Dusk

by Edwards, Eve

  Helen turned cold. Had he meant what she thought? Please, no. Her sister could barely withstand this blow; finding another had a claim to Des’s heart might be the final straw. She glanced sideways. Flora was as pale as the whitewashed wall behind her, her teeth burrowing into her bottom lip. Helen could not be sure that she had even understood what had been said. She looked across to Sebastian; he had been waiting for her to meet his gaze because he shook his head slightly. Some kind of message, but what did it mean? That he had not known? That he did not believe the vicar’s hint?

  The service drew to a close. The vicar led Desmond’s parents out first and Helen wondered if they were actually going to miss the chance to speak to them, which, considering what they had just heard, might not be a bad thing. The slow drain of the congregation from the church gave her some warning. She directed Flora to remain in her seat.

  ‘I think Des’s parents are greeting mourners at the door. Shall we wait for the crowds to pass?’

  Flora gave a jerky nod. Her eyes were still fixed on the photograph, left hand pressed to her stomach.

  Sebastian waited inside the door by the square Norman font, hoping to catch Helen and Flora before they ran the gauntlet of Des’s family. He had been a bit of a mess for the last week and had tumbled directly into this service from the one for his brother two days ago. He had wept during the Nunc Dimittis even though the choir had been inept and fumbled the beautiful tune. He doubted that either Des or Neil had departed in peace. Fortunately he had been listening to the address or he might have missed the heavy hints about Des’s girlfriend in Bramley. It was the first he had heard of such a thing, but knowing how his own mother plotted with her friends, he would not be surprised to find the relationship was more in the mind of the villagers than in Des’s own thoughts on his future. Careless though he was in his attitude to life, Des would not string two girls along at the same time. At least Sebastian liked to think he would not. Sebastian could believe, however, that Des had not tied the ends off his relationships neatly: that would be one hundred per cent in character.

  The Sandfords had not moved. He could still see their heads bent close to each other in the shadows down the front, the light from the stained-glass windows striking either side of their pew but missing them. Excusing himself from Des’s sister, Maureen, he made his way through the tide of people leaving.

  ‘Helen, Flora,’ he said softly.

  Helen turned to him, rose and reached out two gloved hands, taking him by his upper arms in a gesture that might have ended in a hug if they had not been in this public place. ‘Oh, Sebastian, we’re so sorry about Neil.’

  He looked down at the polished wood of the pew seat. He still did not have the words to say when people offered him their condolences.

  Helen rubbed his sleeves then let go. ‘It must be so hard. If there is anything I can do?’

  Fold him in her embrace – kiss him to take away the pain. ‘I … no, there’s nothing anyone can do, I’m afraid, but thank you for offering.’ He cleared his throat. ‘How is Flora?’ He was concerned to see that she appeared not to be responding, gazing fixedly at the altar. She looked very much how he felt.

  Helen gave a feeble shrug. ‘She’s devastated of course.’ Turning back to her sister, she tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Flora, Sebastian’s here.’

  Flora turned her gentian-blue eyes on him. Sebastian immediately felt guilty for all the times he had belittled her depth of emotion; he could tell she was shattered, her soul like a window spider-webbed by a stone, but still just hanging on in the frame. ‘Oh, Sebastian. Helen told me about your brother. So … so sorry.’

  He leaned past Helen and kissed Flora gently on the cheek. ‘Thank you. I too, about Des. I know how he loved you.’

  It was the best thing he could have said. Something of the old Flora floated back to the surface and she summoned up a brave smile. ‘Yes, he did rather. I … I was lucky to have him while I could.’ She stood up, pulling her gloves neatly over her fingers. ‘I was letting myself get very down, I’m afraid, what with the family and that man’s words.’ So she had noticed. Sebastian had rather hoped she would remain oblivious to the conclusions everyone had been drawing from the vicar’s sermon. ‘I must go and speak to his parents. Tell them how much Des meant to me.’

