by Rosie Clarke
HETTY’S SECRET WAR
Rosie Clarke is happily married and lives in a quiet village in East Anglia. Writing books is a passion for Rosie, she also likes to read, watch good films and enjoys holidays in the sunshine. She loves shoes and adores animals, especially squirrels and dogs.
By Rosie Clarke
The Women at War trilogy
Jessie’s Promise
The Runaway
Hetty’s Secret War
The Mulberry Lane Series
The Girls of Mulberry Lane
Wedding at Mulberry Lane
Mulberry Lane Babies
New Arrivals at Mulberry Lane
The Workshop Girls Series
Lizzie’s Secret
Lizzie’s War
Lizzie’s Daughters
Also by Rosie Clarke
Christmas is for Children
Hetty’s Secret War
Rosie Clarke
www.ariafiction.com
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Rosie Clarke, 2019
The moral right of Rosie Clarke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
9 7 5 3 1 2 4 6 8
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781789542226
Aria
an imprint of Head of Zeus
First Floor East
5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
www.headofzeus.com
Author’s note
This is the third book of the Women at War trilogy: Jessie’s Promise, The Runaway Wife and Hetty’s Secret War. Some readers hate to read repeats of events in earlier books so I’ve given a brief resume for any reader who wants to catch up on the first two books. Don’t read it unless you wish! ☺
Jessie’s Promise
Jessie is a nurse who loses her job because of a doctor’s spite and is forced to look elsewhere for a job. She is hired as the nursemaid to two children and an old lady and at Kendlebury she becomes part of a family torn apart by unhappiness and betrayal.
At first Jessie is the dedicated nurse, but then she falls in love, first with the children and then her employer Captain Kendle. Against her better judgement, she becomes his lover. His wife dismisses her and then tragedy strikes and Jessie returns to nurse the man who would perhaps prefer that she allowed him to die.
The Runaway Wife
Some years on, Annabel’s father lost much of his fortune in the Wall Street crash. After he died, Ben, her brother, was forced to come to terms with his debts and to contemplate making a marriage for money. His mother is a sharp-tongued cold woman and Ben allows her to dictate his happiness – and therefore the happiness of the woman who loves him. Because Ben cannot wed where his heart is, Georgie marries a man far older than her despite Annabel’s doubts.
Visiting Jessie at Kendlebury, Annabel Tarleton falls in love with Paul, a printer, and below her in the social scale. Mama would never allow her to marry a man like that. She is trapped into marriage with the rich Richard Hansen but she soon discovers how cruel and brutal he can be.
Annabel’s sister Hetty is unhappy at home after her sister’s marriage and runs off to Paris with a French artist and becomes his mistress. After enduring rape and beatings for some time, Annabel runs away to find a new life. She hides from everyone, concealing her pregnancy, convinced that the child is Paul’s and that Richard would kill them both. She already believes him to be a murderer. Only when Richard discovers her and attacks her once more does the story come to its climax.
Hetty’s Secret War
This tells the story of characters in the first two books through the Second World War. Annabel’s sister Hetty is trapped in France as the Germans invade. Annabel’s friend Georgie is now a widow and remembering Ben the man she always loved. Beth, adopted by Annabel, is the daughter of Alice, a woman Richard Hansen murdered. This book tells the story of their lives.
Happy reading! I hope this little refresher makes it easier to follow on from the first two books.
Best wishes,
Rosie.
Contents
About the Author
Also by Rosie Clarke
Welcome Page
Copyright Page
Author’s note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Become an Aria Addict
One
Early summer 1939, Yorkshire
‘Oh, Arthur,’ Georgie Bridges said as the bedroom door closed behind their family doctor. ‘Why wouldn’t you take his advice? If you need tests, surely it would be best to let Benton admit you into hospital for a few days?’
‘If my number is up that’s it, old girl,’ he replied with a grimace. ‘I don’t particularly want to be pulled about by every Tom, Dick and Harry only to be told in the end that there’s nothing they can do for me. Besides, this thing runs in the family. We Bridges don’t often make old bones.’
A blackbird was trilling outside the window. It had been a beautiful day, but the bedroom was stuffy and smelled of sickness. Arthur had refused to let her open the windows despite the heat.
‘Don’t, Arthur, please,’ Georgie begged and felt the pain nag at her breast as he gave her one of his gentle smiles. Everyone loved Arthur because he was a dear, thoughtful and kind man, but he could be stubborn when he put his foot down. ‘I hate it when you talk of dying. You’re not old.’ He was only in his mid-fifties but he chose to think of himself as old and nothing she said would change him.
‘I should have snuffed it during the war and I’ve been living on borrowed time ever since, old girl – but I’ve been happy with you and I’ve no real regrets.’
‘You might think about me!’ She looked reproachful.
