If he had considered giving thought to it, Siegfried would have complimented Mrs Hall on her driving skills. Though the snow lay all around and the roads were icy, she manoeuvred the car well, at no time appeared nervous or anxious of the task that lay before her and, instead, exuded a calmness that he knew neither of them really felt. He watched the landscape rush by as they proceeded towards York and he felt a sickness in his stomach that he knew bore no relation to his earlier activities.
Lily…my darling Lily…
It could not be happening. Not again.
If he closed his eyes, he could still see the look on his commanding officer's face having summoned him that terrible morning. It had been a look of pity mingled with that of a determination of duty. He remembered saluting and then being told to stand at ease while the news from home had been delivered.
"We've received word that your wife is gravely ill, Farnon. I'm attempting to make arrangements for you to be transported home assuming, of course, that is what you wish to do."
It had taken time for the true meaning of what the other man had been saying to penetrate his brain, for him to realise that this was not merely a cold or some other minor ailment that had befallen Evelyn, but rather a very serious medical condition that could, in theory, kill her.
"Which did kill her," he murmured to himself.
When he thought back on it now, it was obvious that the Brigadier had been expecting him to say that he would remain in Belgium, that the cause was more important than anything that might have been happening back home. Fortunately, he had had the wherewithal to insist that he return home to be with Evelyn, for all the good it had done, her already being dead by the time he had received word of her affliction.
"Not much longer now," Mrs Hall broke into his thoughts and he glanced over at her again, at her determined gaze and the confident way she gripped the steering wheel. All trace of distress had left her face, so focused did she appear to be on the task at hand, namely delivering him to the hospital. He was grateful that she had elected to maintain a supportive silence throughout the journey, unsure as he was that he could properly formulate words to describe how he was feeling. The immense pride he had felt when she had told him that Lily had felt confident enough in her own abilities to go to George Sharp's aid had quickly been replaced by foreboding questions that he didn't have the courage to answer. Such as, why would she go out there on her own, why was she on that road and why didn't I stop her?
Despite her assertion that they were almost at journey's end, it took another forty-five minutes to reach the outskirts of York, longer still to find their way to the county hospital, situated as it was in Monkgate. The town itself had not escaped the brutal onslaught of the weather and as they picked their way carefully towards its gates, his desperation to find out what had happened meant he had half a notion to simply leap out of the car whilst it was moving.
"I'll wait 'ere," Mrs Hall said when she drew to a stop. "Best you go in and find Mr Bailey."
Siegfried paused, momentarily desperate for her to accompany him, for there to be someone there when he faced what he knew would inevitably come. Tom would be angry, worried, distraught, as he had every right to be, and he knew that he would be the likely target of his upset. But rather than insist, he simply nodded dumbly, got out of the car and made his way towards the impressive entrance. York County Hospital was well known in the area. It was where very sick or badly injured people were taken, somewhere more equipped to help than any local cottage hospital might be. The sickness in his stomach only increased as he stepped through the doors and found himself in a large, eerily quiet vestibule, a desk at the far end staffed by two nurses in starched hats.
"Excuse me, I wonder if you can help me. I'm looking for…"
"Farnon!"
The sound of his surname, shouted in an angry and bitter tone, only served to compound his anxiety and, turning slowly, he caught sight of Tom Bailey at the far end of a corridor. The last recollection he had of the other man was in the Drovers, light-hearted, rosy with drink, good-tempered…the Tom Bailey he bore witness to now, seemed none of those things. "How is she?" he asked, hurrying towards him, pushing the thought of whatever recriminations might follow from his mind. "Have you seen her? What's her condition?"
Tom shook his head, his expression one of profound devastation. "She's not good," he said after a long moment. "I 'aven't been able to see 'er. The doctor said 'e would come and speak to me but I 'aven't seen 'ide nor 'air of 'im for 'ours." He ran a hand over his face, the effects of drink and lack of sleep evident in every crag. "You've sobered up then."
Siegfried looked away, embarrassed at the very mention of it, embarrassed that he had acted like some…yob…whilst Lily had been... "Yes, I have. I'm sorry that I wasn't in a fit state to accompany you here. Mrs Hall said that she tried to waken me…"
"Aye well…the drink affects some men more than it does others. You're 'ere now, that's the main thing."
He found himself surprised by the other man's tone, having expected harsher words. Rather than encourage them, however, he elected to try and make some sort of sense as to what had happened. "Was Dick able to tell you any more about what happened?"
"Only that the van must 'ave skidded coming down the 'ill and she wasn't able to stop it. I told 'er. I told 'er thousands of times that when you drive in those conditions you don't 'ammer on the brakes! She knew that!"
"But we don't know that it was her fault. We don't know…"
"'er fault?" Tom looked up at him quickly. "None of this is 'er fault."
