‘I’m sure it does, Dad, but no one would have understood more than Adam himself. And the memorial will give us a more personal chance to say goodbye.’
And so it was that a few weeks later, a small group gathered on the bank of the River Tamar down at Morwellham Quay, the once bustling copper port that was now almost deserted but for a handful of farm workers living in the little cottages. The intimate ceremony had been timed to coincide with the ten minutes of slack water before the tide started running out again, something that for so many years had governed Rebecca’s life.
Now she stood on the grassy bank, a small, elderly woman in widow’s weeds, her face ravaged by grief and yet still dignified. Next to her was her son Toby, reverently holding Adam’s captain’s cap on a black velvet cushion, his wife Chantal, Richard’s daughter, beside him. With them were Michael and Mary, both returned now from the war, holding hands, a diamond ring, Marianne noticed, catching the sunlight on Mary’s left ring finger, and Marianne rejoiced for them.
Rebecca’s sister, Sarah, and her husband, Misha, were there, too, as were Adam and Rebecca’s other children, James and Charlotte, with their families. Richard Pencarrow, still tall and robust despite being only a few years Adam’s junior, stood sombrely beside his wife, Beth, whose kindly face was creased with compassion for her dear friend. Elliott and Ling Franfield had also come to say their final farewell to the man they had come to know so well, and at Marianne’s side, her parents, who probably had more to thank Adam for than anyone else present. Sorrow welled up in Marianne’s throat, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. For this was truly the end of an era.
‘My dear friends,’ Rebecca suddenly spoke, clearly finding it difficult but determined to say what she had prepared. ‘Thank you all so very much for coming. I know . . . Adam would. . .’ She broke off, drawing in a shaking breath, and swallowed hard. ‘When Adam first came here,’ she went on, finding some majestic inner strength, ‘I didn’t want to know him. I had other things on my mind. And then circumstances changed and I turned to him as a last resort. He became my rock. And that rock became the foundation of my love for him and we had a whole lifetime of joy and contentment together, a lifetime that I could so easily have missed out on. And so, my friends,’ she said, her voice vibrant with passion as her eyes travelled over everyone present, ‘I say to you, grasp every opportunity for happiness that you can. If you don’t, you will never know what you are missing. None of us can predict the future, so we must live for today. Enjoy every moment, just as I will treasure every memory I have of my darling Adam.’
She stopped then, and turned towards Toby, and taking up Adam’s cap, held it tightly against her breast. Marianne could see the tears running down Rebecca’s cheeks and the floodgate of her own grief was opened. She let the sorrow wash over her and wept also for her brother, her niece, Stella and all the thousands and thousands of unknown who had fallen to the war or the influenza pandemic.
‘You came from the water, my darling.’ Rebecca’s choked whisper brought Marianne back to the present. ‘And to the water you will return.’
Marianne looked up, her heart fractured, as Rebecca flung Adam’s cap out into the river. It landed with a small splash, but was instantly swept up in the strong current as the returning tide gathered strength and bore the memory of the skilled captain out towards the sea which he loved with a passion. The summer breeze kissed the faces of all those who watched the cap grow smaller as it bobbed on the ripples and finally disappeared around the meander in the river.
They continued to stand. Respectfully. Nursing their sadness. Until Rebecca turned and began to walk on Toby’s arm back towards the centre of the little village. Others followed, began to talk in low voices.
Marianne watched everyone leave, the only adult not to have someone special to lean on. But as Becky herself had said, she had shared a lifetime of happiness with Adam. A happiness she had nearly lost by not allowing Adam into her life. Was Marianne making the same mistake Becky had so nearly made, she asked herself?
Something so strong and powerful that it almost winded her made her take a step backwards. Grasp every chance. Yes. That’s what she must do. Suddenly she couldn’t understand why she had hesitated. A childish vow, her own stupid independence? It was time to let go.
Yes. She would marry Albert! She could feel his love pouring into her, soaking into every fibre of her being, filling her up and overflowing in an unstoppable tide. Joy burst out of her in a fountain, and she wanted to shout out in triumphant exultation. Couldn’t wait to return to Fencott Place and run into Albert’s waiting arms.
She turned her back on the retreating party, not wanting them to witness her pure elation, and instead focussed her eyes on the summer sun spangling on the water. Adam had arrived here all those years ago, setting off a chain of events that had altered the lives of everyone who had just now stood on the bank to bid him a final farewell. Marianne’s lips curved in a fond, serene smile. Thank you, Adam. For everything.
She turned again, and followed the others as they began to leave Morwellham Quay, the place where it had all begun.
EPILOGUE
The boy was running, running as fast as his slender, athletic legs could carry him. His heart beat hard and strong beneath his flimsy shirt and knitted, sleeveless pullover, and the pounding of his feet on the moorland track had shaken his socks into bulging folds about his ankles. The pure, early morning air brushing against his cheeks had put a warm hue in his youthful skin, and a wild, ebony curl fell carelessly over his forehead.