  Sebastian shot a warning look at Helen, but she took no notice. Rather, she fell in with her sister’s wishes. ‘Yes, Flora, it was what you came for after all.’

  ‘Helen, is this wise?’ he whispered as she stepped out to allow her sister past. Sebastian did not think he could cope with another emotional scene – selfish perhaps, but he had hoped to keep this visit uncomplicated. In his mind, he had seen himself briefly attending the wake, making arrangements to leave the bike and then going back to London with Helen and Flora. He had business to conclude before he reported to his regiment. He had not imagined Flora actually wanting to meet Des’s parents, people to whom she had not been introduced as far as he knew.

  ‘It is necessary,’ Helen replied. ‘Please, Sebastian, there’s more going on than you know. Flora was engaged to Des.’

  What did that matter? Sebastian wanted to howl. The man was dead, ending any hope of marriage. Why stir up the family with news that they would not welcome? Either they would not believe Flora or they would be hurt that Des had not told them himself. However, he could do nothing to stop Flora making the announcement, short of tackling her to the ground: she had reached the end of the queue of mourners. Helen hurried to stand at her side, giving her support. With a sigh, Sebastian joined them.

  ‘So kind of you to come,’ murmured Mrs Packenham, working on her automatic setting. Sebastian knew how that felt; he had been like that at Neil’s memorial. ‘Do stay for some tea.’ Mr Packenham was shaking everyone’s hand and saying their name, as if that sufficed. The vicar hovered anxiously. Mrs Packenham turned to Flora. ‘So kind of you to come. Do stay for some tea.’

  Flora did not move on as the others had done. ‘Mrs Packenham?’

  The woman’s eyes rose to her face and frowned, trying to place her. ‘Sorry, I’m not sure we’ve met. Are you a friend of Des’s?’

  Flora met her gaze boldly. ‘Yes, ma’am, from London.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve come so far. Do stay for tea if you have time.’ Her maternal instincts alert, Mrs Packenham showed every sign of wanting to usher Flora along and out of sight. Her eyes shifted to the space behind her, eager to get on with the ritual.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss – for our loss.’ Flora stood her ground. ‘I’m Flora Sandford. Did Des have time to tell you about me, before he left, I mean?’

  ‘Flora Sandford,’ the poor woman repeated. ‘No, no, I don’t think so.’

  Sebastian would have thought that Flora was quite composed if he had not noticed that her hands quivered. The few people left in the church porch fell silent, sensing something momentous was happening at the door. The girl the vicar had named as Miss Garnet was staring at Flora with intense dislike. She for one had begun to suspect what was coming. ‘That is a shame,’ continued Flora. ‘You see, Mrs Packenham, Des and I became engaged in December. We were to be married when he came back, but … anyway, I think you should know that I am carrying his child.’ She tossed it down like a challenge.

  Mrs Packenham reeled, reaching out to clutch the vicar’s arm; her husband flushed an alarming shade of red, speech strangled in his throat. Sebastian could not help himself – his gaze dropped to Flora’s waist, much like everyone else in earshot. It was hard to tell with the loose folds of her coat disguising her form, but he knew she would not lie about such a thing. To risk disgrace for a matter that time would prove true or false was n
ot in her best interests and, if he understood Flora even the least bit, she had a keen sense of what was good for her. He had to admit, Flora was magnificent standing in a church of all places and declaring that she was going to be an unmarried mother. Des had a lot to answer for, leaving her in this predicament.

  ‘I apologize for springing this on you, but really there is very little time left and I wanted you to know.’

  The vicar came forward, cheeks pink with embarrassment. ‘Young lady, this is hardly the time or the place.’

  Flora ignored him and gestured to Sebastian, knowing the battle for her child’s place in Des’s family was with the ones in front of her. ‘Mr Trewby here can vouch for me – he joined us on occasion when I went out with Des. As did my sister.’ She fumbled with the catch of her handbag, more desperate than Sebastian had realized. ‘We met at the theatre where I work. I have letters too – they will tell you everything.’

