Nobody’s Girl

by Tania Crosse

  ‘We… I hinted at the idea of more children,’ he muttered.

  ‘Good.’ Nana May’s tone was ever practical. ‘It’s the way forward.’

  Wig released a ponderous sigh. ‘I hope so. But… I’ve been thinking. It could be so painful for her, seeing another child in the same place. I was wondering… What if we sell up? We’d get a good price for this house. We could buy a small estate in the country for the same money. Think of it, Nana. Fresh air. A fresh start.’

  Nana May had to hide the smile that wanted to break out on her face. It was exactly what she’d been thinking. Clarrie only seemed to relax when they went for a walk in one of London’s parks, as if she took comfort from the nature around her. In the country… well, it could heal her. But Nana May had to voice her main concern.

  ‘But what about the factory? I know it’s doing well, but they need you every day, Wigmore. Your brother’s not interested, you know that.’

  ‘Don’t I just. I can’t see him coming back from Cornwall. But if he wants to be an impoverished artist scraping by on handouts from me, that’s his choice. No. What I’m thinking of is somewhere in Kent. It’s lovely down there, and what? Twenty-five, thirty miles from London? I could be driven in every day. Or maybe take rooms at a club during the week. I could easily afford it, and if it’d make Clarrie happy…’

  ‘Then I suggest you discuss it with her, my boy,’ Nana May beamed, rising to her feet. ‘It could be just what the doctor ordered. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s a wonderful idea.’

  ‘Thanks, Nana. You know I always value your opinion.’

  ‘Now, don’t you stay up too late,’ she told him. ‘You have work in the morning.’

  Wig smiled to himself as she shut the door behind her. He was thirty-seven years old, and she still treated him like a little boy sometimes. And he was pleased she did. He carried a lot of weight on his shoulders, and her support was always a comforting balm.

  Now, it might be better if he contacted some estate agents to have some details to put in front of Clarrie. If there was a photograph of somewhere that really appealed to her, it might help. Yes, he was convinced it was the very best thing he could do to help her.

  Three

  Kent

  ‘This must be it,’ Wigmore announced, peering through the windscreen and steering the motorcar in through open gates. ‘Robin Hill House.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Despite herself, Clarissa sat up straight in the passenger seat beside him. She’d gone along with Wig’s suggestion of going to see a couple of properties that were on the market. Not because she thought it was a particularly good idea, since she didn’t really care about anything very much anymore except for having another child. But because it would please Wig who’d been her rock. And because Nana May had persuaded her that she should.

  The nanny had found her friend and mistress weeping inconsolably yet again up in the nursery. As Wig was at the factory, she felt she couldn’t leave poor Clarrie to suffer alone. Besides, the poor girl was making herself ill, and something had to be done about it.

  ‘Oh, come here, sweetheart.’

  Nana May had encompassed Clarrie’s shuddering form in her robust arms, letting her sob against her shoulder. She waited patiently, for tears will always dry in the end. And when Clarrie at last grew quieter, Nana May had produced a pristinely laundered handkerchief.

  Clarrie sniffed, wiping first her eyes and then her nose, which was red at its tip, making her look like a little, lost child. ‘Oh, Nana, what am I to do without her?’ she had hiccupped between snatched breaths.

  Nana May shook her head compassionately. ‘Only you can decide that, my dear,’ she had said quietly but firmly. ‘It isn’t something you can ever get over. But you can let it destroy you, or you can learn to live again in spite of it. Now, for what it’s worth, I think Wig’s idea is a good one. It can’t hurt to go and look at these places, can it? And I think it’d be good for Wig to see you’re beginning to think about the future. He’s worried sick about you, and don’t forget he has the factory on his plate as well as dealing with his own grief.’

  ‘Oh.’ Clarrie’s face appeared pained in a different way, and she had looked at Nana May in dismay. ‘Oh, you don’t think I’m being selfish, do you?’

  ‘No, my dear, of course not—’

  ‘Oh, poor Wig. It’s just that I’ve felt so lost… Nana May, you’re so wise. Yes. It’ll do no harm to go and have a look. But, you will come, too?’

