by Tania Crosse
They waited, sometimes singing along, sometimes chatting to strangers and finding a strong bond that was almost palpable. Were they to be there all night? But just as they were beginning to think they might, they realised there hadn’t been a resounding crash for some time, and then someone yelled along the platform that the all-clear had been sounded.
People started moving stiffly from the floor and packing up their belongings.
‘Well, at least that wasn’t too long,’ the woman with the flask informed Meg. ‘Sometimes they go on all night. Been nice to meet you. Good luck. Hopefully you’ll get home tonight.’
‘Thank you. And good luck yourself.’
‘Yes, well, if my home’s gone, I’ll find somewhere to rest my old bones, I’m sure.’
It was all pretty chaotic as everyone spilled up the stairs and out into the freezing night air. Meg and her companions reached the pavement just as the final tones of the all-clear faded away. It was like walking into a wall of dust and choking smoke. A burning ruin was casting enough light for them to see their way, its windows and doors like empty eyes, while great jagged piles of what had been other buildings before were outlined grotesquely in the darkness. The fire brigade were already there, hoses run out like snakes across the road.
‘Come on. Let’s get to the station as quickly as we can and see if there’s a train still running. It’s only nine o’clock so hopefully there will be.’
Like Meg, the others couldn’t get away from the horror quickly enough, even the twins whose boyish fascination had seen sufficient. All was in uproar, but when they finally found their way, the station was in even greater chaos. But the boys were masters at pushing themselves forward, and Clarrie’s natural bearing also seemed to impress, and at long last they found themselves crammed into a railway carriage. When they chugged away from the platform, Meg had never felt so relieved in her life. At that moment, she was aware with tearing shame that she cared only that they had made it, and was putting the sufferings of the Londoners firmly to the back of her mind. But never again would she take her simple life for granted now that she’d seen what others had to endure.
The journey took forever. Disrupted by the raid, trains were in the wrong places. Engines had to creep along to make sure they didn’t miss any signals; they kept having to wait for points to be changed and lines cleared. Sometimes the hold-ups lasted twenty minutes. Doris fell asleep, her head resting on Cyril’s shoulder, while the rest of them were too tired and traumatised to speak.
Eventually at one o’clock in the morning, the train pulled into Tunbridge Wells Station. Meg felt unsteady as they stood on the platform in the dark, watching the huge bulk of the railway engine rumbling off into the darkness. Amazingly, Clarrie seemed to come to her senses again.
‘Telephone box,’ she announced. ‘I just hope someone hears it. I don’t like waking Gabriel, but he’ll have to bring the Daimler to meet us. Thank God we have it here. And we have some petrol. And as soon as we get in, I’ll try ringing Wig, as well. I pray to God he’s all right.’
They trooped outside and as they waited in the darkness while Clarrie made the call, Meg came over so weary, every joint seemed to ache. She couldn’t wait to get back to her own bed, although she doubted she would sleep. Her head was reeling with what had happened, her ears ringing with the silence after the terrifying din of the air raid, and she yearned for the peace of the countryside to wash her soul clean. That night would remain imprinted on her memory forever.
Nineteen
‘Right, Green.’
Assistant Prison Governor Howard lifted his eyes from the papers on his desk and looked up darkly at the prisoner standing in front of him. He had all types come through his corrective custody: first-time offenders who’d made a stupid mistake they never would again, persistent petty criminals who never seemed to learn, and some guilty of more serious crimes. But kidnapping and terrifying a young woman who he understood was a little on the simple side was outrageous.
He’d never liked Nathaniel Green much. Some of the inmates were repentant, some of the frequent ‘guests’ were affable, almost like old friends they returned so often, and a few were downright belligerent. But Green, well, he was devious. Kept himself to himself, which was probably just as well for his own protection. There was indeed honour among thieves, and kidnapping a vulnerable young girl would be frowned upon by many echelons of criminal society. And Green was an arrogant blackguard. He’d been caught red-handed so he couldn’t deny his guilt. But he claimed he only did it to get what he saw as compensation for his loss of earnings from being wrongfully imprisoned the first time round. He still protested that the horse had caused the fatal accident that had taken the lives of Mr and Mrs Chandler, and not his driving, despite his conviction. But that was no excuse for his second despicable criminal act as far as Howard was concerned. No. There was something really nasty about Green that the assistant governor disliked intensely, and he was pleased he was about to see the back of him.