  Mrs Packenham clutched her hands to her breast, refusing to touch the proffered envelopes. ‘I … I don’t know what to say. George?’

  Her husband hitched his trousers up by the belt, unfurling like a man preparing to join a bar fight. ‘This is all nonsense – fakes, forgeries. Sebastian, what have you to say about this … this woman?’

  Sebastian had a vision of a quiet room, a sofa, Helen’s hand in his, peace. ‘Flora was a very good friend to Des; I saw them about London during the winter whenever he could get leave. They were a devoted couple.’ He could give Flora that much, even if he had no grounds on which to support her claim to be engaged.

  Maureen Packenham had moved to her friend’s side. On hearing Sebastian’s statement, she gave a strained laugh. ‘I’m sure what Seb said is true, Father, but you have to remember that Des enjoyed going out with girls. Lord, he escorted most of my friends to the hunt ball or to the theatre at one time or another. He falls … fell in and out of love as regularly as I change my hat. Tori here was the only girl he showed any constancy towards; we all knew it would be her he would settle down with, in the end.’ She scowled at Flora, marking her out as a passing fancy.

  Sebastian had to admit that also sounded like Des, but before he could think of a riposte, Helen got there first. ‘That’s all very well, Miss Packenham, but I doubt your brother got any of your friends with child.’ Though her face was scarlet with humiliation, Helen forged on. ‘I apologize for my plain speaking, but I cannot remain silent while I see my sister being treated in this shabby manner. Your son, God rest his soul, loved her and intended to marry her. Tragically,’ her voice hitched up a notch, ‘that is no longer possible, but he left behind part of himself, a child. You seem to be overlooking that fact.’

  The remaining parishioners were getting quite a show. The vicar had heard enough to know that any other details Flora chose to share were not going to be of the morally edifying sort. ‘Please, my dear people, let us take this discussion from the church to a more private place. We came together to remember Desmond; we do his memory no honour by quarrelling.’

  Mr Packenham pointed a shaking finger at Flora. ‘She … that Jezebel is not stepping foot over the threshold of my house. I will give her five minutes in the graveyard, no more. Fiona, Maureen, you go on home. I’ll deal with this.’

  Sebastian winced at Mr Packenham’s melodramatic declaration; they all seemed to be behaving like actors in a bad play. Couldn’t they just be allowed to grieve with dignity?

  Mrs Packenham had had time to gather her thoughts. ‘George, a grandchild, a baby.’ She at least had reached the essential truth: this was nature giving back when war had so cruelly taken a child away. ‘Should we not at least talk this through? We could invite the young woman home after the wake – discuss what’s to be done.’

  Her husband folded his arms. ‘There’s nothing to be done. We have no proof that it’s Desmond’s baby. A girl like her – could be anybody’s and she is trying to palm it off on us!’

  Flora gasped. ‘How dare you!’ Spinning on her heel, she began to walk away. Helen started after her, but Mr Packenham was too fast. He caught Flora’s elbow and dragged her to a halt.

  ‘You came here, miss; you were the one to bring this to our doorstep, disgracing my son’s memory in front of his family and neighbours! You will face the consequences!’

  ‘I am already facing the consequences!’ Flora spat back. ‘In August I’ll have living, breathing consequences, so don’t you speak to me like that! I loved your son, and it is only the feelings I had for him stopping me now telling you exactly what I think of you, you pompous old …!’ She cut herself off and wrenched her arm free.

  Mr Packenham dug in his breast pocket and drew out his wallet. ‘How much do you want?’

  ‘What!’ Flora backed away, aghast, placing a lopsided gravestone between them. ‘I don’t want anything from you. I thought you might want this child as much as I do – might love it for being part of Des, the only part we have left. I don’t want your money.’ She stuck her left hand out, brandishing the ring in his face. ‘Des gave me this – that was all I wanted from him, all I’d accept from his family.’

