by Angela Arney
Megan, who couldn’t think of a single good thing, said, ‘What?’
‘All the bedrooms are in use, except for the boxroom which I’m using for tonight.’ She saw Megan’s puzzled expression. ‘Don’t you see? Now that Marcus and Arthur will have to live here the War Office can’t possible requisition Folly House. We’re safe. They can’t turn all of us out; they’d have nowhere to put us.’
Megan smiled wearily. ‘The thought of finding somewhere else to live would be more than I could bear. But surely they wouldn’t really turn us out?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Lavinia, pausing as she reached the corridor leading to her room, and leaning forward confidentially. ‘I was hearing only the other day that the War Office is looking for rooms to put up more Army and Navy engineers from America. Everyone says they may requisition somewhere near here to build something very, very secret. But I dare say our boxroom wouldn’t be suitable because it’s too small.’
Megan laughed at Lavinia’s hush-hush expression. ‘It would only be suitable for a very small engineer,’ she said. ‘And it can’t be very secret if everyone is talking about it.’
‘Hmmm,’ Lavinia looked thoughtful. ‘If the worst comes to the worst and they do try and inflict someone on us, you’d better stake a firm claim to your office. Your father will need to use it now to write his sermons, when you’re not using it. You can’t afford to let anyone else lay claim to it.’
The house now was permanently full of people and sometimes Megan longed for solitude. The only place she could find it was in her office, and even there she was interrupted. And every time she was in the office it seemed that the letter from Nurse O’Malley jumped up at her. It troubled her; she couldn’t get rid of the irrational fear that Adam was dangerous to herself and Henry. But eventually she could put if off no longer and wrote a short letter to Nurse O’Malley saying that Henry was missing presumed dead.
As she sealed the envelope she suddenly remembered Adam’s last laughing words, It will be an adventure, and was overwhelmed for sadness for him. Adam was injured, and she wondered how he would take the news about Henry now that the great adventure had turned so bitter.
She was still lost in thought when the door opened and Gerald walked in, startling her.
‘Most people knock,’ said Megan, trying to hide the discomfiture she always felt in his presence.
‘I’m not most people,’ replied Gerald. He leaned across the desk towards her, putting a finger under her chin and tipping her face towards him. ‘I’m your one-time lover, remember?’
Flinching away, Megan stood up.
Gerald kicked the door shut with his foot and held out a manilla envelope. ‘Read it,’ he said.
Megan slipped the folded sheets from the envelope and read them in silence. As she read she became more and more angry, but at the same time she was afraid. Did Gerald really find her attractive or was she just another route to his acquiring Folly House? The closely written sheets were couched in legal language, but Megan knew exactly what it meant. Gerald was halfway to realizing his ambition of taking over Folly House and the farm at East End. He was assuming that Henry was dead and wanted to step in immediately to maximise the business possibilities of the estate, it said as a summing-up.
‘Does Lavinia know about this?’ she said, trying to stall for time while she collected her thoughts.
‘It’s nothing to do with Lavinia. She will continue to live in the dower house as she does now, and will remain there until her death, when it will revert back and become part of the estate.’
Megan put down the papers. There, in the legal speak of the London solicitors whom Gerald had engaged, Randall & Randall of High Holborn, London, was the end of her dreams. The end of her life at Folly House because it stated that in the event of Henry’s death (as written in Sir Richard Lockwood’s will) if he had not fathered a son or daughter, the house, gardens, and East End Farm together with the estate cottages and dower house would be in the sole charge and ownership of Gerald Lockwood.
Of course Megan had always known that if they’d had no children the estate would revert to Gerald on Henry’s death. But she and Henry had thought they would have children. Now it was different. If Henry didn’t return she would be at the mercy of Gerald. Megan took a deep breath. She hadn’t become the mistress of Folly House to give it up so easily. She had to play Gerald at his own game, a tactical one of bluff and counter-bluff. She looked at Gerald, determined not to show her fear.
‘All it needs is your signature, then I’ll take over immediately.’ Gerald made a broad gesture with his hand and smiled. ‘I’ll let you stay in the house for the time being. Maybe we can come to some arrangement.’
