He’d made good use of his notepad, adding Mel Winkelman to the information he had on Danielson, and he’d tried to give the letters back to Joan, but she’d told him to keep them, saying that she’d held onto them too long already and that she thought he would be able to make better use of them now.
“So Danny proposed to Mena,” he said, sipping his drink as he mulled the information over. He was thinking hard about what Joan had told him about Danny at her home earlier and how much the letters seemed to conflict with the idea that he’d raped Mena. Every instinct he had now told him that something wasn’t right with that picture.
‘I know what you told me about Danny earlier,” he said, “but I can’t believe that the man who wrote these letters to Mena could have begun such a relationship by raping her.”
Joan took a deep breath. “That’s why I wanted you to see them,” she said. “I’ve doubted my own ears ever since Mena brought them to me. I’ve been confused about it for a very long time.”
“And have you drawn any conclusions over the years?”
“No, not really. It’s just a feeling, much like the one you now have after reading them.” She paused, hovering her whisky glass before she took a sip. “You know, I often imagined that Mena had run away from home and had a good life, but when she never came back for her letters, as the years passed, I began to wonder if that could be true.
“Right now, I’m wondering why she felt the need to give them to you at all,” Tayte said. “Why she felt that she couldn’t keep hold of them herself. My only conclusion is that for some reason she was afraid of losing them and who better to give them to for safekeeping than her best friend?”
“I’ve thought the same thing,” Joan said. She gave a little smile and added, “I like to think that Danny came for her after the war and took her back to America with him. If he had it would explain why she never came back for her letters - because she was with Danny and had no further need of them. But I don’t know.”
“It’s a possibility,” Tayte said. He snorted. “Maybe I’m looking in the wrong country. I could have stayed home.”
Joan wasn’t smiling. She raised her glass to her mouth and drained her drink back. “Promise me you’ll find out what became of her.”
Tayte gave a slow and serious nod. “I promise I’ll do my best,” he said, wondering again who else was looking for her and why, and what it might mean if they found her first.
Joan reached into her clutch bag. “If you do find her - if she’s still alive - will you give her this?”
She handed Tayte a pendant on a silver chain and he recognised it as a US dollar coin. It had a dent in the centre.
“Mena brought it to me with the letters,” Joan said. “Something else she never came back for.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ll leave you to it then,” she added. “I believe I’ve told you everything I know. I hope it will help.”
She started to get up, but Tayte stopped her. “Before you head back,” he said. “Do you have any idea who might have sent Mena’s suitcase to my client?”
Joan settled on the edge of her seat. She seemed to think about it. Then she said, “There was a friend of the family called Edward Buckley. He was like another brother to Mena and I heard that he was somehow caught up with her leaving. Just gossip around the village, but there might be something to it. He would be my best guess.”
“Jonathan mentioned him,” Tayte said. “He told me that Mary and Edward were going to be married, only it never happened.”
“That’s right,” Joan said. “They fell out over something towards the end of the war, before Mena left. I never saw him in Oadby again after that - or anywhere else for that matter.”
“Do you have any idea where I might find him? If he’s still alive, of course.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea,” Joan said. “All I can tell you is that his family lived in Hampshire at the time. They were titled, I believe.”
“Hampshire,” Tayte repeated, writing it in his notebook.
He stood up, keen to get started on the new information he had. With Danielson’s service number he knew he could open up a wealth of information that might be useful to him, and if Edward Buckley was from a titled family they would almost certainly be listed in Burke’s Peerage. Had he really helped Mena to run away? Tayte wondered why he would do that and whether the reason had anything to do with why he and Mary never married.
“Thank you, Joan,” he said, offering his arm to help her up. “I’ll walk with you back to your car.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
December 1944.
Two weeks had passed since Mena first heard about Trinity House and of her mother’s plans to send her there and she had received no more letters from Danny. She was at a loss to understand how she could have misread him so completely that at hearing her news he hadn’t even been kind enough to reply, if only to express his change of heart. It wasn’t like him. Danny was never that cold.
She thought her mother might have taken to intercepting his letters but she’d seen the postman herself on every one of those fourteen days. She’d even searched her mother’s room when she was out shopping, but she’d found nothing. Of course, with the war on there was another explanation as to why he’d not written, but Mena didn’t like to think about it. She’d given his details to Mary who had offered to look into whether he might have been killed in action or was perhaps missing, in which case there might still be hope, however slim.
Now that her fortnight was up, Mena had been locked in her room, apparently to save her from herself, but it was clear to her that her incarceration was for no other reason than to protect the family’s good name from the shame of her dissolute behaviour. Being isolated for long periods was nothing Mena wasn’t used to, but it was different now. Now she was her mother’s prisoner and the sentence she waited to serve felt like a death sentence to her. In less than a month her life had gone from salvation to ruin and as she waited for Pop to come for her she imagined that it was soon to become considerably worse.
