Tyringham Park

by Rosemary McLoughlin

  Charlotte pictured herself taking up the challenge of finding the double agent. How thrilling and important that would be. It could avenge her brother’s death and might even change the course of the war. Think of the lives saved, the false information stopped at source. The colonel could give her the details and she could enlist tomorrow.

  “Young Charlotte here would be perfect for the job. I hear she speaks French like a native,” he said as if reading her mind.

  “She does, thanks to the tutoring she received from Cormac Delaney, a protégé of mine –”

  “Is that what you called him?” interrupted Edwina with heavy sarcasm.

  “. . . and the time she spent in finishing school in Paris,” Waldron concluded, ignoring his wife’s comment.

  “I would love to go. More than anything in the world,” said Charlotte, meaning it. “But I have to think of my daughter. I can’t leave her without anyone to look after her.”

  “What do you think nannies are for?” Edwina exploded. “Only common people look after their own children. I was sent over from India at the age of four to go to school and saw my parents only twice after that up until the age of eighteen, and before that I was looked after by a nanny – and it never did me any harm.”

  “Nor me,” chimed in Verity.

  “If Hitler wins the war your child won’t have much of a future, full stop.” The colonel leaned towards Charlotte as if to add emphasis to his words. “Thousands of women have already sent their children to places as far away as Canada and Australia for years so they can concentrate on the war effort.”

  “Any idiot can look after a child,” said Waldron. “In my opinion they all turn out the same way, no matter what you do to them. Even though you are only a female, you would be much better employed serving your King than hiding away in the nursery, Charlotte. There is a lot of family honour resting on your shoulders now that you are the last Blackshaw.”

  Verity rushed in with, “What about the Cork family?”

  “Not the same. They’ve been diluted. They don’t have Blackshaw blood on both sides.”

  To preclude Waldron from using a more offensive term than ‘diluted’, Charlotte didn’t state the obvious – that Mary Anne was the last in the line at the present moment.

  “We all have to make whatever sacrifices are necessary,” the colonel continued, fixing Charlotte with his unblinking stare. “Think of Harcourt’s example.”

  “I’m glad Harcourt took a few down with him before he went,” Waldron glowed. “This medical patching-up business is all very well, but a few dead Huns are more helpful to the cause.”

  They all think I’m a coward, using Mary Anne as an excuse to stay at home, Charlotte thought, anguished.

  The two men went back to talking about the mechanics of war until the end of the meal. Before leaving, Colonel Turncastle gave Charlotte his address and said when she changed her mind and contacted him, he would, because of her background, make sure her name was put on the top of the list.

  Charlotte determined to remain unmoved and bear any disapproval directed at her for the sake of Mary Anne.

  Lochlann’s letters were censored, and he himself was so cautious that the only thing she knew for sure after reading each letter was that he was alive. As wonderful as it was to know that, Charlotte wanted to know more – where he was, how he was, what conditions he was working under and, most particularly, if any female doctors were working in the vicinity. All letters from war zones were collected and taken back to London to be posted, so she didn’t even know in which country he was serving. Each time she asked the question “Have you run into anyone you know?” it was left unanswered.

  Without fail, she wrote to him every day, sometimes enclosing one of the many snapshots she had taken on the Brownie, concentrating on two main topics – Mary Anne’s development, as could be traced in the photographs – and the friendship that was flourishing between herself and his sister Iseult. The two women saw each other every other day and, in contrast to previous times, had no shortage of things to talk about. The playful tone that Charlotte adopted when describing how much more intelligent and advanced Mary Anne was than Iseult’s Matthew, despite his being older by two months, was a cover for how seriously she held the belief that Mary Anne was indeed superior to her cousin and to all other infants she came into contact with.

  Charlotte’s world had narrowed, but in many ways she felt as if it had expanded. If Lochlann returned from the war to join her, not only out of love for Mary Anne or a sense of duty to her, but in the certainty of having made a correct choice, she would consider herself the most fulfilled of all women and would look forward to supplying Mary Anne with a brother or sister.

  72

  Sydney

  1943

  Elizabeth Dixon received a letter from Teresa Kelly, postmarked Coogee, a suburb of Sydney.

  I couldn’t believe it when I saw your photo in an old magazine in my doctor’s surgery. I would have recognised you anywhere, Teresa wrote. You haven’t changed a bit. How unfortunate we didn’t know each other’s whereabouts when we’ve been so near each other for over twenty-five years. I didn’t end up marrying the farmer with the sick mother. It’s a long story. I will tell you all about it when we meet which I hope will be soon. Now that I’ve found you at last I can’t wait to see you. I sent my new address to you, but the letter was returned with ‘No longer at this address’ written on it, and I was at a loss to imagine what had happened to you. I presumed you would have married Manus as that was your plan when I left. I wrote to my brother but he didn’t reply. His witchy wife must have intercepted the letter and I didn’t write again, so I’ve heard no news at all from Ballybrian. What year did you quit the Park and what news have you of everyone there, if you’re still in touch?

  Dixon was vibrating with excitement by the time she had finished reading.