  The creases on Nana May’s face had moved into a smile. ‘If Wig agrees, yes. Of course I will. A day out in the country could do us all some good.’

  And so, this bright and crisp morning early in December, the three of them had set out together, Wig deciding to drive himself rather than let their chauffeur do the honours. At first, the towering buildings of London and the bustling streets seemed to crowd in on Clarrie. She’d scarcely set foot outside the door since Rosebud had died, and now the places where she used to feel so at home seemed strange and hostile. She was glad that the route Wig had chosen bypassed Harrods where she’d spent such happy times buying clothes and toys. The memories were all too painful. But once they’d left the crowded streets of London behind, and they were driving through small towns and villages set amid picturesque countryside and open fields, she began to feel better.

  Before too long, they reached the gently rolling hills of Kent. The sun streamed low in a pale, cloudless sky, glittering on the frost-encrusted trees. With the hedges bare, Clarrie could see the fields beyond far more clearly than she would have done in the summer. Much of that particular part of the county appeared to be pastureland, mainly empty at that time of year. Clarrie knew nothing of farming, but guessed most animals would be kept snuggly in barns when it was so cold, although she did spy some livestock in the fields. She suddenly found herself taking a real interest, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a change of scenery so much.

  ‘There’s a lot of wild woodland, isn’t there?’ Nana May observed from the back of the car. ‘I wonder if it’s managed or left to its own devices.’

  ‘I don’t rightly know,’ Wig admitted. ‘Don’t we turn off here soon?’ he asked Clarrie, who had the road atlas and was supposed to be navigating.

  Clarrie glanced down at the map. Oh, no. She’d missed the turning. She’d been so busy thinking about… But she wasn’t going to admit it.

  ‘Yes, next left,’ she instructed, giving Wig a fond smile. She could trace on the map another way to the first property without turning the car round and admitting her mistake. She must pay more attention or they could get lost in these country lanes. It made her take in better the lovely undulating landscape, and the buildings they passed every now and then which were indeed very attractive. Small cottages or bigger houses, mainly of red brick although occasionally of stone, hid behind bare vegetation. Roofs, some groaning with age, were mostly of old, clay tiles. A high number of façades were either tile-hung or weatherboarded. Some buildings were so old that they were timber-framed, rickety and all over the place as nature had intended the trunks to grow. They also passed farm buildings with strange, conical roofs that Clarrie recognised as oast houses for drying hops. The whole area was charming, and Clarrie was becoming more and more fascinated.

  She didn’t, however, like the first place they viewed one iota. Grand it might be, but the rooms were so big and cold and echoing that Clarrie couldn’t imagine living there at all. It felt overwhelming, like a vast prison. Suddenly all the pleasure she’d taken from the day out had disintegrated into dust. Her heart ached to be home, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. She shouldn’t have come. She just wanted to get back to the nursery. Sink back into her grief. Feel near to her little one again.

  ‘Please, Wig,’ she managed to whisper, not wanting to sound like a spoilt child. ‘I don’t like it. Let’s go home.’

  She tugged on his sleeve, feeling guilty as she saw the disappointment in his kind, smiling brow
n eyes. Oh, she loved him so much…

  ‘No, nor do I.’ He summoned up a grin for her sake, she realised. ‘But we’ve come so far, we might as well take a peek at the other one now we’re here. And then we can have some lunch in Tunbridge Wells. It’s the nearest big town. It’s very grand in parts, and there’s an area called The Pantiles that’s very old and pretty. Tell you what,’ he said, his expression brightening up. ‘If you like the look of the town, we could find out what’s for sale there if you think you’d prefer it to the countryside. It’d still be very different from living in London.’

  Clarrie’s heart had sunk. But she mustn’t be churlish after all the effort dear Wig had put in. She just wanted to cry, but she mustn’t, for his sake, and she managed a wan smile.

  ‘All right. Let’s just look at the other one,’ she agreed. ‘It’s only a few miles away, so it won’t take long.’

  She consulted the road atlas again and directed Wig through the country lanes once more. The thought of going home after lunch, snuggling back into familiarity, made her relax. It was only for a short while, and in a few hours, they’d be heading back home to London.

