by Mary Nichols
The fact that he was up and about did make a difference and he was always so cheerful and buoyed everyone up, even her grandmother who managed a wan smile for his jokes. But Elizabeth was beginning to wonder how it was all going to end. Would they ever get back to England and home? How she longed for it. Sometimes she dreamt of Nayton and her parents. Had they changed? She couldn’t imagine that ever happening. Was the village the same as it always had been, a haven of peace, or had that been caught up in the war like everything else? And Jack and Amy, what were they doing? Since that short radio message over a year before, there had been no news of them, though she listened to the BBC whenever she could.
One Sunday in November they heard the church bells of Westminster Abbey pealing out over the air waves. They were celebrating the Allied victory at El Alamein and Churchill’s words were relayed to them. ‘This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.’ It gave hope to those struggling under the occupation.
The arrival of Max sent them all into a flap. He came at dead of night. At first she thought it was the Gestapo come to search the place and, throwing on a dressing gown, went to wake Roger. ‘There’s someone at the door.’
‘Then go and let them in, but take your time. Don’t rush.’ His coolness calmed her. She left him throwing on some clothes and went to open the door.
‘It’s ruddy cold out here,’ Max said.
‘Max!’ She took his arm and pulled him inside. He was followed by another man she had not seen before.
‘This is Gilbert,’ Max said. ‘Gilbert, this is Elizabeth and this—’ He didn’t finish. Justine had come into the kitchen and thrown herself into his arms. She was followed by Roger and for a moment there was pandemonium as everyone started talking at once.
They calmed down eventually and sat round the kitchen table, nursing mugs of hot cocoa while their tales were told, and by the time they finished it was nearly dawn. Justine took Max off somewhere to be alone with him, Elizabeth and Roger went to milk the cows and Gilbert went up to the attic to set up his wireless.
In London, Charles attended a meeting where they discussed the situation. They were all concerned that Antoine had been on the ground too long and ought to be replaced. They were even more sure when Gilbert came on air and gave them a graphic and necessarily brief account of the situation in Dransville. It was not good.
‘Fetch them out,’ Buckmaster said. ‘All of them. Can we get a plane in?’
Vera volunteered to find out and the meeting dispersed. With nothing he could do, Charles went home for the weekend, but he dare not tell Annelise what he had learnt. The deception lay heavily on his conscience. He consoled himself with the pleasure he would have telling her when everyone was safely back on home soil. Annelise was in a happy mood. The gossip had died down, Lucy was delighted with her grandmother, who had gone home to Waterbury but would return for the wedding. Peter was toddling about everywhere and getting into mischief but everyone adored the little scrap. And Bernard had said he didn’t want to be a detective after all, not if he was going to have to deal with gruesome remains.
When Charles went back to Baker Street on Monday, he learnt that Vera had confirmed there was a field they could use which was big enough to land a Lysander, but that could only take one passenger, two at a squeeze, and the weather was against them at the moment. Heavy snow in Haute Savoie would make a landing on a makeshift runway extremely hazardous. Charles’s heart sank.
‘Can they get into Spain?’ Buckmaster asked.
‘I suppose they could, but it would be risky,’ one of the others said. ‘Best to wait until the weather clears and we can get an aircraft in.’
‘Then what?’
‘Take two out at a time.’
‘Which two?’
‘We’ll leave it for them to decide.’
‘Well, I’m not going,’ Elizabeth said. They were sitting round the kitchen table after supper after hearing the latest transmission. ‘Mamie is very frail and needs me. You others go if you want.’
‘I’m not leaving without you,’ Roger said. ‘So you can count me out too.’
‘And me,’ Justine said. ‘I can’t leave Maman.’
‘And if you think I’m going to leave you three here to cope, you had better think again.’ This from Max.
‘If you are ordered to, then you won’t have any choice, will you?’ Roger said.
‘And the same goes for you,’ Max countered. ‘We are not free to do as we like.’
