“I’m trying to find an envelope of money,” he said in hushed tones as we climbed up beside him. “Miss Paltry asked me to find it for her. She said she hid it under her floorboards.”
“Well, you’re looking in the wrong place,” I told him sternly. “Miss Paltry’s house was next to Hattie’s, over here.”
I led him to the right spot, and then we climbed around and started looking for the envelope. I was longing to find it so that I could be a hero like Venetia. And finally I did, holding it high in the air and calling over to Tom, “Here it is!”
Of course, everyone looked around, some coming forward to see.
Ralph Gibbs was there, watching the fat envelope. “Do you know how much money is in there?’
“Don’t know,” Tom said, and much to my annoyance, he snatched it away and shoved it down the front of his shorts, of all the horrid places. “Come on, Kitty. Let’s go.”
“But I’m the new hero!”
He grabbed my hand rather roughly and dragged me away, Silvie running behind.
We sprinted down the lane and across the fields to the hop pickers’ huts, dashing into Tom’s and shutting the door behind us. Laughing, we opened the envelope and took out all the money.
All the money!
There was so much of it! “Where did she get it from?”
“I don’t know,” Tom whispered.
“Come on, let’s have a party,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’ll go and see if the farmhands in the barn have some biscuits or milk.”
“I’ll come, too,” Tom said. “Look after the money, Silvie.”
Off we ran, Tom beating me by a fraction, although I hadn’t been racing at all. But the place was deserted, and after a spot of searching we quickly realized there wasn’t anything to be had.
I was just checking one last corner, when Tom decided to grab me around the waist, pulling me to him and planting a rather soggy kiss right on my lips.
“Stop, stop!” I yelled, thrusting him away. “Don’t you know I’m engaged to be married?”
“No, are you?” He laughed in a disbelieving way, wiping his mouth.
Silvie was suddenly there, innocently inquiring, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, Silvie.” I took her arm and walked to the door. “We couldn’t find any biscuits, so we’ll have to go without, won’t we, Tom?”
He came up beside us and took my other arm, grinning in an annoying way, and we strode back to the huts.
When we got back, Tom’s door was hanging open, squeaking as it swung to and fro.
“Silvie, did you bring the envelope?” Tom said.
She shook her head, unable to speak.
We ran inside to check for the money, but I think we already knew.
It was gone.
There was no sign of anyone, but we looked at each other, knowing who must have followed us. Silvie and I went sulkily back home, leaving Tom to work out what he was going to say to Miss Paltry.
“Well, at least it wasn’t our money,” I said as we rounded the wood.
“Why didn’t you kiss Tom?” Silvie asked. “He’s nice.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “I am engaged to Henry, Silvie. I can’t go around kissing hop picker boys, can I?”
How could she possibly think otherwise?
CHILBURY MANOR,
CHILBURY,
KENT.
Thursday, 8th August, 1940
Dear Angela,
A dull feeling of dread lurched in the pit of my stomach when I woke up this morning, as if I knew how the day would evolve, what events would take place, what decisions would be made.
The doorbell rang at ten, and I wasn’t surprised when Mama knocked on my door to tell me that Henry had come again. I knew straightaway that I wanted everything to be different from yesterday. I didn’t want his sympathy or his comments on me looking, how did he put it, “lost.” So I put on my yellow sundress to make me look more cheerful and brushed my hair until it shone golden. I wanted him to treat me the same as he’d always done, as if nothing had changed. As if everything were exactly the same as it had been six months ago, and I was the undisputed empress of the village.
I looked at myself in the mirror and put on my old red lipstick, feeling encouraged by the transformation. Isn’t it extraordinary how one can look like an empress yet feel like a frail shadow?
He was sitting on the same settee as the other day, immaculate in his uniform. I tried to make an entrance, like I would have done before all of this, swinging my yellow skirt so that it cascaded around the door frame, raising my hand alluringly up to my hair, jeering loudly, “Oh, Henry. I see you simply couldn’t stay away.”
