‘You think so? I’m not a romantic writer.’
‘But you’re an emotional one, and your sympathetic reports meant a lot to the folk at home while you were in France. They’ll love you for confiding how your own story unfolded now that you’ve become one of their own. Talk it over with your husband, if you must, and then come back to me, and I’ll be delighted to run it.’
‘I don’t need to talk it over with anyone. I’ll do it,’ she said decisively, knowing Philip would approve. The idea of it charmed her as much as his casual remark that she had become one of their own. And it wasn’t as if she intended giving away any intimate secrets of their lives. Some things were too private.
She had one more errand to run in Truro before meeting Philip once his college duties were over. It was a while since she had seen Albert and Rose, and she felt guiltily that she should have made more of an effort, as Rose was ailing now. They had been informed of Morwen’s steady progress, and Albie had visited her when he could, though Skye had no idea whether or not Theo had revealed to any other family member the true cause of her stroke. She supposed so, though it was never spoken about now. But this was one announcement card she wanted to deliver herself.
‘Skye, what brings you here? Is all well with Mother? I telephoned yesterday, and the nurse’s report sounded reassuring,’ Albie greeted her, momentarily anxious as he drew her inside the studio and kissed her briefly on both cheeks.
Very continental-arty-farty, she thought irreverently, but at least he seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
‘There’s nothing wrong. And how about Rose?’ she asked, as they climbed the stairs to the rooms above. He shrugged.
‘She copes as best she can, but Rose and illness make poor bedfellows,’ he said eloquently. ‘She doesn’t get out much, and she bemoans the fact that she’s putting on weight.’
That much was obvious as soon as Skye saw her. Once a pretty woman, Rose’s petulance showed up all too well in her fleshy face now, but she brightened as soon as she saw the visitor. Presumably she had forgotten Albie’s penchant for the Tremayne girls, Skye thought cynically, now that he was obliged to give her all his attention.
‘So what brings you here, my dear?’ Rose said, echoing Albie’s words, once the obligatory details of her condition had been exhausted.
‘I’ve got news. At least, it will be news to you, but not to us, to Philip and me, that is.’
As she floundered, Albie laughed. ‘You don’t mean that you two have actually set the date at last?’
‘Yes, we have. September the first, actually – 1915.’
She handed them their announcement card and waited until they had read it. Nobody spoke for a moment, and then Albert’s face went its occasional dull hue.
‘My dear girl… all this time… for almost three years you and that man have been married?’
‘Me and Philip, yes. Or is it Philip and I? I never can remember the correct way.’
‘Does your grandmother know about this? And your mother? Does Primmy know?’
Skye caught her breath, hearing the small softening in his voice as he spoke her name. After all this time he still loves her with a special kind of love, thought Skye. A very special kind of love that could never be fulfilled… she was suddenly sorry for him, understanding and forgiving him.
‘Mom and Daddy knew right away,’ she said gently. ‘And we left Granny Morwen our marriage certificate when we enlisted and went to France. We wanted to be together, you see, even though we couldn’t be properly together, since we told no one else. And the longer it went on, the more difficult it became to let people know. But now we think the time is right. We intended to put a formal announcement in the newspaper, but David Kingsley wants me to write it up as a romantic story for The Informer readers. What do you think?’
If it was incongruous to be asking him, she no longer cared.
He had loved her mother, and he knew the pangs and torments of a frustrated love. He kissed her forehead.
‘I think it’s a lovely idea, and I’m sure Rose does too,’ he said, drawing her into their circle. ‘And what of the rest of the family?’
Skye shivered. ‘They’ll all be receiving cards like this one in a day or so. I wanted you to know first, since you were always closest to Mom, and I daresay there will be varying reactions. But I know Mom and Daddy will be relieved it’s out in the open at last.’
‘Primmy couldn’t abide secrets,’ Albie nodded. ‘Not unless they were her own, of course.’
