Leaves Before the Storm

by Angela Arney

  It seemed to Henry that Rosie had a key. A magic key which unlocked his heart. Although he told himself it was a ridiculous notion, something was happening to him. He was aware of a warmth which suddenly made life worth living and aware of how sterile his life had been before. But the affection he felt for almost everyone, even Albert Noakes, who used to come up to the stables and do odd carpentry jobs, did not extend to Adam. He still hadn’t told Adam that his affection was unwelcome; instead he was gradually easing himself away and hoping that Adam would get the message. But it didn’t worry him so much now. He had other things to think of.

  He got George to drive him into Southampton to see the solicitors, Paris, Smith & Wendell. This was a family firm who’d acted for the Lockwood family for years. Henry asked them to put in motion the necessary work for adopting Rosie. He didn’t mention it to Megan. He wanted it to be a surprise.

  But every now and then a niggling, uncomfortable thought reminded him that they could have a child of their own if only he could bring himself to sleep with her. But that was something he couldn’t do. He did not love Megan in a physical way. I should never have married her, he told himself, but it was too late. He had married her because he needed a chatelaine for Folly House and she had married him because she loved the house. Yes, loved the house, not him. He’d always known that, but had thought they could make a reasonable life together. She had fulfilled her duties as a wife, and would no doubt continue to do so if he made a move, even though she had fallen in love with Jim Byrne. He didn’t worry about Jim now. There’d been no word. He must have died along with the thousands of others on the beaches of Normandy.

  On Sundays when the family filed off to church to listen to one of Marcus’s increasingly rambling sermons, Henry prayed that he’d be able to find a way to live with Megan as a real husband. Not one who lay beside her every night like a block of stone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Autumn 1944

  On 8 September 1944 another new and terrible weapon rained down on London. The newspapers said it was a V2 rocket and, unlike the doodlebug there was no warning, no stopping of an engine; instead they fell vertically from a height of fifty miles at faster than the speed of sound and when they exploded the shock waves could be felt for miles.

  It cast a pall of gloom over the whole country, including everyone at Folly House. ‘Just when we thought things were going our way,’ observed Lavinia.

  ‘It is going our way,’ said Marcus, trying to cheer everyone. ‘This is just a little hiccup.’

  ‘Bit more than a hiccup if one lands on you,’ muttered Arthur.

  But Megan was worrying about her pregnancy. Looking at herself in the mirror she was only too aware of the curve of her stomach and the fullness of her breasts. She chose her clothes carefully, but knew she would have to say something soon.

  Sometimes Megan caught her father looking at her and wondered if he had guessed. That was another worry: his health. He was looking very old lately, although he hardly drank now. Not that they had much to drink, the cocktail cabinet was empty these days. Even Arthur grumbled about it sometimes. ‘When Jim was around he could usually get his hands on a bottle of bourbon or Jack Daniels,’ he said.

  ‘Well, he’s not around,’ replied Megan sharply. ‘So it’s no use wishing.’

  It was then that she was sure her father knew, for he reached out and clasped her hand as she was passing. ‘I pray for him every day,’ he said softly, ‘and I pray for you too, to give you strength to make the right decision.’

  Megan snatched her hand away. ‘God isn’t listening,’ she said harshly, ‘if he was he would finish this hateful war.’

  Immediately she felt guilty for snapping at her father. The war wasn’t his fault, neither was it his fault that she’d fallen in love with Jim, and it was nobody’s fault but her own that she was expecting a child.

  But mostly there was precious little time to think. Rosie slotted back into their lives as if she had never been away, worked hard at school and did her homework in front of an admiring Dottie when she was at Folly House. Megan was told there was a good chance that she would win a free scholarship to Brockenhurst Grammar School.

  Dottie didn’t go to school any more as she was too old now, but she often walked with Rosie to the village school, where she stood watching the playground games wistfully. She knew she couldn’t go because Bertha had told her so, but she didn’t really understand why.

  One day she asked Rosie if she missed her mother. She thought she would miss Bertha, even though she never hugged her. Dottie longed for hugs, but Bertha was very sparing with any show of affection.