They had expected to be stuck in Dransville until the snow melted, but Pierre, miserable and angry over the loss of his son, was itching to do something, anything which might hurt the Boche and he had solved the problem for them. He had a friend who had vineyards between Mâcon and Lyon where there was no snow and he was prepared to let a plane land on a piece of ground which was lying fallow. He could call on men to prepare the ground, once the date was decided. London had been informed and everything was being arranged for the next full moon. All they had to do was get themselves there. How had yet to be decided.
They had two weeks to wait. But before that could happen, Elizabeth had more heartbreak. Her beloved Mamie caught a chill which turned to pneumonia. She nursed her devotedly, taking turns with Justine. At first they thought she would pull through, but she was old and weakened by all she had been through and the doctor could not obtain the medication she needed. She was slowly slipping away from them and there was nothing they could do.
‘I don’t mind,’ she told them, fighting for breath to speak. ‘I’ll be with Albert and Philippe where there’s no hunger, no cold, no fear. Bless me, child, and let me go.’
In tears, Elizabeth sent for Pierre and Jeanne and the good Father, who gave the old lady the last rites. They watched over her all night, whispering quietly among themselves, taking it in turns to sit and hold her hand, while one or other of the others crept away to make hot drinks, laced with cognac brought out of hiding. Towards dawn, with the sky over the mountains turning to pale pink, Marie Clavier took her last breath.
No one moved. Then Pierre and Justine crossed themselves and Elizabeth fell on her knees beside the bed and sobbed her heart out. Roger’s gentle hand on her shoulder comforted her. ‘She is at peace now, darling.’
‘I can’t believe she’s gone. It isn’t fair, it really isn’t fair. She was so good and brave.’
‘Yes, she was, and you must be good and brave too, my love. Come away and let others say their goodbyes.’ He helped her to her feet and guided her downstairs where she sat at the kitchen table, too numb to think what to do next. He made her a mug of ersatz coffee, added a good slug of cognac and made her drink it. Then he sat beside her and took her hand and waited while she drank it. ‘Better now?’
‘Yes.’ She gave him a watery smile and got to her feet. ‘We had better go and do the milking.’
‘That’s my brave girl,’ he said as he followed her.
Saturday, 12th December, dawned bright but cold. Everything was ready. Mrs Baxter, with the help of nearly everyone in the village who had contributed a little something, had produced a sumptuous buffet for the guests, though she insisted it was nowhere near the standard of pre-war spreads she had put on. There was a cake, of sorts, which contained a lot of carrot and apple, but Mrs Baxter still had a few raisins and sultanas in her store cupboard and they had gone in too. It was impossible to buy icing sugar, so it was not decorated except with white card and flowers, but Lucy assured her it looked lovely. There were flowers too, mostly chrysanthemums, hellebores, a few late roses and lilies Jones had been nurturing, which was nothing short of miraculous, considering every pane of glass had had to be replaced in the greenhouses.
The order of service and the music had been decided on, Bernard and Edmund had been told not to go away because they must be dressed in their best suits ready to act as ushers and show everyone to their seats in the church. Apart from the villagers, there would not be many guests;
it was too difficult for people to leave wartime commitments, and besides, Lucy didn’t want a crowd of witnesses to what amounted to the legalising of a union which had already taken place. She sat in front of the mirror in her bedroom in her underclothes and felt sick with worry. Only three hours to go, everything was ready, but there was no bridegroom.
Her pale blue costume hung on a hanger on the door of her wardrobe and beside it on another hanger was a white blouse made of parachute silk. Both had been made by Lady de Lacey’s dressmaker. There had been silk enough to make a long dress, but Lucy refused to be married in white. ‘It’s not right,’ she had said. ‘And, in any case, Jack will be in uniform.’
