by John R McKay
On seeing them enter Georgina raised her mouth into a smile. Although this took some effort, they could see in her eyes that she was genuinely pleased to see them.
‘Hello Victoria,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m so glad you are here.’
‘Hello Georgina. You remember Edwina, my handmaid, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, smiling at Edwina. Victoria could see that every word was a huge effort to her.
Victoria sat on the bed beside her. She leaned over and took her hand. ‘I am so glad you sent me the letter, Georgina, so glad. It was such a shock at first to hear from you.’ Georgina smiled at her. ‘And I’m so sorry that you have lost John, so very sorry.’
‘Thank you. How did his parents take it?’
‘Not well, as you would expect. Sir Albert has mellowed massively over the last few years. I think the war has put a lot of perspective back into everyone’s lives, none more so than his and I know for a fact that he regrets all that happened and how he behaved back then. The world is a different place now.’
‘That’s good to hear. As long as I know that Gregory will be looked after and loved then I can go to my grave happy.’
‘Please don’t say that. You are a young woman. You will get through this and then come and live with us at the Manor with Gregory.’
Georgina forced a smile again as Victoria tried desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to make an appearance. ‘Thank you for that Victoria. You were always a good person and I can see that you still are. I’m not fooling myself and nor should you. I don’t have long left on this earth. What I have been unfortunate enough to contract has taken so many already. Healthier people than I. But it’s alright. I’ve got used to the realisation that I won’t be here for Gregory as he grows up. I’m so happy that he will now have you in his life and he’ll grow up loved and taken care of.’
‘He will also have a couple of cousins to grow up alongside,’ said Victoria. ‘My daughter, Elizabeth and my son Francis. Twins.’
‘And how are John’s parents with all this?’
‘Obviously they’re very upset to hear of John’s death, but are thrilled that his child will be coming to live with them.’
‘And your husband?’
Victoria’s face dropped slightly. ‘He will get used to the idea eventually, I am sure. It’s a big shock to him also.’
‘He said some very nasty things to John and I as we left.’
‘I know. But like his father, he has mellowed too,’ she lied.
Georgina seemed to be appeased by this. She slumped down into the bed, the strain of sitting up and talking getting the better of her, exhausting her. She turned to the glass of water on the bedside table. Victoria leaned over and picked it up.
Handing it to her she said. ‘Why don’t you come back with us? To the Manor, or at least to the house in Kensington, where we can get you looked after.’
Georgina took a sip from the glass and handed it back to Victoria. ‘Thank you for being so kind. However I’m not strong enough to be moved. I’m fine here, honestly. Mrs Allsop has been a godsend, she really has. I’ve been so lucky to have her as a neighbour and friend.’
‘Yes, she sounds as though she has been a big help to you.’
They sat in silence for a while. Edwina put her hand on Victoria’s shoulder and Victoria raised her own hand and squeezed it, taking strength from the support she was giving.
Victoria looked at the photographs on the dressing table. There was one of John Holbrook, in uniform, sitting on a chair looking very serious for the camera. Another was of Georgina and a baby. The photographs were placed next to each other, the frames touching.
Georgina was aware of her gaze. ‘I placed them like that so I can look at us all together,’ she explained. ‘John never got to meet his son. He died at Arras in 1917. Before the battle.’
‘He was a very good looking man,’ said Victoria. ‘I remember him being very kind and considerate.’
‘He was.’
‘You say he died before the battle. What happened? Do you know?’
Georgina propped herself up again and tried to force herself to be alert. ‘It’s a bit of a strange story to be honest,’ she said.
Victoria looked at her with raised eyebrows, encouraging her to explain.
‘I got a letter off his company commander a couple of years ago,’ she said. ‘He asked to meet me in order to give me John’s things that had been sent to him while he recovered from wounds in hospital. He could have just posted them on but for some reason he wanted to do it in person.’
‘Did you go?’
Georgina covered her mouth with her hand and turned her head away as she was hit by a bout of coughing which lasted over a minute. She took the water Victoria offered and when she handed it back she continued.
‘Sorry. Yes I did. He was a little strange to be frank. He was badly affected by the war and not just physically in my opinion. His injuries were quite severe. He’d lost an eye, his face had bits missing from it and he walked with a cane. If I recall correctly one of his arms was damaged too. But it was his eyes that were the most intriguing. It was as though his soul had already left him, as though he had left it behind in France. His eyes were dead, even if the rest of him was hanging on to life. I really felt quite sorry for him.’
‘Could he enlighten you on what happened to John?’
‘He told me that he died on the eve of the battle. He just died with no explanation. Just dropped dead. He pretty much told me that it was an inconvenience to them at the time and for which he felt guilty for not following up. With so many being killed it seems they just put his body in with the others and let me believe he had died in the fighting.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘Not really,’ replied Georgina, weakly. ‘I think they thought it would be better for me thinking he died bravely and not of some illness that he must have covered up. But that’s what I find strange. If John had been ill he would have gone to the medics, I’m sure. Maybe it was a heart attack. Who knows? Anyway, his C.O. himself was severely wounded so could do nothing about it afterwards, I suppose.’
