Mirror Image, page 35
"It happens that way a lot here. How do you feel about that, Miss Henderson? " She had remembered her name, she knew who she was, and Victoria didn't know it yet, but she had already sent her suitcase to the barracks and assigned her a cot in the female section. "We can use your help here, " she said honestly. "I don't know why you've come here, and I don't really care, but if you've got the stomach for it, we need you very badly. The men have been taking a terrible beating." Victoria had already seen that the night before, and she'd even been given a gas mask herself just in case everything went wrong, and the trenches broke, and the Germans overran them.
"I'd like to stay, " Victoria said, surprising herself. She didn't even know what had made her say that, it almost sounded as though a voice other than hers had answered the question.
"Good." Sergeant Morrison stood up and looked at her watch. She had other matters to attend to. They were having a staff meeting at the chateau later that morning, and as the sergeant in charge of volunteers, they had asked her to join them. She assumed correctly she'd be the only woman at the meeting. "Oh." She turned as though she had forgotten to say anything. "You're in the women's barracks. I had your bag sent over last night. Someone will show you where it is.
And you need to report back to duty in the medical tent in ten minutes."
"Now? " Victoria looked stunned. She'd been up all night, and she was ready to go to bed. But not according to the sergeant.
"You'll be off at eight o'clock tonight, " she smiled. "I told you, Henderson, we need your help here. You can catch up on your beauty sleep later. And by the way, " she looked at her somewhat sternly, but her eyes were warm and caring. But Victoria still couldn't believe she had to go back on duty. The woman was a tyrant. But she preferred to save her nurses and use her volunteers. They had to ration everything here, even people. "Tie your hair back, " she said, and then disappeared as Victoria stared after her. She had another cup of coffee then, and contemplated another twelve hours on duty. She almost wondered if she could do it.
But she had no choice now.
"Back so soon? You must have run into Sergeant Morrison, " Dither teased when he saw her again. He was still on duty too, and Victoria helped herself to a fresh apron. She tied her hair back as Sergeant Morrison had told her to, and found a once-sterile cap to put over it.
The Allied Forces sent them what supplies they could, but they were pathetically little compared to what their needs were. And then she went back to her duties.
l i The next twelve hours were more of the same, dying boys, screaming men, severed limbs, blinded eyes, and lungs filled with poison gases.
This time, by the time she left the tent, she was almost reeling. She was so tired she thought she'd vomit as she asked someone for the women's tent, and when she got there, she didn't even look for her suitcase.
She found the nearest cot, and lay down on it, and she felt as though she were dying as she fell asleep. She had never been so tired in her life, and this time, she didn't even dream of her sister. She didn't wake up again until late the next afternoon, and she showered in the makeshift tent set up for it, washed her hair, and went back to the mess tent for what should have been breakfast but was almost dinner.
It was a glorious May afternoon, and she felt nearly human again, as she helped herself to some food, and more of the strong black coffee they all seemed to exist on. It was like fuel for their cars, they couldn't function without it.
As she ate, she wondered when she was due back in the hospital tent, she had no idea what her schedule was going to be, and no one had told her.
And as she finished a plate of the familiar stew, she saw Dither and asked him. He was coming off thirty-six hours' straight duty, and he looked it.
"I don't think you're expected back until tonight. It should be posted in your barracks. Morrison figured you needed some sleep, I guess."
"So do you, " she said sympathetically, beginning to feel part of things. It was actually a very nice feeling. "Thanks, Dither, see you later."
"Salut! " he said, and walked off with a tin mug of coffee.
He knew it wouldn't keep him awake, nothing would, not even bombs or men with hammers. He was beyond exhausted, but he smiled as he left.
He liked her. He had no idea why she was here. Most people had their own reasons, and rarely told anyone why they had come, unless they became close friends. Many people were running away from unhappy lives, or had high ideals. Whatever brought them here, it was never the same as what kept them.
She went back to the barracks after that, and found her schedule.
She was on again in two hours, and she lay on her cot for a while and rested, and then she walked around the camp and found out where things were. She thought of writing to Olivia, but she decided she didn't have time before she went back on duty. Instead, she reported to the medical tent a little early. There were no familiar faces there this time, except Sergeant Morrison who showed up a little while later to check on her. She looked satisfied by the hair, and gave her some uniforms. They looked like men's fatigues, except they had a long skirt.
She wore a white apron over it, and a little cap with a red cross, and they gave her a red cape for when it was cold. It was an odd mishmash of garments, but it let people know who she was and what she did, if they needed her help anywhere. And then the sergeant asked her how things were going.
"Pretty well, I think, " Victoria said cautiously. She wasn't sure how competent she was, but she was trying.
"I'm glad to hear it. You can pick up your identity card in the staff tent. Your stay was approved at the meeting yesterday, " Morrison said matter-of-factly. "I think you'll do very well." Victoria was surprised by her praise, and a few minutes later the sergeant left her.
And she had no time to even think after that. There was a battle in Berry all Bric that night, and waves of men were brought in on stretchers.
