The Tailor's Girl

by Fiona McIntosh

  He heard her soft gasp as she swung around on her stool. A mother recognised her child in all of his incarnations. There was no doubting that Cecily Gilford Wynter knew him now.

  With wide, disbelieving eyes, she struggled to stand. ‘Lex?’

  Now Effie turned back to gape at him. ‘Master Alex!’ she whispered, echoing his mother’s shock.

  And then he was crossing the room, oblivious to his surrounds or the lack of manners in barging into a woman’s boudoir at this hour.

  ‘Yes, it’s me, Mother,’ he choked out and swept her into his arms. She felt like a bird, fragile and light enough that he was sure he could lift her up into his embrace in a single movement. Beneath that hug he heard a wrenching sob.

  ‘Lex,’ she repeated, her voice trilling with alarm. ‘Is it really you?’

  He pulled back, trying to effect a roguish grin for her but he knew it must look lopsided as he tried to keep a lid on his emotion. Years of memories crowded in, from the first glance of the mainly blue Chinoiserie of the room’s decor to the perfume of violets that drifted around him.

  He watched her face, bared of any make-up, crumple as she gave way to tears that his mother was not known for.

  ‘How? How? How?’ she kept repeating.

  Alex held her, nodded behind his mother at an equally emotional Effie, and made soothing sounds.

  ‘I shall explain everything that I can. But tell me about Father.’

  She pulled away to look at him, tried to say something but choked on it. ‘I’m so sorry he missed you,’ he thought she said.

  15

  Edie hadn’t slept. Her father had tried to keep her company, as had Madeleine, who refused to leave. When Edie periodically emerged from her own frightened thoughts and the tense stupor she had slipped into, she realised that Madeleine was moving around her home like a silent angel, taking care of everything from answering the door – sympathetic visitors held at bay – to ensuring her father was fed. Here was a true friend at last, and definitely when she most needed one.

  Police Constable Ball had been as good as his word, making the near six-mile round trip twice through the evening to reassure her that enquiries were ‘in motion’. The night had closed in and Edie’s eyes were wide open and her demeanour one of someone in shock by the time the larks first began to sing their elaborate mating song on the wing, high above Epping.

  Madeleine was pressing something into her hands. Edie blinked, once again torn from her beautiful, reassuring memories of being held by Tom, teased by Tom, kissed by Tom, only to return to the present and the disturbing realisation that it had no Tom in it. Her father dozed in Tom’s armchair, whistling softly as he snored by the hearth.

  ‘You kept the fire going, thank you,’ she murmured, her tone polite but disinterested. ‘You’ve been very good to me, Madeleine,’ she added, only now comprehending that yet another steaming mug of tea was in her hands.

  ‘Don’t spill it,’ her friend warned. ‘I couldn’t leave you,’ she admitted.

  ‘We hardly know each other.’

  Madeleine regarded her after a brief glance at Abe’s bent head. ‘We know each other,’ she assured. ‘Drink up.’ Madeleine cut a glance back at Abe. ‘He doesn’t look so well.’

  ‘What?’ Edie replied. She’d been drifting again.

  ‘Should we get your father into a bed?’

  Edie shrugged. ‘He won’t want to leave me.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should also —’

  ‘He’s not coming home.’

  ‘You don’t know that, Eden. He may have —’

  ‘I do know it. I know Tom.’

  ‘Something may have happened. An accident or something.’

  ‘Yes, but whatever’s happened, Tom’s not coming home. I feel it.’

  ‘Stop talking like this.’ Madeleine was crouched by Edie’s knees as Edie began to leak silent tears and shake her head gently. ‘Don’t give up hope,’ her new friend pleaded.

  ‘I won’t. Not ever. But I can feel it.’ She shrugged. ‘Instinct, sixth sense. I don’t know what to call it but I know Tom’s left me.’ She watched Madeleine’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘Not intentionally, perhaps. But he’s gone. I knew we were too happy. This is my punishment.’

