by Tania Crosse
‘Oh, that’s fantastic news!’ she cried. ‘Oh, come here, you clever girl!’
Both women stood up and met in a long hug, holding each other tightly for some seconds before sitting down again.
‘Oh, so how long have you known? When is it due?’ Clarrie asked excitedly.
Meg felt herself relax now she’d delivered the news. ‘Well, I suspected over Christmas, but I wasn’t sure. But I saw the doctor this morning, and he confirmed it. I’m about three months. So due about mid-July.’
‘Oh, but what about the farm?’ Clarrie asked, suddenly horrified. ‘You can’t go on farming while you’re pregnant.’
Meg threw up her head with laughter. ‘I’m only having a baby! There are certain things I shouldn’t do, but I have got Ralph, and Mandy, of course. And you know Cyril cycles over once a week to help with any really heavy work that needs doing.’
‘Well, you take care of yourself,’ Clarrie frowned. ‘A baby is such a precious thing. You… you mustn’t take any risks.’
There was a strange catch in her voice, and a look of such concern and sorrow came over her face as she lowered her cornflower blue eyes that Meg felt something jerk in her own chest. A sudden weight like a fog drifted down, and Meg slid on her knees in front of Clarrie, taking her hands as she turned her head away, her lips thinned to a fine, anguished line.
‘Clarrie?’ Meg whispered, compassion creasing her face. ‘Clarrie, what is it?’
She waited, confused, as Clarrie twisted her neck as if she would throw something out of her head but couldn’t. Her eyes were screwed shut, but after a tearing sigh shuddered from her lungs, she slowly opened them again. Meg could see tears collecting on the lower lids as she met Clarrie’s gaze.
‘I… I maybe should have told you before,’ Clarrie finally croaked, her voice broken. ‘But… it’s always been too painful. I never wanted to speak to anyone about it other than Wig and Nana May. So we always kept it a secret so that I’d never have to.’ She paused, gulping in air. ‘I… I told you we never had children. Well, that wasn’t true. We never had any more children. We wanted them. Desperately. But we had a child. A beautiful little girl. With red hair and freckles. A bit like Doris.’
Meg stared at her, all sorts of emotion chasing around inside her head, ripping at her heart. Clarrie. The nursery. Certain things that had been said.
‘Oh, Clarrie,’ she breathed, her words more like air. ‘What… what happened?’ she asked so softly, since she knew really, didn’t she?
‘She… she wasn’t even two,’ Clarrie murmured into her chin. ‘She had all the symptoms of meningitis.’
Meg breathed out slowly, letting the horror and the grief and the sadness settle into her soul. Poor Clarrie. Poor Wig. Nana May who must have suffered with them.
Meg waited. In silence. For … for what she didn’t know.
‘What… was she called?’ The words slid from her mouth, wanting to soothe, to show she understood. She knew what grief was. But a child…
Clarrie slowly raised her head. And stared straight into Meg’s eyes.
‘Her name was Marguerite.’
A little gasp snatched at Meg’s aching throat. Marguerite. Her own full name. Of course. It all made sense.
She couldn’t speak. And as the tears rolled down from Clarrie’s eyes like glistening pearls, so Meg’s own vision was misting over. Nana May’s dying words slid inside her head. That’s what the old lady was trying to say, wasn’t she? All that time, all those years, Clarrie had been holding that inside. But Nana May knew the only way Clarrie could mend was by admitting the truth.
‘Oh, Clarrie, I do love you so much!’ Meg choked, enfolding the older woman in her arms, rocking her, crooning to her. ‘And what I haven’t said is that Ralph and I want you and Wig to be grandparents as well as Gabriel and Mary. Just as if you were my real mum and dad.’
She felt Clarrie stiffen, and then draw back slowly from her embrace.
‘Do you… really mean that?’
A smile of pure, unadulterated elation flooded into Clarrie’s face like sunshine.
‘Oh, yes. Mum,’ Meg whispered back, and the word felt good on her tongue.
*
‘So sorry I couldn’t get back from London any quicker,’ Wig apologised as they came into the farmhouse kitchen.
‘But you’re here now,’ Meg beamed. ‘And you, little man, are going to meet your other grandparents now. Grandma Clarrie and Grandpa Wig.’
Meg carefully lifted the tiny bundle from the carrycot and stepped around the table. Clarrie had settled herself in one of the chairs ready to take the newborn child, her heart overflowing, and gazed down proudly at the minuscule creature Meg slipped into her arms.