She had been told to put on her yellow Sunday-dress. It had a high-buttoned collar and a white lace fringe and Mena hated it. It was old-fashioned and frumpy, which was why her mother liked her to wear it to church - and heaven help her if she left any of the buttons undone. There would be no church today, though.
When she heard the key in the lock and her bedroom door opened at last, her father stood in silence and waited. He had her coat and scarf with him, and as she passed him in the hallway, Mena thought how much older he looked today. He followed her without speaking and Mena wished he would say something - anything just to relieve the tension. Anyone would have thought they were going to a funeral were it not for that vile yellow dress. But she imagined he was hurting inside just as much as she was and although at times she would have wished him to be stronger, on reflection she would not have changed him.
It was the first Saturday of the month and it was a brighter day than Mena thought it had any right to be. Pop always said that skies like that were really the great shepherd’s flock roaming amongst the cornflowers. She knew better now, of course, but she still liked to think of such skies in that way. Those days, forever gone, seemed so innocent and so distant to her now.
They approached the Morris on the driveway and her heart began to drum in her chest when she saw that her mother was already sitting in the back waiting for her; and it was made worse by the fact that she didn’t even look at her as Pop opened the door and she climbed in. She sat as far from her mother as the limited space would allow and she kept her eyes fixed on Pop as he sat in front of her and started the engine. She watched him slam the door shut and it made her jump just the same.
It was some time before anyone spoke. They all knew where they were going and why and the occasion was hardly one to promote cordiality. Margaret Lasseter had a hat to match her pale-blue dress. She slid it from her lap towards Mena, filling the space between them and her eyes followed after it.
&nb
sp; “Trinity House is the best home of its kind in the area,” she said. “The Sisters of Enlightened Providence won’t take just anyone so you’d better be on your best behaviour. If they like the look of you, I’ve arranged it so you can go at the beginning of next year.”
Mena just kept breathing, staring through the windscreen at the road ahead. It felt like it took no time at all to get there. She saw the sign at the end of the driveway first. It was off a quiet country lane in the middle of nowhere for all Mena knew or cared. They turned in and drove a hundred yards or so through tidy winter gardens of trimmed shrubs, bordered with colourful pansies that always reminded Mena of the kaleidoscope she once had.
Trinity House was an imposing building of red brickwork and dark slate. It had a five by three matrix of Georgian sash windows and Mena could just see another row of tiny windows set into the roof-space, giving the building four stories in all. Pop parked the car and Mena and her mother got out. Her father, it seemed, was not going in with them. As Mena stood gazing up at the gargoyles squatting malevolently above the high dormer windows and over the main gables, she thought how much more she would fear the place if the sun was not on her face; how terrified she would be when night-time fell.
She wandered towards the main entrance with her mother as if in a daze, taking steady measure of the place, which did not take long. She heard someone speak her mother’s name and two nuns in full grey-and-white habit, who did not return her mother’s smile, greeted them and invited them inside. The interior reminded Mena of the Dickensian schoolhouses she’d read about in her books, but stamped with the obvious piety of the Catholic Church. There was a strong smell of floor polish, of brass metalwork and waxed wood - and of books. That was the only thing Mena liked about the place.
Their escort took them to a dark oak door. One of the nuns knocked once with firm authority, opened it and retreated silently into the shadows beyond the main staircase.
“Mother Superior,” Margaret Lasseter began as soon as they entered. “So good of you to see us.”
She was a short, thin woman who looked older than her mother, Mena thought. She had a gaunt face and a mole on her chin that had long grey hairs protruding from it. Mena supposed her lack of vanity prevented her from cutting them or plucking them out. She did not invite them to sit down. Instead she rose from her desk and came around it towards them.
“Let me have a good look at you,” she said to Mena as she slowly and thoughtfully began to circle her, studying her in silence until Mena felt uncomfortable. She returned to her seat and waved them into theirs at last. “I’m sorry to say we only have one bed available,” she said. “In such wicked times you were fortunate to contact us when you did. Now, when is the baby due?”
Mena was about to answer when she realised that the mother superior had directed the question to her mother.
“February,” Margaret said. “So far as I can gather.”
The mother superior nodded. “We charge no fee,” she said. “Though donations are appreciated. Our girls are expected to work for their keep while they are here and they must follow the house rules at all times. We are strict but fair.” She looked at Mena and added, “Discipline is the path to salvation.”
Mena didn’t like the way the mother superior’s eyes seemed to look right through her as she said that, like she was reading her soul and knew whether or not discipline was something she was capable of. She gave a quick nod and the mother superior reached across the desk and spun a form around, sliding it towards her mother. She offered a pen and her mother took it.
“We must insist on the unequivocal right to govern our girls both morally and physically throughout their stay with us,” the mother superior said.
Margaret Lasseter seemed to give the form no more than a cursory glance before signing it. It appeared to Mena that she couldn’t give her consent quick enough.