  At last she would see her old friend again after years of thinking they were lost to each other forever. Teresa had signed her name as ‘Kelly’ so she mustn’t have found a replacement for her old farmer. Who would have thought that both she and Teresa, with their glittering prospects, would end up in the same boat as pitiful old Lily East with her spinsterhood and her child hunger?

  At least she and Teresa would have each other from now on. That wouldn’t make up for their lost chances but it was something to be glad about.

  “I’ve a big crow to pick with you,” were the first words Dixon said when she met her old friend.

  “That’s a fine greeting after all these years,” Teresa laughed. “I’m surprised you can remember. You look wonderful. That photograph in the magazine didn’t do you justice at all. And look at this office. So impressive.”

  Dixon couldn’t hide her pleasure at hearing such praise from someone from her former life. Secretly she thought Teresa’s face looked like untreated leather and her hands like a workman’s but she complimented her all the same. “Before I pick the crow,” she said, “I want to know why you left that poor old farmer high and dry with no one to look after his dear old sick mother.”

  “Don’t mock. I felt guilty about that. I’ve had to work my fingers to the bone over the years to pay him back the money he sent for my fare. I thought it the least I could do under the circumstances. He must have felt a terrible fool after he told everyone to expect a respectable, pious Catholic lady, and I write from Sydney – didn’t have the neck to travel any further – to tell him I had changed my mind but didn’t tell him why. I didn’t think his heart would bear the strain of hearing the truth and he, poor man, ends up with all that wasted time and money and no one to call a wife at the end of it.”

  “You can tell me. My heart’s in good shape.”

  A waitress came into Dixon’s office and placed a tea tray on the low table between the two women. Dixon said she would pour and told the young girl to leave.

  “First things first,” said Teresa, falling back into her old role as the one who naturally took the initiative. �
�That can wait in case you throw me out when you hear what I did. I want to keep your good opinion for as long as possible. Tell me, what did I do wrong that you have to pick a crow with me? I can’t imagine what it could be.”

  “You came up to the Park that day you were leaving,” Dixon explained, “and didn’t bother to seek me out, that’s what you did wrong. Do you remember? Don’t you think I have a right to be peeved?”

  “Of course I remember, but you won’t be cross when you hear the circumstances. I didn’t really have time to go to the Park that afternoon – I was peppering all the way there and back, terrified I’d miss my lift and be too late for the boat – but I thought I would have bad luck if I didn’t collect that beautiful leather diary you all clubbed together to buy me, and I couldn’t risk bringing bad luck on myself with the long journey ahead and a new life awaiting me.” Her face showed anxiety recalling it. “All the way up the stairs I was worried someone had seen it and moved it, thinking I thought so little of it that I didn’t bother bringing it with me, but there it was on my bedside table where I left it, so I wasn’t delayed, thank God.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Only Peachy. The little timid chambermaid, if you remember.”

  “I do. She told us. That’s how we knew you’d come back that day.”

  “I called out to her but neither of us stopped. It was after the time when everyone goes to the walled garden, so I didn’t expect to see a soul. Does that answer your question to your satisfaction?”

  “It does. It does.” Concentrating on keeping her voice steady, she asked “Did you happen to see Victoria?”

  “I did.”

  “Where?”

  “As I passed the stables.”

  “Was she asleep?”

  Teresa’s voice broke with emotion and she averted her eyes. “No. She was wide awake, the little sweetheart.”

  Dixon leaned forward, concentrating, waiting for Teresa to compose herself. Perhaps Teresa was about to supply the missing piece in the jigsaw of Victoria’s disappearance. She must have been the last person to have seen Victoria so whatever she said could be invaluable in solving the twenty-five-year-old puzzle. And as she didn’t know what had happened after she left, Dixon would be the only one with the information to fit all the pieces together.

  “It was because of Victoria I knew I had to have a child of my own, and that is why I agreed to marry the old farmer. I wanted a child just like her.”

  “But you didn’t marry him. Did you miss out?”

  Teresa shifted in her chair and looked embarrassed.

  “Don’t tell me there was another child involved,” said Dixon. “Is that why you knew the old farmer wouldn’t accept you?”

  Teresa flushed. “Yes, there was,” she said. “I was trying to work up the courage to tell you. How did you guess?”

  Teresa had become pregnant on the way over on the ship, attempting to comfort a wounded soldier who had died happy a week later. “So much for being an example of virtuous Catholic womanhood,” Teresa laughed. “My main feeling was annoyance at missing out on so much when I was young. What a waste! Obviously I couldn’t turn up to greet my straight-laced prospective bridegroom in that condition, so after I wrote to tell him I had changed my mind, I went and stayed with my friend from Cork until my son was born.”

  “Your son? You have a son?”

  “Yes. Joseph. The best thing that ever happened to me. You’ll have to come and meet him when he returns from the war. I bought myself a wedding ring and passed myself off as a war widow, which I suppose I was in a way, so that I wouldn’t be forced to give him up for adoption. The ship I came out on was sunk on the way back, so with all the records lost I had a good excuse for not being able to produce a marriage certificate. I told everyone I was married on board and they all thought it terribly romantic.”