  But Rosie, skipping alongside Dottie, laughed. ‘No I don’t miss her at all.’

  Then she stopped and looked solemnly at Dottie. ‘But I pray for her soul every day. Marcus says I must do that, so I do. And I pray for my brother Bertie. I know they’re all right now because they are in heaven. Oh look, there’s Edie Lee, I must catch her.’ Darting ahead she caught up with Edie. They exchanged something from their satchels, then Rosie came galloping back. ‘Look,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘A blood alley.’ She showed the white marble streaked with red. ‘She promised to give it to me if I gave her two of my blue ones. Just you wait until I show Henry.’

  Dottie was scornful. ‘How can you show him? He’s blind.’

  ‘He’ll be interested all the same,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s interested in everything I do.’

  This was true. He was interested in everything she did and was spoiling her, according to Lavinia. But Megan didn’t mind. He laughed sometimes these days and was following the events of the war on the radio with keen interest. She found herself relaxing in his company, sometimes to the extent that she was tempted to tell him about the baby. He didn’t visit Adam much these days, but she didn’t ask why.

  It became a habit for the family to gather in the gold room in the evening and listen to the news on the radio. The Allies were progressing through Europe, retaking cities and even whole countries at what seemed like breakneck speed.

  ‘Surely the war will be over soon,’ said Lavinia.

  ‘Yes, and then perhaps we’ll see Jim again before he goes back to the States,’ said Arthur. Sitting at the piano he began to play fragments of Debussy, one of Jim’s favourite composers.

  If he doesn’t stop playing that I’ll weep, thought Megan. Where was Jim? Was he still alive? But if he was why hadn’t he got in touch? Did ‘missing’ really mean dead?

  ‘Play The Girl with the Flaxen Hair,’ said Henry. ‘I always loved Jim playing that.’

  Megan left the room, unable to bear it any longer. She just had to tell someone about the baby. Someone else would have to tell her what to do, because she was incapable of logical thought. All she could think about was the chaos and confusion she would create, the hurt for Henry, the misery for everyone.

  In the end it was Violet whom she chose to tell. Violet had settled down at The Priory and was a changed woman. Gerald seemed to have given up looking for her and was spending a lot of time in London with friends in the armaments business. Always thinking about money, he was now lobbying politicians who he thought would be useful after the war. When he was away Violet came and walked along the saltings, which led away from Folly House and into the estuary of the river Stib. Megan joined her when she could, always a little nervous in case Gerald should turn up. But he never did.

  They walked on a sunny day at the end of September, and sat on a breakwater, throwing pebbles into the sea. ‘I love nursing,’ said Violet. ‘But I’m not a proper nurse. I wish I was, then I could be nursing in Belgium. They need help there at the moment.’

  They were both silent for a moment, thinking of the bad news of the last few days. An audacious airborne operation to capture bridges on the lower Rhine at Arnhem had gone disastrously wrong as, due to bad weather, reinforcements couldn’t be flown in to help the British paratroopers already there. Of the original 10,000 men only 2,400 had survived.<
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  It puts my problems into perspective, thought Megan. ‘Do you think you could nurse on the front line?’ she asked Violet. ‘It must be awful.’

  ‘Yes, I know I could. I don’t know why I never thought of nursing as a career before. I should have done. But I obeyed my guardians, who said it was my duty to marry and provide Brinkley Hall with heirs.’ She laughed, ‘Huh!’ and threw a flat pebble viciously across the water in a series of skips. ‘But do you know what?’ She turned back to Megan. ‘Once married to Gerald I knew I didn’t want his child. There will be no heirs. I don’t think I shall ever have a baby.’

  Megan could keep the secret no longer. ‘I’m having a baby.’

  Violet clapped her hands. ‘But that’s wonderful. Henry must be pleased.’

  ‘Henry doesn’t know, because it’s not his baby.’ Megan tried to keep control, but failed and began to weep. ‘It’s Jim’s baby. You remember him. The American, Jim Byrne. But he’s posted missing now, so he’ll never know. And I can’t bear to get rid of it, and I can’t tell Henry because it’s so unfair to him and, oh God, everything is such a mess!’ Fumbling in the pocket of her jodhpurs Megan searched unsuccessfully for a handkerchief. Silently Violet handed her one. Megan took it and mopped her face.

