A Place to Call Home

by Tania Crosse

  She didn’t notice Clarrie throw a frown in her direction as everybody dispersed. It was a school day for the younger children, so the twins had shot off back to helping Gabriel outside, and Joyce, who had gone up to the senior classes, had taken it upon herself to go and clean some of the bedrooms. Ada had taken Johnny out to the kitchen while Penny went upstairs to change Bella’s nappy, leaving Clarrie, Nana May, Jane and Louise.

  ‘I’ve got some mending to do,’ Meg told them, ‘so I’ll be up in the sewing room if anybody wants me. I know the twins work really hard, but they’re forever tearing their clothes or wearing out their cuffs.’

  ‘Boys will be boys,’ Nana May grimaced happily.

  Meg took herself up the servants’ stairs, but as she got to the sewing room, she decided to nip up to the female servants’ toilet before she started her mending session. As always during the past few weeks she held her breath. She felt a little damp down below, but it was probably nothing. But when she took down her knickers, a red stain stared back up at her.

  She gazed down on it, disbelieving. She knew you could still have a show, but there was more in the pan. Oh. She wasn’t pregnant after all, and she hiccupped back a tear as her heart crumpled. She didn’t want a baby, did she? Because she didn’t want to have to fear for its future. A river of relief swept through her, but that in itself made her feel guilty. And if Ralph didn’t return from one of his missions, she wouldn’t have the comfort of his child. Oh, dear God, what did she think? Feel? She just didn’t know.

  Bury herself in mending the twins’ clothes. That was the answer. She went back downstairs and hurried across to the cottage to sort herself out, and then went back to the sewing room. She hoped no one would see her. She really didn’t want to talk to anyone until it sank in. Unnerved, sad, confused. She just wanted to sit quietly on her own.

  The room faced north, but the casement window still admitted plenty of light, and she got to work, plying her needle in and out, sewing on a patch here, darning a hole there. Kept her head down. Let normality wash away the turmoil of emotions that spiralled inside her until she felt she could face the world again.

  A light tap on the door lifted her head. Oh, no. She didn’t want to have to put on a smiling face. She just wanted to be alone.

  Clarrie put her head around the door before stepping inside and closing it softly behind her. She came across to Meg and sat down in the chair opposite her, her face so intense with compassion that Meg felt she couldn’t ignore her.

  ‘Meg, my dear girl, something’s been bothering you,’ she said, her voice like silk. ‘I can tell. I know you’re worried about Ralph. We all are. And all the menfolk. But you’ve been different recently. Tell me to mind my own business, and I’ll go away. But if there’s anything I can do to help, you know I will.’

  Her eyebrows were knitted in earnest, her gaze so warm and steady that despite herself, Meg felt drawn down into its depths. She fought against it, but though every bone of her body wanted to resist, she felt herself falling into Clarrie’s kindness.

  She lowered her eyes to her trembling hands and put the sewing down in her lap.

  ‘It’s just… I thought I was pregnant’, she mumbled, ‘and now I know I’m not. And I don’t know whether I’m relieved or broken-hearted.’

  It was suddenly all too much and, though she tried to hold back, tears began to roll down her cheeks. Unable to look at Clarrie, she tried angrily to wipe them away, but they kept on coming. The next thing she knew, Clarrie had sat down beside her, and had gathered her in her arms, and she was sobbing against the other woman’s shoulder.

  Clarrie held her tightly. Oh, how she’d longed during all those years to hold Meg against her as if she were her daughter. But not like this. Not when Meg’s soul was in agony. All she could do was rock her gently, let her know that she understood her pain.

  Quite suddenly, she felt so calm. As if she was ready to face all the suffering and yearning of her adult life. She stroked Meg’s hair as she said softly, ‘I know. More than you think. Wig and I wanted so much to have children, but it never happened. This…’

  She broke off. She still couldn’t bring herself to tell Meg everything. That would be too much. It was still so painful that she never wanted to talk about it with anyone but Wig and Nana May. Didn’t want anyone else to know. But… maybe all those years of wanting to keep it a secret, to bury her pain, were gone. Perhaps it would be better to share something of her grief now. But not all of it. She wasn’t quite ready for that.

