Only later did she feel the fear: a paralysing, physical terror which erupted as bile from the pit of her stomach. Shivering as the hot sweat of her vomiting cooled on her rain-soaked skin, she remained where she’d fallen on her knees for some long moments, unable to think or move. She felt as if a part of her too had died, as if this night would remain with her forever. Gracie wiped the contaminating filth from her face and drew in a steadying breath, determined to carry on. Her attitude clearly stated that you simply had to get on with things, to deal with whatever life threw at you.
Yet suddenly there seemed nothing more to be done.
Her foot caught in a spar of wood and she stooped to pick it up. It was the remains of a poster which had once read: Save coal. Keep your eye on your fuel target!’ Ironically, all around her was any amount of broken lumber which would serve in place of coal, assuming one had a fireplace in which to burn it.
‘Leave it for the bull dozers now, dearie.’ The woman’s voice again, coming out of the gloom. ‘Come and ‘ave a cuppa. Your hands need tending to.’
And so, along with everyone else, the walking wounded, the refugees and auxiliaries alike, Gracie was shepherded into a nearby school where the WVS were pouring tea and hot soup. Although, she hoped, not too much sympathy, or that would have her weeping which was a pointless exercise. The cut on her head was cleaned and dressed; the blisters on her hands, caused by desperately trying to dowse the fires were bandaged and would, in time, recover. Those more seriously injured or who had lost loved ones, might never do so. Her own problems, of being put on report for being absent without leave, of offending her father and upsetting her mother, now seemed small by comparison.
There was the very same ARP warden who had dug her out of the ruins, still wearing his tin hat and whistle. He came straight over the moment he spotted Gracie. ‘You did a good job, girl. Well done! Name’s Ted by the way. Here y’are. Get that down ye.’ He handed her a steaming mug of tea which Gracie accepted with gratitude. It was hot and strong and black, soothed her parched throat for all it could not wash away the taste of death.
‘What next?’ she asked, when the tea had done its work and she could speak again.
‘Oh, we’ll have to stop the looting, I expect, and start the job of sorting out a place for everyone to sleep, matching lost children to their families, if we’re lucky. Not pleasant, but nothing is in this business. What about you, where were you off to when the bombs hit? You’re not from round here, eh? Where exactly are you supposed to be?’
Gracie told him. Wasting no words, hiding nothing, she quickly put him in the picture. He shook his head perplexed but, to his credit, asked no prying questions, simply told her to hang on a minute and he’d see what he could do.
He found her a convoy of army vehicles which were heading west as far as Dartmoor. ‘After that, you’re on your own.’
She accepted with alacrity and swallowed the rest of her tea in one. She was on her way.
Their last Sunday of training was drawing to a close and the squad were sitting down to a supper of sausage and mash when Gracie walked in, looking as if she’d just gone five rounds with Tommy Farr, the ex-miner turned champion boxer.
It had taken the entire day for her to get back to camp, travelling in a convoy of army trucks. She’d certainly been well protected by a lively bunch of soldiers but progress was slow. They dropped her near Tavistock, with much back-slapping and jokes about how they’d like to meet up with her again some day, preferably in the woods next time. After that she’d managed to hitch several lifts which included a bread van, a vicar’s old Ford which insisted on breaking down every five hundred yards or so and the back of a farm truck carrying a load of pigs. Consequently she stank of a rather odd combination of antiseptic, scorched cloth, fresh bread and pig manure.
In addition there were the burns, cuts and bruises, the tears to her uniform. Blood mingled with the dust in her filthy hair and her eyes were red rimmed and sunken, still staring into horror.
Lou sat stunned, lost for words at sight of her.
Jeannie said simply, ‘Crikey!’
Gracie barely had time to utter a hasty, ‘I’ll explain later,’ before Matron loomed and promptly marched her off.