But it all felt a little flat and overrehearsed.
He stood up and stiffened, although still smiling in a polite way. Henry is always polite—I can’t work out whether it’s adorable or tedious. I stopped swishing my skirts and struggled to work out what my approach should be. I was self-conscious, wanting him to adore me as he always has done, yet not really wanting him to. I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense, Angie. I confess it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me either. I really don’t know what to think anymore.
“How are you today?” he asked, coming and taking my arm and leading me over to a chair, as if I were an invalid.
“I’m fine, Henry,” I muttered, lifting his hand away and standing beside the settee. “Look, let’s please not talk about me today. I’d much rather hear about you and your plane and how many dogfights you’ve won.” I looked up at him beseechingly, and he gazed at me for a moment, and then he smiled gently, tilting his head slightly to one side.
Then he lowered himself down on one knee.
I froze. I’m not exactly sure what I had been expecting from this meeting, and I knew that Daddy felt certain that Henry would come running if only I said the word, but I didn’t feel so sure anymore. I didn’t feel so sure about anything. Why would I be suddenly interested in his marriage proposal had not something happened that had made me more eager, more in need of it? Why did he suddenly think he stood a chance?
Was he walking the tightrope between being the best of friends, helping in a bad time, offering support and love, or being a man who sees an opportunity, a weakness, and seizes the moment?
“Venetia, my darling,” he said, taking my hands in his, pressing them lightly, with the merest suggestion of urgency. “Please let me take you away from this, and encompass you with all the love and happiness that I have in my heart.” He smiled in such a wonderful warm way, his eyes caressing mine with hope and happiness. My eyes began to water, and a tear spilled out and down my cheek. If only I could love this man, I thought. If only I’d never met Alastair, never known what real love was. But then I wouldn’t be in the state I was in now. I’d be the old Venetia, and there’s no damn way I’d be settling for Henry Brampton-Boyd.
“Will you do me the honor, Venetia, of accepting my hand in marriage?” he asked in a half whisper, taking my hands to his lips. “I have a wonderful life to offer you, with the heavenly Brampton Hall, a very comfortable living, and, not least I hope, my very dear and enduring love for you.”
A series of pictures flickered through my mind in quick succession: a heavily pregnant shadow being hidden away in her parents’ house and then swept into a nasty nunnery, her beloved baby snatched from her grasping arms, never to be seen again. I couldn’t bear the thought of giving up my baby. I knew that this was my alternative. I was being given a way out, a brutal compromise between two sacrifices, and I knew how I had to act.
“Yes,” I uttered, hearing my words as if spoken by another, more practical Venetia, a Venetia who wanted an easy life, with wealth and status and legitimate children, living in the grand Brampton Hall in the style to which she had grown accustomed. A Venetia who always looked at her eldest child with regret and guilt sliding uncomfortably together in a swell of discontentment.
Could this Venetia be me?
I took my hands away an
d sat down, using all my force to stop myself from crying, steadily putting a smile on my face, keeping my chin up, facing the music. And I realized that this is what it’s like to be an adult, learning to pick from a lot of bad choices and do the best you can with that dreadful compromise. Learning to smile, to put your best foot forward, when the world around you seems to have collapsed in its entirety, become a place of isolation, a sepia photograph of its former illusion.
I stiffened as he sat down on the sofa beside me. Shifting over a fraction, I rearranged my yellow skirt, scared of what was coming next.
I saw his face come toward mine and worked hard to prevent myself from shrinking away. He gently placed his lips on mine and—although the world didn’t stop turning—it was not unpleasant. He has vastly improved his kissing since the orchard experience, which had been rather wet and gagging. It was a gentle kiss, no pressure, no passion, nothing like the kisses I shared with Alastair, which were torrid, fervent episodes. It couldn’t have been more different.
