by Ellie Dean
‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ she said, settling back into the cushions. ‘We so rarely have the chance to talk properly, what with the pub and everything, and as we seem to have become good friends despite all that, I’d love to hear about your life before you came to Cliffehaven.’
Mary sipped her tea and then shot Rosie a wry smile. ‘I suspect Peggy has told you most of it, so there’s not much more I can add.’
‘Peggy actually hasn’t told me much at all, only that you came from a small village in Sussex, and that you lost your adoptive parents during an enemy raid and were taken in by your lovely Jack’s parents,’ said Rosie truthfully. ‘But I must admit I do find it intriguing that you don’t have a proper certificate with your date of birth on it.’
‘Well, it has proved to be a bit of a nuisance now the war’s on,’ Mary admitted. ‘Bits of paper seem to have taken on a huge significance suddenly. But because I’d lived in Harebridge Green all my life, and my father was the rector, it was easy to get a proper identity card, ration books and such, without having to produce a birth certificate.’
‘But surely you’d have adoption papers? Or were they destroyed in the raid?’
Mary’s hand was a little unsteady as she raised the cup to her lips and took a drink of tea.
Rosie noticed and was immediately contrite. ‘Oh, Mary, me and my curiosity – I didn’t mean to upset you, love. Let’s forget about it,’ she said quickly, ‘and just have a natter about something else.’
Mary put the cup and saucer down and shook her head. ‘I’m not upset, not really, and I’d like to tell you. But it’s quite a long story, and it doesn’t have a very nice ending, I’m afraid.’
‘Only if you want to,’ Rosie murmured as she took her hand. ‘It won’t make a jot of difference to our friendship however it ends, but if you’d rather not, then I’ll quite understand.’ Her genuine regret at having upset Mary made her cross with herself. She should stop prying and poking into the girl’s life – for what did it really matter if she’d been looking for Cyril? It was none of her business.
‘No, really, I’d like to tell you, because I know you aren’t the sort of person to judge others just because things have happened to them which were completely out of their control.’
Rosie patted her hand and watched as the girl composed herself, wondering once again who she reminded her of – especially in profile, with those high cheekbones and the neat little nose.
‘I never knew I’d been adopted,’ Mary began. ‘It was only after the rectory burned down and Jack’s father found Daddy’s old trunk that I learned the truth.’ Her voice faltered, but she carried on relating how her life had been with the gentle, loving Gideon and the cold, self-possessed Emmaline.
As Rosie listened she began to feel even closer to this young girl, for it was clear she’d never known a mother’s love. Rosie’s soft heart went out to her and she had to determinedly resist taking her in her arms and giving her a cuddle, for Mary would probably have been embarrassed by such a show of affection.
‘I found Daddy’s diaries in the trunk,’ Mary went on. ‘And I was a bit reluctant to read them at first because they were his private thoughts and feelings and it didn’t feel right to pry.’ Her smile was soft and sweet as her eyes grew misty. ‘But I’m glad I did, because it meant I got to really know him, and to understand how his marriage to Emmaline survived.’
She gave a sigh. ‘She was never an easy woman, and what he did was done out of love for her, and in the belief that I was a gift from God which would ease her suffering after all the babies she’d lost.’
‘He sounds a lovely man,’ said Rosie softly. ‘You were lucky in that respect.’
Mary looked down at her hands, which were tightly knotted on her lap. ‘I know,’ she replied, her voice unsteady with emotion, ‘but it would have broken his heart if he knew how I found out the truth, for he’d never imagined for one minute that I would read that 1924 diary, or find the piece of paper he’d tucked inside it.’
She flicked the long hair from her face. ‘It broke my heart too,’ she admitted. ‘But I suppose that was the price I had to pay for snooping.’
‘It wasn’t snooping, Mary.’ Rosie reached for her hand again. ‘You had a right to know, and if he’d lived, he would have told you eventually that you’d been adopted.’