‘I’m not signing anything,’ said Megan icily. ‘Henry is not dead. I know he’ll be found and will come back. Then we’ll have a child and there’ll be no need for any of this.’ Shoving the papers back into the envelope she thrust it at Gerald, then walked across and opened the door. ‘Please go now. I have a lot of work to get through.’
Gerald’s dark eyes flashed in exasperation. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Megan. Of course he’s dead.’ He pushed the door shut again.
‘I don’t think we have anything to discuss, let alone anything for me to sign. If you won’t leave my office then I will.’
As she tried to pass him Gerald grabbed her and pushed her back against the desk. ‘Uncle Richard should have left this place to me,’ he hissed, his voice rough with anger. ‘And I think he would have done except for Lavinia, who persuaded him to leave it to Henry, who was never interested in it. Medicine, that’s all he ever thought about. That, and his fancy friend, Adam. He was never interested in you, either. If you want another baby, you’d better come to me. I’ll give you a baby, but it won’t help you get your hands on Folly House, not unless you stay with me.’ His heavy body pressed against her. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t want me, because I won’t believe you.’
His face was close to hers and reeked of sour whisky. She felt angry; how dare he try to force himself on her. She turned her face away and tried to escape, but he was too strong. Clasping her around the waist, he twisted her head back with his other hand so that she was forced to look at him. ‘You thought you could do better than me, didn’t you. A jumped-up vicar’s daughter trying to be a lady. You slept your way into Folly House, you wanted Henry for that reason, and that reason alone. But you made a mistake when you stopped off along the way with me. And now,’ he jerked her head back and pulled her so close she could feel his arousal through her skirt. ‘And now, I fancy having you again. Why try and stop me? Once I’ve started you know you’ll enjoy it.’
‘Let me go.’ In vain she twisted and pushed, but he was too strong.
Tightening his grip on her, Gerald forced his mouth on hers, prising her teeth apart, filling her mouth with his tongue. Megan could hear his hoarse breathing and grunting as he fumbled at the front of her dress, searching for her breast; then with a satisfied groan, he found it. The pain as he cruelly pinched her nipple was excruciating, and involuntarily Megan raised one knee and thrust it as hard as she could into his groin. She knew she’d found her mark as he gave a short agonized yelp and loosened his hold. Needing no second opportunity Megan pushed him with all her might and Gerald staggered back, hunched and clutching his groin. Megan put the table between herself and Gerald and picked up the heavy glass paperweight on the desk. ‘Get out,’ she screamed, ‘get out of Folly House, and don’t ever come here again.’
‘You’ll not get rid of me that easily, you bitch,’ shouted Gerald, still bent double. ‘I’ll come again. I’ve every right to come. I’m a Lockwood by birth. Folly House is mine by right, as you’ll find out when it’s confirmed that your feeble husband has ended up as cannon fodder.’
‘Get out,’ Megan screamed, and threw the paperweight with all her might. It narrowly missed Gerald’s head and smashed to smithereens against the wall.
‘I’ll go now, but I’ll be back. You can count on it.’
He wrenched open the door and crashed straight into Arthur’s wheelchair in the hall. ‘Out of my way, you bloody cripple,’ he snarled. The whole house reverberated as the heavy front door crashed shut behind him.
There was a moment’s silence. ‘What was that all about,’ said Arthur quietly.
Megan wiped her mouth with her handkerchief, then stuttered, ‘It’s Gerald. He wants Folly House. He … he, tried to …’ words failed her.
‘I’ll kill him.’ Arthur gripped the sides of his chair and tried to lever himself up. Despite everything Megan managed a ghost of a smile. ‘You’re no match for him, Arthur, neither am I. Not physically anyway. I need to be clever. That’s the way to defeat him, and I’ll do it. I will do it.’ Megan drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders.
‘Not alone you can’t,’ said Arthur, taking her hand in his. ‘I know I’m in a wheelchair, but I’ve got a brain and I’m no fool. We’ll tackle him together.’