Neither Gracie’s appearance, nor the briefly told tale of her harrowing night were enough to save her. Several hours later, the squad were informed that, in view of disciplinary offences, their request to stay in Cornwall had been refused.
Chapter Eight
Since the debacle of the ruined supper, Eddie had scarcely spoken to Rose. He was in one of his sulks which, as she well knew, could last for days, even weeks. It really was most unfair of him to blame her for something beyond her control but that was Eddie all over. He always had to blame someone, and it was never himself. There were times when Rose felt utterly bewildered by his behaviour, wondering what on earth she’d done to offend him. At one tim, she had used to ask him, to seek an explanation, thinking to put it right. But this served only to aggravate the problem. She’d learned to keep quiet and wait for it to pass, rather like a rainy day.
Now she stood at her usual post at the kitchen sink and watched the lorries drive away, taking her dear friends with them, all belief in herself quite gone.
Last night it had all seemed so different. The three of them had wept together, promising to write, to telephone, to visit. Rose had listened to the long and convoluted explanation of why they had not come for supper, and how sorry they both were to have let her down. They would never have done so, they explained, had circumstances not conspired against them. Lou in particular, she could tell, was filled with guilt, for her reason for not coming had been nowhere near as heroic as Gracie’s. She’d simply chosen instead to go out with her husband, and who could blame her? Certainly not Rose, who had eagerly welcomed this assurance as proof of their friendship and unstintingly accepted their apologies.
Eddie simply scoffed, dismissing the explanation as excuses or pure fantasy.
‘What a fairy tale. Abduction? Found herself abandoned in Exeter in an air raid? Pull the other one and see if that’s got bells on it. I warrant she never left the comfort of her own bed. They didn’t wish to dine with us. Never had any intention of doing so. They look down their superior noses at folk like us who they see as the servant classes; the ignorant masses.’
Rose had tried desperately to defend them. ‘That’s not true. They don’t see us in that way at all.’
He shook his head, saying it really was time she learned to properly understand about people. Even his voice had a pitying ring to it. ‘They could’ve telephoned or sent a message, as decent folk do. It’s only common courtesy.’ He sniffed disdainfully, with the air of a man who would never be found guilty of committing such a breach of etiquette. ‘They’d never any intention of coming because they aren’t proper friends at all. They were only humouring you and laughing at you behind your back. You’re well shot of them.’
Following this conversation, Rose went to her room and wept in abject misery. Why was it that everyone she loved always left her in the end? Her beloved mother, and then dearest Papa. She’d made few friends after their deaths because Eddie had been most particular whom he allowed her to play with, or else they were constantly moving on to the next job, the next town. Having settled here, at Clovellan House, she’d thought everything would be perfect but a whole stream of friends had been found and lost before Lou and Gracie who, somehow, Rose had believed to be special.
But, as time wore on and Eddie’s opinions were constantly drip-fed into her consciousness, they came to represent her own too. The story of Gracie’s parents abducting her, and then abandoning her in the middle of an air raid did begin to seem rather far fetched. Why would two loving parents do such a thing? And it was quite rude of Lou, she supposed, to simply choose to do something else without even warning her. Hadn’t she gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare a lovely supper, opening a tin of salmon specially? Admittedly Lou loved Gordon, and w
as never sure when she might see him again. Perhaps it was dangerous to have any friends at all.
Despite the excuses she made to herself, Rose’s insecurity was such that she began to wonder, deep down, if perhaps Eddie might be right.
It had ever been so. She felt far too fragile and uncertain of herself to believe that she might be correct, and not him.
There was a new set of girls in training now but Rose made no attempt to acquaint herself with any of them. It seemed far too risky. They would leave too, in the end, so where was the point? But she missed her friends dreadfully. Lou and Gracie sent her the odd postcard. One from Dorchester, another of Montecute House and one closer to home showing a wonderful vista of the Quantock hills. Each gave her tantalising glimpses of their life on the road, although, reading between the lines, she wasn’t entirely convinced that all was well with them. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it might be but something wasn’t right.
