Chapter the Fourteenth: In Which Some Frank Conversations Are Had

Thursday, 7th November, 1918

"Really, my dear girl - only you could go away on holiday and discover a corpse." Captain Mountfichet shook Margaret's hand as he disembarked from the train, shaking his head. "One would almost think it were some sort of compulsion."

Margaret noticed Constable Hughes's rather anxious look and gave the captain a glare. "Captain Mountfichet is only joking, constable - albeit in very poor taste. He thinks," she continued, with pointed emphasis, "that being an old friend of my family's entitles him to more than occasional rudeness."

"That," Anthony observed mildly from over Edith's shoulder, "is rather unfair. The poor chap's quite clearly head over ears for her."

His wife jumped, her hands leaving the typewriter keys, and spun on her chair with a glad cry of, "Oh! Hello! I wasn't expecting you home for lunch!" She beamed in delight as Anthony bent to kiss her cheek. "How lovely!"

Her husband pressed a finger to her lips, giving her a most uncharacteristically boyish grin as he did so. It would have worked, too, if Edith hadn't noticed the shadows under his eyes, and the slight tension at the back of them. "Shhh, I've gone temporarily AWOL. There's a lunchtime concert on at St Martin's - I thought I could make up for the opera, the other night."

Edith gave him an old-fashioned look. "You don't need to make up for it. No, Anthony, listen," she added, as he looked about to protest. "Really. You were exhausted because you'd spent over twelve hours hard at work trying to protect your country." If you ask me, my darling, you're still exhausted. "That's your job, and it makes me prouder of you than I can say. My job is making sure that you're well-rested, well-fed and not worrying more than you need to. I certainly don't want you fretting that I'll hold a missed opera performance against you."

"I… I don't want you to feel… neglected."

"I don't." She leaned up and gave him a lingering kiss. "Now, go back to work where you're needed, and I'll see you for dinner."

Friday, 8th November, 1918

Anthony frowned down at the typed sheet of paper in front of him. "Something the matter?" Edith wondered. In fact, if she'd noted the crest on the back of the envelope correctly, she knew precisely what was causing that expression, and was having difficulty suppressing a triumphant smile behind her teacup.

"No," Anthony replied, drawing out the sound a little. He looked up, giving Edith a thoroughly puzzled look. "Just… a letter from Papa."

"That's nice." Edith smiled encouragingly. "Does he… say anything in particular?"

"No, just that they were pleased to see you last week, sorry not to see me… and that the offer for Strallan House is still open, if we'd like it." Anthony flipped the sheet of paper over, his expression of puzzlement deepening. "And that he and Mama are handing out prizes at the school this Friday."

"Business as usual, then." Carefully, and with an air of great unconcern, Edith finished her last bite of toast. "And… will you write back?"

Anthony frowned. "I suppose I must, yes. Lord knows what I'll say, though."

She rose from the table, setting aside her napkin, and went to kiss the top of his head. "You start by thanking him for his letter, and then you tell him your news… and then you close with love." She squeezed him about the shoulders. "That's most important of all."

When she passed by the study door, that evening, Anthony's head was bent over the blotter, as his left hand carefully inscribed letters over a page. Edith sighed, with great satisfaction at a job thoroughly well done… and went to see about dinner.

5.15am, Monday, 11th November, 1918

Monday morning started with Stewart's voice, raised half in agitation, half in hope, from the foot of the bed. "Sir? Sir! A telephone call for you. Lieutenant-Colonel Goult, sir."

As Anthony hauled himself up, Edith groped for her dressing gown from the foot of the bed with one hand, shoving back her hair with the other, eyes still not completely open. Goodness, what now? Didn't Anthony deserve a rest for once in this bloody war? "We may have to ask for the tea tray slightly early this morning, Stewart," she apologised. "In fact," she added, stifling a yawn, "you'd better make it coffee, just this once."

"Very good, madam."

Downstairs, Anthony was just setting down the hall telephone. He looked up at her, almost unseeing, hair tufted up from sleep, and the cord of his dressing gown dragging on the hall floor - he hadn't even bothered tying the thing before he'd shot downstairs for the 'phone. "Darling?" Edith asked "What is it? Not bad news?"