‘That’s all very strange,’ said Victoria after a while.
There was a noise outside the door. Edwina went to open it and Mrs Allsop walked in carrying a small child, no more than two years old. He had a mass of thick black hair and dark eyes. He looked at them all curiously and on seeing his mother in the bed he put out his arms and began to wail.
‘May I introduce my son, Gregory,’ said Georgina, her face brightening on seeing him. Looking at Mrs Allsop she said, ‘Please don’t bring him too close. I can’t have him catching my germs.’
Victoria was surprised at how strong Georgina was being. This was probably going to be the last time she would ever see her son and she was holding it together very well. But then who knew what she was feeling inside at that moment?
Georgina turned to face Victoria. ‘There is a box under the bed. Can you please take it with you? It contains letters between me and John, photographs, that sort of thing. Can you make sure that Gregory gets them when he is older? When he is grown up. So he will get to know his mother and father. And can you tell him how much he was loved?’
‘Of course,’ said Victoria, as the tears started to flow down her cheeks. ‘Of course I will.’
‘And take the photographs off the dressing table too.’
Gregory continued to cry for his mother and it took all Mrs Allsop’s strength to keep hold of him as he struggled in her arms.
‘It’s OK Gregory,’ said Georgina. ‘This is your auntie Victoria. She will take care of you now. Please be good for her.’ She blew him a kiss. ‘Please take him down now before my heart bursts.’
Mrs Allsop turned to Victoria, tears streaming down her face. ‘I will be next door,’ she said. ‘Number thirty two.’
She left the room holding the boy and his cries could
be heard as she took him down the stairs and out of the front door.
Georgina slumped down into the bed, all the strength suddenly leaving her as the effort of the past few minutes now took its toll. The realisation that she would never see her son again had hit her like a cannonball.
Victoria felt extremely uncomfortable, as though she was intruding on a personal and private moment. The young woman in the bed had suddenly aged considerably in the matter of seconds. She looked at Edwina who too, was pouring tears like rain. Victoria stood up. They were no longer helping her and it was probably time to leave the girl in peace.
Georgina looked at her. ‘Please don’t cry,’ she said softly. ‘I’m going to my John. It won’t be long now. In the last letter he wrote to me he said that we would be together soon. And he was right, we will be.’
Victoria bent down to kiss her and Georgina recoiled slightly. ‘Please don’t. My germs.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Victoria softly and gently kissed her on the forehead. ‘You are a very special woman, Georgina, very special. And I will make sure that Gregory knows all about you and how wonderful you were.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘The box, don’t forget the box. And take the photographs too.’
Edwina went to collect the photographs from the dressing table and Victoria took the box from under the bed. It was open and she could see the letters and photographs that it contained. Edwina placed the photographs inside it and they walked towards the door.
‘Goodbye Georgina,’ she whispered to her, but she had already laid down, her back to them and appeared to be sleeping.
As they left the room, Victoria looked back and realised that Georgina was not sleeping. She could see her shoulders slightly shaking as she tried to hide the fact that she was weeping. Victoria closed the door behind her and as she walked down the stairs her heart broke into a thousand pieces inside her chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Danny put down the journal and got up from the bed. He moved to the window and looked out onto the Parisian streets, for a few moments lost in thought. The hotel was slightly off the main road but the noise of the traffic could be heard in the room, despite all the windows being closed. He decided to open one to let some fresh air into the room and to let in all the noises of the city, which he enjoyed. The mobile phone he was charging on the dressing table began to vibrate but he chose to ignore it as he did not want to be disturbed. Not now that he was discovering the truth about the family that he knew nothing of until only a few days ago. He still did not understand how it connected with Lucy’s death and the attempts by Sean Lange on his own life but maybe when he read the rest of the journal belonging to Victoria Holbrook all those questions would be answered.
He walked to the small table in the corner of the room and put the kettle on. He would have a cup of coffee and try and digest what he had learned so far. So there had been suspicions, albeit minor, on the way that John Cooke had died all those years ago. Ninety five years ago now, he calculated in his head. All very intriguing.
He poured the hot water into a cup containing the instant coffee and sat back down on the bed. Before returning to the journal he looked at the other contents of the package. Letters to and from Georgina Cooke and her husband whilst he was in the front line, telling of how she was coping, how their son was doing, who Danny now knew to be his grandfather, Greg. It was all very interesting and he was sure it would have pleased his father to have seen them had he still been alive. From what he remembered, Danny’s father never knew too much about his own father’s past. The journal would hopefully reveal more.
There were also more photographs. Black and white pictures of three young children around ten years old playing together in the summer sunshine. On the back the names Gregory, Frankie and Elizabeth were written in black ink. Another with the same children now a little older, in a more formal picture, together with a woman who stood behind them with her hands on their shoulders, while they smiled for the camera. He turned the photograph over to see the words ‘V with Greg, Frankie and Lizzie. Summer 1929.’
