The Journal

by John R McKay

  They looked up as Sir Alexander strode into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He had the ability to command a room and everyone’s attention just by his presence within it. He demanded that attention by being loud and brash and with no room for people he considered fools. ‘What’s all this about a telegram. Appleby informs me that one has arrived. Why wasn’t I told immediately?’ he demanded.

  Victoria glared at him. ‘Because it was addressed to me,’ she said sternly.

  Alexander Holbrook had not changed much over the years. He had retained his good looks but no longer wore a moustache, which now made him look much younger than his forty seven years and the grey that speckled his hair gave him a distinguished appearance. He had developed many business interests following the deaths of his parents thirteen years ago and had claimed the title of Baronet as the surviving son of Sir Albert. He had not even considered that Gregory may have a claim and had argued that he may be no relation at all. He did not have the family name and as far as Alexander was concerned, he was merely an orphan who had been taken in by the family. This had not sat right with Victoria who saw it as Alexander stealing Gregory’s birthright, but there was not much she could do about it.

  ‘And what are you doing receiving telegrams?’ he asked curtly, ignoring the tears being shed by both his wife and his daughter.

  She handed the message to him whilst wiping her eyes with the other hand. ‘It’s Gregory,’ she said, ‘He must have given my name as his next of kin.’

  ‘Quite,’ replied Alexander reading the telegram. He paused for a moment and then said, ‘So he has gotten himself into a spot of bother over there has he? If he isn’t dead that is, which is more than likely.’

  ‘Are you actually smiling?’ asked Victoria with disgust. ‘I can’t believe you sometimes.’

  ‘Watch how you speak to me,’ he said without looking up. ‘And no I am not smiling. It’s all rather sad really when you think about it.’

  ‘Rather sad!’

  ‘Elizabeth will you please leave us,’ commanded Alexander. ‘I need to speak to your mother in private.’

  Elizabeth rose and looked at her mother who smiled at her as if to say she would be alright, ‘I’ll try and get hold of Francis,’ she said, ‘to let him know what’s happened.’ She left the room leaving them both alone.

  Alexander put the telegram down on a small table and turned to her.

  ‘Victoria, I will not have you speak to me in that way, particularly in front of our daughter.’

  ‘To be honest, Alexander,’ she replied defiantly. ‘I don’t really care about your feelings today. We have just received terrible news about a member of this family and you act as though you have just heard that a friend’s pet dog has died.’

  ‘That person has never been a member of this family,’ he said abruptly. ‘He is, or was, the bastard child of my misguided long dead elder brother. And that’s if he is his son at all. You had no right to bring him into this household all those years ago and I only tolerated him because of my parents. When they died I allowed him to stay only because he was a play fellow for Elizabeth and Francis and for no other reason than that.’

  ‘You can be so cruel sometimes,’ she said sighing.

  ‘And you can be so naïve sometimes,’ he responded. ‘And for the record, I will speak to you any way I see fit. Is that understood?’

  ‘You know what Alexander?’ she said, standing up. ‘I understand alright, but I won’t tolerate it any more. You have been a terrible husband and a pathetic father all these years and I regret the day I ever clapped eyes on you. You are a cruel, vindictive and horrible person and I wish it was you over there in France in place of Gregory.’

  She did not know where she had got this sudden bravery from. She had lived in fear of him for years and now all her frustrations were starting to pour out. With the apparent death of Gregory, a boy she had grown to love as her own child and whom Alexander had despised from the first moment he saw him, even as a baby, she did not care for the consequences of the words she was speaking.

  Suddenly Alexander thrust out his hand and grabbed her by the throat, squeezing hard. Taken by surprise she was unable to prevent it and held onto his hand with her own two, trying to prise it off. However, he was too strong for her and he held on.

  Whispering venomously, his spittle spraying into her face he said, ‘Now listen to me woman, and listen carefully. I will not have you disrespect me in this way. Understand this. You have no idea of what I am capable, no idea at all. I sincerely hope that that boy does not ever come back. I hope he is lying dead at the side of a French road, riddled with Nazi bullets.’

  He released her and pushed her away, causing her to fall to the floor. Rubbing her throat and regaining her breath she got to her feet then sat back in the chair. The tears of sorrow were now mixed with tears of pain and frustration.

  ‘You are an evil man,’ she said calmly after a while. ‘I will divorce you and leave you. I should have done it years ago.’

  ‘You know that will not happen,’ he said contemptuously. ‘You have no-one and nowhere to go. Elizabeth stays here. You really are a pathetic excuse of a woman.’

  He moved toward her and slapped her hard across the face, knocking her off the chair. Her face reddened instantly and she struggled to hold back further tears. She was determined that he would not win.

  ‘Very brave,’ she said. ‘Very brave hitting a woman. I wonder if you are so proud of yourself. Big man Alexander. Alexander who no-one loves. Not even his own children. Francis couldn’t move quickly enough to get away from you and join the air force once war was declared. Even your mother found it hard to love you, God rest her.’

  She stood up and continued to go at him. ‘I wish you had died in France instead of your brother and he had come back here with Georgina. He was twice the man you are……you will ever be. You are an embarrassment.’

