The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Oh yes. My dearest girl – you’ll never know just how much.’

  Gently he drew her against him and they sat together, just holding each other closely, staring out of the car window at the blackness of the night, the only light being from the stars millions of miles away, and the new moon, a curved slit of light.

  ‘My mother would say we’re unlucky – seeing the new moon through glass,’ Kate said.

  ‘At this precise moment,’ Philip said sadly, ‘I’d have to agree with her.’

  His departure, once arranged, was swift. They only managed to snatch one brief meeting when their lovemaking was tinged with sadness and a terrible fear that this was the last time they would ever see each other.

  ‘I’ll write to you, Kate.’

  ‘How – how can I write to you?’

  ‘I’ll send you my address at the new station. Somehow we must keep in touch. We must! After a time, I’ll see if I can get you posted to where I am,’ he vowed urgently. ‘Oh, Kate, I’ll miss you so . . .’

  The whole station was sorry to see him go; he had been a kind and caring CO, maintaining authority through the strength of his personality, because people really liked him.

  ‘May we take a photograph, sir?’ Mavis rushed up with Kate’s camera in her hands as Philip came out of his office for the last time. Kate, holding the car door open, bit her lip, but Philip smiled easily and nodded. As his batman put his kit-bag and briefcase into the boot of the car, Philip came and stood beside Kate. ‘I’d better have one with my best driver,’ he murmured so that only she could hear. ‘Expert at changing wheels and driving into ditches – and positively whizzo in a cornfield.’

  Instead of reducing her to helpless giggles, his words made the tears spring to her eyes.

  ‘Thanks, sir,’ Mavis chirped. ‘We’ll send you one when they’re developed.’

  ‘Thank you, Mavis.’ With a last wave to those standing around who had come to see him off, he got into the back seat of the car. Kate bit down firmly on her lip and managed to stop the tears running down her face, at least until they were past the guard-room.

  They all missed him, and none more so than Kate.

  Three days after his departure, when she got up in the morning, she was sick for the first time.

  Thirty-Seven

  ‘So,’ Isobel said, sitting down on the bed beside her, ‘how long do you think you can keep this little secret?’

  ‘I – don’t know what you mean!’

  Mavis came and stood in front of her. ‘Oh, come off it, Kate. We’re not daft.’ There were only the three of them in the hut so they had no need to lower their voices. ‘Throwing up every morning for the past fortnight. You’re in the family way, aren’t you?’

  Kate’s shoulders sagged and she nodded.

  Isobel clicked her tongue against her teeth in exasperation. ‘I can hardly believe you could be so daft, Kate Hilton. Born and bred on a farm and you still get caught! Didn’t you get him to – well, you know – take precautions?’

  ‘He did – at least . . .’ She hesitated, remembering a few weeks previously when, after being separated for a few days, there had been a desperate urgency to their lovemaking, which had been wonderful. Kate felt her cheeks grow warm at the mere memory; she could not, even now, regret a moment.

  ‘I see,’ Isobel’s voice was heavy with sarcasm now, ‘most of the time he did, except when he got carried away in the heat of the moment, eh?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Kate murmured. Isobel was far too astute at times.

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’ she was saying.

  ‘Do? What do you mean – do?’

  ‘Well, are you going to get rid of it?’

  ‘No! No – I’m not. I might have made a mistake – but I aren’t going to do anything like that.’ In her distress, her dialect was strong again.

  ‘Why not?’ Isobel insisted, while Mavis bit her lip. ‘You’ll be thrown out of the WAAFs. Look, Kate, there’s places you can go. We don’t mean a back street job, not now . . .’

  ‘No!’ she said with finality.

  Her two friends glanced at each other. Isobel’s mouth was a tight line. ‘Don’t be stupid, Kate. You don’t want to be burdened with a kid. An illegitimate kid!’ she added brutally. ‘What’ll your family say?’

  Kate winced. What indeed? she thought.

  ‘Don’t be so hard on her, Iso,’ Mavis put in. ‘Maybe she – she wants to keep it.’

  “Course she doesn’t . . .’

