Then it’s champagne.’ Charlie said to the waiter, ‘I’d like a bottle of pink champagne, the best in the house.’
‘That would be Krug, sir. I’ll bring it right away.’
When they were once more alone, Charlie leaned closer to Amos and said in a low voice, ‘The constant shelling, the mustard gas, the hand-to-hand fighting, it was bleedin’ awful. But it was the bloody mud that got to us. Sometimes we sank knee-deep in it, and it slowed us down, I can tell you. One of my lads suddenly hit on the idea of using our rations to make a solid floor in the trenches.’
‘Rations?’ Amos’s eyebrows shot up questioningly.
‘That’s right … tins of Fray Bentos corned beef, our daily rations. Hundreds of tins went under our boots, helped to keep our feet dry, and at eye level, so we could see over the top of the trenches. Spot the Germans as they came at us. It was horrible, like glue, that mud, and then there was the incessant rain, the bombs exploding, the men dying all around us …’ Charlie let his voice fall away. He pressed his lips together, struggling to keep his emotions in check, but it was a struggle for him.
Amos, regarding him worriedly, noticed that Charlie’s dark eyes were suddenly moist, and he reached out, touched the younger man’s arm quietly, lovingly. ‘There, there, lad, take it easy. Perhaps we shouldn’t be talking about this –’
‘It’s all right, honest,’ Charlie cut in with swiftness. ‘It’s better to talk about it really, especially with an old friend like you. I know you understand how I feel, you always have.’
Amos said nothing, but thought that Charlie had never been through anything like this before, but then who had? It had been a war of such magnitude, horror and brutality that it defied description.
Charlie suddenly coughed behind his hand, and swallowed. Then before he could stop himself he went on talking. ‘I saw my men die around me, all of them. I lost the whole battalion. I’m the only survivor.’ His voice broke on these words, and he pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, sat back quietly, pushing the memories of his men away.
Amos, aware that Charlie was trying to control his distress, motioned to a waiter, and when he came to the table, Amos said, ‘Could we have some water, please? And the menus … we’ve been waiting for those. We’d like to order.’
Nodding, the waiter hurried off.
After a moment or two, Charlie turned to Amos and made a face. ‘Sorry, old mate, very sorry. Usually I’m fine, quite all right most of the time, and then suddenly I get upset, sort of overcome. My apologies. I didn’t intend to inflict this on you.’
‘You’re doing no such thing, don’t be daft,’ Amos answered, and then seeing a bevy of waiters descending on them, exclaimed, ‘Everything’s coming all at once.’
Within minutes they were alone again, and lifting their flutes of champagne; they clinked glasses. ‘Here’s to the future!’ Charlie said.
‘The future!’ Amos echoed, and took a sip.
A silence fell between them as they both scrutinized the menu, and then Charlie looked over the top of his, and said, with a smile, ‘Lots of delicious things to choose from, and I must confess, they all tempt me. A lot better than the grub I was getting in the army hospital at Hull. Bloody foul it was.’
Amos laughed, relieved to see that the old Cockney cheerfulness was surfacing in Charlie. ‘I must say it does read like a repast for a king. Well … I fancy the Colchester oysters, or perhaps the Morecambe Bay potted shrimps, and then saddle of mutton with redcurrant jelly, or roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.’
‘D’yer think they knows ’ow to mek Yorkshire pud ’ere? Me old muvver used ter say only the folks from up the Dales could do it proper, and that’s right, innit? No, this ain’t the place fer it.’
Amos burst out laughing. ‘I thought you’d forgotten all your Cockney, Charlie, seeing as how you’re speaking like an officer and a gentleman tonight.’
Charlie laughed with him and took a long swallow of his pink champagne, enjoying it. ‘Not only tonight, but all the time really. Didn’t you ever notice on our trips home before the war that Maisie and I were speaking differently, like this, not falling into Cockney slang at all?’
‘Come to think of it, yes, I did. But occasionally you sort of, well, lapsed, shall we say?’