  She took a deep breath. ‘This room was to have been the nursery,’ she barely whispered. ‘That’s why we painted it lemon and it’s stayed that colour ever since. Because lemon would do for a boy or a girl.’

  Her voice had drifted off as she imagined the cot, the nursing chair, the curtains printed with little animals that she’d planned. It would have been such a happy room. The sound of children’s laughter…

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Clarrie.’ Meg pulled back as her tears subsided, leaving Clarrie feeling a little empty. ‘I should’ve thought. When I first came here, I asked Nana May if you had any family, and she just said that sadly you didn’t. So it was thoughtless of me.’

  Clarrie shook her head. ‘No, my dear. Don’t think that. Just because I know how you feel doesn’t mean your pain is any less than mine. And you’re young—’

  ‘I just need Ralph to stay alive,’ Meg blurted out, in a flash seeing clearly through the tunnel of her anguish. ‘It’s all the fault of this damned war. And I wouldn’t really have wanted a child until it was over. To bring a child into such a world would be wrong. B-but what if—?’

  ‘Let’s try not to think the worst, eh?’

  Meg met Clarrie’s gaze. Of course, that’s what they all had to do. If they wanted to keep their sanity. ‘Thank you, Clarrie,’ she managed to gulp. ‘You’ve always been so kind.’

  ‘I’ll always be here for you, Meg, you know that. To talk things through. And I won’t say anything about this, I promise.’

  ‘And I won’t say anything about what you just told me, either.’

  ‘Thank you. It’ll be our secret. Our pact.’

  Clarrie watched as Meg nodded with an understanding if watery smile. And something inside her rejoiced. She’d only told Meg part of the story. Perhaps she’d never tell her the whole truth. But for now, their hearts shared one pain, and what could bring them closer than that?

  *

  ‘Blooming ’eck, I don’t believe it!’ Penny cried, picking Bella up and squeezing her to her breast as if to take comfort from her. ‘I fought Hitler and Russia was supposed ter be friends!’

  ‘Huh, you can’t trust anything that Hitler says!’ Ada scoffed, rolling out pastry with far more vigour than she should. ‘Russia’s got oil, and now he wants it for himself. Isn’t that right, Meg?’ she asked, since she knew Meg would know more about it than anyone in the kitchen just then.

  Meg nodded. ‘Yes. And it’s rich in other minerals as well. Things that’ll help him make weapons. But at least it means that now he’s attacking Russia, the pressure’s off us. That must be why the Blitz has more or less stopped.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Wouldn’t trust ’im as far as I could throw ’im.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll remind us every now and then,’ Meg agreed, ‘but hopefully the worst is over. And it’ll give us time to build up our armaments to fight back. The factory’s working flat out again, and Wig’s been designing new machinery for the government to make bigger and better weapons in bigger factories, as well. The world’s gone mad, and all because of one crazy little man.’

  ‘I doesn’t know how he came ter power in the first place.’

  ‘Well, he has. But all this chatter isn’t going to get dinner prepared for all of you lot tonight,’ Ada declared forcibly, and Penny winked at Meg behind her friend’s back.

  ‘Yes, I’ll go and find Gabriel, and see what vegetables he has ready for us,’ Meg offered. ‘We’re so luc
ky to have all this at our fingertips. It must be awful to be living in cities and queuing for hours just to get whatever you can.’

  She turned towards the back door, but just at that moment, she heard the tinkling of the front door bell.

  ‘Oh, goodness, I’d forgotten,’ she said, clamping her hand over her mouth. ‘That’ll be the vicar. Clarrie and Nana May are waiting for him in the drawing room. I’d better go and let him in. I’m still supposed to be parlourmaid, after all!’ she laughed, changing direction and then hurrying along the corridor to the hall.

  ‘Good afternoon, Vicar!’ she beamed at the elderly gentleman waiting on the doorstep. ‘Do come in.’

  ‘Thank you, Meg my dear. What a beautiful afternoon for walking out here.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Hard to imagine we’re at war when the weather’s so nice.’

