Still, should anything happen to me, I beg you to write to Sophie Morel at 127 Rue Chanterelle, Paris, France and make arrangements to visit her as soon as you can. Sophie is the mother of Amandine Morel, and as such, is the grandmother of Amandine and Will’s child—Delphine. I have enclosed a letter here that Sophie sent to me. It is from Amandine to Will. I ask you to promise me this, Mama. If it is the last thing I ask of you as your daughter, I beg you to honour my wishes, and Will’s.
I will send word when I know more about the situation here.
Your ever-loving daughter,
Evelyn
X
Enclosed letter from Amandine Morel to Will Elliott
1st May, 1915
127 Rue Chanterelle, Paris, France
Mon cher Will,
I hope you are well and that these few lines find you safe. As you will see from the address, I have returned to Paris.
I know this will come as a shock, but I am pregnant, Will, and there is no doubt the child is yours. There is no place for a pregnant nurse at the Front so I secured dismissal and returned to Paris to stay with my mother.
Ours was only a brief romance but I sometimes feel I know you better than I have known any man. We threw ourselves into passion, did we not? I will never forget how you held me, so tenderly, or how you whispered to me of love. I did not dare to whisper it in reply, but I cherish our time together.
I do not expect marriage. I understand the differences between us make anything more than our brief romance impossible, but I had to share the news of our child. A child born from love is the most wonderful product of war. Our futures lie in this child’s hands. Should I write again when the baby is born? If you do not wish to know more, please tell me and I will not contact you again. I understand this is difficult for you in your position.
Paris is changed, and the journey was arduous. Soldiers questioned me at every town. I hardly recognise the city of my birth. Refugees line the streets, desperate for a loaf of bread. I am happy and full of gratitude to be away from the worst of it, here on the outskirts.
I must tell you, mon cher William, je suis amoureuse de toi. I am in love with you. How quiet my days are without you. Your songs and good humour gave me more pleasure than I can say.
I wish you well, mon amour, and pray for your safety.
Amandine
Letter from Charles Abshire to Thomas
7th October, 1918
London, England
Dear fellow,
I am forwarding a letter, addressed to you, that appears to have been lost in the mail. It was written by Miss Evelyn Elliott during December 1915 and recently made its way back to her home in Richmond. Her mother brought it to the office here as she wasn’t sure how to get it to you.
It boggles the mind to think about the circuitous route it has taken to finally reach you, but it finds its home at last.
I hope you are well, dear boy. There’s talk the war is drawing to a close at last. We are all cautiously optimistic here.
Godspeed.
Charles Abshire
Unsent letter from Evie to Thomas
25th December, 1915
Richmond, England
Happy Christmas, my dear Thomas,
I am sitting here beside the fire, warming my toes, and I find myself imagining you are here beside me, warming yours. I have worried about your toes ever since you wrote to me about them last year. So here we are, sitting together in my imagination on Christmas Day and it is the most natural thing in the world. You and me and a belly full of roast goose! What could be more perfect?
There is something I must tell you, Thomas, although it scares me to do so. Nevertheless, I don’t know what else to do other than to write it all down because what good are our emotions and feelings locked away inside us? They must be seen and heard, felt and known.
The thing is, I am in love with you, Tom. Madly and stupidly. Perhaps I always have been. Perhaps, if I’d looked closer, paid more attention, I would have recognised the signs sooner. It took a war and hundreds of miles to make me see how very dear you are to me, Thomas Harding. You’ve always been there, haven’t you? Always. Except now, when I long for you to be here with all my heart, you are not.
Do I dare to believe that you might love me in return? You haven’t given me any reason to think it, so I must content myself with imagining it is so. I can see a future stretch out before us, like paint in water, swirling and dancing. Might we have children? Happiness? Companionship into old age? I imagine we have a little apartment in Paris where we like to spend our summers and Christmases. We can see the Eiffel Tower from the balcony. Perhaps you will ask me to marry you at the very top. I will, of course, say yes!
You see why I like to write, don’t you. I can weave a story from the thinnest of fabrics. I can weave a story when there isn’t even one to tell. At least, not yet.
So, now you know.
I love you, Tom Harding. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Last night, I looked at the stars and I thought of you doing the same.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when I shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Now that I have finally found the courage to write these words, I do not know if I have the courage to post them to you. I cannot bear to think that my feelings will come as an unwelcome surprise. I hate to think of you reading this with alarm, uncertain as to what to do next. I can almost hear you: “Evie Elliott—in love with me?”
I have to be brave, and believe that you will read my words and feel only joy to know that my heart belongs to you.
Dearest, it snowed a little just now. I sat at the window and watched the flakes tumble from the sky. I opened the window and let the flakes land on the paper. They—and my heart—are my Christmas gift to you.
Happy Christmas, my love.
Always,
Evie
XXX
Telegram from Nurse Rose to Thomas
12TH OCTOBER 1918
TO: LT. THOMAS HARDING, 10TH RIFLES, AMIENS, FRANCE
SENT: 14:47 / RECEIVED: 15:33
EVIE ELLIOTT GRAVELY ILL. SHE ASKS FOR YOU. PLEASE COME SOONEST. ROSE BLYTHE
From Rose Blythe to Thomas
12th October 1918
Base Hill, Rouen, France
Dear Thomas,
Please see enclosed a short note from Evelyn. I am with her here. She is very sick, Tom. She insisted I take down her words and send them to you.
Sincerely,
Rose Blythe
Dictated letter from Evie to Thomas
Tom,
I am very sick, and I’m afraid. This disease weakens me with every hour that passes. I love you. I love you so much, my darling. E
Telegram from Nurse Rose to Evie’s mother
12TH OCTOBER 1918
TO: CAROL ELLIOTT, POPLARS, RICHMOND, LONDON SW
SENT: 09:23 / RECEIVED: 10:45
YOUR DAUGHTER EVELYN VERY ILL. PRAY FOR HER. I AM WITH HER NIGHT AND DAY. NURSE ROSE BLYTHE.
Telegram from Thomas to Evie
12TH OCTOBER 1918
TO: EVELYN ELLIOTT, WAAC, ROUEN, FRANCE, 0 ROSE BLYTHE.
SENT: 10:55 / RECEIVED: 11:15
SECURED EMERGENCY LEAVE. I AM A FOOL. I AM COMING, MY DARLING! WAIT FOR ME! PLEASE, GOD. YOU HAVE MY HEART. TOM.
From Rose Blythe to Alice Cuthbert
13th October, 1918
Rouen, France
Dear Miss Cuthbert,