  ‘Will you two please stop talking about me as if I’m not here and trying to decide my future? I’m not getting rid of the baby. It’s my baby – and I’m keeping it!’

  Isobel was looking at her strangely. ‘Do you think you ought to keep it? I mean . . .’

  ‘What do you mean, Isobel?’

  ‘Well, if it’s Danny’s . . .’

  ‘It isn’t!’ Kate snapped, then, more quietly but equally firmly, she added, ‘and don’t go asking whose it is, because I aren’t telling you. Or anyone else, for that matter.’

  ‘You don’t need to – not any more,’ Isobel said pointedly, but Kate chose deliberately not to pursue it any further.

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’ Mavis began tentatively.

  ‘I am,’ Kate said with far more confidence than she felt inside.

  ‘Then,’ Mavis continued, ‘we’ll stick by you, won’t we, Iso?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Isobel said grudgingly. ‘I still think you’re wrong, but it’s your choice.’ Getting up off the bed, she delivered a parting shot. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be in your shoes going home to tell your folks.’

  Kate shuddered and at the thought of her mother, her insides quivered. Ever since the realization had come upon her, telling her mother was the thing she dreaded most.

  ‘You trollop! You whore!’ Esther Godfrey drew back her right hand and slapped Kate’s face hard. ‘How could you do that to me? After all I’ve taught you. Ain’t I told you time and again – you dun’t let a feller touch you till you’ve a wedding ring on ya finger . . .?’ The tirade went on and all Kate could do was stand there and take it. It brought Jonathan running in from the yard and Will Benson hobbling through from his room. They arrived at the split second when Esther delivered her physical blow.

  ‘Esther . . .’ Jonathan was shocked and Will demanded, ‘What’s up? What’s going on?’

  Esther swung round to face her father. ‘What’s up? She’s what’s up. Up the stick, that’s what’s up. In the blood, ain’t it?’ she accused, so that the old man wavered slightly and grasped at the table for support.

  ‘Esther – you’ve said enough . . .’ Jonathan began.

  ‘Oh no, I ain’t. I ain’t started yet.’ She turned back to Kate, thrusting her face close to her daughter’s white one, in which the only colour was two red fingermarks along Kate’s jawline left by Esther’s stinging blow.

  ‘Who is it? Is he going to marry you?’

  Kate, too numb to speak, shook her head.

  Esther stared at her for a moment, long and hard. ‘Don’t tell me – it’s him!’

  Kate blinked. ‘W-who?’

  ‘Danny. It’s Danny’s, ain’t it? Yar bastard’s his.’

  ‘No.’ Kate shook her head, so violently that her hair swung from side to side. ‘No – I promise you that. It’s not his.’

  ‘Then – who?’

  ‘I can’t tell you . . .’

  ‘You little trollop . . .’ Esther began again.

  Jonathan caught hold of his wife, putting his arms around her. ‘Esther, just calm down . . .’

  But she was struggling against him, her glare never leaving Kate’s face. ‘Do you mean,’ she spat, ‘you don’t know who the father is?’

  Kate gasped. ‘Of course I know. But – I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well then – I won’t.’

  Now mother and daughter glared at each other, some of Kate’s spirit returning. She faced th
e three of them and raised her head high. ‘I’ve made a mistake, I don’t deny. And I’m sorry to have caused you pain. But I won’t – involve the father, nor get rid of the child . . .’

  ‘Why won’t he marry you?’

  ‘Because he – he can’t.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper but the three listeners in the room heard plainly. ‘He’s already married.’

  Suddenly the fight seemed to drain out of Esther. She sagged against Jonathan as she looked at her father. ‘History repeatin’ itsen’,’ she murmured, and then closed her eyes and groaned.

  Then, for Kate, came the worst shock of all. Esther turned in her husband’s arms, buried her face against his chest and began to cry, great tearing, rending sobs as if her heart would break.

  Tears blurred Kate’s vision and blindly, she turned and ran from the house; across the yard and the lane, under the elder trees and up the slope of the dunes, then down the other side and across the open marsh, as always seeking the sanctuary of the lonely beach.