Anthony shook his head, still looking quite stunned as he managed, "Well, that's it. An armistice has been agreed. Comes into force at 11 o'clock this morning."

Edith stopped dead, three steps up from the hall. "Oh! Oh, Anthony, you don't mean it?!"

A shaky smile broke out on his face. "I damn well hope I do, m'dear! Only for thirty-six days - and God only knows how we'll find von Lettow-Vorbeck to let him know - "

Edith threw her arms around him, cutting him off. "Oh, yes, but it's a start, isn't it? Something to work with? For now, let's just… celebrate!"

Anthony laughed - a sudden joyous bark of a noise - and heaved her up off the stairs in one arm, half-hauling her over his good shoulder as Edith squeaked with delighted surprise and begged, "Oh, you scoundrel! Put me do-own!"

Instead, Anthony wheeled around, making her cling on to him even more tightly - and then he froze with a grunt of pain. Edith froze too, and carefully wriggled herself out of his hold, slipping down his body and to the ground. "Darling? What is it?"

"Shoulder," Anthony managed through gritted teeth. "Seized up. Does that sometimes. I'm s-so sorry."

"Not at all." Edith's hands steadied him as he shook. "It was entirely my silliness - come and sit down and wait for it to ease." Carefully, she led him through to the library, caught halfway between joy at the news and sudden anxiety on Anthony's behalf.

As he lowered himself into the sofa, she saw that his face was utterly ashen, and that he stumbled like a man dizzy with pain. It decided her. Briskly, she slipped out into the hallway and caught Stewart, on his way to the library with the tea tray.

"Stewart, the Major's unwell," she explained, trying to sound as calm as possible. She wasn't entirely sure if she had succeeded.

Stewart set down his burden at once. "I do hope he hasn't had bad news, madam?"

"No, no, not at all. In fact, there's going to be some very good news indeed today, Stewart - for the whole country, Lord, the whole world."

Stewart's face broke into a thoroughly relieved expression. "I'm… so very glad to hear that, madam."

"So can I, I can tell you, Stewart! In any case, will you please telephone the Major's doctor?"

Stewart hesitated. "Dr Yardley or Dr Hunter, madam?"

Edith blinked. "I - I wasn't aware…"

"Dr Yardley," Stewart offered helpfully, "is Major Strallan's General Practitioner, madam." With an equally bland expression on his face, he added, "Dr Hunter is a specialist in neurasthenia."

Neurasthenia. It hit her like a bucket of cold water, that word, making her inhale sharply. Of course, it made so very many things make sense: Maude, the divorce, his nervousness, his exhaustion, the way that he sometimes seemed so very sad and far away from her…

Stewart was watching her rather anxiously; she had to say something. As if moving through treacle, Edith forced herself to reply.

"I see. Th-thank you, Stewart. Dr Yardley would be best, I believe. A pain in his shoulder, around his - his wound."

"Very good, madam." Stewart bowed. "I shall telephone her directly."

Charlotte Yardley - thank Christ and all his saints! - was brisk, hearty and extremely reassuring. She breezed into the library as soon as she arrived, ignored Anthony's half-hearted groan of protest at the sight of her, and scolded him heartily for neglecting the exercises she'd apparently set him the last time he'd been to see her. Edith hovered in the background, feeling quite ill-informed and out of place. And what kind of wife did that make her, that she hadn't known that any of this was going on?

"Well," Charlotte tutted, "if you will spend your days hunched up over a Godforsaken office desk in Whitehall, or wherever it is you're lurking these days, and not stir the shoulder for love nor money, Anthony, then I'm afraid you must expect it to hurt like the blazes when it does get used!" She turned to Edith, pressing on without pause: "Thank goodness he's remarried and has someone to look after him."

It was precisely the wrong thing to say in Anthony's hearing. "Edith isn't my damned nur- " he started to snarl, but Edith got there first. At least the doctor didn't seem to think her utterly useless; she even sounded as if she thought Edith might be able to do some good. At least that made one of them.