And however enigmatic that statement was, they all chose to ignore it as Rose set about busily making them all tea.
* * *
The most predictable reaction came from Luke. A few days later he came roaring into New World like a raging bull, slamming the card on the hall table and bellowing for Skye.
‘For the Lord’s sake, man, don’t you know there’s a sick woman in the house?’ Nurse Jenkins snapped, having no fears of a ranting preacher like this one.
‘Don’t speak to me about the Lord, woman. What was this chit doing, getting wed without the sanctity of a proper church service and the Lord’s blessing?’
Skye came out of the sitting room quickly on hearing the rumpus, glowering at her uncle.
‘I did have the Lord’s blessing, Uncle Luke, and if I didn’t have yours, then I’m sorry, but Philip and I are just as surely married as any other couple you ever droned over.’
She held her breath, wondering if anyone had ever dared speak to him like that before. But she didn’t care. She was a married woman, and she wore her wedding ring with pride now. The people who mattered didn’t censure her.
Emma had telephoned, twittering with delight at the news, and so had Charlotte’s girls, back from France now, and thrilled to think it had all been going on, as they put it, right under their noses. Theo simply told her it was a good thing, and Betsy added her congratulations, and everyone else was too far away to have given their reactions yet.
Morwen was improving daily, and her speech had almost returned to normal again. It was easy to be lulled into believing that this strong woman was going to make a perfect, miraculous recovery, even though the doctor had warned them that a relapse and a second stroke was always possible. So the sooner Skye got shot of this one, the better, she thought, as Luke glowered back at her, then his pompous face broke into a reluctant grimace of acceptance.
‘Well, since it was going to happen sooner or later, I daresay there’s no harm done. Just so long as it didn’t upset your grandmother.’
He’d left it long enough to think of her, thought Skye indignantly. She smiled back sweetly.
‘Actually, Granny Morwen has known all the time, and her blessing was the most important one to us. Oh, and didn’t you come to see her, Uncle Luke? She’ll be happy to know you pray for her as well as the rest of your flock.’
Luke eyed her silently for a minute.
‘You’re your mother’s daughter all right,’ he said finally. ‘Primmy were always a sparky maid, with a tongue like quicksilver when it suited her. You, and Primmy, and your grandmother – like three peas in a pod in more ways than one.’
‘You couldn’t have given me a nicer compliment, Uncle Luke,’ she said, knowing he hadn’t meant it that way at all, and completely flummoxing him again.
* * *
Philip had been invited to dinner that evening, as he was most days now, and Morwen said she had something of importance to suggest to them both. She was well enough to come downstairs for varying periods of time now, and with her returning speech she hardly stopped talking, but to Skye and all of them, she would never be quite the same again.
There was pain around her still-vivid blue eyes, and she seemed to have shrunk in stature, as well as in spirit. Lewis Pascoe had done that. He had come calling so innocently, and he had torn an old lady’s heart apart so disastrously. But for all that she lived so much in memories now, Morwen was still in control of her faculties.
‘You’ll be look
ing for a proper home soon, I take it,’ she said to Skye and Philip now. ‘I won’t want my granddaughter to be living in miserable cramped rooms in Truro.’
‘We shall be looking for a house soon, Mrs Wainwright,’ Philip agreed.
‘And you can stop using that ridiculous name now that we’re properly related, young man. Call me Morwen if you can’t manage the Granny half of it. And you need look no further, if you’ve no objection to my proposal.’
They waited, as she subdued a cough with difficulty.
‘Can I get you something, Gran?’ Skye asked anxiously, but she waved her aside at once.
‘A bit of a cough won’t kill me, girl. Now then, since it’s high time this house rang to the sound of children’s laughter again, and since you two are the best prospects of filling it, I want you both to come and live here. There’s plenty of room, and you can have your own part of the house and do with it what you like until I’m gone. In any case, it’ll belong to Skye then.’