"No, of course not. I only meant…"
"Mr Bailey?"
Siegfried broke off as a man approached them, dressed smartly in a suit, an air of authority exuding from him, and he immediately assumed that it must be the doctor. "How is she?" he asked before Tom could respond.
The man looked him up and down. "You are?"
"Siegfried Farnon, Lily's…Miss Bailey's…fiancé."
"I see. I'm Dr Wright. I'm sorry I haven't been able to speak to you before now. I only wish my news for you could be better."
"'ow do you mean?" Tom asked.
"Lily sustained some very serious injuries in the accident. A broken wrist and fractured skull being the least of them. I'm afraid she has very extensive internal injuries…"
"What sort of internal injuries?" Siegfried interrupted. "I'm…I'm a veterinary surgeon," he explained on the doctor's look, well aware of how pathetic it must have sounded to him when an animal, any animal, could be said to be so different from a human being.
"She has swelling in her abdomen which is suggestive of internal bleeding, possibly from her spleen. In addition, we believe that she may have lacerated her liver, and she has a pneumothorax, that's a collapsed lung. All in all, she's a bit of a mess."
"So, what treatment does she require? What's your prognosis?"
Dr Wright paused and surveyed him again for a moment before answering. "I'm afraid that death is my prognosis."
Siegfried heard Tom inhale sharply before a cry of distress burst from his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the other man stagger over to the far wall, putting out his hands to support himself before sinking slowly down into a heap.
"No, but…but that can't be right," he said. "Surely you must be able to do something?"
"I'm sorry, but as I said, she's sustained some very serious injuries. To be completely frank with you, I'm very surprised she survived the accident itself, much less the transportation here and the hours that have followed. I wish that I could predict a better outcome but, as it is, I don't expect Lily to live much beyond this evening."
"No," he said again. "No, that can't be right. You can't…she can't…she can't die. This is…it's 1932…you can do so much now, surely. It's just…it's just not possible."
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it is." Dr Wright pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and eyed it critically. "I'm afraid that I have to go. I'm very late for an important meeting. I am very sorry about Lily, truly I am. You're both welcome to sit with her as long as you need, so long as you don't cause any disruption to the other patients." Without further recourse, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Beside him, Tom continued to keen loudly and, looking over at him, Siegfried saw a man so very different from that which he had seen before. A man in grief over the anticipated loss of his only child, and not by a loss through marriage, but a loss through death. He suddenly wondered how Evelyn's father had reacted to the news. Had he slumped to the floor and wept, or had he stayed stoically silent for her mother? They had never discussed those moments, those before Evelyn had died or the ones immediately after. By the time he had arrived back in England she was already buried, the initial shock having worn off for everyone else, by which point it had seemed too late for his own grief. He hadn't been there. He hadn't been with Evelyn in those last moments and for all the years that had followed he had wished he had been, had wished passionately that he hadn't been so far away, that he could have been at her side, held her hand, kissed her, told her everything that he had felt for her. But war and distance had robbed him of that and now…now it was happening all over again, only this time he was here. He could do all those things, be for Lily what he could never be for Evelyn and yet…the thought…the thought of sitting by her side and watching her die knowing that, in some way, he was responsible for it…
"I can't. I…I can't…" Turning on his heel, he started to walk back along the corridor towards the main entrance, distance between himself and Lily growing with every step, and he was almost at the door before he heard Tom's voice behind him again.
"Siegfried! Siegfried!"
He kept walking, blocking it out, blocking it all out. Back out into the pale afternoon light, back to where he could see the car, Mrs Hall standing at the driver's door, her breath fogging in the freezing air. Clearly sensing his approach, she turned and met his gaze, her face alight with expectation and hope.
"Can you take me home, please Mrs Hall."
It clearly hadn't been the reaction she was expecting, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown of confusion. "But 'ow is she? What did the doctor say?"
He hesitated, trying to think of a way to formulate his reply that would convey the news but nothing else. "He said…he said that she will most likely die at some point soon." Opening the car door without further recourse to her, he slid back into the passenger seat, her following suit, but his wish for her to simply do what he asked and start driving failed to come true. When he looked over at her, he saw her horror-struck expression and the tears forming in her eyes again. "May we go, please."
"Mr…Mr Farnon…"
"Now please! Or shall I simply do it myself?" He knew his rage was misplaced, that there was no-one who deserved the force of it less than she did, yet there was no-one else around to bear the brunt of it, no-one, and if he didn't have rage, all he had was distress and that wasn't permissible at the moment. He wasn't permitted to have that, to feel that, when all along he knew he was to blame.
"You…you 'ave to go back in there."
"No."
"You 'ave to be with 'er."
"I said, no."