So this was Victoria, he thought and looked at her closely. She was a nice looking woman. Not particularly beautiful but with fine features and possibly the kindest eyes he had ever seen. He smiled to himself and whispered ‘Pleased to meet you Victoria.’
He found another picture. This one was taken some years later and was of the same four people, all smiling and laughing together at some joke one of them had no doubt told. Gregory was wearing the uniform of a British soldier but not that of an officer which Danny found quite strange considering the family he had grown up with. Maybe there was a reason for that, he thought. They were standing on Parliament Bridge, Big Ben behind them showing half past three. On the back were the words ‘London Spring 1939. To Auntie V with Love, G.’
Fascinated to find out more, he made himself comfortable and picked up the journal to continue. He turned the page and inserted between the pages was a telegram.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
War Office 25th June 1940
Regret to inform you that Corporal G Cooke 2301310 Royal Fusiliers is reported as missing believed killed in France. Letter to follow.
Signed Major H. Harding MC R.Fusiliers
#
Lady Victoria Holbrook held the telegram and her hands started to shake uncontrollably. It had been delivered a few moments earlier by the butler and she had read it immediately before he had chance to leave the room.
‘Are you alright Lady Victoria?’ he asked with concern on seeing her disposition.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not at all, Mister Appleby. Can you please fetch Elizabeth? I need to talk to her straight away.’
‘Certainly,’ he replied and left the room in search of her daughter.
She sat down on the nearest soft chair and stared blankly at the wall ahead. This could not be happening. Not Gregory. Not that sweet, quiet young man who would not hurt a fly. She had read the reports in the newspapers and listened to the BBC news daily. The radio had reported of the mass evacuation of thousands of troops from the beaches at Dunkirk. She had hoped that with so many of them making it home that Gregory would be amongst them and that he would be in contact with her very shortly.
She thought back to over twenty years ago when she had collected him from his mother’s house in London and returned with him to Ardleigh Manor, to bring him up as one of her own alongside his cousins Elizabeth and Francis. They had all been happy together. Just the four of them. Alexander had taken no interest in his nephew and very little in his own children if she was honest with herself. Their relationship had become more estranged as the years had passed and they merely lived in the same house together now. She attended functions as necessary and stood at his side during events that called for them to show unity, but she knew it was all just an act. She was happy to do this because he left her alone for the rest of the time. His philandering ways had never changed and she was quite content to let him do as he pleased, as she had realised long ago that she had no love for him. She doubted that she ever had.
Elizabeth entered the room and on seeing her mother sitting there, tears pouring down her face, she too sat down but said nothing. Victoria looked over to her and attempted a smile.
Elizabeth, she thought, poor, beautiful Elizabeth. She had inherited her father’s good looks, there was no doubt about it. Thick black hair framed a quite pale face that enhanced the colour of her bright blue eyes. She had many admirers on the social scene in London but she preferred the countryside and life at the Manor to that of the city. And she was not too interested in any of the many gentlemen who had asked to court her. Victoria presumed that would change as she got a little older, but she was showing no signs of that changing as yet.
Francis was quite the opposite. Also inheriting his father’s good looks, but thankfully not his personality, he had always been something of a live-wire and was currently undergoing training at an RAF camp in Yorkshir
e. In his latest letter he had informed her that he had met and fallen in love with a young woman from a family he only described as ‘owns half of Yorkshire’. He doubted his father would disapprove of such a courtship.
Eventually Elizabeth looked over. ‘It’s Greg isn’t it?’ she asked quietly.
Victoria stood up and walked over to her. Sitting at her side she handed her the telegram. ‘Yes,’ she replied.
She let Elizabeth read the message and when she had finished she turned to Victoria and they hugged, both of them weeping quietly.
They broke their embrace and Elizabeth read it again. ‘It doesn’t say he is dead now does it?’ she said hopefully. ‘It just says ‘missing believed killed’. It means they don’t know what’s happened to him, doesn’t it? He could still be alive.’
‘They don’t usually get these things wrong,’ said Victoria, smiling at her daughter’s optimism. ‘I remember all the poor boys that died in the last one. Thousands of them. All for nothing.’
‘This isn’t the same thing,’ replied Elizabeth tearfully. ‘Until I get one hundred per cent confirmation that he’s dead then I refuse to believe it. I totally refuse.’
Victoria hugged her again. ‘I so hope you are right. I really do.’
‘I am, mother. I just know it. Gregory is a sensible person, he always has been. Growing up, I mean. He would always think before he did anything. Not like Frankie who was always so impetuous. I can’t see him putting himself in harm’s way if he could prevent it,’ she said desperately.
Victoria stroked her hair and face. Looking into her eyes she said softly, ‘I am sure you’re right, my love. There is always hope. And we must keep hoping and be strong for each other.’