But there was no Jack, in uniform or out of it. Lord de Lacey was missing too. What had happened? Her imagination ran the gamut of every possible disaster and then shifted to wondering if Jack had changed his mind and didn’t want to marry her after all. How was she going to hold her head up in the village, the silly girl who thought someone like Jack de Lacey would deign to marry her, poor deluded cow. She would have to leave, go away where no one knew her. Tears bubbled in her eyes. She blinked hard, but they wouldn’t go away.
‘Lucy, what’s the matter?’ Amy had come into the room. She was to be a bridesmaid and was wearing a light wool dress in a kind of amber colour which should have clashed with her hair, but didn’t. Annie was looking after Cecily, who was going to be the other bridesmaid; she was so excited at the prospect they were afraid she would make herself sick. ‘Why aren’t you dressed?’
‘I can’t. I really can’t.’
‘Last-minute nerves.’
‘It’s not my nerve that has gone.’ She rounded on Amy. ‘It’s Jack’s. He’s not here, is he?’
‘He did say it might be tight. If the train is late …’
‘If he really wanted to marry me, he’d have been here last night.’
‘Bride and groom under the same roof the night before the wedding, dear me, that would never do.’
‘It’s all very well for you to joke about it.’
‘Oh, come on, Lucy, cheer up. If he’s missed the train, he’s missed the train. Papa isn’t here either. I imagine they planned to come down together. The guests will just have to amuse themselves until they arrive.’
‘He could have phoned.’
‘The lines are still down, or had you forgotten?’ The line had been restored to the station, but not as far as the Manor which wasn’t considered a priority.
‘Oh.’
Annelise, in a deep-rose dress and jacket, joined them; she, too, was concerned. ‘I’m going to ask the Reverend to put off the ceremony for an hour or two,’ she said. ‘The guests can come up here and wait. We’ll go back to the church when the men arrive.’
‘Do you know what’s happened to them?’ Amy asked.
‘No.’
‘If it had been anything bad, we would have heard, wouldn’t we?’ Lucy asked, groping for reassurance.
‘Yes, of course we would. Lucy, please dress and come downstairs. Your grandmother is waiting for you. I’ve dressed Peter and he needs amusing so he doesn’t get dirty again.’
They were all in the drawing room, family, guests and the Reverend Royston, all speculating on the delay, when two taxis drew up on the gravel outside the front door. Out tumbled Lord de Lacey, Jack, Justine, Elizabeth, Max and Roger.
With screams of excitement, everyone ran out to meet them. Lucy flew to Jack who hugged her and kissed her. Annelise rushed to Elizabeth and enveloped her in a bear hug, while tears ran down both faces. Then she turned to Justine and hugged her. ‘I can’t believe it. Where have you all come from? Why didn’t you let us know?’
‘We couldn’t,’ Charles said. ‘Besides, I wanted it to be a surprise. I’m sorry we’re late. The weather held us up.’
‘The weather?’ Amy queried.
‘Strong winds over France,’ Jack said. ‘Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.’
The rector was waiting in the hall. ‘The wedding, My Lord …’
‘Yes, of course, the wedding. Give us an hour, Rector, will you?’
While Jack dashed upstairs to change, Charles went into the drawing room to apologise to the guests and to invite them to drink champagne to toast the safe return of the prodigals before making their way back to the church. ‘The wedding will go ahead as planned,’ he told them. He took Annelise by the hand and led her to their bedroom, where he broke the news of her parents’ deaths. She wept a little, but pulled herself together so as not to spoil everyone else’s enjoyment. Her mourning would come later when she had a chance to talk properly to Justine and Elizabeth.
The ceremony was not the ordeal Lucy expected it to be. Calmed by the presence of Jack at her side, she made her vows in a clear, untroubled voice. All was well in her world. It was not until the last guest had left that the story of the rescue was told. It had been an extraordinarily risky operation, landing two Lysanders on French soil on the same landing field on the same night. Jack had been piloting the second one which brought out Elizabeth and Roger. By that time, their presence was known to the enemy and they had taken off with gunfire on their tail. The rest of the journey home had been plagued by anti-aircraft fire.