  “And no daughter?”

  “No, unfortunately. Joseph was my only fling and I was lucky to squeeze him in at the last minute. So, I never had a girl replace little Victoria Blackshaw in my affections. I often try to picture what she looks like now.”

  “Me, too. You said Victoria was wide awake in the baby carriage when you last saw her. So you saw her through the open doors of the stables as you cycled past?”

  “No, no – it was on my way back I saw her – wide awake – being carried by Charlotte. She didn’t see me which was just as well. She and Charlotte were just turning the corner of the stables onto the river bank as I went past and neither of them noticed me. I didn’t actually see you, but I knew they must have been following you, which at the time struck me as a bit odd as I knew you never took the girls anywhere near the river.”

  Dixon felt as if a giant had suddenly materialised in the room and was landing punches in the region of her stomach.

  Teresa was smiling at her memories and didn’t notice the change in Dixon’s expression.

  “It was so sweet seeing the older sister looking after the younger. It was all I could do to keep cycling and not stop to say goodbye to them, and you of course, but I was so late I couldn’t. Besides, I didn’t want to upset them by putting them through another sad farewell. The day before was bad enough. Near broke my heart, and theirs too by the looks of them.”

  Dixon gripped the sides of her chair. “Charlotte carrying Victoria, you said?”

  Charlotte at the stables? Not building a bridge behind the east wing?

  “Yes. In quite an expert way.” Teresa smiled dreamily as if she was replaying the scene in her mind. “I wished I had a camera with me to take my last image of them.”

  “Along the side of the stable and then turning the corner beside the river? Are you sure it was on that day?”

  “Of course. How could I ever forget the last sighting of my darlings? It’s seared into my heart, but I still would have liked a photograph. Why do you ask?”

  “I remember distinctly how sad I was that day, imagining you getting ready to leave home.” Dixon felt as if she must keep talking to cover the confusion that must be showing on her face. “I think I got my times mixed up. I was out of sorts all day, and so were the girls. We hoped you would change your mind at the last minute and not go. I was thinking of poisoning your sister-in-law or something drastic like that to persuade you to stay. Those two days of heavy rain didn’t help my mood. The girls kept listening for your footsteps on the stairs so I took them down to the river to see the floodwaters to distract them but it . . .” She could gabble on no longer as her mouth had turned dry and her throat felt constricted. She stood and picked up the tray, then left the room barely managing to croak “Excuse me a minute.”

  Teresa’s concerned enquiry after her health was lost in the clatter of china and cutlery as Dixon dropped the tray on the reception desk.

  “Are you all right, Miss Dixon?” asked the young receptionist, looking up in alarm and rising from her chair.

  Dixon motioned to her to sit down, then smiled and nodded to indicate that there was nothing wrong. She walked away sedately until she was out of sight of the girl, then put her handkerchief to her mouth and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

  73

  Charlotte! So it was Charlotte all along. No one had suspected. Dixon herself didn’t guess, not for one second, and she knew better than anyone else what a wicked child Charlotte was. How could she have been so blind? When she came upon her that day, sitting in the mud, building one of her bridges out of stones and bricks, it didn’t cross her mind that she had been anywhere else during the last hour. Certainly not down by the river disposing of her sister. Mad with resentment, of course, at her mother showing an interest in Victoria and rejecting her older daughter. It was so obvious she could kick herself for not working it out at the time. If she had thought for one minute that Charlotte would defy her by going to the river and if Lady Blackshaw hadn’t fixated on Teresa right from the start she might have come up with the solution, but she had led herself down the wrong track and would still be there if Teresa hadn�
��t dropped her bombshell a few minutes earlier.

  She sat on her bed, trying to bring her mind under control. Her head felt as it was rotating. All her previous conceptions were shifting at an alarming rate. She wanted to lie down and try to sort them out. Should she send a message to Teresa to say she was unwell and could they continue their conversation another time? No. No. She must pull herself together and see it through. With her talent for acting a role, she should be able to cope.

  A sip of brandy would help. She kept a bottle in her bedside locker for emergencies. The oblivion of drinking had never tempted her – she preferred to stay alert at all times, listening to the secrets of drunks, but never giving away any secrets of her own.

  Teresa had no idea of the significance of what she’d seen because she had left Ballybrian before hearing of Victoria’s disappearance.

  If Charlotte, all these years later, thought Dixon, has persuaded anyone to marry her, hiding her true nature behind her social standing, and if she has a child, wouldn’t her husband need to be told for the sake of the safety of that child what Charlotte had done?

  Not that Charlotte would ever admit to any wrongdoing, of course. The broken vase, the spilt milk, the soiled clothes, the lost hairbrush never had anything to do with her. She could hear her claiming that Victoria’s drowning was not her fault, it was an accident, Victoria had slipped and she had nearly fallen into the river herself trying to save her.

  Then why didn’t she run for help? Her mother and Manus were around the corner. If she had alerted them straight away Victoria could have been saved and Charlotte would have been hailed as a heroine.