He understood that song now.
"'What will you leave to your lover, Rendal, my son?
What will you leave to your lover, my pretty one?
A rope to hang her, mother,
A rope to hang her, mother....'"
"Go it, Col-Col!" Out on the terrace Queenie laughed her harsh, cruel
laugh.
"'For I'm sick to my heart and I fain would lie down.'"
"'I'm sick to my heart and I fain would lie down,'" Queenie echoed, with
clipped words, mocking him.
He hated Queenie.
And he loved her. At night, at night, she would unbend, she would be
tender and passionate, she would touch him with quick, hurrying
caresses, she would put her arms round him and draw him to her, kissing
and kissing. And with her young, beautiful body pressed tight to him,
with her mouth on his and her eyes shining close and big in the
darkness, Colin would forget.
_September 20th, 1914._ Dearest Auntie Adeline,--I haven't been able to write before.
There's been a lot of fighting all round here and we're
frightfully busy getting in wounded. And when you've done you're
too tired to sit up and write letters. You simply roll into bed
and drop off to sleep. Sometimes we're out with the ambulances
half the night.
You needn't worry about me. I'm keeping awfully fit. I _am_
glad now I've always lived in the open air and played games and
ploughed my own land. My muscles are as hard as any Tommie's. So
are Queenie's. You see, we have to act as stretcher bearers as
well as chauffeurs. You're not much good if you can't carry your
own wounded.
Queenie is simply splendid. She really _doesn't_ know what
fear is, and she's at her very best under fire. It sort of
excites her and bucks her up. I can't help seeing how fine she
is, though she was so beastly to poor old Col-Col before he
joined up. But talk of the War bringing out the best in people,
you should simply see her out here with the wounded. Dr. Cutler
(the Commandant) thinks no end of her. She drives for him and I
drive for a little doctor man called Dicky Cartwright. He's
awfully good at his job and decent. Queenie doesn't like him. I
can't think why.
Good-bye, darling. Take care of yourself.
Your loving Anne.
Antwerp. _October 3rd._ ... You ask me what I really think of Queenie at close quarters.
Well, the quarters are very close and I know she simply hates
me. She was fearfully sick when she found we were both in the
same Corps. She's always trying to get up a row about something.
She'd like to have me fired out of Belgium if she could, but I
mean to stay as long as I can, so I won't quarrel with her. She
can't do it all by herself. And when I feel like going back on
her I tell myself how magnificent she is, so plucky and so
clever at her job. I don't wonder that half the men in our Corps
are gone on her. And there's a Belgian Colonel, the one Cutler
gets his orders from, who'd make a frantic fool of himself if
she'd let him. But good old Queenie sticks to her job and
behaves as if they weren't there. That makes them madder. You'd
have thought they'd never have had the time to be such asses in,
but it's wonderful what a state you can get into in your few odd
moments. Dicky says it's the War whips you up and makes it all
the easier. I don't know....