by Angela Arney
Henry escorted the doctor through to the large front door which opened out on to the portico. Dr Crozier paused, and Henry held out his hand. ‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘Just wish I could have saved the little blighter,’ Dr Crozier muttered gruffly.
Henry didn’t reply, and when the doctor had gone leaned against the closed door and shut his eyes. How could he tell Megan that he was leaving? But he had to. Although not tonight, that was impossible. But it would have to be tomorrow, Saturday, because he was leaving on Sunday evening. He wished he’d not left it so late, but knew the answer. It was because he was a moral coward; always hoping that difficult things would somehow resolve themselves. Of course they never did.
‘Please sir,’ a small voice interrupted his troubled thoughts. ‘What shall I do? I don’t know where to go.’
Opening his eyes Henry looked down. It was Rosie, still clutching her gasmask and cardboard suitcase. In the melée of the past events he had entirely forgotten about her.
‘Has nobody taken care of you?’ he asked.
‘No sir.’ Rosie looked worried. ‘I hid in the big cupboard there, underneath the stairs. I didn’t know what else to do. I always hide under the stairs when I don’t know what to do. Is Miss Megan all right now?’
‘Yes she’s all right now.’
‘And the baby? Is that all right?’
Henry looked at her. Her small face had wisdom far beyond her years. He had no doubt she knew about suffering and dead babies. ‘No, the baby is not all right.’
‘You’ll be wanting to send me back now, I suppose.’ It was not so much a question as a resigned statement.
Henry gave himself a mental shake. He’d just lost a child, but life had to go on. Megan had befriended this small evacuee, maybe it would help her in the coming days. It would give her something else to think about if she had the responsibility of a child. ‘No, we shall not be sending you back. In fact I am very sorry you haven’t been taken care of. However, I shall rectify that now. Come with me.’
He strode across the hall with Rosie stumbling along behind him, encumbered by her suitcase and gasmask.
‘Lordy, what have we got here,’ was Bertha’s reaction when he opened the kitchen door and ushered in his small charge. Bertha, George and Dottie were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea and looking very miserable. Dottie was crying. Tilly came in at the sound of Bertha’s voice and looked as if she’d been crying as well.
‘This is Rosie. An evacuee from London,’ said Henry. ‘Megan took charge of her at the station, and then I’m afraid she got forgotten after we arrived and Megan collapsed.’
‘Well, that’s not surprising,’ was Bertha’s only comment. She didn’t offer her sympathy to him in words, but she cared. They all cared and he knew that. It was comforting.
‘Will you take care of Rosie until Megan is better? Then she can take charge.’
‘Of course.’ Bertha bustled round the table and looked more closely at Rosie. ‘Poor little lamb,’ she muttered. ‘London’s no place to live these days, not with what’s going on up there.’ She nodded towards the radio which Dottie had switched off when Henry arrived. ‘Been listening to the news. It’s terrible.’ She picked up Rosie’s suitcase and untangled the gasmask box’s cord from around her neck. ‘There now,’ she said. ‘Where do you want her to sleep? Has she had anything to eat?’ She peered closer. ‘She looks as if she needs a good bath.’
‘I hadn’t thought about sleeping,’ Henry said, ‘and I suppose she should have a bath …’
‘A bath,’ squealed Rosie. Everything forgotten in an ecstasy of delight. ‘I’d love a bath, especially if there’s smelly soap. We never have smelly soap, only carbolic.’
‘I think we can organize smelly soap,’ said Henry with a smile. He thought quickly, the Joneses didn’t have a bathroom but still used a tin bath in the outside scullery once a week. It was something he’d meant to get changed but somehow he’d never got around to it. ‘Use the bathroom on the top floor at the back of the house for tonight, and as for sleeping, I think …’ he hesitated, unused to making domestic decisions.
‘She can sleep in the box room along the corridor from the bathroom. It’s not far from Dottie’s room in the attic,’ interrupted Bertha, making the decision for him. ‘But I’ll give the mite a bite of supper first, and then we’ll see about the bath.’ She put Rosie’s belongings in the corner of the kitchen and indicated a chair at the table.