‘It’s not your problem.’ Megan was reluctant to involve Arthur.
‘Anything to do with you is my problem. That’s what a brother is for.’
Megan shivered. ‘I don’t think I can talk about it now.’
‘Tomorrow then,’ said Arthur firmly. Megan nodded reluctantly and Arthur said quietly, ‘You’d better button up your blouse; we don’t want anyone to know what Gerald has been up to.’
Megan didn’t reply, but did as Arthur said. What would Arthur say if he knew they had once been lovers? A moment of madness on a dark night long ago that now seemed destined to haunt her forever.
True to her word Megan did discuss Gerald with Arthur. But she skated over the truth, merely saying that Gerald had wanted to marry her, had coveted Folly House ever since they’d all been children, and now saw a way of grasping it for himself; because unless Henry returned and she had a child to inherit Folly House, everything would revert to Gerald. But he did not want to wait, and was demanding that Megan sign an agreement now.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Megan. ‘Supposing Henry never comes back? Supposing we never know what has happened to him.’
Arthur, however, was pragmatic about the situation. ‘First of all,’ he said, ‘we don’t know that Henry is dead. He may well come back. Second, when he does, you are sure to have a baby, and third, we will put up a hell of a fight to stop Gerald laying claim to the estate. Anyway, what does he want it for? He’s married to Violet and has got Brinkley Hall as well as pots of money, which is more than can be said for you. I know Henry was never that wealthy because he told me. He was worried about how you’d manage on his army salary while he was away, and now, since he’s missing, you don’t even have that.’
His words did comfort Megan a little, but she couldn’t tell Arthur she was afraid of Gerald, and afraid of the strange power that Gerald had over her. It wasn’t affection, she was sure of that. It was an irrational lust for each other as well as for Folly House. It didn’t make sense. Why should the ownership of an old house be so important? She had no answer.
A week before Christmas and Arthur and Marcus were firmly settled in Folly House since the vicarage had been bombed beyond early repair. They helped Rosie and Dottie decorate the house with mistletoe and holly collected from the hedgerows.
‘Berries everywhere,’ grumbled Bertha, but she didn’t stop the girls decorating everything so that the house glowed with a profusion of dark-green foliage and red and white berries.
The two land girls gave them white candles wrapped in silver cigarette paper for the tables at Folly House. They were to spend their Christmas Day at the Moons once they’d finished on the farm. The gold room smelled of pine needles as George and Silas had dug up last year’s Christmas tree and it now stood in the bay window. Rosie and Dottie decorated it with ancient glass balls and paper angels, which Lavinia produced, as she did every Christmas, from a box in the attic.
‘Cor, it do look lovely,’ breathed Dottie when it was finished and the lights were switched on.
Bertha made the ritual trip to East End farm and made Silas parade the birds destined for the Christmas dinner table in front of her. She chose the biggest for Folly House, the second biggest for Gerald and Violet, Silas had the next in size for his family which included the two land girls. It had been decided, when they were being reared, that if they all survived the foxes, the last two should be divided between a charity in Southampton for the homeless, and a prize for a raffle to be held in Mr Shepherd’s butcher’s shop in Stibbington. Albert Noakes tried to put a spoke in the plan, saying that as food was rationed it was against the law to raffle a turkey. Everyone ignored him as usual, and in the end even he bought a ticket. But he didn’t win. Mrs Rousel won it. She was head of the Rousel clan, a bunch of gypsies who always descended on Stibbington to set up camp in the winter.
Mr Shepherd said, ‘Good luck to them. Christmas is a time of goodwill.’ Albert Noakes didn’t agree as, in his opinion, gypsies always cheated and ought not even to be allowed to buy tickets. As usual he was ignored.
Megan decreed that the turkey should be shared by all the inhabitants of Folly House, including the Joneses, and that the capon which had been fattened up in the kitchen garden should be shared by everyone for New Year’s Day.
‘Sharing with the Jones’ family is a good idea,’ said Marcus. ‘I didn’t know you had such socialist tendencies.’
‘Not socialist but practical. I’ve got to watch the pennies,’ said Megan.
