A Stranger Light

by Gloria Cook

  A Stranger Light

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Copyright

  A Stranger Light

  Gloria Cook

  To my dear nephew Shaun, his wife Sara, and Carl, Bethany and Megan, with my love

  Chapter One

  A late snow came at mid-morning, quickly transforming gardens, fields and trees into a white winter land. It gave the place a Christmas-card magic, but also brought the threat to outlying farms and homes of difficulty in reaching the village of Hennaford. It sent Faye Harvey scurrying along the narrow ribbons of lanes, and finally up the short, now slippery, hill to the small draughty school, where she knew the antiquated heating would be struggling and the teachers eager to see the pupils safely on their way home before the snow grew worse.

  She arrived with her head bent down as the biting cold wind thrust heavy snowflakes into her face and body. In a full-length fur coat and fur hat, fur-lined boots and leather gloves, Faye was notably smarter than the local mothers were. It wasn’t her own children she had come to fetch – her son, Simon, was three years old. It was the three orphans, once war evacuees, under the guardianship of herself and her uncle, Tristan Harvey, whom she was anxious to get home to the warmth and comfort of Tremore House.

  ‘A bit parky, isn’t it?’ a young woman remarked to her as she emerged from the porch of the girls’ entrance with her daughter. Susan Dowling stamped about in insubstantial lace-up shoes to warm her feet. Her coat, made from an old grey blanket, as so many outdoor garments had been out of necessity during the war, and her darned wool stockings and cotton paisley headscarf were not up to the job of protecting her from the cold.

  Faye glanced at Susan’s hands and was pleased to see she had knitted gloves on, and that six-year-old Maureen was wrapped up well and had her stick-thin legs inside thick tights and rubber boots. As the second largest land and property owner in Hennaford, Faye was Susan’s landlady, but she hardly knew her. Susan was known for keeping herself to herself.

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t freeze tonight,’ Faye said. She resisted the comment that here in the relatively mild climate of Cornwall, the snowfall was much lighter and far less dangerous than was typical in some states of America, the continent where she had been raised, and in Scotland, where she had lived for a few years. She had been born at Tremore House, but during her eighth year her American mother had left her father. Her soft transatlantic accent set her a little apart. As did the fact she was an unmarried mother. Faye felt something of an oddity, an outsider, and despite having more family on the other side of Hennaford, she was often lonely.

  Susan nodded. She had the habit of trying to be inconspicuous and tended to agree with everyone. She had moved to Hennaford on her marriage. She was a war widow, one of three women in Hennaford who had suffered the loss of their husbands before six years of Nazi tyranny had been brought to an end the previous year. She neither complained nor sought pity, and she had gained the villagers’ respect. People thought of her as a ‘dear young maid’ and were moved to feel protective towards her and her ‘poor little chile’, and to offer her baskets of produce and pass-down clothes, which she accepted graciously. Faye recognized the coat she was wearing as previously being a blanket on her housekeeper Agnes’s bed. ‘It said on the wireless we’d have snow today and I’d wondered if it would be wise to send Maureen to school, but you can’t wrap them up in cotton wool, can you?’

  ‘No, it’s best not to,’ Faye said, pleased that Susan was keeping up a conversation and not excusing herself and going on ahead with Maureen. She received Pearl Smith, who was in the same class as Maureen, and already clad for the journey home, from the young female teacher. Tiny Londoner Pearl seemed twitchy as she grabbed Faye’s hand, and Faye put it down to the weather. A glance over the thick stone wall that separated them from the boys’ playground showed Pearl’s older, boisterous, twin brothers were on their way out of the battered wooden gate.

  ‘Shall we walk back together, Mrs Dowling?’ Faye ventured, eyeing the darkening pinky-grey sky. The wind was whining on a low note and the atmosphere was forbidding.

  ‘It would be a good idea to stick together,’ Susan said. She reached for Maureen’s hand but her daughter ran on ahead with the twins. ‘Don’t go on too far,’ she called after the skimpy girl.