  But it was barred to her. Coils of barbed wire still blocked her way on to the east dunes. She wandered back to the westerly dunes and sat down amidst the thick spiky marram grass beneath the elder trees. Hugging her legs to her, she dropped her head to rest on her knees.

  Her mind was a blank, refusing to take in the scene she had just caused. She had known her mother would be angry and upset, but Esther had been unrestrained and undignified in her wild fury. Her mother had always had a quick temper, and even as a child Kate had often felt the sharpness of her hand, though always on her legs. But never before had Esther smacked her across the face like that; not even when she had caught her with Danny. Kate could still feel her jaw smarting now.

  She sat huddled in the dunes for a long time, until the cold seeped through her clothing and she shivered. She looked up to see that the sun had disappeared behind Brumbys’ Farm. Stiffly, Kate stood up. She hesitated for a moment, undecided whether to go home or to go to the Point to see Beth and Rosie. She sighed. She wasn’t ready to tell them yet, nor could she stay out here all night – though she wished she could!

  As she crossed the yard and went towards the back door, she could hear the sounds of evening milking coming from the cowshed. She bit her lip and paused, listening. Now she could hear her father’s deep tones, talking soothingly to the cows as he milked them. As she moved to the shed and opened the half-door, Jonathan straightened up and came towards her. He held out his arms to her and wordlessly, she went into them. He held her close and stroked her hair, just as he had in her childhood.

  ‘Oh Kate, love. Don’t think too harshly of your mother. She – she has reasons why she reacted so badly.’

  Kate drew back and looked up at him, straining through the dimness of the shed to see his face. ‘It’s not what I think of her, it’s what she thinks of me!’

  ‘She’ll come around. Give her time.’

  Jonathan was wrong. Esther did not ‘come around’. She said no more to Kate, indeed, she virtually ignored her presence. Although she laid a place for her at the table and served her meals, she refused to speak to her elder daughter and pointedly avoided even looking at her. Lilian sat silently at the table, her eyes downcast. Immediately meals were finished, the younger girl would leave the table and shut herself in her bedroom with her books, taking refuge from the storms within the household and refusing to take sides.

  When Kate’s seventy-two-hour pass was almost up and she had to return to camp, she had still not found the courage to see Beth and Rosie.

  They’ll know soon enough, she thought, as she repacked her bag for leaving.

  ‘You ready, lass? I’m taking you back to camp.’

  ‘Oh, Grandad, I don’t think . . .’

  ‘No, Dad,’ began her mother. ‘You didn’t ought . . .’

  ‘I’ll have no arguments . . .’ He whipped round with surprising agility to frown at his daughter. ‘From either of you! And dun’t you start, neither.’ He wagged his finger at Jonathan sitting in his chair before the range, calmly reading the newspaper.

  Jonathan glanced up. ‘I wasn’t going to.’ He smiled. ‘Do you good to get out a bit instead of sitting here all day being waited on hand and foot.’ But the words were said in fun and the old man exchanged a grin with his son-in-law.

  ‘Come on then, Kate, let’s be off.’

  Outside the pony and trap waited in the yard and when they were both settled in the back, Will slapped the reins and the pony moved forward. Once in the lane with the distance lengthening between them and the farm, above the rattle of the wheels, he said, ‘I aren’t going to ask a lot of questions, lass, and I aren’t going to preach at ya. But there’s one thing I’ve got to know. Was it true what ya told ya mam? Ya bairn’s not Danny’s, is it?’

  Kate tucked her hand through her grandfather’s arm and held it tightly. ‘No, Grandad, I promise you that. It’s not Danny’s.’ There was a note of wistfulness in her voice, almost as if she wished the baby were his, but her grandfather had no such feelings. ‘Thank the Lord for that!’ he muttered.

  Kate sighed. Once, she had longed to be the mother of Danny’s children, and even now, despite her newfound love for Philip, still not a day went by without her thinking of Danny, longing to know if he was alive and safe.

  The wind whipped coolly against her face and her gaze travelled unseeingly around the vast flatness of the landscape as the trap rattled along the lanes. She was remembering Beth Eland’s words – so long ago now – and yet she could still hear them on the wind. ‘You and Danny will probably always love each other. No one can stop you doing that. But somewhere there will be another love for each of you, and it will be a different kind of love to the one you’ll always carry for one another.’

