The Silver Locket by Margaret James

the nurses were forbidden to do this any more. In future, they’d have to wait until the train was at a junction, and the guard was watching. They’d have to jump down into all the muck and mud, then trudge along the track.
    ‘A good thing too,’ observed Maria, when she visited her friend in hospital in Boulogne. ‘Rose, you’re lucky to be alive. How is your arm today?’
    ‘It’s fine,’ said Rose. Still embarrassed by what had happened, she stared down at the blanket on her knees. ‘The doctor said the break was clean.’
    ‘Rose, you’re such an idiot,’ said Maria. ‘What possessed you, trying to change carriages in all that rain and darkness? I’m not surprised you slipped. What if that other driver hadn’t seen you? What if he hadn’t stopped in time?’
    ‘As it turned out, he did.’ Rose shrugged. ‘I hear they’ve banned foot-boarding now?’
    ‘Yes, and just as well.’
    ‘You’re going to a convalescent hospital for junior officers, in Marlancourt,’ the matron told her, when Rose’s cuts and bruises had all healed and she was passed fit again that July. ‘You’ll be on light duties until that arm is really strong again.’
    Rose kept her eyes cast meekly down. ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she whispered gratefully, for she’d been dreading being sent back to England.
    ‘No more derring-do, Miss Courtenay,’ said the matron crisply – but as Rose looked up, her blue eyes twinkled. ‘You’ve been a model patient, but we don’t wish to see you here again.’
    ‘It’s two in a tent,’ announced the VAD who welcomed Rose to the new hospital, which turned out to be a huddle of wooden huts in a French forest. ‘Come on, I’ll show you round.’
    Rose discovered all the nursing staff lived under canvas, and decided that in summer this ought to be pleasant – except for all the insects. Already she’d been bitten on her neck and ankles, and knew she would be scratching half the night.
    ‘The boys are mostly mobile,’ went on the VAD. ‘So there’s not much lifting to be done. We spend as much time playing whist and writing letters home for them as doing their dressings and handing out their pills.’
    ‘So this place is a convalescent home for us, as well?’
    ‘Yes, I suppose it must be.’ The VAD grinned archly. ‘We heard about your accident. I’m getting over scarlet fever.’
    ‘But didn’t you want to go back home and rest?’ demanded Rose.
    ‘God forbid!’ exclaimed the VAD. ‘My mother didn’t want me to come and nurse in France. If I went home to convalesce, she’d put her foot down. I’d never be allowed to come back here again.’
    ‘You’ll be on Trafalgar Ward this week,’ the matron said to Rose, when she’d been in the forest for a fortnight and had settled in. ‘They’re a very lively set of boys, so since you’re new they’re bound to rag you. But don’t take any nonsense. We’re in charge, although we mustn’t be too hard on them.’
    Rose went down the boardwalk that connected all the huts. In the sister’s office, she found the list of patients and the day book. She began to read the latest notes.
    Turning the page, she stared in disbelief. But then, she thought, she shouldn’t be surprised. He was on active service here in France, and had as much chance as anyone of being wounded.
    ‘Miss Courtenay?’ A young VAD came in. ‘I’m Belinda Cross. Sister Minton’s busy on another ward just now, and she said I should show you round.’
    ‘What happened to the man in the third bed?’ asked Rose, as they went down the ward.
    ‘Why, do you know him?’ asked Belinda.
    ‘Oh – no.’ Rose blushed. ‘I’d just begun to read his notes when you came in to fetch me.’
    ‘He copped it when the Germans bombed a dugout,’ said Belinda. ‘It seems he spent last winter at the sharp end, doing night patrols, undermining German ammunition dumps, going out on raids – all very dangerous stuff, but he never got a scratch on him. Then his