  But now, as Wig steered the car down a long driveway between open grassland, she found her attention being drawn to her surroundings.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. Despite herself, she couldn’t help thinking that this was more like it. More as she’d always imagined a country estate. With the house in the middle. Perhaps it would be nice to have a little look around after all.

  ‘I like the iron railings either side of the drive,’ Nana May commented. ‘I wonder if that means the fields are used for grazing.’

  ‘Look, you can see the house now,’ Wig observed. ‘The agent said it was originally an old farmhouse, but a wing was added on each end in Victorian times.’

  ‘Ah, oh, yes!’ Clarrie gasped as the building came into view. ‘It’s very attractive. Much more homely-looking than the other one. I wonder if it will be inside, though.’

  ‘It’ll be cold, I can tell you that,’ Wig chuckled as he stopped the car. ‘It’s been empty since the summer and nobody lights the fires. Oh, this must be the agent arriving now,’ he said as another vehicle motored up the drive.

  Clarissa got out of the car, eyes searching the walls and windows of the house as they waited for the agent. She was intrigued, if nothing else. The place certainly oozed character from the outside, and though she refused to admit it to herself, she was curious to see inside.

  She wasn’t disappointed. The older, central part of the building was as quaint as could be imagined. It even boasted its original flooring. The two later wings were grander, but not too much so. Clarrie could imagine fires blazing in the grates in winter, with fresh flowers from the gardens gracing tables and sideboards in the summer.

  ‘Oh, look how the French doors open onto the terrace!’ she exclaimed in the sunlight-flooded drawing room.

  ‘The dining room does the same, madam, in the other wing,’ the agent explained helpfully.

  ‘How lovely. And look at that view. And… is the lake part of the grounds?’

  ‘Oh, yes, madam. And the woods beyond. And all the fields you can see from here. About forty acres in all. And there’s a pair of small staff cottages in the grounds as well.’

  ‘Can we go and see those, too?’

  ‘Of course, madam. I have the keys. If you’d all like to come this way?’

  What a strange thing it was, looking around someone else’s home. But Clarrie was glad it was empty. It meant she could imagine where she’d place their own furniture, what sort of curtains she’d choose for the different windows. The place seemed to cry out to be inhabited. It was almost as if she was meant to be living there.

  No! She pulled herself up short. This was just a day out. Nothing more. None of it meant anything. And yet… there was a little kernel inside her, desperate to unfold. But she… she mustn’t let it. She wouldn’t let it. Her home was back in London, back where Rosebud lay at peace.

  The little cottages were as charming as the big house, although in a very different way, and there was a kitchen garden and some small farm buildings beyond. Clarrie allowed herself to enjoy inspecting it all, and when she exchanged glances with Wig and Nana May, she could see they were both impressed, too.

  ‘There’s a more formal walled garden on the far side of the house, if you’ll allow me to lead the way? It’s a little neglected, but could be a lovely retreat for the ladies, with a little work.’

  ‘We’d need a gardener, then,’ Clarrie let her thought slip out as they all followed the agent back across the broad raised terrace with its incredible views. Though bitingly cold, the air was utterly still and Clarrie didn’t feel the least bit chilly inside her warm coat. Besides, she was so enchanted by this beautiful place that she was hardly aware of the frosty temperature.

  ‘And someone to manage the actual estate,’ Wig put in. ‘None of us knows anything about that sort of thing. And we’d probably need to engage domestic staff. We don’t know which of our servants would be prepared to move with us.’

  Clarrie threw him a challenging frown. ‘You make it sound as if we’re going to buy the place,’ she said curtly, and noticed the disappointment on the agent’s face.

  ‘Well, you do seem to like it,’ Wig observed, his eyes narrowed keenly.

  ‘That doesn’t mean to say I want to live here.’ Although perhaps part of her did – while the other part was drawing her back to London and Rosebud.

  ‘It’s a huge decision, madam,’ the agent put in. ‘I appreciate that. Why don’t you have another look inside? Wander about on your own? If you have any questions, I’ll be in the drawing room.’