"If…if she's dying…"
"If she's dying?" he rounded on her. "She is dying, didn't you hear a bloody word I said? She is dying and she will likely die tonight and whether I am here or not will make not a blind bit of difference! So, will you please just drive us home!"
Mrs Hall had never once crossed him, other than in a gentle, almost familial way. They had never seriously quarrelled, one always seeming to give in to the other whether they believed themselves right or not and so to assume that he expected her to do as he asked went without saying. Instead, however, she pushed open the door and made to get back out. "No."
"I beg your pardon?!" he exclaimed, jumping out and facing her across the bonnet, stunned that she would defy him. "I asked you to drive us both back to Darrowby!"
"And I said no," she replied firmly. "If that lass is dying, then I want to see 'er. No doubt 'er father could use some support given as, I'm sure, you've just left 'im in there on 'is own!" Her gaze softened slightly, as though she could read how he was feeling and understood. "Mr Farnon…Siegfried…please, come with me."
He wanted to. Only God knew how much he wanted to…but he couldn't. He couldn't see her like that, lying in a bed, smashed beyond recognition, already well on her way to eternal life. For all he had blamed himself over the circumstances that had led to Evelyn's death this…this was infinitely worse and he was acutely more to blame. "I can't," he said again. "I can't see…what I've done."
Mrs Hall frowned again and came around the car to stand in front of him, "What you've done? This isn't your fault. It were an accident. No-one could 'ave know, no-one could 'ave prevented it…"
"Will you or will you not drive me home?!" he demanded, unwilling to hear her sentiments or her opinion on the matter.
"Not until I've seen Lily."
"Fine, I'll do it myself. Tristan will need collected at any rate." Moving around to the driver's side, he quickly climbed in and turned the key, the engine roaring to life underneath him. He skidded away without so much as looking back to see her reaction and drove, faster than he had intended to, back towards Darrowby. The world around him was a blur, his only thought being to put distance between himself and Lily.
By the time he reached the outskirts, Tristan's train was due to arrive and he detoured towards the station to collect him, arriving mere moments in advance of the steam train. He sat in the car, staring ahead, having no urge to even see if his brother was aboard, trusting that, if he was, he would find the car for himself. Moments later, he felt someone strike the top of the car in greeting, then open the boot and deposit something heavy inside.
"Well, aren't you glad I made it?" Tristan said, climbing into the car, bringing with him a blast of icy air. "You won't have to look for another best man now that I'm here. It's a pity about the weather but I suppose it can't be helped. Lends a certain picturesque quality to the day. I don't mind telling you that the train was bloody freezing but, at least we got here. I reckon it might snow again tonight though. How are you anyway? Nervous about becoming a married man again tomorrow?"
It would have been easier to let his brother prattle on, to allow him to continue to converse in the way that only people with nothing of any real consequence to consider could, and yet he knew that, in the end, it wasn't fair to either of them, especially when he couldn't even answer Tristan's innocent questions. "There isn't going to be a wedding."
"Oh, very droll. I hope you haven't practiced that humour on Lily. I doubt she'd appreciate it with less than twenty-four hours to go."
"It's not a joke, Tristan. There isn't going to be a wedding." He felt, rather than saw, Tristan's expression at the sharpness of his tone. "There…there was an accident last night. Lily…Lily was at George Sharp's farm ministering to some sheep with listeriosis and she crashed the van on her way back to Darrowby."
"Oh, good Lord! Is she all right? How badly was she hurt?"
"Very badly. The doctor said that she won't survive the day."
There was a brief, highly charged silence before Tristan spoke next. "What?"
"So, you see, there won't be a wedding tomorrow, or any day, because she won't be here."
"Siegfried…"
"Mrs Hall and Mr Bailey are with her at the hospital in York."
"But…why aren't you with her? Siegfried, if it was about collecting me at the station, good God, someone else could have done it. Or I could have walked for heaven's sake! You should be with her!"
"Should I? Why?"
"Why? Because she's your fiancée! Because you were due to marry her tomorrow! Because you love her…"
"I can't."
"Can't what?"
"I can't be there."
"Why not?"
"I don't…I don't expect you to understand."
"Well that's good, because I don't." Tristan paused. "Turn the car around."
"What?"
"Turn it around! Drive back to York!"
"No."
"Siegfried…"
"I said no! That's an end to it!" At that moment, he felt tears spring into his eyes, and he willed them away. He didn't want his little brother to see his distress, didn't want his pity, well aware that he was undeserving of it. All he wanted to do was get back to Skeldale House, back to somewhere where he felt safe, where he could cocoon himself away from the reality of what was about to happen. To his relief, Tristan kept silent for the remainder of the journey, though any joviality the younger man had possessed had evaporated. The atmosphere in the car drew colder by the minute and when they eventually stepped inside the house, Tristan slammed the door behind him.