Rosie scrambled on to it eagerly, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
Henry left the kitchen, suddenly feeling more cheerful. Rosie would be fine with the Joneses looking after her, and Megan would also enjoy organizing Rosie’s life. He returned to the gold room where Adam was sitting, moodily smoking and staring out into the dark garden.
‘I hope it’s OK but I’ve persuaded Lavinia to sleep in her old bedroom tonight,’ he said. ‘She came down from Megan’s room while you were away, and I thought it too late for her to walk back to the dower house. I hope that’s all right. She’ll be down in a moment to have supper with us.’
‘Of course it’s all right,’ said Henry. ‘Thanks for organizing it.’
He sensed that Adam was feeling excluded from the family crisis and was unhappy that tomorrow’s shoot would probably not happen. But for all their closeness he suddenly realized that the loss of what would have been his first-born was not something he could talk about with Adam. To Adam it was not a child, it was an ‘it’ something that had never existed. Now there was a chasm between them, something Henry had thought would never happen.
The supper gong sounded in the rose room. Adam got up and walked across to Henry. ‘Is the shooting still on for tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘I hope so. I promised the CO at Biggin Hill I’d bring him back a brace of pheasant.’
‘Well, I’m not sure.’ Henry hesitated. ‘It depends on how Megan is.’
Lavinia entered the room. ‘Megan will be fine,’ she said firmly. ‘The sooner she gets back to normality the sooner she’ll recover from this episode. All she needs is a few days’ rest and she’ll be as right as rain. You and Adam should go shooting while you have the chance. Tomorrow is going to be a lovely day.’
Episode! thought Henry. Episode! Even Lavinia thought it a minor matter. He wondered what Megan was thinking, but knew he could never ask her. They were not close enough to talk about such things. They would each mourn alone for the flicker of life that had been snuffed out before it had a chance to get a foothold in the world.
The following morning Megan woke to sunlight streaming in through the window. She was in a side room, not the bedroom she shared with Henry; someone had been up and drawn back the curtains, and she was warm and comfortable snuggled in crisp white sheets. The previous night was a distant memory of pain and darkness, but apart from that, nothing. She put her hands on her stomach. It felt bruised and sore, but it was flat and there were a few drops of blood on her nightdress. Blood: yes, she remembered now. She’d been bleeding when she fell from the car. She felt well now, but more than that she felt relieved. The baby had gone. It didn’t matter now who the father might have been. The next baby would definitely be Henry’s.
In the distance she heard dogs barking and the sound of footsteps on the gravel. That must be Henry and Adam going out shooting, and those were Silas Moon’s dogs, excited at the thought of retrieving plump birds from the undergrowth.
She smiled. Bertha would be pleased with some game birds to cook, and if they got a few partridge as well she’d make one of her famous game pies.
She stretched luxuriously. Whatever it was that Dr Crozier had dosed her with last night had the effect of making her feel pleasantly relaxed and carefree.
The door to the bedroom opened quietly and Lavinia tiptoed in carrying a teapot, followed by Bertha with a heavy tray. ‘We’ve brought a light breakfast, dear,’ Lavinia said.
Bertha put the tray on the bedside table. There was half a grapefruit
with a cherry stuck in the middle, some golden-brown toast, a large pat of butter and a jar of marmalade, as well as the tea and milk.
Megan pushed herself into an upright position. ‘The breakfast looks lovely,’ she said. She put her hand on her stomach, ‘What happened?’ she asked. She needed confirmation that the baby was no more.
‘You lost the baby last night,’ said Lavinia sombrely. She leaned forward and took Megan’s hand. ‘You mustn’t be too upset. Dr Crozier said you are young, there’s plenty of time for more babies. The important thing is that you are all right.’
The feeling of relief when Lavinia confirmed that the baby had gone was so immense that she had difficulty in not smiling. She looked at Lavinia’s sad face. Everyone was expecting her to be sad: yes, to be sad and upset. Squeezing Lavinia’s hand she gave what she hoped was a wan smile. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘There’s plenty of time. Henry and I have our whole lives ahead of us.’