"Yes, doctor, of course. If you show me the exercises, I'll make sure the Major does them each morning before he goes to work." She beamed down at Anthony brightly enough that his hackles, slowly, started to descend. "We can manage that, can't we, my dear?"

"Excellent." Dr Yardley smiled. "I'm delighted to know that there's someone here to prevent the entire burden falling on poor Stewart's shoulders, Mrs Strallan. Quite honestly, I think the best thing to do just now would be to get some hot water bottles strapped either side of this shoulder and then get you somewhere you can lie still and rest, Anthony." Dr Yardley looked him over appraisingly, noting the pain lines creasing his mouth and eyes with the perspicacity of long experience. "I suppose it would be useless to suggest a dose of morphine?"

Anthony gave her a smile which was more an unpleasant baring of teeth. "Quite useless, yes," he bit out, and Edith had never heard his voice so cold and clipped.

Dr Yardley frowned anxiously. "I understand your concerns, Anthony, but… even an injection of cocaine hydrochloride - for an injury as severe as yours, it's really the least that I would - "

"No," Anthony was already shaking his head again vehemently. "Absolutely not." And then, under his breath, "We're not going down that road again."

Dr Yardley sighed. "Very well. Ah, Stewart," as the library door opened quietly again, "will you help the Major to bed? Anthony, I'll make sure your wife knows what to do."

Anthony, leaning on Stewart, nodded vaguely and let himself be carried away.

Dr Yardley turned those frightfully knowing eyes on Edith. "Are you quite well, Mrs Strallan? You're looking a little pale and peaky."

"Y-yes. I'm q-quite well." Edith sank down into Anthony's recently vacated spot on the sofa, and Dr Yardley joined her.

"I think I shall take your pulse, just to be sure," the doctor pressed, and Edith presented her wrist almost without being aware that she had done so.

Dr Yardley fished out her watch from its chain inside her waistcoat pocket and peered down it, her cool dry fingers pressed against Edith's wrist. "Hmm, slightly elevated. I'd suggest resting along with Anthony for the morning." Her sharp eyes settled on Edith's face. "And no indications that you might be pregnant?"

Edith felt herself go bright red at the blunt question. "N-no, not yet. I thought you were here to take care of my husband, doctor."

"I am." Dr Yardley smiled. "Won't do Anthony's health any good to be fretting over you, though. Or vice versa, as it goes." Her sharp eyes softened. "Can I take it that this has all come as something of a shock?"

Edith swallowed, feeling suddenly rather tearful. "You'll think me extremely foolish, but I… I had no idea that his injuries were so bad. I mean, of course, he can't move the arm, but… I thought that… other than that… he was healed."

"Have you ever seen the shoulder?" Dr Yardley asked gently, and Edith shook her head.

"He's never shown me and I - it seemed… I didn't think it was my place to ask."

"Well, as his doctor? I can't tell you an awful lot, unfortunately. As his friend? I'd suggest having a quiet talk with him about all of this." Dr Yardley smiled. "Anthony bottles things up entirely too much, and he's endured a great deal over the last few years - medical and otherwise. But… I do know that there's rarely anything so helpful, when it comes to treating wounds, of all sorts, as a caring spouse. I imagine that you are aware that one of those is… rather a novelty for Anthony, still." She rose to her feet and clicked open her Gladstone bag, withdrawing a paper leaflet that she handed to Edith. "Anthony's exercises. Once you've had chance to read and digest them, do telephone me with any questions you have. If I'm not in, my - my lodger, Miss Haynes, will be glad to take a message." They shook hands. "Goodbye, Mrs Strallan, and good luck. When Anthony's feeling better, you must both come for dinner."

When Edith reached their bedroom, she found Anthony propped up on a mass of pillows, his old purple-and-white striped college scarf having been put to the somewhat ignominious use of holding two large hot water bottles - one to the front, one to the back - in place against his shoulder. His head was tipped back, eyes shut, but at the click of the door behind Edith, Anthony looked up and gave her a tired smile. "Hello, sweet one. Charlotte get off all right?"

"Yes, thank you." She went to kneel next to him on the bed. "She says we should come to dinner, once you're feeling better. I'm much more concerned about you, just now."