Her father was concerned. ‘Are you short of money? Arthur and I must increase our allowance towards the running of the house.’
‘No need for that,’ said Megan. ‘Not yet anyway.’ No point, she thought, in telling anyone she was worried about the finances. After Christmas she intended to step up sales from the farm shop and also see if she could get orders for local produce from Leckford House, which had been commandeered by the War Department and was now full of Army and Navy personnel. A visit to the quartermaster was on her schedule for the New Year.
Just before Christmas the bishop ordered Marcus to cancel midnight mass on Christmas Eve on safety grounds. The year before Marcus had persisted with the midnight service and several villagers had fallen into ditches in the blackout. ‘Not so much the blackout as too much sherry,’ grumbled Marcus, but he had to obey the bishop, and he decided to have early evensong.
At the very last minute, on Christmas Eve, he called upon Arthur to play the organ as Miss Lander, the usual organist, had the flu. Arthur wanted to practise in the morning and Megan agreed to use some of her precious petrol ration to drop him off at the church, and then pick him up at lunchtime.
At lunchtime it was still bitterly cold; a hoar frost glistened white on the gravestones, riming the dead heads of cow parsley so that they looked as if they had been dipped in icing sugar. Pausing a moment at the lych gate, drinking in the frozen beauty of the ancient churchyard, Megan prayed. Not something she did often; for although brought up as a parson’s daughter, religion had passed her by, and she’d never felt a spiritual need. But lately she’d felt lost, caught in a vicious spiral of conflicting emotions, not knowing where or who to turn to. She prayed for guidance for herself, and for Henry to return home.
Closing her eyes she gave herself up to the peace of the winter morning. Then suddenly the stillness was pierced by the clear trumpet notes of Bach’s prelude in A Minor. The achingly beautiful sound rang around, echoing from gravestone to gravestone, and for a moment Megan felt that the very beings lying in the cold dark earth would rise up and join the living in the sheer exuberance of the music.
The music gave wings to her feet and she flew up the flintstone path and in through the open door of the church. There was a stranger sitting at the organ, a man with dark hair that fell across his forehead, and a serious face; he was bending over the keys as if his life depended on it. He didn’t notice her; neither did Arthur, who was sitting mesmerized beside him. Megan stayed where she was in the shadow by the door, waiting, watching and listening.<
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When the last throbbing note had died away the man turned towards Arthur and smiled. Megan caught her breath. It was as if someone had switched on a light inside him, and she found herself smiling as well, although he wasn’t smiling at her.
Arthur must have heard her footsteps on the stone flags leading to the organ because he turned. ‘Megan,’ he called. ‘Come and meet Jim.’
The dark stranger stepped down from the organ loft and came towards her, hand outstretched. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Jim Byrne. I guess you must be Arthur’s sister, Megan.’ His gentle voice had an attractive American drawl.
He was smiling at her now, and as Megan moved towards him she felt as if she was being swept along in a strong current; she was unable to go in any direction other than towards him.
‘Yes, I’m Megan,’ she said as he took her hand.
‘Jim’s here on some secret work up at Leckford House,’ said Arthur.
Jim was still holding her hand and smiling. ‘Yes, I’m living in that splendidly massive house, but would you believe it, there’s no piano or organ? So I went looking for a little local church and found St Nicholas’s and Arthur playing the organ. And of course, I just had to come in.’
Reluctantly Megan slipped her hand from his. ‘You’re a musician?’
Shaking his head, he turned and helped Arthur move his wheelchair down the wooden ramp from the organ loft. ‘Not professionally; I’m an engineer by profession, which is why I’m here.’
‘I’ve told Jim he can come to Folly House and use our piano whenever he wants,’ said Arthur. ‘I didn’t think anyone would mind.’
‘Of course not. It will be a pleasure to hear the piano more often. It doesn’t get used enough.’ Megan crossed to Arthur and took the handles of his wheelchair. Jim stepped over and took the chair handles from her. ‘Let me wheel Arthur down to your car,’ he said.
‘Stay to lunch,’ said Arthur as they bumped down the flinty path.