Still, she longed to be with them, to be a part of their team, their lives. Anything rather than the endlessly lonely routine of scivvying for her brother. Try as she might to please him, Rose discovered it to be a hopeless task as Eddie sank deeper into depression day by day. He even blamed her when some scheme he’d devised to sell the vegetables she grew had fallen through, for all it had been the supervisor of the camp who’d spotted her loading them into a van and had objected, explaining that these were now government property and not hers to sell.
‘If you’d said they were grown in our own garden at the lodge house, she couldn’t have complained about your selling them,’ he protested.
‘But that would’ve been a lie. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that the kitchen garden up at the main house is full of vegetables, and that I work in it every day. In fact, the training camp has started to take quite a lot of what I grow, to use in the canteen. How can I deny such a blatant fact?’
‘They don’t even pay you.’
‘Why should they? They own the place now, in a way. At least the government does. Anyway, I like to feel useful.’
‘You - useful? Don’t make me laugh,’ and he strode away in disgust.
The only friend she had left was Tizz, her beloved dog, who trailed after her through the garden and the kitchens, wherever she went during the day. Sometimes the dog could even anticipate what Rose was about to do next, her inbuilt clock being so finely tuned to the daily routine and to Rose’s every movement.
‘Damn dog should earn its keep, not loll about the house all day,’ Eddie would say.
The thought came to her that he was jealous of Tizz, simply because she preferred to be with Rose and refused to come when Eddie called her, or obey him in any way. At times it was almost amusing to see the dog stubbornly outface him. The louder Eddie shouted, the further Tizz would withdraw and refuse to obey.
‘She’s as obstinate as you.’
‘You have to be more patient. She’d come to you then,’ and Rose would laugh and demonstrate. ‘Come Tizz.’ The dog would prick up her ears and scoot after her beloved mistress, quick as a flash. Eddie might accuse her of fussing and pampering the animal but Rose really didn’t care to think how she would cope without her.
To offset her loneliness over the loss of her friends, Rose allowed herself little time to brood or indulge in self pity. There was far too much work to do in any case. Gertie had apparently taken umbrage over her banishment and refused to return from the visit to her mother, which left even more work for Rose to do. And the loss of his nightly comfort hadn’t helped Eddie’s temper one bit, which seemed to grow shorter by the day. He would snap and grumble and complain about anything and everything, even to accusing Rose of spoiling his chances, both with Gertie and with Lou.
‘You hate it if anyone fancies me, or if anything good happens to me,’ he snarled, mouth twisted in distaste as he poured himself yet another finger of his employer’s whisky. He always drank it in one swallow and would then quickly pour another, an unmistakable tremor in his hand. ‘You always have to spoil everything. You have to be the bloody favourite, the one everyone adores! Just as it was with Mother. Father too, for that matter.’
Eddie, in drink, was not a pleasant sight. He either became maudlin or aggressive and Rose didn’t much care for either. She always refused to be drawn into an argument, went to bed early and left him to it.
Rose guessed his foul temper might be the result of his long-standing disagreement with Dexter Mulligan. She’d seen his flashy Morris car once or twice lately in the back courtyard. The man gave her the shivers so she always made sure that she kept well out of the way.
One morning she failed to do so. She was happily pegging out the washing when the car pulled up. Three men climbed out in quick succession and Rose suddenly found herself surrounded. It was so unexpected that she stood there uncertain, a pile of lace curtains in her arms, experiencing a growing sense of alarm as she glanced anxiously from one to the other. She wondered whether they intended her any harm, or if the sudden tension in the air was simply a product of her overwrought imagination.
Two of them, who she understood to be the Pursey brothers, hovered in the background as Dexter Mulligan approached. He took hold of her chin between yellow-stained fingers and turned her face into a ray of stray sunshine so he could examine it. ‘Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be spending your time skivvying for an ungrateful brother.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said, and quickly drew away, which of course was a complete lie. Rose minded very much indeed.