  There was a long silence, then Violet said slowly, ‘Couldn’t you just keep quiet and let Henry think he’s the father. No one would ever know.’

  ‘Henry would know. We haven’t slept together since he came back.’

  Sitting in the late afternoon sunlight, their feet in the warm waters of the Solent, they talked around the subject for fifteen minutes, but came to no conclusion. Megan didn’t see how she could ever come to any answer other than to tell Henry and face the consequences. Violet persuaded her to leave it for the time being. It was hardly a satisfactory conclusion but neither of them could think of anything else. They walked slowly back to the house.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift back to The Priory,’ said Megan. ‘It’s dark early this evening, I think there may be a storm.’

  The sky, which had been clear all day, was suddenly filling with ominous dark rain clouds, and as they crossed the lawn towards the stable yard where Megan’s car was kept there was a rumble of thunder.

  Violet stopped. ‘Was that a car I heard?’ she whispered. ‘Do you think Gerald…?’

  ‘Of course not. It was thunder.’ But all the same Megan hurried in front of Violet, arriving in the yard just in time to see Gerald’s large Bentley drawing to a smooth halt. For a moment she stood stock still; then, realizing Violet hadn’t yet appeared she turned around and ran back. Somehow she had to get Violet away.

  But it was too late. Gerald followed her and they both reached the corner of the house at the same time. Megan saw the sheer terror on Violet’s face as she saw Gerald. Then she turned back and began to run towards the sea and the Folly.

  Megan ran too, and so did Gerald, but his long legs overtook her. Violet reached the Folly first, and to Megan’s horror began to climb the crumbling stone steps which led to the tower at the furthest end of the Folly. By the time she reached the Folly Violet was out of sight, and Gerald was halfway up the steps.

  Megan stumbled up behind him trying to avoid the loose stones and pieces of rock showering down, dislodged by Gerald. On reaching the top she could see Violet cowering on a small stone ledge on the far side of the tower where the wall had crumbled away.

  ‘Violet, come down. It’s dangerous,’ she called.

  Gerald laughed. ‘Not as dangerous as me, though.’

  Somehow Megan managed to push herself in between Gerald and Violet. ‘Don’t think you can come here and bully your wife,’ she shouted. ‘Leave her alone.’

  ‘She’s my wife. My property.’ He sneered. ‘If I want to bully her, I will.’ Grabbing Megan he stepped closer to Violet, who shrank further back against the fragile remains of the ancient wall.

  ‘If you touch me, I’ll jump,’ she screamed.

  Gerald moved and Megan put out her arms to stop him, but again he pushed her roughly aside and moved near to Violet. Megan saw the utter panic in Violet’s eyes as she screamed, and at that moment Megan flung herself forward, trying to push Gerald out of the way as Violet stepped sideways. It all happened so fast. Violet’s scream, a mêlee of bodies pushing and shoving, then Gerald disappeared over the edge. But he didn’t fall all the way. He grasped the top of the wall, and Megan saw that he’d got a toehold as well and was intent on climbing back up. She looked at his fingers holding the rough stone on top of the wall, and started to push at it, trying to dislodge him. At the same time Violet picked up a large piece of flint and still screaming dashed it down on Gerald’s fingers. Without a sound he let go and fell the 150 feet down on to the enormous piece of granite at the bottom of the wall. The same granite stone that had killed his ancestor 200 years before.

  In one single movement Violet and Megan leaned over and peered down, to see Gerald lying spreadeagled on the stone. His head was twisted so that he was looking straight up at them, his eyes wide open. It began to rain, large, heavy drops, and a brilliant arrow of lightning cracked across the waters of the Solent, followed by a roll of thunder.

  At first Violet wanted to confess that she had hit him with the flint because he was going to hit her and that she had wanted him dead.

  But Megan calmed her down and persuaded Violet to say that the three of them had climbed the tower to watch the storm that was building up across the Solent.