“How long must I stay here?” Mena asked.
The mother superior seemed taken aback by the question. She stared at Mena like she’d only just noticed she was there, giving her a look that was as much to say, “How dare you?”
“Our girls do not speak unless they are spoken to,” she said. To her mother she added, “I am surprised, Mrs Lasseter, that your daughter does not know better.”
Her mother glared at Mena, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. “I can assure you she does, Mother Superior. But perhaps her time at Trinity House will remind her.”
“I am sure it will,” the mother superior said. She looked stern-faced at Mena for a long time before she turned back to her mother and handed her the pink carbon copy of the form she had just signed. “During her stay she will look after her baby and continue to earn her keep along with the other girls. Between prayers and on a roster basis she will clean the house and tend the gardens, help in the kitchen and wash the laundry. Our Lord does not suffer idle hands, Mrs Lasseter, and neither do I. Between her regular duties she will assist the war effort with a needle and thread. You will see that the question concerning the duration of her stay is made clear on the form,” she added. “Simply put, your daughter must remain with us until the baby is born and a suitable home can be found for it.
Mena wanted to ask how long that would take but she was too afraid to say anything else. Then the mother superior seemed to read her mind, which made her feel all the more uncomfortable.
“Exactly how long your daughter will be with us very much depends,” the mother superior continued. “Some of our girls leave us after six months or so, others stay a few years. We have one girl whose family disowned her and she had nowhere else to go. She’s been with us almost six years now.”
Mena tried to swallow but her throat was suddenly dry. What if no one wanted her baby? She’d be trapped there forever unless she ran away. But where would she go? She wouldn’t be able to return home or she’d be sent straight back again. And she thought as they only had one spare bed that it would naturally be in the attic space. And it was a bed, not a room. She imagined that several girls in her situation would all be sharing the same cramped and poorly lit space. And what about her books? She felt sure that her fondest pastime would be deemed idle in the eyes of the Sisters of Enlightened Providence, unless the subject matter was perhaps one of approved religious content.
This was not her life.
She would have run screaming from the room had her legs not felt paralyzed just long enough for her mother to conclude her business with the mother superior, who left Mena with the parting words, “Until the new year. When you shall be purged of your sins such that you may be born again.”
Mena wished Joan was there. She would have known what to do and she certainly wouldn’t have stood for any of this nonsense. She thought about Joan all the way back to the car. She knew how unkind she’d been to her and she wished she could see her again to tell her how sorry she was. But she didn’t think she would see Joan again for some time now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mena continued to wipe the condensation from her bedroom window as she looked out at the frost in the trees and at the freezing fog that hung low over Oadby’s fields. It held a pale pink glow in the early sunlight and Mena wished it was last December again so she could start the year over. If only she hadn’t gone to Shady Lane looking for Danny that day in May. If only she hadn’t been so forward and had waited for their encounter at De Montfort Hall. But she could not live the year over. Danny had been right: today was all she had and tomorrow really was for dreamers. The winter landscape reminded her of how she’d been looking forward to Christmas last year and how she couldn’t wait to join the Land Army. This Christmas would be quite different.
It was a little over a week since her mother had taken her to Trinity House and it seemed that everything was set. In two weeks she would be in the care of the Sisters of Enlightened Providence and their mother superior, who since having met her was the only person Mena feared more than her own mother. But Mena was resolved not to go without a fight, even tho
ugh she had no idea how to turn her situation around.
Pop had been in to see her. He’d said he’d received a letter from Mary, saying that she’d found nothing to suggest that Danny was missing or had been killed in action. He frowned the whole time he was there and he said he was sorry at least three times before he left, presumably because it confirmed that Danny had no reason not to write to her other than through his own choice.
Danny was already beginning to feel like a sweet memory to her now: a beautiful dream that she had at last awoken from, and no matter how hard she rubbed at the coin around her neck before going to sleep, she could not find her way back into the dream. She had lost him, she knew that now and the realisation was bad enough in itself, but she could not bear the thought of losing their baby, too. The only obvious solution that presented itself to her was that somehow she had to escape - like Edmond Dantés in her favourite of all the classics, The Count of Monte Cristo. Although she had no clue as to where she would go or how she would survive the full term of her pregnancy alone.
But chance was a curious thing, Mena reflected later that day as she sat downstairs in her green day-dress and a long cream cardigan, having dinner in the dining room for a change. Edward Buckley had arrived unexpectedly and Mena had been told she could join them as long as she wore something loose-fitting and never brought the subject of her condition up.
She was reflecting on the nature of chance because the first thing Edward had said to her when he saw her was, “Don’t worry. Eddie’s got a plan.” He whispered the words in her ear as he greeted her and kissed her cheek and she knew that Mary must have told him everything. Although, she thought it odd that Edward wanted to help her when Mary, who had sided so firmly with her mother, clearly did not.
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