It was true, and the next baby would be Henry’s. She was never going to betray him again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Saturday 2 September 1939
As a compromise to Lavinia’s concern Megan rested all day but on the Saturday evening she dressed and came downstairs to dinner.
It was the custom to have a sherry before dinner and Megan sat with Lavinia in the gold room. Outside the late summer evening was drawing to a close, the warm scent of approaching autumn wafting in through the open windows. As she sat absorbing the sights and sounds two figures came across the lawn from the direction of the folly. It was two girls, one was Dottie and the other was…? Uncertain, she peered into the slowly darkening evening and suddenly realized that the other was a very small girl. It was the child she had agreed to take in as an evacuee the night before. What was her name? Rosie. Yes, that was it, she remembered now. Rosie Barnes. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had met her on the draughty railway station.
Lavinia followed her gaze and saw the girls too. ‘That little Rosie has settled in here incredibly well,’ she said. ‘Bertha told me that others in the village haven’t been so lucky. Some of them have turned out to be infested with lice, and most of them wet their beds last night. At least Rosie is clean and toilet trained. The only thing wrong is her clothes. She is dressed respectably enough, but her winter coat is so thin you could shoot peas through it, as Bertha always says, and her shoes were padded out with cardboard. They will disintegrate at the first shower of rain.’
‘Oh dear, then I must take her into Southampton as soon as possible and get her kitted out in something suitable,’ said Megan.
‘No need.’ Lavinia looked self-satisfied. ‘I did it myself this morning. I got George to drive me into Southampton with Rosie. I had a bit of trouble with the shoes because of her club foot, but we compromised for the time being. I’m having a special pair made up for her in Ganges, the shoe shop at the bottom of the town near the docks. They specialize in handmade shoes.’
From her expression Megan could see that Lavinia had enjoyed every moment of her shopping trip. But the cost bothered her. ‘I’m not being mean,’ she said, ‘but it might make things difficult for her mother. She’s probably having trouble paying for things as it is.’
Lavinia nodded. ‘From what little I’ve gleaned from the child, she can’t afford anything, and Rosie was anxious about the cost of everything, especially the shoes. But I set the child’s mind at rest. I told her that while she’s with us we are in loco parentis and she will, therefore, be treated as one of our own.’ Lavinia looked sharply at Megan. ‘I hope that’s what you had in mind; you weren’t going to treat her like a servant, were you?’
‘Of course not,’ said Megan indignantly. ‘She will be my temporary daughter.’
So that was it. Rosie Barnes was seamlessly absorbed into the family and was adopted as a daughter of Folly House.
The gong sounded for dinner and the two women rose and joined Henry and Adam who were already waiting in the rose dining room. Henry, looking serious, was standing in his place at the head of the table and Adam was by his side. Megan took her place at the opposite end of the table. Tradition decreed that, as Henry’s wife she should sit there; something Megan thought faintly ridiculous, having to sit miles away from her husband. But tradition was tradition, and she had acquiesced and now always sat there. Lavinia took her place at the side and Rosie was steered into a seat opposite her by Dottie, who then left and went back to the kitchen. The little girl, her big brown eyes round and solemn, sat very still, looking rather scared. This was the first time she had eaten with the Lockwood family and she would have rather been in the kitchen with Dottie. But she obediently did as she was told and sat at the table which was resplendent with a snowy-white damask tablecloth, gleaming silver cutlery and sparkling crystal glasses. She thought the whole room looked like something out of a fairly tale.
Once they were seated Bertha and Tilly began to leave ready to bring in the soup tureens and plates for the first course. As they went to the door Henry raised his hand. ‘Bertha, before you start to serve, would you go and get George and Dottie, and bring them in here. I have something to say.’ He looked at Tilly, who looked startled. ‘You wait here, Tilly; you also need to hear what I have to say.’
Lavinia frowned. ‘Good heavens, Henry,’ she said. ‘You are being very dramatic.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s a pity Mr Chamberlain can’t be a bit dramatic and take us into the war once and for all, now that Germany has invaded Poland.’