‘As it happens, I am,’ he said and gave her an odd look. ‘I know you’ll grieve for a while, Georgie, but I’m a bit on the ancient side for you and I got you on the rebound. I’ve always known that. It may all turn out for the best. It’s not right that you should be tied to an invalid for the rest of your life. You could find someone else, start over…’
‘Oh, Arthur…’ Georgie shook her head. Her chest felt as if it were being squeezed and she had to bite her lip to keep back the words he would not want to hear. It was impossible to deny what they both knew was true, of course. She’d been in love with another man who’d been married. He was still married, though Georgie knew that he was unhappy and spent most of his time working in London on his writing, which had become more successful over the years. Benedict Tarleton had had two plays performed and published three books of short stories, besides managing a weekly column for a national newspaper. ‘You know that was over long ago. In fact it never really got started.’
‘I know you’ve been faithful to me,’ Arthur told her and smiled again. ‘You’ve been a good wife a
nd given me as much of you as you could and I’ve been content – but you’ve never been in love with me, old girl. I never expected that and I don’t blame you, but it’s a fact. When I’ve gone, I want you to get out there and make a life for yourself. You’re too young to stay mouldering in the country forever.’
‘I’m not mouldering and I like living here. I’ve been happy with you, though you might not believe it.’
It was true that she’d been content, because she cared deeply for Arthur as a good friend and was grateful for all that he’d given her – but it wasn’t the heedless passionate love that she’d had for her friend Annabel’s brother. If Ben Tarleton had been free to marry for love then she would have married him, and Arthur had always known there was someone else.
However, the expression in Arthur’s eyes at this moment told Georgie that she’d hurt him in some way over the years without meaning to. God knows, she’d tried to be a good wife, tried to make his life comfortable, but something had always been missing, that magical spark of being in love, and of course he’d known that.
‘Will you eat some supper if I send a tray up?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps a sandwich and a glass of warm milk with brandy. Don’t trouble yourself, Georgie. I’ll ring for Mrs Townsend when I’m ready.’
‘Don’t shut me out, Arthur – not now.’
She went out and closed the door softly, going down to the sitting room. The tears were very close but she held them back. It was too late for weeping, too late for anything really. Doctor Benton’s expression had told her that there wasn’t much hope for Arthur, and she felt as if the bottom was dropping out of her world. She’d built her world around him, enjoying their quiet life together, his little jokes and the comfortable togetherness they’d shared, but now she was beginning to understand it wasn’t enough for either of them. Because Arthur had never demanded more, she’d assumed he was content, but suddenly he was no longer bothering to hide his feelings and Georgie felt sad that she’d let him down.
She went into the sitting room, picking up a newspaper and trying to concentrate, but the news was so depressing with all the trouble in Europe, and her eyes pricked as she fought against her tears. Arthur seemed to have turned against her, almost as though he was blaming her because his illness had caught up with him too soon.
The church clock was chiming the hour as Georgie heard the stairs creaking and went out into the hall to greet her guest. Everything creaked in this old but much-loved house and it was impossible for anyone to come down without announcing their arrival. She turned to look at the young woman; Beth was Annabel’s protégé and adopted daughter, because she’d taken her in after Beth’s mother was murdered by Annabel’s first husband. Annabel’s marriage to Richard Hanson had been desperately unhappy and Beth’s mother had blackmailed him but he’d had her murdered, though it was a secret that Beth did not share. She knew that her mother had been killed but Annabel would never tell her anything more.
‘What a charming dress,’ Georgie said as the young woman reached the bottom. ‘Where did you find that, Beth?’
The hall smelled faintly of flowers, some of it from a bowl of pot pourri on the well-polished oak hutch placed against the wall just outside Georgie’s front parlour, the rest from a large vase of sweet peas that she had picked from her garden earlier.
‘Hetty sent it for me from Paris,’ Beth Rawlings replied and crossed the hall to kiss her cheek, not from habit or duty but affection. She was rather worried about her friend at the moment because she knew Georgie was struggling to keep her spirits up in the face of her husband’s latest illness. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ She did a little twirl to show off the movement of the beautifully cut dress as it clung lovingly to her slender figure, flaring out at the hem. ‘Hetty sometimes designs things for that fashion house, as you know, and Madame Arnoud lets her buy things for next to nothing. This dress was left over from last season, but that doesn’t bother me in the least.’
Outside they could hear the drone of a light aircraft from the airfield some two miles distant. It seemed to circle overhead for a few minutes and then the noise faded away. Both were aware of a slight tension in the other but neither referred to the noise, which was becoming more frequent of late. It seemed to bring home the threat of the war everyone said was inevitable.
‘I should just think not,’ Georgie said of the dress. ‘I would love to be able to buy something like that myself.’ It would make such a change from her habitual tweed skirts and twinsets, which fitted her way of life.