‘You’ll be glad to know the board have decided to release you early,’ he announced, resting his chin on his steepled fingers and shrewdly observing the prisoner’s reaction.
Green slowly raised a sarcastic eyebrow and his lips twisted into a sly, lopsided sneer. ‘Someone’s seen sense at last, have they?’ he drawled, but then anger flashed across his eyes. ‘About time, too. I can get back to my rightful life again and make up for all the time I shouldn’t have been banged up in here. So when do I leave?’ he demanded.
Bloody hell, he couldn’t wait to get out of this place. He’d not heard a word from Esme. He’d been allowed to write to her at the women’s prison where she was serving her sentence for her part in the kidnapping, but she’d never replied. And then the previous year, he’d been told she’d been released early, and yet still he’d not heard from her. Could she still be of any use to him? She must have a job by now, a little money, a home of some sort, even if it was just a rented room somewhere. If he could track her down, he could at least stay with her until he got himself sorted. And then he could see if he could find another way to make Meg Chandler pay for ruining his life. Only this time, he’d make sure he didn’t get caught.
‘Not so fast,’ Howard warned with metered deliberation. ‘You’re not being released into civilised society just yet. I have your call-up papers here in front of me. You will be escorted directly from here to the army. So from then on, they’ll be in charge of you. You’ll be under close scrutiny. And you’ll find the military police are pretty unforgiving as well as efficient, so I’d forget any ideas about deserting if I were you.’
It was with grim satisfaction that Howard watched the smirk slip from Green’s face. The devil’s jaw dangled open for a second or two before he snapped it shut again, and his eyes bulged in fury.
He’d been duped once again, hadn’t he? Stitched up. And there was only one person to blame. The person who began it all in the first place.
Meg Chandler.
He might have to bide his time, but Green swore to himself in that instant that, come what may, one day he’d get even with her if it was the last thing he ever did!
*
‘Who am I speaking to? It’s not Mrs Stratfield-Whyte, is it? I’d have recognised her voice. It’s Gerald Soames here. General manager at the factory.’
Alarm bells started ringing sickeningly in Meg’s head. Why was Mr Soames telephoning, and not Mr Wig himself? ‘Er, oh,’ she stammered. ‘It’s Meg Hillier. Chandler as was.’
‘Ah, good. Wigmore said either you or Miss Whitehead would probably answer the phone. He hoped you would. He wanted me to speak to one of you first rather than his wife.’
‘So why can’t he speak himself?’ Meg faltered. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Don’t panic, Mrs Hillier. Wigmore’s all right. He is in hospital, but his injuries aren’t too serious. He’ll be allowed home to convalesce in a few days’ time.’
Don’t panic? Meg was jumping up and down with anxi
ety. She’d long ago come to realise how much Mr W meant to her. ‘What on earth’s happened?’ she almost screeched down the line.
‘The factory was hit last night, I’m afraid. During the late shift. The sirens had only just gone and there wasn’t time to evacuate. Not the entire factory was affected, though. Just the one work shed.’ Mr Soames paused, and his voice dropped in a deep sigh. ‘I’m sorry to report that almost everyone in that part of the factory was killed. We pulled a few out alive, but two of them died on their way to hospital.’
Meg felt herself go cold. First Doris’s mum, and now this. The war really was closing in. She knew she was in shock. It seemed unreal. Too much to take in. ‘And Mr Wigmore?’ she forced herself to ask.
‘He was helping with the rescue. But a wall collapsed and he got trapped. Got a few cracked ribs, but nothing serious. They want to keep him in for a few days just to be certain there aren’t any internal injuries, but it doesn’t seem likely.’