  Mr Packenham’s rage had grown to such an extent, Sebastian feared he no longer knew what he was saying or cared for the damage he was doing. ‘I know your sort – all fine words, but at the bottom you were trying to catch a wealthy boy who’d lift you out of the gutter. Who are your people? Who are you?’ he sneered. ‘A gold-digger. Not a decent girl, I’m sure of that. My boy sowed his wild oats, I know that; he had a man’s taste for a pretty bit of fluff now and again. I’m not ashamed of him for doing so. Boys will be boys. But I promise you, he would have come to his senses before you could drag him to the altar.’

  Helen slid between the two combatants, turning her back scornfully to Mr Packenham. ‘Let’s go, Flora. You don’t have to listen to this. You did your duty to Des.’

  Deflated by her sister’s gentle touch on her arm, Flora rested her head on Helen’s shoulder. ‘Why’s he saying these things to me, Sandy?’ she sobbed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Forget him. He’s upset. We have to leave.’

  Shaken, perhaps sensing he was allowing the tide of sympathy to turn Flora’s way through his very public response, Mr Packenham faced his family who had not left when he had ordered. ‘Back to the house!’ he barked like an army officer on the parade ground. ‘That’s enough of this nonsense!’

  The two groups began to move apart, Helen and her sister towards the station, the Packenhams to their large house on the far side of the churchyard. Sebastian wished he knew what to do, but both sides had argued themselves into entrenched positions and would now only lob abuse at each other if they continued. He ran to Mr Packenham. ‘I’ll be along later, sir,’ he said. ‘I have to see the Miss Sandfords to their train.’

  ‘I hold you partly to blame for this.’ Des’s father wiped his brow with a shaking hand. ‘I take it they are here because you told them about the service?’

  Sebastian had no intention of denying a truth. ‘I thought she had a right to be here. Blame me if it makes you feel better, but, sir, I do believe it is Des’s child.’ Planting that thought and hoping it would mature, he reversed direction and caught up with Helen and Flora. Helen was practically having to hold her sister up; the blast of anger that had given steel to Flora’s spine had passed, leaving her prey to her feelings of hopelessness and grief.

  ‘It will be all right – I’ll make it all right,’ Helen was intoning. ‘We’ll move in together – do this together.’

  Sebastian slipped his arm round Flora, taking over the job of offering support. ‘Please don’t take what he said to heart. He’s driven mad with grief; Des was his only son. Mrs Packen
ham doesn’t feel the same. Did you hear her? Let her work on him.’

  Flora stumbled. Only Sebastian’s grip kept her from falling.

  ‘How long till your train?’ he asked Helen.

  ‘An hour. We’ve just missed one.’ Helen looked about her, at a loss to know what to do.

  ‘Let’s take her to the tea shop by the station. If I remember rightly, it has lots of little rooms. Perhaps we can find one to give us a bit of privacy.’ Word about the confrontation at the church must be spreading fast; he did not want Flora to be exposed to any more abuse. A village like this would not treat an unmarried mother well once they learnt she had shamed their favourite son at his memorial. It had been a foolish way of breaking the news even if Flora’s judgement had been clouded by desperation and grief. ‘Has she eaten?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘I’ve tried but she’s been so listless.’

  ‘Flora, you’ve got to eat.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘For the baby, for Des. I know that you just want to give up – I feel that way about my brother – but please, he’d want you to keep strong.’

  ‘I’m not giving up,’ Flora said quietly. ‘I just want this over.’

  The tea room was in a slant-floored Tudor cottage and smelt of fresh-baked scones, heartening after the chilly damp of the churchyard. The waitress gave them a measuring look as they entered, but found them a quiet spot in a room upstairs, walls covered with polished brass and copper warming pans like some domestic armoury. She took their order for plain scones and jam before disappearing down to her kitchen. Flora rested on the window seat, half-turned so she did not have to look at either of them.

  ‘They treated me like a prostitute,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘They were taken by surprise. It’s a terrible day for them.’ Sebastian wondered what he could say to soften the blow. ‘I’m trying to imagine how I might have reacted had I been in their shoes. I probably would have made a muck of it too.’