‘If you tell Annabel, she might be able to fix it up for you. She visited her sister last year, as you know, because she thought Hetty might want to come home now that she has left Henri, but of course she wouldn’t. Annabel isn’t thinking of going out again herself at the moment, not as things are, but Hetty said in her last letter that she might come home for a visit with us.’
At the age of seventeen, Hetty Tarleton had run away to Paris to live with Henri Claremont, who was a successful artist but a rather selfish man some years her senior. Pleas from both her brother Ben and her sister, Annabel, had met with a deaf ear these past nine years. Hetty was settled in Paris and enjoying her life too much to think of giving it up.
‘It might be a good idea if she came sooner rather than later,’ Georgie said and looked anxious. ‘If this wretched war is on the cards as everyone says it must be, she could be in serious trouble. But I don’t suppose it’s any good Annabel telling her that, of course. Hetty was always headstrong. Annabel suspected at the start that Henri would prove unreliable, but she couldn’t change things. Hetty was in love and Annabel had her own problems at the time.’
They had gravitated into the small but comfortable sitting room. Its furniture was perhaps a little shabby but well-tended and familiar, the scents of lavender and beeswax mixing with the fragrance of pine logs piled in the grate and the copper box next to it. Papers and books lay on various tables, a sherry decanter and glasses took pride of place on the sideboard, and Georgie’s knitting was on her chair. Arthur preferred hand-knitted socks to any that could be bought in the shops. The sight of the latest half-finished pair brought tears to her eyes, because she knew he might never wear them, and the thought of losing her dear friend was painful. Whatever else Arthur might have lacked, he had always been her good friend – and it was the reason she’d married him when she’d realised she could never have Ben. He’d promised to be patient and kind – and he had, always.
‘I know that Hetty can be very stubborn…’ Shadows clouded Beth’s eyes for a moment as she recalled that some of the problems Annabel had been dealing with at the time of Hetty’s elopement were because of her. ‘Annabel was afraid that she would be unhappy and I think she was for some months before she finally made up her mind to leave Henri, but although she came home for a few days she wouldn’t stay.’
Beth was quite a tall girl, slim and graceful with dark hair and rather serious grey eyes. Her manner sometimes made her seem older than her nineteen years, perhaps because of things that had happened in the past. The old scandal of Alice Rawlings’ violent murder had been forgotten now by most, but Georgie thought that Beth had been more affected by her mother’s death than people realised.
She’d been fortunate to have her grandmother, but perhaps more so that Annabel had taken her into her own family. There were no formal adoption papers, but to all intents and purposes Beth was Paul and Annabel Keifer’s daughter and as much loved as their own two children, Paula and David.
‘When I last heard from Hetty she seemed content enough,’ Georgie said thoughtfully. ‘But like everyone else, she’s worried that there might be a war.’
‘Paul says it’s inevitable,’ Beth said and wrinkled her smooth brow.
‘Yes, and Arthur thinks the same. After the last war everyone thought it couldn’t happen again, but I’m afraid it will.’ Georgie sighed and poured them both a sherry. She took a sip of the golden liquid, her forehead creased by an almost permane
nt frown of anxiety.
Beth knew instinctively that the sigh was as much for Arthur’s precarious state of health as any worries her friend might have about the probable war with the Germans.
‘How is Arthur this evening?’ she asked. ‘What did the doctor say when he came earlier?’
‘Nothing very much,’ Georgie admitted. ‘Arthur’s chest is weak and he gets bouts of chronic bronchitis and that’s really all there is to it…’ But deep down inside she knew that Arthur was failing and it couldn’t be long now. She felt the ache in her chest increase, because she couldn’t bear for him to die thinking he hadn’t been loved when he had – was loved – but perhaps not in the way he might have wanted.
‘Is Arthur coming down for dinner this evening?’ Beth asked, interrupting her thoughts.
‘No, not tonight,’ Georgie said, forcing a smile. She took another sip of her sherry and glanced at herself in the mirror over the fireplace. She knew she was an attractive woman, not beautiful; she had never been conventionally pretty, but as a young woman she had been full of life and fun. She had become more serious over the years, partly because of her husband’s failing health – and for other reasons that she preferred not to remember. ‘I’m sorry as it’s your last evening with us and I know Arthur would be pleased if you would pop in later and have a word. He has been ordered to stay where he is for a few days, and for once he’s doing as he’s told.’
‘Of course I’ll go in and see him,’ Beth promised. ‘You know I’m fond of him. Does Geoffrey know his father isn’t well?’
‘Arthur doesn’t want him to know,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s away with a friend from his school at the moment, but he’ll come home for a couple of days before he goes back to boarding school. Besides, he can’t do anything to help, and Arthur is unable to do any of the things they used to enjoy together. They are both keen cricket fans, you know. Arthur played for the local team on Sundays until this year…’