Skye gasped as the implications of the words sank in.
‘Oh no, Gran! There’ll be such a fuss in the family if you leave me this lovely house – and anyway, I don’t want to talk about such things, it’s bad luck—’
‘Why? Do you think I’m going to live forever?’ Morwen said dryly. ‘Now you listen to me, girl, and don’t go all soft and sentimental on me. None of ’em want to live here, and they’re all settled nicely elsewhere. ’Tis the right order of things, love – and you’ll be wanting to fix up a nursery well before time too.’
Philip’s hand reached out for Skye’s, but she shook her head. Seeing it, Morwen gave a small smile.
‘Did you think I didn’t guess? You may have kept it from the others, but there’s a bloom on you, Skye, that only comes from one cause.’
‘But we hardly know for certain ourselves yet,’ she murmured, feeling her face go hot. ‘And the sickness I had only troubles me occasionally now, so maybe it was just a stomach upset.’
‘What’s wrong with you, girl? Don’t you want this babby?’ Morwen said, her voice sharp.
‘Of course I do,’ Skye said softly. ‘I’m just superstitious enough not to hope too much until I’m sure.’
‘Then be sure. I’ve seen enough in my time to know when a woman’s flowering, so what do you say to my proposal? Do you come and live here?’
Skye glanced at Philip, knowing it had to be his decision as much as hers. Hers was already made, she realised. She adored this house, and she had done so from the moment she stepped inside. But if Philip objected to these Tremayne womenfolk dictating the terms…
Neither of them were Tremaynes any more, Skye reminded herself swiftly. Morwen was a Wainwright and she was a Norwood. But she knew that none of that counted in the real order of things, as Morwen put it. They were still Tremayne women, strong and fiery, and ready to fight to the death for what was theirs.
She saw Philip move around the table to her grandmother. He knelt at her side, took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. The gesture sent the tears stinging to Skye’s eyes.
‘We accept your gift with gratitude and love, Morwen, and may you live to see all our children.’
Morwen smiled gently. ‘Mebbe I’ll just settle for this one, dar. So start making whatever changes you want in the house, for I’m eager to have my family under my roof again and for things to be settled.’
* * *
‘She’s a marvel, isn’t she?’ Skye murmured as she lay in her husband’s arms.
The room they shared at New World that night was Skye’s own, but now that the idea was taking hold, they were already making plans to convert the whole of the west wing for their own use. The room they would use for the nursery had a wonderful view of the distant sea, and Skye was already picturing the fittings and furniture, and the child who would nestle inside the crib.
And thanking God that her husband was not stuffy enough to worry his head over the fact that when her grandmother died, New World would belong to her.
Chapter Fifteen
Family members responded to the belated news of the marriage with gifts and letters, but Skye was even more touched to discover how many congratulatory notes and small gifts began arriving at The Informer offices. Once her revised article had appeared in her new Women’s Column, the romance of what many saw as an elopement obviously appealed to local folk, finding this news a welcome diversion from the reports from the Front.
David Kingsley had been right, thought Skye, and perhaps it was time to write about more leisurely and normal activities to cheer up her readers, as this miserable war dragged on. With America still sending vast numbers of troops to add to their own, it must surely end soon.
There were other dramatic events to take people’s attention and distract them, of course. In April, Germany’s famous “Red Baron”, Baron Richthofen was killed in the second battle of the Somme, shortly after the Royal Fying Corps and the Royal Naval Air Service merged to become the Royal Air Force.
‘Whether such a move means greater efficiency, only time will tell,’ Kingsley remarked sagely. ‘But anything to bolster up the public’s faith in government strategy is worthwhile. And it gives us something positive to report.’
But as soon as something positive happened, something seemed to happen to counter-balance it. The shock news in July that the entire Russian royal family had been murdered hardly made a ripple in some country newspapers, but Kingsley insisted again that anything to stir the public’s apathy was newsworthy, and it was reported with due solemnity.