‘I’m sure we could find you something far more appropriate to do with your time,’ he said with a chuckle, a sound which chilled her. Mulligan’s very nearness gave her funny little prickles between her shoulder blades. Even the smirk on his companions’ faces made her want to snatch up her wash basket and run. Instead, she lifted her chin and outfaced them.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ve no intention of staying here for ever. I’ve got plans.’
‘Have you indeed? I wonder what they might be, and if our Eddie had any say in the matter. I shall need to have words with our Eddie.’
For some reason this made them all laugh but, to her great relief, they strolled away, laughing loud and long.
Dexter Mulligan finally ran out of patience and sent round his heavies. They waited for Eddie in the courtyard the very next evening when he went out to fill the coal bucket; a task normally done by Rose, but she was proving strangely obstinate about such tasks at the moment. One minute he was bending down to shovel up a load of coal, the next he was lying flat on his back on the cold stone courtyard, seeing stars. Not giving him any chance to recover, the Pursey brothers set about punching and kicking him in the ribs, in the back, and all about his head, loosening two teeth and leaving him dazed and half-dead with shock and pain. What was more, they made it painfully clear that he could expect much worse next time.
‘Pin back yer ears and listen carefully, me ‘andsome,’ Joe Pursey said in his soft Cornish burr. With one brother sitting on his legs and Joe holding his neck in an arm lock, Eddie listened with great attention. ‘Mr Mulligan wants you to know that the rose bowl didn’t fetch what he’d hoped for, there not being much call for such treasures with a war on. So what’re you going to do about that?’
The trouble was, Eddie had been plundering Clovellan House for so long that he was rapidly running out of items which wouldn’t be missed. He tried to explain this to the Pursey brothers. ‘What can I do? I’ve cleared the loft and the cellars of anything of value. I can hardly take pictures off the walls, can I? Or clocks off mantelpieces, leaving great, yawning gaps. Folk would notice and the government is in residence now, which makes it more difficult.’
Joe softly tut-tutted, as if this were all a great pity. ‘Well now, as I see it you have two choices. Either you settle what ye owe, or you get that sister of yours to be more agreeable, as you promised. Mr Mulligan says he’s waited long enough and fancies she’s ripe for the plucking. Just make up yer mind which it�
�s to be. But make it damned quick. Then yer life’s yer own again. And don’t think ye can escape. Mr Mulligan has friends everywhere, ‘e do.’
‘Yes, right, I understand.’ Eddie half-squealed as Joe Pursey’s grip tightened on his throat.
The clock, it seemed, was ticking. Useless to accuse the Pursey brothers of cheating in those poker games. Dangerous to complain that Mulligan himself doubled the interest owed each and every dratted week. He had Eddie by the short and curlies and there was no denying that some radical solution must be found.
The beating left Eddie with an even deeper resentment against Rose, or rather a worsening of the one he’d nursed for so long. He blamed her entirely for his precarious situation. If she’d been doing her job properly, as she should have been, then he wouldn’t have needed to cross the yard to fill the coal bucket himself and it might never have happened. The fact that the Pursey brothers could have attacked him at some other time, didn’t register in his stubborn brain. In Eddie’s opinion the entire mess was Rose’s fault for not being prepared to pacify Dexter Mulligan’s temper with a bit of sweet talk, which would have helped enormously.
Eddie neglected to remember his constant bullying, or the hours Rose had spent cleaning, cooking and waiting upon him from dawn to dusk over the years. He carried only one thought in his head: self-preservation. If Dexter Mulligan wanted Rose, he could have her. What else could he do, he told himself, self pityingly. She was the only card he had left to play. In any case, she was an ungrateful little madam. Hadn’t he ached for revenge against her all his life? In truth he’d enjoy making her pay. He’d deliver her into Mulligan’s nasty little hands personally.
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