‘Your grandson,’ Meg whispered.
Their eyes met. There was no need to say anything more. They understood.
‘I wish Nana May had been here,’ Wig said reverently as he bent over to stroke the soft cheek of the infant whose little mouth was working even in his sleep.
Meg nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. ‘Maybe she is. She’ll always be in all our hearts, so she must be.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ Clarrie’s eyes dropped again to the babe in her arms, her heart bursting with love and joy. She never thought in all those years that she would ever experience the indescribable euphoria of being a grandparent. Well, perhaps she wasn’t by blood, but it didn’t seem to matter.
‘Oh, he’s adorable,’ she crooned, sliding her little finger into the starfish palm that immediately closed into a fist. ‘And how are you, Meggy?’ Clarrie asked, dragging her mesmerised gaze from the tiny being on her lap.
‘A bit sore, but not too bad. You know.’
There was a brief exchange of knowing, easy glances. Clarrie had told Meg that she wanted Ralph to know the truth. There shouldn’t be any secrets between husband and wife, she’d said. As for Clarrie, somehow the confession had eased her pain more than she could ever have imagined.
‘Shall we go and sit in the armchairs in the parlour, then? You’ll be more comfortable there.’
‘Yes, I will. And will you carry Thomas?’
‘You make yourselves comfy, then,’ Ralph said, ‘and I’ll get the kettle on.’
‘Well, if you two are going to indulge in baby talk,’ Wig announced, jabbing his head at the two women, ‘I’m going to enjoy my pipe outside.’ And so saying, he stepped out into the farmyard, and went round the house to the pretty garden Ralph was creating at the back.
As Wig filled his pipe, the vision of his wife and Meg, heads bent over the new baby, shone in his mind. What a wonderful sight! He never thought his darling Clarrie would find such happiness again. She’d even been a tower of strength to poor Sofia, and she’d never have been able to do that without the love between herself and Meggy.
Strange how it had come about. A horrific tragedy for Meg, of course. Wig wished beyond imagining that they’d met in a different way. But it had happened and he couldn’t change the past.
He did, though, have some news for Meg. He knew she still had it at the back of her mind that Nathaniel Green might one day try to get back at her or her family. But now Wig could reassure her on that score. He’d finally discovered that the devil had been taken prisoner in the Far East during the war and been among those forced to work in the most brutal conditions on the Burma Railway. He’d perished, like thousands of his comrades. Just desserts? Wig didn’t think so. No one deserved to endure such despicable cruelty. He was sure Meg would agree, even if it meant she could now rest easy. But Wig wasn’t going to taint her present joy by telling her now. It could wait a while.
He wandered to the end of the lawn, brimming with contentment. His wife had found peace, and the factory was thriving again with the production of a growing range of electrical goods. What more could he ask?
He gazed out across the farmland. Cows were grazing contentedly in the adjacent field, drenched in golden light as the sun sank in the west. As
he drew on his pipe, Wig raised his eyes, and a delighted smile crept across his face. You didn’t see that so often. A lone star was already shining, silvery in the pale, clear blue sky. And just then, he had the fancy that it was Nana May watching over them all.
He smiled up at her, and gave a little wave.
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Tania Crosse’s next book is coming in spring 2018
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Acknowledgements
Once again, I must say thank you to my wonderful agent, Broo Doherty, and the lovely team at Aria for bringing this novel, the sequel to Nobody’s Girl, to fruition.
My gratitude goes also to my good friend, Paul Rendell, for the series in his magazine, The Dartmoor News, on Dartmoor WW2 plane crashes that inspired the episode in the book. It is my tribute to all the brave young men who gave their lives during the conflict. I should also like to thank once more Sir Winston Churchill for appearing to me in a flash vision at Chartwell, thus providing the original inspiration for this mini-series.
My heartfelt thanks goes as ever to my husband whose patience in discussing my stories and characters, publicity and connected social media, knows no bounds. As does his unfailing love and support. There are no words to thank him enough.
Finally, I should like to thank you, my readers, for supporting my novels and sharing Meg and Clarrie’s journey. I do hope you will enjoy all my stories, both my previous Devonshire series, and new titles in the pipeline.
About Tania Crosse
Delaying her childhood dream of writing historical novels until her family had grown up, TANIA CROSSE eventually completed a series of published stories based on her beloved Dartmoor. She is now setting her future sagas in London and the southeast.
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Addictive Fiction
First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Tania Crosse, 2017
The moral right of Tania Crosse to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781786694966
Aria
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