"You're a coward."
"Am I."
"Yes, you are and you know you are! Siegfried, all these years you've lamented the fact that you couldn't be there for Evelyn in her final moments and now…"
"I don't want to hear this."
"Now you have the chance to be there for Lily."
"And do you really think I want that chance?" he rounded on his brother. "Do you really think I want to sit there and…and hold her hand and watch her die in front of me? Do you really think that's what I want?"
"No, of course not but…"
"You think it's fair, do you? You think it's fair that I lost one wife and now I'm about to lose another?!" His eyes smarted again, and he stalked into the sitting room, over to the drinks cabinet, his hands shaking as he retrieved a glass and poured himself a large measure of whisky. "I can't go through this again, Tris, I can't…"
"So you're just going to bury your head in the sand and pretend it's not happening? Wait for someone to tell you that she's dead? And then what?"
"I don't know."
"Are you sure of the prognosis?"
"Yes, the doctor was very clear. He was surprised she had survived this long." He flinched suddenly at the feel of Tristan's hand on his shoulder. "Please don't give me your pity, Tristan, I don't deserve it."
"Don't deserve it? What does that even mean?"
He turned to face his brother again. "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."
"If it weren't for me…" he paused, his voice cracking on the words. "If it weren't for me, this would never have happened."
"You can't say that."
"I can."
"Siegfried…"
"If it weren't for me, she would never have gone up there. It's because I encouraged her to take an interest in the profession, I encouraged her to learn things and to put them into practice because I had some…some fool notion of her being my partner in every way. If it weren't for me showing her what to do when a sheep has bloody listeriosis she wouldn't have known what to do and she wouldn't have gone! She would have stayed here with Mrs Hall and Emily and been safe! We would be getting married tomorrow instead of…of…" his vision blurred, and he turned away again, unwilling for his brother to see the true depths of his emotion, of his despair. "I've killed her, just like I killed Evelyn."
"That is not true!" Tristan gripped his shoulders and turned him around. "You didn't kill Evelyn…"
"I did."
"How? By going to war?"
"If I had stayed with her, she would never have drunk the milk…"
"You don't know that."
"I do know that Tristan! I do know that! She would have been in our home, with me, not living at the farm because I was thousands of miles away doing what I thought was my duty!"
"It was your duty!"
"Was it? Or was it just a vanity project because I loved horses so much and saw them as my way of helping?"
"It was war, Siegfried, you had no choice."
"I had every choice! Father was right. I should have stayed in England and practiced as I was meant to. Evelyn would still be alive if I had done that. But she isn't. She isn't and I have carried her memory with me for all of these years and…and known that I didn't deserve a second chance at being happy and then Lily…Lily came along and…and I fought how I felt for her because I thought it was my penance to be alone…" he felt a sudden acute pain that made him want to double over. "But I told myself that I was allowed to be happy again and she made me happy, she made me so…happy…"
"Siegfried…"
"Only now, she's being taken away from me and it's a punishment. It has to be. There's no other reason for it. It's a punishment for thinking myself entitled to lasting happiness after what happened before and, just to make it worse, it's happening again at my own hand…"
"This is ridiculous," Tristan shook his head. "You're acting as though you not only forced Evelyn to drink that milk but also somehow managed to force Lily to crash the van. They were, and are, both individuals, Siegfried, capable of making their own decisions. You are not responsible…"
"Oh, shut up, just shut up!" he shouted, unwilling to hear any more. "You don't know what you're talking about! You're eighteen years old, for God's sake! What do you know about life, much less love? You have no idea what it feels like to care for another person, to love another person as I loved Evelyn and Lily, no idea at all!"
"Maybe I don't. But I do know this and that is, if you don't go back to that hospital, if you don't see her, then you are going to regret it for the rest of your life, just as you regret not being there for Evelyn. Staying here isn't going to change anything, Siegfried. She deserves you to be with her!"
"Deserves…" he laughed humourlessly and poured himself another drink. "She deserves never to have met me, that's what she deserves."
"Siegfried…"
"Just leave me alone, please!"
"So you can drink yourself into a stupor and wallow in self-pity? I don't think so!"
"Fine," he replied, snatching up the decanter. "Then I'll leave."
"Where are you going?"
"To my room."
"But…"
"Go away, Tristan!" He took the stairs two at a time, unwilling to hear any more of his brother's words, not wanting to think or feel...anything. It was an odd feeling being so drunk that one wasn't in control of one's faculties. There was a certain pleasantness to it, a glow, a lightness, sensations that ordinary life couldn't seem to replicate. Yes, the aftermath was crushing, but that was for later. He slammed his bedroom door and locked it, lest Tristan take a notion of trying to speak reason further. Then he poured himself another glass and began his journey to oblivion.