With his uninjured hand, he found hers and squeezed. "Nothing to be concerned about. I promise."

"Mmm. I'll be the judge of that, thank you." Edith's fingers carded soothingly through his hair. "W-will you tell me why Stewart thought you might have needed a neurasthenia specialist?"

"Ah." Anthony squeezed his eyes tight shut again and his hand flinched against hers. "I'm… so terribly sorry. He oughtn't to have bothered you with all that rot."

"I'm your wife," Edith whispered. "Who else ought he to have bothered with it?"

"As I said to Charlotte, you aren't my nursemaid. I… don't want you feeling the need to fuss over me."

"Too late," Edith bit out. "So you might as well tell me."

For a moment they watched each other in silence, Edith's arms folded across her chest. On the bedside table, Anthony's alarm clock suddenly rang out. Lord, was it only six o'clock? Edith thought, astonished. So much seemed to have happened, in only the last three-quarters of an hour. She reached over and turned the thing off without even looking away from Anthony's face.

At length, he seemed to realise that there was to be no escape. Quietly, he admitted, "After Neuve Chapelle, I… wasn't well. Insomnia, nightmares, the shakes. Sometimes seeing or - or hearing things that weren't there."

"Shellshock," Edith murmured, sinking back on her heels. "You have shellshock." She was quite surprised at how calm her own voice sounded, quite frankly. But then, the very last thing Anthony needed was for her to lose her head over it, when he was finally, finally talking to her.

"Yes." Somewhat hesitantly, Anthony explained, "Dr Hunter is a highly qualified physician, who's been very helpful in… aiding my recovery."

"I see." She took a deep breath. Now, first things first, as Mama would say… "Right. What helps? What doesn't help? What's… actively harmful?"

"I - " Anthony shifted onto the pillows, trying to push himself up into a sitting position, winced, and sank back again. "Edith, you don't need to worry. It's under control, for the most part. Hunter doesn't think I'm likely to have a - a full relapse - "

For a moment, Edith felt anger crackle in her throat at the idea of being put off like this. "I'm very glad to hear it, given that this is the first I'm learning of it!" With an effort, she controlled her voice. "But… I'd prefer to - to know what the situation is, just in case. My wedding vows made some mention of 'in sickness and in health', you see, and I'd rather like to ensure that I keep them." She shuffled closer and settled against the pillows on her side of the bed, tilting her head to keep her eyes on him. "Added to which… you're my friend and my lover, and I hate to think of you in pain or distress, and thinking you can't come to me for help."

"I see." Anthony swallowed, thickly. "B-being cold. Seeing or - or smelling blood. Sudden, loud noises or shocks. D-distressing things happening. They can all trigger… episodes, but… there's no rhyme or reason to them, really. Sometimes, I'm all right for months on end." He huffed out a bitter hiss of laughter. "Other times… not. Afterwards, I just need rest, really. Peace and quiet." And then, rushing on, "I'm so sorry - I ought to have - "

"Time for all that later." Edith tilted her head to rest it briefly on the uninjured shoulder, letting her hand spread across his chest, patting soothingly. "Do - do you take any medicines? You wouldn't let Charlotte give you anything - is that… normal… or…?"

"Yes." Anthony's chest lifted and fell rather rapidly under her hand for a moment before he could continue. "When the shoulder was very bad, at the start and… and after Maude left, I… could feel myself getting rather dependent on morphine. Ensuring it didn't become a full-grown… addiction… was… the very devil of a job. Stewart knows to make sure I'm not given any, if I'm too… far gone to make sure myself."

Edith lifted her head and offered him a shaky smile. "I'll remember as well, then. Two heads are better than one, after all."

"You don't need to worry, Edith."

"You keep saying that. I'll keep reminding you that I'll decide what I'm to worry about, thank you." Changing tack, she wondered. "If I were ill, would you worry about me?"

Anthony straightened on the pillows, his expression one of great offence. "Of course I would."

Ha! A victory, however small! "There, then. Why am I not permitted to care?"