‘Not often. However, there was a really good reason why we decided to speak properly, after we’d arrived in New York. And it’s this … they didn’t understand Cockney there. I mean, what Yank would know that apples and pears means stairs, and rosy lea is a cup of tea?’
‘That’s understandable. But let’s face it, a lot of the English don’t understand it either,’ Amos pointed out.
‘That’s because you’ve got to be born within the sound of Bow Bells to understand Cockney and speak it proper-like. And that’s St Mary-le-Bow Church where the bells are, but I know you know that. And listen, Mum once told me another fing, that rhyming Cockney slang was invented so that nobody else could understand it. Only Cockneys. It was a way to outwit the rozzers, coppers like you, Amos, and anybody else trying to listen in to a private conversation.’
‘A secret language! I’ll be buggered.’ Amos grinned.
So did Charlie, who announced, ‘You do manage to cheer me up, you really do. It’s the first time I’ve had a laugh in months and months.’
Before Amos could answer, the maîtred’ came over to the table to take their order, and once he had left them alone, Amos leaned closer to his old friend. ‘I just wanted to say something, and it’s this. I’m here to help you, in whatever way you might need me. If I can help you in any way, you know I am ready, willing and able to do so. I don’t suppose you need money, because you were a successful actor, a star, but –’
‘No, no, I don’t need money!’ Charlie interrupted. ‘I have a good business manager in New York, and he’s done very well for me, taken my money and quadrupled it over the years. And Maisie’s money, too. A’ course, she doesn’t need money. After her father-in-law died last year, Liam inherited the title and quite a fortune. He was the only son, you see. I’m proud of her, Amos, because she’s been running that estate ever since she married Liam. Lord Dunleith was sick, and a bit decrepit, and she took over because Liam was at the front, and Lady Dunleith was dead. She’s quite remarkable, I think, our Maisie.’
‘I agree with you,’ Amos murmured, and pushed away thoughts of the past and things he had no wish to remember. Changing the subject, he asked, ‘What do you think you’ll do, now that the war’s over? Or are you just going to be a gentleman of leisure.’
‘That’s not for me, doing nothing!’ Charlie shook his head vehemently. ‘I can’t act anymore, not with this ruined face. But I could direct or produce, and perhaps I might even write for the theatre. Something will turn up.’
‘I know it will, you’ve always been very enterprising. But isn’t there anything you can do about the scarring? I mean once your face has properly healed?’
‘Maybe. One of the doctors at the hospital in Hull told me that skin can be grafted, and that there are certain new methods, special treatments being developed. I shall just have to wait until I’ve healed. Perhaps then I can see someone.’
At this point two waiters arrived with trays of food. There were Colchester oysters for Amos and paté for Charlie, which they promptly served, and then brought plates of toast and brown bread.
‘I’m glad we’re having dinner together tonight,’ Charlie remarked at one moment. ‘I couldn’t wait to see you. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always made me feel tons better. It’s comforting to have a really close friend, someone you can trust.’
‘Yes, it is. And I can say the same for you, Charlie.’
It was after they had finished the main course of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and were sipping their glasses of St Emilion and relaxing, that Charlie suddenly sat up straighter in the chair.
‘What is it?’ Amos asked, following the direction of his gaze.
‘A friend’s just coming into the restaurant. That officer over there in the entrance. The one on crutches, with those two women and another man. Do you see him?’
Amos nodded.
‘He lost a leg, after he was severely wounded in the third battle of Ypres.’
‘Were you in the trenches with him?’ Amos asked.
‘No, I wasn’t. I didn’t know him then. We first met at the military hospital in Hull, and then again at Chapel Allerton Hospital in Leeds, when I had a problem with my leg. As you can see, they took his, amputated above the knee. I was much luckier, they saved mine. Do you mind if I go and say hello to him?’
‘Yes, go and speak to him, Charlie. I’ll just sit here and enjoy the very good claret you ordered.’
‘Cedric’s a nice chap, and he was very helpful to me.’
Amos frowned. ‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Cedric.’
‘And his last name?’
‘I didn’t say, but it’s Crawford. He’s Major Cedric Crawford. Why do you ask?’