  He walked forward and slapped her again, harder. This time she was expecting it and managed to stay on her feet. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘Keep talking. Let it all out.’

  ‘And that imbecilic little cretin you brought back from the war with you. That nauseating, creepy little manservant you have. Just who the hell is he anyway?’

  ‘Not your concern,’ he replied and hit her again. ‘I can do this all day. I am quite enjoying myself.’

  ‘Rot in hell,’ she shouted at him and he punched her hard in the stomach. She doubled over and fell to the floor, all the breath and the fight taken from her.

  He stepped over her and walked to the door. Looking back at her he said, ‘You will go to Kensington for a while. Away from me and my house. Take that ugly old woman with you too. Elizabeth stays here though. With any luck a stray bomb might land on you and do us all a favour.’ He opened the door and walked out, leaving her writhing on the floor, struggling to fill her lungs with oxygen.

  She waited until she heard the front door closing behind him then let out a wail of pain and frustration and let the tears pour from her eyes. Her boy was probably dead and her husband had beaten the living daylights out of her. This was not a good day.

  Hearing the noise, Edwina, Appleby and two other servants entered the room and on seeing her lying on the floor, stood in shock for a moment before Edwina ran to her side, helping her to the chair.

  ‘Help me upstairs, Eddie,’ Victoria wheezed, straining to breathe. ‘Then pack. We are going to London as soon as we can.’

  ‘Right you are, my love,’ she replied, assisting her to her feet. She was joined by Appleby who helped her out of the room, a look of total disgust on his face.

  As they left the room they passed Longworth in the hallway watching them. He smiled sadistically, revealing the gap in his teeth. Edwina shuddered as she looked at him causing him to laugh momentarily. He turned and walked away.

  #

  An hour later Victoria was still in her room. She was sitting on the bed resting while Edwina scurried around the
room packing a suitcase. Elizabeth had just left after agreeing to spend a few days with one of her friends in Yorkshire and would pay a visit to Francis whilst there. She was aware of her father’s actions, the evidence of his violence on Victoria’s face and had decided almost instantly that she wanted to accompany her to London. Victoria had refused as the threat of a German invasion following the Dunkirk evacuation was very high. She wanted Elizabeth to be as far from the south coast as possible and had argued that the open invite to Yorkshire was a perfect opportunity for her to catch up with old friends and to be in a safe place. Reluctantly, Elizabeth had agreed and had promised to make arrangements to leave the following day.

  ‘I’ve asked William to run us to the train station,’ said Edwina. ‘I think there’s a train at about half past two. We should be able to make that one.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Victoria. ‘That sounds good.’

  In a way she was happy that she was being sent away. She felt that being alone was what she needed. If it wasn’t for the war then she would have her Elizabeth with her but the situation with the country was at a very critical stage and she was happier that her daughter would be away from any potential danger. Maybe a summer with her friends in the north would do her some good, help her come to terms with the probable death of Gregory. She started to weep again quietly. Poor, poor orphaned Gregory.

  When he had told her, almost two years ago, that he was to join the army as a private soldier like his father had done over twenty years earlier, she had initially been shocked. The boy had so much potential and could be whatever he wanted. He had joined the fusiliers and had been sent out to France as part of the British Expeditionary Force late the previous year, to assist the French in halting the Nazi advance through Europe. She had wondered why he had chosen such a life and had been very upset that he was to leave the family home but she realised that Alexander had not been the best uncle to him. He would forever put him down or just downright ignore him. When Gregory was a child he would often be in trouble with Alexander for the most minor of things, whereas Francis seemed to get away with much more. No matter how much Victoria had attempted to protect him, she was sure that other ‘things’ may have gone on between the two. Things that she did not wish to think about. And so Gregory had grown close to both Victoria and Elizabeth where he found love in them which was unconditional and the protection he needed from the uncle he hated. He had grown into a decent young man. Victoria had realised that joining the army was not for him to get away from the people he loved, but to remove himself from Alexander’s influence and dominance.

  And now he was probably dead.

  Edwina looked at Victoria. ‘Are you going to be OK?’ she asked.

  Victoria smiled at her. ‘Yes my dear Eddie, I think I will be. I always knew Alexander was capable of this type of thing, if I am honest with myself. It’s not what he’s done that I’m sad about. He can rot in hell for all I care…. It’s poor Gregory….. It’s so sad.’

  ‘It is,’ replied Edwina closing the suitcase and fastening the buckles. ‘He’s such a kind and gentle young man. You have done a fantastic job in raising him and the twins. And there’s always the chance that he’s still alive. Like Elizabeth says, you need to hold onto that hope.’

  ‘You are so kind to me,’ said Victoria. ‘So very kind. And you always talk sense.’

  Edwina smiled at her. ‘That’s true. Just remember that and keep listening to me.’

  Changing the subject Victoria said, ‘I’m starting to keep a journal of what’s happening.’

  Edwina looked at her and smiled, encouraging her to continue.

  ‘It’s kind of a diary of sorts,’ she carried on. ‘I’ve put in what happened to Georgina and our visit to collect Gregory, all I can remember of that day and what she said to me. I’m going to add to it. Maybe I’ll have the strength in years to come to use it against him. If we divorce, which is what I want. Then people will know what he’s really like.’