His pace suddenly slackened and he turned in a slow circle, arms spread wide and head thrown back, laughing to the open sky with the sheer joy of being out alone on the savage, lonely moor. He spun round twice, then raced on with a whoop of delight.
He came at length to the tarmac road. He didn’t stop to look. He wasn’t in busy, fume-ridden London now. The road ran out to a handful of cottages, and no vehicle was likely to pass all day, let alone at that early hour. Besides, he knew his sharp hearing would detect any approaching engine in the morning silence.
It wasn’t long before the child swooped in at the open, rusty gates in a high brick wall and sped up the driveway of the old house, scattering the gravel and waving with wild abandon at the figure standing at the window. He knew she would be waiting.
Inside, the woman watching from the drawing room took another sip of the hot, strong coffee and stubbed out her cigarette, the second of the day although it was only six o’clock. A red silk dressing-gown hugged her small waist and her raven hair, interlaced here and there with silver, fell around her shoulders in thick waves. Her fine skin was faintly lined about her intense, lavender-blue eyes, yet she was as beautiful and elegant as a film star.
She waited for the boy to rush around to the back of the house and come in through the back door. She had heard him go out, but she wasn’t worried. She had taught him well about the moor and its dangers. And she had known he would go. Dartmoor was in his blood.
He had arrived the previous evening, the first time he had travelled down from London alone on the train, and she had met him at Tavistock Station rather than let him go on to Yelverton and have to change onto the Princetown line. He was but ten years old, after all. By the time they had eaten, it was too late to venture out onto the moor, although he had tugged at her arm in pleading. And so it was no surprise to her that he had been up and out at dawn.
She felt the contentment swirl in her breast as she listened for his footfall through the entrance hall. Four whole weeks alone with the child before his parents and grandparents came for their annual stay. Usually, Kate and her daughter-in-law, Sheila, remained for the entire summer holidays, Philip and Adam joining them for the last fortnight. But this year, Marianne would have her great-nephew to herself for a whole month, and she could scarcely contain her jubilation.
The old rambling house was so quiet now. They were all long
gone. Her father had died of pneumonia in 1922, and Rose had simply faded away without him. Rebecca, Richard, Beth, even Joe and Patsy had all passed away years ago. Marianne and Albert – ah, her darling Albert – had let the stables go, never putting their plans into action. It simply wasn’t feasible with just the two of them and Albert so disabled. They had kept Pegasus and Captain, of course, until they died of old age, but after that, they simply had each other, and that was enough.
Children never came, much to their mutual regret, so they lived for themselves, not worrying as paint peeled from the windows and the roof leaked here and there. Philip had set up a small trust for Marianne from the family’s restored fortunes – or at least the modest amount he had managed to recover. They had Albert’s army pension, which didn’t go very far, and the money that was left from the sale of his own house all those years before. That had paid for a telephone to be installed, and electricity from a generator that was housed in a brick shed out in the yard.
They had blown most of what was left in 1932 – on a Bentley! Oh, to hell with worrying about the future. Albert’s longer stump had never completely healed. It was a constant battle against infection, and twice Elliott had needed to amputate a little further; neither time had it been successful despite Elliott’s skills, and Albert had never been able to walk on two false legs as he had always hoped. So to get about, they needed a decent car. Marianne felt the old adrenaline coursing through her veins as she sped over the moor, never reckless, but pitting her skills against the steep, twisting hillsides, sometimes imagining she was back in France with enemy shells exploding all around. . . .
It wasn’t long afterwards that Albert finally lost the fight when septicaemia set in. He was not alone in dying from war wounds donkey’s years later, apparently. Marianne had felt as if her own insides had withered and died. That she was a mere living and breathing shell. But then she began to take more notice of the boy.
‘Great Aunt Marianne!’
The door slammed open and Daniel flew into her arms.
‘Good morning, my lover!’ Marianne hugged him to her, swooning with the feel, the scent of him. ‘Been out on the moor, have we?’ she teased, her eyes dancing.
‘Yes, and guess what I saw?’
‘No, tell me?’
‘An adders’ nest!’ The child’s eyes, the same vivid blue as her own, were as wide as saucers, his face beaming. ‘They were all slithering around each other, keeping warm until the sun comes out. But don’t worry. I was very careful not to disturb them.’
Marianne’s expression turned to one of tempered horror, the day she had come off Pegasus because of a snake suddenly tumbling into her head. ‘I should hope so, too!’
‘Come on! I’ll take you to see them!’ And he grasped her hand, pulling her forward.
‘Daniel, I’m in my dressing-gown!’
‘But it won’t take you long to change.’
‘No. Breakfast first. What would your mother think?’ she whispered conspiratorially, and the child laughed aloud.
‘Have a blue fit if she’d known I was out on the moor on my own! But you don’t mind, do you, Aunty? You know I can look after myself.’
‘Boiled egg?’ Marianne asked as they passed into the vast, echoing kitchen.