  ‘You are not being punished.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I know I am. And my punishment is just beginning. First Tom.’ Madeleine stared at her, frowning. ‘And I can’t feel the baby. He hasn’t moved since last night.’

  ‘Shock can do that to you.’

  Edie nodded, distracted, bored by the placations. She stood. ‘I suppose I’d better tidy myself for Constable Ball.’

  As if an invisible stage director had pointed a finger, there was a knock on the door. Both women jumped and Abe was startled from his sleep. Madeleine moved first.

  ‘Hello, Constable Ball. Come in, please.’

  The policeman walked in with his helmet removed, bicycle clips keeping his trouser ends from flapping and his buttons shiny enough that Edie was sure she might see her own reflection in them. She turned away from the policeman’s sombre expression and watched her father straighten his clothes and wipe dried spittle from the corner of his lips. His normally immaculately groomed hair was tousled and she felt her breath catch with sadness for all of them.

  Constable Ball cleared his throat.

  ‘Anything?’ Edie asked, already knowing the answer.

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing at all, I’m afraid. It’s as if your husband didn’t exist, Mrs Valentine. My colleagues at Golders Green have spoken to Solomon Bergman, who saw him last, but Mr Bergman dropped Mr Valentine off at Green Park in the city.’

  Edie frowned. ‘Why Green Park?’

  Ball shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Valentine. I thought it may mean something more to you.’

  Abe spoke up. ‘I might be able to help there, Constable.’ He turned to Edie. ‘As I told you before, Tom wanted to test his new-found confidence. He decided not to head home immediately but to go on a little with Sol.’

  She nodded. ‘Did Sol say whether Tom was nervous?’

  Ball glanced at his notepad. ‘No, I don’t believe so.’

  Madeleine brought a mug of tea and some biscuits for the policeman, who looked profoundly grateful. It occurred to Edie that Constable Ball might not have had any sleep either and now that the notion arrived, she could see the telltale whiskers poking through his jaw, and his eyes, though alert, looked red.

  ‘Pardon me?’ Ball said.

  Edie hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud. ‘Er, I said that Tom wouldn’t do this knowingly.’

  ‘Knowingly?’ He gulped his tea.

  Until this moment she hadn’t put Tom and the word ‘disappeared’ together in her mind. And the truth of her worst fears fell into her mind like a door closing with a slam.

  ‘I m–mean,’ she stammered, blinking through the tide of emotions that threatened to drown her. ‘Tom is lost.’ Everyone waited in a frigid silence. Edie blinked again and found a fresh strength. ‘Tom was lost when I found him.’

  ‘What are you saying, Mrs Valentine?’

  Madeleine was at her side, a soothing hand on her arm. ‘She’s saying something’s obviously happened again to Tom.’

  Abe looked back at Edie as if he was in pain. ‘You mean, he’s lost his memory again?’

  Edie began to tremble uncontrollably. ‘No, Abba. I think he may have found it this time.’ She let out a sob of anguish and with it came a terrible, chilling feeling of release. A needle of pain shot through her body, beginning low in the hip. Another rode hard in on it.

  Madeleine was helping her to sit down. Edie could hear her father’s concern and was aware of the dark uniform of the policeman hovering on the rim of her vision, which was rapidly clouding. What was happening? The needles of pain had changed into cramps. She thought she was imagining it; wanted to believe this was not her baby beginning its labour. Not without Tom! Please, no . . .

  ‘Eden . . . Eden?’

>   Edie squeezed Madeleine’s hand.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘It’s happening.’ She blinked, tried to clear her view of the world. Madeleine’s angular features became more focused. Her grey-green eyes searched Edie’s face with a question. ‘The baby,’ Edie whispered and let the pain carry her. It seemed so appropriate to ride agony when loss was her companion.

  Tom will break your heart. She heard her father’s words echo in her mind now as she galloped away from the cottage’s sitting room into the darkness of despair. Abba’s words followed her, though, chasing her through the mist of hurt.

  I imagine sooner or later Tom will discover the truth about himself.