She worked fourteen straight hours, and was too tired and too sickened to even eat when she left, and she walked slowly back to her barracks.
It was impossible not to think of the boys who'd died, and as tired as she was, she began thinking of the children she'd seen die on the Lusitania. It all seemed so senseless. The sun was high in the sky, it was May in France, the birds were singing, and people were dying all around her. Instead of going inside, she walked a little way past her tent, to a small clearing, sat down on the ground with her back against a tree, and lit a cigarette. She just needed to be alone with her own thoughts for a few minutes. She wasn't used to being surrounded by people all the time, never having a moment to herself, and having so many demands made on her, she hadn't realized it would be so draining.
She leaned back against the tree, with the cigarette in her hand, and her eyes closed. The sun felt warm on her face, but she felt a thousand years old as she sat there.
"You might get a nice tan, " she heard a voice say just in front of her, "but I can think of better spots for a vacation." The voice was French, and it was male, but he had said it in English. And when she opened her eyes, from her vantage point on the ground, he looked as tall as the tree she'd leaned back on. He had graying blonde hair, and in another place and time, she would have thought he was very handsome.
"How did you know I spoke English? " she asked, curious, but not smiling.
. s "I approved your papers yesterday, " he said, his eyes meeting hers coolly. He wasn't smiling either. Each of them was appraising the other.
"I recognized the uniform, and the description." Penny Morrison had said there was a very pretty young American who'd come over on the Lusitania, and would probably stay for about ten minutes. But he didn't say that to Victoria as he watched her.
"Am I supposed to stand up and salute you? " Victoria asked. She didn't know the protocol yet, but at this moment in time they appeared more to be a man and a woman, and not a captain and a medical assistant.
He smiled this time at her question. "Not unless you join the army, and I think you really shouldn't. You can do just as well with what you're doing, unless of course you feel a need for a rank, and you're not a nurse, I believe, so you'd only be a private. Frankly, I wouldn't bother." He spoke perfect English and had gone to Oxford and Harvard.
He looked older than Charles to her, though she wasn't sure how much.
In fact, he was thirty-nine, and very attractive. He looked extremely aristocratic. "I'm Captain Edouard de Bonneville, by the way." He was smiling at her now, and there was a light in her eyes that hadn't been there since she left New York. She had scarcely had anyone to talk to, except Lady Mackworth on the Lusitania. Ever since then, it had been purely perfunctory conversations. But this man seemed different.
"Are you the commanding officer here? " she asked. "I suppose I should stand up, but to tell you the truth, I'm not sure my legs would hold me." Her eyes looked tired and her smile rueful.
"That's another advantage of not being in the army. You don't need to stand up and salute, or stand at attention. I strongly suggest you don't enlist, " he teased, and sat down on a log facing her.
"And no, I'm not the commanding officer at all. I'm third or fourth in line, and of no consequence whatsoever."
"Somehow, if you signed my papers yesterday, I'm not sure I believe that."
"It's close enough to the truth." But not really. He had gone to Saumur, the cavalry school for nobles and gentlemen, and was career army. And eventually, if all went well, he would be a general.
But he was far more interested in her than his own history. In the past two days, he had heard about her from several of the men, and Penny Morrison was intrigued by her. She was obviously well bred, and very young and beautiful, and no one could imagine why she'd come here.
She looked like the sort of girl to be spending her summer dancing in satin gowns and going to parties. "I hear you came over on the Lusitania, " he said, watching her eyes. He could see all the sorrow and the pain there.
"That's not much of a start to your trip, I'm afraid .. . but then again, " he grinned almost impishly, "this isn't much of a finish.
Have you lost your way en route to somewhere rather more pleasant, or did you do this to yourself on purpose? " She laughed at him, and without even knowing him, she liked him. There was something very straightforward about him, and even a little bit sharp, and she liked it.
"No, I did this on purpose. It would be pretty awful if I hadn't." She laughed at him, and then met his gaze. Their eyes were almost exactly the same color, although her hair was so dark and his was fair.
Any one watching them would have thought they'd make an attractive couple, although the captain was obviously considerably older.
Technically, though not easily at thirty-nine, he could have been her father.
"Why is it you speak English so well? "
"I went to Oxford for a year after the Sorbonne, and then to adjust the accent perfectly, " he grinned, and imitated a Boston twang perfectly, "I spent a year at Harvard. Then I went to Saumur, it's a rather silly French military school with a lot of horses." She loved the way he described it.
Even she had heard of it, and knew it was very distinguished. It was the equivalent of West Point in the States, but with horses. "And now I'm here, and frankly, " he lit a cigarette too, she had finished hers by then and she'd lit another, "I so.
wish I weren't." She laughed at his honesty. Most of the men would have said the same thing. It was amazing to think she had come three thousand miles because she wanted to be here. "And if you had any sense at all, you'd get back on a ship, an American one this time, since your country is sensible enough to stay out of all this, and go back to where you came from. Where is that, by the way? " He knew she was American, but he didn't know more than that, except that her name was Olivia Henderson, or at least he thought "New York, " she answered cautiously.