‘Yes please. And this afternoon, can we get the Bentley out and go and visit Ed?’
‘I should think so,’ Marianne chuckled, ‘if it’s all right with Deborah. I’ll give her a ring after breakfast.’
‘Thank you!’
Daniel clapped his hands with delight and Marianne shook her head in amusement. She might have known it wouldn’t be long before he wanted to see Edwin. Elliott had only retired a few years previously, having been in practice with his son, William, for many a long year. Elliott and Ling still lived with William, his wife Deborah, and their four children, of whom Edwin was the eldest. Being of the exact same age, Edwin and Daniel had become inseparable friends during the school holidays, both dreading the time when Daniel had to return to London. Mary and Michael lived in Plymouth and had two sons, but they were somewhat older and so were never the soul-mates Daniel and Edwin had become.
‘And can Edwin come and stay here with us?’ Daniel’s face was aflame with enthusiasm. ‘Can I show him the adders, too?’
‘Only if you’re very careful, and let me come too. Edwin doesn’t have the same feeling for the moor that you do.’
Daniel shrugged. ‘All right. To see the adders, but you won’t be with us all the time, will you?’
Marianne’s smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle. She would love to be with him all the time. When she was with Daniel, she didn’t mind that she and Albert had never had children. Daniel was more of a son to her than any child of her own could have been, far more like herself than his own parents and grandparents. But she understood that he needed his freedom, even if it meant leading the more sensible Edwin into scrapes he would never have got into on his own.
‘Can I have Marmite soldiers to dip in my egg, please? Mummy says it’s bad manners, but you don’t mind, do you, Aunty?’
Marianne shook her head. Sheila was a very good but over-protective mother and sometimes, Marianne considered, struggled to cope with a child of such intelligence and strong will as Daniel. At the rate he was wolfing down his breakfast, impatient to be out on the moor again, Marianne gulped down her own food and ran up the grand staircase, two at a time, to throw on her clothes.
A few minutes later, they had left the tarmac road behind and were striding out along the track, Daniel dancing around her like a puppy in his enthusiasm. It was a glorious summer’s morning, silent and still but for the occasional call of a moorland bird. Not a cloud hindered the duck-egg blue sky. The sun was not yet up, its brilliant light casting mysterious shadows and reflecting off the crescent moon. Marianne gazed upwards. For now the silver curve seemed to be smiling.
Daniel suddenly ceased prancing and fell into step beside her, a thoughtful frown on his young face. ‘Aunty?’
‘Yes, Daniel?’
‘You know they say there might be another war? And they’re preparing to evacuate children from London? Well, if Adolph Hitler can’t be persuaded otherwise and war does break out, please can I come and live with you?’
His words robbed Marianne of her breath. Oh, dear God, she had been trying to put all of that out of her mind. Another war when the horrors of the last one were still so fresh? Yet this innocent child could only see the good side of what it would mean to him. And, if she were truly honest, the idea of having Daniel to live with her filled her with ecstatic joy. At long last, a child of her own.
‘Of course you can!’ she almost cried out with glee. ‘This is your home whenever you want it to be! Now, come on,’ she prompted as pure, ineffable contentment settled in her heart. ‘Where’s this adders’ nest?’
Daniel lifted his face towards her, gilded in the golden morning light. ‘This way!’ he grinned, grasping her hand.
Together they ran, hand in hand, out onto the savage wilderness of the moor, and, drenched in happiness, Marianne felt, at last, that her soul had been set free.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My deepest gratitude will always go to my wonderful agent, Dorothy Lumley, whose untimely death shocked and saddened all of us who knew her. She taught me so much and I owe my writing career to her.
I should like to thank also the archive section of the Royal College of Nursing for their information on nursing during the Great War, my good friend Sir Michael Willats for his input on vintage motor vehicles, and Paul Rendell, Dartmoor guide and historian and editor of The Dartmoor News, for his continued support and information on the Princetown moss gatherers. And I must, of course, thank Robert Hale for publishing the story.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Princetown is described in the book as it was in 1914. There is a ‘model’ for Rosebank Hall, bu
t Fencott Place does not exist.
The equestrian information in the story was taken from various sources.
I have endeavoured to convey as accurately as possible the role in the First World War of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, the 15th The King’s Hussars and the Princetown moss gatherers.
The tragic accident at Bere Ferrers Station was, sadly, a true event.
To discover the past and/or future of many of the characters in this novel, please read my previous stories, details of which can be found on my website at www.tania-crosse.co.uk
By the same author
Morwellham’s Child
The River Girl
Cherrybrook Rose
A Bouquet of Thorns
Lily’s Journey
A Dream Rides By
Hope at Holly Cottage
The Wrong Side of Happiness
Wheels of Grace
© Tania Crosse 2014
ISBN 978 0 7198 1594 2 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1595 9 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1596 6 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1329 0 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Tania Crosse to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Teardrops in the Moon Page 23