‘Oh, thank God for that.’ Meg felt a tiny piece of her relax. That was some good news, at least. But what about all the employees who’d lost their lives? ‘So what’ll happen next?’ she made herself ask.
‘Well, first of all, Wigmore doesn’t want his wife coming up to visit him, not with the air raids continuing. And especially after her last experience of visiting London, he says. He’ll be coming home soon enough. I’ll see him again tomorrow and give you an update. And as soon as he’s released, I’ll drive him down to you myself.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘The least I can do.’
‘But what about all those poor people? And the factory?’
‘The rest of the workers will carry on as normal. They have to. As for the… deceased, we’re carrying out all the formalities with the authorities. Fortunately we know exactly who was on shift.’
Meg had to bite her lip. She couldn’t see anything fortunate about it. But she supposed it was just a bad choice of words for which Mr Soames must be forgiven. He must, after all, be in shock himself. It was probably why he was being so calm and efficient about it all. And if he was in charge of everything, he’d need to keep a cool head.
Meg couldn’t be so collected herself. ‘B-but what about their families?’ she stuttered. ‘Mr Wigmore had taken on a lot of women, hadn’t he? What about their children, those that weren’t evacuated?’
‘The WVS are taking care of most of that. And I’m sure Wigmore will see they’re all right once he’s recovered himself.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he will.’
‘Well, I’ve got a lot to take care of this end. So, can I leave it to you to tell Mrs Stratfield-Whyte? And as I say, I’ll ring again tomorrow.’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Soames. And good luck.’
‘Thanks. You, too.’
There was a click at the other end as he rang off and the line went silent. Meg drew in an enormous breath. Good luck. She was going to need it. She was shaking herself, but how on earth was she going to break it to Clarrie? Since being caught in the air raid, the poor woman appeared to have totally lost her nerve. Meg couldn’t imagine how this latest piece of news was going to affect her, even if Mr W was only slightly hurt. Meg would have to be ready to prop her up, just as Clarrie had done for her all those years previously. Girding up her courage, Meg went to find her.
*
Clarrie stared at her unblinking, her heart turning painful somersaults. But the words kept flashing through her brain, Wig’s all right. It was the only thing that mattered. May God forgive her, but her mind simply couldn’t absorb the horror of what everyone else had suffered. That would come later. For now, her fragile emotions were saturated with the fact that Wig had survived.
She felt… yes, ashamed of her weakness. It had always been Wig who’d given her strength. He’d been her rock when they’d lost their darling little Rosebud. It was only because of him that she’d eventually found some peace, and through him she had been able to be strong for Meg when they’d been involved in the terrible tragedy that had left the poor child alone in the world. And the thought that she’d come within a hair’s breadth of losing him, the very substance of her life, robbed her of the ability to feel anything for anyone else.
And she rejoiced in Wig’s forbidding her to brave the bombings to visit him in hospital. She felt guilty about that as well, but she simply couldn’t risk enduring another air raid. How the people of London stood it and yet remained cheerful, she didn’t know. She wanted to fly to Wig’s side, but she was too frightened. He’d always protected her. Shielded her. And she’d always appreciated it. Come to expect it, perhaps. She yearned to have the strength to defy him for once, but when she searched inside herself, it simply wasn’t there.
Instead, she busied herself making everything ready for his return. They’d only be apart for a few days, after all.
She was like an excited child on the day Mr Soames brought him home. The manager didn’t even come in for a cup of tea, and Clarrie was secretly pleased. She wanted Wig all to herself.
It wasn’t until the third day that Meg found herself alone with Wig in the study. She knew he was drawing up plans to set up the destroyed part of the factory again in a Nissan hut, and restart production as soon as possible. Mr Soames had reported that some of the machinery had been salvageable, so that not all of it needed to be replaced.
Meg knocked firmly on the door.
‘Come in,’ she heard Wig answer, and turned the doorknob while balancing a small tray in her other hand.
Wig was sitting stiffly in the upright chair at the desk, but managed to turn his head to look over his shoulder without twisting his torso.