“My love,” he said, and it sounded so odd coming from his lips. “This is the happiest day of my life.” He smiled and looked sincerely overjoyed. I managed to smile, trying to mirror his joy in my face and my bearing. It was extremely awkward.
“We will need to set the date soon,” he whispered, leaning into my ear, kissing my neck, my throat. “I don’t know how long I can bear the wait.”
“No, let’s not wait too long.” I agreed with frail enthusiasm, wondering how long I could hide the pregnancy. “The sooner the better.”
“So, we’re agreed!” he exclaimed, slapping his hands on his knees with pleasure. “I will tell my Group Captain as soon as I return to base. They should be able to give me a few days off later in the month.” He took my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing first the back of my hand and then turning it over, opening up my fingers, and kissing inside.
The room was closing in on me, clammy and stifling, and I felt like leaping up, throwing open the veranda doors, and letting myself run, run, down the lawn, escaping down into the valley like a wild horse, and on, on, forever. And I knew that it would always be that way. I would spend the rest of my life running.
“Let’s tell Mama,” I cried, snatching my hand back and heading for the door. “I can’t wait to see her face.”
I strode out into the hall, and he followed me as I went up the grand staircase, clutching the sweeping banister with every step, desperate for some kind of reprieve.
We found Mama in the nursery with Silvie, helping her mend a doll’s dress, carefully showing her how to backstitch to make it stronger, the way she had with Kitty and me when we were girls. So very long ago.
“Mama,” I called, breathless from the door. “We are to be married.”
She got up, a look of panic quickly turning into a smile as Henry came in beside me. “Oh! That’s good!” she said, rushing to open a window and letting in a fresh breeze. She took a great breath of air, then turned and came over to give Henry a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so very pleased.” She looked me straight in the eyes, only seven or eight inches from mine, and her mouth said, “I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the village,” but her eyes looked as if they were about to be crushed by a ton of black, heavy coal. I know she’s never been happy with Daddy, was forced to marry him for the sake of her family. The weight of all those years was packed into that look. She wanted me to do the right thing, but she couldn’t help but think of herself, the loveless, persecuted life she’d led.
She looked back round to Silvie, her new protégée, and then she said to Henry, “You must go straightaway and tell your mother. She’ll be furious if she finds out she wasn’t the first to know! Venetia, you must stay here and discuss plans.”
“You’re right, she’ll be livid. You know how she is!” he chortled in his good-humored way, and I found myself already disliking him. “So, my darling.” He took my hand again. “I’ll bid you good-bye and come again this afternoon. Maybe we can go for a long walk together and make some plans, the wedding, the honeymoon.” His eyes sparkled, darting uncontrollably over my body.
He disappeared with alacrity, and we stood in silence listening to his footsteps down the marble stairs, echoing through the hallway, and then the massive dull clunk of the front door being slammed. Then silence.
I crumpled. Mama helped me to the nursing chair, and Silvie was sent out to get some tea.
“I had to do it, Mama,” I whimpered. “You know I did.”
She didn’t say anything, just a long, quiet “Shhhhhh,” as if she had learned that the troubles of the world could be absorbed and deafened by slow, steady wishfulness, and I suddenly understood that she’d been silencing the noise for the past twenty years.
Silvie returned with some tea, and we sipped quietly, talking about how things were going to be. Weddings happen with great pace these days, which one must see as a blessing under the circumstances, although we exchanged withering looks at the prospect that it might even be as soon as next week.
“Of course, you may wish to, well, consummate the marriage before the event, so to speak,” Mama said in a bit of a hurry, rather embarrassed. I must have looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, as she quickly added, “So that he doesn’t doubt the parentage of the baby.” She smiled at Silvie, who was looking especially alert, and I couldn’t believe that either of them was keeping up the ridiculous charade that Silvie doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, and how it had come about.
After a while I dragged myself out of the comfort of the nursery and headed down to my room, where you find me now. My mind is going round in circles: Why am I here, what was I thinking, why is this the best choice, surely there are alternatives, and where is he? Where is Alastair? Doesn’t he hear my pain expanding exponentially through the universe, covering multitudes of galaxies with a never-ending scream?