Henry didn’t reply but waited until everyone was assembled; he glanced down at Adam who was looking straight down the table at Megan. It seemed to her that there was a glint of triumph in his eyes, and she shivered.
‘Maybe I am being a little dramatic,’ said Henry. ‘But I have something to say which will affect you all, especially you, Megan.’ His clear blue eyes looked at her. What was he going to say? She clasped her hands tightly beneath the tablecloth. ‘I have been accepted as a captain in the Royal Army Medical Corps, and I join my unit, tomorrow, Sunday 3 of September. I shall be at Millbank in London for two days next week, after that I expect to be posted to the training camp at Catterick, Yorkshire.’
Megan was stunned. ‘Tomorrow?’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ As she spoke she was sure she saw a glimmer of a smile pass across Adam’s face and knew it was not a surprise to him. The thought made her angry. Surely as Henry’s wife she should be the one to share his confidences, not Adam.
‘I did intend to,’ said Henry swiftly. ‘Truly I did. But I didn’t want to write a letter or tell you over the telephone, I wanted to tell you myself. But then you collapsed last night, and there hasn’t been an opportunity until this moment, and now there’s not much time before I leave.’
Megan didn’t reply. There has been time, she thought rebelliously. Plenty of time. You could have come to Folly House earlier, you needn’t have gone shooting today, you could have found time to be with me alone. But you didn’t. You chose to be with Adam. It’s always Adam.
But she sat still as stone and said nothing.
Lavinia came round and grasped Megan’s hands in hers. ‘It’s true, my dear. You were in no fit state to hear news of this kind before this evening. I know it’s a shock. But now with war so close there must be many wives suddenly facing the prospect of life without their husbands for a while.’
‘Only while the war lasts,’ said Henry.
‘And it won’t last long,’ said Adam smoothly, lighting another cigarette. ‘Henry and I will be back in civvy street before you’ve had time to miss us. You should be proud, Megan. Your husband is now an officer and a gentleman.’ He inhaled deeply and smiled.
Megan wanted to hit him, which she knew was illogical, but all the same the impulse was almost overwhelming. So Adam had been in on the secret, and what was more she knew he was pleased about it. He and Henry were together again, in a man’s world from which she was excluded. She felt angry and powerless at the same time, but she was not going to let Adam know
it.
Instead she lifted her head and looked straight at Henry. ‘Of course I’m proud of you, darling,’ she said firmly, then, looking towards the assembled room, she continued, ‘and I’m sure everyone here at Folly House wishes you godspeed and good luck. We shall all be counting the days until you return.’
‘Yes, and that’s the truth of it, sir,’ said Bertha taking a step forward. In her uncomplicated way she could feel the conflicting emotions swirling around and didn’t like it. She wanted to get back to the plane she was familiar with, one of food and housework. ‘Shall I go and bring the soup in now?’
Glad to have got the announcement over and done with, Henry sat down. ‘Yes please, Bertha,’ he said.
It was a silent meal that night. Rosie sat wide-eyed and drank her soup and ate her poached salmon, and roast lamb without comment. Megan noticed that she waited until everyone else had started before picking up the correct knife and fork; she could see Lavinia smiling in approval at their small evacuee’s common sense. Strange, she reflected, in one night she had lost one child and acquired another; suddenly she felt more cheerful. What other surprises had life got in store for her?
The wireless was kept on after dinner and more or less continuously during the night. The whole country was listening to accounts of uproar in parliament as MPs tried to force Prime Minister Chamberlain to take the decision and confront Hitler.
Megan left the room early and took Rosie upstairs to put her to bed. She found Bertha and Lavinia had gone to a great deal of trouble to make the room welcoming. The bed was covered with a patchwork quilt in various shades of pink, and some of Gerald’s and Henry’s old toys had been retrieved from the attic and set out in a row under the window. At the far end of the room stood a rather battered, but still beautiful, black wooden rocking horse. One eye was missing and his mane was a little threadbare, but he was still an imperious-looking creature. On entering the room Rosie rushed towards the horse and threw her arms around his neck.