‘Oh, good, it’s you, Meg,’ he sighed wistfully. ‘I knew it wasn’t Clarrie. She wouldn’t have knocked. Poor soul’s been fussing over me like a mother hen.’
‘That’s only to be expected, Mr W.’ Meg gave a sympathetic smile.
‘I know. But I’d rather just get on with it. And please, with everyone else on Christian name terms nowadays, I’d like to be just plain Wig, too. Ah, a cup of tea,’ he said, spying the tray. ‘You must’ve read my mind.’
‘Well, I thought you’d like one in peace before the children get home from school.’
‘Hmm, yes.’ Wig gave a half wry, half amused grimace. ‘It’s not the ones who are at school that disturb me. It’s Penny’s youngest two. But at least it’s quiet now while she’s taken them with her to collect everyone from school.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Meg chuckled. ‘But we wouldn’t be without our dear Penny now. She keeps all our spirits up, and she took over all of Sally’s work without batting an eyelid when Sally left.’
‘Yes, she’s the salt of the earth is our Penny,’ Wig agreed. He paused a moment before going on thoughtfully, ‘In fact, overall, it’s all worked out rather well, hasn’t it? Clarrie’s been in her element having the house full of children. You see, she always wanted… but it never happened.’ Meg noticed him colour, as if he’d said too much, but then he went on, ‘I just wonder, though, how she’ll be when they all go home.’
‘Well, it doesn’t look as if any of them’ll be leaving before the war’s over, and it’s unlikely to end for ages,’ Meg said regretfully. ‘In fact, it feels as if it’s hardly begun. So let’s wait and see. And the twins both want to stay here indefinitely, anyway.’
‘Tell me, they’ll leave school in the summer, won’t they?’
‘Yes. But we can’t send them back to London, especially now their parents have disappeared off the face of the earth. And I know Leslie’s still keen to train properly under Gabriel as a gardener, and Cyril’s keen to work with livestock. He’s a natural with the animals.’
‘I just hope the war’s over before they’re old enough to be called up.’
Meg snatched in her breath. ‘Surely… You don’t think it’ll go on that long, do you?’
Wig’s eyebrows arched. ‘What’ve we achieved yet, eh? We’ve just about managed to keep Hitler off our ow
n shores – so far – and had a few successes in North Africa. And we might’ve started raiding Berlin and other German cities, but Hitler’s bombing the hell out of us. He’s so powerful, he’s overrun most of Europe. Nobody was prepared for him. Churchill was one of the few who saw it coming, and now Britain will never be safe until Hitler’s completely crushed and preferably rotting in his grave. But we will win.’ Wig’s expression hardened. ‘Eventually. We have to. And I have no doubt that Churchill will persuade America to join us in the end, but even so, in my opinion, victory could take years.’
Meg shivered. Imagine all the children in their charge growing into adults and still being at war. The twins even reaching the age when they had to go and fight. And… and Ralph. Oh, dear God…
Her head spun in terror so that she was barely aware of Wig speaking again.
‘I’m glad I’ve got you alone for a minute, Meg,’ he was saying. ‘Take a seat. I’ve got something to tell you. Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with Ralph.’
Shakily, Meg reached for a chair. It must be something of some importance, and she mentally braced herself.
‘It’s about Esme,’ Wig began softly. ‘She was among those killed. Each block has its own lavatories, you see. And she had the bad luck to be cleaning those particular ones when the bombs fell. I just thought you should know.’
‘Oh.’ Meg drew in a deep, pensive breath as she tried to absorb the information. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how she felt, but then an overwhelming sadness filled her heart. Esme might have been her enemy, but having experienced an air raid herself, it just seemed so cruel that anyone should spend their last moments shot through with such fear. ‘Poor Esme,’ she said quietly. ‘She never really had a happy life, did she?’
‘She had a chip on her shoulder that she allowed to eat into her. She could’ve been happy and well cared for here in this house for as long as she wanted. But she felt that life owed her something. Something big and special. But it never happened. Perhaps that’s why she took up with Green. She thought he’d give her that something life never had. Anyway, I thought you should know.’