Where is he?
I sat at my dressing table and took out the pendant, wishing on it that he would arrive, like a knight in shining armor, and whisk me away. Or that I would wake up and find it was all a horrid dream, happening to a different Venetia, on a different planet, somewhere high, high above us in the brutal, dispassionate universe.
I will write soon.
Much love,
Venetia
LITCHFIELD HOSPITAL,
LITCHFIELD,
KENT.
Thursday, 8th August, 1940
Dear Clara,
What a day! First of all, the stupid boy came in to tell me he lost my money. I cannot believe I entrusted my fortune to such an incompetent idiot. He found it, took it to his hut, and then someone ruddy well stole it. He thinks it was Ralph Gibbs, so I’ll be having words with him when I’m out of this place.
Next, there I was, lying in the lumpy hospital bed, when in jaunts the Tilling woman, her beady eyes on me as she strode down the ward, a bright and shiny new look of determination about her. She was all fitted and buttoned up in a navy-blue coat I’d never seen on her before—a far cry from the baggy old gray thing she usually wears—and carrying a brown leather handbag that looked like it could give someone a nasty bruise if she took a good swing at them.
“Enjoying your break?” she chirped in her singsong way, putting on a forced, unfriendly smile, the one you might see on a magistrate’s face just before he finds you guilty. “Nice to put your feet up, isn’t it?” She patted my leg, and I winced at the thought of how much pain she could inflict should the mood take her. I thanked the Lord that she was such a wimp, although I have to say that she’s not the downtrodden widow any longer. This war has given her a real boost. You can tell by the way she holds herself, more upright now, none of the slouching shoulders and moping face. Where once she was always running little steps to keep up, now there’s a purpose to her stride, like she’s more worthy than the rest of us, doing more, giving up more for this war, for our community. And we’d better show a little respect.
“Ah, Mrs. Tilling, what a lovely surprise!” I pulled out my s
yrupy smile. “How good of you to visit poor little me, wrecked up in hospital. I was just thinking that you were the only person decent and kind enough to come.”
“Well,” she sighed. “I actually came to ask you a few questions about the day the two babies were born.”
I kept a calm smile glued on my face, but I never dreamed she’d jump to the chase like that. “I’ll be glad to help you there. Quite a day it was!” I took a sip of water from the glass beside my bed for sustenance.
She pulled up a chair, sitting her narrow behind on the edge.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began in an ominously lowered voice, “how strange it was that both babies appear to have had the same breathing problem that required resuscitation, at your house no less.”
“Yes, it was a very trying day, but one has to do one’s best. You see, these things are a lot more common than you think. It was fortunate I had the correct apparatus. It’s incredible how ten years of experience can mean the difference between life and”—a pause, creasing up my eyes for effect—“death.”
“How very fortunate that you were there,” she said, raising a skinny eyebrow. “Although perhaps if you hadn’t been, the babies would have stayed with their rightful mothers.”
All I could think was, We’re done for!
But then a nauseating little smile touched her lips, and I could see that she thought she’d won, and of all the things I am, Clara, I am not a loser, so I pulled myself together and did a spot of clever thinking. For her to just come out and say it means she thinks she can scare me into an admission, and she ain’t getting no admission out of me, no matter how close to the truth she gets.
“What can you mean?” I smiled.
“Only that having both the babies in your house at the same time would have made it possible for you to have swapped them. You could have given the boy baby to Mrs. Winthrop, and the girl to Hattie.”
“What a preposterous suggestion,” I sputtered, feeling my voice cracking a little. I decided to try to laugh it off, make her sound like the crazy one. “How could you dream up such a monstrous idea, Mrs. Tilling? Have you lost your mind?” I shook my head in a disgusted way.
The Chilbury Ladies' Choir Page 24