  ‘We can say the flash of lightning startled Gerald, who was standing on the edge; he jumped, lost his footing and fell. It was a terrible accident.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m a very good liar,’ said Violet, shivering. ‘I made him fall.’

  ‘He would have fallen anyway, whether you’d hit him or not,’ said Megan firmly. ‘I’ll tell the story. You just say “yes” every now and then.’ Megan took a trembling Violet into the house, found Henry and told him their story. Then he phoned the police.

  Two police officers from Southampton arrived. They were feeling harassed and tired, as they’d been on duty in the docks, which were busy ferrying in wounded men from France. Their note-taking was perfunctory, and after looking at the body they gave permission for it to be moved by the undertakers. Bertha hurried Dottie and Rosie out of the way to Silas Moon’s farmhouse on the pretext of borrowing more Kilner jars for plum bottling.

  Henry sat with Megan and Violet while they answered questions, and held Violet’s hand, as she was still trembling and weeping.

  ‘Of course, there will have to be an inquest,’ said the sergeant when the two officers finished their questions, ‘but it will be an open-and-shut case of accidental death. A terrible family tragedy.’

  ‘When will we be able to arrange the funeral?’ asked Henry, who had now taken complete charge.

  ‘Set a date for the day after the coroner’s inquest, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘We’ll send in the report tomorrow, so the inquest should be within a week. As soon as you know that date you can make arrangements.’

  A little later Henry walked with the policemen to the front of Folly House. ‘A bad business this, sir,’ said the sergeant, shaking Henry’s hand. ‘Give our condolences to the rest of the family.’

  Later Violet was dispatched back to The Priory, which was where she wanted to go. She said she would feel more peaceful there and would continue nursing, at least for the time being. Megan hoped that she wouldn’t break down and tell the matron the truth about smashing the flint down on Gerald’s hands. But by now, she wasn’t really certain what was the real truth. It was blurred in her mind. Had she pushed Gerald? Or was it Violet? Whatever it was, she was certain that no one mourned the passing of Gerald.

  That evening, after a very late supper, she had to go through the whole story again for the benefit of Marcus, Lavinia and Arthur.

  ‘May his soul rest in peace,’ said Marcus piously when she had finished.

  ‘One thing is certain, we shall certainly hav
e a little more peace now,’ said Lavinia crisply. ‘I know it sounds harsh, but I can’t bring myself to mourn his passing. He was always a problem rumbling away in the background, even when he was a boy.’

  Henry said nothing, but much later that night, when they were together in their bedroom, he said to Megan, ‘Now, perhaps you will tell me what really happened up there on the tower.’

  Megan made a split-second decision and told him the truth, or at least, most of it. How Gerald had pursued a terrified Violet across the lawn and up into the tower, how she herself had climbed up and tried to put herself between Gerald and Violet. And then somehow, when all three of them were clambering and struggling over the broken stones of the wall, Gerald stepped too far and had suddenly fallen. She left out the part about Gerald clinging to the top of the wall and Violet smashing the stone down on his hands.

  ‘It all happened so quickly,’ she said. ‘I’m not really sure whether he just overbalanced, or one of us did push him. There was no sound; he just disappeared from the edge and landed on the granite rock below.’

  ‘I see,’ said Henry slowly. ‘Then the only part which isn’t true is the fact that you didn’t go up to the tower to admire the view?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Megan. ‘I lied because I didn’t want the truth about Violet and Gerald’s violent marriage dragged through the mud by the press.’ She looked across to Henry, who was lying on the bed in his pyjamas. He was smiling. ‘You’re not angry?’

  ‘Not at all, you acted like a true Lockwood. Protect the family name first.’ He searched in his bedside locker, found a cigarette and lit it. ‘Not that I’m sure that’s always a good thing. Sometimes we overrate the wretched family name.’

  Megan didn’t reply. She climbed into bed and Henry put an arm around her in a friendly embrace. She lay back with her head on his shoulder and wondered whether this was a good time to tell him about the coming baby. Then she dismissed the idea. He’d had enough shocks for one day. ‘I wonder what Violet will do now,’ she said.