  ‘To be honest Victoria,’ said Edwina. ‘And I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here, but I don’t think he is the most popular man in society anyway.’

  For the first time that day Victoria laughed. ‘You are so perceptive, my dear Eddie, so perceptive. The journal is in the bottom drawer of the chest,’ she said, indicating the chest of five drawers in the corner of the room. Edwina went to collect it, then unbuckled the suitcase and placed the black hard covered book into it before closing it up again.

  There was a polite knock at the door.

  Edwina opened it and William stood there. ‘The car is here,’ he said. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘Thank you William,’ she replied, ‘Could you please take the suitcase to the car? We will be down in a few minutes?’

  He entered the room and took the suitcase. Edwina closed the door behind him as he left.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘I am,’ said Victoria rising from the bed. ‘I will just say a quick goodbye to Elizabeth then we’ll get going.’

  Five minutes later they exited the front door to where William was waiting at the car. He placed their luggage in the back then held the door open while the two women got in.

  Standing across the courtyard watching them was Alexander, a shotgun under his arm, accompanied as always by his manservant, Longworth. They stood and stared at them until the car started and was moving over the gravel and away from the Manor. Without any acknowledgement that his wife was now on her way, he turned and headed to the woods to the right of the house.

  As they drove away from Ardleigh Manor, Victoria thought that it would be some time before she was ever back again, if ever. Where once she used to love the house because it was a source of happiness to her, watching the three children grow up, now it was a place she was beginning to despise. A place that now only reminded her of her despotic husband and the fact that that happiness was at a close. London would be good for her, she thought, despite the threat that the war would soon be much closer and it was maybe not the safest place to be in the coming months and beyond.

  She was suddenly overcome with a strange sense of destiny, as though this was a part of her life that was forever over and as they drove out of the main gates leaving the Manor behind, she shuddered, as if someone had just walked over her grave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Victoria smiled at the man with the matted beard and grubby face who stood facing her as she spooned the vegetable stew into the metal container he held out in front of him. He smiled back, or at least his mouth did, his eyes vacant and desolate, as though his mind was somewhere else but his body was continuing to go through the motions of existence. He moved on and the next person took his place, a young woman with a small child on her hip. Victoria offered her, too, a smile only to receive back the all too familiar same vacant acknowledgement.

  As the young woman shuffled away to find a small corner from which to feed herself and her child, the line continued to move in front of her, each person handing over a bowl, plate or some other such container in which to receive the meagre food that was on offer.

  The situation in the capital was now reaching apocalyptic proportions, she thought. For forty days and nights, without let up, the German bombers had rained down their high explosive bombs, incendiaries and parachute mines upon the population. Mainly targeting the East End industrial centres and the docklands, it was somewhat obvious that the indiscriminate nature of the way they fell would mean that the accommodation of the people who worked and lived in these places would also be hit. There were thousands dead, thousands injured and even more made homeless. People who took refuge where they could, in cellars, public shelters and even the London Underground stations, would often emerge after the ‘all clear’ to find that their houses, and even on some occasions their whole streets, had been obliterated by the Nazi bombs. The communities in which they had lived all their lives were now totally unrecognisable. It was in the many shelters and rest centres, such as the on
e Victoria was now working, where they would hopefully find some kind of sanctuary and shelter.

  Victoria had joined the Women’s Voluntary Service as soon as she had reached London. There was no way she could sit idle, in the luxury of the house in Kensington whilst her fellow countrymen and women were going through such hardship. There was something that she had to do about it and if it was just standing handing out food and blankets to the masses of individuals who had lost everything, their families, their homes and their places of work, she would not let them lose their hope or their dignity. She had wanted to use the house to shelter some of the displaced, but when she had contacted Alexander with the idea she had been met with short shrift, which she had expected if she was honest with herself. He was not particularly happy that a woman of her social standing was in the W.V.S. anyway, let alone giving his property up to a bunch of working class cockneys.

  It could be said that the battle of Britain that had raged in the skies above them over the summer months had been won by the Royal Air Force as the threat of invasion was now gone and seeing Germans goose stepping up the Mall was now a worry of the past. The Luftwaffe had turned their attention to destroying Britain’s ability to wage war and to bombing the country into submission, the industrial centres and dockland areas being the primary targets, and they had seemed to have burned constantly since the start of the bombings on that fateful day in early September. Despite the atrocious conditions that the populace now had to endure, the majority were ‘putting up’ with it and believed that it would soon come to an end. It had to, one way or another.

  She had been at the centre since early afternoon and was starting to feel extremely tired. She realised that she had slept very little over the last few days and was now starting to feel the effects. The previous night had been spent in an air raid shelter, offering the same kind of service that she was providing now. She really needed to get back home and try and get a few hours sleep before the inevitable sirens sounded again, sending the citizens scurrying to the shelters to avoid the rain of death and fire that would pour down from the late October sky. She wondered if the expressions she saw now, in the eyes of those she was trying to help, were but a reflection of herself and the way that she also appeared to them.