‘I just wondered, that’s all.’
Excusing himself, Charlie walked across the restaurant, intent on speaking to the man with whom he had become good friends in the two hospitals in Yorkshire.
Amos stared after him. He felt as though he had just been hit in the stomach with a brick. Could the major on crutches be none other than the same Cedric Crawford who had lived with Grace Rose’s mother, Tabitha James? And who had abandoned Grace Rose? Who had turned her out into the streets to fend for herself?
He didn’t know. But he certainly aimed to find out.
NINE (#)
As he waited for Charlie to return to the table, Amos glanced around the restaurant. It had filled up as the evening had progressed and there was quite a din … voices, laughter, the clatter of dishes and bottles, the clink of ice … all the sounds of a busy place, in fact.
There was a wonderful festive feeling here tonight and an air of celebration about the other people present who were dining at the Ritz. He noticed many officers with their wives, parents and families; some of them were wounded and his heart went out to those men. His eyes swept around the room once more, and he thought how truly fortunate they were. They were alive, safely home, and Christmas would be a good one for them this year. The world was at peace. But so many had died. Millions. The flower of English youth was gone, a generation wiped out.
Several times he sneaked a glance at Major Cedric Crawford, who was talking animatedly to Charlie. They both looked pleased to see each other.
Amos realized he would have to handle the situation with care and delicacy. He knew full well that men who had lived through similar experiences during a war, and became friends, always bonded, were blood brothers under the skin. And Charlie and Crawford had suffered horrific wounds in the Great War, had been in two hospitals together. There was bound to be an enormous closeness between them; in fact it was quite apparent that indeed there was, from the manner in which they greeted each other with such enthusiasm.
Amos averted his face, glanced towards the window and the view of Green Park, and then spotted Charlie hobbling back to the table.
‘Your friend appears delighted to see you, Charlie,’ Amos remarked as the other man sat down.
‘He was, and I was happy to see him, too. He’s a nice chap, Cedric, and he was always kind to me, very helpful.’
‘I’m glad he was. Tell me, is one of those good-looking women his wife?’
‘No, they’re both his sisters. Rowena, that’s the dark-haired one, is actually Cedric’s twin, and she’s not married. The blonde is the eldest sister. Her name is Daphne. The other man at the table is her husband, Sir Malcolm Holmes, who’s some sort of industrialist.’
‘I’ve heard of him. So Cedric is from a prestigious family, then?’
‘Very much so, Amos.’ Leaning forward Charlie confided, with a huge smile, ‘Cedric is going to be awarded the Victoria Cross. Just imagine that. What an honour … his sister Rowena just told me. She’s very proud.’
‘Well, that’s very impressive indeed. The Victoria Cross is the highest recognition for valour in the face of the enemy that anyone can get. Did you know that?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘I didn’t, but he bloody well deserves it, from what I’ve heard about his actions in the Battle of the Somme, just after Verdun. Saved a lot of his men, took great risks to do so.’
‘So he told you about his feats of bravery, did he?’ Amos’s eyes searched Charlie’s face. He was also wondering if there were two Cedric Crawfords in the world … but it was such an unusual name, wasn’t it? Hardly likely that there would be two of them, although you never knew. Could be there was. No, he thought. Cedric Crawford who had been a guards officer and a gambler before the war surely had to be this man.
Charlie exclaimed, ‘No, no, he wouldn’t boast about his courage, he’s not that sort. No, no. It was a surgeon at the hospital in Hull who mentioned his bravery to me one day. Apparently Cedric arrived at the hospital with quite a reputation as a hero … he got seven of his men out of a trench under heavy bombardment from the Germans, shepherded them to safety, then went back and carried out first one wounded Tommy, and then a second. That was in 1916 … the summer when General Haig sent in British troops to help the French. That first day the British troops were just mowed down … 20,000 dead, Amos, 20,000. And another 40,000 wounded or lost. It was on the second day that Cedric came to the rescue of his men.’