Mary returned the pressure on Rosie’s fingers. ‘He wrote that he dreaded telling me, and that he’d planned to reveal the truth on my twenty-first birthday. But even if he’d lived, I doubt he would have told me the whole story, for the adoption was never legal.’
Rosie frowned. ‘But how could that be? He was an honest man of the cloth.’
‘He was a soft-hearted, gullible man who was thoroughly taken in by someone who could tell a good sob story,’ she replied with more than a hint of sadness. ‘And that someone was my real father.’
Rosie felt a prickle of unease and tried to make light of it by joking that her erstwhile father sounded very like her brother.
Mary’s smile was wan. ‘He does rather, doesn’t he? But unfortunately there’s more than one man like Tommy in this world, and my father evidently shared the same disreputable traits.’
Rosie felt a great deal of sympathy for the poor girl. It couldn’t have been at all easy to discover that not only were you adopted, but that your father was not the most honest of people. But she said nothing and let Mary gather her thoughts so she could tell her story in her own way.
Mary stared into the teacup. ‘They drew up a private agreement that Gideon would raise me as his daughter, and that my father would have no further contact with me. There was no formal stamp on the agreement or witness signature – and nothing anywhere that gave a clue to my mother’s identity.’
Rosie’s pulse was beginning to race and she felt cold to the very bone. ‘But how could a man give a child away without the mother’s consent?’ she asked, her voice raw with anger.
‘According to the account in Gideon’s diary, she’d gone shopping one day and simply never returned – and without a name or any clue as to who she was, I have to accept I’ll never find her.’
Rosie was so outraged on Mary’s behalf that she could barely speak. ‘But your father must have signed that agreement with Gideon, so you must know who he was,’ she managed. ‘Did you come to Cliffehaven to find him?’
Mary nodded. ‘Daddy mentioned in his diaries that my father was a travelling salesman and had met my mother during his time here. I stupidly thought that someone might remember him, you see – and that would lead me to finding out who my mother was.’
She took a tremulous breath. ‘But I’ve since learned he was nothing but a crook and a womaniser who’s spent time in prison and couldn’t be trusted to tell the time, let alone any kind of truth. So you see it’s all rather hopeless really.’
Rosie’s thoughts were in chaos, putting things together, sifting through everything Mary had told her until she couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘How did you find all that out?’ she asked.
‘Peggy asked Ron about him after I’d confided in her, and he remembered him only too well. It was a terrible shock when Peggy told me what a crook he was, but as no one knows where he is, or even if he’s still alive, I decided to give up my search and leave well alone. After all,’ she added with a soft, sad smile, ‘it’s sometimes better not to know the truth when it can only be ugly and ultimately damaging, don’t you think?’
Rosie stared at her as the words rang in her head and common sense warned her urgently not to take this any further – for she suddenly realised who it was that Mary reminded her of, and if her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, then she already knew the answer to the question she so desperately wanted to ask. But something deeper and more primal took over, for there had been too many years of silence – and she wanted to hear the girl’s answer to all the questions that had haunted her for so long.
She battled to breathe as her pulse raced and her heart thudded. ‘What was yo
ur father’s name?’
Mary regarded her with a frown. ‘Does it really matter?’
Rosie could only nod.
‘You’ve gone very white, Rosie. Aren’t you feeling well?’
Rosie waved away her concern. ‘Tell me,’ she rasped. ‘Please, Mary, what is his name?’
‘Cyril Fielding.’
Rosie felt as if her heart was in her throat. She couldn’t breathe, and her head was spinning as a terrible darkness threatened to overwhelm her. She heard Mary’s distant cry of alarm but was incapable of saying anything to reassure her – and then she did something she had never done before. She fainted.
Peggy had been all too aware of how swiftly time was passing, and of the impossibility of being in at least three places at once. It was with a huge sense of relief that they finally managed to speak to a doctor and learn that Cordelia had regained consciousness and was in no danger. The suspected fracture had turned out to be a painful wrench and tearing of her ankle ligaments and tendons, the head wound needed a couple of stitches and there were signs that she was slightly concussed. She would stay overnight under observation and if the doctor agreed, they could take her home at lunchtime the following day.