  ‘But you must have heard about Germany starting to attack Russia yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’ The smile slid from Father James’s face. ‘While I was giving my sermon, Hitler was doing his worst again. Terrible business. But at least it might give us a breather, though it grieves my Christian soul to say such a thing.’

  ‘I know. It’s terrible. But you’ve come to discuss the summer fête. Are we still going to have one this year?’

  ‘But, of course,’ the vicar confirmed as Meg showed him along the corridor to the drawing room. ‘We’ve got to keep things up. And I hope you’ll do us some more of your lovely paintings to auction again.’

  ‘Yes, I will, if you’d like some,’ Meg agreed.

  She opened the door to the drawing room and led him across the room to where the French doors stood wide open to the June afternoon. Sunshine was streaming in, casting large, bright rectangles on the carpet and onto the armchairs where Clarrie and Nana May were waiting to greet him.

  ‘I’ll just go and get you all some tea. Have to be a bit weak, I’m afraid,’ she grimaced.

  ‘Not at all,’ Father James smiled again. ‘Now then, Mrs Stratfield-Whyte, Miss Whitehead, how are we this fine afternoon?’ he asked.

  *

  ‘D’you think mine will be good enough to auction, as well?’ Doris asked. ‘Or maybe just put in the raffle.’

  She and Meg were sitting in the rose garden together, painting. The August morning was overcast, but the light was better for observing the precious blooms and it would have been too hot to sit out in the full sun. With most of the terraced lawn now dug up for vegetable growing, Clarrie refused to give up the rose garden as well, although the feathery leaves of carrots flourished rather prettily in the spaces between.

  Meg lowered her own paintbrush and tipped her head to one side as she studied Doris’s picture. ‘Yes, I think so. You’ve come on in leaps and bounds. But wouldn’t you like to keep it for your dad when he comes home?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  Doris’s tone was unusually flat, and Meg sucked in her cheeks. Doris was eleven years old, no longer a child. And she was mourning her mother, probably would all her life. But Meg wasn’t prepared for what came next.

  ‘D’you think Mummy suffered when she died?’ Doris asked, her voice detached and almost scoured of emotion. ‘That she was badly damaged? D’you think that’s why they wouldn’t let me see her?’

  Meg felt as if her blood had frozen in her veins. Poor Doris. It had been some months since her mother had been killed. Had she kept that horrible thought bottled up inside all that time? Meg’s heart began to race. Whatever she said next could affect Doris for the rest of her life. At least she’d been able to sit with her parents’ bodies to say goodbye, to kiss their marble cold foreheads.

  ‘I… I don’t know,’ she answered, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘And that’s the truth. All I can say is that she wouldn’t have known anything about it, it would’ve been that quick.’ Meg put down her brush, and turning to Doris, took her hands. ‘What you must remember is that she loved you very, very much, and try and think of all the good times you had.’

  Doris had been looking steadily at her, and now she lowered her eyes with a little nod and a wan smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Meg’s heart lurched as her thoughts flew back through the years to when Clarrie had said virtually the same thing to her. Dear God, she’d never thought to be offering the same advice and comfort to someone else.

  Neither of them had heard Cyril come up behind them.

  ‘Cor, that’s good, Doris,’ he praised, looking over her shoulder. ‘We were going ter walk inter the village ter see if we can get any sweets or chocolate. D’you want ter come?’

  To Meg’s relief, Doris seemed to perk up at once. ‘Better than potato and cocoa truffles.’ The girl managed a full smile. ‘But I need to put my painting things away first.’

  ‘No, that’s all right. I’ll do it,’ Meg offered. She didn’t want Doris’s brightened mood to be spoilt. Poor girl needed cheering up. Hopefully now she’d spoken to Meg, she might feel a tiny bit better and the horrific image she had in her head would gradually fade.

  Meg noticed with a little smile that as the two young people went down the garden path, Cyril took Doris’s hand. It was a natural, childlike gesture, but somehow it spoke volumes. Meg was so pleased the twins were to stay on at Robin Hill House now that they’d left school. They were part of the family and she couldn’t imagine life without them. And after the war… But that was a long way off, and how far off, nobody knew.