Amos nodded, said nothing, stunned by the size of the losses. It was almost impossible to conceive … 60,000 men either dead or wounded. He sat up straighter and looked at Charlie, who was still talking about Cedric.
‘After that violent summer, he went on to fight at Ypres. Funny thing was, I was at Passchendaele, and so was he, but we didn’t know each other. That was in 1917 … bloody wholesale slaughter it was. Those of us that got out alive, well, we sure as hell must’ve had a guardian angel watching over us.’
Amos could only nod, wondering how on earth he could broach the subject of Cedric Crawford, suggest that he was the man involved with Tabitha James. There were no two ways about it, they certainly sounded like two different men to him. But, in actuality, what did he really know about Cedric Crawford? Not much. He only had a bit of disjointed information from Grace Rose, a little girl who had been four at the time, plus a few comments from a woman who supposedly had been Tabitha’s friend, but was not all that well-informed. Nor had she been worried enough to rescue Tabitha.
‘You’re lost in thought, Amos. You look troubled. What’s wrong?’
Amos stared at the young man for whom he had always had great affection, and wondered where to begin. Clearing his throat, he asked in a casual tone, ‘Is your friend a professional soldier?’
‘I don’t believe so, but he was in the guards at one time. Then he got out, he didn’t say why. He lived in Paris for a bit and then he went to America. You know what, he actually saw me in a show on Broadway, and he remembered me and Maisie, believe it or not. It was a Billy Rose show, a wonderful revue.’
‘Does he like a flutter?’
‘You mean on the ponies? Or in a gambling club?’
‘The latter. Does he?’
‘I think so, but listen here, what’s all this about? Why all the questions about Cedric, Amos?’
I know I can trust him, Amos thought, and said, ‘I’d like to speak to you in confidence.’
‘You know you can. Go on then, what’s in your noggin?’
‘I think your friend Cedric Crawford probably might have known, actually been a friend of, Tabitha James, the real mother of Grace Rose.’
‘Get on with you, Amos, you can’t be serious!’
‘I am. I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, fantastical even, but certainly Tabitha knew a man by that name. Do you think there are two Cedric Crawfords in London?’
‘I don’t know, but I very much doubt it.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘After all, it’s not a name like John Smith, is it?’ He drew closer to Amos. ‘Refresh my memory a bit … I know you found Grace Rose in Whitechapel, in terrible circumstances.’
‘She was living in a cart, I think it might have been a discarded costermonger’s cart, in a cul-de-sac, and she was dressed as a boy.’
‘That’s right! Now I remember, you told me all about it when I came back for the first time with Maisie. You took him to Lady Fenella’s, to Haddon House, and when they washed all the dirt off of him he turned out not to be a him, but a her. How’s she doing?’
‘You’ve got a good memory, Charlie, and she’s doing wonderfully well. But going back to her childhood, when I found her she told me her mother was dead, and then later her mother’s old friend, a woman called Sophie Fox-Lannigan, explained to Lady Fenella that Tabitha James had been living with a man called Cedric Crawford, a guard’s officer and a gambler. And that when she went to see Tabitha one day, she’d disappeared. They all had. It seemed a bit of a mystery to her.’
Charlie frowned, looked suddenly worried. ‘And you want to ask him if it was him, is that it?’
‘Well, yes. You see we just don’t know where Tabitha is buried, and it’s always troubled me, and Lady Fenella. You see, when Grace Rose was four she said her mother was buried in Potters Field, but nobody’s ever believed that, it didn’t sound right. And she isn’t, we checked. It would be nice to know the truth, especially for Grace Rose … that’s all there is to it, I promise you, Charlie.’
‘Do you think he knows?’
‘He might. Then he might not. It’s just possible he moved out, moved on, left Tabitha James before she died.’
Charlie took a deep breath, then blew out air. ‘I wouldn’t want you to upset him, Amos, he’s been through such a bloody lot.’
‘I understand that, and I would never create any problems. But I would like to talk to him, yes. Can you arrange it?’
‘I could, I suppose,’ Charlie answered, sounding reluctant.
‘But will you?’