‘I got such a shock when I realised it was Jack,’ Elizabeth said. ‘What he did was so brave.’
‘Brave, who’s talking about brave?’ Jack said. He was sitting on a sofa beside Lucy with his arm about her and her head on his shoulder. Secure in his embrace, she was almost asleep. ‘You are the brave ones, all four of you. I only had to brace myself for a few hours, you had years of it.’
‘I hope Pierre and his helpers managed to get away,’ Justine said.
‘And Gilbert,’ Max added. ‘He had to stay behind. He was going into the forest with the secret army. Someone else will be sent out to reorganise the resistants.’
‘But not you,’ Justine said.
‘Nor you, Roger.’ Elizabeth added.
The two men smiled at each other and said nothing. The war was not over yet and who knew where they would end up?
‘Two more weddings to arrange,’ Annelise said. She was subdued but no longer tearful. She had accepted that her parents, at least, were at peace. ‘Give me a little time, won’t you?’
‘Yes, but not too long,’ Elizabeth said, amid laughter.
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Do you want to know about our other great reads, download free extracts and enter competitions? If so, visit our website www.allisonandbusby.com. Click to sign up to our monthly newsletter for exclusive content and offers, news of our brand new releases, upcoming events with your favourite authors and much more.
And why not click to follow us on Facebook and Twitter? We’d love to hear from you!
If you enjoyed Escape by Moonlight,
read on to find out about more books
by Mary Nichols…
THE SUMMER HOUSE
A secret love that will haunt a family for ever
England 1918. Lady Helen believes her parents when they say she will never find a better husband than Richard, but when he returns to the Front, she begins to wonder just who it is she has married. His letters home are cold and distant – and Helen realises that she has made a terrible mistake. Then Oliver Donovan enters her life and they begin an affair that leaves Helen pregnant and alone – she is forced to surrender her precious baby.
Over twenty years pass and a second war is ravaging Europe, but that is not the only echo of the past to haunt the present. Laura Drummond is caught in a tragic love affair of her own, and when she is forced to leave London during the Blitz, she turns to the mother she never knew.
THE FOUNTAIN
Norfolk, 1920. Barbara Bosgrove has lived in the market town of Melsham all her life, and is looking forward to the annual Harvest Supper dinner and ball – the first since the dark days of the First World War.
George Kennett, a fiercely ambitious man, has his eye on Barbara. He begins a slow and
steady courtship and Barbara is eventually won over, agreeing to marry a man she believes she can rely on. Little does she realise how wrong she can be. One man is able to reawaken Barbara’s passion and fighting spirit, but at what cost?
THE KIRILOV STAR
Russia, November 1920. As the civil war rages on and thousands of Russians flee their homeland, the Kirilov family, distant relatives of the royal Romanovs, are closer to danger than most. When tragedy strikes, young Lydia Kirillova is separated from her family and the only key to her identity is the opulent jewel concealed in her petticoat. The famed Kirilov Star.
Struck by the child’s plight, the diplomat Sir Edward Stoneleigh brings Lydia to England, where she grows up well-educated, wealthy, and surrounded by a loving family. Yet it is not enough. Lydia yearns to know the truth about her heritage but with the Second World War looming, her situation becomes desperate. Will she ever find a place to finally think of as home?
THE GIRL ON THE BEACH
Eight-year-old Julie Monday, abandoned by her mother and raised in a children’s home, enjoys a rare moment of happiness when she visits the Essex seaside and meets eleven-year-old Harry Walker. They spend a happy few hours together, but at the end of the afternoon must part. Ten years later, they meet again. Fated to be together, they marry just before the outbreak of the Second World War. But it’s now 1939, Harry has enlisted in the Royal Air Force, and Julie must face the blitz in wartime London alone with their son.
When Julie is injured in the chaos of a bombed air-raid shelter, she suffers severe memory loss and is given a new identity. But it is not easy to become a different person. She must make a decision: should she strive to make a new life for herself, or struggle to recover the pieces of a shattered identity?