  ‘Be careful, boys,’ Faye warned. She wasn’t overly worried. The snow was up to their ankles and small drifts were formed against banks and walls, but they should reach their homes without problems. As they cautiously made their way down the hill, the three children ahead deliberately made themselves slide, screaming with laughter, while gathering up snowballs.

  ‘Maureen’s such a tomboy,’ Susan said.

  Faye heard the note of pride in her voice. Susan seemed to have no one in the world except the daughter she obviously adored. ‘Aren’t you going off to play with the others, darling?’ Faye encouraged Pearl.

  ‘No,’ Pearl pressed her face into Faye’s arm as they crunched and occasionally slithered over the snow. Susan held out a hand to her and the little girl took it eagerly.

  Faye smiled. It was nice to be doing something companionably with another adult, another woman, that was. After the terrible letdown she’d had from Simon’s father, she was in no hurry to consider a new romance. There was always a lot of male interest in her, she was fine looking, with a fabulous figure, with an unselfconscious poise that made her stand out, and she had the freshness of her twenty-one years. ‘It will be a different story the instant Pearl’s inside the door. She’ll run straight to my uncle. Her Uncle Tris,’ she explained to Susan. ‘He indulges her. He wanted to come and fetch her himself but I pointed out that he’d look a bit of a fool.’ Women had played a vital part in the war but many rules were still set firm – children were considered the women’s domain.

  She noticed Susan was shivering. If she didn’t have enough warm clothes, what else might she be lacking? Lance Dowling had enlisted at the outbreak of the war and had given his all for the country, and it fell on everyone’s shoulders, her own most of all, as his widow’s landlady, to ensure Susan and their little girl were at least sufficiently provided for. Faye felt herself flushing with guilt. She knew Susan took in sewing and worked in the potato and harvest fields, but it was unlikely to cover all her needs. ‘Please don’t think I’m intruding or anything, but is all well in the cottage? Please don’t hesitate to ask for repairs or anything else to Little Dell. I am responsible for your comfort. Since I turned up on my father’s doorstep two years ago I’ve been fully occupied with Simon, and then Pearl and her brothers, and I’m sorry to say I don’t really know how Tremore’s tenants are faring. Is there anything I can do for you?’

  Faye’s worries that Susan might be offended weren’t realized. She replied, ‘Your father called on me just after I got news of my husband’s death and he checked the roof and everything himself. He arranged for a new fireplace in the front room and a slab in the kitchen. He was very kind. Of course, everyone worries about their pipes bursting in this weather.’

  Faye could imagine her patriotic father
rushing to give Susan support. She had a mixture of sad memories of Ben Harvey. His autocratic, bitter ways had made him unpopular, and for years he had rejected her, but she took comfort in that he had wanted to make amends and had died a hero’s death while on secret service in France. They turned off into Back Lane where snow obscured the ditches and had been blown into small drifts in field gateways, fields that belonged to Faye. Tremore House would be reached first, and Susan and Maureen had another half mile to go on alone. Faye was worried. Little Dell was isolated, situated off a short, rough track with only another deserted Tremore property tucked up on a wooded slope above it. How would Susan get help if she or Maureen were hurt or ill or needed help in the dead of night?

  ‘Do light all your fires when you get home and keep them burning. I can arrange for some logs to be sent over.’ Extra coal was out of the question. Rationing still had a tight grip on the country, and would remain so for a few years yet, it seemed. The Labour government, elected in the previous year, had told the country to expect things to get worse before they got better.

  ‘I get firewood scavenging in the woods, but I’d welcome some proper logs. Thank you, um… Miss Harvey,’ Susan mumbled at the end. She felt uncomfortable referring to Faye as Miss, Faye being a mother. She admired Faye’s courage for admitting she wasn’t married, but it was quite a scandal.