"And you've run away from tyrannical parents? " He knew she was twenty-two from her passport, but she was still young enough to live with them, or want to leave them, for whatever reasons. Or perhaps a broken heart had brought her here. It was possible, but would have been extremely foolish.
"No." She shook her head. "I have a very kind father." Edouard looked surprised by that. "And he let you come here?
What an odd man." But Victoria shook her head in answer. She liked talking to him, and the odd mixture of his accent, mostly French, somewhat British.
"I don't think I would allow my daughter to do that, I'm sure I wouldn't, if I had one, which thank God, I don't." She looked at his hand and there was no wedding ring. But there was none on her hand either, and she was married to Charles. Olivia was wearing it for her.
"He doesn't know I'm here, " Victoria said honestly. "He thinks I'm in California."
"That is not a nice thing to do." He looked at her with frank disapproval. What if something happened to her? What about the ship?
"Does no one know you're here? " She was very bold for a twenty-two-year-old girl, very brave, and very foolish.
"My sister does, " she answered him, leaning back against the tree again. She liked talking to him, but she was very tired. And yet there was something about him that made her want to tell him things she wondered if she shouldn't. But he couldn't send her back now. She had her papers. And she was over twenty-one. What could he do to stop her?
"We're twins, " she said quietly.
"Identical? " He was totally intrigued by her as she nodded.
"Completely." She nodded. "We're mirror twins. Everything I have on the left side, she has on the right, and vice versa. Like this freckle." She held out her left hand to him and he could see only the tiniest of spots there, on her palm, just between her fingers. He glanced at it and nodded. He had no real need for this information and identifying process, since he was not seeing them together, but he could imagine it could be quite a problem. "No one can tell us apart, except the woman who took care of us when we were small. Not even our father."
She grinned mischievously at him, and he could just imagine all the chaos she might have wrought, and had, with pleasure.
"That could be very complicated, " he said, envisioning it, and then he smiled at her, "especially with men, no? Have you confused everyone of your acquaintance? " He was very clever, more than he knew, and she laughed at him. She didn't know it yet, but Edouard de Bonneville was dazzled by her beauty. He had heard of her, and the words hadn't been generous enough as far as he was concerned. She was gorgeous.
"We only confused some, " she confessed, looking very innocent, which he did not believe for a single moment.
"The poor devils. How dreadful. I'm glad I have not met you together, though I must admit, I would like to have seen it. What is your sister's name? " he asked, and she hesitated, but only for a second.
"Victoria, " she said simply.
"Olivia and Victoria. It's quite perfect. So Olivia, " he went on, "you are here as a mystery, and only your sister knows. And how long will you stay with us? Till it ends? " He doubted it. Why should she?
She was obviously wellborn, well educated, well spoken, intelligent, and very beautiful. She could go home anytime she wanted, and he was sure she would the moment she was tired of the dangers there, and the discomfort, and there were lots of both. He doubted that she'd be there much longer.
"I don't know." She looked at him honestly, and her eyes told him a tale he didn't understand yet. Perhaps she was running away from something. "I'll stay as long as I can. It depends on my sister."
"On your sister? " That did surprise him, as he raised an eye brow and watched her. "Why on her? " She was a rare and curious being, and he would have loved to spend the day with her, talking, and getting to know her.
"She's taking care of things for me."
"It sounds complicated, " he said discreetly.
"It is." She nodded, with an odd look in her eyes.
"Perhaps one day, you'll tell me about it." He vowed to follow her career while she was at Chalons-sur-Marne. It would be interesting, he was certain.
She stood up slowly then, and felt the ache in her bones she had felt when she left the medical tent. She didn't want to leave him, but she knew she could not stay awake much longer. But he surprised her by walking her slowly to the women's tent. She had been sure he wouldn't want to be seen talking to a lowly volunteer, and yet he didn't seem to mind it.
In fact, he turned up frequently over the next week, in the medical tent, watching her as she knelt beside someone vomiting their guts after they were gassed, or crying as she held them while they died. He turned up in the mess tent once or twice, and had coffee with her, and once he sat with her long enough for her to inhale dinner, on a ten-minute break before she went back on duty in the tent. They managed to talk, over the constant rumble of the guns that they were all used to now, and the occasional hissing sound that always reminded her of the sound when the first torpedo hit the Lusitania. They talked of the greenish yellow clouds of gas that had continued to hit near Dangemarck, and the thousands of men who were being maimed, killed, and crippled.
And yet, interspersed with all that, they talked about foolish things, lawn tennis, summer yachts, his love of horses that had actually led him to the cavalry, and his time in Boston. They found that they even knew some of the same people in Newport. It was all so strange talking about it here, but most of the time, they spoke only about what they were doing day by day.
He dropped by to see her at the barracks now and then too. She'd been there for a month when he actually invited her to go somewhere.
There was to be a small dinner at the chateau given by the general for the senior officers, and Edouard invited her to go with him.
"Here? " She looked shocked. She had nothing at all to wear. She had lost everything on the ship, and what she had bought in Liverpool was functional and ugly. All she had were her uniforms and her starched aprons.