Skye’s condition was starting to be evident by then, and the closest members of the family had all been told. To her relief, the early nausea had passed, and she blossomed visibly. And as if determined to defy the doctor’s private predictions and outlive the lot of them, Morwen rallied and took an active delight in helping the couple plan the west wing of New World, which quickly became home to them both.
* * *
‘What does your mother have to say in her letter?’ Philip asked her, when he found her smiling over Primmy’s latest epistle on his return from college one afternoon.
‘Oh, you know Mom,’ she said without thinking, and then looked at him in dismay. ‘No, of course you don’t, and that’s something I regret so much, Philip. Mom would love you.’
‘Well, maybe we’ll go and visit them once things become settled, and then we can show off their new grandson to them.’
‘Grandson? What makes you so sure it will be a boy?’ Skye said, laughing.
‘Hell,’ he said fiercely. ‘We need somebody to offset the beastly Sebastian. He grows more obnoxious every day.’
‘Just be glad you don’t see him every day.’
Since Betsy had taken to bringing him to New World quite frequently of late, Skye spoke with feeling. Betsy was of the impression that everyone adored her son, and that Morwen must see as much of him as possible. And she was far too dense, in Skye’s opinion, to notice how often Morwen retired to her room for a well-deserved rest while the two of them were here.
By the end of August the nursery was almost finished, and the old crib that had once seen service for all Morwen’s children had been repainted and made respectable again.
‘The babe should have something newer,’ Morwen told her. ‘This old thing is falling to bits.’
‘Your daddy made it, didn’t he? I remember you once told me so, and therefore it’s special. It has a history, Granny Morwen, and I want my baby to be a part of that history.’
Morwen smiled at her. ‘You’re a very satisfactory granddaughter, Skye. Just in case I forget to tell you.’
She laughed, pink-faced at the unexpected compliment.
‘Why? Just because I say all the things you want to hear?’
‘No. Because you mean them, dar.’
* * *
But despite her determination to see Skye’s baby born at the end of the year, Morwen knew that time was running out for her. She had had a good life, she told Birdie, and she wouldn
’t be sorry to see the back of it.
‘Don’t talk that way. ’Tis tempting fate.’
Morwen smiled ruefully. ‘I’d say fate has already given me a good run, Birdie, and if you believe in such things, then my departing time has already been decided. And get that look of panic off your face. I’m not about to send for the grim reaper just yet, but when he comes I’ll be ready.’
‘You upset folk by talking so,’ Birdie scowled. ‘’Tis as if you’re seeing things other folk don’t see, and you know how I hate that kind of talk.’
Morwen put a hand on her companion’s arm. ‘Dear Birdie, there’s nothing to fear in anticipating your own death. It’s the poor boys who died a violent death in the trenches before their time, whose souls will be wandering the earth.’
‘For pity’s sake, stop these spooky tales, or you’ll have me awake all night!’ the woman said, white-faced now.
Morwen looked at her in surprise. Anticipating her removal from this life to the next had become one of her interests these days, and it held no fears for her. Not when she was convinced of an afterlife where she would see her Mammie and Daddy again, and her beloved brother Sam, and the two husbands she had adored, and sweet, sweet Celia… but of course, not everyone saw things the way she did.
‘I’m sorry, Birdie,’ she said, contrite now. ‘You know I don’t mean to upset you. But you should make plans for the future too. I’ll not live for ever, and you must have a family of your own, or friends. What will you do when I’m gone?’
Birdie looked at her speechlessly. ‘You’re heartless, that’s what you are, and I don’t know why I’ve stayed here as long as I have. Yes, I’ve got a family. I’ve got a brother who’ll always take me in, but do you think I want to think of that now, when you’re all the family I’ve cared about all these years?’
She rushed out of the room, passing Nurse Jenkins on the way and nearly knocking her over. The nurse pursed her lips as she cocked her head at Morwen.
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