  There was always speculation about Simon’s Harvey father. A top-ranking officer, a businessman, a showbiz star perhaps. Knowing that Faye had come over by herself from America to a boarding school in South London to train for the ballet, an unrealized dream, and then evacuated to Scotland, where she had eventually worked as a secretary on a highland estate, the favourite assumption was a Scottish laird. The gossips of Hennaford didn’t know they had hit on the truth.

  ‘It’s all right to call me Faye, if you’d like.’ She hoped Susan would agree: she was warming to her and it would be good to make a friend. It would be a pity if, after the war had seen off so many outdated structures when people of all walks of life had pulled together, their backgrounds got in the way.

  Susan took a moment to answer. ‘And I’m Susan.’ Faye got the feeling she had something on her mind.

  They reached Tremore House. The twins and Maureen were nowhere in sight. Susan gazed up and down the lane then along the drive up to the grand house. ‘Maureen, where are you? Come along now, sweetheart! We mustn’t dawdle in this weather.’

  ‘It’s a shame that you really ought to be going on, Susan,’ Faye said. ‘Otherwise you and Maureen could have come inside for a hot drink.’

  ‘That would have been nice. You’re very kind.’ Susan looked down shyly at the white-blanketed ground. ‘Um, Faye…’

  ‘Yes?’ Faye replied keenly. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

  ‘Well, I was wondering, I mean, I’ve heard that Agnes is retiring at the end of the month and that you don’t intend to replace her with a live-in housekeeper. Will you be doing the housework yourself from then on, or are you thinking of getting a daily help, or something? If you’re going to advertise a job and give interviews, would you consider me?’

  ‘It’s the very thing my Uncle Tristan and I have discussed,’ Faye was delighted that Susan found her approachable. ‘Agnes’s room will be needed for my little boy, you see. He’s currently in the guestroom, which we would like to be returned as such. Of course I’ll consider you, Susan. As soon as the snow has thawed, why don’t you come to the house and we’ll talk it through?’

  Susan had a pale face, which was marked at the moment with a red nose and cheeks from the cold. Her hopeful smile made her look as young as a schoolgirl. ‘I’ll do that! Thanks a lot.’

  Pearl was still in between them and she suddenly shrieked and howled as a series of snowballs hit her on the face, legs and back and front. ‘Stop it!’ she screamed lustily at the perpetrators, her brothers and Maureen. She was trying not to cry, but she wailed, ‘I want Uncle Tris!’

  ‘Boys!’ Faye cried. ‘That’s enough. Don’t you dare throw any more.’

  With bloodcurdling shouts, the twins, balaclava helmets off, mufflers in disarray, sodden from head to foot from rolling in the snow, leapt out from behind snow-laden bushes in front of the two women and Pearl. Maureen, similarly disheveled, appeared from somewhere behind them.

  ‘Come here, Maureen!’ Susan was horrified. ‘Say sorry to Pearl at once.’

  ‘We didn’t hurt her. She shouldn’t be such a baby,’ Maureen said, standing her ground and poking her tongue out at Pearl.

  ‘Maureen! Oh, Faye,’ Susan stuttered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She was worried Faye would change her mind about giving her an interview for the job.

  ‘It’s just playful fun,’ Faye replied. She wagged a finger at the obstinate Maureen, a clear leader of mischief, a willful button of a child. Her multi-coloured pixie bonnet was hanging by its ties and her flaxen hair was in wet straggles. ‘But you’ve upset Pearl, young lady, and you really should say sorry to her.’

  Faye was taken aback by the cheeky grin she received in return. ‘All right then,’ Maureen cheeped. ‘Sorry Pearl.’ She tore off a wet knitted glove and hooked her little finger. ‘Friends?’

  Pulling her hands free from the women, Pearl went forward, and using her teeth she peeled off a glove and hooked her little finger through Maureen’s. ‘Friends. But you’ll have to give me some sweets next time you get some.’

  ‘Pearl!’ Faye chided, then observed wryly. ‘A pair of scallywags.’

  Susan heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad you think so.’ Fat flakes of snow were thudding against her face. ‘We really must hurry along, Maureen. Quickly now. I’ll come to the house as soon as I can, Faye. Hopefully tomorrow, if the snow doesn’t last.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you, Susan. Take care and stay warm.’