Peggy and Ron spoke to a very drowsy Cordelia and made sure she was comfortable in the hospital bed before they made a dash for the Anchor, leaving Daisy in Rita’s capable hands. Ron had left Harvey at home, not wanting to bear the wrath of Matron, who hated dogs in her hospital, so they’d come through the side door of the Anchor quietly and listened at the bottom of the stairs to see how the land lay.
Peggy could barely breathe as she listened to the conversation going on upstairs, and she would have rushed up there and comforted both of them if Ron hadn’t grabbed her arm and silently warned her to wait and not interfere.
They’d stood there and listened to the whole sorry tale, but as it slowly drew closer to its inevitable conclusion, they exchanged concerned looks and took a step nearer to the bottom stair.
When they heard the soft thud on the floor and Mary’s cry of alarm, Ron bolted up the stairs calling for Rosie.
Peggy dithered, and then decided that Ron could deal with whatever was going on up there, for she had something far more urgent to do. She backed away and, with an anxious glance at her watch, headed once more for the side door.
Chapter Fourteen
MARY WAS STILL trying to come to terms with the shock of seeing Rosie crumple to the floor in a dead faint. She was on her knees beside her, reaching for her hand and trying to push a whining, fretful Monty out of the way, when Ron burst into the room.
‘Get away,’ he ordered the pup as he fell to his knees and gathered Rosie’s limp body into his arms. ‘Rosie, acushla. It’s all right, I’ve got you, you’re safe. Wake up, my love.’
Mary was rather embarrassed by this outpouring of raw emotion, so she got to her feet and ran into the kitchen to dampen a tea towel and pour a glass of cold water. Returning to the sitting room, she placed the folded towel over Rosie’s forehead, gave Ron the glass, and knelt beside them unsure of what to do next.
It was a long, tense few minutes before Rosie’s eyelids fluttered and the colour began to return to her face. Ron held her close to his heart and tried to persuade her to drink some water. Her blue eyes slowly focused on Mary, and she reached out a trembling hand to touch her face. ‘Flora?’ she whispered. ‘Flora, is it really you?’
Mary gasped, her gaze fixed on Rosie, her thoughts and emotions racing through her at such terrifying speed she couldn’t voice any of it. She fought for calm as she reached for Rosie’s hand and held it to her cheek. ‘Mother?’ she breathed.
Rosie closed her eyes and a tear seeped through her lashes as Ron continued to hold her. ‘Oh, Flora,’ she said tremulously. ‘My darling, sweet little girl.’
Mary glanced at Ron, who was looking quite grey with concern, and then returned her gaze to Rosie as she battled with her mixed emotions. There was joy at finding her, thankfulness that she was a lovely, caring woman who’d already become a friend – and a deep sense of shock and anger that Rosie had abandoned her. ‘Oh, Rosie,’ she managed through her tears. ‘Is it true? Are you really my mother?’
‘This isn’t all about you, Rosemary Braithwaite, so pull yourself together and stop behaving as if you’re in some second-rate melodrama.’
They all turned sharply towards the neatly dressed, slender, dark-haired woman standing with a flustered Peggy in the doorway. Mary gaped at her in disbelief. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
The woman made no reply, but her intense gaze was fixed so firmly on Mary that she began to feel very uneasy.
‘I know it must come as a bit of a shock, Mary,’ said Peggy as she came into the room, ‘but it was necessary to bring her.’
‘But I don’t understand.’ Mary looked at Peggy in bewilderment. ‘What has all this got to do with her?’
Peggy glanced from Mary to Rosie and Ron, clearly unsure of how to reply.
But Rosie seemed to have recovered fully from her faint, and she struggled out of Ron’s embrace to reach for Mary’s hand. ‘It’s all right, Mary. Really it is.’ She then glared furiously at the other woman. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she snapped.
‘I didn’t want to come, believe you me,’ replied Eileen Harris. ‘But Peggy insisted, and once she’d told me what all this is about, I knew I had no choice.’
‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ said a fretful Peggy as she and Ron helped her up from the floor so she could sit on the couch. ‘But this has got to be resolved once and for all – and that can only happen if everyone involved is present.’
‘But we aren’t all present, are we?’ said a tight-lipped Eileen as she perched on the very edge of the other couch. ‘The cause of all this – as usual – is nowhere to be seen.’
Mary looked at them all in tearful frustration. She couldn’t understand any of it. ‘You’re all talking in riddles,’ she said in utter confusion. ‘If, by that, you mean my father, then how could he possibly be here? No one’s seen or heard from Cyril for years.’
Eileen tore her gaze from Mary and looked wide-eyed at Rosie. ‘She still doesn’t know, does she?’
Rosie shook her head and reached an unsteady hand for her cigarettes. ‘I haven’t had the chance to tell her anything,’ she said, ‘and I think you should leave it to me to explain.’ She blew smoke. ‘At least she’ll get the truth from me – which is more than I can say for anything you might tell her,’ she added bitterly.
‘You never listened to anything I had to say,’ retorted Eileen, the colour rising in her perfectly made-up face. ‘And you clearly wouldn’t admit the truth if it up and bit you.’
Rosie gave a grunt of disdain as she shrugged Ron’s calming hand from her shoulder. ‘There speaks the pot calling the kettle black,’ she snapped. ‘You’re a liar, Eileen. Always were and always will be.’
Eileen got to her feet as the colour drained from her face. ‘If that’s what you want to believe, then I can’t do much about it. But if you gave me the chance to tell my side of things, you might actually, for once, admit that what happened was not my fault.’
‘You should try seeing things from my point of view,’ Rosie snapped. ‘But then you’ve always been a selfish, self-seeking bitch and couldn’t care less about the damage you cause others.’
‘Stop it,’ begged Mary. ‘Stop it, both of you. Whatever the truth is – however you see things – this isn’t helping,’ she said brokenly. ‘If you don’t call a truce and calm down, I’ll leave and never come here again. It’s hateful seeing you like this, Rosie.’
‘Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry,’ said Rosie, clasping her hand. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you now I’ve finally found you after all these years.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Eileen gruffly as she sat down again. ‘But what you have to understand, Mary, is that Rosie and I haven’t seen eye to eye for years, and all this raking up of the past has opened old, very deep wounds.�
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There was a long silence which Peggy eventually broke. ‘Then I think it’s time you stopped fighting and just told her – calmly and sensibly – what happened, and with as much thought for Mary’s feelings as possible,’ she said. ‘From what I’ve heard, the actual truth is far from black and white, and you each have a very different story to tell.’
She went to squeeze in on the other side of Mary and put her arm about her shoulders. ‘Mary, love, I know you’ve already told Rosie your story, but I think Eileen should hear it too so that there are no further misunderstandings.’
Mary was comforted by Peggy’s sheltering embrace, but there were too many unanswered questions clamouring in her head. ‘Before I do that, I would like some straight answers from both of you,’ she said, looking from Rosie to Eileen. ‘Firstly, what is it I don’t know about Cyril Fielding? Secondly, are you my mother, Rosie – and if so, what has any of this got to do with Eileen?’
She didn’t miss the surreptitious glances that flew between the two women, and wondered if this was simply a tacit agreement to say as little as possible. ‘I’d appreciate the whole, unvarnished truth, no matter how awful it might be,’ she said flatly.
There was a long, tense pause before Rosie spoke. ‘Cyril Fielding never existed,’ she said in a low, unsteady voice. ‘It was just a name conjured up by … by …’ Rosie took a deep breath and gripped Mary’s hand. ‘By my brother Tommy,’ she said in a rush.
Mary couldn’t breathe – couldn’t think – couldn’t articulate the horror and shock that was surging through her. She was aware of Rosie’s grip on her fingers, of Peggy’s arm about her shoulders and of the very real anguish in Rosie’s face. ‘Tommy?’ she managed finally. ‘Tommy’s my father?’