  ‘Yes, why not? Thank you,’ Wig replied. ‘Come along, Clarrie. Nana.’

  Clarrie was happy enough to go back inside and take one last look. She felt the house was welcoming, and somehow, yes, she did want to commit it to memory. She had enjoyed viewing it. The first thing, she realised with a jolt, she’d enjoyed since her darling Rosebud had passed away.

  ‘You can’t deny it’s an amazing view,’ Nana May declared, gazing out through the windows of the master bedroom. ‘Not just the grounds, but you can see way beyond, we’re so high up here.’

  ‘Yes, it is wonderful.’ Clarrie came up beside her. The vista was indeed superb even in winter. Just imagine it in summer, or glowing with autumn colour. She’d… she’d never tire of it. And she felt as if her heart was opening like an unfurling blossom despite her niggling guilt. Would it feel like a betrayal if she were to leave Rosebud behind?

  ‘Well, I’d like to see which room would be mine,’ Nana May announced in her usual practical tone. Yet there was something else in her voice as well. ‘Just so that I could imagine,’ she threw in half under her breath.

  They passed back into the long landing across the back of the original farmhouse. Three doors led off it, each opening into a reasonably sized bedroom.

  ‘You’d keep the rooms in the other wing for guests, wouldn’t you?’ Nana May enquired. ‘For when your parents or Peregrine and Sofia came to visit? So, what would these rooms be?’

  ‘Well, the first one would be…’ Clarrie broke off as something hit her hard in the chest. For a moment, she felt suffocated, and had to struggle to break out. ‘The nursery,’ she concluded, fighting the pain. ‘After what…’ She couldn’t bring herself to finish that thought. ‘I wouldn’t want it up in the attic in the servants’ quarters again. And then the next room would be yours, of course, Nana.’

  She stopped, staring at Nana May, half horrified, half amazed that her mind had even got that far. But the older woman’s face softened with compassion as she nodded.

  ‘Shall we take a look?’

  Clarrie drew in a trembling breath as Nana May opened the door. It was a pleasant room, overlooking the front of the house and down the driveway. If Clarrie closed her eyes, she could see… two children, standing by the window, watching eagerly for Wig to drive home… And
she felt a warmth seep into the hollow emptiness of her heart.

  ‘Come on, Nana. I’ve seen enough,’ she said brusquely. But as they descended the grand staircase housed in one of the Victorian wings, she imagined something else. A massive Christmas tree standing tall in the spacious stairwell. With presents beneath. And happy children, their faces alight with expectation. And one particular child, a little girl with red hair and a cheeky grin… Clarrie’s heart missed a beat.

  Nana May must have read her thoughts. ‘Can’t you just imagine this house at Christmas?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Yes, I can.’ Clarrie managed to give a wistful smile. ‘It’d be beautiful all year round, but especially at Christmas.’

  Just then, Wig emerged from the kitchen and servants’ hall in the opposite wing, catching their words as he came towards them. ‘Next thing is you’ll be asking if we can be in by Christmas,’ he said with a light laugh. ‘Well, the answer would be no. You mightn’t have noticed, but there’s no electricity, and I don’t know about you, but I think it needs central heating. I’ve just been looking to see where we could site a boiler, and then we’d need an outbuilding to house a generator. It’d take several months to do all the work. So, what do you think, Clarrie, my love?’ he asked, gazing about him for several seconds before bringing his eyes to rest on her face again.

  Clarrie almost felt faint as she put her hands over her mouth. What did she think? The answer was that she didn’t know. Her heart was near to jumping out of her chest, and she twisted her head on her neck.

  ‘I do like it, Wig,’ she croaked, and she was suddenly aware of tears collecting in her eyes. ‘In fact, I love it. But… I can’t leave… she should be with us…’

  ‘Oh, my darling.’ Wig’s arms came around her and she had to stifle a sob. ‘She will be with us. Always. In our hearts. Wherever we are. And London will never be far away. You could go, take her flowers, whenever you wanted. And… there will be others. And imagine bringing children up here. The grounds, the woods…’