  Now, since loving Philip with a passionate, physical love, she had indeed learned the difference between the loves in her life. Danny would always be her first love, an innocent and pure emotion that would never die, never be replaced, maybe, in some ways, never be equalled. But it was true what Beth had tried to tell her; there were many kinds of love and now she had experienced quite another with Philip. Her longing for him, for his arms about her, was a physical ache, a passionate, bodily longing, so strong at times she almost blushed. Now Philip Trent was gone from her life, without knowing he had fathered her child. And at this moment, it would be grossly unfair of her to add to his burdens by telling him.

  As they neared Suddaby, Kate said, ‘You don’t need to go through the village Grandad, if you take the next right turn

  ‘There’s summat I want to show you. Ya don’t think I’ve come all this way just for the good of me health, do ya?’

  Puzzled, Kate said, ‘Well, I just thought you wanted to bring me back to camp . . .’

  He sniffed. ‘Well, I did, of course, but I wanted to talk to you and tell you summat it’s high time ya knew. Something mebbe you should have been told years ago . . .’

  ‘I don’t understand. What’s all the mystery? What is it I don’t know?’

  ‘All in good time, Katie, all in good time.’

  He guided the trap through the village. ‘That’s where I used to live.’ He pointed with the whip to the middle cottage of a row of six. ‘That’s where you came when you ran away from school. D’ya remember?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Not really. I mean, I remember running away and being given a lift by a carrier, and some woman looking after me.’

  ‘Aye, that was Minnie Raby. Dead and gone now, she is, God rest her.’

  ‘She wasn’t that old, was she?’

  ‘No, younger than me.’ He laughed wheezily. ‘I’m a stubborn old bugger. Ya mam’s alius reckoning she’ll have to knock me on the head to mek me lie down.’

  He did not stop the trap near his former home but carried on along the village street towards the church, where he pulled the trap to a halt and climbed down stiffly. ‘Come on, lass,’ he ordered, holding out his gnarled hand to help her down.

  The iron gate to the churchyar
d squeaked as he pushed it open. Will sniffed. ‘’Spect this’ll be disappearing soon – for the war effort,’ he remarked to no one in particular.

  Kate followed her grandfather’s bent form as he walked up the path towards the church porch. But instead of going into the building he moved on and turned on to the grass between the gravestones. He came to a place and stopped. Kate moved to stand beside him and saw in front of her two white headstones, identical in size and shape but with an unmarked plot between the two.

  ‘That’s where I’m to be buried when I go, Kate. Ya mam’s promised me to see to it.’

  Kate read the inscriptions on the two headstones. One was Will’s wife, Rebecca Benson, who had died in 1919.

  But Will was pointing to the companion headstone. ‘That’s ya grandmother, Kate.’

  Kate gave a startled gasp and stared at him. Slowly she turned her gaze back to the graves. She bent closer and read. ‘In loving memory of Constance Everatt who fell asleep 9th June 1893, aged nineteen years. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’

  ‘Ya mam was born . . .’ Will’s voice shook a little, ‘out of wedlock.’ He couldn’t bring himself to use the name her mother used so scathingly. Of herself, it seemed, Kate realized with a sudden shock.

  Esther Everatt had been born a bastard.

  Suddenly – everything fell into place.

  ‘I loved Connie,’ Will was saying simply and he drew the back of his hand, now thin and bony, the skin paper-thin, across his eyes which suddenly watered. It was difficult to imagine this bent old man standing in the draughty churchyard being young and virile; virile enough to sire a bastard on a younger girl.

  ‘Rebecca were a good wife and I didn’t mean to hurt her. We never had any children, Rebecca an’ me, and then after a few years she didn’t like that side of married life . . .’ He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Connie were a young lass in the village. I – couldn’t help mesen, Kate. I just couldn’t help mesen . . .’ His voice faded away and he was lost, looking back down the years to a time when he had known a brief time of passionate happiness. ‘She were a lovely girl, a lovely girl.’