  Edie was vaguely aware of leakage and the cramps intensifying. Hands were pulling at her, shocked voices were filtering through on the fringe of her mind, and not only had her father’s words been prophetic – that she would lose Tom to his memories – but she was suddenly certain that divine punishment was taking place and his child was being ripped from her too.

  _______________

  It had been a long, strange night for Alex. He had sat in his mother’s rooms, held her hand and told her everything he could remember about his life since he’d last seen her. Effie had quietly come back into the chamber, where they sat and laid out a supper for him that he had greedily enjoyed, the hot cocoa especially, with a slug of brandy in it.

  ‘To help you sleep, Master Lex.’ She grinned and he could still see the amazement in her eyes that he’d returned.

  After the door closed his mother had raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I know. The servants’ quarters will be abuzz with gossip before the main house wakes,’ he admitted.

  ‘My darling, that’s nothing to what your arrival is going to do to poor Dougie.’

  ‘Am I an ill wind, Mother?’ he’d said, winking.

  ‘Far worse in his mind, I suspect.’

  ‘Surely he’ll be pleased I’m alive?’ he sighed.

  ‘Lex, Dougie loves you. There’s no question that you were a trio of brothers who were close; it was something your father and I were quietly proud of . . . our finest achievement. But before the war each of you had his place in the family’s structure. Dougie, though he often whined about it as a child, understood he was the middle son and would always have a slightly tougher path.’

  ‘I know that’s why you always took his side.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘I tried to stand back but it’s hard not to sympathise. Your father insisted he work it out for himself.’ She stroked her son’s cheek, still in shock that he was sitting before her, needing to touch him so the mirage didn’t disappear. ‘And then suddenly your disappearance changed everything. Dougie became a “firstborn”, for want of a better term. And unfortunately, darling, this revelation coincided with his marriage to someone who perhaps doesn’t offer him the counterbalance that most marriages require.’

  ‘Dougie’s married?’ Alex said in wonder.

  ‘Oh, yes! Huge society wedding – everything your father and I privately loathed. But we performed spectacularly on the day for Dougie’s sake.’

  ‘Who’s the lucky lady?’

  ‘Guess,’ she demanded with a wicked giggle.

  ‘Helena James?’

  ‘Oh, come on. You can do better than that.’

  ‘Not Daphne Kirkham-Jones.’

  She winced. ‘Over my corpse,’ she muttered. ‘But you’re getting warmer, darling. Go back to Dreadful Daphne’s circle and think of the hardest-working socialite of them all.’

  ‘You jest,’ he said, his voice ringed with disbelief as dawning hit. ‘He married Frantic Fashionable Fern?’

  Cecily Gilford Wynter dissolved into helpless giggles. ‘I shouldn’t be laughing when I’m supposed to be grieving,’ she said, looking desperately guilty. She began to weep softly. ‘Your father was gravely ill for a long time. It really wasn’t a surprise. Forgive me.’

  ‘Mother, if there was one aspect of you that Father loved more than any other, it was to hear you laugh. Laugh and hope he can hear you. So, Frantic Fern is now a Wynter, eh?’

  ‘Stop it, Lex. You’re going to see her in a few hours.’

  ‘She’s here?’

  ‘Of course! Nothing could keep her from the reading of your father’s will – which reminds me, I have to phone Gerald.’ Alex was once again faced with a woman of sorrow. ‘I do miss him.’

  ‘Gerald?’ he offered, reaching for that lightness. He recalled the family lawyer and close friend of his father.

  She admonished him with a glance. ‘What will we all do now without Thomas?’

  He took his mother’s hands again. ‘You know, I missed him bitterly when I left but as the war years drew on, I realised he’d equipped me to be alone. All the important building blocks were in place and I didn’t panic. I knew others were depending on me just as he’d always said one day they would.’

  She looked at him with affection. ‘Your father was deeply proud of you, son. Or should I say Captain Wynter?’