  Susan was forced to wait because Maureen was whispering something into Pearl’s ear. Pearl was looking devastated. Was Maureen alarming her? Even frightening her? She owned some of her father’s forceful ways. ‘Maureen!’

  Faye too was concerned about Maureen’s intentions. ‘What’s going on? Girls?’

  Maureen stared at her mother then at Faye. ‘I want her to tell you something.’

  Pearl poked her in the back and looked mournful. ‘I don’t want to say. They’ll think I’m a scaredy-cat.’

  ‘If you’re scared of something, Pearl, it’s only sensible to tell a grownup,’ Faye said, reaching her quickly. ‘Uncle Tris and I are here to protect you. We won’t think you’re silly or anything.’

  ‘Yeah, what is it?’ Len and Bob said together, adopting protective stances.

  Tears gathered on Pearl’s eyelashes and she hung her head. She was now clinging to Faye.

  Facing Maureen, Susan put her hands on her shoulders. ‘This could be serious. You must tell us.’

  ‘It was a stranger, a man,’ Maureen said, jittery herself now. ‘He turned up at school during milk break and asked Pearl a lot of questions, like he knew her. Pearl’s scared that he’s come to take her and the twins away.’

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, Susan dropped Maureen off at school, then made her way to Tremore House. The snow had eased off the moment she’d got Maureen safely home the day before, and after a bitterly cold night the thaw was setting in and the lanes were running with icy water. She trusted Faye’s word about providing extra logs, and had kept a fire in all night in her little front room, her bedroom, and in the kitchen slab. Maureen often shared her bed, and they had cuddled up together with a sense of security, and Susan had been grateful not to spend another February night shivering through the small hours, worrying that Maureen might catch a cold. Her lovable, feisty little daughter was all Susan wanted or would ever want, and she loved to fuss over her, which she didn’t really need to do often, for Maureen was confident and robust, with an east-iron constitution. When Lance had been killed in action on French soil, prior to the Dunkirk withdrawal, it had relieved Susan of the
worry that her beloved baby might grow up witnessing his heartless tendencies. Lance had not been a brute with his fists, but bit by bit he had been taking total control of her.

  The sky was murky and heavily shadowed with rain clouds, the wind keen and harshly cold, but Susan was in a light mood. She might be poor, constantly having to juggle money to pay the rent and buy food, but she was at ease with her lot as a widow. Lance had promised her the heavens, and she, a down-trodden teenaged girl, had believed him and thought she’d loved him. He had been burly and fearless and had impressed her with his smart-talking ways. No one knew where he had come from and he wouldn’t say, and to her impressionable mind he had seemed beguilingly mysterious. His past was a secret Susan had no desire to delve into. He had been a lodger of her mean-hearted mother. Like herself, he’d hated her mother’s grasping ways – the lazy, greedy woman who’d worn the same dress, wraparound apron and hair net every day, and had packed paying guests into every available space in her run-down, unsanitary three-bedroom house in Truro. Susan had shared a mouldy mattress in the box room with her mother, with little room for her clothes and scant personal possessions. She had been forced to hand over all her wages as a shop assistant at a greengrocer’s. Lance had kept one of his promises, to get her away from home. The day of their on-the-cheap wedding, he’d told her to pack their things and they had caught the next bus from Truro to Hennaford. Her expectations of a happy life in the tiny, isolated Little Dell, carrying the baby she had conceived on her wedding night, had been quickly and ruthlessly shattered by Lance’s inexplicable, festering silences. When he did speak, it was to tell her what she must do and to demean her at every opportunity. She no longer held hopes or dreams, except to see Maureen grow up to be happy and fulfilled, and to definitely not marry young but to get herself a well-paid job and to make something of herself. To be independent as she now was. She supported them as a seamstress, and any other job she could find. Life ticked on, and with the kindness shown by the villagers she and Maureen rarely went without the basic necessities.