"Because," Anthony answered in tones of great exasperation, "the purpose of this marriage was not to provide me with a permanent source of coddling. I swear to you, I wasn't even thinking of it."

"Oh, Anthony, I think we've moved completely beyond whatever either of us were thinking of at the start." Before either of them could think too deeply about that little revelation, she asked, "Does your father know about this?"

"About the shellshock?" Anthony wondered.

She nodded mutely, and Anthony shook his head.

"God, no. Please, don't think he'd ever have dreamt of - of foisting me on to you if he'd had even the slightest hint. Nor Mama, either."

Edith shot him a look which, for the first time that morning, looked truly furious. "I'm not asking for that reason! Whyever didn't you tell them? If he'd known, he wouldn't have - " He wouldn't have dreamt of being so hard on you about the divorce, or pushing you into another marriage so soon or… Her eyes filled with tears. "How could you even think of hiding this from them?"

Anthony reached over, opened the bedside table, pulled out a handkerchief, passed it over - and set his jaw. "As I say, you're absolutely right. There's no excuse and I won't try to make any." He wouldn't even look at her, and he was speaking in a wooden, stilted sort of way that made it seem as if he were at the other end of the world from her, rather than just next to her on the bed. "It was completely unfair of me to - to hide something like this, to let you marry me without being in possession of all the facts, especially when you had been so… honest and open with me."

"That isn't the point!" Edith snapped. "You barely knew me, and after your experiences with - with her, I can hardly blame you for being… hesitant about who you trust. But your parents? Anthony, they raised you, you're their flesh and blood - "

" - And they had more than enough reasons to be ashamed of me already, without adding another one to the pile!" Anthony snarled.

Edith's mouth snapped shut, her eyes forming two round 'Oh!'s of shock. Anthony sat back, an unworthy, savage expression of satisfaction crossing his face for a moment. Like a wounded animal, Edith thought, lashing out at anyone, even the veterinarian who's trying to help. Too bad that little performance isn't going to work.

"I don't believe for a moment that they're ashamed of you," she whispered eventually. "I don't think for a solitary second that your father would have been happy to see you marry me, unless he thought you every bit as wonderful as I do."

He turned his head from her, eyes wet with tears. "You don't have to pret - "

"I'm not." Now she was crying too, and she dashed the tears away from her cheeks impatiently. "Anthony, I don't believe that they're ashamed of you, but even if, by some horrid, unbelievable twist of fate, they are… well, you need to know that I'm not."

"Edith - "

"You went to fight when you didn't have to, when your age would have let you stay at home, and no one would have thought any the worse of you for it. You did it anyway because you knew you could help." Her hand came to his face, stroking across the cheekbone gently. "You put yourself through that horrid divorce, my darling, even though it was rotten and bloody and people shunned you for it, because you knew it was the best thing for Locksley." When Anthony opened his mouth to protest, Edith raised a hand to silence him: "No, don't argue with me. I know the whole sorry story, remember. And then, as if that wasn't enough, you had the bravery to consider doing the whole bally show again with me, on the strength of a mere three months' proper acquaintance. Whatever else you may be, Anthony Strallan, you are most certainly not a man to be ashamed of."

"I - I don't know what to say."

Edith kissed his cheek. "Well… let me know when you've decided." She smiled. "I'm not going anywhere very far. For now, I'm going to have a bath, and try to get some work done, while you rest." She slipped from the bed. "And if you decide to… to tell me everything, properly, then I will be most willing to listen."

"Edith?" he asked at the door of her study. It was just before teatime, and though he was slightly unsteady on his legs still, the ache in his shoulder had dissipated a little - enough for him to stand without feeling the need to either vomit or keel over, at least.

"Oh, hello." She smiled up at him, open and warm, and the little knot of anxiety located somewhere around his breastbone loosened, just a touch. "Did you sleep any more?"

"Yes. Thank you." He advanced slowly towards her, almost looking surprised at the idea that he'd actually managed some rest. "I've… been thinking about what you said, and… I have some things to tell you. Can - can we talk?"

"There's nothing I'd like better." She reached up from her seat and squeezed his hand. "Come through to the library, and I'll ring for some tea..."