  ‘You should not. My point is, Father will have equipped you to live life without him too. The age gap was always —’

  ‘Don’t, darling. The inevitability of his death doesn’t stop the sense of loss or make the mourning any easier.’ She gave a sad shrug.

  ‘I knew about his death before I walked in. I was outside for several hours just getting used to the idea that he wasn’t going to be here. I began my grieving out there on the stump where he and I used to sit and talk about the estate, the family . . . my responsibilities.’

  ‘And you’re just like him,’ she said.

  ‘Am I?’

  Cecily nodded. ‘Your father never dwelled on anything he couldn’t control. I can tell you’ve already set your grief aside, realising that you had no control over his passing.’

  ‘Not aside, Mother; it’s just private now. I can’t turn time back and —’

  ‘You’re doing it again, darling.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Disappearing . . . or at least drifting from me. I refuse to lose you again. It makes my insides twist like coils to realise you’ve been likely lying around in hospitals for years. The army assured us they had looked for you.’

  He blew out an audible breath of frustration. ‘Sorry. It’s just something about that subject of not being able to turn back time.’

  She gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, I think we’d all do that if we could.’

  He covered her hand with his.

  She sighed. ‘I must call Gerald.’

  ‘Really? At this time?’

  ‘You did hear what I said, didn’t you, darling . . . I mean about reading the will? You’re back. Everything changes.’

  His expression dropped.

  ‘I thought you weren’t cottoning on fast enough. Dougie is not going to enjoy waking up to this news. He’s no longer the senior Wynter male, with all the prestige that affords him, and he’s no longer inheriting what he’d planned.’

  Alex gave a nod of understanding and his spirits deflated. ‘I feel like a leper.’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t you dare. This is your rightful place.’

  ‘And Frantic Fern is going to like my presence even less!’

  ‘It’s not your problem.’

  ‘You know, Mother. I could just walk away.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she said, sounding deeply offended.

  ‘No, think about it. Right now everyone’s settled. Even you said Dougie had become accustomed to his new role in the family as senior son. Why disrupt everyone? The family is grieving . . .’

  ‘All the more reason to celebrate your return.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s something to celebrate?’

  ‘Well, I am! You saw Effie’s face. I can only guess at Bramson’s delight – and Clarrie must be hugging himself. Charlotte will be over the moon – your sister loves you more than that new motorcar of hers!’

  ‘Dear Charlie. Still a tomboy?’

  ‘I�
��m afraid so. Her mother’s girl she is not,’ she said, but with a twinkle in her eye. ‘She’s fearless, Lex. She lied about her age, got away to Europe as fast as she could to be part of the nursing corps. I can’t imagine what she’s seen.’

  ‘I can. We should all be hugely proud of her.’

  ‘Your father was. He didn’t say much but deep down, he was astonished and pleased by her behaviour.’

  ‘Anyone in her life?’

  ‘I think so. Nice fellow by the name of Phelps. Good family. She doesn’t like to talk about it. You know Charlotte: hates to admit to being in any way a normal girl.’

  Alex grinned affectionately.

  ‘By the way, Cousin Penny’s here too.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Your father always had a terribly soft spot for her.’

  ‘She always was a sweet little thing.’

  ‘Not so little now, darling.’

  Alex’s thoughts were already running to his favourite sibling. ‘How’s Rupert doing?’

  ‘You all over again . . . just more reckless. He was wounded.’

  He frowned. ‘I heard that he’s got no lasting injuries, though.’

  She shook her head. ‘Rupert is a sunny person, as you know, but I sensed he was fooling everyone. Everyone but me, that is. He refuses to share what he experienced.’

  ‘It’s too painful, Mother. I completely understand. No one else can unless they were there.’

  She nodded. ‘He came home battered, wounded, but essentially in one piece. I felt lucky. Now I am surely blessed; all of my sons are returned.’ The lines of age on Cecily’s face suddenly crinkled, like delicate parchment, folding in on themselves around her forehead as she frowned. ‘Perhaps I should feel guilty.’