  Meg couldn’t blame poor Doris, but their conversation had unnerved her. And though she took up her brush again, for some minutes, all she could do was stare at the petals of the delicate rose she was painting.

  Twenty-Two

  It came to her in a flash.

  It was the very end of August, and one of those rare sultry summer nights, too close to sleep. Meg had tossed and turned, finally deciding that the only thing for it was to get up. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat, wondering what to do next. A glass of water, and then try again to get to sleep? Somehow she didn’t think it would work.

  She’d left the dress she’d been wearing the day before over the back of the chair. It would be a beautiful night for a wander around the grounds, mystical and exciting. Everything looked different in the dark, although tonight a bright half-moon was shedding a silvery, liquid glow on the earth beneath. Meg wouldn’t need a torch, not that the slit in the cardboard they were obliged to tape over the beam afforded much light anyway. She’d be able to see by the moonlight, and she knew the grounds like the back of her hand, so she’d be perfectly safe.

  She dressed quickly and went downstairs, Thimble frolicking about her ankles in excitement at this adventure as Meg opened the front door of the cottage. She ambled towards the lake, Thimble snuffling hither and thither in this magical world. The moonlight shimmered on the silken sheen of water, velvet-smooth in the stillness. Not a breath stirred, heavy with the scents of late summer, calm and peaceful.

  Meg allowed her thoughts to wander at will as she lowered herself onto the bench. She loved Robin Hill House and all the people there. Her own parents would always be special and nowadays her memories of them were happy, not sad, ones. But she’d found a new family, a different sort of happiness. And she had Ralph.

  Oh, dear God, please let him survive this war. She truly wouldn’t want to go on if anything happened to him. Couldn’t go on. After those two glorious weeks back in the spring, and then the anguish when she’d thought she was carrying his child, and the even greater turmoil when she discovered she’d merely been late, it was all just too much. The only thing that mattered was that he returned home safely after every one of his secret missions.

  As if to drive the knife further into the wound, her ear latched onto the distant drone of aircraft. She looked up. Two small planes were making their way across the sky, tiny silhouettes as they headed home. They must have turned slightly, since the moonlight glinted on them for just a second, and then they disappeared into the night.

  Meg sighed deeply. One of them
could have been Ralph, although she knew it wasn’t. If only there was something she could do to keep him safe. She was happy here, and yet she felt as if she should be doing more, almost as if that would help Ralph stay alive.

  Now that the twins had left school, Meg was scarcely needed. Cyril was more than competent with the animals now, and he and Leslie were hard workers outside. With Gabriel overseeing everything, they could easily provide the manpower needed, and the girls helped to some extent as well. And inside the house, well, there was an army of females to take care of everything, with Clarrie firmly at the helm. They could manage perfectly well without Meg. But what could she do?

  Wig had mentioned that women were likely to be conscripted into war work by the end of the year. She’d probably be drafted into a munitions factory of some sort, and she’d hate that. Being inside all day, doing the same monotonous task over and over again. But what if she joined the Women’s Land Army first? And what if…?

  Her heart took a bound. This had never exactly been part of her plan. She would reach the magic age of twenty-one at the end of the following month, and her plan had always been to take on her own farm tenancy when she was legally old enough. But because of the war, she’d had to put that idea on the back-burner. She’d never even told Ralph of her aim, since her love for him was more important to her than anything in the universe, and she was prepared to give up her dream for him. But if anything could help keep her mind from worrying about Ralph, it was this.

  She sat back, letting the serenity of the warm night air waft over her. It wouldn’t exactly be helping Ralph, but at least she’d have something to distract her from her constant fears for him. And with that thought to calm her mind, she went back to contemplating the moonlit waters of the lake.

  *

  The next morning, she was up with the lark despite her disturbed night. Ada hadn’t yet arrived, and only Penny was in the kitchen with her young brood. With it being the end of the summer holidays, the older children had no need to be up in time for school. Only Cyril had been up shortly after dawn. Meg had heard him whistling tunelessly as he passed the cottage on his way to milk the cows.